While stuck at the local Caribou during my weekend biking fiasco, I was stuck reading whatever I could get my hands on as I don't generally carry any sort of reading material in the little pack on my road bike. Caribou didn't have much for free other than a "The Learning Annex" course catalog which, as near as I can tell, was there solely because there's a presentation coming up with Michael Coles, the Caribou Coffee CEO.
Yet inside I found a gem, a course on "Exotic Dancing: It's more than just 'Dancing Sexy'", which will teach (women presumably) "props to use", "kinds of sexy outfits to wear", and "how to give a good lap dance." It goes without saying that it will increase your confidence, self-esteem and make you more sexy. I pointed it out to Pooteewheet, carefully keeping in reserve one bit of information. The answer, of course, was "hell, no" (I may be paraphrasing - it might have been more strongly worded), at which point I noted that she would be attending a hypnotherapy course for three days this weekend and the exotic dancing course was run by a clinical hypnotherapist. It's not just sexy dancing, it's sexy, hypnotic dancing, like Amanda Donohoe in The Lair of the White Worm (that poor, poor Boy Scout). Obviously, it's not just about the lap dance skills, it's about being an affective and "delightfully wicked" therapist.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Monday, May 29, 2006
Moving Day
Yesterday my family, and my friend Dan'l, helped my sister and her family move from their old house to their new house, a full six blocks away. The good part about only being six blocks away - you don't care how many trips you make in the U-Haul truck. The bad part about being six blocks away...you don't care how many trips you make in the U-Haul, so the pace, when you're only moving for 7 hours, is somewhat crushing, literally. I don't think I'm going to be doing anything productive today unless it's low impact - my muscles twitch a little everytime I move and my cup o' joe actually burns my hands because the skin on my fingers is sore. Although there aren't any fancy pictures here - the place is very nice. A big step up from their old place. If any of you were at Rew's and Smartie's housewarming, it's very much in that style but with a bit more floor space. The original wood and refinished basement (with brand new furnace) make it extremely nice, although the one-car garage officially bites. Once there's a snowblower in there, the ability to store a car becomes questionable. Stuff the rest of a two-car garage in there, and it starts to look packed, top to bottom.
Here's our first load. LissyJo is corraling Eryn, who came over to take advantage of a house with wood floors and no stuff in it - ideal for throwing around Dora balls.
This is perhaps the worst thing we had to move - their fold out couch. Damn thing weighed a ton, and was almost impossible to fit around the tiny corners in those old houses, both coming out of the old house and going into the new one. My brother in law told us, on the way out of the old house, "we moved it up here just fine." To which Dan'l asked, "and was the railing here then?" And I asked, "and were all those clips and racks here then?" The answer was obviously, "no". So we removed the legs, hoisted it above the rails most of the way and moved it out. Then removed doors, and spun and wedged and left runnels in the sheetrock and moved it in. Other favorite items, the big analog t.v., the furniture to hold the t.v. (which was supposed to go in the basement, but would not - we discussed ways it might be cut in half or the legs "shortened" to get in - I suggest turning it into a dish-display cabinet for the kitchen and building a new custom rack in the inset in the basement for the t.v.) - and the kitchen table which was just so damn heavy.
As you can probably tell from the picture...I was a little sweaty (it was in the 90s). Don't ask me to help you move if you don't want to wipe everything down later.
Here's Eryn in the new back yard, praying for Dan'l and Dad as they move the couch. She's actually probably reading her book, "The Dinosaur Who Walked Three Miles". It's a made up book she carries around with her and opens up to read now and then (seriously). It's a different take on the made up friend angle.
For example...here we are reading the book at our house while we lounge near Eryn's little purple pool on the new deck furniture we got from LissyJo and family. They had duplicates when they moved into their new place. It's not fancy - but buying our own was at least a year out, so now we just need an umbrella. The swimsuit is brand new - Eryn picked it out herself so she doesn't have to sit around in a swim diaper in the back yard. We finished up our evening with sparklers and a visit to Christy's and Steve's popup trailer, conveniently parked in their front yard where it's easiest to camp. I think having a mobile home of sorts reminds Christy of West Virginia.
By the way - do not accuse The Dinosaur Who Walked Three Miles of being full of swear words - Eryn knows better and gets just a bit irritated over the accusation.
Here's our first load. LissyJo is corraling Eryn, who came over to take advantage of a house with wood floors and no stuff in it - ideal for throwing around Dora balls.
This is perhaps the worst thing we had to move - their fold out couch. Damn thing weighed a ton, and was almost impossible to fit around the tiny corners in those old houses, both coming out of the old house and going into the new one. My brother in law told us, on the way out of the old house, "we moved it up here just fine." To which Dan'l asked, "and was the railing here then?" And I asked, "and were all those clips and racks here then?" The answer was obviously, "no". So we removed the legs, hoisted it above the rails most of the way and moved it out. Then removed doors, and spun and wedged and left runnels in the sheetrock and moved it in. Other favorite items, the big analog t.v., the furniture to hold the t.v. (which was supposed to go in the basement, but would not - we discussed ways it might be cut in half or the legs "shortened" to get in - I suggest turning it into a dish-display cabinet for the kitchen and building a new custom rack in the inset in the basement for the t.v.) - and the kitchen table which was just so damn heavy.
As you can probably tell from the picture...I was a little sweaty (it was in the 90s). Don't ask me to help you move if you don't want to wipe everything down later.
Here's Eryn in the new back yard, praying for Dan'l and Dad as they move the couch. She's actually probably reading her book, "The Dinosaur Who Walked Three Miles". It's a made up book she carries around with her and opens up to read now and then (seriously). It's a different take on the made up friend angle.
For example...here we are reading the book at our house while we lounge near Eryn's little purple pool on the new deck furniture we got from LissyJo and family. They had duplicates when they moved into their new place. It's not fancy - but buying our own was at least a year out, so now we just need an umbrella. The swimsuit is brand new - Eryn picked it out herself so she doesn't have to sit around in a swim diaper in the back yard. We finished up our evening with sparklers and a visit to Christy's and Steve's popup trailer, conveniently parked in their front yard where it's easiest to camp. I think having a mobile home of sorts reminds Christy of West Virginia.
By the way - do not accuse The Dinosaur Who Walked Three Miles of being full of swear words - Eryn knows better and gets just a bit irritated over the accusation.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Memorial Day Ride Lessons
What's the point of being ordained if you don't listen to the higher powers that try to contact you? After losing five spokes on my mountain bike and discovering I needed a new rim, I busily cleaned up my road bike. The next morning the back tire on the road bike was flat. I changed it, noticing the worn tread, but not remembering how bad it was from overuse a few years ago. Oh yea, I was given portents and signs aplenty...flat tires, broken spokes, bent rims...yet, like a certain apostle, I denied no less than three times.
When I finally arrived at the TCBC Memorial Ride, did I find myself standing in front of the 48 mile sign up sheet? No, I was standing in front of the 29 mile sign up sheet. So once again, I denied, and found the 48 mile sheet, despite my concerns about riding a bike that hadn't seen any real use in 3 years.
Nice ride, by the way, there had to be at least 200 people there (at least - the place was covered with bikes). We filled up the whole Snail Lake Park parking lot, and spilled over into the side streets and the lot down the hill near the beach. I don't think anyone who had scheduled use of the park shelter was going to be happy about the situation.
