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...
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Cruel and Unusual: A Tribute to the Piano Recital
Perhaps I am feeling a bit high on power at the moment. Due to the much deserved vacation of my follower and coworker, Mary, I had to run the circus today at work. It was thankfully a smooth day, and I can sincerely only hope that the rest of the week continues in this manner. I really do miss the entertaining sound effects that Mary brings to the job. Hm.
In keeping with my wave of powerfulness, I am going to write a blog entry. My week is off to a good start - no car accidents so far! Due to the fact that I have a group presentation looming on Wednesday, I do not have weekly readings for one of my classes, so I've got that going for me as well!
Rather than write more about my school work in its various boring incarnations, I am going to write about something that was inspired by my former boss today at work. To give you a brief background, I know how to play the piano. I have played since childhood and still play (for fun) nowadays. My ex-boss is aware of this fact. He has a 10 year-old daughter who also plays piano. This means that he likes to share her progress and problems with me as he feels I will be sympathetic. Who knows, maybe I do help give some perspective, but responding to parental point-of-view can sometimes be tricky.
The point of this background story is to say that it made me think back on my own music performance issues, particularly the bane of my youthful experiences, the RECITAL. Even now, my stomach turns and I start to get sweaty palms. Is this weird? Was I unusual in my reactions? Probably not. While there certainly are people in this world who genuinely like to be the center of attention and to perform publicly (look at American Idol), most people would rather eat boxelder bugs.
I was first introduced to the phenomenon known as the recital at the end of my first year of parent-enforced piano lessons. Honestly, I didn't know what to expect at first, and once I was finally sitting in front of the whole group to play my song (the classic piece, "Auntie Gravity") I had my first out-of-body experience.
I remember nothing. I don't remember playing anything, but I think that I did. What I do remember is that my other song was a duet with my mother, another well known piece, "Fishy Fishy In the Brook." Thankfully I have never seen a video of the actual recital, but my parents do have a home video of the more intimate family version complete with vocal accompaniment by my then infant brother, Matthew.
In the years that followed, I was forced to continue this torture. Once we moved to Willmar, the process got even worse. On top of my piano teacher's recitals, I now had to participate in judged activities that had the potential to lead to more recitals. This seemed like a pretty perverse prize to me, which is probably why I was a bit hesitant to get on board with the idea.
Unfortunately, one year I managed to perform well at two levels of judged competition and was "awarded" the "honor" of playing in a big concert performance at the University of Minnesota. Everyone was pretty excited, so I was careful not to let anyone know that I was secretly terrified out of my mind. Sure, I would be performing with a group and no one would really know what (or if) I was really playing. But still.
Again, the whole major concert experience was a bit of a blur to me. My only consolation was that it was a very long and probably boring concert, and my piano-lesson endorsing parents had to sit through it all.
After middle school and junior high, I actually started to enjoy playing the piano and started to do it for more recreational purposes. I accompanied different groups, I played for nursing homes, I even played Christmas songs at Target one year. I truly discovered my niche as a supplier of background noise - I was live elevator music.
Unfortunately, most of my piano teachers were not on board with my new mission to blend into the background. They still attempted to push me into the world of recitals. Through sheer obstinacy and force of will, I managed to extricate myself from the judged competition scene by my sophomore or junior year of high school. I did run into a bit of a road block in the form of my 10th grade instructor who was rather insistent that I participate in an end-of-the-year recital with my peers.
I tried everything I could think of short of simply not practicing at all. I purposely did not memorize any music in the belief that he would never allow me to perform with the book in front of me. Sadly, he called my bluff and allowed it. I am pretty sure I really frustrated him, and in the end I did have to perform, but I did so under extreme protest. Fortunately, this instructor moved away after that year to take a job in the Cities, so I was never to face that battle again. I am almost completely positive that teaching me had nothing to do with his decision to move.
In hindsight, I probably should have thrown in the piano lesson towel then and there. For some reason (probably my mother's wishes) I kept going. Happily, my new teacher for junior and senior year was much nicer and considerate of my lack of desire to perform and be praised. I was therefore not forced into some mockery of a senior recital and did not have to learn the multiple memorized pieces to go along with it. Instead, I got to play one major song (with music) at my senior voice recital. Don't even get me started on those, they were pure insane painful icky torture as well. However, in the end, I think I got off easy.
To bring this all back to present, I often find that the physical reaction I get when facing school presentations to be similar to the trauma I experienced in connection with piano recitals. To all you people out there that think forcing your kids to perform, whether it be sports, music, speech, theater or whatever, don't fool yourselves. You aren't teaching your kids to have confidence. You aren't helping them build communication skills. You are only creating long-reaching emotional scars that will haunt your children into adulthood. If you need proof, just look at me.
