We rarely travel on the Monday Holidays because I so crave the free short week that I prefer to plop on the ol' La-Z-Boy and watch whatever marathons the genre-specific networks are offering (today it was Beach Patrol on Court TV). I specify the niche networks (ie Sci-Fi, Court TV, etc) because there is that other marathon to contend with on Labor Day. But this holiday, owing to some family rough spots, we decided to get away for a little bit. Our newly arrived art museum newsletter prompted YHWH to suggest the Price Tower in Bartlesville and so it was decided.
On the trip up to B'ville we had stopped in Owasso and had lunch with my sister and her family. Despite our tenuous estrangement, we had a great time together over Greek food and made promises to do it more often. Then on to B'ville. The girls had never been and were delightfully surprised to find hi-rise buildings in our state outside of Tulsa and Oklahoma City. Of course it has the hi-rise, the only one ever built by Frank Lloyd Wright, the Price Tower. We did pay the five-star guidebook rates to stay in the tower, but as Super Giant Killer said, "It's not every night you get to spend the night in a museum." It was pretty cool I have to admit. Of course, I do have to admit it, otherwise I'd be a damn fool to spend that much money to stay the night somewhere.
So, we went to Kiddie Park and SGK rode some vintage 1960s amusement rides and then we took Sonic up to the room for the genuine Okie experience. The trip home the next day began with a tour of the art museum on the first floor, lunch at the famous Murphy's Steak House and an excursion out to Woolaroc. Ehh... Finally we wended our way through Osage County and the Tall Grass Prairie and on home. I just adore the TGP. It's my second-favorite place in the state next to my ancestral grounds in Dewey County (although they are quite similar).
Monday, September 03, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
The Moon is Blue
I actually picked up the needles again after a four month hiatus. I'm making Super Giant Killer a pair of legwarmers. They'll be pastel purple and blue stripes. I'd post a pic of the early-eighties-aerobics-craze pattern (oversize sweater and wide belt optional) but I'm way too lazy for that.
Speaking of Jane Fonda, she was featured on TCM's Summer of the Stars (also too lazy to look and see if that's the actual title of the series) the other night. That's where they play almost a whole day of a particualr star's films. First of all, I find that idea to be exceedingly annoying. Once in a while it's ok -- say when a star has just died or something -- but come on, 18 hours of Broderick Crawford? Ok, so ambivalence reigned the other night when it was Jane Fonda's turn. She has always annoyed me. Much like Nicole Kidman does today. And no, it has nothing to do with Vietnam. One thing is that both actresses' mouths bother me (and not in the Gable-Lombard sense). But with Jane I'm pretty sure it's the bleating. The point is, though, that I DVR'ed most of them because I love a lot of her characters in the pre-Barbarella. Haven't sorted that part out yet. Here are the possibilities: a) I've always been fascinated by what was going on in the world during the time that I was alive, but can't remember anything -- the unquenchable thirst of the historian; 2) similarly, I'm fascinated by the roles of women in that period between the late 50s and the women's and free love movements and try and figure out how my mom and aunts fit into those roles; and d) when I was a kid and I watched Jane Fonda movies, I always thought that (since she often played whores and kept women) it must have been weird doing those things with her father's friends. By the way, where are all the kept women these days? Anybody know why there are no kept-women movies anymore? Maybe there are and I don't see them (Flatulus?). Those are some of my faves from the era: Butterfield 8, The Apartment, Boeing Boeing, Any Wednesday. Maybe there aren't anymore kept women?
Still with me? C. F. Kats let me cruise around with her last night after Chinese food and thrifting. That was nice of her and I had a great time.
Today we are going to attempt to make some Cute Dolls from the new Aronzi Aranzo books. Here's a sample:
Personally, I like the Bad Book.
Do you not love the early evenings lately? I would love to have a decibel meter to determine just how loud those cicadas are. YHWH and I got out the car the other night and realized we had to yell at each other five feet apart to be heard.
Speaking of Jane Fonda, she was featured on TCM's Summer of the Stars (also too lazy to look and see if that's the actual title of the series) the other night. That's where they play almost a whole day of a particualr star's films. First of all, I find that idea to be exceedingly annoying. Once in a while it's ok -- say when a star has just died or something -- but come on, 18 hours of Broderick Crawford? Ok, so ambivalence reigned the other night when it was Jane Fonda's turn. She has always annoyed me. Much like Nicole Kidman does today. And no, it has nothing to do with Vietnam. One thing is that both actresses' mouths bother me (and not in the Gable-Lombard sense). But with Jane I'm pretty sure it's the bleating. The point is, though, that I DVR'ed most of them because I love a lot of her characters in the pre-Barbarella. Haven't sorted that part out yet. Here are the possibilities: a) I've always been fascinated by what was going on in the world during the time that I was alive, but can't remember anything -- the unquenchable thirst of the historian; 2) similarly, I'm fascinated by the roles of women in that period between the late 50s and the women's and free love movements and try and figure out how my mom and aunts fit into those roles; and d) when I was a kid and I watched Jane Fonda movies, I always thought that (since she often played whores and kept women) it must have been weird doing those things with her father's friends. By the way, where are all the kept women these days? Anybody know why there are no kept-women movies anymore? Maybe there are and I don't see them (Flatulus?). Those are some of my faves from the era: Butterfield 8, The Apartment, Boeing Boeing, Any Wednesday. Maybe there aren't anymore kept women?
Still with me? C. F. Kats let me cruise around with her last night after Chinese food and thrifting. That was nice of her and I had a great time.
Today we are going to attempt to make some Cute Dolls from the new Aronzi Aranzo books. Here's a sample:
Personally, I like the Bad Book.
Do you not love the early evenings lately? I would love to have a decibel meter to determine just how loud those cicadas are. YHWH and I got out the car the other night and realized we had to yell at each other five feet apart to be heard.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Almost. Always. Again.
OK, I guess it’s safe to come back. Based on recent retributive actions at the
I‘ve toyed with the idea of keeping this thing subscription-only, but where’s the risk in that? Between open access blogging and unsafe sex with dirty needle users, I guess I’ll take the blogging. Consorting with heroin addicts and trips to
Still, I can’t promise it’ll be interesting anymore (if it ever was) with the
Baseball…maaaybe Purple Bunny
Knitting…
Football….Guy and
Music… hmmm… cue Jeopardy theme …
Civilization … absolutely nobody
Politics… I always get the feeling I’m the token centrist or (relative) right-winger
History … hmmm … maybe everyone, but probably no one
That leaves out a lot of regular readers…
(And, no, I do not know why I have all these ellipses here)
So who would write the novelizations of your big relationships? Or movie, if you're not a reader.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Hypnotized At Seventeen
Yes, we are back from our trip. We extended it one more day by staying the night in Wichita at one of our favorite hotels -- the Hotel at Old Town. Highly recommended if you're ever up that way.
The highlight of the day in Wichita belonged to SGK. I hunted up a rock shop for her - or as it is known in the trade, a lapidary supply - and she nearly went into hysteria. She found real-life speicmens of all the minerals she had been reading about and they were 90% off to boot as the store was closing after 25 years. Overwhelmed, she could hardly contain herself as she browsed shelf after shelf of rocks and gems of varying sizes, shapes, and lusters. And, she would add, striations and cleavages. I'm not sure what those are, but she was rattling off the Mohs scales numbers and alternate names of everything. Oh, and toxicity. Yeah, she really wanted this glass-encased orange and yellow stone called orpiment. I've never heard of it, but it apparently emits a cyanide residue if you handle it. So, of course I bought it. What kind of father would I be if I didn't buy my ardent little petrologist (geologists study the earth, dad!) a poisonous rock? As long as she discovers a gold mine, diamond vein, or huge deposit of oil, I'll consider it money well spent.
One downer for the trip is that I learned Quik Trip is in a collusion deal as I suspected. A clerk at one of the stores told us. It's with Love's Country Store of all the g**amn places. Which would you rather have: a cheerful, friendly staff offering an exponential range of delicious refreshing beverages in a glowing red and white building beckoning you like your favorite grandmother telling you to, "come into the light..." or a rundown, dirty yellow and red hole-in-the wall with overpriced bottles of Coke sold to you by a haggard clerk who obviously resents having to work there? Quik Trip has been one of the Top 100 Places to Work in America for six years in a row; Love's has a tacky 1970's hand-drawn-by-the-founder's-three-year-old-granddaughter logo of cascading red, yellow, and orange hearts.
I'll bet I find out that Culver's is in collusion with Braum's. Why else would a quick check of their locations map reveal a crescent-shaped arc around the Oklahoma City market? Once again, we lose out. Braum's hasn't updated its stores or image in, what, 20 years? The stores all look tired and beat and they haven't had a new item on the menu since Reagan was in office. Culver's has 10 kinds of frozen custard, reubens, Philly cheesesteaks, something called a Butterburger (aka Myocardial Infarction In A Sack), turkey melts, and their kid's meals actually have a character, Scoopie, associated with them. Oh, and free wifi. Braum's has hamburgers and fries, ice cream and yogurt. I don't hate Braum's - it's just 'OK' - but it's not Culver's. This is probably unfair because I don't know for a fact that there is a deal there, but it's obvious something is up.
Why do I care about this? Why should you care about this? See, this is what the founding fathers meant when they forbade collusion -- inevitably, people in a certain market will be oppressed by a lousy c-store chain, a lack of Mr. Pibb, and grungy dairy stores and that violates their right to the pursuit of happiness.
Other random facts, observations, and reflections from the trip:
When we went into Cero's Candies in Wichita, we did meet a bubbly and friendly person who seemed to rise in defiance of my opinion of personality-deprived Kansans. You get someone like that in a room with YHWH and you will get 'the story'. We did. She's from Tulsa. The streak continues. The candy is really good by the way and you get to see the production line.
The drive through that northwest corner of Missouri on I-35 is one of my most-despised routes. You see it on the map and you think it'll be easy; you zip right in, you zip right out. Like a Love's Country Store, only cleaner. But no, it's not like that. Like it's big ugly step sister, I-44 between Tulsa and St. Louis, that drive is a trip-killer.
I can't drive after lunch anymore. It has nothing to do with eating lunch because I rarely eat lunch on the road, it's just that the warm afternoon sun conks me out now that I'm old. Thank God for rumble strips. Of course since our travel day does not begin until 11:30am and everything closes at 5:00pm, I'm left with little choice but to exceed the speed limit with one eye, while the other eye gets a little, well, shuteye.
