It’s Merry Chaos here in Princeton. Has a year gone by already? The weather is gorgeously warm, which is such a treat after the brutal winter storms and their aftermath that we've encountered at home and here on the East Coast. The sky is a beautiful blue color. And, my kids have each declared this to be the Best. Christmas. Ever! Surrounded by family, I couldn't agree more.
No matter where you are and what you believe, I hope that your day is filled with peace and glad tidings!
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
my son, the novelist
Short on my own original material today, I'm "publishing" a story that Simon wrote. He's been working on it for his writer's journal, dictating a portion each night this week. The writer in me is in awe because he so unselfconsciously told his story. I could see his wheels turning as he tried different plotlines, delighted with the possibilities inherent in creativity. I found it inspiring!
Simon did not give me permission to print this, but I'm so proud of him that I want to share. Besides, John, all puffed up with parental pride, has been sending it to friends. Earlier today, we had lunch with friend Steve, who said, "Hey, this sounds like a [Hollywood] treatment." So, Hollywood, if you're reading, you can contact his agent (me) via e-mail.
The New Invaders
Como-Tech is in Argentina. The scientists at Como-Tech build robots. Scientists start making little robots to be servants in people's houses. If a robber breaks into a house, the robots turn big, and scares them off.
But the scientists miscalculated and made the robots think that all humans were threatening them, so the robots attacked the humans.
Because the robots were destroying the planet, and most of its living beings, scientists started tests to make Mars into a planet that people could go to.
The scientists got a rock from Mars and put a seed in the rock and sent the rock back to Mars. As the plants grow and grow and grow, they eat carbon dioxide and give off oxygen.
Back in Argentina
The robots are starting their own civilization.
Back in Costa Rica
The scientists from Como-Tech [CT] flee to Costa Rica. The CT scientists need to continue their tests for making Mars a paradise like Earth. They need a new laboratory to do their tests at. They went to Costa Rica because their friends work at a laboratory there named Secret-Test [ST]. The CT scientists want to use their friends' laboratory. The scientists at Secret-Test are trying to make birds talk like parrots do. Because of the new danger they stop their work and help Como-Tech.
One of the CT scientists says that they need 100 gallons of water that can be dropped into a small valley on Mars and see if the white faced monkeys can swim and breath and live on Mars for 1 day.
One of the ST scientists asked “how are you going to do it?” CT scientist says, “We will need a rocket. Once it touches something, it blows up and the water comes spilling out.” One of the CT scientists says “Do you have a white faced monkey that is trained to go to outer space?” Then one of the ST scientists says, “yes”. Then one of the CT scientists says, “O.K. Let's get to work.” It takes them two days to make the rocket and one day to add all the details to it.
Back in Argentina
The robots are spreading around. When they see Como-Tech Laboratory they look around inside. Robot 708 spots small little robots and turned one on. The little robot got super angry because it thought the robot 708 was a robber. The little robot turned big and tried to scare 708.
Back in Costa Rica
CT scientists look at Mars from a conservatory. They see the plants and water but where is the monkey? Then they see a black blur running around. They look closer at the picture. The blur was the monkey. The CT scientists were successful.
The big rocket was done too. Then one of the scientists from Secret Test says “How will we get people's attention?” “We will send raffle tickets to the Galapagos Islands” answered one of the CT scientists, “and all of the people who get the raffle tickets will win and will come to Costa Rica. On the bottom of the raffle tickets it will say, 'When you see the biggest rock, turn West, and you will find a test base. There, you will find a rocket and bring some seeds of corn and some animals.'”
“We will start making some of the raffle tickets today” said one of the CT scientists.
“How many of them will we make?” asked one of the ST scientists.
“79.”
Back to the Robots.
The little robot was number 78. When he saw a person he thought it was evil and started attacking her. Now he was like the other big robots. Then they went to turn on more and more and more robots. The other little robots started walking around. The numbers of the robots that were just turned on were 87, 110, 900, 3000, 79, 56, 17, 43, and 700.
Back in Costa Rica
4 days later, the people who won the raffle tickets came with some crops and some animals. “Come to the rocket ship now, the robots might be swimming here already.” said a Pearl Kite, one of the tested birds. Only 60 of the 79 raffle ticket winners came.
They blasted off to Mars and safely landed. One of the farmers from the Galapagos Islands kept the monkey as a pet.
~ The End ?~
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
wiki wednesday
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
I got my first article from the animal kingdom! The Chat is kind of cute, as far as birds go.
Cercomela is a genus of small passerine bird of the Old World flycatcher familychats. Muscicapidae. It comprises nine species of
Overview
These are typically birds of open dry habitats such as open scrub, stony or rocky areas and short grassland. The Familiar and Indian Chats are often found near human habitation.
This is a mainly African group, although the Blackstart’s range also extends just into the Middle East, and the Indian Chat is a south Asian species.
The typical Cercomela plumage is fairly plain grey or brown upperparts and paler underparts. The tail pattern is often distinctive, and may be useful in distinguishing the African species. The long legs and feet are black and the bill is short and straight. The sexes are similar in plumage.
These are terrestrial birds, most nesting on or near the ground, and laying up to four eggs in a cup nest; a few Cercomela species use rock crevices or walls as nest sites.
These birds are insectivores, and forage on the ground for their prey.
Most species have vocalisations including typical chat "chak-chak" or similar calls.
Most Cercomela chats are common within their ranges, but insufficient data exists to determine the status of the Sombre Chat in Ethiopia.
Species in taxonomic order
- Sickle-winged Chat, Cercomela sinuata
- Karoo Chat, Cercomela schlegelii
- Tractrac Chat, Cercomela tractrac
- Familiar Chat, Cercomela familiaris
- Brown-tailed Chat, Cercomela scotocerca
- Indian Chat, Cercomela fusca
- Sombre Chat, Cercomela dubia
- Blackstart, Cercomela melanura
- Moorland Chat, Cercomela sordida
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
out of juice
If you hadn't heard, we're experiencing an extreme cold snap in the Midwest. Some might say, "Get over it, it's Minnesota winter," but I beg to say that -11, independent of wind chill, is beyond winter. Temps like that are felt regularly only at the Poles.
Last night I had a long conversation with my friend Krista, who lives on an island in Washington state, in a cabin/cottage heated mostly by a wood-burning stove. Unlike Seattle, where Krista usually lives, Whidbey gets epic snowfalls that isolate homeowners, downing powerlines and freezing pipes, so she has needed to bring in water, flashlights and candles, and firewood. Just in case. At some point, Krista complained about the temperatures and about how she was so cold. Naturally, I inquired about how cold was cold, then offered the only natural response when she said, "28 degrees." I laughed like a crazy person. We'd all be wearing shorts if it was 28 degrees here.
It's so cold in Minnesota that my car wouldn't start this morning. And, yes, the car had been in the garage overnight. For half the day, I worried that the battery was dead, owing to someone (Winston) having left a door open. But truth is the cold was just too much for my nearly nine-year-old car to handle. Thank goodness we have another, more reliable, car 'cause nothing gives me a greater sense of panic than car problems.