For my thrice denial (1.) broken spokes, bent rim, 2.) flat tire in the morning, 3.) 29 mile ride sign up sheet) I was thrice punished. At the 20 mile mark, I lost the first tube, the one on the bike. It was then that I saw the great big hole in the middle of the tread, meaning I was pretty much riding on the tube at times. At the 34 mile mark I lost the second tube. Note, that at this point, I would have been back to my car, safe and sound, if I had gone on the 29 mile ride. Engergetically I ripped up a bunch of grass and stuffed it inside the tire, packing it against the hole in an attempt to put something between the tube and the road. It was then that I made friends with a nice woodtick I later picked off at lunch. That's not to say I ate him - I just set him loose on the table so Eryn could see how girl ticks wear necklaces and boy woodticks wear suspenders. At the 41 mile mark, I lost the third and last tube, a full 7 miles from the end of the ride and my car. To flaggellate myself, much in the spirit of St. Thomas More, I took off my bike shoes and, in my socks, walked the mile or so to the junction of 35E and Hwy. 96 so that Pooteewheet could easily locate me. My feet didn't fully blister - but they sting - the road to 35E was hot with the power of evil...and the sun.
Various pilgrims called out to me along the way - offering me respite from my predictament, noting that where I tread, they had tread before. Yet, when I looked back, there were only my footprints and wheeltracks (that'd be a better parable if there were only the bike tracks). On a positive note, it was pouring everywhere but where I was. Small favors.
So...in summary:
And speaking of biking, maybe if these senior citizens were doing more of it, and less hanging around the old folks retirement community, they'd be scoring a few less STDs.
When I finally arrived at the TCBC Memorial Ride, did I find myself standing in front of the 48 mile sign up sheet? No, I was standing in front of the 29 mile sign up sheet. So once again, I denied, and found the 48 mile sheet, despite my concerns about riding a bike that hadn't seen any real use in 3 years.
Nice ride, by the way, there had to be at least 200 people there (at least - the place was covered with bikes). We filled up the whole Snail Lake Park parking lot, and spilled over into the side streets and the lot down the hill near the beach. I don't think anyone who had scheduled use of the park shelter was going to be happy about the situation.
For my thrice denial (1.) broken spokes, bent rim, 2.) flat tire in the morning, 3.) 29 mile ride sign up sheet) I was thrice punished. At the 20 mile mark, I lost the first tube, the one on the bike. It was then that I saw the great big hole in the middle of the tread, meaning I was pretty much riding on the tube at times. At the 34 mile mark I lost the second tube. Note, that at this point, I would have been back to my car, safe and sound, if I had gone on the 29 mile ride. Engergetically I ripped up a bunch of grass and stuffed it inside the tire, packing it against the hole in an attempt to put something between the tube and the road. It was then that I made friends with a nice woodtick I later picked off at lunch. That's not to say I ate him - I just set him loose on the table so Eryn could see how girl ticks wear necklaces and boy woodticks wear suspenders. At the 41 mile mark, I lost the third and last tube, a full 7 miles from the end of the ride and my car. To flaggellate myself, much in the spirit of St. Thomas More, I took off my bike shoes and, in my socks, walked the mile or so to the junction of 35E and Hwy. 96 so that Pooteewheet could easily locate me. My feet didn't fully blister - but they sting - the road to 35E was hot with the power of evil...and the sun.
Various pilgrims called out to me along the way - offering me respite from my predictament, noting that where I tread, they had tread before. Yet, when I looked back, there were only my footprints and wheeltracks (that'd be a better parable if there were only the bike tracks). On a positive note, it was pouring everywhere but where I was. Small favors.
So...in summary:
- Rim and new spokes, $60 or so, when half price.
- Two new tires for the road bike to replace the old ones, about $100 (Kevlar bead - it's a nice bike - damn things cost as much as tires for my Saturn)
- 4 total ruined tubes - about $22 total, not including $12 in new tubes to restock
- New chain lube as all that handling made a mess out of the lube that was on the bikes - $5.99 (less $1, on sale)
- Gas for two cars to get to Roseville and back from Eagan - probably several dollars.
And speaking of biking, maybe if these senior citizens were doing more of it, and less hanging around the old folks retirement community, they'd be scoring a few less STDs.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Company Sushi
My company has started to stock sushi in the cafeteria. This is strange. Strange enough that I finally tried some. Nothing fancy, just the seaweed roll slices with rice and tuna, eel, etc, in the center - after getting up to take Pooteewheet to the ER at 3:00 a.m., I wasn't sure my stomach could handle much more.
Verdict - not too bad. Pretty much on par with Lund's, though I can see the chefs cutting the fish at Lund's, so it feels more fresh. I'm not sure if my cubical neighbors would agree with my verdict, having the slight smell of seaweed drifting through their space, but it was a Friday and many of them had half a day off anyway.
It did remind me that I should check what the sushi setup looks like in Florida, however, so that I can try some while I'm there on company business. My coworker is bringing his wife, so I have to find some way to amuse myself, and the beach gets tiring after a while...right?
Verdict - not too bad. Pretty much on par with Lund's, though I can see the chefs cutting the fish at Lund's, so it feels more fresh. I'm not sure if my cubical neighbors would agree with my verdict, having the slight smell of seaweed drifting through their space, but it was a Friday and many of them had half a day off anyway.
It did remind me that I should check what the sushi setup looks like in Florida, however, so that I can try some while I'm there on company business. My coworker is bringing his wife, so I have to find some way to amuse myself, and the beach gets tiring after a while...right?
5 Spoke Discount
In the process of cleaning my bike today, I noted that five spokes had sheered off at the tip, all on one side. I took it in to Penn and they declared that my rim was perhaps seeing the end of its life. I remarked that perhaps they could have told me about that after my expensive check up with hub rebuilding right before the Ironman a month and a half ago. Oops. Half price on the rim, half price on the labor (so basically, cost of part as they were about equal). Most annoying is that I had to hurry home and take a long, long look at my Specialized, which hasn't seen action in almost 3 years, so that I have a bike to ride for tomorrow's TCBC memorial ride. I'm not even sure if I remember how to shift the thing, those frog-style, clipless shoes look daunting, and there's actually a bit of thread showing on the tire (I used it a lot when I first bought it, including some almost 200 mile weekends - but it's been sitting a long time while I ponder a new back rim).
So the plan of action is use the Specialized tomorrow, even with the very slight out-of-true issue that no longer seems fixable (by me or the shop), while the Trek mountain bike is getting a new back rim and spokes over the weekend. When the rim comes back, switch back to the mountain bike and ask the fellers (and one wrench wench) about options for the back rim on the Specialized and an odometer so I know how far I've gone and how fast, because it's really annoying to have no idea how far along you are other than by using your watch. And finally, move the Trek to the cabin this fall and find a hybrid I can use with less wear and tear that's Burley capable.
Who says biking is cheaper than a car!
So the plan of action is use the Specialized tomorrow, even with the very slight out-of-true issue that no longer seems fixable (by me or the shop), while the Trek mountain bike is getting a new back rim and spokes over the weekend. When the rim comes back, switch back to the mountain bike and ask the fellers (and one wrench wench) about options for the back rim on the Specialized and an odometer so I know how far I've gone and how fast, because it's really annoying to have no idea how far along you are other than by using your watch. And finally, move the Trek to the cabin this fall and find a hybrid I can use with less wear and tear that's Burley capable.
Who says biking is cheaper than a car!
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Most Disgusting Thing I Read Today
So of course, I must share. I'm looking forward to the day I see my sister the RN blogging about her first poop transplant (and look, LissyJo, they're discussing it at the allnurses forum!).
If you think it's fake, you can always go verify at Johns Hopkins.
In a surprise twist, three doctors from Duluth, Minnesota decided to use poop to help cure their patients. Doctors Johannes Aas[1], Charles E. Gessert, and Johan S. Bakken used a stool transplants to cure reoccurring Clostridium difficile Colitis in 16 of their patients. You read correctly. Sick patients received stool from stool donors and became healthy because of the stool transplants. [via MNSpeak - good for the comments]
If you think it's fake, you can always go verify at Johns Hopkins.
