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.

With no offense to Claudia van Thiel, it appears as if wikipedia is truly equal opportunity. Anyone can have a wiki entry.

Claudia Elisabeth Maria van Thiel (born December 22, 1977 in Wijchen, Gelderland) is a retired female volleyball player from the Netherlands, who represented her native country at the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta, Georgia, finishing in fifth place under the guidance of head coach Bert Goedkoop.

To further illustrate the point, I offer a bonus—today's featured article:

Troy McClure is a recurring fictional character in the animated television seriesThe Simpsons. He was voiced by Phil Hartman, and first appeared in the second-season episode "Homer vs. Lisa and the 8th Commandment".^[1] McClure is a washed-up actor and is usually shown presenting infomercials and educational videos that are viewed by the main characters. He appears as the central character in the seventh-season episode "A Fish Called Selma", in which he marries Selma Bouvier to aid his failing career and quash rumors about his personal life. He also hosts "The Simpsons 138th Episode Spectacular" and "The Simpsons Spin-Off Showcase".

McClure was based on B movie actors Troy Donahue and Doug McClure, as well as Hartman himself. After Phil Hartman's murder in 1998, the character was retired, making his final appearance in the tenth-season episode "Bart the Mother".

The world really was a better place with Phil Hartman in it. RIP.

today felt like a Monday

Truly it did. And that’s not the way I wish to start the week.

We had a super busy three-day weekend, the kind that results in a discombobulating feeling rather than one of restoration or rejuvenation. One of the highlights of the long weekend was seeing Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. It's rare that we see a movie on opening day.

John and I took Winston to the movie on Friday night at the Grandview Theater, while Simon played at a friend’s house. We couldn’t convince—or bribe—Simon to come with us on a family outing. He’d rather see the movie in the comfort of our home, so he can put a blanket over his head or run out of the room when confronted with his fears: “dusty.” This would be the armies of skeletons and miles of spider webs emblematic of any Indiana Jones movie.

John, Win, and I loved the movie, which had ample action and a perfect evil enemy in the KGB (it’s all Cold War, baby). There were double crosses. Harrison Ford has aged gracefully and does not disappoint. I also appreciated the return of Karen Allen, as well as newcomer Shia LaBoeuf. Cate Blanchett was fine, no complaints. John Hurt played a colleague gone missing and messed up to great affect. Along the way, there were many subtle and delightful pay-offs for those who have stuck with the franchise. If Simon should change his mind, I’ll see the movie again in the theater. At full price.



Another weekend highlight was driving to Taylors Falls, where we took a three-mile hike, with a few other families, in Interstate State Park. Here’s a word about Interstate from the Minnesota DNR website:

About 1.1 billion years ago, earthquakes erupted from Taylors Falls to Lake Superior. At least 10 different lava flows were the result. The hardened basalt rock from these lava flows was partly responsible for the formation of the Dalles of the St. Croix and the bottom of the river. From 530 million years ago up until 70 million years ago, the state was washed by advancing and retreating seas. Evidence of these ancient seas is revealed in the sedimentary rocks and formations found in the park. These rocks contain fossil remains of ancient animals, evidence of various creatures, and ripple marks left in stone by the now vanished seas. Actually, there have been many different St. Croix Valleys down through the ages. The original one was formed about 70 million years ago. The last one, which exists today, was formed about 10,000 years ago. This last glacier formed both Glacial Lake Duluth, now Lake Superior, and Glacial Lake Grantsburg, now extinct. Glacial Lake Duluth was much larger than Lake Superior is now. As this giant body of ice thawed, its meltwaters roared south to carve out the broad valley of the St. Croix. Only very resistant basalts were able to partially withstand the torrent, resulted in the dalles, potholes, and cliffs.

The potholes are very cool—perfectly smooth and deep holes bored in the basalt.



While the hike is not necessarily strenuous, it does have a few challenges, especially when you’re wrangling kids. On the outbound segment, I had the lead and struggled to stay ahead of two very energetic little girls, who skipped and hopped along in their water shoes (egads!) and regaled me with stories of My Pretty Pony and Barbie. For the last half mile, I straggled at the tail end with Winston, who was tired and having a hard time staying motivated to finish. But we met everyone at the end of the trail and rewarded ourselves with ice-cream cones before our long drive back to the Twin Cities. In holiday traffic.