Like my car, I'm out of juice. Most of my energy has been sapped just trying to stay warm. I try to remain optimistic, secure in the knowledge that in less that a week, I'll be in balmy New Jersey. Until then, the following may help:
~ a good night sleep
i.e., more than five hours
~ citrus
Have you tried this year's crop of sweet, juicy clementines from Spain yet?
~ holiday cheer
Over the next few days I plan to shelf job hunting for the year so that I might ring out the next few weeks with baking and general tinkering in the kitchen, writing holiday cards, and making resolutions.
You know, stuff that does the spirit good!
Last night I had a long conversation with my friend Krista, who lives on an island in Washington state, in a cabin/cottage heated mostly by a wood-burning stove. Unlike Seattle, where Krista usually lives, Whidbey gets epic snowfalls that isolate homeowners, downing powerlines and freezing pipes, so she has needed to bring in water, flashlights and candles, and firewood. Just in case. At some point, Krista complained about the temperatures and about how she was so cold. Naturally, I inquired about how cold was cold, then offered the only natural response when she said, "28 degrees." I laughed like a crazy person. We'd all be wearing shorts if it was 28 degrees here.
It's so cold in Minnesota that my car wouldn't start this morning. And, yes, the car had been in the garage overnight. For half the day, I worried that the battery was dead, owing to someone (Winston) having left a door open. But truth is the cold was just too much for my nearly nine-year-old car to handle. Thank goodness we have another, more reliable, car 'cause nothing gives me a greater sense of panic than car problems.
Like my car, I'm out of juice. Most of my energy has been sapped just trying to stay warm. I try to remain optimistic, secure in the knowledge that in less that a week, I'll be in balmy New Jersey. Until then, the following may help:
~ a good night sleep
i.e., more than five hours
~ citrus
Have you tried this year's crop of sweet, juicy clementines from Spain yet?
~ holiday cheer
Over the next few days I plan to shelf job hunting for the year so that I might ring out the next few weeks with baking and general tinkering in the kitchen, writing holiday cards, and making resolutions.
You know, stuff that does the spirit good!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
wiki wednesday
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
If you are a foreign film buff, you may be interested in Cinema of Ukraine.
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
If you are a foreign film buff, you may be interested in Cinema of Ukraine.
Cinema of Ukraine are motion-pictures created within the nation of Ukraine or by Ukrainian filmmakers abroad.One of the largest film production studios in Ukraine is the Dovzhenko Film Studios, located in Kiev {Kyiv), Ukraine. Cinergia is a major Ukrainian film distributor; it is the local distributor of films by Warner Bros., New Line CinemaMiramax Films. and
Notable films
- 1926 Ягодка любви / Love's Berries, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (silent film)
- 1928 Арсенал / Arsenal, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (silent film)
- 1928 Звенигора / Zvenigora, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (silent film)
- 1929 Человек с киноаппартом / Man with a Movie Camera, directed by Dziga Vertov (documentary film)
- 1930 Земля / Earth, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (silent film)
- 1932 Иван / Ivan, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (silent film)
- 1935 Аэроград / Aerograd, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (sci-fi)
- 1936 Наталка Полтавка / Natalka Poltavka, directed by Ivan Kavaleridze
- 1939 Щорс / Shchors, directed by Alexander Dovzhenko (documentary film)
- 1964 Тіні забутих предків / Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors, directed by Sergei Parajanov
- 1972 Білий птах з чорною ознакою / White Bird with Black Mark, directed by Yuriy Illyenko
- 1991 Голод-33 / Famine-33, directed by Oles Yanchuk
- 2003 Мамай / Mamay, directed by Oles Sanin
- 2005 Дрібний Дощ / Drizzle, directed by Heorhiy Deliyev
- 2006 Aurora (film), directed by Oksana Bairak
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
dear santa
A few nights ago, Winston composed a letter to Santa. It's pretty sweet.
You can see a sample of his writing here. Don't read it too closely, or you're apt to get a migraine. There is, for example, no punctuation, and he often writes his Bs as Ds. Scroll down for the translation.
Dear Santa,Since Winston wrote and wrote to fill an 8.5x11 sheet of paper with his letter, we bought him a notebook that he can use to journal. I think it's pretty funny that he got so caught up in writing the letter that he forgot to make his list.
I have been nice this year. If you want, I will be nicer. [N.B.: don't you love that?]
I have helped people and I have made everybody's days better. It's fun helping people.
I know that if I be a bad boy, I will get a bag of charcoal. But I am not going to get one this year. I am totally not going to this year. A mean kid would get it but I am not going to get one.
I am glad that you are here to think about the kins [sic]. I want a lot of toys. I like Santa.
Sincerely, from Winston
I truly hope Winston gets what he wants from Santa this year!
Friday, December 05, 2008
or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down
After John and I put the boys to bed last night, we holed up in the den to watch TV, as we are wont to do after a full day. The den is one of the most amazing rooms in our house. For one, it's nearly 700 square feet, which makes it large enough to accommodate exercise equipment and a place for John to work on his bikes, as well as give us ample room for a sofa, two armchairs, and a large-screen TV. Two, its location is somewhat unique—essentially, the room is the basement of our three-car attached garage.
So, we were sitting in the den, minding our own business (probably watching a crime drama), when we heard banging and thumping. Initially I thought that one of the boys was up—Simon, in particular, is prone to insomnia, and just earlier this week sleepwalked—so I waited to hear the toilet flush or the pitter-patter of little feet as they rounded the corner into the den. Nothing. More banging and thumping, which now sounded insistent and close. John and I pried ourselves off the couch to investigate.
The noise became louder as we neared the entry door that separates the house and garage. My first thought was that we had an animal—a very large animal from the sounds of it—in the garage. John peered through the window in the door and could see, at the top of the garage stairway, the steel entry door (that leads from the outside into the garage) bowing and flexing like something out of Videodrome. Clearly someone was trying to break into the garage.
John yelled for the intruder to get away, then pulled on shoes and coat to investigate while I called the police. The entire time John was outside, I wished that he had a baseball bat or somesuch so he could defend himself if attacked. I realize that the intruder was probably a kid, most likely looking for a car stereo to steal. I whispered to myself, Please, take everything in our garage.
At least that's what I tell myself because, heaven forbid, he should be a serial killer, playing into my well-developed neurosis. Living with mid-sized children offers many opportunities for someone to enter our house because they never close or lock the doors. And it drives me crazy!!*
On the occasion that someone was actually trying to break into our house, however, I had locked the door. Earlier that day I had been thinking that it was about time I got into the habit of locking the door. And, of course, now I'll never leave it unlocked—even when we're at home.
John didn't see anyone outside. The police drove through our alley to serve as a warning.
And by the light of morning, on the door's exterior, the area around the lock is clearly damaged, while on the interior, the door is bowed around the lock. The near-intruder was very determined, though I'm glad to say that he was unsuccessful.