Ocho, Ocho!
If you're in Bloomington (MN) and see that car driving around with the 88 on the side by the mall (with Best Buy) and Home Depot, keep in mind that owner isn't a fan of Lindsey Lohan's remake of (Herbie) The Lovebug, rather he's drawing your attention to the 8th letter of the alphabet twice, HH...as in Heil Hitler. I sincerely hope if he's parking that thing at the local high school the faculty understand the reference.
Hey, the ADL actually has a symbolic dictionary.
Hey, the ADL actually has a symbolic dictionary.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
And THIS is From the Drive-by Pelleting...
So I was showing the side of the duplex Pooteewheet and I used to live on to two potential renters this evening. It's just not easy to do because the carpet is ripped out downstairs while Home Depot is on its way, and there are several other places (bathroom tile, back door tile, ceiling tiles downstairs) where there's a small amount of work underway, not to mention a stove I'm increasing becoming convinced should be swapped out just to make the place more aesthetic, regardless that it works just fine.
While I had three people there, in their early 20's, asking me about the neighborhood and predators and crime, I realized I was being yelled at from the front yard. At first I thought it was Pooteewheet, but when I looked, it was the mentally handicapped guy who lives down the street. He's lived there since Pooteewheet and I were in the neighborhood, and he's harmless, but he doesn't look harmless when potential renters are asking questions about crime and local weirdos and he's standing in the front yard for ten minutes, half hunched over like a linebacker, just staring at everyone.
Finally, I interrupted myself and noted that I should go say "hi", giving the potential renters a chance to talk. When I got to the front yard, he remarked that I was new (he hadn't seen me in 4 years, so that's reasonable) and launched into stories about crime that had happened down the street. He hadn't overheard us, yet he just told the stories loudly, going on about a shooting, even though the thing had been closer to Southdale than to the plex. While that was bad enough, his next act was to yank the side of his shirt up almost over his head, loudly telling me, "and look what they did to me, look what they did to me!" while showing me a bullet-shaped wound. Before I could extricate myself, he was informing me at what seemed like increasingly louder levels that he had been the victim of a drive by pellet shooting, in his own yard, look, they'd shot him in his front yard with a pellet gun - see where it got him, right there!
I told him it was nice to see him again, and sort of slunk back to the potential renters who were busily having a quiet powwow. They broke up and told me they were going to discuss it and would get back to me. While they drove away, drive-by pelleting guy was stooping over on the curb to peer in their cars and wave at each of them individually. While I have no doubt he was sure his friendly demeanor would go over well with these new neighbors, I think it may be the last time he ever sees them.
While I had three people there, in their early 20's, asking me about the neighborhood and predators and crime, I realized I was being yelled at from the front yard. At first I thought it was Pooteewheet, but when I looked, it was the mentally handicapped guy who lives down the street. He's lived there since Pooteewheet and I were in the neighborhood, and he's harmless, but he doesn't look harmless when potential renters are asking questions about crime and local weirdos and he's standing in the front yard for ten minutes, half hunched over like a linebacker, just staring at everyone.
Finally, I interrupted myself and noted that I should go say "hi", giving the potential renters a chance to talk. When I got to the front yard, he remarked that I was new (he hadn't seen me in 4 years, so that's reasonable) and launched into stories about crime that had happened down the street. He hadn't overheard us, yet he just told the stories loudly, going on about a shooting, even though the thing had been closer to Southdale than to the plex. While that was bad enough, his next act was to yank the side of his shirt up almost over his head, loudly telling me, "and look what they did to me, look what they did to me!" while showing me a bullet-shaped wound. Before I could extricate myself, he was informing me at what seemed like increasingly louder levels that he had been the victim of a drive by pellet shooting, in his own yard, look, they'd shot him in his front yard with a pellet gun - see where it got him, right there!
I told him it was nice to see him again, and sort of slunk back to the potential renters who were busily having a quiet powwow. They broke up and told me they were going to discuss it and would get back to me. While they drove away, drive-by pelleting guy was stooping over on the curb to peer in their cars and wave at each of them individually. While I have no doubt he was sure his friendly demeanor would go over well with these new neighbors, I think it may be the last time he ever sees them.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Mock Trial - Dixon v. Providential Life Insurance
So, yesterday I used one of my company-sponsored volunteer days to spend the day at William Mitchell College as a juror for law student mock trials. I've never been in a mock trial or even a real trial as a juror (or in any other capacity), so it was an enjoyable experience.
I was a juror on Dixon v. Providential Life Insurance, a case involving a woman whose husband, a local judge, was found dead in her home only nine (9) days after starting a new $250,000 ($500,000 accidental) life insurance policy. Highlights included blood spatters that seemed too low, misappropriated judicial funds, sudden withdrawals of money, strange and speculative investments, a gun with a history of misfiring, and other nefarious dealings. In the end, our jury was three for awarding the widow $1219 (paid in so far), three for $250,000 (face value of the policy, no accidental death) and one for $500,000, an accidential death.
I was the one in that equation, although I could have been brought around to the $250,000 view of things. I just didn't see, based on what they'd told me, that there was any sort of proof, other than the most specious circumstantial evidence, that he'd committed suicide and negated the policy. I believed it was possible, I just didn't see the evidence. I was more likely to believe his wife had offed him, or that there'd been some sort of mishap involving the sister-in-law he'd asked to move in (the judge later said that was a possibility based on the original case) - but that still wouldn't be suicide.
The old guy in our group was personally disgusted with me because I was willing to believe that someone described as an expert hunter would poke at a loaded weapon in his house with a screwdriver. I didn't mention any famous people who'd accidentially been shot and shot others after being described as expert hunters - didn't think that would be appropriate. But I was concerned that we saw all this evidence and no remarks by Dixon's attorneys about whether there were scratch marks on the trigger as the defense was alleging death by shotgun using screwdriver as an arm extender. Of course, they sort of muddled the fact that there were $90,000 additional monies missing and that his financial situation was far worse that it looked just with a few simple numbers, so they had other fish to fry.
Then after it was all over, we found out that the defense (the insurance company) hadn't even informed us the study door had been locked. Doh. That might have actually had an impact on me. I'm more likely to believe suicide if he's locking his door to clean his gun, especially with no kids in the house.
All in all, fascinating. The two law students on prosecution were top notch and did a slick presentation. They worked well together - great opening and closing statements - eloquent, almost no note checking, and some nifty graphics showing shot angles and where the blood was. Very convincing. The widow's side seemed more nervous and not as together, but did much better after lunch and had a great closing speech as well, though more note-driven. I did feel bad for them when they tried to do a few Matlock-style moves: campy story about cleaning a carpet in the opening statement, designed to get on our good side, and trying to demonstrate how hard it is to pull a 7# trigger by introducing a bag of sugar as evidence, a move that was actually dismissed by the judge. They were told to lay foundation, or that lacks foundation, enough times to know what they need to work on for real life.
The prosecution did have a bit of work cut out for them working in the confines of the case as one of the witnesses was an expert witness, a doctor/therapist, whose resume included articles about "contagious rudeness", "whining and its therapeutic role", the "role of junk food in therapy" and "psychotherapy by email" (as well as an article about grief for an abused spouse after the death of the abuser). He was so much like the "expert witness" in Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills (or maybe it was the sequel, Paradise Lost 2: Revelations -we watched them very close together), that it was laughable. I suggest both of those movies, by the way, excellent. Dixon's side leapt all over the witness, both in cross examination and in closing arguments, which seemed like overkill on what was obviously low-hanging fruit when you got down to it, as the expert witness was so clearly non-expert.
