Please do not remind me, I am well aware of the fact that I am posting twice in one day. It is just that I feel that my last post was a bit inferior. Of course, feelings are subjective and it could be that I am under the influence of dreary weather combined with complimentary coffee that my friend refers to as "cat piss," but who knows. I do not really know what cat urine smells like, so I will take her word for it. This is why I should always stop at Caribou before work.
One thing that I have noticed in several of my favorite blogs is that people really like to write out past conversations. I am always amazed at their ability to recall phrases, but maybe I am giving them too much credit. Perhaps they are mere remembering the gist of things more than actual word placement. With that in mind, I shall now endeavor to do some of the same.
To give you a background (What? You were expecting immediate dialog? Please. You should know me better than that by now.), my brother has been dating a lovely girl named Heidi for almost three years. They are both in their late 20's (or on the cusp of 30 if you want to round up). They have been living together for a year. It is pretty clear that this is a serious relationship and I believe that my brother intends for it to be permanent. He just doesn't appear aware of how to do so.
Enter my mother. Like all good mothers, she wants her children to be happy. She also has needs of her own; specifically, she wants grandchildren. My brother, the constant procrastinator, also has a penchant for deliberately trying to annoy my mother. He doesn't need me to tell him that this is playing with fire, but apparently he likes to take the risk.
Anyway, last weekend, my brother came home for the wedding. Although the topic came up more than once, I believe it was at the wedding reception that the clearest and most direct inquiry was made. My brother and I were seated with my parents at a table in my aunt's backyard enjoying some food and beverages, when the spirit of weddings took hold of my mother.
Mom: So Mikey, do you think you and Heidi will get married?
Mikey: (Silence)
Mom: Do you ever talk about marriage?
Mikey: Yeah...
Mom: (Changing tactics) So where do you think you'd get married?
Mikey: Ummmm... probably Vermont? [Heidi's home state] Most of her family lives there.
Me: (Deciding to help out) Sweet! I have always wanted to go there! Just remember, don't make me stay in a tent. If I am going to be photographed in wedding photos, I do not want to deal with the mess that ensues when I sleep in a tent. Right? (Because it's all about me, isn't it?)
Mikey: (Laughs. Coughs. Hopes that the subject will soon be changed.)
Mom: But really, don't you worry that she will get sick of waiting for you to take action?
Mikey: (Silence)
(Clearly this was going nowhere, so I again jumped in.)
Me: Ummm... wait. Michael, I was just wondering. If you were to decide to propose or to come up with a plan, would you even tell us? Or would you prefer to surprise everyone?
Mikey: Oh yeah, I would surprise you all.
Mom: Hmph.
Please keep in mind that this is just one example of what we do to Mikey when we have him alone. My dad usually stays silent for the interrogation, but I know he feels the same as us. It is definitely an eye opener of what guys must go through when they face their families and have not yet proposed to their long term girlfriends. Or who are currently highly educated and unemployed. I can only imagine what would happen if he didn't live four hours away.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Three Days in One
Have you ever had one of those days that felt like it was actually three days wrapped into one? If not, I don't know that I would recommend it, but it certainly is a bit surreal.
Yesterday I awoke at a nontraditional Saturday time of 7 a.m. to bring my car to the dealership for its big appointment. Since I bought the car during a torrential downpour, they recommended that I wait to have my complimentary detailing done. Also, my license plates and side molding were in, so I now have real plates on the car. I find that this is usually a good thing. It just so happens that the letter portion of the plate is the same goofy word that is on my parents' new car: GUT. I'm not sure what acronym we will come up with to attach to this strange assortment, but it will probably be awesome.
After dropping off my car, my father picked me up. We then embarked on a quick round of errands that started with a Target run. Normally I would not mention this, but we arrived prior to the 8 a.m. opening of the store and were able to witness the gathering of the eager early morning Target shoppers. It was an interesting anthropological experience.
Our other errands were less interesting - picking up coffee for my mom and myself to really get the day started. After returning home, we started in on the major cleaning project. Once everyone else was up, we took a family trip to the Fulton Street Farmers Market. It's a small affair in south Minneapolis, but it was really fun. We picked up some awesome baked goods, flowers and I found a fun food truck that I have vowed to try at some point this summer.
My mother left us at this point to have her hair done, so my dad, brother and I returned home to continue the good fight against dust and dog hair in the house. I have to say that we were quite successful. Finally, the dealership called so Mikey and I went to retrieve my car. My mom still wasn't home when we returned, but we kept cleaning anyway. Eventually I had to start cleaning myself because the female contingent of the bridal party was coming over in the afternoon to prepare themselves for the festivities.
Sure enough, no sooner had we all finished our self-prettying process than the girls showed up with their SUV full of wedding excitement. They were quite efficient in their preparations; within an hour they were off to the park to start group photos.
From that point on, things start to blur. As family members of the bride, we were included in family photos, so we spent much of our afternoon in the park as well. And those heels I was so excited about? I wore them. Let me just say that they would have worked out great if all I needed to wear them for was the wedding and maybe about an hour or so of walking for pictures. Sadly, it was more like 3 hours of walking and pictures. Or more.
After the wedding ceremony, my mother and I jetted back to the house not only to release the hounds for a bathroom break but to switch up my shoes before the reception. Again, the reception was lovely (as was the ceremony) in my aunt's beautiful backyard in scenic Belle Plaine, MN. There were tacos, a chocolate fountain, music, candles, twinkle lights and coolers full of lovely beverages. We stayed until the mosquitoes showed up in force.
Weddings are always nice, but they're always better when it is for a couple that you know well and who are clearly crazy about each other. This is my aunt's second marriage, but it was to her high school sweetheart. He has been so good for her and her four kids, and I am so happy that they have finally made it "legal." Talk about having to wait a long time to be with the right person.
By the time we arrived home last night, it was after 11 and we were all exhausted. My brother returns home this afternoon, but he will be back with his girlfriend this week as they are going away for her brother's wedding and we are watching her dog. This afternoon my mom and I are hosting a baby shower, and I am pretty sure that I will soon be frantically running around to prepare for that event as well. Tonight I plan to finish up my homework for tomorrow and get to bed at a very decent hour.
All in all, the weekend has gone quickly, but I still feel like the amount of activity made it seem like it took place over several days. The true test will come tomorrow when I return to work and sit in class for three hours. If I survive, you will surely hear about it.
Yesterday I awoke at a nontraditional Saturday time of 7 a.m. to bring my car to the dealership for its big appointment. Since I bought the car during a torrential downpour, they recommended that I wait to have my complimentary detailing done. Also, my license plates and side molding were in, so I now have real plates on the car. I find that this is usually a good thing. It just so happens that the letter portion of the plate is the same goofy word that is on my parents' new car: GUT. I'm not sure what acronym we will come up with to attach to this strange assortment, but it will probably be awesome.
After dropping off my car, my father picked me up. We then embarked on a quick round of errands that started with a Target run. Normally I would not mention this, but we arrived prior to the 8 a.m. opening of the store and were able to witness the gathering of the eager early morning Target shoppers. It was an interesting anthropological experience.