Next time I travel north of the 40th Parallel, I have to remember to bring a black eye mask. The sun comes up at like 4:30am up there and once I wake up, I can't get back to sleep. Since we don't start activities until 11:30, that's seven freakin' hours - practically a whole work day - I have to find something to do in a motel room.
I've always heard Wal-mart had for some reason singled us (ie Oklahoma) out for Anschluss decades ago when they began their aim of world domination. And while it's still debated whether they destroyed small-town America, my observations upon rolling through the upper midwest like we just did reveals that they have not been successful at destroying everything. There are still small downtowns wholly intact all across that region that have not been relegated to antique shops and crafters' malls. Not so our little state.
Despite my distrust of corporations, I really enjoyed the Spam Museum in Austin, MN and was reminded of how much I love Kellogg's Cereal City in Battle Crick, MI. Now, if the Oklahoma City revered its past as much as these corps do their products...
That's enough. Thanks for reading this far...
The highlight of the day in Wichita belonged to SGK. I hunted up a rock shop for her - or as it is known in the trade, a lapidary supply - and she nearly went into hysteria. She found real-life speicmens of all the minerals she had been reading about and they were 90% off to boot as the store was closing after 25 years. Overwhelmed, she could hardly contain herself as she browsed shelf after shelf of rocks and gems of varying sizes, shapes, and lusters. And, she would add, striations and cleavages. I'm not sure what those are, but she was rattling off the Mohs scales numbers and alternate names of everything. Oh, and toxicity. Yeah, she really wanted this glass-encased orange and yellow stone called orpiment. I've never heard of it, but it apparently emits a cyanide residue if you handle it. So, of course I bought it. What kind of father would I be if I didn't buy my ardent little petrologist (geologists study the earth, dad!) a poisonous rock? As long as she discovers a gold mine, diamond vein, or huge deposit of oil, I'll consider it money well spent.
One downer for the trip is that I learned Quik Trip is in a collusion deal as I suspected. A clerk at one of the stores told us. It's with Love's Country Store of all the g**amn places. Which would you rather have: a cheerful, friendly staff offering an exponential range of delicious refreshing beverages in a glowing red and white building beckoning you like your favorite grandmother telling you to, "come into the light..." or a rundown, dirty yellow and red hole-in-the wall with overpriced bottles of Coke sold to you by a haggard clerk who obviously resents having to work there? Quik Trip has been one of the Top 100 Places to Work in America for six years in a row; Love's has a tacky 1970's hand-drawn-by-the-founder's-three-year-old-granddaughter logo of cascading red, yellow, and orange hearts.
I'll bet I find out that Culver's is in collusion with Braum's. Why else would a quick check of their locations map reveal a crescent-shaped arc around the Oklahoma City market? Once again, we lose out. Braum's hasn't updated its stores or image in, what, 20 years? The stores all look tired and beat and they haven't had a new item on the menu since Reagan was in office. Culver's has 10 kinds of frozen custard, reubens, Philly cheesesteaks, something called a Butterburger (aka Myocardial Infarction In A Sack), turkey melts, and their kid's meals actually have a character, Scoopie, associated with them. Oh, and free wifi. Braum's has hamburgers and fries, ice cream and yogurt. I don't hate Braum's - it's just 'OK' - but it's not Culver's. This is probably unfair because I don't know for a fact that there is a deal there, but it's obvious something is up.
Why do I care about this? Why should you care about this? See, this is what the founding fathers meant when they forbade collusion -- inevitably, people in a certain market will be oppressed by a lousy c-store chain, a lack of Mr. Pibb, and grungy dairy stores and that violates their right to the pursuit of happiness.
Other random facts, observations, and reflections from the trip:
When we went into Cero's Candies in Wichita, we did meet a bubbly and friendly person who seemed to rise in defiance of my opinion of personality-deprived Kansans. You get someone like that in a room with YHWH and you will get 'the story'. We did. She's from Tulsa. The streak continues. The candy is really good by the way and you get to see the production line.
The drive through that northwest corner of Missouri on I-35 is one of my most-despised routes. You see it on the map and you think it'll be easy; you zip right in, you zip right out. Like a Love's Country Store, only cleaner. But no, it's not like that. Like it's big ugly step sister, I-44 between Tulsa and St. Louis, that drive is a trip-killer.
I can't drive after lunch anymore. It has nothing to do with eating lunch because I rarely eat lunch on the road, it's just that the warm afternoon sun conks me out now that I'm old. Thank God for rumble strips. Of course since our travel day does not begin until 11:30am and everything closes at 5:00pm, I'm left with little choice but to exceed the speed limit with one eye, while the other eye gets a little, well, shuteye.
Next time I travel north of the 40th Parallel, I have to remember to bring a black eye mask. The sun comes up at like 4:30am up there and once I wake up, I can't get back to sleep. Since we don't start activities until 11:30, that's seven freakin' hours - practically a whole work day - I have to find something to do in a motel room.
I've always heard Wal-mart had for some reason singled us (ie Oklahoma) out for Anschluss decades ago when they began their aim of world domination. And while it's still debated whether they destroyed small-town America, my observations upon rolling through the upper midwest like we just did reveals that they have not been successful at destroying everything. There are still small downtowns wholly intact all across that region that have not been relegated to antique shops and crafters' malls. Not so our little state.
Despite my distrust of corporations, I really enjoyed the Spam Museum in Austin, MN and was reminded of how much I love Kellogg's Cereal City in Battle Crick, MI. Now, if the Oklahoma City revered its past as much as these corps do their products...
That's enough. Thanks for reading this far...
Sunday, June 17, 2007
That's the Fare From Gothenburg to Barcelona
Today was low-key reentry day as we got back on the interstate and ate a big chunk out of the return trip. Our only sidetrack was a stop at the Brown vs. the Topeka Board of Education National Memorial in, well, Topeka. We could have made it home tonight, but the car was already late and we're having so much fun we decided to stretch it out one more day and stay in Wichita. So we'll be home tomorrow.
The Brown v. Board site was well done and I'd recommend it to anyone going through Topeka or looking for a day trip. It's in the actual school where it all happened and has a great mix of video, interactive, and documentary displays and a very friendly staff. Rather than being just devoted to the Brown v Board case, it works as a museum to the education aspect of the Civil Rights movement.
While I'm on the subject of National Parks, I would like to mention what a great place they must be to work. Obviously, I would love to work in a park; but I can't tell you what an oasis of friendliness the rangers are when you're traveling. I'll go ahead and indict whole states by saying that all the states we have visited with the exception of Iowa are not quite friendly and most of the hospitality and travel personnel we have encountered have been metaphorical bandits -- in effect they sit behind the counter with grim faces and say, "Hand it over." That didn't happen once in Iowa. I'm not whining, it's just that when you travel to places unfamiliar you are by nature in an unsettling position and feel somewhat out of sorts or blind in a way. A little hand-holding or a smile goes a long way for weary travelers. I try to remember that when I'm behind the desk. Kansas we noticed was not really unfriendly, but they just have a flat affect, like no personality at all. Of course, I realize I come from a perfect state... But, seriously, you can't say we don''t have personality. Even if you call us all hicks, that's something.
But the park rangers always seem to be courteous and friendly and chatty no matter which park you go to. That's why the guy at Effigy Mounds the other day was remarkable. It has to be the first time I've ever had a less than favorable response from a ranger. And even at that he wasn't rude, just brusque. And of course I'll be the first to tell you everyone can have a bad day, so I just blew it off. But how is it the Parks can maintain such high standards? Is it the training? Are they highly motivated? I'd love to know why. I always love going to the parks because you know you will be consistently treated well.
The Brown v. Board site was well done and I'd recommend it to anyone going through Topeka or looking for a day trip. It's in the actual school where it all happened and has a great mix of video, interactive, and documentary displays and a very friendly staff. Rather than being just devoted to the Brown v Board case, it works as a museum to the education aspect of the Civil Rights movement.
While I'm on the subject of National Parks, I would like to mention what a great place they must be to work. Obviously, I would love to work in a park; but I can't tell you what an oasis of friendliness the rangers are when you're traveling. I'll go ahead and indict whole states by saying that all the states we have visited with the exception of Iowa are not quite friendly and most of the hospitality and travel personnel we have encountered have been metaphorical bandits -- in effect they sit behind the counter with grim faces and say, "Hand it over." That didn't happen once in Iowa. I'm not whining, it's just that when you travel to places unfamiliar you are by nature in an unsettling position and feel somewhat out of sorts or blind in a way. A little hand-holding or a smile goes a long way for weary travelers. I try to remember that when I'm behind the desk. Kansas we noticed was not really unfriendly, but they just have a flat affect, like no personality at all. Of course, I realize I come from a perfect state... But, seriously, you can't say we don''t have personality. Even if you call us all hicks, that's something.
But the park rangers always seem to be courteous and friendly and chatty no matter which park you go to. That's why the guy at Effigy Mounds the other day was remarkable. It has to be the first time I've ever had a less than favorable response from a ranger. And even at that he wasn't rude, just brusque. And of course I'll be the first to tell you everyone can have a bad day, so I just blew it off. But how is it the Parks can maintain such high standards? Is it the training? Are they highly motivated? I'd love to know why. I always love going to the parks because you know you will be consistently treated well.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Papa Zulu
Today was spent all in Iowa. We got off to our usual half-day start and left Decorah for the Effigy Mounds National Monument where we encountered a brusque and cranky ranger -- a very rare thing indeed. We went on a nice one hour nature walk to the top of the bluffs along the Mississippi. So far all the girls love Iowa and want to move here. The young'ns think everyone is nice and the big'n loves how neat and tidy everything is.
Next stop was Dyersville, Iowa home of The Original Field of Dreams Movie Site, Inc. I say that to differentiate The Left and Center Fields of Dreams. Sad to say, there are two competing tourist attractions at the site of the filming of the great Kevin Costner opus. One owned by the family who owns the house and the infield, the other by an investment banking firm which bought left and center fields and has a fancy souvenir stand. At first I was upset about the inestment souvenir stand, but then I thought, it's actually pretty cool because if you really love the movie, getting to make a choice between the field cleared of corn or a corporate enterprise allows you to become part of the ethos of the movie.
Every great road trip has to have discovery of a great restaurant. On this trip we have discovered a chain called Culver's. We think they are in collusion with Braum's because they have locations all around Oklahoma, but none within. It's mainly a frozen custard stand with great sandwiches and burgers.
Every great road trip also has a new catch phrase that cracks everyone up. On this trip ours is: She's got agates in her bra.
We wrapped up the day with visits to Amana Colonies and C.F. Kats' college potentials: Cornell College and Grinnell College (or as we call them, The 'Nells) and finally landed in Newton, home of Maytag.
