Thursday, June 29, 2006
You, Me and Dupree
I keep seeing trailers for the stupid You, Me and Dupree movie. Today, however, I gave it a spin that will keep me smiling when I see it when I joked to Pooteewheet that Cookie Queen's sister-in-law's recent marriage troubles might be an opportunity for a reality version of the movie, "Me, My Mister and His Sister (and all our children)". I'd pay to see that, especially if it meant I never had to sit through more than 2 hours of it.
Landlording
I too have had my share of bad rental experiences: the big hole in my ceiling where water drained down from the unit above, the iceberg that fell on my car, the shootings in the lobby, the fire in the garbage chutes, et al. But over all, I was fairly happy with the several apartments I rented and how management responded to issues (except that hole in the ceiling thing - they were a serious problem in that case).
Now that I'm a landlord myself, I get to see the other side of the coin: renters who are constantly late on their rent, or non-paying, yet want to know why an improvement to counters or fencing isn't going in, renters who break their lease and ask for their deposit in the same breath, renters who leave cigarette burns in carpets after writing no-smoking clauses into their leases themselves, phantom charges from waste disposal for sofas and appliances, holes in the ceiling, refinished wood floors and trim to accomodate DirectTV (now DirectTV actually asks - they don't always), unreported drips that could be easily fixed but are ignored or even covered up, spilled aquariums, porn stashes in the drop-down ceilings, and then there's the insidious, horrible, disease-infested leavings on the walls, floors, and ceilings, some residue presumably as old as the renting. As my wife has grown fond of telling me just to see me squirm, "I am sick of cleaning up other people's pubic hair."
At the same time, I find myself somewhat disturbed when I realize how much most landlords don't do. For example, five bot over at MNSpeak posted today about the great legal help and documentation you can find at the MN Legal Services site, like the Tenants Rights in Minnesota document. Only today I met with a tenant to sign a lease for one of my properties, and on the list of the things they initial for is a copy of the Landlords and Tenants: Rights and Responsbilities document by Mike Hatch. It's always our hope that an informed tenant is a tenant who will report a leak or answer their phone/mail regarding a maintenance visit. So far that's been mostly wishful thinking.
Now that I'm a landlord myself, I get to see the other side of the coin: renters who are constantly late on their rent, or non-paying, yet want to know why an improvement to counters or fencing isn't going in, renters who break their lease and ask for their deposit in the same breath, renters who leave cigarette burns in carpets after writing no-smoking clauses into their leases themselves, phantom charges from waste disposal for sofas and appliances, holes in the ceiling, refinished wood floors and trim to accomodate DirectTV (now DirectTV actually asks - they don't always), unreported drips that could be easily fixed but are ignored or even covered up, spilled aquariums, porn stashes in the drop-down ceilings, and then there's the insidious, horrible, disease-infested leavings on the walls, floors, and ceilings, some residue presumably as old as the renting. As my wife has grown fond of telling me just to see me squirm, "I am sick of cleaning up other people's pubic hair."
At the same time, I find myself somewhat disturbed when I realize how much most landlords don't do. For example, five bot over at MNSpeak posted today about the great legal help and documentation you can find at the MN Legal Services site, like the Tenants Rights in Minnesota document. Only today I met with a tenant to sign a lease for one of my properties, and on the list of the things they initial for is a copy of the Landlords and Tenants: Rights and Responsbilities document by Mike Hatch. It's always our hope that an informed tenant is a tenant who will report a leak or answer their phone/mail regarding a maintenance visit. So far that's been mostly wishful thinking.
Monday, June 26, 2006
My First Try at YouTube
And it's a kid video - sorry if you were expecting grandiose art or pointed political commentary. Have to start small and give the bulk of my audience (mom, dad and the inlaws) something to appreciate. I'm doing a link instead of an embedded object because 1.) I don't know how to embed it, despite the code YouTube gives me, because Blogger doesn't like embed codes, and 2.) because I still use dial up, and I don't want to wait for 10 megs of download everytime I preview my own pages. Call me selfish if you must.
Eryn and Amelie spin ride a chair at the lake cabin.
Eryn and Amelie spin ride a chair at the lake cabin.
Formulary
It seems sort of strange that my company health plan has a drug formulary that excludes the version of a drug for my wasp sting that has almost no side effects in favor of the slightly cheaper one that makes me so sleepy as to be almost nonfunctional while it's at its peak. An hour after I take a pill my eyes start drooping, thirty minutes after that I'm crabbier than a bear after fish season, and thirty minutes after that I'm almost conked out (so at least the crabbiness isn't long lived). Isn't it cheaper to just pay the extra $10 or so for the other drug than for me to lose a few days of productivity or argue with the drug company that it'll interfere with my work productivity?
Oh well, I'll be catching up on four days of email anyway - I think I can do that with only half my brain involved.
Oh well, I'll be catching up on four days of email anyway - I think I can do that with only half my brain involved.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Cabin Fever
I'm hoping this story cheers up Mr. Mustard.
I took off two days for a long weekend so that I could take the family up to my parents' cabin. Pooteewheet was excited, and then realized after I'd taken the days off that she'd agreed to watch my niece for the weekend, so we'd be taking her with us for four days, much to the irritation of my sister, who thought she'd only be away from her daughter for the first lengthy time for two days. We were going to haul up the canoe in my garage which I never use and which interferes with my ability to store appropriate amounts of junk, so we got my father in law's truck. But after spending an hour going from sports store to sports store on Thursday, I discovered four foam blocks would cost me $60.00. I refuse to buy foam blocks for $60.00. They're f-ing foam - I throw it away when it's computer packaging...give me a break. However, once I loaded the truck with the stuff my Dad left last time he was up here, a crib for my friend Adam (actually for his on-the-way kid), and my sister's sail boat, it wouldn't have fit anyway.
None of this is the interesting part - it just points out that we did several hours of packing/unpacking. The interesting part began when we got to the cabin and I had to put the filter on the water/pump system. I've had problems with this system before. I once went up for a bike ride and the water didn't work. I had to crawl under the cabin and lie on a freezing floor, in water, to try and tape brand new pipes that had pinhole leaks everywhere because the contractor had installed used pipe and never started the system. This time was a little worse.
About a foot and a half of water so cold I couldn't stand in it for more than sixty seconds without having to get out and warm my feet (you could see your breath when you were down there). And that white thing near the pump...that's the filter unit. You'll notice the top is missing. It's not in my hand while I took this photo because it was in the entryway and I discovered this after I grabbed it, it's somewhere under all that murky, rusty water (and it's much darker down there without the flash). So I had to haul down some planks and the bricks from the stairs to create a small working area, then venture into the water in a systematic search pattern until I found the filter cover.
Once the filter cover was in place, the water worked inside. But a trip back to the underworld showed water spilling out of the pipes, spilling through the pipes (in the case of the burst shower pipe) and bubbling up from underwater. I waded in again, swearing that between the bursts of water I could hear critters scurrying away to the furthest corners of the foundation, and turned off all the open spigots, turned off the underwater spigots, and investigated the unrepairable (with my available resources) shower drain pipe. We could be fairly certain there would be no hot showers for the long weekend - we were going to be engaging in a bit of sponge bathing.
Fortunately, I had the pump my Dad had left in all the things I hauled north, so I pulled it out, attached an intake pipe, and headed to the shed to find a hose for the drainage end. I was in the shed for a few seconds when I felt a sharp pain in my neck. Then my arm. And then I heard the buzzing and felt the rebounds as several invisible things bounced off my tshirt. I hightailed it for the cabin with a single look back that validated, yes, many wasps are after me. At the cabin, I picked two wasps off my shirt (I'm so happy I'm not the skin-tight tshirt type. I bet there are others thankful for the same thing), and surveyed my damage. Welt on my arm, pain at my neck. On my neck...oh s*it. Last time a wasp popped out of the railroad ties at the duplex and caught me on the calf, it swelled up like a grapefruit for two weeks - I pictured that happening to my head. It was a waiting game - safe...or shock?
Pooteewheet waited out the first hour with me and I was fine, so she headed off to the local store to buy a hose and two cans of Raid for wasps. By the time she got back, my arm was starting to swell a little, but nothing serious. So I hooked up the pump and got it running at full tilt (picture below). Then I went back to look at the wasp problem (on the door - above). The big issue was I was pretty sure they were on the door I hadn't opened. But how to tell, as the door was balanced so that it swung shut. My solution, chuck a few large pieces of wood at the door and see if the wasps immediately erupted. They did (sorry about the dents on the door, Dad). After that, it was a really long stick and the can of Raid. It was like something out of Tora Tora Tora! Wasps were flying right at me, and I was shooting them out of the sky with the Raid, trying to aim it in such a way that it would hit the nest as well, although spraying everything in the shed with toxic chemicals. I was the Clint Eastwood of wasp killers. However, I recommend Dad not lick any of his wrenches until after they've been in the rain for a few hours.
