The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat

This book by neurologist Oliver Sacks is my most recent read, and it's pretty fascinating. It's essentially a rundown of patients with various interesting and rare neurological disorders. (I believe the film Awakenings was based on the author's research and experience.)

It makes my everyday life and ability to function suddenly seem a little more precious and tenuous.

Right now I'm in a chapter pertaining to "body awareness". The whole idea is one I hadn't really considered aside from things like babies gradually realizing that hand waving in front of them is not only attached to them, but it's part of them--they can control it. The idea of suddenly regressing, and losing the sense of ownership of a limb, or of the entire body is pretty terrifying. There's a story of a young man who kept falling out of bed because he would wake in the night with "a disgusting, pale severed leg" in the bed next to him. Horrified, he would push it out of bed, only to fall with it, because, of course, they were attached. Even when the situation was explained to him, he couldn't believe it because it simply did not feel like his. Another woman became paralyzed because she lost sense of her entire body. She couldn't make it move, because she felt completely disembodied. I can't imagine how unsettling that would be.

Fascinating, and a little scary.

This is one you can file in your "Secret Fears" list right under "public speaking," and "spontaneous combustion."

Too Young.

I know I'm rehashing what's already all over the news, but the James Kim story makes me cry. I was so hoping he would be found alive. People can snark all they want about how he left the car and how "stupid" that was, but the man was a hero. He and his family survived for days in a blizzard waiting for help, and finally he left to find help on foot, knowing he might not make it, but believing that it was their last hope.

I was so happy to hear his wife and kids were found and are okay, and so sad they'll have to go on without a dad and husband.

Pretty Little Thing

Here's one of the jellyfish from when we went to the Newport Aquarium. Note the little genius in the background. "OMG!" She was standing right under the huge sign saying "Jellyfish Display." Heh... It sort of sounds like her father replies, "Those are horses!" (??)

A Sixth Category...

to add to my increasingly inaccurately named "Top Five Most Hoped for Jeopardy Categories:"

Bonnet hair dryers. I know I've probably written about mine before. Jen commented about good childhood memories attached to bonnet dryers, and it got me thinking. Some of my best childhood memories are of the warm whoosh of the bonnet hair dryer my mom had. It was relaxing and calming. I still find it to be.

I never intended to know a lot about bonnet hairdryers. It's just a necessity if I intend to keep myself supplied with one over the years (I can stop any time.).

Here are things I've learned about bonnet dryers, in case you should ever have the need to purchase one, or in case you come to your senses and realize EVERYONE should have one.

1. Purchase your dryer used. Buy vintage. Preferably 70s. First off, it will cost you much less than buying a new one (about $30) from one of the few companies that make home bonnet dryers these days. You can expect to pay about $15-20 (including s&H) for a dryer from eBay. Second, new hairdryers are exceedingly poorly designed in terms of usability (the uncomfortably sharp knob is on the opposite side from the cord, which is on yet another side from the tube, which means it needs even more space on your counter to access all the sides. Surprisingly, new dryers are also generally far bigger, the air flow is poor, and the hoses are too short.

2. Don't be afraid, but do look closely-- If the seller says it runs well, and their feedback is good, you should be okay. You can easily do a once-over of the innards once it arrives. Do look closely at pictures of the hose and bonnet, though. If they're yellowed and shiny-looking, avoid at all costs. Some vintage dryers tend to accumulate a greasy stickiness on their plastic air tubes which also gets on the bonnet. Soap and hot water can't remove it. You're stuck with it. Also, look for round, mushroom shaped bonnets rather than the chef's hat shaped ones. The round ones tend to be in better shape, and have fewer seams to rip.

3. The cases can be a bonus score. Keep an eye out--Many vintage bonnet dryers come with fantastic round hatbox-type cases for carrying/storage. You can pull out the insert and use these as a neato purse or just a nifty way of storing stuff.

4. Give it a physical. Once your hairdryer arrives, throw the hose into the dishwasher if it can be detatched. If it's permanently attached, give it a once over with a mild cleaning solution. (Nothing smelly, since the odor will be blowing directly at you through the hose later).
Turn the dryer on for a few moments. Listen and smell. Is it rattling? Does it smell like burning? If these are a yes, don't panic, but do keep an eye out for smoke later as you let it run on one of the heated settings. You should notice the smell dissipating after a while. It just means the thing hasn't been run regularly in a looong time.

Turn your baby over. Make sure it isn't plugged in, and that you're not standing in a puddle of water in the middle of a thunderstorm and all that. Look for the larger screws on the outer corners. These should free the top and bottom halves. There a a gazillion different kinds of dryers, but these are the basics, I've found. Sometimes the fan area will require another screw loosened in order for you to peek in. Slightly dampen Q-tips in water (just enough that it doesn't shred--there shouldn't be any dripping) and go over the inevitable dusty areas inside the dryer. Once those are clean, take a look at the fan itself. If there was a rattling noise when you ran it before, check to see that the blades are tightly attached. If they are, check the areas surrounding the fan to see what it could be hitting or brushing to make the noise. Most of the time a little wiggling is all it takes to get it running more smoothly. Make sure there is no debris around the heating coils (hairs, dust, whathaveyou) and then close 'er on up again.

5. Treat her well. Despite the fact that vintage dryers are workhorses, you don't want to run them for hours at a time. Most of them are still older than me. I've found that 20 minutes is not too much with most of the ones I've had. You just want to keep it in mind.

6. Recommended brands: If you can find a Ronson Escort, consider yourself lucky. This is the most beautifully compact and slickly designed of all the dryers I've had, though it cost a little more than the average vintage bonnet dryer. If you get one from the 60's, it has a lovely avocado-colored square carrying case that's excellently vintage as well. The 70's ones have a more generic round case. My only complaint is that it's more complicated to get inside if you want to do maintenance. Not that I've needed to since I got mine three years ago... GE and Kenmore also made really sturdy dryers, though the GE hoses tend to be in better shape for some reason. Also, all the models I've seen come with the neat round case. Keep in mind that if your dryer comes with a bum hose or bonnet, you can actually buy these items new. You'll have to rig them somehow to fit your dryer, but generally, that's not hard.

7. Enjoy!! You can use it to dry your hair, take away headaches, escape from a stressful day, as a desk heater in the winter (I get cold feet sometimes--you can toast your toes with it too) dry your nails, dry your pets (it's not as frightening for them as a regular hairdryer can be) and on the cold setting, you can get some relief from the heat in the summer. I could go on, but I already look like a huge bonnet dryer nerd, so I won't.

There you have it. My opus on bonnet dryers.

"I will kiss the girl from Venus..."

For science (thank you very much, They Might Be Giants).

Or, I will link to an internet meme... for science. This gentleman is measuring the speed of an internet meme through the "blogsphere" by asking folks to post a link to this page on their blogs. The results will be discussed at a panel at the 2006 Modern Language Association (yes, that MLA) conference coming up soon.

Click away, and you'll get a better idea of what it is. Help a panelist out!

Like mother, like daughter

I confess: I'm addicted to my bonnet hairdryer (or "hat," as the Boy calls it). I had it on this morning because I had a headache. It helped nicely. It takes a little while to warm up, so I left it running when I went downstairs to throw in some laundry. And...this is what I found when I came back upstairs:


If you look past the messy desk, you'll note that a certain cat has shoved her whole face and upper body into the bonnet and is basking in the warm blowing air. When I tried to pull it off, she scooted forward and forward to try to stay inside, and ended up almost taking a dive off the edge of the desk. So I let her hang out there on a low setting for awhile until she fell asleep. Dear old thing. Such a lovable weirdo.

Mmmm. Wholesome Whipped Lard.

I love the jaunty way the Mom declares the last line.

"You can't skimp when it comes to your children."

Oh yes, Lady... Oh yes you can.

Happy Thanksgiv......*snore*

Before I fall asleep really hard, Happy Thanksgiving to all! I hope everyone had lots and lots of turkey or whatever their favorite is. This year the family broke from tradition to have a delectable cajun turkey instead of baking one of those frozen suckers in the oven for three days or whathaveyou. Very yum, I must say.

