I made it! I worked an entire five-day week, and I feel pretty good. One really gets spoiled with those Monday holidays, and I’ve had two over the past six weeks, plus a mental health day, which means that I’ve worked four days for most weeks of the new year. Yikes. Or Yay, depending on how one looks at these things.
The Job was feeling fairly relaxed and manageable this week. Eric left town on Thursday to fulfill obligations as the president of the LeTroy Hawkins Fan Club. He’s in FL where The Man has spring training with his new team, the Yankees. All of which is to say that suddenly the office is very quiet without Eric stomping on the hardwood floors, taking personal calls (or ignoring his cells, which treats the innocent bystander to the initial ring and the missed-call ring), announcing aloud who just called or e-mailed, passing off his work to other people, clapping the Twins rally, and more. Imagine bringing your five-year-old to work. Every. Day.
With Eric out of the office, it’s almost like being on vacation while at work. It’s crazy, I know. Then, at the all-company lunch, our general manager announced that we’re for sale. Just like that. He said, “Blah, blah, blah, Homeplans for sale, blah, blah, blah.” Each person at the meeting looked around desperately, trying to confirm with coworkers that we had heard correctly.
Our parent company no longer wants us. They’ve never been able to make us fit in their mix, even though the synergy is obvious. Move's fault, not ours. Since before calendar year 2007 ended, the Home Office has planned to sell us. A deal was nearly completed, too, and was meant to have been announced at our company lunch. Done deal. Here's your new owner. Instead we have a long lead time in which to fret about who might buy us, will we all have jobs, what if no one wants to buy us, and so on. The Home Office's goal is to have us spun off by the end of second quarter, which is a little over three month from now.
A new owner could be good. We could have a budget for a new database as we move toward database publishing. We could have a budget for freelancers so I could assign someone else to write articles. We could fire unproductive employees (no names necessary).
Even before this announcement, I had decided to put myself back on the market. I’d like to be better compensated for my work and have a little more authority. It’s time. I’ll be exploring this move further here in weeks to come as I’m thinking it may finally be time to work in a different industry. Yes, publishing is and will always be my first love but I do have other interests.
So, the weekend is close at hand. Here are a few things I have lined up. Yes, it’s an all-me (and the little boys) weekend. John will be away, participating in a twenty-four hour extravaganza building websites for nonprofits. It runs from 7 a.m. Saturday to 7 a.m. Sunday. Tonight, we’re hosting John’s coworker Jessica, who would otherwise need to leave her home in Northfield at a ridiculous hour for the 7 a.m. start. Tomorrow, Caryl and Charon are coming over to keep me company. My parents will arrive later in the day for a quick visit. And hopefully I will have a sitter lined up for Sunday night so John and I can both help Jeff H. celebrate his 40th.
In between, I hope to find time to read, write, knit, clean, nap, cuddle my boys.
Here's a parting gift. First, the background. Earlier today I listened to my favorite local band from the 90s, Walt Mink. I listened to them loud because they always make me feel good, transporting me back to the days right after I graduated college. I was running around with John and hanging out at Dunn Brothers, working at Odegard's, successfully avoiding law school. If John and I weren't perched at the Monte Carlo's bar like a modern-day Nick and Nora or (more accurately) F. Scott and Zelda, then you could find us at the 400 Bar or The Cabooze or First Ave or The Uptown Bar listening to whomever was playing. Often, it was John's Macalester classmates who made up Walt Mink, a band that broke out of the local scene only to be screwed over by the major record labels. Recently I found a few Walt Mink videos on You Tube and want to share "Miss Happiness" from a show with Joey—who left WM for Beck and played for REM after that—on drums. I would kill or die to hear WM's show-closing cover of "Free to Be You and Me."
Friday, February 29, 2008
11:44
The time displayed on the cable box when Simon entered the den last night. John and I were minding our own business, having a life after the boys went to bed, when we were interrupted. Now, the child is prone to insomnia, so we were looking for the signs. Clearly the child had not been sleeping as he didn't have that sleep-grogginess about him. Neither was he attempting to adjust his eyes to the blinding light in the den, which can only mean that he'd been up since the last parent turned out his light, at 8:30 p.m.
Simon confessed, then, that he'd been up all this time since we'd said good-night—listening to his Henry Huggins audiobook. For nearly three hours.
John and I exchanged knowing looks over Simon's head. As a night owl and a bookworm, this apple does not fall far from the tree.
Simon gave each of us a kiss and went straight to bed. I love son #1!
Simon confessed, then, that he'd been up all this time since we'd said good-night—listening to his Henry Huggins audiobook. For nearly three hours.
John and I exchanged knowing looks over Simon's head. As a night owl and a bookworm, this apple does not fall far from the tree.
Simon gave each of us a kiss and went straight to bed. I love son #1!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
LISTENING: itunes shuffle
1. Demolition Man (The Police)
No explanation needed.
2. Give Me Flowers While I’m Living (The Knitters)
X gone country. Simon loves this song and requests it often on our morning commute.
3. Born to Be Wild (The Knitters)
Wait for the refrain before you call this cover a blasphemy.
4. Hava Nagila (Dick Dale)
When we played this surf guitar version for the chair dance at Steve C.’s wedding, the look on his very Jewish (LongIsland) mother’s face was priceless.
5. Punk Rock Girl (The Dead Milkmen)
Catchy, yes. Punky, no.
6. Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (The Thompson Twins)
Pitch-perfect cover on the Cole Porter tribute album, Red Hot + Blue.
7. We Can Work It Out (Stevie Wonder)
Beatles cover, replete with harmonica and R&B guitar.
8. The Cutter (Echo and the Bunnymen)
What’s not to love about Ian McCulloch, though chances are good Julian Cope wrote this.
9. Save It for Later (The English Beat)
This would be the lead title on the 80s portion of my personal soundtrack.
10. You Know I’m No Good (Amy Winehouse)
She’s the real deal but sweet jeezus she needs to go to rehab. Again. I’ll be highly suspicious if she manages a third album. And, yes, the whole release-the-second-album-as-her-first-album in the States, which qualifies her for a best new artist Grammy, is crap.
11. Can’t Stand It (Velvet Underground)
Again, no explanation needed.
12. Love Train (Wolfmother)
Led Zepplin junior. Quite frankly, there aren’t any clunkers on their really tight debut album, and this is one of my favs.
Bonus video
No explanation needed.
2. Give Me Flowers While I’m Living (The Knitters)
X gone country. Simon loves this song and requests it often on our morning commute.
3. Born to Be Wild (The Knitters)
Wait for the refrain before you call this cover a blasphemy.
4. Hava Nagila (Dick Dale)
When we played this surf guitar version for the chair dance at Steve C.’s wedding, the look on his very Jewish (LongIsland) mother’s face was priceless.
5. Punk Rock Girl (The Dead Milkmen)
Catchy, yes. Punky, no.
6. Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (The Thompson Twins)
Pitch-perfect cover on the Cole Porter tribute album, Red Hot + Blue.
7. We Can Work It Out (Stevie Wonder)
Beatles cover, replete with harmonica and R&B guitar.
8. The Cutter (Echo and the Bunnymen)
What’s not to love about Ian McCulloch, though chances are good Julian Cope wrote this.
9. Save It for Later (The English Beat)
This would be the lead title on the 80s portion of my personal soundtrack.
10. You Know I’m No Good (Amy Winehouse)
She’s the real deal but sweet jeezus she needs to go to rehab. Again. I’ll be highly suspicious if she manages a third album. And, yes, the whole release-the-second-album-as-her-first-album in the States, which qualifies her for a best new artist Grammy, is crap.
11. Can’t Stand It (Velvet Underground)
Again, no explanation needed.
12. Love Train (Wolfmother)
Led Zepplin junior. Quite frankly, there aren’t any clunkers on their really tight debut album, and this is one of my favs.