So, at that point...flooded basement, on the way to a ten hour draining. Wasps, dead. Next issue...no dock, and just me and Pooteewheet. And a new rock wall and low lake water, so the dock pieces had to be hauled across the yard, down the rock face, and into the water. But wait! They'd been mixed up since last season, so the first piece was too high and wasn't adjustable, and the following pieces were out of order and had different clip widths, so they didn't actually fit together unless you found the right two pieces. Did I mention we had two children with us ages 3 and 1? We got five pieces of dock in that night - one jutting out about six feet off the water - of no use to anyone, and four heading out until they reached a water depth of about 2 feet - no where near deep enough for a boat (and the last piece was simply sitting on top of the piece before it as it was one of the unmatched pieces). Pooteewheet was primarily concerned about this arrangement of the doc pieces next to the pine trees, which she was sure indicated an abundence of spiders. The dead waterbugs in webs on the planks indicated very large spiders.
Did I mention I killed a grouse? Up at a cabin in northern Minnesota, you'd probably think I was hunting. No, nothing like that. I scared a grouse on my parents' property and it took off around their pine trees. Then there was a loud "bonggggg". I walked around the corner and saw the neighbor's garage with its six windows. The grouse was lying near the second one from the left, dead as a doornail. Apparently, in the great scheme of horrible wildlife accidents involving my family this weekend, this was a minor incident. While I was accidentially killing the grouse, my dog was at Steve's (and Christy's) house (my neighbor) mauling three baby bunnies in his back yard, forcing Christy's son to deal with the predator-prey aspect of life in the (Eagan, suburban) wild. The way I hear it, Ty actually tried to nurse back to health the bunny with the broken leg (the eviscerated and de-throated bunnies being beyond aid), only to have it die on him. Ty now refers to my dog as "killer".
After that, it went downhill. I did have a good day playing games at my friend Adam's house the next day (in our initial cabin-ing plan) with Adam and Kyle while Pooteewheet hung with the kids at the cabin. But Pooteewheet was stuck inside all day because of rain, so she was a little stir crazy by the time we got back around midnight (Kyle and I saw a freaky giant weasel just down the road from the cabin - it was an adventurous trip from Pillager to the cabin).
Whereas my gaming day, though productive in terms of gaming, was somewhat suffering due to my sleepiness from the all the benedryl (and beer) I was taking to combat this...click the picture, you can see my giant, smooth, baby hand. This isn't even when it was the worst - it puffed up until my finger joints were outies, my knuckes were innies, and my arm looked like a particularly red sausage in a shiny casing, with the redness creeping upward about an inch every six hours until it was over my elbow. And damn did it ever itch.
I made it through the night, but the next day it was looking even worse, so without ever putting the boat in the water or taking the kids swimming, we packed everything back into the car, detached the pumping equipment, locked the wasp shed, and took me to urgent care in Eagan (sure, not really urgent, but that's what was available).
The nice doctor (Dr. Carlson, if you must know, Cookie Queen. She's kind of hot!) came back to talk to me after an hour in the waiting room and an hour in the medical room to ask me, "Do you have mono?" I told her I was pretty sure I didn't, and she noted that my white cells were doing a weird little dance that looked exactly like a reaction to mono. I thought, "Well that's nice - the wasps didn't sting me, they kissed me." Then she put me on two meds - one for itchiness, one for swelling (the drug I used to take in my Boy Scout days for poison ivy, which led to a discussion with the doc about Fels Naptha as a poison ivy preventative), and sent me home with directions to come see her in Bloomington if things got crazy with the arm.
So, it's getting better, and although I have a day off and am not at the cabin to use it, I have fond memories of introducing my niece to The Wiggles and giving her what I can only assume, based on my sister's aversion to sweets, is her first Twizzler (can't give her cousin a Twizzler to eat in front of her and not give her one, that's mental abuse - her favorite thing to say, "More please!", which applies equally to Twizzlers, fries and mandarin oranges, the last one being her hands-down favorite). When we got back home, I brought in a big box of stuff with the Twizzlers on top of it and set it down in the kitchen. A minute later, Amelie came walking across the floor with three Twizzlers gripped in her two hands and the biggest grin on her I've ever seen. She not only recognized the candy - she recognized the packaging. Settle down, Sis, she only ate one of them, and gave the others to Pooteewheet and Eryn.
Finally, just for the cuteness factor - here's Amelie, courtesy of Eryn, who's busting her chops on the children's photo circuit before moving on to bigger things.
I took off two days for a long weekend so that I could take the family up to my parents' cabin. Pooteewheet was excited, and then realized after I'd taken the days off that she'd agreed to watch my niece for the weekend, so we'd be taking her with us for four days, much to the irritation of my sister, who thought she'd only be away from her daughter for the first lengthy time for two days. We were going to haul up the canoe in my garage which I never use and which interferes with my ability to store appropriate amounts of junk, so we got my father in law's truck. But after spending an hour going from sports store to sports store on Thursday, I discovered four foam blocks would cost me $60.00. I refuse to buy foam blocks for $60.00. They're f-ing foam - I throw it away when it's computer packaging...give me a break. However, once I loaded the truck with the stuff my Dad left last time he was up here, a crib for my friend Adam (actually for his on-the-way kid), and my sister's sail boat, it wouldn't have fit anyway.
None of this is the interesting part - it just points out that we did several hours of packing/unpacking. The interesting part began when we got to the cabin and I had to put the filter on the water/pump system. I've had problems with this system before. I once went up for a bike ride and the water didn't work. I had to crawl under the cabin and lie on a freezing floor, in water, to try and tape brand new pipes that had pinhole leaks everywhere because the contractor had installed used pipe and never started the system. This time was a little worse.
About a foot and a half of water so cold I couldn't stand in it for more than sixty seconds without having to get out and warm my feet (you could see your breath when you were down there). And that white thing near the pump...that's the filter unit. You'll notice the top is missing. It's not in my hand while I took this photo because it was in the entryway and I discovered this after I grabbed it, it's somewhere under all that murky, rusty water (and it's much darker down there without the flash). So I had to haul down some planks and the bricks from the stairs to create a small working area, then venture into the water in a systematic search pattern until I found the filter cover.
Once the filter cover was in place, the water worked inside. But a trip back to the underworld showed water spilling out of the pipes, spilling through the pipes (in the case of the burst shower pipe) and bubbling up from underwater. I waded in again, swearing that between the bursts of water I could hear critters scurrying away to the furthest corners of the foundation, and turned off all the open spigots, turned off the underwater spigots, and investigated the unrepairable (with my available resources) shower drain pipe. We could be fairly certain there would be no hot showers for the long weekend - we were going to be engaging in a bit of sponge bathing.
Fortunately, I had the pump my Dad had left in all the things I hauled north, so I pulled it out, attached an intake pipe, and headed to the shed to find a hose for the drainage end. I was in the shed for a few seconds when I felt a sharp pain in my neck. Then my arm. And then I heard the buzzing and felt the rebounds as several invisible things bounced off my tshirt. I hightailed it for the cabin with a single look back that validated, yes, many wasps are after me. At the cabin, I picked two wasps off my shirt (I'm so happy I'm not the skin-tight tshirt type. I bet there are others thankful for the same thing), and surveyed my damage. Welt on my arm, pain at my neck. On my neck...oh s*it. Last time a wasp popped out of the railroad ties at the duplex and caught me on the calf, it swelled up like a grapefruit for two weeks - I pictured that happening to my head. It was a waiting game - safe...or shock?
Pooteewheet waited out the first hour with me and I was fine, so she headed off to the local store to buy a hose and two cans of Raid for wasps. By the time she got back, my arm was starting to swell a little, but nothing serious. So I hooked up the pump and got it running at full tilt (picture below). Then I went back to look at the wasp problem (on the door - above). The big issue was I was pretty sure they were on the door I hadn't opened. But how to tell, as the door was balanced so that it swung shut. My solution, chuck a few large pieces of wood at the door and see if the wasps immediately erupted. They did (sorry about the dents on the door, Dad). After that, it was a really long stick and the can of Raid. It was like something out of Tora Tora Tora! Wasps were flying right at me, and I was shooting them out of the sky with the Raid, trying to aim it in such a way that it would hit the nest as well, although spraying everything in the shed with toxic chemicals. I was the Clint Eastwood of wasp killers. However, I recommend Dad not lick any of his wrenches until after they've been in the rain for a few hours.
So, at that point...flooded basement, on the way to a ten hour draining. Wasps, dead. Next issue...no dock, and just me and Pooteewheet. And a new rock wall and low lake water, so the dock pieces had to be hauled across the yard, down the rock face, and into the water. But wait! They'd been mixed up since last season, so the first piece was too high and wasn't adjustable, and the following pieces were out of order and had different clip widths, so they didn't actually fit together unless you found the right two pieces. Did I mention we had two children with us ages 3 and 1? We got five pieces of dock in that night - one jutting out about six feet off the water - of no use to anyone, and four heading out until they reached a water depth of about 2 feet - no where near deep enough for a boat (and the last piece was simply sitting on top of the piece before it as it was one of the unmatched pieces). Pooteewheet was primarily concerned about this arrangement of the doc pieces next to the pine trees, which she was sure indicated an abundence of spiders. The dead waterbugs in webs on the planks indicated very large spiders.
