Some ordered, some unordered. Enjoy!

Half of a Weekend (or a Little More, Maybe)

January 23, 2009

• 5:05 PM Sunset run on the beach followed by ocean dip and drinks
• 6:00 PM Depart Tamarindo in 7/8 full Toyota Prado with one 40-ounce of Imperial
• 6:01 PM – 7:29 PM Pass around a million cars
• 7:30 PM Stop on side of street to buy two bottles of vino de coyol (palm wine) for $2 each
• 7:33 PM Stop on side of street 100m later para cenar at a tiny family restaurant
• 8:00 PM Discover that palm wine does not actually cause the advertised blindness
• 9:30 PM After some moderately difficult uphill dirt roads, discover at bar, with swim-up service and sign offering "Informacion de Monteverde," that we are actually still quite far away
• 9:33 PM Turn up nearly hidden dirt road next to church for 45-degree incline rocky dirty joy
• 9:45 PM As the road winds and climbs and climbs and climbs, begin somewhat nervous but mostly manic and joyful laughter. Increase volume on music.
• 10:15 PM After climb has leveled out, stop on ridge and turn off car lights to consider amazing vistas and stars and to pee.
• 10:55 PM Reach Santa Elena and Hotel de Sueños to reunite with Slepak of Safety 3rd fame
• 11:15 PM Head out into the nearly dead quiet Santa Elena to find a bar and a beer
• 12:00 PM Beer success! Then! Sleep!

January 24, 2009

• 01/24 7:00 AM Good morning!
• 7:15 AM Breakfast at the Hotel
• 8:00 AM Depart Santa Elena in 8/8 full Toyota Prado to Selvatura Park.
• 8:30 AM Begin zip-lining at Selvatura. See Quote #1.
• 9:00 AM Did I mention we were zip-lining? High high above the ground through a rainforest? Amazing.
• 9:30 AM Arrive at "la sorpresa." The surprise was, somewhat unsurprisingly, a Tarzan-style swing from a huge-ass platform.
• 10:15 AM Finish zip-lining with a few last nice rides.
• 10:30 AM Early lunch at Selvatura restaurant.
• 11:45 AM Head off hiking in local nature preserve
• 12:30 PM Climb closed-down observation tower for more amazing vistas of surrounding jungle
• 1:45 PM Become disgruntled with constant, sticky mud and its propensity to detract attention from surrounding flora and fauna
• 2:30 PM Complete hike, return to car for drive to Monteverde village
• 3:00 PM Shop for arts and crafts in Monteverde with way clutch coffee and peanut butter brownie refueling
• 4:45 PM Depart Monteverde and begin drive back to Tamarindo
• 4:46 PM Be convinced by three passengers in extremely tight back back seat that we should take the slightly less scenic but far less treacherous and bumpy route home
• 5:30 PM Stop at roadside of low ridge to watch the sunset and polish off the palm wine
• 7:30 PM Dinner in Cañas at seafood restaurant. Ceviche = good; sopa negra = not so good
• 9:00 PM Very nearly completely memorized Track #6
• 9:01 PM Finally stop listening to Track #6
• 9:45 PM Arrive home in Tamarindo, unload car, jump into our pool
• 10:15 PM Start playing Siete-Once-Dobles
• 10:17 PM Remove shirts and don sunglasses to increase Siete-Once-Dobles skill
• 10:33 PM Stop game after finishing five 40-ounces of Imperial between six thirsty, road-worn men
• 10:40 PM Remove sunglasses and don shirts; head out to Babylon for drinking and dancing
• 11:00 PM Cerveza! Bailando!

January 25, 2009

• 1:00 AM Más cerveza! Más bailando! See Quote #2.
• 1:30 AM Unquotable, indescribable moment(s).
• 2:00 AM Walk home on the beach, stopping to consider stars.
• 2:30 AM Arrive at home
• 3:00 AM Bailey makes scrambled eggs with extreme difficulty cracking egg shells on plastic bowl: nearly fall asleep with face in plate of aforementioned delicious eggs
• 3:25 AM Sleep! Wow!

