Tri Nguyen

I just took a walk in the neighborhood. First stop was the Columbia City Library for something to feed my DVD player. Next door, the Columbia City Farmer’s Market (here’s a photoset) was in full swing. I swung by and bagged a tomato. Yeah, just one, but it’s a real beauty.

The whole time my stomach was gnawing at me for a pulled pork sandwich, so I walked down the block to Roy’s BBQ, a colorful little hole-in-the-wall. Had a Georgia Gold sandwich, potato salad, and a bowl of red beans and rice. Now that Georgia Gold’s a great sandwich: smoky, tangy, tender pork spilling from a fresh bun from the Columbia City Bakery up the street. Very happy now. Then I noticed their nice selection of beers neatly lined up. Next time I’ll try their Fish Tacos and wash them down with Stella Artois.

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For days now I’ve felt like hell. I’m sitting at work and am so not having fun right now. Yet I’m not “sick” in the slightest nor have I quaffed a single beer.

It’s other things. Since Thanksgiving I have carelessly skipped my gym dates, shorted myself on vegetables and fresh fruit, and am bearing a monstrous huge sleep deficit. My body’s just paying me back for treating it like shit.

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All the lights went out, just like that. My house and the neighborhood without power. With a little scrambling, I found a flashlight, a lighter, candles, and our oil lamp. Outside, I found a neighbor who confirmed that the light rail crew working at S Alaska ST and MLK cut the wire by mistake. Even the street lights were dark.

After Hurricane Katrina, I knew that our disaster plan and supplies were inadequate. This blackout underscored that. In the dark, I could barely find my shoes. So this weekend I’m preparing emergency kits for the house, following lists from Equipped to Survive and San Francisco’s 72hours.org.

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• Had a nice chat with my neighbor, Scott, at the Columbia City Farmer’s Market. He and his wife, Michaele, are mural painters and illustrators. Scott’s work is on the cover of the Sept 8–14th issue of The Stranger, the New Orleans issue.

• Updated my Mom’s browser and anti-virus software. Her computer caught a virus somehow. I’d love to set her up with a Mac Mini.

• Had a cappuccino from the Lloyd’s Rocket drive-thru. I hope that this funky addition to the Central District can thrive.

• Got FAlbum friendly URLs working, thanks to a helpful netizen.

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We hit the Intiman tonight to see Lynn Nottage’s play, “Intimate Apparel.” I liked it enormously. Its protagonist, Esther, is a humble, African-American seamstress in the New York of 1905 whose business—producing exquisite undergarments for her uptown and downtown clients—and late-blooming love life come to successfully dramatize a host of class, gender and race issues in a way that had me emotionally engaged from the first scene. The tender, unspoken, impossible attraction between Esther and Mr. Marks, an Orthodox Jewish fabric salesman, totally had me.

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Superbrief weekend update:

• Kha and Christine held their wedding last Saturday. Banquet at Hong Kong Seafood Restaurant. (pictures)

• Sunday we had Jennifer C & Nathan, Jen L & Matt, and Rachel over in Rachel’s honor: she’s going back to school for Industrial Design up at Western Washington University. We fired up the grill and made margaritas for all. (pictures)

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Yesterday I needed a haircut and saw Oanh, my usual stylist. As she’s going to deliver a baby boy in September, we chatted about babies. (Where was Sophie? In her stroller with a good view onto my haircut.)

Then I pushed Sophie all over Broadway. Cal Anderson Park beckoned, but was still surrounded by chain link fencing. So the first stop was Half Price Books. I picked up Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Magic Box, a supplement for the Buffy RPG. Then to the Liquor Store. The counterman was a gas. For the best margaritas, he said I’d want Sauza Hornitos tequila, triple-sec, and “the juice of 17 limes and one orange.” Purchases dangling off the Maclaren, I continued up the street.

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