I'm Suzi. I live in suburban Mpls/St. Paul, and spend my days working in graphic design and sales. I suddenly find myself caught up in the First Day to 5K, a podcast running program that should have me ready to run a 5K race in October or so. My fridge is filled with organic stuff these days, because I've just started learning about what sorts of dastardly things are done to our food in this country, and it's pretty horrifying. My awesome family includes The First Baseman and a couple of daughters, Rose and Kelly, who are just about grownups. I love the ocean like it's my religion and try to visit it a couple times per year. The girls and I are on a constant quest to change The First Baseman's mind about stuff, like getting a dog and letting me use his name when I blog about him. I see as much theater as I possibly can, and I am the last remaining Minnesota Timberwolves fan. Look for me in section 126.
Hey, remember that time my kids and I went to Miami, and it happened to be at the same time that Kimmy was there, and we got to meet her and have all kinds of fun?
Well. I probably didn't mention that Kimmy has daughters roughly the same ages as my own daughters. We've compared experiences over the years, my Kelly with her Hannah, and her Ashley with my Rose.
My Rose will graduate from college in a few weeks, and then she'll embark on a nice, happy adult life, with a job that likely won't involve anything more dangerous than a typo or a misplaced comma. She may move away, but I can promise that I'll never go more than a couple of months before flying to wherever she is so I can hug her.
Kimmy's Ashley is in the navy. She joined right after high school, even though she was well aware that there are wars going on, and that she could be in danger, because she is incredibly brave. Now she's headed for Japan, and while that is a safer place to be right now, it's going to be a long time, probably more than a year, that Kimmy will have to wait to see her after they say goodbye in Hawaii next month.
Kimmy needs our help to do something special for Ashley, to remind her that lots of people care about her, and are thankful for her service.
Ashley loves salsa, see. The way Kimmy describes it, it's almost an obsession. It's the only thing she's asked for in her care packages. Kimmy would like to send Ashley, over the course of the year she'll be gone, a jar of salsa from each and every state. Isn't that cool?
If you are willing and able to participate in this salsa frenzy, leave me a comment here, or pop on over to Kimmy's and leave her one. We'll respond right away with an address. Kimmy is willing to pay for your salsa and your postage, even.
This is my very favorite kind of feel-good bloggy Internet thing ever. It make bloggers into real people!
So, who's in?
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Birthday, Bacteria, Ballet
Birthday. Today is The Referee's birthday. Oops. I put a number in that sentence, but immediately deleted it, because that man dislikes his year number with the same fiery hatred he has for Celine Dion, and he has held this hatred in his heart since he turned 30, which was 20 years ago, give or take a year. Okay give. Anyway, we mostly ignore his birthday because he despises it so much, and this year that will be particularly easy since he will be off on a businessy event. So, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I am going to change his blog name. Basketball season has passed, and softball season has just begun, and so with a fanfare of horns, I introduce… The First Baseman! Happy birthday to you, FB, even though you rarely read my blog and will likely never see this!
Bacteria. Remember how I was whining to everybody who would listen about how sick I was, and how horrible I felt? Well, it turned out that even though I'm this big a baby every single time I sneeze, this time I was justified, because it turns out that I have strep. I NEVER have strep. I wasn't sure I even believed the diagnosis, because I saw a doctor at urgent care who doesn't believe in the strep test, and seems way too confident in his own magic doctorin' skilz and symptom identification. Disappointing, because I often use the strep test as an excuse to vomit on somebody, and I was deprived of that pleasure. I think he was correct, though, because after a few doses of amoxicillin and a 20 hour nap, I'm feeling oh-so-much better. Not completely well, mind you, so don't stop the pity yet.