Aaaand, that's about all I can say, as my brain is not only still fried (since the last post), but being assailed by tryptophan, which is greatly increasing the chances that I'll fall out of my chair and hit the ground snoring.

It's been one hell of a week with a funeral, a family reunion, a holiday, and unexpected family visits. The good outweighed the bad, fortunately, I think.

Goodnight.

As if we all needed another time waster

In the vast wasteland of to-do lists it is good to take a break now and then. Particularly for something cute. Thus, my submission of a Japanese airhockey game with tiny round chickens. The text is in Japanese, (Andi, can you tell me if it says anything earth shattering?) but that didn't stop me from just clicking whatever I was shown until I was eventually taken to the game. The game itself is a fun little thing. I was surprised how well my (small adorable) opponent reacted to the puck. Though he wasn't a totally awesome player, his responses were as natural as they could be, I suppose. When he is scored upon, he looks up in surprise and says something I can only imagine would be along the lines of, "By the beard of Odin! You have scored upon this humble poultry!"

My only complaint about the game is that occasionally there's a collision detection problem if you move your "puck hitter" (what is that thing called?) too quickly. Then the puck can slide right by. Mostly, I have to give the little game props, though.

Ow. Brain is fried. Goodnight.

The fruits of my labor (or least the berries of it).

Food references aside, I've finally gotten the house vaguely presentable, and though there's more to do, I've gotten enough done to feel okay about putting up a website so people can check it out when I place ads for it. You all can have the ultra-top-secret-awesome-never-before-seen preview of it. It's not fancy, but I'm not going to waste a lot of time making disclaimers about it.

We've got all our fingers and toes crossed for this sale to work out. However, we're not particularly in a rush to sell, convenient and desirable though it may be for the Boy and I both to live in the same state. But we're not freaking out over the speed of things, which I think is a realistic frame of mind. Things are working out when it comes to us spending time together on weeknds, and since the Boy's company is paying for his housing down there, we can't complain.

Even so, if you know anyone who's looking for a house along these lines, send them our way. It can't hurt, eh?

Foot fight

At the same time as this being funny, this is maybe one of the most disturbed dogs I've ever seen. Animals don't pull stuff like this for kicks.

This is actually just like a test they do in shelters to see if a dog is suitable for adoption-- purposely infringe on a treat or food to see if the animal reacts negatively. I'd say this guy prooooobably would not be deemed adoptable. Just a guess.

Still, that sneaky foot creeping slowly up is bizarre and snicker-worthy.

Cin City Visit

The visit to Cincinnati helped me get my bearings on the town a little, and start to form an idea of various places we might like to buy a house. We tooled around Montgomery, in the area where the hospital is. It's a rolling, woodsy area. I think that's where we'll end up renting an apartment temporarily. There's a place pretty much across the street from the hospital that is quite nice. They've got large, interesting floor plans (more power to built in bookshelves!), a 24 hr fitness center and olympic pool, and it's on 56 acres of woods and trails with 2 stocked ponds. Another fun amenity is a library of dvds and video games. And tanning beds. Huh. Not something I'll make a lot of use of. But it's there, if I ever get that "not leathery enough" feeling. The feature I actually care the most about is the washer and dryer innn the uunnnit! (singing happily) I fervently hoped I'd never have to go back to trucking our clothes all over town, and it looks like that wish came true. Whee!

Anywhoo, that was a long diversion about something as boring as apartments. Sorry.

The Boy took me on a little tour of a neat area near where he's staying. It's a quiet and pretty place called Mariemont. Or "The Village of Mariemont," as residents would have you know. If I can't live in Stratford on Avon, this might just be....well, maybe not the next best thing, but somewhere on that list would be Marimont. It's an old town consisting of lots and lots of Tudor buildings and massive old trees. It's one of the few places in the US that still has a town crier, if that gives you any hint about what sort of place it is. Ding! See below for a stellar example of "Oh yeah, I should prolly take a picture" photography.

We also did some driving around the Hyde Park / Observatory / Art Museum area. I was pretty much too busy gaping at the gorgeous old mansions to take pictures. If I ever win the lottery, that is where I'm buying a house. Seriously. I suppose I could live in something like this if I had to (whine whine):


We also spent some time across the river in Newport, where we poked around and went to the aquarium. There's a large German population in that area (as evidenced by the Hoffbrauhaus) and there's some fun architecture and stuff to do. Oh, and the Boy fed a cute parrot and looked at sharks.


We also spent some time poking around the jellyfish and octopus exhibits because they were so graceful and bizarre. The pictures were not all that crisp, but I think some of them are pretty. Actually, I'm just going to dump a bunch of aquarium photos in here, then some more photos of Cincinnati, because I'm too tired to narrate the whole thing. Enjoy!

Other Nonsense

When we were little, our mom kept us from being bored during long summer days by helping us make something called "Idea Cards." We were each given several 3x5 cards onto which we wrote an idea of something to do, illustrated it, and strung them all together on a binder ring. Thus, when we got bored, we could simply take the Idea Cards of their hook and flip through, deciding whether "Bikes!" or "make a zoo" or possibly "Spy on the boys" appealed to us.

As a grownup, I think the concept of Idea Cards is a great one. I don't get bored all that often, but sometimes it's difficult to come up with an day of entertainment off the cuff when the opportunity arises. It's easier to flip through the options and decide on something everyone can agree on.

As I have a moment here and there, I'm making a series of "idea cards" for Cincinnati. It will be helpful later, but it's also helping me learn what things there are to do in the area. It's a little more technologically advanced, this "grownup" version of the cards - it's cross referenced, and one can search by details like restaurants, and types of entertainment, but the concept is the same. I'm enjoying the research and putting it all together. As I recall, some of the entertainment is in the journey---as evidenced by the idea card labeled, "Make more idea cards!"
_______________

I did actually make some cyanotypes while the sun was out a while back. As a first round, I think they were moderately successful, though I do need to find a timer, so I don't have rely on the less accurate "remember to look at the clock and then rush because you've gone a minute over" method. I'm not going to post really specific photos right now, because some of these will be Christmas presents for folk who occasionally stop by here. But here's the gist. It was good fun.

Here is my print developing area, with tubs for a rinse, a quick developer made with hydrogen peroxide, and a tea/coffee toner, which I didn't end up using much. And the uber high-tech printing itself, on the, uh, garbage bin and back porch rail. Heh. It worked fine, though. Most of the pictures required around 12 minutes, but I'm sure on a really bright day they might have needed less. There are myths about cloudy days having as many UV rays as sunny ones, but I'm not sure whether that's true or not. Then there are the cyanotypes hanging up to dry in the basement (Jane, don't look too closely!!), and finally one close up of a building in Brugge, Belguim. I'm not decided on whether I want to clip out the ragged edges of where I painted on the sensitizer or not. Maybe it depends on the image. For this one, I clipped.

I need to make more paper and wait for another sunny day, but next time around I think I'll have a better feel for what kind of exposures they need. Also, I'll be more vigilant about using deionized water for rinsing, since some of the cyanotypes had some mineral streaks show up.

Sketch Furniture

Another video, possibly because I'm lazy. This is the Swedish design Group, Front, using a motion capture to ultimately create a piece of furniture.

Things to Confound Your Cat

This video made Boo freeze, then walk very cautiously across the room, watching all the while, until he finally hopped onto my desk and stuck his face behind the monitor to see if there was really a kitten back in there.

A Big Dam Failure.

First of all---sunny day! After I get stuff done, I need to rush outside with my negatives and paper to "print" the cyanotypes. No doubt the weather will suddenly change to a typhoon before I can manage it. I'll take photos of the process in case it turns out to be interesting.

Second, just look at these pictures of the failure of the Grand Teton Dam. They're pretty breathtakingly monumental. They were taken by a lady from Idaho, who just happened to be on the promontory across from the dam when the first leak sprung. She took what seem to be the only photos documenting the entire process, which happened all in the course of about 2 hours. Considering what happened to the promontory on the opposite side, it was pretty gutsy of her to stick around for the whole thing. You can see that around the time that the dam was breached completely, she realized where she was and backed up a bit. Probably not exactly what she expected that afternoon, but history thanks her for having a camera handy.