In keeping with my wave of powerfulness, I am going to write a blog entry. My week is off to a good start - no car accidents so far! Due to the fact that I have a group presentation looming on Wednesday, I do not have weekly readings for one of my classes, so I've got that going for me as well!
Rather than write more about my school work in its various boring incarnations, I am going to write about something that was inspired by my former boss today at work. To give you a brief background, I know how to play the piano. I have played since childhood and still play (for fun) nowadays. My ex-boss is aware of this fact. He has a 10 year-old daughter who also plays piano. This means that he likes to share her progress and problems with me as he feels I will be sympathetic. Who knows, maybe I do help give some perspective, but responding to parental point-of-view can sometimes be tricky.
The point of this background story is to say that it made me think back on my own music performance issues, particularly the bane of my youthful experiences, the RECITAL. Even now, my stomach turns and I start to get sweaty palms. Is this weird? Was I unusual in my reactions? Probably not. While there certainly are people in this world who genuinely like to be the center of attention and to perform publicly (look at American Idol), most people would rather eat boxelder bugs.
I was first introduced to the phenomenon known as the recital at the end of my first year of parent-enforced piano lessons. Honestly, I didn't know what to expect at first, and once I was finally sitting in front of the whole group to play my song (the classic piece, "Auntie Gravity") I had my first out-of-body experience.
I remember nothing. I don't remember playing anything, but I think that I did. What I do remember is that my other song was a duet with my mother, another well known piece, "Fishy Fishy In the Brook." Thankfully I have never seen a video of the actual recital, but my parents do have a home video of the more intimate family version complete with vocal accompaniment by my then infant brother, Matthew.
In the years that followed, I was forced to continue this torture. Once we moved to Willmar, the process got even worse. On top of my piano teacher's recitals, I now had to participate in judged activities that had the potential to lead to more recitals. This seemed like a pretty perverse prize to me, which is probably why I was a bit hesitant to get on board with the idea.
Unfortunately, one year I managed to perform well at two levels of judged competition and was "awarded" the "honor" of playing in a big concert performance at the University of Minnesota. Everyone was pretty excited, so I was careful not to let anyone know that I was secretly terrified out of my mind. Sure, I would be performing with a group and no one would really know what (or if) I was really playing. But still.
Again, the whole major concert experience was a bit of a blur to me. My only consolation was that it was a very long and probably boring concert, and my piano-lesson endorsing parents had to sit through it all.
After middle school and junior high, I actually started to enjoy playing the piano and started to do it for more recreational purposes. I accompanied different groups, I played for nursing homes, I even played Christmas songs at Target one year. I truly discovered my niche as a supplier of background noise - I was live elevator music.
Unfortunately, most of my piano teachers were not on board with my new mission to blend into the background. They still attempted to push me into the world of recitals. Through sheer obstinacy and force of will, I managed to extricate myself from the judged competition scene by my sophomore or junior year of high school. I did run into a bit of a road block in the form of my 10th grade instructor who was rather insistent that I participate in an end-of-the-year recital with my peers.
I tried everything I could think of short of simply not practicing at all. I purposely did not memorize any music in the belief that he would never allow me to perform with the book in front of me. Sadly, he called my bluff and allowed it. I am pretty sure I really frustrated him, and in the end I did have to perform, but I did so under extreme protest. Fortunately, this instructor moved away after that year to take a job in the Cities, so I was never to face that battle again. I am almost completely positive that teaching me had nothing to do with his decision to move.
In hindsight, I probably should have thrown in the piano lesson towel then and there. For some reason (probably my mother's wishes) I kept going. Happily, my new teacher for junior and senior year was much nicer and considerate of my lack of desire to perform and be praised. I was therefore not forced into some mockery of a senior recital and did not have to learn the multiple memorized pieces to go along with it. Instead, I got to play one major song (with music) at my senior voice recital. Don't even get me started on those, they were pure insane painful icky torture as well. However, in the end, I think I got off easy.
To bring this all back to present, I often find that the physical reaction I get when facing school presentations to be similar to the trauma I experienced in connection with piano recitals. To all you people out there that think forcing your kids to perform, whether it be sports, music, speech, theater or whatever, don't fool yourselves. You aren't teaching your kids to have confidence. You aren't helping them build communication skills. You are only creating long-reaching emotional scars that will haunt your children into adulthood. If you need proof, just look at me.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
When the going gets tough...
