AntiM and the Rickety Blog

White Christmas

2011-12-25T22:35:00.004-07:00

On Christmas day, 2005, Mom said the only thing she'd tasted in months that tasted good was the roasted pearl onions in sherry and cream I made to go with Christmas dinner. We ate, we talked, and one by one the others left.

I was the last to leave. I hugged her and said, "I love you."

The next morning Dad called to say she screamed and had terrible seizures and he had to call an ambulance and they cut her new Christmas robe and pajamas off her to tend to her and she was in a coma in the hospital at which she'd worked for the last 30 years.

We spent four days constantly rotating through, telling stories, reading the newspaper, chattering at her under the idea that coma patients can hear and understand and might be inspired to return to consciousness.

The joke was on us. The strokes that had put her out of reach had rendered her deaf.

She did come back, but only long enough to give us hope before she lost her mind and her body and everything that made her my mother.

A week in the hospital, a week in a nursing home, some time in a hospital bed at home, an endless fog of time that ended on February 22 when she died, very early in the morning, having regained consciousness for the first time in a month - just for a second, just long enough to shed a tear.

So now every Christmas evening, freed from the tyranny of forced cheer and truly saintly tolerance for the woman who thinks she's an Untiedt, who thinks she can announce Christmas traditions and make them happen, I cry like a child and long for the days when Christmas meant sharing my best friend's favourite day with her, giggling like loons, eating well, loving well and making memories.

I don't feel any new memories being made. Only this endless parade of keeping up appearances.

I speak this in the hushed tones of white on white, of snow falling on snowy ground. Keeping up appearances is very important, and so is a white Christmas.

Holy Frozen Wasteland, Batman

2011-11-20T00:42:00.003-07:00

Every now and then, I use this very blog as a reference†: which scarf did I knit for Kelley? what was the name of that perfume? what's the proper generic for Zamboni?‡

That one stopped me dead in my tracks Saturday night. I was trying to impart some wisdom on The Twitter, so I hopped to the blog and searched "Zamboni."

Then "Steve."

Then "Ice."

Then I looked through my post index and found - *gasp* - I WENT TO ZAMBONI SCHOOL% AND ALL YOU GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT.§

There may be more of this. One of my great #OldAndFeeble tricks is to set something up so thoroughly in my head that I think I did it. I know I do it with email and occasionally phone calls. I had no idea the blog had fallen victim.

So.

In February, Steve and I went to Ice Camp. We learned the history and mechanics of ice resurfacing equipment¶ in a classroom setting.

Then we did some hands-on# illustration of what the TV told us.

We watched an ice resurfacing machine empty after a productive trip around the rink.

We had photo ops.

Then we drove the beast.

THEN we made ice.††

Dudes, if we were in a disaster movie and the Zamboni operator freaked out or had a heart attack,‡‡ I could totally resurface an ice rink.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): As I'm sure you do.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): A registered trademark of Frank J. Zamboni & Co., Inc.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Like Hogwarts, but more athletic. Also? In fricking FEBRUARY.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It's actually a cool t-shirt that says "I drove the [picture of a Zamboni] at The Ice Ranch." But you don't actually get it. You have to *earn* it.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which is the generic of Zamboni.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Literally, though you have to be careful, as there are blades that cut and pumps that suck.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): When you're in the know, you know better than to say you drove the Zamboni. When you're in the know, you make ice.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I think this movie should be made. It should be called "The Ice Marin Cometh."

Knitting!

2011-11-19T18:27:00.003-07:00

Not me.

I mean, I am, but I'm not reporting here. I just checked in on Allison's blog. She's a writer, but clearly she has an interest in knitting too.

A Tale of Two Boots

2011-11-08T09:07:00.005-07:00

I stand accused of being cutting edge.

Yeah, it's even funnier if you knew me in high school, like my accuser did.

See, Jeffe† said she was getting some of those slouchy boots, like we wore back in the 80s, when we also hacked our t-shirts up Flashdance-style and thought the bi-level haircut‡ was the height of edgy, futuristic sophistication.

We were teenagers. Our taste was questionable.

Yet here we are again,§ shoulder pads, pegged jeans, neon colours... but the elf boot¶ is classic.

I had a pair of black suede elf boots. And when I say "had," I mean until six years ago when I decided to hand them off to ARC# in the cleaning-for-moving frenzy when I bought my house. I'd had the heels rebuilt†† and recapped,‡‡ but the suede fuzz on the toes and heels was worn to a shine, so I decided my 24-year-old boots had their day.

On into the future, I was doing a little wardrobe work last fall, when the personal shopper at Nordstrom suggested a pair of Steve Madden boots.

Boots EXACTLY like my elf boots, only cured leather instead of suede.

And, y'know, with the Steve Madden label inside.

The rest of the story is that when Jeffe said she was getting a pair of 80s boots, I told her I got a pair last year, at which point, she declared me cutting edge.§§

We all know different - I'm a dork with a streak of nostalgia who's never quite gotten over having to give up her elf boots.

Let's just call it trading up.¶¶

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Of still-Jeffe fame.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Now known as The Coach.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And by, "we," I don't mean you and me, or even Jeffe and me, I mean "society in general."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): If you were into Dio or Dungeons & Dragons in the 80s, it was definitely an elf boot. I'm not confessing, just sayin'. You don't have pictures, you can't prove anything.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I did not, however, hand off my 31-year-old Nike All-Courts with the baby blue swoosh. They're in terrific shape for their age, and I love when the skate punks stop me in the mall and say, "Rad shoes, dude. Where did you get them?" And I say, "1980."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Once.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Twice.

§§FOOTNOTE (two slouches): And challenged me to a blog-off, in which she was going to use my "Like high school, only Steve Madden" line first. I lost the race in spectacular fashion, but maintained my stubborn insistence on ignoring people trying to get me to blog. Small victories are better than none.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two boots): 'Cause it sounds much classier than "old people nostalgia hoarding."

Happy Halloween...

2011-10-31T11:09:00.004-06:00

...from Mikey, Dad and me.

My (first) cousin (once removed), Mike, is an artist of some renown, mostly for his oil paintings, but more and more for the wholly Mike-ish tales he tells in his newsletter, The Right Brain Express.

Every year about this time, Mike resurrects this story, and every year it gets a little creepier.

The Jon of the story is my father.

Mike's other art can be viewed at www.michaelomeuntiedt.com

Now CHILL!

Oiche Samhna;

Slam Dunk Spook

PROLOGUE:

Every year people ask me if I have revised the story about Old Aurora and the ghost of laughing Jack Smiley. As I think about this I look at myself in the mirror and see that the treacheries of Time have added more white to an already grey head; I wonder how much revision is necessary? My boyhood steps led me to a palette and easel of unfinished canvas. My cousin Jon, youthfully prominent in the story, has cast his life to flow into a comfortable one of trout streams and gentlemanly contemplation. Though our lives are located in the pleasantries of different times and locations than that dark and wretched Halloween of 1960, the surprising horror of that night cannot be forgotten…or redeemed! Recently, as in this past year, the City of Aurora has gone to great lengths, and expense, to reportedly “upgrade” the old City Park on 16^th and Dayton. Granted, this aged and time-worn part of town does not deserve neglect and decay. Yet in the cold winds of a darkening October sky with pale yellow leaves carpeting the ground like a veil of shifting whispers, one must ask if the recent face-lift is one of community development or of convenient cover-up. Cover-up of the proof of the profane, of Laughing Jack entrapped in an eternity of terror. If such is the case, no amount of asphalt and designer poured concrete can ebb the flow of the Devil’s tide, or hide the mark of His ill gotten gain!

The Story of Laughing Jack

It seems it is always stormy on Halloween. I remember Halloween 1960. The storm that night blew over the bee tree, from which my brother Pat and I scooped handfuls of sweet honey treat the next morning. This storm was also the last time Laughing Jack Smiley was seen walking this good earth...

We lived on the former Hugh Berry farm south of what was then the small town of Aurora, Colorado. The Berries sharecropped the William Smith land for years. William Smith was one of the founders of Aurora, and his eighty year old unmarried daughter Margaret still lived in the old Smith Mansion, a Victorian Denver Square built up against the Highline Canal at the end of Park East Road. The road was a gravel farm path then, and crossed a bridge behind the mansion that led to our home. Aurora pretty much ended at Sixth Avenue, and the Highline Canal meandered through miles of farmland. My uncle, Bryan Untiedt, purchased the Smith farm and along with my father Ome, was beginning to build houses on the land which became known as Park East. In 1960 the area was still alfalfa fields and pasture with giant cottonwoods along the ditches and Canal. Aurora Central High School was new, and my cousin Jon Untiedt attended there. I was infatuated, as any eight year old would be, of cousin Jon and his friends, all athletes and ball players, and was from whom I first learned of Laughing Jack Smiley, and the tragedy that followed.

Laughing Jack Smiley lived in a small, overgrown cottage on Alton Street in old Aurora. He was my cousin Jon's age, and often met to play basketball with all the older high school boys on the new basketball court in Aurora City Park at Dayton and 16th Avenue. That court is still there to this day, though the newness and sparkle has long ago worn away. City Hall has moved, Aurora has grown to hundreds of thousands of citizens and the old City Park has become one of those off-the-beaten-path forgotten places. I doubt if the name Laughing Jack Smiley would be recognized by any living person there today, though the bare spot still exists on the eastern side of the basketball courts, the bare spot that appeared on that terrible night.

According to those that knew him, Laughing Jack was a peculiar sort. Tall and dark-haired, he rarely spoke, and when spoken to often responded with a shy half smile, from whence came his nickname, Laughing Jack. Though none ever mentioned personally knowing his family, the Smileys were rumored as being related to an ancestor who, in the previous century, helped dig up the graves in the old Denver cemetery where Cheesman Park is now located, and moved the disinterred to Riverside Cemetery on the Platte River. That bit of history is fraught with rumors of greed and disrespect, and that a Gypsy Curse followed the most disrespectful of the grave movers and their descendants. I can't attest to the truthfulness of this rumor, but it makes sense and helps explains the events on Halloween night, 1960.

October evenings were a time of basketball on the court in Aurora City Park. My cousin Jon and his friends would meet every evening to divide up into teams and play ball until the cold dark settled on the blacktop and they could no longer see to shoot. Laughing Jack was often present but rarely played, instead watching from the sidelines with that queer smile engraved on his countenance. Remember the times, these were the days of Wilt Chamberlin and Jerry West. Basketball was a game of large dunks directly under the basketball, or long practiced jump shots from the floor. This was before the days of Dr. J or Magic Johnson, and the Flying-Slam-Dunk was an unheard-of move… the Flying-Slam-Dunk…indeed, who would have ever imagined?

One afternoon, several days before Halloween, Laughing Jack asked if he might join in a game of pickup basketball. "Sure" was the answer, teams were chosen and a game commenced. Laughing Jack played in an unremarkable fashion, until late in the game, as the sun was setting over Mount Evans, and a cold crispness was spicing the air. Jon intercepted a pass and made a fast break down court. Big Denny Rider, whose father Doc ran the Aurora Auto Supply on Dayton Street, made a great defensive lunge, requiring Jon to pass off to Laughing Jack at the head of the key. Laughing Jack caught the ball, and in a mighty leap, four feet high and ten feet long, carried the ball soaring through the air and stuffed it in the basket. The ball cleared through the net and struck the pavement with a baleful thunk. There was not a sound on the court, or in the park, save for the breath of frost on yellowing leaves. Everyone stared at Laughing Jack in disbelief, tinged with fear of the unknown. You see, in those days no one had ever seen such a move, and its strangeness was as a man sprouting wings and taken to flight. Laughing Jack stared at his team mates, smiled in that half way of his, and took off at a slow dog trot down Sixteenth dribbling a basketball. Even as he disappeared into the evening his footsteps and sound of the ball echoed on the sidewalk and Jon, Denny, and all the players shook their heads and turned for the safety of their homes and families.

The next day some of the boys asked Coach Butchkowski from the high school to stop by during the evening game, in case Laughing Jack was playing. They wanted Coach's opinion on the legality of the move Laughing Jack had displayed. Laughing Jack showed up and again asked to play. As like the night before, his play was unremarkable until the last rays of sunlight were gleaming like ice frost over the western mountains. At that time, in the power of the gloaming light, Laughing Jack was offered the opportunity for another fast break Flying-Slam-Dunk. He successfully seized the moment, and as the ball struck the pavement, it resounded with a hollow bounce. But unlike the silence of the night before, this cool fall evening the basket was met with shouts and curses. You see, we fall victim to human weaknesses, and once the newness of something wears off, we often replace quiet unknowing with self-righteous indignation and anger. Coach Butchkowski stepped in to prevent fisticuffs, and rendered his verdict on the legality of Laughing Jack's move. "Now boys, calm down! I watched Laughing Jack carefully, and he took no more steps than you would for an ordinary lay up. There are no rules about how far you can jump when taking a shot, so long as neither foot is touching the floor, and his were definitely off the floor! Though I have never seen anything like it, I would say what Laughing Jack did was perfectly legal, and a new way to play basketball. I would like to know where he learned such a thing!" But laughing Jack spoke offered no explanation, and with that half smile tattooed on his face, turned and silently dribbled away into the waxing light. The boys would not play another game of basketball after Butchkowski's ruling, and the court remained empty until Halloween evening. You might view this as a harsh reaction to a new strangeness, perhaps even cruel. But we must be careful to pass judgment, now, a half-century after the fact; for our present seat in the story is a safe and comfortable one.

Halloween 1960 started off as a beautiful day. At Lansing Elementary School we had parties and watched "Legend of Sleepy Hollow" in the school auditorium. As darkness came storm clouds were building in the west, but the storm looked far off, and my mother allowed brother Pat and I to walk into town, to spend the night at Billy Lombardi's house, along with the rest of our bunch, which included Billy, Steve Rider, Corky Metcalf, Pat and myself. The plan was to trick or treat and watch horror movies on late night TV, which we executed in high style. We slept in Billy's dad's camper, and I remember well the lightening, wind and driving sleet that rocked the trailer, and helped our vivid imaginations drive the spirit of Halloween into our dreams. In the morning the storm had passed, and Pat and I walked home, our feet crunching in the wet gravel of Park East Road. As we passed Miss Smith's, we noticed that the storm had blown over a giant cottonwood tree, a tree William Smith had planted back in the 1880's when he first came to Aurora. The tree had fallen across the bank of a feeder ditch just below the head gate, and had broken in two. The tree had a beehive in it, and the hollow exposed core was a mass of honeycomb and golden honey. We feasted in high style, and could verify Halloween 1960 being one of the sweetest on record. That is, until we later learned of the Halloween fate of Laughing Jack Smiley.

