0 to 60 on the Auto Banh
I need to default more to the pen and paper journal. Not at the expense of the blog, that ridiculed online presence. I love the blog, it's here to stay. But we've all got preferred methods of journaling, writing, recording, etc. None of them are wrong. My preference is pen and paper, but it's also harder (for me). The keyboard + screen is tempting.
If I were wise enough to connect inner voice Let's Do It with Actions, I'd write more and then transfer some of those things to the blogosphere. Again, I'm not saying there's a right way to do it. It comes down to what's effective for you, for me.
Once in a blue moon I'll think of several things I'd like to write about. If I don't do it straight away, they start to get jumbled, and then I lose track of them. I carry pen and paper everywhere...and 99% of the time they remain safe and secure in the dark abyss of the backpack.
I've mentioned before that my childhood friends and I text. One of them lives in Oklahoma City. We got to talking about a man in OKC who reacted horribly at a Vietnamese restaurant after the workers politely asked him to wear a mask. That led to a discussion about banh mi sandwiches.
That quickly became all I could think about. A delicious mix of ingredients tucked into a baguette. Heaven. And I'd never had one. I've put away a lot of pho, but never a banh mi. Partly because the classic is meat based, pate even. There are tofu versions, and while I like tofu, I'm a little skeptical of it. Probably an irrational association of soy with soylent green.
When it comes to food, I am a man of action. I finished a text with my friends and promptly marched to a Vietnamese place down the street. The sandwich was good, but the baguette was disappointing, relegating it to a good sandwich. The next night I went to Mr. Saigon near Seattle University. Fantastic. The bread was perfect, crusty. I'd go to the Broadway spot (the first place) for pho, Mr. Saigon for banh mi. Next stop International District.
Segue. The segues happen when my mind is all over the place. If that frustrates you, just remember, chances are that your being here is not interfering with your quest for the cure for cancer. It might be an excuse to put off taking out the trash, but let's not exaggerate the opportunity cost.
Post Pike on Broadway makes absolutely delicious sandwiches. I feel guilty writing that. Café Argento, I will never leave you. You both have amazing breakfast bagel egg sandwiches, and they're delightfully different. Today I went with Post Pike. As I was walking home, I thought 1) bagel sandwiches and banh mi - we're gonna need a bigger pair of jeans and 2) why is that man looking up at the sky?
Pro tip - when you see someone standing still looking off in the distance or up in the sky, take a moment to follow their gaze. Despite my stomach's protests, I looked up and watched an amazing bald eagle circling above Capitol Hill. I was mesmerized. Massive, floating effortlessly on the wind or the drafts or the draughts or currents or whatever. I watched for a few minutes, and I don't remember a flapping of the wings. Jaw-droppingly beautiful, but the sight also brings up some interesting questions. Is the pigeon somehow less beautiful? I've always been a little weirded out by birds, especially pigeons. But it's all a cosmic flip of the cards. What we're dealt isn't related to the card-holder. Unless it's karma, in which case you should tip 25% and hold elevator doors.
Neighbor update - their cooking is a source of torture and heavenly bliss. My version of Facebook is walking out into the hallway, pausing, lowering my mask for a death-defying moment, and trying to figure out what is on the menu tonight. I imagine my guesses are 20% accurate. I wish I knew more about food. I think my mom would stop and say, "oh, they sautéed the tomatoes, and that asparagus smells delicious. And that subtle addition of lemon juice is a nice touch." My version is "hmmm, me hungry".
Segue. Hey, I know the ginger is meant as a palette cleanser, but sometimes I like trying to balance it and the wasabi on the sushi while trying to dip it in the soy sauce. I know, I'm a barbarian.
Making photozines is simultaneously fun and maddening. That was meant to be the main thrust of this post, but I'm going to have to save that for another day. I'm a terrible blogger. If I'd gotten on the last boat out of Pompeii, I'd have wasted most of my ink on writing about what I packed for lunch.
But if you take photos, you should consider making photozines. Get that stuff off the hard drives. I just chucked a bunch of concert/music photos from 2016-2017 into a zine, and I can't wait to get the printed product. I included way too many photos, and in the end, I was just dropping them in, but it was rewarding and brought back a lot of memories. I'll let you know how it turned out.
I can't very well sign off without including some Capitol Hill photos. I hope you're doing well. If you feel like you're not doing as well as the people who have learned 2 languages while qualifying for the next Iron Man, cut yourself some slack. I can assure you that my next post isn't going to be "How I used the pandemic to qualify for the Boston Marathon". The vaccines are doing their thing, and we're all entitled to play the tomorrow is a new day card. We all burned the Jokers, right?