Even though I don't think that my lack of entries this week have raised anyone's ire, I still feel like I should apologize. My time management seems to have gone out the window lately, and I had planned to give a list of excuses, but that's lame.
Instead, I will give you some good news! My car was finished this week, so I am once again driving my own very special little Toyota. It was so wonderful to pull into the lot and see my very own car waiting for me with all its cracks and dents repaired. Perhaps it is a bit lame that I was so excited, but I won't deny it.
Other than that, life has been pretty normal. I have a group presentation due for my Management class this week that includes a Power Point presentation. Let me just say that I find Power Point presentations equally useless on both presenter and presentee ends of the spectrum. I would rather watch golf on TV than be in the same room as a Power Point show. Unfortunately, my course grade is dependent on this presentation, so my options are limited. As it is a group project, my teammates are also dependent on my participation, so I cannot in good conscience avoid participation.
On a happier note, this weekend is one of meetings with good and long-time friends. Tonight I met my favorite blog-reading newlyweds (and marathon runners), Rox and Bill for dinner. We shared stories, quoted South Park (at least Bill and I did) and ate good food. I really hope that they weren't locked out of their B & B due to our extended conversation!
If you know me outside of this blog and spent any time with me this week, you probably noticed that I have been a little bit crabby/tense/psychotic. While part of this can definitely be chalked up to PMS, I am afraid that I might be in the midst of a mid-semester break-down.
In my former educational experiences (especially high school) I was a bit particular about my grades and GPA. College mellowed me out a bit, but my unexpected good performance so far in grad school has set my personal expectations a bit too high.
After laying awake for many nights troubled over all the impending doom hanging over my head, I finally remembered something that my summer class professor told us: grades don't matter to future employers. Apparently, for most places looking to hire MLIS grads, the most important part of the qualification is that you have a degree and that it is from an accredited institution. Getting a grade lower than an "A" will not disqualify you as an applicant!!!
In order to make this work for me, I have adopted a mantra that my dad likes to use that he learned from Bill Murray's character in the movie "Meatballs." IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER! When I am stressed out about beating the grading curve, I will repeat this phrase (out loud or in my head). It will become my mantra. I will use it to remind myself that once this course is done, I will never have to repeat it and can move on to classes that are really interesting to me.
OK, now it is quite late and I still have some online searching to do, but if you happen to see or speak to me in the next 7-8 weeks, be sure to remind me of my new slogan. I'm sure I will appreciate it.
Instead, I will give you some good news! My car was finished this week, so I am once again driving my own very special little Toyota. It was so wonderful to pull into the lot and see my very own car waiting for me with all its cracks and dents repaired. Perhaps it is a bit lame that I was so excited, but I won't deny it.
Other than that, life has been pretty normal. I have a group presentation due for my Management class this week that includes a Power Point presentation. Let me just say that I find Power Point presentations equally useless on both presenter and presentee ends of the spectrum. I would rather watch golf on TV than be in the same room as a Power Point show. Unfortunately, my course grade is dependent on this presentation, so my options are limited. As it is a group project, my teammates are also dependent on my participation, so I cannot in good conscience avoid participation.
On a happier note, this weekend is one of meetings with good and long-time friends. Tonight I met my favorite blog-reading newlyweds (and marathon runners), Rox and Bill for dinner. We shared stories, quoted South Park (at least Bill and I did) and ate good food. I really hope that they weren't locked out of their B & B due to our extended conversation!
If you know me outside of this blog and spent any time with me this week, you probably noticed that I have been a little bit crabby/tense/psychotic. While part of this can definitely be chalked up to PMS, I am afraid that I might be in the midst of a mid-semester break-down.
In my former educational experiences (especially high school) I was a bit particular about my grades and GPA. College mellowed me out a bit, but my unexpected good performance so far in grad school has set my personal expectations a bit too high.
After laying awake for many nights troubled over all the impending doom hanging over my head, I finally remembered something that my summer class professor told us: grades don't matter to future employers. Apparently, for most places looking to hire MLIS grads, the most important part of the qualification is that you have a degree and that it is from an accredited institution. Getting a grade lower than an "A" will not disqualify you as an applicant!!!
In order to make this work for me, I have adopted a mantra that my dad likes to use that he learned from Bill Murray's character in the movie "Meatballs." IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER! When I am stressed out about beating the grading curve, I will repeat this phrase (out loud or in my head). It will become my mantra. I will use it to remind myself that once this course is done, I will never have to repeat it and can move on to classes that are really interesting to me.