I'm still a little creeped out, especially as it feeds into my very active imagination, but I'm definitely feeling lucky that we were awake and scared off the near-intruder before s/he (equal opportunity) got into our garage or house.
*Mea culpa—I rarely lock the entry door between the garage and house because I'm always schlepping in groceries or piles of library books, and I will be the first to admit that it's easier to open the unlocked door than it is to set everything down and fumble for the key.
So, we were sitting in the den, minding our own business (probably watching a crime drama), when we heard banging and thumping. Initially I thought that one of the boys was up—Simon, in particular, is prone to insomnia, and just earlier this week sleepwalked—so I waited to hear the toilet flush or the pitter-patter of little feet as they rounded the corner into the den. Nothing. More banging and thumping, which now sounded insistent and close. John and I pried ourselves off the couch to investigate.
The noise became louder as we neared the entry door that separates the house and garage. My first thought was that we had an animal—a very large animal from the sounds of it—in the garage. John peered through the window in the door and could see, at the top of the garage stairway, the steel entry door (that leads from the outside into the garage) bowing and flexing like something out of Videodrome. Clearly someone was trying to break into the garage.
John yelled for the intruder to get away, then pulled on shoes and coat to investigate while I called the police. The entire time John was outside, I wished that he had a baseball bat or somesuch so he could defend himself if attacked. I realize that the intruder was probably a kid, most likely looking for a car stereo to steal. I whispered to myself, Please, take everything in our garage.
At least that's what I tell myself because, heaven forbid, he should be a serial killer, playing into my well-developed neurosis. Living with mid-sized children offers many opportunities for someone to enter our house because they never close or lock the doors. And it drives me crazy!!*
On the occasion that someone was actually trying to break into our house, however, I had locked the door. Earlier that day I had been thinking that it was about time I got into the habit of locking the door. And, of course, now I'll never leave it unlocked—even when we're at home.
John didn't see anyone outside. The police drove through our alley to serve as a warning.
And by the light of morning, on the door's exterior, the area around the lock is clearly damaged, while on the interior, the door is bowed around the lock. The near-intruder was very determined, though I'm glad to say that he was unsuccessful.
I'm still a little creeped out, especially as it feeds into my very active imagination, but I'm definitely feeling lucky that we were awake and scared off the near-intruder before s/he (equal opportunity) got into our garage or house.
*Mea culpa—I rarely lock the entry door between the garage and house because I'm always schlepping in groceries or piles of library books, and I will be the first to admit that it's easier to open the unlocked door than it is to set everything down and fumble for the key.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
wiki wednesday
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
These Argentinean hooligans make British hooligans look like Boys Scouts.
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
These Argentinean hooligans make British hooligans look like Boys Scouts.
Los Borrachos del Tablon is the major hooligan group of the Club Atletico River Plate. They are considered the most violent and feared hooligan group in Argentina [1].Their rule of terror in Argentina began in 1996, when in a fight against Independiente fans, they killed one of them, and injured two [2]. Later, in a summer game between River and Boca, they were able to break the hurdles dividing them from the Boca Juniors fans (La Doce), injuring many of them, and killing one [3]. The worst killing happened on Highway 9, when they killed two Newell's Old Boys fans, and injured hundreds [4]. Finally, when eliminated by Sao Paulo in the 2005 Copa Libertadores they beat up the police outside the stadium [5], and did the same when eliminated by Libertad in Paraguay, although this time inside the stadium [6] During the 2006 World Cup, Los Borrachos del Tablon were the representatives of the Argentine fans, and minor disturbances made the German police rebuke their entrance to the stadiums. After a falling out between the two leaders (Alan Schlenker and Adrian Rousseau), there have been serious fights between groups loyal to the different leaders. The most serious one occurred on February 11, 2007, in what has been dubbed "The Battle of the Mud Huts," since it happened on that recreational section of the Estadio Monumental Antonio Vespucio Liberti, and which caused Argentine courts to suspend the stadium for three games. On May 6, 2007, the two groups fought again, this time just outside the stadium, with two people suffering serious knife-wounds, and many others lesser injuries [7].
celebrating
Yes, I know Thanksgiving was almost a week ago, but we had such a good holiday, and I haven't quite gotten it out of my mind. Besides, people are still asking me, out of politeness and as an icebreaker, how my Thanksgiving was so I'm inclined to document it here.
We spent a wonderful day with Steve and Lisa, some of our oldest friends (as a couple, that is). John and Steve, who knew of each other at Mac, which is to say they recognized each other from classes or parties, became friends while hanging at Dunn's after they graduated. They were apartment mates when John and I started seeing each other, and I remember quite clearly when Steve met Lisa. Their two beautiful daughters and our boys, beginning with M (10), are each 18 months apart. Occasionally, I will have the girls over for an afternoon and fantasize about what it would have been like to have had four children, evenly space in age, perfect balance of girls and boys, all playing harmoniously. Friends are more likely than sibs to play harmoniously, a scientific fact I have known since I was eight years old and desparately wished that my best friend Ann was, instead, my sister. Actually, I wanted her parents to be my parents, too, but I digress. On a note about sibs, Steve has none and Lisa is the youngest of thirteen. Talk about having different families of origin.
We've spent many Thanksgivings with the Cohen-Murphys. And, though there are countless stories—like the year we grilled the turkey and it cooked so fast that we never had time to make the mashed potatoes, which was just as well since there weren't any pan drippings for gravy—suffice to say, Steve and Lisa helped us celebrate the first Thanksgiving in our first house so there's always a special place for them on our Thanksgiving dance card.
This year our hosts roasted an organic, free-range turkey from northern Minnesota, and served mashed potatoes, comforting sweet potatoes (simply roasted with onions, olive oil, salt and pepper), and green beans and Brussels sprouts tossed with bacon. John and I contributed Southern Cornbread Dressing from the 1957 Columbus (GA) Junior League Cookbook (my mother in law's recipe) and my Grandma Hattie's pumpkin pie (we boosted the spices by adding cinnamon, nutmeg, and dried orange peel to the recipe's allspice and healthy teaspoon of ginger), which was truly awesome even though I forgot to bring the whipped cream. Everyone would tell me that the pie didn't need whipped cream, but I wanted whipped cream and now I have to eat the whipped cream without pie. Oh well—there are worse things in life.
We arrived before noon. I have no idea what time we ate or what time we pushed away from the table, but I know we put our feet up and drank digestives (scotch and Irish whiskey, with the Glens widely represented, you know, Glenfidditch, Glenlivet, Ethelglen...yes, I made up the last one but I think it would taste bold and peaty, if not a little harsh) until nine or ten p.m. For almost four hours I was aware of the day having been long, but we were so comfortable. I would have accepted a bed had it been offered.
I like to think of the entire four-day weekend as Thanksgiving. We celebrated our good fortunes—our health, a roof over our head, and much more. We relaxed, slept, rested up for the push to Christmas, read, cooked, and finished a major school project. Winston got a much-needed, but seriously botched, hair cut. We took the boys out for Chinese and used-book browsing at Sixth Chamber. We had a bagel and lox brunch, replete with mimosas, with another family on Sunday, and unloaded on them a disassembled armoire that had been taking up precious space in our garage. All in all, a very successful, celebratory weekend.