Ballet. Before I knew I had strep, but while I was probably contagious, I contaminated this child and her brother with hugs and kisses and slobber because I LOVE THOSE SMALL PEOPLE SO MUCH and have become that aunt who slobbers on you. Sophie had her spring dance recital, and she was obviously the best dancer with the cutest face and the prettiest hair and the most poise and the sweetest disposition and the kindest words for all the little substandard children. My brother snapped this photo right at the point when she made a graceful turn of her head and noticed HEY! THERE'S MY DAD AND MY AUNT!:
And then the daddy and the auntie melted into a puddle of goo onto the gymnasium floor because that sweet little smile-while-trying-not-to did us in, and a janitor had to sprinkle the goo puddle with sawdust in order to reanimate us.
After that, JohnHenry showed up, and I told him it was too bad he didn't come earlier, because he missed something really swell. I told him that the announcer guy's pants had spontaneously fallen to his ankles, and that he was wearing that kind of underwear that has hearts all over it. I was too stunned to get a picture of it, unfortunately. "Oh, no problem," sez my gullible nephew. "I'm sure somebody got it on video, and it'll be on YouTube by the time we get home."
Monday, April 28, 2008
More family foot antics
My dad has become quite comfortable with the idea of taking photos on his phone, then sending them to my phone, but he still hasn't mastered text messaging yet. So imagine how impressed I was when he sent me the following photo, with the caption, "AXE."
Yep, that is correct. The man dropped an axe on his foot. I called right away, to confirm that it wasn't any worse than it looks, which is bad enough. He was feeling sheepish and said, "Well, I did just what I tell JohnHenry NEVER to do when he's using the axe…"
Huh? I didn't even find out what that was, because I passed out at the thought of my ten-year-old nephew wielding a frickin' axe!
Also, I've already notified my twitter followers, my email loop, and people I work with, but I am sick. Remember that I am a HUGE baby when I am sick, so you have to feel sorry for me. I have a wicked fever that won't come down, even with Motrin, and my throat hurts, and my eyes are goopy, and there is a superball in my throat that squirts out a tablespoon of rubber cement every 12 seconds.
Bring on the pity.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Suburban Crime Report
You'll notice a theme this week.
Property damage. Someone threw eggs and bologna against a house in the 13100 block of NW. Zion Street. The complainant thinks it must be high school kids, because he has three teenagers.
I don't think I agree with the teenager theory. Teenagers tend to throw eggs, yes, but bologna tends to be thrown by the age 6 to 10 demographic.
Disturbance. A man in the 10800 block of NW. Eagle Street reported that three boys were going through the neighborhood "ding-dong ditching" and also left an ice cream pail full of Fig Newtons on his front step.
Ice cream pail full of fig newtons, flaming pile of dog shit. Six of one, half dozen of the other.
Property damage. A 25-year-old woman and a 22-year-old man reported that someone smashed eight windows on their trailer in the 6400 block of N. 56th Street. Some of the windows were struck by cucumbers. The damage was $1,000.
I got a photo of the perpetrator as he made his escape:
Theft. A gas station in the 10100 block of N. Rockford Road reported a gas drive-off involving a $50.37 sale. Police found the suspect, who was also involved in criminal damage to property at Cub Foods, 4445 Nathan Lane. The suspect threw food around and broke a flower pot valued at $18.99.
Again. This guy. It appears the he has developed a drug problem since we last heard from him:
Friday, April 25, 2008
There she goes again, getting all half-assed on the blogging
I was away again for a couple days this week. My aunt Babe died, so I went to her funeral.
It's really bad for our family that she died, even though she was 90 and had been in decline for a few years now, because she was the Official Keeper of Dates. She remembered everything, from the year of everybody's birth, to the date that Smokey Lee came over and tried to abscond with the windows that Uncle Jim had just replaced. Aunt Babe will definitely be missed.
The funeral was as funerals are: sad and sweet, and a whole bunch of fun afterwards.
My mom and dad flew in to Minneapolis from Scottsdale on Wednesday, then we all drove to Perry for the funeral Wednesday night. My cousin Pat and his lovely and hospitable wife, Nancy, invited us to stay with them in their very fabulous and ginormous olden days house, and then they invited some other cousins to come over for a delicious barbecue, where we stayed up way too late giggling about everything and nothing. The next morning Aunt Babe was buried, and we zoomed back to Minneapolis so Mom and Dad could say hello to their house in Hopkins before they caught a plane right back to Scottsdale.