I was a little disappointed that after the judge interviewed us in the beginning (to simulate how to interview potential jurors), he wouldn't tell us what two people each side had picked as who to exclude in a real trial. I figured I must be someone's target as I most closely matched the victim profile, but no way of knowing. I did learn that if you can identify the lead juror just by looking at the group, that's the person to exclude. I trust She Says will recommend the best book on voir dire to me so I know what they were thinking when I answered my questions.
I was a juror on Dixon v. Providential Life Insurance, a case involving a woman whose husband, a local judge, was found dead in her home only nine (9) days after starting a new $250,000 ($500,000 accidental) life insurance policy. Highlights included blood spatters that seemed too low, misappropriated judicial funds, sudden withdrawals of money, strange and speculative investments, a gun with a history of misfiring, and other nefarious dealings. In the end, our jury was three for awarding the widow $1219 (paid in so far), three for $250,000 (face value of the policy, no accidental death) and one for $500,000, an accidential death.
I was the one in that equation, although I could have been brought around to the $250,000 view of things. I just didn't see, based on what they'd told me, that there was any sort of proof, other than the most specious circumstantial evidence, that he'd committed suicide and negated the policy. I believed it was possible, I just didn't see the evidence. I was more likely to believe his wife had offed him, or that there'd been some sort of mishap involving the sister-in-law he'd asked to move in (the judge later said that was a possibility based on the original case) - but that still wouldn't be suicide.
The old guy in our group was personally disgusted with me because I was willing to believe that someone described as an expert hunter would poke at a loaded weapon in his house with a screwdriver. I didn't mention any famous people who'd accidentially been shot and shot others after being described as expert hunters - didn't think that would be appropriate. But I was concerned that we saw all this evidence and no remarks by Dixon's attorneys about whether there were scratch marks on the trigger as the defense was alleging death by shotgun using screwdriver as an arm extender. Of course, they sort of muddled the fact that there were $90,000 additional monies missing and that his financial situation was far worse that it looked just with a few simple numbers, so they had other fish to fry.
Then after it was all over, we found out that the defense (the insurance company) hadn't even informed us the study door had been locked. Doh. That might have actually had an impact on me. I'm more likely to believe suicide if he's locking his door to clean his gun, especially with no kids in the house.
All in all, fascinating. The two law students on prosecution were top notch and did a slick presentation. They worked well together - great opening and closing statements - eloquent, almost no note checking, and some nifty graphics showing shot angles and where the blood was. Very convincing. The widow's side seemed more nervous and not as together, but did much better after lunch and had a great closing speech as well, though more note-driven. I did feel bad for them when they tried to do a few Matlock-style moves: campy story about cleaning a carpet in the opening statement, designed to get on our good side, and trying to demonstrate how hard it is to pull a 7# trigger by introducing a bag of sugar as evidence, a move that was actually dismissed by the judge. They were told to lay foundation, or that lacks foundation, enough times to know what they need to work on for real life.
The prosecution did have a bit of work cut out for them working in the confines of the case as one of the witnesses was an expert witness, a doctor/therapist, whose resume included articles about "contagious rudeness", "whining and its therapeutic role", the "role of junk food in therapy" and "psychotherapy by email" (as well as an article about grief for an abused spouse after the death of the abuser). He was so much like the "expert witness" in Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills (or maybe it was the sequel, Paradise Lost 2: Revelations -we watched them very close together), that it was laughable. I suggest both of those movies, by the way, excellent. Dixon's side leapt all over the witness, both in cross examination and in closing arguments, which seemed like overkill on what was obviously low-hanging fruit when you got down to it, as the expert witness was so clearly non-expert.
I was a little disappointed that after the judge interviewed us in the beginning (to simulate how to interview potential jurors), he wouldn't tell us what two people each side had picked as who to exclude in a real trial. I figured I must be someone's target as I most closely matched the victim profile, but no way of knowing. I did learn that if you can identify the lead juror just by looking at the group, that's the person to exclude. I trust She Says will recommend the best book on voir dire to me so I know what they were thinking when I answered my questions.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Weekend - Hammock Edition
There's just not too much to discuss when, for the fourth weekend in a row (could be the fifth, I'm losing count), I can sum up 95% of what I did as: took a bike ride and worked on the duplex. I could expound: a 41 mile ride starting at the Har Mar Mall (oof...really pushing it on the Mt. Bike - but a few well-placed trains gave me some rest) or ripped up carpet, painted ceilings and painted another shed wall - but that all seems not very exciting. I do have 125 bike club miles (391 outside miles total - 32.5 hours)! That's 1/8 the way to recognition as a 1,000 mile a year rider. So, um....7 more months and 2800 more non-club miles and I'll be there - that'll be about December if I stay on track. Yeah...I think I'll need to do a few extra rides to cut some of those winter months off the list.
We did get some fun in (in addition to my ride). Eryn ditched us for The Hedge with Boppa and Manna while we worked. On Saturday Kyle, Cookie Queen, Dan'l and P'mon all came over for grilling and bocce ball (a threepeat for me...which I mention solely to annoy Dan'l). And Eryn and I broke out the hammock - always a serious threat to my biking. I should also mention that Pooteewheet got me some damn nice Oakleys so that I don't burn out my retinas by the end of the biking season - sorry I'm not stylin' them in the photo.
We did get some fun in (in addition to my ride). Eryn ditched us for The Hedge with Boppa and Manna while we worked. On Saturday Kyle, Cookie Queen, Dan'l and P'mon all came over for grilling and bocce ball (a threepeat for me...which I mention solely to annoy Dan'l). And Eryn and I broke out the hammock - always a serious threat to my biking. I should also mention that Pooteewheet got me some damn nice Oakleys so that I don't burn out my retinas by the end of the biking season - sorry I'm not stylin' them in the photo.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
A Can of WA
My friend Kyle seems to have disappeared over the last two days. Based on our last (email) conversation, I can only assume he's embarrassed about his gaming performance in the online game in which we were engaging. While I should take the advice of his ex, who once called me a "Game Nazi" (I did lighten up considerably in my gaming after that - I'm much less serious about it now - most days I could care less how much time it's taking or whether I'm winning. It may help that the slowest game player I know doesn't actually play with me anymore.) and be pleasant and gracious, I won't. You're p0wned, d00d - w00t! (I'm not geeky enough, nor hip enough, to pull off that slang - I apologize to real geeks).
Someone Feels Sorry for Me
She Says felt bad about Kyle mocking me with a clown picture, so she contributed a Scooter picture with a bit more panache. She could be trying to stay on my happy side just to make sure I mail her the swaggy travel mug I scored for her today - but it's a fair trade.
Jose Cole, You Are a Friend of Mine...
Not really, but it seemed like a good title. I've been obnoxiously busy lately, not only taking days off to turn over half of a rental duplex, but dragging my friends and family along for the fun for going on four weeks now. I swear the thing is retrograding between visits. It doesn't help that Pooteewheet painted everything almost black before we left (it's the side we used to inhabit) and it now needs three coats of paint and some touch up on top, but the real problem is that absolutely everything needs some sort of attention.
But, tonight I escaped my landlord duties and went with my family to the Jose Cole Circus at the Eagan Civic Arena. The fact that it was in the Eagan Civic Arena should give you some idea of exactly what sort of circus we were attending, as it's primarily used for ice time. Sure, when I was at RPI, they'd host Aerosmith concerts in the ice arena, but that was college sized, and they were good (the RPI hockey team), so they had plenty of space. The Eagan Civic Arena, on the other hand, has the floor space of a good-sized state fair building.