I'm bad at posting, these days.

Things have been fairly busy, but not to the extent that I have any excuse for never posting. So...uh, oops! Let us play catch up. Here's what I've been up to lately:

1. Blah blah house stuff blah blah. Actually, there's been a lull as we wait to accumulate a bit more cash to pay for more paint and tile, etc.

2. I've been working on making cyanotypes for some of my Christmas gifts this year. The process sounds a little complicated, but actually just finding the right chemicals was the big pain. I went to a camera store close by, and they stared at me blankly when I asked about the stuff I'd need. Eventually, they called a more knowledgeable colleague who directed me to a blueprint store. I called there, and they told me the chemicals aren't made anymore. Hmm. So I called Adray, Century Camera...eventually 6 different places, and everyone either had no clue what it was I was looking for, or told me it was impossible to get the chemicals, or that they cost hundreds of dollars. Double hmm. I realize cyanotypes are not an "everyday" photo process, but I'd expect people working in photography stores to at least have a vague idea of what I was talking about. At one place, they asked me to describe the process and when I said the prints are developed using water the guy told me I must be mistaken.

So... instead I went to the source of all life and things arcane, the internet. Within minutes, I found a little place in IL that sold the chemicals in the quantities I needed for well under $20, even with shipping. I got my package 4 days later. Thank you, Froogle. So nyah to all those nay-saying photo clerks!

I made the ultra-secret UV sensitive concoction, and painted the paper with it, and now I'm just waiting for a sunny day so I can use genuine, all-natural, free-of-charge sunshine to make the prints. And...it's been steadfastly raining. For days. Bleh.

3. The Hillers near us has linguine-style tofu shirataki noodles. I'm in love.

4. I got the cats some bonito flakes rather than their usual treats, which I noticed had various dyes in them. They are in love.

5. The Boy has been home for the weekend, and is at a three day training seminar in St. Clair Shores, which means he's at home part of this week, and then I'll be heading down there soon to hang out with him in Cinci. That should be lovely. More Boy-time.

6. Nihao is looking at me disapprovingly, probably because of the fact that she's not currently inhaling vast quantities of bonito flakes (see point #4).

7. Okami rates among the most beautiful games I've ever seen. It feels as though you're running through a Hokusai painting. The action flows so smoothly, and the story is very fairy-tale inspired, which I adore. One of the lovely and original aspects of the game is that, since the main character is folk tale deity (in the form of a wolf), the player can affect the environment of the game by drawing with a calligraphy brush. A circle stroke in the sky creates a sun to turn night into day. Another stroke across a dead tree brings it bursting into full bloom, and so on. The game doesn't take itself too seriously, at the same time as being engrossing enough to really draw you in. My only complaint so far is that it does a little too much shepherding in terms of letting you know where to go next. At the same time, the player does have a reasonable amount of freedom--I haven't felt railroaded through the storyline. Perhaps the extra guidance will make this game more playable for people who aren't usually gamers. I hope it does really well. I'd love to see more art and folk tale inspired games like this.

Here are a couple examples of environments in the game.
Aaand, that's all for now.

"No wonder our perception of beauty is distorted."

Props to Dove for this interesting commercial.
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While you're at it, make my eyes the same.

Something to add to the "Science & Tech" folder of your book marks:

The IRIS Seismic Monitor tracks seismic activity throughout the world, and displays it in a handy map. I stumbled over it while looking for info on the big earthquake that just happened in Hawaii.

Here's hoping that everyone is safe in their hula skirts and leis. Electricity and phones are out, but there's no word so far on whether anyone was hurt.

Road Trip!

Tis the season to quit packing and fixing up the house and get on the road. I figure I can take a break from installing stupid 1/4 round molding long enough to visit the Boy in a couple weeks so we can take some time to tool around Cinci and hang out.

Hurrah!

I'm a trip planning addict. I admit it. I plan a lot of trips I'll probably never take. I think it's theraputic. Part of it is the enjoyment of learning the little ins and outs of new places, poring over maps, putting together an itinerary (probably makes the slight OCD side of me happy), and part of it is having something to look forward to. I find that if life gets dull or difficult, as long as there's something exciting on the horizon, I can deal. If I have nothing to look forward to, well, then I have to invent something, or I go a little nuts. Fortunately (?) there is so much on the horizon right now that gleefully planning for this little roadtrip seems kind of over the top.

I think having a baby someday will probably solve this "something to look forward to" need for a few years. It seems as though with a kid, there's always be something thrilling about to happen--baby's progressing, talking, pooping everywhere, writing the great American novel, eating solid food... Uh, not necessarily in that order. All that nonsense that I'm actually going to look forward to.

Well, that was a random, disjointed post. Sorry 'bout that.

God Doesn't like Kathleen Caronna

Just kidding, but observe:

You're at a festive Thanksgiving parade and somehow a sixty foot Cat in the Hat manages to smack you in the head hard enough to put you in a coma for a month. Ouch! Bad luck! (and Dr. Seuss nightmares!)

A couple years later, someone flies a plane into your bedroom. Ouch! Bad lu..??

Uh, I think you need to move to Idaho or something.

Better Late than Never

I'd wanted to post this weeks ago, but YouTube was being cranky about letting me add a blog.

Without further ado, here's a nice little cover for you all.

Ugly Duckling--Pretty Swan

I was going to say this picture doesn't do our "before" kitchen justice, but that could be misconstrued. What I intend to say is that this picture does our "before" kitchen far, far too much justice. In it, you cannot see the rusty, disgusting sink, or painted shut lower cupboards I was too afraid to ever open. You can see some of what made us so glad to say goodbye to this kitchen--the awesome penetentiary-inspired light fixture above the sink, a glimpse of the snaggle-toothed, broken tiles below it, the cupboards that wouldn't close all the way...

Annnd, here below is the sink in all its glory. This was actually after we began peeling off layer after layer of contact paper. You can make out the lime green and faux wood layers still... Though we later sanded and tried to recoat it, it resisted all efforts. For 3 years, we just didn't put anything in it (understandably),which was tough when you don't have a dishwasher for most of that time. We did get a little countertop one later that helped keep me sane.


And here is our tide-over kitchen. Less hideous contact paper, but the health code violations are the same, I'm sure, no matter how I bleached. And yes, that's carpet on the floor. It was wayyy better than the vinyl "flooring" that had been in there since the seventies. At least we felt okay about being barefoot on the carpet.


Just for good measure, I'm throwing in a photo of what the floor in the dining room (and much of the house) looked like before we scraped an inch of crud off it and refinished it.


And now..... Drum roll, please. Here is our brand spanking new kitchen!! It's quite color-neutral for house-selling purposes, but it's so wonderful nonetheless. We still have to install the tile backsplash (that's backer board you see there), finish spackling and painting, and put up a bar for s-hooks on the wall by the door, but otherwise, it's fully functional in all its garbage disposally, dish-washery GLORY. Whee!!

This is the mudroom, which is through the door to the right (counter piled with ikea shelving). Our fridge is in one corner, and this is the workspace on the other side. It's got so much freaking storage I'm not sure what to do with all of it. We still need to spackle and paint in here, but it's not an emergency.


I now LOVE walking into our kitchen. LOVE. IT. Sometimes I even squeak because I'm so excited it's there.

Hee!

Every morning, the boy has been sending a new photo of his life in Cinci.

Today's photo was called "This Morning's Super Awesome Tie Knot!"

That makes me smile.

Still here.

Beware! I live!

Okay. Enough with the Sinistar references. The point is, I'm still alive, just really freaking busy and covered in paint. Literally. I've been scraping paint off my fingers and arms all night. The Boy has been down in Cinci, and I'm working on the house, as per The Plan.

