Too tired to create my own content this fine morning, so…
Dan on the run went to the corner store for a loaf of bread and came back with something unexpected.
Jason sees an upside to the bus strike.
There’s this girl child using a photo of mine, of my Dad (scroll down to her “Heroes” section), without permission…and she didn’t even bother to copy it. She’s linking directly to my site. I could totally mess with her if I were so inclined. Hmmm.
Found typography in Toronto and Typographical Art at Disneyworld.
The teapot is cracked.
Heard Hole’s Violet on Skonrokk the other night. I’d forgotten how much I love that song and wound up sending an email request to Radio K, who played it within a half hour. Now I can’t get it out of my head.
Sleater Kinney has a brand spanking new site.
In the “not in the budget” department:
Todd Oldham does La-Z-Boy.
The answer to my prayers…the Japanese Straight Perm.
Movies I’d like to see this weekend…Japanese Story and In America, but we haven’t got the time or the money.
Even better, I’d like to be heading down to SXSW this weekend, as Chuck and Lorika are doing…right this very moment. Sigh.
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Four year-olds do not have magazine subscriptions. Well, not my four year-old, at any rate. Allow me to explain. Through his employer the husband has the most amazing health insurance plan ever, which the little man and I were added to last summer. A few months back this employer requested proof that the husband and I were, in fact, married. Fine, that’s easy enough. And some sort of proof that the little man lived with us (where else would my lovely child live? oy). It was a pain, but the husband dutifully gathered the appropriate materials and mailed them shortly after the request was made. Now, months later, we’ve received a letter saying that the little man and I will be dropped from the insurance plan, as they never received said materials. Grrrr. I’m sure they received them, but I’m guessing they accidentally wound up in the shredder or the recycling bin. So we have to jump through that hoop. Again. Though this time the husband is planning to send everything by registered mail. The kicker is, they want extra special proof that the little man lives with us (and I’m guessing this here weblog won’t qualify). The woman the husband spoke with asked if the little man had any magazine subscriptions delivered here. Heh. No, he generally does not receive any mail…other than that bill for his birth that was sent here before his first birthday (the insurance company refused to pay it because one character in his name was missing). So what do they want instead? They want us to get a letter from his new school, on official letterhead, stating that our boy lives here. All the school can attest to is that this is the address the school bus comes to, to pick up and drop off our child. Hopefully that will do the trick. Oh, and we have until tomorrow to send all of this out. Again. If we could afford to I’d have the husband legally adopt the little man asap. But that’s a whole ‘nother batch of red tape to deal with. Sigh.
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Wednesday, March 10, 2004
Last night I dreamt I had a daughter named Cunning, around toddler age…and another, a baby girl whose name I didn’t quite catch. Or couldn’t pronounce. But definitely can’t remember. The little man had grown. He was much taller (taller I am now, which isn’t saying much) and was quite capable of caring for himself…and temporarily looking after the girls. He waited in the car with his sisters (my ‘97 VW Jetta that was totalled in the summer of ‘99) while I popped in to return some books to the local library. Only it was the library in the town I grew up in. A town I don’t ever plan to reside in again. I’m not sure what this dream was trying to tell me, if anything, but there was a bit of synchronicity when I woke up this morning. One of the first things I read was a weblog, found via the StrikeBlog, documenting a fellow traveler’s walk to work. I enjoyed the entire entry, and couldn’t agree more with his positions regarding the strike, but the below passage grabbed me in a tangential sort of way:
7:58 am — Pausing at the corner of 24th and Harriet, I look up the street toward my old apartment.
I’ve recently discovered that this part of Minneapolis is the old basin for Lake Blaisdell, which was part of the Minneapolis chain of lakes until it was filled in to make room for the city’s expansion, oh, about 1890. I’ll be looking into that!
So that explains it! Back in 1999, I occupied an apartment in that very neighborhood. The weekend before I was to move into my house, (while eight months pregnant with the little man, mind you) my neighborhood was hit by a crazy summer storm, replete with flash flooding. I recall getting home late that night…after a midnight movie, but before the rains started. I congratulated myself on scoring a rare parking spot right outside my apartment building’s front door. Usually when getting home that late I’d have to park a couple blocks away, up a hill. After walking outside the next morning I wished I’d had to park up that hill after all. The gutters were overflowing and the sidewalks covered with slick muck. Looking up and down my street (Garfield Avenue) I noticed that the cars were all askew, many with hoods and/or trunks popped open. The sheer force of the massive amount of water pouring into the area had shifted all the lightweight cars about, but my ‘97 VW Jetta had been heavy enough to hold its own. I’d cautiously approached it and opened the driver side door…to find that it had been flooded up to the dashboard. Thankfully I had decent car insurance, but I still had several weeks of hassle to deal with at the most inopportune of times. But now, thanks to 5 o’clock bot, I know why all that water had pooled in my neighborhood…the basin wanted its lake back.
