Gammit

This Saturday gave me a very legitimate reason to be concerned that Chris and I don't have health insurance. We spent the day boating, wake boarding, attempting to wake surf (very difficult mind you), tubing, and crashing, crashing, crashing.

I'm pretty new to the whole wake boarding scene, so I fall... a lot. Chris isn't much of an exception himself, but he actually tries to pull off a few stunts. Anyhow, we woke up yesterday feeling like we had both been hit by cars. I'm pretty sure I got whiplash and should probably be wearing a neck brace, but once again... only so much you can do without insurance. Here are a few of our most intense moments:

On a different note...

Thanks to the feedback of my readers (all 4 of you), I have decided to re-test my egg hypothesis under a range of conditions. This Friday was--once again--115 degrees, so I cracked Egg #1 directly onto the asphalt as many of you suggested, and I cracked Egg #2 on a metal strip in front of my house. The results:

- Egg #1 got eaten by a stray cat within the first ten minutes.

- Egg #2 looked something like this after a day... and then got eaten by the same cat.

My conclusion: Technically speaking, it is possible to cook an egg with nothing more than the Arizona sun and the proper surface, but the result was far from the lovely sunny-side up egg I had envisioned. It was truly inedible in every sense of the word. I guess cats are an exception.

Speaking of cats, I have decided to adopt the stray kitty that keeps eating my experiments. He is cute and black and has huge gold eyes. He is also super skittish and I'm pretty sure that I terrify him, but--I want a cat.

At first I considered calling him Breakfast Face because so far he has only eaten my eggs and bacon, but I didn't want him to be embarrassed about having a lame name, so I ran a few by Chris: Nugget (no), Pablo (no), Scrappy (no). So we compromised and named him Gammit. It is in Chris' favor because it rhymes with something else he would like to call Gammit (he's allergic to and has a natural distain for cats), and I thought it was kind of cute. Anyhow, I secretly bought a bowl and some cat food for Gammit. Hopefully Chris will start taking more to our cat before he finds out that have been spending money to sustain him.

This weeks goal: warm Chris up to Gammit, and to get a photo of Gammit for my blog before he runs away!

Hot

Whew wee! This place is H-O-T! For about the last month the temperature has held steady at a scorching 115 degrees. Some nights don't drop below 100. The situation isn't improved much by my wimpy indoor cooling system that barely keeps my house at an uncomfortable 85 degrees. Between that, my truck's nonfunctioning AC, and the fact that I haven't had cold tap water in 2 months, I am having a first memorable summer in Arizona.

To make my summer a little more interesting, I decided to try an experiment... in the name of science of course.

The myth: It is possible to fry an egg on the sidewalk in Phoenix.

Conclusion: According to exhibit A (on left) it is NOT possible to fry an egg on the sidewalk in Phoenix.

Myth busted.

At the end of the day, I ended up with an egg that was just as watery as when I cracked it, only three times more stinky.

Anyhow, this brings me to my point: I would take 115 degree summer weather over 40 below zero (Rexburg) winters. My reasoning:

1. Even though hot weather and cold weather are both uncomfortable, at least the sun is on your side when it's hot out. Although I may be a sweaty mess, my skin can happily drink up vitamin D while allowing my emotions a rest from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Goodbye gloomy, overcast, haven't-seen-the-sun-in-a-month winters!

2. There is a certain glamour associated with summer. Sunglasses, convertibles, bathing suits... you get the just of it. If you're going to be hot, you might as well be hip! Snow--not so great. It generally results in wet hair and looking like a marshmallow.

3. There is no such thing as "winter driving". Goodbye treacherous road conditions: whiteouts, black ice, loss of control, and driving 5 mph to avoid totaling your car.

4. I don't have to shovel the heat off my driveway or scrape it off my windshield while running the risk of loosing a limb to frostbite.

5. There isn't any ice on the sidewalk to biff it on! I have had my fair share of winter related wipeouts. Now I just need to keep an eye out for stray banana peels.

Moral of the story: even though opening the front door feels more like opening the oven door, bring on the heat. After 23 years of wretched winters, I am welcoming this climate change with open arms. Adios snowy days!

Da Hood

When Chris and I arrived home yesterday we noticed that our mail box was open and various unimportant pieces of mail were scattered in front of the door. Just as we suspected.... a mail thief! And one who grossly reminds me of a rat that. A rat with the gaul to choosily only steal the best crumbs and make a mess out of the rest.

For the last few weeks I have been waiting on the arrival of my social security card and an incoming check via mail. I am doubtful that both are lost in transit and am currently blaming our mailbox bandit. His bad behavior has me so put out that I haven't taken much time to allow the seriousness of the situation to fully sink in. However, I think it is safe to assume that my identity has already been compromised and is up for sale on the black market. Joy.

