Looking at Life

Waddling Through December and 2011: The Results

2011-12-31T17:16:00.000-08:00

At the risk of rubbing it in, I'll zoom out and remind everyone that I waddled around Hawai'i for a while in December.

Here's a more realistic view of what I accomplished. Not bad, but vacation does not lend itself to racking up the miles. Still, a respectable 254.57 miles (could you be a little more precise, Jack?) for the month.

Here's what my 2011 Stumptown waddles look like. Total mileage for 2011 checks in at 2,432.16, or the distance from Stumptown to...what the what? New York? Fort Sumter? Fernadina Beach and Gainsville? Acapulco? Unalaska? Chicoutimi and Québec City? Jeezu, Jack!

It's been a good year for waddling. And, I checked out of the year short 2.72 pails of LARD! from where I started in August, 2010. Take that Professor Javier Boleyn!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, 2012!

2011-12-24T20:35:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year
from D'Mestiere Investigations!

Back by popular demand is our own Yule Log a la WPIX

Me and Dolly-girl want to wish all of our friends, from Stumptown to Hawkesbury; from the Rose City to the Windy City; from the Left Coast, which is the right one, to the Right Coast, which isn't; to Tinseltown, Ithaca Schmithica, the Valley With a Heart, the Heart of the Valley, Our Nation's Capital, and Pennsylvania's Capital City; to The Best Location in the Nation, Ravenrock Ranch, Whidbey Island, Washington, the Redwood Forest and the Gulf Stream Waters; to the Vale of Glamorgan; Kodiak Island, and the tropical paradise of Hawai'i

A Very Merry Christmas and Best Wishes for a Healthy and Happy 2012!

A Night Out in Stumptown: Poutine at 15th Avenue Hophouse

2011-12-24T07:59:00.000-08:00

Blower. Kitty. "Yallow, Jack's on the line. D'Mestiere Investigations. We make your trouble no trouble at all..." "It's Kitty." "I knew it was you 'cause of that gadget Dolly-girl put on the blower so as we can tell whosit before we decide to..." "Old technology, Jack. Called Caller ID. Been around for years. Anyhoo, look, I had my thinking cap on my bean and a GE flashed that said maybe we ought to mosey on down to that new hop house on 15th and Brazee and tie on a feedbag." "You mean the 15th Avenue Hophouse?" "The same." "I'll check." I looked around the room and saw lots of up-and-downs seeing as how I was using other new-fangled technology--a "Speaker Phone"--and Dolly-girl, Dania Inebriata-Beech, Cuco O'Macka, T. Anthony Kavanaugh III, and Libretto all knew what Kitty had been pitching. "We're on."

Turns out the FAHH (that's what I'm gonna call the 15th Avenue Hophouse as it's easier to type and I'm typing this myself 'cause Thelma has the day off and I type slower than cement erodes according to Dolly-girl) is the partner of the Hawthorne Hophouse and they both got the same whatchmacallit. Also turns out that if you want a beer, it's a place you ought to go to, but then that wasn't a surprise to me (or to any of you that know about the fact that I like to waddle from joint to joint).

Where was I. Oh, yes. So we all piled in a couple roadsters and headed down there. It didn't take Missy anytime at all to fill some glasses and set them down in front of us. "You all look like you think you've come to the right place and I'm here to tell you, you have. Just have a pull on those brewskis and a look at the whaddayawant, and I'll be back in two shakes."

"I'll tell you one thing you could bring us from the getgo--some of those sweet potato fries. Kitty knows what Kitty likes and I'd like it if you'd put them down right in front of me." I guess Kitty might have seen the inside of the joint too. And, what the? They were a quarter gone before I could even get the Kodak focused. And it wasn't a couple minutes before that plate looked like a scene from Exodus 10: 1-20. Jeezu, those folks were famished, I guess. I looked around the table and six sets of mandibles were masticating and six sets of vocal chords were purring. Make that seven.

Missy was back, and none too soon, if you ask me. "What's it gonna be, Jack?" How is it people always seem to know my name? Is it that billboard that Thelma talked me into putting up around town to try and increase business? "I'm a little cautious seeing as how we are a long ways from Québec, but hows the poutine?" "Me, how would I know, do I look like I eat that?" I had to take her point. Professor Boleyn's advice was wasted on her... "Well, I'm gonna a chance it. Une poutine, s'il vous plait, et un plat des Oeuf de Diable a la wasibi to back that up, just in case." "Vous l'avez!" I looked around. Everyone else went for the pretty standard fare, but no one seemed like they were jumping on my wagon. But one thing was for sure, everyone was finding the suds that washed their dishes, if you get my drift.

Missy put the cacklefresh down in front of me and they looked like there were gonna make me stand up and pay attention. Sparks were flying off those henfruit and the hash slinger had thrown a little red on there in honor of the season, I guess. It hit the spot. But ah, the piece de resistance...

Missy set the plate in front of me. "Voila!" I dug in quick. It was the real thing--crispy fires, tasty gravy and curds--wait, the only chink in the armor, no squeak in the curds--even this far from the vaisseau-mère! "C'est bon, Missy!" "Heureaux vous l'aimez..." My blower sparked. Without even looking, I gave it the "yallow." "Jackie-boy, what is THAT in front of you? Have you lost your mind? A pile of fried potatoes, smothered in gravy and cheese curds? In what universe is that part of the 2-Step Duh! Diet? It's going to be the one-million steps for you tomorrow diet..." "Professor Boleyn? How did you find me? How..." "Jackie-boy, the Red Alert warnings were going off through the entire Boleyn Sky Cluster. You can't make an order like this sous le couvert dde l'obscurité. But, you know what, enjoy your poutine and I will speak with you tomorrow. Randall, put an early morning scolding for Jackie-boy on my calendar..."

I felt lower than a pill bug in the cellar with my tail between my legs. Dolly-girl put her hand on my arm and shot me a smile through the wave. "Forget him, Jack. It's the holidays, we're with friends and family, and even you deserve a night off." I gave her a peck on the kisser and went back to my poutine. Ha! Pill bugs don't have tails! Wait, that's no pill bug...

Dispatch from the 15th Avenue Hophouse: It's My Birthday

2011-12-16T15:06:00.000-08:00

A beautiful, sunny afternoon in Stumptown...

Punaluu, Hawaii VRBO Listing 229721 Blue Ginger Beach House

2011-12-15T23:16:00.000-08:00

I hate to do this. I only do this because of the email my wife received from the owner in response to my review and her response on the VRBO web page. I believe the owner is disingenuous. I gave, I thought, a very fair review on VRBO. She responded. I can't on VRBO. But I can here. I would not have responded if she had left it alone. Most people rated her property a five; I rated it a two. A simple, "I'm sorry you were disappointed," would have been fine. But, we received an email transferring all the guilt to us after we paid over $1,000 for a week that promised something that wasn't.

The place is well equipped and comfortable, and I stated as much. I never said it wasn't a good value. I brought to prospective renters' attention that there is road noise and construction until February. It is not "landscaping" as the owner responds, unless "landscaping" to you includes large excavators, dump trucks, etc, starting at 7 AM or before. They are in the process of removing concrete and steel that was part of the temporary bridge. This is the beach view I observed and below is a little movie of the "landscaping." I realize it's not her fault, but let's be honest. It's not "landscaping."

Maybe most all beach view places on O'ahu are on highways. Not all are. You might want to rent one that isn't. All I pointed out is that there is traffic and a lot of it. What I didn't put in my review--a couple nights we counted over 30 buses in a single hour going by the house.

I do not question the comfort of the place. In fact, I was quite complimentary in my review. I just wish the owner had been forthcoming in her ad. I did not say in VRBO that the ad was misleading. I did not ask for a discount. I did not ask for a refund. I only believe that an honest review is an honest review.

Dispatch from American Spamoa

2011-12-08T12:39:00.000-08:00

New recipes!

Dispatch from O'ahu Hawai'i

2011-12-05T19:19:00.001-08:00

This is the real O'ahu revealed!

Holy Smokes: Another Record Month for Waddling!

2011-11-30T18:24:00.001-08:00

Just when I thought I couldn't walk more than 325 miles in a month, I left 328.09 miles in my wake in November, a short month at that. "Jackie-boy, this is nuts. You've got to get out of competition with yourself! Oh, have you purchased my new book, "Hijacking Your Holidays: 2 Steps to the Yuletide Gift of Guilt" by none other than the prolific Professor Javier Boleyn?

October 2011: What a Month for Waddling!

2011-10-31T08:24:00.000-07:00

The results are in: 324.89 miles in October. Yes, that's correct, 87.85 miles more than my previous best effort! A combination of a beautiful fall and walking to and from work is responsible for this success, soon to be documented in Professor Javier Boleyn's latest book, Ten Miles a Day The Two Step Way by Professor Javier Boleyn as told to Randall Phüβe, edited by Nora O'Floinn.

Waddling in Ithaca: The Impressive Reach of Boleyn Enterprises

2011-10-10T09:49:00.000-07:00

"Yallow, Castaways, the Music Venue. We're More Than a Bar. You got Jo La on the blower. What'sit?" "Mister , um what did you say, Jo La?, umm kind sir, this is Randall Phüβe, please hold for Professor Javier Boleyn..." "Good afternoon, this is Professor Javier Boleyn, no need to acknowledge my international renown." "Good thing, what's that name again? I don't think you're in Castaway's what we call repertoire." "Think again, Mister La. Think of a certain supplement the mixologists at your establishment receive monthly. Did you think that was a stipend based on outstanding academic performance? I think not. It's time for Boleyn Enterprises to activate the Ithaca node on the Sky-View Cluster (®Boleyn Enterprises).

(© Castaways)
"Are you acquainted with a Miss Anna-Maria D'Mestiere?" "Well, sure. Who isn't? At least if you spend anytime here at Castaways, the Music Venue." "Yes, I know that Miss D'Mestiere has, from time-to-time, been known to engage in the Hot Dog Happy Hour (© Castaways) --quaint, provincial and quaint. That is at odds with her current efforts to join the War on LARD! Hence my need to activate more than occasional surveillance, and therefore necessitating this call, as required in our contract, to inform you that in our efforts to help Miss D'Mestiere achieve her goal, we will be monitoring the activity of all 'clients' of your establishment as they may be aiding or abetting Miss, what do you call her?" "AM. We call her AM, you know, pronounced like initials, first the A and then the M." "Yes, I know, and it's refreshing to see that you are more advanced than her father, who would pronounce it as though it were the first person present tense of the verb to be." "Well, we are in a college town..." "Thank you for that, Mister La." "Call me Jo."

"Professor Boleyn...Randall here. The Sky-View has picked her up near something called Cherry Street. Should I contact her on the Boleyn's-Eye-View (® Boleyn Enterprises) Voice of God (® iBlessed Steven). "That's an excellent idea Randall, crank up the machine. Remember to adjust the volume as it will deliver my voice directly through her iPod (® the mortal formerly known as Steve Jobs). "Anna-Maria D'Mestiere." "What the? Where? Where's that voice coming from? Who is that voice..." "Miss D'Mestiere, it is Professor Javier Boleyn." "Busted." "Hmmm, a common reaction when people hear my name. Nevertheless, Miss D...may I call you AM?" "Yes you may, shall I call you..." "Don't even think it. I am Professor Javier Boleyn. You may shorten that to Professor Boleyn or Professor, if you must. But let's get on with this."

"By the way, I am speaking to you through my new Voice-of-God technology (® iSaint Steven, fastest canonization in history and the first registered trademark in NeXT World © iSaint Steven, also the first registered copyright). First, I have to say that it took Jackie-boy--I mean your father--months of following the 2-Step Duh! Diet (® Boleyn Enterprises) to be able to take a picture of his feet and yours are much smaller than his. You must be following my regimen..." "I try..." "to some extent. However, the Tap-Cam has recorded you at a local watering hole, Castaways." "It's a Music Venue, more than a bar..." AM breathed a sigh of relief thinking that the good professor could have seen her at a lot more than just one local watering hole. "Even though the Voice-of-God is a 2-way technology, I didn't need to hear your thoughts to know that you frequent other establishments in this fair town. They all are part of the Sky-Cluster and all have my patented Tap-Cam." "All?" "Fall Creek House, Chanticleer, Nines, Maxies, Benchwarmers, Haunt, Moonshadow, Ale House..." "OK, OK. Guilty as charged. Except the IC joints, we don't go there..."

"But I have been waddling my level best towards fitness, Professor. It's not easy when you're a young person. I mean, I have a life. Jackie-boy--that cracks me up that you call him that--I mean what's he got to do? Bumpkus. Walk, walk, and walk some more. It's pathetic, no pathologic. Really, look what you've done to him, bullying him to blisters." "Relax child. Randall, make a note, my next book. Bullied to Blisters: Extreme 2-Stepping with Professor Javier Boleyn by Professor Javier Boleyn as told to Randall Phüβe, edited by Nora O'Floinn. Oh, and file the copyright on that too." "Already done, PJB." "AM, back to your plight. You are trying, I can see that. For instance, your iHair Pony-Tail-Scrunchie-Cam (®Boleyn Enterprises and Heavenly Host Enterprises, an iSaint Steven corporation ) detected this group of dedicated Ithacans practicing surfboard yoga, a technique I pioneered while under the influence of mild hallucinogens in my younger days at Venice Beach. The PTSC reported your velocity at the time to be 6.5 mph (mph is an abbreviation in the public domain). "

"I continue. Your UO Sweatband-Cam (® Oregon Ducks, a wholly-owned subsidiary of Phil Knight. Wait, how did this new guy get in here?) sent this image to the Sky-Cluster, documenting some impressive numbers. But, not impressive enough." "Wail and whoan." "Child, calm yourself. You are studying at the foot of the World's Master. Under my tutelage, you will be a wisp of your former self in no time."

"But, Professor, I'm trying so hard, and I'm waddling the straight and narrow, and, and, IT'S SO DAMNED BORING! Whoan!"

"Straight and narrow? I suggest you read the fine print on the Menu page and see if you really think you are 'straight and narrow'. I mean, really, even Jackie-boy avoids places with descriptions like:

"The menu ain't gigantic and the kitchen isn't open all the time,
but if you catch us cooking you can be sure to get
some of the best bar favorites around." (© Castaways)

"Whoan."

Waddling Towards Fitness: September, the Best Yet!

2011-09-30T18:52:00.001-07:00

I'm not sure how I pulled this off. The first half of the month I was well off my summer pace. Then we had a week of beautiful weather and I walked to and from work. That did the trick. 235.07 miles in 30 days for an average waddle of 7.84 miles per day. 1524 miles so far this year. Where's that put me? Winona, Minnesota--where Michelle Bachmann went to college. That will keep me walking! Or Las Vegas if I'm doing a round trip! Or Santa Barbara...

A Conversation: Professor Javier Boleyn and Fiora D'Mestiere

2011-09-19T21:37:00.000-07:00

The blower sparked. Dolly-girl looked at the gadget and yelled, "Jackie-boy, it's for you. Professor Javier Boleyn on line 1." "Joseph, Mary, Kitty Carlisle and all the saints in heaven, Dolly-girl, just answer it, will you? I'm scooping cat boxes down here. You know how he hates the machine." "Yallow, D'Mestiere Investigations. What's it?"

"Fiora, dear, that patois does not fit your visage." "Oh. Hello, Professor." "You blink and blush, dear. Remember, you are clearly visible to me on the Sky-cam (® Boleyn Enterprises). I digress." "Professor, Jack's indisposed. Can I have him call you back?" "Fiora, it's you with whom I wish to speak. You see, I've written another book. Well, I use the word loosely. I have dictated a book to my new assistant, Randall Tuphts. I'm afraid it's not up to my usual standards, but then I did dictate it during intermission at the ballet. I believe it could use your magical editorial touch. Of course, Boleyn Enterprises pays handsomely, providing you think there was something remotely handsome about Quasimodo (All references to anything having to do with Notre Dame de Paris ® Benedict XVI and Steve Jobs)."

"I'm honored. What's your timeline? How about a month?"
"Well, seeing as how I 'wrote' it during intermission, I was hoping to go to press tomorrow. After all, how long could it take to edit Grande Jeté Your Lard Away the 2-Step Way by Professor Javier Boleyn, as told to Randall Tuphts and edited by Fiora D'Mestiere"

"On it, Prof."

Waddling Around Ashland: Is There No Escape?

2011-09-14T20:42:00.000-07:00

"Jack, the roadster is packed, now would you shake a leg and get it in gear? We gotta a lotta ground to cover today if we're going to make it to the wedding party that starts tomorrow, you know, Dania's little Dot is getting hitched down there in wine country. Now, get it going!" "Alright, alright, Dolly-girl. Just let me get my heater and my Luckies and I'll be ready to roll. You know it takes me a while..." "For Sam's sake and the love of Mike, you are the slowest. And leave that damned gun and those smokes at home. You sure don't need the gun and you don't smoke." "Anymore..." "What's that mumbling?" "Mumble mumble..."
Me and Dolly-girl were taking off on a little adventure and, how shall I say it, it was starting off on the il piede sinistro, if you get my drift. I just don't know how she gets started so much faster than I do...

We eventually got out the door, into the Chevy, and down the road to Red Bluff, California, where we pulled over for the night. Dolly-girl had found us a roadside hotel--what they call a motor hotel--where we could rest our butts after a long day of doing nothing. I spotted a road house where we could tie on a feedbag and knock back a couple cold ones. Dolly-girl went for a vino bianco. It was a coupla IPAs for me. Surprising when it comes to drinks the two of us are not, I guess. We had a nice relaxing time sitting outside along the river. Something felt real comfy about this town, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

The next morning, shank's mare and I went out for our morning constitutional and I found what made me have that kinship feeling. Turns out Red Bluff must have a touch of that unsavory element. Either that or the 24-hour bail bond place has the same sort of bottom line that D'Mestiere Investigations has. Let's just say that it's a good thing Dolly-girl sells a poem from time to time to keep beans on the table back in Stumptown!

