A friend pointed out this article to me. It’s a follow-up to the violence that touched my neighborhood on the 4th of July. The religious tone of the article put me off a bit…but I shouldn’t be too surprised. For years the area has been a Catholic stronghold. Getting past that, the message was positive.

“De la O says the neighborhood speculation is that the shooters are not from the area (police agree) and that they mistook the local kids for gang rivals. He has helped organize two neighborhood meetings since the shooting to help parents, police and school officials head off more problems. After putting out the gang fires 10 years ago, he says, no one is in a mood to let things go. After all, he says, there could have been half a dozen dead on the Fourth of July.”

“This kind of stuff hasn’t happened in a long time but people are still scared,” he says. “There’s a feeling like, ‘Here we go again.’ But we don’t want to go through that again. That’s why we need to educate parents to see if their children are being put in harm’s way by how they dress or how they behave or the kids they hang around with. We have to get shoulder to shoulder again, like we did 10 years ago.”

“The message is: ‘We are a community; we work together; we will rise to the challenge; we will get it done.’”

This is exciting stuff. A good friend of mine (who happens to be the kind host of this site) has written a geeky book. It’s being published by O’Reilly in October. The entire book will be freely available online soon, which is very cool, but you could also buy a copy. If you’re into that sort of thing.

I remember a little of my dreams last night…and they didn’t contain the usual suspects. First off, the main star was a friend of mine who is in Taiwan for the summer. We were, apparently, celebrating her birthday (which was back in April) at her parents’ house in the burbs. It was very late at night, with just a little ambient light to guide us into the basket of a hot air balloon. I didn’t recognize most of the party guests, but there was one guy from my office who I don’t even know. All I know about him is that he is moving away soon. He recently sent out an all-company email about how he istrying to sell his couch (it was kinda nice) and his Saab. Anyhow, we all climbed in and took off, not quite Team Rocket style, but more quickly than physics would seem to allow. Suddenly we were speeding through a downtown area (in a large city, not necessarily Minneapolis - more like Kuala Lumpur) just barely avoiding collisions with skyscrapers. I seemed to be the only one worried about our safety. How unusual. Heh.

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it was, you know. Though I guess most nights are dark. And many are stormy this time of year. Anyhow, we’d had a dinner party at a certain someone’s place last night. Aferwards we left, en masse, without anyone thinking to turn on the porchlight. The rain had slickened the somewhat uneven steps. I was carrying my sleeping son down said steps (and just why do sleeping children weigh five times more than they do awake?) when the rubber bottoms of my sandals slid just so. So that I landed, with great force, on my knees. Instead of using my upper body to brace myself I was using it to cradle and shield my son. He came through without a scratch (but a bit alarmed). I was not so lucky. I hobbled (again with the hobbling) to the car with blood streaming down my legs. I cleaned out the wounds as best I could using diaper wipes. I tried to ignore the stinging on the drive home. Only after I’d put the little man to bed and the groceries away did I do a thorough job of cleaning and dressing my skinned knees. They are not so pretty now. I doubt I’ll be wearing shorts or shorter skirts for some time now. So what next? Wait…this is my third injury in recent weeks.
incident the first: the car accident
incident the second: the unintentional roundkick
incident the third: skinned knees
So can I be through with injuring myself for a while? Aren’t bad things supposed to come in threes? I do hope this proverb holds true for me.

Disclaimer: I do realize these are minor nuisances, in the grand scheme of things. Compared to most of the planet’s population, our quality of life is incredibly good. And, flesh wounds aside, we’ve got our health. That said…these incidents still do nothing to improve my already sour mood.

…from myself, perhaps. I am the spazz queen. I know that. I can usually handle it. When I say or do something incredibly stupid in front of people who know and love me, at least. Like last night. The evening was going well. The weather was somewhat milder. Our little trio took a pleasant excursion to the park. Upon returning we were settling in. In the living room. I decided to sit in my orange chair…but had to remove some toys from it first. After doing so the plan was to turn around and sit on said chair. Easy enough, right? Instead I somehow managed to execute a roundkick. Causing a large but tender region of my ankle/shin/foot to go crashing into a very hard and pointy corner of the chair. Which resulted in me whimpering and wincing and hobbling about the rest of the evening, in a most pathetic manner. (It still hurts quite a lot. And there is the most spectacular bruise. Perhaps I’ll document the changes in coloration…though I know not everyone wants to see photos of that. Hmmm.) Back to the original point. I don’t wish for these things to happen in front of my boys (or anyone else). But at least I know they will still love me after I make an arse of myself. It’s entirely different when these things happen at work. Nothing terribly embarrassing has happened. Recently. Just a few remarks uttered that I wish I’d kept to myself. My perpetual friendliness/perkiness/chattiness is frequently met with cold, harsh silence. Sometimes accompanied by a raised eyebrow. This is nothing new, really. My interactions with others have been like this since grade school. Only now the urge to flee is getting stronger. If I can’t take a vacation from myself, I’d gladly settle for a vacation. To just about anywhere. And soon. Sigh.

