Nancy Rommelmann

"Shooting Stars: A Carlotta Novak Mystery," by Hillary Johnson

Shooting Stars is out today in paperback. It's funny, sexy, shockingly smart. Yeah, yeah, Hillarys my sister-in-law, but don't take my word for it, see for yourself.

 

Shooting Stars trailer from Dymaxicon on Vimeo.

Dave's Shirt

When my mom recently moved, we had to pack up 40 years of stuff, including some of my late stepfather David Levine's clothes. I used to wear his shirts all the time. I asked my mom if I could have this one, still folded and pinned from the cleaners. Wearing it today for the first time. Love and miss you Dave xx

So This Is Love

Last night, we had our all-staff-and-friends Ristretto holiday party. Usually, we do this at a dive bar, keep an open tab, get some food and karaoke. This year, it was not an option, for financial reasons; because we were busy opening a third location; because I was flying back and forth across the country, and because the week between Christmas and New Year's, Din and I were both hacking our brains out. The staff was fine with no bash, except they kept saying, "We can just do it at your house, it will be better, we will bring everything." And we thought, yes, great, but not this week, we are just so sick...

About a week ago, I got a text from Rachel Goldstein, our first-ever employee, now manager and art curator at the Williams cafe. She wanted to set a date for the party -- how about the 7th? I thought it was a little funny, not really Rachel's style to text, but I was grateful: it was on. The staff, again, kept saying, you guys don't have to do anything; we're going to bring everything. Well, okay!

Din and I really laid in very little. I made two spanokopita and some cookies. He bought three bottles of booze and some ice. And we had a case of cheap wine. And the music turned on. At 6:45, our crew started to arrive: Stephen with homemade salsa, Steve with wine; a few bottles of bourbon appeared. Alyssa carried in the best cake ever made in the history of cakedom. They were homemade salted truffles from Natalie and Rachel; there were homemade empanadas from Josh and his girlfriend Anna. Homemade bread, homemade gin, bourbon; a killer mac & cheese; beer. Wine. More wine. Champagne. Friends. The house was glowing. It was full, twenty of us crammed in the kitchen...

"Rommelmann! Come spend some time in the fucking living room." This, from Josh Gibby. Okay! We started talking about marriage; we were in Josh and Heather's wedding, about how...

Ting ting ting ting ting!

Someone was tapping a glass. It was Natalie, standing in front of the stereo, calling for quiet. Forty people quieted down. I noticed they were all already gathered around, and behind her, Dave Allen was shooting video with his phone.

I can't remember her exact words, so here is a paraphrase:

"We are here tonight at Nancy and Din's and we want to say thank you to them for having this party, and for having such an awesome company, and for treating us so well. We love Ristretto, and we love you guys, and so we got you something from all of us."

And then, from stage right, Rachel and someone (and forgive me, I don't remember who because I was so startled) walked in carrying this huge... something, covered in a blue sheet, and they take off the sheet, and it is what you see above, a beetle carved from wood that was part of an art show at Williams that Rachel curated several months ago. Din and I, at the time, had loved this piece, but it cost something like $1200, and there was no way, not with building out the new shop...

"We knew you guys loved it," Natalie continued, "and so we all chipped in, and some of the customers, too, Keith and Justin and Andre, and Tafv, too, when she was here, and we got it for you."

I don't know what Din and I looked like, seeing this, listening to this, but I can tell you what it felt like: I was floored, and flooded. And so Din and I took a moment to tell them what is absolutely true: yes, Din has a good idea, and he works hard, but we are nothing, Ristretto does not exist without these people, and that we love them, and consider ourselves beyond fortunate.

Cheers. We toasted some more. Jennifer told me, I'd lost her ten bucks because she'd bet I would cry and I didn't, and what up with that? We drank more wine, and ate more cake. The room was happiness qua happiness. It was a wonderful party, they made it all so.

Coffee Roaster of the Year

We enjoyed our visit with Star Chefs earlier in the year. Antoinette Bruno and her crew were so fast, so smart, sophisticated and interested and interesting. For a follow-up, they decided to add three new categories to the Portland Rising Stars Awards, to be held December 5. One of the categories? Coffee Roaster. Here are the nominees; congratulations to all.

