More libraries should grow grass on the roof

These were taken of the Ballard Neighborhood Center and Public Library in Seattle. I spotted the building from the neighborhood square by it's hammock-slope ceiling. If you look, you can see the grasses growing on the roof. That's right, guy...grasses growing on the roof. Seattle Public Libraries are known for their nonconformist architectural styles, and I loved this building for it's sense of irreverence and serenity. It's not the kind of building you gape and bow to...it's the grin-and-say-"That's awesome" kind. In addition, the weather that was so perfect it made you pause for spiritual reflection every ten minutes. My belly is full of pho and Bud Select, and I am thoroughly delighted with life.

Let's start this day on a good note.

Since I stayed up too late with the lovely Vendange, I'm going to put a nice, positive spin on my morning (since my stomach is demanding I feel otherwise).

Things I love, at this very moment:

All-natural lip balm
The Best American Magazine Writing 2003
walnuts
Lost conspiracy/clue blogs
Danskos
Shoulders, especially other people's shoulders
Crazy by Gnarls Barkley

Ah, now I feel pumped and ready to join the world. Combined with little V8 cans and chewable Centrum vitamins, this is one of the better hangover cures I've tried.

You're so mean

I'm writing this entry while watching Lost, so excuse me if my writing is littered with the signs of one's mind being blown. Damn, I love this show.

I have a new job, and I promised to myself that I wouldn't hold onto too many expectations. For the last three years, I searched for and took jobs I would hope would lead me to a career. Attorney, restauranteur, policy analyst. This time, I'm trying hard not to picture six years in advanced. What advanced degree I would need to actually pursue this degree. I want to go to work in a blue-toned place in a well-lit environment surrounded by people who don't hate their job, on most days. So I can just come home, read some witty nonfiction and roast some asparagus. Maybe do some painting. Move on up Maslow's hierarchy. And enjoy it, un-adulterated-ly.

I guess I always thought I would become a professional. Professional something or other. But, maybe not. Maybe not sounds alright.

And a shout out to my baby brother Zachary Robert, turning a twinkly 21 at midnight tonight. He was looking forward to his chance to "get drunk in public" this evening.* Through the magic of time zones, I called him after the ball dropped and he and his buddy were on the way to the Casino Queen (Wilco fans, take note), otherwise known as "The Boat". My mom took me out to the Boat on my 21st birthday, and with my shiny new $60, we played nickle slots and drank weak cranberry and vodka's on a Sunday afternoon. The after-church casino crowd is not normally cheeriest, but I received warm congratulations from the nearby retired ladies and Mom raked in more than $120 in nickel-riffic profits. My dad took me to Growler's Pub, with its 99 beers on tap, and I finished the night with Bloody Marys during Twang Fest at Blueberry Hill. A cherry on top. I hope all the same for my brother.


* At Jason and I's graduation party at our apartment, Zach declined beer and went for plastic-jug vodka and cranberry juice drinks (even during King's Cup), which led to uncharacteristic and indiscriminate outgoingness, and eventually, vomiting into a plastic grocery bag nine times before, during, and after his flight back to St. Louis. Ry and I tried to warn him, but in the end, only cheap vodka could learn him good.

J-O-B!

I got one!

J-O-B!

It's mine!

J-O-B!

Got healthcare!

J-O-B!

Nine to five!

J-O-B! YEAH!

[Ninja stance, kickbox the air, clap your hands together, alright.]

You know you're from [insert fashionably unhip rural or Midwestern area here] when...

I had to include this little "You know you are from St. Louis" lists. It's nerdy, but ridiculously true and childhood memory-inducing. I never had so much pride in the beer, baseball and Italian food of the area until I moved away. Now that its all Starbucks, salmon fillets and teal-colored expansion teams, I fly my Midwestern accent and dusty, garage-party upbringing proudly. Maybe it's the pleasure of being from somewhere else, carrying around an alternative identity around with you. Something to make you fashionably un-pampered...hipsters from the green suburbs of Seattle or San Fransisco usually haven't gone to a Waffle House, have "Dad was too drunk so he let my 11-year-old brother drive home" stories, or spent Sunday afternoons going to car lots or went to high school without AP courses. It's the authentically-somewhat redneck childhood that I politely rejected for the ecologically and economically-friendly Northwest but still hold on to to boast my personal street cred. I'm sure that not every plain-Jane town transplant uses the "Not From These Parts" card, but I'm just the kind of loud-mouthed, defensive pud that would. Yup, me and George W.