Our other errands were less interesting - picking up coffee for my mom and myself to really get the day started. After returning home, we started in on the major cleaning project. Once everyone else was up, we took a family trip to the Fulton Street Farmers Market. It's a small affair in south Minneapolis, but it was really fun. We picked up some awesome baked goods, flowers and I found a fun food truck that I have vowed to try at some point this summer.
My mother left us at this point to have her hair done, so my dad, brother and I returned home to continue the good fight against dust and dog hair in the house. I have to say that we were quite successful. Finally, the dealership called so Mikey and I went to retrieve my car. My mom still wasn't home when we returned, but we kept cleaning anyway. Eventually I had to start cleaning myself because the female contingent of the bridal party was coming over in the afternoon to prepare themselves for the festivities.
Sure enough, no sooner had we all finished our self-prettying process than the girls showed up with their SUV full of wedding excitement. They were quite efficient in their preparations; within an hour they were off to the park to start group photos.
From that point on, things start to blur. As family members of the bride, we were included in family photos, so we spent much of our afternoon in the park as well. And those heels I was so excited about? I wore them. Let me just say that they would have worked out great if all I needed to wear them for was the wedding and maybe about an hour or so of walking for pictures. Sadly, it was more like 3 hours of walking and pictures. Or more.
After the wedding ceremony, my mother and I jetted back to the house not only to release the hounds for a bathroom break but to switch up my shoes before the reception. Again, the reception was lovely (as was the ceremony) in my aunt's beautiful backyard in scenic Belle Plaine, MN. There were tacos, a chocolate fountain, music, candles, twinkle lights and coolers full of lovely beverages. We stayed until the mosquitoes showed up in force.
Weddings are always nice, but they're always better when it is for a couple that you know well and who are clearly crazy about each other. This is my aunt's second marriage, but it was to her high school sweetheart. He has been so good for her and her four kids, and I am so happy that they have finally made it "legal." Talk about having to wait a long time to be with the right person.
By the time we arrived home last night, it was after 11 and we were all exhausted. My brother returns home this afternoon, but he will be back with his girlfriend this week as they are going away for her brother's wedding and we are watching her dog. This afternoon my mom and I are hosting a baby shower, and I am pretty sure that I will soon be frantically running around to prepare for that event as well. Tonight I plan to finish up my homework for tomorrow and get to bed at a very decent hour.
All in all, the weekend has gone quickly, but I still feel like the amount of activity made it seem like it took place over several days. The true test will come tomorrow when I return to work and sit in class for three hours. If I survive, you will surely hear about it.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Complaining about summer before it arrives (technically)
After a day in the country, I am exhausted. Well, technically it was not really a whole day if you want to be specific. We didn't hit the road until about 10 thanks to the female sector of the family and our insatiable need for coffee. Let's just say that by most measures, the majority of my daylight hours were consumed with a family trip out to dear old Brooten. Again, technically we did not go into Brooten proper. We were out at Big Grove Lutheran, the old family farm and then to the Red Onion drive-in in Belgrade. Hm.
Anyway. When we left Edina this morning the weather was not too promising. Before we even got onto the freeway we had gone from light drizzle to hail. However, once we got going, the precipitation let up and over the course of the next two hours, the car's temperature gauge moved from 63 to 80 degrees. To be clear, I would have been perfectly satisfied with a final temperature of 70-75.
Two hours in the car really isn't that bad in most situations. Two hours in the car with three dogs is a different experience. Thankfully we all made it in one piece with no puppy vomiting.
Our first stop was the church. After visiting the graves of our loved ones and placing a large tub of daisies by my brother's headstone, we pushed our way through the wind to enjoy some traditional Lutheran church basement luncheon food. We encountered many relatives and spoke to nearly all of them.
After the church, we went out to the farmstead to check out the potential water damage. I won't go into detail, but it was a bit depressing. Normally when my parents go out to the farm, they expect to get work done. Normally my parents arrange to have me stay back home with all the dogs when they do this. As I was with for this outing, I became the de facto dog minder.
First of all, minding the dogs is not a problem. Sure, they have to be leashed the entire time we are out there. Sure, I have to be careful not to let them eat or roll in anything suspicious or manure-like. But really, they don't require entertainment and conversation, so it's not that bad.
Keeping this in mind, I must add that although it was quite windy and about 80-85 degrees, there was a great deal of humidity in the air as well. This rendered the duty of standing with three retractable leashes attached to three constantly moving canines a bit less pleasant. People, it was HOT. There was nowhere to go to cool down and my parents were in the house with the keys to the only possible source of air conditioning: the car.
After what felt like hours but was only probably 20 minutes, my parents emerged and we readied our exit. We had made contact with my industrious 13 year-old cousin Ben who was driving the tractor back and forth to his father in the field. Oh, and the trailer attached to the tractor was loaded with manure. Oh, and he was loading this trailer himself with the skidloader. While constantly minding his new lab puppy, Rudy. Did I mention that the kid is industrious? Way tougher than me for sure.
Once we got back into air conditioning, no one was quite willing to leave it. We ate our Red Onion food in the car and got on our way home. Now we are back and I am packing up to take my pup back up home with me for the night.
I should also mention that our neighbor called my mother this morning to tell her that the coyote was in our front yard. I think that the time for action may be upon us. Who does one call for this? The police? Animal control? Time for Google, methinks.
I shall now endeavor to drive home and hope that Memorial Day weekend traffic going OUT of the metro is not bad. I am pretty sure that I did not leave the air conditioning on at my house, so I am also hoping that I do not arrive home to humid and jungle-like conditions. Ah, summer in Minnesota!
Anyway. When we left Edina this morning the weather was not too promising. Before we even got onto the freeway we had gone from light drizzle to hail. However, once we got going, the precipitation let up and over the course of the next two hours, the car's temperature gauge moved from 63 to 80 degrees. To be clear, I would have been perfectly satisfied with a final temperature of 70-75.
Two hours in the car really isn't that bad in most situations. Two hours in the car with three dogs is a different experience. Thankfully we all made it in one piece with no puppy vomiting.
Our first stop was the church. After visiting the graves of our loved ones and placing a large tub of daisies by my brother's headstone, we pushed our way through the wind to enjoy some traditional Lutheran church basement luncheon food. We encountered many relatives and spoke to nearly all of them.
After the church, we went out to the farmstead to check out the potential water damage. I won't go into detail, but it was a bit depressing. Normally when my parents go out to the farm, they expect to get work done. Normally my parents arrange to have me stay back home with all the dogs when they do this. As I was with for this outing, I became the de facto dog minder.
First of all, minding the dogs is not a problem. Sure, they have to be leashed the entire time we are out there. Sure, I have to be careful not to let them eat or roll in anything suspicious or manure-like. But really, they don't require entertainment and conversation, so it's not that bad.
Keeping this in mind, I must add that although it was quite windy and about 80-85 degrees, there was a great deal of humidity in the air as well. This rendered the duty of standing with three retractable leashes attached to three constantly moving canines a bit less pleasant. People, it was HOT. There was nowhere to go to cool down and my parents were in the house with the keys to the only possible source of air conditioning: the car.