OK, now it is quite late and I still have some online searching to do, but if you happen to see or speak to me in the next 7-8 weeks, be sure to remind me of my new slogan. I'm sure I will appreciate it.
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?
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Update and Discovery!
I am starting to feel guilty about not blogging since Sunday, but I haven't had too many interesting things to share lately. To be fair, I've been a little pissy lately, so you probably wouldn't want to hear my daily rants anyway. Here is the quick and dirty update: my car is STILL in the shop and is likely to remain there until sometime next week, so I am spending money every day to drive a rental car so that I may continue to work and make money to pay for said rental car. Boo.
On a different note, my October looks to be a bit busier than I originally thought it would be. Not that I am HAPPY about not taking the trip to Florida, but I am a bit relieved now that my schedule is getting more hectic and I have mounting car repair/rental costs to consider. Rah.
The Boxelder Bug situation continues to plague me, but only mostly at work. Honestly, I believe that I have squished and vacuumed up over 30 of these critters in the past three days. Most of the time, they do not create a huge disgusting mess when I destroy them, but every once in a while, there is a "juicy" one that creates an absolutely revolting sight on our windows. Ew.
There has been a bit of excitement lately in MN over some big news in sports. Now that I have identified myself as quasi-aware of professional athletics, I feel I should make a brief mention of it. First of all, the Twins are in the playoffs versus the NY Yankees. Of all the sports teams I've ever followed, the Twins sit at the top of the heap in terms of who I really care about. The Yankees sit very near the absolute bottom. I would love to see the Twins beat the pants off the Yankees and show them that substance can beat out huge inflated salary budgets, but ultimately I have no control over the outcome, so I'll just watch and hope.
The other big news is that apparently Randy Moss is coming back to play for the Vikings. I really have no opinion on this piece of information. I know some people think that now that we have Moss to play with Favre, we should be unbeatable, but I'll believe it when I see it. To be honest, I have a hard time not seeing this as a blatant attempt to drum up more interest in the Vikings in order to make another idiotic attempt to secure a new stadium. In true Vikings fashion, I have a sneaky suspicion that this ploy may not work out quite as amazingly as everyone hopes.
Wow! I can't believe that I spent that much time on current sporting events!
For the record, I would really like to write and possibly illustrate a new full-length "memory" themed entry sometime soon, but I have to consult my notes and see what seems most inspiring. With some big assignment deadlines looming on the horizon, I have to remember that schoolwork is a priority... This weekend is a 3-day special for me thanks to one Christopher Columbus and his awesome country-discovering ways. I actually drew some pictures for work to put on the signs notifying people of our closure, but they were not approved for use. So YOU get to enjoy them!!!
On a different note, my October looks to be a bit busier than I originally thought it would be. Not that I am HAPPY about not taking the trip to Florida, but I am a bit relieved now that my schedule is getting more hectic and I have mounting car repair/rental costs to consider. Rah.
The Boxelder Bug situation continues to plague me, but only mostly at work. Honestly, I believe that I have squished and vacuumed up over 30 of these critters in the past three days. Most of the time, they do not create a huge disgusting mess when I destroy them, but every once in a while, there is a "juicy" one that creates an absolutely revolting sight on our windows. Ew.
There has been a bit of excitement lately in MN over some big news in sports. Now that I have identified myself as quasi-aware of professional athletics, I feel I should make a brief mention of it. First of all, the Twins are in the playoffs versus the NY Yankees. Of all the sports teams I've ever followed, the Twins sit at the top of the heap in terms of who I really care about. The Yankees sit very near the absolute bottom. I would love to see the Twins beat the pants off the Yankees and show them that substance can beat out huge inflated salary budgets, but ultimately I have no control over the outcome, so I'll just watch and hope.
The other big news is that apparently Randy Moss is coming back to play for the Vikings. I really have no opinion on this piece of information. I know some people think that now that we have Moss to play with Favre, we should be unbeatable, but I'll believe it when I see it. To be honest, I have a hard time not seeing this as a blatant attempt to drum up more interest in the Vikings in order to make another idiotic attempt to secure a new stadium. In true Vikings fashion, I have a sneaky suspicion that this ploy may not work out quite as amazingly as everyone hopes.
Wow! I can't believe that I spent that much time on current sporting events!
For the record, I would really like to write and possibly illustrate a new full-length "memory" themed entry sometime soon, but I have to consult my notes and see what seems most inspiring. With some big assignment deadlines looming on the horizon, I have to remember that schoolwork is a priority... This weekend is a 3-day special for me thanks to one Christopher Columbus and his awesome country-discovering ways. I actually drew some pictures for work to put on the signs notifying people of our closure, but they were not approved for use. So YOU get to enjoy them!!!
 |
| Good old Chris was not a very smiley guy |
 |
| I saw three ships come sailing in... |
That's right. Land ho!
