Monthly Archives: September 2010


So this is me before the start…

Badass thigh tat

…in my wildest dreams.

In real life it is the 4th or 5th place finisher of the half marathon. She is an impressive human bean. I mean, with that thigh tat, how could she not be?

This is me for realsies. I figured it would probably be the only picture taken of me that morning without a pained grimace on my face so I might as well make it count and flash a little pre-race pearly white. Apparently I was mistaken because this is me at mile 9: (excuse the blurriness– I was mid-booty shake)

All in all, the race was way funsies. I have never had so many strangers cheering me on! There were people lining the course almost the entire way, hooting and hollering and high-fiving and banging on the odd cowbell or two. A few people came out of their houses and waved. It was sweet.

The official support crew was fantastic, too. A local soccer club volunteered ALL of it’s members to be water hander-outers, cheerleaders, and gel-pushers, and everyone did their job with gusto. Every two miles, hoards of 14-year old soccer girls plied us with water, Ultima, and yells of “You got it, you got it! Yeah! Stay with it!” Having been a 14-year old soccer girl myself once, it was comforting to hear that the main form of encouragement has gone pretty much unchanged. Getting past the 10K mark was pretty hilarious, too, because it involved running through a crossfire of middle schoolers, each peddling their own flavor of Hammer gel (“Raspberry? Apple-cinnamon? Raspberry? Vanilla? Chocolate? Raspberry?”)

The run itself went pretty smoothly. Miles 1-3 were warm-up: shaking the kinks out and zeroing in on a couple of pacers to stay close to. At about the 4-mile mark I got found my groove and settled in for a nice, long ride. After another 1/2 mile I was stoked to discover that my groove was apparently a weensy bit faster than my pacer ladies’ groove, so I thanked them telepathically and moved on. I played my fun new game of runner’s leapfrog (pick a pacer, pass the pacer, pick a pacer, pass the pacer, etc.) through about mile 10.5, when we hit the Taylor Street dock.

For those of you unfamiliar with Taylor St. dock, it is more or less a 40-yard concrete bridge that connects the Trestle Point boardwalk with the mainland down in Fairhaven. It is also on the steepish side. I’ve always been a big fan of the Taylor St. dock– it’s about 2 miles into my regular route and usually when I run up it I accelerate considerably (heck knows why I do this, it’s never on purpose, I just lean forward and go). Sunday was no different: I passed 2 people on my way up the dock and then braced myself for the last 2 miles. The top of the dock spat us out at about the 11-mile mark, a.k.a. the farthest I had gone in any of my training runs a.k.a. little bit of a sufferfest. Just a baby one, some numbness in the quadular region and a little burny-thumpiness in the heart/lung spots, but nothing out of le ordinary.

There were a few moments in those last couple of miles when my mind started to wander and I found myself questioning my physical and mental toughness When one starts to question one’s own badassery, it’s time to dig in and PASS some fools. I believe my exact thoughts were (please pardon my profanity) “Come on, Franny. You live for this shit. Press on, for fuck’s sake, PRESS ON!!!”

I pressed on and 5 minutes and one haggard sprint down the finishers’ chute later, I was donezo.

1:59:40. Not entirely what I was going for, but it’ll do for now. We’ll see how the Seattle ½ goes in November. Ideally Id’ shave a few minutes off of my Bham time to bring it down a little closer to 1:55:00ish or even break my 2008 San Juan Island time of 1:51:00, but the chances of that happening are pretty slimjim. Let’s face it: some things have changed since I was 17.

Son of a bee sting listen to me. I may as well start wearing poly-blend slacks that start mid-chest and stuffing the pockets full of Werther’s hard candy, because I sound like an OCTOGENARIAN. Bring on the prune juice and bingo, suckaz! Actually I hate bingo and prune juice messes with my tummy. I would be a terrible 80-year old.

Luckily, all that is required of me for the moment is to be a 20-year old and GO TO CLASS. So here I go.

See you on the flap jack, everybody, I love you lots.



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I designed a few VOTE buttons for the Washington Bus. These are they.

General election, baby, November 2nd– read up and VOTE!

Have a kickass weekend.



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Hurray beer!

FINALLY!!! After more than a year of procrastination and multiple declarations of “This weekend! We’ll do it this weekend!”, we finally did it. We brewed us a batch of beer. October Ale, to be specific (Toby for short). Myrtle St. Brewery is officially OFF THE GROUND!

We used a recipe from our local brewing supply store, North Corner Brewing Supply. My experience with brewing supply stores is fairly limited, so I cannot with any authority put North Corner in the top 5 brewing supply stores West of the Mississippi. My qualifications DO allow me, however, to comment on the above-averageness of a few of North Corner’s very important qualities. The attractiveness of it’s employees, for example. I’d give it about a 9.3 out of 10 (brewers are babes. Tall, scruffy, Carhartt-wearing babes.) Atmosphere: 9.4 (the bins of grain, the vats of extract, shelves full of bulbous glass bottles, the crunch of grain under one’s feet… WHOO baby! The place is sweet. Literally. Malt and dextrose everywhere.) Location: 9.1 (it’s downtown and you can see the bay through the building’s many large windows.)

North Corner has all of their recipes posted online as well as hard copies in the store, both free. The recipes include a brief description of the finished beer, an ingredients list, basic instructions, and a price tag for a batch’s worth of ingredients.