After what felt like hours but was only probably 20 minutes, my parents emerged and we readied our exit. We had made contact with my industrious 13 year-old cousin Ben who was driving the tractor back and forth to his father in the field. Oh, and the trailer attached to the tractor was loaded with manure. Oh, and he was loading this trailer himself with the skidloader. While constantly minding his new lab puppy, Rudy. Did I mention that the kid is industrious? Way tougher than me for sure.
Once we got back into air conditioning, no one was quite willing to leave it. We ate our Red Onion food in the car and got on our way home. Now we are back and I am packing up to take my pup back up home with me for the night.
I should also mention that our neighbor called my mother this morning to tell her that the coyote was in our front yard. I think that the time for action may be upon us. Who does one call for this? The police? Animal control? Time for Google, methinks.
I shall now endeavor to drive home and hope that Memorial Day weekend traffic going OUT of the metro is not bad. I am pretty sure that I did not leave the air conditioning on at my house, so I am also hoping that I do not arrive home to humid and jungle-like conditions. Ah, summer in Minnesota!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Bringing Up Baby
There are many people who subscribe to the school of thought that our birth order greatly influences our personality. I have not spent a great deal of time looking into this, but my mother has. According to her, I definitely embody many of the stereotypical “oldest child” traits. I’m not here to argue with that idea, but it makes me think about I came to be the oldest child.
Obviously, I was the first child born to my parents, plain and simple. However, for almost the first three years of my life, I was not the oldest; I was the only.
For most two-year olds the concept of “baby” is a bit one-sided. I hadn’t met many of them, and I certainly hadn’t been allowed to play with one.
So when my parents started talking about “the new baby,” I really had no idea what to expect.
The only “baby” I was well acquainted with was the beat-up doll that I carried around with me everywhere. It used to belong to my mother and I called it “Baby Jennifer.”
Although I didn’t really know what a baby would look like, I gathered that they were cute. This made me wonder if they were anything like kittens, something that I also found to be cute.
All confusion aside, the date quickly came when my mom was due to deliver this “baby.” I don’t remember much about this time, but I do remember what we were doing when she went into labor.
As a child, most of my good friends came to me courtesy of the fact that the women my mother was friends with had children my age. Fortunately, we all got along very well and would play for hours while our moms sat and chatted over refreshments. I really don’t know what they ate and drank, but I always assumed it had something to do with Hostess Cupcakes.
Somehow, my mom and a couple of her good friends ended up getting pregnant in very quick succession. This meant that our play times were supervised by increasingly larger mother-figures.
On the day that the “baby” arrived, we were out at the house of one of these pregnant women (she was carrying twins) who was due about two months after my mom. I spent the time playing with her other two daughters and generally having a grand old time.
Whilst we children continued our merriment, up in the adult world, things were starting to happen. Basically, my mom went into labor. A hasty decision was made to leave and go to the doctor. Sounds simple, right?
Well… not really. As a child, I was quite attached to my social play time. At this point in my life, I was still technically an only child, so any interaction with other kids was a big deal to me. I was also a bit stubborn at this phase of life, but to be fair, I was still in the “terrible twos.”
Perhaps you can guess where this is leading. My mother came to fetch me for our quick departure and I did not react well to her unwanted interruption of what I’m sure was an intense game of My Little Pony or Sylvanian Family.
Not only did I become quite irate, I had to be forcibly carried (kicking and screaming) by my 9-months pregnant in-labor mother. Nice.
The rest of this day is a bit of a blur from me, probably because I took a while to come out of my super-charged rage episode. After that, I was likely quite worn out, so I am not sure how much I noticed that my mother did not come home from the doctor’s office and that I had to spend some time at the neighbors.
The baby, who turned out to be my brother Michael, arrived around 5 p.m. that day. Talk about your easy deliveries – go into labor in the morning and pop out a 10 pound baby before nightfall. When my grandfather called to speak with me about my new brother, I managed to carry on a successful argument with him over the name of said new sibling. It was the first of many debates that would teach me an important truth: sometimes kids are smarter than adults. My grandfather insisted that we had named the new baby Matthew, but obviously I knew better (and I was right).
My first interaction with my new brother and true confrontation of my loss of only-child status came with our visit to the hospital. I was accompanied by several relatives, including my father. The hospital in our small town was not large, but it did boast multiple floors, which meant that it had need of one of the most fascinating pieces of equipment known to most 2-year olds: the elevator.
Upon our arrival, we all rode up to the baby floor in the elevator and my father let me push the buttons. Not ALL of the buttons, mind you, just the one he told me to push. While this was not ideal in my mind, it had to be enough under the watchful eyes of so many adults.
When we finally made it to the room where my mom and new brother were waiting, I was picked up to see what all the fuss was about. I’m pretty sure I was happy to see my mom, but I do not really remember registering any strong feelings of interest in the wrinkly little red thing she had in her arms. If THIS was the baby I had been hearing so much about, it would really need to get a lot more interesting for me to focus attention on it at this point.
Anyway, after our brief introduction, I was placed back on the floor and promptly ignored. Rather than wallow in self-pity at the fact that I now found myself demoted to second cutest child, I opted to ditch the boring baby-love session and find my own adventure.
After casually exiting the hospital room, I wandered away down the hall and approached the only item of real interest to me since entering the building. Obviously, this was the elevator. Once I had carefully ascertained that no adult supervision was imminent, I boldly pushed the call button. When the doors opened and I still was not being pursued by a grown-up, I decided to walk right in to the unoccupied chamber.
As the doors slid closed, I pondered the switchboard. Normally, I was restricted to only pushing one button and it was always the one that my parents told me to pick. This time was different. I had no one telling me what to do, and I was free to push as many (or all) of the buttons. So I did.
When the doors opened again, I was on a new floor. I decided to check out my entertainment options in this new location, so I wandered down the hall. As there were still no adults in sight, I decided to check out the scenery a little more closely. From my brief perusal, the only familiar item appeared to be a drinking fountain. Feeling a bit parched from my journey, I decided to demonstrate my working knowledge of drinking fountains to the invisible hallway audience.
It is at this point in my story that an adult reappears in the form of my father. I’m not really sure how upset he was, but it was apparently entertaining enough to warrant a photograph of me by the drinking fountain that turned out to be too tall for me to reach. I don’t have a copy of that picture here, but I have recreated it in this artist’s rendering:
This shall be the conclusion of my faithful retelling of the day that represents the end of my solo reign as top banana in my family’s child pecking order. The ensuing adjustment period had occasional rocky periods involving pacifiers, My Little Pony and hair rollers, but I eventually learned to accept the fact that I was a big sister. I also learned how to exert my continued dominance in our sibling dynamic that continues to this day.
Obviously, I was the first child born to my parents, plain and simple. However, for almost the first three years of my life, I was not the oldest; I was the only.
