Kentucky Mocha

Better than Irish Coffee! I have now developed the greatest morning pick-me-up in the world. (1)Go to the coffee shop (for those of us not fortunate enough to have our own espresso machines), order a small mocha in a medium cup, (3) walk one block home, (4) add Wild Turkey 101, (5) enjoy.

It's really that easy. James was making them on his new espresso machine and said they're the best if you mix equal parts steamed milk and bourbon. I also think it's a good idea at the coffee shop to ask for an extra shot of chocolate (unless you're at starbucks because that chocolate is overpowering, but then again, I doubt they'd accomodate the cups anyway).

School's out, time to party... or work harder than ever

But mostly party.

We'll be throwing one at my house, which apparently is currently dubbed Casa de Todji. It will be strange. It will be full of crazy artists, hippies, and wannabe bohemians who will talk about the healing powers of crystals and how to make candy out of birdseed. There will be lots of namedropping and ego stroking and some music. We are using the helium tank and the bullhorn from the sailing school to read loud, shrill poetry and to really get that bitch-rock sound. I encourage anyone who comes to get sloppy drunk and start ideological debates with the hippies. There's nothing like a counter-hegemonic lush to get the party going. Anyway, I'll be pre-gaming and the party starts at 10.
SE 39th Ave between Harrison and Stephens, 3 blocks south of Hawthorne. There's a hula hoop peace sign strung with christmas lights on the front porch. Also, you can check Todd's Tribe.net event post.

Last time it got pretty weird:

"However, the paths by which the two Americas were formed and have evolved represents this conflict as an assertion of the indigenous over the assimilated."

I think this sentence sounds drunk.

The seeds of resistance require a precarious balance of factors in order to mature into social change. Democratic environments seek to reinforce the status quo and are specifically designed to minimize the effects of social resistance, even to the point of preventing them. Given factors of cultural cohesion and aversion to democratic stagnancy in Latin America, its literary market has risen to the occasion allowing poetry to be an active force in mass mobilization. This contrasts with the United States where mass mobilization seldom occurs and the literary market disregards its responsibility to be effective in favor of autonomous satisfaction; a perspective that parallels the democratic capitalist culture out of which it emerges. This tendency renders the literary market unable to develop unified ideologies and therefore unable to unseat large scale hegemonies.

Gil Scott-Heron - Brother.mp3

Gil Scott-Heron - The Revolution will not be Televised.mp3

I just realized something: there are no Giant grocery stores outside of DC, Virginia and Maryland. I was reading Chocolate Cola and contemplating the name. My grandparents used to have chocolate soda when I was little and it rocked and Giant was the only store that carried it. Does anyone know where to find it in Portland?

School is finally winding down so now I can focus on getting Portland Parks and Rec to let the sailing school run at Willamette Park while our sailing club is floated across the river and lashed to a piling behind Ross Island and the giant mudflat created by silt collected by the backeddy from the powerboat dock they built at Willamette Park is being dredged. I hope they don't make this a big hassle.

Alright, back to work, here are a couple of shots from J/24 racing last week on the Columbia.

Conversation overheard at Tom's Restaurant on 39th and Division between two old men, the naive waitress and the Mexican cook.
Old Man 1: You know, Cisco is a Mexican cowboy.
Old Man 2: What?
Old Man 1: Yeah, that's what it means.
Naive Waitress: Hm?
Old Man 1: Yep, Cisco... Mexican cowboy.
Naive Waitress to Mexican cook, very slowly: Que es Cisco?
Mexican Cook: Is a company.

MmmmmmmcMenamins (NOT!)

Another night wasted at Market St. Pub. Sometimes I hate myself for it. Tonight is a first, though. I seriously wasted five hours sitting here, using the free wifi to pretend to do homework and instead read Overheard in New York and watch old Dead Milkmen videos. I am pretty lame, but at least I passed off my camera so other people could take pictures since I'm a horrible photographer.

It's finally time to sleep. I can't believe what sort of jam I've gotten myself into: 2 ten page papers to finish by Monday, an exam on Monday, a regatta Friday and Saturday, new registrations and payroll to finish tomorrow, and it looks like I'm not going to have anyone to teach the full classes this weekend so I'll be backing out of the Saturday races to teach sailing from 9-6 on Saturday and Sunday, only to come home and get back into answering emails and trying to finish my homework. I seriously don't think that there are enough hours between now and when everything needs to be finished for this to happen. Since I haven't slept for any substantial amount of time for the last couple of days, it's time to pass out and hope for a bit of mental clarity in the morning to start some serious time management. I'd hoped this blog wouldn't become a vent for inarticulate bitch-fests, but tonight, being one of those nights when I contract Turrets and grumble obscenities under my breath uncontrollably, it seems this may be the only appropriate outlet. Wish me luck.

Peaches - I Don't Give A ....wma