Friday and Silverstar’s Most Excellent Adventure

clipped from daisyfae.wordpress.com It’s not the destination, but the path.� It’s how you get there.� The journey can be thousands of miles, or it can be a trip to the library.� Not so much where you go, but that you go.�

I’m really not trying to steal Daisy Fae’s thunder. I really had planned to blog this today. But the quote sure fit. I couldn’t resist.

Yesterday was a  nice day in Seattle. And we needed dog food. Friday needs special dog food, she has gotten really sick when I’ve tried to feed her anything else. So a trip to the pet store was necessary. The one I go to is in the University District, about four miles away. Going on the bus is a two bus ordeal, and since the scooter was running, it was a nice day, etc. I decided to ride over there. I’ve done it before, so I sort of knew the way. There are a couple of blips, but I knew I could make it.

I wanted very much to avoid any hills, and sometimes you can do that in Seattle by taking the long way round. So I started out going north by going south. Yeah, it’s crazy. But otherwise there is a really steep hill to conquer. So I went down to Virginia St., where I knew I could get to Fairview without climbing any steep hills. When I got to 7th and Virginia, what should appear before me but a SLUT station. Whoa, here was a way to get to Fairview without even riding.

You have to understand about the South Lake Union Trolley or streetcar, or whatever they are calling it these days. It’s something dreamed up by one of our Microsoft billionaires. Most of the neighborhood didn’t want it. It’s pretty much a streetcar to nowhere. Much like our Monorail left over from the 1962 World’s Fair. It’s pretty much useless and a traffic hazard, but it covered 1.3 miles that otherwise would be uphill. Anyway, I’ve been wanting an excuse to ride the thing since it opened in December.

OK, I love the SLUT. It’s accessible with a capital A. Easy to get my scooter on and off, and I can even park my scooter with my basket on the back. Score!!! Now they’re talking about building more lines of these things. I will be going to meetings to kill it. It’s a stupid plan. The way this thing is built it takes up roadway, and is even slower than cars. We wanted to expand the Monorail, but the fat cats in town killed it. The monorail would have been above the traffic, not contributing to it. And by the way, I want the Waterfront Trolley back. The free buses just don’t do it for me. The Waterfront Trolley used to pay for itself, now we are letting people ride buses down there for free.

OK, once we were off the SLUT, we proceeded up Eastlake St, and over the University Draw Bridge. And ran into our only trouble spot. There is a traffic island, and I knew there was some way off of it, but it’s tricky. It’s a big island with paths and a bus stop. In the course of looking for the way off, I got the scooter high centered, and had to get off and push it. Whereupon it promptly ran away from me, and I fell down. It fortunately runs with a dead-man switch, so as soon as I didn’t have pressure on the throttle it stopped. It took me a couple of minutes to get up, and then I figured out the path, and we were off again. We got the dog food, and had dinner, and proceeded home with no further incidents.

Today, however, we had another mishap with the scooter. We were on our way grocery shopping, and stopped at a burger place to eat. Never grocery shop hungry. For some reason, the throttle broke, and I couldn’t control the scooter.  It may occur to the engineers among you that with a dead-man switch, if you can’t control the throttle, you also don’t have any brakes. Or anyway, that’s the way the scooter is set up. It’s not a perfect system. I struggled with it a while until finally somebody suggested I turn it off. And then I sat there shaking. Now how was I going to get home?

So I put an emergency call into The Boyo, who came with his van and rescued me and the scooter. And even took me grocery shopping. He also said his homeless aeronautical engineer friend might be able to fix it. That’s good, because I’m pretty broke right now, and don’t have another economic stimulus check coming to pay for scooter repairs.

I may have mentioned before that my scooter’s name is Epona. Epona is a Celtic horse goddess, and thus the goddess of transportation. She is also associated with dreams, especially nightmares. And this machine, while being a dream for my mobility, has also been a nightmare. I had to have the charger replaced three times in the first year, thankfully at the company’s expense. The brake went out two years ago, and indeed, never really did work properly until it was. It also destroyed a pair of batteries. And now this. So, folks, pray to the horse goddess or whoever you believe in, or cross your fingers that this can be done easily and cheaply.

A good thing to remember

We are not our Google Ranking. Totally stolen from Annie. Go read the whole post.

clipped from anniegirl1138.wordpress.com Value is not intrinsic in what amounts to a blog’s ability to generate traffic and revenue for the commercial end of life. Value is what a blog/blogger means to the people who read and relate and find meaning from one’s content.

It’s too damned hot…..