For most two-year olds the concept of “baby” is a bit one-sided. I hadn’t met many of them, and I certainly hadn’t been allowed to play with one.
So when my parents started talking about “the new baby,” I really had no idea what to expect.
The only “baby” I was well acquainted with was the beat-up doll that I carried around with me everywhere. It used to belong to my mother and I called it “Baby Jennifer.”
Although I didn’t really know what a baby would look like, I gathered that they were cute. This made me wonder if they were anything like kittens, something that I also found to be cute.
All confusion aside, the date quickly came when my mom was due to deliver this “baby.” I don’t remember much about this time, but I do remember what we were doing when she went into labor.
As a child, most of my good friends came to me courtesy of the fact that the women my mother was friends with had children my age. Fortunately, we all got along very well and would play for hours while our moms sat and chatted over refreshments. I really don’t know what they ate and drank, but I always assumed it had something to do with Hostess Cupcakes.
Somehow, my mom and a couple of her good friends ended up getting pregnant in very quick succession. This meant that our play times were supervised by increasingly larger mother-figures.
On the day that the “baby” arrived, we were out at the house of one of these pregnant women (she was carrying twins) who was due about two months after my mom. I spent the time playing with her other two daughters and generally having a grand old time.
Whilst we children continued our merriment, up in the adult world, things were starting to happen. Basically, my mom went into labor. A hasty decision was made to leave and go to the doctor. Sounds simple, right?
Well… not really. As a child, I was quite attached to my social play time. At this point in my life, I was still technically an only child, so any interaction with other kids was a big deal to me. I was also a bit stubborn at this phase of life, but to be fair, I was still in the “terrible twos.”
Perhaps you can guess where this is leading. My mother came to fetch me for our quick departure and I did not react well to her unwanted interruption of what I’m sure was an intense game of My Little Pony or Sylvanian Family.
Not only did I become quite irate, I had to be forcibly carried (kicking and screaming) by my 9-months pregnant in-labor mother. Nice.
The rest of this day is a bit of a blur from me, probably because I took a while to come out of my super-charged rage episode. After that, I was likely quite worn out, so I am not sure how much I noticed that my mother did not come home from the doctor’s office and that I had to spend some time at the neighbors.
The baby, who turned out to be my brother Michael, arrived around 5 p.m. that day. Talk about your easy deliveries – go into labor in the morning and pop out a 10 pound baby before nightfall. When my grandfather called to speak with me about my new brother, I managed to carry on a successful argument with him over the name of said new sibling. It was the first of many debates that would teach me an important truth: sometimes kids are smarter than adults. My grandfather insisted that we had named the new baby Matthew, but obviously I knew better (and I was right).
My first interaction with my new brother and true confrontation of my loss of only-child status came with our visit to the hospital. I was accompanied by several relatives, including my father. The hospital in our small town was not large, but it did boast multiple floors, which meant that it had need of one of the most fascinating pieces of equipment known to most 2-year olds: the elevator.
Upon our arrival, we all rode up to the baby floor in the elevator and my father let me push the buttons. Not ALL of the buttons, mind you, just the one he told me to push. While this was not ideal in my mind, it had to be enough under the watchful eyes of so many adults.
When we finally made it to the room where my mom and new brother were waiting, I was picked up to see what all the fuss was about. I’m pretty sure I was happy to see my mom, but I do not really remember registering any strong feelings of interest in the wrinkly little red thing she had in her arms. If THIS was the baby I had been hearing so much about, it would really need to get a lot more interesting for me to focus attention on it at this point.
Anyway, after our brief introduction, I was placed back on the floor and promptly ignored. Rather than wallow in self-pity at the fact that I now found myself demoted to second cutest child, I opted to ditch the boring baby-love session and find my own adventure.
After casually exiting the hospital room, I wandered away down the hall and approached the only item of real interest to me since entering the building. Obviously, this was the elevator. Once I had carefully ascertained that no adult supervision was imminent, I boldly pushed the call button. When the doors opened and I still was not being pursued by a grown-up, I decided to walk right in to the unoccupied chamber.
As the doors slid closed, I pondered the switchboard. Normally, I was restricted to only pushing one button and it was always the one that my parents told me to pick. This time was different. I had no one telling me what to do, and I was free to push as many (or all) of the buttons. So I did.
When the doors opened again, I was on a new floor. I decided to check out my entertainment options in this new location, so I wandered down the hall. As there were still no adults in sight, I decided to check out the scenery a little more closely. From my brief perusal, the only familiar item appeared to be a drinking fountain. Feeling a bit parched from my journey, I decided to demonstrate my working knowledge of drinking fountains to the invisible hallway audience.
It is at this point in my story that an adult reappears in the form of my father. I’m not really sure how upset he was, but it was apparently entertaining enough to warrant a photograph of me by the drinking fountain that turned out to be too tall for me to reach. I don’t have a copy of that picture here, but I have recreated it in this artist’s rendering:
This shall be the conclusion of my faithful retelling of the day that represents the end of my solo reign as top banana in my family’s child pecking order. The ensuing adjustment period had occasional rocky periods involving pacifiers, My Little Pony and hair rollers, but I eventually learned to accept the fact that I was a big sister. I also learned how to exert my continued dominance in our sibling dynamic that continues to this day.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Gone in 1800 Seconds
So normally I am not much for current events, but I have just received word of a story that I simply must recount. I have already mentioned that my 10 year-old cousin had some car troubles recently. What I may have neglected to mention is that my cousin lives on a farm. Perhaps this makes his story a bit less troubling, but at least you all know that it happened on a rural gravel road and not the freeway.
Anyway, I should also tell you that the farm that my cousin lives on is in the same general vicinity as the farm that my grandpa owns. Yes, this is the grandpa of the rock-picking, poultry literature reading and water microwaving fame. Technically, my grandpa is retired from farming, but old habits apparently die hard. He has been known to appear back on the farm to "help" my uncle and cousins with their work, or at least to offer up his uplifting critique of their farming style.
To be clear, no one is asking or forcing him to assist on the farm. In fact, I think that most persons involved would be perfectly content for him to remain safely ensconced in his town apartment, only venturing forth for social visits to his other retired farmer friends (who also live in town). Unfortunately, he still has the use of a car and possesses a valid license. He isn't a bad driver and certainly knows not to drive in bad weather given his slower reaction time. However, we have been enjoying unseasonably good weather for the past few months, which means that he has been quite mobile.
Anyway, apparently sometime recently (perhaps yesterday) my grandpa was out and about in his normal routine of unasked-for assistance when he had a bit of a vehicular mishap. Somewhere between the old farm and my uncle's farm, his car suffered a flat tire. As a cell phone would be both useless reception-wise and confusion-wise, he does not have one. Fortunately, the weather was nice, so he started to walk to my uncle's farm.
Along the way, he arrived at another neighboring farm. As an 84 year-old man who is unaccustomed to walking long distances, he decided to try his luck with the people at this farm. Don't worry, they weren't strangers, they are probably related to him in some fashion. Apparently, no one was home. Too bad, right?