Regardless, there were three rings, and Eryn loved it. From the cotton candy, to trapping her parents into their first forced purchase by raising her good arm high when they asked who wanted to buy a $2 circus coloring book (which gave me flashbacks - my parents were big circus goers when I was a kid. I don't honestly remember why, but I suspect it was my mother - I remember her being very happy at the circus - maybe they gave her tent revival flashbacks. They used to buy me circus coloring books, and I remember some of them coming from the source. I think we attended both small circuses and large circuses - because I remember some fairly impressive displays involving tigers, and I don't think it was just t.v.), to the various acts. She was particularly entranced by the fire eater and a few of the animal acts - but bored by the magician.
As far as being the parents of a child at the circus. You sort of get a different take on the experience. The Amazing Jim (how amazing can you be named Jim?) was a balancing act on what seemed to be chairs made out of PVC tubing. I was truly frightened for him because it just doesn't seem that PVC tubing should be stacked twenty feet high for any reason, let alone if you're going to do a handstand on it. Princess Jessica the cortortionist - talented, all that twisty stuff looked extremely difficult. The creepy clown with the rose bestowing it on her, even though she looked to be about 13, ewwwww.... The trapeze guy who only got about 12 feet off the floor and whose act consisted primarily of stunts that most 8 year olds do on the monkey bars...less amazing than The Amazing Jim. The ring master making a balloon mouse and telling the audience it was Topojijo...honestly, I might have been the only person in the whole arena who understood what the hell he was talking about, and even I'm too young - I only know it on hearsay. And, did you know there are several different ways to instrumentally, and loudly, play Mambo #5 by Lou Bega - none of them make it any better.
But, tonight I escaped my landlord duties and went with my family to the Jose Cole Circus at the Eagan Civic Arena. The fact that it was in the Eagan Civic Arena should give you some idea of exactly what sort of circus we were attending, as it's primarily used for ice time. Sure, when I was at RPI, they'd host Aerosmith concerts in the ice arena, but that was college sized, and they were good (the RPI hockey team), so they had plenty of space. The Eagan Civic Arena, on the other hand, has the floor space of a good-sized state fair building.
Regardless, there were three rings, and Eryn loved it. From the cotton candy, to trapping her parents into their first forced purchase by raising her good arm high when they asked who wanted to buy a $2 circus coloring book (which gave me flashbacks - my parents were big circus goers when I was a kid. I don't honestly remember why, but I suspect it was my mother - I remember her being very happy at the circus - maybe they gave her tent revival flashbacks. They used to buy me circus coloring books, and I remember some of them coming from the source. I think we attended both small circuses and large circuses - because I remember some fairly impressive displays involving tigers, and I don't think it was just t.v.), to the various acts. She was particularly entranced by the fire eater and a few of the animal acts - but bored by the magician.
As far as being the parents of a child at the circus. You sort of get a different take on the experience. The Amazing Jim (how amazing can you be named Jim?) was a balancing act on what seemed to be chairs made out of PVC tubing. I was truly frightened for him because it just doesn't seem that PVC tubing should be stacked twenty feet high for any reason, let alone if you're going to do a handstand on it. Princess Jessica the cortortionist - talented, all that twisty stuff looked extremely difficult. The creepy clown with the rose bestowing it on her, even though she looked to be about 13, ewwwww.... The trapeze guy who only got about 12 feet off the floor and whose act consisted primarily of stunts that most 8 year olds do on the monkey bars...less amazing than The Amazing Jim. The ring master making a balloon mouse and telling the audience it was Topojijo...honestly, I might have been the only person in the whole arena who understood what the hell he was talking about, and even I'm too young - I only know it on hearsay. And, did you know there are several different ways to instrumentally, and loudly, play Mambo #5 by Lou Bega - none of them make it any better.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Abramoff
First off - a thanks to all the MNSpeakers who visited today. There was a nice big bump in my hit count from all of you coming over to check out the reproductive logo - thanks for the visit.
My June 2006 Harper's came in the mail today, and in the "Readings" section, there's a bit called "[Testimonials] We Know Jack", detailing a few pieces of the 262 letters written in support of Jack Abramoff (not to Harper's, mind you). My favorite is the use of classical mythology to illuminate Abramoff and his situation. I'm don't think several thousand years from now they'll be telling mythological stories about the whole Bush Administration, and if they are, I don't think they'll be parables about the firey glory of trying to overachieve (I really hope not):
My June 2006 Harper's came in the mail today, and in the "Readings" section, there's a bit called "[Testimonials] We Know Jack", detailing a few pieces of the 262 letters written in support of Jack Abramoff (not to Harper's, mind you). My favorite is the use of classical mythology to illuminate Abramoff and his situation. I'm don't think several thousand years from now they'll be telling mythological stories about the whole Bush Administration, and if they are, I don't think they'll be parables about the firey glory of trying to overachieve (I really hope not):
"The ancient Greeks told of Icarus, whose man-made wings allowed him to fly too close to the sun until they melted and could not support him. That's Mr. Abramoff: he flew too high, and fell. Had Icarus survived, he would have had superb advice for other fliers."
Monday, May 15, 2006
Eagan Proudly Presents...The Uterus
I was behind a truck for a local fish store the other day. This is their logo. I felt silly for seeing what I saw in this logo, but Pooteewheet assures me that it's not just me - it is the female reproductive system.If you live in South Dakota - perhaps this is a good idea for you if you have to perform "illegal" medical procedures. After all, who'd expect the local aquarium dealer?
G Spot
Today I had to create some guest access and a write up for a third party content provider for my application so his company could test a feature they were writing for us. I wrote up a nice long email with lots of appropriate links, his own demo area and a guest password that expires in a year and shipped them off. An hour later I received an email noting that his "G password" didn't work.
Having worked with my application a long time, I knew immediately that he was trying to access our system not by putting his guest password in the appropriate box for G password entry, but in the friendly username/password area above that. The first thing that leapt to mind was, he absolutely had the wrong g-spot. I didn't know him well enough for that sort of talk, however, so I just sent him a scrape in Paint with a red circle and the words "insert password here".
Having worked with my application a long time, I knew immediately that he was trying to access our system not by putting his guest password in the appropriate box for G password entry, but in the friendly username/password area above that. The first thing that leapt to mind was, he absolutely had the wrong g-spot. I didn't know him well enough for that sort of talk, however, so I just sent him a scrape in Paint with a red circle and the words "insert password here".
Test, only a test, this is just a test
This will make no sense to any of you, because it is only a test. Ignore it. After all, you don't care about 101 Sct. 1 and this is a test of 101 Sct. 1. It is not a test of 103 Sct. 2. You must not consider it anything other than a test of 101 Sct. 1.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Flipping the Burley
So yesterday, on the way to work, I took the long way. I had to swing past the bank and needed to relax, so I decided to add several blocks to my ride and make it almost a full ten miles. This took me into new territory, territory not designed for bikes where the ramps as you went off the curb and onto the next curb slowly shrank in width until they weren't quite wide enough for the Burley I had behind my bike for picking up Eryn after work.
So, in front of hundreds of morning commuters, I hit a particularly narrow ramp doing about twenty mph and launched the (closed topped, because it was looking like rain) Burley skyward, flipping it onto its side, where it remained as it slammed forcefully into the ground approximately three times. I hopped off my bike, flipped it upright, hopped back on and started pedaling without a second thought, only moments later noticing all the cars slowing way down to give me a truly horrified look. I suppose, in retrospect, it didn't look so good on my part, but Eryn wasn't in the Burley, honest.
So, in front of hundreds of morning commuters, I hit a particularly narrow ramp doing about twenty mph and launched the (closed topped, because it was looking like rain) Burley skyward, flipping it onto its side, where it remained as it slammed forcefully into the ground approximately three times. I hopped off my bike, flipped it upright, hopped back on and started pedaling without a second thought, only moments later noticing all the cars slowing way down to give me a truly horrified look. I suppose, in retrospect, it didn't look so good on my part, but Eryn wasn't in the Burley, honest.