Skip ahead. The hitching was about as much fun as you can have, especially when it takes place near Santa Rosa and you get to make a coupla trips to what Beluga Slim calls "The Mothership of IPAs", the Russian River brewery. I'll tell you, those boys know how to brew them some beer that will make you spin and lucky for us, there was plenty to go around. And you know, a beer at breakfast just isn't that bad a way to spend time on a little vacation get-away. Of course, it earned Cuco and me a round of tsks tsks from Dolly-girl and Dania, mostly 'cause they couldn't quite buy our "what are time zones, really?" argument.

The following Saturday, found me out and about in Ashland, you know that spot where her and me go each year to see the live action plays that she likes so much. I'm pretty sure I've given you the straight talk on this before. It's the weekend-a-year when she goes all nerdy on me. The rest of the year she's only nerdy during the week, but hey, Fiora wouldn't be Dolly-girl if she weren't like that.
Anyhoo, I decided to get up with the chickens and get out on the streets to see what Ashland looked like early and to wear off some LARD! as I knew back at the old Blue Moon B&B, the joint where Dolly-girl, or as they call her there "Fiora, dear", likes to set our brake, Dino would be cooking up a storm for birdseed time. I couldn't wait to just enjoy a meal in peace. In fact, given that the War on LARD! was going so well, I might even cast caution to the wind and eat my fill!

Sure enough, Dino rolled out a frittata that would make a hen proud of where her fruit ended up. As I mentioned, I'd decided to throw caution to the wind and I put what looked to be a delicious home-fried potato on my plate. "Jackie-boy, just what gives you the idea that you can hang a "Mission Accomplished" banner on your bridge and act like you're King of Whatever, prancing around in your flight suit?" "Javier--I mean Professor Boleyn?" I looked up looking for the Boleyn's Eye View Sky Cluster (® Boleyn Enterprises) that had found me. It must be in the umbrella..."Jackie-boy, look down."

The voice didn't have the usual booming Voice-of-God quality--it sounded right-in-the-room, if you get my drift, even though we were outside. "That's right, Jackie-boy, in the flesh." Sitting next to Dolly-girl was, OH MY GOD! PROFESSOR JAVIER BOLEYN (® Boleyn Enterprises). I gulped, gasping for air. My breakfast was ruined. "That's right Jackie-boy..." "Professor, must you call me Jackie-boy here in front of strangers. It's not like when it's Bar-Am and you are talking through the Tap-Cam (® Boleyn Enterprises) or on the LARD! app (© Boleyn Software, Ltd.) on my iPhone (Galactic © Steve Jobs). "Yes, Jack, I must call you Jackie-boy. It's part of the humiliating Demean-o-talk that's a key ingredient in a new strategy outlined in my latest book, Respect Weighs Heavily: Lose it in 2-Steps with Professor Javier Boleyn (Pre-orders are now being accepted on Amazon.com (© Steve Jobs and Amazon.com)). I must leave you now, as enjoyable as this is. I'm here as a consultant. You see, Falstaff has been 2-Stepping and now needs to don a fat suit to play the part. I'm here to perform my patented Hip-No-Therepy (USPTO 7,932,457) which will allow him to wear the suit without imagining that he's a hefty hog again. Ta ta. I'm off."

"Go ahead and finish your breakfast, Jack. Don't let this chance meeting spoil your vacation." "I can't do it, Dolly-girl. The Professor is correct. I have no business trumpeting "Mission Accomplished" just because I've shed 61 pounds of LARD! Osama bin LARDEN may be dead, but another LARDorist will rise to take his place. Eternal vigilance is my fate." "You're right about that, Jackie-boy." The professor popped out of the doorway as he was leaving. "And oh, Fiora, dear, I've autographed your copy of Polka the Pounds Away: 2-Steppin' in NEPA with Professor Javier Bloeyn on the table inside. I depart!" Fiora blushed. I didn't even know she was thinking about 2-Stepping!

The solitary home fry remained on the plate and I left the table, not quite sated. The next day I was determined to walk enough before Dino filled the feedbags that the good professor would not be able to interfere with my full enjoyment of a savory meal. Well, it turns out it was sweet day, not savory day, at the Blue Moon, but you get my whadda-ya-mean, right? I got an early start because I knew it was going to be a long road before I got back and could settle down, smug as a bug, and render the professor speechless. Hours later, I arrived at the table, exhausted, sweaty, and ready to carbo-load. The world famous oat flapjacks were being flipped and I eyed a fresh blue-berry something or other that was fixin' to be poured over those griddle cakes. And was that the smell of, yes! Bacon!"

"Good morning, Jackie-boy." The professor had beat us all to the table. He was looking at the screen of a gadget the likes of I'd never seen before. He noticed."Oh, this, just a little iSomething (USPTO All Parallel Universes Patent Pending, oh what the hell, just give it a number, you know it will be patented, Steve Jobs) that Steve lent me. I've connected it to the Sky Cluster and used it to track you this morning. Good walk, Jackie-boy, and at a brisk 4.5 mile-per-hour pace, as well." "What the? Pit tags? Do you have pit tags in me?" "Oh, never. Don't need that old technology. Steve and I dreamed up something new (USPTO patent pending Javier Boleyn and his new best friend, Steve Jobs) that uses a satellite acquisition to identify and follow the spectral emission of your perspiration." "You track me by my sweat?" "Yes, indeed, Jackie-boy. As long as there's a single bead, you are in my bead...I'm proud of you, too, Jackie-boy. You walked by the Morning Glory and stayed on the other side of the street. You know you gain weight when you walk by places like that." "Wail and whoan." "Stop your sniveling and eat breakfast."

Dino set my breakfast and I couldn't believe my eyes. An entire flapjack, some of the wonderful blueberry stuff, whatever it's called, and bacon!" "Jackie-boy, I didn't want to completely humiliate you, so I instructed Dean to serve you this modest breakfast. Of course, you can't eat it. I used the Boleyn Enterprises Carbo-Carver (® Steve Jobs--I sold it to him...) to cut your allowable portion. See it there, by the cantaloupe. Enjoy!

Dispatch from Sonoma County

2011-09-03T10:18:00.000-07:00

Who says Pliny the Elder isn't a breakfast drink?

August Results: I waddled more than in June, but Less than in July

2011-08-31T18:55:00.000-07:00

August results are in: 31 daily Waddles Toward Fitness in Oregon, Ontario, and Québec; 212.83 Waddling miles; average Waddle, 6.87 miles; cumulative total year-to-date Waddles 1289.54 miles.

Dispatch from Saguenay: Waddling to La Croix de Ste. Anne et une Poutine

2011-08-25T17:49:00.000-07:00

Call it fate, a siren song, or just plain luck. I was back in my rooming house in South Chicoutimi, out on the fire escape, and just about to fire a Lucky when the rain stopped, the clouds, parted, and the sun shone through. Damn, I wanted a Lucky, a beer, and a reason not to go waddling through Chicoutimi. Now I had none of the above. And no Dolly-girl to boot.

OK, so I didn't have any Luckies and it was too early for beer (well, maybe not) and truth be told, I like to walk. I headed out on shank's mare, destination, La Croix de Ste. Anne in North Chicoutimi. Let me tell you, there's a lot of elevation change between the river and the cross. Jack got a work out.

Coming back down the hill, being a gumshoe and all, I noticed a joint that would catch the eye of anyone who happens to like french fries covered in gravy with cheese curds. Yep, a patate, right there before my eyes. I knew it was the best in town because it said it is the best in town. My French is THAT good! Besides, there was a dump truck parked outside. I gave a look over my shoulder--force of habit, but hell, the Good Professor can't be here. I sauntered in because it seemed like the French way.

I sat down at the counter and Missy stepped in front of me, gave me the once over, and said, "Que sera-ce, Jacques?" How the hell did she know my name? "Je voudrais avoir une poutine avec les frites, le sauce, et la fromage blanc." "Nous avons obtenu an autre traducteur Google, Gisette. Seigneur, prends pitié, pour l'amour de Mike..." She turned to me. "First of all, the sauce, how do you comme, gravy? The gravy is a she and the fromage, le fromage it is a he. Mais, je comprende et je suis ici pour vous dire, poutine, she is frites, sauce, and cheese, Jacques!"

She turned and went to do whatever--I hoped to make me a great poutine like I'd had with Rouge and Newshawk--so I tried to act like I knew what was happening. I took out the menu, maybe a quelqu chose to late, and had a look. Missy gave me le globe oculaire poilue so I went back to trying to behave. I put the menu back in the little holder. She was there in about 10 seconds to take it out of where I put it and put it behind the ketchup, apparently the real home for a menu.

The next thing I knew, a poutine was sitting right in front of me. My mouth was watering and I picked up my fork to dig in. "Oui, oui. Il est ici comme une question de fait. Jacques! Au téléphone, il est pour vous." What the?

"Jacques-garçon, be careful there. You have not waddled far enough to deserve that beautiful poutine served in what could pass for a cocotte." "Professor, what, how, why?" "Jacques, the Star Cluster is an international tracking system. You didn't think..." "A guy can hope."

"I'll tell you what, Jacques, since it's a vacation of sorts, I'm going to let you consume this petite poutine, provided you promise to walk at least 6 miles today. I did receive the report this morning and, as of today, you are falling behind the pace of both July and June. You have work to do..."

"Wail! I know Professor, but look at this. The gravy is tasty and just salty enough. The curds squeak. The fries...oh, oh. A chink in the armor. They looked crisp enough, but a little soggy. Now I wish I hadn't eaten the whole thing!"

"Sounds like a 3.5 curds with a half-curd bonus for ambiance and china." "Just what I was thinking, Professor, just what I was thinking."

"Jacques?" "Yes, Professor?" "Get your LARD! ass off that counter stool and hit the streets." "Yes. Professor."

Fiora's Day in Plymouth becomes Jack's 1-Page Chapbook

2011-08-07T10:28:00.000-07:00

"Ill tel u Jacl, Plymoyth is killin me ans I HATR pokinh at this iPhon leyboard to send emai;" Dolly-girl was not having the best of times in the tale of her 2 cities. August 2, 2011 and I was getting messages from her new blower left and right. All what you would call terse and truncated missives from the Wyoming Valley if you were a poet like Dolly-girl.

I remembered that she told me about some sort of poem that has 5 syllables in the first row, then 7, and then 5 more. Haiku, I think she called them. I think they are supposed to be reflections on nature. And they are supposed to have to ideas juxtaposed with a "cutting" word marking the transition. At least that's what I remember she told me. I made some up that are reflections on Dolly-girl's nature on August 2, 2011. I don't think they are haiku, though. I call them ditties.

Waddling Around Stumptown: Marking a Milestone.

2011-07-24T13:58:00.001-07:00

"Here comes one on two hops, Jack!" "Thanks, Bar-Am, no trouble fielding that one." "I guess not. Just like back when you were playing the second bag, eh?" "How'd you know I was an infielder?" "I got your Rookie Card, Jack. Cleveland ball club, a long time ago." "Yep, another time, another story, Bar-AM, but it's as true as my life." "Never did find another card though." "Nope. Rookie. That was it. Curve balls. Not sayin' more. Nice of you to hold the card though. I could sign it for you..." "Naw, I don't think it would help. I tried to trade you for a Pat Corrales Manager Card--do you know he averaged 28 and a half games out of first during the 5 years he was managing--and I never did get even a nibble. Anyway, why the teeth showing through your mug today, Jack? What's tickling your fancy other than that tall cold one and the beautiful day outside?"

"Well, you know Bar-Am, it's not the taster tray of Imperial IPAs I just knocked off down the road..." "Yeah, someone told me you were in another joint. I was gonna be hurt if you didn't show up..."
I continued, "It's the fact that for the fist time in God-Knows-How-Long when I look down I see my belt!" A hissing sound filled the room, followed by "Eleven years, Jackie-boy, that's how long it's been." "OK, so God and Professor Javier Boleyn both know. Anyhoo, I noticed this week that when I looked down, I didn't see the familiar LARD!, but an unfamiliar shiny metal object."

"Bar-Am, please include the cost of Jackie-boy's beer on the monthly invoice for placing the Boleyn's Eye View (® Boleyn Enterprises) cam and mic. I know you've been swimming upstream metaphorically, Jackie-boy, and I'm quite proud of you for championing the 2-Step Duh! Diet. You have literally walked your ass off, Jackie-boy. Look at this silhouette captured by the Boleyn's Eye View Sky Cluster (® Boleyn Enterprises) this afternoon. Look there on the left at the top of your leg. Your ass is missing."

"Well, that's one gumshoe job I'm not going after, Professor. Wherever it is, it can stay lost! Catch you later, Bar-Am, I got concrete to wear out!"

A Night Out in Stumptown: La nostra cena anniversario di Enzo's Caffe Italiano

2011-07-09T11:52:00.000-07:00

I heard Dolly-girl humming to herself while she was clipping flower stems at the sink in the kitchen. She'd been riding Maude, her new Townie, and I'm not talking about a person living in Ithaca, if you get my drift. She'd been out on what she calls a "rescue mission", scooping up flowers that are laying over on the sidewalk or in the yards of a certain abandoned house she eyeballs from time-to-time. I walked in, snapped the cap on a Lucky 13 (© Lagunitis Brewing Company, image too) and pitched my idea.

"Perché non provare quel nuovo ristorante italiano su Alberta? Enzo's Caffe Italiano, a new joint I spied on a waddle up there. You know, the place me and Juneau went when he was visiting a few weeks ago. Remember, I was telling you, it's like being in il paese vecchio what with the homemade salt-and-flour map of Italy on the wall and a TV with Italian shows on..." "Non dire un'altra parola, Jack. I'll put these rescues in a vase, beautify, and we'll be on our way." A few minutes later, on account of this place is in the neighborhood, we walked into Italy-on-Alberta. Dolly-girl gave the special board a scan. "No need to even bring me a whaddaya-want, I'm having Enzo's special, paparadelle di massaria. You know there can't be nothin' to complain about when you slather a clucker in crème, toss in some spears-o-asparagine, and pour it over some pasta!"

It sure did sound good, but I knew an order like that from a mouth like mine would get me a phone call from Professor Javier Boleyn before Enzo could sing A Che gelida manina. It was a new place, but there wasn't an ombra di dubbio that the good Professor already had his Boleyn's Eye View installed in a joint like this one. He'd know that I'd be here faster than a Lambretta zips through the Piazza Venezia
(© Wheels of Italy, I think since I took it from their website)

Andrea, which any old person might think is said AN-dree-ah, but what she said was an-DRAY-ah, met us with a buonasera that meant business. Enzo and Carmella were outside, waiting for the evening rush, and from all appearances, having a quiet chat--hands were moving, of course, but not like it was serious talk going on. She steered us towards some biancho e rosso, brought a plate of some fine tasting dipping oil, and a cestino di pane.

"Si prega di portare noi una insalata verde per avviare." "My jaw dropped. Apparently while I've been out waddling off the LARD!, Fiora has been mastering the Italian. "Bene, è sulla sua strada" Yipes, it really was like I was in the old country! The salad showed up doused with just the right amount of a homemade and some of the best shaved wax I've ever had. "Grana, Jack. It's called grana, not wax." "OK, Dolly-girl, penso io." "Quit speaking Google, Jack. I see that iPhone (® along with the rest of the currently known universe, by Steve Jobs) in your lap!

anDRAYah was back after she saw that we'd mowed through the salad like a John Deere through a field of timothy hay. I tried to act like there was some connection between the ethnicity of my name--D'Mestiere, not Jack--and ordered the orechiette e cime di rapa con acciuga. "Enzo's gonna love making that one for you--it's his favorite anchovy dish. But I have to tell you, the rapa isn't right so it's coming out with broccoli--OK with you?" "OK con questo ragazzo!" anDRAYah looked a little quizical. "He's speaking from Google Translate. Jack, you're not that much of a youngster anymore." OK, some I'm not a ki, but I smiled like one when the feedbag arrived. The combination was as tasty as it comes to my way of thinking.

Dolly-girl's paparadelle di massaria arrived and it was as special as promised. The crème was rich and spiced just right. The chicken was tender and the pasta was perfect. Dolly-girl was all smiles for this anniversary! "This hits all the spots I was hoping for, and then some. And, I'm going to have it again for lunch tomorrow. anDRAYah, una scatola per favore!"

Coffee for me and tiramisu for Dolly-girl were going to top off the night, we thought. But Carmella had a different idea and anDRAYah showed up with due bicchieri di limoncello. "Complimenti di Carmella ed Enzo. felice anniversario! And oh, by the way," she pointed up at a small box in the corner, "I turned of the tiramisu-cam and sent in a trouble report, so you don't have to worry about the phone call..."

If a taste of Italy is what you're looking for, you'll find it staring you in the face on Alberta Street!

Dispatch from Mash Tun

2011-07-04T16:12:00.001-07:00

Tatchos and beer with friends on the 4th of July. 12 Thumbs Up!

Waddling Through June: 204.02 Miles on the Streets of Stumptown, Boise, and Juneau

2011-06-30T19:14:00.000-07:00

June 30, the results are in. June is my waddlingest month so far. Professor Javier Boleyn will no doubt have a comment before long...

Dispatch from Juneau

2011-06-30T07:23:00.001-07:00

Leaving Juneau and its rain behind. But I'm not leaving all of its smoked king salmon behind ...

Dispatch from Juneau

2011-06-28T21:32:00.000-07:00

Departure time leaves me with a Stone IPA and a halibut taco at the Hanger. Too bad, tourists ...

Dispatch from the Juneau Lab

2011-06-28T11:48:00.000-07:00

Another dispatch from Juneau ...