Now I'm sort of behind with work from being gone for two days, which is yet another reason for the craptastic blogging. I think perhaps you should go and click on some of the links in my sidebar. Those blogs are all waaaay better than this one, anyway.
Monday, April 21, 2008
The return of the pic-in-nic basket, Boo Boo.
It's been well established that I hate the two-faced month of April, how she acts all sunny and bright to your face, but the moment you turn around, she's suddenly blowing and blustering on, freezing the tulips she's lured out of the ground with her fake sweetness. I know she can't be trusted, but I can't help myself. She's totally sucked me in to believing it's really spring.
Yesterday was the perfect day for a lovely picnic at Seven Mile Creek Park, which is 6 miles South of St. Peter on Highway 169. It's so great there, because there are people and children an puppies. And grilling of hot dogs. And twin babies who are so adorable that I had to restrain myself for taking bites of their tummies.
Yesterday was also a day to be reminded of the oddities of some of my family members. There are some members of my family who cannot bear to have their feet touched, even by their very own hands. On account of the ticklish.
This can't-stand-to-have-feet-touched-itis sometimes results in gnarly talons that look like this:
It just so happens that this particular foot belongs to my most excellent nephew, JohnHenry-Who-Now-Likes-to-be-Called-John, but he is not the only one in the family with weapons at the ends of his legs. Oh, no. His father, my brother, once had a toenail so dastardly that my dad remarked, "You could stab a man to death with that thing." My own charming daughter has, on more than one occasion, bled from the toenail bed, the toenail having been yanked right off by a sneaky ottoman or chair leg. The the affliction is chronic, most victims report that the symptoms subside enough that they can cut their own toenail two or three times per year by the time they enter their teens. JH has just a few more years.
Here's an entertaining quote from JohnHenry:
Hey Suzi…wanna know another word for butt? Rectum (heh heh heh Beavis laugh). My dad made it up.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
How do you decide when to call the police?
It's not always clear, you know? You observe an event, and think, huh…that's a little out of the ordinary, but I think I don't think police intervention is appropriate. Take these examples from the metro police report:
Coon Rapids
MARCH 18
Theft. A woman in the 11300 block of NW. Robinson Drive reported that when she went into the laundry room at her apartment complex, she found a man wearing all of her clothing that she had just washed. The woman said the man was acting very strangely and had smeared feces all over the laundry room. The man ran away when he saw the woman. She didn't call the police about the incident at the time it happened, but later called because she said she heard that police had located the man and transported him to Mercy Hospital. The woman wanted to find out where the man was so she could get her clothes back.
Strange man in the laundry room? Don't call 911. Strange man wearing your clothes in the laundry room? No need to call 911. Strange man smearing feces on the walls while while wearing your clothes in the laundry room? Nope. Not a reason to call 911. A chance that you may be able to get your feces-smeared clothing back from the strange man? Oh, yeah! Call 911!
Auto theft. Police received a report of a stolen motorhome from the 3100 block of NW. Little Crow Drive. The incident occurred last year.
Sometimes, you have to be in the right mood to call the police and report a crime. You can't rush it. You're not always in the mood to report crimes as they occur. It's gotta be the right time, man.
Other times, for crimes of a more dastardly nature, you have to put your mood aside and call right away:
MARCH 26
Mischief. Kids were ringing doorbells and running away in the 4400 block of Overlook Drive.
In other news, I have been cleaning all damn day. I was having some regrets about firing the cleaning lady, but those passed quickly. Everywhere I went, I was reminded what a terrible cleaning lady she was. The lamp on my bedside table was covered with dust, as was the nightstand itself. Dusting, as far as I'm concerned, isn't a "special" job that I should have had to ask for. Right?