It seems Jon had been to a party on Halloween, and driving home about 11:30 p.m. through the wind and sleet, had passed Aurora City Park. By the flashing glare of lightening he saw Laughing Jack shooting baskets on the basketball court. He stopped and despite the rain asked Laughing Jack if he was OK and perhaps needed a ride home. Laughing Jack smiled in his strange way and waved Jon on. As Jon was driving up Dayton Street, heading for Colfax, he passed a tall man in a slouch hat and long black coat walking down the middle of the street, towards the Park. This seemed strange to Jon, even more so when he didn't recognize the person. You have to remember, in those days Aurora was not the bustling suburb it now is, but was a small farm town east of Denver. Everyone knew everyone else. As Jon drove closer to home he became more bothered by Laughing Jack shooting baskets in the rain, and the tall stranger walking alone down an October street. He turned the car around and drove back to the Park, just to make sure Laughing Jack was OK. The Park was empty, and Jon could find no sign of Laughing Jack, or of the tall street-walking stranger. Jon seemed to notice a faint glow on the east side of the basketball court, but he was sure rain puddles and flashes of lightening in the sky were responsible. Satisfied with his inspection of the peculiar recent events, Jon returned to his car and drove into what became the rest of his life. Not so Laughing Jack.

Laughing Jack was absent from school the following week, when at last the high school attempted to contact his parents about Jack's truancy. The over-grown cottage on Alton Street was empty and boarded up. Every trace of the Smiley family seemed to have disappeared. The police were notified, but nothing came of it. After all, no one was sure anything untoward had happened. Eventually the disappearance of Laughing Jack Smiley became a numbered police report in the dusty files assigned to the vagaries of time.

But occasionally, when the late light of fall disappears over the Rocky Mountains, the sound of a dribbling basketball can be heard in Aurora City Park, when no players are present! After that Halloween night, 1960, a large bald spot appeared in the grass on the east side of the Aurora City Park Basketball Court, and it is there to this day! The City has tried to hide it with a playground, mulch and gravel, but it is there still, for no living thing will grow on it. The unholy spot is camouflaged with happy cries of children swinging and sliding through a timeless ritual. Despite the joy a playground brings, there are rumors that you can stand by this bald spot of ground on Halloween, and hear the distant thump, thump, thump of a dribbling basketball, and a weakening voice crying out "help me, please, please...help me!"

Halloween 1960 will always stand in my memory for the wonders of the honey-laden bee tree; but even more so, though the spirits of Halloween brought the miracle of honey to this October night, they also took something away. There are those I know who believe in the Cheesman Gypsy Curse, and payments made to quiet the dead, and to this they account for the disappearance of Laughing Jack Smiley. The Curse is based on an old legend, hard to verify and harder yet to satisfy the questions of a discerning mind. After the facts I have related and attested to in such good faith, I believe there is an undeniable explanation for Laughing Jack's predicament, if a predicament may be called such when it represents an event that lasts an eternity. Laughing Jack Smiley was taught the skill of the Flying-Slam-Dunk by the Devil himself, at the cost of his soul. In that fateful storm of Halloween midnight, 1960, Lucifer visited Aurora City Park to collect his debt; and collect his debt did he!

Can You Get Better Advertising?

2011-10-27T05:12:00.000-06:00

Remember Zombie Boy?

Dermablend Pro... seeing is believing.

Puzzling

2011-10-25T07:17:00.004-06:00

My friends at Nintendo sent me something new.†

Let's take a moment to step back from the simple glory of games showing up on my front porch; the creativity of the packaging and quality of work amazes me.

Look at this box:

Hand painted.

I envision a little Brand About Town sweatshop where an assembly line of sharply-dressed marketing genii% carefully hand paint and hand build these packages.

Plus, this cool tag‡:

I was just thinking to myself, "Self,§ what are you going to do with that tag?" Then I realised I never removed it from the box, so I have no idea how long the chain is. There's some chance I'll recognise its intended use if I actually look at the thing.

I'm a dork.

You may remember the story of how I skipped the video game revolution.

Well, I like Professor Layton. I like Professor Layton because he doesn't make me feel stupid, clumsy and inept.¶ No, Professor Layton makes me feel *smart*. I whiz through the Laytonverse, solving puzzles, searching for coins and I don't lose.

I get stuck sometimes, but the aliens don't land on my head because the time's run out.

And that's why I like Professor Layton.#

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): They've sent me a few new things over the last couple or *mumblefourmumble* months, but I haven't told you here. If you really loved me, you'd follow me on The Twitter. I talk a lot on The Twitter.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I've met the Nintendo team from Brand About Town. They are all bright and remarkably well dressed.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I suspect BAT commissioned these, but I'm still envisioning marketing elves at a workbench with tiny hammers.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): My little voice always calls me Isabelle.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I have no explanation for my fascination with Guitar Hero, which makes me feel stupid, clumsy and inept every time I play it.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And that's what I did on my summer vacation.

Back for Two Posts...

2011-10-21T07:53:00.000-06:00

...and I already have weird spam† comments.

"Thank you for insightful! Your blog is excellently well writing and I will definitely be reading in the future. Hire a web designer!"‡

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That is to say, "Comments that are weird, but probably aren't weird for spam, which is baseline weird anyway. These are actually pretty normal spam comments."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): The last bit could be read as an indictment of my not yet figuring out how to put linked footnotes in a sidebar, but it was actually a link to a vendor of web designers, so I'm taking it as a guided marketing ploy rather than an insult. My blog, my rules.

The Pie Makers

2011-10-19T05:11:00.000-06:00

Which sounds like the title of a highly acclaimed runner-up for the Man Booker Award or something.†

Definitely soon to be a major motion picture starring Kate Winslet.

Actually, Tallest, Hairiest Nephew and I baked a cherry pie‡ while Dr. Doom was at soccer practice.§

But they *so* look capable of pie making, don't they?¶

I had to tell them the old-people-nostalgia story of how their father was exactly the same way, and back when we still had film in our cameras,# it would cost me oodles to foot the bill for the film we had to go through so he could make faces for 20 frames before we got down to one good, serious shot.

Then I had to explain the word "hereditary" to them.

Also "evolution."††

Trying to build hope for the future, one nephew at a time.‡‡

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): My old book club would definitely swoon for it.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Handmade crust and all. Skillz... we has them.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And I went to his soccer game this weekend. He is not a soccer talent. Brother says worse than usual, but I notice a certain sibling tendency that includes a complete lack of awareness of the ball and such joys as watching clouds while the game is going on around him.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): My tongue is firmly planted in my cheek.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): You kids get off my lawn!

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Next time, we'll explore "nature vs. nurture."

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Aren't they handsome creatures, soccer and pies aside?

I'm learning...

2011-10-17T06:54:00.002-06:00

...that if you have a post of, say, zero words, you should probably still split it into a series of posts because people get cranky if you choose Twitter over Blogger and absent yourself from the many-word world for months on end.

Mommy, Where Do Monsters Come From?

2011-06-25T14:48:00.004-06:00

If you're very lucky, Monsters come from Jennifer by way of Nathan.

When the Monster Revolution comes, Jennifer and Nathan will be in the clear.

The rest of us should start tending our Monsters toward this end.

NOTE: If I were half-brained these days, I would've remembered to give Jennifer a shout out for being the creative force behind Cotton Monster and my new best friend. Better late than never?

MonsterVision

2011-06-22T08:59:00.004-06:00

In stunning Technicolor™!

The Monster came to live with me just before Easter.% We spent a happy day playing with my new camera† and these are the results.

We started with a glamour shot‡ by the train yard.

A train came by. And the conductor *waved* at us. It may be the single greatest moment in Monster history.

LoDo§ from the wrong side of the tracks.

There was some construction we watched for awhile. They were assembling a crane.

Like this. O hai! Crane!

We headed west past the skate park¶ to stand on the bridge over the South Platte.

A nice bicyclist thought I looked awkward holding The Monster at arm's length# to get a good river picture, so he stopped to help. Not a lot of monsters wave at train conductors and make new friends all in one day.††

It was time to get down to some serious art.‡‡ Like Common Ground, the picturesque stairway to nowhere.

We started on one side of the stairway.

Took in some rays.

Used all our America's Next Top Model training to work with our surroundings.

Played with camera angles.

Climbed the stairs, crested the summit and found a bunch of irritated, stoned emo kids hiding from the cold, cruel world there. Stepped over them and went down the other side.

Kiss the ground, we made it.

Took a moment in the shade.

"I win!"

Oh, no! MONSTER JAIL!

Braved trespass charges§§ to sit on someone's front steps.

The Monster would like to conclude with a little Public Service Announcement.¶¶ Remember kids: the more you know...

%FOOTNOTE (percented): A gift from someone who knows I am fully capable of stuffed monster wrangling as an art form.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Canon G12, for those of you scoring at home.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Flowers make everything more glamourous.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Lower Downtown. Used to be a scary industrial area. Now the hub of tragic hipness and kids you want to throw off your lawn.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which we decided to skip. You know how hard it is to get pot smoke residue out of a monster?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Poor, sweet man; he didn't realise that "awkward" is just my natural state of being.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I can say this, as am now expert on monsters.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): No art is as serious as art you can climb on.

§§FOOTNOTE (boggle): Seriously - I opened a gate and went in for that shot. Totally worth it since I didn't get caught.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (magic wands): Let's just consider that proactive community service to balance out our prior trespassing on private property. Kharma!

The NFL Wishes Me a Happy Birthday

2011-06-21T06:06:00.003-06:00

If they really loved me, they'd fix the labour dispute and let me believe in a 2011 season.

"Fantasy Football" is taking on sinister meaning.

The Evolution of Footnotes

2011-06-13T13:00:00.002-06:00

I want to learn to do footnotes like they do on Grantland.

I know some of you would appreciate it.

Backstory

2011-05-17T12:54:00.002-06:00

From: Marin
To: Brother
Sent: Tue, May 17, 2011 6:20:48 AM
Subject: Re: Eye Dissection

Can I put that on the blog? I won't use any dirty words.

From: "Brother"
To: "Marin"
Sent: Tuesday, May 17, 2011 9:16:27 AM
Subject: Re: Eye Dissection

Well, sure. And it wouldn't hurt anything if you used dirty words.

Dr. Doom Dissects an Eyeball

2011-05-17T12:41:00.004-06:00

From: "Brother"
To: "Marin" (et al)
Sent: Monday, May 16, 2011 7:09:55 PM
Subject: Eye Dissection

Hey Guys -

As a preferred younger sibling, Victor got to go to CJ's class last week to dissect eyeballs and CJ's teacher just posted this picture on her blog. Pretty cool.

-B

*************
Sometimes when you have an older brother, the world is a much cooler place.

Go ahead... click for big.

Dr. Doom and the Tongue of Steering

2011-05-02T12:44:00.000-06:00

Now for something completely different.†

Friday was Dr. Doom's birthday. As My-Former-Sister-In-Law-Let's-Just-Call-Her-Elizabeth‡ had the boys starting Friday, our side§ of the family celebrated Thursday night.

The nephews got their Nintendo 3DSs that night. Tallest Hairiest Nephew is going to have a meager birthday in August,¶ but I suspect he thinks it's worth it.#

This, by the way, is a family trait††:

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Thank goodness. The whole dead cat thing was too grey to leave at the top of the page for too long.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Anybody want to start a pool on how long I will continue to think that's funny? Also note, that's what I call her when I talk about her IRL. Like, with my mouth.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Plus the Wicked Stepmother, who I suspect is her own side.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The boys also got golf clubs, and since we're heading into golf season, THN got all his big birthday presents Thursday.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Mostly because he said, "AntiM, you've made me the happiest kid in the whole world!"

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): His grandfather would have you believe it came from his grandmother's side, but I have pictures that would prove this is a homozygous congenitality. I may have just made that last word up.

You Can Skip This Post

2011-04-28T05:53:00.003-06:00

No, really. I won't be offended. This is a maudlin post full of bad photos and it's definitely an exercise in self-indulgence.

Though those of you who've been around awhile may appreciate this FB post from my brother:

Cat for Scale ceased to exist on this mortal coil April 8. He was 21, he was euthanised and he never had a health problem or a noticeable ache or pain until the last two weeks of his life. In fact, the many scans and prods and sucks and bleeds and samples and tests yielded nothing.

He just couldn't stand up reliably anymore.

He didn't eat more than a couple of tablespoons of food a day.

He had no interest in kitty treats.

He didn't even have any interest in my dinner.

He spent all day in a kitty bed. I'm going to take it as a testament to his love for me that he hauled his poor little body upstairs for a couple of nights - even though he could hardly walk on flat ground - to curl up next to me.

After that, I carried him up to my bed every night and down to his bed every morning.

It broke my heart to see my sweet, dopey old companion laid low by perversions of age and time like that. I know deep, deep down - so far it's just an abstract batch of words - that it was a mercy and a matter of dignity to put him to sleep.

But I can't shake the feeling to this day that I somehow failed him.

He was the least photogenic cat I've ever seen. That didn't stop me from trying, nor is it going to stop me from collecting all my old Cat for Scale blogphotos here.

Look at him:

He looked stoned...

...or startled...

...or asleep...

...often looking the wrong way...

...rarely in action...

...but always For Scale.

Now I wish I'd taken more pictures.

Thank you for letting me indulge.

My Friends at Nintendo in Seattle

2011-04-27T06:49:00.009-06:00

Some of you may remember how tired I got of SXSW on The Twitter.

Sorry. There's a chance I was at least that annoying during the Nintendo Ambassador Roundup.†

But, guys, it was SO COOL.

For one, being treated like one is important actually lends to the illusion that one is actually important, and for this one, those illusions are what makes the world go 'round.‡

For two, it was amazing meeting people who are in this particular boat with me.

Many of you may not believe this, but I'm actually kind of shy around people I don't know. I started to dread the whole thing somewhere over Nevada.

Shouldn't have worried.

Brand About Town, a marketing company that does a fantastic job for Nintendo,* flew us in to Seattle Thursday, March 31. There was a reception Thursday night that started out nerve-wracking for me, then became enlightening.

There were *guys* there.

Just for starters.

I came into the Nintendo Ambassador thing under the Girls' Guide to Gaming, which was a marketing push to women who weren't necessarily video gamers.§ The idea was to show that there is more to the Nintendo family than shooting aliens and playing football. You don't have to be a teenage boy to enjoy a nice gaming system.

They created a comfortable, supportive, fun environment for us to try out their product and learn just how much we could get out of it.

Turns out, before there were Girls being Guided in Gaming, there were Wii Families. Somewhere along the line, there were mommy bloggers. And I think there was a sort of community effort, since a couple of people I met got involved via a Boys & Girls Club-type program and through working in a nursing home.

Yeah, this is the kind of stuff that trips my trigger.

Friday, we spent the day at Nintendo America HQ. This pic was provided by Brand About Town as maybe the only sanctioned photo of the building:

You'll note this isn't from our trip. You can tell because there's blue sky. Our trip looked more like this:¶

But none of that matters when you're inside with a bunch of Nintendo nerds and the latest technotoy.

This is Jen. Jen lives in Nederland# and has a food-ish blog. She is a professional photographer, so you really wish you were following her because her pictures are probably much better.

Now, our photog rules were pretty strict but simple: photos only inside the rumpus room, and 3D must be turned off if you take pics of the game. So here's a 2D Nintendog for you:

The 3D-without-glasses on the Nintendo 3DS works basically the same as a View Master. It's essentially an electronic stereopticon. Paired images push your eyes to focus in such a way that it brings depth to the image.††

Besides the 3D gaming, there is a 3D camera and 3D video viewer. We played with those too.

Actually, we played with eight different games in much the same setting as my Girls' Guide to Gaming experience: comfy couches, games to play with and a Nintendo expert to help light the way.