Did I mention I killed a grouse? Up at a cabin in northern Minnesota, you'd probably think I was hunting. No, nothing like that. I scared a grouse on my parents' property and it took off around their pine trees. Then there was a loud "bonggggg". I walked around the corner and saw the neighbor's garage with its six windows. The grouse was lying near the second one from the left, dead as a doornail. Apparently, in the great scheme of horrible wildlife accidents involving my family this weekend, this was a minor incident. While I was accidentially killing the grouse, my dog was at Steve's (and Christy's) house (my neighbor) mauling three baby bunnies in his back yard, forcing Christy's son to deal with the predator-prey aspect of life in the (Eagan, suburban) wild. The way I hear it, Ty actually tried to nurse back to health the bunny with the broken leg (the eviscerated and de-throated bunnies being beyond aid), only to have it die on him. Ty now refers to my dog as "killer".
After that, it went downhill. I did have a good day playing games at my friend Adam's house the next day (in our initial cabin-ing plan) with Adam and Kyle while Pooteewheet hung with the kids at the cabin. But Pooteewheet was stuck inside all day because of rain, so she was a little stir crazy by the time we got back around midnight (Kyle and I saw a freaky giant weasel just down the road from the cabin - it was an adventurous trip from Pillager to the cabin).
Whereas my gaming day, though productive in terms of gaming, was somewhat suffering due to my sleepiness from the all the benedryl (and beer) I was taking to combat this...click the picture, you can see my giant, smooth, baby hand. This isn't even when it was the worst - it puffed up until my finger joints were outies, my knuckes were innies, and my arm looked like a particularly red sausage in a shiny casing, with the redness creeping upward about an inch every six hours until it was over my elbow. And damn did it ever itch.
I made it through the night, but the next day it was looking even worse, so without ever putting the boat in the water or taking the kids swimming, we packed everything back into the car, detached the pumping equipment, locked the wasp shed, and took me to urgent care in Eagan (sure, not really urgent, but that's what was available).
The nice doctor (Dr. Carlson, if you must know, Cookie Queen. She's kind of hot!) came back to talk to me after an hour in the waiting room and an hour in the medical room to ask me, "Do you have mono?" I told her I was pretty sure I didn't, and she noted that my white cells were doing a weird little dance that looked exactly like a reaction to mono. I thought, "Well that's nice - the wasps didn't sting me, they kissed me." Then she put me on two meds - one for itchiness, one for swelling (the drug I used to take in my Boy Scout days for poison ivy, which led to a discussion with the doc about Fels Naptha as a poison ivy preventative), and sent me home with directions to come see her in Bloomington if things got crazy with the arm.
So, it's getting better, and although I have a day off and am not at the cabin to use it, I have fond memories of introducing my niece to The Wiggles and giving her what I can only assume, based on my sister's aversion to sweets, is her first Twizzler (can't give her cousin a Twizzler to eat in front of her and not give her one, that's mental abuse - her favorite thing to say, "More please!", which applies equally to Twizzlers, fries and mandarin oranges, the last one being her hands-down favorite). When we got back home, I brought in a big box of stuff with the Twizzlers on top of it and set it down in the kitchen. A minute later, Amelie came walking across the floor with three Twizzlers gripped in her two hands and the biggest grin on her I've ever seen. She not only recognized the candy - she recognized the packaging. Settle down, Sis, she only ate one of them, and gave the others to Pooteewheet and Eryn.
Finally, just for the cuteness factor - here's Amelie, courtesy of Eryn, who's busting her chops on the children's photo circuit before moving on to bigger things.
The Gleaners
I've already determined that my flashback to my days in a cupboard in Oregon were accurate. Now I posit a new question for my parents...were we gleaners? I have indistinct memories of wandering around post-harvest potato fields, perhaps in Oregon, digging through the left overs for those that hadn't been chopped in half or were rotten. Personally, I'll be somewhat pleased if this is the case, as it makes me part of a medieval tradition, always a point of pride for someone with a bachelors in medieval to early modern British history.
Floam
I told Kyle not so long ago that Eryn was seriously interested in Floam. If you watch much television, you've seen commercials for the stuff - make a dinosaur, do this, do that, you can do it all with Floam! Eryn has absolutely figured out that when they show you things on television, you can buy them, attend them (movies), or do both (commercial product tie in to a movie at McD's). Floam has been her holy grail. It used to be "Eryn really wants that." Then it was "Eryn really wants Floam." And then, after she got used to her later-than-usual use of the personal pronoun (she can read out of my MSDN magazine, but she still wouldn't say "I"), "I really want Floam." What she hadn't figured out was Mom and Dad's personal belief system regarding things you buy off television, particularly vis-a-vis the price point of $19.95 for styrofoam + kerosene + food coloring.
All this was remedied when we saw the equivalent of Floam at Galleria on Thursday. After spending a full day hanging out at the duplex watching some poor smuck move several hundred square foot swaths of carpet from his van to my basement (I offered to help, but they always say no, I think it's an insurance thing) in a manner that seemed designed to remove years from his life in front of my very eyes, Pooteewheet and I celebrated the new look of the plex by having a late lunch at Big Bowl in the Galleria (there's a social inequality/economics lesson there I believe, but I refuse to dwell on it too deeply as it involves me). Afterwards, we were walking through Creative Kids Stuff and I noticed the faux Floam for only $10.00. It was like I was saving $9.95 and another 40 or 50 Floam commentaries. So, without further ado...I bring you a very happy Eryn (there are big grins in the other photos - here she's serious about the task at hand) and her faux Floam. Note - no dinosaurs as of yet - once you mix the faux Floam, it's extremely difficult to get apart, so she's yet to make the leap to serious integration of the faux Floam - for now it's a policy of miscegenation.
All this was remedied when we saw the equivalent of Floam at Galleria on Thursday. After spending a full day hanging out at the duplex watching some poor smuck move several hundred square foot swaths of carpet from his van to my basement (I offered to help, but they always say no, I think it's an insurance thing) in a manner that seemed designed to remove years from his life in front of my very eyes, Pooteewheet and I celebrated the new look of the plex by having a late lunch at Big Bowl in the Galleria (there's a social inequality/economics lesson there I believe, but I refuse to dwell on it too deeply as it involves me). Afterwards, we were walking through Creative Kids Stuff and I noticed the faux Floam for only $10.00. It was like I was saving $9.95 and another 40 or 50 Floam commentaries. So, without further ado...I bring you a very happy Eryn (there are big grins in the other photos - here she's serious about the task at hand) and her faux Floam. Note - no dinosaurs as of yet - once you mix the faux Floam, it's extremely difficult to get apart, so she's yet to make the leap to serious integration of the faux Floam - for now it's a policy of miscegenation.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Scooterwear
She Says sent me this extremely neat link to all things Scooter-ish. Primarily, it would be cool to outfit Pooteewheet and Eryn in t-shirts that say "Everyone loves a scooter girl" and "it's a scooterful day in the neighborhood" - it'd be like having groupies.
Which reminds me, this Google photo link is great - I didn't realize I can see almost every picture from my blog in a handy-dandy thumbnail series. Almost 300 photos - I've been busy.
Which reminds me, this Google photo link is great - I didn't realize I can see almost every picture from my blog in a handy-dandy thumbnail series. Almost 300 photos - I've been busy.
USIP
I get the U.S. Institute of Peace Bulletin in my inbox from time to time. I haven't determined whether the government entity title is Orwellian or not, but sometimes the newsletter is funny. Their headline from this week struck me as particularly amusing as the only response is, "really, no shit...about damn time." Hopefully he gets as much out of it as he did out of his Bible study group.
USIP Weekly Bulletin
June 16, 2006
President Meets with Iraq Study Group
USIP Weekly Bulletin
June 16, 2006
President Meets with Iraq Study Group
Cinnamon
While I was perusing Amazon, this little advertisement appeared because of my AmazonBot.
Remember These?
Red hot Cinnamon Toothpicks are low in fat and high in flavor. They're just one of the retro treats and candy you'll find in Gourmet Food.
Do I remember these? Do I ever! I remember my sister drinking the entire bottle of cinnamon extract my brother and I kept around for cinnamon toothpicks - she drank it until it burnt her mouth and throat and made her violently ill and how absolutely pissed my mother was at my brother and I for leaving it where she could get hold of it. Only time I've ever seen Mom more angry than when we kept sneaking out of our rooms after a double nursing shift and no sleep. I remember it clearly because she was absolutely over the top yelling and the gist of it was "why the hell did you leave a bottle of cinnamon extract where you sister could drink it!?" and the only thing I could think, but knew better than to articulate, was, "don't lots of people have it in their baking cupboards?"