In more other news, we are going out to dinner with our neighbors tonight, and it is going to be very, very fun.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Here a rick there a roll, everywhere a rickroll
I'm well aware that rickrolling will someday join the macarena and the wave in the Lameness Hall of Fame, but for right now, it is the opposite of lame, which I guess means that it is walking around quite well, thank you.
There is a pretty good chance that the Target Center will be rickrolled tonight, during fan appreciation night, which, coincidentally enough, coincides with the Wolves last game of the year. I don't know when during the game it will happen, and I can't even guarantee that it will happen at all, but then again, I'm pretty certain that it will. For whatever that's worth.
Meanwhile, to satisfy your rickroll craving until then, please accept this delicious morsel of rickrolling delight, from local radio station KDWB:
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Back from heaven
I feel like one of those poor shmoes who nearly dies on the operating table and gets enveloped by the warm white light, then somehow manages to get suckered into waking up and coming back to regular ol' life on earth. Some of those folks are pleased with the decision to return, I suppose, but most of them must spend the rest of their lives muttering ruefully while they mope around and kick things.
That's how I feel today. We spent the past few days here:
Pretty sweet, don't you agree? I normally don't love having to make decisions all day long, but they're somehow easier to handle in Cancun. Walk on the beach at sunrise, or sleep in? Lie by the pool, or on the beach? Float around in the waves for hours, or float around in the waves for hours? Have a nap in the shade, or in the luxuriously appointed room, where they keep putting those really yummy Japanese peanuts in the mini bar? Mango daiquiri or pina colada? Chips and salsa, or chips and guacamole? Black capris or white capris?
I am so crabby, and I', sure it's because I just need to adjust to real life again. Staying inside, wrapped in a blanket while I rub pint after pint of lotion on my leathery sunburned forehead is really best for all concerned. I'm trying to stay off the phone, and keep it to email instead, because it's easier to delete words before I send than it is to delete words that I've already spoken.
Tomorrow I'll be back to normal, but today I'm going to mutter and kick things. And possibly bite somebody.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Not gonna lie
When the hell did it become a requirement for the words "not gonna lie" to precede every statement uttered by those age 18 and under?
Kelly had a bunch of friends over here last weekend, and like any nosy parent, I eavesdropped on them as much as possible. Between the five of them "not gonna lie" was spoken an average of once every 11.4 seconds, narrowly defeating "dude" for the frequency award.
Not gonna lie, that chick is hot! Not gonna lie, I kick ASS at poker. Not gonna lie, I totally would've eaten that rancid oil cake if your mom woulda let me. Not gonna lie, I can't stop thinking about the pregnant man's clipenis.
I suppose it's the updated version of saying, "honestly,…" or "quite frankly…" before you tell me something.
STOP THAT!
I assume that all of your statements are frank and truthful. If I thought you were lying every time you didn't specify otherwise, we wouldn't be having a conversation, okay?
Tune in next time, when I bitch about how every sports guy shouts ARE YOU KIDDING ME constantly.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
A very bloggy Twitterday
So yesterday was filled with in-person blogulism.
Firstively, I met Shelli for lunch. We've known each other online for…who knows? A long time. In fact, we know each other so well that we sat at a table and chatted for almost FOUR hours! We have lots of stuff in common: been married a long time, kids the same ages, amused by ladies knocking on the window of the restaurant to get their friend's attention. Shelli and I tried our best to gossip about you people, you fellow bloggers. Unfortunately, we run in different blog circles, so we didn't have a lot of success at that part. We giggled and talked and talked and giggled some more, then we took a blurry picture:
After we said our goodbyes, I hopped in my car, stuck the key in the ignition, then this view of the car parked in front of me caught my eye. Check it out! Green lucky rabbit's foot!