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It’s funny how some sunshine can turn one’s disposition around. We hadn’t had decent weather around these parts for what felt like forever and a day. Today’s blue skies inspired me to walk to work (and back) for the first time…as the bus strike shows no signs of breaking. I wasn’t quite sure how long it would take, but, knowing myself fairly well, I budgeted some extra time for snapping off photos. And I was pleased to rediscover some of the oddities in the nooks and crannies of my neighborhood. I pass by these landmarks so often, usually in a motorized vehicle, that I’d never paused to photograph them until today. And the light was just right, which is always a plus. Click here, or on the below photo, to launch the “Bus Strike 2004 Walking Tour” gallery.
addendum: Speaking of labors of love…extra special congratulations to Tina and Lane on the Wee Tomato’s arrival, after twelve hours of seriously hard work on Tina’s part. Dang. But he’s one beautiful, and BIG, little boy.
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I read a lot, mostly fiction…what with my tendency towards escapism and all. If I go more than a day or two between books I get a bit, well, anxious. The other night it came to a head. Everyone in our little household was coming down with a cruddy cold. The little man was only made happy after donning his monkey suit and cuddling in the comfy chair, while watching his new favorite movie. After he’d gone to bed I didn’t have the energy to do anything productive. Nor was I in the mood to watch anything else. I just wanted to lay about, reading something interesting. So I scoured the house. I hit the jackpot in the bedroom. I was dismayed to discover a full dozen titles that I’d started reading over the last year. Some I’d nearly finished, but not quite…and close doesn’t count. For whatever reason each of these books had let me down in some way, or vice versa. Each had come highly recommended, and some I’d really been looking forward to. I wanted to like them. I do like most of the authors well enough, having enjoyed their other works a great deal. Maybe I encountered these titles at the wrong time. The stars weren’t aligned…or something. Something about them didn’t grab me. Or I accidentally became separted from them, and went on to something else that did grab me in the mean time. And now I have guilt. But I’m finding it very difficult to dive back into any title in this sad stack.
the unread, in no particular order:
01: Little Big by John Crowley [Dave and Cathy, I know you love this book...I swear I'll give it another go]
02: The Basque History of the World by Mark Kurlansky [interesting stuff, but my mind wandered, as it is wont to do]
03: Goodbye Tsugumi by Banana Yoshimoto [should really try again]
04: Blindness by Jose Saramago [left it at my in-laws's cabin and our reunion, many months later, didn't go very well]
05: One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez [please don't look at me like that James...I was really enjoying this one, and had nearly finished it when I was sidetracked by something or other, and I just couldn't get back into it.]
06: The Bondswoman’s Narrative by Hannah Crofts
07: You Shall Know Our Velocity by Dave Eggers [still haven't made it past the first dozen pages]
08: White Apples by Jonathan Carroll [I'd read too many of his works in too short a timeframe, so they all started seeming like the same story]
09: The Shipping News by E. Annie Proulx
10: A Friend of the Earth by T.C. Boyle [seen him speak a few times, highly entertaining...especially as he looks like Kevin McDonald from KiTH]
11: From the Dust Returned by Ray Bradbury [I really should get this back to you, Kris]
12: Quicksilver by Neal Stephenson [was sidetracked by Dan Simmons' engrossing Ilium]
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I usually refrain from writing about work here, unless it’s in the most general of terms. And this seems to be a good policy, as Heather of Dooce can attest to. But I’m heading in shortly, where I am expecting a bit of much-deserved teasing…for my excessive clumsiness there on Friday. You see, my boss ordered an industrial strength paper shredder…brilliantly named The Shredmaster. It arrived Friday while she was out and was set up in the only area with room for it…my office. Naturally I felt the need to check out the big hulking beast, you know, kick the tires and whatnot. But someone had set the thick sheaf of operating instructions atop it. While poking around I managed to bump them, knocking the manual right into the feeder…where it was sucked in and rather efficiently ripped to shreds. It all happened so quickly. I was too stunned to press the stop button. Or even think of it until later. Afterwards I was horrified but couldn’t help but have myself a little laughing fit. I’ve been trying to keep my behavior on the downlow, but lord only knows what my new co-workers think of me now. In non-shredding news, this morning the little man asked me if my hands were cold. The coffee hadn’t kicked in yet so I mumbled something along the lines of “uh, yeah, whatever”. Before I knew it he’d started blowing on my hands, like I do to his when we’ve been playing outside for too long, only he was doing a seriously good (and unintentional) Darth Vader impersonation. Too bad he wasn’t in costume. Come to think of it, he was, actually…but he was wearing his ill-fitting monkey suit from Halloween 2002 rather than a proper Darth Vader costume.