While it was stupid to leave it where a little sister could find it and drink it, we were later somewhat absolved of our culpability when LissyJo drank an entire bottle of strawberry shampoo. It oozed out of her skin for what seemed like forever - she sweated the damn stuff, and her breath smelled like strawberries that had gone well past their shelf life. Personally, I think it was early onset pica.
Remember These?
Red hot Cinnamon Toothpicks are low in fat and high in flavor. They're just one of the retro treats and candy you'll find in Gourmet Food.Do I remember these? Do I ever! I remember my sister drinking the entire bottle of cinnamon extract my brother and I kept around for cinnamon toothpicks - she drank it until it burnt her mouth and throat and made her violently ill and how absolutely pissed my mother was at my brother and I for leaving it where she could get hold of it. Only time I've ever seen Mom more angry than when we kept sneaking out of our rooms after a double nursing shift and no sleep. I remember it clearly because she was absolutely over the top yelling and the gist of it was "why the hell did you leave a bottle of cinnamon extract where you sister could drink it!?" and the only thing I could think, but knew better than to articulate, was, "don't lots of people have it in their baking cupboards?"
While it was stupid to leave it where a little sister could find it and drink it, we were later somewhat absolved of our culpability when LissyJo drank an entire bottle of strawberry shampoo. It oozed out of her skin for what seemed like forever - she sweated the damn stuff, and her breath smelled like strawberries that had gone well past their shelf life. Personally, I think it was early onset pica.
Monday, June 19, 2006
CALI - Computer Assisted Legal Instruction
I know my blog has been sparse lately, but I spent Wednesday through Saturday evening (late - like midnight) in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, at the Computer Assisted Legal Instruction conference, totally devoid of a computer. I have a desktop at work and just one laptop at home that belongs to Pooteewheet because it's her business laptop, so when I go on the road, unless I can scam time at an internet cafe', I'm s.o.l. I'd ask for a Blackberry, but that seems to be social and familial death, so I'm holding out until they force the thing into my cold, dead hand.
Fort Lauderdale and NOVA Law School - damn nice. We were on the beach (school was about 15 minutes away) at the Bhaia Mar and the temperature there ran about 91 degrees...so did the humidity, for the first two days. If you went outside, you walked as slow as possible and always kept your eye on the next source of air conditioning so that you could leap frog without breaking a sweat, because once you broke a sweat, your clothes were done, sweated through right to your underwear. If you didn't keep your room temperature at 60 or less, nothing dried out, and work clothes actually started to accumulate moisture. Fortunately, there were blankets so you didn't freeze to death, but this did nothing to lessen the 50 to 91 degree shock as you stepped out of the hotel. This is bad enough on your body, but on your digital camera it amounts to outright abuse. Per the next picture, it wasn't actually foggy there - it was just impossible to get the camera lens to defog. Thirty minutes later it was still taking pictures like this and 45 minutes later the shutter quit working until it had an hour in the hotel room to readjust while I tapped the aperature to get it over the sticky condensation.
On the last day, however, the humidity dropped (not the temperature) and I got some pictures. I've spared you pictures of the millions of beach goers in their thongs, including the manthong on the 50 yards of beach that appeared to be the gay beach. We (coworker Dan and his wife Mary) wandered the beach the last day and at one point the beach just looked different. I was the one who figured out it was the total lack of women on just this nondescript portion of sand. Of course, on the way back, we saw the manthong - if you're a dude hanging with another dude in a manthong, you're probably on the gay beach. Here's the beach from three stories up - where there was beer and a nice breeze. Way down toward the end - that's where I was swimming in the evening, though not too far out, I didn't want to disappear without a witness. I did meet the tech guy for William Mitchell Law School and he was swimming, so maybe he'd have reported the shark that nabbed me.
Taken from almost on the gay beach. If you look closely, you can see where my footprints disappear, and Jesus carries me through the gay beach. I'm pretty sure he was just trying to impress the girl in the foreground looking for shells.
This is Dan and Mary. They went to a Mariners game for fun. Mary asked if the all beef hot dog was 100% beef. They assured her it was. It was mostly beef, and a little pork - so after 15 minutes of lying on the cement at the stadium during the first inning, they hauled her back to the hotel room to be ill. Mary is the first person I've ever met that can actually sit around in Florida sunshine for whole days at a time, to the point where she has to get a cap to prevent sun poisoning. I wasn't even aware this was possible unless you passed out in the sun. I burnt after 20 minutes, and Dan after 5, so her stamina amazes me.
Speaking of bad food - don't eat at the Oasis Cafe. I had ribs and chicken - the ribs tasted like they'd been cooked on a dirty grill. The banana cream pie dessert was pudding and tasted chaulky. Nasty - if you're going to eat on the company dime, it should taste good.
Did I mention there were movies on the beach? Bagpipe weddings? Weddings with just two people and the minister? Belly dancing and mariachi music? Absolutely a great place to retire if you have 1.27 million dollars for a nice condo.
In addition, I got to meet some very nice AAMs, tech people, and profs, including some locals I hadn't met before (the William Mitchell tech), some close to locals (the Michigan Tech for Ave Maria that I met because I gave up my seat to a newlywed on the plane - newlywed dude should be leaving a plaque to me somewhere in Steven's Point as I gave up a cushy seat next to his very cute wife to sit between two large guys, one of whom was eating egg rolls, drinking soda, and watching Scary Movie # on his laptop while laughing so hard the egg roll came out of his mouth), and some far from locals (tech guy from D.C.). I also scored a righteous piece of swag for She Says - honestly, there were Law Librarians virtually offering me carnal pleasures for rights to the piece that didn't come in a box. I'll get it in the mail in a day or two - you can live in suspense until then.
Finally - I took this picture with Mean Mr. Mustard in mind. This was in a bar where I was eating. It is indeed one of those crane machines where, for $2.00, you can try to grab a live lobster. I think this would horrify his wife. I found it slightly nauseating, so I imagine she'd be livid. I can deal with the lobster once it's cooked, but I can't bring myself to taunt the thing by repeatedly poking it with a metal claw - I guess the challenge is they move and wiggle. They should be able to operate a counter claw that pinches you while you're trying to grab them - that would be more amusing.
Fort Lauderdale and NOVA Law School - damn nice. We were on the beach (school was about 15 minutes away) at the Bhaia Mar and the temperature there ran about 91 degrees...so did the humidity, for the first two days. If you went outside, you walked as slow as possible and always kept your eye on the next source of air conditioning so that you could leap frog without breaking a sweat, because once you broke a sweat, your clothes were done, sweated through right to your underwear. If you didn't keep your room temperature at 60 or less, nothing dried out, and work clothes actually started to accumulate moisture. Fortunately, there were blankets so you didn't freeze to death, but this did nothing to lessen the 50 to 91 degree shock as you stepped out of the hotel. This is bad enough on your body, but on your digital camera it amounts to outright abuse. Per the next picture, it wasn't actually foggy there - it was just impossible to get the camera lens to defog. Thirty minutes later it was still taking pictures like this and 45 minutes later the shutter quit working until it had an hour in the hotel room to readjust while I tapped the aperature to get it over the sticky condensation.
On the last day, however, the humidity dropped (not the temperature) and I got some pictures. I've spared you pictures of the millions of beach goers in their thongs, including the manthong on the 50 yards of beach that appeared to be the gay beach. We (coworker Dan and his wife Mary) wandered the beach the last day and at one point the beach just looked different. I was the one who figured out it was the total lack of women on just this nondescript portion of sand. Of course, on the way back, we saw the manthong - if you're a dude hanging with another dude in a manthong, you're probably on the gay beach. Here's the beach from three stories up - where there was beer and a nice breeze. Way down toward the end - that's where I was swimming in the evening, though not too far out, I didn't want to disappear without a witness. I did meet the tech guy for William Mitchell Law School and he was swimming, so maybe he'd have reported the shark that nabbed me.
Taken from almost on the gay beach. If you look closely, you can see where my footprints disappear, and Jesus carries me through the gay beach. I'm pretty sure he was just trying to impress the girl in the foreground looking for shells.
This is Dan and Mary. They went to a Mariners game for fun. Mary asked if the all beef hot dog was 100% beef. They assured her it was. It was mostly beef, and a little pork - so after 15 minutes of lying on the cement at the stadium during the first inning, they hauled her back to the hotel room to be ill. Mary is the first person I've ever met that can actually sit around in Florida sunshine for whole days at a time, to the point where she has to get a cap to prevent sun poisoning. I wasn't even aware this was possible unless you passed out in the sun. I burnt after 20 minutes, and Dan after 5, so her stamina amazes me.
Speaking of bad food - don't eat at the Oasis Cafe. I had ribs and chicken - the ribs tasted like they'd been cooked on a dirty grill. The banana cream pie dessert was pudding and tasted chaulky. Nasty - if you're going to eat on the company dime, it should taste good.
Did I mention there were movies on the beach? Bagpipe weddings? Weddings with just two people and the minister? Belly dancing and mariachi music? Absolutely a great place to retire if you have 1.27 million dollars for a nice condo.