This was our tour guide for Street Fighter. He was nice and helpful,‡‡ but as it turns out I'm a Street Fighter savant, I didn't need too much hand-holding on that one.

I appreciate the 3D on the game, though my tendency to steer the game and wiggle like a banked trout as I beat the snot out of a fellow ambassador can diminish the effect a little.§§ The 3D wasn't the most impressive part to me, though.

I really like the StreetPass feature. You build a Mii avatar for yourself, then if you turn on the communications and allow the flow of information, if you pass someone who has a Nintendo 3DS with StreetPass up and running, it swaps your Miis. The Miis carry puzzle pieces and act as heroes to save your Mii from a dungeon.¶¶

OK, that sounds dorky and weird, but it's very cool. And I tell you, I almost kissed a stranger when I got my first StreetPass friend outside the Nintendo gathering. It was like finding a hundred dollar bill in a rest stop bathroom.

The thing that really blew my mind, though, was the AR cards.% They're freakin' magic. That's all there is to it: magic. How can you play a whole series of games by pointing the camera at a question mark on a card?^

Now, for your dining pleasure, here's the montage of People Enjoying the Nintendo 3DS.##

The President and COO of Nintendo of America, cult figure††† Reggie Fils-Aime, talked to us for awhile about the company and the Nintendo 3DS itself. I'm impressed with the conscience Nintendo showed in testing the 3D and its effect on kids' eyes. Plus, great parental controls.‡‡‡

I also love that the employees I talked to call him "Reggie" and speak like they're basically buddies.+ Not in a creepy, bootlicking way, either. I get the feeling Nintendo is a fabulous place to work.

And I couldn't take pictures, but their building is beautiful and comfortable. Sustainable and green, of course, with really nice bamboo floors. There's a great cafeteria§§§ and a floor that's just for hanging out, meeting and - with a rooftop deck$ - getting a little fresh air.

OTHER COOL THINGS ABOUT THE NINTENDO AMERICA HQ:

The building is square and is divided into four equal parts. Each part is represented by a colour and a Nintendo character. It's kinda like airport parking garages, where you remember your car is parked on the blue bear level or the red boot level.
There is a Panaboard in one of the conference rooms.& I really, really wanted to play with the Panaboard, but there were enemy ships to sink.
Speaking of conference rooms, they're named for iconic game characters and elements.>
The male/female icons on the bathrooms are Mario character silhouettes rather than those Fisher Price armless people we usually see.

We got a chance to tour the building with a couple of Nintendo employees, who gave us some Nintendo history and personal insight into the company.

Then we got to go shopping in the Nintendo employees' store.¶¶¶

Friday night, there was a small reception while we gathered to have the buses take us to a nice dinner. I went to Anthony's, which is a Seattle chain and maybe not the most avant-garde choice I could make, but I went for the view.

And the fish.###

The trip was a total success for me and I'm excited all over again about the state and direction of technology.

Particularly in technology that makes me the coolest aunt in the world.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Of course, my trip only lasted a couple of days. SXSW was, like, six months.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I may be needier than I like to admit.

*FOOTNOTE (yes, an asterisk): By the way, as cool as it was to find out about Nintendo, I'd like to spend some quality time with Brand About Town people. I suspect their jobs are very, very cool.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You may recall the series of ads with actresses and their kids and friends. I've never felt so close to Lisa Kudrow.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): In the half-dozen times I've been to Seattle, this is the first time I've ever seen rain. I was beginning to think the rain stereotype was a way to keep tourists away. Kinda like how we use snow in Denver. By the way, that's the company soccer pitch we're walking toward. Yes, there is a Nintendo company soccer pitch.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): A rogue suburb of Boulder.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Go look it up if you want something more scientific.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): And cute!

§§FOOTNOTE (dizziness): You pretty much have to be looking at it straight on or you can see the pictures split. It's disconcerting to be shooting ships from your submarine and you tilt to allow for the motion of the ocean and suddenly you're drunk and seeing two of everything. Other people may not have this problem.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (Street Fighter combo - trust me): And you can earn HATS for your Mii.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Augmented Reality. We could all use a little Augmented Reality, couldn't we?

^FOOTNOTE (careted): MAGIC! Weren't you paying attention?

##FOOTNOTE (couple of extra pounds *ahem*): Insert inspirational soundtrack here. Also: see the fourth picture? That's Sarah and Sammy. Sarah's lots of fun. I'm following her on The Twitter at @pinkshoe. And I don't have a pic of here, but Erini at @myadorkablelife is also on my list. In case you want to be like me.

†††FOOTNOTE (Cross in 3D): When what you say sparks and Internet meme ("My body is ready"), you earn cult figure status. Plus, people who know better than I term his COO-ship at Nintendo the Reggielution. That's cult status.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (3DDoubleCross): When you want to be sure the Keepers of the Nephews don't cut off your supply, you're very sensitive to things like "age-appropriate" and "parental controls."

+FOOTNOTE (plussed): One of our tour guides told us that when Reggie's in his office, people go by waving their Nintendo 3DSs hoping to get his Mii on their StreetPass. THAT'S cult status.

§§§FOOTNOTE (3DSwirly): With the coolest soda machine ever. A little elevator travels up to your choice (A12, for instance) and slides under it, then moves down, then right, then angles your drink so it slides at a 45-deg angle into the delivery slot, where it is presented to you. I could have spent all day plugging dollars into the machine and watching it. I may be Nintendo's perfect Guinea pig.

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): A *living* rooftop. Plus, the conference room and areas up there are named after Prisoner of Zelda characters.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): Maybe in all of them. I was only in one, and it had a Panaboard.

>FOOTNOTE (greatered): My favourite: Another Castle.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (Paragraph in 3D): A certain indulgent aunt may have purchased two Nintendo 3DS's for certain indulged nephews.

###FOOTNOTE (3DPound): The fish is wearing a Seattle Mariner's cap, for those of you scoring at home.

Happy Easter Evrabahdy!

2011-04-24T00:23:00.005-06:00

Black Tie Zombie

2011-04-05T06:58:00.003-06:00

I'm not making this up.†

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Should saints-in-waiting take this much joy in zombies?

The Glory of Techmology

2011-03-24T08:19:00.008-06:00

Werk recently upgraded† to the latest Microsoft Outlook, which includes a voice-to-text for voice mail.

Let's back up: if someone leaves a message on my office phone, I get an email with the caller ID and a play button that I can either send to my phone‡ or listen to via a media player on my computer.

PLUS... when I got a company-sponsored cell phone,§ they hooked my Outlook to it, so I¶ get a copy on my cell phone of the email that contains a copy of my work voice mail when someone leaves a message on my work phone.#

Hans and I were toddling off to lunch yesterday, when my phone tick-tocked†† to tell me I had a message. When I checked it, I recognised it as a voice mail notification,‡‡ but it also had the following text§§:

Let's back up again: Brother wants to be black. At times, Brother has thought he was black. He's pretty hip to the hip hop culture, so I read the text and thought it was an actual text or an email maybe. At first, I said to myself, "Self, Brother is having problems with his autocorrect." Then I decided he was rapping some hep slang that I simply wasn't down with.¶¶

Two or three minutes of examining context and I realised it was voice-to-text## and it was kinda screwed up.

By that time, I really wanted to know what "brooklyn truck" was going to be.

Here's the actual voice recording:

And here's a transcript:

"Yo, it's your brother. I'm probably going to give you... drop you an email too, but I just thought I would check maybe if you could, um, drop by here on your way home today real quick so I can slip you a key, go over, y'know, what to do with the cat and stuff.††† Awesome. Alright, thanks. Bye."

"Brooklyn truck" is now acceptable Untiedt sibling slang for "real quick."‡‡‡

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And I use the term loosely.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Desk phone, that is.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Which isn't quite the treat it sounded like at the outset. I can't call the carrier for help, I can't add international texting - even if I pay for it myself - because if IT has to support too many odd requests they'll explode, and I don't have a mouseball on my phone and I hate that. As I whine about this, I'm wondering if I need to spend some time in a Third World country to gain perspective.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): ...can be in close, personal contact with work 24 hours a day...

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Screw the Hokey-Pokey, *that's* what it's all about.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Because that's the noise I chose to represent notifications.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): It had a picture of a phone.

§§FOOTNOTE (jump back turn around): Which was the first time I'd seen text on an email with a picture of a phone on it.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (throwin' up gang signs yo yo): Word to your mother like it's hot. And a bag of chips.

##FOOTNOTE (in for a penny or two): When I said the Outlook upgrade was recent, I apparently meant, like, yesterday.

†††FOOTNOTE (I'm just so terribly cross): Brother and his girlthing are going to Costa Rica for a week. B-cat (Beatrice, Brother's cat) is a travelling man's cat and has always been perfectly capable of entertaining herself for days on end. Brother is blaming it on the girlthing - he says ever since Cindy moved in, B-cat thinks she needs attention all the time. Hence the need for a catsitter.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (we're on the right track): I feel confident I can speak for Brother too when I say, "Don't feel you need to be an Untiedt sibling to use this wonderful new slang phrase. Spread the world! Share with your friends!"

p.s. -

2011-03-17T14:33:00.000-06:00

Happy St Patrick's Day.

It's 39° and Raining in Prague

2011-03-17T12:39:00.008-06:00

Yesterday at noon, Hans whisked his girlfriend Angie away from work for a surprise trip.

Yesterday at 6:30, they took off for Prague.

BFD, you may think, particularly if you've gleaned any sense of Hans's travel habits over the last few years.†

This time, thought, he's taking his girlfriend on a trip and bringing home a fiancée.‡

He spent the last month planning, agonising over diamonds and settings, wondering how much his bonus would actually be, asking advice. He found an American photographer in Prague§ and hired him to take pictures of the proposal on the Charles Bridge.¶

At 4:30 yesterday, my boss and one of the other leads asked me if I'd heard from Hans.#

"No. I don't really expect to..." I trailed off as I saw the consternation mixed with disbelief in their eyes.

"I'll text him right now."

And we sat around, Craig Ferguson-style awkward pause in the air.

"Well..." I said, jingling my keys to indicate I really was on my way out the door.

"You'll tell us tomorrow morning."

About 6:15, Hans texted:

"She was shocked, it was awesome."

Keep in mind, that was just because he picked her up to go to the airport.

When I got in this morning, Avis% asked, "Did you hear from Hans?"

"He says she was shocked and it was awesome."

"Where are they now? What time is it in Prague? Has he asked her yet?"

I Googled to find out it was 5:45 in Prague.

"Right about now. He should be asking her any second now."

"Oh, I hope the weather is nice. Did you see what the weather was?"

"Just the time. Here, let me Google... it's raining. It's 39 degrees and it's raining."

"Oh, no! I hope it doesn't ruin their pictures!"

"Well, overcast skies are better for photography anyway..."††

From around the corner, Carla@ chimed in from her desk, "Look at you, looking on the bright side!"

People keep dropping in to find out what we know, speculate on what happened, wonder if Hans has Internet access so he can send us pictures RIGHT NOW.

Gail‡‡ came down a few minutes ago and we were chatting about it.

"I can't believe how excited I am about something that really has nothing to do with me," I said.

"I know!"

"It's like reality TV or something."§§

"It's like we're living in reality."

We both contemplated the sobering idea for a moment, then went on to daydream about wonderful, romantic, surprise proposals in exotic foreign lands.

Hey, maybe I can be Hans's best man...¶¶

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like how he went to Thailand when we were in crunch time for the Legacy sale... or how he went to Cancun when we were in crunch time for the Albrecht sale... or how he went to Austin when we were in crunch time for the Sequel sale... not that I'm bitter.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Yep! He's trading Angie in on a new model! Haha! Just kidding!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Google.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): When he was about 20, he was stumbling around Prague in a drunken stupour with some of his college buddies - absinthe may have been involved - and he says that even in his drunken, juvenile state, he stopped on the St. Charles bridge and decided it was the most romantic place in the world and he wanted to come back to it when he wanted to propose to someone. I can hear you "Awwwwwww" from here.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): This is a distinctly female trait. I'm, like, 70% guy, having been trained through many of my formative years by some of the guyest of the guys. It always takes me a little aback when someone asks something like, "Has Hans, who is not your boyfriend, relative or parole officer, taken time out of his very personal journey to one of the most important moments of his life to give you minute-by-minute updates, much like the newscrawl on CNN?"

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Avis is my boss, head of the Lease Records part of the Land Administration department, which consists of two branches - Lease Records and Division Orders - and is overseen by Sandy. You're welcome.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I learned this in a real photography class. I wasn't just shooting platitudes to the masses to make the masses feel better.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Carla is the another Lead in Lease Records and oversees the Gulf/Shreveport (basically Texas and Louisiana) region. I oversee the Rockies (Colorado, Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota and Utah... but mostly North Dakota). Again, you're welcome.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Who fielded the girly questions from Hans (who knows I'm 70% guy and maybe not the best person to ask for how Ange would feel about something). She says he'd come in and say, "If you were packing for a surprise trip, how much time would you need?" "Hans," she'd say, "why don't you just ask the question you want to ask: how much time will Angie need to pack? I'm not packing. I'm not going anywhere. Two hours, but you better be packed and on call to pick up pantyhose or mascara or whatever last-minute thing she thinks she needs."

§§FOOTNOTE (my girly little head is just all a-swirl!): I've heard it's like that on reality TiVi. *ahem*

¶¶FOOTNOTE (reality knocks twice): *ZING!* That was the sound of reality going right out the window.

It's 5:00...

2011-03-16T17:00:00.000-06:00

...do you know where your Hans is?

Watch This Space

2011-03-15T14:32:00.002-06:00

Top secret Hans story to be released tomorrow or Thursday...

*tease!*

Brief

2011-03-09T06:37:00.003-07:00

It rarely happens. Revel in it.

Anyway... yesterday I was looking on the blog for references to Head Knitta in Charge and I came across some very early posts that talked about how I'd never blocked anything. And others where I was really excited to figure out colourwork. And others where I did my first lace knitting.

Those were the days of my yarny youth.

It was like looking at old yearbooks with that "what the hell was up with my hair" vibe.

How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Scarf

2011-03-08T09:45:00.009-07:00

Last year, when Edison Elementary held its second annual EdFest† Silent Auction fundraiser, I went. I bought. I volunteered to donate a knitted item this year.

Last Monday, Brother contacted me and said, "I know it's short notice, but Saturday is EdFest."‡

There's a lot of disorganisation and misorganisation and drunkenness§ in the spaces between, but keeping a long story short,¶ I volunteered to give a gift certificate for a scarf.

Thus:

For those of you who don't read mangledese, it says "One pick-your-own-adventure scarf: I'll sit down with the winner over a cup of coffee, a beer or a glass of wine (my treat) and we'll design a scarf for you. Pick your fiber, texture and colour and I'll make it all come true."

Lisa, the appropriate committee member, asked if I had pictures or samples to go with the bid sheet. I sent some pics off Ravelry, but, of course, I don't keep anything I knit.

This whole exchange took place Thursday afternoon.

Thursday night, I had one of my frighteningly brilliant ideas:# find the school mascot and colours and knit a scarf for a toy version of the mascot in those colours. Y'know... just to have something tangible on the table.

