stories

Beeguy is passionate about his bees and his honey. He and his lady bring jars and jars of the stuff to the Portland Farmers Market to taste--buckwheat, white clover, cherry, even coffee--and they'll sell you a bottle of whatever's in stock for $8. (I recommend the wild blackberry, which tastes like a good light honey but finishes like blackberry jam.)

Do I need another reason? Where else but Glassland would the above be considered a cool hood ornament? But what I really love are the people: Actually, this is a member of the Oregon Glass Guild leadership debating matters of, well, leadership after a really interesting lecture by artist Andy Paiko. His work must be seen to be believed. Fascinating [...]

...is the title of the only recent Peter Gabriel song I can find. It's the theme song for WALL-E, not my favorite movie but I kinda like that song. If I had to pick music that matched the kind of work I do, it'd be Gabriel's (or maybe Kate Bush, which is sort of the other side of the same [...]

"It breaks my heart, the things people don't care about," said Jashawn. We were standing outside the storage facility where she worked, testing my new security code. (Long story here that involves my new kiln accidentally shipped out long before it has a home --and contrary to the order I placed--so it'll now cool its heels at company expense until I'm ready for it).

The mechanic leaned out of the window. "Excuse me, ma'am, but could you move your car?" she asked, "I need to get this van into the bay, and I need that space to maneuver." I'd only just found the parking space, the last remaining in the lot, so I grumbled as I moved out and parked on the street. She pulled the van into the garage and I pretty much forgot her until she dropped off my car.

May expects you to keep up. And so you do. ...

There was a different guy by the side of the 205 ramp yesterday, and this one was doing a kind of dance with his sign. He swept it out front, twirled it, pulled it back behind his head and then, dodge-parry-THRUST, shoved it out at the waiting cars. From the looks of it, he'd torn the sign from an old cardboard box, hastily inscribing this message with colored markers: BET YOU CAN'T HIT ME WITH A QUARTER!!!!!

The old woman glared at us. "I'd LIKE to get into my room, if you don't mind." ...

Every once in awhile I'm reminded of the original purpose of a blog (WebLog, that is): To comment on interesting stuff you find on the Web. When three separate sources pointed to the same Tim O'Reilly post, I figured it was worth a read (and, anyway, I like the man and his company very much). Interesting stuff. To sum it [...]