Sayonara
Next stop was Dyersville, Iowa home of The Original Field of Dreams Movie Site, Inc. I say that to differentiate The Left and Center Fields of Dreams. Sad to say, there are two competing tourist attractions at the site of the filming of the great Kevin Costner opus. One owned by the family who owns the house and the infield, the other by an investment banking firm which bought left and center fields and has a fancy souvenir stand. At first I was upset about the inestment souvenir stand, but then I thought, it's actually pretty cool because if you really love the movie, getting to make a choice between the field cleared of corn or a corporate enterprise allows you to become part of the ethos of the movie.
Every great road trip has to have discovery of a great restaurant. On this trip we have discovered a chain called Culver's. We think they are in collusion with Braum's because they have locations all around Oklahoma, but none within. It's mainly a frozen custard stand with great sandwiches and burgers.
Every great road trip also has a new catch phrase that cracks everyone up. On this trip ours is: She's got agates in her bra.
We wrapped up the day with visits to Amana Colonies and C.F. Kats' college potentials: Cornell College and Grinnell College (or as we call them, The 'Nells) and finally landed in Newton, home of Maytag.
Sayonara
Quality Chicks
We've been incommunicado with no internet and spotty cell phone service for the last few days. It's been pretty nice, actually.
Wednesday we went up to Duluth and the North Shore of Lake Superior and then we swung east over to the Apostle Islands of Wisconsin where we stayed in the fishing cum tourist village of Bayfield. Our last morning there we ferried over to Madeline Island (the only remaining inhabited Apostle) and rented some bicycles to cruise around the island. It was actually pretty fun, but it was the one crisis point on the trip thus far. SGK wanted to try riding her own bike even though she hasn't ever quite mastered it and when we tried her out the poor thing was gripped with fear and couldn't get going. That was fine as they have the little tagalong bikes you can attach to the back and have the little ones pedal along with you. But she was crushed and had to pout which started me on a slow boil. Then she didn't want to get on the tagalong bike. Then we had to go through the whole, "I can't..." and "I'm scared" routine. You know how it is when you have someone going into hysterics. The only guide we really have for that is the classic TV/Movie scenario where someone goes into hysterics and their loved one gives them a hard slap across the face. No, I didn't do that but I did loose a few mild expletives in a low tone. It's where I fail with girls. As a boy all I know that work are the bullying things we grow up with like accusations of cowardice, girliness, and sissiness. Those don't work here obviously. But refusing to give in and coddle, I just ignored her, put her on the bike and took off. She was fine after that and we cruised around the wooded island for an hour and a half. She really loved it and I paid for my persistence with an hour of running commentary on a range of arcane topics.
YHWH absolutely fell in love with the whole of the Lake, though and SGK has rekindled her geologic passion, having discovered the Lake Superior Agate and rock shops. Our swanky auto now cruises a bit more sluggishly and the tires have a little less bounce owing to her rock haul. Thanks to Tex's gift of a mineral handbook, she now regales us with the Mohs scale hardness, luster, and classification of each rock.
We have all enjoyed our time on the trip so far, but the one shared opinion we have is that the people in the North Woods are not very friendly. We've discussed it a lot and we can't decided whether they are "unfriendly" or "not friendly" or whether we have too-high standards because of our own state's legendary friendliness. So far we have shrugged it off and figured it must be a Scandinavian thing owing to the stereotype of the taciturn Northern European.
So, signing out from somewhere on the Mississippi River...
Wednesday we went up to Duluth and the North Shore of Lake Superior and then we swung east over to the Apostle Islands of Wisconsin where we stayed in the fishing cum tourist village of Bayfield. Our last morning there we ferried over to Madeline Island (the only remaining inhabited Apostle) and rented some bicycles to cruise around the island. It was actually pretty fun, but it was the one crisis point on the trip thus far. SGK wanted to try riding her own bike even though she hasn't ever quite mastered it and when we tried her out the poor thing was gripped with fear and couldn't get going. That was fine as they have the little tagalong bikes you can attach to the back and have the little ones pedal along with you. But she was crushed and had to pout which started me on a slow boil. Then she didn't want to get on the tagalong bike. Then we had to go through the whole, "I can't..." and "I'm scared" routine. You know how it is when you have someone going into hysterics. The only guide we really have for that is the classic TV/Movie scenario where someone goes into hysterics and their loved one gives them a hard slap across the face. No, I didn't do that but I did loose a few mild expletives in a low tone. It's where I fail with girls. As a boy all I know that work are the bullying things we grow up with like accusations of cowardice, girliness, and sissiness. Those don't work here obviously. But refusing to give in and coddle, I just ignored her, put her on the bike and took off. She was fine after that and we cruised around the wooded island for an hour and a half. She really loved it and I paid for my persistence with an hour of running commentary on a range of arcane topics.
YHWH absolutely fell in love with the whole of the Lake, though and SGK has rekindled her geologic passion, having discovered the Lake Superior Agate and rock shops. Our swanky auto now cruises a bit more sluggishly and the tires have a little less bounce owing to her rock haul. Thanks to Tex's gift of a mineral handbook, she now regales us with the Mohs scale hardness, luster, and classification of each rock.
We have all enjoyed our time on the trip so far, but the one shared opinion we have is that the people in the North Woods are not very friendly. We've discussed it a lot and we can't decided whether they are "unfriendly" or "not friendly" or whether we have too-high standards because of our own state's legendary friendliness. So far we have shrugged it off and figured it must be a Scandinavian thing owing to the stereotype of the taciturn Northern European.
So, signing out from somewhere on the Mississippi River...
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
It's Not A Problem
Day Four
We got off to another slow start to day. I can't seem to get through to everyone that when you start the day at 11:00 am you only get to do half as much stuff, but I refuse to be a vacation Nazi, so I just bide my time.
Our first stop was downtown Minneapolis with the stated goal of visting the Mary Tyler Moore statue. We found it easily enough and it was very tastefully done, including go-go boots and little Jackie-O purse. She's just flinging her beret in the air.
We strolled around Downtown Minneapolis awhile and visited some of the big department stores since the girls haven't ever really been in one of those grand old style stores (when didn't shop much at all in NYC last fall). They weren't much wowed by it.
Finally, as we walked back to the parking lot, I felt like I had to turn around and go to the new Minneapolis Public Library even though I had been trying to avoid it. They spent $125 million on their new building and I wanted to see what they got for the money, but I was afraid of becoming envious. Thankfully, the building is really ugly and industrial looking so that helped soften blow. And from the outside it looks like one of the villainous craft stalking Kevin Costner in Waterworld.
Somehow, while SGK and I were in the Children's area, my amazing wife struck up a conversation with the librarian in the special collections room and we all got to get a special tour of the room and see some of the treasures including one of Audubon's gorgeous elephant folios. I also talked shop with a couple of the librarians and swapped a couple of war stories.
The rest of the day, we spent looking at college campuses for C. F. Kats, including Macalester and Hamline.
Finally, we went with Drew's family to a Minnesota Twins interleague game vs. the Braves. We had nice seats and it was half off. It was great fun even though the venue is horrible for baseball. I still refuse to side with owners, but not having ever been to a game in the Metrodome, I have always taken the side of the taxpayer in the notorious stadium squabble in MSP, but I have to say they really do need a new place to play. Actually, that doesn't mean I agree with the corporate thieves who want the city to build it. If they want it bad enough, they should build it.
We got off to another slow start to day. I can't seem to get through to everyone that when you start the day at 11:00 am you only get to do half as much stuff, but I refuse to be a vacation Nazi, so I just bide my time.
Our first stop was downtown Minneapolis with the stated goal of visting the Mary Tyler Moore statue. We found it easily enough and it was very tastefully done, including go-go boots and little Jackie-O purse. She's just flinging her beret in the air.
We strolled around Downtown Minneapolis awhile and visited some of the big department stores since the girls haven't ever really been in one of those grand old style stores (when didn't shop much at all in NYC last fall). They weren't much wowed by it.
Finally, as we walked back to the parking lot, I felt like I had to turn around and go to the new Minneapolis Public Library even though I had been trying to avoid it. They spent $125 million on their new building and I wanted to see what they got for the money, but I was afraid of becoming envious. Thankfully, the building is really ugly and industrial looking so that helped soften blow. And from the outside it looks like one of the villainous craft stalking Kevin Costner in Waterworld.
Somehow, while SGK and I were in the Children's area, my amazing wife struck up a conversation with the librarian in the special collections room and we all got to get a special tour of the room and see some of the treasures including one of Audubon's gorgeous elephant folios. I also talked shop with a couple of the librarians and swapped a couple of war stories.
The rest of the day, we spent looking at college campuses for C. F. Kats, including Macalester and Hamline.
Finally, we went with Drew's family to a Minnesota Twins interleague game vs. the Braves. We had nice seats and it was half off. It was great fun even though the venue is horrible for baseball. I still refuse to side with owners, but not having ever been to a game in the Metrodome, I have always taken the side of the taxpayer in the notorious stadium squabble in MSP, but I have to say they really do need a new place to play. Actually, that doesn't mean I agree with the corporate thieves who want the city to build it. If they want it bad enough, they should build it.
Monday, June 11, 2007
A Mighty Wind
Day Three
We met my old pal Drew mid-morning and began our hajj to the commercial mecca of the USA -- the Mall of America. You know, I absolutely loved it. It wasn't that hard to get to; it wasn't hard to park.
Most importantly, SGK got her first initiation into the world of amusement parks. You will recall they have an amusement park in side along with the four floors of shops. There's nothing like nudging them through the line, sometimes scaring them, sometimes soothing them and coaxing them into the little car on the rollercoaster and then after it's all over you ask them what they thought and they have a huge smile all over their face and they can only make breathless interjections like, "Wow!" And then the ultimate payoff...."Can we go again?!"
YHWH got 'the most comfortable shoes she's ever worn' and I found a nice retro Swatch like I had back in the 80s.
Laptop battery's about to go...
We met my old pal Drew mid-morning and began our hajj to the commercial mecca of the USA -- the Mall of America. You know, I absolutely loved it. It wasn't that hard to get to; it wasn't hard to park.
Most importantly, SGK got her first initiation into the world of amusement parks. You will recall they have an amusement park in side along with the four floors of shops. There's nothing like nudging them through the line, sometimes scaring them, sometimes soothing them and coaxing them into the little car on the rollercoaster and then after it's all over you ask them what they thought and they have a huge smile all over their face and they can only make breathless interjections like, "Wow!" And then the ultimate payoff...."Can we go again?!"