Bring on Christmas and all the fixings!
Saturday, November 29, 2008
so true, so true
Since becoming a parent, every Calvin and Hobbes strip rings with a new truth I couldn't possibly have seen twenty years ago.
Winston and I read this in one of the many C&H omnibus collections we own. I found it online here. I knew Calvin's transmogrifier would make good one day!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Happy Turkey Day—in advance
I can tell nothing much is going to be accomplished today—I'm feeling like I'm already on vacation from the job search and the housekeeping projects. And, I am ready to celebrate!!In addition to the crappy global economy and an overall profound need for social change, as well as the stress from an election year, 2008 has not been a good year. In fact, it may go down in my personal history as an Annus Horribilis. Sweating through the sale of the company I worked for, losing my job, having a huge fallout with my parents, John losing his job, not being able to find work in the industry where, for over fifteen years, I have demonstrated passion and competency—all qualify the year as a veritable disaster.
But I'm here to tell you that I'm glad the year is drawing to a close. In all sincerity, I hope that I've kept my sense of humor, as well as a little faith so that I may be secure in the knowledge that things will turn around. Change is coming, and already I feel a palpable sense of relief. Also, I know that life hands us challenges, but, in the cosmic scheme of things, please could there be many years between myself and the Next Big Thing. Please, oh please, oh please.
Thanksgiving kicks off a time of year when, despite the occasional greed, gluttony, and general excess, I feel very alive. This year is no exception. I am so very, very thankful for the kindness and support my friends have shown me through difficult times. I am so very, very thankful to have a wonderfully understanding and loving husband. And I am so very, very blessed with beautiful, smart, caring children. The things that I have to be thankful for so outweigh the terrible.
All my best—to you and yours—for a joyful, restful Thanksgiving!
wiki wednesday
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
Today's random pick is a really cool music entry. Has anyone heard of this? I'm guessing not, since it's Nu Folk, but I like the idea behind the collaboration. Can you imagine The Police and Duran Duran, or The Killers and Kings of Leon, or Sharon Jones and Amy Winehouse (okay, I can kind of see this one) recording swapped songs?
This is a split EP, featuring a side each from Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly and Dave House. Each artist contributes one of their own songs, as well as a cover of one of their counterpart's songs. It was released in a limited quantity - only 500 were ever pressed - of 10" white vinyl, and was a joint release by each artist's respective record label. This record became the first part in the Gravity DIP split 10" series.[edit] Side A: Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly
- The Chronicles of a Bohemian Teenager: Part 1
- Weeknights and Weekends (originally by Dave House)
[edit] Side B: Dave House
- Shiver
- A Song For (originally by Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly)
This 2000s folk album-related article is a stub. You can help Wikipedia by expanding it.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
lucky day
On Tuesday mornings, I volunteer in Winston’s classroom. Typically, I work individually on reading skills with a handful of learners. Sometimes Ms B has a project that needs extra help, so I lend a hand with tasks such as checking in math homework or tracing geometric patterns that resemble Moroccan tiles onto paper plates, which is what I did last week.
For the past few weeks, when I entered the blue atrium—the large common area around which the five first-grade classrooms are arranged—a group of sixth grade girls have been receiving Indonesian dance lessons. Now, I’m all for cultural exchange, but the music was haunting (to my untrained Western ears), and I had to negotiate my way through a swarm of twelve-year-old girls. Today, I was relieved that the soundtrack for a Wes Craven movie was noticeably absent and confidently entered the atrium to see, instead, three of the first grade classes sitting on the floor—okay, most were flopping on the floor, like bacon frying in a pan. Also, chairs had been arranged for parents. Wading through the layers of confusion, I realized I’d missed a note from the teacher, saying there was an event for parents to attend.
I really hate when that happens.
I took a seat and settled in to watch a “talent show.” Basically, twenty or so kids performed. Some played musical instruments—violin, piano, cello. Others danced or did tumbling. Two kids did magic tricks. A few boys told jokes, the likes of which you’d expect—“Why did Tigger lift the toilet seat? He was looking for Pooh”—but were expertly executed and pretty funny.
Most of the performances were agonizingly awful, which is as it should be. These kids are just starting to learn their forte. Still, I get verklempt whenever I go to school programs. It’s not difficult for me to start feeling nostalgic about singing in elementary school chorus concerts, dancing in ballet recitals, or playing violin in concerts or for the school musical’s pit orchestra. All the emotions are present—the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, the exhilaration of successfully hitting that part of the piece that we never managed to in practice, the relief when the last note was played. The bravery of those six- and seven-year-olds, standing before their peers, who can be pretty judgmental even at this young age, was not lost on me, as I discreetly caught tears escaping the corners of my eye. Ultimately, I found the whole performance, well, uplifting.
Winston did not perform, and when I asked him about the program, he said he didn’t have any talent. My goal before the next performance date is to help him find his talent—teach him a song on the recorder or how to do a sun salutation, anything that he can share.
Before I left the school building, I had a date with the Lost and Found. A few weeks ago, we bought Winston a new pair of trail runners, which he lost on the very first day he took them to school. Digging through the extra-large Rubbermaid bins, grossed out by the piles of limp sweatshirts, dirty socks, and stiff mittens and hats from last winter, I pulled out the first hard item my hand struck. Lo and behold, a size 11, greenish-brown Merrill shoe, and then another. What was lost is found!
Then, because we can’t have too many strokes of luck in the day, I got sick from eating a marginal leftovers. No, I am, lucky—John made sure I was allowed to recuperate, while fixing dinner and taking care of the boys.
A lucky day, even in unexpected ways!
For the past few weeks, when I entered the blue atrium—the large common area around which the five first-grade classrooms are arranged—a group of sixth grade girls have been receiving Indonesian dance lessons. Now, I’m all for cultural exchange, but the music was haunting (to my untrained Western ears), and I had to negotiate my way through a swarm of twelve-year-old girls. Today, I was relieved that the soundtrack for a Wes Craven movie was noticeably absent and confidently entered the atrium to see, instead, three of the first grade classes sitting on the floor—okay, most were flopping on the floor, like bacon frying in a pan. Also, chairs had been arranged for parents. Wading through the layers of confusion, I realized I’d missed a note from the teacher, saying there was an event for parents to attend.
I really hate when that happens.
I took a seat and settled in to watch a “talent show.” Basically, twenty or so kids performed. Some played musical instruments—violin, piano, cello. Others danced or did tumbling. Two kids did magic tricks. A few boys told jokes, the likes of which you’d expect—“Why did Tigger lift the toilet seat? He was looking for Pooh”—but were expertly executed and pretty funny.
