My husband fell on his head today. Happily I didn’t see it (as I would have freaked out). I was baking. The little man had wanted to eat a banana from the newly acquired bunch, but had managed to pull such that every banana opened. Thankfully they were ripe enough to use in banana bread. But I digress. A few weeks back we received a letter from the city, informing us of a dead tree on our property that needed removing. I’ve heard horror stories about tree trimmers and how expensive they can be, and so mulled it over for a while. Then sorta forgot about it. But we were given a deadline of October 5th. Homeownership can be a bitch sometimes. But my dear, sweet father-in-law came to the rescue…just as soon as heard we needed rescuing. He arrived this afternoon with all sorts of gear. Shortly afterwards father and son set about taking down that bad boy. The little man and I watched for a while, but retreated to a safer distance…inside the house. It wasn’t until they’d successfully brought down the diseased dutch elm and come indoors that they broke the news…about my husband falling on his head. Apparently he was about halfway up the ladder, which they had leaning over the property line towards the neighbor’s garage. Then somehow he was off the ladder, and tumbling down the three or four feet to land on his head. Luckily he fell on to a soft patch in the neighbor’s yard, but still. He’s achey and woozy, with somewhat dilated pupils…and currently at the urgent care clinic, with my father-in-law. What’s the moral of the story? It could be “always pay someone else to fall on their head”. Or something.

I guess I’m in mild panic mode. This afternoon I hung out with one of my sisters-in-law, to make last minute arrangements for my impending wedding reception. I can’t believe how much has been left undone until now. Sure, we had some valid excuses. We’ve been sick. The in-laws have been out of town. The planets haven’t been aligned. Or something. But this reception isn’t going to get ready all by itself. Today I managed to make some headway…though food still needs to be ordered, mix CDs made, and other minutiae addressed. We are ordering bulk flowers and arranging them ourselves, which will save a buttload of money. I’ve narrowed down the flowers I like best for fall, but will have to ask the experts for some advice…to ensure they’ll actually look good together. At least the tables are easy. Each one is going to have a small bud vase on it containing a single sunflower, and a votive candle, bistro style. Also ordered the party favors…brit-style party crackers. They aren’t the fanciest out there, but they are the most affordable that don’t look like ass. Afterwards I enjoyed a small feeling of satisfaction. Which I promptly ruined by continuing to surf around…thus making some odd impulse purchases at Amazon, of all places. For my Dad (for xmas) I bought a book I totally want, but know he’ll like, called Scorched Art: The Incendiary Aesthetic of Flame Rite Zippos. And, for myself, I fell victim to Bruce Lee’s allure…as captured by Art Asylum. C’mon, look how cute it is! How could I not add that to my cart? Damn, Amazon is evil. I hadn’t been searching on anything remotely related to Bruce Lee when that item appeared on the page…in the “You Might Also Like” category. Bastards. It’s like they can see into my soul. Or something. Perhaps if I weren’t so sleepy I wouldn’t have succumbed. Sigh.

Debating when or what to post about the big news…so instead I’ll get back in the saddle with an all purpose entry. Today I wanted to join my favorite denizens of Duluth, for their 25 mile nonchalant jaunt about town. Alas, I don’t believe I would have been up to it…and, with their 8am start, I would have had to head out around 4:30am. Youch. Besides, I’d promised the little man a visit to the apple orchard and I delivered. Though it’s always strange to drive through my old home town. It seemed small when I was growing up, but now it seems smaller still…even with the unstoppable sprawl. I was happy to head out of there, to my current home. Where I’ve been shutting the storm windows, cooking and baking a bit, and trying to scare up something decent to read. I haven’t replenished my book supply yet so I’ve been re-reading a few favorites, and digging through the husband’s stacks (his collection hasn’t yet been integrated into mine…we need more bookshelves, and a team of personal organization experts). Was amused to find a tome devoted to Gandhi wedged between The Guide to Getting It On! and CGI Programming with Perl. The man has eclectic tastes, no? I have been enjoying his copy of The Basque History of the World, and reading random selections of short stories. Turns out one such collection was his introduction to science fiction, many eons ago. Definitely dated material, as the first story in the book is “Escape From the Death Star“, by George Lucas. There are a few gems, but I still need to get myself to a library. But for now it’s time to be getting the little man to bed. Nigh nigh.