YHWH got 'the most comfortable shoes she's ever worn' and I found a nice retro Swatch like I had back in the 80s.
Laptop battery's about to go...
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Think Over What You Just Said
Despite YHWH leaving the key in door all night we had a purty good night's sleep. The only coffee place on campus was packed, so YHWH jumped out of the car to get us some joe, while the rest of us made the block several times. Finally, Killer was worried YHWH had been killed or kidnapped, so I had to go looking for her. Apparently, the Stomping Grounds uses a cup-at-a-time drip method to make their coffee and with the place being packed out, I guess it can take a while. Extremely delicious coffee though -- if you have time.
Next stop, Mamie Doud Eisenhower's birthplace in Boone. Mamie is much-loved by Killer who was so taken with her during our trip to D.C. last year. Unfortunately, although two of our guidebooks say her birthplace is open DAILY 10-5, we arrived to find it closed and a piece of white tape over the word DAILY and MON-SAT written over it. Killer took it pretty well, though and she and YHWH and Mr. Tom roamed the grounds for awhile and even sweet-talked the groundskeeper, but, she not being a keyholder, no help was forthcoming.
The rest of the morning was a leisurely drive through Iowa to a city which shares its name with C.F. Kats' boyfriend. Photo ops were taken advantage of. Eventually, we pulled into Clear Lake, Iowa for petrol and a visit to the Buddy Holly crash site. It was pretty fun to get to trek out into the middle of a soybean field to see the tastefully small shrine standing against the fence where the ill-fated Cessna bearing Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper came to a rest. C. F. Kats is a huge fan and this completes her visits to homage sites. Clear Lake was very nice and worth an extended stay.
Wrapping up the afternoon was the Spam Museum in Austin, MN. We got there with only 15 minutes to spare, but it was really fun and quite tastefully done. Killer and I picked up T-shirts for souvenirs, and we had our first fisticuffs of the trip. YHWH and I got into a fight after I told her it wasn't nice for her to say in front of the Spam ladies that we should get her brother a Spam shirt because it would be a hilarious joke. We were civil, and though we rarely fight in front of the kids, I do think it's good to fight in front of them sometimes.
Final stop was St. Paul where we met up with my oldest pal, Drew and her family and had dinner and ice cream at two local hotspots.
Next stop, Mamie Doud Eisenhower's birthplace in Boone. Mamie is much-loved by Killer who was so taken with her during our trip to D.C. last year. Unfortunately, although two of our guidebooks say her birthplace is open DAILY 10-5, we arrived to find it closed and a piece of white tape over the word DAILY and MON-SAT written over it. Killer took it pretty well, though and she and YHWH and Mr. Tom roamed the grounds for awhile and even sweet-talked the groundskeeper, but, she not being a keyholder, no help was forthcoming.
The rest of the morning was a leisurely drive through Iowa to a city which shares its name with C.F. Kats' boyfriend. Photo ops were taken advantage of. Eventually, we pulled into Clear Lake, Iowa for petrol and a visit to the Buddy Holly crash site. It was pretty fun to get to trek out into the middle of a soybean field to see the tastefully small shrine standing against the fence where the ill-fated Cessna bearing Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper came to a rest. C. F. Kats is a huge fan and this completes her visits to homage sites. Clear Lake was very nice and worth an extended stay.
Wrapping up the afternoon was the Spam Museum in Austin, MN. We got there with only 15 minutes to spare, but it was really fun and quite tastefully done. Killer and I picked up T-shirts for souvenirs, and we had our first fisticuffs of the trip. YHWH and I got into a fight after I told her it wasn't nice for her to say in front of the Spam ladies that we should get her brother a Spam shirt because it would be a hilarious joke. We were civil, and though we rarely fight in front of the kids, I do think it's good to fight in front of them sometimes.
Final stop was St. Paul where we met up with my oldest pal, Drew and her family and had dinner and ice cream at two local hotspots.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Everything's Up To Date In Ames
Day One
As usually happens we got off to a less than ideal start. After we picked up our swanky blue Chrysler 300 from Overcoat we began the extensive loading process. It's a pretty roomy old-guy car with plenty of room, but we still didn't have enough room for everything. And just as we were pulling out we heard the rumble of thunder and sure enough, we were hit by a blinding rainstorm as we got to Guthrie.
Our mascot for the trip is a, well, stuffed turkey named Mr. Tom.
Our sweet ride had Sirius satellite radio in it, but we're an XM family, so we didn't know the stations. That's when I got the creative-family-fun-idea that we generate our own channel list by turning to each station listening for a few secs and then C.F. Kats or I would come up with a name. Some of the ones we came up with were Snag My Sari On A Synthesizer: A European Movie Soundtrack; Glo-ry! I'm Dizzy: A "Thank You, I Receive That!" Story; A Child's Garden Of Narcisses; The Hottest Thing I've Ever Tasted Was Silver Spring Jerked Chicken; Ponytails R Us; and finally the tragic Scotsman-sung ballad of loss and more loss rated the channel name Bobby Goldsbrrrrro's Kilt.
We did tire of that after an hour or so - they have over 200 channels by God - and somewhere east of Emporia, Kans. I slipped in my CD of number station recordings. Once they got over the eerie fear that grips you like the aural equivalent of a stroll through a deserted mental institution, the hypnotic recitations of numbers made them nod off. Although at first C.F. Kats did say, "I can't believe how easily everyone in this car accepts this!"
For lunch we decided to pull off at Emporia and get some sandwich stuff and have a picnic. We got the food alright and directions to 'the park', but upon arrival we were met by a toll-taking ogre collecting parking fees to park at the, well, park. Weird. There was a baseball toonament, but we just wanted to eat in the shade. No dice. So we drove for-ever until we found a cement-covered urban park/memorial to native son William Allen White. We all pretty well decided that we consistently find Kansas to be unfriendly even though that goes against conventional wisdom.
Our sojourn through Oz was rewarded, though, by a delicious QT raid just over the state line in Kansas City, Mo. Mmmm....cocaccino....
Skittering across the northwest tip of Missouri, we slipped into Iowa and uneventfully arrived in Ames, where we stayed in the stately Memorial Union hotel. Very cool. During the evening we strolled around Iowa State's Campustown area and ate some BBQ. The girls also got see Saturday night on the streets of a college town. And despite YHWH leaving the key in the door all night, we had a good night's sleep.
As usually happens we got off to a less than ideal start. After we picked up our swanky blue Chrysler 300 from Overcoat we began the extensive loading process. It's a pretty roomy old-guy car with plenty of room, but we still didn't have enough room for everything. And just as we were pulling out we heard the rumble of thunder and sure enough, we were hit by a blinding rainstorm as we got to Guthrie.
Our mascot for the trip is a, well, stuffed turkey named Mr. Tom.
Our sweet ride had Sirius satellite radio in it, but we're an XM family, so we didn't know the stations. That's when I got the creative-family-fun-idea that we generate our own channel list by turning to each station listening for a few secs and then C.F. Kats or I would come up with a name. Some of the ones we came up with were Snag My Sari On A Synthesizer: A European Movie Soundtrack; Glo-ry! I'm Dizzy: A "Thank You, I Receive That!" Story; A Child's Garden Of Narcisses; The Hottest Thing I've Ever Tasted Was Silver Spring Jerked Chicken; Ponytails R Us; and finally the tragic Scotsman-sung ballad of loss and more loss rated the channel name Bobby Goldsbrrrrro's Kilt.
We did tire of that after an hour or so - they have over 200 channels by God - and somewhere east of Emporia, Kans. I slipped in my CD of number station recordings. Once they got over the eerie fear that grips you like the aural equivalent of a stroll through a deserted mental institution, the hypnotic recitations of numbers made them nod off. Although at first C.F. Kats did say, "I can't believe how easily everyone in this car accepts this!"
For lunch we decided to pull off at Emporia and get some sandwich stuff and have a picnic. We got the food alright and directions to 'the park', but upon arrival we were met by a toll-taking ogre collecting parking fees to park at the, well, park. Weird. There was a baseball toonament, but we just wanted to eat in the shade. No dice. So we drove for-ever until we found a cement-covered urban park/memorial to native son William Allen White. We all pretty well decided that we consistently find Kansas to be unfriendly even though that goes against conventional wisdom.
Our sojourn through Oz was rewarded, though, by a delicious QT raid just over the state line in Kansas City, Mo. Mmmm....cocaccino....
Skittering across the northwest tip of Missouri, we slipped into Iowa and uneventfully arrived in Ames, where we stayed in the stately Memorial Union hotel. Very cool. During the evening we strolled around Iowa State's Campustown area and ate some BBQ. The girls also got see Saturday night on the streets of a college town. And despite YHWH leaving the key in the door all night, we had a good night's sleep.
Friday, June 08, 2007
From the Land of Sky Blue Waters
I've pretty much hit a creative brick wall of late. I don't knit anymore. I don't write anymore. I don't read anymore.
If it was the 1970s, I would just skateboard down to the arcade and drop a quarter into the biorhythm machine to figure out when my creative curve was going to turn the corner. But, like my short shorts and feathered hair, those days are bygone.
The Centennial projects required such an acute focused energy I've given over to blaming them, but who knows. At the Last Public Place in America I'm seeing a number of guys come in to ask for temporary cards and using their military ids for verification (read: Iraq/Afghan war veterans now living in homeless shelters). That really makes me feel hollow. And angry. Also today I saw a leg at the security area. Someone forgot their leg. How do you forget your leg? I didn't have time to find out what happened. The world is too much with me.
So, in the words of Boon Schoenstein, there's only thing to do... roadtrip! It's time for the annual family roadtrip. I'll try to report in from the road....
Of course, I have to figure out a way to watch the final Sopranos episode with the kids in the hotel room...
If it was the 1970s, I would just skateboard down to the arcade and drop a quarter into the biorhythm machine to figure out when my creative curve was going to turn the corner. But, like my short shorts and feathered hair, those days are bygone.
The Centennial projects required such an acute focused energy I've given over to blaming them, but who knows. At the Last Public Place in America I'm seeing a number of guys come in to ask for temporary cards and using their military ids for verification (read: Iraq/Afghan war veterans now living in homeless shelters). That really makes me feel hollow. And angry. Also today I saw a leg at the security area. Someone forgot their leg. How do you forget your leg? I didn't have time to find out what happened. The world is too much with me.
So, in the words of Boon Schoenstein, there's only thing to do... roadtrip! It's time for the annual family roadtrip. I'll try to report in from the road....