In addition, I got to meet some very nice AAMs, tech people, and profs, including some locals I hadn't met before (the William Mitchell tech), some close to locals (the Michigan Tech for Ave Maria that I met because I gave up my seat to a newlywed on the plane - newlywed dude should be leaving a plaque to me somewhere in Steven's Point as I gave up a cushy seat next to his very cute wife to sit between two large guys, one of whom was eating egg rolls, drinking soda, and watching Scary Movie # on his laptop while laughing so hard the egg roll came out of his mouth), and some far from locals (tech guy from D.C.). I also scored a righteous piece of swag for She Says - honestly, there were Law Librarians virtually offering me carnal pleasures for rights to the piece that didn't come in a box. I'll get it in the mail in a day or two - you can live in suspense until then.
Finally - I took this picture with Mean Mr. Mustard in mind. This was in a bar where I was eating. It is indeed one of those crane machines where, for $2.00, you can try to grab a live lobster. I think this would horrify his wife. I found it slightly nauseating, so I imagine she'd be livid. I can deal with the lobster once it's cooked, but I can't bring myself to taunt the thing by repeatedly poking it with a metal claw - I guess the challenge is they move and wiggle. They should be able to operate a counter claw that pinches you while you're trying to grab them - that would be more amusing.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
I Know Kyle...
...and I'm pretty sure he has a belly button, though I couldn't tell you with 100% certainty. However, I think the rest of this describes his life somewhat aptly (from Kyle XY on ABC Family), although they seem to have left out his unnatural fear of flying mokeys. I think Nicole Trager is really just a pseudonym for Pooteewheet:
A teenage boy is found wandering alone. He has no name. He has no past. As innocent as a newborn, he doesn't speak and he seems to look at the world as if for the first time. With no place else to take him, the police send him to juvenile hall where he's given the name Kyle. It's obvious that Kyle isn't like the other kids, but when it's discovered that he has no bellybutton, an administrator begins to realize just how different Kyle might be. He calls in Nicole Trager, a kind-hearted social worker, to help with the case...
...Who is Kyle? Where did he come from? Who is the man watching him?
Every day, Kyle encounters something new... music, a pretty neighbor, a wild party,
danger, lies, jealousy, humor, touch, trust, love. And each day, the Tragers think they are getting to know him. But the mystery surrounding Kyle is just beginning.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Pithy
I think this response to a Pioneer Press reader upset about bikes on his road is one of the most exceptional deconstructive exercises ever applied to a letter to the editor. Thank you, Smithers Minneapolis - I'm particularly enamored of #6.) "Tempers flare up? Take it easy dude. I’m sure your kids won’t mind you being a bit late for their evening beating."
The Way Station by Clifford Simak
I just finished reading Clifford Simak's "Way Station", a Hugo Award winning novel written in 1963. The book was very good, and in some respects stayed far away from science fiction, using it not to show off the author's idea of what the rest of the universe is like, but to tell his story and explore issues about war, religion, pain, and human nature, particularly Midwestern human nature. I'm not even sure it was necessary to give the main character a sort of alien-bestowed immortality, or an impervious to damage house, or a holodeck shooting range that pretokened Star Trek TNG - the story stuck together without it, although the main character's (Enoch's) lengthened life did serve to make him both more human, while simultaneously severing him from the bulk of humanity.It was very interesting to see how dated the technology in even a Hugo book can become after 43 years. Enoch spends a significant amount of time belaboring the fact that he can't share what he's learned from aliens with the rest of the earth because there's no way to anonymously disperse it through academic channels. Now, he'd just go to a coffee house and fire off a copy to the correct professor he found on the internet. Times do change.
Overall, however, I was left with the feeling of an X-files episode and, if this were optioned now, I imagine that's what it would have been. There's a special agent who doesn't really understand what's going on, but knows it's something mysterious and has to do with aliens and an old Civil War veteran who lives in the woods of Wisconsin and doesn't seem to be aging, but has a grave with what looks to be alien writing on it. When push comes to shove, and the codger needs back a body that was taken for examination, it's returned by the agent, no questions asked (just considered), with an implicit trust that he's doing something in the interest of human kind. I kept expecting Scully to show up on the next page, but I think she was more readily personified by the mute girl who's spent her life possessed of a faith she couldn't understand until aliens became a part of her life. Guess it could have benefited from a few genetically modified bees.
Holy Fainting Skyway Denizens Scooterman!
Eryn has been laying around since I got home pretty much saying, "I want to go to sleep" and playing her new harmonica with a blues-y tune. She's sick, and she's got the toddler blues. As a matter of fact, it's drifting up from downstairs through the baby monitor right now.
My big excitement for the day was being on the company skyway as a woman started to crumple. Whether from exhaustion or sickness, I'm not sure and, fortunately, she had a companion with her to stop her from banging her head against the walls and glass. I stood there for a second while someone noted that perhaps someone should call the company extension for 911, before I announced that it was easier to just go to the guards' desk (eyes still open, obviously not dying in the immediate future) and sprinted through the skyway, through the hallway and then bounded down the stairs (took me under a minute, I think). I popped my head into the guards' office and announced, "a woman just passed out on the skyway and needs medical attention."
One guard looked at the other, "You going?" The other replied, "No, you are." The first one harumphed a little and dug out the oxygen and emergency radio and took off. By the time I got back from getting my paperwork and coffee that Pooteewheet was delivering, they had her in a wheel chair and were determining the next course of action.
Not really a superhero story or anything, but I was seen running in the halls at work and that will probably cost me a promotion if an executive saw it, so it wasn't without peril.
My big excitement for the day was being on the company skyway as a woman started to crumple. Whether from exhaustion or sickness, I'm not sure and, fortunately, she had a companion with her to stop her from banging her head against the walls and glass. I stood there for a second while someone noted that perhaps someone should call the company extension for 911, before I announced that it was easier to just go to the guards' desk (eyes still open, obviously not dying in the immediate future) and sprinted through the skyway, through the hallway and then bounded down the stairs (took me under a minute, I think). I popped my head into the guards' office and announced, "a woman just passed out on the skyway and needs medical attention."
One guard looked at the other, "You going?" The other replied, "No, you are." The first one harumphed a little and dug out the oxygen and emergency radio and took off. By the time I got back from getting my paperwork and coffee that Pooteewheet was delivering, they had her in a wheel chair and were determining the next course of action.
Not really a superhero story or anything, but I was seen running in the halls at work and that will probably cost me a promotion if an executive saw it, so it wasn't without peril.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
A Small Collection
of Sunday links. Pooteewheet and I were supposed to be able to go to the body exhibit at the Science Museum, but we got there and there was a 4 hour wait, so I don't have a good story, just some good links.
Like your lower taxes in Minnesota? They'll buy significantly less than you thought as Minnesota slides to 44th in the nation in terms of economic growth.
Planet Dan has a link to a picture of a local park that, when viewed from above, doesn't look suspiciously like a giant penis...it looks exactly like a giant penis.
Out of the Jungle cites a rumor that one of the big law providers, the one that starts with L, may be proactively calling customers who exhibit suspicious behavior, like reading the NYT online.
And PrawfsBlog links to Joint Strike Weasel, where a U of Minnesota student ponders Civil Rights for (X-Men) Mutants.
Like your lower taxes in Minnesota? They'll buy significantly less than you thought as Minnesota slides to 44th in the nation in terms of economic growth.
Planet Dan has a link to a picture of a local park that, when viewed from above, doesn't look suspiciously like a giant penis...it looks exactly like a giant penis.
Out of the Jungle cites a rumor that one of the big law providers, the one that starts with L, may be proactively calling customers who exhibit suspicious behavior, like reading the NYT online.
And PrawfsBlog links to Joint Strike Weasel, where a U of Minnesota student ponders Civil Rights for (X-Men) Mutants.
Scooter Extended Family Evening
After spending a few hours helping Kyle move his brother into his new house (honestly, this was so different from helping LissyJo move - there were a few prepacked trailers and a wait between trailers, nothing that weighed several hundred pounds, and it was all over in just a few hours) out Monticello way and drinking at Kyle's place in the interim, both he and I went to the Scooter extended family gathering.
This was a particularly strange event. My dad was in town, and my grandmother ("old grandma" as Ollie and Eryn call her), Dad's mother, on their way up from Arizona to Montana, where grandma summers. Usually when the extended family is in town we plan dinner. This often goes poorly (the planning) as no one is particularly interested in taking charge. This instance of dining was complicated by the fact that my sister and brother-in-law wanted to celebrate their birthdays on the evening Grandpa and Old Grandma were here and we'd already agreed to watch my niece while they were out. Cookie Queen was also wondering what we were up to and whether we might want to get the kids together. So I made an executive decision: steaks at LissyJo's house while we watched my niece, Amelie. LissyJo and her husband could go out on the town, Dan'l and Cookie Queen could drop off P'mon and go out on the town, my dad and old grandma could hang with us, and my brother and his family (Ollie and Artie) could show up as well. Kyle - because he's a masochist, joined us.