In case you want to join me, I'm rooting for Din xx

Brandon Smyth of Water Avenue Coffee
Sam Purvis of Coava Coffee
Brian Keefe of Stumptown Coffee
Din Johnson of Ristretto Roasters
Adam McGovern of Coffeehouse NW and Sterling Coffee

Tafv in Screen Shot from Movie Her Roommate Seb is Making

Tafv, 1991

Taken by my good friend Condee Russo, but unearthed only earlier this year!

 
 
 

1940s Paree in 2011 Brooklyn

Last week, with Tavie, taken by my best friend Sarah Knowles, in Bar Tabac

 

Author Author

My work life has become completely about books: writing them, editing them, reviewing them (latest: A Covert Affair: The Adventures of Julia Child and Paul Child in the OSS, by Jennet Conant), reading them (currently, Erik Larson's In the Garden of Beasts: Love, Terror and an American Family in Hitler's Berlin, which is spectacular), and doing research for the next two books of my own.

There is also time to interview authors about their work, for instance, Molly O'Neill on her latest book, One Big Table, and what's wrong with $8 bunches of organic arugula tied with twine, and why she needed to get out of "the little girls' ghetto" where cookbook writers tend to be corralled. The interview posted today, on Culinate.com, and it is one of my favorite ever. All props to Molly, for being so smart and so tart.

And then there is the author elbow-rubbing, such as last night's, with John Sayles, before his reading at Powell's from his latest novel, A Moment in the Sun.

 

Sayles and Maggie Renzi are friends of my mom's. I told her yesterday, I would be going to the reading, and she insisted I introduce myself. I told her, mom, it's going to be mobbed; I am not going to bother them. And then I walked in and Sayles was standing right there, so I did, and he was very nice, and Maggie put her arms around me and said, "We've heard so much about you," and insisted a photo be taken of she and I, to post on the blog for the book and their latest film, AMIGO.

"Now you and John," Maggie said, and scooted us together, making me as you can see very happy, and prompting a woman in the audience to ask, "Are you one of the actresses in his movies?"

 

 

Another Bullshit Night in Suck City Hearts Ristretto Roasters

My daughter Tafv (pictured left) is working in the art department of the film adaptation of the Nick Flynn memoir, starring Robert DeNiro, Paul Dano and Julianne Moore. They're filming in New York. I send them six pounds of coffee a week. They sent their appreciation this morning. 

Tim Sampson, My Daughter's Dad, on Morning Editon - updated

Tim is currently starring, as Chief Bromden, in the Portland Center Stage production of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." I have seen Tim play this with Steppenwolf in Chicago, and on Broadway, both times opposite Gary Sinise as McMurphy. The PCS production is as great as those others, with a better set, and Tim is just smoking. We are also so close, and have known each other so long, that when his character cries out, I feel it right in my heart and cry.

A week or so ago, Tim and I were drinking hot chocolate when he said, "A guy from public radio interviewed me today." He did not know for which show, and it is only now that I do, with people emailing me to say, it's tomorrow, Friday March 18, on Morning Edition.

Update: here is the link! And a little inside dope: When Tim's dad asked him to come see the production in Jupiter, Florida, Tim was in LA. "Take your time driving," his dad said, "but hurry." Tim made it in 36 hours, driving nonstop.

My Mother Tells a Joke

So this is at the old age home. This guy walks up to this woman and says, "I bet you can't guess how old I am."

She says, "I bet I can."

He says, "How?"

She says, "Pull down your pants."

He does, and she feels his balls, and then says, "Eighty-seven."

The guy says, "How did you know?"

She says, "We did this yesterday."

(Rim shot!)

The Elements of Scrum

Ristretto Reading Series is pleased to present the book launch for The Elements of Scrum, a field guide to the practice of this popular software development methodology, co-authored by Chris Sims, one of the country’s leading scrum trainers, and author and business journalist Hillary Johnson, around these parts known as sister of Ristretto owner and roaster Din Johnson, also my husband.

Please join us tonight, Wednesday February 9, at Ristretto Roasters Williams, 3808 N. Williams Ave., in Portland. More info on the website, and at Ristretto Reading Series Facebook page.

Sure, sure, you're thinking, but what the heck is scrum? My favorite two answers yesterday: "something vaguely dirty" and "a Scandinavian rum." For answers, come on by tonight -- we'll be pouring wine -- and get a little primer below.

 

Scrum is an agile methodology that helps software development teams learn to achieve the team equivalent of Abraham Maslow’s concept of “self-actualization”, a higher state of being characterized by flow, performance, synergy and happiness. Scrum is named after the rugby field phenomenon where the whole team locks arms to press forward as one, and it has applications beyond the world of software, in any work environment where small teams of people collaborate to get things done.