Of course, I have to figure out a way to watch the final Sopranos episode with the kids in the hotel room...
Friday, May 04, 2007
A Foul Ball Was A Moral Victory
If you're the praying sort, I can use your help. I have pressing needs but I'm afraid the folks in this tower would hang up on me. I have two requests.And really, it's not for me, it's for others who mean so much to me.
First, Le Choix is on Sunday and the latest polls have Sego dazed in the corner yelling, "Cut me, Mick!" Or rather, "Couper moi, Mick!" She could use your prayers.
Then there's the matter of the Dodger outfield.
Two of the three starters (Gonzalez and Pierre) are so old (in fact we only have two guys in the field who are under 30) they can't run anything down and the third, Ethier, trys to make the highlight reels every night by making acrobatic dives and ends up turning singles into triples. Their fielding percentages are .974, .975, and .959 respectively. Since many of my readers may be uninitiated, you may be thinking I'm off base by complaining that Ethier only catches 96% of the balls hit his way. Let me drag out the old airline analogy: there are about 87,000 flights per day in US airspace according to NATCA; if NATCA hired Andre Ethier to watch the skies we would have 3,567 crashes every day. That's a lot of RBIs people. I mean if they were hitting over .300 or had a dozen homeruns between them I could overlook this, but that's not the case.
Now, I learned not to pray for something specific, so I don't care if you pray for angels to speed these fielders to the ball, Matt Lawton to be miraculously healed (he's from OKC, and was hitting .429, fielding 1.000 before injury), or for us to simply win. I'm just seeking some intercession here.
I will say it has been fun this year, though. We've been winning a lot and with all the close games it's like watching the legendary teams of the 1960s -- except we don't have this guy, my hero. Go ahead, watch the video; you can spare 1:41 to watch one of the best ever.
Think Blue
Saturday, April 28, 2007
A City On A Hill
Super Giant Killer and I have been reading this eleven volume set of American history at bedtime for the last few weeks. We're almost finished with volume 2 which is about the establishment of the English colonies. To be honest I'm surprised she's stuck with it because she tends to be more science-oriented and will read about astronomy, geology, or geography before anything else. This is the only thing she could think of when asked what she wanted for her birthday:
Anyway, we got to the section on New England and she was really interested in that. As we read she kept making these deep sighs and saying, "Again with the religion!" Of course, you never can tell what exactly kids will make of something (Bill Cosby and Art Linkletter built careers on this, and I guess Linklater, too). So a few days ago, she gets on her mom's email account at work and fires this off to our pastor:"Hey,Preacher! My Dad and I were reading about the Puritans and Quakers. Do you know anything about them? Well, a man had been away for 6 yearsand he kissed his wife in church- AND THEY THREW HIM OUT IN THE STOCKYARDS!!!!!!!! Whoa,they were REALLY religous! Also, a babysitter namedTituba made three girls be witches! Really true!!!!!! That's em'Puritans for 'ya!!!"
Ah, how little has changed since then... or as Ségolène would say, "plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose."
Friday, April 20, 2007
Pour an Parachutage, l'Atterrissage Est Réussi
Well, this Sunday is the big day. No, not the 118th anniversary of the Opening of the Unasssigned Lands to Settlement. Not Earth Day. No, it's the Élection Présidentielle Française de 2007. Since you're wondering why I'm so interested in the French elections, I'll just come out and admit that I have a huge crush on Ségolène Royal.
I'm not exactly sure how or when exactly I developed this crush, and I've tried reconstructing it, but hell, it really doesn't matter. It was probably the name that first hooked me. I love several French female names that Americans don't hear alot. Around here, it seems you can add "ette" on to any male name and voila! shee ees Franch. You'll occasionally see an "enne" or two. The ones I like are Clotilde, Sandrine, Blandine, and now, of course, Ségolène. Plus, I love the irony that a Royal could be president of France.
Then, yes, OK, I will admit I think she's beautiful and graceful and charming and I shouldn't objectify and all that. But a) I'm not voting in this election, 2) let's face it, it's not everyday you see a beautiful socialist (ever seen Emma Goldman? ok, she was technically an anarchist) and d) I'm new at this; I've never had a crush on a presidential candidate before.
And then, she's got a sexy bio as well. Born in Senegal to colonial parents, she later sued her father for not adequately supporting his family, especially his daughters (it's more complicated than that, but shows how tough she is).
I'm not exactly sure how or when exactly I developed this crush, and I've tried reconstructing it, but hell, it really doesn't matter. It was probably the name that first hooked me. I love several French female names that Americans don't hear alot. Around here, it seems you can add "ette" on to any male name and voila! shee ees Franch. You'll occasionally see an "enne" or two. The ones I like are Clotilde, Sandrine, Blandine, and now, of course, Ségolène. Plus, I love the irony that a Royal could be president of France.
Then, yes, OK, I will admit I think she's beautiful and graceful and charming and I shouldn't objectify and all that. But a) I'm not voting in this election, 2) let's face it, it's not everyday you see a beautiful socialist (ever seen Emma Goldman? ok, she was technically an anarchist) and d) I'm new at this; I've never had a crush on a presidential candidate before. 
And then, she's got a sexy bio as well. Born in Senegal to colonial parents, she later sued her father for not adequately supporting his family, especially his daughters (it's more complicated than that, but shows how tough she is).
Today's polls say it's too close to call. I really hope she wins, though. What I'd be interested to see is if her election would have an impact on ours. It might actually help Hillary if people saw that the French, who can be even more chauvinistic than we are, would accept a woman president. Although, if that happened our countries' relations could get even worse since Ségolène recently approached Hillary and suggested they work together and she got the brush off.
I just hope Lisa Loeb takes it well when she finds out about my crush on Ségolène.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Birth of the True
Baby Ella is finally here! Actually, she got here two weeks ago, but I'm just getting around to posting. According to my nephew, they ran out of caps at the hospital and my little last-minute-left-over-yarn-cap came in pretty handy. Hey, we Pisces have to stick together. Here she is with dad.
My nephew and I share the same birthday and we were hoping she would arrive on that day, but she just missed it. It'll be fun having a girl Pisces in the family. My sister loathes me and my nephew, so maybe we can recruit Baby E as an ally.
I always love how wise babies look... Or maybe like Charles Bronson.
I've been calling her Minnow Pea for months and no one has gotten it. I guess it's not that funny. But I'll probably call her that the rest of her life, poor thing. Or maybe I'll call her The Ella G Show. Here is a list of nicknames I called my nephews:
Lobs
Lobster Tail
Tail of the Lobster That Bit Me
Chief Hair-in-the-Face
Doughfus
Chief Spotted Foot
J'Ray
Dotsch
Mymy
Blotch
It's not as harrowing as it sounds. If you start calling them weird things when they're young, they just accept it as part of life and don't give it a second thought. It also gives them a rationale for understanding why their mother hates their uncle. I'm not sure what the motivation there is. I'd like to think she's jealous that she didn't come up with such great nicknames, but I'm sure it's much more deep-seated than that.
My nephew and I share the same birthday and we were hoping she would arrive on that day, but she just missed it. It'll be fun having a girl Pisces in the family. My sister loathes me and my nephew, so maybe we can recruit Baby E as an ally.
I always love how wise babies look... Or maybe like Charles Bronson.
I've been calling her Minnow Pea for months and no one has gotten it. I guess it's not that funny. But I'll probably call her that the rest of her life, poor thing. Or maybe I'll call her The Ella G Show. Here is a list of nicknames I called my nephews:
Lobs
Lobster Tail
Tail of the Lobster That Bit Me
Chief Hair-in-the-Face
Doughfus
Chief Spotted Foot
J'Ray
Dotsch
Mymy
Blotch
It's not as harrowing as it sounds. If you start calling them weird things when they're young, they just accept it as part of life and don't give it a second thought. It also gives them a rationale for understanding why their mother hates their uncle. I'm not sure what the motivation there is. I'd like to think she's jealous that she didn't come up with such great nicknames, but I'm sure it's much more deep-seated than that.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Does He Like Butter Tarts?
This morning as I watched the 6:00AM rebroadcast of the local news I saw the report on The Great Peanut Butter Scare of 2007. "Naw," I thought. "Couldn't happen to me." I'm one of the great multitudes of people that nothing like that ever happens to (not that I'm complaining). I remember growing up that ever so often mom and dad would take a toy away and tell me that somebody said it was dangerous. Sure enough, some kid in East Whangdoodle, New Jersey had swallowed a piece of Blammo's Live-Fire Gatling Gun for Kids. Or some three year old in a southside tenement in Chicago was eating the paint off the walls and anything with lead paint (which was everything) got pulled. I'm not complaining about consumer safety, it's just even at age 7 I wondered, "who was that kid who ruined it for everyone?" I never swallowed bullets, I never ate lead paint, I never shot a star trek phaser in anyone's eye.
It's a little different, but I also always wondered: who was it that ate the red dye #whatever? Who ate those Jack-in-the-Box burgers in Seattle? Who ate the spinach? I'm not making light of their troubles, it's just I've never encountered many public health hazards. So, when I saw the report I blew it off.
Then YHWH comes in after watching it in the other room. "Hey, guess what Killer at for lunch yesterday?"
"Uhhh...The same thing I ate for my snack every day this week?"
"Yep, say hello to Sal Minella."
It's kind of pretty as killers go.
There's no punchline here, sorry. No one was rushed to the hospital. But I've been giddy all day because I purchased my first contaminated foodstuff (that I know of). I've now been involved in a recall. Even our Pinto's gas tank was not one of the exploding kind. But last Sunday I bought two - two - jars of Peter Pan Creamy Whipped Peanut Butter with number "2111" on the lid.
I authorize Adjective Queen to turn Empty Room a web memorial.
*ps I know how to spell salmonella
It's a little different, but I also always wondered: who was it that ate the red dye #whatever? Who ate those Jack-in-the-Box burgers in Seattle? Who ate the spinach? I'm not making light of their troubles, it's just I've never encountered many public health hazards. So, when I saw the report I blew it off.
Then YHWH comes in after watching it in the other room. "Hey, guess what Killer at for lunch yesterday?"
"Uhhh...The same thing I ate for my snack every day this week?"
"Yep, say hello to Sal Minella."
It's kind of pretty as killers go.
There's no punchline here, sorry. No one was rushed to the hospital. But I've been giddy all day because I purchased my first contaminated foodstuff (that I know of). I've now been involved in a recall. Even our Pinto's gas tank was not one of the exploding kind. But last Sunday I bought two - two - jars of Peter Pan Creamy Whipped Peanut Butter with number "2111" on the lid.