Pardon my silence. It’s been a big week. Details to follow. But don’t worry, it’s all good.

My melancholy mood is dissipating. A little green tea goes along way with me, apparently. And it’s sunny outside…and I’m feeling less sick. Which has led me to be more productive today than I was all of last week. I’ve already done a load of laundry and a load of dishes, whipped up some cornbread, and there’s a batch of bbq tofu in the works. But after making my morning web rounds, which included Pitchfork, I’ve had something on my mind. Think me unhip, but I do not understand the appeal of Har Mar Superstar. I prefer Sean Tillman’s work with Sean Na Na, hands down. His pseudo R&B stylings are like nails on a chalkboard to me, and his whole schtick is repulsive. I’ll admit I may have found it funny…at first. Now the act has worn thin. But I did find something on MeFi that seems to go hand in hand with Har Mar. The tacheback thread.
“The aim of Tacheback is simple: to return the moustache to its rightful place as a must-have fashion accessory, and to raise funds for research into male cancers in the process.”
Also included was a link to the World Beard and Moustache Championships, happening in Carson City, Nevada on November 1, 2003. As well as the longest moustache in the world, according to the Guinness Book of Records. And folks, that’s solid chest hair down there, in between the red sections of fabric…not part of his shirt.

I’ve been seeing ghosts today. I was searching for something specific, buried deep within some sorry-looking boxes in a cluttered closet. To locate this one item I had to sift through numerous relics from different eras. I couldn’t help pausing to consider each piece that grabbed my attention. And found that these fragments had me recalling vivid memories…encapsulated episodes rushing back in full detail after just a cursory glance, like watching long-forgotten home videos. The photos I found may have been the most startling. How could we have aged so much in just ten years? My Dad, my friends, myself…did we really look that young? Though when I think of my Dad I have an unchanging image of him permanently stuck in my mind…from when he was in his 30s, not much older than I am now. He was a little thinner, a little more spry, with a full head of thick black wavy hair. He still has the thick wavy hair, though now it’s pure silver. Even a decade ago, it seems, it was salt and pepper. Heavy on the pepper. Seeing these changes in him is somehow stranger, and more alarming, than looking back at photos of my brother…who didn’t make it beyond eighteen. My brother remains fixed in a much too short span of time, aging only through childhood and on to the verge of adulthood. Each memory I have of him is complete and constant, with the few photos I have of him matching those memories perfectly. But with my Dad…I find myself surprised every time I see him. He is aging. No getting around it. I realize that it’s a natural part of life, but I don’t have to like it.

Not quite as addictive as catchThirtyThree, but still an effective timewaster…I give you Gutterball. Gotta have some distractions when you’re ill. Managed to get to the wedding yesterday, though I’m sure some folks were wishing we hadn’t. We were quite the cranky trio. The little man was squirrely throughout the ceremony, and throwing down some serious tantrums at the reception. He spent most of his time kicking his feet while laying on the floor, underneath my chair, as I attempted to socialize and scarf down some food. We left shortly thereafter, without getting to sample the lovely looking vegan wedding cake. But within minutes of driving home the monkey was sound asleep. Sometimes you just need to nap. And once home the poor husband was hitting the nebulizer hardcore. Me, I was just happy to get back into my jammies, and the comfy chair. Finished the book I was reading too. Seems I have a thing for religious space opera. A couple of years back I read Mary Doria Russell’s The Sparrow and its sequel, Children of God…both about Catholics in space. And the Hyperion series by Dan Simmons also includes Catholics in space, as well as the Church of the Final Atonement and other fictional religious groups. But the latest of this lot is The Dazzle of Day, featuring Friends in space. No, not Phoebe and Chandler type friends…though that television show has a cult following I fail to understand. But I’m referring to Friends of the Quaker flavor. It wasn’t a gripping page-turner, as I’ve been leaning towards lately, but instead an insightful tale…both sorrowful and sweet. Not sure what to follow it up with. Think I may need to mull it over a while before starting a new book. But when I’m ready, I may take James up on one of his recommendations (in his response to question #3).