Don't think I wasn't hoping they were the Edison R2D2s.††

Turns out they're the Edison Eagles, and their colours are blue and gold-yellow, much like my beloved Denver Nuggets.‡‡

I woke up early Friday knowing I had to find an eagle.§§ Fortunately, as an inveterate shopper with two nephews, I had a good idea of where to find a stuffed eagle.

Bless you, Kazoo & Company.

I ran to a couple of yarn stores.¶¶

At 2:00, I was home, done with lunch and casting on.

Perhaps the next time I'm on a tight deadline, I'll remember that it's not the best time to try a new technique.

At 1:00 Saturday morning, I gave up my double-knitting project. It wasn't horrible. It was just in dire need of blocking,## and I knew there was no way I'd finish the scarf, soak it and have it completely dry before I had to take it to Lisa on Saturday afternoon.

So... I got up at 7:00 Saturday morning and started knitting a new - simpler - scarf for the eagle.

Ta-daaa!

When we got to the fundraiser at 7:00, there was a bid down on the scarf, which tickled the grits out of me, as I wasn't sure how it would represent in a bidding situation. Brother noted that he was up-bidding it because he decided he needed a scarf.†††

In the end, it turned out someone outbid Brother, so I'm feeling all HKIC and shit.%

When the Auction Committee sobers up and tells me who won the scarf, I'll let y'all know. Sounds like it could be fun.‡‡‡

Plus, I'd already told Brother he had the hook-up even if he didn't win the auction scarf.§§§

So, sing it with me: "STILL A KNITBLOG."

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): "EdFest" in my world has a whole lot more Tom Cavanaugh in it, but that's OK.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Paraphrasing. Brother was more cognizant than that.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Oddly enough, not on my part. The mis-, the dis- OR the drunk.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): As my college boyfriend always said, "Too late."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm not tooting my own horn. It's not that I have ideas so brilliant as to be frightening. No, it's that the ideas that seem so brilliant pan out to be ironically, sarcastically so and it's frightening I continue to believe in my own brilliance.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Think of it... one tiny Star Wars action figure with a couple of tufts of blue and gold yarn...

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Which led to a funny moment at Fancy Tiger when a very sweet (possibly gay, probably artistic, undoubtedly oblivious to sports) boy asked if he could help and I told him I was looking for fingering- or sport-weight yarn in blue and gold, like Denver Nuggets colours. I could almost hear the panic shutting down his organs. He pointed out every skein of yarn in the right gauge, I suspect hoping I'd make up my own mind about what "Denver Nuggets colours" meant.

§§FOOTNOTE (double confusing): There is nothing quite like waking up on your day off knowing you have to find an eagle.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (double the fun): I found my yarn at the first store, but as my brother says, I have a problem. Plus, I have a very weird upcoming knitting project (foreshadowing!) I wanted to get a jump on. In a very researchy, I-probably-didn't-need-to-buy-six-sets-of-square-needles way.

##FOOTNOTE (double the pounds): AntiM's helpful knitting tip #237: Double-knitting pulls the knitted piece in (much like cabling does) and makes your very straight scarf look like an hourglass.

†††FOOTNOTE (is it Lent again already?): Because His Girl Cindy told him he should get a scarf to go with his new Hugo Boss cashmere jacket and he made grumpy faces and stuff. Then he went to NYC and saw that everybody was wearing a scarf and decided it wasn't a bad idea.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Head Knitta in Charge, in case you forgot.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (Frankenstein's blogster): Or a complete nightmare. But I'm an optimist. Or, as Cornel West said on Twitter, "But I'm not an optimist, that's too thin...I'm a prisoner of #hope."

§§§FOOTNOTE (three esses make a full circle, right?): When we discussed particulars, it boiled down to "a tweedy/heathered charcoal in a muffler length." Then I got an update from Colourmart (home of all things cashmere) Sunday mid-day that said they had a shipment of Hugo Boss cashmere just in. So even though Brother didn't win the scarf, Brother absolutely won a scarf. Here's the yarn; its colour is called "Derby":

Happy Appreciate Your Mother Day

2011-02-22T12:21:00.002-07:00

Mom died five years ago today.

I don't like the world nearly as much without her.

Anytime I sit and think about it, I'm so grateful I got a chance to say goodbye and to tell her how much I love her before she left.

Take a moment and tell someone you love just how much, even if you think they already know.

The less regrets in life, the better.

Saddest Valentine's Day Ever

2011-02-14T19:03:00.009-07:00

My father's wife† sent me a very special Valentine.

"How nice," you may be thinking right about now.

Step back, funk soul brother;$ it *came* that way.

She sent me an EMPTY CHOCOLATE BOX.‡

For the record, my father and the Wicked Stepmother recently went on a two-week Hawaiian cruise.

I had dinner with Dad upon their return, and he told me Peach got me a present, but she drank it before she got home.

Yeah, she thinks she's as funny as I think I am.§

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Henceforth to be knows as The Wicked Stepmother. You'll understand here in a second.

ETA: $FOOTNOTE (dollared): Now I can't get that song out of my head. I earwormed myself.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And when the Brothers Grimm write about my life, you'll be my witnesses.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Apparently it runs in the family... and we're not even blood. For those of you scoring at home, there was actually a bag of Godiva Gems waiting in the back seat of the car. Y'know... don't cry for me, Valentina.

Pretty. Useless.

2011-02-12T16:49:00.007-07:00

You are SO glad I found my camera and its slippery cable.

Chronologically, here's the first set of photos I cleaned off the old memory card:

I like botanical gardens. I like taking pictures of plants. I now have a membership to the Denver Botanical Gardens. It's one of the many things I like to do with my Fridays off.

This one looks like it would make an excellent basis for a Smash Putt hole.

But that's another story for another day.

Lost the Camera Cable

2011-02-10T16:02:00.005-07:00

That was August.

Found the cable in December, but lost the camera.

Found the camera this week, then realised the cable I found was for an old cell phone.

Bought a new cable today.

Wondering if hundreds of pictures of the Liberace Museum are too passé to post.

I Can't Believe I Forgot to Hit Publish

2011-02-08T07:18:00.001-07:00

I found this on December 3:

TOTALLY FUNNY KNITTING COMIC

I shared it on Twitter. I also emailed it to Brother, Father and Kelley.†

I CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO HIT PUBLISH.‡

See... told you I'd be around.§

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Who are less likely to appreciate it as fully as you do.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Old... feeble...

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Vintage, but around. Late, but around. Behind the times, but around.

I Have a Story for That

2011-02-06T12:41:00.002-07:00

My friend Laura said that was my signature phrase.†

But I do.‡

For 20 years, I have made Chex Mix with M&Ms for the Super Bowl.§ Oh, sure, sometimes I bring something in addition, but always Chex Mix with M&Ms.

Two years ago, we were standing around in Matt's kitchen, reminiscing. Matt brought up that it was our 20th year of Elk Bowl mayhem and we had missed an opportunity to ramp up the festivities for the 20th.

Justice, who is becoming more of an accountant every day,¶ through a series of hand gestures and convoluted explanations, illustrated how the next year would actually be the 20th.

And there was much rejoicing.

Meanwhile, back in my brain...#

Those personalised M&Ms had just come out and I'd been dying to make my own M&Ms. It seemed a match made in silly traditions heaven.

So in January 2010, I ordered the M&Ms with the picture of the elk, the "Elk Bowl XX," "Elks 20 years" and "Elks BBB."††

Five pounds of personalized M&Ms costs about $170.

Just for the record.

So this year, the Supreme Elk sent out an email about the 20th and did we want t-shirts? and let's design some t-shirts and such.‡‡

Justice, frickin' accountant, wrote back to say, "Uh, can you not count? This is the 21st. You missed the 20th."§§

Through a series of emails and convoluted explanations, he illustrated how the previous year had been the 20th.

We'll deal with Justice at the party today.¶¶ Meanwhile, we're saying fuck it## - we don't remember half of them anyway,††† so who cares if it's 20 or 21?

Happy Super Bowl, everybody.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Along with, "I could make that," and "I have this CD."

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Have a story, that is.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For the love of all that is holy, please sprinkle a whole flock of trademark and copyright and registered trademark stuff on that. There's enough proprietary material in there to keep a flotilla of lawyers happy for years.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): This is not a compliment.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Where it's dark and quiet. You should consider vacationing in there.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Beer Babes Brotherhood

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): "Such" mostly revolving around "t-shirts."

§§FOOTNOTE (rage... swirling...): Must... control... fist of death...

¶¶FOOTNOTE (quack quack): I'm guessing it'll involve Duck Tape and nudity. His, not ours.

##FOOTNOTE (pound the Justice!): Mostly, we're saying, "Fuck him."

†††FOOTNOTE (I can see your house from here): Turns out that's the theme of the t-shirt we eventually agreed upon.

Big Day

2011-02-06T10:12:00.004-07:00

Islands in the Stream of Consciousness

2011-02-05T18:02:00.006-07:00

It could be one of *those* blogposts.†

A few things‡ have happened since last I (really) posted.

*ahem*

I could get seriously philosophical here, because, as I was lining up my excuse ducks,§ I realised how telling they really are.

My first excuse duck?¶

Werk.#

I suspect I genuinely have more work than I used to, now that I'm a Paid Hack for the Corporate Machine, but I can say for a fact that my time is parcelled out very differently. I have vacation time. And sick time. And hours.

Practically, it's not that much different from when I was contract. Philosophically, I feel a much greater sense of obligation.

Plus, the stress is enormously greater, what with expense reporting and million-dollar deadlines and million-dollar deadlines and Hans and United Way campaigns and the impending Oompa Loompa Revolution and stuff.

Duck!††

Blogui.‡‡

Steve. §§

And Nathan.¶¶

Wii.##

I lost my camera.†††

But I now have a lot of stories.

So I'll be around.‡‡‡

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): One may wonder that there's a blogpost at all. One may have strongly hinted on Twitter about one's suspiciously absent blogposts. You know who you are.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): One. Two. 2010.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): You know, so you can shoot them down.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): It's a good, all-purpose duck, which is a real phrase about real ducks in duck shows and one of Steve's best-loved terms. More on Steve later. But in case you wanted to know, some ducks are raised for down, some for meat and a good, all-purpose duck has qualities that make it good for both. You're welcome.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Which differs from "work" in the face you make when you say it.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): That's the second duck, but who's counting.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Occasional bouts of techui, under which I shamefully ignored Twitter and occasionally email for abnormally wide swaths of time.

§§FOOTNOTE (time swirls when you're having fun): Because we've been doing lots of fun stuff, and fun stuff takes *time*.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (is that a Wii controler? EEK!): Who bribed me to Vegas with martinis and sushi, then moved to New Zealand, leaving me bereft. I was totally reft before that.

##FOOTNOTE (bomp bomp): Wii is totally kicking my ass. Not in the way you're thinking. I'm totally intimidated by it and, even though My Friends at Nintendo have sent me games and a disco light and a cool game involving yarn and felt, I still play more on the nephews' Wii than on my own. Because my Wii scares me.

†††FOOTNOTE (very, very cross): Seriously. All my Vegas photos - including the Liberace Museum, which is now closed - plus the Christmas Eve Ugly Sweater Party and an assortment of other worthy subjects. I think the car ate it. The car ate Kate's CDs; we tore the car apart looking for them, but the car just spit them out two years later when I was looking for the cell phone I'm convinced it ate.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (stitched together like Frankenstein's monster): I'd do more now, only I received what I see as barely-veiled threats should I not post something soon.

Oh, Wow.

2011-02-04T15:34:00.001-07:00

You guys really are listening.

So a duck walks into a bar...

Is This Thing On?

2011-02-03T12:15:00.001-07:00

Can you hear me in the back?

Some NFL Teams Should be Pink*

2010-10-28T10:58:00.005-06:00

I am NOT going to talk about what happened at the ~~Broncos~~ Raiders game last week.†

I will, however, make a brief‡ observation on the NFL.

Many of the teams that most need to be pink aren't.§

When all the snide and snark drains away, I still want this:

I have all kinds of good Nintendo stuff,¶ Liberace stuff,# mascara stuff†† and maybe even a bit of knitting stuff.‡‡

Really... stay tuned!§§

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked... no, seriously): That's "pink" as in "Victoria's Secret," not "Pink" as in "Get This Party Started."

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Brother texted me: "What the hell happened? I came in, it was 0-0, I put the groceries away, it was 14-0" While I was answering him, trying to find different ways to say "suck," they scored again. Dr. Doom opted for donuts at Safeway as a viable fun alternative to the game. OK, now I'm really not going to talk about it. And it truly takes a saint not to bitch about such a debacle.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Look how funny I am! I made a panty pun!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Detroit Lions, I'm looking at you.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Wii! (and in my head that's "wheeeee!" so it's another sort of pun, just doesn't translate well to print)

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Really.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Really.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Shock and awe!

§§FOOTNOTE (the mind boggles. Twice.): This blog is what RSS feed was MADE for.

Werk of the Day

2010-09-28T06:53:00.006-06:00

I had a dream last night that Hans and I jokingly set up Cat for Scale as an oil property - oh, not in any real way. This wasn't some elaborate practical joke. We just got to giggling about oil property sales and how some people must pick properties they want to buy or sell† and... voila!‡ Cat for Sale!

During our weekly conference call with the marketer on our current divestiture, Hans made an aside about the Nine Lives 4-1 well and the marketer overheard us and asked the API number.§ We thought he knew we were joking, so we made up an API number, randomly adding digits until he stopped us.

Then the ersatz well showed up on the sales brochure that went out to potential buyers.

Then we had to explain to the Senior VP and General Counsel that it was a joke.

Then the Senior VP and General Counsel explained to us how you never want to remove items from the sales brochure, only add them.¶

Meanwhile, the API number we fabricated turned out to be in the hottest oil field in the western hemisphere and high-powered multinational oil conglomerates were in a bidding war on my cat.

My freakin' cat.

I need to go work at McDonalds now.#

Or maybe I need a vacation.††

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like some girls pick football teams in the pool - the uniforms are pretty, I used to know a guy from Tennessee, that Tom Brady is just so dreamy... not that guys couldn't possibly do this to, but I've never heard one admit to it.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Which is French for "couple of dumb-asses."

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): A social security number for wells - all unique, never used twice, the first two digits indicate the state, the next three are the county and the remaining are a unique identifier, occasionally incorporating coding for horizontal or offshore or other types of wells.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): This is true. If we're not sure about something, we leave it out so later we can go, "Surprise! We found you 1200 more acres and a tank farm!"

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Though I fear two months at McDonalds would bring dreams of the cat with a side of fries.

††FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Bright light city gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire...

Fascinating

2010-09-23T09:15:00.003-06:00

America before Pearl Harbor... in vivid Kodachrome.

Sure, not my usual fare, but I love this stuff. And I love all of you. So I share.

I'm saintly that way.

Heady Stuff

2010-09-13T20:11:00.005-06:00

How much more cooler can you get with a cupcake wrapper? None. None more cooler.

Because this cupcake wrapper goes to eleven.

Word of the Day

2010-09-01T10:27:00.004-06:00

Hey, look! It's my middle name!†

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Those footnotes aren't just for decoration, baby.‡

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Plus, Marin Anacoluthia Untiedt has such a nice ring to it.

My Life in Munitions Engineering

2010-08-30T13:06:00.004-06:00

Christmas my freshman year in college, my father gave me a book called "Discover What You're Best At."† It consisted of a number of sections, each with an SAT/IQ-style test to evaluate the test-taker's proficiency at a career skill like logic, clerical, business acumen.

