weapons of massdistraction

I probably shouldn’t have walked to work today. I can tell you why in five words: air quality warning and mermaid skirt. But that’s not why I demanded a ride home. That would be another word: thundershowers (though they were lovely while they lasted).

The novelty of walking to work has worn off, but the trek would be made more bearable if the neighborhood would just come to life already. Spring has nearly sprung, but not quite. The trees are still bare and the grass mostly brown. But the snow has melted, mostly, and temperatures are on the rise. Optimistic neighbors have busted out their bbq grills. And the area children, after being cooped up all winter, are obviously overjoyed to be playing outside. Normally this sort of thing causes me to smile on the way home, but not tonight. Just as I was heading out of the office the husband broke the bad news, that the little man’s bus hadn’t turned up…making it twenty or more minutes late. I can be calm in a crisis, but this is my baby we’re talking about (I realize some day I’ll have to deal with not knowing where he is every minute of the day, unless I get him that LoJack implant, but I’m not ready for either yet). I was able to tell the husband where to locate the school’s phone number before my mind started racing…through dozens of worst case scenarios, culled from made for TV movies, overhyped headlines, and my overactive imagination. Heading home I hauled ass, nearly deaf to the constant roar of non-bus vehicular traffic and the pounding of my heart…but also to the twee chirping of my teeny cell phone, which was buried at the bottom of my bag. It wasn’t until I was just blocks from home that I realized the husband had called, oh, a dozen times or so, to let me know that all was well. He’d been slightly more successful reaching the school. After several attempts someone answered and informed him that the little man’s regular bus had broken down (it’s not clear if it was before or after the children had boarded) so the kids had to wait for a replacement bus. Apparently a representative of the school was supposed to have called to let us know this…so that we wouldn’t panic, as I so clearly did.

Saturday: I shirked some duties (not just posting…I really should have gone to the anti-war demo), some plans and perhaps a bit of parenting…in favor of finishing a book. I picked up Michael Chabon’s enchanting Summerland at the library the other day. It held me in its thrall from the very first to the last page. After getting there, and kicking the ending around in my head for a bit, well then, and only then, was I released…and able to get on with my life. Unfortunately it was too late in the day to make it to the rally. And I had to deny the little man, who desperately wanted to toss the frisbee around in the back yard. But that was because of the gusting winds. Winds strong enough to knock out our power (again) for a bit. Winds that would likely have snatched up that sad little frisbee, carried it over the bluffs and plunged it down into the nearby river. Instead we played inside, until it was time to depart for the evening’s events. He for a rare visit with the bio-dad…me, to get my rock on with my special ladyfriend, Zophia. Though the joint wasn’t very rocking. The all ages show was totally dead (I’m sure everyone went to the drunk show later on). Still, we had an awesome time. We realized we hadn’t seen the headlining band together since that fateful night five years ago…when I announced to her that I was pregnant with the little man. It’s odd how that pushed certain people out of my life, but managed to bring Zophia and I closer together, which I am thankful for. I’ll admit…some of these thoughts floated through my head while a couple of the opening bands stumbled through their sets. It can’t be very inspiring to play to a room of less than a dozen skinnyass punk boys, and the odd female (and I mean odd). Afterwards we retrieved the little man, who was up a bit past his bedtime. Once home, I stayed up past my bedtime as well…to hang out with the husband. But it made it that much easier to let down my guard, and allow myself to be manipulated by In America. But I didn’t mind. I enjoyed the film, aside from my overprotective mom mode that kicked in a few times, setting off alarms with thoughts like “I would never allow my child to do that” or “I would never put my child in that situation”. Captain Safety strikes again.
Sunday: Today I slacked some more. Had just enough sleep to be unmotivated rather than entirely useless. Still, started the day off well…with the husband treating us to blueberry pancakes. The little man must have tried to absorb their deliciousness through his skin, rather than just his mouth, as he wound up looking like Violet Beauregarde from Willy Wonka. Nearly had to hose the lad down. After some lounging we decided to head to the Children’s Museum, with an intrepid friend. Unfortunately our membership has lapsed, because we’re broke, but today was their free third Sunday. A day I usually avoid, because I’ve always figured it would be insanely crowded. Nothing could prepare me for the reality of it. Thankfully the little man thrives on chaos but I do not. It seemed like throngs from the State Fair, Mall of America, and Uptown Arts Festival had all simultaneously wormholed their way in, filling up every available nook and cranny with humanity…and pushy, cranky humanity at that. I started worrying about fire codes, and found myself irritated by the numbers of parents bulldozing their way through with strollers in no stroller zones, and feeding their children in galleries where food is not allowed (and for good reason). But there was nothing for the overwhelmed museum staff to do but stand back and let the teeming masses wend their way through…and over…and under…and around. Somehow we lasted a full hour there, with each moment spent in claustrophobic conditions reinforcing a single thought…come hell or highwater, I am renewing that damned membership. It was with much relief that we headed home (on the way we encountered the most colorful backhoe I’ve ever seen at the site of the St. Paul Farmer’s Market renovation). The winds died down a bit today, but the temperature dropped as well. I suggested to the little man that we go outside to play, and perhaps find the frisbee. And find it we did…frozen to a patch of grass. The boy managed to pull it up, along with a good bit of compost stuck to it. We settled for blowing some bubbles…and smashing up some ice in the sandbox. All in all, not a bad weekend.