Driving Playlist (On Repeat: We Only Had 1 CD)

1. Led Zeppelin – Over the Hills and Far Away
2. Curtis Mayfield – Move On Up
3. Us3 – Cantaloop
4. Jurassic 5 – Concrete Schoolyard
5. Arrested Development – People Everyday
6. MIA featuring Bun B and Rich Boy – Paper Planes Remix*
7. Kanye West – Homecoming
8. Vampire Weekend – Cape Code Kwassa Kwassa
9. Regina Spektor – Hotel Song
10. Paul Simon – You Can Call Me Al
11. Old Crow Medicine Show – Wagon Wheel
12. Modest Mouse – The Good Times Are Killing Me
13. The Who – Baba O'Riley
14. Talking Heads – Once in a Lifetime
15. The Moldy Peaches – Anyone Else But You
16. Puff Daddy and Faith Evans featuring 112 – I'll Be Missing You

10 Simple Rules of Siete-Once-Doble

1. Stand around table with two dice, one shared cup for beer, and beer source.
2. Roll dice, taking turns and passing counter-clockwise.
3. If one rolls a seven, eleven, or double, assign the (quarter- to half-)cup of beer to someone else
4. As soon as assigned drinker touches cup to start drinking, roller tries to roll another seven, eleven, or double.
5. If the dice settle with one of the combinations before the drinker puts down the empty cup, the roller refills the cup: return to Step #4 with same drinker and roller.
6. If the drinker puts down the empty cup before one of the combinations is rolled, the roller refills the cup and the dice are passed to the next player.
7. At any time before the drinker touches the cup, any player can steal the cup from the drinker and become the drinker. The same rules apply to the new drinker for finishing the beer before a siete-once-doble roll.
8. If the roller touches the dice before the drinker touches the cup, the roller must finish the cup and the dice proceed to the next player.
9. Do not wear a shirt (optional).
10. Wear sunglasses (not optional).

Food I Have Eaten

• Casado de bistek
• Casado de pescado
• Casado con chuleta
• Gallo pinto con huevos
• Gallo pinto con queso
• Gallo pinto con bistek
• Tostada
• Pizza Selvatura (chicken, olives, anchovies, and eggplant)
• Every fruit
• Every fruit, in juice form
• Casado, in juice form

Quotes from the Weekend

• "I'm just playing with my equipment." "Somebody's got to do it."
• "You can dance near me, but you can't dance with me."
• "It's cold today: I'm glad I wore a shirt."
• "Her name is Beretta and she's m-----f---ing crazy."*
• Yeah, I think I should stop sharing these…

Wow, yeah, that was quite the weekend.

* At the point on the drive home at which we'd already listened to the whole CD numerous times, we decided to memorize the lyrics to the Paper Planes Remix. Queue repeat. I'd say we did pretty amazing but we did mess up a few lines. For example, apparently it's not that "you need more than a helicopter to stop us" but rather "a million cops." Who knew? Additionally, if you undertake such a task, the hand motions on the chorus are absolutely vital.

I don't quite know what to say. Life here is both focused and calm. We each have our daily rhythms and goals and coast happily along through the breezy morning and scorching afternoons and balmy evenings. I am working—I am billing hours—but at any point could skip off to enjoy the beach a bit more. I am not attempting to force these weeks into any strict definition of vacation or working or working vacation. I am just living.

I contrast the billed minutes on minutiae of CSS with last night, having returned from una fiesta tipica en Santa Cruz, Guanacaste, when I needed minutes lost in the stars. I strolled on the dark path to the beach, past the log that has been smoldering and burning for three days now, and then lay alone, on my back on the warm sand as the wind swept over me. I recalled fondly a high school friend having admonished me for not knowing the constellations—how else could I have expected to impress her on that starry hill? And I nearly slipped into sleep, at peace with the world and thinking of all the family and friends and love in my life.

¿Como se dice, "I am happy?"

Se puede decirlo sin palabra, con una sonrisa en el sol.

I sit now, a bit groggily, on the patio of the house where I will be residing for the next two weeks in Tamarindo, Costa Rica. Two Seattle compatriots, wearing in total two pairs of shorts, one shirt, and no shoes, drink coffee and work on their Spanish homework. I've slept for just over six hours, having traveled all day yesterday from Los Angeles after a weekend of friends and drink and sun and Ultimate at Lei-Out.

The time is now 6:46 AM.

I will be working today, and every weekday, from this patio. I will rise with the sun, as I have today, because I am not here to sleep away the day. I will run in the morning, or join my friends surfing or at Spanish lessons, and then return to focus on these professional pursuits I have grown to love. I will still explore—don't worry—and I will enjoy this beautiful country. Apparently, on Thursday night, "enjoy" will be defined as trying the local palm wine that induces temporary blindness. Brilliant. Or, anti-brilliant, I guess.

Truly, I hope to find balance and peace, not in some untenable vacation lifestyle but in a relaxed rhythm of work and play. And I wonder that I have not found such a rhythm in Seattle, in these last four months of my new freelance life, and maybe worry that I have not even particularly considered such a rhythm reasonable. But then I get distracted by some birdcall, or by the warm breeze rustling the palm fronds, and I trust in the possibility of peace.