I've also been nigh to gnawing off my own arms from stir-craziness and lack of social interaction. That's nobody's fault but mine, though. I could put down the paintbrush and call folks. However, actually leaving the house and doing anything is mostly out of the question, as the caddy is, for all intents and purposes, dead. At least currently. I'll find out just how permanent a death it is after I get money to take it to the shop.

I'm fortunate to have a madre-in-law who works a few short minutes from my house. Tomorrow I plan to abscond with her car during the day to gratuitously eat out, socialize with a sister, and putz around the bookstore. Sad that it seems so fresh and exciting. Ah well.

I'm getting an extraordinary amount of reading done at night.

Since Monday, I read Steven Brust's Brokedown Palace, which was pretty and sad in its way, but not all that remarkable. I can imagine it being really good the second time 'round someday. I'm currently in the middle of Douglas Coupland's Microserfs, and I find that though it's a book that revolves at least somewhat around computers, and it's ten years old, it still resonates-- even more so, maybe, because I have more inherent cultural nerdiness to draw from than I did when I first read it as a college student. I'm also older than most of the characters in the book now. That came as something of a shock. I recommend Microserfs for reading before breakfast or right before bed. The book is formatted as the journal of a young coder working at Microsoft. I find it hopeful, witty, calm, and interesting. One of the things the main character does to describe the people in his life is to think of what their seven ideal Jeopardy categories would be. It's such a neat (though by no means exhaustive) little encapsulation of a person. I adore lists like this. The book is full of them.

Perhaps my seven ideal Jeopardy categories would be:

1. underground christian music from the early nineties
2. urban legends & internet scammers
3. obscure unrelated facts about animals
4. webcomics
5. recognizing (but not necessarily being able to place) literary quotes.
6. graphic novels that don't have to do with superheroes
7. things to make with wire

That actually took more thought and energy than I'd anticipated. Tomorrow I might write that list completely differently.

Off the cuff, I think the Boy's seven ideal categories would be:

1. computers - programming and deciphering
2. a not-so-brief history of video games
3. obscure electronic music of the nineties
4. medieval history
5. the backwater of the internet
6. most effective chemical compounds for various stain removal
7. Usenet posts from 1991

Hmm. Seven is not enough, I find. I would also add a category called "Steph and her foibles," but that might come off as mushy.

What about you? What would your seven ideal jeopardy categories be?

A Farewell to (the Boy's) Arms

It's been quite a week, indeed. We've been thinking of and praying for various friends and relatives as they go through some spectacularly shitty times. We've spent pretty much every waking moment preparing for the realtor walkthrough before we list the house, and though that's been done, we still have a massive amount of painting to do to prep for putting the house on the market. It's been like Life has suspended lately. It's all we've been doing.

Tomorrow the Boy is heading down to Cincinnati, and tonight is the last night he'll live in this house (as in have all his stuff and clothes here and stay here mostly). Sad... Though he'll be coming back every weekend, we'll miss each other during the week. Realistically, it's probably better that he be able to start the new job without distraction, and I can concentrate on preparing and selling the house. Good thing we have free cell phone minutes between our phones, though. Also, it will be an opportunity to add mushy emails to my treasured "Mushy Emails From Boy" collection.

Bye, best friend. Thank goodness for phones and email.

A Strange Dust

Our house reminds me of Morrisey's song, Every Day is Like Sunday, only without the melodrama. Actually the only thing that really pertains is the not-so-fine layer of dust that's coating, oh...EVERYTHING downstairs, including my nose hairs, which are disturbingly white in the mirror.

Yes, Gentle Reader, we've been sanding spackle and drywall again. Our little random orbital sander kicks out an infuriating amount of dust, despite the fact that it has a bag that's supposed to catch that stuff. Ah well. The kitchen will be the better for it.

I'm not going to go into the seemingly endless saga of the renovation. Suffice to say, there are only a few things left to do, and my stomach will obediently unknot itself once they're done.
In the meantime, our kitchen is something like the equivalent of picking up a piece of poop and discovering that there's a diamond inside. It's so so so so so much better than it was. Sometimes we just stand in the door and look at it. Right before the latest flurry of sanding and dust, we actually cooked in it. Both of us. In the kitchen at ONCE. Cooking. With food on the actual counterspace we now have, and setting dishes in the actual, working sink we now have without being afraid of massive rust marks permanently staining them. All of these things were unheard of in our previous "kitchen." Once we're done painting, I will post before and afters.

I'm seriously thrilled about it. I may not be jumping for joy, because my muscles all over ache from all the frantic hefting, scraping, painting, sawing, nailing, shoveling, weeding, raking, etc. etc., but be assured that I'm jumping for joy on the inside. I also may not post again for a little while, because this week is the last before the Boy moves down to Cinci, and the last before our house goes on the market--ie, we must continue the crazy, no-sleep drive toward being ready for both those things. I've got so much to do here that I don't even care right now that my car is dead. I wouldn't be going anywhere anyway. I'm sure I'll care when this is over and I want to visit someone or need to do something not at home, but for now--whatevah. I have a new kitchen!

I sincerely apologize to people whose calls or emails I haven't returned. I will get in touch with you--promise! It might not be this week, though.

If you're feeling sinister

We're watching tv on mute for a few moments:

The eerily glowing, massive moth drifts through a carelessly open window. A woman is lying awake in bed, brow furrowed. The moth lands on her chest, and immediately her eyes drop closed, and her head slumps to one side.

Boy: Did that thing just steal her soul??

Nope. It's just a sinister Lunesta commercial. Look for it. The guy in the tent actually rolls his eyes up toward the back of his head before collapsing. Brrr.

We speculated that that's actually how the medication works. The Moth of Death steals your soul for the night, and the arch-villains at Lunesta use it temporarily toward their evil ends. In the morning, your soul is returned, and you wake up feeling refreshed, yet somehow...unsettled.

Or maybe not.

Must...maintain...girlish...looks!!

Here's the first installment of kitchy ads and articles from the 1950s magazine found under some flooring in our house. (click "all sizes" to view up close)

Stay tuned. Next up, a stunning expose' by the hired help of one of those damn commie reds: "Comrade on a Spree!" This article is kind of boggling.

Oh, and PS...

If any of you know folk in the Detroit area who would appreciate this kind of house, and the relative inexpensiveness compared to the rest of Oakland county, let me know okay?

As much as I adore this place, it will be a relief to get it sold.

PS. You can tell them it now has more kitchen counter space than most houses I've been in, even the ridiculously huge ones. You can tell them that 'cause it's the truth.

Things I adore that are not worth money.

Now that we're getting the house ready to sell, I've been thinking about the things I love that won't mean jack to the price of the house, and most likely, won't mean anything to the people who buy it. If I had my druthers, I'd want to sell to someone artistic and respectful of the era of the house. I'm sure I won't have my druthers, but it's nice to dream. Here's a list of things that will never be printed in the brochure or listed as amenities:

1. During the day in summer, the back balcony is up in a room with walls of trees. Though we're in a neighborhood, I feel secluded. The late afternoon sun up there makes me warm and sleepy. During the night, we sit out there and pick out constellations. It's generally really quiet, and the wind makes the most calming rushing sound through the leaves. Near the Fourth of July, it's not so quiet (!) and you can see multiple fireworks displays all around the area from the balcony.

sunset from the balcony

2. In the very end of the back yard is a place where the trees overhang our yard, and under it is sometimes like sitting near a pool because of all the swaying mottled shadows and bits of light makes.

3. There is a sparrow couple who live on a beam above the back porch. They moved in soon after we bought the place, and in the winter, if you turn around and stand on tip toes at the door, you can see their little feathered bodies all fluffed out, keeping warm together.

4. When we make a fire in the fireplace, the light of it makes a path across the wood floor in front of it, and reflects upward, onto the ceiling.

5. I love the little alcove with the leaded glass window in our study. 'Nuff said.

6. I love the arches in the living room. I love that they're not plain round arches, but that they have little casbah tops.

7. This definitely isn't a selling point, but I love the creaking of our stairs when someone walks on them. I gotten so I can listen and tell which cat is coming up or down, and I know where the Boy is in the house--I just like it. It's a comfortable and comforting sound.

