Tomorrow will mark one month since my son’s birthday, yet he continues to sing the birthday song…to himself. He started a few weeks prior to his birthday. Over these many weeks I’ve noticed how his rendition has evolved. Initially it was barely intelligible. Slowly his enunciation improved, and he even added in key parts like “Dear [his name]“. The most recent permutation has him singing an ode to one of his favorite things…”Happy Birthday Cake” instead of “Happy Birthday To You“. Normally I’d find this terribly amusing, but at the moment it’s too bittersweet. Today would have been my brother’s 32nd birthday. Instead he didn’t live long enough to see his 19th. And I find myself imagining my son singing Happy Birthday to his uncle…instead of to himself, or to cake. But he’ll only have a vague idea of who this Tom character was. Of the shadowy memories mom clings to. Of an uncle he’ll never know.

Today I woke up in another person’s body. A much older, achier person. All right, after various checks (c-section scar present: check, extremely nearsighted without visual correction: check, unable to reach kitchen cupboards without stepladder: check, tattoos present: check) I have determined it must still be my body, but it has somehow been through a time warp. And aged at least ten, maybe fifteen or twenty years overnight. And it is ill-equipped to handle an exuberant three year-old first thing in the morning. Even with the aid of coffee and ibuprofen.

Why is it that I can’t fall asleep when I’m wide awake at 4am…but am downright drowsy, daily, between 1 and 2 pm? Usually I blame it on lunchtime logeyness. But I ate earlier today. The sleepiness didn’t start until much later. Yawn.

And back to pedestrian bitching. Oh wait, I’m in a pretty good mood. Had a free soy mocha this morning that’s kept me buzzing all day. And the mechanic called to say nothing seems seriously wrong with my car. Running the computer diagnostic thingie suggested an oil change, and I suggested a tune-up (not sure if the car has ever had one. Doh). Shouldn’t be too spendy, which is good news. And tonight. Ah, tonight. No, not Buffy. But yes, oh yes. Sleater-Kinney. Just a couple more hours. Debating whether or not to go for the opening bands. Hmmm. For those shocked at my blatant disregard of Buffy, let me say something for myself. Tonight’s BtVS episode looks sorta nasty anyhow. Something about a cannibalistic skin-eating demon. Ew. I’ll ask my watcher friends and/or make the web rounds if I feel the need to know details. Not about the demon, but about the other story arcs. And don’t you dare call it a sci-fi soap opera (you know who you are). So yes, there are some things that rate above Buffy. And a live Sleater-Kinney show is certainly one of them.

Wacky. Many months ago I made a submission to a collaborative site. And didn’t hear back from them. And nearly forgot about it. Until today. I received an apologetic email from a fellow who, apparently, has been on holiday for a while. Or maybe just on holiday from the site he was running. Whatever the case, he says my submission is the first that’s been put up in months. Currently it can be found on the front page of said site, and also has a permalink. The funny thing is that, at the time I made this submission, the items seemed incongruous with the time of year. But now they are quite fitting. Oh well. There are other new places to find me as well, around the way. The recent addition of themes to the mirror project has been good fun. First off, I suggested a theme. Then added to an existing one, with photos of the little man and myself. And finally, I sent that sad bit about the Minneapolis Central Library to Jessamyn, the mastermind behind librarian.net, who decided to share it with the librarians of the world. Rock on.

Yesterday was, unsurprisingly, a crappy Monday. After such a happyfunworkday I rushed over to drop my car off at the mechanic’s (not entirely sure what’s wrong with it) before they closed shop for the day. A certain someone was kind enough to meet me there, after also having picked up a cranky little man for me. The crankiness continued at home. But it wasn’t limited to the little man. Oh no. There was enough for everyone. Maybe a little too much. After the little man had a power tantrum (one of his many super-powers, we’ve decided) he was given a time out (the jury is still out on which discipline techniques work best). A little while later, after he’d had time to calm down, he took my hand while looking up at me and said “I’m sorry, I’m trying”. Nearly broke my heart. I know the transition from daycare to pre-school has been particularly hard on him. So lately his days have been as rough, or rougher, than mine. I’ve really got to cut him some slack. Because he is trying, after all.