Viva Las Vegas: Part Two

Here is the last word on Vegas. I didn’t love it so much. It’s built on artifice, and I’ve never found artifice to be very appealing, especially when my vacation time is limited and valuable. Whenever a traveling companion said, “Isn’t the Venetian so cool? Look at the gondolas on the canal—it’s just like you’re really in Venice.” I refrained from vocalizing, but inside I was screaming—IT’S NOTHING LIKE VENICE. Neither does New York, New York, with its faux Statue of Liberty and miniature skyline, make me feel like I’m in New York City. Nor does the mini Eiffel Tower of Paris Las Vegas, make me feel like I’m in Paris, France. The smells and sounds and grime of centuries are missing from these hotels. Inauthentic is the only word that comes to mind. Pictured below, the Forum Shops at Caesar's Palace, which is, I'll admit, the nicest mall I've ever seen. I love the curved escalator.



Now, the kitsch factor of the Rat Pack’s Las Vegas—you know, the neon-lit Vegas that was obliterated in favor of the newer, sanitized, family-friendly, Disneyesque Las Vegas—that’s authentic.

cheap vacation
For so long, I had heard that it was a cheap (as in inexpensive) vacation, which may have been true at one time. At a time when gas prices are at record highs and climbing, the only “cheap” vacation is the one you take in your backyard. Unless I was willing to start my trip by departing MSP at 6 a.m. and end my trip by returning from LV at midnight, I was unable to find a flight under $600. Two years ago, I flew to Paris and paid only slightly more than $600—in August.

hotel
We stayed on The Strip at The Mirage, self described as such:

The Mirage is in the heart of Las Vegas and is a palace of delights, where South Seas vibe meets Strip excitement. Where soft, sunlit days give way to torrid nights. Where you are invited to experience The Mirage - REMIXED.

What terrible marketing. There's no South Seas vibe. The hotel is conveniently located on The Strip and is within walking distance of much, which is a plus. Torrid nights? Well, maybe not for me (I left hubby at home), but I know that some young singles, who were taking laps around the casino at 2 a.m., were going to get lucky. REMIXED? Not sure at all what this means.

The room I stayed in was clean, comfortable, and large, which was necessary since I was sharing it with a friend. Our hotel room was not expensive (approx. $135 on the weeknights and $175 on each weekend night), but it was also not cheap (which, in my experience, is under $100). I'd stay here again, but I also crave a little more luxury, especially if I'm in the position for a "torrid" night.

food
Generally speaking, food is plentiful in Las Vegas. Any food craving can be satisfied at any time of day—or so it seems. Vegas has often been described to me as a foodie town. The restaurant scene on The Strip seems to consist of the outposts of celebrity chefs’ NYC, LA, or Chicago flagship restaurants, so if you’ve ever wanted to eat at a Wolfgang Puck restaurant, you’re in luck because there are many to choose from.



Food was not inexpensive. I concede that restaurants will deliver a plate loaded with massive amounts of food. For example, the sandwiches at the Carnegie Deli (one of many restaurants in The Mirage) must have contained a ten-inch stack of deli meats. Of course, you can participate in a quintessential Vegas experience: the buffet. The buffet at Cravings, the Mirage’s all-you-can-eat extravaganza, costs $35, which included beverages (e.g., coffee, juice, mimosas, and bloody Marys). Aren't there supposed to be $6.99 buffets in Vegas? I think it probably goes without saying that the quality, and often the safety, of the food on a buffet is questionable. I steered clear of the sushi, even though it was on ice. Also, the eggs Benedict with hollandaise sitting under heat lamps made my skin crawl. Pictured above: a fuzzy sampling of the Craving's Asian section.

On our final night, we had dinner in an upscale restaurant (FIX at The Bellagio) with a celebrity chef (Todd English). The lighting was dim and the ambiance was not dissimilar from a mall restaurant, but the biggest outrage was starters/small plates that were, on average, $20. Entrees were $40 on average. I have really high expectations when entrees are $40, and FIX didn’t even come close.

drinks
In bars and restaurants, cocktails cost about the same price as in MSP—$9-10 for a drink consisting of a shot of something and a mixer, such as a gin and tonic. A large pina colada or margarita from the poolside Dolphin Bar will set you back $18. No lie, $18. The drink is massive, at least 40 oz., and it really is what you want poolside because, even though you can’t see it, Las Vegas is in the desert. Yes, you get free drinks in casinos, if you’re gambling. As you can well imagine, the drinks are super-watered down. Best practice: order your scotch or bourbon up.