So, there was an evening of four children, ages 1-3, running around, diving off cement steps (I served as cement step ride master for a while - exhausting - here you can see who started the whole cement step diving phenomena), eating bags of Doritos, attempting to play C's drums (under careful supervision of course), watching bits of Chicken Run, and scarfing what seemed like a whole Archer Farms bag of M&M, chocolate chips, and raisin-peanut gorp.
For those of you with four children all 9 months apart - you're insane.
As an added bonus for my sister, who had her brand new house taken over while she was gone, and her dishes dirtied, and beer consumed, gorp devoured, and stuff generally messed with, I took the three tinfoil-wrapped leftover baked potatoes and put them in her bed. Originally I wanted to put them under the pillow - but I thought this might get really messy, so I set them up like little people. Kyle, however, had the great idea that it might make sense to put them at the foot of the bed where they'd freak someone out when bumped by unsuspecting toes, so I had to go back and rearrange. LissyJo is short, so maybe she didn't notice, but I'm sure C did. Did you have hashbrowns for breakfast? It can be very annoying to know me or be related to me, but I'm not dangerous.
Here's a picture of the youngest and oldest members at the Scooter family grill out. Artie usually reserves that expectant look for anyone with a bottle of beer, but I think in this case Drew has some other food at hand.
This was a particularly strange event. My dad was in town, and my grandmother ("old grandma" as Ollie and Eryn call her), Dad's mother, on their way up from Arizona to Montana, where grandma summers. Usually when the extended family is in town we plan dinner. This often goes poorly (the planning) as no one is particularly interested in taking charge. This instance of dining was complicated by the fact that my sister and brother-in-law wanted to celebrate their birthdays on the evening Grandpa and Old Grandma were here and we'd already agreed to watch my niece while they were out. Cookie Queen was also wondering what we were up to and whether we might want to get the kids together. So I made an executive decision: steaks at LissyJo's house while we watched my niece, Amelie. LissyJo and her husband could go out on the town, Dan'l and Cookie Queen could drop off P'mon and go out on the town, my dad and old grandma could hang with us, and my brother and his family (Ollie and Artie) could show up as well. Kyle - because he's a masochist, joined us.
So, there was an evening of four children, ages 1-3, running around, diving off cement steps (I served as cement step ride master for a while - exhausting - here you can see who started the whole cement step diving phenomena), eating bags of Doritos, attempting to play C's drums (under careful supervision of course), watching bits of Chicken Run, and scarfing what seemed like a whole Archer Farms bag of M&M, chocolate chips, and raisin-peanut gorp.
For those of you with four children all 9 months apart - you're insane.
As an added bonus for my sister, who had her brand new house taken over while she was gone, and her dishes dirtied, and beer consumed, gorp devoured, and stuff generally messed with, I took the three tinfoil-wrapped leftover baked potatoes and put them in her bed. Originally I wanted to put them under the pillow - but I thought this might get really messy, so I set them up like little people. Kyle, however, had the great idea that it might make sense to put them at the foot of the bed where they'd freak someone out when bumped by unsuspecting toes, so I had to go back and rearrange. LissyJo is short, so maybe she didn't notice, but I'm sure C did. Did you have hashbrowns for breakfast? It can be very annoying to know me or be related to me, but I'm not dangerous.
Here's a picture of the youngest and oldest members at the Scooter family grill out. Artie usually reserves that expectant look for anyone with a bottle of beer, but I think in this case Drew has some other food at hand.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Strange Assumptions
On the way home I was listening to 94.5 FM and they were discussing the origin of the phrase Mind Your P's and Q's. In response to a man who called in to say it was about bartenders reminding drunk patrons to mind their pints and quarts, a woman called in to say that it started in Scotland, "...I'm assuming over a hundred years ago..."
What? How can you assume an expression orginated over a hundred years ago? That's a bold assertion that doesn't seem to have any sort of basis in logic. Because pints and quarts aren't metric? Because no one would drink a quart of beer in this day and age? Because since the turn of the (last) century they'd now say mind your bottles and cans? I keep trying to figure out why she'd say "I'm assuming" about the date of an idiom, and I just can't figure it out.
From the Wikipedia Article:
What? How can you assume an expression orginated over a hundred years ago? That's a bold assertion that doesn't seem to have any sort of basis in logic. Because pints and quarts aren't metric? Because no one would drink a quart of beer in this day and age? Because since the turn of the (last) century they'd now say mind your bottles and cans? I keep trying to figure out why she'd say "I'm assuming" about the date of an idiom, and I just can't figure it out.
From the Wikipedia Article:
To be very careful and/or to behave correctly. It is tied to the fact that the lowercase letters "p" and "q" mirror each other. This is a term from typesetters in the printing industry. In the days of lead type, letters were set individually into a page, and they were placed one by one, upside down. They were pulled from a typecase, in which each letter had a designated space to reside. Problems came when pages were being taken apart and letters put away. If someone was in a hurry or was not paying attention to what he was doing, he could end up with p's and q's in the wrong slots in the typecase, which he wouldn't notice until the next time he was putting together a page, when he would unknowingly pick out the wrong letter. (This could also happen with b's and d's, but as they are more common than q's, typesetters were more accustomed to finding them, and they were mixed up less often.) Hence, pay attention to what you're doing now, so that you don't give yourself problems later on. In England this phrase is also associated with "p'ease" and "'k you" baby talk for 'Please' and 'Thank you', hence "Mind your P's and Q's" is sometimes used to mean "Remember to say 'Please' and 'Thank you.'"
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Lynchian
Mean Mr. Mustard (should I even link to him anymore? As TallBrad said, Emma's been sick for two weeks if you go by his blog. Then again, Cookie Queen hasn't updated hers in two months, and it's the only place I ever saw pictures of P'mon) made a joke today about being in a David Lynch-like situation. Apparently it happens more often than you think...I offer a scene, the Cub Foods parking lot - Scooter is going to get some milk for Eryn after his haircut so she can make really really chocolatey milk.
One expensive car driving in front of him in the lot at approximately 3 miles an hour, swerving as if drunk, driving over parking spots (empty), a little onto the mall sidewalk, and in and out of other spots, but always sort of in the way, or at least erratic enough to be dangerous. Eventually Scooter parks at the first available spot and walks a little further than necessary just to not be near that car. Inside, seriously hot brunette, way too hot for Cub Foods, looking at cookies. Head to the milk. Decide Pooteewheet forgot to buy Eryn the soda she promised her. Turn the corner, hot brunette again, but on the other side of the store, no cookies, ice cream. Holding a small container of Ben and Jerry's like she's in a production of Hamlet. Sexy. Shakespearian babes are seriously arousing when they're not men in drag. Dig through the soda, go around the corner and toward the front of the store. Hot cookies/ice cream babe has moved all the way to another corner of the store again, she's in front of the bakery pondering the pastries. She's got to be pregnant or on a diet.
Get in x items or less line. Guy ahead of me is standing there without any grocceries looking at the cashier but not saying anything. That's weird. He finally turns away from the bagging/cashier area, forcefully grabs a Almond Joy, and pays for it in cash. All right then. I buy my milk and soda and a Hershey's Bar, just to show the cashier that not all candy bar eaters are crazy. Head to the parking lot.
There's the expensive car again and there's an Asian lady walking around it, and around it, and around it...probably a full three loops while I'm standing there. She seems to be the driver. She's not looking at the wheels or really for anything, she's just walking in loops. At the same time, the shortest Asian guy I've ever seen - I think he would qualify as little people - is putting grocceries in the back of the car. I saw hot brunette in the store everywhere, yet I never saw this guy once and he's got about ten bags he's lifting up almost over his head and into the trunk. Driver lady keeps going in circles. I get past them and closer to my car - remember, it's further away because of expensive car driver lady. Near my car is a guy, in the parking lot, doing toe touches. A bunch of them. WTF. I make a wide loop to stay as far away from him as possible and get in my car. I drive out of the lot as far from toe-toucher and driver lady as possible. Hot brunette exits Cub - she's got what looks like milk.
Half a block later, there's a kid riding in one of those battery-powered kid's cars on the side of the road, in the dark. Overhead there's a buzzing noise and in the twilight I can just barely see a radio controlled glider fly over my car at a low altitude.
I'm going to go hide in the closet and hope Dennis Hopper doesn't show up.
One expensive car driving in front of him in the lot at approximately 3 miles an hour, swerving as if drunk, driving over parking spots (empty), a little onto the mall sidewalk, and in and out of other spots, but always sort of in the way, or at least erratic enough to be dangerous. Eventually Scooter parks at the first available spot and walks a little further than necessary just to not be near that car. Inside, seriously hot brunette, way too hot for Cub Foods, looking at cookies. Head to the milk. Decide Pooteewheet forgot to buy Eryn the soda she promised her. Turn the corner, hot brunette again, but on the other side of the store, no cookies, ice cream. Holding a small container of Ben and Jerry's like she's in a production of Hamlet. Sexy. Shakespearian babes are seriously arousing when they're not men in drag. Dig through the soda, go around the corner and toward the front of the store. Hot cookies/ice cream babe has moved all the way to another corner of the store again, she's in front of the bakery pondering the pastries. She's got to be pregnant or on a diet.