The time is now 6:57 AM.

Believing in peace and love, and wishing you a Happy President Barack Obama Day, I am Carlos Andrés d'Avis, signing off from Tamarindo. Que tengan buen día, mis queridos.

I'll be writing this quickly, with Seattle-based Blue Scholars as background, as a re-entry to blogging for me. I've been thinking a good deal regarding the last year and the present year and I'd like to offer some longer, more contemplative thoughts in the future. For now, I offer you the Top 10 Reasons I'm Happy to be Back in Seattle (in no particular order):

1. My soft, spacious bed. Couches, couch beds, futons, and childhood twin beds have no chance of competing. And good sleep—it's just so key.
2. Victrola Coffee, specifically their Americanos. I've been working here all day and it feels so right. And I just might be more productive here than anywhere else in the world.
3. My roommate, Sarah, who gave me a fantastic, smiley hug upon my arrival at the apartment last night. Master chef, apprentice seamstress, super master friend.
4. Friends, in general. I am already maybe a bit stressed out about seeing everyone in the ten short days I have before heading to Lei-Out and Costa Rica for the rest of the January. My Seattle friends are amazing and numerous, and I don't do them justice.
5. Local enjoyment. I walked five minutes today to meet Charlie Matlack for lunch today. FIVE MINUTES. (Suburbia, take note.) I live in a city and I love the convenience that affords, whether social, gastronomical, or…er, groceryomical?
6. Freelance work. Seattle is my professional home base and, for better or worse, I feel more focused and productive when I'm actually here. Except for Costa Rica—I'm sure I'll be super productive there. Right.
7. Ultimate. Winter evening pickup starts tonight and winter league (Canadarm!) starts on Saturday. Seattle offers great opportunities for play and the folks in the community are not so bad either.
8. Weather. I've actually gotten a bit used to Seattle winter rain and dreariness. The extreme darkness this morning at 7:15 was a bit of a shock but I've been quite happy with today's constant 54 degrees. Is it not 20 degrees out? No? AWESOME. Also, drizzle? Not such a big deal.
9. Home. Even if our Capitol Hill apartment was not such an instant fit, and even if we have not been so speedy to decorate and, you know, put up curtains, I feel at home there. That space is my space and our space. And our apartment is where all my clothing lives, like my socks. I really like socks.
10. Um, right. Did I mention my bed?

Where can you find him? Tonight, or this morning, rather, and indeed at this very moment, Andrew d'Avis is laying awake in a tiny, hard bed on Christmas Day. You only find Andrew d'Avis on the East Coast and most specifically in Hamilton, Massachusetts. In a cold creaky bedroom, with ceilings so low that he bruises his knuckles while putting on shirts, Andrew d'Avis subsists on his family's love, cooking, and love of wine and cooking. Also: reunions with high school friends.

Drew d'Avis has, a few rare times, visited Hamilton but lives more comfortably in Seattle. Drew may or may not have a queen size bed in Seattle—a bed with a mattress into which he sinks, really actually sinks. Apparently, sinking is a positive factor for actually sleeping.

And Carlos d'Avis? Carlos d'Avis never sleeps. (Kind of like Samara, but with less crawling through televisions and living in wells and more working late at night.)

Where am I? Where am I supposed to be? I am certainly, at this very moment—whether or not I can fall asleep—quite right to be in Massachusetts. Today, as previously mentioned, is Christmas Day. I belong with my family: my mother Melanie, my father Federico, my sister Nicole, and her fiancé Mark. Today is a day of joy and celebration and generosity and I cannot help but share it with these people most important. Especially when this joy and celebration and generosity takes the shape of a llama.

…Pay no attention to the previous statement. Right. Moving on.

Truly, I must admit that my heart resides in Hamilton. I must admit that for as long as I have been me, I have been Andrew. But my life, my life is not here, and I do not particularly yearn for it to be so. However rickety or uncertain matters stand, I live in Seattle—I am attached to a gloriously soft bed with certain Northwest address. I am attached to sub-par Mexican food and rainy days and organic farmers' markets and unparalleled local beer and coffee.

I promised my sister that if or when she has children, I would return to Massachusetts. How could I not be part of their lives? Nicole and Mark will be married in February in Oaxaca and, while I do not suspect B will follow A immediately, the future looms all the same. How can I weigh my choices, and the costs and benefits? I must likewise admit that my life is not perfect in Seattle, and I am not perfectly happy, but still I balk so strongly when I consider leaving the West Coast.