I had just enough time to fly home and pick up the basketball game tickets and then zip downtown to meet Wendy, Jenni, and Matt (how's that for stalking? Found Matt's blog through Wendy's Twitter!) at the Lone Tree, which Jenni calls "Douche Tree" and describes as "a good place to get roofied." Wendy, as usual, signed her credit card slip in an extra-special creative manner*:
None of us got roofied, as far as I remember, and we made it to the Timberwolves-Hornets game in time to see the Wolves lose by 30+, and to see some naked spectators:
*For the love of everything holy, go read the wiki about rickrolling. It's too wonderfully complicated to explain here.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
So I sez to her, I sez, yeh fiahed
Remember how I used to have that job, the one where I had to actually leave the house every morning, drive my car to an office, and stay there all day? When I had that job, and that life where I was gone from home so much (I traveled some, too), I decided that I needed to hire someone to clean our house. So for the past two years, this lady has cleaned our house every-other Monday. I'm using the term "cleaned" loosely.
Almost from the very beginning, she sucked. I could go into detail about all the things she didn't do, and the hours she wasn't here cleaning that we paid for anyway, but you already get the point, right? She just plain sucked at cleaning our house (except when she was vacuumin, and then she didn't suck enough), so I still had to choose between doing the cleaning myself and living in a dirty house after I wrote her a check.
For two years, I've agonized over the damn housekeeper. On one hand, we were paying for really crappy service. On the other hand, she's an immigrant, new to this country, and she needs money. On still another hand, because I have several hands, I felt resentful every time I noticed mold growing on the floor of the shower that she was supposedly cleaning. On yet another hand, it made me feel inadequate to admit that I couldn't keep up well enough to clean my own house. On the other hand, I was working hard at my job, and earning money to pay for the housekeeper to do her job. On the last hand, I kept thanking my lucky stars that I could help provide an income for this woman and her family, and that I had a job that didn't require cleaning other peoples' toilets, because I would hate that a whole big bunch.
So today, I finally called and canceled our contract with the cleaning service. I've fretted for two years over what I would say when she asked if there was a problem, or if I'd been satisfied. I started the conversation by saying that I would not be needing her services anymore, since I'm working from home and have a more flexible schedule. I paused and braced myself for the expected disappointment in her voice, and readied myself to answer when she asked me if the quality of the service had been satisfactory.
The disappointment and questions never came, though. She was busy cleaning (or not) somebody else's house. I heard the roar of the vacuum in the background as she said simply, in a perfectly upbeat tone, "Oh, okay! Bye!"
Now, why didn't I do this months ago?
Monday, April 7, 2008
Getting arrested: step one
I want to get myself arrested.
Why? I don't know. I'm just curious about the whole process. Is it like what you see on Cops? Or more like on Jail, where they bait you into losing your shit so they can put you in that special chair?
Unfortunately, I've always been a law-abiding citizen, so I've never had the opportunity to have the jail experience. I don't want them to beat me up, or tazer me (though that would make a pretty cool story: Suburban houswife loses her shit; officer reacts with tazer).
So last weekend, I got a parking ticket. I really didn't mean to get the ticket. I was parked on a city street in St. Paul, and although I read the part that said "No Parking 2 a.m. to 6 a.m.," and although I even got out of the car to verify that the 20 on the sign up ahead referred to speed limit and not time limit, I didn't read far enough to get to the part about requiring a permit to park there at all. A permit! On a city street! Who would think? On closer inspection, Lisa and I noticed that the homes in the area have no garages, and they do not have driveways, either. Ah, makes sense now.
Wait a minute, though. Where are residents supposed to hide their cars between 2 a.m. and 6 a.m.? I guess they just have to drive around four four hours in the middle of the night.
It's only $25 bucks, and I totally deserve the ticket and intend to pay it, but as I was getting out my checkbook, it dawned one me: this could be my chance! I put down the pen and decided to wait.
So how long, do you suppose, will it take Ramsey County to send the sheriff out here to Dakota County to arrest me? Then, how long will they keep me in jail?
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Twin Cities suburban police report
It's been too long since I remembered to check the police report, which is sad, because who knows what we've missed! Here is the latest high crime from the past couple of weeks:
In Maplewood:
Property damage. A woman in the 2200 block of County Road D reported finding a small dent on top of her mailbox.