It’s always something with us. After a fairly low-key Saturday with the little man (of watching cartoons, running errands and visiting my folks) I was looking forward to a quiet evening with the husband (I skipped The Ponys show at the Triple Rock). But not too quiet. Just after the boy fell asleep I heard a loud explosion…immediately followed by the power winking off throughout the neighborhood (yesterday my father reiterated his favorite argument for living in a newer suburb vs. the city - underground powerlines). A sinking feeling told me it wouldn’t be a quick fix situation. Our problems were compounded by some horrible shrieking, and it wasn’t coming from me. It was the alarm emitted by the home security system whenever the power goes out (just in case we hadn’t noticed the sudden plunge into darkness). In his mad rush to make this god-awful noise stop the husband inadvertentally disrupted our phone service. Doh. And I had neglected to recharge my dead cell phone battery when I’d had the chance. So we found ourselves having a very quiet Saturday night indeed. I was all for playing Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit by candlelight, but without electricity to power his air purifiers the husband’s asthma was unduly aggravated. So he fled the scene in our only functioning automobile. Leaving me stranded with my sleeping son…in an all too quiet house without power…with all lines of communication severed…and without any convenient way to leave in case of an emergency. Naturally I didn’t sleep well that night, but Sunday was a new day and all that. The power was back on, for one thing. That being the case I had to fight the urge to flip on every single light switch and small appliance we own.
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After getting up early to clean the house, to prepare for a home visit from the little man’s teacher, she called to cancel. Doh. At least the house is in better shape than it’s been in, but I could have put up with the mess in exchange for extra rest. Especially as the denizens of this household are coming down with cruddy colds. But instead of taking the opportunity to laze about I showered, recharged my camera batteries, and allowed the little man to drag me outside to use me as target practice (I think the snowball fight scene from Elf is to blame)…and to destroy any snow people I might create. Thanks kid. He left the Princess Leia looking one alone long enough for me to photograph it, but you can’t see the details clearly. Would have snapped off a few more, but my window of opportunity was too brief. When the wind really kicked in and blew all the heavy wet snow off the trees, and onto us, I took it as our cue to head inside…and whip up a batch of soup. No rest for the wicked, however. Soon I am off to work. Sigh. At least it’s Friday. I look forward to a weekend spent recuperating from this lousy week (everything seems lousy when I’m sick).
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I knew it was coming, but the snow still took me by surprise. Then again, I’m easily startled. Yesterday morning I was coming back in to the house (after an exciting adventure of taking out the trash) when I jumped back about a foot…upon catching my reflection in the patio door. Yes, for a fleeting moment I thought there was some stranger lurking in my kitchen…who happened to look a lot like me. I hadn’t had my coffee yet, all right? But today I looked out the patio door to find that the ugly (muddy melting mess) had been hidden by a fresh coat of puffy white snow. Maybe it will inspire more folks to move into the neighborhood. I’ve noticed there are half a dozen houses for sale within a few blocks of us, starting with the brand new monstrosity that was erected next door…and the house directly behind it which has recently been remodeled. The winter wonderland look must be far more appealing to buyers than the halfway decomposed detritus look the area has been sporting lately. The fresh as the driven snow thing is lovely and all, but the timing couldn’t be worse…with the bus strike just getting into gear. I had been contemplating a commute that would have me walking to and from work, rather than making my boys play chauffeur. But maybe I’ll wait until next week.
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I can feel it coming in the air tonight…and I felt it last night too. Everywhere I go much crankiness ensues. Or continues, as the case may be. Personally I’m not that crabby. Especially as there’s a new episode of Angel airing this evening. But far too many folks I know are suffering from unusually long-lasting headaches. That includes myself, unfortunately. Could be the weather. And the impending bus strike. Speaking of which…my last ride home was punctuated by some excitement at the generally sleepy bus stop. An elderly gentleman, who was too intoxicated to stand, was temporarily aided by some bystanders…but later dragged off to Detox by some of St. Paul’s finest. Who looked more like they’re fresh out of high school rather than the police academy. I whipped out my cell phone to relay this to my father, who is the most senior officer on the force (he’s served for nearly twice as long as these boys in blue have been alive). He commented “welcome to my world, honey” before going back to eating his dinner.
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