Illness update: sick of being a scurvy sea dog and getting desperate. Overnight I’ve added echinacea tea, BreatheRight strips, Benadryl, throat spray and ricola cough drops to the multitude of products that aren’t really helping me much. The little man is bored out of his mind because mom won’t get out of her pajamas…or the red comfy chair. Hoping this will all pass. And soon. There are things to be done. And movies to see. The Riverview is now showing Spellbound. And the local Landmark theater has picked up Lost in Translation. Oh, and What’s Your Pirate Name?

We’re sick, sick people. And not just in the twisted sense. I’ve been kidding myself for weeks, claiming it’s just the seasonal allergies acting up. When really I’m suffering from a serious sinus infection. And the husband’s been mocking me…with my copious, and ineffective, drug use. In addition to the useless claritin I ingest daily, I’ve been sticking various drugs up my nose, each with a unique delivery system. I’ve got a vapor inhaler, some saline nasal spray and the newest addition to the lot…NasalCrom. Naturally we started calling it all nasal crack after I acquired that one. But I’m not the only one ailing. Afrojet’s come down with a nasty head cold. And friends of ours are getting married this Saturday, though the bride to be has been ill all week. I’m hoping we’ll feel well enough to attend the wedding. The husband woke up whimpering “I’m sick” today, while the poor little man felt feverish before bed. But thank god we haven’t got the supervirus that Andrea picked up. In addition to fever and chills she’s got a swollen tongue and gums…and blisters along her throat and under her tongue. No thanks, sounds like scurvy. Got a taste enough of that the other night…when I succumbed to temporary insanity and devoured those damned sour patch kids. Still, I can’t sleep. Can’t breathe through my nose. May finally break down and get myself to the doctor. Bleah.

And now for some bountiful booty…or blather.
Tomorrow is International Talk Like a Pirate Day. It would be a good time to swing by the McSweeney’s Pirate Store at 826 Valencia. Alas I’ll be a landlocked land lubber with no way to get to San Francisco in time.

Happy 5th, 6th, or 7th Anniversary to Scotty and the Starfire Lounge, no matter how you count it. Wish we could be there. Same time next year?

Heather of Harrumph! is having a badge swap, which she’s set up to work all slick-like.
1) Grab her template;
2) Get creative and whip up a button design of whatever you like;
3) Email it to her; and
4) Paypal her a buck for her trouble.
Then she will:
1) Physically make your button;
2) Send it along to another swap member; and
3) Send you a button someone else designed.
Pretty sweet deal. Hopefully I can send mine along in time. Deadline is October 20th.
Just received a pre-shipment notice for shoes I ordered for the little man.
Apparently they are coming from a distributor whose name differs from the site I purchased them from. This company is aptly called “Little Man Inc.” I wonder what else they’ve got.

For weeks I’ve had Metric’s Combat Baby stuck in my head. And I’m not the only one with this earworm. It’s been on Radio K’s top seven for many weeks now. So I was driving the other day and heard a live interview with the band, on said station. I got my hopes up, silly me, thinking they might be about to do an in-store performance somewhere in town…or at least play a show that evening. Turns out they’d played the night before and were on their way to Madison. Doh.

Have yawl heard about the colossal cuddly rodent remains that were discovered recently? A 7-foot tall guinea pig? Yowza. How’s that for an R.O.U.S. (rodent of unusual size)?

I learned from Metafilter that Amphibious cars are making a comeback. And they ain’t cheap. The Gibbs Aquada is going for 150,000 pounds. Bet the little man would get a kick out of it, but he’ll have to be content with dunking matchbox cars in the bathtub for now.

Speaking of water…the boy received two different kinds of miracle-gro dinosaurs for his birthday. I decided to put them to the test, but it wasn’t a level playing field. One started out larger to begin with, and each required a different length of time to grow (12 hours vs. 72 hours). Neglected to take before photos, but I did snap a few after. The husband, I must say, was rather disgusted by my dino experiment…but the little man was amused.