When I got back to my dorm room in January, I dutifully waited for my roommate to go out catting about‡ so I could have the two hours' required uninterrupted peace to get through the tests. I tested. Carefully, I tallied my scores.

I was off the charts in all categories%... except one.

You know those spatial relations tests? The ones where they show you a bunch of cubes stacked together in a configuration, then ask you to choose which one is the same, but from a different angle? That one, not so much.

Checking my scores against the career possibilities listed in the back of the book, it said I could be anything I set my pointy little head to§ except a mechanical engineer or munitions expert.

It said nothing about modular knitting. Maybe it should have.

As I may have mentioned, I'm knitting two Tamarix Quilt baby blankets¶ for my two favourite# cousins.

Now, you†† can knit the thing in 100 individual squares and sew them all together. Or you can knit it together as you go along and *not* sew 100 individual squares together.

I hear you.

Heather, the designer, is very graciously shepherding@ a KAL on Ravelry. Damned good thing for some of us who are destined never to field strip an AK-47.

There's a tutorial in the magazine, part of the pattern practically, that shows how to knit the whole thing together as you‡‡ go. Problem is, my spatial retardation doesn't allow me to go there without a fight.

First, she gives instructions on how to join a square on the left or on the right. It took me ten minutes to figure out whether it was the new knitting or the old square on the left... but I got that one on my own.

Then I cast on the requisite 39 stitches for a new square, picking them up along the edge of the existing square. Only I didn't think far enough ahead to realise that 39 stitches is two sides of a square, so I should only have picked up 19 or 20 stitches, then cast on the rest. I was halfway through the new square before I realised something was horribly wrong.

THEN, since I was knitting from left to right, it never occurred to me to think right AND left. I assumed if *I* was going from left to right, the only way anything could be done was to join the old knitting on the left end of the new knitting.

NOW I've finished the first row of squares. I told Heather I was planning on knitting ten strips of squares and sewing them together, and she pointed out§§ that I¶¶ could knit the whole thing together as I went along.

*blink blink blink*

I am paralysed. How should I proceed? Should I 1) dive in and try to knit, sometimes joining on two sides, 2) stick with my original ten-strips-and-sew plan, or 3) try building a bridge in my living room for mechanical aptitude practice?^

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Possibly as a reaction to me telling him I was a theatre major.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I believe it was 2.2 seconds, a statistic to make Porsche jealous. My first roommate was... social.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which, by the way, did nothing to help me discover what I was *best* at.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): "Free to Be... You and Me" is earworming me like a mother right now - those Target commercials don't help

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): From the latest Interweave Knits.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): ...and most fertile.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And by "you," I mean "I."

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Ha! Sheep joke!

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I

§§FOOTNOTE (I am incapable of straight thinking): Very optimistically, given my proven inability to turn right when the situation called for it.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (beat the drum slowly): And by "I," I mean "Heather or some other munitions expert."

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Or - and I just thought of this one - I could knit in a spiral, forcing me to knit the last square together with FOUR other squares. To gain saint points, of course.

OMG... O M G... omgomgomgomg

2010-08-29T16:55:00.004-06:00

John Cusack is going to play Edgar Allen Poe.

I knew all this sainthood shit would pay off eventually and I would be rewarded.

Good Times, Good Times

2010-08-18T19:35:00.003-06:00

From Kelley... who knew me when.

How Did This Happen?

2010-08-14T18:59:00.002-06:00

I can't believe I never knew Franklin took on stupid sparkly vampires.

An Account of the Recent Past

2010-08-11T09:13:00.001-06:00

How 'bout a big, ol' wide-tongued full lick of the pig?

In which we briefly explore† Dr. Doom Turns 6,% Lake McConaughy,‡ the Colorado Renaissance Festival§ and Lakeside Amusement Park.¶

Dr. Doom's 6th birthday was animal-themed and included a visit from the Jungle Lady and her many reptiles, amphibians and bugs.

There was a snake cake.

A rubber gift snake for the birthday boy...

...which maybe should have been presented at the end of the show for minimal distraction.

Anyway, there was snake discussion.

And snake jewelry, both in the form of a Scarlet Kingsnake bracelet...

...and a python necklace.

I don't know about you, but I would never want to subject a snake to a passel of six-year-olds. Six is a... squirrely age. Though it was worth the price of admission for this exchange:

"My brother found a snake when he was camping and he caught it and he brought it home and now he has, like, six snakes."

"My brother is in jail."

The turtle races were pretty good too.

[SUMMARY: And a good time was had by all... except maybe the snakes.]

The annual trip to The Lake included a record 757,000 kids this year...

...but that didn't stop me from crossing "skinny dipping" off my bucket list.

As has become tradition,†† Shanny and I stayed up late one night at the campfire chatting, stargazing and exploring the funky, soulful world of Shanny's massive music collection.

Just after the moon dipped below the southeastern horizon, Shanny said, "I don't want to freak you out or anything, but it's a beautiful night, the weather's perfect, the moon's gone down and there's nobody around. You want to try skinny dipping?"

There we were, neck-deep in water, looking at the rural sky coated in a crust of stars. The water was cool, but not chill. Nothing nibbled at protruberances. The small-town tide lapped at our every nerve ending. We chatted, then wrapped up and got warm by the fire.

The next morning, Connie greeted me with, "I understand you got naked with my husband last night." And she giggled.

I love my friends.

Other than that, there was the usual water, sky, recreation...

Well, the Wave Runner was new this year.

But there was the usual floatilla of shiny plastic inflatables.

And the campfire.

In scientific news, The Lake was up 27 feet from where it was last year when we were there - at 96% capacity.‡‡

There wasn't a lot of beach to go around and we teamed up with a group of campers to hold our grove...

...which was under surveillance from the myriad campers who didn't come in on Thursday and maybe never found a spot to pitch their tents.§§

But, like the steadfast dragonflies,@ we held our space for the weekend.

Until it was time to say goodbye for another year.

[SUMMARY: A good time was had by all.]

Steve isn't skydiving this summer, so he has a mess of time to do other things. Under the auspices of "I haven't been to the Renaissance Festival in twenty years or more," we decided to go to the Renaissance Festival.¶¶

My how things have changed. Like Times Square, Disney has had its influence. Y'all know I've got nothing against pirates, but a good quarter of the faire now seems to be devoted to Captain Jack Sparrow.

There are no wenches, those dingy, corseted broads who kissed men with overpainted lips of crimson, neon pink and orange for a dollar. All in all, the thing where absolutely everybody is trying some gimmick to get a buck is gone.

On the bright side, there were greyhounds and ducks and the cutest little piggle## you ever did see. And a spiffy carillon.

On the other hand, a museum of medieval torture devices that was simply awful. And not for the torture.

Plus? A woman in full costume was brandished a frickin' Twilight umbrella and talking on her cell phone when the rain started. That's so not 15th century.

We decided we don't need a Renaissance Festival fix for another 20 years.

[SUMMARY: Disney should stick with movies.]

Steve and I also visited Lakeside Amusement Park.

Back in the day, Steve an I both worked at the historic Elitch Gardens,††† which was only blocks from Lakeside. From the top of the Twister at Elitch's, you could see the Vegas lights of the entry tower at Lakeside.

Now, Elitch's was classier. It maybe had better rides. And it was neater, more prone to fresh paint and never a lightbulb out of place. But Lakeside had seedy charm. There was a Fun House and far fewer families went after dark. It was a brilliant hub of overdressed late-teen and twenty-something single life.

Back in the day.

Now the Fun House is gone, possibly a victim of insurance regulations.‡‡‡ Every third ride was deconstructed or closed for repair.

Though the park was supposed to open at 6:00, there wasn't the slightest movement to test the rides, set up the ticket booths, start the hot dogs a-grillin'... it was an employee ghost town until nearly 6:30. At that time, four rides were running.

As the night went on, more rides opened - the ones that weren't under repair or chopped for parts - probably to save on payroll.§§§

The Wildcat coaster was fun and the Zoom was great fun.¶¶¶

But we left at 9:30, having ridden everything but the Merry-Go-Round, and agreed that we could go another 20 years without going to Lakeside.

[SUMMARY: We are crossing things OFF the list, Steve and I.]

That's how I spent my summer vacation.

Coming soon... current events. Like tomatoes. And knitting.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Through words, pictures and footnotes, and mostly as an exercise in cleaning off my camera.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): In April.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Nudity! Alcohol! Adult situations!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The only place besides Steve's living room where anyone has understood my rock-paper-scissors-lizard-spock shirt.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Seedier than field full of wheat, sadder than a lost puppy.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Except that year we didn't.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Up from 54% the previous year.

§§FOOTNOTE (a twisty, windy road): Heh. Twelve.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Of which there may been more of even than children.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two left feet): As a tiny, geeky confession, I worked at the Renaissance Festival in the summer of 1986. It's what you do if you're a theatre major with a Dungeons & Dragons past.

##FOOTNOTE (tic tac): So cute he made me baby talk. And I usually only do that ironically. Hey! Ironic Babytalk would be a great name for a band.

†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear): NOT to be confused with the travesty that is Six Flags Elitch Gardens, and current home (right across the street from the theatre) of your dear ol' AntiM - I live where (I say) the floral clock used to be. Steve says it was the administration building. Until we have pictures, I'm sticking with "floral clock."

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (old fashioned wooden coaster tracks): Steve thinks maybe an ADA thing, though he kept saying "ADD," which I thought was funny.

§§§FOOTNOTE (a shocking turn of events): Steve thinks maybe more because the employees straggle in, hungover, whenever they straggle in.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (upright brigade): Which is a skyshot like the one on top of the Stratosphere in Vegas, with a slow lift followed by a free-fall. I couldn't help point out (because I'm twelve) that it looked like a giant, colour-changing penis against the dusky sky, to which Steve added the image of a cock ring carrying people up and down it. Quite ruined the ride for Steve.

Victoria's Secret?

2010-08-11T07:51:00.003-06:00

The sultry little tramp knits.

Cableknit Sweater Corset

And here I'd always thought of her as more of a crochet girl.

Black Eyed Peas

2010-08-03T10:11:00.002-06:00

Finally, a movie for the rest of us.

Riding the Coattails

2010-07-31T21:04:00.004-06:00

It's kinda hot and I'm doing the blog equivalent of sprawling on a hammock and letting someone fan me with palm fronds.

Look what Donna found.

And, y'know... she's a hell of a hammock fanner.

Fireworks!

2010-07-06T07:58:00.007-06:00

Actually, I'm irritated in an old geezer you-kids-get-off-my-lawn way about blown-up-in-my-backyard fireworks right now.†

Huh. I've already digressed and I haven't even started talking yet.‡

There are three great things I saw this weekend that I wish to share, plus a bonus of two happy things that happened:

I landed home Saturday afternoon and flipped on the TiVi.§ There was a baseball game right in front of me, which I was just about to turn off, when I noticed the player up to bat was Angel Pagan.¶ I wish I could have kids so I could name one of them Angel Pagan.
Driving to Jerusalem Restaurant for a very patriotic Third of July dinner, I passed the giant convent/Catholic convalescence home in the 'hood. There was a Barbie-pink scooter waiting at the giant gate to make a left onto 29th. "Wish I had a camera," I thought. "This would be a great blog bit." Then the scooter pulled in behind me and it was a bearded guy in aviator sunglasses and that made it all the better.
On the same drive, I was at a red light and across from me were two of the whitest, yuppiest, Chanel sunglass-wearing, designer polo shirt-clad 30-something dinks# ever seen, playing a vuvuzela and waving a South African flag out of the sunroof on their BMW. I'm not saying they *couldn't* be South African, but if they are, they're on the wrong side of the popular political tracks and maybe shouldn't be displaying the equivalent of one of us wearing a loin cloth and a feathered headdress and doing the Tomahawk Chop out of the windows of our BMWs.

Then I got to Jerusalem and the ever-so-adorable chicklet who took my order asked what my shirt meant.

"Rock-paper-scissors... lizard-spock," I replied to a peal of delighted laughter.

Then she cooed and exclaimed over my emergency wallet.††

It was a good day.

And that was a totally elegant segue into a package% from my not-so-secret-pal Jo.‡‡ Because my emergency wallet looks like this:

And Jo, not knowing a thing about my emergency wallet,§§ sent me this soap:

Which was an adjunct to that month's subject prize, the washcloth¶¶:

And came with a bonus soap dish:

And totally bath-related pirate cupcake set##:

So thank you, Jo, both for your patience and for the lovely gifts.

Give me another two months and I should be caught up.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): But real fireworks, performed by professionals, are one of my favourite things.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): That may be a record. Lyda's going to be so proud when she sees.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): As one does.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I took Spanish, so I know it's pronounced "ON-hell pa-GONE," but he'll always be Angel Pagan to me. Plus? If you Google "Angel Pagan" (even without the quotation marks), you don't get a single religious reference for pages.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And I mean both in terms of "Jebus Cats, what a couple of dinks" and "Double Income No Kids."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The wallet that goes in my pocket in which I keep my driver's license, debit card and a small chunk of cash to hold me over when I leave my purse somewhere three times out of ten. Usually home, mind you, but one should have the necessities with one. If that one has juvenile onset Alzheimer's like this one does.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I'm smooth like peanut butter. Note how I not only tied it all together with the Cute as Hell theme, I managed to not let on that this package arrived two months ago and I'm just getting to it now.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Who just revealed herself to me per the terms of our year-long swap agreement, in which I was totally wishy-washy and said, "Oh, let's be secret for six months, then not-secret for six months." I am fair, if indecisive.

§§FOOTNOTE (sssupposedly): I think.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two heads better than one): Which was hard to photograph adequately, but does, indeed, have a black skull motif rampant on a black background.

##FOOTNOTE (that's the symbol for shock): Why? Where do you eat your cupcakes?

p.s. -

2010-07-03T01:00:00.001-06:00

Responsible bloggers don't drink and blog.

Aren't you glad I *pffffft* in the face of responsibility?

We Interrupt Our Blog Schedule†...

2010-07-02T23:29:00.009-06:00

I'm puttering‡ through a handful of blogposts, including:

Pole dancing
The many wonderful things my year-long now-not-so-secret pal§ has sent me
The many wonderful things Nintendo has sent me
Stupid sparkly handspun¶ and an executive tiara#

In the meantime, let me amuse myself by telling you - quickly - that Hans

[our Hans]

went to see

[brace yourself]

the latest STUPID SPARKLY VAMPIRE MOVIE

[in IMAX††]

on opening night.‡‡

Take a moment.§§

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): BWAHAHAHA! Because I'm sure you're setting your watch by my blog these days. Schedule... BWA!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Because puttering is the order of the day here at Chez Barfly.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): All will be explained in due time. Perhaps now would be a good time for another "BWAHAHAHA!"

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Gods, I love my friends. How else would someone be browsing a wool festival and go, "Sparkly. Purple, grey. Foggy, atmospheric, sparkly... stupid sparkly... vampire. Marin"?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): If you don't think executives should have tiaras, you're not familiar with the insecurity of executiveship. If I can confess right here, nothing in my life (not boys, not college, not spandex, not yearbook pictures) has made me more insecure than being an executive.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Possibly in 3D.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Bought the tickets *in advance*.