Like Manuel in Belfast, Ireland, Seattlites tend to wilt when there is any hint of heat. I hear in Belfast they have to lie down when it gets to 19° C, we Seattlites are hardier and can take temperatures up to 23.8°C before we become a pool of melted slime. Recently, it’s been 28° there. Centigrade, that is. About 82° Fahrenheit (which I’ve been spelling wrong for years). Here on Sunday it was 32.2°. No, we’re not back in Siberia, that was Centigrade. Ninety degrees US. If you need help with the translations, you can go here. And by the way, why are we so out of step with the world that we don’t use metric?
No, I’m not complaining like some other people. I remember the Siberian temperatures of the recent past.
So what’s a delicate flower like myself to do when the temperatures are soaring? Fortunately, usually even when it’s hot in Seattle, the humidity hovers around 50%. Thank heavens. And there is a breeze. Unfortunately, the apartments I live in are not designed to circulate air unless you leave your door open. Not an option. Luckily I spent some of my crazy money on an air conditioner a couple of years ago. Very necessary because the pain from my fibromyalgia will increase in the heat. And The Boyo came over and opened the window that was stuck, and helped put the vent together.
There are outdoor things you can do, too. You can go to the International Fountain at Seattle Center, Seattle’s free giant sprinkler/cooler. Everybody plays in this thing, including the big kids on Sunday during the Pride Fest. And yes, it’s chlorinated and there are ramps for easy access even for us gimps.
You can go down to the Olympic Sculpture Park on the waterfront, where you at least can get a good breeze. And see this awesome statue that has some folks in an uproar because it is anatomically correct. Or it was the last time I saw it. That may have changed.
A little farther down the waterfront is Waterfront Park, home of the ugliest statue of Christopher Columbus in the world. I’m sure they hid it in this backwater because it is so ugly. Actually, I’m surprised the thing is still there after the Native Americans had Salmon Homecoming in the park last year. Where’s Homeland Security when you need them?
Sunday was the Gay Pride Parade. I couldn’t miss it. Literally. It was right on the street outside my apartment. And although I echo Dan Savage’s comment,

Oh, and I realize this is heresy and shit, but I’d like to see less of… Dykes on Bikes. You rock, ladies (and gents), your bikes roar, but remember that old show business adage: Always leave ‘em wanting more.

at least they don’t scare the dog as much as the Seafair Pirate’s cannon. Oh, and I’m not your mother, clean up your mess.

Spam

I hate spam, both the electronic and the canned type. I’ve noticed a new kind of spam coming in, spam that looks like a legitimate comment at first, but…

I didn’t cotton to it at first. I got a comment on one of my blogs that said something about not getting the point, but nice blog. I approved it. When the same danged comment showed up on another blog, I got suspicious. I clicked to the website listed, and it way a blank Lycos site. Both of those got marked as spam.

Today I got a comment on Magickally Delicious about trying my banana bread recipe. Except the recipe is copyrighted, and I didn’t give it out. If you want it, go buy the book, like I did. So something was squirrely. I clicked on the website, and there was a page of mixers on sale. Bzzzzt. Down in the spam trough with you.

I like comments. Actually, I adore my small contingent of readers and commenters. But the spam is going to have to be smarter than I am.

Another milestone

If you google “pink pantydropper”, my food blog is at the top of the page. But I still can’t find a recipe for the drink.

Blogorrhea

I have had a bad case of blogorrhea, and updated all my blogs.

Learning to Drive

Living in a rural area, learning to drive was a rite of passage. I was amused by Rob’s tale of his early driving escapades, but I have nothing similar to offer.
My introduction to driving, however, was traumatic. First off, I was trained to drive in a gray 1949 Plymouth. The danged thing was older than I was. And of course, it was a manual transmission. Three on the Tree, as Rob likes to say. That was traumatic enough. But my dad is the one who was the driving teacher. That was worse.
The lessons began before I was ever old enough for a learners permit. If I had been in public school, I could have taken driver’s education, but being in a parochial school, it wasn’t offered. So dad and I went out on the back roads and he taught me to drive. I have very few memories of that, for which I can be grateful. My father was not the most patient man, especially when he was working graveyard.
The one thing I remember clearly is the trauma of learning to use the clutch. The clutch is a bugger to learn, when to push the pedal, when to let off of it. Do it wrong, and the car lurches down the road. Do it right, and you can do wonderous things, like stop, and change gears.
My most vivid memory of the time is my dad yelling at me, “Let out the clutch, let out the clutch”, and my not having the translation to this instruction. I’m still not sure what the hell he meant, but whatever I was doing was wrong. I did eventually figure it out, however, and learned to drive a manual transmission. You may remember I had a manual transmission on the paper route. In fact, I’ve only owned one car with an automatic in my lifetime. But I still don’t know what “Let out the clutch” means. And I don’t want to know, either.

A Trailer Park Mystery

Or Silverstar reads trash so you don’t have to. I picked up this book because of Daisy Fae, and because I love mysteries.
Bring Your Own Poison by Jimmie Ruth Evans

My review

rating: 3 of 5 stars
Kinda cutesy, cozy. Not the worst mystery I’ve read lately, not even badly edited, a flaw of many books these days.
Wanda Nell has three children, one grandchild, works two jobs and lives in a double-wide. She is widowed, and dating. When a police officer dies at his bachelor party where she is working as a waitress, she “helps” the sheriff solve the crime. She’s a lot more liberal than I’d give most trailer park dwellers credit for since she has a son who is gay, and his partner is a lawyer. A fun read if you don’t have great literary ambition.

View all my reviews.

I’m so proud….

I finally can compete with 15 Minute Lunch for craziest search terms taking people to their blog. Ever since I blogged about Baking for Obama over at Magickally Delicious, my most prominent search terms are:

make your pink panties drop drink,  bread raising low temperature,  drop you pink panties punch

It warms a girls heart.

Sorry I haven’t been around….

I’ve been busy Baking for Obama.