But you just don't understand, I plead, life is just… different out there. Um, better. The sushi. THE SUSHI.

Who can say what is better or best? Who can say whom I will meet—what changes I will see—to inform these decisions more strongly? Regardless, the sky lightens out my window and the wind continues to shake the trees. Seven o'clock nears and any chance of sleep dwindles.

And no matter my grogginess, I will soon be celebrating Christmas with my lovely family. My father will brew coffee and, no matter its inferiority to Victrola Americano, I will nurse mug after mug and smile and laugh and love my life.

Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, and/or Joy and Peace and Love in whatever you believe. All my best to you and yours, truly. Unless you actually slept last night: I loathe you. Right.

Of late, I have been busy and exhausted and oscillating between joyous motivation and annoyed malaise.

Also, I cut my hair.

I have a tenuous relationship with brioche, that indulgent, fattening French bread—a bread which Wikipedia describes as "highly enriched". Highly enriched, for the layperson, means "having a 1 to 1 ratio of butter and eggs to flour." My mother, in contrast, is some sort of brioche magician. She seemed to conjure golden and perfectly-risen loaves with little effort whenever I blithely requested their presence for a French food day in high school. She may discount this memory but I hold it dear and true all the same.

I have stood beside her—I have existed in the kitchen—while she made brioche. I am sure I even "helped." But however sticky the dough, I retained not the magic. I inherited her recipe at some point during college, hoping, perhaps, to impress some lady with my French baking skills, but misplaced the journal in which the recipe was transcribed.

Even before the lost journal, my attempts with that recipe were lackluster. Yes, there was obviously a truckload of butter in the bread I produced, but did it rise well? Was it brioche? I'd have to say no. Did I leaven any romance? Please see previous response.

I've stayed away from this, the fabled unicorn of breads, for some time. Sure, I eat brioche, as produced by bakers (those bastards, with their fancy hats and professional skills). But. BUT! This last weekend I decided that I would offer brioche to my Thanksgiving meal. (Hubris is I.) And so last night and this morning I undertook an exploratory attempt.

I considered Bittman's How to Cook Everything brioche but was deterred immediately by the inclusion of only one stick of butter. One stick? Even I knew better! Joy of Cooking was next and offered a bit better: two sticks of butter. Then I tried Epicurious, and I found Golden Brioche, trumping all with three sticks of butter. Yes. Very yes.

I feel, at my advanced age and with the clear head that only comes from total lack of romance to leaven, that I was able to learn more from this attempt than those of the past. I'd like to share some of the wisdom I gained.

1. Warm milk or warm water are way hotter than I expected. Was that confusing? In other words, warm is apparently defined as 105 – 115 degrees Fahrenheit, requiring near infinite trips between ten seconds of microwave and Deirdre's milk thermometer. Warm liquid equals properly reactive yeast.
2. A KitchenAid mixer is a bread dough deathtrap. The mixer will triumph, and save you considerable work, but the dough will attempt to escape by climbing the dough hook and gumming up the mixer mechanics. Repel said attempts with a wooden spoon or spatula, sometimes both.
3. More butter is always the answer. Butter makes it better. Fat is where flavor lives. Should I continue?
4. Every brioche recipe—except perhaps my mother's—includes chilling the dough over night. If you have read a recipe without this step, you read the recipe incorrectly. Go back, check the last sentence of the middle paragraph. See? I told you.
5. Your apartment, I mean, my apartment is too cold. The shaped loaves (or rolls) will not rise before baking without a bit of extra motivation. By extra motivation, I mean a barely warmed oven or the radiator the size of a sow in the corner of my dining room.
6. Baking brioche makes your kitchen and connected rooms smell like heaven.
7. A full loaf will retain more moisture than individual rolls, especially small ones. However, small rolls, and baking many of them, will allow you to eat more brioche within the first hour without feeling guilty… but the math is a little easier for how much butter you're getting in one bite.
8. You cannot have too much butter in one bite.

So, all that being said, I am quite happy with The Best (and Only, shhhh) Brioche I Baked in 2008. Wait, that's right! This is the Best Brioche I Have Ever Baked (Without My Mother). Behold its wonder! Behold its… having risen!

If I have not had a heart attack from rapid butter consumption, and if I am not killed by turkeys tomorrow, brioche and I will dance again. Its magic is back in my life and, for this week at least, I can feel the knead of its dough down in soul. Or maybe that's the butter in my gut. Only my mother knows for sure.