8. I like the handmade tile over our fireplace. We convinced a tile place near here to sell us a sample board of handmade tile that a local artist no longer makes. Sadly, I installed it really well, so it can't come with us. Like many other things here, it has a story, and I find myself hoping the next owners will care, but knowing realistically, I should forget about that.

I'm going to quit. It's making me a bit sad. I know we'll find another amazing place, though. Cincinnati's just full of interesting houses filled with stories of their own.

Awkward poses! Confusing dialogue! It must be "Mary Worth!"

Sorry, but huh?? The comic strip Mary Worth has always been a headscratcher for me. I've always been interested in comics. I used to read "the funnies" voraciously when I was little, and though I even managed to read (notice I didn't say enjoy) Dagwood, I always avoided the bizarre newspaper soap opera that is MW.

Maybe it was the yawn inducing blandness of the story. Perhaps it was the awkwardness of the art, with people's mouths randomly hanging open, and entirely unnecessary hands lurking in the frame like lost birds. It also could have been the stilted, unnatural dialogue, I suppose. Nobody in Mary Worth really looks like a real person, and certainly no one talks like one. Below, Captain Kangaroo offers Aunt Bea's evil twin a little help with the groceries.

Amazingly, Mary Worth has been in newspapers since the 1930s. I've known of its exisitence since I was little, I suppose, but it wasn't until just a couple hours ago that I came to appreciate just how creepy and entertaining this comic could be. The reason for my enlightenment was this.

The link goes to a little film series on Zerotv that recreates to the tee about a month's worth of Mary Worth strips. Seeing the scenes recreated and voiced by real people underscores how freakish the strip actually can be. Prepare to be confounded yet inexplicably riveted.

Like Phoenix from the ashes... oh, wait.

I'm speaking of our kitchen, and that phrase would imply that at one time, it was beautiful and grand. But sadly, it never has been either of those things. Tiny, cramped and with a silly/disgusting floor? YES! Beautiful and grand? N-O!

Howeeeever, things are looking up for our ugly duckling of a kitchen. First, out came the frightening cabinets, 2 of which I had never opened for fear of what might be inside. Then, out came a bazillion layers of weird and/or ugly floors, along with that magazine from a couple posts ago (I will be scanning bits of it and posting those as soon as the printer/scanner is unburied). Then the new Ikea cabinets went in, and this morning the floors were refinished. And the floor is now Glorious. I meant to capitalize that. Seriously, in the space of about 3 hours, the floor went from being cruddy grey paper wads with nails sticking out of it, to a luminous golden wood. That was the original floor that was under all the crap.

The crap.

What was under the crap.

Whee!

You'll have to excuse me if I'm a bit giddy. We've been up till the way-too-late hours of the morning hefting things around, scraping, patching, sanding and painting all over the house--then waking up early to let in contractors and such. I've been boxing up clutter and/or giving stuff away, which is something I should have done ages ago, whether we were moving or not.

This is why I like Freecycle. You can get stuff out of your hair, and people who actually want it can have it. Plus, they come pick it up, which is a good bonus. Check to see if there's a freecycle in your town!

Crikey.... (sad voice)

RIP, Mister Crocodile Hunter.

Steve Irwin was killed by a stingray this morning while filming a show for Animal Planet called "The Ocean's Deadliest Creatures." Apparently in a freak accident, a stingray barb punctured his chest, and possibly his heart.

Although I thought Irwin was blusteringly foolhardy at times, he had a good heart, knew his business, and was really darn entertaining while teaching millions of people about wildlife. I have to give him much credit for the good he's done both envionmentally and educationally.

It's kind of amazing--people have already edited the Irwin Wikipedia entry extensively in the 2 hours the news has been out. I've been watching it change over and over as more information is known. People really loved this guy, and are affected by his death. Even among the most jaded of us have to admit the man was an institution.

It's sad he couldn't have died in his sleep of old age someday, but are any of us really surprised? I think he would have been a little disappointed.

Update

As they were ripping up strata of various horrendous layers of flooring in the kitchen, the guys came across a 1954 magazine stuffed, in its entirety, beneath a "tasteful" green and gold vinyl faux tile layer. How odd. I'll write more about it later if there's anything interesting when I've had a chance to look at it. I suspect it was the same person that hid an entire 1945 issue of the Pontiac News in the cover of the fold-down ironing board. I decoupaged it onto the inside of a closet door.

Another thing that revealed itself in the kitchen was a hole in the original wood floor that was corked with...well, a cork. It's a cork from an old wine bottle. I have no idea what the hole was for.

One more paper item we found soon after we moved in was a map of Vietnam torn from a newspaper in 1962, and tacked inside a closet door. The headline reads "Where Our Boys Are."

Small Stories: This one probably wasn't so small

Kitchen renovation draws near, as in "tomorrow" near. As I was moving things out of the room today, I came across an old postcard mixed in with my boxes. It caught my eye because the front was almost completely white, though it was scuffed and blotchy. I turned it over because I couldn't remember receiving anything like that, and lo and behold, I hadn't: (address erased)

There are a few mysteries to solve here:

The first was how this postcard came to mixed in with my stacks of boxes. As I flipped the card over again, I realized why the front looked strange. It was covered with paint. Then the tape on the front made sense--someone had taped this thing to the wall, then painted over it. Somehow I'd knocked it off and into my stuff. I scoured the wall for a postcard sized mark in the paint, and didn't find one, until later I happened to notice the mark on the bottom of a shelf in a cupboard. Mystery...uh, solved?

Here are the facts:

Holmes is the name of the people who lived here before us. Earldine and... her husband had some equally awkward name.

Here is Earldine in her heyday.

When we bought the house, Mr. Holmes had broken a hip and was unable to navigate the stairs. They were both in their 70s, it seemed.

Their son was supposed to be taking care of the house while they lived in an assisted facility. He didn't. There was a pile of trash out front that looked like a Jersey landfill when we first saw the place. There were heaps of junk in the garage, basement, and every other conceiveable palce something could be stuffed. Their son was supposed to move the remaining junk and furniture out of the house before we moved in. He took the tv and left everything else, including family photos and book keeping. I don't think much of their son.

One of the bedrooms was obviously used by someone younger (I can only assume their son). It was covered in chewed gum, and a lock was defiantly adhered to the bedroom door using several gazillion nails. Whatever kid lived there had absolutely no respect for the house. I assume it was the same kid who clumsily nailed a million random nails into the stairs to keep them from squeeking when he snuck out. Okay--that's a bit of artisitc license, but it makes sense, right? Some pissy kid--punches holes in his wall, insists on locking his room, leaves chewed gum all over everything, and sneaks out at night. Sounds like an absolute joy.

The second mystery seems to have solved itself. I can only assume that Bill was the son in question. It stands to reason that HE is that damn gum chewing kid. The postmark on the card looks like either 1986 or 1996, which would put Bill in his 30s or 40s at the time, maybe?

So for whatever reason, it seems Bill was living with/mooching off his parents, having an affair with a married woman (codename: Legs ?!), and bitching to his mistress on the phone (on his parents' tab) about how boring it was living with Mom. What a winner. I knew I hated that guy from the start.

Another mystery is who this "Legs" is, and why she didn't just hand-write the darn postcard. I also can't conceive of why she'd cheat on her husband with a whiney schmuck living with his parents.

Why the heck would someone tape this postcard to the bottom of a shelf, and paint over it? Was it Earldine, who found it first and was hiding it from her son? Was it the ever-juvenile Bill, hiding it from his parents, and if so, why the kitchen, of all places? Why paint over it? Perhaps someone stuck it there and it was inadvertantly painted over later? We'll never know.

The final mystery will most likely remain unsolved forever. And it is:

Cletus??!? Seriously??

It's good to have fiends. Er, friends.

First of all, it's even better to have fiends who also happen to be your friends. We spent the better part of an afternoon at IKEA yesterday buying a kitchen, and Shaundrea (That's 2 links in one word) stuck around the entire freaking time while we did ordering paperwork, waiting, and more waiting. I am kind of boggled. Thanks, guys! You're very patient and brave. Seriously. Next time we hang out, maybe we can do something other than sitting on a (albeit very cute) waiting room couch at IKEA for 4 hours.