2011-06-27T19:20:00.001-07:00

Dispatch from Juneau

2011-06-27T19:13:00.001-07:00

A Very Happy Hour at Cocotte: Enjoying the Guilty Pleasures of Stumptown

2011-06-18T10:30:00.000-07:00

(Cookware image © Whoever put it on Wikipedia; Hooker image © Princesse Tam Tam)

"Cocotte, Jack. It's a cooking vessel, not just a French hooker, and in this case, it's a new feed bag that opened in Gourmet Gulch. Remember, we went there with South Dakota Slim and his missus back when what we call winter but passes for spring everywhere else was in full bore. Honestly, Jack, I'm going to have to get you some of that Ginko biloba..." "There's nothing wrong with my memory, Dolly-girl. Ginkoales Ginkoaceae Ginko biloba. Monospecific to order, so there. Anyhoo, how did you get all these whatzitmeans for Cocotte?" "Skimming through my Larousse, of course. Jack, what do I always tell you? An idle brain is the devil's playground..." "OK, Dolly-girl, knock it off with the one-liners (© Stan Freberg, History of the United States, Jefferson speaking to Franklin). What have you and Dixie got up the sleeves of your Kimmielees (©Tahari by ASL)?"

"Well, you know that Dixie and Delancy have been working their fingers to the quick getting the new Maison Devereaux in shape, and frankly, Jack, they could just use a good sit-me-down-pour-a-drink-down-my-hatch-and-feed-me-some-good-food. So I put on my thinking cap and figured we ought to do the happy hour at Cocotte. Remember, we were there a couple weeks ago." "Yes, I remember--I remember everything. Have you seen the blower? I got a call to make..." "Anyway, we're meeting them up there just about the time old mister Sol hits the yardarm." "I'm there."

Five o'clock found us looking at Stumptown outside from inside a bistro that pretty much screams "Hey, welcome to Paris"...well, no, not really. No cigarette smoke. English spoken. Table settings different. But it could scream "Hey, I'm close enough for Stumptown and what the hell, if you want to be in Paris, go to Paris." The Devereaux duo arrived. Being that I make my living checking facts and catching people in lies, I demanded to see their fingers. Dolly-girl gave me a quick boot with her Dansko (® Dansko) and I turned my "Looks like regular unworn fingers to me" to a "mumph, Hey you two!" We settled in, Missy was by with some whaddayas--drinking and eating--and we gave them the once over three or four times. Gads there were hard choices to be made. The full-sizes sounded great--and they lived up to their buzz the last time we were there--but we were looking for the lighter side. The happy hour menu was it.

One thing that didn't take long was to settle on what was gonna head down my gullet. "Does that tap jockey know how to mix up a tub-o-gin?" "You'd better believe it." "Drown four." He did and Missy was right. "Best martini I've had since Monday," but really, it was the best one I've had in a long time. Delancy had an I-can't-remember (oh, jeesh, I can hear Dolly-girl with the Ginko biloba again). Our dolls settled on a vin blanc for Dolly-girl and a Sazerac for Dixie. "It's America's oldest cocktail, you know, and it's just what this Florida girl needs to put the quick back in my fingers!" I kicked Dolly-girl under the table and opened my trap, but caught her eye-balling me so "What's with the exaggeration?" turned into "Here's mud in your eye!"

The happy hour menu had a good selection of what Dolly-girl likes to call 'small plates' I suppose because they come on small plates. Dolly-girl went for a mermaid's splash and I'll tell you, it put a smile on all our faces 'cause she saw fit to share. Dixie and Delancy ordered up a trio of Asparagus Velouté, cowfeed, and an order of Murphies, roasted and served in what looked to me like red mayo, but Dixie said was a sauce rouille. I looked it up later. It means red mayo. I ordered up a bowl of clams, and I'm not talking money here. These babies were steamed in wine and garlic and some whatyacall Fines Herbs that did their job, I guess, cause they sure tasted fine. And, one of those Hop Lavas washed them down in Fines Style, too. At five clams a pop for the small plates, and a good price on the drinks, there wasn't any bad news when Missy dropped the bomb. We walked out of there a lot happier than the clams that didn't.

"See, Jack, Cocotte is a lot more than you realize." "I'm with you there, Dolly-girl. I suspect this is one French hooker that we'll be seeing a lot of..."

Circling the Northeast: Picking up the Strays

2011-06-12T13:27:00.000-07:00

I was just about to put my lips to the Oakshire Line Dry Rye that Bar-Am had set in front of me when the blower sparked. Being that the who-is-it on Dolly-girl's fancy eye-phone (® along with the rest of the world, by Steve Jobs) phone said "None of your Bizness," I had a pretty good idea who to expect on the other end of the line. "You got Jack, shoot." "Jackie-boy, are you OK?" I shot Bar-Am a glance. This was highly unusual. "Yep, fit as a fiddle..." "No Stradivarius, I'm here to tell you..." "and just about to wet a whistle that's dry as dust. Been out for a long waddle." "Are you at Radio Room?" "Of course, and since when don't you know where I am?" I saw Bar-Am reach up and touch her ear--Blue Tooth. "Yes. Yes, he's sitting right here. Just hopped a brew down the bar to him. ROGER. Just one."

He was back. "OK, we thought we were having troubles with the Boleyn's Eye View Sky Cluster (® Boleyn Enterprises). In fact, after your last few waddles, we had to send BE752SCT home on leave--he was getting dizzy." "BE752SCT?" "BE, you know what that is. 752SCT is technician 752 on the Sky Cluster. Anyway, he was having vertigo. We figured you'd found some way to confuse the system. Maybe have a coyote carry around the sensor in your...Oops, almost blew it there..." "Nope, just been rounding up strays. And besides, the coyote is on 19th." "Rounding up strays?" "Yep. That's what Bar-Am calls it. When she asked me where I was walking, I showed her the map I keep. There are a few streets that I always seem to miss so I started walking routes to pick those up. She calls it "rounding up strays." "Cute." "I think so." "You would." "So does she." "Hmm, note to self. Talk to Bar-Am about 'cute' sayings."

"Jackie-boy," his tone deepened, "I'm a little worried about all the waddling you are doing. It's been well over a month since the last time you had a day off. In fact, you've only missed 6 days in the last 86 and that counts days you were out of town "on cases" and days it was hosing rain. Perhaps you need to slow down a bit." "Whoa, now wait just a minute there Mister Professor..." "Just 'Professor' is fine, Jackie-boy, we aren't in Germany..." "Now didn't you tell me that waddling was something I was going to have to do the rest of my life? Didn't you tell me to buy and read your book, Living With Lard: Two-Stepping for the Rest of Your Life." "Well, yes on both." "And didn't you make me order an advance copy of your new book, Life and Lard Two Steps at a Time? "I did." "Well, Professor, you've done this to me so just back off, get your boy 752 some Dramamine, (©2011 Prestige Brands, Inc. All rights reserved.) and let me get on with the waddling." I drank down the rest of my beer, wiped the suds off my mustache, and set the glass on the bar. "Until next time, Bar-Am, I hear that 3-block dogie, Humboldt Street, cryin' in the sage brush. Time to saddle up." I could see one set, and hear two, of eyes rolling. "Catch ya later on down the trail...(© The Coen Brothers, The Big Lebowski)". "Calm down, Jack. You don't have a mustache, by the way, and knock it off with stealing lines from The Big Lebowski; you'll make me nuts." "Calmer than you are, Bar-Am..."

Both books mentioned are (© Boleyn Enterprises. Line Dry Rye picture © Oakshire Brewing)

Dispatch from the War on LARD!: 2 Pails Left Behind

2011-05-21T19:15:00.001-07:00

© Armour Star, no doubt
I strolled into Radio Room after a 12 mile urban waddle and settled into my usual stool. "Howzit, Jack?" "Good, Bar-Am, but I could use a little alone time, if you get my drift..." I couldn't miss the semi-hurt look on her kisser as she hopped down the bar with a pint of the good stuff. "Well, OK, I know where I'm..." I gave s shrug towards the good Professor's tap-cam. She gave me a wink and said, "You know, Agnes left one of her caps here and I need to hang it up where she can see it." Agnes is Aniela D'Ignacio--that's Angel of Fire in eye-talian, or eh-talian, as Dolly-girl would say--and she's one of the listen-to-what-she-says people around Radio Room. She's always got a nickel's worth of free advice (© Principal Strickland, Back to the Future, 1985) and it's good to listen to her. She's got her index digit on the pulse of Portlandia (© Raymond Kaskey, artist of the second-largest copper repoussé statue in the United States.) Bar-Am flipped the cap over a handle that was never pulled and gave me a nod. So that's where that cam is. "You know, Bar-Am..." She gave me the high sign so I shut my trap. She reached behind the bottle of Bulleit Bourbon Frontier Whiskey (©2009 Bulleit Distilling Company, Lawrenceburg, KY) and unplugged a hidden microphone. "OK, Jack. Good to go." "Roger, Bar-Am."

© Someone else as I copied it off Wikipedia
"I don't really need alone time, I just don't want to be talking to Professor Javier Boleyn today, of all days." "That 'cause of The Rapture, Jack 'cause I don't think it's gonna happen." "Naw, it's because today, after 293 days of the 2-Step Duh! Diet (© Boleyn Enterprises), I jumped on the scale and saw that I have lost 2 entire pails of LARD! Yep, 50 pounds of the stuff. Two-point-seven-three ounces per day for 293 days. I just want a day to not make a big deal of it and to not have him telling me 'It's not over Jackie-boy. You are still classified as 'overweight, just 0.6 BMI below OBESE'. You need to keep at it, Jackie-boy...' I just don't need that today. I don't need to be reminded that I still am a Sus scrofa domesticus over stocked with sub-cutaneous fat." "Jack, you got such a way with words. You mean you're still a fat hog!" I gave her a scowl. "More like 'still a LARD!-ass', Bar-Am."

© Someone else as I copied it off Wikipedia
"On it, Jack. You won't get it from me. Even though I am in league with Professor Boleyn, and of course, I have never had a weight problem myself as I most closely resemble a soda straw--a flex-straw, at that--I can appreciate that you just might want to sit here and have a beer..." "Or two..." "Or two--I could do that--and take a little pride in winning the War on LARD!

© Armour Star, no doubt
"Bar-Am, if it were only that easy. I've been fighting this battle for 45 years. The Battle of '67, the Skirmish of '79, the Conflict of '00, and now the War on LARD!--the mother of all Wars on LARD!" "What happened between '79 and '01 there Jack? Seems you skipped a beat." "Ah yes. You know, the usual, kids, tenure, divorce, hot, young girl friends. It all kept me fit. But, after I fell head-over-tea-cups for Fiora and accepted that she cottoned to me too, then it was down that slippery slope that is coated with the stuff--a different sorta Armour-all. Two-point-seven-three ounces per day goes on a lot easier and more pleasurably than it comes off." "I can imagine..." I knew she couldn't.

I hoisted the second beer just about the time my blower sparked. "That will be the Professor. Yallow. D'Mestiere Investigations." "Jackie-boy, is that you? The satellite cluster seems to be malfunctioning. Where are you?" "Radio Room, Professor. Having a second beer." "Is Bar-Am there?" "She gave her head a shake and I covered. "Nope. Substitute. She took the day off in case The Rapture was real." "Jack." His voice went to that deep place. "Jack, I've been trying to contact you all day to extend my congratulations. I was with another client this morning, but I reviewed the ScalE-mail (© Boleyn Enterprises) and see that you have reached a milestone. I offer my hearty, 'Well-done', but..." "Scratch, scritch...I think I'm losing you there, Professor.." "remember..." "...can't hear you...click. Lost him I guess. Damn Verizon." I flicked the blower to off. Bar-Am smiled and said, "This one's for you, Jack!"

Seriously, I do thank my talismans, Bill Clinton and Bill Nighy, my personal trainer, James Wimbish of Bo Weivel Lawn Maintenance, Bar-Am, Aniela D'Ignacio, and all the fun people at Radio Room who give me a place to walk to, Professor Javier Boleyn who, in real life, told me to eat less and move more, and Fiora D'Mestiere, the girl of my dreams.

4 Pounds from 2 Pails: A Stern Conversation with Professor Javier Boleyn

2011-05-07T16:48:00.000-07:00

"How do you do, Bar-Am?" "Howzitz, Jack?" "Well, if Itz is my feet..." "Are my feet. No excuse for bad grammar, Jack." "...Are my feet, they are barking dogs. Fill 'er up and hop a cold one down the bar there, will you pal-o-mine?" "On it."

I gladly took the cold one Bar-Am set in front of me, took a sip, and reflected on the day. It didn't start well.

It was 8 bells on the morning watch when the blower sparked. I was in the shower when Fiora yelled in the door, "Jack, it's Professor Javier Boleyn on the blower. Get on out here 'cause I have to head on out to that writers' thing I have to be at today." She put the blower down on the sink and I dripped on over to it. I didn't even get a chance to speak before..."Jack. Jackie-boy. What, oh what, is going on?" I played dumb. "And don't play dumb with me. You know what I mean--the ScalE-mail (® Boleyn Enterprises) tells no lies. You are still 4 pounds short of the goal you set months ago. This is getting ridiculous and I want it over soon--I'll give you 2 weeks." "But Professor, it's, it's..." His voice softened. "I know, Jackie-boy, You're moving a lot more than you used to." Then back to stern. "But, you've morphed my patented 2-Step DUH! Diet into Move More, Eat More! Now get your LARD-ass out there and do some walking." "Wail! I know I've been eating too much, but when I walk so much, I get hungry." "And thirsty, by all accounts..."

I headed out. It doesn't help that when I'm out waddling I have to waddle by a bunch of great feedbags which just makes me hungrier. Take this one, for instance. Cocotte, a great little bistro like the ones me and Dolly-girl ran into over there in France back when I was carrying a pail more than I'm carrying now. So I waddle by, but stop to read the whaddayawant and I'm pretty sure I absorb LARD! just by doing that.

So, I scoped out a route that would take me by as few places to eat as possible. It was a nice day for riding shank's mare, and before long, I was watching the Alara K get filled to the brim with wheat. Probably to turn into buns for thick, juicy cheeseburgers someplace...

I waddled on over to Union Station and took a stroll through the National Train Day events, including the annual exhibition of the Daylight 4449. Couldn't absorb any LARD! there, could I?

I looked around because I knew that the Boleyn's-Eye-View (® Boleyn Enterprises) satellite surveillance system would have me center-frame. I didn't see any signs, but gave the burger stand a wide berth anyway.

I turned and headed back over the river to the part of town where me and Dolly-girl set our brake when I happened to remember that it was Derby Day. Hmmm, where in the world might be a place to sit down and watch some nags run on a Hi-Def TV? Where might I be warmed and dried by a fake birch log fire? After some thought, say about the time it takes an axon to fire, it came to me. Radio Room.

The pictures below were taken of the TV. I suspect there is some sort of law against doing that so I will duly note that I was watching NBC at the time.

The sound of the TV and of Bar-Am asking which silks were carrying my purse snapped me back to reality like Sister Mary Kathryn's ruler on my knuckles. "Jack, where were you? Off in the ozone?" "Oh, I was miles away Bar-Am--maybe 5 miles away at one point." I did notice that while I might have been gone figuratively, I must have been there literally because the pint Bar-Am had delivered at the beginning of the reflection as pretty much gone. Meanwhile, the pomp of the circumstance was starting.

Yep, they were out of the gate with my favorite, and a favorite of a lot of others, Dialed In in the 8th position. Last I saw of him. Finished his number and changed his name to Dialed Back.

Animal Kingdom came on at the end and Ran for the Roses. "Well, Bar-Am, I guess I'll have another one of those tall cold ones to wash down the sting of defeat." "Jackie-boy..." That was a tip-off. "...we got a cable from COMBEPAC this morning..." "COMBEPAC?" "...that's COMmander, Boleyn Enterprises, PACific. Word's being spread that you might try to go beyond the beer you've earned. Some sort of push on, it said. Something about only 4 to go so get tough and stay tough. I guess that cable was on the money, even though Dialed In wasn't..." "Wail!"

"The wire had instructions for us, Jack. Do the loop again, and then come back for another. Sorry."

"I know, Bar-Am. You're just the messenger. C'mon dogs, saddle up. We got concrete to pound..."

Waddling Through the Third Rainiest April and the Coldest in 30 Years: 164.92 Miles on Stumptown Streets

2011-05-01T17:22:00.000-07:00

April's Done. 164.92 miles. If I'd only known, I would have walked to the corner and back. Hey, wait. One-sixty-four-point-nine-two doesn't count walking to the bus...OK, call it 165 miles!

Easter Brunch in Stumptown: Radio Room with the Kavanaghs

2011-04-24T12:49:00.000-07:00

"Jack, that was Kay on the blower. She and Mr. T have a mind to take in a brunch over at the Radio Room seeing as how it's Easter and Kay's missing her mother's special Easter Basket. What do you say we waddle on over there for a meetup and feedbag? I could use a couple blowout patches and a south-of-the-border huevos revolvos." "You know you don't have to ask me more than once if I'm up for birdseed at my favorite watering hole. If you're counting noses, mine is in the tent!"

We headed out on shank's mare, dodging raindrops, until we arrived at a place that will hit whatever spot you've got itching you. The Bingo Board was aglow, but I'm thinking the numbers were left from last week. Looked to my eye like I was the big winner and I don't mean I as in me as I, not as in B-I-N-G-O, wasn't there for the gaming last week. Too late in the day for me and Dolly-girl.

There was pretty good evidence that someone loved the drinks, or at least the drink menu. I mean, there was a clue not even Jack D'Mestiere could miss. I whistled up a Radio Mary from our soup jockey. "Want to make it yourself? We've got a DIY Bloody Mary bar in the bar." "Nah, I'd rather have someone who knows how to construct one do it for me." "On it." She was back in the blink of an eye--not my eye, but an eye, nevertheless, with a clue that someone in the other room knew their way around a bar.