I authorize Adjective Queen to turn Empty Room a web memorial.
*ps I know how to spell salmonella
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Love Is Like...Oxygen
So, Valentine's Day. Never was much for those Hallmark Holidays. It was pretty much ruined for me forever back in 1980. I had two girls on the hook and life was easy. They fought with each other and I just sat back and soaked up all the attention and all the loot. But Valentine's Day 1980 I gave the girl I really loved a nice present (a shiny necklace from Service Merchandise) and the other one the standard Russell Stover red heart-shaped box. Bad mistake. I should've known the one would flaunt in front of the other. A red heart-shaped box of Russell Stover chocolate doesn't really look like it would hurt when it's thrown in your face, but it was cold that night and it did kind of sting.
I got each of my Vals the standard gift this year -- candy and a card -- and a small extra thing. Super Giant Killer got a Polly Pocket-Hot Wheel cross-branding toy (somehow I don't think Mattel cross-brands the Pollys with the toys on the boy side of the aisle).
And C. F. Kats got a little sumpin' I knitted up to hold her tiny mp3 player. It's the first thing I've ever made up, so I'm kind of partial to it. Here it is:
Check out these insane Valentines SGK got.
See, I've said for years this religion stuff is just a cruel joke and now the folks at Dayspring have actually come out and admitted it.
I think this is Vengeful Barbie. You may have to click on it to get the subtle loathsome look.
And how about the sentiment - 'you're such a fashionable friend'? I'll hang out with you, but I won't be there for you when you need me.
Finally, another from those zany folks at Dayspring...
What kid doesn't love 1920s slang on their valentine?
I got each of my Vals the standard gift this year -- candy and a card -- and a small extra thing. Super Giant Killer got a Polly Pocket-Hot Wheel cross-branding toy (somehow I don't think Mattel cross-brands the Pollys with the toys on the boy side of the aisle).
And C. F. Kats got a little sumpin' I knitted up to hold her tiny mp3 player. It's the first thing I've ever made up, so I'm kind of partial to it. Here it is:
Check out these insane Valentines SGK got.
See, I've said for years this religion stuff is just a cruel joke and now the folks at Dayspring have actually come out and admitted it.
I think this is Vengeful Barbie. You may have to click on it to get the subtle loathsome look.
And how about the sentiment - 'you're such a fashionable friend'? I'll hang out with you, but I won't be there for you when you need me.
Finally, another from those zany folks at Dayspring...
What kid doesn't love 1920s slang on their valentine?
Sunday, February 04, 2007
I Know the Names of 666 Stars
Oh well, it was a nice first half. I had a great time at the Queen's Super Bowl Party, tho. Gouldie, Guy, DOOL, and I were all there plus assorted family members. There is nothing more adorable in the world than observing a tipsy Queen. I live for it. It was also great seeing Gouldie. I hadn't seen her since Super Bowl XXIX back in '95 when the SB was still played in January. Lots of good eats and drinks and good times.
Here's my random fact of the day. I read this morning that the reason you find that ruler sticker on the pump islands at gas stations is because robbery and theft are so prevalent at gas stations the sticker enables staff to easily tell police how tall the perps were. Never knew that.
Here's my random fact of the day. I read this morning that the reason you find that ruler sticker on the pump islands at gas stations is because robbery and theft are so prevalent at gas stations the sticker enables staff to easily tell police how tall the perps were. Never knew that.
Caught By the Flanker
I got no dog in this fight called the Super Bowl, but here's why I hope the Colts lose:
1. The Colts should be eternally cursed for removing one of the most storied original franchises with a staunchly loyal fanbase - and to Indianapolis for God's sake.
2. I hexed them when they beat Dallas in the first Super Bowl I ever watched - SB V.
3. They let Joe Namath and the AFL win a championship and then promptly turned around and joined the AFC. Unforgivable.
4. It's against the spirit of the Revolution to feel sorry for a pouty quarterback with a $99.2 million salary + $34.5 million signing bonus, just because he's a nice guy.
4. It's still not OK to play football in a shiny dome on plastic grass in air conditioning.
I'm crossing my fingers for the Bears because they are the antithesis of all those (except number 2).
1. The Colts should be eternally cursed for removing one of the most storied original franchises with a staunchly loyal fanbase - and to Indianapolis for God's sake.
2. I hexed them when they beat Dallas in the first Super Bowl I ever watched - SB V.
3. They let Joe Namath and the AFL win a championship and then promptly turned around and joined the AFC. Unforgivable.
4. It's against the spirit of the Revolution to feel sorry for a pouty quarterback with a $99.2 million salary + $34.5 million signing bonus, just because he's a nice guy.
4. It's still not OK to play football in a shiny dome on plastic grass in air conditioning.
I'm crossing my fingers for the Bears because they are the antithesis of all those (except number 2).
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Just A Sip
Two food-related items...
We religiously attended Moe's Southwest Grill every Friday night for over a year, but last week the unthinkable happened. After a couple months of estrangement from Moe's, we have discovered our new favorite restaurant. Viva Mexico! No, that's the name of the place, not pro-immigration sloganeering. I heartily recommend it. It's the kind of Mexican food I imagine certain Mexicans would eat. I say that because I'm not exactly sure what Mexicans consider comfort food, but if I were a Mexican, this is the kind of food I would dodge a couple Minutemen to go home for. The main thing that has endeared me to the menu is the inclusion of two or three pork dishes. You rarely see pork dishes at the big Dallas chains that prey on Northwest Highway diners, but this place has them. They have all the regular Tex-Mex stuff, too, but I love the carnitas. Oh, and tres leches, too. It's on Northwest Highway near May in the cavernous building that once housed Tony's Via Roma and a number of Chinese and Mexican enterprises. The family that runs it is great and YHWH has already chatted them up and gotten everyone's life story. The atmosphere is a little different, kind of like a community center with TVs and a pool table and there're always people walking around chatting. The place is so big, though, you can always find a quiet spot.
The second item is in response to the inquiry about Quik Trip by the Maryland Crab on my previous post. QT is the shining oasis, the pot o' gold, waiting at the eastern terminus of the Turner Turnpike in West Tulsa (actually they are all over Tulsa and nine states). It was our all-night hangout when I was a disaffected youth roaming the streets of Tulsa in my sleeveless Army surplus shirt. Back then it was cigs, Sweet-Tarts, and Koolees. But today they have an awe-inspiring beverage array. A man stumbling into a Quik Trip in Dalandzagad after crossing the Gobi could die of thirst before deciding on just the right drink combination to quench his thirst. Here is the lineup (and these are all from the fountain, not cans, etc.): 24 soft drinks, 3 hot chocolate varieties, two kinds of steamed milk, two kinds of frozen steamed milk, 6 cappuccino flavors, 8 kinds of creamer (dry or liquid), 4 kinds of coffee, 6 flavors of smoothies, 2 kinds of energy drinks, 11 flavors of sports drinks, 7 flavors of freezonis, and three flavors of shakes which you can mix yourself to any consistency. The beverage center has achieved cult status and employees and loyal customers are encouraged to provide recipes for delicious combinations of all the above. This is free market capitalism as Adam Smith envisioned it, folks. Jefferson was probably even thinking of a Blue Thunder when he wrote about the pursuit of happiness.
Here's a couple recipes:
Yellow Snow
1/2 White Cherry Freezoni
1/2 Minute Maid Lemonade
Stir well
Fruit of the Loon
1/4 Blue Raspberry Freezoni
1/4 Juicy Orange Smoothie
1/4 Burpleberry Wally Smoothie
1/4 Puckerberry Wally Freezoni
Colaccino
1/3 Cola Freezoni
1/3 Frozen Cappuccino
1/3 Frozen Steamer
Stir well
Annette Frappacello
Frozen Cappuccino
5 Shots Amaretto Creamer
from Flavor Center
3 Shots Chocolate Syrup
from Flavor Center
Stir well
Kiss the Rooster
1/3 Puckerberry Wally Freezoni
1/3 White Cherry Freezoni
1/3 Rooster Booster Fountain
Stir well.
More here.
The Colaccino is my fall back position when freedom of choice is too much.
Now, here's the problem. They are nowhere near our market. I would love to know if and who they collude with because no one around here is even remotely competitive with Quik Trip. My dad the groceryman used to tell me all the time about collusion in the grocery biz. For example there is (or at least was 20 years ago) a line somwhere around Ardmore and north of that is OKC territory and south of that is Dallas territory. So, some stores and products (seems like maybe Winn-Dixie and Mr. PiBB come to mind), could be sold in one market and not in another. It's illegal, but companies get around things, of course. I'm not accusing - no libel here - just wondering why QT won't enter our market. It can't be the demographics because we are Tulsa only bigger.
Wake up! This post is over!
We religiously attended Moe's Southwest Grill every Friday night for over a year, but last week the unthinkable happened. After a couple months of estrangement from Moe's, we have discovered our new favorite restaurant. Viva Mexico! No, that's the name of the place, not pro-immigration sloganeering. I heartily recommend it. It's the kind of Mexican food I imagine certain Mexicans would eat. I say that because I'm not exactly sure what Mexicans consider comfort food, but if I were a Mexican, this is the kind of food I would dodge a couple Minutemen to go home for. The main thing that has endeared me to the menu is the inclusion of two or three pork dishes. You rarely see pork dishes at the big Dallas chains that prey on Northwest Highway diners, but this place has them. They have all the regular Tex-Mex stuff, too, but I love the carnitas. Oh, and tres leches, too. It's on Northwest Highway near May in the cavernous building that once housed Tony's Via Roma and a number of Chinese and Mexican enterprises. The family that runs it is great and YHWH has already chatted them up and gotten everyone's life story. The atmosphere is a little different, kind of like a community center with TVs and a pool table and there're always people walking around chatting. The place is so big, though, you can always find a quiet spot.
The second item is in response to the inquiry about Quik Trip by the Maryland Crab on my previous post. QT is the shining oasis, the pot o' gold, waiting at the eastern terminus of the Turner Turnpike in West Tulsa (actually they are all over Tulsa and nine states). It was our all-night hangout when I was a disaffected youth roaming the streets of Tulsa in my sleeveless Army surplus shirt. Back then it was cigs, Sweet-Tarts, and Koolees. But today they have an awe-inspiring beverage array. A man stumbling into a Quik Trip in Dalandzagad after crossing the Gobi could die of thirst before deciding on just the right drink combination to quench his thirst. Here is the lineup (and these are all from the fountain, not cans, etc.): 24 soft drinks, 3 hot chocolate varieties, two kinds of steamed milk, two kinds of frozen steamed milk, 6 cappuccino flavors, 8 kinds of creamer (dry or liquid), 4 kinds of coffee, 6 flavors of smoothies, 2 kinds of energy drinks, 11 flavors of sports drinks, 7 flavors of freezonis, and three flavors of shakes which you can mix yourself to any consistency. The beverage center has achieved cult status and employees and loyal customers are encouraged to provide recipes for delicious combinations of all the above. This is free market capitalism as Adam Smith envisioned it, folks. Jefferson was probably even thinking of a Blue Thunder when he wrote about the pursuit of happiness.