Super-yuck. I was, and still am, really looking forward to tomorrow night’s Sleater-Kinney show. But while making my usual web rounds I came across something super disturbing. At least they caught the creep, I guess. But at a Sleater-Kinney show? That’s one of the last places, one would hope, this sort of thing would happen. Many young girls and women go to Sleater-Kinney shows because, generally, they’re a place we can feel safe and empowered and have a good time. Not somewhere we’d expect to be molested. This really pisses me off.

Last Friday I nearly panicked…when I realized we didn’t yet have tickets for the upcoming Sleater-Kinney show. I’ve been looking forward to it for months, and had even arranged for Grandma to hang out with the little man. As often happens the date kinda snuck up on me. In the back of my mind I kept thinking “I can just walk down to Let it Be on my lunch break some day”. But by the time I thought to call they were already out of tickets. Doh. So I tried to keep my calm as I turned to First Ave’s ticket page. Started calling all the local outlets, closest to my office and my house. Nada. All sold out. Finally I called the fine Pizza Luce. I didn’t even know they sold concert tickets. Apparently I’m not the only one, as they still had plenty of ‘em. In my excitement I bolted out the door, without a coat or umbrella. The first couple of blocks didn’t seem too bad. But as I came closer to my destination I could hardly see through my glasses, and the front of my jeans were soaked through. A totally icky tactile sensation that I could do without. As nifty as the warehouse district is, the area is, unfortunately, not tied into the skyway system. At last I entered the restaurant, and headed straight to the bar. Not to belly-up, but to realize my goal. As the bartender looked for the key to the ticket box, I realized a few patrons were staring at me…likely because I looked like something the cat dragged in. Soaked through, with hair ringing my face in wet, dripping clumps. Whatever. The tickets were handed over to me and I tucked them safely away in my waterproof messenger bag (that had kept a portion of my back dry, at least). But instead of heading directly back to my office, I had one more stop to make. The downtown Minneapolis public library has been closed since August (a temporary location is in operation). There are many reasons why a new building is needed…but I find it sad that the existing building became obsolete after just 41 years. Still, I can’t say I was ever thrilled by the building. There was always something a tad eerie about it. The lighting was always off, giving everything a greenish pallor. And it wasn’t very patron-friendly. I hope they can do better with another go at it. But back to Friday. I went to the old library building to say goodbye. I’d intended to pay my respects before they closed down and moved everything out, but hadn’t gotten around to it. So this was a much more surreal visit. Saying farewell to a nearly empty building. Empty, but for the leftover items being sold off. I nearly thought it would be too sad to document. But not quite. I took a few photos as I made the rounds. The oddest sights, for me, were the shrink-wrapped card catalogs. See for yourself.

The phrase that caught my attention, and my imagination, so many years ago has popped up again. This time in a disturbing article at Salon, about a multiplayer combat video game the army cooked up…where “you can never be the enemy, in America’s Army”.
A game which the Army claims 470,000 people have or are now playing.
“But America’s Army’s real purpose is to be a recruiting tool, which is why the game has been made freely available since July, with new units and missions added on a regular basis. (It’ll be out on CD in recruitment offices soon.) And while its impact on recruitment won’t be evident until December, when July enlistees arrive for basic training, early signs, say Army spokesmen, are promising: 28 percent of Americasarmy.com visitors click through to goarmy.com, the government’s official recruitment site.”
Creepy. And just what we need, after the release of the World Health Organization’s Global report on health and violence.

The past couple of weeks I’ve been without interesting reading material. I picked up, and promptly put down, a few books that failed to grab me. A good percentage of the books I read come to me pre-screened. Via a certain someone, or from my other favorite lending library, my friend Dave (whose stacks of books I should probably return before borrowing anything else). We have similar tastes, so I usually like what they like. But not always. Anyhow, for some time I’ve been meaning to read William Gibson (I know, I know, where have I been). But my pals told me I should start with “Neuromancer“, though neither could locate copies of it to lend me. So yesterday I ventured out to obtain it, which I did. Then I discovered that the long-awaited new novel from James Alan Gardner came out the other day. I tried a couple of bookstores near my office. On my second attempt I scored a copy of “Trapped“. It was so fresh-off-the-presses it hadn’t yet been unpacked. Then last night I arrived home to find a package sitting on my doorstep. It turned out to be a book I pre-ordered months ago, and had nearly forgotten about. Dave Egger’s latest, “You Shall Know Our Velocity“. Looks like I’ll be spending much of the weekend reading, while shirking the household chores. There are worse things.