casino/gambling
Disclaimer: I only saw the casinos at The Mirage and the Bellagio, but I’m going to assume they’re representative so I can make sweeping generalizations. For my money, all casinos look alike. At least, they all seem to have the same video slots and poker machines. The Mirage was dark and smoky (pictured at beginning of entry) and had l-o-w ceilings. The Bellagio was bright, with enough fluorescent lighting to power a small town, and smoky. The smoke made me very nauseous, which must be karmic retribution of some sort, I'm sure. Both casinos were plunked down right in the middle of each hotel—you had to walk through the casinos to get your destination. I know hotels are intentional in their layout—a point not lost on me. Hotels/casinos don’t want you to miss any opportunity to put your money in a machine. My issue is that there’s no exclusivity to the casinos. Okay, I know we’re not in Monte Carlo, but sheesh, the casinos were no different to me than the casino holiday party my former company hosted last year in our office. The off-track betting rooms were another story. They typically have three walls, one of which is loaded, floor to ceiling, with huge screens showing horse races. Awesome.

It almost sounds puritanical to say I don't gamble. So be it. I wasn't willing to put down the stakes necessary to play Blackjack at a table ($5 is typically the minimum bet). So I tried my hand at video Blackjack, and I'm stunned that people would go all the way to Las Vegas to play a video game. Did you know that the slot machines are all computerized? The levers are merely decorative.

shows
Shows are another key element in the Vegas experience. The possibilities for entertainment are vast. Cirque du Soleil has established its headquarters here, offering five different shows (O, Zumanity, Ka, Mystere, and Love, an homage to The Beatles). You can catch a music concert—Elton John, Cher, and Rush were all in making appearances on the weekend I was visiting. Magicians (e.g., Penn and Teller), stand-up comedy, and burlesque (e.g., Thunder Down Under, Chippendales, Playboy) have a rich tradition among the pantheon of shows. You can also see sporting events (boxing) or watch poker competitions.

Since I would rather slit my wrists than pay to see Elton John or Cher perform, or, quite frankly, to have a strange man rub his crotch in my face, I voted for comedy. Brad Garrett (of Everybody Loves Raymond fame) was performing at The Mirage, so catching his show seemed a natural. His humor was foul, attacking fat people, women, sexual preferences, anyone who isn’t a flag-waving patriot, fat people, and Arabs alike (and I know I’m leaving many groups out, sorry, did I mention fat people?). Lewis Black and Dennis Miller and Denis Leary are each so freaking funny I nearly pee myself laughing. None of them resort to picking on marginalized people. I hate myself for laughing at Brad Garrett, well, except for when he made fun of himself and his small dick.

favorite parts of Vegas
I was mesmerized by the sound of all the machines in the casino. Not the dinging and pinging sounds that indicated a win or a loss, but the indescribable hum of all the machines, plugged in and emitting this otherworldly noise. Sort of like a harmonic convergence. I liked that noise.

I really liked lying on a lounge chair by the pool. To me, lying in the sun is about the most decadent thing you can do. Once a decade, I’m willing to risk skin cancer by basting myself in suntan oil (i.e, not sunblock, SPF 25 and up), flipping on occasion to even things out. The pool at The Mirage put me in mind of an adult spring break, with the tunes blaring on loud speakers, the parade of swimsuit-clad hotties (male and female), the alcoholic beverages, the parade of swimsuit-clad hotties leaning drunkenly on a friend, and so on. I didn't love that aspect—the obvious effects of massive alcohol consumption, in the sun—so much, but the pool also boasts a fair representation of humanity: the fat and the svelte, the young and the old, the beautiful and the ugly—all are there, basking in the sun and cooling off in the water. Best practice: Spend more time poolside than you think you could possibly stand.

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 cool pop culture/music entry today—a song by The Doors.

Cars Hiss by My Window is a song by American rock band The Doors, from the album L.A. Woman. The song is a standard blues style song and it features guitarist Robby Krieger's bluesy guitar. It depicts a melancholy feel and singer Jim Morrison shows his feelings of life passing him by. The end of the song features what many think is a harmonica solo, when it is in fact Jim Morrison doing his best to mimic the sound of one.

On the 2007 re-issue of the L.A. Woman album, a previously unheard verse was added (or rather, not edited out), making the song almost 5 minutes in length. The Doors used edits extensively on their albums; evident on the Absolutely Live album, the American Prayer album, the Light My Fire single and the two different versions of Who Scared You?, and with the re-issued version, this was the first time fans were able to hear the unedited track in toto.

playlist for a bike ride

As I take my near-daily "training" rides, I've been working my way through all the music loaded on my iPod, A-Z. The right music can get me up a hill.