Most of the performances were agonizingly awful, which is as it should be. These kids are just starting to learn their forte. Still, I get verklempt whenever I go to school programs. It’s not difficult for me to start feeling nostalgic about singing in elementary school chorus concerts, dancing in ballet recitals, or playing violin in concerts or for the school musical’s pit orchestra. All the emotions are present—the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, the exhilaration of successfully hitting that part of the piece that we never managed to in practice, the relief when the last note was played. The bravery of those six- and seven-year-olds, standing before their peers, who can be pretty judgmental even at this young age, was not lost on me, as I discreetly caught tears escaping the corners of my eye. Ultimately, I found the whole performance, well, uplifting.
Winston did not perform, and when I asked him about the program, he said he didn’t have any talent. My goal before the next performance date is to help him find his talent—teach him a song on the recorder or how to do a sun salutation, anything that he can share.
Before I left the school building, I had a date with the Lost and Found. A few weeks ago, we bought Winston a new pair of trail runners, which he lost on the very first day he took them to school. Digging through the extra-large Rubbermaid bins, grossed out by the piles of limp sweatshirts, dirty socks, and stiff mittens and hats from last winter, I pulled out the first hard item my hand struck. Lo and behold, a size 11, greenish-brown Merrill shoe, and then another. What was lost is found!
Then, because we can’t have too many strokes of luck in the day, I got sick from eating a marginal leftovers. No, I am, lucky—John made sure I was allowed to recuperate, while fixing dinner and taking care of the boys.
A lucky day, even in unexpected ways!
Monday, November 24, 2008
get caught reading
Our family reads a lot. Our home is set to bursting with books. In addition to the full bookcases and overflowing bookshelves that are the centerpiece of every room in the house, piles of books have insinuated themselves onto almost every surface. Truthfully, books are my leading home accessory.
John and I each read to a boy every day; and each of the boys reads to us every day. Still, I have yet to see either boys pick up a chapter book and read independently. Granted, Winston is young (6.5), and for that matter, Simon is still technically an emerging reader. But, the boys attend a snooty [public] school [please read that with a modicum of sarcasm] where average or at-age-level is considered an underachievement. And, they're boys, who, well-funded studies show, come to reading slower than girls do. We've looked at physical factors—there's no dyslexia (we're watching since there is a strong family history) and vision is good. What next?
With the goal of strengthening my third grader's reading skills, I did a little online research. Interestingly, almost all of the first page of Google hits referred to this list of ten ways to improve reading. Without even clicking on the link, you'll know what I'm talking about. I'm sure you've seen this list on a pamphlet at ECFE or comparable parent education classes. It's on bookmarks at the library and on posters at the pediatrician's office.
John and I are already doing all the things we apparently should be doing, per the list, that is. All but one—have family reading time. So over the weekend, we introduced a new family activity—fifteen minutes of independent reading. We each selected a book and took up a spot on the sofa or in cozy chairs in our living room. (Top, Simon chose an anthology, True Sea Stories. Above, John is reading Redemption Song: The Ballad of Joe Strummer, a biography by music journalist Chris Salewicz, while Winston tucks into Slinky Scaly Snakes.)
For my money, fifteen minutes isn't enough reading time, for me, mostly because my fantasy revolves around a twenty-four or more hours of uninterrupted reading. The time and place was perfect for the boys, though, and both enjoyed sharing what they had read when our time was done. I don't think it will be long before this habit stretches into a longer chunk of time. Until such time, I vow to be patient and encouraging.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
wiki wednesday
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
I got a geographical entry today. There are 43 summits in the U.S. called Wildcat Mountain—and six states have more than two summits by that name. Fascinating!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
I got a geographical entry today. There are 43 summits in the U.S. called Wildcat Mountain—and six states have more than two summits by that name. Fascinating!
Wildcat Mountain is the name of 43 summits in the United States, including:
- One of 43 mountain summits in the United States:
- Wildcat Mountain (Alabama)
- Wildcat Mountain (Conway County, Arkansas)
- Wildcat Mountain (Saline County, Arkansas)
- Wildcat Mountain (Sebastian County, Arkansas)
- Wildcat Mountain (Fresno County, California)
- Wildcat Mountain (Mariposa County, California)-1
- Wildcat Mountain (Mariposa County, California)-2
- Wildcat Mountain (Sonoma County, California)
- Wildcat Mountain (Douglas County, Colorado)
- Wildcat Mountain (Pitkin County, Colorado)
- Wildcat Mountain (Connecticut)
- Wildcat Mountain (Georgia)
- Wildcat Mountain (Laurel County, Kentucky)
- Wildcat Mountain (Powell County, Kentucky)
- Wildcat Mountain (Massachusetts)
- Wildcat Mountain (Iron County, Missouri)
- Wildcat Mountain (Shannon County, Missouri)
- Wildcat Mountain (Flathead County, Montana)
- Wildcat Mountain (Stillwater County, Montana)
- Wildcat Mountain (Buncombe County, North Carolina)
- Wildcat Mountain (Cherokee County, North Carolina)
- Wildcat Mountain (Davidson County, North Carolina)
- Wildcat Mountain (Nebraska)
- Wildcat Mountain (New Hampshire)
- Wildcat Mountain (Orange County, New York)
- Wildcat Mountain (Ulster County, New York)
- Wildcat Mountain (Oklahoma)
- Wildcat Mountain (Clackamas County, Oregon)
- Wildcat Mountain (Crook County, Oregon)
- Wildcat Mountain (Linn County, Oregon)
- Wildcat Mountain (Washington County, Oregon)
- Wildcat Mountain (Pennsylvania)
- Wildcat Mountain (Burnet County, Texas)
- Wildcat Mountain (Coke County, Texas)
- Wildcat Mountain (Edwards County, Texas)
- Wildcat Mountain (Nolan County, Texas)
- Wildcat Mountain (Utah)
- Wildcat Mountain (Botetourt County, Virginia)-1
- Wildcat Mountain (Botetourt County, Virginia)-2
- Wildcat Mountain (Fauquier County, Virginia)
- Wildcat Mountain (Clallam County, Washington)
- Wildcat Mountain (Okanogan County, Washington)
- Wildcat Mountain (Wisconsin)
- Other:
- Wildcat Mountain Ski Area in New Hampshire
- Battle of Camp Wildcat (Battle of Wildcat Mountain), an American Civil War battle in Laurel County, Kentucky
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
still here
When I last made an appearance here, our router was getting ready to die. John upgraded our high-speed internet service so finally, as of today, it should be zippier. However, I have yet to see evidence of high speed anything. My “connection” to the web is tenuous, which is maddening. My favorite sites don’t load fast enough so I’m wasting fabulous amounts of time on daily “housekeeping.” Forget about using the internet to job search—what a joke.
We bought a new router, but John is having problems getting it to do what it’s supposed to do, despite the simplicity of running it—plug it in, load some software, and go. SLOW food, SLOW cycling, SLOW lifestyle all good, yes. SLOW computer, not so much. Itsa making me CRAZY.
I suppose I should also lament my dependence upon the internet. But I truly do think it was the most genius thing invented. It has become my lifeblood for staying connected to friends (and not vis a vis Facebook either, but through forums—my communities, larger than tribe), for looking for a job (can’t tell you the last time I found a job in the newspaper), and for entertainment when TV fails to hold my attention (which is often, despite having more than 200 cable channels).