We all ordered up and before long, the ups-and-downs of jaws replaced wagging tongues. I was there so I could tell you here that you can't beat Rancheros Mutantes--add a side of porker, cured and sliced. Here's what they look like 15 minutes on.

We waddled on out of there, happy as razor clams on a ebbing tide when the season is closed.

Waddling Towards Fitness: Update on a Beautiful Spring Day

2011-04-22T15:26:00.000-07:00

Well, I could sit around the office waiting for the blower to spark and Thelma to answer, and her to say, "Caper on line 1, Jack" and me to say, "Tell them I'm not in..." and for Thelma to roll her eyes at me like I could afford to turn down a case and for me to feel guilty and pick up the line and pretend to be a real gumshoe, or I could go outside in the sunshine, head out on shank's mare, and stop by the Radio Room where Bar-Am would serve me up an icy cold one and I would sit in the sun and drink it. Hmmm, what to choose. "Have a good weekend, Thelma. Enjoy that Easter ham. I got business on the other side of the river." "A good one to you and Fiora, too, Jack, and say hello to Bar-Am..."

And I could add to my mileage for the month.

Waddling Around Stumptown: The Concrete Beneath My Feet

2011-04-16T15:53:00.000-07:00

"Hey, Jack, what's your whistle whistlin' for today?" "IPA, Bar-Am. Can't argue with the way Dixie gets trilled with that, now can you?" "Well, I could, but I'm not gonna. I've got other drinks to make and brews to pour. Here's yours." I settled onto a stool and took a load off my barking dogs. It was a spring day in Stumptown, which lately differs from a winter day in that trees are blooming and yard art, in the form of a bowling-ball-beauty, is starting to make an appearance. But that's about the end of it. It may be spring on the daily minder and they may have set the clocks ahead, but it's been cold and wet. Gives a body a chill to the bone only a cold IPA can cure.

Bar-Am was killing time, filing her nails with an emery board and chewing on a toothpick, so I thought I'd tell her what I'd been thinking about. You see, I've been waddling all over Stumptown for a good time now--looking here and there and generally taking in the sights. But, without ever thinking about what I was walking on. Concrete, that's what. And some of it's been there for a Century and more. "So, Bar-Am, I'm on shank's mare, looking down to see what I can see, see? And I start wondering..." She shifts the pick from left to right and back again, sticks the emery board in the hip pocket of her jeans, leans forward on the bar on her elbows, puts her chin in her hands and says, "Do tell me, Jack. I'm all ears." And a pair of rolling eyes, I notice.

"Well first I was wondering about all the sidewalk contractors. Jeeze Louise there was a lot of them and they put their names right in the concrete along with the date." "Hmmm. I wish someone would order some drinks." "And in a few places, when they re-did the sidewalks, they took a piece with the old contractor's name and put it into the new sidewalk. I think that's nice when they do that--preserving the history, you know." I noticed Bar-Am poured herself a drink--had the look of a double brown whiskey on the rocks. She downed it. "Here's the one on my corner. I think it's Cochran Constrco, 10 2 29--just three weeks before the big market crash."

Just as Bar-Am was reaching to pour herself another, my blower--that portable one I carry in my pocket--sparked. "Yallow, D'Mestiere Investigations where "Your Trouble is No Trouble at All". "Jackie-boy, shut up. You are driving Bar-Am to drink and if you weren't on the first floor, she'd be crawling out the window to jump." I looked at her and she gave me the up and down. "Professor Bolelyn, wha, I mean, why, er..." "Shut up. Close your trap. I have a room full of technicians here at the control center of Boleyn's-Eye-View (® Boleyn Enterprises) satellite surveillance system and they are threatening to strike. No one wants to hear about concrete. By the way, you were caught on the Reflecto-Cam (® Boleyn Enterprises) earlier, near some very fattening locales...Is that raisin bread?"

"Well, Professor, I beg to differ. And I got a lot more to say about it. See, I've been developing this whole theory about the topology of concrete and why it breaks in some places and doesn't in others and I'm correlating breakage with the date of the pour and the contractor and..." "SHUT UP, JACK. This is sick. You are sick. Too much time on the streets. Perhaps Fiora is right and you should get a machine in your basement and watch old movies on VCR--yes, I know that Fiora retains the only VCR extant in the Northern Hemisphere for entertainment in the gym she envisions in the basement..." 'And then I've noticed, Professor...and Bar-Am... that there seem to be different approaches to dealing with concrete issues--har, get it, concrete issues. Down south of Broadway, they seem to patch whereas up here in our neck of the woods, they seem to replace. Now isn't that interesting?" "Bar-AM, I don't think it's safe to run that knife over your wrists like that.

Anyway, then I got to thinking about the similarities between walking on sidewalks and flying in airplanes." "They aren't similar, Jack." She spit the pick into the sink, picked up three olives out of the bin on the bar, juggled them for a few seconds, and then caught them in turn in her mouth. "They're as similar as beer and..." "Rocks." "Thanks, Professor. Beer and rocks." "No listen, here's 'Good afternoon, we're expecting a smooth flight today so I'll turn the seat belt sign off...'" I heard a groan over the phone. "Jack. Jack, you have to listen." Professor Boleyn's voice had dropped an octave, the way it always did when he was going into counseling mode. "And here's an air pocket. And light chop." "Jack. Jackie-boy. All this walking has worn holes in the bottom of your feet and your brains are draining right out on the floor!" "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HOLD ON TO YOUR HATS AND FASTEN YOUR SEAT BELTS TIGHT--THIS IS GOING TO BE ROUGH ONE!"

I heard Bar-Am's blower spark. "Yep, yep, can do. WILCO." I love it when she talks radio talk--hey, it is the Radio Room! "Jack, great story. Here's one on the house." She slid a glass in front of me. It was neon green and had a few vapors coming off of it, but it smelled good. "It's a specialty." I drank it down. A warm glow came over me. "Jackie-boy, are you there?" "Sure, Professor. Remember, I was telling you about waddling today and how I went to some new territory, out of my zone of operations, and how I saw some neon signs and a sign for a chicken cart with chicken that bites, but chickens don't bite, they peck..." "He should yammer like this for about 20 minutes and then be back to normal, Bar-Am. Send him home and tell him to take tomorrow off from walking. Oh, and if he tell you any stories about seeing coyotes in the city or starting a new business, it's just the potion talking." "ROGER. BAR-AM OUT."

Waddling Through March: The Results Are IN!

2011-03-31T19:04:00.000-07:00

158.3 miles on 26 walks--26 days out of 31. Take that, Professor Javier Boleyn!

Waddling Around Stumptown: Where Does the LARD! Go?

2011-03-27T15:41:00.000-07:00

Many of you readers have asked, "Jack, where the hell did all the LARD! go?" Well, one of you has asked that, and I have to admit, from time to time, I wonder that myself. I mean, it's just gone. You sure-as-sugar-on-a-powdered-donut don't see posters around town like this one either!

So, I got to thinking to myself and answering me out loud down at the Radio Room one day. I was trying to remember back to something I was supposed to learn in school three or four times, back when I was studying up for my private ticket. I wondered myself into a second IPA and when Bar-Am showed up, she was carrying the asked-for pint and an unwelcome phone. "It's for you, 'Jackie-boy'." She winked and handed me the blower.

"Don't say a word, Jack. There isn't one to say. I understand that you are on your second beer and you've only waddled 7.33 miles. Jackie-boy, what can I do?" "Well, er..." "It's a rhetorical question, Jackie-boy. Rhetorical. I can cajole, but I can't, no I won't coddle. You will or you won't lose that last pail of LARD! I can only advise." "Wail!" "OK, I can do a little more than that, I can answer your reader." "How do you know a reader asked..." "Facebook page monitoring, Jack--remember Boleyn's-Eye-View (® Boleyn Enterprises) satellite surveillance system? It monitors Facebook over your shoulder, Jackie-boy." "I'm cooked." "No, but you'll be baked-by-brew if you drink anymore of that high-powered beer!"

"I continue. That LARD! you've been losing doesn't just come off in chunks and end up in a frying pan, you know. You see, you have metabolized the LARD! to provide the energy to keep that LARD!-ass body of yours functioning. By creating a calorie deficit of about 3,600 kilocalories (what you non-scientists call 'calories') from your diet, you burn a pound of LARD! creating heat, CO₂, and water. So as Bill Nighy croons to you, LARD! IS all around you. It's more complicated than that and I'm making the assumption that you are eating a balanced diet so that you are not metabolizing muscle. So far, Jackie-boy, you've created a deficit of 162,000 kCal, so give yourself a pat on the diminished, but still substantial, remaining gut. To express it a different way, Jackie-boy, you've biochemically transformed enough LARD! to bring about 16.2 kilograms of water from freezing to a rolling boil!"

© probably scienceblog.com
"How does this happen, you ask? It's not eluted by beer, I'll tell you that. It involves lipolysis, glycolosis, ß-oxidation, the Kreb's Cucle, and the Electron Transport Chain. Once inside the mitochondrial matrix, fatty acids undergo β-oxidation. During this process, two-carbon molecules, acetyl-CoA, are repeatedly cleaved from the fatty acid. Acetyl-CoA can then enter the citric acid cycle, which produces NADH and FADH₂. NADH and FADH₂ are subsequently used in the electron transport chain to produce ATP, the energy currency of the cell. Thirty-six of those babies come out for every molecule of LARD!"

"Wow, that seems impressive!" I signaled Bar-Am for another tall cold one--after all, I was sounding like a biochemical wonder. She wagged her head from side-to-side, pointed up at a small camera over the bar, and suddenly, Professor Javier Boleyn's face appeared on the TV screen over the bourbon. In High-Def! "Remember, I work for him, Jack. Sorry." The professor's voice now filled the room. "TBC--The Boleyn Channel, a new enterprise, Jack. I continue, encore. Your waddling is admirable, Jackie-boy. I've seen you, or had reports from all over town."

I know you aren't letting any moss gather on your, ah, paths. And I notice that you respect the moss of others as well." "I try. I sort of like it when the moss grows in the street names that are embossed on the curbs. Some of those are more than 100 years old. They're replacing them now, but they still put the street names in the concrete and they put the date in too--so you know when it was originally done and replaced." "Quaint, I'm sure. What else have you observed?"

"Well, I'll tell you. I think people sell our town short in terms of its ability to attract fame and fortune. I waddled by this the other day, and I'll leave it to you to figure out who, other than the R. Starr of the Fab Four would be setting the brake on a Rolls in good old Stumptown, US of A!"

Wondering Around Stumptown While Waddling Towards Fitness

2011-03-12T17:45:00.000-08:00

I was sitting at the bar, resting my barking dogs and nursing a tall, cold one when the blower sparked. "RAY-dee-oh Room. You got Bar-Am, here. Yep. Yep. OK, JB, here he is. Jack, JB on the horn for you." "JB?" I thought. "Who is 'JB' and how would 'JB' know I'm here? Yallow, it's Jack." "Jackie-boy, you'd better get the thought of that second beer out of your mind." "Professor Boleyn? Wait, how come Bar-Am gets to call you...JB!?" "She's part of the team, Jackie-boy. A colleague. An important cog in the ever-grinding gears of Boleyn Enterprises (® Boleyn Enterprises). "She works for you?!" "Independent contractor, but a vital part of the Boleyn's-Eye-View--I'm calling it BEV, by the way-- (® Boleyn Enterprises) satellite surveillance system--ground-truthing, they call it in the remote sensing biz." "Yes, I'm familiar with the concept. What can I do you for, JB..." "A-HEM" "...I mean, Professor?" That's better, Jackie-boy. You are not part of the team. You are what we need to truth on the ground." "OK, as I asked, what can I do you for." "Cute, Jackie-boy, cute. 'Do me for...' Tell me what you did for yourself, Jack, and we can go from there."

"Well, Professor. I think you would be proud of me. It's been raining, and more was forecast, but, with your words buzzing around me like black flies in a Minnesota June, I grabbed my slicker and headed out. First up, on Overlook..." "Yes, I have a tracking record for you there..." "I saw this window in a pretty nice house with a wo-manakin dressed in a superhero costume, complete with a foundation garment over her top. Sorta made me wonder about Wonder Woman (© forever, DC Comics, I think). She's old enough to be having some memory problems..."

"What else you got for me Jackie-boy? I need more way-points to make sure the BEV Cluster (® Boleyn Enterprises) is working correctly." "Well, I've got this picture I took of a Google Map (® Google, Inc.) on my Blackberry (® Research in Motion)." "Good, good. Continue."

"After my head cleared from wondering about Wonder Woman, or her misdressed likeness, I started wondering again and this time I wondered what other wonders I might run into if I waddled far enough. So, when I got to a proverbial fork-in-the-road, which actually looked a lot more like the intersection of North Denver and Lombard, I happened to remember that the 31-foot-tall statue of Paul Bunyan, erected in 1959 to honor the then-giant timber industry AND Oregon's centennial, was in Kenton. I turned north and later, rather than sooner, I was there. While impressive, I have to say that it's not as impressive as the 49-foot-tall Paul at Trees of Mystery, California, which also features a 35-foot-tall, anatomically correct Babe the Blue Ox. Plus the checked shirt makes him look like the Manners Big Boy back in Ohio."

"OK, Jackie-boy, let's pick up the pace here. It's not like you are my only project. Plus, I've got tickets for a production of Cymbeline (© sometime around 1605, The Bard) that is set entirely in a basement studio apartment in Tuscaloosa, Alabama--I haven't got all day..." "OK, so after the wonderment of Paul, I saw this sign, which made me wonder who would actually admit that they wanted economy dentures, but then I realized that there were reasons, perhaps related to the new art of 'Sedation Denistry,' that could lead a loved one to be able to make a choice that, say, you might not make on your own..."

"Professor, by this time, as you might imagine, I was pretty hungry. So, it is with great pride that I tell you that I waddled right past the Nite Hawk, that was advertising a special DELICIOUS ROAST PORK DINNER. I did feel laser-beam-eyes focused on me, and a draining feeling inside me, as I trundled along." "Ah, yes, Jack, the BEV Appetite Tractor Beam (pat. pend. 2011 Boleyn Enterprises). It was a test of my latest system designed to aid those in need when temptation is strong. Another innovation fully described at http//:2stepduhdiet.com (© 2011 Boleyn Enterprises).

"I continued to waddle up to Alberta, and then to the Radio Room, from whence I speak to you now. So, that's the story. By the time I get home, and then waddled up to the supermarket with Dolly-girl.." "How is Fiora? Give her my regards, please." "Fine. Will do. ...to resupply with staples, you know, Finn Crisps, water, and air, I will have logged about 11.4 miles." "Good start, Jackie-boy. What's up tomorrow?" WAIL!

Beaumont-Wilshire: Where the Kids on Alberta Think We Live

2011-03-05T15:38:00.000-08:00

As you may know, me and Dolly-girl set our brake in the part of town that is just about smack-dab on the convergence of Woodlawn, Vernon, and Concordia--let's call in Woodnoncordia. Actually, I can call it anything I want since you don't care and are just wondering where I'm going with this anyway. Well, here's were I'm going. Beaumont-Wilshire. "Hey, Dolly-girl, I'm off on my waddle. See you in a couple hours." "Give my regards to Radio Room, Jack." I headed out the door, turned right, then left then right then left, and before you know it, I'd passed the Alberta Arts district, which is a young hipsters' hang-out and was in Beaumont-Wilshire, which is not, as evidenced by the sign to the left. This is where the young hipsters who hang out in the Alberta Arts district think me and Dolly-girl live.

Woodnoncordia is close to the Alberta Arts district. That's where you see things like in the Kodaks to the left. Not things like "The Arrangement."

Beaumont-Wilshire's got themselves one of those Starbucks places that you definitely do not, and I mean DO NOT see in the Alberta Arts district, thank the Lord. I did notice that they had a couple joints like what you might of seen where Dolly-girl set the brake on her pram. And I noticed that they have a joint that is making beer and selling it too.

I turned left and waddled south from Beaumont-Wilshire past rows of neat houses with Subarus and Hondas, you know, the sort of houses and cars that the young hipsters in the Alberta Arts district think me and Dolly-girl live in and drive but which we don't. Before long, I was down the ridge and into what people in Portland call the Hollywood District, I think because there is a giant movie marquee that says "Hollywood" rather than because they make movies and have a lot of stars hanging around. Anyhoo, Hollywood is where you go if you want to find someone who knows how to plant you the old fashioned way--The Ross Hollywood Chapel, which is just another way to say Funerals and Cremations, which it says in the small print on their sign. I never realized that the two were, what would Dolly-girl call it, umm, mutually exclusive. Yes, that's what she would say.

I waddled on down Sandy Boulevard, noticing the extent of what I call "urban fragmentation" but I'm pretty sure people who study "urban fragmentation" don't. By "urban fragmentation" I mean how you can end up with a bunch of short blocks and wide streets and crossing lights that really slow a waddler down when a guy is trying to maintain a 4 mile-per-hour pace. I'm not sure what all those scholarly papers on "urban fragmentation" are about...

I saw a few more interesting things, like this guy whose job it is to dress up like the Statue of Liberty and wave a sign at people to try and get them to just stop in to have their taxes done on a whim I guess. I didn't stop. Didn't look like anyone else was either. Not a heck of a lot of resemblance between the tax-service guy and La Liberté éclairant le monde, but it made me really glad that I didn't have his job. Might have been a her, but I think it was a guy based on the fact that he put the "OPEN EARLY" sign down upside down while adjusting his rays and I think a girl would have put it down right-side-up. Just a gut feeling. Statue of Liberty photo © somebody else on Wikipedia

I waddled past Tony Starlight's, subject of a previous writing of mine, and the place where me and Dolly-girl and some others are headed on St. Paddy's Day.