This was yesterday's playlist:

~ Goin' out West (Tom Waits)
~ Good Times, Bad Times (Led Zeppelin)
~ Head Over Heels (The Go-Gos)
~ Heartbreaker (LZ)
~ Heavenly Action (Erasure)
~ Hole in My Life [Live] (The Police)
~ Houses of the Holy (LZ)
~ Hyena (REM)
~ I Believe (REM)
~ I Can't Stand Myself (James Brown)
~ I Don't Want Nobody to Give Me Nothing (James Brown)
~ I Got the Feelin' (James Brown)
~ If I Ruled the World (James Brown)
~ Immigrant Song (LZ)
~ In the Evening (LZ)

A little Zeppelin heavy, but this is what happens when you put greatest hits double albums on your mp3 player. If not Zeppelin, then The Police, REM, Erasure, or James Brown are in heavy rotation. I am in serious need of new tunes.

What music motivates you when you're on a fitness machine—or taking a walk or jog?

dedicated

I've just cooled down from an eightten-mile bike ride, which I took in crappy weather. It's not exactly raining here, but it's also not exactly not raining. In other words, the perfect weather for making excuses. John reminded me that I could ride the spinning bike, while watching Food Network (Everyday Italian is my guilty pleasure). But the den is even darker and more dreary than the great outdoors is, at the moment. So I threw a long-sleeved tee under my cycling jersey, and rode did a five-mile seated climb from River Road, up Summit, to the Cathedral. Then, I flew home—half of which is downhill.

Exhausting. And exhilarating!

Last week I got in four rides, mostly loops of River Road, from Stonebridge to the Ford Parkway bridge, cross the mighty Mississippi to West River Road to Lake Street, cross the river again and begin the climb home. This takes about thirty to forty minutes, depending on how motivated I feel.

I plan to keep riding to the Cathedral and back this week, monitoring my time. Next week, I'll add a little more distance, as well as some kid weight when John and I hook up the tagalongs and take a family ride.

viva las vegas: part one

Although I got back from Sin City late Sunday night, it's only within the past twenty-four hours that I've felt human. On Monday and Tuesday, I felt like horseshit so much so that I think I might have been jetlagged. Don't laugh or snort—it's not outside the realm of possibility. Besides, I have no other answers for the fatigue, sore throat, and general discombobulation.

But, today I have a new lease on life.

Before I left town, I vowed that I would jump-start my job search THE MINUTE I returned from vacation. I should be writing a cover letter right now, but I all I want to do is blog.

Let's start with the Vegas report. While I have plenty receipts and a few photos, this is my only written record of my journey. As a result, the account is a little detail-obssessive. Here is the first installment.

Flight
I flew out of MSP on Friday (5/9) at 9:30 a.m. Every aspect of my flight—check in, security, take off, time in air, landing—went without a hitch or delay, which is always better than one can expect. Something was missing, however. The flight, in general, was remarkably quiet. It took awhile for the reason to register—there were no children on this flight. None. Not even teenagers. Which was weird considering that sometime late in the last millenium, Las Vegas, best known for gambling and prostitution, started marketing itself as a family-friendly destination, with amusement parks, Planet Hollywood and similar restaurants with uncomplicated menus, resorts with water parks and animal exhibits, to name a few features. No. Kids. No. Lie.

Since I was traveling alone, I was able to read for the entire flight, and almost managed to finish Donna Leon's Death in a Strange Country (my favorite of the series, so far). Of course I packed a pile of books, completely deluded that I would finish at least one. The passengers on this flight weren't the most literate I've encountered (that would be Newark, NJ, to San Jose, Costa Rica, April 2006). Many folks had their laptops out; a fair number were doing sudoku puzzles. I spied the following books: Dead Father's Club (Matt Haig), How to Make Love Like a Porn Star (Jenna Jameson), a Sidney Sheldon "romance", a J.D.. Robb mystery, a Ruth Rendell mystery, and something by Oliver Sacks.

The baggage carousel area at McCarran was a zoo. I have been in many airports, in the U.S. and abroad, which I mention only to qualify my astonishment at the enormous crowd of people milling around a single carousel, waiting for their luggage. Soon, I learned that the crowd represented three flights. All the luggage was coming into one carousel—at the same time! Luggage was piled so high that passengers were digging frantically to get at the handle of their suitcase, rather than letting it make another circuit. People, maybe it will be easier to grab your suitcase on the next pass, after the top layer of suitcases has been moved. Sheesh. The number of similarly sized black suitcases was overwhelming. Remind me to carry-on next time.

