Never too early for Lipitor.

In news that makes my heart sing but causes my arteries shriek in terror, Pine State Biscuits, the amazing southern sandwich outfit that started out as a vendor at the Portland Farmer's Market, opened up their location on Alberta Street this morning, dangerously close to our house. It's a 6 minute walk. Oh. Shit.

Why all of this cholesterol-related anxiety, you ask? Let me introduce you to the Reggie:

A piece of fried chicken, bacon, a slice of Tillamook cheddar, and homemade sausage gravy in a buttermilk biscuit. I know, it sounds absurd, and it sort of is. But sweet Jesus, is it delicious. I'm not the only person that thinks so - every Saturday the line at the farmer's market is at least 25 people deep, and the sandwich has been featured on the Food Network, in Esquire, etc. And this isn't even the end of the story - you can make your Reggie "deluxe" by adding a fried egg.

The new restaurant space is really well-done, and I'm so excited to add it to my neighborhood loop. Maybe once every two weeks. The 2.5 Reggies per month plan. Good thing it's close to my gym, too. Feel free to hold an intervention if you notice I've transitioned to elastic waistbands and support hose.

This is going to be fun. Unless I fail.

Vintage pattern from Serendipity Vintage. Fabric from Bolt. Not sure where the completely unrealistic assessment of my skill level came from. Wish me luck.

Mad men, lazy women. Err... woman.

I realize this blog has taken a weird turn. Instead of sharing little anecdotes about my attempts to conquer all domestic realms, I've been recycling content featured elsewhere. This is because most of my projects have been put on hold, due to general summer mayhem involving visitors, weddings, trips, and other assorted whiny excuses that I basically use to cover up the fact I can't stop watching Mad Men. But there are some good things in the works, I promise. Things I can't wait to tell you about. After I get through Season 2 and find out why Don Draper is so f-ed up.

So, please be distracted by this little opinion piece about city cycling that I wrote for Volume One, a really great alternative biweekly that I used to work for in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. About six years ago, when it was just a wee little b&w zine that a couple of guys produced on the side, in a tiny office the size of a closet, where we had to move the ethernet cord from one computer to the next because there was only one cord -- I was the outfit's first "intern." Now it's a full fledged, sharp-looking tabloid with an editorial and sales staff with a kickass downtown headquarters. I feel lucky to have been on the ground floor of this publication that has done remarkable things for the creative scene and sense of community in that city.

Aaaaand now it's time for more Mad Men. At the rate I'm burning through these DVDs I'll be back here trying to fill an immense void before you know it. Or getting cable to continue my addiction. See you... soon. Soon-ish.

SXSW Days Tres and Cuatro

Oofta. We woke up on Friday morning and decided to set some boundaries. Take it easy. Know our limits. So naturally we ended up Austin’s legendary Magnolia Café at 4am for nachos and home fries. Sometimes you just have to call an audible.

We started the day at the Rumblefish party at the Tiniest Bar in Texas, catching a set from Portland’s 7 member, 82-instrument band Loch Lomond, followed by Nico Vega from L.A. -- a metal/hybrid/sorta bat-shit crazy but good-sounding girl-fronted act. At this point we decided to throw “Get a Grip Friday” rules out the window. (Which for the record were never firmly established.) We dipped back into the 6th Street mayhem and found some seats under the stars in the Side Bar’s outdoor patio before hopping next door to Beerland to catch the Vivian Girls, girl-punk from Brooklyn.

Then we come full circle. Where it ends and begins, with nachos and home fries. My body hates me. We’re working it out.

Saturday was truly one to scratch into the “really great day” bedpost. Hometapes put on a all-day event called “Friend Island,” with free pancakes, (that squirt out of a can! Mine was shaped like a snail.) Deschutes beer on tap and bands and bands and bands. My favorites were Peter Broderick, (member of Horse Feathers and Efterklang) an unplugged acoustic front porch-esque set from Raleigh’s Megafaun, and some face-melting electronic business from old pals and Madison residents All Tiny Creatures. And let’s not forget more goodness from those Danes, and some bonus Danes whose band was called “Murder.” Which was surprising, since they were three dudes sitting with their legs crossed singing melancholy folk music. Maybe they got some bad thesaurus information.

I apologize for the “Then we did this, and then I ate this, and then some guy said this” nature of these SXSW posts. It hurts me more than it hurts you, I promise. The amount of notable activities is a bit overwhelming. I’m not even telling you everything. Like how the ATM charged me a $6 finance charge, or about the holes that my “cute girl shoes” chiseled into the back of my heels. Anyway, I appreciate you sticking with me. These bands deserve the attention of my gargantuan readership. (Musicians, thank me later. In all of your albums.)