Hot as balls here in Portland, Oregon, and despite being a California native, I am having trouble coping.
I started off the week feeling like I could handle the heat, but by the end of Monday when I was making the half-mile trek from my office to the car I seriously contemplated taking off my pants as I crossed the I-405 overpass. I managed to fight off that urge, which is just as well since I ran into a former coworker not two minutes later. (It's one thing to be seen pantless by the resident homeless in the shopping cart district, but being caught by a creepy out-of-work creative director is a bullet I am glad I dodged).
Then today at lunch I went for a walk near Pioneer Square and on the way back I was so overheated that I had to cut through the mall, the Portland City Grill building and other big buildings just to partake briefly in their air conditioning. I never noticed how long the intersection is at NW Broadway and Burnside, but I swear it took me ten minutes to cross that sun-soaked stretch of road. Half way through I started to mentally resurrect survival advice from that weird Man vs Wild guy. Had the street been any longer I think I might have taken off my shirt, peed on it, and wrapped it around my head to keep my brain cool.
Tonight is unbearable in the house and I am holed up in the basement looking (in vain) for dream jobs online and wondering why my laptop, which is propped on my legs, runs so freakin' hot. Luckily one of this city's weathermen, Dave Sweeney, has posted some helpful tips on his blog for staying cool during this heat wave. This is my favorite one: Put your pillow in the fridge two hours before you go to bed.
I just have one question for you, Dave. If I put my pillow in the freezer, where will I keep my gin and vodka?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Why Road Trips to California Are Necessary
AKA: The Easiest $75.76 I Ever Saved
| Liquor | Oregon | California |
| Bacardi Rum | $26.45 | $17.99 |
| Ketel One Vodka | $46.45 | $31.99 |
| Tanqueray Gin | $42.45 | $27.99 |
| Knob Creek Bourbon | $70.45 | $49.99 |
| Jameson Irish Whisky | $47.45 | $39.99 |
| Patron Tequila | $50.45 | $39.99 |
Friday, April 24, 2009
Conor Michael Melillo
7 lbs, 4 oz; 19.5 inches.Bigger than you'd think, considering where he came from (or more specifically, who he came out of).
Speaking of size, in the weeks leading up to Conor's birth, I couldn't help noticing how big my sister got. Just massive. It was all in her stomach, mind you, but I was convinced that there were actually 3 or 4 babies in there, and that the doctor had decided to keep this fact to himself to avoid having to watch Beth's head explode all over his exam table.
Note: As of this writing, only one baby has been born to the Sheofsky/Melillo family.
While in the hospital room waiting for Beth to be escorted to the operating room, I asked her how much weight she gained during her pregnancy. I was pretty sure the answer was going to be between 45-50 lbs. I was surprised when she told me she gained 31 lbs. I was filled amazement when she told me that the gain brought her total weight to 129 lbs.
I had not weighed myself in months, but when I spotted a scale under the bed in the guest room of Beth's house, I couldn't help but step on to see where I landed. To my horror, I weighed in 2 lbs heavier than Beth. Two pounds heavier than my sister weighed in the final minutes of her pregnancy.
Yep, that feels good.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Sticky and delicious
So, since the end of January I've been involved in a cutthroat diet/weight loss competition with assorted family members. I've intentionally not written about this for several reasons. One, I already torture my friends with constant tales of calorie counting and I feared that writing about it would further exacerbate my borderline obsession with this contest. Two, it's boring. I eat less. I exercise more. I weigh myself each week and either lose more or lose less weight than other family members. If I lose more, I gloat. If I lose less, I whine about how the contest is unfair. My mom has been the Moderator for the contest, and she has taken it upon herself to send out daily motivational messages to all participants, most of which, from what I can tell, are taken from the Today show. As you can see, none of this is very exciting. Except that last week I won. Which is thrilling, but not the point of this post.