Get in x items or less line. Guy ahead of me is standing there without any grocceries looking at the cashier but not saying anything. That's weird. He finally turns away from the bagging/cashier area, forcefully grabs a Almond Joy, and pays for it in cash. All right then. I buy my milk and soda and a Hershey's Bar, just to show the cashier that not all candy bar eaters are crazy. Head to the parking lot.
There's the expensive car again and there's an Asian lady walking around it, and around it, and around it...probably a full three loops while I'm standing there. She seems to be the driver. She's not looking at the wheels or really for anything, she's just walking in loops. At the same time, the shortest Asian guy I've ever seen - I think he would qualify as little people - is putting grocceries in the back of the car. I saw hot brunette in the store everywhere, yet I never saw this guy once and he's got about ten bags he's lifting up almost over his head and into the trunk. Driver lady keeps going in circles. I get past them and closer to my car - remember, it's further away because of expensive car driver lady. Near my car is a guy, in the parking lot, doing toe touches. A bunch of them. WTF. I make a wide loop to stay as far away from him as possible and get in my car. I drive out of the lot as far from toe-toucher and driver lady as possible. Hot brunette exits Cub - she's got what looks like milk.
Half a block later, there's a kid riding in one of those battery-powered kid's cars on the side of the road, in the dark. Overhead there's a buzzing noise and in the twilight I can just barely see a radio controlled glider fly over my car at a low altitude.
I'm going to go hide in the closet and hope Dennis Hopper doesn't show up.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Polyamory
TallBrad was by my cubicle today and I said to him, "You should let me marry you." To which he replied that he knew that multiple wives was polygamy (it's actually polygyny, polygamy embraces multiple forms of group marriage), and multiple husbands had a name too (polyandry), but he wasn't sure what it was when one guy had multiple spouses of both sexes.
Apparently it's still polygamy (see note above), but the subset is "group marriage", also known as Circle Marriage or polygynandry (proceeded by some polyamory). It is practiced minimally by the Caingang people of Brazil.
Thinking he was just making fun of me because of how I phrased myself (and I deserved it), I noted that I did not have my paperwork filed yet with Dakota County, but I had the hard copies of the letters, so I could do it really quick if he needed a marriage a little weirder that what might be performed by a priest (poker theme!). At which point, he realized I was talking about actually officiating, and not just offering to give up my promise ring for him if he'd make a commitment. So, today a man truly believed I proposed to him...I'm touched, just not literally.
Apparently it's still polygamy (see note above), but the subset is "group marriage", also known as Circle Marriage or polygynandry (proceeded by some polyamory). It is practiced minimally by the Caingang people of Brazil.
Thinking he was just making fun of me because of how I phrased myself (and I deserved it), I noted that I did not have my paperwork filed yet with Dakota County, but I had the hard copies of the letters, so I could do it really quick if he needed a marriage a little weirder that what might be performed by a priest (poker theme!). At which point, he realized I was talking about actually officiating, and not just offering to give up my promise ring for him if he'd make a commitment. So, today a man truly believed I proposed to him...I'm touched, just not literally.
Whose Chairs?
When Eryn and I were at Artie's Party (my nephew), she noticed two very small, green chairs sitting unoccupied in the grass.
"What are those chairs?" she asked.
"Little green lawn chairs," I answered.
"Why?"
"Well, honey...probably for little green people."
"No Daddy, they're for white people!"
Nice. I guess that means my sister and niece are excluded. Little inadvertently racist cracker.
"What are those chairs?" she asked.
"Little green lawn chairs," I answered.
"Why?"
"Well, honey...probably for little green people."
"No Daddy, they're for white people!"
Nice. I guess that means my sister and niece are excluded. Little inadvertently racist cracker.
Monday, June 05, 2006
The Plan B Sex Cult
13 hours of work doesn't leave much time for other things, so I thought I'd just link to a few posts designed to piss off my sister.
First of all, per MNObserver at Yowling From the Fencepost (dang...I haven't linked to you a while, MNOB)...she sumarizes about the resistance to the new HPV vaccine:
As MNOB notes: "They'll lose the control of the genitals of millions of young people"! Damn it, I have problems maintaining control of my own, and Pooteewheet's refuses to take orders.
And, as a secondary source of fun, Pharyngula details the Plan B Sex Cult that will soon engulf our children!
What conservatives don't acgtually know is that we put Plan B under our daughters' pillows in exchange for their teeth when they're children so they have it later when they want it. There's no need for a cult, they just get a visit from the Plan B Fairy. Makes about as much sense.
First of all, per MNObserver at Yowling From the Fencepost (dang...I haven't linked to you a while, MNOB)...she sumarizes about the resistance to the new HPV vaccine:
"I'd rather she be dead at an early age from a painful horrific and preventable disease than engage in sex that sure I had at her age but now Reverend Dobson says is evil"
As MNOB notes: "They'll lose the control of the genitals of millions of young people"! Damn it, I have problems maintaining control of my own, and Pooteewheet's refuses to take orders.
And, as a secondary source of fun, Pharyngula details the Plan B Sex Cult that will soon engulf our children!
…the FDA released an internal memo showing that one high-ranking FDA official
was sincerely worried about adolescents forming "sex-based cults centered around the use of Plan B." Seriously.
What conservatives don't acgtually know is that we put Plan B under our daughters' pillows in exchange for their teeth when they're children so they have it later when they want it. There's no need for a cult, they just get a visit from the Plan B Fairy. Makes about as much sense.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
He'Brew
When all the other beer in my house (except the Miller High Life I keep for Dan'l) was consumed, this was one of the few that was left: He'Brew, The Chosen Beer (Genesis Ale style). I was paranoid about how it would taste, assuming that the gimmick would mean it might have a taste akin to an unwashed rabbi's old socks. I was pleasantly shocked to find it was significantly better than average, better than most of the random single beers I've been trying from Blue Max, and just really good as a brown ale, which isn't my favorite kind of beer (usually a little boring by my tastes - not hoppy enough and I have a bad association with the first beer I tried to brew, which was a brown ale, and which developed a strange case of ropey moss inside it after a while...ick. All the beer books say that nothing that can grow in beer can kill you, but it can look like it, and it can taste like it can).
I noticed while I was at Blue Max that they have two kinds of He'Brew, so I'm now looking forward to trying the second. L'chaim!
I noticed while I was at Blue Max that they have two kinds of He'Brew, so I'm now looking forward to trying the second. L'chaim!
Daddy Daughter Weekend Meltdown
Before you read this - I suggest if you're not into kid stories, you hop ahead to Day 2. Because Day 2 is really a story about how I'm an idiot, making it that much more interesting to most folks. Yes, it's still about Daddy-Eryn Weekend, but it's chock full of information about how not to have a Daddy-daughter day.
Day 1 of Daddy-Daughter Friday/Saturday Weekend
Pooteewheet went off to her hypnosis/lap dancing conference and I took the day off to hang with Eryn as she doesn't usually have daycare on Fridays. From the volume of email in my corporate account and page on my cell, I couldn't have picked a better day. Perhaps you saw our National Doughnut day picture? That was followed by a very full day of garage sales (book shopping), playing at the park, screaming and running across the bridge at Blackhawk Lake (way more fun that it sounds, and a very funny video), a tour of the rides at Como Town (we went for the carousel as Boppa said it was open - but he fibbed, so we made due with other rides) including bumping into a coworker from Eagan that I occassionally see at the aforementioned park, and finally up to Spring Lake Park for Artie's Party. Heck, we even got in a nap!
Artie is my youngest nephew and just turned one. I don't have a picture of him eating his cake - but he was very happy strapped into his booster seat on a big tarp in the middle of the park. Eryn used her cake, actually a couple of cupcakes, to fish in the stocked lake, tossing it over the rail in order to watch several hundred fish compete for the bits. Don't worry, she removed the frosting first - you don't want the fish getting fat - it's safest to lick it off.
This is a picture of my niece at Artie's Party doing her on-demand ostrich impression at the Spring Lake Park park.
Day 2 of Daddy-Daughter Friday/Saturday Weekend
On the face of it, it was a wonderful plan. We were going to hit a few garage sales and get a burrito. But while we were on the road I thought, "Hey, there was that (Schultz) lake near here that had a beach - I bet they're open and Eryn hasn't been near a lake since last year - she'd probably love it." And she did, she had a great time bobbing in the water, dancing in the water and sitting in the water and chasing fish.