Bonus video
Friday, February 22, 2008
TGIF
Last night I attended the boys’ school dance with them. The music was loud and awful, and I didn’t recognize any of it.
The night before the dance, Winston decided that he was going to wear “my shiny black pants [chinos], my Christmas shirt [striped oxford cloth], and my bowtie.” Simon, who was dressed in his uniform of cargo pants, black hooded Princeton sweatshirt, and stocking cap, said, “You’re looking at what I’m wearing.” They’re so funny—and different, those two. But, that’s really what they each wore to school and, hence, to the dance last night.
I arrived at DC after work, as close to 6 p.m. as possible without being late, and ran into Natalie, who was picking up her kids. Even though she just wanted to go home, I convinced her to keep me company since I was spouseless (John had an orientation for next week’s competition). I had a nice time chit-chatting with her before Anders and Annika each had enormous meltdowns and Natalie fled, leaving me to face the dance alone. Some of the fifth and sixth graders are pretty big.
I tried to find Simon and Winston in the dark gym. Win was running around, taking laps with his buddies. Simon was up by the stage dancing. He was so into it, and he’s got some moves. Watching him dance and marveling that he's my kid, was the highlight of the evening. And, when we got home, he tried doing the Worm in the den.
Even though the workweek was short, I am thorough exhausted. We have few plans for the weekend. One of John’s coworkers, who is on his competition team, is bring her son over to play with the boys while she and John have practice tomorrow. John and I are trying to get a sitter for Saturday night so we might have a date. We have an invitation to go skiing on Sunday but I feel some nesting coming on. A long walk on River Road (just me and my iPod), finishing a few books—and starting a few—and some baking are more my speed.
The night before the dance, Winston decided that he was going to wear “my shiny black pants [chinos], my Christmas shirt [striped oxford cloth], and my bowtie.” Simon, who was dressed in his uniform of cargo pants, black hooded Princeton sweatshirt, and stocking cap, said, “You’re looking at what I’m wearing.” They’re so funny—and different, those two. But, that’s really what they each wore to school and, hence, to the dance last night.
I arrived at DC after work, as close to 6 p.m. as possible without being late, and ran into Natalie, who was picking up her kids. Even though she just wanted to go home, I convinced her to keep me company since I was spouseless (John had an orientation for next week’s competition). I had a nice time chit-chatting with her before Anders and Annika each had enormous meltdowns and Natalie fled, leaving me to face the dance alone. Some of the fifth and sixth graders are pretty big.
I tried to find Simon and Winston in the dark gym. Win was running around, taking laps with his buddies. Simon was up by the stage dancing. He was so into it, and he’s got some moves. Watching him dance and marveling that he's my kid, was the highlight of the evening. And, when we got home, he tried doing the Worm in the den.
Even though the workweek was short, I am thorough exhausted. We have few plans for the weekend. One of John’s coworkers, who is on his competition team, is bring her son over to play with the boys while she and John have practice tomorrow. John and I are trying to get a sitter for Saturday night so we might have a date. We have an invitation to go skiing on Sunday but I feel some nesting coming on. A long walk on River Road (just me and my iPod), finishing a few books—and starting a few—and some baking are more my speed.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
correction
My handsome husband informs me that 1967 was the last year that Beetles had seats without headrests. Our Beetle has headrests, which were a later modification. Also, in 1967, the Beetle had a 12V battery, as opposed to what, I'm not really sure. I'm pretty hopeless beyond the exterior of the car.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
1967 VW Beetle
Here she is, our 1967 VW Beetle. Two words describe it best: Design. Icon.
I think it was no accident that John chose a '67, an auspicious year in so many ways—Summer of Love, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, my birth year, the Doors' debut album was released, Elvis and Priscilla got hitched, Pink Floyd released their debut album, and these were just a few highlights. Did I mention that I was born in 1967? It was a fucked up year, too, with an Arab-Israeli war, the Shah of Iran coming to power, constant protests for civil rights and against the Vietnam War, and the Apollo I disaster. But, I digress. For Beetles, 1967 marked the year that head rests were added to the driver's and front passenger's seats. Neat, huh?
We bought this beaut from a nineteen-year-old kid whose parents gave it to him for his sixteenth birthday. They found it for sale while on vacation in Tennessee and drove it back to Minnesota. A fair amount of work has been done on it, including, I think, some engine reconditioning. The car runs well and is in pretty good shape for a forty-year-old, though there's still plenty of tinkering to be done.
On the drive back to St. Paul, John was ahead of us by a half mile so the boys and I would look for him whenever there was a curve in the road or a hill. At one point I told Simon he was looking at his first car, to which he shook his head fiercely and said, "I'm thinking about something medium, painted black with orange flames, yellow flames, blue flames, and white flames." Ah, to dream.
When we arrived home, John related how much fun he had driving the bug and about how he received a lot of waves, smiles, and thumbs up from people he passed. Heck, when we were on Mississippi River Blvd, even I saw the guy on the sexy Orbea nearly fall off as he twisted for a second look. John had to thaw himself before he could do anything else, such as clear out a garage stall to park the car. Apparently the bug has no heat. So it's not really a winter car. But, it also doesn't really run when the temperature is over 80 degrees. So it's not really a summer car either.
I'm jonesin' for a ride, but seat belts need to be installed first. For now, the bug seats one.
See more photos here.
shifting
Do you ever feel as if you need a vacation from your vacation? I didn't even travel, with hours in the car or on planes and in airports from which to recover. My vacation was merely a three-day weekend. We made no plans so that our three days at home would feel like a real break. Instead, our weekend became so jam-packed with friends and activities that I’m even further behind on "action items" (I hate this jargony word—let's be honest, it's “chores” that I'm needing to do). I’m feeling a little worn out and I’ve lost all desire to do anything. It's also really cold here and I've had enough.
We did do some fun things during our President's Day holiday. Simon’s friend Sydney played at our house on Saturday; when we returned her, we stayed for dinner and (drunken) wii. We drove to Mayer, MN, on Sunday and bought a 1967 VW Beetle. John drove it back to St. Paul and I followed, just in case. Nik had Sunday dinner with us. We’re glad Uncle Nik is back in town! The kids went wild when they saw him, and it gave me a good excuse to have a guest for dinner without cleaning the house. No apologies necessary, Nik doesn’t read this blog. We had a Monday morning mission to use bagels as a vehicle for clearing umpteen cream cheese tubs out of our fridge, which Steve C. helped us do because he was in the neighborhood looking for a wi-fi connection. Then John and I took the kids to the Spiderwick Chronicles, which we all enjoyed (the part about trying to destroy knowledge in order to tame evil still sticks in our craw, but has given us plenty to talk about with the little boys).
And, I got to cook a lot, though I may have overextended myself a bit. Friday night: big, fat wild brown Mexican shrimp sauteed in olive oil with cumin, pimenton, and garlic; Saturday afternoon: sausage-butternut squash-kale soup (Caryl, I'd love to cook this soup with you sometime); Sunday: a six-pound free-range organic chicken, Southern cornbread stuffing (John’s mother makes this at Christmas; the recipe comes from a Columbus [GA] Junior League cookbook), and homemade vanilla ice cream; Monday: red beans and rice (a Monday tradition in New Orleans; I'm dreaming about warmer places and listening to lots of roots music at the moment).
I want so badly to get back to our regularly scheduled program, where everything is picked up and in its place. The dishes are done. The laundry is washed, dried, folded, and put away in drawers. The last season’s clothes are in bins and out of sight. The bills are filed or shredded. The magazines are read, information tucked away. The projects we've started are finished and the detritus and tools cleared. The kids' toys are picked up and in their bins, the broken parts filed in the trash. The kids’ books are picked up and on their bookshelves. The kids’ artwork is stored or tossed. Do you see a pattern emerging here?
Every room in the house is a fucking disaster, and I feel like we're just getting further and further behind. It's a JanuFeb thing. But there also aren't enough hours in the day.