§§FOOTNOTE (turn it around): Because we love Hans, and in all fairness, he's the best of best boyfriends; his girlfriend is out of touch with her Twilight contingency, so Hans wanted her to see the movie. AND he decided that she spent a lot of time doing what he wanted to do, so maybe he should do something she wants. If more men were like Hans, there would be no sit-coms.

NOTE: It made me feel better, and may make you feel better, that Hans did not like stupid sparkly vampires.

ALSO NOTE: He told me. He didn't tell his girlfriend. In the land where sit-coms don't mean anything.

Thank you, but...

2010-06-22T13:34:00.000-06:00

Why the† Cowboys?

My first true heartbreak as a sports fan came when the Cowboys beat the Broncos in Super Bowl XII.

We had very little money, but my parents rented a motel room in Tabernash‡ because the motel had cable§ TV. In the mountains in 1978, we rarely saw a clear TV picture.

Cowboys. *pffft*

Vapors.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): ... frickin' ...

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): As in "Where in the hell is Tabernash, Colorado?" For those of you scoring at home, I have also lived in "Where in the hell is Gunnison, Colorado?"

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And colour!

Excuse #11

2010-06-22T06:21:00.004-06:00

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

I was going to stop at 10, but this wandered across my email† and I had to take to my couch with the vapours,‡ precluding blogging for a few days. Under the subject "Subject: You might want to change your mind about Twilight" and the text "After reading this brilliant plea^ for a faithful movie adaptation of the fourth book, 'Breaking Dawn':"§

Why Breaking Dawn Must Be Made¶

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): From someone with a charmingly alarming sense of humour.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'm not sure "vapour," when used this way, should take the British spelling. "Vapours" seems like a quintessentially Southern antebellum sort of thing.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Doubly brilliant in that it reveals that stupid vampires don't just sparkle, they SCUBA.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I haven't exactly changed my mind, but this did have the effect of making me wildly curious and likely to beg, borrow or steal Breaking Dawn just so I can witness the train wreck for myself.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know there are a bunch of delicate flowers out there. Thematically, linguistically... you're gonna want to take to your couch with the vapors.

ETA: This excuse goes to 11!

Excuse #10

2010-06-17T16:27:00.002-06:00

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

I don't know exactly what it is, but I suspect it was Hans's doing.

IMPORTANT UPDATE

2010-06-17T14:06:00.005-06:00

I had to take a little trip to the 1999 Building this afternoon.† While I was there, I went to the information desk and asked about the arms.‡

First, let me take a moment to mention that the brain trust that runs the information desk was none too geeked about my asking. Not reluctant, not angry, but not particularly inquisitive or bright.^

He did, however, have an answer: it's a permanent mobile scaffolding§ for window washing.

Crack investigative reporter that I am, I was prepared to ask him probing questions - did they find it more economical to hire window washers who didn't bring their own scaffolding? did window washers stop bringing their own scaffolding? did they ever decorate the arms with Christmas lights in a festive nod to the holiday season? could I do that for them?

Alas, I sensed he was in no mood to get all Vanity Fair about it, so you get the Dear Abby version¶ instead.

Still, you had a right to know.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Screw it. I'm doing footnotes.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Because that's the kind of information service I provide to you, the Rickety consumer.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): C'mon... if you were in his shoes and someone asked you something other than "do you know when the next train comes?" or "which floor for Time Out Temps?" wouldn't you be jazzed?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): My words, not his. He may or may not be familiar with "scaffolding."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): 1.5 column inches. But Abby never did footnotes.

Excuse #9

2010-06-16T15:04:00.001-06:00

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

Because I don't think I can go any further without a brownie, thanks to Sarah.

Excuse #8

2010-06-16T13:33:00.000-06:00

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

The sun was in my eyes?

Excuse #7

2010-06-16T10:35:00.000-06:00

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

Internet sabbatical.

I've been Internetally active for 17 years. Every now and then, I overload and I don't want to have anything to do with the passwords and the typing and the flaming and the Princespeak and the lost hours and the lack of sunshine.

The combination of Facebook (which I'm growing to loathe, but will lose a bunch of people if I don't stay), Twitter (which I love to death) and this blog (which I need to remind myself is mine and I can do what I want with it) is a lot more than I've ever maintained before.

I was tired of it.

Excuse #6

2010-06-16T09:33:00.001-06:00

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

I'm trying a bunch of new stuff, like embroidery and pole dancing and considering entering a writing challenge and you don't want to hear about those until I know what I'm talking about.

OK. That one was really weak.

Excuse #5

2010-06-16T07:42:00.000-06:00

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

Some days I'm just not funny.

Excuse #4

2010-06-16T04:51:00.000-06:00

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

I have moments of extreme guilt over not properly lauding My Friends at Nintendo, my Year Long Swap Pal, Anna-Liza and others who have sent me lovely things that I'm really very grateful for and I want to put up pictures, but there's this thing with a camera cable...

Excuse #3

2010-06-15T20:39:00.000-06:00

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

I am tired of footnotes. Partly because they're exhausting and time-consuming and sometimes I don't feel clever enough to do them, and partly because a couple of people have said mean things about them and now I'm self-conscious about the footnotes.

So I think the footnotes may have to go.

I'm considering a system of italics and clear speaking.

Excuse #2

2010-06-15T17:38:00.000-06:00

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

I hate to play the executive card, but I did just take a job not that long ago. And, while I'd swear I wasn't doing half as much as I was before The Big Move (trust me, for me, it was HUGE), I seem to be roughly one bazillion times as busy.

Stupid paperwerk.

I am a Grateful Show-Off

2010-06-15T15:08:00.001-06:00

LOOK! This is the last batch of stuff before I hid my camera cable from myself.

I love it! My swap pal is the BEST! She's so awfully clever - just look at the knitting pirates.

There's more! I've received a full complement of spiffy stuff from Swap Pal.

More will come, but until then, oooh and aaah at the pretty, pretty bounty.

Still-secret Swap Pal, I am truly grateful despite my callous ways.

And this! Because The Moo loves me, she has contributed to my collection of Stupid Sparkly Sweethearts!

I'm going for eBay glory one of these days...

And a SKULL bag. For the grocery store. So the crunchy granola kids who check me out at Sunflower Market can tell me how rad I am.

Yep. Those are my friends: giving me the illusion of radosity for nearly 43 years now.

Excuse #1

2010-06-15T14:35:00.002-06:00

The "Why I Have Neglected My Blog" series:

I lost my camera cable. Instead of leaving it plugged into the USB port where I always know where it is, I coiled it up neatly and put it in my drawer and promptly forgot about it.

I am shocked - SHOCKED, I tell you - that it didn't suddenly spring out of the drawer the second I decided to buy a new one.

But I didn't buy a new one because, eh, I wasn't really blogging that much anyway.

Vicious circle.

Barbie Plastic

2010-05-05T08:12:00.003-06:00

You wouldn't believe me if I told you. You'd think I was exaggerating or getting snarky or weird or something.

Barbie Plastic.

Just go look.

Then come back and tell me how much you want a Barbie Shoe Ring.

I Couldn't Resist

2010-04-30T23:40:00.000-06:00

1. Lick the Pig 2. Squee

2010-04-28T23:08:00.003-06:00

Rinse. Repeat.

How a Knitter Thinks

2010-04-28T09:51:00.003-06:00

"I could make that."

IRO Seger Sweater {via Polyvore}

I wonder how it would look in hot pink merino/cashmere...?

And I wonder how you knit those big-hole trilobites...?

I love a good research project.

What I Did on My Easter Vacation

2010-04-26T12:12:00.003-06:00

My first few hours in San Antonio looked like this.†

There was apparently an accident on the *mgvflrgl* Loop that had the left lane closed. Or two lanes, if you believe the big red X's over the two left lanes on the *mgvflrgl* Loop, which I did, so I crept along in the second-from-right lane until I'd passed that point on the *mgvflrgl* Loop that was supposed to contain the accident.

I believe the Texas DOT and the local radio stations like to play pranks on unwitting tourists.

Anyway, things got better.

For instance, I passed this church...

...which apparently meets in a storage unit. Or possibly a decorative rock sales yard.

Once I got to Wimberley, I checked my email to see if there were further instructions on the evening's activities.

"Meet us at Ike's!" the instructions cheerfully instructed. "We should be there around 9:00! Or possibly 10:00! Or maybe 8:30!"

As it was about 6:00 and my last meal was the latte I had at Caribou Coffee in the A Terminal of DIA, I decided to find something to eat.

The nice woman who runs the Mountain View Lodge suggested Juan Henry's.

Since I'd seen Juan Henry's in my Google search of "best restaurants wimberley texas," it seemed like a good bet.

"Also, there's Juan Enrique's. I read about them too," I said in my head. "I bet they're related. That's kinda clever. Probably owned by the same family or something."

I drove past Juan Enrique's on my way to Juan Henry's. Five miles into the trip, when the road had narrowed to one lane and the pavement was spotty at best, I decided to start over.

After making the whole loop again, I decided Juan Enrique's was just going to have to do and I pulled in.

Just inside the door? A sign that said, "Welcome to Juan Henry's."

When I ordered a margarita, the waitress said, "You're a club member, right?"

"Um, nooooo..." worried that it might be a country club or something... or like those places in Utah where you have to pay a membership fee and bring your own bottle.

"Oops. Well, I just made you a member. I'll bring the application right out."

So I filled out the application and am now a proud Juan Henry's Club member. And I have the card to prove it.‡

I arrived at Ike's about 9:00, worried that I was going to be way early.

Minutes later, I got a text saying, "Forget Ike's - come to the cabins and bring booze!"

We stayed up very late drinking and talking. The next day was the wedding day, so I opted to tourist around a bit.

The reason I picked the Mountain View Lodge out of the host of options available to me was that it had a walking trail that boasted a genuine allosaurus track. Like I'm going to pass that up.

I flipped through the plastic-bound trail guide in my room, but all it had was names of flowers - no pictures. So I deemed it too bulky to mess with and struck out on the trail.

First, there was yucca.

Then I went downhill for a bit...

...then uphill.

Then uphill again.

In my heart of hearts, I will always be sure I went uphill way more than I went downhill, despite ending in the same place I began.

But there were flowers along the way.

Star flowers...

...bell flowers...

...pink flowers...

...Indian paintbrush.§

There were dangerous yucca obstacle courses...

...but I made it.

Without ever seeing the dinosaur track. Turns out I should've taken the bulky trail guide with me.

I decided to head to the center of Wimberley to find postcards for the nephews and grab some lunch.

And take pictures of the bluebonnets. Because that's what you do in April in Texas.

So, funny story: I was unpacking my suitcase when I got there Friday and realised that I'd brought both pantyhose and thong sandles. I deliberately did not bring a razor.

I'd shaved my legs Thursday morning, which would be fine with the nylon illusion of smoothness pantyhose offers, but was completely unacceptable for complete bareleggedness and two days' stubble. In my travels Friday night, I stopped to get some Nair.

I took a little nap Saturday afternoon, carefully calculating just how much time I'd need to get to the wedding in a time and fashion that wouldn't cause the bride a stroke. When the alarm went off, I shuffled into the bathroom, stripped and began applying Nair to my legs.

After the requisite time to dissolve hair, I turned on the water to warm it up. I pulled the shower starter and found the shower head pointed straight to the back wall. I reached up, tilted it down and... it broke off in my hand.

I turned off the water to quell the deluge and sat on the edge of the tub to assess my situation.

I was naked and covered in sulphurous Nair now clotted with dissolved hair bits. I was running the ragged edge of acceptable timing to get ready. Even if I could find a way to get decent and get to the motel office, I wasn't going to have time to switch rooms or have the shower head repaired.

So I performed all ablutions in contortion under the bathtub faucet, occasionally hopping out to let the globs of Nair/hair go down the drain.

I was sticky.

The wedding, however, was lovely enough that it couldn't be tainted even by my slightly over-conditioned hair and strong soap smell.

The altar

The tables and centerpieces

The traditional nuptial salt lick

The traditional raising of the ladder by underaged groomsmen¶

Dave and Kara's son Jasper# in a rare still moment

I don't know this kid or his parents, he just made the picture better

See? Picture without some random kid - not as compelling

Assorted groomsmen at the ready

Kids are doubly cute when they have a job to take seriously

Maisy (Dave and Kara's daughter) is case in point

Some free spirits can use a little guidance

You don't have to be a kid to look cute on the job. This is Jenny, Dave's and Lisa's sister, Matron of Honour

Lisa, the bride

Maisy ate nine or twelve clementines before the dinner was even set up

Ruben (Jenny and Jeremy's son) seemed suspicious of the salt lick.

Kara found the coolest thing for Lisa for a wedding gift.

If I ever get married, you know what to do.

The cake topper was pretty cool.

And I can't stress the joy of lighted things enough. If you have an outdoor night wedding, please consider a wide assortment of things that can light up.††

Sunday, I returned to San Antonio with the intention of having a nice lunch on the Riverwalk and finding postcards to send to the nephews, but was mostly thwarted by the NCAA Women's Final Four.

They had a floating pep rally. Cheerleaders and marching bands on rafts. Awesome.

Too many people forced me to abandon the Riverwalk in disgust, so I had lunch at the airport.

That was my trip to San Antonio. Three weeks ago.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): That would be the windshield of a Ford Focus. I may be spoiled by the trademarked whiptastic handling of the Mini Cooper, but my honest assessment is that a Ford Focus handles like a shopping cart with a sticky wheel.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Though I don't for the life of me know what privileges or responsibilities that bestows on me.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The only flower I know the actual name of.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Dozens of adults looked on, never doing more than say, "I wonder what they're doing." Fortunately, they couldn't figure out how to lock the extension, so it wasn't long enough for whatever they were planning on using it for.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): A quick lesson on why I was in San Antonio: Dave and I have been friends since freshman year in high school. Lisa and Jenny are his sisters, whom I've known since Lisa was 13 or so and Jenny was 9 or 10. Kara is Dave's wife, Jeremy is Jenny's husband. Kara and Dave have two kids, Jasper and Maisy. Jenny and Jeremy have one son, Ruben. Or possibly Reuben. And we were all gathered to see Lisa marry Edmundo, despite the fact it looks like I was there to take pictures of plants and make fun of churches.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Particularly if you're going to have stoned people at your event, because it's something stoned people and straight people can both enjoy equally.

I'm Running Behind as Fast as I Can

2010-04-26T10:43:00.003-06:00

So while I try to finish the blogpost I started two weeks ago,† please entertain yourselves by playing your own blogs‡ on the Code Organ.§

Brought to you by today's Very Short List. If you don't do VSL, you might consider giving it a shot. Then you, too, could get cool shit like this every day.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): OK, maybe three.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Or those of friends, family, cable channels, government entities...

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): ...speaking of government entities, I believe I'll go play the IRS website. Tax Code Code Organ - it's meta and makes me feel wildly clever.

Crappity Crap Crapple Crapstick

2010-04-11T10:00:00.004-06:00

Sunday morning.

8:00 am.

Doorbell.†

No, no, no... wait. Let's get some background here:

Four weeks ago, I had a notice on my door, along with a release,‡ so someone could fix my deck railings,§ which look like a ramshackle country sheep fence.¶

"You'll have to be there for the first four hours so they can do some tests for leakage in the garage and house."