Finally, I'd waddled full circle and was right back to the Alberta Arts district where the young hipsters don't think we live near to but we do. I was cruising along, headed for that pot-o-gold known as India Pale Ale at the end of the Radio Room Rainbow when my eyes spied something and my head jerked around like I'd been hit with a left hook. I knew Dolly-girl took that Banksy movie to seriously...

Dispatch from the Beluga Slim Fitness Center: Waddling Through February

2011-02-27T14:33:00.000-08:00

The blower sparked. Dolly-girl was right on it seeing as how she'd been talking Long Distance to Inebriata Beech about this and that. "Yallow. Yep. Yep. And a howdy-do right back at you. Hold the line. I'll get him. JACK, it's Professor Javier Boleyn--he wants to talk to you." Jeesh, this could only be bad news for me.

"I'm with you, Professor, Jack D'Mestiere here. In the flesh..." I knew I shouldn't have said it as soon as I heard me say it. Talk about stepping into it.

"Yes, and still too much flesh, Jackie-boy. But we'll get to that shortly."

"Are you near a computer, LARD!-butt--I mean Jackie-boy?" "I am, Professor." "Good, log in to your personal page at http://2stepduhdiet.com." "I have a personal page?" "Of course, Jackie-boy. I provide all the latest expected services, even though people don't need them, nor do they use them once they have them. Are you there?" "It's asking me for a UserID and password." "Jackieboy, no hyphen, and LARDbGONE, all caps except the b." "OK, I'm there. Wow, what's that map?" "That, Jackie-boy, is a plot of all the walking you did in February--well, it doesn't show two walks while you were on travel, but they were insubstantial. I must say, Jackie-boy, you walked a lot this month. 98.02 miles, to be exact! Congratulations, you really did 'Move More', one of the two critical steps."

"Wow, Professor, how do you do this?" "Space age technology, my child. I know your every movement thanks to the Transpond-r-Nuts (® Boleyn Enterprises) that I have Fiora slip into the bag of tamari almonds you keep at hand. Thankfully, you generally gobble them down so quickly you don't bother to chew--molars can be harsh on the little gadgets. Yes, Jackie-boy, the Boleyn's-Eye-View (® Boleyn Enterprises) satellite cluster records your location, pin-pointed by GPS and maps it using a patented Google Earth (® Google, Inc.) based application, Where's My LARD! (® Boleyn Enterprises). I see you waddled by a freezing fountain at NW 10th and Everett--isn't that the Lawrence Gallery (© Lawrence Gallery)? That's a coincidence..."

He continued, "Now, speaking of LARD!, how goes it? You're still looking a bit like a fluffed up gull on a cold day." "Well, I, er, I, um, er, I lost about 5 pounds of LARD! in February." I waited for the inevitable... "Well, I echo the words of Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD, Jackie-boy. Good Start. Keep it up. You'll get there. And, by the way, now's a good time to pay your monthly membership fee. I accept PayPal (Copyright © 1999-2011 PayPal. All rights reserved.) at http://2stepduhdiet.com

"Oh, by the way, your Cap-Corder (® Boleyn Enterprises) recorded this little number while documenting a distinct increase in the pace of your waddle. Care to enlighten me?" "First glimpse of Radio Room (®©™ Radio Room), of course." "Groan. Keep it up LARD!-ass. I'll be calling again soon."

Waddling in Disgust: America's Collective Intelligence

2011-02-21T14:05:00.001-08:00

I heard Dolly-girl at her computer. "Harumph!" "What?" "Wha-the? Double HARUMPH!" "What's it, Dolly-girl?" As soon as I said it I knew I should't-a said it. "You know I don't like that name. I know YOU think of me as that name, but I'm Fiora, which is a perfectly good name and now you've got other people calling me that name too."

"OK, OK, Fi-OR-a. But what's got your Vics in a knot? It's not being called Dolly-girl--oops, I mean that name." "It's this, Jack. Did you see this? This makes me gag and hurry to book an exodus from these United States of America. Just look here, it says, based on some sort of poll of idiots--I mean Americans--that Ronald Reagan is considered by Americans to be the greatest of the presidents." "Hmmm, it also says George W. Bush is in the top 10..." "Oh, puleeezzzze. Hello, Azumano Travel?"

© probably politicsdaily.com

I figured I'd better get out of the house while the getting was good. "Headed out on shanks mare to waddle some LARD! off the bones, Dol...Fiora. See you in a couple." "HARUMPH!" Besides, I had my own harumphing to do--while cleaning up computer files, I'd come across a previous War on LARD! There have been many in my life. The last one began on February 6, 2000 and by July of that year, I had almost reached my goal of 2 pails of LARD! lost. I didn't think of it as LARD! then--I think I was thinking of it as sacks of water softener salt...

It was a nice spring day so I set out with a lilting gait--wait, when anyone is still carrying as much LARD! as Jack D'Mestiere, there is no such thing as lilting. OK, Take 2. It was a nice spring day so I set out with my normal lumbering gait to see what I could see.

First up? Flowers. Yep, it's spring in Stumptown even if it's not in other parts of the country, such as the east, where Libretto and Anna-Maria are freezing their pitoots off, what ever a pitoot is.
© Accuweather, I'm guessing

I always keep my eye open for likely spots that could provide shelter in case of nuclear attack, earthquake, volcanic eruption, or other major disaster that would lead me to want to stop waddling and start drinking. Wait, it hardly takes a natural disaster to do that! This particular joint, along with a very clever name, had a sign me and Dolly-girl (she's back home so I can call her that now) like to see. You see, we take an active interest in the "yoot of 'Merica" and believe that there's nothing they can learn by hanging out with us, the "non-yoot." But, most "yoot", and based on that poll Dolly-girl was HARUMPHING! about, most of the rest of 'Merica would look at the sign and say, "I ain't no minor, I work above ground."

Next up, a store front that got a guffaw out of old Jack. You see, Inebriata, our bowling buddy, sometimes uses a false moniker of Leslie and there was a time, oh, say a few weeks ago, when Les reminded us that she could sure make parties happen...Now, I'm not claiming in any way, shape, or form that Dolly-girl, me, and Cuco weren't in on it, but Inebriata, now that gal can make a party happen!

Finally, I filed this away for future reference as you never know that if Jack would somehow manage to land a case, D'Mestiere Investigations might need a sub-contractor to do some of the more, what should we say, competent work? Clever name, again.
7.78 miles after I left, and after a stop at the Radio Room to wet a whistle that was in serious need of wetting, I opened the door to "HARUMPH!"

PS, Doll--I mean Fiora--and I went out for a stroll this afternoon, adding another 2.45 miles for a grand total of, let's see, 8 and 5 are 13, carry 1, 7 and 4 are 11 and 1 is 12, carry one, 7 and 2 is none cary 1, that's 10.23 miles...

A Sunny Saturday in Stumptown: Willfully Waddling for Weight Loss

2011-02-19T16:55:00.000-08:00

"With the sun beating down like this in February, Dolly-girl, I just gotta get out for an extendo-waddle. You know, a Beluga Slim Special! I'll see you at Radio Room at 3!" "I'll be there or I'll be square, daddy-o! Take your blower, Jack, in case I decide I need you to pick something up at my dealer's place when you walk by." Dolly-girl's developed an addiction.

I took off and wound my way around here and there. I stopped by a guy's I know, name of Fred. Got some ink for the monk that prints out Dolly-girl's verses.

I made it to Dolly-girl's dealer in not too long an order. What I call Fiora's Crack Dealer, others know as Kettleman's Bagels. Kettleman's has the real thing--a real New York bagel. By the time I got there, it was too late. I poked my head in the door. "She's already been here, Jack. I know, she's outta control, but there was no stoppin' her on the 2-fer and a couple of cans of schmear. She was outta here like a shot--said she was headed home to do one quick." "Thanks, Pal-o-Mine--I know where to find her, curled up in a corner, drooling..."

I waddled on, giving Dolly-girl time to come down before I called her. People were out playing softball in the sun. It made me feel good to know that the National Pastime's time is just around the corner.

Speaking of corners, at least from time to time, I got to pause and take a breather. When you waddle at the rate I try to maintain, it's good to see the light go from Walk to Weight, I mean Wait, so as I can have a little break.
Finally, I was closing in on my goal. I saw Dolly-girl down the street with that look she only gets after she's toasted a half an Everything and slathered it. She was weaving like a Charleston basket-maker.

We went in and i ordered a coupla tall, cold ones. I could tell she was starting to come down, but I knew Sunday morning would see her up early, digging in her bag, and hovering over the toaster.

Me, I had them hit it again, knowing that there was no way to live with someone whose got the taste that bad. She was already jonesing--"Maybe tomorrow it will be an onion with a salmon schmear..." The good news for me? Rack up an 8.98 mile waddle!

Dispatch from the Beluga Slim Fitness Center : Cold Beer Tastes Great on a Cold Wet Day

2011-02-18T17:49:00.001-08:00

Especially when one is Waddling Towards Fitness on a Friday afternoon ...

Dispatch from the Beluga Slim Fitness Center: Going & 11th Could be a Geaux for the Devereaux

2011-02-12T16:10:00.000-08:00

Ever since I decided to join the Beluga Slim Fitness Center ©2011 D'Mestiere Investigations, daily exercise has become inviolate. Believe it or not, my motivation is even enhanced since I invented Shanks Mare Realty ©2011 D'Mestiere Investigations. Today was no exception. Dolly-girl handed me an order to fill at the grocers and I was off.

While waddling along, I spied this at the corner of Going and NE 11th. It has a great AASDF--Alberta Arts Striking Distance Factor ©2011 Shanks Mare Realty and D'Mestiere Investigations --of 8.76 (where 1 is far away or within the nuisance factor) and 10 is 6 blocks away, meaning that you get some exercise going there. Its Radio Room Quotient ©2011 Shanks Mare Realty and D'Mestiere Investigations --Time in minutes it takes to walk to Radio Room/Time in minutes it takes to consume a beer-- is 0.25 which is outstanding. Now, I don't know the details other than someone is trying to sell it and there's an open house tomorrow, but it's a place I could see Claudette and Delancy setting their brake.

Anyway, today I was good. I waddled 4.1 miles. Unfortunately, I forgot my water bottle ;) so I had to stop along the way. I sidled up to the bar in a joint--an unfamiliar movement for me. "Could I just get a glass of water?" "Sorry, we're out." "Club soda?" "Don't carry it." "Tonic?" Do I look British?" "Wail, I'm sooo thirsty." "Well, in front of you stands a DTM." "DTM?" "Doctor of Thirst Mitigation. May I be of service?" "Well, Doc, I know you aren't Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD, but what's your prescription?"

He looked me up and down, headed to his work area, and was back in a flash. "Rx: IPA x H2O" "Whatha?" "An innovative and pleasant alternative to water. Thanks for having your prescription filled at Radio Room!"

Dispatch from Stevenson, Washington : Waddling to Walking Man

2011-02-09T18:24:00.001-08:00

Stevenson doesn't have a heck of a lot to recommend it. The Empire Builder
runs through town. There's a feedbag or two. And, there's the Walking Man
brewery. Best beer in Washington. One of the best there is. And I got to
walk here. Waddling Towards Fitness the Beluga Slim Way!

Unlikely Allies in the War on LARD!: The Devereauxs and Radio Room

2011-02-08T19:16:00.000-08:00

There was good news at the scale today, so I reviewed what I did yesterday to lead to that good news today. Two unlikely things clicked. As some know, friends of me and Fiora's are cogitating on moving up here to Stumptown from down The Valley. Me and her are all for Dixie and Delancy Devereaux getting their bumpki up here ASAP. And, as others know, Jack, in the form of me, myself, and I, have been waging a War on LARD! since August 1 of the last year. I speculated recently that I could couple the Beluga Slim Motivational Program with Professor Javier Boleyn's patented 2-Step DUH! Diet to achieve the results I seek by, in essence, Waddling for Beer. Well, tonight it hit me while I was rewarding myself for a successful day at the feed bag AND a 3.72 mile waddle (that's 393.98 calories burned, by the way). I invented Shanks Mare Realty. I will search neighborhoods for suitable housing for the Devereauxs while waddling for beer, thus Waddling Towards Happiness!

Waddling Towards Fitness: Relax=Relapse...

2011-01-30T16:01:00.001-08:00

[singsong] Do-do-do-do-do; do-do-do-do-do-do. "What tha? It says Professor Javier Boleyn wants to have a video chat?"

"Professor?" "Jackie-boy, glad I caught you in." "Professor, I never expected..." "Never expect anything from me, Jack. However, I sense my reputation is at stake and I must intervene." "How so, Professor? Didn't you see the wonderful results of my visit to Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD?" Indeed, I did, Jackie-boy. That's why I'm calling. I can assure you that whatever mild encouragement the good doctor offered, you have exceeded its intention."

"Well, wait just a goll-durned minute here, Professor..." "No, you wait, Jackie-boy. What did you have for dinner on Friday after your visit to the good doctor?" "Pasta." "And?" "And nothing. Pasta. Not much of it and one serving." "And...a mote of bread, Jack. The dining room cam recorded it." "Dining room cam?" "Seems that you had a Coffee Crisp as well." "It is the world's best candy bar...light and crispy, coffee and chocolate..." The professor's stern look was not lost in the video chat box.

"And, after grocery shopping at New Seasons on Saturday--by the way, your choices were healthy, although I question the case of wine--the Traffic Cam on Alberta and 27th detected you walking west on Alberta. Did you go to the Radio Room?" "I certainly did not..." "No, that's correct. You went to Mash Tun instead." "OK, so I stopped for a pint." "And?" "And nothing." "If you call nothing, a pint of Total Domination, a taster of FaLaLa, and a glass of the same." "Wha?..." "Tap Cam, Jackie-boy, the Tap Cam recorded it all."

He continued. "The Kitchen Cam recorded the following two scenes later yesterday afternoon. I believe that is your hand holding an olive corn chip..." "I had one...er, two. They're good. Wail!" "And that is clearly your ring finger wrapped around a bottle of Celebration." "Wail! Is there no escaping you?"

"Jackie-boy, Professor Javier Boleyn did not attain his stature by running a lax organization. My reputation is at stake at every turn. It is incumbent upon me to monitor those who accept the 2-Step DUH! Diet as their life style. It's far too easy for some slacker to start claiming that my method doesn't work, so I have an individualized monitoring program for each and every 2-Stepper. For instance, the Boleyn's-Eye-View Cam--that's what I call my patented satellite surveillance system--caught you at 16th and Klickitat on your waddle. Good pace, by the way, you worked up quite a sweat." "And how do you know that?" "The perspiration detection nanofibers in your Kielbasa Festival T-Shirt uploaded to the Boleyn Star Cluster--those are my satellites." "Wail!"

"So let's get back to the matter at hand, Jackie-boy. Last evening, the D'Mestiere Tracking Module recorded you entering and leaving the Portland City Grill..." "Dolly-girl and I went for a drink..." "Yes, you had a martini with, I believe, 4 olives, although it's not clear from the bar cam. Fiora had white wine." "Well, there's a tough guess." "Don't get snippy, Jack. It was a sauvignon blanc, New Zealand, if the system is working..."

"You were next spotted waddling into Little Bird, a hip new bistro on 6th. Really, Jackie-boy, walking right in front of the TriMet bus stop cam? You make my job so easy...I continue. The salt-shaker-cam recorded a pork chop with cabbage galette, and a bacon apple relish." "It was delicious." "So I hear. And, white beans and parslied ham salad." "Wait, I split whose with Dolly-girl!" "Yes, I'll give you that." "How do you know?" "After-action report filed by the waitress. Did you really have to pick up the chop bone and gnaw on it, Jackie-boy?" "It was good. I didn't have dessert, though." "Define dessert, Jack. In the 2-Step DUH! Diet, cognac clearly falls in the dessert column." "Wail!"

"Continuing along, as I must do, in spite of your mournful wailing, the Cup & Saucer Cam reported that you and Fiora, possibly accompanied by the Kavanaghs--they are a marvelously trim couple, Jack; I'm glad to see you in their company as perhaps their habits will rub off; I understand they are joining a gym--entered the fabled breakfast, how do you call it?--Joint--and left about 90 minutes later. That's 90 minutes of trouble for you, Jackie-boy." "Wail!"

"I will spare no effort to assure that you do not spoil my reputation with what can only be described as a 'Relax=Relapse Moment', Jackie-boy. That's why I am sending you, at no additional charge, a copy of my latest book: Trundle On: Tales of 2-Step Dieters, personally autographed by my assistant, but with my name."

With that, Professor Javier Boleyn ended the chat and left me to my own wailing. What could I do but head out, waddling towards who knows what. Back to the front in the War on LARD!, but now knowing that my every move is watched and recorded. I'm sure the Radio Room fire pit cam caught me looking longingly as I walked by, but I walked by, determined to soldier on. Wail!

Wellness on Alberta Redux: Will Waddle for Beer!

2011-01-22T17:28:00.000-08:00

"I'm headed out, Dolly-girl--don't expect me back before an hour before Old Mister is over the yardarm..." What a beautiful day for a waddle in Stumptown. With Professor Javier Boleyn's words ringing in my ears (might as well be his words, something is ringing in my ears all the time at my age), I headed out. Six-point-oh-seven miles later, I parked my carcass at Radio Room and ordered a tall cold one. "Have a tall cold one hop over here!" "Roger, Jack."

An hour later I was checking in with my personal coach, Professor Javier Boleyn. "OK, professor. I waddled 6.37 miles today." "Very good, Jackie-boy. Did you stop at the Radio Room?" "I did." "Based on your prescription, you were were entitled to 0.778 pints of beer. Hmm, that's strikingly close to the 0.8 pounds that a pint of LARD! weighs...Anyway, did you stay on track?" "Well, er, ah. Well, for the sake of Sam, Professor, a guy can't order 0.778 pints of beer. I had an entire pint. I owe you." "Did you stop anywhere else?" "What if I did? You said I could have 2 pints at Radio Room if I waddled 16.63 miles..." "Jackie-boy?" "Well, you didn't say I couldn't stop at Mash Tun for another..." "Why, oh why, am I wasting my brain as a personal coach? Wail!" "Get over it Professor. Can I buy you a beer?"