I know that I’ll have to adjust my thinking—about what’s important and about what really needs to get done—and, yet again, lower my expectations so that I can move forward. When the boys were little I was a big fan of the Louise Bates Ames child-development books (Your One-, Two-, Three-, Four-Year-Old and beyond). Although they're a tad bit dated, one of her theories, for which I offer up my children as empirical examples, finds that children have developmental shifts every six months. We often notice that one of our kids may be cranky and difficult for an extended period of time, but then turns sweet and helpful a few months later. Ames explains, and I'm super-simplifying here, that during the cranky bits, your child is experiencing a physical (e.g., learning to walk) or psychological development (e.g., learning how to deal with emotions or socialization with peers), rendering the child unable to cope with normal life.
I’m beginning to think that this is true even for adults. Consider: we're aging. I've just turned forty, and while the year leading up to my milestone birthday was very celebratory, I'm just starting to accept and adjust to changes, both physical and psychological, that I see in myself.
I may be deep in one of Ames's shifts—not a rut or a bad place, mind you, just a shift.
We did do some fun things during our President's Day holiday. Simon’s friend Sydney played at our house on Saturday; when we returned her, we stayed for dinner and (drunken) wii. We drove to Mayer, MN, on Sunday and bought a 1967 VW Beetle. John drove it back to St. Paul and I followed, just in case. Nik had Sunday dinner with us. We’re glad Uncle Nik is back in town! The kids went wild when they saw him, and it gave me a good excuse to have a guest for dinner without cleaning the house. No apologies necessary, Nik doesn’t read this blog. We had a Monday morning mission to use bagels as a vehicle for clearing umpteen cream cheese tubs out of our fridge, which Steve C. helped us do because he was in the neighborhood looking for a wi-fi connection. Then John and I took the kids to the Spiderwick Chronicles, which we all enjoyed (the part about trying to destroy knowledge in order to tame evil still sticks in our craw, but has given us plenty to talk about with the little boys).
And, I got to cook a lot, though I may have overextended myself a bit. Friday night: big, fat wild brown Mexican shrimp sauteed in olive oil with cumin, pimenton, and garlic; Saturday afternoon: sausage-butternut squash-kale soup (Caryl, I'd love to cook this soup with you sometime); Sunday: a six-pound free-range organic chicken, Southern cornbread stuffing (John’s mother makes this at Christmas; the recipe comes from a Columbus [GA] Junior League cookbook), and homemade vanilla ice cream; Monday: red beans and rice (a Monday tradition in New Orleans; I'm dreaming about warmer places and listening to lots of roots music at the moment).
I want so badly to get back to our regularly scheduled program, where everything is picked up and in its place. The dishes are done. The laundry is washed, dried, folded, and put away in drawers. The last season’s clothes are in bins and out of sight. The bills are filed or shredded. The magazines are read, information tucked away. The projects we've started are finished and the detritus and tools cleared. The kids' toys are picked up and in their bins, the broken parts filed in the trash. The kids’ books are picked up and on their bookshelves. The kids’ artwork is stored or tossed. Do you see a pattern emerging here?
Every room in the house is a fucking disaster, and I feel like we're just getting further and further behind. It's a JanuFeb thing. But there also aren't enough hours in the day.
I know that I’ll have to adjust my thinking—about what’s important and about what really needs to get done—and, yet again, lower my expectations so that I can move forward. When the boys were little I was a big fan of the Louise Bates Ames child-development books (Your One-, Two-, Three-, Four-Year-Old and beyond). Although they're a tad bit dated, one of her theories, for which I offer up my children as empirical examples, finds that children have developmental shifts every six months. We often notice that one of our kids may be cranky and difficult for an extended period of time, but then turns sweet and helpful a few months later. Ames explains, and I'm super-simplifying here, that during the cranky bits, your child is experiencing a physical (e.g., learning to walk) or psychological development (e.g., learning how to deal with emotions or socialization with peers), rendering the child unable to cope with normal life.
I’m beginning to think that this is true even for adults. Consider: we're aging. I've just turned forty, and while the year leading up to my milestone birthday was very celebratory, I'm just starting to accept and adjust to changes, both physical and psychological, that I see in myself.
I may be deep in one of Ames's shifts—not a rut or a bad place, mind you, just a shift.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
the great lopping of 2008
Yesterday will go down in the annals of my personal history as a lopping-off day.
During the Monday meeting, our pub director announced that January sales were down 48% over the previous year, which were down 36% over the previous year. Not good news. Sales figures and a combination of other factors have led to some drastic cost-saving measures, and I have been asked to trim the page count on the next five issues. Two of these issues have already been planned, and one has already been laid out. “Inconvenient” and “challenging” are two words that immediately sprang to mind. Fortunately, I kept my mouth shut. My editorial schedule had been a little light lately but lopping pages off work I’d already done was not what I had in mind for filling that time. When people ask what I do for a living I say, “I lop pages.”
The saving grace of my day was a pampering haircut with my gal Anna. She has been styling my hair for seventeen years. I know. Seventeen years is a long time and a lot of haircuts.
Anna has become a friend. John introduced us back in 1991 when he and Anna worked together for the late Kenneth Riley (John did a short gig as a receptionist). Way back before we had kids (she has this amazing three-year-old), we'd hang out and catch bands at the Uptown (her best friend Judy is married to Noah L. of the Picadors, which became the Honeydogs; Noah was a good friend of my friend Frank R. of the Sycamores). Anna is an avid reader and we have very similar tastes so I always look forward to these visits. You’d think I’d get my hairs cut more often. Sheesh.
I’ve been feeling really shaggy and frumpy lately. It’s a JanuFeb thing. As I was driving to the salon, I tried rehearsing my answer to Anna’s usual “what do you want done with your hair?” Usually I just want a trim and reshaping on my shoulder-length layered ‘do, but I’ve been toying with having a shorter cut. When I walked in the door and saw that Anna had cut a foot off her rocker-stylist hair, I was inspired and encouraged to lop off my locks. I’m now sporting a bob that is slightly longer than ear-length with layering in the back—and I love it.
To truly do myself justice, I'm looking for before and after pics. Stay tuned.
During the Monday meeting, our pub director announced that January sales were down 48% over the previous year, which were down 36% over the previous year. Not good news. Sales figures and a combination of other factors have led to some drastic cost-saving measures, and I have been asked to trim the page count on the next five issues. Two of these issues have already been planned, and one has already been laid out. “Inconvenient” and “challenging” are two words that immediately sprang to mind. Fortunately, I kept my mouth shut. My editorial schedule had been a little light lately but lopping pages off work I’d already done was not what I had in mind for filling that time. When people ask what I do for a living I say, “I lop pages.”
The saving grace of my day was a pampering haircut with my gal Anna. She has been styling my hair for seventeen years. I know. Seventeen years is a long time and a lot of haircuts.
Anna has become a friend. John introduced us back in 1991 when he and Anna worked together for the late Kenneth Riley (John did a short gig as a receptionist). Way back before we had kids (she has this amazing three-year-old), we'd hang out and catch bands at the Uptown (her best friend Judy is married to Noah L. of the Picadors, which became the Honeydogs; Noah was a good friend of my friend Frank R. of the Sycamores). Anna is an avid reader and we have very similar tastes so I always look forward to these visits. You’d think I’d get my hairs cut more often. Sheesh.
I’ve been feeling really shaggy and frumpy lately. It’s a JanuFeb thing. As I was driving to the salon, I tried rehearsing my answer to Anna’s usual “what do you want done with your hair?” Usually I just want a trim and reshaping on my shoulder-length layered ‘do, but I’ve been toying with having a shorter cut. When I walked in the door and saw that Anna had cut a foot off her rocker-stylist hair, I was inspired and encouraged to lop off my locks. I’m now sporting a bob that is slightly longer than ear-length with layering in the back—and I love it.