Wow. That's terrible. I hope they're able to find the culprit and prosecute to the fullest extent of the law. Denting mailboxes should be a death penalty offense. What has the world come to?
In St. Paul:
Fire. Around 8:30 a.m., fire crews responded to the 1300 block of Payne Avenue on a report of a house fire. Firefighters extinguished the fire, the house was ventilated and salvage and overhaul was completed. A resident was treated and transported to a medical facility for smoke inhalation. The damage estimate was $50,000. The fire investigator determined that the resident had placed a basket of clothing on the kitchen stove top and bumped the burner dial which ignited the clothing. The resident removed the clothing to the exterior of the house, but the clothing had not been completely extinguished and ignited other combustibles.
If my house ever burns down, you can assume it will be for a reason just as keystone-cop stupid as that. I do that kind of thing all day long.
Possession of an assault weapon. A 9-year-old student at Paul and Sheila Wellstone Elementary School, 65 Kellogg Blvd. W., brought a box-cutter to the school, but with no apparent ill intent, police spokesman Tom Walsh said. "It was just a show-and-tell kind of thing," he said. The student was referred to a Ramsey County juvenile intervention program.
A box cutter is a normal household tool, not an assault weapon. The child had "no apparent ill intent," and it was a "show-and-tell kind of thing." Better get the little dweeb over to the county and introduce him to some badass gangsta kids who will instruct him in the proper weapons to bring to school, like guns and machetes, and how to use them to incite fear and hatred. Has the child had no proper training at home?
Possession of drug paraphernalia. Officers responding to a call in the 500 block of Forest Street found a man passed out in a vehicle in the alley, with an apparent marijuana "cigar" in the ashtray, a police report said. Along with the marijuana, police also recovered three suspected methamphetamine pipes and four laptop computers from the vehicle, which had stalled and was blocking the alley. The man was not taken into custody, but police are investigating whether the laptops were stolen, police spokeman Tom Walsh said.
Hey, did I miss some important legislative news? When did we legalize drugs?
In Fridley:
Road hazard. An officer was dispatched to the area of Hwy. 65 and and E. Moore Lake Drive on a report of a man in a "liberty" costume who was causing traffic problems. When police arrived, the man was standing on the side of the road causing vehicles to honk and slow down. Police advised the man that by affecting traffic, he was breaking the law. The man said he would leave.
OMFG! LO!L WTF! ROFLPIMP! There is a company here that prepares and files income tax forms for people, and to advertise their services, they hire people to dress up in a Statue of Liberty costume and hop around and flap their arms in intersections. There is one of these outfits right on my route to everywhere, so every time I go by, I call Rose and update her on which Statue of Liberty is working. Sometimes it's Black Statue of Liberty Who Wears a Parka with a Furry Hood Under His Crown; sometimes it's Depressed-Looking Hispanic Statue of Liberty; Sometimes it's White Statue of Liberty with a Smartass, Hip-Hop-Style Gait; occasionally it's Stuffed-Animal-Style-Statue-of-Liberty, which is a snuggly costume that completely covers the wearer; once in a great while, there is actual statue Statue-of-Liberty on a tiny trailer. Ah, good times.
In Corcoran, where Gladys Kravits lives, apparently:
Suspicious activity. Officers responded to a suspicious vehicle around 4:20 a.m. in the 9300 block of Cain Road. A paper delivery person was taking a nap inside the vehicle and everything was fine.
Suspicious activity. Officers responded to the 10500 block of County Road 101. A resident reported that someone either stole or released 17 chickens from a coop.
In Edina, the ritzy suburb:
Theft. A woman in the 5900 block of Long Brake Trail reported a theft of a package from her doorstep. Later that day, the woman called police stating that she found the package in her back yard, and it had been chewed by a dog.
Omaha Steaks, perhaps?
Theft. A person in the 6200 block of Malibu Drive reported that someone entered a garage and stole $1,000.
Only in Edina do people keep a thousand dollars in their garage, on top of the chandelier.