Now that stuff has been delivered, the living room looks like a cardboard forest that's slowly blossoming into various cabinets as we build them. It's actually gotten to the point where the downstairs is so taken over by stuff that it's not distressing anymore, which is nice. It's more about anticipating a new kitchen, and packing up extras and having them out of the way. Whee! I can do both of those things very well.

One good thing about knowing where we'll end up living is that we know there will be a Costco there. Blessed be--there are 2 in Cinci, so we renewed our membership today and trawled the aisles, gathering massive packages of toilet paper and such.

We also got some fresh trout, which is NOT something we would have considereduntil recently, but for some reason we both ordered fish when we ate out not too long ago, and it was downright scrumptious. Tonight we improvised and made a variation on the earlier dish--trout fillets rolled in finely crushed almonds and spices, then pan-fried in butter. We cut up a whole lime and squeezed it over the fish, and it was really nice--suddenly the toasted almonds had more flavor, and it was nice with the more subdued flavor of the trout. Yum. I did homemade whipped cream with splenda and a vanilla pod, and we dipped a bunch of fresh strawberries in it for desert. Hurrah for low-carb meals where you still feel a tad luxourious! It's weird to realize we're actually losing weight while we're eating like that. Whatever. It works, and I'm not going to question. The evidence is both the Boy and I each being able to step out of our favorite jeans without undoing them. But, you know... not in public.

Surprise!

You know, Dream Cruise was really not that bad this year. We bought some new video games and stayed home all weekend. It was actually pretty nice, though I was only slightly disappointed that in this version of Zoo tycoon, park visitors cannot be eaten by escaped animals. It ups the stakes, and makes the game more exciting. I'm pretty sure that's not pathological in any way. The Boy was playing Sith Lords. After about an hour of freaking out every time a wookie talked, the cats gave up and settled down.

Traffic on Woodward is already completely back to normal as far as I can tell. We drove the new car down to hang with the Boy's mom tonight. It was good to see her. I think I must have the best mother-in-law the world has ever known. She doesn't play that passive-aggressive game many in-laws seem to do, she's not at all prissy, and she's totally laid back. "Are you glad to be done with asshole finance guy?" she asked as we took her for a spin in the new car.

One word of wisdom gleaned from our night, though--and I know this is probably an unnecessary warning for most of you, but sweet mother of gastronomical goodness!! --Stay the heck away from the buffet line-style restaurant called "Sign of the Bleefcarver" on Woodward. It was seriously almost funny how bad the food was. We thought it would be fine, since we're eating low-carb, and beef and beefcarving fits pretty well into that sort of thing.

Our first warning should have been the little sign next to the BBQ beef that said"Don't worry! Not very spicy!"

Now, when I say "beef," I'm talking "severe memory throwback beef." Every Sunday when we were little, and our mom would put a "roast" in the oven before whisking us off to church, and when we returned hours later, the meat was dry, grey, and not even redeemable with massive amounts of gravy and horseradish. Every Sunday. She'd also boil the heck out of various vegetables until they were sodden and sad looking, and then garnish the grey meat with them. No wonder we all lived for the yorkshire pudding. It was the only thing on the table that actually had a color.

Ah, memories.... uh, anyway, back to the restaurant. When I put a brussel sprout into my mouth, the mere pressure of being on my tongue caused it to collapse into a pulpy mass. It had no taste, to speak of, but it did have that strong, bitter smell that can be tempered by simply cooking them correctly. I didn't even spit it out. Mom would have been proud. However, I did get a wicked stomach ache later in the evening. Hmm.

So, on a scale of 1 to delish, I would rate this restaurant a little less than a 1. On the adjusted "Perfect for Old People" scale, this would rate very highly.

Buuuut, we did stop in at a place called Little Daddy's Parthenon earlier this week. We got omelets, which in my world, usually tend to be serviceable, unremarkable food (that happens to be low-carb) . Not these--they were just luscious, and opened my eyes to various omlettey possibilities. That meal rated a pretty darn highly, and wasn't all that expensive, either.

The science of car dealing

People who infuriate me in that... special way are people who lie and manipulate while assuming I have no idea what they're up to. In our search for the new car, we met a couple dealers who gave us the usual schpeal about extended warranties and all that, but that's their job. No hard feelings. The people who made me want to frog-kick them in the solar plexus were from the finance department. One guy in particular. We shouldn't have had any sort of issue whatsoever--we were already financed through a company that gave us a good rate, was lightning quick, and sent us a check we could take car shopping. It should have been simple.

First, let me say that if any of you are planning on purchasing a vehicle from Scion of Troy, for God's sake--think again! Second, please know that if there were any other xA's in the state, we would not have put up with the kind of crap this guy dealt. But the closest one was 350 miles away in Illinois. A long road trip. We decided it was worth wading through the BS to just be done with it and have this car.

Our salesman was just doing his job. We arranged a trade in. We signed papers. We handed him the check. He handed us off to the finance asshol--er, guy, and things should have been golden. However, Guy greeted us with the hard-sell on his financing, and wouldn't. let. it. go. "We can give you better rates than whatever rates you've got," he declared. We let him know we were done with the financing side of things. We let him know several more times as he pushed and pushed. We deflected unnecessary questions about our rate and our credit score. He tried to make us feel guilty by implying we were somehow trying to screw over the dealership. He claimed he'd never heard of our financing company before. Then he claimed they'd screwed over someone at that very dealership. Wha--huh? He read the back of the check over and over, aloud, making overly-dramatic hemming and hawing noises, and tapping it with his finger to emphasize just how out of the ordinary and fishy this was, and to scare us into taking his financing. "I don't know about this," he whined. Knowing exactly what he was playing, and that there was nothing wrong with the financing, we stuck to our guns.

When we didn't budge, he claimed he had to make some calls about it, and walked away, leaving us to "cool down" for an HOUR and a HALF. When he finally marched back, he pointedly dialed our financier on speaker-phone so we could hear the message that they were closed for the evening (They hadn't been closed at the point he'd walked away). "I'm helpless," he grunted, waving the check at us. "I can't let you walk away with a car, and all I get is a piece of paper. "

Pray tell, how do you sell cars, then? Do people often leave a large pile of cash on your desk? Isn't a personal check a piece of paper? Isn't your financing a piece of paper? Aren't you a piece of... ...something smelly and warm that's not paper?

Why yes. Yes you are.

We knew full well that it shouldn't be an issue. We'd spoken to our financier about what was supposed to happen, and they said the dealer should let us go home in the car, then the check could be deposited the next day. The people we know who've dealt with the same financier went home with the car. However, Finance Number One A-hole Guy was determined to punish us for not being malleable enough.

Having already switched plates and given them the title for our trade-in car, we were forced to drive the old car home with dealer plates on it.

The next morning I called our financier to ask what was going on, and found that Guy had faxed some of the info they needed, but he didn't fax 2 of the most obviously necessary things. I called Guy. Guy claimed he'd sent them all, and whined and moaned when I told him to refax. He said he'd call us just as SOON as he knew anything, and we could come get the car. Then he waited several hours before faxing anything to the financier. By that time, the workday was over.

Today, I called the financier again because I didn't trust Guy farther than I could throw him. Good thing, too. They let me know everything was set, and that they'd called to notify Guy of that 2 hours ago. She also mentioned that he'd complained to them about the fact that we hadn't gotten the extended warranty and tried to make a big deal out of it so they wouldn't finance us (presumably so he could do it instead). Now, that's out of the realm of slimy business practice and more into along the lines of bratty third grade temper-tantrums.

I called Guy a minute later, and before I could get a word in edgewise, he said he hadn't heard a peep back from our finance company, and that he'd been calling and calling and they were all rude to him and he hated dealing with such an "unprofessional fly-by-night outfit." Wah-wah, bitch. Sorry you have to do your freaking job.