I blame it all on the Mayas. Yeah. It has nothing whatsoever to do with my lack of will-power.
“Humans developed a fondness for chocolate about 2,600 years ago when the Mayas used earthenware teapots to prepare cacao drinks, American researchers said Wednesday.”

We’re into day two of the window washer guy freaking me out. Sometimes he slowly creeps up. Other times I’ll be thoroughly engrossed in what I’m doing, eyes glued to one monitor or the other, and won’t see him coming…he’ll just appear out of thin air. Either way, it makes me jump. Every time. Granted, I’m a little twitchier than usual. Been feeling like crap…so I’ve been overdoing the coffee + sudafed + ibuprofen all week. But what the devil is he doing out there anyhow? Are the windows really that dirty? Why is he only hanging out (literally) outside of mine? And perhaps whoever sits above and/or below me, I guess. If these windows weren’t hermetically sealed I’d pop one open and ask.

Yesterday I had my first annual physical, with someone other than my trusted long-time ob/gyn (the woman who delivered my son), since she moved out of state. She moved on to bigger and better opportunities and I am happy for her. Really, I am. But finding the right ob/gyn, for me, is fraught with greater difficulty than finding a reliable mechanic. I searched for some time. It took nearly a year before I found another female ob/gyn to my liking. Well, one who seemed suitable enough to merit a test-run, at least. So I arrived to my appointment yesterday, a little stressed out. Tardy due to unexpected Metrodome traffic. Luckily the front desk whisked me through quickly and before long the nurse was going through the usuals with me. It started off all right. There was the weigh-in. No big surprises there, but still not my favorite thing (I refuse to own a scale). Then it was on to measure my height. I am, allegedly, 5′1″ now. I’m not buying this. At my last yearly I was told I had grown to just over 5′0″ at some time during my pregnancy (after fifteen years of being 4′11″). And now this? How can I, at my age, *still* be growing taller? Shouldn’t I actually be shrinking soon? Bizarre. So I was already a bit wary after the nurse relayed that to me…then she broke the news that I was due for a tetanus shot. Doh. By the time I had donned the paper gown I was downright leery…and ready to make a break for it. But then the new doc arrived. An escape at that point would be clumsy, at best, and likely highly embarrassing. She managed to put me somewhat at ease, though. She is quite personable. For a doctor. We went through all the awkward getting-to-know-you chitchat before she, umm, got to it. And then. She busted out the dreaded speculum and… couldn’t find my danged cervix. That was a first. It took her several tries. She was very apologetic about the whole thing, and tried to explain how it’s not terribly uncommon…but it was still so weird. And uncomfortable, in more ways than one. I think we were both relieved when the exam was over with. And it certainly was good to be back in, umm, civilian attire (”street clothes” just has a bad connotation). It was still a while before I was able to leave, however. First some waiting, then the tetanus shot (I’m fine as long as I don’t look). Then some more waiting, in a different part of the building, and then the blood draw (ditto). I was a bit out of sorts when I left, but glad to be gone. Until next year.

First off, just scanned my recent posts. No, I’m not on Aussie time. I’ve just been in such a fog I didn’t even know what day it was (those errors have been corrected, sorry for any confusion). Even if I had been privy to that information, I wouldn’t have known about the off-the-radar instore performance by Low… that took place at Treehouse Records last Friday afternoon. If it had been publicized at all the turnout would have been insane. As it was I guess it was comfortably crowded with the lucky 30-40 folks who happened upon it. Sigh. I did discover my consolation prize, though. Low will be playing at an interesting venue, in town, on November 23rd.
‘Built and operated as the Pantages Theatre in 1916, it housed vaudeville performances during the 1910s and 1920s. It operated as the RKO Pan in 1946, when it started featuring movies. In 1961, it became the Mann Theatre where it continued to show movies, including the sneak preview screenings of THE SOUND OF MUSIC (which played for nearly two years) and WEST SIDE STORY. Plans are underway to restore the Pantages as a live performance space.’
Wacky. My memories of that location, which seem from a lifetime ago, are of a long-defunct punk record store called Northern Lights. I can’t say I’m in favor of much of the recent “redevelopment” of downtown Minneapolis, and Block E in particular (especially the garish gargantuan structure that looks like it belongs in Vegas). But it will be a good thing if we get another mid-sized venue for shows. Hopefully with decent sound.

That was the fortune that greeted me when I logged in this morning…causing me to smile in spite of myself. Aside from feeling like crap the day hasn’t been all bad. Good things are happening on the Buffy front. First of all, Caroline recently launched the informative Whedonesque. Today I learned from it that Buffy will rise from graveness. The article had much welcome news, especially:
‘You also can expect to see a spunkier, “whine-less” Dawn and the welcome return (for at least 10 episodes) of Anthony Stewart Head as Giles. “I had underestimated his presence and what he brings to the show. The authority figure was lacking,” Whedon says.’
In other (good)news, the anxiously awaited Flaming Lips release came out today. I’m going to borrow it from a co-worker, after he gives it a good listen or two.