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Sleep to dream...
Happy Sunday to all! For those of my readers and friends (Bill and Roxanne) who ran or are presently running the Twin Cities Marathon, I hope it exceeded your expectations. It certainly looks like a beautiful day outside to run 26.2 miles!
I would normally not be writing an entry again so quickly after a long and illustrated one, but this will be a "mini." I promise.
Somehow I was able to do a massive sleep-in today, which probably signals that I have NOT been getting enough sleep during the week. I blame my new attempts to get up at 5:45 a.m. to exercise and my seeming inability to fall asleep before midnight.
Anyway, the interesting thing that came out of my late morning snooze was a semi-repeated dream theme of being back in high school. Specifically, senior year of high school. Now, in reality, I would probably rate 12th grade as my least favorite year overall. I was more than ready to be done with high school, my family had moved away to Wisconsin leaving me back in MN, one of my best friends decided to go post-secondary and take her senior year at the community college, all the hot boys were gone, blah blah blah...
However, in my dreams, these things do not enter into the equation any more. Essentially, the underlying theme is that I am now BACK in high school but I have forgotten all of the important details of high school life. These details include: my locker combination, my class schedule, how to play my clarinet and my band locker combination. Sometimes there are extras.
Additionally, I seem to enter these dreams with a record of truancy. I find myself wandering through the music area and feeling quite guilty that I have not been to band or choir practice in several years. Technically speaking, this is true. I have not been to band or choir practice for more than 12 years. But apparently in my dream, some of my former classmates have continued their dedication to practice and are now making me look very bad.
In last night's dream, I found myself again wandering the music area and discussing with one of my friends how I had just decided not to be in band or choir by simply never showing up to class. Why I was not freaking out over the potentially fatal effect this would have on my GPA, I have no idea. I then found myself back at the main office with my friend searching for my student ID so that I could eat lunch in the cafeteria. We also picked up my schedule.
Please remember that this is a dream, so my sequence of events may be extremely non-linear. The next thing I remember is that we were crammed into an auditorium/lecture hall space (which do not exist in reality at WHS) listening to a teacher and writing in spiral-bound notebooks. On my right hand side was my friend, Kellee, and we were busy making snarky comments about the teacher and the course material. This is something that we likely would have done in reality.
On my left hand side was a male classmate with whom I was marginally acquainted in high school but was apparently super close friends with in my dream. Given the cramped space of the auditorium, we were sitting very close together. There was a lot of disruptive whispering going back and forth among students, and I think the teacher was pretty angry. Again, this was something that would have deeply bothered me in high school, but not here.
The rather embarrassing conclusion to this dream was that I started making out with the boy on my left. Again, completely out of the realm of reality for my actual high school experience as I most definitely did not experience my first kiss until I was far away from Willmar.
Does this mean anything? Nothing? Should I start practicing my clarinet? Should Kellee and I road trip it back to Willmar and visit the old alma mater? Should I attempt to reconnect with the male high school acquaintance and ask him out for coffee? Hm. I think it is more than likely that the only one of those things even remotely likely to happen is that I connect with Kellee, but it probably won't be in Willmar.
However, there IS a good chance that I will be back in town sometime in November for a wedding, so who knows? Stranger things have happened. I will start practicing my clarinet just in case.
I would normally not be writing an entry again so quickly after a long and illustrated one, but this will be a "mini." I promise.
Somehow I was able to do a massive sleep-in today, which probably signals that I have NOT been getting enough sleep during the week. I blame my new attempts to get up at 5:45 a.m. to exercise and my seeming inability to fall asleep before midnight.
Anyway, the interesting thing that came out of my late morning snooze was a semi-repeated dream theme of being back in high school. Specifically, senior year of high school. Now, in reality, I would probably rate 12th grade as my least favorite year overall. I was more than ready to be done with high school, my family had moved away to Wisconsin leaving me back in MN, one of my best friends decided to go post-secondary and take her senior year at the community college, all the hot boys were gone, blah blah blah...
However, in my dreams, these things do not enter into the equation any more. Essentially, the underlying theme is that I am now BACK in high school but I have forgotten all of the important details of high school life. These details include: my locker combination, my class schedule, how to play my clarinet and my band locker combination. Sometimes there are extras.