When I informed him that essentially I knew he was flat-out lying about the fact that he hadn't heard anything from them, he got harried and defensive. "Well, I swear I haven't heard from them and maybe they left a voicemail, but I seriously haven't, but I guess they could have possibly left a voicemail. Uh, let me call you back, or you'll have to sit there on hold." I told him I would hold as long I needed to. He growled something, put me on hold for about three seconds, and then picked up again to tell me, yeah--he guessed they'd called. "Congratulations," he grumbled. "You have to be here before 6 to get your car."

Fuck you very much, Guy. Have a nice life.

I'm really looking forward to taking all the surveys I'll undoubtedly be inundated with about the dealership and our experience. Mwahaha!

----

Despite the fact that we had to deal with...that, we're excited to finally have our new car, and it's a little dreamboat with built-in satellite radio, mp3 player, and iPod connection and interface. Fancy, dancy. Okay, It's really not that fancy, but it's pretty sweet.

My favorite thing about it? When you unplug the pod, the interface blinks, "bye bye, ipod!"
Eeeee!

Infuriating Commercial Alert!

Does this make anyone else grind their teeth and shake their fists at the tv?

A woman is blithely going about her day at a fruit market, when two plastically chipper women appear out of nowhere. "That's a nice white shirt!" they chirp, lunging at her with mushy fruit, which they smear triumphantly onto her clean blouse.

My split second reaction to the commercial up until this point was, "wait--is this one of those celebrity pieings?" But no, Sandy is not a celebrity. She's just a nice lady who got up that morning, picked out a nice white blouse, thinking, "that'll look pretty," and went about her day, never expecting to be physically assaulted by fruit wielding yobs at the market.

Moving on. After mashing strawberries and whatnot into poor shocked Sandy's shirt, the robotically gleeful women demand, "How are you gonna get this stain out?? How about this one?"

_____

Cut to the smug fruit assailants applying some kind of stain remover to Sandy's shirt, as she cowers, shivering, in an awful t-shirt advertising the very product that has hijacked her day and will doubtless cause nightmares and teary therapy sessions for years to come. The humiliation!

I'm sure they carefully edited out the tape of the women handing Sandy the t-shirt and growling, "Oh you WILL be excited about our product. You'll be thrilled about our freaking product. Show it! MORE!!!"

Sandy clearly lacks self esteem and confidence, because, instead of clocking the women in the face with her purse and roaring, "What the hell, you asshats??!!!" she actually plays along. "Oh! That's...great!" she offers, as her shirt finally comes out of the dryer, 45 minutes after she should have been picking her son up from soccer practice.

The two women laugh, wild-eyed, and declare that their product is the best. I can imagine Sandy slinking off, humiliated, to cry in her car for a few hours before slowly driving home.

It's happening again. Hide.

I know it's coming when I notice people lounging in portable chairs on street corners, when the roar of engines at stoplights through downtown Pontiac is deafening, when more than 60% of people are driving 20 miles below the speed limit with their arms slung carelessly out the windows or over the edge of their meticulously restored convertibles, and when traffic, no matter where you intend to go, is intensely bottlenecked at all hours of the day and night.

It is the Woodward Dream Cruise, and it has no mercy.

It's not all that bad if you have no place to go and nothing to do during the weekend that it's held. One can walk to the end of our block and watch amazingly gorgeous old cars roar by. On the other hand, if we wish to go anywhere---anywhere at all, we have to wade through cruisers like a salmon trying to up-stream Niagara Falls.

Unfortunately, this is a weekend during which we have a lot of places to go and things to do. In anticipation of putting the house up for sale in about a month, we've got to work frenetically on getting things rennovated, organized, and ready.

*sigh* Ah well. I suppose Dream Cruisers could be far more annoying. There are many lovely cars to look at (though people feeling the need to rev their engines always makes me roll my eyes), and it could have been worse. It could have been the annual Nails on Chalkboards festival.

Well, I guess we shall move semi-south.

Yup, after the marathon o' interviews on Tuesday, the new company offered the Boy the job, and he's accepted. Assuming they're okay with his requirements for vacation, etc., I suppose that means we're heading to Cincinnati in the OH.

We're not going to be moving completely until our house sells, since we'll need the profit from this place for a down payment for our next. This means I'll probably be hanging here for the next several months (realistically), fixing things up and holding down the fort such as it is, while Boy lives in the housing the new company's arranged for him down there.

I'm still in a little bit of shock about the whole thing, but aside from a couple of inevitable future teary episodes, I'm really excited to see what the next chapter has in store for us. It will be hard not being able to hang out on short notice with the dear people who compose our friends/family. However, if you give us 4 1/2 hours notice, and we'll be there! That doesn't sound so bad. If we left at lunch, we'd be here by dinner. Also, we're planning on making sure whatever house we buy has enough bedrooms that we'll always have room for guests, if anyone wants a vacation or pit stop.

One of the main things that makes me happy about this is that it's a huge break for the Boy's career, and he deserves it after working so hard. (My freelance work is totally mobile, which makes one thing in this whole event that's very simple.) He's moving into a good position with some nice big steps up the ladder. If we eventually move back to SE MI, he'll be able to wrangle a job in a strata of jobdom (?) that involves things like bonuses, stock options, company cars, and no excuse for paying bills late. We plan to work on being really snobby and boring in order to fit the profile perfectly. I'm going to develop a nasally voice, bleach my hair, and tan myself leathery, and the Boy will yap pompously via mobile to his "business contacts" while looking down his nose at everyone else in line at Starbucks.

Har! Never mind. We'll always be nerds who think Alton Brown is awesome, have little crushes on our favorite authors, and thumb wrestle to solve our disagreements (the Boy cheats).

Er. Now to begin the daunting task of super-speed final renovation, and putting the house on the market.

I'll be in touch with our dear folk to let you all know the details as they come up. As for now, nothing will be happening for a little while, anyway, until the Boy packs down to Cinci in a little over a month. We'll be driving up and down on alternating weekends, so he'll be up here plenty for the next few months.

As for the lovely Traverse City, things aren't over there yet. There's an even better possibility after working this job in OH, that the Boy can get a really awesome job up there in a few years. Not that I want to consider a potential move after the move that hasn't happened yet. Either way, I think we'll try to spend a little time up there each summer.

I have a feeling it that though it won't be simple, whatever comes will be good.

Booop! Good afternoon--this is your captain speaking...

Attention all audiophiles and gear-lovers: Out the left side of the plane, you'll see Sinepost, the latest internet offering from sound genius, pal, and incidental brother-in-law, Justin.

It's a secret portal into the minds of people who know way more about recording gear than I could ever pretend to hope to know.

And it's a darn good read, too.

The siren call of the Scion

Hello to our most recent family addition (uh, photo clearly ganked from Edmunds.com):

It's cute! It's round! Yup, we're getting a new Scion xA (Little x, big A. Why? I have no idea.) It is a neato car that gets crazy good gas mileage and has a huge amount of space in it. It's also rated pretty darn well in safety, and has built in satellite radio w/ iPod jack. Woo for technology!

The stork hasn't quite arrived, but we put in our order at the dealership this past weekend. We're going to have the plates from the Saturn transferred over, so I'd better get thinking about what the SNV in the plate number will stand for. It stood for "Super Nasty Vehicle" on the Saturn (Thanks to the lovely Jenny Haney!) but I think maybe something different is in order for our little Scion pal...

Any suggestions? Silly Nihilistic Vehicle? Swell Narcotic Vortex? No?

Oral Tradition in a Digital Age

Peter is an 79 year old widower living alone in England. A couple weeks ago, he stumbled onto YouTube. After watching other people's postings for a while, he decided that he would try putting a video of his own on, in an attempt to connect somehow with anyone else, or at least have an outlet for his thoughts. He wryly made his login name "geriatric1927."

His first posting was a week ago. It's a nervous, awkward offering that is also quite sweet. He fiddles with the stereo to include some blues music for his beginning and ending, he gets a little short of breath, and without introduction, bursts right into explaining that he's gotten addicted to YouTube, and even though he's old, he thought he'd give it a go.