Also, new topic. I’m in excruciating pain. Don’t know what I did to my neck and shoulder, but I’m experiencing a sharp, searing pain that runs down the right side of my neck, radiates over my shoulder, and extends back through my scapula. My amateur diagnosis is—drum roll—inactivity. Since the weather changed from warm fall to cold fall, I’ve not been on my bike, and I certainly haven’t expanded my yoga practice as intended. And it kills me that daily exercise is necessary to keep from completely falling apart. For a few years, between pregnancies, I worked with a personal trainer, Mia, who saved my sanity many times over. She used to say about exercise, "You don't have to love it. You just have to do it." So true. So tru.
I felt somewhat better—just a dull ache—after yoga on Sunday. Then, I went and raked and bagged leaves, and dumped forty bags at the compost site. There is no comfortable way to sleep, and I can’t turn my head. Before you tell me to shut up already and haul myself to the doctor, I am going to see a massage therapist later this week. Until then, I just want to complain here and wallow in it a smidge—sometimes it’s like that, you know? Thanks for bearing with me.
Oh, gotta go. Planning to indulge in some retail therapy. I just know that I’m going to feel so good spending money (I don’t really have right now) (okay, I do have this kind of money to spend) (I’m just trying to get used to spending less) on someone else’s behalf. My sister’s birthday is in ten days and this year, for once, I’d like her to be able to open a present on her special day—it’s a big one for her!! Besides, it really does make me feel better to expend good energy and deeds toward someone else.
UPDATE: The new router is working AND I'm getting a signal in the farthest reaches of the house, where just hours ago we had no signal. This means that I can surf the web and blog while I'm watching TV. Suddenly my life has improved. I'm kind of excited by the possibility of conducting my job search from the coach tomorrow while I'm watching Sex in the City episodes.
We bought a new router, but John is having problems getting it to do what it’s supposed to do, despite the simplicity of running it—plug it in, load some software, and go. SLOW food, SLOW cycling, SLOW lifestyle all good, yes. SLOW computer, not so much. Itsa making me CRAZY.
I suppose I should also lament my dependence upon the internet. But I truly do think it was the most genius thing invented. It has become my lifeblood for staying connected to friends (and not vis a vis Facebook either, but through forums—my communities, larger than tribe), for looking for a job (can’t tell you the last time I found a job in the newspaper), and for entertainment when TV fails to hold my attention (which is often, despite having more than 200 cable channels).
Also, new topic. I’m in excruciating pain. Don’t know what I did to my neck and shoulder, but I’m experiencing a sharp, searing pain that runs down the right side of my neck, radiates over my shoulder, and extends back through my scapula. My amateur diagnosis is—drum roll—inactivity. Since the weather changed from warm fall to cold fall, I’ve not been on my bike, and I certainly haven’t expanded my yoga practice as intended. And it kills me that daily exercise is necessary to keep from completely falling apart. For a few years, between pregnancies, I worked with a personal trainer, Mia, who saved my sanity many times over. She used to say about exercise, "You don't have to love it. You just have to do it." So true. So tru.
I felt somewhat better—just a dull ache—after yoga on Sunday. Then, I went and raked and bagged leaves, and dumped forty bags at the compost site. There is no comfortable way to sleep, and I can’t turn my head. Before you tell me to shut up already and haul myself to the doctor, I am going to see a massage therapist later this week. Until then, I just want to complain here and wallow in it a smidge—sometimes it’s like that, you know? Thanks for bearing with me.
Oh, gotta go. Planning to indulge in some retail therapy. I just know that I’m going to feel so good spending money (I don’t really have right now) (okay, I do have this kind of money to spend) (I’m just trying to get used to spending less) on someone else’s behalf. My sister’s birthday is in ten days and this year, for once, I’d like her to be able to open a present on her special day—it’s a big one for her!! Besides, it really does make me feel better to expend good energy and deeds toward someone else.
UPDATE: The new router is working AND I'm getting a signal in the farthest reaches of the house, where just hours ago we had no signal. This means that I can surf the web and blog while I'm watching TV. Suddenly my life has improved. I'm kind of excited by the possibility of conducting my job search from the coach tomorrow while I'm watching Sex in the City episodes.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
wiki wednesday
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
Today's random article is a double-header. I got a planet named after a singer, with whom I was unfamiliar so I've included her entry as well. Pretty slim info, but fun, nonetheless.
First, the planet:
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
Today's random article is a double-header. I got a planet named after a singer, with whom I was unfamiliar so I've included her entry as well. Pretty slim info, but fun, nonetheless.
First, the planet:
Now, the singer:677 Aaltje is a minor planet orbiting the Sun.
It is named after the Dutch singer Aaltje Noordewier-Reddingius.
Aaltje Noordewier-Reddingius (1 September 1868, Deurne - 6 April 1949, Hilversum) was a noted Dutch soprano and teacher.[1]She was a mentor to singers such as Aafje Heynis and Laurens Bogtman.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
doing
reading
Sara Roahen’s delicious stories of New Orleans foodways in Gumbo Tales have me constantly craving crawfish boil (with super juicy kielbasa and incendiary fresh corn cob chunks). Raphaella Barker's Summertime, a follow up to Hens Dancing, provides much-needed light reading. And, I'm hankering to start a new book. Here are some options from the pile that towers over my reading area: Alexander McCall Smith's Friends, Lovers, Chocolate (borrowed), Rivka Galchen's critically acclaimed Atmospheric Disturbances (something new), or Rebecca Stott's Ghostwalk (my book group's December selection).
watching
On Sunday night, John and I had a marathon movie session late into the night. It's been a long time since I've been awake past 1 a.m.—by choice. We finally saw Knocked Up, in which Katherine Heigl's character is celebrating her promotion from "E" producer to on-camera presenter and has a one-night stand with Seth Rogan's slacker character and gets pregnant. She decides to keep the baby, though it's hard to say why except to justify the plot. I thought it was charming and funny, and though the ending was utterly predictable, there was something extra winsome about the Rogan's character. We also saw War, Inc., with John Cusack, which is basically Point Grosse Blank, but in a fictitious Central Asian country (full synopsis). Cusack reprises his role as a spy whose cover is chair of a bogus trade mission to Turaqistan. Wars are waged between corporations rather than governments, and the trade fair is meant to improve the PR of the corporation, Tamerlane, leading this war. I love John Cusack and will see every movie he's in or behind. Hilary Duff is hysterically funny as an over-the-top oversexed teenage pop star, and Marisa Tomei is beyond cute and intelligent as a journalist for an Atlantic Monthly–type magazine.