No, the point is that somewhere along the line, between gagging down protein powder in my smoothies and switching from delicious white rice and pasta to brown rice and whole wheat varieties, I discovered peanut butter. Of course I'd eaten peanut butter before, but it always fell in the "take it or leave it" category. Now, I crave it. I dip assorted food items in it, I eat it straight out of the jar. I've been known to wake up in the middle of the night to sneak a spoonful. Peanut butter, mind you, is not a tool of weight loss. But as fatty foods go, peanut butter has some nutritional merit and throughout the diet competition I clung to it as my lone guilty pleasure.
But now the contest is over. And do you know what I had on my first "guilt free" day of eating? Peanut butter. Peanut butter on a bagel for breakfast and peanut butter on an apple for lunch. Why is this? What happened to potato chips and ice cream and all the other things I have a long history of binge eating? Is this how it's going to be from now on? Has 12 weeks of dieting forever changed the craving impulses that my body sends to my brain? Am I doomed to a life of eating off a sticky spoon while Riley sits next to me drooling and wondering why I am eating his peanut butter instead of filling his Kong with it?
I just want to want buttery popcorn. Is it so wrong?
No, the point is that somewhere along the line, between gagging down protein powder in my smoothies and switching from delicious white rice and pasta to brown rice and whole wheat varieties, I discovered peanut butter. Of course I'd eaten peanut butter before, but it always fell in the "take it or leave it" category. Now, I crave it. I dip assorted food items in it, I eat it straight out of the jar. I've been known to wake up in the middle of the night to sneak a spoonful. Peanut butter, mind you, is not a tool of weight loss. But as fatty foods go, peanut butter has some nutritional merit and throughout the diet competition I clung to it as my lone guilty pleasure.
But now the contest is over. And do you know what I had on my first "guilt free" day of eating? Peanut butter. Peanut butter on a bagel for breakfast and peanut butter on an apple for lunch. Why is this? What happened to potato chips and ice cream and all the other things I have a long history of binge eating? Is this how it's going to be from now on? Has 12 weeks of dieting forever changed the craving impulses that my body sends to my brain? Am I doomed to a life of eating off a sticky spoon while Riley sits next to me drooling and wondering why I am eating his peanut butter instead of filling his Kong with it?
I just want to want buttery popcorn. Is it so wrong?
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Smells of fish
Herring, to be exact.
Riley has had very dry skin lately (who hasn't?) and if his constant itching was getting on his nerves half as much as it was mine, it seemed necessary to try to do something to give him some relief. I went to the pet store a few weeks ago prepared to buy some kind of liquid supplement that I could put in his food, similar to what I had to give Nike when she went through her phase of licking off all of her fur (which is a pretty good story, but not one I can tell without having had several drinks, as the image of Nike's hairless body scurrying around my old apartment still haunts me in my dreams).
Anyway, when I asked the sales associate what she recommended, she suggested changing his food to something with a different protein source (or something like that). I naturally balked at this, as experience tells me that changes in diet can have unpleasant digestive effects, but this still seemed like a better option than squirting some mystery substance over his kibble so I decided to take her advice. I had the option of choosing between a venison kibble and a herring kibble, and for reasons that I can't quite explain, I went with the herring. Maybe it's because one of the first movies I saw was Bambi, and I didn't like the thought of Riley eating Bambi. Maybe it's because the cat's food is fish-based and somehow it seemed like a good idea to keep all animals eating similar foods. Whatever the reason, I bought it. Riley's been eating it for about 3 weeks now, and at first there were no noticeable changes. But now...
Now... he stinks. I mean, really, really stinks. His whole head smells like a tuna can that has been sitting out in the sun. Every time he walks into the room his odor hits me like a slap across the face. And I think he is aware of it too. He looks ashamed. Not that I think he cares about the smell. He is, after all, often found sleeping with his nose up his own butt. But I think he is embarrassed that everyone knows he is on a seafood diet. I mean, it's not very manly. Or dogly. Kinda makes him a pussy. And kinda makes me an idiot for giving it to him in the first pace.