Additionally, I seem to enter these dreams with a record of truancy. I find myself wandering through the music area and feeling quite guilty that I have not been to band or choir practice in several years. Technically speaking, this is true. I have not been to band or choir practice for more than 12 years. But apparently in my dream, some of my former classmates have continued their dedication to practice and are now making me look very bad.
In last night's dream, I found myself again wandering the music area and discussing with one of my friends how I had just decided not to be in band or choir by simply never showing up to class. Why I was not freaking out over the potentially fatal effect this would have on my GPA, I have no idea. I then found myself back at the main office with my friend searching for my student ID so that I could eat lunch in the cafeteria. We also picked up my schedule.
Please remember that this is a dream, so my sequence of events may be extremely non-linear. The next thing I remember is that we were crammed into an auditorium/lecture hall space (which do not exist in reality at WHS) listening to a teacher and writing in spiral-bound notebooks. On my right hand side was my friend, Kellee, and we were busy making snarky comments about the teacher and the course material. This is something that we likely would have done in reality.
On my left hand side was a male classmate with whom I was marginally acquainted in high school but was apparently super close friends with in my dream. Given the cramped space of the auditorium, we were sitting very close together. There was a lot of disruptive whispering going back and forth among students, and I think the teacher was pretty angry. Again, this was something that would have deeply bothered me in high school, but not here.
The rather embarrassing conclusion to this dream was that I started making out with the boy on my left. Again, completely out of the realm of reality for my actual high school experience as I most definitely did not experience my first kiss until I was far away from Willmar.
Does this mean anything? Nothing? Should I start practicing my clarinet? Should Kellee and I road trip it back to Willmar and visit the old alma mater? Should I attempt to reconnect with the male high school acquaintance and ask him out for coffee? Hm. I think it is more than likely that the only one of those things even remotely likely to happen is that I connect with Kellee, but it probably won't be in Willmar.
However, there IS a good chance that I will be back in town sometime in November for a wedding, so who knows? Stranger things have happened. I will start practicing my clarinet just in case.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Battle of the Bugs
Alright, so I started a blog entry about this topic a week ago, but I didn't find it to be very inspiring in its original layout, so I have ditched that article and started afresh. Hopefully this will work out better.
This past week has been a bit of a rough one for me and my overall sense of well-being. On Wednesday, I had a small car accident in which no people or animals were hurt. Basically, I rear-ended someone at the breakneck speed of less than 5 mph. You would think that this would not be a big deal, and for the other car, it wasn't. His minivan had nary a scratch on its back bumper.
Sadly, the same could NOT be said for my car. When we pulled over to examine the damage, I think that the other driver actually felt sorry for me when he saw the HUGE crack in my front fender. After refusing several times to take any of my insurance information, he left me to begin the long process of phone calls that eventually led me to missing a day of work while I filed an insurance claim, brought my car to the repair shop and obtained a rental vehicle. I could go into more depressing details, but as this incident is not to be the focus of today's entry, I will hold off on that for now.
As everyone is well aware, the fall season is fully upon us. Leaves are changing color and the need for air conditioning has ceased. As far as I know, we here in the Twin Cities area have yet to experience a full overnight freeze, which explains why my allergies have not yet fully abated. It also explains another troubling yet unsurprising phenomenon: boxelder bugs.
If you are familiar with these insects, you may be able to tell where this entry is going. Boxelder bugs are a common insect in MN, especially during autumn. Technically speaking, these creatures fall under the category of "True Bugs" and have the scientific name, Boisea trivittata (see this Wikipedia article for a mini-description: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boisea_trivittata) Here is my artists rendering:
I have been familiar with Boxelder Bugs for a very long time, most memorably dating back to my childhood visits to my grandpa's farm. Images of entire walls and floors covered in these nasty little creatures come to mind quite vividly to this day.
After my childhood farm traumas, I actually saw very few Boxelder Bugs in my lifetime. Until I became a homeowner and was reintroduced to their creepiness.
One of the amazing skills of the Boxelder Bug is their ability to creep through small spaces or cracks in window sills or siding to enter indoor living areas. For some strange reason, in my small townhouse, the primary place of entry appears to be my upstairs bathroom. My first experience with this came about several years ago in a very memorable fashion. I was actually using my toilet, which is situated right next to the window, when one of these guys came crawling out from behind my window shade.
Being surprised by the presence of an insect is never a pleasant experience. If this happens to you while seated on a toilet, it is even worse. Unless you have planned ahead, you will likely not have a swatting utensil within easy reach. Thankfully, I survived this encounter and was able to use it to formulate a disaster plan for the future. I now keep a single flip flop shoe in the cabinet next to the toilet in my bathroom. It is a decision that has paid off numerous times in the years since this first encounter.