Clowns
I was giving Kyle a hard time about there being so many scary clowns on the web when you search on his name.
He, of course, did a bang up job of counter-searching on my moniker.
He, of course, did a bang up job of counter-searching on my moniker.
The White Donut
I run the treat list at my place of employment - not for several thousand people, but for a small group of a dozen developers, managers, directors and architects, most of who have known each other for the last six years. The typical treats brought in include donuts, bagels, Krispy Kremes, homemade goodies, and even Spunkmeyer muffins. All items get a pretty good working over, but I have noticed one thing in particular...no one ever seems to eat the donuts with the white frosting. I suppose it's vanilla, but I always just think of it as white. Doesn't matter if there was one in the opening donut salvo, it's left at the end of the day. Three of them...all left at the end of the day, sitting in the treat cube getting crustier and nastier.I personally just prefer the taste of chocolate frosting, but is that the case with everyone, or is there some other perception about white frosting donuts? Maybe people think they taste like chalk? Maybe the general archtetype of a donut is the chocolate donut, and the white donut doesn't fit the perception, sort of like that stupid story about Columbus' ships and the Native Americans in that horrible What the Bleep movie Pooteewheet and I couldn't watch all the way through (congrats, by the way, because we can sit through almost anything, after all, we sat through One True Thing)?
It bothers me, because donut makers must know these are wasted donuts on some level, so why include them in the donut box? Because there just might be one guy at the receiving location who likes white frosting donuts? Is it the same guy who eats the seven grain, raisin cinnamon bagel with the sunflower seeds on top (I refuse to buy those - you get the 540 calorie Panera cinnamon kind from me on my treat day, and that's without the flavored cream cheese).
Use the white donut as a metaphor for my week at work...I think it's valid.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Reverend Scooter
It's official! I finally got a physical letter from the ULC (only took them a year, but they sent me two - backup if the county pretends to lose one), so I can now go file with Dakota County for the right to marry people (or turtles and people - whatever's legal at the time). Unfortunately, I can't marry same-sex couples, but you can be sure that me marrying anyone carries the same stigma for proper Christians everywhere because I would marry same sex couples if I could. I may actually have to take a few hours off this week just so I can mosey down to the courthouse and get everything in order.
Pooteewheet had a great idea...business cards! What better way to let people know I'm in the marryin' biz? She refuses to let me put "religious counselor" on my cards because she's pretty sure that would make me an a-hole (come on...$200 an hour to tell people to go see a real counselor that's not religious...seems like a bargain), but she did mock up several cards for me today so I could see some examples that would irritate many of the people I know. Her favorites were the water theme and sand theme, but this one is my favorite as it seems so religious, yet new age-ish at the same time...
Pooteewheet had a great idea...business cards! What better way to let people know I'm in the marryin' biz? She refuses to let me put "religious counselor" on my cards because she's pretty sure that would make me an a-hole (come on...$200 an hour to tell people to go see a real counselor that's not religious...seems like a bargain), but she did mock up several cards for me today so I could see some examples that would irritate many of the people I know. Her favorites were the water theme and sand theme, but this one is my favorite as it seems so religious, yet new age-ish at the same time...
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Weekend Wrap Up
It was beautiful this weekend, and we spent the Saturday portion of it inside. Pooteewheet and I loaned Eryn to Boppa and Manna for the weekend, and then went to the duplex to paint, paint, paint. Kyle joined us, and I have to say, at least I got to spend some of my time outside painting over the gang tags on the shed instead of being cooped up in a room with paint fumes.
Speaking of which, I give my friends Cookie Queen and Dan'l a hard time about shootings in their neighborhood, but I did have to spend an afternoon painting over gang signs in Richfield, and we did get to enjoy a block full of cops in our own neighborhood. As we came back from a nice dinner and a few beers with Kyle at Town Hall Brewery (damn them for releasing two new beers this week, I'll have to go back), we turned a corner in our neighborhood by the duplexes to the south of us, and I said, "Pooteewheet. Pooteewheet." as she slowed down and came to a stop. She looked like she was going to go ahead for a moment and I noted that there was a cop with a handgun and someone with their hands up, and everyone was behind their appropriate cop door like there might be shooting at any moment. Pooteewheet noted one of the cops also had a rifle. And then we turned around and went home the other way. Maybe next time I take Eryn to a park, we'll go to one in the other direction.
Today I did get out. I hauled my bike up to the Cedar Riverside area and went on a May Day ride with 40-50 fellow TCBC riders, which took me right back to within 4 miles of my house - seemed sort of counterproductive. But riding with a group is a lot of fun and a pleasant change of pace. The ride was a bit fast for me as I rode my mountain bike, but I kept up and that's what counts. Lunch was at The Turtle Bread Company (4762 Chicago - I've been told the Pumphouse Creamery next door has some of the best ice cream) which I'd never been to before, and it was delicious. They do breakfast! They also had some fruit and cream tarts and cakes that looked wonderful - really beyond wonderful. I'll definitely go back to try one. The May Day parade I could have done without. Not because it was boring, but because I didn't get to see any of it. I stood on a corner for 75 minutes, and even after that much time I couldn't see the thing coming, and I can see pretty far. I was starting to burn (neck and bald spot) and develop some slight heat issues, so I packed it in and biked back to my car.
I never learn when it comes to events and biking. It is extremely difficult to get the timing right if you want to bike to an event with lots of people, and it's extremely difficult to find a good place where your bike is safe and you can see things, and you're not standing around for hours. I'd have been better off sitting with my book and eating the fruit tart.
A picture from today. The guy in the foreground is a new guy in the club. This was taken near the front doors to Fort Snelling
Speaking of which, I give my friends Cookie Queen and Dan'l a hard time about shootings in their neighborhood, but I did have to spend an afternoon painting over gang signs in Richfield, and we did get to enjoy a block full of cops in our own neighborhood. As we came back from a nice dinner and a few beers with Kyle at Town Hall Brewery (damn them for releasing two new beers this week, I'll have to go back), we turned a corner in our neighborhood by the duplexes to the south of us, and I said, "Pooteewheet. Pooteewheet." as she slowed down and came to a stop. She looked like she was going to go ahead for a moment and I noted that there was a cop with a handgun and someone with their hands up, and everyone was behind their appropriate cop door like there might be shooting at any moment. Pooteewheet noted one of the cops also had a rifle. And then we turned around and went home the other way. Maybe next time I take Eryn to a park, we'll go to one in the other direction.
Today I did get out. I hauled my bike up to the Cedar Riverside area and went on a May Day ride with 40-50 fellow TCBC riders, which took me right back to within 4 miles of my house - seemed sort of counterproductive. But riding with a group is a lot of fun and a pleasant change of pace. The ride was a bit fast for me as I rode my mountain bike, but I kept up and that's what counts. Lunch was at The Turtle Bread Company (4762 Chicago - I've been told the Pumphouse Creamery next door has some of the best ice cream) which I'd never been to before, and it was delicious. They do breakfast! They also had some fruit and cream tarts and cakes that looked wonderful - really beyond wonderful. I'll definitely go back to try one. The May Day parade I could have done without. Not because it was boring, but because I didn't get to see any of it. I stood on a corner for 75 minutes, and even after that much time I couldn't see the thing coming, and I can see pretty far. I was starting to burn (neck and bald spot) and develop some slight heat issues, so I packed it in and biked back to my car.
I never learn when it comes to events and biking. It is extremely difficult to get the timing right if you want to bike to an event with lots of people, and it's extremely difficult to find a good place where your bike is safe and you can see things, and you're not standing around for hours. I'd have been better off sitting with my book and eating the fruit tart.