To truly do myself justice, I'm looking for before and after pics. Stay tuned.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
a week in review
Since I’ve been terrible about finding time to blog lately, but still am committed to using this format as a journal, albeit a very public one, I am going to jot some notes about my very good week.
Sunday, Feb 3
Watched the Super Bowl at the Harrison’s house. I secretly rooted for the Patriots, although, ultimately, I didn’t really give a fig who won the game. I contributed a seven-layer dip with homemade guacamole made from out-of-season, not-quite-ripe avocados. Ah well, we do the best we can in the dark days of winter.
Monday, Feb 4
Hauled Simon to Eagan for a 7:40 a.m. orthodontist appointment. This time, he had a full set of photos taken and a few more x-rays to complete his “before” records. He was a real trooper, even as the (very nice and pretty) tech had him hold his mouth open with some strange device while she took pics. We'll now visit every six months until such time as Simon is ready for a space maintainer.
Tuesday, Feb 5
John and I began our Super Tuesday by attending Simon’s second grade author tea, where he read aloud to us his personal narrative. Simon chose to write about himself through one of his favorite activities—visiting Uncle Sven’s Comic Shoppe and eating dinner at the Groveland Tap. We also had an opportunity to see what some of Si’s classmates had written. Their abilities ranged from a few simple sentences with no narrative structure whatsoever to complex stories with chapters and dialogue. I’m glad to see that Simon is somewhere in between, which is to say, he's exactly where he's supposed to be. We also heard wonderful reports from Mrs. Cochran and Liz, the class helper, that Simon worked very diligently on his project, putting a lot of personal pride in his work. Yay!!
After work, we went to the Groveland Tap to eat Juicy Lucys and kill time waiting to caucus. John and I had decided to do the quick ballot, thereby choosing a delegate to vote for our candidate at the national convention rather than caucusing for delegates, senatorial candidates, and platform issues. Our caucus site was Highland Junior/Senior High, and it was an absolute fucking zoo. Tons of people, most of whom were waiting in lines for some reason. It was difficult to tell who was an election official. When you could find an election official, they sent you a wild goose chase to find the room where your precinct was meeting. But, finally, we found our way and cast our “votes” on post-it notes, which were then thrust into the meaty hand of an official.
At work the next morning, I compared notes with coworkers who had attended caucuses in various parts of the city (Maplewood, New Brighton, and NE Minneapolis) to hear identical stories. The DFL does not have their shit together, running out of ballots, not having enough volunteers. For goodness sake, Minnesota has the highest voter turn-out of any state in the nation. Don’t you overestimate your expectations for something like this? Needless to say, John’s vote and my vote cancelled each other’s, but I am very proud to say that I joined an historical moment by voting for a woman presidential candidate, and it was a pretty amazing feeling.
Wednesday, Feb 6
In all the caucus excitement, it was easy to put out of my mind that I ran into Alison V., slumming at the Tap. I reported to Alison at MHSP. My time there was miserable, largely because of her and her incompetance and power-hunger. Although I’ve never committed my tale to paper or internets, I do replay the tapes a lot. Too much, in fact, for my own well-being. I'm surprised that I haven't run into more former coworkers from the blight on the hill, since many of them live in St. Paul.
Thursday, Feb 7
Finished reading Service Included, Phoebe Damrosch’s account of working as a captain in Thomas Keller’s Per Se, which is the East Coast version of The French Laundry. It was a thoroughly enjoyable and quick read, a perfect antidote to the heavier fare of What Is the What.
Friday, Feb 8
Knocked off work early to run errands. First stop, Solo Vino to buy wine for Saturday night’s dinner and stock up on my favorite inexpensive Spanish red, Pago del Vostal, only to discover the store had sold through its limited inventory of the latter. I could weep. This stuff—the crianza—was amazing. Lots of body and fruit and balance, which is rare for an $8 bottle. Next, Kowalski’s for a baguette and a few pieces of cheese—tangy drunken goat and nutty Fol Epi. Then, Coastal Seafoods for mussels (dinner) and shrimp (wild brown Mexican, for later). Finally, I picked up some prints that were being framed at Wet Paint, where everyone at the cashwrap marveled at the awesome job that had been done. I agreed.
Saturday, Feb 9
John has a new hobby brewing. He wants to restore an old VW Beetle and has a line on one about an hour outside of the Cities. So he and a friend drove through drifting snow to check it out. I hope to write more on this later because it's really exciting and may just be the motivation John needs to clear out the garage. 1967. Tan. While John was doing his thing, I took the boys to Target where I indulged them. Simon got a new DS cartridge, and both boys picked out Legos so they would have a good activity for another bleeping cold day. -15, thank you very much. Whoever controls the weather, I'd like you to know we've had enough of this nonsense. Later, we went to the Hamilton's house for dinner. C served halibut with a tomato sauce (olives, spinach, white beans) on Israeli couscous, which was very delicious and warming on a cold night. We also had disturbing amounts of red wine (four or five bottles for six adults, not our personal record, but not bad), including a '99 Medoc. Some of the adults were a little crabby, but overall a nice time.
Sunday, Feb 10
At the request of the Shepard junior set, we celebrated Chinese New Year with dim sum at Yummy (or whatever it's called now—Relax?—how 1983). We met the Fares and the Cohen-Murphys and gorged outselves silly on shumei and countless other shrimp and pork stuffed dumplings, Chinese broccoli (ridiculously good), turnip cake, manila clams in xo sauce (clams were pretty metallic, I didn't love), stuffed baby bell peppers, sticky rice in lotus leaf (my favorite), and basil chicken, among loads others. At one point this afternoon, all four of us (John, Simon, Winston, and I) were on the sofa, some of us gaming, others watching TV, and another reading her mystery. I love these moments—they have a very Sunday feeling, with no urgency to do anything other enjoy each other's nearness. I don't imagine we'll all fit on the sofa like this for long, as both boys are growing like weeds so I'll take what I can get.
In the week ahead: working lightly, getting a haircut, starting my New Year's goals, and a possible parental visit.
Sunday, Feb 3
Watched the Super Bowl at the Harrison’s house. I secretly rooted for the Patriots, although, ultimately, I didn’t really give a fig who won the game. I contributed a seven-layer dip with homemade guacamole made from out-of-season, not-quite-ripe avocados. Ah well, we do the best we can in the dark days of winter.
Monday, Feb 4
Hauled Simon to Eagan for a 7:40 a.m. orthodontist appointment. This time, he had a full set of photos taken and a few more x-rays to complete his “before” records. He was a real trooper, even as the (very nice and pretty) tech had him hold his mouth open with some strange device while she took pics. We'll now visit every six months until such time as Simon is ready for a space maintainer.
Tuesday, Feb 5
John and I began our Super Tuesday by attending Simon’s second grade author tea, where he read aloud to us his personal narrative. Simon chose to write about himself through one of his favorite activities—visiting Uncle Sven’s Comic Shoppe and eating dinner at the Groveland Tap. We also had an opportunity to see what some of Si’s classmates had written. Their abilities ranged from a few simple sentences with no narrative structure whatsoever to complex stories with chapters and dialogue. I’m glad to see that Simon is somewhere in between, which is to say, he's exactly where he's supposed to be. We also heard wonderful reports from Mrs. Cochran and Liz, the class helper, that Simon worked very diligently on his project, putting a lot of personal pride in his work. Yay!!
After work, we went to the Groveland Tap to eat Juicy Lucys and kill time waiting to caucus. John and I had decided to do the quick ballot, thereby choosing a delegate to vote for our candidate at the national convention rather than caucusing for delegates, senatorial candidates, and platform issues. Our caucus site was Highland Junior/Senior High, and it was an absolute fucking zoo. Tons of people, most of whom were waiting in lines for some reason. It was difficult to tell who was an election official. When you could find an election official, they sent you a wild goose chase to find the room where your precinct was meeting. But, finally, we found our way and cast our “votes” on post-it notes, which were then thrust into the meaty hand of an official.