knitting
Both the front and back of John’s roll neck sweater are done. I love working with Lopi. It’s such a forgiving yarn, and since I’m knitting on size 10 needles, it’s going pretty quickly. The next step is to (neatly) sew the shoulders together so that I may put the stitches lining the armhole back onto a needle. Then, the sleeves will be knitted directly onto the sweater, from the top down, a technique that has intrigued me for some time, but that I've never tried. Also, I am attempting to knit mittens for the boys. Honestly, I'm struggling with the mittens and really haven't progressed more than a row or two. The mittens are knit on three double-pointed needles, and, because the needles are short and tiny (size 5), the whole endeavor is really awkward. I'll give it one more try before surrendering to a class (which would be fun, don't get me wrong). Anyone have any tips for this kind of knitting?
eating
We’re gorging on sweet and tasty and local Honeycrisp apples while supplies last. On Sunday night I braised beef shanks, which resemble veal shanks but for a fraction of the price. Plus, beef shanks have less connective tissue than other bone-in cuts—I’m looking at you short ribs—which the boyfolk prefer. Eaten over potato puree with disturbing amounts of half-and-half and topped with a horseradish-spiked dollop of crème fraiche, not diet food but utterly soul warming.
drinking
Bell's Brewery Best Brown Ale, a winter seasonal beer that is vibrant and nutty and sweet. Newcastle Smewcastle. Trust me when I say that this brew will convert you if you aren't already a beer lover. We'll be drinking as much as we can, again, while supplies last. And tea—I'm drinking loads of decaf English Breakfast (yes, I know this is an oxymoron), taken white, with the least amount of sugar I can get away with.
planning
Earlier today I booked our flight to the East Coast for Christmas. Because neither John nor I are beholden to an employer (at the moment), and because the boys have two weeks of vacation around the holidays, we’ll be in Princeton for a solid week. I can’t wait—I need out of Dodge. At least one day will be spent in The City. We’ll take the train in, eat bagels boiled in NYC tap water and visit the Natural History Museum.
what are you doing?
Sara Roahen’s delicious stories of New Orleans foodways in Gumbo Tales have me constantly craving crawfish boil (with super juicy kielbasa and incendiary fresh corn cob chunks). Raphaella Barker's Summertime, a follow up to Hens Dancing, provides much-needed light reading. And, I'm hankering to start a new book. Here are some options from the pile that towers over my reading area: Alexander McCall Smith's Friends, Lovers, Chocolate (borrowed), Rivka Galchen's critically acclaimed Atmospheric Disturbances (something new), or Rebecca Stott's Ghostwalk (my book group's December selection).
watching
On Sunday night, John and I had a marathon movie session late into the night. It's been a long time since I've been awake past 1 a.m.—by choice. We finally saw Knocked Up, in which Katherine Heigl's character is celebrating her promotion from "E" producer to on-camera presenter and has a one-night stand with Seth Rogan's slacker character and gets pregnant. She decides to keep the baby, though it's hard to say why except to justify the plot. I thought it was charming and funny, and though the ending was utterly predictable, there was something extra winsome about the Rogan's character. We also saw War, Inc., with John Cusack, which is basically Point Grosse Blank, but in a fictitious Central Asian country (full synopsis). Cusack reprises his role as a spy whose cover is chair of a bogus trade mission to Turaqistan. Wars are waged between corporations rather than governments, and the trade fair is meant to improve the PR of the corporation, Tamerlane, leading this war. I love John Cusack and will see every movie he's in or behind. Hilary Duff is hysterically funny as an over-the-top oversexed teenage pop star, and Marisa Tomei is beyond cute and intelligent as a journalist for an Atlantic Monthly–type magazine.
knitting
Both the front and back of John’s roll neck sweater are done. I love working with Lopi. It’s such a forgiving yarn, and since I’m knitting on size 10 needles, it’s going pretty quickly. The next step is to (neatly) sew the shoulders together so that I may put the stitches lining the armhole back onto a needle. Then, the sleeves will be knitted directly onto the sweater, from the top down, a technique that has intrigued me for some time, but that I've never tried. Also, I am attempting to knit mittens for the boys. Honestly, I'm struggling with the mittens and really haven't progressed more than a row or two. The mittens are knit on three double-pointed needles, and, because the needles are short and tiny (size 5), the whole endeavor is really awkward. I'll give it one more try before surrendering to a class (which would be fun, don't get me wrong). Anyone have any tips for this kind of knitting?
eating
We’re gorging on sweet and tasty and local Honeycrisp apples while supplies last. On Sunday night I braised beef shanks, which resemble veal shanks but for a fraction of the price. Plus, beef shanks have less connective tissue than other bone-in cuts—I’m looking at you short ribs—which the boyfolk prefer. Eaten over potato puree with disturbing amounts of half-and-half and topped with a horseradish-spiked dollop of crème fraiche, not diet food but utterly soul warming.
drinking
Bell's Brewery Best Brown Ale, a winter seasonal beer that is vibrant and nutty and sweet. Newcastle Smewcastle. Trust me when I say that this brew will convert you if you aren't already a beer lover. We'll be drinking as much as we can, again, while supplies last. And tea—I'm drinking loads of decaf English Breakfast (yes, I know this is an oxymoron), taken white, with the least amount of sugar I can get away with.
planning
Earlier today I booked our flight to the East Coast for Christmas. Because neither John nor I are beholden to an employer (at the moment), and because the boys have two weeks of vacation around the holidays, we’ll be in Princeton for a solid week. I can’t wait—I need out of Dodge. At least one day will be spent in The City. We’ll take the train in, eat bagels boiled in NYC tap water and visit the Natural History Museum.
what are you doing?
Thursday, November 06, 2008
everywhere a sign
I saw these instructions recently in a public restroom. The implications are endless—and pretty funny.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
wiki wednesday
It's time for Wiki Wednesday!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
I got a newspaper, The Politico. How appropos for a publishing wonk—and for the day!
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
I got a newspaper, The Politico. How appropos for a publishing wonk—and for the day!
The Politico is an American political journalism organization based in Washington, D.C. that distributes its content via television, the Internet, newspaper, and radio. Its coverage includes Congress, Washington lobbying, and the 2008 presidential election.[1] It was a sponsor of the 2008 Republican Presidential Candidates debate at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library on May 3, 2007 and the 2008 Democratic Presidential Candidates debate at the Kodak Theater on January 31, 2008.
John F. Harris and Jim VandeHei left The Washington Post to become The Politico's editor-in-chief and executive editor, respectively. The Politico is financed by Robert Allbritton, chairman and chief executive of Allbritton Communications, which owns television stations in Washington and elsewhere, and is an affiliate of Disney-owned ABC. Frederick J. Ryan Jr., former Assistant to U.S. President Ronald Reagan[2], and currently chairman of the Board of Trustees of the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library Foundation, is president and CEO of The Politico.[3]
On September 22, 2008, the Drudge Report teased the following statement: "POLITICO TO ANNOUNCE EXPANSION [AFTER ELECTION]... DEVELOPING...". The September 23, 2008 edition of the New York Times carried a detailed piece on the possible expansion. [4]
Contents
[hide][edit] Distribution and content
The newspaper has a circulation of approximately 25,000, distributed for free on Capitol Hill and elsewhere in Washington, D.C.[1] The newspaper prints three issues a week while Congress is in session, and sometimes publishes one issue a week when Congress is in recess. [5]
The Politico is a partner with several news outlets who co-report and distribute its video, print, and audio content. Partners include CBS News,[6] Allbritton Communications's ABC stations WJLA and KTUL,[7] radio station WTOP,[8], and Yahoo! News election coverage.