Here is where it gets interesting. Although no one was at the house, there were apparently several cars sitting in the yard. Lest you think that this meant people were hiding from him in the house, remember that this is a farm and it's very likely that the owners were out in the field.
Always the resourceful fellow, my grandpa made an interesting decision. He checked out the cars that were parked in the yard and found that at least one of them had keys in it. With what I'm sure was supreme stealth and speed, he got into the car and took it over to my uncle's house.
Now, I do not know the full conclusion of this story, but I am guessing that the car was later returned, possibly without the owner ever knowing it was gone. However, my grandpa must have been a bit proud of his grand theft auto experience, because he called my uncle in Arizona to brag about his adventure.
So to summarize, in the past month, members of my family have experienced the following car related mishaps: rear-end collisions resulting in thousands of dollars worth of repairs, vehicle demon-possession resulting in ditch entry and tree collision and flat tires leading to car theft. Sweet.
If I had to pick a winner, I would have to say that my grandpa takes the prize. After all, they don't call him the "Mayor of Northfork" for nothing.
UPDATE! My uncle gave me the rest of the story involving my grandpa's adventure. Apparently the first truck he tried in the neighbor's yard wouldn't start (the battery was dead). The second car started, so that is the one he took, but he figured that it belonged to one of the boys because there was loud rock music playing on the radio when he turned it on. Oh, and it turns out that it WAS the farm of a relative. It's all sounding very "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" to me for some reason...
Anyway, I should also tell you that the farm that my cousin lives on is in the same general vicinity as the farm that my grandpa owns. Yes, this is the grandpa of the rock-picking, poultry literature reading and water microwaving fame. Technically, my grandpa is retired from farming, but old habits apparently die hard. He has been known to appear back on the farm to "help" my uncle and cousins with their work, or at least to offer up his uplifting critique of their farming style.
To be clear, no one is asking or forcing him to assist on the farm. In fact, I think that most persons involved would be perfectly content for him to remain safely ensconced in his town apartment, only venturing forth for social visits to his other retired farmer friends (who also live in town). Unfortunately, he still has the use of a car and possesses a valid license. He isn't a bad driver and certainly knows not to drive in bad weather given his slower reaction time. However, we have been enjoying unseasonably good weather for the past few months, which means that he has been quite mobile.
Anyway, apparently sometime recently (perhaps yesterday) my grandpa was out and about in his normal routine of unasked-for assistance when he had a bit of a vehicular mishap. Somewhere between the old farm and my uncle's farm, his car suffered a flat tire. As a cell phone would be both useless reception-wise and confusion-wise, he does not have one. Fortunately, the weather was nice, so he started to walk to my uncle's farm.
Along the way, he arrived at another neighboring farm. As an 84 year-old man who is unaccustomed to walking long distances, he decided to try his luck with the people at this farm. Don't worry, they weren't strangers, they are probably related to him in some fashion. Apparently, no one was home. Too bad, right?
Here is where it gets interesting. Although no one was at the house, there were apparently several cars sitting in the yard. Lest you think that this meant people were hiding from him in the house, remember that this is a farm and it's very likely that the owners were out in the field.
Always the resourceful fellow, my grandpa made an interesting decision. He checked out the cars that were parked in the yard and found that at least one of them had keys in it. With what I'm sure was supreme stealth and speed, he got into the car and took it over to my uncle's house.
Now, I do not know the full conclusion of this story, but I am guessing that the car was later returned, possibly without the owner ever knowing it was gone. However, my grandpa must have been a bit proud of his grand theft auto experience, because he called my uncle in Arizona to brag about his adventure.
So to summarize, in the past month, members of my family have experienced the following car related mishaps: rear-end collisions resulting in thousands of dollars worth of repairs, vehicle demon-possession resulting in ditch entry and tree collision and flat tires leading to car theft. Sweet.
If I had to pick a winner, I would have to say that my grandpa takes the prize. After all, they don't call him the "Mayor of Northfork" for nothing.
UPDATE! My uncle gave me the rest of the story involving my grandpa's adventure. Apparently the first truck he tried in the neighbor's yard wouldn't start (the battery was dead). The second car started, so that is the one he took, but he figured that it belonged to one of the boys because there was loud rock music playing on the radio when he turned it on. Oh, and it turns out that it WAS the farm of a relative. It's all sounding very "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" to me for some reason...
Monday, October 11, 2010
I'll have the chipper chicken!
I have just completed a most awesome and lazy Monday off of work thanks to Columbus Day. Tomorrow I must return, but hopefully I will hear some good news about my car and the day will go quickly. I still have a bunch of reading and prep work to do for class this week, but I thrive on chaos. Right?
As I sat here tonight checking Facebook and emails, I suddenly realized that the past few weeks have been full of exciting news for people in my life. Engagements, pregnancies, anniversaries, etc. One of my best friends even announced that she and her husband are relocating to Missouri because of his job promotion. While I am super excited for this opportunity and what exciting things are in store for them, the selfish part of me is a little bummed to have them move away. Thankfully, her hubby's job is with an airline, which means that it should be relatively easy (and cheap) for her to come home to visit somewhat often.
For me, this weekend was all about vegging out and catching up on my rest, which is great. For my father, it meant going out to the family farm and checking the status of the roof on the farmhouse which was supposed to be completed over a week ago (they have yet to start). During his brief visit, he spent time with my grandfather (of microwaved water fame) and as usual, hilarity ensued.
Before I get into the story itself, I should probably make a confession. As you may or may not know, I have a tendency to recall random and sometimes useless facts. By no means do I mean to say that I'm some sort of genius. I simply mean that one of my personality "quirks" is to break off into tangential explanations when asked simple questions or conversing on a specific topic.
Until recently, I believed that this was unique to me, at least in my family. However, one day while having one of these moments of tangential thought, it suddenly occurred to me that this habit was quite definitely inherited from my paternal grandfather. In fact, I would go so far as to say that he is better at it than me. After all, he has had 84 years of practice.
Now that I have made this connection, I shall make another. My grandpa likes to read, and he makes good use of his local library. He tends to prefer non-fiction, but I have no quarrel with that. Recently, his obsession has been with bootleggers who operated during Prohibition in his MN county of residence. My dad has strangely taken a bit of an interest as well, or maybe he has just had to listen to my grandpa too much and has been brainwashed.
Anyway, on this weekend's visit, my dad discovered that my grandpa had checked out a new book. Brace yourselves, it's pretty amazing. It is "Poultry of the World" by Loyl Stromberg. At first I found this quite humorous. To make the jump from rural MN bootleggers to international poultry seemed a bit far-fetched, even for me. Then I did my research.
Not only did I locate this book on Amazon.com, but I discovered that it is not cheap to acquire. To buy it NEW from Amazon would cost $144.24!!! This kindled my interest further, so I Googled the author, Loyl Stromberg.
As a good library student, I will include a link for his mini-bio: http://www.summagallicana.it/english/loyl_stromberg.htm
After reading this webpage, I discovered many more reasons why this book would appeal to my grandpa. My initial assumption was that as a retired farmer who at one point had raised chickens himself, he had personal interest. Also, my cousins (his grandsons) are raising chickens for egg production at the moment, so perhaps this triggered his curiosity while perusing the library.