While I have been able to successfully address the presence of Boxelder Bugs in my home environment, I have not always been able to dominate them as well in other places. For instance, the workplace. For some reason, this year has been terrible for insects in the office. I work in a open space with plenty of windows and other surfaces for insects to hide and land. Although I have made a valiant effort to seek and destroy as many Boxelder Bugs as possible, there always seem to be three more for every one I kill.
I should perhaps pause for a moment to explain something about the structure of a Boxelder Bug. If you have never had the unfortunate duty of disposing of one of these creatures, you may not understand the magnitude of the exercise.
Although they have been gifted with wings to fly, they are not very quick to escape which makes the hunt rather simple. Unfortunately, the simplicity of the squishing does not continue from that point. Boxelder Bugs are apparently filled with a yellowish and stinky fluid that is immediately released upon squishing. I am guessing here, but I surmise that this fluid also causes a noticeable popping or cracking noise upon squishing as well.
Therefore, while you may rejoice in the fact that you have successfully eliminated another one from your living or work space, you must also face the prospect of a messy and smelly cleanup effort. Trust me when I say that it is nothing like cleaning up a smashed spider, fly or wasp. It is way juicier.
You may be asking at this point whether or not it is worth it to destroy Boxelder Bugs. Are they really that much of a nuisance? I mean, they don't bite and they aren't highly destructive. Seriously, can't we live and let live?
The answers are as follows: yes they are, and no we can't.
Here is why - if you let one go, you will soon find that the situation is out of control. These things like to congregate. If you need an example, I will give you one.
Several years ago, I found myself back in my hometown for the wedding of one of my best friends at the end of September. It was a wonderful weekend and everything with the wedding went almost completely as planned. The only snag was a $5 parking ticket that I received from leaving my car parked in one spot for more than two hours in downtown while we were getting our hair and nails done.
I wasn't too upset about the ticket, and I followed the instructions for payment. To make sure that this was taken care of before I left town, I enclosed my money in the provided envelope and went to the city administration building to drop it off. As it was a Sunday, the offices were closed, but they did have drop slot located on the south side of the building.
If you read the Wikipedia article, you may have noticed that Boxelder Bugs, you may remember that they like to gather in sunny areas on the sides of buildings. It should now be obvious where this example is leading. I parked my car and approached the building, envelope in hand. As I neared the drop slot, it became quite obvious that the Boxelder Bugs of Willmar had come together in order to make my drop-off as traumatic and dramatic as possible.
As I stared in fear at the black and orange-red wall covering on the brick of the building, I eyed up the small slot in the wall and planned my strategy. I opted for the quickest method of running, dropping and running again. Screaming a little as I ran, I completed this mission as quickly as possible and spent the next few minutes outside my car carefully inspecting my clothing for any stowaways that could potentially surprise and accost me on my two hour drive home.
Maybe you think that this wasn't a scary example. Trust me, if you had to do it, you would understand. Just pray that you never have to experience it.
So, to conclude, I continue to anxiously await the first freeze of the season. Not only will it cause great relief to my allergies, but it usually significantly decimates the Boxelder Bug population for the season. In the meantime, I shall continue my private crusade to remove them from my home and workspace. There really are some things work fighting for.
This past week has been a bit of a rough one for me and my overall sense of well-being. On Wednesday, I had a small car accident in which no people or animals were hurt. Basically, I rear-ended someone at the breakneck speed of less than 5 mph. You would think that this would not be a big deal, and for the other car, it wasn't. His minivan had nary a scratch on its back bumper.
Sadly, the same could NOT be said for my car. When we pulled over to examine the damage, I think that the other driver actually felt sorry for me when he saw the HUGE crack in my front fender. After refusing several times to take any of my insurance information, he left me to begin the long process of phone calls that eventually led me to missing a day of work while I filed an insurance claim, brought my car to the repair shop and obtained a rental vehicle. I could go into more depressing details, but as this incident is not to be the focus of today's entry, I will hold off on that for now.
As everyone is well aware, the fall season is fully upon us. Leaves are changing color and the need for air conditioning has ceased. As far as I know, we here in the Twin Cities area have yet to experience a full overnight freeze, which explains why my allergies have not yet fully abated. It also explains another troubling yet unsurprising phenomenon: boxelder bugs.