And so, this list was great fun for me. Have one for yourself: You know you're from...when


You love toasted ravioli with Budweiser beer. With marinara sauce.

"Vacation" is a choice between Silver Dollar City and Lake of the Ozarks. Or the Huzzah.

You can find Pestalozzi Street by aroma alone. Oh, the Hill. Many a 16-year-old date spent there.

You can get anywhere in 20 minutes, except on highway 40.

You can debate for 30 minutes whether Missouri Baking or Marge Amighetti makes the best Italian bread. Are you kidding me? It's Amighetti's for sure.

You know what "Party Cove" is, and where the "lake" is. A friend from Ohio new about this. Or at least about the famed boat orgies in the middle of Party Cove.

You still can't believe the Arena is gone. Sniff.

Your first question to a new person is, "Where did you go to High School?" This is the most true statement in this list. It's a compulsion. Your life's worth is measured on this ridiculous question.

Your non-St. Louisan friends always ask if you're aware there is no "r" in "wash." And no "aw" in Lord."

You know at least one person who's gotten hurt at Johnson Shut-ins. Like me. I can't believe they shut down the cliff jumping...and at the same time, can't believe they ever allowed 10-years-old to jump into shallow, rocky water.

You know in your heart that Mizzou can beat Nebraska in football. Sigh. I don't believe it, but my dad and brother are still holding out.

You think the four major food groups are Beef, Pork, Budweiser and Imo's.Replace Bud with Bud Light and Beef with Jumbo Jacks and that sounds about right. And Ted Drewes.

You know there are really only three salad dressings: Imo's, Zia's and Rich and Charlie's. Zia's is the best, but Imo's makes the best salad. With pepperoncini hot peppers, pepperoni and provel cheese. Yum.

You'll pay for your kid to go to college unless they want to go to KU.Or U of I.

You would rather have a root canal without anesthetic than drive on Manchester on a Saturday afternoon.

It just doesn't seem like a wedding without mostaciolli. AND YOU PRONOUNCE IT 'MUSKACHOLLI'. The balance of the menu is ham, boiled roast beef, string beans with ham and of course pitchers of Busch Bavarian (class weddings have Bud). No, it would be kegs of Busch Light, muskachiolli, and your 19 Catholic great aunts and uncles. In the Knights of Columbus Hall.

You know, within a three-mile radius, where another St. Louisan grew up as soon as they open their mouth.Just ask them where they went to high school.

You know what a Pork Steak is...and what kind of sauce to put on it!

Everyone in your family has floated the Meramec River at least once.Only the Huzzah, Jack's Fork and Snake. I don't know how you could grow up and not have the term "float trip" in your immediate vocabulary. And you should have at least one "My brother/cousin/sister/dad/neighbor/priest got so drunk on the float trip, they..." stories.

A hoosier is someone that lives just south of Chouteau, not a person from Indiana.Or anyone from Caseyville, Granite City or WoPo. Boosh!

You have made fun of Mike Shanahan and tried to imitate him ordering another cold, frosty Busch Bavarian Beer.

You have listened to Mike's broadcast on KMOX, while watching the game on TV and wonder what game he is watching. A tear forms in your eye as someone mentions their favorite Jack Buck story."Swwwiiiing into left field.... Jack Buck was every bit as good as Chicago's Harry Carry."

You've said, "It's not the heat, it's the humidity."A million times. It is the humidity.

Your favorite summer treat is handed to you upside-down

You bleed Blue between September and May.My brother won the "Do you bleed blue?" Blues hockey contest and he and a buddy's picture was on a billboard off I-55 for a couple of months.


Ah, that was awesome.