Vegas, first impressions
Whenever I picture Las Vegas in my little mind's eye, I imagine bright lights and neon announcing hotels and casinos. And, at night, you'll see that view of Vegas. Arriving in broad daylight, however, the natural light is overwhelming. No leafy green trees or grass to absorb or diffuse the brightness. A string of malls and car dealers lines the drive from the airport to The Strip. Then, there's The Strip, enormous high-rise hotels with thousands of rooms. Residential areas and UNLV lie somewhere beyond The Strip, but I didn't see either. Ringing it all—mountains, the sight of which is refreshing, yet completely incongruous with the artifice of Vegas.

Edited to add: the photo shows a view from my fourth-floor room at The Mirage, but this is how Vegas appears from every angle. If I were to have turned 90 degrees and taken a photo—had there been a window on that wall of my room—the names on the hotel/casinos would have changed but the image would have looked the same.

back monday

I’m off to Vegas for the weekend to help a girlfriend celebrate a milestone birthday. It’s my first visit, and aside from neon and casinos, I don’t really know what to expect. I’m not a gambler but I am a keen observer. My flight lands at McCarran at 10:30 a.m., which gives me just enough time to get to the hotel and be poolside with a cocktail and a book by noon.

Alls I want is some sunshine, some rest and relaxation. Get in a little spa time. Take some self-guided walking tours to experience the grotesqueness of The Strip. Channel the spirit of the Rat Pack and the gang from the Ocean’s Eleven remake. Sight an Elvis or two—or two hundred. Eat a few good meals.

Perhaps I should pack…

SPOILER ALERT: I'm in a mood

Just warning you, before you read any further, I’m feeling feisty. Even though this is my “therapy” blog, I rarely get on a soapbox, and, well, dammit, I think it’s time I used this here blog as a journal rather than merely a chronicle. Here’s your last chance to turn around so as to avoid a HEAVY DOSE OF RAW NEGATIVITY.

It’s 10 a.m. and I’m sitting at The Bean Factory. I’ve been here for about an hour and a half, and except for the twenty minutes during which I checked my e-mail, I’m merely killing time until I have lunch with John. The regulars are driving me mad. They do truly behave as if the coffehouse is their office or, better, their clubhouse. Today it’s three guys, late forties, and they’re loud. Oh, they’re working, but it’s the occasional outburst that gets under my skin like chiggers. Mind you I’ve never had chiggers, but I’ve read plenty of vivid descriptions that made me itch along with the sufferer. Okay, I know the coffeehouse isn’t study hall, but people, nobody gives a damn about your nonsequiturs. Also, there’s the jamoch who took a newspaper into the bathroom for twenty minutes.

Soccer stuff
I spent almost the entire day yesterday running around doing soccer stuff. I know I should be glad that, since I'm not strapped to an office 9-5, I have plenty of time to devote to my team manager responsibilities. But, I'm so pissed at the disorganized club and the dipshits that run it. I have completely run out of patience. The club has built a fantastic program that recruits and gives financial assistance to immigrant players. However, the program's success has overrun the club's ability to handle all the kids who want to play. Plus, there are the inevitable challenges with language and cultural.

Don't get me started on this. I'm attempting to be charitable but my support staff has dropped the ball. We had a late addition to our team and I'm scrambling, through language and cultural challenges and administrative snafus, to get him a uniform and a player pass so he can play on our team, even though he's not on our roster.

Job search
The underlying cause of my malcontent.

Yesterday I had a phone interview for an editor’s position that looked great on paper. I expected this screening to be a little more along these lines: tell me about yourself, why are you interested in our company, and so on. Instead, the interviewer jumped right to the second date kind of questions—how do you go about planning your editorial schedule? What kind of writing style do you have?

These questions seem standard and non-threatening as I type them now. I can answer them, but I was caught off-guard by the timing. They’re questions I thought I’d answer in a face-to-face interview. Also, the questions were super broad, and in retrospect, I should have asked the interviewer to focus them somehow. Even after I carefully crafted an answer, the interviewer never asked a follow-up question.

All of this was telling. The interviewer was the managing editor to whom I’d be reporting, and she spoke fast, rushing to get through the few questions she had for me before “opening it up” to any questions I might have. Granted she came late to the meeting, but clearly didn’t take a minute to collect her thoughts or her breath. She was young, a tad scattered but attempting to sound professional and organized.