Here's a couple recipes:
Yellow Snow
1/2 White Cherry Freezoni
1/2 Minute Maid Lemonade
Stir well
Fruit of the Loon
1/4 Blue Raspberry Freezoni
1/4 Juicy Orange Smoothie
1/4 Burpleberry Wally Smoothie
1/4 Puckerberry Wally Freezoni
Colaccino
1/3 Cola Freezoni
1/3 Frozen Cappuccino
1/3 Frozen Steamer
Stir well
Annette Frappacello
Frozen Cappuccino
5 Shots Amaretto Creamer
from Flavor Center
3 Shots Chocolate Syrup
from Flavor Center
Stir well
Kiss the Rooster
1/3 Puckerberry Wally Freezoni
1/3 White Cherry Freezoni
1/3 Rooster Booster Fountain
Stir well.
More here.
The Colaccino is my fall back position when freedom of choice is too much.
Now, here's the problem. They are nowhere near our market. I would love to know if and who they collude with because no one around here is even remotely competitive with Quik Trip. My dad the groceryman used to tell me all the time about collusion in the grocery biz. For example there is (or at least was 20 years ago) a line somwhere around Ardmore and north of that is OKC territory and south of that is Dallas territory. So, some stores and products (seems like maybe Winn-Dixie and Mr. PiBB come to mind), could be sold in one market and not in another. It's illegal, but companies get around things, of course. I'm not accusing - no libel here - just wondering why QT won't enter our market. It can't be the demographics because we are Tulsa only bigger.
Wake up! This post is over!
Sunday, January 28, 2007
It Wasn't My Baby
Well, if I, the father, was not slain last week in The Great Sledding Episode, then this afternoon I was laid in the grave. I attended a baby shower. I don't do baby showers. And wedding ones are even more huh-uh. Ask Purple Bunny. She loves to recount how I didn't even attend the shower people at work hosted for Killer's birth. I may be edjumacated, but I still retain a few selected redneck qualities and an objection to men and women showering together is one them.
I was not planning on going to this thing. The shower was for my nephew and the female carrying an embryo to which he has contributed DNA. He's the second of my nephews to forego such inconveniences as wedding vows or any other public committments to care for his family, but that's irrelevant here. It was in Tulsa and the girls were going to be gone all day. Even though I desperately need some time alone to recharge, I felt guilty for not spending the day with them, so I decided I would go with them and drop them off then go kill a couple of hours. I should have applied the sage advice of SAT coaches and stuck with my first answer. C. F. Kats opted out of family life anyway because the dirge of daily life has become just too much. So we other three journeyed down the turnpike with only the promise of Quik Trip's gleaming cornucopia of mixed drinks to pull me onward.
Upon arrival, my nephew came rushing out to great us. I couldn't even begin to relate to you how much I love this nephew and what a wonderful guy he is (despite that other stuff). Suffice to say, he is as good a nephew as you could get -- he was born on my birthday. And his daughter may pull off the trifecta since she is due to arrive very near our birthday. He is as near a human clone of me as the current administration would allow, so it would be really cool to see how close a girl would end up being like us. Anyway, he and his dad were both there and gave every indication of staying. I was in a tough spot. If I called them sissies for attending a baby shower, they would have beaten me to a pulp. Finally I asked him if he was staying. "Yeah," he said. "I want to be here." Damn. What has this world come to.
So not only did I stay, I played a shower game. I won the shower game. It was a game where you try and match kinds of candy to the peculiarities surrounding the birth process. My prize was a bag full of about 20 kinds of candy. Somehow Raisinets and Milky Ways are less appetizing now. Before long I was talking about how much better Avent bottles are. I extolled the virtues of the ever-versatile receiving blanket; listing its many uses as every thing from burping rag to vomit cleanup. Cradle cap. Booger removal via squeezy rubber thing. I ruminated on how the cuter the little outfits are, the less time they will be able to wear them. Not having been to one of these before I kept a wary eye on my escape route because I was pretty certain that women tell war stories involving epidurals, blood, guts and all that rite of passage stuff. Luckily that didn't come up. And I thanked every deity I could imagine that I wasn't at one of those showers in England they have after the baby arrives and snack on the placenta.
But who knows, instead of slaying the father, maybe it's a new paradigm. Maybe Killer will reject a suitor who refuses to go to a friend's shower, thinking if it was good enough for her dad, why isn't good enough for him. Nahhh...not likely.
Think I'll go have a Skor candy bar now...
I was not planning on going to this thing. The shower was for my nephew and the female carrying an embryo to which he has contributed DNA. He's the second of my nephews to forego such inconveniences as wedding vows or any other public committments to care for his family, but that's irrelevant here. It was in Tulsa and the girls were going to be gone all day. Even though I desperately need some time alone to recharge, I felt guilty for not spending the day with them, so I decided I would go with them and drop them off then go kill a couple of hours. I should have applied the sage advice of SAT coaches and stuck with my first answer. C. F. Kats opted out of family life anyway because the dirge of daily life has become just too much. So we other three journeyed down the turnpike with only the promise of Quik Trip's gleaming cornucopia of mixed drinks to pull me onward.
Upon arrival, my nephew came rushing out to great us. I couldn't even begin to relate to you how much I love this nephew and what a wonderful guy he is (despite that other stuff). Suffice to say, he is as good a nephew as you could get -- he was born on my birthday. And his daughter may pull off the trifecta since she is due to arrive very near our birthday. He is as near a human clone of me as the current administration would allow, so it would be really cool to see how close a girl would end up being like us. Anyway, he and his dad were both there and gave every indication of staying. I was in a tough spot. If I called them sissies for attending a baby shower, they would have beaten me to a pulp. Finally I asked him if he was staying. "Yeah," he said. "I want to be here." Damn. What has this world come to.
So not only did I stay, I played a shower game. I won the shower game. It was a game where you try and match kinds of candy to the peculiarities surrounding the birth process. My prize was a bag full of about 20 kinds of candy. Somehow Raisinets and Milky Ways are less appetizing now. Before long I was talking about how much better Avent bottles are. I extolled the virtues of the ever-versatile receiving blanket; listing its many uses as every thing from burping rag to vomit cleanup. Cradle cap. Booger removal via squeezy rubber thing. I ruminated on how the cuter the little outfits are, the less time they will be able to wear them. Not having been to one of these before I kept a wary eye on my escape route because I was pretty certain that women tell war stories involving epidurals, blood, guts and all that rite of passage stuff. Luckily that didn't come up. And I thanked every deity I could imagine that I wasn't at one of those showers in England they have after the baby arrives and snack on the placenta.
But who knows, instead of slaying the father, maybe it's a new paradigm. Maybe Killer will reject a suitor who refuses to go to a friend's shower, thinking if it was good enough for her dad, why isn't good enough for him. Nahhh...not likely.
Think I'll go have a Skor candy bar now...
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
That's No Moon
Sunday I officially became old. I still remember the day I witnessed my own dad's fall from immortality and I think he was the same age I am now. I'm not sure if girls share this phenomenon about their mothers, but with boys it often happens that there is a defining moment in their lives when they slay the father. I say boys, but it may not happen until midlife or ever in some cases.
For most boys, your dad is always bigger, faster, stronger, smarter than you and by the time you reach puberty it appears he always will be. It's not just physical prowess either; non-physical dads can be just as alpha through being revered, successful or powerful. In most cases you aren't even aware you're competing with him. But then one day you have a moment of crystal clarity and you realize the old gazelle has lost a step to the lions.
For me this happened when I was 14. Gym class at the cult school was frequently led by visiting parents and other virile male cult members and on this particular day my dad ran the recreational activities. Flag Football. I was in the slot and my dad was covering me on a simple out route and I picked up a step on him when I made the turn. I made the catch and ten yards before going out. That was it. A first down. But I beat him. Not two days before he had me in an unrecoverable headlock. For years I was wrestled into panic-stricken positions on the living room floor ("Get off!! I can't breathe!" "If you can't breathe, how are you shouting?"), regular footrace challenges left me gasping for air, he could make me kneel down by doing something to my pinkie. I was bested in dinner discussions, he could fix anything, he always knew when I was lying. But on this day, I beat him. I hadn't even known I'd been competing with him for ten years. But I realized it then and it was sweet.
By the way, if you're male and you haven't slain your father yet, I suggest you savor the moment when it happens. It doesn't last long. You immediately become emboldened by your new found chest-beating and begin to challenge him at every turn. Victory gets easier and easier. And before you know it you realize they are hollow victories. He's not fighting you anymore. It's like Obi-Wan turning off his lightsaber once he sees Luke safely aboard the Falcon. His job is done; he's shown you the basics, and yeah, his voice might pop into your head when you need him in a crisis, but it's you v. world now.
So Sunday, I was out in the yard showing SGK how to use a snow shovel for a sled (like the one George Bailey rides into the icy pond). It didn't work very well, so I got a cardboard box and flattened it out. We have just enough slope on the driveway to make it fun for little ones, but she still wasn't clear on the concept. So I did what we poor kids did in the winter, lay a box on the ground, get as much steam up as you can on the slippery surface, and dive head first on the box. It worked great when I was six. Sunday, I hit the ground and I was suddenly aware that I couldn't hear anything. I looked up at SGK and I saw her little cherubic visage begin to be encircled by a ring of bluish white squirmy things like flagellants under a microscope. I was really confused and then, still unable to make out any sounds around me, I heard a very small, clear voice calmly say, "Don't forget to breathe." I rolled over and sucked in as much air as I could get. The little blue things were still wiggling, but quickly fading. Whew, I thought, I'm not dying -- just got my bell wrung. Pretty sure I bruised my sternum and those little knobby things on the breastplate up where your neck starts. I know if I had a son who'd witnessed my buffoonery, that would've been his moments. For now, I assuming little girls don't want to slay their fathers.