Chris Sims is a Certified Scrum Trainer and agile coach who has been helping teams improve their happiness and productivity since the turn of the century. He has made a living in roles such as: scrum master, product owner, engineering manager, C++ developer, musician, and auto mechanic. Chris is the founder of Agile Learning Labs and a frequent presenter at agile conferences.

Hillary Louise Johnson is an author and former business journalist who has written on innovation, technology and pop culture for Inc Magazine and the Los Angeles Times. As an intellectual property consultant she has drafted numerous technology patents. She has been editor-in-chief of several print and online publications and is now Agile Learning Labs’ creative director.

This event, as are all Ristretto Reading events, is free and open to everyone.

The Lives They Lived: David Levine, 1926-2009

The last issue of the year of the Sunday New York Times Magazine is always, The Lives They Lived, short profiles of notable people who have passed away in the past year. My stepfather, David Levine, died December 29, 2009, a little after four in the morning. His son and I were with him. Today, David is the Times' last profile in the magazine, a place of prominence, which he undoubtedly would have made a silly joke about. He was a great artist, as the opening by Walter Bernard tells us:

“Hands down, he’s the greatest modern-day caricaturist and one of the great artists of the last half-century,” wrote Michael Kimmelman in The Times after David Levine died almost a year ago. And it’s true: he was." 

Dave, love and miss you xx

 

Playboy, the Next Generation, or, a Little Story Featuring Tafv, on Her Birthday

Playboy: The Next Generation

Din came home from work and asked, “Where’s Tafv?” I told him, she was at the Playboy Mansion, again, whereupon he said, “Oh, great,” very heavy on the sarcasm.

I didn’t understand why he was testy; didn’t he think it was sort of wacky? He did not. Was it that he hated rich people?

“I don’t hate rich people, come on,” he said. “I just wonder why you don’t say, she’s over at so-and-so’s house. I don’t even know the kid’s name. It’s always, ‘She’s at the Playboy Mansion,’ as though you’re very impressed. I think you think it’s cool.”

Well, maybe I did, I mean, the place is so iconic.

For the record, my daughter had not said she was going to the Playboy Mansion, but to a swim party at her schoolmate _____’s house, who happens to be the son of Hugh Hefner. The first time she went, for a birthday party, she hadn’t even heard of the Playboy Mansion.

“Oh, come on, you have so,” said her friend, as I took a left off Sunset Boulevard, past a man selling Maps to the Stars Homes. “It’s where the Playboy bunnies live.”

“What are Playboy bunnies?” asked Tafv, as a guard checked our name on a list.

The driveway was long and verdant, and opened up onto a circular driveway with a Camelot feel, a lot of turrets and topiary, and suits of armor, though I may be imagining these last.

The girls scampered in, and though I always do introduce myself to parents, I was especially keen to do so here. I’d seen the child’s statuesque blonde mother at school, and spotted her in the garden. We chatted a moment; she said she was very happy to have Tafv here, and then someone needed her attention and I wandered off among the peacocks and toward the monkey enclosure, and though I would have liked to be a fly on the wall, it was, after all, my daughter who’d been invited, so made my exit.

I returned to pick up Tafv at nine o’clock; it was dark, and raining, and the jam-up of parents’ cars in the drive was spectacular. I circumvented this by parking to one side, and then asked one of the many security guys where I might find my daughter. He pointed in the house. I found Tafv’s best friend lolling on a beanbag chair with Hefner’s other son; she said she thought Tafv might be in the playhouse.

Playhouse?

“It’s across that way,” Hef said. He was standing by the front door, in his silk smoking robe. I shook the man’s hand.

I crossed the drive, ducked through some hedges, and went inside a house whose main room was filled with pinball machines and video games, each manned by an ecstatic teenage boy. I walked further, toward voices and a partially opened door, which turned out to be one panel of a mirrored octagonal room, its floor covered in soft black cushions, and on those cushions were my daughter and a pile of her friends, eating junk food and giggling.

“Hi, mama!” she said. “Isn’t this the coolest place in the world?!”

Yes, I said, it was, though my brain screaming, don’t touch the walls! I told her we had to get going.