At work the next morning, I compared notes with coworkers who had attended caucuses in various parts of the city (Maplewood, New Brighton, and NE Minneapolis) to hear identical stories. The DFL does not have their shit together, running out of ballots, not having enough volunteers. For goodness sake, Minnesota has the highest voter turn-out of any state in the nation. Don’t you overestimate your expectations for something like this? Needless to say, John’s vote and my vote cancelled each other’s, but I am very proud to say that I joined an historical moment by voting for a woman presidential candidate, and it was a pretty amazing feeling.
Wednesday, Feb 6
In all the caucus excitement, it was easy to put out of my mind that I ran into Alison V., slumming at the Tap. I reported to Alison at MHSP. My time there was miserable, largely because of her and her incompetance and power-hunger. Although I’ve never committed my tale to paper or internets, I do replay the tapes a lot. Too much, in fact, for my own well-being. I'm surprised that I haven't run into more former coworkers from the blight on the hill, since many of them live in St. Paul.
Thursday, Feb 7
Finished reading Service Included, Phoebe Damrosch’s account of working as a captain in Thomas Keller’s Per Se, which is the East Coast version of The French Laundry. It was a thoroughly enjoyable and quick read, a perfect antidote to the heavier fare of What Is the What.
Friday, Feb 8
Knocked off work early to run errands. First stop, Solo Vino to buy wine for Saturday night’s dinner and stock up on my favorite inexpensive Spanish red, Pago del Vostal, only to discover the store had sold through its limited inventory of the latter. I could weep. This stuff—the crianza—was amazing. Lots of body and fruit and balance, which is rare for an $8 bottle. Next, Kowalski’s for a baguette and a few pieces of cheese—tangy drunken goat and nutty Fol Epi. Then, Coastal Seafoods for mussels (dinner) and shrimp (wild brown Mexican, for later). Finally, I picked up some prints that were being framed at Wet Paint, where everyone at the cashwrap marveled at the awesome job that had been done. I agreed.
Saturday, Feb 9
John has a new hobby brewing. He wants to restore an old VW Beetle and has a line on one about an hour outside of the Cities. So he and a friend drove through drifting snow to check it out. I hope to write more on this later because it's really exciting and may just be the motivation John needs to clear out the garage. 1967. Tan. While John was doing his thing, I took the boys to Target where I indulged them. Simon got a new DS cartridge, and both boys picked out Legos so they would have a good activity for another bleeping cold day. -15, thank you very much. Whoever controls the weather, I'd like you to know we've had enough of this nonsense. Later, we went to the Hamilton's house for dinner. C served halibut with a tomato sauce (olives, spinach, white beans) on Israeli couscous, which was very delicious and warming on a cold night. We also had disturbing amounts of red wine (four or five bottles for six adults, not our personal record, but not bad), including a '99 Medoc. Some of the adults were a little crabby, but overall a nice time.
Sunday, Feb 10
At the request of the Shepard junior set, we celebrated Chinese New Year with dim sum at Yummy (or whatever it's called now—Relax?—how 1983). We met the Fares and the Cohen-Murphys and gorged outselves silly on shumei and countless other shrimp and pork stuffed dumplings, Chinese broccoli (ridiculously good), turnip cake, manila clams in xo sauce (clams were pretty metallic, I didn't love), stuffed baby bell peppers, sticky rice in lotus leaf (my favorite), and basil chicken, among loads others. At one point this afternoon, all four of us (John, Simon, Winston, and I) were on the sofa, some of us gaming, others watching TV, and another reading her mystery. I love these moments—they have a very Sunday feeling, with no urgency to do anything other enjoy each other's nearness. I don't imagine we'll all fit on the sofa like this for long, as both boys are growing like weeds so I'll take what I can get.
In the week ahead: working lightly, getting a haircut, starting my New Year's goals, and a possible parental visit.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
picking up where I left off
When I last checked in, I was preparing to host my book group. You can read about the food here. Attendance was pretty lame. Just four people came, and I was the only person who had finished reading the book. Even though we’d had two months to finish it, judging by the bookmarks, most had just begun.
Suzanne chose What is the What by Dave Eggers, a novel about Valentino Achak Deng, a Lost Boy of the Sudan. This book has been on my shelf ever since Suzanne recommended it earlier in '07, at which point I bought the very cool McSweeney's edition, which has an unusual trim size (if I had to guess, it's 7 x 9 rather than 6 x 9) and paper over boards. I love what McSweeney's is doing with book design and graphics and fonts.
About the novel: Deng, with thousands of other young boys, was forced from his village during Sudan’s protracted civil war. As part of a large group, he marched to Ethiopia and, eventually, to Kenya, where he lived in a refugee camp. The story alternates between the present day, when Deng is living in Atlanta, studying and working odd jobs so that he may go to college, and his life as a refugee in Africa, where he has witnessed war, famine, disease, and lion attacks. In the States, Deng is held up in his own home at gunpoint and burgled. He also experiences indifference and is put off by bureaucracy. And, the larger question becomes Was Deng better off in Africa. Is the U.S. really the “land of opportunity”? And, if so, for whom?
Eggers does a remarkable job of telling Deng’s story. It’s deep and provocative yet handled with a great sensitivity and leavened with humor. Eggers, who came to attention with his first book, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, pretty much proves he’s a staggering genius. I would write more on this point and why this book is so important but I’m still mulling, but I do recommend that everyone read it, if for no other reason than it’s really well written.
So, if even one other person in my book group had finished the book, we could have discussed the ending and the what in "what is the what". Instead, I'll try to engage in some e-mail conversations in a few weeks.
The host gets to pick the group's next read. Way back in early December, Suzanne and I were talking about books on our TBR lists. While we had many in common, one stood out as an obvious choice for safety in numbers and for discussability: Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma.
I'm currently cleansing my palate of heavy-duty themes by reading some breezy nonfiction (Phoebe Damrosch's account of working as a captain at Per Se, Service Included) and a compelling literary mystery (the first in Donna Leon's Commissario Brunetti series, Death at La Fenice). And I'm nearly ready to have my thinking/habits challenged to a point where I'm faced with changing them.
Suzanne chose What is the What by Dave Eggers, a novel about Valentino Achak Deng, a Lost Boy of the Sudan. This book has been on my shelf ever since Suzanne recommended it earlier in '07, at which point I bought the very cool McSweeney's edition, which has an unusual trim size (if I had to guess, it's 7 x 9 rather than 6 x 9) and paper over boards. I love what McSweeney's is doing with book design and graphics and fonts.
About the novel: Deng, with thousands of other young boys, was forced from his village during Sudan’s protracted civil war. As part of a large group, he marched to Ethiopia and, eventually, to Kenya, where he lived in a refugee camp. The story alternates between the present day, when Deng is living in Atlanta, studying and working odd jobs so that he may go to college, and his life as a refugee in Africa, where he has witnessed war, famine, disease, and lion attacks. In the States, Deng is held up in his own home at gunpoint and burgled. He also experiences indifference and is put off by bureaucracy. And, the larger question becomes Was Deng better off in Africa. Is the U.S. really the “land of opportunity”? And, if so, for whom?
Eggers does a remarkable job of telling Deng’s story. It’s deep and provocative yet handled with a great sensitivity and leavened with humor. Eggers, who came to attention with his first book, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, pretty much proves he’s a staggering genius. I would write more on this point and why this book is so important but I’m still mulling, but I do recommend that everyone read it, if for no other reason than it’s really well written.
So, if even one other person in my book group had finished the book, we could have discussed the ending and the what in "what is the what". Instead, I'll try to engage in some e-mail conversations in a few weeks.
The host gets to pick the group's next read. Way back in early December, Suzanne and I were talking about books on our TBR lists. While we had many in common, one stood out as an obvious choice for safety in numbers and for discussability: Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma.