However, in the middle of our lake excursion, we went back to the car and swapped out of clothes into her swimsuit (she was originally in shorts and a t-shirt while I was looking for her complete ensemble - we were actually getting ready to leave when I found everything), and that's when things began to go horribly, terribly wrong. Not that we knew it until after we were done swapping into her swimsuit and spending another hour and a half at the beach. Because it was when we were all done that I found out there was poop in the swim diaper. In and of itself, not so bad - fixable. Except I couldn't find my keys. Maybe they were in the car? Maybe they were in the lake, seeing as I distinctly remembered they'd been next to the camera I'd been taking in and out of my pocket while up to my knees in the lake. If they were at the bottom of the lake, there was no accounting for it. But I also couldn't check if they were in the back of my car, because during our change-over, I'd actually left the diaper bag in the trunk for some reason. End result...I'd actually locked my car for the first time in over a year. So...no diaper bag, no key, and no phone (in the diaper bag)... Fortunately I did have a change of clothes on me (for Eryn as we'd changed into her swimsuit on the grass, but no shoes for the hot pavement) and a spare diaper - so we wiped down as well as we could, put on the clothes, and went in search of a phone. The first one ate my only two quarters that weren't in the diaper bag.
Fortunately, the nature center was open and had a free phone! But wait...Pooteewheet was in a conference. Who to call? Dan'l and Cookie Queen? Long ways away and Dan'l was working - probably no good. In the meantime, back to the car with a pilfered coat hanger to see if that would work as well as it did when I was a teenager. Not a chance - damn watertight sealing - and I'm sure I'm who the cops were looking for fifteen minutes later as they cruised the lot looking suspicious.
Back to the nature center as I'd had time to think while poking Eryn in the top of the head with the other end of the coat hanger wire - phone book! Call a lock service? No credit card - everything was in the car. Call my aunt and uncle in law for a ride? Probably not home - they always seem to be out and about on the weekends. Call my project lead for a ride? Not home. Call a coworker for a ride - embarassing - you don't want them to know you're an idiot of that magnitude, but on the other hand, one lives like 1/10 of a mile from the beach. His phone cut to the answering machine at the same time he picked up. So that's how we got home.
But Pooteewheet still had to leave her conference a bit early (no loss of CEUs) to come home and find out I don't have a spare key and Eryn was sleeping. So she went to the beach with the only possible key and three pages from the Yellow Pages with the names of 24/7 on-site keying services. The lock service guy drove around in circles for a while as he was looking for a beach at the end of a long curvy road in a neighborhood where half the parks are named the same, but finally found her and opened the car. My key was sitting in the trunk under Eryn's shoes. So, overall, only a $65 stupidity fee, and you have to subtract the cost of the backup key I still haven't had to buy. But, you probably have to add the suntan lotion and paperback library book I can't seem to find now, that are probably in the nature center. I think I'll be back there asking after those tomorrow.
As for Pooteewheet, after she was done there, she went to urgent care to get her throat looked at. That's right - she's done being allergic to things, and now she's got a bright white tongue and bright red tonsils indicating a case of thrush. And a new pane of cracked glass on her car, come to think of it.
I did get the pantry cleaned today without breaking anything, losing anything, or having a reaction/illness - I'm going to have to settle for that as the silver lining.
Day 1 of Daddy-Daughter Friday/Saturday Weekend
Pooteewheet went off to her hypnosis/lap dancing conference and I took the day off to hang with Eryn as she doesn't usually have daycare on Fridays. From the volume of email in my corporate account and page on my cell, I couldn't have picked a better day. Perhaps you saw our National Doughnut day picture? That was followed by a very full day of garage sales (book shopping), playing at the park, screaming and running across the bridge at Blackhawk Lake (way more fun that it sounds, and a very funny video), a tour of the rides at Como Town (we went for the carousel as Boppa said it was open - but he fibbed, so we made due with other rides) including bumping into a coworker from Eagan that I occassionally see at the aforementioned park, and finally up to Spring Lake Park for Artie's Party. Heck, we even got in a nap!
Artie is my youngest nephew and just turned one. I don't have a picture of him eating his cake - but he was very happy strapped into his booster seat on a big tarp in the middle of the park. Eryn used her cake, actually a couple of cupcakes, to fish in the stocked lake, tossing it over the rail in order to watch several hundred fish compete for the bits. Don't worry, she removed the frosting first - you don't want the fish getting fat - it's safest to lick it off.
This is a picture of my niece at Artie's Party doing her on-demand ostrich impression at the Spring Lake Park park.
Day 2 of Daddy-Daughter Friday/Saturday Weekend
On the face of it, it was a wonderful plan. We were going to hit a few garage sales and get a burrito. But while we were on the road I thought, "Hey, there was that (Schultz) lake near here that had a beach - I bet they're open and Eryn hasn't been near a lake since last year - she'd probably love it." And she did, she had a great time bobbing in the water, dancing in the water and sitting in the water and chasing fish.
However, in the middle of our lake excursion, we went back to the car and swapped out of clothes into her swimsuit (she was originally in shorts and a t-shirt while I was looking for her complete ensemble - we were actually getting ready to leave when I found everything), and that's when things began to go horribly, terribly wrong. Not that we knew it until after we were done swapping into her swimsuit and spending another hour and a half at the beach. Because it was when we were all done that I found out there was poop in the swim diaper. In and of itself, not so bad - fixable. Except I couldn't find my keys. Maybe they were in the car? Maybe they were in the lake, seeing as I distinctly remembered they'd been next to the camera I'd been taking in and out of my pocket while up to my knees in the lake. If they were at the bottom of the lake, there was no accounting for it. But I also couldn't check if they were in the back of my car, because during our change-over, I'd actually left the diaper bag in the trunk for some reason. End result...I'd actually locked my car for the first time in over a year. So...no diaper bag, no key, and no phone (in the diaper bag)... Fortunately I did have a change of clothes on me (for Eryn as we'd changed into her swimsuit on the grass, but no shoes for the hot pavement) and a spare diaper - so we wiped down as well as we could, put on the clothes, and went in search of a phone. The first one ate my only two quarters that weren't in the diaper bag.
Fortunately, the nature center was open and had a free phone! But wait...Pooteewheet was in a conference. Who to call? Dan'l and Cookie Queen? Long ways away and Dan'l was working - probably no good. In the meantime, back to the car with a pilfered coat hanger to see if that would work as well as it did when I was a teenager. Not a chance - damn watertight sealing - and I'm sure I'm who the cops were looking for fifteen minutes later as they cruised the lot looking suspicious.
Back to the nature center as I'd had time to think while poking Eryn in the top of the head with the other end of the coat hanger wire - phone book! Call a lock service? No credit card - everything was in the car. Call my aunt and uncle in law for a ride? Probably not home - they always seem to be out and about on the weekends. Call my project lead for a ride? Not home. Call a coworker for a ride - embarassing - you don't want them to know you're an idiot of that magnitude, but on the other hand, one lives like 1/10 of a mile from the beach. His phone cut to the answering machine at the same time he picked up. So that's how we got home.
But Pooteewheet still had to leave her conference a bit early (no loss of CEUs) to come home and find out I don't have a spare key and Eryn was sleeping. So she went to the beach with the only possible key and three pages from the Yellow Pages with the names of 24/7 on-site keying services. The lock service guy drove around in circles for a while as he was looking for a beach at the end of a long curvy road in a neighborhood where half the parks are named the same, but finally found her and opened the car. My key was sitting in the trunk under Eryn's shoes. So, overall, only a $65 stupidity fee, and you have to subtract the cost of the backup key I still haven't had to buy. But, you probably have to add the suntan lotion and paperback library book I can't seem to find now, that are probably in the nature center. I think I'll be back there asking after those tomorrow.
As for Pooteewheet, after she was done there, she went to urgent care to get her throat looked at. That's right - she's done being allergic to things, and now she's got a bright white tongue and bright red tonsils indicating a case of thrush. And a new pane of cracked glass on her car, come to think of it.
I did get the pantry cleaned today without breaking anything, losing anything, or having a reaction/illness - I'm going to have to settle for that as the silver lining.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Tall Brad - Off the Market Ladies (and Gentlemen)
A very big congratulations to Tall Brad, and his wife to be, on their engagement! Very exciting news!
While it's suspicious that you proposed when she had a trip out of country coming up, almost as though you had to do something to entice her back, I'm sure that was just coincidence. I'm a bit at a loss about how I'll manage to give you crap about dating coworkers when you're officially off the market though (hmm...there's a joke there, but I'll stay away from it).
And does this mean Tall Brad's Chili Cook Off will now be the Zilge Family Chili Cook Off?
While it's suspicious that you proposed when she had a trip out of country coming up, almost as though you had to do something to entice her back, I'm sure that was just coincidence. I'm a bit at a loss about how I'll manage to give you crap about dating coworkers when you're officially off the market though (hmm...there's a joke there, but I'll stay away from it).
And does this mean Tall Brad's Chili Cook Off will now be the Zilge Family Chili Cook Off?
Rock Paper Scissors 25
Boing Boing had a fun link up today to a site that detailed a 25 gesture version of rock paper scissors. We spent the end of the day at the office flashing signs over the cube walls to see who won. I lost until the end of the day when I scored a double kill with a tree (which imprisoned Erik's devil and outlived Boss's sponge).The site. The circular chart of gestures. How to tell someone you won.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)