Then, the warning bells started screaming in my head. The ME reeked so much of AV: just enough experience and polish to be catapulted into a position beyond her confidence level. Yes, I know it would be wrong to go down this road again for a cool job. If I’ve learned nothing else in life, I have learned that taking a job for which you are overqualified is stoopid. Boredom and resentment set in very quickly.

This was the deal-sealer, though. When she said, and I quote, “Maybe you sent an e-mail and I didn’t get it, but before we go any further, what are your salary requirements?” First I have to say that I did respond to the e-mail, and when I hadn’t heard back from her, I assumed I was within the range. So I restated my terms, confidently. I’m glad we were on the phone so the ME couldn’t see my crestfallen look when she said, “That’s what I thought, with your experience, but we’re capping at [an undisclosed amount significantly under my asking price].” With that, the conversation was over. The ME saw no need to consider me further.

So the interview sucked, and I’m not quite to an “oh, well” stage. I’ve been obsessed with it, replaying the tapes, since then. I know I ought to move on, but there are clearly some larger issues at play.

Stay tuned—existential posts in the works.

meet miz mooz

Over the weekend I did some shopping. As a rule, I try to avoid shopping. I hate spending money, yet the moment I slap down the plastic, it becomes altogether too easy to do it again and again. I found the professional clothes I need for interviewing—and more.

The highlight of my shopping expedition was meeting Miz Mooz. I met her in the shoe department at Nordstrom’s, and it was love at first sight. Adorable, quirky, and fun, these shoes beckoned from their display. I tried on a pair of pumps, then a pair of slingbacks. Each pair felt like butter, which is the worst thing that can happen when you’re trying to avoid buying shoes. I tried to resist, but shoe lust won out.

Miz Mooz shoes remind me of my favorite Fluevogs but are less exaggerated and less expensive and still funky. And those factors were very, very appealing to me.



I bought two pairs. Passed on the metallic wedge sandals, which took me right back to 1984. It's hardly fair for me to mention them, especially since I can't provide a link to view them online. Divine. Don't really fit my current wardrobe. Here's what I picked up: The black wedges (Teddy) with delicious tan piping that gives them a nice retro feel and the slingbacks (Joey) in mustard (not pictured), an updated neutral color that beats tan/taupe/beige any day.

There's a cute back story about Miz Mooz, but it's in flash so I couldn't copy it from their website. So visit Miz Mooz online and click on the about us button.

happy may day!

There is nothing like the first day of a new month. It's a good time for fresh starts, for clearing the decks of mental clutter, for re-committing to resolutions and to-dos.

Yesterday marked two weeks since the new regime at Homeplans let me go. Initially my time felt so luxurious, almost as if I was on vacation. I allowed myself to linger over long, leisurely cups of morning coffee while surfing the internets, alternately looking for jobs and catching up on blog reading. Really, I could do this all day (but, switching to decaf or an Izze at some point, of course)—and some days I do.
Lest I get too sedentary, however, I have also worked exercise into my busy days. Because, remember, when I was working 8:30-5:30, I never had time or energy to exercise. Without an excuse, I'm taking bike rides (River Road loops on my Eros), spinning in the den while watching daytime TV (mostly Food Network), and practicing yoga (studio hopping with Helena). I've even done some bike commuting, and rode my Milano to school on the day I read to Winston's class.
A handful of friends who have flexible daytime hours have been kind enough to share lunch and conversation, staving off talking to the toaster for yet another day. I've eaten Indian buffet (Jen and Ann), sushi (Helena on jury duty), Thai and The Strip Club for brunschweiger (John), and Vietnamese (Lisa). More dates on the horizon as I make my rounds.

Running errands in the middle of the day, when the only shoppers at the grocery store or Target appear to be young moms or the aged, is a delight. The level of franticity is lower. Weekend shoppers rarely seem to be enjoying themselves. Reeking stress from every pore, they tend to make a Saturday Target run that much more hideous. And, folks, I'm one of them (typically). My shopping bliss, currently, is running high.

Even so, a strong malcontentedness lurks. Sitting down to read a book has been very difficult. It seems so decadent to be reading, if I should, instead, be working on my resume or searching for job openings or networking. Ack! I have this nagging feeling that I should be doing something else.

So screw it! New month, new beginnings. I'm going to watch Tyler Florence cook chicken cacciatore, then take a nap. After my rest, I'm going to mix myself a negroni and, while I have my feet up on the coffee table, I'm going to read a book and revel in my quiet time before the boys get home. MmmmmHmmmm. Happy May!