I'm currently cleansing my palate of heavy-duty themes by reading some breezy nonfiction (Phoebe Damrosch's account of working as a captain at Per Se, Service Included) and a compelling literary mystery (the first in Donna Leon's Commissario Brunetti series, Death at La Fenice). And I'm nearly ready to have my thinking/habits challenged to a point where I'm faced with changing them.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Good riddance January!
With thanks to Klark Kent—January, you can suck my socks!
I am thrilled—and relieved—that January 2008 is nearly over, done, never to be repeated. Between appliance meltdowns, "health" issues, and cold weather, the first month of the year certainly has left a lot to be desired.*
The current temperature, at 1:39 p.m., is 9 degrees F (feels like -2 degrees F). Quite frankly, I think the weather feels positively balmy, compared to the excruciatingly bitter cold we endured for a few days this week and a few days last week and a few days the week before that. Today, we have sunny, bright blue skies, and it's warmer-ish, making the day absolutely beautiful.
The year can only get better from here.
Tonight, my book group is meeting at my house, and I am hopeful that we will have a good turnout. Many people RSVPed a few weeks ago, but since then a number have reconsidered. No one wants to go out on a dangerously cold night. People, I'll have the fireplace going. Our current book is Dave Eggers' What Is the What, which I’m about ten pages shy of finishing. The book was nothing short of brilliant. There's plenty to talk about, and I'm looking forward to a good discussion, followed by ample amounts of gossip and conjecture. Since I still need to pull together the final food details and do a little housecleaning, I'm cutting out of work early today.
Ssssh, don't tell anyone!
*Admittedly, there were a few well-timed (i.e., each event happened right when I needed relief from the drama at hand) and memorable highlights this month. Caryl and I got to have two conversations about books, including one at our alma mater. Tracy and I had a fantastic lunch at Ngon Bistro, a charming Vietnamese-French fusion restaurant in St. Paul. John and I had a few date nights, including a delicious (and romantic) dinner at Mission. Despite delaying our resolution to exercise daily, we curled with friends at the St. Paul Curling Club and took a killer hike in Lilydale. And, we eradicated head lice, one nit at a time.
I am thrilled—and relieved—that January 2008 is nearly over, done, never to be repeated. Between appliance meltdowns, "health" issues, and cold weather, the first month of the year certainly has left a lot to be desired.*
The current temperature, at 1:39 p.m., is 9 degrees F (feels like -2 degrees F). Quite frankly, I think the weather feels positively balmy, compared to the excruciatingly bitter cold we endured for a few days this week and a few days last week and a few days the week before that. Today, we have sunny, bright blue skies, and it's warmer-ish, making the day absolutely beautiful.
The year can only get better from here.
Tonight, my book group is meeting at my house, and I am hopeful that we will have a good turnout. Many people RSVPed a few weeks ago, but since then a number have reconsidered. No one wants to go out on a dangerously cold night. People, I'll have the fireplace going. Our current book is Dave Eggers' What Is the What, which I’m about ten pages shy of finishing. The book was nothing short of brilliant. There's plenty to talk about, and I'm looking forward to a good discussion, followed by ample amounts of gossip and conjecture. Since I still need to pull together the final food details and do a little housecleaning, I'm cutting out of work early today.
Ssssh, don't tell anyone!
*Admittedly, there were a few well-timed (i.e., each event happened right when I needed relief from the drama at hand) and memorable highlights this month. Caryl and I got to have two conversations about books, including one at our alma mater. Tracy and I had a fantastic lunch at Ngon Bistro, a charming Vietnamese-French fusion restaurant in St. Paul. John and I had a few date nights, including a delicious (and romantic) dinner at Mission. Despite delaying our resolution to exercise daily, we curled with friends at the St. Paul Curling Club and took a killer hike in Lilydale. And, we eradicated head lice, one nit at a time.
Wednesday, January 30, 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.
Admittedly, I had to cycle through a few "random" entries before I found something that was complete. Dodie Bellamy sounds interesting—I making a mental note to find out what BIL Ben knows about her (he's an activist and nonfiction author who specializes in sex politics).
1. Go to wikipedia.
2. Click on "random article" on the left-hand sidebar.
3. Post it.
Admittedly, I had to cycle through a few "random" entries before I found something that was complete. Dodie Bellamy sounds interesting—I making a mental note to find out what BIL Ben knows about her (he's an activist and nonfiction author who specializes in sex politics).
Dodie Bellamy is a novelist, nonfiction author, journalist and editor, known for her non-traditional use of sexuality, politics, and narrative experimentation. Her work is frequently associated with that of Dennis Cooper, Kathy Acker, and Eileen Myles.
A native of Hammond, Indiana and educated at Indiana University, Bellamy has taught creative writing at many educational institutions, including the San Francisco Art Institute, Mills College, UC Santa Cruz, University of San Francisco, and Cal Arts. She served for five years as director of the writing laboratory in San Francisco - Small Press Traffic, and has led a private prose workshop since the early 90s. Bellamy also lectures in the Creative Writing Department of San Francisco State University and is an associate faculty member in the MFA program at Antioch Los Angeles.
As a writer, Bellamy explores the themes of bodily or spiritual invasion and possession. Some of the footprints of her prose are formal interruptions, intertextual voices, temporal shifts and syntactical twists. Consistently striving for innovation and the forthright depiction of emotion, Bellamy introduces sex, often using tropes from horror films and other pop culture debris. Her work frequently confronts topics like feminism, cultural politics, queer culture, AIDS, and body issues. Bellamy was one of the originators in the New Narrative literary movement, which attempts to use the tools of experimental fiction and critical theory and apply them to narrative storytelling.
Her works include:Real: The Letters of Mina Harker and Sam D'Allesandro ( Talisman House, 1995 ), written together with Sam D'Allesandro, which addresses the issue of AIDS, sexual transgression, and the desire for the forbidden; Feminine Hijinx (Hanuman, 1990);Cunt Ups (Tender Buttons, 2002), a radical feminist approach to the "cut up" introduced by William Burroughs and Brion Gysin; Fat Chance (Nomados, 2004); Pink Steam, a cross-genre collection of fiction, memoirs, and essays (Suspect Thoughts, 2004). Cunt-Ups and Fat Chance are excerpts from her novel in progress - The Fourth Form.
In 2004 the University of Wisconsin Press reissued her magnum opus, the novel The Letters of Mina Harker, in which she resurrects Mina Harker, the heroine of Bram Stoker's Dracula. In the fall of 2006, Krupskaya Books published Academonia, a collection of essays and fictions. Bellamy's works have also appeared in several anthologies, such as Moving Borders: Three Decades of Innovative Writing by Women.
Publishing in journalism and creative nonfiction, her writing also appeared in The Village Voice, The San Francisco Chronicle, Book Forum, Out/Look, The San Diego Reader, ZDNet Developer, Nest and on numerous websites. In 1998, Bellamy won the San Francisco Bay Guardian "Goldie" Award for Literature. With the help of her partner, Kevin Killian, she has edited more than 130 issues of the literary/art zine Mirage #4/Period(ical).
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
weekend report: January 26-27
No matter how stressful our work week or how crappy our January may be, we still manage to have a fun, restorative weekend. And, on this weekend, it felt much deserved. I have resisted chronicling this week’s travails for fear of taking on the posture of a victim, but I will note that Thursday marked my first drama-free day since we returned home from New Jersey. In December.
For posterity, let me recapitulate that on Monday night our pipes froze. We narrowly averted disaster as the pipes did not burst. Quick thinking (and a little internet research) guided a course of action that restored water before we went to bed. But we kept the faucets open—i.e., water running all night long (you figure out how to sleep with that annoyance). I fear the water bill this month, what with the two or three loads of laundry we’ve done DAILY and the attempt to keep the pipes from bursting. Sheesh.