Wellness on Alberta: A New Strategy in the War on LARD!

2011-01-19T23:06:00.000-08:00

Nervously, my fingers dialed the blower. 1-800-2Bad-4Yu. Lots of clicks as the dial returned to the home position. "Jackie-boy?" "Wha, whatthe? Professor Boleyn, how did you..." "I screen, Jackie-boy, I hate to tell you, but I screen." "Screen?" "A modern technique, Jack. Have Thelma teach you about it." "I thought I would get your service." "Well, every once in a full moon, I take pity on what I would call, but I doubt you would, being one yourself, a pitiful soul. What can I do for you Jackie-boy?"

"Professor Boleyn--Javier, may I call you Javier?" "No, you may not. The only person who sells books by letting people call her by her first name is Oprah! and I am decidedly not Oprah! Continue." "Professor Boleyn, I have embarked on a new Wellness Program! It's part of my War on LARD!..." "Which, if I recall from your tedious blog postings, has been mired for some time, no?" "Yes. That's why I have a new Wellness Program!" "Hmmm, I never realized you had an old one. Continue."

"I decided instead of just sitting home and drinking beer, I would walk to the Radio Room..." "Say, isn't that that hip bar-restaurant near where you and Fiora--what is it you call it? 'Set the Brake'--another quaintness I could do without. What does she see in you, I wonder..." "...and drink a couple beers there and then walk home. It's the Beluga Slim Wellness Program."

"Do I recall correctly that Beluga Slim is retired? And is it not true that he eats one meal a day that consists of air, washed down with water? And further, doesn't he walk 12 miles a day in order to drink 4 beers?" I admitted, all true.

"OK, let me run the numbers on your 'Wellness Program'...OK, I completely approve of your stop at the Radio Room, as I understand its hip appeal, though I'm surprised they let you in the door. Your limit there is 2 alcoholic beverages served in standard quantities--no 'Say, a pitcher of martinis would be 1 drink if I drank it from the pitcher, right?' Here is your prescription."

"Javier...I mean Professor Boleyn, this prescription requires me to walk 13.71 miles before stopping at the Radio Room!" "Well, I don't care if it's before, during, or after, but you must walk 13.71 miles."

"Are you sure? Check the numbers! I walk past 3 gyms, 3 yoga studios, and a Pilates place just on my way there!" "You question Professor Javier Boleyn? OK, hand it over and I'll subject it to my Quality Assurance Program. Yes, yes, yes. Wait, do you pass any restaurants? You do? 3 high end breakfast joints, 2 Italian places, 2 pizza shops, 3 Thai places, an Argentinian place, a Southern bistro, and a French bakery. What, 4 bars, a brew pub, and a biscuit place? A whiskey bar and a vegan restaurant--a wash there...You're right. Here's the corrected prescription. 16.63 miles."

"Wail and whoan. How shall I ever pass muster with Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD?" "She approves of this calcuation." "What, you and Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD?" "In league." "Wail!"

Wednesday Evening in Stumptown: Plenty of Bar Space @ Radio Room!

2011-01-19T18:29:00.001-08:00

Dolly-girl working the Word Game. Decided to do Wellness. More at Waddling
Towards Fitness soon. Meantime, hows about a couple cold ones @ Radio Room?
ROGER OUT!

A Couple Nights With the Beeches: Tracking Down Trouble on Whidbey Island

2011-01-18T19:52:00.000-08:00

A jab in the ribs woke me up from a dream where me and Mike Nelson were fighting to keep bad guys from cutting our air hoses. I woke up with what you, or at least you if you were some people, would call a start. But instead of Sea Hunt, it was Dolly-girl, looking like Cherry in Mark Trail, all perky and such, saying, "You know, Jack, I think it's time we pointed the roadster north and did a check-in with Dania and Leo Beech." "Waa, wha? I couldn't hear you for the bubbles..."

Well, when Dolly-girl sets her cap for a visit with Dania, there just ain't no sayin' nevermind if you get my drift. We packed up the Nash and headed towards the ferry boat that takes a car, driver, and passenger to Whidbey Island for a sawbuck and a quarter. I have to admit, I don't mind the trip and there's hardly anybody that makes a couple feel more at home than the Beeches. They are a couple of nuts without the spiny husks...

Dolly-girl gave them a jangle on the blower so by the time we pulled into their place, they were expecting us and by that I mean they'd laid in what we would call a goodly supply of potables and what others would describe as a some things to wet one's whistle. And it's a good thing, 'cause after that drive, my whistle was whistling "There ain't no beer in heaven, that's why we drink it here..."

Still, we didn't want to just pull up, hit the klaxon, and announce our arrival, so we sort of sneaked up to a window. I looked, and quick turned my back, yelling to Dolly-girl we'd caught Dania in an immodest moment. "Impossible. I've known that girl since she was a girl and there's no such thing as a modest moment for Dania Inebriata-Beech!" "Inebriata?" "Sure, didn't I ever tell you that was her maiden name?" "But never mind that--you need to get some specs, Jack. That there is a trinket jar that Dania's Aunt Heleneaux left her. She was quite the gal and knew there was only one gal that would appreciate that gal on the jar. Inebriata." I couldn't disagree with that.

Turns out, Leo and Dania had planned a get together with some other islanders and it sure was fun. Actually, it looks from the table like it was even more fun than any of us remembered the next morning although when you feel the way some of us did the next day you must have had a lot of fun the night before to account for the snarling through the wave that happens for no good reason if you get my drift.

But, you know, after a nice day of walking in the woods, whistling a happy tune, and maybe having a beer or two, what seems like the perfect activity on a moonlit night? BOWLING! Yes, fortunately, Ebey Bowl has re-opened to the joy of many Coupevillians, including Leo & Dania Inebriata-Beech. So, the four of us headed down there because what better activity when one of us had been taking a lot of ibuprophen (I won't say who it was because a certain wave will be snarled through) than bowling, some drinks, and a garlic pizza? Turns out nothing better, or at least nothing better that we tried until we tried drinking a lot of wine later as we did the post-game on the whole bowling thing.

Ebey Bowl is prepared to take you back to the old days. Bowling jackets, leagues forming, 6 lanes, beer, mixed drinks. Dang. Everything you need to have a night of family fun, and there were families there having fun.
Dolly-girl checked out the whaddaya-want and ordered us up some drinks and more. Missy brought them right to us, lane-side, in a jiffy so as it didn't interfere with our ability to focus on our games.

Dolly-girl started right off throwing rocks and, before long, we were all following suit. By the second game we were scratching our noggins about just what it was that was so challenging about this dang sport.

There's 10 pins and 10 frames, and we were getting scores that were awful close to 100. And we weren't even knocking them all down. I figured it was like that chemistry class I took when I was getting my Forensics ticket--70 out of 100 was what you needed. I don't know why they asked us if we wanted tubes put in the gutters, whatever those are. Hey, if they don't want to scrape leaves off the roof in the fall, go ahead and put something in there.

About half-way through the night, nature called, and I discovered the goods and bads of Ebey Bowl. They had The King overlooking a scale. Dang. They would have to go and remind me after I'd had a couple of brown bottle specials and some garlic pizza, that this weekend might not be exactly what Professor Javier Boleyn had in mind as "Eat Less, Move More" in the 2-Step DUH! Diet. Fortunately, I couldn't figure out what coins were needed so I just had to ignore the weigh-in during this caper. But, as I walked past Elvis on the way back to the lane 4, I could picture Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD looking over her glasses if she wore them, saying, "Jack, Jack, Jack. Pizza and beer is not a diet either I or Professor Boleyn would recommend for you." "Yeah, well, neither are whole-wheat donuts at Gibson's, you Obie, you..." Smack. The bowling ball hit my middle like a potato pancake the day after the kielbasi festival. Dolly-girl. "Don't you be mouthing about my alma ma-ter like that..."

Well, I'm at the end of this story, but I'm here to tell you that I was there so I could tell you here that if you happen to be in Coupeville on Whidbey Island and you want some good fun, head on over to Ebey Bowl. Tell them Jack sent you. It won't get you anything special, but it sounds pretty good, eh?

Violence in America, Fomented by Part-Termer Sarah Palin

2011-01-09T17:21:00.000-08:00

We went to a play this afternoon and I spotted this in the playbill. Put in the context of the murders and attempted assassination of a Congresswoman in Arizona, the statement by SarahPAC staffer Rebecca Mansour is not just ridiculous, it's insulting. She has been defend-tweeting Former Part-Term Governor Sarah "Don't Retreat--Reload" Palin since the tragedy took place, and is stating that the crosshairs were not meant to be gun sights. She was aided and abetted by Tammy Bruce. By the way, two of her three book titles contain the word assault.

Quoting from coverage on The Huffington Post: "We never ever, ever intended it to be gun sights," she said in an interview with talk radio host Tammy Bruce Saturday. "It was simply crosshairs like you'd see on maps." Bruce suggested that they could, in fact, be seen as "surveyor's symbols." Mansour added that "it never occurred to us that anybody would consider it violent"

I guess this play is about surveying a cat...

An Afternoon in Stumptown: Looking for Trouble in a Couple Right Places

2011-01-08T16:25:00.000-08:00

A little known fact--until 1900 the bulk of the salt used in the United States came from Syracuse. Mayor Stephanie Miner, pictured below, attended high school in Homer, NY where she was president of her senior class and voted "Most Likely to Succeed." At age 41, as a lawyer, a former aide to a governor, and the first female mayor of Salt City, it would appear that she is on her way...
Every now and again, by which I mean every once in a while, or every so often or from time-to-time, or...well, I think you're getting the Kodak I'm trying to snap, or the Van Gogh I'm trying to paint, or the Picasso I'm sketching, or...well, I'm rambling here a little bit maybe, you know, beating around the bush, or how shall I say it, taking a slow boat to get from there to here. Where was I. Ah, yes. From time-to-time, D'Mestiere Investigations brings the chiefs of our branch offices into HQ for some refresher training. This week, Libretto "Books" D'Mestiere, Chief of our Salt City, New York office, is in town for a refreshment, I mean a refresher.

Refreshment, I mean Refresher Training, involves checking out Stumptown Establishments to see if we can spot Trouble in his hangout. Today we decided to check out a couple of spots known for having a taste for brewing what some people call beer, but what we at D'Mestiere Investigations call beer. We pulled into Hopworks Urban Brewery to see if Trouble likes his IBUs. He does.

We headed in the door, expecting the worst. We were disappointed. A couple bar stools found there ways under our butts and next thing you know, Missy was asking us if a cold one might hit some spot or the other. We gave him the up and down. "Give me one that's been to the sub-continent and draught it the way the Limey's do." "Your's matey--and for you?" "I'd like to make a day of it--ESB it will be." "On it." The joint's got a thing about bikes, including the Beer Bike. The lights above the bar look like a graveyard for bikes that have lost their momentum...

Missy was back in a flash with the cold ones. They were mighty tasty--as advertised. It was pretty clear to us by the time we were halfway though what had been set in front of us that there were a lot of things brewing at this urbane hop works, but Trouble wasn't one of them. We finished up, dropped Alex on the bar to cover the tab and there was enough left over to keep Missy in bar aprons for a while.

We both decided a darker place might be a better place, albeit darker and therefore harder to look, to look for Trouble. And how could Trouble not hang out in a place called "Horse's Ass." Wait, what's that Books? Oh, Horse Brass. Well, it's dark at least. We made friends with a couple stools. Missy was busy moving some full kegs in to replace empty kegs that may have been full on Friday, but weren't after Friday night. "You guys looking for anything in particular?" "Beer," we both said with an up-and-down. "Got any?"

I knew he did 'cause I could see the handles over his shoulder. Besides, Beluga Slim had given me a tipster's tip that this place was worth the stop and I was guessing he wasn't going to be wrong. But, I asked anyway. "Can a fella get a brew in here?" Missy gave a little smile and then tossed a card down. "Here's the regulars, boys."

Then a blue piece of paper made its way in front of our noses. "And here's the guest taps. Let me know if you see anything at all that might tempt your tasters." He walked away and gave us some time to, as Dolly-girl likes to say, study the options. We studied like Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD for the medical boards. Missy was back and we were ready this time. "What will it be?" Books looked at him and said, "You know, this time of year makes me wonder if a Renewale might not be just what the calendar ordered." "New subscription, on the way. Yours, Jack?" How did he know my name?

I looked up. "Numquam occasionem praetermitteret habere Gaius Plinius Secundus?"

"Bene elegi, amice. Serviam vobis directe."

"Gratias tibi, amice. Ne loquerentur possumus Latin nunc?"

Books looked at us and said, "Placita. Vobis occidi lingua Caesar!"

Well, that was enough Trouble for one day. We walked into the house and Dolly-girl said, "You know, you two, if you want Trouble with a capital T, why don't you go somewhere where the brew doesn't put people in such a good mood--how about Fruity McBrewskis? Who doesn't want to punch someone when they're full of beer with orange peel, coriander, and chamomile?"

First Meal of the New Year: Jubitz Ain't No Radio Room, I'll Tell You!

2011-01-01T14:28:00.001-08:00

"Jack!" Mummph. "Jack, wake up! It's a brand new year and I want to go out and get some birdseed at that Jubitz place that me and you saw on all those billboards when we were comin' up The Valley on the I-5 from seeing the Bard with Professor Javier Boleyn, remember, the ones that say 'Almost There! Only 70 Miles to Jubitz' those ones." Mummph. "Jack!" Whew, musta been all that belly-laughing last night that got a bee in her nightcap. Jubitz? How many times have I heard "Line 8, Northeast 15th Avenue, To Middlefield Road, To Jubitz" when I catch the "Line 8, Northeast 15th Avenue, To Middlefield Road, To Jubitz" in downtown Stumptown to come home after Thelma tells me, "It's OK, Jack. Trouble's on the run today, go on home to Fiora and the boys." The "boys" are Fiora's cats but Thelma and Dolly-girl and Kitty and Kay call them "boys" instead of "cats." You got me.

The image below is a screen grab of a Jubitz
Corporation-copyrighted web page
"It's a truck stop, Dolly-girl." "Jubitz is a truck stop and a whole lot more, Jack. I read about it. They got restaurants, a hotel, deli, laundramat, urgent care, movie theater, clean restrooms, a scale, a truck wash, and free Wi-Fi! They were named #5 in the 'World's Classiest Truck Stop' competition by the Fox Travel Channel! People say 'If you can't be at home, you should be at Jubitz' and "Jubitz is a destination all to itself' and other things like that." Still sounded like a truck stop, and any endorsement by anything Fox didn't carry a lot of hod with me. "I want to go there, Jack. That's that." Well, when Fiora Antonella Bianchi says 'That's that', that is that. We took the truck (of course) and arrived in short order. Get it, truck stop, short order...Oh, did I ever tell you how irritated Dolly-girl is because her first and middle names mean the same thing?

You could tell it was a truck stop because there were a lot of trucks around, including 3 or 4 inside the restaurant. There were also signs all over the place that give you the idea that maybe the Jubitz Corporation had worked with a management consultant on Total Quality Improvement.

We slipped into a booth in a spacious restaurant that didn't look anything at all like a truck stop. Missy stopped by, handed us a whaddaya-want, and asked us if we wanted something to drink. A crack in the armor. Every truck stop I've ever been to, she would have arrived with a coupla cuppas. I made a mental note, ordered a joe--Dolly-girl asked for a baby and a glass of Bull Run. She slipped off to find the drinks. She brought them back. The joe was, well, jane, which shouldn't happen in Stumptown. The baby was, well, sour. She brought her another one. "It's on the house, honey. No one should have to get sour milk."

The images below are pictures of copyrighted print of
The Oregonian and the New York Times and Paul Krugman
We figured out our feedbags, told Missy, and turned our attentions to the broadsheet Dolly-girl had brought with us. What did we read that was good news for 2011? The Baby Boomers are turning 65 and they don't have any of the money they thought they were going to have because of what we saw on the next page about Voodoo Economics and how it's still going on in spades, hearts, clubs, diamonds, Trump, oil, and banks. oh, and our state ranks last in adult care. Happy New Year!

I took a chance from the Hashslinger and had him drop a couple cackleberries on top. Dolly-girl can't corral her thoughts so well in a place like the Cascade Grill at Jubitz so she went for a jack with a love apple and rose, a dose of wreath in mayo, and a side of Murphies. I was passing on the short stack, but she told Missy to bring them along and she'd see what she could do. As you can see from the Kodak on the right, quite a buffet hit the table in front of her.

We dug in and while our jaws were still going up and down, no words were coming out. Not even a 'yum' or an 'mmm.' Dolly-girl soon determined that her eyes had been bigger than her stomach. What the Cascade Grill at Jubitz lacks in, shall we say, culinary excellence, they make up for in volume. Not necessarily, or even optionally, a fair trade.

After we finished and settled up, we decided to walk around and see just what goes on at #5 in the World's Classiest Truck Stop ratings on New Year's Day. We were there so I could tell you here that not a hell of a lot was going on. We did note a map of the US labeled with tiny laminated call-out boxes that had comments in them from people who have been to Jubitz and who felt compelled to write. That was pretty exciting to Dolly-girl who has always wanted a lamination machine of her own. We also noticed a framed letter and picture by a betrothed truck-driving pair who will spend their honeymoon at Jubitz. I hope their wedding breakfast isn't the corned beef hash...

If you are headed north or south on I-5 and you are starved and need gas, weighing, a laundry for clothes and truck, some urgent medical care, a movie, and an Elvis skull statue, the Jubitz and its Cascade Grill is just the place for you. As for me, I'll just stay on shank's mare and keep it local.