If you are familiar with these insects, you may be able to tell where this entry is going. Boxelder bugs are a common insect in MN, especially during autumn. Technically speaking, these creatures fall under the category of "True Bugs" and have the scientific name, Boisea trivittata (see this Wikipedia article for a mini-description: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boisea_trivittata) Here is my artists rendering:
I have been familiar with Boxelder Bugs for a very long time, most memorably dating back to my childhood visits to my grandpa's farm. Images of entire walls and floors covered in these nasty little creatures come to mind quite vividly to this day.
After my childhood farm traumas, I actually saw very few Boxelder Bugs in my lifetime. Until I became a homeowner and was reintroduced to their creepiness.
One of the amazing skills of the Boxelder Bug is their ability to creep through small spaces or cracks in window sills or siding to enter indoor living areas. For some strange reason, in my small townhouse, the primary place of entry appears to be my upstairs bathroom. My first experience with this came about several years ago in a very memorable fashion. I was actually using my toilet, which is situated right next to the window, when one of these guys came crawling out from behind my window shade.
Being surprised by the presence of an insect is never a pleasant experience. If this happens to you while seated on a toilet, it is even worse. Unless you have planned ahead, you will likely not have a swatting utensil within easy reach. Thankfully, I survived this encounter and was able to use it to formulate a disaster plan for the future. I now keep a single flip flop shoe in the cabinet next to the toilet in my bathroom. It is a decision that has paid off numerous times in the years since this first encounter.
While I have been able to successfully address the presence of Boxelder Bugs in my home environment, I have not always been able to dominate them as well in other places. For instance, the workplace. For some reason, this year has been terrible for insects in the office. I work in a open space with plenty of windows and other surfaces for insects to hide and land. Although I have made a valiant effort to seek and destroy as many Boxelder Bugs as possible, there always seem to be three more for every one I kill.
I should perhaps pause for a moment to explain something about the structure of a Boxelder Bug. If you have never had the unfortunate duty of disposing of one of these creatures, you may not understand the magnitude of the exercise.
Although they have been gifted with wings to fly, they are not very quick to escape which makes the hunt rather simple. Unfortunately, the simplicity of the squishing does not continue from that point. Boxelder Bugs are apparently filled with a yellowish and stinky fluid that is immediately released upon squishing. I am guessing here, but I surmise that this fluid also causes a noticeable popping or cracking noise upon squishing as well.
Therefore, while you may rejoice in the fact that you have successfully eliminated another one from your living or work space, you must also face the prospect of a messy and smelly cleanup effort. Trust me when I say that it is nothing like cleaning up a smashed spider, fly or wasp. It is way juicier.
You may be asking at this point whether or not it is worth it to destroy Boxelder Bugs. Are they really that much of a nuisance? I mean, they don't bite and they aren't highly destructive. Seriously, can't we live and let live?
The answers are as follows: yes they are, and no we can't.
Here is why - if you let one go, you will soon find that the situation is out of control. These things like to congregate. If you need an example, I will give you one.
Several years ago, I found myself back in my hometown for the wedding of one of my best friends at the end of September. It was a wonderful weekend and everything with the wedding went almost completely as planned. The only snag was a $5 parking ticket that I received from leaving my car parked in one spot for more than two hours in downtown while we were getting our hair and nails done.
I wasn't too upset about the ticket, and I followed the instructions for payment. To make sure that this was taken care of before I left town, I enclosed my money in the provided envelope and went to the city administration building to drop it off. As it was a Sunday, the offices were closed, but they did have drop slot located on the south side of the building.
If you read the Wikipedia article, you may have noticed that Boxelder Bugs, you may remember that they like to gather in sunny areas on the sides of buildings. It should now be obvious where this example is leading. I parked my car and approached the building, envelope in hand. As I neared the drop slot, it became quite obvious that the Boxelder Bugs of Willmar had come together in order to make my drop-off as traumatic and dramatic as possible.
As I stared in fear at the black and orange-red wall covering on the brick of the building, I eyed up the small slot in the wall and planned my strategy. I opted for the quickest method of running, dropping and running again. Screaming a little as I ran, I completed this mission as quickly as possible and spent the next few minutes outside my car carefully inspecting my clothing for any stowaways that could potentially surprise and accost me on my two hour drive home.
Maybe you think that this wasn't a scary example. Trust me, if you had to do it, you would understand. Just pray that you never have to experience it.
So, to conclude, I continue to anxiously await the first freeze of the season. Not only will it cause great relief to my allergies, but it usually significantly decimates the Boxelder Bug population for the season. In the meantime, I shall continue my private crusade to remove them from my home and workspace. There really are some things work fighting for.
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