A picture from today. The guy in the foreground is a new guy in the club. This was taken near the front doors to Fort Snelling
Friday, May 05, 2006
Hubris GW Style
I'm pretty sure our commander in chief just pissed on the service of everyone in World War I and World War II. Good for the people on Flight 93 for fighting back, but George's war on terror is in no way equivalent to either of the World Wars. That's an amazing amount of hubris in such a small statement.
US President George W. Bush, pictured here on 04 May, said the September 11 revolt of passengers against their hijackers on board Flight 93 had struck the first blow of "World War III."(AFP/File/Paul J. Richards)
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Dad Thinks I Was Fat
At least that's what Cookie Queen thinks he's implying in the comments of the Ironwoman post. He just doesn't get to see me as often as my friend's wife does (wink wink nudge nudge), so the twenty pounds I'm missing since last time he was here is more noticable to him. If I'd give up all that eating out at Culver's and Chipotle topped with beer and ice cream, I might be a rail, albeit an extremely crabby rail.
I'm updating my template in a minute to include a pictorial link to TCBC, the Twin Cities Bicycling Club. I should have done it two years ago as I credit them for getting me reinvolved in cycling, and some of my fondest memories of the last give years are cycling trips with the group (even if they can't find all my mileage credit - but then again, it's not like I make the 1000-miler list). If you're from the Twin Cities and you like to bike, I strongly recommend taking a few rides with them - they have all levels of rides and hundreds of them...a month. The July 4th Watermelon Ride is particularly fun (I do the data entry - woo hoo) and family friendly, and I rode it with my in-laws before Eryn, and now we all ride it while I pull Eryn in the Burley.
And finally, the new blogger I e-met yesterday (is he Pete Ryan...or Peter Yan?) had a very funny link on his blog, a MS 150 parody of Brokeback Mountain called Brokebike Mountain on YouTube. There are some other movies along the same theme - seems like a series - but that one is hilarious.
I'm updating my template in a minute to include a pictorial link to TCBC, the Twin Cities Bicycling Club. I should have done it two years ago as I credit them for getting me reinvolved in cycling, and some of my fondest memories of the last give years are cycling trips with the group (even if they can't find all my mileage credit - but then again, it's not like I make the 1000-miler list). If you're from the Twin Cities and you like to bike, I strongly recommend taking a few rides with them - they have all levels of rides and hundreds of them...a month. The July 4th Watermelon Ride is particularly fun (I do the data entry - woo hoo) and family friendly, and I rode it with my in-laws before Eryn, and now we all ride it while I pull Eryn in the Burley.And finally, the new blogger I e-met yesterday (is he Pete Ryan...or Peter Yan?) had a very funny link on his blog, a MS 150 parody of Brokeback Mountain called Brokebike Mountain on YouTube. There are some other movies along the same theme - seems like a series - but that one is hilarious.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
No Rabies
At least I'm not seizing up and everything, so I guess I won't have some repeat of Ole' Yeller, even if I did trade a horny toad for my wrist nipping dog.
Blew a chain today on the way home. Well, not so much a chain as a half of a link. But without a chain breaker, that's enough to take me out of commission. It makes a seriously horrible noise rolling a broken link through the gears. Fortunately it only costs something like $150 an hour to fix it at the local cycle shop. But it takes 10 minutes, so it was $23 and some daddy-daughter time test driving all the tricycles and bikes she doesn't have at home.
And speaking of cyclists, I found a fellow employee who cycles while engaging in a defense of my current lifestyle as basically as urban as you can get without being urban. In reality, it's not - it's a rough haul without a car - I'd have to ride a bus up to the Mall in the winter or in the rain, and I'd miss my rides downtown (though I can go just several miles to the Mall using a car and ride public transportation from there). But I do come close on my better days, when the chain on my bike isn't dropping links.
Examining my housing history, however, I appear to be the typical white middle class move-away from downtown as you get wealthier poster child. First apartment - Cedar Riverside, low income, twenty-eighth story, walk to downtown across the tracks. Second apartment - little further from downtown, little more upscale in the U of M neighborhood. Third apartment - first tier suburb in St. Louis Park, the end closest to Minneapolis - dead shot to downtown on the bike trail, just off the lakes, plenty of bus access to everywhere. Fourth residence - duplex in Richfield, also a first tier suburb, but further out, on the edge of the loop, have to drive a bit to get downtown, but still a straight shot up 35W. However, Edina and Bloomington pull you south. Fifth place - single family home in Eagan. Still close to major roads and work, but now I'm more likely to go to St. Paul if I hit a big city. It'd be nice to reverse that whole trend, but only if it doesn't mean moving back into a duplex.
And finally, back to a biking theme, while I was on the 2006 Ironman, I discovered $10 in my pocket (the one on my bike bag - don't go trying to picture where I'd put $10 in my bike shorts...hey, hey! I said don't picture it - I know you're trying TallBrad, I've seen that calendar you keep at your house and I've heard the rumors about life sized cutouts of me) and scored Eryn a new t-shirt...um...nightgown. It's very cool that they change the language to Ironwoman based on the shirt.
Blew a chain today on the way home. Well, not so much a chain as a half of a link. But without a chain breaker, that's enough to take me out of commission. It makes a seriously horrible noise rolling a broken link through the gears. Fortunately it only costs something like $150 an hour to fix it at the local cycle shop. But it takes 10 minutes, so it was $23 and some daddy-daughter time test driving all the tricycles and bikes she doesn't have at home.
And speaking of cyclists, I found a fellow employee who cycles while engaging in a defense of my current lifestyle as basically as urban as you can get without being urban. In reality, it's not - it's a rough haul without a car - I'd have to ride a bus up to the Mall in the winter or in the rain, and I'd miss my rides downtown (though I can go just several miles to the Mall using a car and ride public transportation from there). But I do come close on my better days, when the chain on my bike isn't dropping links.
Examining my housing history, however, I appear to be the typical white middle class move-away from downtown as you get wealthier poster child. First apartment - Cedar Riverside, low income, twenty-eighth story, walk to downtown across the tracks. Second apartment - little further from downtown, little more upscale in the U of M neighborhood. Third apartment - first tier suburb in St. Louis Park, the end closest to Minneapolis - dead shot to downtown on the bike trail, just off the lakes, plenty of bus access to everywhere. Fourth residence - duplex in Richfield, also a first tier suburb, but further out, on the edge of the loop, have to drive a bit to get downtown, but still a straight shot up 35W. However, Edina and Bloomington pull you south. Fifth place - single family home in Eagan. Still close to major roads and work, but now I'm more likely to go to St. Paul if I hit a big city. It'd be nice to reverse that whole trend, but only if it doesn't mean moving back into a duplex.
And finally, back to a biking theme, while I was on the 2006 Ironman, I discovered $10 in my pocket (the one on my bike bag - don't go trying to picture where I'd put $10 in my bike shorts...hey, hey! I said don't picture it - I know you're trying TallBrad, I've seen that calendar you keep at your house and I've heard the rumors about life sized cutouts of me) and scored Eryn a new t-shirt...um...nightgown. It's very cool that they change the language to Ironwoman based on the shirt.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Today's Play-dough Moments...
For my sister...The Little Mermaid! Ahhhaaaaahhhhh... ahhhaaaaahhhaaaaa.... ahhaahhaaaaa... Note the fine artistry on the waves.
Nemo, or a clownfish that looks like Nemo but isn't affiliated with Disney in any manner whatsoever.
Nemo's father, Marlin, or a clownfish that looks like Marlin but isn't associated with Disney in any way, being attacked by a jellyfish/squishy. He shall call it his squishy, and it shall be his.