That being said--welcome to my neighborhood--downtown Mesa. Roughly 10,000 illegal immigrants cross the Mexico/US boarder every day and I think that the majority of them end up across the street. Let me make it clear that I don't have issues with Hispanics. Not in the least, but I do have a problem with people who are here illegally. It is frustrating to drive home at the end of the day and wonder if I am still in America because the signage, billboards, and store names all suggest otherwise when I CAN'T READ THEM. It makes me nervous that there is a community of undocumented people living nearby who, by simply being here, have already broken one major law. And as human nature shows: once people get away with one crime, breaking others seems less severe.

The first night Chris and I spent in our new home, we were up until about 2:00 a.m. moving things from the car to the house. About that time, we went outside for one final trip and saw a helicopter with a searchlight circling our neighbor hood. Deciding to investigate, we drove a block down the road and found that the whole area had been blocked off by police cars. The longer we have lived here, the less uncommon these types of occurrences have become. Stay up late enough in downtown Mesa and you will see the same scene: a helicopter circling the nearby area, spotlight on, pursuing the runaway suspect of the day.

In addition to both of these circumstances, we live across the street from a bar (whoot, whoot) and in the last month we have received two sex offender notifications warning us of men who recently moved into the area. Apparently those pieces of mail didn't particularly appeal to our mailbox bandit because both were successfully delivered. And... as we just learned--there is a halfway house located just down the road. Fantastic!

However, we do have to give our sweet little home a minute of recognition. It is a rather charming house for a newlywed couple, and Chris and I feel very blessed to live in number 21. Having our shotgun by the door "just incase" will simply make our first year of marriage that much more memorable.

Three States. Six Days.

Last week Chris and I took advantage of Allegiant Air's ridiculously inexpensive airfare and flew home for a final visit prior to growing up and beginning our full time jobs. We flew into Montana, stayed at a cabin in lovely Island Park, Idaho, and went home to Wyoming. The trip was much needed and greatly enjoyed (especially the 80 degree weather!), so... here it is in a nut shell!

We split a cinnamon roll (Big Foot worthy) 6 ways, and this is what was leftover. My arteries!

Enjoyed the scenery in Island Park.

Did yoga.

Stood in scary places.

Went to the Play Mill and watched a comedy.

Recognized a guy in the comedy as the same guy who surprise-kissed me in college (on stage in front of 200 people). This was taken after Chris said, "Hey, you kissed my wife!"

Put dead things on our heads.

Went canoeing down a river in Island Park.

Three hours later... still beautiful.

Got dangerously close to a massive yet striking 6 point elk.

Absorbed Wyoming's finest scenery.

Tried wake boarding for the first time! As it turns out, I'm a bit of a natural :)

Modern Phoenix

In the words of the Soul Hamsters (do click): you can go with this... or you can go with that...

This or...

Phoenix is a fantastic city. It's warm during the winter, it's metropolitan, most of it is relatively new, and the roads are fantastically wide and in great condition. However, an overall appreciation for modern architecture is practically nonexistent here. The East Valley is the epitome of "cookie cutter". Cliche statement, I know, but talk about a cliche suburbia! It is still a beautiful city, but lacking originality. Last week this drove me to a point where I swore I would pluck my eyes out if I saw one more peachy-sand colored stucco house with a terra cotta roof. Then, I blinked... and that's all I saw... so I decided to keep my eyes, but I also decided to make concentrated effort to search out something aesthetically enjoyable. And this is what I found:

It exists! Modern stores, modern architecture, modern-loving people... there is such a thing here. Some consider themselves to part of an "underground" modern community in the Phoenix Metro area. I wouldn't say it's thriving but it's here! In the above photo, for example, is a store called Copenhagen. The owner is from Denmark (surprise) and he has rather fantastic taste and the largest showroom for modern furniture that I have seen.

There are actually two businesses in the above photo (Metro Retro and Modern Mansion), and they both specialize in the same thing--salvaging vintage modern furniture. Hello Eames. I was excited to meet the owners of both who were surprisingly friendly (unlike the more established franchise owners). They told me about their passion for beautiful vintage pieces and how they scour antique shops, thrift stores, and estate sales to find these unique lost pieces.

The hi-light of the trip was (drum roll)....

Hello Beautiful! A FIRST EDITION Eames Lounge chair that they ACTUALLY let me sit in! This little beauty can be snagged at Modern Mansion for a mere $4,500. Let me tell you what, the men working there were something else. Super friendly. "Sit here." "Let me tell you about this piece." I got quite an education.

For example: why is mid-century modern such a coveted classic?