I’ve never been a very lucky person, unless bad luck is taken into consideration…but I do seem to have the market cornered in one area. Over the past decade I have, periodically, been able to score guest list spots from our local college radio station. There seems to be a certain formula at work: the intensity of my desire to see the band(s) + the degree of my destitution = score! It’s a bit eerie. When I hear the K somehow I just know how long I need to pause before dialing, et voila, I am caller number seven. This was the case around seven o’clock this morning. I am a bit conflicted, though. On Saturday I’ll be going to see The Strike, who I love, with my lovely date Zophia, who I also love. Unfortunately The Strike is playing the entry at the very same time the Mates of State are playing the Triple Rock. Woe is me. At least I’ll be getting out of the house, and partaking of the rock. It’s been ages since I’ve done so. And ages more since I’ve partaken with Zophia. In other news, and news of the weird at that…yesterday I walked to work, as I do. My quiet, contemplative stroll took a strange turn when I got into downtown. Before I could see the throngs of people I could hear the banging of drums, the bleating of strange horns, and, ah, bagpipes. Apparently my office was on the the St. Patrick’s Day Parade route. As I drew nearer I spotted men and women in kilts, but more folks were decked out head to toe in garish green garb.

If you are in NYC, or can be on March 25th, check out Where’s My Democracy (WMD), a fundraising event featuring new fiction readings by Paul Auster, Michael Cunningham, Jennifer Egan, Dave Eggers, Jonathan Franzen, Gary Indiana, Jhumpa Lahiri, Joyce Carol Oates, Lou Reed, Susan Sontag, Wendy Wasserstein, and Colson Whitehead.
The other day dearest James gave me the heads up…about a Cult TV segment on NPR’s Talk of the Nation, featuring two of my heroes…Joss Whedon and Bruce Campbell. Most excellent.
Not quite sure how to feel about this…Seven Samurai 20XX, a Playstation game loosely based on the Kurosawa classic.
Some day I will have my very own bathroom (again) which males of the species will be banned from using.
If it’s already invisible how can the new and improved formula be clearer?
Looking forward to the Texas Women’s Roller Derby Documentary Hell on Wheels. My current fave…Miss Conduct of the Holy Rollers.
Oh, and sorry Chollie, I was rooting for ya (Day 26 ain’t got nothing on you). At least you were licked by the Cocky Bastard himself. Not everyone can say that (a lot of people, certainly, but not everyone).