Further investigation revealed that the author, Loyl Stromberg, lives (or lived) in Minnesota. In a blog from 2007, it appeared that Loyl was in his 90's and still alive (http://poultrybookstore.blogspot.com/2007/09/loyl-stromberg-now-93-years-old.html). From the mini-bio, it sounds like Loyl may have been a Norwegian. This fact alone was probably enough to interest my grandpa. Heck, for all I know they are buddies from his Hallinglag club. (I'm not going to explain the Hallinglag right now, but I'm sure I will later.)
Why am I sharing this story? Is it because I am bored? Am I afraid that the screaming Vikings fans in my neighbor's house will keep me from getting to sleep? No to both. I am sharing this because I would like to give you an idea of what kind of interests I expect to have when I am 84. It's always good to have time to prepare.
My final piece of useful information from my father's visit came courtesy of my 10 year-old cousin. Apparently, he somehow managed to put his father's truck in the ditch this weekend somewhere by their house (on their farm). He was fine. When asked what happened, he claimed that the truck had become possessed and driven of its own accord into the ditch and then into a tree.
Rather than question the plausibility of this statement or wonder why my 10 year-old cousin was behind the wheel in the first place, I am going to take this explanation and use it for the future if anyone else asks me how my car came to be in the repair shop for two weeks. It was a case of demon possession, pure and simple. Case closed. I wonder if my insurance company would believe it?
As I sat here tonight checking Facebook and emails, I suddenly realized that the past few weeks have been full of exciting news for people in my life. Engagements, pregnancies, anniversaries, etc. One of my best friends even announced that she and her husband are relocating to Missouri because of his job promotion. While I am super excited for this opportunity and what exciting things are in store for them, the selfish part of me is a little bummed to have them move away. Thankfully, her hubby's job is with an airline, which means that it should be relatively easy (and cheap) for her to come home to visit somewhat often.
For me, this weekend was all about vegging out and catching up on my rest, which is great. For my father, it meant going out to the family farm and checking the status of the roof on the farmhouse which was supposed to be completed over a week ago (they have yet to start). During his brief visit, he spent time with my grandfather (of microwaved water fame) and as usual, hilarity ensued.
Before I get into the story itself, I should probably make a confession. As you may or may not know, I have a tendency to recall random and sometimes useless facts. By no means do I mean to say that I'm some sort of genius. I simply mean that one of my personality "quirks" is to break off into tangential explanations when asked simple questions or conversing on a specific topic.
Until recently, I believed that this was unique to me, at least in my family. However, one day while having one of these moments of tangential thought, it suddenly occurred to me that this habit was quite definitely inherited from my paternal grandfather. In fact, I would go so far as to say that he is better at it than me. After all, he has had 84 years of practice.
Now that I have made this connection, I shall make another. My grandpa likes to read, and he makes good use of his local library. He tends to prefer non-fiction, but I have no quarrel with that. Recently, his obsession has been with bootleggers who operated during Prohibition in his MN county of residence. My dad has strangely taken a bit of an interest as well, or maybe he has just had to listen to my grandpa too much and has been brainwashed.
Anyway, on this weekend's visit, my dad discovered that my grandpa had checked out a new book. Brace yourselves, it's pretty amazing. It is "Poultry of the World" by Loyl Stromberg. At first I found this quite humorous. To make the jump from rural MN bootleggers to international poultry seemed a bit far-fetched, even for me. Then I did my research.
Not only did I locate this book on Amazon.com, but I discovered that it is not cheap to acquire. To buy it NEW from Amazon would cost $144.24!!! This kindled my interest further, so I Googled the author, Loyl Stromberg.
As a good library student, I will include a link for his mini-bio: http://www.summagallicana.it/english/loyl_stromberg.htm
After reading this webpage, I discovered many more reasons why this book would appeal to my grandpa. My initial assumption was that as a retired farmer who at one point had raised chickens himself, he had personal interest. Also, my cousins (his grandsons) are raising chickens for egg production at the moment, so perhaps this triggered his curiosity while perusing the library.
Further investigation revealed that the author, Loyl Stromberg, lives (or lived) in Minnesota. In a blog from 2007, it appeared that Loyl was in his 90's and still alive (http://poultrybookstore.blogspot.com/2007/09/loyl-stromberg-now-93-years-old.html). From the mini-bio, it sounds like Loyl may have been a Norwegian. This fact alone was probably enough to interest my grandpa. Heck, for all I know they are buddies from his Hallinglag club. (I'm not going to explain the Hallinglag right now, but I'm sure I will later.)
Why am I sharing this story? Is it because I am bored? Am I afraid that the screaming Vikings fans in my neighbor's house will keep me from getting to sleep? No to both. I am sharing this because I would like to give you an idea of what kind of interests I expect to have when I am 84. It's always good to have time to prepare.
My final piece of useful information from my father's visit came courtesy of my 10 year-old cousin. Apparently, he somehow managed to put his father's truck in the ditch this weekend somewhere by their house (on their farm). He was fine. When asked what happened, he claimed that the truck had become possessed and driven of its own accord into the ditch and then into a tree.
Rather than question the plausibility of this statement or wonder why my 10 year-old cousin was behind the wheel in the first place, I am going to take this explanation and use it for the future if anyone else asks me how my car came to be in the repair shop for two weeks. It was a case of demon possession, pure and simple. Case closed. I wonder if my insurance company would believe it?
Saturday, September 18, 2010
A Moment for Reflection
I suppose that you could consider this entry to be a continuation of my previous entry for several reasons. First, this entry centers around one of my brothers. Second, it contains references to sports, so it is sure to have more appeal to male readers, if I ever have any.
This entry is a bit of a break from the normal for me as it carries a bit more emotional weight to it, but please don’t be put off by it. I promise not to get too sappy.
For those of you who are casual readers and have not spent much (or any) time with me, you may not be aware that for almost 20 years of my life, I had two younger brothers. In my mind, this is still true, but for those of you who demand that I be realistic, it isn’t.
Three years ago Sunday, my youngest brother (Matthew) passed away unexpectedly at age 19. He was two weeks (exactly) from his 20th birthday and was a sophomore in college. I could go into the sad and poignant details of that period of time for me and my family, but I would really rather focus on who my brother was and what made him so awesome.
I could go on forever with stories and memories about Matthew, but for this entry I will restrain myself.
One of the things that most people acquainted with Matthew would know is that he had wide knowledge of professional sports. In my immediate family, this made him a bit of an anomaly. My father has an understanding of professional teams, at least in MN, and at least knows how most sports are played. My other brother, Michael (the WoW geek), has an even more faint awareness of this area.
Actually, it’s more than likely that I have a better working knowledge of sports than Michael, and that is not saying much.
Beyond my immediate family, this trend does not hold true. My uncles and cousins (and even some of my aunts) follow professional and college sports with a great deal of interest, and my grandfather used to coach high school teams when he was in his prime.