She followed me out to the car, and then, as we were getting in, ran back to get her bag. From my vantage point, I had a view of a set of stained glass windows above the front doorway. The windows were half open, and past them, I could see two young women, and in my memory, they have long blonde hair, and are wearing lingerie. And yet I sensed what these women looked like was all mixed up with my recollection of being eleven, and pulling from beneath my father’s bed a stack of Playboy magazines, kept next to stacks of Penthouse and Oui, and looking at the Playmates, and reading that they liked sunshine and intimate times, and disliked cigarette smoke and loud people, and thinking these women were really beautiful, their skin just glowed, their eyes were looking right at me, and looking at them made me get so...

“Mama?”

Huh?

“We can go now,” said Tafv, as she closed the car door.

Tafv Sampson, 21 Today

All my love, my darling xx

 

 

What Went Down in New York

 
Tavie in my mom's kitchen

 
Morning of September 11

 
Anne Breza, my brother Chris's girlfriend, and Chris, just before he did a swim across the East River

 
Chris, who later said of the swim, "It was fun and easy."

 
Din walking the Brooklyn Bridge

 
John's Pizza, midnight

 
Gelato on Bleeker Street, 12:45

 
View from penthouse of Gansevoort Hotel, wrap party for "Arthur"

 
Tavie and star of "Arthur" Russell Brand. He is telling her, "You make me feel very unusual."

 
Bon voyage cheese blintzes at Teresa's

Happy Anniversary

So I'm getting my hair cut yesterday when my phone rings. It's my daughter, from New York. I ask what she has planned for the weekend. She tells me and ask what I'm doing. I tell her, Din is taking me to dinner.

"Cool," she says. "Isn't your guys anniversary tomorrow?"

Silence. Thinking, what is today? What is tomorrow? What day did we get married? Then I start to laugh.

"You forgot again," Tafv says. Yes, indeed. The last time this happened, I had at least thought a week or two before that we had anniversary coming up. This year, nada, nix, not once.

I came home told Din; asked if it had crossed his mind at all.

"Nope," he said. And, "At least we're on the same page."

To which I will add, I wake up every morning glad to see him. Happy 7th, honey xx

 

The Stuff of Inspiration, or, Nana Strike 2010

What is it about our mothers, and specifically my mother: Generous to a fault, bright and funny, ready to defend you to the ends of the earth, and yet possessing the ability to instantly provoke irrational anger. The fault may be with me, and if so, is one I apparently passed to my daughter, who currently lives with my mother in New York, and while they cross paths only a few hours each week, this week this proved too much, my daughter becoming furious about something, a fury she roared a bit about at work, which apparently inspired the film's art director.

"As soon as I heard you say it," he told my daughter this morning, upon presenting her with a roll of stickers with the image below, "I knew what I had to do."

 
 

What My Daughter Found in Her Salad Today

Brooklyn Bagels apologized and is giving Tafv's office... a credit for more food. Gee.

But seriously, the kid could have choked to death. The worry, the worry, it never ends...
 

Travis Drums

NB: Lynn's brother John is a friend of mine.

TRAVIS DRUMS!

NOON, Sunday, August 1, 2010 (gather at 11:30 a.m.)

Portland Peace Memorial (East End of Steel Bridge)

 

 

Hello.  I am Lynn Bradach.

My oldest son, Marine Corporal Travis Bradach-Nall, was killed by the explosion of a U.S. cluster bomb, during unexploded munitions clearing operations in Karbala, Iraq, on July 2, 2003.  Since then, I have been working to end war, clear the refuse of munitions left from war and, most recently, for adoption of national legislation and the international Convention to limit and ultimately ban use of cluster munitions. 

I was a speaker at the November 2008 Geneva meetings on the international Convention on Cluster Munitions and was in Oslo, Norway in December 2008 for the signing of the Convention. 

Now, more than ever, I am pushing for U.S. adoption and ratification of the Convention.

The Convention comes into effect, for the 106 countries that have signed it and 37 countries that have ratified it, on Sunday, August 1, 2010.  On that day, there will be a drum demonstration to bring attention to the coming into effect of the Convention, around the World.  Details are at:  http://www.stopclustermunitions.org/countdown/

I am seeking drummers of every type and talent to assemble with me at noon, Sunday, August 1, 2010 at the Overlook section of the Eastside Portland Esplanade, just north of the Morrison Bridge, to drum in observance of the occasion and to show support for the Convention.

.

PLEASE JOIN ME!!!! For more information, or to confirm, email me at: lbradach@handicap-international.us