New Years Eve: Fun at Curious Comedy Theater, A Community Gem!

2011-01-01T13:37:00.000-08:00

Dolly-girl's blower started hopping around on the table like a jumping bean. Ryman jumped for the stars as she sat up from davenport nap position. "What the!?" "Jeesh, kill the tsunami, Dolly-girl. You musta put that blower on 'Vibrate' somehow. Of course, who would know 'cause it's never turned on when I call...Anna-Marie didn't teach you how to use that old one of hers?" "Well, it's my blower and I'll turn it on when I want. I musta left it on after I called and said to bring home some java from the grocers." She looked it--Juanita. She didn't get it before it quit jumping so she called her back to get the low-down. Turns out Juanita and Nunzio were rounding up whoever could be rounded to check out a laugh spot not far from where we set the brake. Curious Comedy Theater was the name of the joint and it lived up to it.

We were up for it so come the eve of the New Year, a crowd of us including me and Dolly-girl, Juanita and Nunzio, Dixie and Delancy, and their friends, Georgina and Roberto, from down The Valley, gathered up and settled in, ready to laugh. I was there to tell you here that for the next four hours there weren't many chuckles. That's because hoots, guffaws, peals, snorts, and har-hars were the order of the day. The Curious Comedy Troupe was ready for our crowd, and about 96 more, with stand-up, sketches, improv, covers and all that about times 4 seeing as how there were 4 acts in the night.

Besides the belly-laughing action, there was dancing, trapeezing-sort-of-acrobatics, and silk climbing that was pretty phenomenal. Of course, it reminded me of my own day as an acrobat which consisted of climbing a rope from the floor of a gym to the ceiling and then sliding back down, bringing my carcass and a distinct smell of burning flesh to the ground. There was a ton of similarity in that we all started on a floor, climbed to a ceiling and ended up back on the floor. Other than that, though, I guess my acrobatic feat and theirs, which involved a lot of dexterous feats with feet, weren't much alike. I tried to capture the midnight action with my Kodak--a tiny acrobat --a sort of Human-Times-Square-Ball-of-Energy allowed herself to fall to almost-the-floor as we counted down!

We toasted the New Year with the bubbly stuff, then we wished Dixie a Happy Birthday 'cause 1-1-11 is her birthday (it's also Dolly-girl's secret code for her blower--pretty clever, eh?). When the stage was empty, we got up, held our sides to keep our ribs from vibrating in laughter aftershocks, and headed out into the New Year! If you ask me and Dolly-girl, there was no better way to welcome 2011, and whatever it brings this world of ours, than with friends and a night watching living human beings give their all to entertain a bunch of strangers and make them laugh. We're pretty sure 98 other Stumptowners (well, and 4 from down The Valley) felt the same.

A Thursday Afternoon in Portland: Let's Go to the Radio Room!

2010-12-30T18:05:00.000-08:00

Before noon, the blower sparked. It was Angela, the chiquita that runs the eatery down at the Radio Room, a joint me and Dolly-girl have been frequenting some, but not as frequently as we ought to frequent the joint. "Yallow?" "Fiora, is this Fiora D'Mestiere?" "That's who pays the phone bills. What's it?" "Angela. Radio Room. Haven't made yours acquaintances yet, but Jack gets a coffee drink on the house for having the best 'I'm gonna do it different next year, honest I am.'" "Sounds good. We were hoping to take shank's mare out for a little spin, so we'll see you in a bit. But, I've got an Edison above my head that tells me I'll be sipping the java--Old Mister Sol is over the yardarm and almost under it again. Jack will be looking for something a little different than a dose of beans if you get my drift." "Like snow in New York City. Seeya."

We hoofed it down there. The sign outside didn't lie, especially once my Dolly-girl made her entrance. There wasn't a wave in the place that matched hers. I told her so in her ear and she told me to behave. She likes it when I tell her that, though.

Seeing as how it was the happy hour, we decided to have a couple cold ones to go with the hot one and tie on a feedbag. I'm glad we did. You've heard me on this broadsheet extol the virtues of the birdseed at Radio Room. Well, Radio Room is not just for breakfast. We took a look at the whaddayawant and picked out a burger, some Radio Radio Cakes, and a bale of cowfeed. Dolly-girl made good on the free cuppa and then washed it down with a dose of the Champagne of Bottled Brewski, served in a, you-may-a-guessed-it, one of them glasses for bubbly. I totally dominated an IPA and then took a paler trip crosstown.

The feedbags found their way to us and we tied them on. Nothing at all wrong with what they load into them for you at a price that's fairer than a line drive to center field. A grilled cheese burger with ripe tomatos, wherever they came from. Mascarpone polenta cakes on a paprika cream--a sort of polenta paprikash! And the salad was yelling "Et tu Brutus?" We strolled out for about a Hamilton each--not bad considering the beers. I dropped Abe on top to keep Missy smiling and we headed out into the Stumptown cold. "Colder than a bad girl's heart," muttered Dolly-girl. Could be, but the Radio Room is always worth the walk.

Oh, what's this Face thing everyone talks about? Angela said to check them here.

My favorite 100 photos that I took in 2010

2010-12-29T18:38:00.001-08:00

NOW SHOWING! My favorite 100 of the 7,447 pictures I took in 2010. From Fairbanks, Alaska, to Victoria, British Columbia. via Portland, Oregon, Minneapolis, Minnesota, Chicago, Illinois, and Memphis, Tennessee, all the way to Paris, France and Bilbao, Spain...

By the way, all the images are © 2010 D'Mestiere Investigations

2010-12-24T09:12:00.001-08:00

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year
from D'Mestiere Investigations!

Back by popular demand is our own Yule Log a la WPIX

Me and Dolly-girl want to wish all of our friends, from Stumptown to Hawkesbury; from the Rose City to the Windy City; from the Left Coast, which is the right one, to the Right Coast, which isn't; to Tinseltown, Ithaca Schmithica, the Valley With a Heart, the Heart of the Valley, Our Nation's Capital, and Salt City; to The Best Location in the Nation, Ravenrock Ranch, Ft. Lauderdale Island, Washington, the Redwood Forest and the Gulf Stream Waters;

A Very Merry Christmas and Best Wishes for a Healthy and Happy 2011!

Thursday Evening Dinner in Portland: The Divaville Party at Tony Starlight's Supperclub

2010-12-17T18:04:00.000-08:00

About 30 minutes after the champagne corks popped, Dolly-girl stood on her toes, looked out the window over the shade, and said, "Radio Cab--saddle up!" She's getting in the mood for The Dude in True Grit, Re-dux. She also knew no one was interested in a night at a supper club minding their Ps, Qs, and car keys, if you get my drift.

We were headed for Tony Starlight's Supper Club to celebrate Jack spending another year looking down to see the grass. "We," in this case, was Kitty, Kay and T. Anthony Kavanagh, III, Juanita and Nunzio Zambone, Dolly-girl, and me, the birthday boy. Tony Starlight's is a joint we'd heard a lot about from Christa, the chiquita that puts on the Divaville show that me and Dolly-girl listen to every Wednesday on the Zenith. Every once in a whatever, Christa, and her buddy, Tony Starlight, dress up his club for a gathering of the Stumptown Rat Pack. This was no exception.

First thing you notice when you make your entrance into Tony's is that it's red. It even turned my business card red. Next thing you notice is that there's, in this order, a bar from the past, a stage from the past, table settings from the past, and a piano and projector from the future. Tony's making his way around--still in street clothes, but that will change soon--welcoming the crowd in and making sure the Missy's are making everyone feel Tony's love.

It being the holiday season, we were in for some special treats which you could see right off with a film running in the front of the house. Old Blue Eyes was batting his peepers at every chiquita in the place, even though he's dead and only with us thanks to the miracle of In-Focus and the creative genius of a Mister Steven Paul Jobs. Give it up for Mister Jobs! Anyhoo, Frankie-boy was crooning and decorating a tree with what we called tinsel back in the old days when tinsel was tinsel and icicles hung from eaves.

We were shown to our table, which was a primo spot, just in front of the stage. I'm not sure, but maybe Nuzio slipped a Jackson to the Betty who was seating us. Whatever. We parked our carcasses and quick as a Bobby Darin finger snap in Mack the Knife, Missy was there to see if we were interested in a little something to warm us up from the winter winds. Surprise of surprises, two bottles of bubbly had sparked a fire under us, but we weren't warm enough--"Drinks around, and don't let any moss grow under those slippers!" Some skidrows--rosso e bianco, and something a little stronger for the gents in the crowd. I told her I wanted to drown a grove, and the booze slinger delivered.

The Six-Men-in-a-Tub was a dandy and this is what Tony's joint looked like to me after I enjoyed the hell out of that bathtub full of the luckiest olives in Stumptown. By now, der Bingle was up on the screen and crooning song after song. Christa was working the room like Colby Lewis worked the Yankees in the ALCS--she cut a swathe through the room and left every table spinning.

Missy was back and tapping her pad while we fussed over the whaddaya-wants. Around the table we went. I knew right off: "Ride me some greens down the Appian Way and hang a beef." "Rare?" "Just walk it past a fire..." "Figured you for a rare man." That got her a wink from me. People ordered this and that along with a spinach artichoke dip plate and a baked brie. She was back in a flash with the start-us-ups and we dug in like the Allies at the Battle of the Bulge, which we would all be fighting once the night was over! The dip and cheez-whiz was as good as it gets and it got a lot of up and downs around the table. As you can see, a swarm of locusts don't pick a field any cleaner...

Kitty whistled up another bottle of rosso and, by now, everyone was in the mood for some live entertainment. The last slide was on the screen, and we saw Tony make his entrance, now dressed for action.

Just about then, Missy was back with the feedbags and the music was just starting with a fella, name of Bo, playing the 88s. What the hash slinger slung didn't disappoint and neither did Bo. Turns out, he's been around. In fact, if we'd a known that he was going to be there, and if Dolly-girl had read up on his rap sheet on the Wiki, they'd have discovered they had something in common. Anyway, turns out Bo's gal was part of the show--and a real pretty part too, follow?

Well, while we were still enjoying the feedbags Missy put in front of us, Tony, or maybe I should call him Mister Starlight, started in on his act. I was there to tell you here that he is a class act and he can croon and swoon with the best of them. I have to tell you though that he's a fan of a Mister Diamond, a Mister Neil Diamond, and I haven't been that much of a fan of his since listening to Cracklin' Rosie a few too many times at the Minnesota State Fair...but that's another story for a time gone by. I had to do the "Aw, shucks" routine when Tony led the crowd in a Happy Birthday to Me and a Guy Named Andy at the Next Table. But our crowd joined in and I was OK with letting them in on our fun.

About the time all the jaws stopped with the up and downs at our table--and I have to tell you, the heads were going up and down along with the jaws. Mister Tony Starlight knows how to run a Supper Club--it was time for Christa and Tony to test our brain power by asking a bunch of whaddya-knows about Christmas Music. Turns out we didn't know as much as we thought we did, but more than most people in the house and so Fiora and Nunzio stepped to the stage to collect our 4th Place Prize!

The time flew by, the music put us in that Christmas spirit, and we left, humming Jorgi Jorgenson's "I yust go nuts at Christmas,"
you know:
Oh, I yust go nuts at Christmas, On that yolly holiday,
I'll go in the red, like a knucklehead
Cause I squander all my pay.

I'm no Dino, but I know what he'd say. "I feel sorry for people who don't drink. They wake up in the morning and that's the best they're going to feel all day." But he'd add, "Frank, Sammy, and the boys agree, Tony Starlight's? No better way to spend an evening in Stumptown!"

Dispatch from Multnomah County District Court : Justice moves slowly

2010-12-13T09:38:00.000-08:00

930. Been here 2 hours first jury being called. Just called my name ...
Off to do civic duty

Dispatch from Multnomah County District Court : I'm #010122

2010-12-13T08:35:00.000-08:00

I guess I'm a peer of other 6 digit people ...

Dispatch from Multnomah County Court : Jury Duty

2010-12-13T07:53:00.000-08:00

D'Mestiere Investigations are ready, willing, and able to serve their civic
duty.

Lunch in Ithaca New York: Losing My Moosewood Virginity

2010-12-01T15:54:00.000-08:00

Back a dozen years or so, me and Dolly-girl, first separately, and then together, if you get my drift, set our brake in a little town in what people from The Big Apple call 'upstate'; and what people in what people in The Big Apple call 'upstate' call 'upstate'; and what people in the real 'upstate' call 'The Southern Tier'; and what people in Ithaca call 'The Beautiful Finger Lakes Region'. Ithaca has got a rep for a lot of things and parking is one of them. Friends have a sticker on their car says 'Ithaca is Garages' instead of 'Ithaca is Gorges' which is one of those cute bumper sticker that is supposed to be a "play on words" is what I think Dolly-girl calls it. Check out the rules on the back of the parking ticket from one of the garages. Anyhoo, we lived there, separately and together, for a couple ten spots, or as Honest Abe woulda called it, a score. But in Ithaca, a score was what happened at State and Plain after dark...

The two of us had hopped a clipper to go back for Dolly-girl's parents three-score (how's that Abe?) celebration of setting their brake together. As long as we were back in that part of the world, we decided to mosey on up to Ithaca where Anna-Maria is setting her brake since she give Our Nation's Capital the cold shoulder. We decided to tie on the feedbag at a local Institution--Moosewood Restaurant. Yes, THE Moosewood Restaurant of some substantial fame, the girls tell me. In all those years, I'd never been there--a Moosewood Virgin, but then I did live in Newfield, albeit north of Route 13, for many years.

The place was buzzing on a Monday at just past when the noon whistle blows the second time. I guess people like to go there late or it takes a long time to chew all those leaves. Missy at the front door took a name and told us to cool our heels for a while while he checked out the back room. "'Bout 10 minutes--take a load off..." Dolly-girl said, "I'll just do a little shopping here, Jack--I could use some new Moosewood items." She used to go there back before I was keeping her company, and maybe after too, with some of her girlfriends.

Missy popped up from behind the counter, sort of called our name--I figured he was stubbin' his toe on the whole D'Mestiere thing as there sure wasn't going to be a decent veal in this place--and led us to a spot that suited me. I could keep an eye on the street while Anna-Maria covered the inside scene. Missy brought the whaddya-wants and disappeared. For quite a while. He was back, hemmin' and hawin' about whaddya-drinkins. "Three Bull Runs, or what ever you call the run of the tap here." "OK." Talkative. Nothing much colorful about Missy. He came back in a while, three glasses and an order pad. He looked expectantly. "I'll have the cowfeed, throw whatever Cookie mixes on it, and add the filet of curd on the side." He looked at me like he couldn't understand. Dolly-girl roller her eyes and translated, "Medium salad, house dressing, Tofu Kan." That got an up and down. She continued, "I'll have the side salad and the fish cake." "Hold everything, right there. I thought this place was the number one leaf muncher spot on the planet," I said. "What gives?" "It's not all leaves, Jack. Fish are close, you know, some vegetarians eat fish..." "Yeah, chicken too," and I rolled my peepers. Missy looked at Anna-Maria quizzically. "Hash u a greenie and stick in my pocket." She's my daughter. Dolly-girl told him the avocado in a pita sandwich. He nodded and walked away. I don't think he said a word. Meanwhile, I noticed that Mike had something strange going on. There was rice in there. Dolly-girl explained that Ithaca isn't exactly the driest place in the world, especially in the summer, and a little rice in there kept things dry. "I know that, Dolly-girl, but look at that one." "It's brown rice, Jack, organic brown rice." I needed a wave today. She would've gotten some shots...

Missy came back in a while with some food. My salad, Dolly-girl's side salad, and nothing for Anna-Maria. No talk, just put plates down. Dolly-girl munched her leaves while I waited since a trip through the garden was going to be it for me. Time passed...slowly. Another Missy stopped by and topped off the water. Our original Missy stopped by, noticed that I hadn't eaten my salad and asked if everything was OK. "Just waiting for them to get their lunches there." Another quizzical look. Then a different Missy brought Dolly-girl's fish cake. Still no greenie in the pocket. Must take a long time to cook that. Finally it showed up and we all tied on the feed bags, which were, in my case, OK, pretty standard salad, although Cookie stirred up a good dressing, I'll say that. Could'a pinned a rose on the salad though. Dolly-girl and Anna-Maria gave the up and down to theirs.

Missy came back eventually and asked if anyone had a sweet tooth. Anna-Maria and Dolly-girl consulted a "decision support system" that Anna-Maria had on her blower and decided the vegan chocolate cake would be worth the calories. I rolled my blue boys under a missing wave, but the gateaux did look like it deserved eating.

Dolly-girl picked up the tab and headed for the shopping area. I guess she tipped Missy, although I would have tipped him, "You could talk to customers, you know." That got me a shot through two waves...

We headed out and down the street to a place a little more up my alley. Jack's take? I didn't miss a thing in that score of not going to the Icon. If you're in Ithaca, stop at Moosewood, buy the cookbook, and head for the Ale House. You can make the food at home, but you can't make a Racer 5...of course, neither could they, but they had it on tap.

Dispatch from the Sky: On Board Alaska 14 from Seattle to Newark

2010-11-26T18:11:00.000-08:00

Dolly-girl leaned over from her place in seat 1-A, jabbed me in the ribs, and said, "How about this Jack? First Class!" I looked at her. "Yep, First Class, alrighty. Remember when I asked them to upgrade us 'cause we missed the connection to the clipper 'cause the flight out of Stumptown Field was late? And remember when she did it?" "Oh yeah. What are you doing over there--is that the intertubes?" "Sure is, Dolly-girl. Free WiFi they said, and I'm taking advantage of it. I can use that i-mail thing you showed me to send Thelma a few notes about people that need talking with when we get back from Coal Country." "e-mail, Jack. It's e-mail!" I know that. I just like the shot through the wave. It works every time. Anyhoo, here we are, over the Wisconsin Dells and I can use this magic technology to write this and that so you can read it. Ain't the 21st Century grand?