On Tuesday, my car stopped running. At a stoplight. Three blocks from my office. I was able to start the engine again and drove the car for another block before it stopped running at the next red light. So, I had the car towed. And, get this, the garage found NOTHING WRONG with my car. Figures. I’m not complaining. We’d had serious subzero temps all last week and you don’t monkey around when your car is acting funny. The garage didn’t offer any theories, but also only charged for the tow.
Herewith, weekend highlights:
Saturday, the boys and I met Caryl and Charon at The Source, a comic book and gaming shop, for Pokemon tournaments. Charon had carefully chosen her deck of card and was super prepared for battle. While the kids did their thing, the moms talked about—what else?—books. We’re making a reading plan for our two-person discussion group, and I’m pretty excited about it. What is the it? The books, the reading, sharing the books and the reading with a like-minded soul. After battling, we picked up John and headed for IKEA, by way of REI. John wanted to check out a backpack that he’d read about recently. While Simon and John were drooling over gear, Winston and I watched the climbers on the The Pinnacle. Noticing that there wasn’t any obvious wait to climb, Winston decided he’d like to give it a shot. What a champ! He was so excited about gearing up with the rubber-toed climbing shoes and the harness. And, he made it to within a body’s length of the bell before he got tired. So. Close.
IKEA was a zoo, and we found plenty to purchase. Dinner napkins, bookcase/shelves for John’s computer area, two stools for the snack bar (total impulse item), bookcase for Simon’s bedroom. Ate lunch here. I have a hard time resisting the Swedish meatballs, lingonberries, and mashed potatoes, as well as gravlax and gravlax sauce atop those thick rye crackers. The kids climbed on everything. They each tried out chairs and beds. Win found his dream platform bed. Both dropped their jaws over the lofted beds with desks tucked underneath. Some day...
On Sunday, the boys helped make banana-chocolate chip muffins for breakfast. Win took “wet” duty, mixing eggs and mashing bananas, while Simon got “dry”, measuring flour, sugar, baking soda, and salt. Later, we took a hike with the Hamiltons in Lilydale—climbed a steep, snow-packed hill for great views of the Mississippi River and downtown St. Paul. We could even see John’s office. The climb was a little insane, and in the snow we had to slide down on our butts for the descent. My quads are going to hurt for a few days. Simon then played at Theo’s all afternoon, and we culminated the day at D’Amico’s, where kids eat free on Sunday nights.
The warm weather has been a real treat!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
a day in the life of Tonya and Nancy
My boss sent me this hi-larious exchange that was printed in our local paper recently. It's not a complete non sequitur—St. Paul is currently hosting the 2007 U.S. Figure Skating Championships.
(I should give credit where it's due. Tonya's photo belongs to Al Bello/Getty Images, and Nancy's photo belongs to Kevin Winter/Getty Images for Frosted Pink.)
6:30 a.m.
Nancy: Awakes with a coo to alarm set to local lite rock station. Puts on robe and slippers while humming "We've Only Just Begun."
Tonya: Clips neighbor's Mazda Protégé with her pickup as she returns from bars singing along to Bad Company's "Feel Like Makin' Love" at the top of her lungs.
6:45 a.m.
Nancy: Decides to "splurge this morning" by adding cottage cheese to her pineapple and cantaloupe.
Tonya: Leans into open refrigerator shouting, "Where the -- is the Famous Dave's that was in here?!"
6:50 a.m.
Nancy: While pouring coffee, knocks over bowl, plopping cottage cheese and fruit all over kitchen floor. With tears in her eyes, shouts, "Why?! ... Why?!"
Tonya: Remembers she ate the rest of her pulled pork sandwich before she went out.
6:55 a.m.
Nancy: Opens door to back yard, asks woodland creatures to help her clean up mess in the kitchen.
Tonya: Nods off on couch with cold french fry in one hand, lit cigarette in the other.
7:30 a.m.
Nancy: Hears the pitter patter of little feet as her two sons and husband come downstairs for breakfast.
Tonya: Snore!
8:00 a.m.
Nancy: Gets the young lads off to school and her husband off to the office.
Tonya: SNORE!
9:00 a.m.
Nancy: Three words: "Regis and Kelly!"
Tonya: Five words: "Why does my couchspin?"
10:05 a.m.
Nancy: The phone rings. It's her husband, and agent, calling with a new job opportunity.
Tonya: Slumber disrupted by visions of encounters with strange, beastly men.
10:06 a.m.
Nancy: Agrees to do 12-week national tour this spring as the star of "Driving Miss Daisy on Ice."
Tonya: Realizes these visions are not nightmares, just flashbacks.
10:37 a.m.
Nancy: Heads over to park for daily one-hour power walk.
Tonya: Heads over to nearby bathroom for daily one-hour visit.
10:38 a.m.
Nancy: Realizes winter is here when the morning chill touches her face.
Tonya: Realizes it's laundry day when she trips over her "Gillooly was here" nightie.
11:40 a.m.
Nancy: Goes online to check out the latest Oprah news.
Tonya: Takes long, introspective look at herself in mirror.
11:45 a.m.
Nancy: Spends half-hour sending more hate mail to 1994 Olympic judges from Poland and the Ukraine.
Tonya: Spends half-hour shaving.
12:15 p.m.
Nancy: Finally responds to desperate e-mail from Oksana Baiul .... promises to send her a few
bucks.Tonya: Finally remembers what day it is. Realizes she's due down at the gym for a few rounds of sparring.
12:30 p.m.
Nancy: Spends a few minutes autographing photographs for her fans.
Tonya: Spends a few minutes mulling the perfect location for her next tattoo.
12:45 p.m.
Nancy: After a quick lunch, heads out to the rink to work on her latest skating routine.
Tonya: Pops open a cold one, then it's on to the gym.
1:05 p.m.
Nancy: Stops off at her local church to drop off clothing that she's donating to the homeless.
Tonya: Stops at auto parts store to get new hubcap to replace one that she broke over her old boyfriend's brow.
1:30 p.m.
Nancy: Starts her daily skate after spending 15 minutes flexing her right knee, which has been giving her trouble since Jan. 6, 1994.
Tonya: Begins workout with about five minutes of light rope jumping, followed by 10 minutes of heavy, breathless panting.
2:55 p.m.
Nancy: Cell phone call from husband with another job offer.
Tonya: Interrupts work on the heavy bag when trainer sarcastically calls her "The Heavy Bag."
2:56 p.m.
Nancy: Angrily reminds husband there's no way she will agree to perform with Bob Saget on "Skating with Celebrities II."
Tonya: Reminds trainer how she once knocked the smirk off Paula Jones' face.
3:25 p.m.
Nancy: Winds up skating practice. Poses for photographs with admiring fans.
Tonya: Completes three rounds of sparring. Claims it's the best she has felt in the ring since she moved up to heavyweight.
3:55 p.m.
Nancy: Arrives home just in time to greet her boys as they get off the school bus.
Tonya: Arrives home just in time to find a repo man waiting in front of her trailer. Spends 15 minutes hiding in bushes until he leaves.
4:15 p.m.
Nancy: Begins preparing her famous meatloaf and green bean casserole for dinner.
Tonya: Gets ready for another night on the town, spending about 10 minutes deciding which tank top to wear.
5:02 p.m.
Nancy: Husband calls to say he's running a little late, as he's working to get Nancy another cameo in "Blades of Glory II."
Tonya: Skids into parking spot at the nearby Applebee's, ready to dig into those 25-cent Happy Hour wings.
5:30 p.m.
Nancy: Asks husband to lead the family in "Grace" before she serves dinner.
Tonya: Asks neighboring barfly to take his hand off her butt before she gives him a knuckle sandwich.
5:35 p.m.
Nancy: Enjoys dinnertime conversation with her loved ones.
Tonya: Enjoys first of several long games of Quarters.
6:30 p.m.
Nancy: Wheel ... of ... Fortune!