#1 - It is sentimental. Because pieces such as these were mass produced, nearly everyone personally owned them or had used them. Take for example the Eames bikini chair. It was used in businesses and schools everywhere. There is something SENTIMENTAL about that. Vintage = nostalgia.

#2 - In the 1940's and 1950's a rare thing happened--consumers could buy fantastically designed/durable furniture at a low cost (then). Now days, if I want to buy a sofa that is timeless both aesthetically and in its dependability, I would probably spend upwards of $3,000. These mid-century classics can be 60 years old and they are still in great working condition. For example, the materials used in the above chair are: down feathers, leather, and a rare Brazilian wood that is no longer legal to harvest. Thus... all the rage.

Overall, I was delighted to meet some new fascinating people and to make connections in the "underground" modern community. I learned much and have found out that there are still many places I need to visit. Rejoice! My eyes have been spared for now.

An Adventurous Day

Chris and I make a concentrated effort to stay busy, and I dare say that yesterday was no exception. After feeling justified in sleeping in a bit (what are Saturday's for?), we met up with brother-in-law Johnny who took us to the Scottsdale Shooting Club. What an experience.

The store is essentially a shooting range/weapons store that is stocked full of small guns, big guns, beautifully crafted guns, and scarily intense guns. Members even get a free machine gun rental on their birthday! Smiling people enjoying their weekend were filing in and out carrying (sometimes very large) bags filled with their personal weapons. Initially, it almost seemed like a contradictory sight.

After gearing up with ear and eye protection, the three of us walked through multiple sets of automatic glass doors and entered the shooting range. There were rows men and women simultaneously firing at their own paper targets, similar to what you see cops doing in their spare time on CSI. Even with ear protection, the room was loud in an unnerving way, and the reverberation and impact of the firing weapons inside my chest didn't help my nerves much.

After a short safety lesson from Johnny, Chris and I went at it! I picked up the gun thinking it almost looked like a black squirt gun or a plastic toy, but after shooting it, I changed my mind in a hurry.

Initially, I wasn't a bad shot--Johnny was impressed, but as I continued to fire, I became progressively worse. He explained that in the same moment I would pull the trigger my body would tense up in anticipation of my weapon firing. This alone would cause my well-aligned aim to veer almost 5' from the target! With practice, I learned that shooting is primarily about controlling your breathing and mental focus in an uncomfortable environment. It was a challenge to move more slowly, breathe more deeply, and maintain a peaceful mind set when I knew the weapon in my hand would emit a very loud BANG followed by a powerful kick, but once I began to practice that control, I did very well!

After flying through enough ammo to sufficiently shred a handful of paper targets, Chris and I left for Chase field to watch the Diamond backs play the Giants. (Hats off to Johnny for the tickets). Games are always a blast. The fans are full of energy and the size of the stadium alone is staggering.

After eating too many hotdogs, and loosing miserably (again), Chris and I headed home. The drive downtown was spectacular. Reflections of the low-hanging sun were gleaming off of glass-faced skyscrapers. The sight was breathtaking. All in all, it was a beautiful end to an enjoyable Saturday.

Dream Job

As the depressing search for employment continues, I was thrilled to find something that I would really, honestly, truly love to do here in Phoenix. Why didn't I think of it sooner? Taliesin West--of course!

I have been a longtime admirer of Frank Lloyd Wright, and that admiration only grew through the course of my education. However, the icing on the cake was last summer when I visited the Guggenheim Museum (Wright's final hurrah to the world before passing away).

I was extremely fortunate that the museum's exhibit was in commemoration of none other than Wright himself (something the museum does only once in a rare while). It was a beautiful and inspiring experience in recognition of a brilliant man--arguably the world's greatest architect. But that dispute was almost unanimously settled long ago in Wrights favor. Now he is, without question, regarded as one of the world's greatest architects, having designed over 1,000 structures.

I spent hours in the Guggenheim, not only marveling at the building's own unique strength, but at the plans on display. They were frame worthy. I coveted the man's penmanship, his drafting skills, his drawings, and his brilliance. There were large models of structures that were never constructed, most of which were so bizarre that I doubt there were construction methods capable of executing them at the time. Overall, it was inspiring and exhausting. I don't know how one man can be possessed by so much genius.

Regardless, I had high hopes of contributing to the legacy of FLW, even if my only contribution was to guide informative tours around Taliesin (Wright's architecture school that he designed—of course). But then the bad news: after all my hype and excitement at finding somewhere I would be passionate about working--I discovered that the foundation is volunteer based. So, although I currently have to give up my dream of making a living for myself on the shoulders of Wright --I will have to continue to search elsewhere and perhaps spend a day or two volunteering at Taliensin.