Dispatch from Seatac Airport : What's a few minutes one way or another?

2010-11-26T14:20:00.001-08:00

The clocks in the Alaska Airlines lounge give the time in the 6 time zones
they serve. Of course, time is relative. Given that they had to set them
less than a month ago, D'Mestiere Investigations wonder whether the clocks
are that variable -- they doubt it -- or the person setting them was
relaxed about time. Seattle is closest to correct which, we guess, is a
good thing.

Two Colors of Winter in Oregon

2010-11-18T20:09:00.000-08:00

From time-to-time, I travel down the valley from Stumptown and then over the mountains, tracking down Trouble wherever it may be. This week was one of those times. It's winter in Oregon. Winter has two colors. Green and white. Saw 'em both. On the side of the mountains where me and Dolly-girl set our brake, it's green. Streams are full and new grass is coming up in fields. On the other side, things can get white. White can be pretty, but not as pretty as green.

Halloween Eve in Portland: Dinner at Grüner

2010-10-30T21:32:00.000-07:00

About a week ago or so, Dolly-girl told me she was sitting in the front room along with her two cats when the door bell went off. She wasn't expecting anybody so she expected trouble at the door. I was up in Alaska talking with people who needed talking with, so she opened the confessional to see who was on the stoop. "Fiora D'Mestiere? Western Union for Mrs. D'Mestiere." She opened the door, fearing the worst. Maybe my clipper was in Icy Strait. She tipped the kid two bits and tore open the yellow packet. It was from Slim and Tootsie. Sometimes they say it's just easier to stop by the office and send a wire rather than calling the long distance operator. Go figure since Tootsie carries one of those new blowers that does everything. But Slim's a guy of habit. Anyhoo, they wanted to know if we wanted to meet Grüner or somesuch thing. What was this? Some trip through the Alps listening to Heidi yodel?

I had Thelma do a little of what she calls re-search--I figure it should just be called search unless she's doing it again, but I'm not one to argue with Thelma. I'd be more stuck than a 2-wheel-drive-pickup in Goose Creek mud without that gal.

Wasn't long before she got back to me. "What did he say? 'Meet Grüner' you said?" "Yep, that's what Fiora told me Slim said." I know that Thelma knows that Dolly-girl doesn't like to be referred to as Dolly-girl so I try and remember to call Dolly-girl Fiora when I'm talking to Thelma about Dolly-girl, got it? "OK, three choices. Some professor named Grüner at some I-V league school back in the sticks of New York. Works on something called 'soft matter'." I raised my eyebrows and Thelma shot me a look Dolly-girl would have envied. "Don't even go there, Jack." "I was just thinking that it's IVY league, Thelma--not the medical thing." "Actually, Jack, it dates from when there were four colleges and the Roman numeral IV stood for those four...Now, it's unlikely Slim was talking about Professor Grüner. Second is some rich guy named Grüner that's got no recipe for humble pie in his card file, I'll tell you. Companies, jets, patents, computers, blah, blah, blah. I don't think it's him--Slim doesn't take to that sort of per-so-ANAL-ity." "Probably not. Anything else?" "Well, there is a restaurant here in Stumptown, over on the other side of town where they look at us like we're the other side of town." "Bingo. Slim likes a restaurant and they set their brake on that side of town. Good work, Thelma." She rolled her eyes and that's when I knew she was funning with me--she knew the first two weren't what Slim had up his sleeve and now I did too. "I got Slim on the blower. He said you and Fiora should meet him and Tootsie at 6 sharp at their place so as to knock a couple back and then head to Grüner for dinner." "Check."

Come Saturday night, me and Dolly-girl did just that--headed to their joint on the side of town we call the other side and they call theirs. We admired the carving job Tootsie had done on her jackd'mestiere-o-lantern of the year, and tossed down a coupla skid rows that were a lot better than skid row except that I call it all skid row and you probably know that unless this is the first time you've laid eyes on this page. Tootsie said it was time, so we headed out on shank's mare for the rich-guy-professor's-place as I was now calling Grüner to try and get Thelma to roll her eyes. That sorta thing usually works.

We checked in."Slim and Tootsie, 5 at 7." Sounded like a craps table or something. "Five?" "Bluebird--she popped a kid out today and she needs a night off and something good to eat and drink." Dolly-girl gave him the up and down but I was suspicious, as I often am. "She popped a kid out and she's here for dinner?" Tootsie looked for Lourdes-ly help and then said,"Gad-so, Jack. You know Bluebird's studying up to do that welcome-to-the-world profession--she's been working today." Ah, that explained it. I was thinking of the whole delivering-in-the-cornfield-and-then-back-to-work-thing. Anyhoo, Missy showed us to a table, took our coats and chapeaux, and poured us some Bull Run. "Anything else gonna wet your pfefien? I could hear the yodeling starting..."Drown two for me," Ich sprach. Slim looked at the list and said "Bringen Sie uns eine Flasche italienischer Rotwein." We all raised our eyes at that one!

We looked over the whaddaya-wants and listened to Missy tell us the specials while he brought our drinks. It didn't take much yapping around the table to decide. Tootsie gave him the start-us-ups: "Grüner salad, shaved radishes, and smoke a flipper." "Sie haben es!" Slim gave him a knowing look, tapped something into the little box he carries, and said, "Ich danke Ihnen sehr mein guter Herr!"

The drinks and start-em-ups came back and there was sure nothing to complain about there. Well, maybe there was a little bit to complain about. The whaddaya-drinking was a little more than what we all were used to, follow? If you're thinking European food, don't think European wine prices. A glass of the skidrow bianco--oops, I mean weißwein--cost about twice as much as the whole bottle woulda cost down at the A&P. But, we were toasting this and that and it wasn't a big deal. The red stuff? Don't think you're gonna see a selection under about a General US Grant.

Missy musta been watching his flock 'cause anytime we needed tending he was there like a llama stomping a coyote. A civilized amount of time after we finished the starters, the dinners appeared and we dug in like the French at the Maginot Line. Hmm, maybe not a good analogy for use with a Deutsch restaurant... Dolly-girl and Bluebird went for the trout on greens and I had the Schweinebraten mit Rotkraut und Kartoffelpüree, or as Missy called it, the pork chop special with braised red cabbage and mashed potatoes. He was right: it was special! Slim had the same while Tootsie had some sort of noodle thing that had her singing The Sound of Music and dancing like a von Trapp Family kid. The mackerel snappers were lip smackers as far as I could tell. Slim and I left the dogs portion on our plates as we pushed back, too full to think of what the Dessertkarte might offer.

Missy brought the story, tucked into a copy of, oh mein Gott!, a copy of Heidi! We forked over the jack--figure a couple of Jacksons a piece plus I think you'll want to treat Missy pretty well on top of that for shepherding you through dinner. All-in-all, good food, good ambience--I mean ambiente--and, if you find a good Slim and Tootsie of your own, good friends. But drink some wine before you go..., I mean, Aber Wein trinken, bevor du gehst ...

A Showery Sunday Morning in Portland: Breakfast at Bingo Masters/Radio Room

2010-10-24T13:05:00.000-07:00

Blower. Kay. "Saaay, it's il compleanno di T. Anthony Kavanaugh, you know, son anniversaire [Kay knew me and Dolly-girl had been hanging with the Frenchies, so she broke into it instead of just the Italiano] so we was thinking of heading to the Radio Room. You know they got that Bingo Masters Cafe we are wanting to try. You guys game?" "Shoot us and see. Hey, Dolly-girl, we got anything on for birdseed Sunday in the A-M? Kay's on the line with a light bulb going off. No? We're on. See you there." "Ciao."

The weather had been doing this and that--this is rain and that is sun--like it does this time of year in Stumptown. At the last minute we decided to leave the roadster parked and save the fossils. We took shank's mare. When we strolled up I could see right off that what we'd banked for another day, they burned in an outside gas fire which there wasn't anyone actually enjoying since it was back to this instead of that. Turn's out that was absolutely the only thing about the joint that wasn't hitting the spot perfectly for me.

I walked in and knew I was in the right place until Dolly-girl pointed out that the Lucky machine didn't have Luckies. It was an Art-o-Mat. Missy welcomed us in the door, waved her hand around an almost-empty joint--turns out it was early for the Radio Room crowd) and said "Park it where you please, ladies and gents. Welcome to Bingo Masters. I'll be with you in no time." We parked in a booth near the front window where we could look out at the this which by now had turned into that. She came back with the Bull Run and three pairs of dark glasses. "I get 'em out of our I-wonder-where-I-left-my-stuff box. They come in handy for this and that." She spoke my tongue. "Who's for a cuppa?" She spoke it again. "By the way, beau chapeau; c'est très joli!" She was headed for a great tip...

The joe made its way from the hash shop double quick and we settled down to have a gander at the whaddaya-want. Turns out with the size of it, it took a lot of gandering. Missy came back with her book. "Questions about the menu?" I passed instead of my usual "Is it printed on recycled paper" 'cause I figured it'd get me a shot through the wave and a "Oh, mon Dieu, donnez-moi une pause" from Missy, who it turns out really could speak French and she could even speak our talk with a Frenchie accent. Must be because she was from Philadelphia or someplace near it she told us but I forgot. Jersey maybe. She gave us a couple more minutes.

A couple things caught my eye right off. One was a whaddaya-drinking laying on the table. I picked it up, avoided looking at Dolly-girl who was warming up a wave shot. The other thing was the wall hangings and light fixtures. Obviously, whoever replaced the Luckies with the Art-o-Mat hadn't stopped there. They had a lot of my sorta stuff hanging around.

Missy came back and without looking right, I told her "Radio Mary." "Good choice. Anybody else?" She tapped her book with a pencil. The rest went for the dry-side fruit juices. They'd be sorry.

We turned our feedbag what-we-wants in and she took off to the back to have a chat with the hash slinger. "Eggs, beans, and grits times two. Make one with one on the run and one sittin' still. Keep the other one lookin' at me. Then give me a playwright, scramble the plot, and a Benedict Washington." "On it."

Missy kept our cups full while we were waiting, which wasn't long. My cackleberries, yellow grits, and beans were just what me and Kay ordered, times two. Dolly-girl got her Playwright's Hangover, henfruit revolvos on a bed of veggies and toast. The Birthday Boy went for the North West Eggs Benedict and they looked just like what it would take to turn traitor! I thought the Radio Mary was a tasty way to get your anti-oxidants and the other three agreed.

We finished up and sat slurpin' joe until this turned into that again. I'll tell you, it was just about as good a way to start the day as you can find in Stumptown. The feedbags were all we wanted and more. Missy? Service exceptionnel! And by now, the joint was filling up. The Radio Room caters to a late night crowd and they don't show up early the next day! Now, just put that fire out...

NaNoWriMo: National Novel Revising and Re-writing Manuscript Month

2010-10-23T11:57:00.000-07:00

It's almost National Novel Writing Month again. Not for me though. This year it's National Novel Revise and Re-write Manuscript Month. NaNo-ReRe-WriMa-Mo. I think that has a certain ring to it. Follow my progress, and keep up with the most entertaining errors in the story, at Jack D'Mestiere, Stumptown Gumshoe

Dispatch from Our Nation's Capital: Ben's Chili Bowl

2010-10-13T09:33:00.001-07:00

Met up with the Devereaux family at Ben's Chili Bowl. Ben's has a list of
people who eat free :

Bill Cosby
The Obama Family
No One Else

Dispatch from Stumptown: Home Again

2010-10-02T10:48:00.001-07:00

I raised my hand and whistled up a taxi at Stumptown Field. "Au nord-est 22nd et le rendre rapide!" Blank stare. "You're not in Paris anymore, Jack, and for the sake of Sam, you talk like Google Translate ®." "Je n'ai pas entendu aucune plainte en France. OK, driver, северо-востоке 22 и быстро сделать." We took off.

The driver made good on my request and ten minutes later found us hauling our valises into the house, and flopping down in chairs. "Remember the steamship days? No jet lag." "Whoan." (Dolly-girl is still in the grip of la grippe français. She doesn't know whether to whine or moan.) "Back in those days..." "Whoan." "...travel was civilized..." "Whoan. Put a clip on that trap of yours, Jack or I'm gonna hack up a lung on you." Silence.

We're back. Twenty-four days on our Tour de France (and a little bit of northern Spain, and of course, the micro-nation of Andorra.) Time to start planning the next one. "Whoan. Don't get any bright ideas, Jack. I'm ready to let some moss grow on my barking dogs."

"OK, Dolly-girl, I was just thinking the τα ελληνικά νησιά or glas na cnoic ar an talamh de do sod might be nice. "Whoan..."

Dispatch from Normandy: A Postscript

2010-09-28T12:24:00.000-07:00

I neglected to mention that on June 6, 1944, the order of battle included 2 divisions of troops from Britain, and a division from Canada. Per capita, our Canadian neighbours really laid it on the line that day, as the RCAF had in the battle of Britain.

Dispatch from Versailles: What Brand Loyalty Will Do For You

2010-09-28T11:50:00.000-07:00

Readers of this page probably don't know, but I'll tell you now, that Jack travels a lot. He, in particular, spends a lot of time down the valley where he stays at a certain roadhouse that's owned by a certain chain of roadhouses that the company name of starts with Hill minus an L and ends with a measure of weight that is 2,000 pounds. Follow? And it turns out that you can save up enough of what they call points, and then you can turn them in for a free night someplace or another.

Tonight, Dolly-girl and I are in a place called the Trianon Palace, in a place called Versailles, France, and the room comes from those points. It's apparently next door to where the king and queen of France used to live. It's a little funny because we got more than one room, In fact, the reading room, if you get my drift, is bigger than some of the whole rooms we've stayed in on this trip. Here's what a lot of nights down the Valley and up there in Frostbite Falls gets you. Dolly-girl said it seemed like we ought to go and rent another hotel and change clothes before we checked into this one, but hey, I've been tossed out of fancier places than this. Well, may be not...

Me and Dolly-girl decided to tie on the feedbag right in the room--they'll bring you food on a little table, roll it into the room, just like in the movies. Take a look at the whaddaya-want--they even got something for your dog!

Anyway, after this, I guess you know what my road address will be. After all, if you want to stay in the Paris Hilton...

Dispatch from Normandy

2010-09-27T06:00:00.000-07:00

"Jack, I feel lower than a pill bug under stones in my mother's cellar floor. This Grippe français has got me tighter than a school marm's hand on a bad boy's ear and all I'll do is gripe, so maybe you'd better leave me here and go check out those WW II things I've been seeing you eyeball on the map for the last week or so..."

I left Dolly-girl to mend and headed for Normandy. First stop, 6 Across: Normandy invasion town...How many times have I penciled St. Lo into a Rex Parker, and now here I was in the famous village. Rex calls it "one of the crosswordiest places in the world." There was a monument to the liberators and a giant flea market in the main street. I drove on.

I followed the signs. Omaha Beach. Cimetière militaire américain de Colleville-sur-Mer. I was surprised. No souvenir stands, no hoopla, no Giant Diorama like at Gettysburg. I wondered what another 50 or 100 years will bring. I parked at the back of the parking lot and walked to the visitor center where I took a picture of this very interesting fountain, and skipped the advice to visit the visitor's center first.

The next stop is an overlook of Omaha Beach with a map explaining the order of battle. I looked down at the beach and tried to imagine what it was like without thinking about The Longest Day or Saving Private Ryan. I really couldn't imagine what it would look like or how the hell they ever got to the top.

I walked down the steps to the beach and stood on the dune by the water. I touched the sand. I knew it wasn't sand that was there on June 6, 1944. I wanted to pick up a rock or touch the water, but somehow it didn't seem like it was mine, although I suppose it is mine. That's what it was about. A few days ago, I said to Nancy that I didn't think I needed to go to Normandy because WW II wasn't "my war."

Past the beach access and map, I turned a corner into a manicured cemetery with thousands of crosses, and Stars of David mixed in here and there. I walked through them, looking back to see names and dates and units. All the names face west--towards home, I suspect. Enlisted next to officers, Michigan next to Mississippi, Army next to Air Corps next to Navy. Some from before D-Day, some died after Germany surrendered, but before they made it home. Lots on June 6, 1944. A few had flowers--someone visited recently. Most did not. Some will never have a visitor who knows who they are. I think about the wars going on today.

There are no more Honored Comrades Known But To God--DNA makes sure of that. I looked at the names of the 1,557 who died, but whose bodies were not recovered. I suppose some are honored comrades, but I'm sure many are in La Manche--the sleeve--which seems like a much more appropriate name than the English Channel. I looked for the name of a friend of my mother's who died in La Manche--Bob Evans. He wasn't there.

I walked to the farthest place in the cemetery and visited the grave of Daniel Knapp, First Division, 18th Infantry, who was from New York and who died on June 7, 1944. I thought maybe his was the least visited grave, being the farthest from the visitor's center. But maybe it's really someone in the middle. I looked at Daniel Knapp's grave and realized that this was my war. It shaped my life more than any other. Wars are about the future, not the past. I am their future.

I walked back to the car past the stars and crosses and read, Ohio, New York, Pennsylvania, North Dakota, Arkansas, Wyoming, Maryland, Georgia...PFC, SGT, 2LT, MAJ, PVT...Infantry, Armor, Infantry, Heavy Bomber Group, Infantry, Landing Craft Group, Airborne, Airborne,...June, July, June, August, September, June...

I drove back to Saint-Malo, through Saint-Lô, I thought about what the countryside looked like then and now. I was on a speedy 4-lane road, driving 130 km/hr, flying past McDonald's, gas stations, super markets, and this express food stop that seemed to have everything. War is about the future, but you don't get to specify the future, you just get to make sure there is one.

"You're pretty quiet, Jack. Have a good day?" "Yep. I learned a thing or two."