Nemo, or a clownfish that looks like Nemo but isn't affiliated with Disney in any manner whatsoever.
Nemo's father, Marlin, or a clownfish that looks like Marlin but isn't associated with Disney in any way, being attacked by a jellyfish/squishy. He shall call it his squishy, and it shall be his.
I Am In A Mood
My dog bit me. Sandy was nose deep in a bowl of sunflower seeds Eryn had left on the floor - I reached for them, she bit - bunch of bruises, a little bit of blood (she's 90#, not small). I don't think I've ever yelled at something so loud in my life. Now I know better than to reach for food near a dog's mouth, and if I had just made enough noise that she knew she was caught she would have bolted for her kennel, but still...I am damn pissed as it could have been Eryn reaching for the sunflower seeds.
So...options for Sandy. Send the dog to the pound. The dog that can't be trusted not to pee and poop on the floor when your back is turned. The dog that weasels her way past gates into the basement so she can eat cat puke and cat poop near the cat's litter box. The dog that has to have a special cage reinforced with chain, wood paneling where she chews threw, a shock collar to keep her from barking, cinder blocks refinforced with rebar along the bottom edge of the pen, an extra lock on the door, and a wire to keep her in even if she does chew her way out, despite ramming wire into her eye. The dog that means you can't have discount home owner's insurance because she's part Rottie. The dog that actively dislikes the kid because she has food and the dog doesn't. You can see the end result of that option for Sandy.
So no...we've had her since the duplex, we'll manage until she gives it up to old age or becomes downright mean. But now in addition to not being able to be out of her indoor kennel during the day because of the poop, pee, cat puke/poop thing, and not being able to be outside because of the barking, even through the shock collar, she'll have to be shut up during all meals and snack times, or at least separated from said meals/snacks by a child gate, or banished outside with a shock collar that doesn't provide warnings.
If anyone has better options, we're all ears.
So...options for Sandy. Send the dog to the pound. The dog that can't be trusted not to pee and poop on the floor when your back is turned. The dog that weasels her way past gates into the basement so she can eat cat puke and cat poop near the cat's litter box. The dog that has to have a special cage reinforced with chain, wood paneling where she chews threw, a shock collar to keep her from barking, cinder blocks refinforced with rebar along the bottom edge of the pen, an extra lock on the door, and a wire to keep her in even if she does chew her way out, despite ramming wire into her eye. The dog that means you can't have discount home owner's insurance because she's part Rottie. The dog that actively dislikes the kid because she has food and the dog doesn't. You can see the end result of that option for Sandy.
So no...we've had her since the duplex, we'll manage until she gives it up to old age or becomes downright mean. But now in addition to not being able to be out of her indoor kennel during the day because of the poop, pee, cat puke/poop thing, and not being able to be outside because of the barking, even through the shock collar, she'll have to be shut up during all meals and snack times, or at least separated from said meals/snacks by a child gate, or banished outside with a shock collar that doesn't provide warnings.
If anyone has better options, we're all ears.
Monday, May 01, 2006
May 1st is Law Day
I can't believe they didn't give me the day off! It's Law Day, so I guess I should wish all those lawyers and pre-lawyers and sort of ex-lawyers whose blogs I cruise (more on the right), not to mention one or two co-workers and every single one of my um...clients, customers, whatever you call them if you're a programmer...happy Law Day! The Library of Congress moderated panel seems a little tongue in cheek, however: "Separate Branches, Balanced Powers: Madison’s Legacy".
Each year on May 1st, Law Day provides an opportunity for everyone to reflect on our legal heritage, on the role of law, and on the rights and duties which are the foundation of peace and prosperity for all mankind.
In the late 1950s, the American Bar Association instituted May 1 as Law Day to draw attention to both the principles and practice of law and justice. President Dwight D. Eisenhower established Law Day by proclamation in 1958.
Colbert
I watched the Colbert White House Press Dinner video, and they certainly weren't chortling much, but what the hell - bunch of humorless bastards who can't laugh at their own ineptitude...they should, everyone else does. In case you haven't been able to find a link - here's a few places you can spelunk.
Note - quotes are not by the bloggers, but by those they are quoting:
Note - quotes are not by the bloggers, but by those they are quoting:
- ~Tild - W are not amused - "He was rude, snarky and unpatriotic toward the President and First Lady.”"
- Curly Tales of War Pigs - Title: thirty-two percent or sour milk - "I was deeply offended for my country"
- Thank You Stephen Colbert website
- Out of the Jungle (lawyer mobblog) quotes Billmon
- Eschaton (part I)
- New Patriot
- Boing Boing - with mirrors
- Crooks and Liars Video - http://www.crooksandliars.com/2006/04/29.html#a8104
- Crooks and Liars - Colbert on 60 Minutes
Beer and Howl
Kyle finally made it to Blue Max Liquor with me where he seemed a little astounded that so many beer choices fit into such a small store (1100 beer choices, 200 scotch choices). He picked up some bock and a big bottle of mead (and a few singles), and I picked up some dopplebock, alcoholic ginger ale, and some singles. We swapped a few of each, and this is what I drank over the weekend (pictured).
Quick run down: Hot Shot by Great Divide - ok, but not exciting. Victory St. Victorious Dopplebock - delicious and clean enough that you don't realize how much alcohol you've had. Victory St. Boisterous Hellebock (a maibock - light color whereas dopplebocks are dark) - also delicious and clean, but with the spring flavor of a mailbock. Hitachino Nest Real Ginger Ale - needed more ginger - quite a bit more. I could taste it, but I really had to let it warm up to get the ginger taste, and I think I would have preferred more so that it got a bit of that hot bite to it.
Of course the real coup is that Christy found a copy of the Jones soda bottle with Eryn's picture on it, but I'll let Pooteewheet blog about that.
And this is just for stupidity's sake. If you've seen Howl's Moving Castle (anime), then you might recognize, very fuzzy, Heen the dog and Howl, complete with Calcifer fire demon heart. And no, I'm not some damn fanboy making play-dough claymation flicks in my kitchen. Eryn loves the movie so, during enforced play-dough time (on me, not her), I decided to pursue a theme. When I got to the green blob men and the Witch of the Waste, Eryn stopped me, unnerved at my ability to exactly reproduce the feel of the movie in clay. She shut down play-dough time in an effort to distract me from my goal to accurately render evil. Perhaps she was afraid I'd scribble אמת (truth) on a forehead or two.
Quick run down: Hot Shot by Great Divide - ok, but not exciting. Victory St. Victorious Dopplebock - delicious and clean enough that you don't realize how much alcohol you've had. Victory St. Boisterous Hellebock (a maibock - light color whereas dopplebocks are dark) - also delicious and clean, but with the spring flavor of a mailbock. Hitachino Nest Real Ginger Ale - needed more ginger - quite a bit more. I could taste it, but I really had to let it warm up to get the ginger taste, and I think I would have preferred more so that it got a bit of that hot bite to it.
Of course the real coup is that Christy found a copy of the Jones soda bottle with Eryn's picture on it, but I'll let Pooteewheet blog about that.
And this is just for stupidity's sake. If you've seen Howl's Moving Castle (anime), then you might recognize, very fuzzy, Heen the dog and Howl, complete with Calcifer fire demon heart. And no, I'm not some damn fanboy making play-dough claymation flicks in my kitchen. Eryn loves the movie so, during enforced play-dough time (on me, not her), I decided to pursue a theme. When I got to the green blob men and the Witch of the Waste, Eryn stopped me, unnerved at my ability to exactly reproduce the feel of the movie in clay. She shut down play-dough time in an effort to distract me from my goal to accurately render evil. Perhaps she was afraid I'd scribble אמת (truth) on a forehead or two.
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