Tonya: Meal ... of ... nachos!
7:07 p.m.
Nancy: Snuggles with children as she reads them a few chapters of Harry Potter.
Tonya: Snuggles with college-age drifter in a corner booth while telling him women's prison anecdotes.
8:00 p.m.
Nancy: Settles down for some quiet TV time with her husband, Jerry.
Tonya: Settles down for some quiet time with her pal, Jagermeister.
After 8:30 p.m.
Nancy: It's time to hit the hay.
Tonya: It's all a haze.
Wednesday, January 23, 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.
My first geography—or as I like to think of it, travel—entry. Lake Gunn looks like a splendid place to add to our New Zealand file.
Lake Gunn is a lake in the South Island of New Zealand, located at44°53′S, 168°05′E.
A small lake between Lake Te Anau and Milford Sound, it lies close to the State Highway 94 (the Milford Sound Road). The small tramping camp of Cascade Creek lies close to the lake's southern end. The west branch of the Eglinton River flows through the lake.
The lake is within the boundary of the Fiordland National Park, and is surrounded by native bush. Several smaller lakes lie nearby, including Lake Fergus and Lake McKellar. Several mountains stand close to the lake's western shore, notably Melita Peak (1680 m) and Consolation Peak (1760 m). "The Divide", the saddle between the valleys of the Eglinton and Hollyford Rivers, lies four kilometres north of the lake.
The lake (and several other nearby locations) were named after Davy Gunn, a pioneer of the local tramping tourism industry (see Hollyford Track).
my 100th post
Hurrah!
Just as I was about to enter this week's wiki wednesday post, I noticed I had 99 posts on Little Trooper. As a rule, I don't celebrate my blogs' birthdays, but I do want to mark this milestone of sorts. This blog is meaningful to me—I like tracking the mundane in my life, especially with pictures.
I think I need some cake!
Just as I was about to enter this week's wiki wednesday post, I noticed I had 99 posts on Little Trooper. As a rule, I don't celebrate my blogs' birthdays, but I do want to mark this milestone of sorts. This blog is meaningful to me—I like tracking the mundane in my life, especially with pictures.
I think I need some cake!
Monday, January 21, 2008
warming trend
According to The Weather Channel’s website, the current temperature for my zip code is 2 degrees F, which is considerably warmer than yesterday’s high of –2 degrees. People, it’s cold here, and I’m a big baby when it comes to cold.
I’m home from work today with the kids, observing MLK Day. Simon is currently engaged in his favorite activity—watching cartoons. My buddy, Winny G. is sitting right beside me playing computer games, which happens to be his favorite activity. I’m blogging. Win and I are listening to U2’s Rattle and Hum. We’re all happy.
The Bee Movie is playing at the Riverview, a “dollar theater” across The River from where we live, so we’ll venture out later to see it. I love taking the boys to the movies. We get popcorn and M&Ms and escape for an hour and a half.
Despite—or maybe because of—the dangerously cold weather, we had a great weekend. Granted, the kids went a tiny bit stir-crazy. Simon was sick for most of the weekend (the school nurse sent him home on Friday with a 100.6 temp). On Saturday, we had some wonderful cuddle time on the couch in the den. Simon watched Tom and Jerry while I read Suffer the Little Children by Donna Leon.
This addictive mystery is set in Venice, and it’s the 16th in a series featuring Commissario Guido Brunetti. The mystery’s plot is fine, but our sleuth and the Italian setting are the compelling elements for me. Brunetti is an aesthete. He starts his day with espresso and a pastry, because that’s civilized. And, there’s a marvelous scene where, faced with the civil-servant union strike that would keep him from going to work, Brunetti stops at the bookstore and,
This book is on the Conversation with Books list. My friend Caryl and I will attend the Conversation at our alma mater on Wednesday, and I can't wait. This event gives me something to look forward to during the cruelest month of the year. Also, I plan to read more books in this series.
On Saturday night, Winston and I attended the monthly potluck dinner with four other families from his old preschool. The Lins hosted and made tacos. Win had a blast wrestling with the five-year-olds while I caught up with the adults. It was a nice evening.
Sunday started with yoga at Helena’s. Six people, including Helena’s husband, participated, so the “studio” was somewhat full, but it felt so good to move my body. The cold weather does a number on the body, obviously. But even when I’m wearing my down coat and have a minimum amount of exposed flesh, I still find myself putting on the “Minnesota earmuffs” (how CSC PE instructor, Alice Swanson, described the way one scruntches their shoulders up, toward their ears, when they’re cold). Today my shoulders and arms are achy, in part from yoga, but also from the residual effects of my body trying feebly to keep itself warm.
After yoga, I spent the afternoon tinkering in the kitchen. As part of the 2008 Great Freezer Clean-Out, I removed two pheasants and thawed them to make stock. The meat eventually starred in a pheasant-andouille gumbo, an attempt to transport myself to New Orleans, a warm memory from 2007.
And, now I take my leave to spend some QT with my boys. Happy MLK Day, observed, to you.
I’m home from work today with the kids, observing MLK Day. Simon is currently engaged in his favorite activity—watching cartoons. My buddy, Winny G. is sitting right beside me playing computer games, which happens to be his favorite activity. I’m blogging. Win and I are listening to U2’s Rattle and Hum. We’re all happy.
The Bee Movie is playing at the Riverview, a “dollar theater” across The River from where we live, so we’ll venture out later to see it. I love taking the boys to the movies. We get popcorn and M&Ms and escape for an hour and a half.
Despite—or maybe because of—the dangerously cold weather, we had a great weekend. Granted, the kids went a tiny bit stir-crazy. Simon was sick for most of the weekend (the school nurse sent him home on Friday with a 100.6 temp). On Saturday, we had some wonderful cuddle time on the couch in the den. Simon watched Tom and Jerry while I read Suffer the Little Children by Donna Leon.
This addictive mystery is set in Venice, and it’s the 16th in a series featuring Commissario Guido Brunetti. The mystery’s plot is fine, but our sleuth and the Italian setting are the compelling elements for me. Brunetti is an aesthete. He starts his day with espresso and a pastry, because that’s civilized. And, there’s a marvelous scene where, faced with the civil-servant union strike that would keep him from going to work, Brunetti stops at the bookstore and,
Because he made it a rule never to leave a bookstore without buying something, he settled for a long out-of-print translation of the Marquis de Custine’s 1839 travels in Russia, printed in Torino in 1977: Lettere dalla Russia. The period was closer to the present than ordinarily would have interested him, but it was the only book that appealed, and he was in a hurry, strike or not.
This book is on the Conversation with Books list. My friend Caryl and I will attend the Conversation at our alma mater on Wednesday, and I can't wait. This event gives me something to look forward to during the cruelest month of the year. Also, I plan to read more books in this series.
On Saturday night, Winston and I attended the monthly potluck dinner with four other families from his old preschool. The Lins hosted and made tacos. Win had a blast wrestling with the five-year-olds while I caught up with the adults. It was a nice evening.
Sunday started with yoga at Helena’s. Six people, including Helena’s husband, participated, so the “studio” was somewhat full, but it felt so good to move my body. The cold weather does a number on the body, obviously. But even when I’m wearing my down coat and have a minimum amount of exposed flesh, I still find myself putting on the “Minnesota earmuffs” (how CSC PE instructor, Alice Swanson, described the way one scruntches their shoulders up, toward their ears, when they’re cold). Today my shoulders and arms are achy, in part from yoga, but also from the residual effects of my body trying feebly to keep itself warm.
After yoga, I spent the afternoon tinkering in the kitchen. As part of the 2008 Great Freezer Clean-Out, I removed two pheasants and thawed them to make stock. The meat eventually starred in a pheasant-andouille gumbo, an attempt to transport myself to New Orleans, a warm memory from 2007.
And, now I take my leave to spend some QT with my boys. Happy MLK Day, observed, to you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)