"Do your crews work weekends? I'd rather not missing any work if I can help it."

"No. NO weekends. NEVER. Idiot! Why would you even ask such a thing? Barbarian! Fascist!"#

So we agreed on Monday the 12th.††

You know where this is going.

In a spectacular, bruising, bloodying, life-sized game of Patio Furniture Tetris, I loaded out the deck and rendered my dining room useless for the next several days.

I'm pretty sure Manny and the Snow Removers do decks in the warmer months.

And I did more before 9:00 am than I had ever intended to do all day.‡‡

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Preceded by many, many backup signals. I hate backup signals.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Which I mention because I'd like to bitch about it as long as I'm bitching. Y'know, as an efficiency measure. I rewrote the release because it essentially said, "You agree to let our people in your house, now and forever, for the purpose of fixing, inspecting, maintaining bits of the house with no date or time restrictions and you agree to hold them harmless for any and all breakage or damage." I have finally discovered the practical application of being a Landman.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It was supposed to be fixed before I moved in. Then, after three years of asking, they let me know they weren't going to fix anything because the HOA was suing the builder for such things as wildly substandard deck rails and they didn't want to pay for anything the builders should pay for. Fortunately (since the giant set of patio furniture wasn't enough, then the planters weren't enough), the compost barrel was finally enough to trigger Murphy's Law so I could move the maximum amount of ungainly stuff into the house.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Great for a quaint rural sheep farm. Not so great for an urban townhouse.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, her mouth may have said, "Oh, no, I'm sorry, we don't work weekends," but I'm sure her eyes said "Fascist!"

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): i.e. - tomorrow, but most notably not today.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Hopefully getting out of Kim's doghouse in the beginning of a misery-loves-company trend.

Double Crap!

2010-04-10T09:06:00.005-06:00

The comments are often interesting. Sometimes, they're downright hilarious. Today, they were humbling, as Kari reminded me of a little oversight† on my part.

I was so busy talking about myself and saying things to make Kim hate me‡ that I completely forgot to tell y'all that Hans got a job too.§ Same place. We'll probably still have adjoining offices.¶

*whew*

There.

Back on the high road.#

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): *cough*

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dear Kim, I've said it before:

"Look at me," said the star, "I'm shining so brightly." Then it went supernova. The moral of this story is obvious. - Tanith Lee, The Silver Metal Lover

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And he doesn't even have to be one of my minions.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): There is some chance I will have to move to the other side of our floor, given my two extant minions office there and it's where the empty offices where the two TBD minions will likely live.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Where a saint-in-training belongs.

Crap

2010-04-08T19:29:00.004-06:00

One of my future co-workers† asked today, "So since you're going to be an employee, does this mean you can't wear jeans every day?"

I hate the voice of reason.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Y'know... all formal-like in another week-and-a-half. I've been working with her for three years.

But Enough About Me

2010-04-08T10:00:00.004-06:00

I love otters.

Otters are my favourite non-domestic† animal.

[SUMMARY: Still about me.]

From today's 5280 Panorama email:

Search for Fugitive Zoo Otter Enters Second Week

Kitchi, the otter who masterminded‡ a successful escape from his Cheyenne Mountain Zoo§ enclosure on March 25, is still on the loose, despite three other accomplice otters being quickly rounded up nearly two weeks ago. But officials are finally reporting progress in their extensive dragnet of Colorado Springs, reporting that they've found otter tracks in the mud beneath an overpass. And although the tracks may be several days old, zoo officials say they feel confident they're on the trail of the elusive Kitchi, writes the Gazette . Kitchi's distinctive prints were discovered in a culvert beneath Westmeadow Drive, behind the Cheyenne Meadows King Soopers, says zoo tracker Nichole Mantz: "This was our first stop [Wednesday], so it was a little surprising." Otters like Kitchi aren't native to Colorado, making Mantz sure the tracks are Kitchi's. The zoo has deployed a team of trackers who hope to snare the otter, along with a van loaded with capture gear. If you know something, call the 24-hour otter hotline¶ at 719-648-7348.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And you know if they domesticated otters, I'd be the first in line to have one.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Otter mastermind is just brilliant.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Which, for those of you who were in the Denver area in 1980, is where Albert the Alligator was imprisoned after his escape and coincident 28-day summer romp in City Park. For those of you not in the Denver area in 1980, many ducks were eaten out of the lake at City Park.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Anything is better and funnier if you use "otter" as an adjective: otter mastermind, otter hotline, otter squad, otter paws.

Holy Cats

2010-04-07T13:21:00.003-06:00

From: "Christina"
Sent: Wednesday, April 7, 2010 1:02:14 PM GMT -07:00 US/Canada Mountain
Subject: Congrats Slingbox Winner!

Hi there!

Congratulations! Your bracket was picked by 850 KOA to win a SlingBox for the 2010 March Madness promotion!

You need to pick up your prize at our station. We are located at 4695 S Monaco St, Denver CO 80237. The prize window is open from 10:00am until 5:30pm Monday through Friday. You have until 5/10/10 to pick up your SlingBox from us.

If you have any questions, please let me know.

Congrats!

Christina
Clear Channel Colorado
AM Promotions Assistant
KOA, KHOW, AM 760

Procedural Question

2010-04-07T08:28:00.008-06:00

Took lovely vacation.†

Took fantastic new job.‡
Won tourney pool.§
Came home last night to find new Nintendo cooking game% on the front porch... along with a new chef's apron,¶ onion goggles,# a Cuisinart†† stainless steel stockpot and a truly beautiful, big bamboo chopping board.
Went to happy hour with Kelley. One bottle of wine, one beer, one order of chips and salsa: $16.25. God bless half-price bottles of wine.‡‡

The question is, do I buy the lottery ticket because I'm on a roll, or have I used up more than my fair share of luck?§§

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): With glow sticks!

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Yes, I did. The company that's been my client for the last three years offered me a full-time, permanent position. After carefully weighing the pay (a little less than contractor pay, but that's expected. I'll have to watch my pennies for most of the year, I'm guessing, until I get used to not having free rein of my gross pay), the benefits (401K AND pension, raises AND bonuses, med/dent/vision for $1 a month, garage parking for $25 a month, four weeks paid vacation a year, 10 holidays and one floating holiday a year - for those of you scoring at home, that means I get a full month of and paid per year. Well, for the next four years until I get FIVE weeks vacation a year. Discount stock plan and LTIP [long term incentive program, and when I figure out the LTIP thing, maybe I can explain it to someone else], which means more cash prizes.), the location (same place, five miles from home) and the position (they created it for me, keeping in mind my short attention span, and I will have MINIONS. FOUR MINIONS), I decided that at my age and stage, I couldn't pass it up.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Cash, yes, but bragging rights more important.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): America's Test Kitchen...

to go along with my last two Nintendo-supplied games, which we never talked about.

Professor Layton: wonderful puzzle game (I like puzzles).
Style Savvy: like electronic Barbies.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Red.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm very sensitive to onions. I hope the goggles work.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Cuisinart!

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Every happy hour at El Camino, which sounds divey and suspect, but it's actually a really nice neighbourhood bar in what is considered a pretty nice neighbourhood. Despite the name and the discount wine.

§§FOOTNOTE (head... spinning...): I'd hate to be the victim of the first exploding lottery ticket or something, which is where I fear this is headed, given the Kharmic Green Stamps I've cashed in over the last few days.

#NintendoEnthused - plus there's a new hashtag that's supposed to say I've been compensated by Nintendo, but you already knew that and I don't remember what that hashtag looks like. Y'all know Nintendo ships me stuff and I talk about it. I hope you also know that if it sucked, I'd tell you so.

It totally does not suck.

Duke Wins, BOB is King

2010-04-05T22:03:00.004-06:00

OK, so in this scenario, the king would have to die of a mysterious stomach ailment and the crown prince would have an "unfortunate accident" so I could be king, but still... I'm aghast. I've never done nearly this well in March Madness.

In other news...

...I flat out won the Coral Room pool. That's cash in my pocket and bragging rights for... if I have my way, the rest of my bar-going life.

So this is what it feels like to be a princess.

Here Now, the News

2010-04-04T18:27:00.007-06:00

Quite possibly not the news you would expect, given my latest post and assorted Twitterpation,† but some news.

I have just returned from San Antonio and the wedding of LisaB and Edmundo.% Pictures to follow‡ shortly, but for now, three things:

If you have a wedding§ outside at night, hundreds of glow sticks and their flashier cousins@ are utterly cool.
Jen, Kara and I should totally form a girl group. Our rendition of "Tainted Love" was ten kinds of awesome.¶
If you are going to San Antonio, think twice about going during Final Four# weekend. The floating pep rally†† was fantastic, but the ballers, cheerleaders, bands, coaching staffs and all their dearest friends, family and schoolmates‡‡ were overwhelming.

[SUMMARY: There is no summary. These things don't go together except in my head.]

Speaking of...

Sports naysayers, avert your eyes:

Due to my beloved Coach K's victory over the WVa team that propelled me to giddy heights of March Madness bracket standings, I have catapulted once again, now ranking a stunning THIRTEEN§§ out of 1124 in the 850 KOA brackets.

All hale the mighty BOB!¶¶

[SUMMARY: Once again, yay me.]

By the way... one of the perqs under this job offer is a full four weeks' paid vacation my first year, plus the eleven paid holidays everybody gets.

The executives making the offer pointed out that I would've had Friday off and paid if I were working for them right now.

[SUMMARY: Some fairy godmothers just don't play fair.]

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): You know how sometimes I think I'm funny? Well, sometimes I think I'm clever too.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Which are actually two separate things, as Lisa got married in Wimberley, home of one of the first (when I was eight - not this weekend) of my many near-drownings... a little story I'll probably include when I share the pictures and the shower story. Huh. Water and Wimberley and Marin are a scary combination.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And a funny story concerning a shower.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Or a birthday... or a free Tuesday night...

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Like this.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): There may have been alcohol involved.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Women's. I flew down with no fewer than twelve NCAA women's coaches. I seriously thought there might be some sort of lesbian festival in San Antonio this weekend before I found out I was going to Tournament Town.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Until you've seen cheerleaders form a pyramid on a barge, you haven't really lived.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Not to mention - because the sentence was getting too long, so I didn't - ESPN, CNN, travelling teams from the local news stations pertinent to Stanford, UConn and whomever else was in the women's Final Four.

§§FOOTNOTE (I'm all twirly): I had to write it out because there's no way to capitalise "13."

¶¶FOOTNOTE (beating a dead horse like a drum): Beasts of Burden. B.O.B. My perennial fantasy sports team name... in case I haven't already explained that.

Veni Vidi Venti†

2010-03-31T16:44:00.006-06:00

I'm dizzy.‡

Job offer. BIG decision. Frighteningly big. Excitingly big. Dizzyingly big. Upsettingly big. Not-sleeping-tonight big.

I need a Magic 8 Ball, like, now.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I came, I saw, I drank a really big coffee?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And blushing. Guess how often that happens.

Dear IRS...

2010-03-30T20:31:00.002-06:00

Could this make mailing the tax check palatable?†

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Pun *totally* intended

San Antonio

2010-03-30T07:30:00.000-06:00

If you had two disparate days in San Antonio, what would you do?

This is not a trick question. Nor a rhetorical one.

We May Never Pass This Way Again

2010-03-29T08:01:00.004-06:00

My brackets, heading into the Final Four.

My rank, out of 1,124 people in this contest.

That's the top two percent for all you statistically-inclined math dorks out there.

I always knew I was special.

Go Duke!

Lovelace for the Computerlorn

2010-03-24T09:22:00.004-06:00

From Think Geek, county seat of all things wise and weirdiful:

"Attention geeks far and wide!

Did you know that [March 24] is Ada Lovelace Day? The only daughter of poet Lord Byron, Ms. Lovelace wrote the very first computer program, inspired by Charles Babbage's analytical engine. Wherever you are tomorrow, show some love to the self-rescuing code princesses you know. Buy 'em some Fritos and raise a can of Mountain Dew in Ada's honor.

Hooray for girl geeks!"

And if there are any girl geeks out there who know how to reset my wireless card, I'd be forever grateful... I'd build a shrine to Ada Lovelace in my living room.

Saints are allowed shrines, you know.

The Moment You've All Been Waiting For

2010-03-19T08:05:00.004-06:00

At least it's the moment I've been dying to share with you.†

[SUMMARY: Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.]

I shan't drag you through the litany of "stuck in the camera" and "busy at work" and all that. You know the song, I'll let you sing it on your own.

Suffice to say I finished Dr. Doom's Christmas sweater around the end of January,‡ then through the vagaries of joint custody, finally got it to him mid-February.

I took the basic top-down raglan sweater,§ I've been using for everything Nephew, added a textured alligator belly through the miracle of intarsia-in-the-round, then winged it on the sleeves.¶

%

It was the winging it part that really mucked up the works.

There I'd be in my chair at work, madly correcting, explaining, marketing, e-schmoozing and otherwise getting the job done, when suddenly, sleeve panic would hit me and I'd start doing the alligator thing with my elbows,# using paper clips to mark the place where alligator lips should be and re-figuring where alligator mouth should go...

[SUMMARY: Every person does multi-tasking in his own way.]

Is it any wonder I was so absent for so long? I had a lot going on.

In the end, I think it worked out pretty well.

But the true test is how it works for Dr. Doom.

[SUMMARY: Proof, meet pudding.]

First, getting naked in Chipotle.††

Then test-driving the beast.

Why, arm, what big teeth you have!

Let's see, important knitting stuff:

First, this is the proudest knitting moment of my knitterly life. It's the closest I've come to designing something, and it's something unique and cool and interesting and wowing and I'm just so tickled.

The sweater was originally inspired by this genius shirt from the Discovery Channel Store. I quickly realised that a white and pale grey shirt was no match for a five-year-old supervillain, so I decided to go with the classic gator.

Other than the pupils of the eyes, which are Dark Horse Fantasy, the whole thing is knit in Cascade 220 Superwash.

I made nose-holes‡‡ of I-cord loops.

The eyes took as long as the rest of the sweater put together. I had alligator eyes all over my living room for weeks. When one gets a solid vision of what one wants, it's hard for one to accept anything different.§§

One thing I believe the pattern misses, and that I missed too, is that when you put the sleeve stitches on holders to knit the body, you cast on an inch under the arm.

Which - and this is very important - adds two inches to the body of the sweater.

[SUMMARY: Math even I can do.]

On the one hand, I was delighted to get gauge. On the other, getting gauge meant I was the full two inches bigger than I wanted.

I had planned to sew up the sides, take out a couple of inches, but figured I'd better try it on the good Doctor first.¶¶ Yes, it's just a bit too big.

The neck is also big, being unfinished. I knit a nice 3-2 rib collar about 37 times and it always seemed too small.## So I left it unfinished for maximum headroom. Yes, it's just a bit too big.

I told Brother I wanted to take it home and finish it properly and he assured me Doom will be wearing a t-shirt under it most of the time, so aesthetically it's OK.

[SUMMARY: Aesthetics are what you're looking for in a sweater for a five-year-old.]

I don't know if he doesn't want to put me out or if he's afraid they'll never see it if I get my grubby hands on it again.