Once I got my hearing back the first thing I heard was YHWH bleating, "I don't think that box is big enough! And that hill isn't steep enough, either!" At least she didn't laugh at me. I'll take henpecking over humiliation any day. I quickly picked myself up and carried myself into the house under false bravado. YHWH plaintively apologized as I walked through the garage begging me not to go inside and, closing the door, I heard SGK saying, "You made daddy mad, mom!" I paused to consider refuting the charge that I was going inside to pout but thought, what the hell, better to be thought of as a pouter than a mere mortal.
For most boys, your dad is always bigger, faster, stronger, smarter than you and by the time you reach puberty it appears he always will be. It's not just physical prowess either; non-physical dads can be just as alpha through being revered, successful or powerful. In most cases you aren't even aware you're competing with him. But then one day you have a moment of crystal clarity and you realize the old gazelle has lost a step to the lions.
For me this happened when I was 14. Gym class at the cult school was frequently led by visiting parents and other virile male cult members and on this particular day my dad ran the recreational activities. Flag Football. I was in the slot and my dad was covering me on a simple out route and I picked up a step on him when I made the turn. I made the catch and ten yards before going out. That was it. A first down. But I beat him. Not two days before he had me in an unrecoverable headlock. For years I was wrestled into panic-stricken positions on the living room floor ("Get off!! I can't breathe!" "If you can't breathe, how are you shouting?"), regular footrace challenges left me gasping for air, he could make me kneel down by doing something to my pinkie. I was bested in dinner discussions, he could fix anything, he always knew when I was lying. But on this day, I beat him. I hadn't even known I'd been competing with him for ten years. But I realized it then and it was sweet.
By the way, if you're male and you haven't slain your father yet, I suggest you savor the moment when it happens. It doesn't last long. You immediately become emboldened by your new found chest-beating and begin to challenge him at every turn. Victory gets easier and easier. And before you know it you realize they are hollow victories. He's not fighting you anymore. It's like Obi-Wan turning off his lightsaber once he sees Luke safely aboard the Falcon. His job is done; he's shown you the basics, and yeah, his voice might pop into your head when you need him in a crisis, but it's you v. world now.
So Sunday, I was out in the yard showing SGK how to use a snow shovel for a sled (like the one George Bailey rides into the icy pond). It didn't work very well, so I got a cardboard box and flattened it out. We have just enough slope on the driveway to make it fun for little ones, but she still wasn't clear on the concept. So I did what we poor kids did in the winter, lay a box on the ground, get as much steam up as you can on the slippery surface, and dive head first on the box. It worked great when I was six. Sunday, I hit the ground and I was suddenly aware that I couldn't hear anything. I looked up at SGK and I saw her little cherubic visage begin to be encircled by a ring of bluish white squirmy things like flagellants under a microscope. I was really confused and then, still unable to make out any sounds around me, I heard a very small, clear voice calmly say, "Don't forget to breathe." I rolled over and sucked in as much air as I could get. The little blue things were still wiggling, but quickly fading. Whew, I thought, I'm not dying -- just got my bell wrung. Pretty sure I bruised my sternum and those little knobby things on the breastplate up where your neck starts. I know if I had a son who'd witnessed my buffoonery, that would've been his moments. For now, I assuming little girls don't want to slay their fathers.
Once I got my hearing back the first thing I heard was YHWH bleating, "I don't think that box is big enough! And that hill isn't steep enough, either!" At least she didn't laugh at me. I'll take henpecking over humiliation any day. I quickly picked myself up and carried myself into the house under false bravado. YHWH plaintively apologized as I walked through the garage begging me not to go inside and, closing the door, I heard SGK saying, "You made daddy mad, mom!" I paused to consider refuting the charge that I was going inside to pout but thought, what the hell, better to be thought of as a pouter than a mere mortal.
Ice Ice Baby
A couple of days ago I was going to blog about how the local weather guys did their usual local news fearmongering and stirred everyone up into a frenzy over something that turned out to be nothing. But half-way through blocking out the post in my mind, I realized that is a terribly provinicial way of thinking. It suddenly struck me that what I think of as the local news station is actually THE news station for two-thirds of the state. One of those things I knew but didn't think about.
It really struck home yesterday when I finally got through to my dad and learned that he has been without power since Friday night and facing 'a week or so' more in the cold and dark. They have closed off the kitchen and dining room by hanging blankets and have been running the fireplace nonstop. He said it's 'kind of fun' except for the harrowing KRAK! in the middle of the night as tree limbs and telephone poles snap. Then in the mornings he goes out to assess the damage. So far, a storage shed has a good-sized oak limb across it, his stockade fence has buckled over, and his driveway is blocked by a snapped power pole. Apparently, a glance down the street at the power poles looks like sappers from the French Resistance have been busy. His resolve? "I didn't have any electricity for the first 20 years of my life. A lot of that is coming back to me now." So add to that that a dozen or so people have died in the area and it's hard to criticize the newsfolks for overplaying the preps. He got extra wood, extra food and water, propane for his camping stove, and made sure his cell phone was charged. It paid off. And that is absolutely the last time I will say anything remotely nice about the local news people.
It really struck home yesterday when I finally got through to my dad and learned that he has been without power since Friday night and facing 'a week or so' more in the cold and dark. They have closed off the kitchen and dining room by hanging blankets and have been running the fireplace nonstop. He said it's 'kind of fun' except for the harrowing KRAK! in the middle of the night as tree limbs and telephone poles snap. Then in the mornings he goes out to assess the damage. So far, a storage shed has a good-sized oak limb across it, his stockade fence has buckled over, and his driveway is blocked by a snapped power pole. Apparently, a glance down the street at the power poles looks like sappers from the French Resistance have been busy. His resolve? "I didn't have any electricity for the first 20 years of my life. A lot of that is coming back to me now." So add to that that a dozen or so people have died in the area and it's hard to criticize the newsfolks for overplaying the preps. He got extra wood, extra food and water, propane for his camping stove, and made sure his cell phone was charged. It paid off. And that is absolutely the last time I will say anything remotely nice about the local news people.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Will Rogers
It's out there; everywhere I look. Every blasted magazine, newspaper, guidebook, handout, museum, billboard, and local newscast has the words plastered across some or another headline. I tried in vain to avoid it for a week, but that was like trying to avoid stepping on poop in the dog park, being runover by a mallwalker, or driving on a street named for a pop culture figure in Bricktown. The fact is I can run, but I can't hide. Because unfortunately it has become my job - my life.
Oklahoma Centennial
There, I said it. I am currently involved in no less than five regular gigs churning out state and local history. I was contributing a quarterly article to a magazine, but now it's monthly. I've been assigned to write 48 short vignettes on state history. Text for bookmarks, displays, statues soon followed. I'm also involved with two large grant projects.
It's only January 6th and already I'm sick of it. I get home from work, head straight for the toilet and puke up Sooner trivia for an hour. Family members bang on the door, "Are you alright, Dad? It smells like Conestoga wagons in there!" My doctor tells me to try and get some rest and lay off the Dust Bowl, "Take a couple of Will Rogers before bed; you'll be fine in a few days." Now my teen daughter won't be seen in public with me because my tirades about how we aren't Okies (the Okies were the weaklings who left!) embarrases her.
It's not like I didn't see the Centennial coming. Being a historically minded guy, I knew all about the semicentennial in 1957 and even lived through the depressing, obscure, trinket-generating Diamond Jubilee in 1982. But in the end, it was as though I had been standing on the curve of a railroad track - you can see and hear the 3:15 out of Ardmore coming, but it looks like it's heading in another direction until it plows you under.
I should be happy to part of all of it in the small way that I am. After all, I love my state and its unique history. We've got to be top ten all-time for state history. We might not be able to challenge New York, Texas, California and Massachusetts, and probably Virginia, but we're top ten. In fact I am happy to be part of it. I just want it to end.
To be honest, this all has to do with bad attitude. Mine. When I was one of a dozen or so people writing regularly it was fine, but now it's everywhere and I don't like sharing topics and even worse, I hate reading bad history. Myths and non sequiturs abound these days, not to mention squeaky clean (i.e. cutesy boring) politically correct revisionism. But, if I were a true Sooner patriot, I'd be excited about the attention history is getting. I would embrace it all and invoke the more-merrier directive. But the sad fact is I'm intensely competitive (internally) and I have that stubborn Gen-X trait of wanting to be a dazzling unique individual. So, there I am, engine of my own unhappiness.
Sigh...I guess I'll just write about land runs, cattle trails, removals, football glory and (ugh) oil until this all blows over like a hot wind in the Dirty Thirities.
Oklahoma Centennial
There, I said it. I am currently involved in no less than five regular gigs churning out state and local history. I was contributing a quarterly article to a magazine, but now it's monthly. I've been assigned to write 48 short vignettes on state history. Text for bookmarks, displays, statues soon followed. I'm also involved with two large grant projects.
It's only January 6th and already I'm sick of it. I get home from work, head straight for the toilet and puke up Sooner trivia for an hour. Family members bang on the door, "Are you alright, Dad? It smells like Conestoga wagons in there!" My doctor tells me to try and get some rest and lay off the Dust Bowl, "Take a couple of Will Rogers before bed; you'll be fine in a few days." Now my teen daughter won't be seen in public with me because my tirades about how we aren't Okies (the Okies were the weaklings who left!) embarrases her.
It's not like I didn't see the Centennial coming. Being a historically minded guy, I knew all about the semicentennial in 1957 and even lived through the depressing, obscure, trinket-generating Diamond Jubilee in 1982. But in the end, it was as though I had been standing on the curve of a railroad track - you can see and hear the 3:15 out of Ardmore coming, but it looks like it's heading in another direction until it plows you under.
I should be happy to part of all of it in the small way that I am. After all, I love my state and its unique history. We've got to be top ten all-time for state history. We might not be able to challenge New York, Texas, California and Massachusetts, and probably Virginia, but we're top ten. In fact I am happy to be part of it. I just want it to end.
To be honest, this all has to do with bad attitude. Mine. When I was one of a dozen or so people writing regularly it was fine, but now it's everywhere and I don't like sharing topics and even worse, I hate reading bad history. Myths and non sequiturs abound these days, not to mention squeaky clean (i.e. cutesy boring) politically correct revisionism. But, if I were a true Sooner patriot, I'd be excited about the attention history is getting. I would embrace it all and invoke the more-merrier directive. But the sad fact is I'm intensely competitive (internally) and I have that stubborn Gen-X trait of wanting to be a dazzling unique individual. So, there I am, engine of my own unhappiness.
Sigh...I guess I'll just write about land runs, cattle trails, removals, football glory and (ugh) oil until this all blows over like a hot wind in the Dirty Thirities.
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