After a few videos, more and more people began watching, commenting, and asking him to tell about what his life has been like. He's been sucessful in making contact with people and becoming a part of the YouTube community. He's been very, very successful. In his video, "Telling it All, Part 1," he's absolutely floored by the number of people who've contacted him. He's just received notification of the thousands of comments people have given, and is still shaking when he turns on the camera. He tries to express just how thankful and amazed he is by it all, and breaks down crying at the end as he tries to stop recording.

In the past week, well over a million people have tuned in to hear Peter's continuing stories of life in World War II, his passion for motorcycles, his time as a radar operator in the war... He's an intelligent, interesting man, who's lived through more than I can imagine. I highly recommend watching his postings. I've been turning him up and listening as I do the dishes and such.

Congratulations, Peter. You deserve this happiness.

If I looking for frog...

It makes me sad that there are millions of little stories that disappear every day when people die. Little treasures that won't ever get passed on or documented disappear because no one has told them or remembers them.

One of my very favorite things about the digital world is that it's possible to know the fascinating real little stories that would have evaporated otherwise. Not only do we get the story, but we get the internet community's response. One of my favorite examples is Hopkin Green Frog (I may have mentioned it before--forgive me.) In 2004, hand made posters began appearing in a Seattle neighborhood. They were "Lost Frog" posters, in a child's handwriting, with a carefully drawn mugshot of said frog from the front and side. The poster was signed, "Love, Terry." The earnest quirkiness and odd grammar of the posters caught the interest of someone who scanned a few and put them online.

20 years ago, very few people would have known or ever remembered that Terry lost a frog in Seattle. But today, not only do I know, but I can look at the poster, (click on it for more) find out the back story, and see the rather funny responses of people who were inspired to make their own versions of it. (very much like the "All your base" phenomenon.

Hurrah for technology, and for quirky stories to tell with it!

Cin City

It's lovely to have a little vacation, but even more lovely when someone else pays for it. We'll be down in Cincinnati on someone else's tab for a few days this week, while the Boy does the day-long "marathon o' interviews" with this potential new company. It'll be nice to poke around the areas we've been researching, and possibly see some of the amazing (and dirt cheeep) houses we've been looking at. It still boggles me how inexpensive housing is down there, even compared to our relatively buyer-friendly neighborhood. In order to live in a large, interesting reasonable fixer-upper house in a neighborhood comparable to the one we're in now, we'd only have to drop about 40k. That's FOR-TY.

Or we could break the bank and drop 60 on this one.

If you're willing to live in a cheap, cool house painted silly colors, you're in luck.

If you want a to live in a castle in a nicer neighborhood, you'll have to drop a massive 120k.

As it stands, we're shooting for some of the beautiful woodsy neighborhoods near where the Boy would potentially work. Whatever we chose, we'd never be more than 30 minutes of downtown. There are also some really cool mid-century modern houses I don't want to bother finding to post pictures of.

Even if the rest of Cincinnati turns out to be sucky... if we end up moving there, at least we know we'll live in a sweet house.

We Shall Live in Either the North, or the Semi-South

That would be "semi-south" because moving any farther down than the border of Ohio would be so not cool. Literally.

I lived in the deep South for quite a while. I sweated and got sand in my eyes in Texas. I withered in the humidity of Florida. Eight years in the South, all told, and unless something exceedingly drastic happens (e.g. I'm offered 7.5 million dollars if I'll just live in the Bible Belt for a year), I will not live there again.

My mother, on the phone from Mississippi, often comments that we should just move on down near them. La-dee-dah! Just move on down! Into the 105 degree, sweltering backwater around Jackson! Move on down, Dear! Everyone here adores Wal-Mart, and harbors a suspicious attitude toward any "Yankees" from north of Kentucky! It's whimsical! I haven't the heart to tell her I'd sooner have all my teeth pulled and replaced with thumb tacks.

Sharp, sharp, thumb tacks.

Moving on. So it looks as though we'll either move to Traverse City, which I would adore, or to Cincinnati, which I would still be happy about, but would adore only slightly less since, as far as I know, Lake Michigan's gorgeous beaches and dunes do not touch Cincinnati. No, after some thought, they certainly do not. Nevertheless, I would be happy with either city. Both have their merits. Both are real, thriving cities with art, culture, and interesting things. Yay for both.

It's just the "not knowing which thing will be happening" (or when) that drives me crazy.

DENIED.

Dear Vapid Adolescent,
My condolences. You will find that you are able to log onto Stardoll...no longer. Collect your pervs and imaginary boyfriends someplace else, please.

According to the email I received, they apologize to me for any inconvenience I may have experienced. Oh--no inconvenience, Stardoll. It was a delight.

Not Agaaaain!

One of the many uninformed Stephs who give out my email address as their own has done it again.

This time it must be the same Steph who signed me up for a MySpace account—she's the only vapid junior-high girl in that list.

She’s signed herself up for “Stardoll,” which is a “celebrity dress-up site” where angsty preteens can make “personalized avatars” which I’m sure look nothing like them, and then chat and meet other angsty teens or pedophiles, whose avatars look nothing like them.

In any case, she must not want her parents to know what she’s up to, because the email I received was announcing that “my child” had opened an account on Stardoll. Clearly she thought she was having the parental email sent to herself, so of course she would just approve it, and her parents would be none the wiser.

But instead it came to Steph McW: Crusher of Prepubescent Souls!!

Now you all get to advise again:

A, I ignore it, or B, I reply that “no child of mine is going to sign up for this hussy-fest!”

Hmm.

Oh, Sweet Irony!

Blackadder: Baldrick, are you even aware of what irony is? Baldrick: (affronted) Of course! It's like....bronzey...and goldy.

Bite me Alanis Morrisette. Here's what irony is:

When I first met The Boy six years ago, he was doing facilities management at a place he loved. He was pouring himself into the job and his employers were happily sucking the life out of him without appreciating the fact that he was putting in the hours of four people. That, and he actually still loved the place and gave everything he had.

Move forward to three years ago. We got married, and the week after we got back from the honeymoon, they let him know that they were firing him since they were "restructuring." Fah. In retrospect, it was a really good thing, because he put so much heart into that job that I don't think he would have ever left it for anything better. Still, The Boy wrote a bunch of instructions for his sucessor to make sure the company was okay.

It sucked, but we moved on, and he worked hard to get to where he is right now--a much better job with more reasonable hours, that pays wayyyy the heck better.

Meanwhile, the place that laid The Boy off was surprised to find that they were having difficulty finding someone who would be willing to work themselves ragged like The Boy did. So they divided the responsibilities into a couple different positions. Still, they couldn't find anyone to take on the load of things The Boy had been responsible for. They offered better pay. Still, no one wanted to, or was capable of it. Quite a while later, they finally got some people to take over The Boy's responsibilities. Three people, to be exact. They were paying three salaries for people to do what The Boy had done for one measly one. And the people they were paying sucked at it. Systems and programs The Boy had put into place rapidly fell apart as they were ignored, and stuff started going to shit.

Finally, the company hired yet another person to oversee the other people because things had gotten so bad. This was not just anyone they hired to oversee building facilities. It was the wife of the architect who built the freaking building. So now they're paying four salaries, including to the wife of the architect, and things still aren't getting done.

Yesterday, The Boy had lunch with a friend who still worked at the company, and that person explained the situation to him. They introduced him to the architect's wife, and The Boy, being the sweet, non-vindictive person that he is, gave her some advice, walked her around the building explaining things, and dug out the policy manuals and systems he'd put into place so many ages ago, and that people had ignored after he left. She was very grateful.

Prepare for IRONY.

The Boy will now be paid for doing consulting at the company that laid him off, because things went to such shit after they forced him out.

Company to do list:
1. We don't appreciate you
2. You're fired for no good reason
3. Why can't we find anyone to do your job?
4. Why can't the four people we finally hired in your place manage to do your job?
5. Can we pay you to come back and help those four people learn how to do your job we never appreciated you for and fired you from?


I.R.O.N.Y.