I am not certain where Matthew’s keen interest in all things sports related originated, but he was quite young when it started. Perhaps it was due to his excess of energy. The boy literally bounced off the walls when he was a child.
There were seven years of age difference between Matthew and myself, which meant that while I was a surly teenager, he was still an optimistic and bubbly child. This difference was perfectly illustrated on Saturday mornings.
Already the budding sportscaster, my brother would watch ESPN Sportscenter religiously. Coupled with the fact that he was extremely intelligent and had excellent recall for facts, he often found himself overflowing with game statistics and scores.
As any former teenager can attest, sleep is a very important commodity when one is in high school. It is not uncommon to find the need for more sleep manifested in the weekend ritual of “sleeping in.” I frequently participated in this ritual myself (and sometimes still do).
Unfortunately, while I was deep into the habit of sleeping until noon on Saturdays, my youngest brother had the inner alarm clock of a 70 year-old. This meant that he was normally up and starting the day by at least 7 a.m. As the older members of my household were not normally up that early, he had to find ways to entertain himself that didn’t involve breaking things or crashing around on the furniture. This led him to ESPN.
By the time he would finish catching up on all the previous day’s major sporting outcomes, he was full to the brim with new knowledge and was itching to repeat it ALL to someone who would listen.
I believe that this is where my mother or father may have entered into the equation. My parents did not entirely sympathize with my need to get obscene amounts of sleep on the weekend, and they had an arsenal of various methods to force me into the waking world. I could probably write an entire blog entry about these, and maybe I will at some point. They definitely scream for illustration.
For this particular situation, it went down as follows. My brother would quietly come into my room where I was still sleeping (probably around 11 a.m.). He would sit down on the end of my bed and without introduction would begin to recount a lengthy synopsis of what he just seen and heard on ESPN. Believe me when I say that he was detailed. Specific plays were outlined from baseball games, different injuries were described and playoff standings were updated.
I attended to most of his chatter in a half-awake stupor, which made me an ideal audience. I was too groggy to interrupt and I was not mobile enough to walk away. After his recital, he would usually stop and look at me to make sure I was starting to wake up. I don’t think he ever tried to quiz me on his lectures, but I’m pretty sure he would ask me when I was planning to finally get up. This was likely prompted by my parents, but I believe he was always a little mystified at how anyone could possibly sleep so long.
Over the years, his sports obsession played out in different ways. While Michael was getting into the world of role-playing games, Matthew remained devoted to his sports-themed video games. He was much more interested in playing sports, although his competitive nature made it a little difficult for us to play with him until he brought his tantrums under control. J
My final anecdote in this entry is from a period of time several years later. After college, I immediately entered the corporate working world. One of the time-honored traditions of an office atmosphere, I learned, was the notion of the “office pool.” This refers to any instance when coworkers each contribute money to a general “pool” after making their “picks” of winners for different competitive events. Typically, the events are athletic in nature, although it has been known to extend to baby birth date predictions and American Idol winners.
In the U.S., one of the biggest events for the “office pool” scenario occurs in March for the NCAA Mens’ Basketball Tournament. The common term for this phenomenon is “March Madness.”
During my second year at the company, I decided to take the plunge and join the fun. Unfortunately, I had not followed ANY college basketball at any point in my life. I pondered several options. I could simply randomly choose teams that sounded interesting or I could pick my favorite mascots. In the end, I decided to consult an expert.
My brother was in high school at the time. When I called home to speak with him, I expected him to quickly rattle off a list of team names. It was a bit of a surprise to me that our conversation took much longer as he sat and mentally evaluated each potential match-up through the entire bracket. He went through his process with me out loud, although I had no idea if he knew what he was saying.
After about 20 minutes of intense pondering, we had our list. I was unaware at the time, but my brother was also in a pool with his friends and this was to be his official list as well. To make this story short, we both won our respective pools that year. My coworkers were seriously impressed, even after I admitted that I had some assistance.
Every year thereafter, I made sure to track down my brother for help with all sports-related betting. We never won again, but for the next five years, I listened on the phone as he carried on his decision process out loud to help me make more informed choices.
Even though I no longer have any kind of expert advice, I continue to participate in the March Madness pool at work. In the absence of any meaningful help, I have looked to the experts at ESPN for some guidance, and I usually finish in the middle or near the top of my group. While this isn’t victory, I would like to think that something in Matthew’s process rubbed off on me along the way.
Thank you for letting me share a little bit about my brother with you today. I prefer to spend the anniversaries of his death not in dwelling on the intensity of remembering that specific event. My brother was a dynamic personality, and I infinitely prefer to remember him for who he actually was and how he influenced my life. If you knew him yourself, you know what I mean, and if you were not fortunate enough to have the privilege, I hope that my short stories can give you a glimmer of what I miss so much every day.
 |
| I added this after initial publication. It's a drawing I did to illustrate the college hairstyles of the children in my family, but it also shows the relative height difference between us as adults. For scale purposes, please note that I am 5'9" and you can guess at the boys from there. |
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
OMG
OK, so I have recently discovered the "stats" feature of this blog, and it is super sweet. Not only do I now have FOUR followers, but people in CHINA have viewed my blog! I'm not sure if they are really reading it because I haven't had comments, but I am super excited about it. In case you were wondering, none of my official followers is my mother! However, they ARE all female. Hm.
Maybe I need to jazz this thing up a bit for the guys. I thought that the changes in my template and background to include some buffalo and bright explosions would draw in the Western/action crowd, but so far, not so much.
So... in order to cater to the potential male readers and/or followers out there, I will look to my closest male relative for assistance: my brother, Michael.
He does not know that I am writing about him, although as soon as my mother reads this, I'm sure he will. Rest assured, Mikey, I am not going to share one of your fine and shining moments of youth... right now. Oh, just you wait. I have two words for you: Cotton Candy. Hee hee...
Anyway, tonight I am going to tell you about something that my brother holds near and dear to his heart. No, it is not his guitar or mandolin. Nor is it his lovely girlfriend and her amazing dog, although he does indeed care greatly for all these things. No, for this love we must look somewhere a little bit darker. A little bit stranger. A little bit nerdier.
If you met my brother for the first time, you would likely react as most people do and find him to be a very nice fellow. He's rather tall, sometimes shaggy, but almost always good natured and extremely likable. It is his good natured feature that assures me that I will not be severely punished for this entry I am writing. :)
When young Mikey was a college student, he formed a strong bond with a small group of friends. They're all pretty decent guys, and in the years since graduation, they've all enjoyed decent levels of success. However, they all harbor a (sometimes) well-hidden secret.
Actually, I am pretty sure if you confronted most of these guys with the "secret" they would unashamedly own up to the truth. However, it has been my experience that this association has always carried a bit of a stigma to it and I know for a fact that my brother has tried to keep his full interest in the "hobby" on the down-low from his lady love.
(Heidi, if you're reading this, now is the time to look away.)
In case you haven't already guessed it, my brother plays World of Warcraft.