Hey! We've had a fair amount of knitting around here lately. You'd almost think this was still a knitblog.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And, y'know, it's all about me. And my lamp.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And I would've finished it *much* faster if Dr. Doom hadn't given me a VERY COMPELLING game for my Nintendo DS for Christmas. *ahem*

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And I'm not sure why I keep using this one, except that it's familiar. The sizing is all wrong, vis-a-vis boys S-M-L. I always ask Brother to measure a shirt that fits, then try to match the inches from there.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Wing... sleeves... heheheheheh... I'm funny.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): With the new office, I no longer have a clean white wall behind a hanger to photograph my sweaters. Whatever shall I do now?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Sound effect: "RAWR!"

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Note the find cow hat on Brother's head, a Valentine's present from his favourite Seester. He brings me Icelandic sludge and lopi, I bring him cow hats.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): nostrils-nose holes ... to-may-to, to-mah-to.

§§FOOTNOTE (twisted definition time): Read: lesser.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (you can beat it into my head): I may not be a math genius, but I do have my moments of clarity.

##FOOTNOTE (square head, round hole, pound pound): Which I determined by trying to fit it over my own head, under the suspicion that heads grow less than anything else in a person's life, therefore kid heads must be nearly as large adult heads.

You Want My Brother

2010-03-18T14:31:00.008-06:00

For all y'all knitters who weren't mackin' on my brother prior to this,† direct your attention to the following story:

Brother went to Reykjavik last week.‡

Brother and Hans and I met§ at the Tilted Kilt¶ to watch the glory that is the first day of March Madness.#

Brother brought me a present:

Which contained this:

The story behind the Lopi: Brother says it seems itchy, that they probably joke in Iceland that it's itchy wool.% He said I may never want to knit it into anything, but he figures it'd be cool to have genuine Icelandic wool carted from Iceland in my stash.††

Take a moment for that to sink in.

[SUMMARY: *boggle*]

A man, a NON-KNITTING man, who has embraced the actuality, the conceptuality and the psychology of a knitter's stash.

I think this is a real lesson for us all: what we're really looking for is a man with an older sister who knits.

[SUMMARY: And my thermos... and this lamp...]

He also brought me this box full of bath products from Blue Lagoon, one of the most popular tourist destinations in Iceland.

[SUMMARY: Yes, that is a punchline.]

Apparently, it's a hot springs, a giant pool with mineral properties that will make you live forever if you bathe in it and drink it.

Only it's not natural.‡‡

It's the output of a geothermic power plant nearby. The mineral tailings form a sludge that sits at the bottom of the pool and in conveniently-placed sludge tubs all around the pool. People get in the water and scoop up the sludge and slather it all over themselves.

"So did you feel all glowy? Ten years younger?" I asked.

"No, you feel stupid. You look around at everybody else and you say, 'Yeah, you all did it too.' "

[SUMMARY: Stupidity in numbers.]

Are you jealous? If you didn't want my new stash enhancement, surely you wish you could get your hands on my sludge.§§

Or my brother.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Those of you who were might want to look away before you're blinded.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): They were going to go to Cuba, but then it got too dangerous.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): We call it "business lunch."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Sort of like Hooters with more obvious boobs and more TiVis to give it a greater illusion of sports barness.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Trademark.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Has anyone out there in Blogland knit with this stuff? It doesn't seem *terribly* scratchy, but if you have firsthand knowledge, I'd love to hear about it.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Bonus points to brother for using the word "stash" correctly in casual conversation.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Not in the coming-out-of-the-rocks sense that we're used to in the Rocky Mountain West at least.

§§FOOTNOTE (ssludge!): That's what she said!

Bustin' Out All Over

2010-03-13T08:26:00.000-07:00

I have triumph to report.†

[SUMMARY: Ta-daaa!]

My cousin Tani, who gave me my first orchid and is a seasoned orchid-grower herself, told me once that if your orchid re-blooms, that's the sign‡ you're doing the right thing.

Now, my phalaenopsis orchids§ re-bloom like bunnies,@ but my two non-phals¶ sat dormant these last couple of years, until last Tuesday.%

[SUMMARY: *POW!*]

I swear I'm not exaggerating; I watered the sink-adjacent plants in the morning as I grabbed the kitchen trash to go out for garbage day. I removed something dead-looking on this particular plant, so I got a good and memorable look at it.# There was no bloom, no bud, just plant.

When I got home, I put Cat for Scale's bowl on the counter to give him his daily dose of canned food†† and there was a full-blown, vividly dressed, life-size orchid.

The next morning, the second was nearly fully open.

This is unretouched colour‡‡:

I bought this plant almost two years ago and it hasn't bloomed since right after I got it home.

[SUMMARY: Still waters run deep?]

This must be a metaphor for something.

*************

In other amazing orchid news,§§ the two orchids I made you look at last year are in bloom again as well.

[SUMMARY: Call me June...¶¶]

Actually the Fireworks orchid, the one Tani gave me to start my collection,^ hasn't stopped blooming.

If you do it right,## if your orchids are happy and you prune them judiciously post-bloom, they'll often bloom twice.$

Fireworks budded last February, bloomed, re-bloomed and just re-bloomed again,††† with new and tiny buds showing up every other day. It may never stop blooming.

[SUMMARY: It's ALIVE!]

That has to be a metaphor for something too.

Hell of it is, it really needs to be re-potted, but one is only supposed to re-pot during non-blooming cycles.

OK... that. That should definitely be a metaphor.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Which must be a welcome change for you after the bitching about work in the last post. You may also note I am changing the footnotation colour to green to match the new blog scheme and the coming season of floral wonder.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not just A sign, but THE sign.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The kind you generally find in the grocery store. The easiest orchid to grow, and I'm living proof.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): It's a multiplication thing, right?

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The one pictured is a Cattleya. The other, still not blooming since eBeth gave it to me almost three years ago (though I nearly killed it at one point and have been nursing it back to health, so that may have something to do with it), is - I think - a Vanda. You're welcome.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Yes, Columbo, I know it was Tuesday because it was trash day.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): 'Cause as long as I was grooming, I gave it a good once-over to see if there were bugs, mold, dead leaves, buds, new leaves, a leprachaun...

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): As I am wont to do.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Forgive the Georgia O'Keefeness of it all.

§§FOOTNOTE (look at you, you're just beside yourself): Since I know you're on the edge of your seat.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (hit me with your rhythm stick!): 'Cause I'm bustin' out all over. Surely at least ONE of you (if not ALL of you) listened to Dr. Demento back in the day.

^FOOTNOTE (carated): The pink and white one in last year's post, as opposed to the yellow and pink one.

##FOOTNOTE (let me pound the point home): And by "you," I mean "I."

$FOOTNOTE (cashed): Like, in a year. Usually for three or four months, then the plant goes dormant for about six months. All previous re-blooms in my world have had a month-long break in between as the plant takes a little vacation between projects.

†††FOOTNOTE (must be Easter soon. Look at all them crosses.): Seriously... just as the last two or three blooms would hit that sad, wet tissue look and drop off, a new bud would fatten up on another stem and off it'd go.

Knitpiphany!†

2010-03-12T10:38:00.001-07:00

Carol Jean sent yarn.‡

Beautiful Black Bunny yarn.

Beautifuller even than I thought it was when I first pulled it out because it's so light, so pastel, I thought I'd have to let it grow on me.§ Only there's something moody and shoreswept about it, like the faded paint on a seaside ice cream shop, and it grew like kudzu in a wet summer.^

[SUMMARY: Poetic yarn.]

It's 50/50 alpaca/wool, and a generous serving size,@ so I squish it on a daily basis and didn't know what to do with it.

Then, in my current round of blog gluttony,¶ I ran across a lovely post with lovely pictures and a scarf that made me catch my breath.%

[SUMMARY: A pattern of melodrama.]

Perfect. It's *perfect*.#

This has never happened to me before. I'm a little dizzy.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Have I used that title before?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Despite my calling her Carol Jean behind her back, I got the yarn because I'm in her Black Bunny Yarn Club, rather than because I'm her BFF. I'm not as special as I may have misled you to believe.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It may shock you, but I'm generally not a pastel person. For those of you scoring at home, I think the top picture is more true to colour - at least on my monitor.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Hans agrees.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): 530 yards of fuzzy, halo'd goodness. Just right for a saint-in-waiting.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Some of you may have noticed swarms of comments from me, some covering posts you made months ago. That's me, catching up after the great Workicane (Workopalypse? Nine on the Workchter Scale? I'm working on it. Whatever it was, it was an unnatural disaster with gale force winds.) of O'9. The boss called last week because he had dinner with the VP who brought me on here and he asked what our (Hans and I) workload would be like so he could schedule in impending projects. "Divestitures are going to slow down this year," Randy the Veep is purported to have said. "What the HELL does that mean?" I wailed at John. "Six-day work weeks instead of seven? Only working twelve hours a day?" *ahem* Excuse me. A little vent is good for the soul. A saint-in-training can't afford to have a constipated soul.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): It's not the cleverest or the most complex or the most graceful, it's just perfect for the yarn at hand. And I *really* like it. The designer calls it "Mabel's Scarf," but I recognise a Greek key when I see it, so it's All Greek to Me.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm a perfection virgin.

Injury, Meet Insult

2010-03-09T17:07:00.005-07:00

"I want to use a whole assortment† of four-letter words right now, doc," I said to the optometrist when he told me I NEED BIFOCALS.

I've worn glasses for years for three things:

Driving at night.
To see the names on the jerseys.‡
Movies.§

[SUMMARY: Keep your eye¶ on the important things.]

Apparently, I got old overnight. One day, I gauged where to hold my book by how comfortable my arms were, not where I could see. Because, you see, I could see. Everything. Just fine. Far or near.

Then, *bam!* one Tuesday,# I couldn't see the computer screen. And that night, I had to hold the book an inch from my nose.

So. Bifocals.

I reeled around the mirrored displays, blindly†† picking up one frame after the other, waving them in front of my face in a desultory manner, humming "Glory Days" and craving dinner at 4:30 for some reason.

[SUMMARY: No focus‡‡ at all.]

Old, feeble brains can't multi-task.§§ It seems I was... less than thorough in my search.

To those of you youngsters out there with all this wonder ahead of you, let me give you a little tip.

Don't forget to check the whole frame before you order.¶¶

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like a big, brightly-coloured Costco assortment.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): You know how it is with free agency and salary caps. Sometimes you don't know a soul at the beginning of the season.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): When I remembered them. It was always a proud day when I could say, "Oh, we can sit anywhere. I remembered my glasses."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I worry that I have a form of Alzheimer's which has as its primary symptom uncontrollable punning.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Um... if I remember correctly.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Oh, no...

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Punzheimer's!

§§FOOTNOTE (*so* confused): And just remembering the words to Glory Days is multi-tasking in and of itself.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (*headbonk* *headbonk*): For those of you scoring at home, the random, ugly triangles are orange, purple and white. All I wanted was copper frames. I thought they'd go with my hair. I showed Hans and he didn't even try to make like it was OK. "Your hair almost completely covers the bad part," he said, helpfully.

The Iggle Has Landed!

2010-02-24T20:23:00.004-07:00

The pink† cashmerino‡ finally made its way home.§

For the record? No mail Saturday, Monday, Tuesday... seven copies of the weekly grocery flyer, a Nordstrom bill from November¶ and my yarn today.

I feel *so* lucky to have ever received this package. I believe it may qualify as a miracle.#

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): It's a lovely, lovely pink.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And the remaining two cones of green.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Home is where you hang your cashmere.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I went paperless in December.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): In the new theism, I believe my post office is Satan.

Boxing Day

2010-02-24T13:49:00.000-07:00

We're moving.

The office, I mean.

Oh, we're just moving to the other tower. Hans and I will even have roughly the same view we do now. We'll still be able to keep an eye on the billboard across the street.

[SUMMARY: Keeping you apprised of the important stuff.]

But we still have to pack everything like we're moving to Juneau.†

As a wholly-relevant tangent,‡ the last time I moved my residence, they told me not to bother emptying dressers and file cabinets and such. The movers brought these giant rolls of saran wrap§ and cosied everything right up.

The guys moving our office require we empty our desks and credenzas.

Several people have poked their heads into my office and said, "Are you ever going to start packing?"

"*snort*," I reply.¶ "I don't use my desk drawers, so I really don't have much to pack. I'll toss a few things into the crates on Friday and be done with it."

[SUMMARY: Pride... fall... bad saint! Go to your room!]

So I opened the drawers I was sure held almost nothing and boy, was my face red.

You can't imagine how much perfume# was in that desk.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I exaggerate. The nice office movers actually bring us colour-coded labels and boxes that fit onto wheeled dollies like Legos, but it's funnier if we're moving to Juneau.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): One could argue that the person tangenting shouldn't be allowed to determine the relevance, but none of you is here to help me so I made an executive decision.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): They forgot one. It's still in my garage. You never know when you'll need six miles of three foot-wide plastic wrap. Someday I may need to move bodies.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Because there is no better appetiser for a plate of crow than a good snort.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): A pile of knitting patterns too, but they can be disguised as work documents.

Happy Mom's Day

2010-02-22T07:46:00.001-07:00

November 7, 1940 - February 22, 2006.

AntiM and the Rickety Blog

White Christmas

Holy Frozen Wasteland, Batman

Knitting!

A Tale of Two Boots

Happy Halloween...

Can You Get Better Advertising?

Puzzling

Back for Two Posts...

The Pie Makers

I'm learning...

Mommy, Where Do Monsters Come From?

MonsterVision

The NFL Wishes Me a Happy Birthday

The Evolution of Footnotes

Backstory

Dr. Doom Dissects an Eyeball

Dr. Doom and the Tongue of Steering

You Can Skip This Post

My Friends at Nintendo in Seattle

Happy Easter Evrabahdy!

Black Tie Zombie

The Glory of Techmology

p.s. -

It's 39° and Raining in Prague

It's 5:00...

Watch This Space

Brief

How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Scarf

Happy Appreciate Your Mother Day

Saddest Valentine's Day Ever

Pretty. Useless.

Lost the Camera Cable

I Can't Believe I Forgot to Hit Publish

I Have a Story for That

Big Day

Islands in the Stream of Consciousness

Oh, Wow.

Is This Thing On?

Some NFL Teams Should be Pink*

Werk of the Day

Fascinating

Heady Stuff

Word of the Day

My Life in Munitions Engineering

OMG... O M G... omgomgomgomg

Good Times, Good Times

How Did This Happen?

An Account of the Recent Past

Victoria's Secret?

Black Eyed Peas

Riding the Coattails

Fireworks!

p.s. -

We Interrupt Our Blog Schedule†...

Thank you, but...

Excuse #11

Excuse #10

***IMPORTANT UPDATE***

Excuse #9

Excuse #8

Excuse #7

Excuse #6

Excuse #5

Excuse #4

Excuse #3

Excuse #2

I am a Grateful Show-Off

Excuse #1

Barbie Plastic

I Couldn't Resist

1. Lick the Pig 2. Squee

How a Knitter Thinks

What I Did on My Easter Vacation

I'm Running Behind as Fast as I Can

Crappity Crap Crapple Crapstick

Double Crap!

Crap

But Enough About Me

Holy Cats

IMPORTANT UPDATE