Politico journalists covering political campaigns plan to carry a video camera with them to every assignment,[7] and journalists are encouraged to promote their work elsewhere.[8] Though The Politico seeks to break the traditional journalism mold, it expects to initially make much of its money from Washington D.C.-focused newspaper advertising.[9]
[edit] Mistakes
On March 22, 2007, Politico writer Ben Smith erroneously reported via blog[10]John Edwards would suspend his presidential campaign in the wake of his wife's cancer recurrence, a claim that was headlined by the Drudge Report and cable news channels including MSNBC.[11] Smith later apologized for relying on a single anonymous source for the story.[12] that
happy happy day
Before I went to bed last night, I updated my Facebook page with my status:
I am overwhelmed by the significance of this historic event—the United States elected its first black President. Heck, the whole election has been epic. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to see if I'm dreaming because, this year, I voted for a woman and for a black man for president. But, what blows me away even more—and, of this, there can be no doubt—we elected the best candidate to lead our nation. Obama is competent, steady, diplomatic, charismatic.
Not going to say much more because I'm still processing, but it's a happy, happy day!
ecstatic, relieved, and—dare I say it—hopeful
I am overwhelmed by the significance of this historic event—the United States elected its first black President. Heck, the whole election has been epic. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to see if I'm dreaming because, this year, I voted for a woman and for a black man for president. But, what blows me away even more—and, of this, there can be no doubt—we elected the best candidate to lead our nation. Obama is competent, steady, diplomatic, charismatic.
Not going to say much more because I'm still processing, but it's a happy, happy day!
Monday, November 03, 2008
weekend report
Sometimes pictures are more effective (and more expedient!) than words.
The Great Wall of China, as expressed in leaves (the boys did all the raking)
Pumpkin carving (I wish I could give the six-year-old credit for the inexpert carve job, but that's all my doing)
Roasted pumpkin seeds (my favorites: olive oil, kosher salt, Golden Fig's maple pepper)
Farmers market haul (clockwise from front): Jerusalem artichokes, red onions, carrots, purple Brussels sprouts (tucked into the carrots, middle), rainbow chard, gigantic Brussels sprouts (no, that's not a baby cabbage), Yukon Golds (not pictured).
Simon's first time curling, St. Paul Curling Club
Sunday, November 02, 2008
aw mom you're just jealous
it's the Beastie Boys!
Adam Horovitz, Sydney, and Simon at the Augsburg Obama Rally, 11/1/08
Adam Horovitz, Sydney, and Simon at the Augsburg Obama Rally, 11/1/08
Friday, October 31, 2008
time capsule
Today while destroying some household records, I stumbled upon a shoebox filled with old checks. Do you remember writing checks? I mean, writing checks for something other than the rare, odd utility bill that doesn't currently have an e-pay option?
The small stacks of checks in this box, neatly bundled with purple rubberbands, sticky notes protruding with some arcane organizational system (what was the method for my madness?), covered about six months, overlapping 1996 and 1997. Back in those days, I wrote checks for everything. Everywhere. And in any amount. For example, there were checks written to Dunn Brothers, $2.97 for a cuppa and an almond croissant. I never carried cash, especially not after having been held up at gunpoint in the late 80s (you'd think I'd have gotten over it in fifteen years time, but, there you have it).
During this same time—1996—my then-manager was visiting from New York, where you’ve never been able to write a check, anywhere for anything. She was making a purchase and I challenged her to write a check. Needless to say, she was floored by how easy it was—and, she wasn't asked for ID on her out-of-state check/bank.
Those were the good 'ol days. Now you can’t write a check anywhere in the Twin Cities. So there was a special novelty to looking at these paper slips before they went through the shredder. Talk about time capsule: countless checks were written to the City of St. Paul for either $16 or $32 (pre-kid rounds of golf at the Highland 9), Green Mill (clam and garlic pizza and a delivery tip), Four Seasons (a wine shop and deli, no longer in business), Monte Carlo for $30 (two scotch and sodas for John, two vodka or gin tonics, season depending, for me), NSP (local gas and power, only $200 in February 1997), cable for $35 (no premium channels, digital service, or DVR), and Bober Drug. There were also a few checks written to people, the connection to whom I cannot remember.
One check caught my attention: $6,549.37 made out to Cash, on October 8, 1996. I scratched my head and mulled it for awhile, trying to figure out under what circumstance we would write a check so large for cash—and then it came to me. It was the down payment (minus earnest money) for the first home that John and I purchased.
The next chunk of checks backed up my theory—some were written to the guy who refinished our floors, another was to Best Buy for a TV (27") that would replace three (when stacked, each served as an antennae, allowing us to get a range of three channels per TV). Those were the days...
Don’t ever let me get away with saying that I’m not just a little sentimental.
The small stacks of checks in this box, neatly bundled with purple rubberbands, sticky notes protruding with some arcane organizational system (what was the method for my madness?), covered about six months, overlapping 1996 and 1997. Back in those days, I wrote checks for everything. Everywhere. And in any amount. For example, there were checks written to Dunn Brothers, $2.97 for a cuppa and an almond croissant. I never carried cash, especially not after having been held up at gunpoint in the late 80s (you'd think I'd have gotten over it in fifteen years time, but, there you have it).
During this same time—1996—my then-manager was visiting from New York, where you’ve never been able to write a check, anywhere for anything. She was making a purchase and I challenged her to write a check. Needless to say, she was floored by how easy it was—and, she wasn't asked for ID on her out-of-state check/bank.
Those were the good 'ol days. Now you can’t write a check anywhere in the Twin Cities. So there was a special novelty to looking at these paper slips before they went through the shredder. Talk about time capsule: countless checks were written to the City of St. Paul for either $16 or $32 (pre-kid rounds of golf at the Highland 9), Green Mill (clam and garlic pizza and a delivery tip), Four Seasons (a wine shop and deli, no longer in business), Monte Carlo for $30 (two scotch and sodas for John, two vodka or gin tonics, season depending, for me), NSP (local gas and power, only $200 in February 1997), cable for $35 (no premium channels, digital service, or DVR), and Bober Drug. There were also a few checks written to people, the connection to whom I cannot remember.
One check caught my attention: $6,549.37 made out to Cash, on October 8, 1996. I scratched my head and mulled it for awhile, trying to figure out under what circumstance we would write a check so large for cash—and then it came to me. It was the down payment (minus earnest money) for the first home that John and I purchased.
The next chunk of checks backed up my theory—some were written to the guy who refinished our floors, another was to Best Buy for a TV (27") that would replace three (when stacked, each served as an antennae, allowing us to get a range of three channels per TV). Those were the days...
Don’t ever let me get away with saying that I’m not just a little sentimental.
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