In Hopkins, where I grew up (attempted to grow up) and where my parents live when they're not geezering around in Arizona all winter:
Disturbance. A teenage caller in the 100 block of 10th Avenue N. stated that his mom told him to call police because there was a crazy man in the house. Police discovered there was a family argument with the teenage son.
Such an obedient child.
Property damage. Bumper stickers were removed from a vehicle and the vehicle was egged in the 100 block of 20th Avenue N. The victim believes the damage was caused by the neighbors because they don't like Republicans.
That's what the founding fathers had in mind. Hatred and intolerance.
In Minnetrista:
Check welfare. Police checked the welfare of two kids who were in a parked vehicle at a boat landing. The kids were warming up while a parent was ice fishing.
Whimps. Must be from Wisconsin.
In San Francisco Township (What? Where the hell is that?):
Suspicious activity. A low-flying aircraft was reported near County Road 45 and County Road 9.
Do they send the police helicopter after that one?
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Actual headline from the Star Tribune
"Twins get good wood, and beat Royals"
Good wood. Heh heh heh, Beavis.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Rancid
So tonight, I was out with Lisa, twittering my every thought, and The Referee was at the Twins game. Kelly had a few friends over, and they decided to make a cake. A chocolate cake. She called me as I was driving home to tell me that her cake batter tasted weird because she used canola oil, when the recipe called for vegetable. Don't worry, sez I. Canola oil will perform exactly the same. Your cake will be fine. It will delight you and your friends.
When I arrived home a few minutes later, the cake was in the oven. Kelly got out the oil and asked me to smell it.
Did you know that canola oil can get icky after time? I was not aware of that when I bought a fifty-gallon barrel of it at Sam's club the last time I went, which was probably a year or two ago. Since then, I've been filling a normal-sized vegetable oil bottle with it, and using it regularly to make popcorn. That's about the only time I use oil, really.
OH. DEAR. HEAVENS.
Rancid oil.
I don't believe I've ever smelled anything quite like it before. It's sort of a combination of the aromas of metal shavings, rust, Velveeta, and fire.
There was some talk about serving the cake to an unsuspecting kid who was on his way over, but I put the kibosh on that idea, what with being a responsible parent and all.
I have opened all the windows upstairs, and it still reeks the kind of reek that makes your teeth hurt, like chewing on aluminum foil.
I'm thinking about sleeping in my car, but I can't go to sleep until the bars close, because Wendy is twittering about a toilet paper dispute, and I'm waiting for the update that says she punched the lady in the face and got arrested.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Twittering: Like blogging, only for cell phones
Did you notice that little square over there on the left? The one that says "what am I doing?" That's Twitter. I update that sucker from my cell phone, from wherever I am, whenever I feel like it.
I subscribed to it for that reason, so I could make snarky posts remotely, but as it turns out, there is a cooler reason to have it. You can sign up to follow people on Twitter, and then you get their little updates on your cell phone, in a text message, wherever you are.
I love this!
I want all of you, especially you blogless people, to go and sign up right now. It's free, and you can opt in or out of receiving people's twitters on your phone. You can also turn off the Twitters temporarily if you just need a break. Best of all, you can send Twitters, and I'll get them on my cell phone so I can know when you see a midget, or when you're freezing in the vagina maintenance aisle of the grocery store, or when some a-hole is making a fool of himself in your meeting, or when you can't get a song out of your head, or when a bridge collapses in your city, or when you try to type "homosexual" on your phone but it types, "hoonsexual" instead, causing days and days of uproarious laughter for yourself and your equally easily-amused daughter.
Just click over there on the barely legible text under the box, and you'll be taken to Twitter, where you can sign up. You'll need an email address from AOL, yahoo, gmail, or one of the other really common free email places. Let me know if you need help, but do it!
