Lameness Abounds, Abates

[HERE BEGINS BLESSEDLY ABBREVIATED DRAFT OF PAST POST]

Thank you, I am clearly the Headline Writer Of The People. Our satellite radio tested the emergency broadcast signal today. I have never before heard such a thing (at work on satellite radio). Come to think of it, I never hear the tornado siren being tested these days. Which brings us to every child's hidden, but deep-seated fear that one day there will actually be a tornado on siren test day at the precise time when the siren is being tested. What then?

Do you see what is going on here, people? Do you see what I have been trying to spare you? The nonsensical ramblings of a woman who fluctuates rapidly between total absence of inner monologue, to uncontrollable sharing of inner monologue with ineffective censorship. You are lucky I have not yet revealed a frequent state of inner-monologue which involves me fixating on a word or name and realizing that it is being running through my brain like verbal ticker tape.

[HERE BEGINS TODAY'S DISASTEROUS ATTEMPT]
I'm just gonna try working from the pictures. How about that?

First, because kbh has finally revealed her presence (and I promised that if she showed, I would) and because I know that if Booie delighted a certain young fashion maven with a talent for naming, a video of a turtle will thrill!

This is Melvine. Her name was Melvin, but there was some contradictory gender evidence or something so now she's Melvine. She actually does not belong to us, she just lives with us so 1 of her 1/2 owners will not be evicted and so that she will not terrorize the cats of the other 1/2 owner.

We love her. I would never have thought it possible that I would fall in love with a tranny reptile as if it were a small fluffy something-or-other, but it's true. We are considering ways to make her domocile a wonderland instead of a plastic box, but for now she just gets to roam the house and bump her head into things (such as our feet) to see if they are solid, edible, or possible friends. We humans around the hizzy have learned to express our affection likewise. We sing her songs, like, "Turtle Turtle Turtle, I Made You Out Of Clay" to the tune of the familiar song "Dreidl" and often just refer to her as "leetle tortuga". In exchange, she has not given us salmonella and lets us free her beak using tweezers when it gets stuck in her shell. The light pictured does strange things to her and I'm quite sure if she were out driving around in a car in that state she would be pulled over and be charged with a crime.

Lovely.

Below is a photo of a flat pack house that was featured in Dwell Magazine back in the day. Just to prove to my temporarily French friend that she was not wrong about Minneapolis having fab architecture.

The other side of the house is mostly windows with a row of skinny evergreens around the yard. Totally awesome. Okay. I'm outta juice for today so I'll be back soon.

Nothing to say...

Where is my b-logging inspiration? I am tired today which makes me a sly dog at work. There have been many sidelong glances, sneers, and snide comments today. All recipients totally deserving, of course, and mostly oblivious since most of the sneering and snide-making was internal.

Monday and Tuesday mostly just blur together into one big long day with eating, working, and class attendance. Discovering my ability to work full time and also go to school gives me hope that one day, I will have a job that I lurve and also be able to make mad cash working at the Mall (of America) after hours or perhaps taking night classes in whatevah , but with less of a sense of desperation, less scramble.

Wednesday mornings are my fav at our house because Ceara has a standing appointment so she gets up with Nate and me. I make her a breakfast sandwich--this a.m. we had egg whites, ham, and chives on English Muffs (delish, if I do say so m'self). We all pile into the car, Nate drives to school, where we all get out of the car to switch places, and I drive Ceara north of St. Paul on my way to work and drop her off. This morning, Ceara requested Lilly Allen as our soundtrack (as is her way), but I made her listen to a song off of Atmosphere's new album first.

So we're rocking out to Lilly by the time we're tooling up the substitute route for 35W North since the bridge collapse. We take and are sailing around the curve of the exit right next to another car when I see a woman in her early 60's wearing a cardigan, or maybe it was tied around her neck, with a white bob being blown about in the October wind. She's waving her hands I see as I ask Ceara, "WHAT is she doing?!" I then finally look ahead of me and see that she is gesturing at the white compact that is sitting RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME...like, right! now! I swerve to the left and just miss it. Luckily, the car next to me has figured out what's up in the same split second as me so I narrowly avoid careening into him/her. Ceara seems mostly oblivious to just how close a call that was and I spend the next several miles, my heart beating like a rabbit's, hearing the screech of tires and the sickening smack of metal in my ears. And at the same time I realize that the profound nature of close calls never really comes across in a story because the outcome is like a punchline ("Oh, but you survived so this is just like a boring joke") that people know the whole time you're telling the story. Probably wouldn't've been such a close call if I had back the few seconds I was wondering about the deranged woman interpretive dancing on the exit lawn.

.