If you have no idea what this means, good for you. You are a normal person with normal hobbies likely do not spend much time at the computer (aside from the time you spend reading my blog).
For those of you who know EXACTLY what this means, welcome to the club.
In layman's terms, World of Warcraft (or WoW as it is sometimes known) is an online computer game that allows the user/player to create one or many characters (elves, dwarves, people, blood-elves, taurins, wizards, etc) that will live in the World (of Warcraft). You can play with your friends and go on quests together. You can meet new friends! You can create outfits and buy accessories for your characters.
I am NOT going to go into any more detail about the game itself because it will just reveal that I know much more about it that I want to know. I blame my brother for this entirely. After staying with him for several stretches of time while he was in and just out of college, I was exposed to this fantasy freakiness far more than is healthy. If you would like an excellent illustration of what this game looks like and what it can do to someone, I highly recommend the South Park episode, "Make Love, Not Warcraft."
I would like to take a brief moment to clarify that my brother is not one of the people who turns their life into the pursuit of WoW achievement. He knows his limits (I think). I know that he has even suspended his subscription for periods of time when he knows that he must focus on school or other real life endeavors. BUT he still has active characters.
Anyway, although I have never nor do I ever have any intention of playing this game, I have had many hours of entertainment in mocking my brother while he plays, often at the expense of family time. My parents are also frequent mockers as it annoys them that he pays money to play this game and that although he claims it is a social event (as he's online with his college buddies), he is not emotionally present for any conversation with people in the real world while he plays.
One of my favorite things to do is to narrate the story as he moves his main character, Chako, around the screen. Sometimes Chako flies on dragons, but it's not as exciting as it sounds. These dragons do not spit fire, nor to they do sweet turns and flips. They pretty much just function as a flying bicycle.
Of all the weird things in the WoW, one of the best has to be the names given to the different towns and geographic locations. In the game, they have names like "The Vale of Valor" and "The Road of Righteousness." In my version, they have names like "The Ditch of Despair" and "The Swamp of Eternal Virginity." My brother laughs at these names, but I suspect that he is actually quite irritated with me.
Well, it's getting late, and I need to get some sleep. Hopefully my dreams will not be filled with dwarves chasing me with axes, but you never know. If I didn't bore you all to tears with this entry or incite hatred in some true lovers of the game, I hope that at the very least I demonstrated that I can write something with interest to both genders.
If I did manage to seriously anger some WoW lovers, you should really stop and think for a minute. By now you should have realized that many people in the real world are not going to understand your insatiable need to spend hours in an online alternate reality. But do you really care? As long as no one is threatening to take it away (like your mom, dad or spouse), you really should just be grateful for the fact that you a) can afford a computer with high speed internet, and b)have not developed carpal tunnel... yet.
Maybe I need to jazz this thing up a bit for the guys. I thought that the changes in my template and background to include some buffalo and bright explosions would draw in the Western/action crowd, but so far, not so much.
So... in order to cater to the potential male readers and/or followers out there, I will look to my closest male relative for assistance: my brother, Michael.
He does not know that I am writing about him, although as soon as my mother reads this, I'm sure he will. Rest assured, Mikey, I am not going to share one of your fine and shining moments of youth... right now. Oh, just you wait. I have two words for you: Cotton Candy. Hee hee...
Anyway, tonight I am going to tell you about something that my brother holds near and dear to his heart. No, it is not his guitar or mandolin. Nor is it his lovely girlfriend and her amazing dog, although he does indeed care greatly for all these things. No, for this love we must look somewhere a little bit darker. A little bit stranger. A little bit nerdier.
If you met my brother for the first time, you would likely react as most people do and find him to be a very nice fellow. He's rather tall, sometimes shaggy, but almost always good natured and extremely likable. It is his good natured feature that assures me that I will not be severely punished for this entry I am writing. :)
When young Mikey was a college student, he formed a strong bond with a small group of friends. They're all pretty decent guys, and in the years since graduation, they've all enjoyed decent levels of success. However, they all harbor a (sometimes) well-hidden secret.
Actually, I am pretty sure if you confronted most of these guys with the "secret" they would unashamedly own up to the truth. However, it has been my experience that this association has always carried a bit of a stigma to it and I know for a fact that my brother has tried to keep his full interest in the "hobby" on the down-low from his lady love.
(Heidi, if you're reading this, now is the time to look away.)
In case you haven't already guessed it, my brother plays World of Warcraft.
If you have no idea what this means, good for you. You are a normal person with normal hobbies likely do not spend much time at the computer (aside from the time you spend reading my blog).
For those of you who know EXACTLY what this means, welcome to the club.
In layman's terms, World of Warcraft (or WoW as it is sometimes known) is an online computer game that allows the user/player to create one or many characters (elves, dwarves, people, blood-elves, taurins, wizards, etc) that will live in the World (of Warcraft). You can play with your friends and go on quests together. You can meet new friends! You can create outfits and buy accessories for your characters.
I am NOT going to go into any more detail about the game itself because it will just reveal that I know much more about it that I want to know. I blame my brother for this entirely. After staying with him for several stretches of time while he was in and just out of college, I was exposed to this fantasy freakiness far more than is healthy. If you would like an excellent illustration of what this game looks like and what it can do to someone, I highly recommend the South Park episode, "Make Love, Not Warcraft."
I would like to take a brief moment to clarify that my brother is not one of the people who turns their life into the pursuit of WoW achievement. He knows his limits (I think). I know that he has even suspended his subscription for periods of time when he knows that he must focus on school or other real life endeavors. BUT he still has active characters.
Anyway, although I have never nor do I ever have any intention of playing this game, I have had many hours of entertainment in mocking my brother while he plays, often at the expense of family time. My parents are also frequent mockers as it annoys them that he pays money to play this game and that although he claims it is a social event (as he's online with his college buddies), he is not emotionally present for any conversation with people in the real world while he plays.
One of my favorite things to do is to narrate the story as he moves his main character, Chako, around the screen. Sometimes Chako flies on dragons, but it's not as exciting as it sounds. These dragons do not spit fire, nor to they do sweet turns and flips. They pretty much just function as a flying bicycle.
Of all the weird things in the WoW, one of the best has to be the names given to the different towns and geographic locations. In the game, they have names like "The Vale of Valor" and "The Road of Righteousness." In my version, they have names like "The Ditch of Despair" and "The Swamp of Eternal Virginity." My brother laughs at these names, but I suspect that he is actually quite irritated with me.
Well, it's getting late, and I need to get some sleep. Hopefully my dreams will not be filled with dwarves chasing me with axes, but you never know. If I didn't bore you all to tears with this entry or incite hatred in some true lovers of the game, I hope that at the very least I demonstrated that I can write something with interest to both genders.
If I did manage to seriously anger some WoW lovers, you should really stop and think for a minute. By now you should have realized that many people in the real world are not going to understand your insatiable need to spend hours in an online alternate reality. But do you really care? As long as no one is threatening to take it away (like your mom, dad or spouse), you really should just be grateful for the fact that you a) can afford a computer with high speed internet, and b)have not developed carpal tunnel... yet.
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