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Some shtuff I found on the beach
The Courty D charges $26 per day for parking. The decrepit lot next door to the Courty D charges $6. The catch is, you gots to get up early and stick your six bucks in the box right at 7 a.m., not before 7, and not after. Twenty dollars per day buys a lot of calamari and bracelets maked out of shells, so I got up early every morning of our vacation to pay the box, and then I went for a walk on the beach while I waited for my two sluggish traveling companions to crawl out of bed.
The photos below represent the items I found on one such morning walk. I think my favorite is the one of the people sleeping on the beach under their hotel bedspread. That'll provide the Dateline crew and their purple light with some entertaining discoveries.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Is that your skeletal system or are you just happy to see me?
One of the recreational activities included in our vacation was the ogling of dead people.
After a lovely dinner one evening, we walked around the Las Olas Riverfront, and right into the Bodies exhibit. Bodies is one of half a dozen or so exhibits that are currently traveling the world and giving its citizens a glimpse into what used to be available only to medical students: cadavers and human body parts.
I guess it could be described as part science, part art, and part ghoulishness. After we paid our admission and checked my camera (no photography allowed, people!), we entered and were greeted by a skinned basketball player. Bones and muscles were in place, but the skin was absent. It was hard to look, but harder not to.
A human specimen is first preserved according to standard mortuary science. The specimen is then dissected to show whatever it is that someone wants to display. Once dissected, the specimen is immersed in acetone, which eliminates all body water. The specimen is then placed in a large bath of silicone, or polymer, and sealed in a vacuum chamber. Under vacuum, acetone leaves the body in the form of gas and the polymer replaces it, entering each cell and body tissue. A catalyst is then applied to the specimen, hardening it and completing the process.
This method of preservation creates a specimen that will not decay. This offers thousands of unique teaching possibilities for educators at all levels, including medical professionals, archeologists and other scientists.
It takes some adjustment in thinking to make it okay to gawk at dead bodies that have been arranged in positions they likely experienced in life. It's creepy, but fascinating. There was an entire gallery about the circulatory system, and another about tumors and diseases. The three of us were particularly amazed by the gallery of fetuses in various stages of development.
One specimen in particular caught our attention because it seemed to have the distinction of being the smartass specimen. While the others were dribbling a basketball or just standing there holding hands with itself (skeleton holding hands with muscles), this guy was making a mockery of the whole idea:
(Don't worry. I didn't take that photo. Instead, I pilfered it from the website.)
After we'd had all the deadness we could handle, we walked the 2.94 miles back to the Courty D, and had intellectual discussions about the human body, and wondered about the scientists who make their living by soaking dead people in acetone, filling the resulting structure with plastic, and posing them in interesting positions.
When we got back to the hotel and started getting ready for bed, Rose went into the bathroom to remove her contacts, and came out doing this:
We are definitely not mature enough for dead body science/art exhibits. Not even close.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
So glad to be home /sarcasm
We're back.
Kelly and I landed about 9:00 last night, after surviving the disease known as Getting-Bumped-from-an-Overbooked-Flight. Ordinarily, GBFAOD causes a delay of a few hours to one day. We had a severe case of it, and we were forced to spend not one, but two extra days in Miami, soaking up the sun, walking on the sand, and observing the specimens at South Beach. It was pretty rough. Much to her dismay, Rose had no problem making her flight out.
I still have to get my bearings, and when I do, I'll write some posts detailing the more entertaining parts of our trip, things like:
Unexpected items you find on the beach early in the morning
Jellyfish
Midgets
Storekeepers who try to sell 44-year-old mothers t-shirts that have the word "tits" on them.
Meeting up with Kimmy and her friend Corie for an evening of comedy and waiter ogling.
Going to the Bodies exhibit and acting like a pack of ghouls.
The three hotels we stayed in: The Courty D (Marriott Courtyard with some burned-out letters), the windowless, sound-proof Miami International Hotel, which is AT the airport, and the Wyndham.
The nice Minnesota family with the cute teenage boys we met after we got ourselves bumped from our flight.
NFL Football-size bruchetta
A really fabulous cooking school that Kelly would like to attend.