On a lighter note, I post this photo for Erin's benefit so that she will know that Ceara really does live with us. Compare to previous post of peaceful-looking Ceara in pristine room.

In other Ceara news, I dropped her off at the Guthrie Theater on the way to work this morning so she could be at the head of the rush line for tickets to King Lear with Sir Ian McKellan. She and the woman next to her, #2 & #3 in line, scored the first 2 tickets. She's going this Saturday to the matinee. Rockin'.

This photo of the Guthrie courtesy alt text's photostream at flickr. The cantilever 'neverending bridge' offers a fab view of the Mississippi. I had the opportunity to see the demolition of the old Guthrie this summer when it was at a stage where the brick building was gone, but the seating was basking in the sun, a temporary outdoor ampitheater. Neato.

And now for the weekend round-up in pictures. First, we have a photo of my activities on Saturday: homework, but homework in the backyard in October in 80-degree weather [scary]. This is when I discovered that I have a cat. It is possible that this cat already belongs to someone, but is bored and found the hobby it is looking for when it discovered the hole at the base of the garage to stare at intently. It is also possible that this cat actually depends on this hole as a source of food (which provides an alternative accounting for the intensity). Said cat was in pictured position for several hours per day throughout the weekend and beginning of the week. All submissions for adopticat names will be considered.

FYI Mom and Dad: Nate LOVES his birthday present which we discovered last night after an hour on the couch [the box is, like, 4 feet tall]. It might have arrived in Morris's Disappearing Bag which subsequently slid off to reveal its presence so I am going to keep looking around in that corner for collateral giftage.

In this photo, he queries roommates: "What is this!? Look at this stick!"

Ceara: "Maybe it is so that the sleep pad will lie flat."

Nate: "Is it a beatin' stick?! I think it is!"

Mom, Dad, thanks to you Nate will now sleep happily through the night in the wilds because A) as Nate observed, "The ground is hard. This is not hard, this is soft." and also B) He will sleep confidently knowing that he can beat off possums and other creepy rodentia.

After this conversation, Nate and Tegan fell asleep on new sleep pad and it is, indeed, much softer than the ground. Word.

Quick Update

People--just check THIS out and tell y'selfs a story about how I took this pup's picture. Make sure to include in your story a lake, a Bobcat (the machinery, not the animal), and a guy with a wheelbarrow.

Weekend was a Glorious Bust

Well, Friday Nate and I hung out with his co-workers. The fourth grade teacher's brother is in a funk band called Roster McCabe so we went to their CD release party. They performed at the Varsity Theater (about 1/2 mile from U of M campus), but they were good enough that we didn't mind the crowd of tipsy frosh.

Unfortunately/Fortunately Nate got the flu on Saturday and was in bed all day, got a fever in the evening. Ceara and I were going to proceed with the Brew Review anyway since it was "what Nate would have wanted". Nate's sister-in-law, Jamie, who is a health inspector, pointed out that Noro Virus is pretty much impossible to kill and recommended a reschedule. This worked out fine for me since I had a headache that was not responding to sleep, yoga, warm bath, or more-than-the-recommended-amount of Aleve. Also, Ceara and I would like to share that Nate's puke-sound is like a cartoon.

So I re-potted some plants in the garage and put them out to be watered in the rain. Then I noticed that the bird feeder I FINALLY hung in the backyard last week was dead empty. I had a checked it the first couple days after I put it up, the forgot about it. Now I thought, "Wow, guess I shouldn't have put it in such a squirrel-friendly place if I expected it to last." I filled it up anyway, though. This was the result:

By Sunday, when it rained all day, there were up to 5 birds at a time on the feeder, 8-10 in line, and a squirrel and some more sparrows on the grounds working clean-up. As of nightfall yesterday there was about 1 cup of food left in the bottom of the feeder. Sweet. How will I afford to keep up with the urban wildlife?

Ceara and I were already out grocery shopping when Nate called to inform us that Jamie advised cancellation. Ceara had volunteered to whip up some tapas and I had enlisted her to bake a pie because Ceara A) makes the best pie crust ever while I have actually tried and always end up cursing or crying and B) makes pies for fun, on a whim, when she "feels like dessert". What a weird-o and how awesome for me? So I asked (read: wheedled) and she agreed to bake me a pie even w/o party. Look at how perfect it is--this is only about 45 minutes into the process--she's a witch!

Anyway, we spent the evening eating tacos (and pie) and watching Simon Birch. Sunday was all homework and Nate recuperating by watching up to 3 sporting events at a time with the help of picture-in-picture and Ceara's laptop. For anyone who might care (which I assume will only happen if Mom tells Dad who already knows) the Rockies have a one-game playoff this eve to determine their post-season fate. Happy October!