Below is a visual account of Ben and my adventures in Beerland for your viewing pleasure.

Stay tuned for updates on Toby’s progress and pictures of the total mess that is sure to be bottling day. Then, when Toby’s finished, I’ll holler and we can all get sloshed!

Cheers, everybody, I hope you are all well.

Love, Franny

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Ridin’ dirty

This morning marked Team Canine’s first inaugural Chuckanut Century ride and OOOH BABY it was EPIC!!! I don’t use the word ‘epic’ lightly, either– I reserve it solely for truly gritty and savage badassery. Nothing less than full on Braveheart shit should be deemed truly epic, and I think Dad and I did William Wallace proud today. 5 hours, 62.3 miles, 2 punctured tubes, one semi-frostbitten hand, one finicky cleat, and approximately 25 zillion grams of carbohydrates, all in a TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR. Seriously, it started around mile 8 and did not stop. Mile 35 saw a little thunder and lightning. It was nuts. Hella damp and HELLA FUN. I mean, once you’re wet, you’re wet, so after the first 10 miles or so the rain just makes things more… well… more EPIC. I was smiling like a fool for most of it. Free snacks every 30 miles didn’t hurt, either. Neither did the salmon burger with spicy mustard and piping hot french fries waiting for me at Boundary afterwards, or the post-ride hug from my homie Vince, who was on host duty.

Not a bad day, right? NOT EVEN, SON, I just got started!

After a steamy shower and a shot of Vitamin C(offee), both mini-miracles in themselves, Dad and I went to the Bakerview animal shelter to pick up the 5 kittens that the Orcas shelter is taking off their hands. The Bakerview shelter recently got flooded with 60 kittens that were rescued from a shack somewhere out in the county a few days ago, and the Orcas shelter offered to take a few in. The Orcas shelter doesn’t get many new animals, and when they do a lot of the time they are older, so when baby animals of any species come into the shelter they get adopted like gangbusters. It’s a good deal all around! And today Dad was the cat chauffeur, so Ben, Kerry, Dad, and I got to play with kittens. Very small fuzzy kittens. GAWD my life is rough.

After Dad left with the kittens, I fiddled with my new (used, craigslist) mountain bike and some WD-40 for a while and got nice and greasy, and then Kerry’s lasagna came out of the oven (homemade tomato sauce, fresh homemade pasta, fresh basil, an herbed ricotta concoction Kerry whipped up, and more sauce ladled over the top) came out of the oven. DELUXE. After that we had a little more coffee and some dark chocolate and blasted our Seattle hip hop mix for a while before walking down to junk beach with Ben and Martin to watch the sun set and listen to the glass tinkle in the waves. Back at home we listened to some Hall & Oates on vinyl and ate mint choco chip ice cream. Now I am tired, full, and very happy. Today was a very good day.

My life is great.

I love you, world. Go on wit your bad self.

big squeezy hug,


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Standing Room Only

  • SUCCESS!!! The show was excellent!In case you missed it, here’s a taste of what went down
  • – A smashing dance performance by the Banana Splitz, complete with 60’s beach grooves, incredible costumes made by expert seamstress Lenae Day, and an enormous pink foam sandcastle.

– Maryanne Miyashiro held it down long-term in her mini living room, getting ready for a night out in slow mo whilst pounding Miller High Life in alarming quantities

– Tim Kenney, Aimee Biggerstaff, and Maryann performed a semi-improv melodrama in 4 acts titled “If All of Us Keep Talking, One of Us Will Have Something to Say”, centered around 1 story retold 4 times at increasingly loud volumes, all the while pounding more High Life.

– Niko Ritter put on a sick show in a side room that involved black lights, neon masking tape, beat boxing, a harmonica, some spoken word, belly dancing, and lots of glow in the dark body paint. It was awesome. And weird. Awesomely weird.

– 3 sound pods set up by Aimee, Kelly Bjork, and Megan Harmon. Aimee’s pod housed a tape recorder, headphones, and a wall of pockets holding tapes of rando conversation Aimee recorded. Most of the recordings were of all of us during the many pre-show work sessions we had at Tim and Aimee’s apartment. Kelly’s pod had a comfy chair where one could take a load off and relax to the sultry sounds of her uncle wax lyrical about conspiracy theory, government spy cameras, and how he is probably a prophet. The walls of Megan’s pod were silkscreened with rando snippets of conversation she overheard and remembered to write down.

"It's okay to like Death Cab"

Kelly, Aimee, and Megan's sound pods

Aimee's smorgasbord of completely rando recorded conversations

– A kickass double-mirrored photo installation by Adam McRae (2 mirrors facing each other– definitely messes with your eyes more than a little bit)

– 11 human exoskeletons made out of saran wrap and packing tape constructed by Tim Kenney

  • Suspended saran Tim

    Saran Adam kickin it old school

  • 3 crucified ceramic squirrels covered in real cat fur made by Aimee Biggerstaff.

    Aimee having a religious experience

– 3 pairs of shoes crafted by yours truly.

  • Nina Simone & Nneka

    I have no business wearing this much soul on my soles… but Imma do it anyway
  • If Raggedy Ann was an exotic breed of Peafowl, I'm fairly sure this is what she would look like.

    SaranFran and her gravity-defying Beanie Baby boots

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