Skin problems be damned. Tomorrow morning, as soon as the store opens, I'm gonna get him a big sack of BEEF kibble.
And then I am going to wash him with strawberry scented shampoo. I don't want him to be too secure in his masculinity, after all.
Riley has had very dry skin lately (who hasn't?) and if his constant itching was getting on his nerves half as much as it was mine, it seemed necessary to try to do something to give him some relief. I went to the pet store a few weeks ago prepared to buy some kind of liquid supplement that I could put in his food, similar to what I had to give Nike when she went through her phase of licking off all of her fur (which is a pretty good story, but not one I can tell without having had several drinks, as the image of Nike's hairless body scurrying around my old apartment still haunts me in my dreams).
Anyway, when I asked the sales associate what she recommended, she suggested changing his food to something with a different protein source (or something like that). I naturally balked at this, as experience tells me that changes in diet can have unpleasant digestive effects, but this still seemed like a better option than squirting some mystery substance over his kibble so I decided to take her advice. I had the option of choosing between a venison kibble and a herring kibble, and for reasons that I can't quite explain, I went with the herring. Maybe it's because one of the first movies I saw was Bambi, and I didn't like the thought of Riley eating Bambi. Maybe it's because the cat's food is fish-based and somehow it seemed like a good idea to keep all animals eating similar foods. Whatever the reason, I bought it. Riley's been eating it for about 3 weeks now, and at first there were no noticeable changes. But now...
Now... he stinks. I mean, really, really stinks. His whole head smells like a tuna can that has been sitting out in the sun. Every time he walks into the room his odor hits me like a slap across the face. And I think he is aware of it too. He looks ashamed. Not that I think he cares about the smell. He is, after all, often found sleeping with his nose up his own butt. But I think he is embarrassed that everyone knows he is on a seafood diet. I mean, it's not very manly. Or dogly. Kinda makes him a pussy. And kinda makes me an idiot for giving it to him in the first pace.
Skin problems be damned. Tomorrow morning, as soon as the store opens, I'm gonna get him a big sack of BEEF kibble.
And then I am going to wash him with strawberry scented shampoo. I don't want him to be too secure in his masculinity, after all.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Love in the Haight
I went down to San Francisco this weekend and on Friday night I met my brother and his wife, and my sister and her husband for dinner. We chose to go to the Magnolia Pub and Brewery on Haight St. It's right down the street from my brother's apartment and I remembered it having pretty tasty beers when I used to live close to that neighborhood.
While I was expecting a good beer, I wasn't anticipating being blown away by one of their IPAs. I had a few pints of their Golden Road IPA and I am not kidding when I tell you my mouth is watering as I think back on it. It was full of citrusy-hoppy goodness and I vowed that when I got back to Portland I would start formulating a recipe to try to emulate it.
When I got home I sat down at my computer and began speculating about what ingredients they used to brew their beer. And then I remembered something. Well, two things, actually. First, I remembered that brewers are some of the most generous people around when it comes to sharing information about their recipes. Which tied in perfectly to my second realization, which is that I am lazy and didn't necessarily want to go through countless batches of beer trying to figure out the specifics of a recipe I had only had once and knew virtually nothing about. So, I emailed the folks at Magnolia, and in a few hours I had my answers. The brewmaster supplied me with the type of malt and yeast they used, the original gravity of the beer and the hop varieties (Simcoe! My favorite hop!)
Now, this doesn't mean I am going to brew a perfect replica my first try. There are still plenty of variables, and of course the K8 factor (and by that I mean my ability to screw up recipes beyond redemption, possibly due to too much beer consumption and not enough beer monitoring during the brewing process). But I think I have enough information to get close. Or at least enough information to have fun trying.
Updates and progress reports to follow. Stay tuned...
While I was expecting a good beer, I wasn't anticipating being blown away by one of their IPAs. I had a few pints of their Golden Road IPA and I am not kidding when I tell you my mouth is watering as I think back on it. It was full of citrusy-hoppy goodness and I vowed that when I got back to Portland I would start formulating a recipe to try to emulate it.
When I got home I sat down at my computer and began speculating about what ingredients they used to brew their beer. And then I remembered something. Well, two things, actually. First, I remembered that brewers are some of the most generous people around when it comes to sharing information about their recipes. Which tied in perfectly to my second realization, which is that I am lazy and didn't necessarily want to go through countless batches of beer trying to figure out the specifics of a recipe I had only had once and knew virtually nothing about. So, I emailed the folks at Magnolia, and in a few hours I had my answers. The brewmaster supplied me with the type of malt and yeast they used, the original gravity of the beer and the hop varieties (Simcoe! My favorite hop!)
Now, this doesn't mean I am going to brew a perfect replica my first try. There are still plenty of variables, and of course the K8 factor (and by that I mean my ability to screw up recipes beyond redemption, possibly due to too much beer consumption and not enough beer monitoring during the brewing process). But I think I have enough information to get close. Or at least enough information to have fun trying.
Updates and progress reports to follow. Stay tuned...
Monday, March 31, 2008
Just another manic monday
Monday's that start horribly are the best, aren't they? This morning my routine trip to the coffee shop turned into a nightmare. A nightmare, I tell you. First, it snowed, which would be fine if I lived in Antarctica, but I don't. I live in Portland, and it's the end of March, and this is unacceptable. I don't like walking in the snow, and Riley doesn't either, as indicated by his angry, squinty eyes and nonsensical walking patterns (one must avoid getting water/snow on one's paws, after all). But, we persevered because caffeine is important to me and getting a milk bone at the coffee shop is important to Riley.
And then, as if snow on March 31st wasn't enough, the unthinkable happened. Well, first the routine happened. That routine being Riley's elaborate bowel movement. But then (and I can barely even type this because even though it happened almost 8 hours ago it is still very upsetting), I was reaching in my back pocket to get a poo bag and trying to keep Riley from lunging toward the dogs playing in the park across the street and my hands were frozen and I guess I was a little distracted by the blinding snowstorm and the next thing I knew my coffee mug had slipped from my hand. And fell. To the ground. As in, the coffee was no longer in my mug, but rather, all over the sidewalk in front of me.
Then, the final insult... while I was preoccupied with 1) cussing out loud while a little old lady watched from her living room window, and 2) inspecting the dents in my stainless steel mug, Riley started lapping up the coffee as it ran into the street, which means that not only did Riley get to drink my coffee instead of me, but tomorrow morning, when I again find myself trying to scoop up Riley's crap while holding a coffee mug and possibly enduring another blizzard, said crap will be (and I know this from Riley's previous coffee drinking escapades) runny and disgusting and not at all conducive to clean up via tiny plastic bag.
And then, as if snow on March 31st wasn't enough, the unthinkable happened. Well, first the routine happened. That routine being Riley's elaborate bowel movement. But then (and I can barely even type this because even though it happened almost 8 hours ago it is still very upsetting), I was reaching in my back pocket to get a poo bag and trying to keep Riley from lunging toward the dogs playing in the park across the street and my hands were frozen and I guess I was a little distracted by the blinding snowstorm and the next thing I knew my coffee mug had slipped from my hand. And fell. To the ground. As in, the coffee was no longer in my mug, but rather, all over the sidewalk in front of me.
Then, the final insult... while I was preoccupied with 1) cussing out loud while a little old lady watched from her living room window, and 2) inspecting the dents in my stainless steel mug, Riley started lapping up the coffee as it ran into the street, which means that not only did Riley get to drink my coffee instead of me, but tomorrow morning, when I again find myself trying to scoop up Riley's crap while holding a coffee mug and possibly enduring another blizzard, said crap will be (and I know this from Riley's previous coffee drinking escapades) runny and disgusting and not at all conducive to clean up via tiny plastic bag.
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