I hate cars. This is no secret to anyone who knows me. More than anything, this can most likely be traced to the fact that I go into a complete meltdown tailspin anytime my vehicle makes a funny noise or (god forbid) a warning light comes on. I freak out at the first sniff of any automobile issue and generally drive my entire family crazy with the giant storm cloud above my head. I fully admit that this is irrational and that everything will be just fine and I'm acting like a petulant child, but I just can't help myself (medication please). Even when our cars are running smoothly, I am gripped with crippling stress on each journey I take waiting for what I believe to be the inevitable collapse (again, medication please, illicit or non).
In an attempt to ease my inner torment, I have decided to conduct an experiment. Beginning tomorrow, May 10th, I will attempt to not drive or ride in a personal motorized vehicle for one month. My only means of transport will be walking, biking or taking the bus/light rail (this is the point when all those not fortunate enough to have a car can rightfully label me an entitled jackass). When I mentioned this idea to KT, she was supportive, mostly I assume because she is completely bored with my incessant bitching about cars. She did have one caveat, however: I can't use my grand experiment as an excuse to get out of things I would normally do. In other words, if I promised to do the grocery shopping and it is pouring rain out, tough shit. I really have no grounds to protest. So, the rules are as follows:
1) I cannot drive or ride in a personal motorized vehicle for one month
2) I cannot neglect, cancel or delay engagements - whether they be social, work or other - because of my experiment
3) I must not inconvenience others because of my experiment. I must adapt my lifestyle/timeline, not expect them to adapt to me.
4) I must document the experiment
That's it. Sounds simple enough. I'm excited about doing it, but can't promise the same level of enthusiasm if it's raining when I need to leave for work tomorrow.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Google is Even More Brilliant than we Thought
In my never-ending quest to become grumpier and less technologically advanced, I have decided that I am no longer interested in answering my phone. No offense, but I simply don't like it. Additionally, my phone has developed advanced stage Tourette's and is prone to unexplainable outbursts - especially dialing people at random. Thus, I have become more and more removed from my phone and rarely have it on me. Being a father/husband/co-worker, however, I do realize that occasionally people may need to get a hold of me. Thus, a few weeks ago, I installed Google Voice to my phone. Basically, what this does is transcribe the voicemails I receive and sends them to me via text and email.
Friday night, I was able to see it in action for the first time. KT was at a work party which had the possibility of ending late and the potential of bad decisions. I, having to work the next day, burrowed in at home for an eventful night of FIFA. About 11, with no word from KT, I decided to turn in. Before doing so, I took a glance at my phone. I had a missed call from her at 10:40. And, she left a voicemail. Intrigued and a bit excited, I decided to use Google Voice to read what the voicemail said. Here is the exact transcript:
Yes, hey. Hello. 5th. Hello Yes, Hello, hello, p, Hello Hi Paul, hello Hey, this is KT know, Hey Hi Paul,This. Hey, hey hey, hook. Bye. Hello, hello, hello Hey, I had to here. But. Hello. Bye, hey hey tara atHello Mr. If you saw a lot. Hey, hey hey hey. The Difference yo. Hello, We will hallways, hey okay.Hello going bye, hey hey. I do. Well, I'll. Hey, call it I think, hey Yeah, hey hey hello. Well, Well. Hello.Ohh. Hey, it's me Why. Hey bye hey. Just, ohh. He's a I, hey. All goodbye and by and.
Major fail. Google Voice definitely is not the answer in my quest to avoid taking calls. Concerned I may have missed an important message, I decided to listen to the voicemail. Turns out Google Voice nailed it. The transcript is exactly what she said.
Well played, Google Voice. Google Translate, it's your move.
Friday night, I was able to see it in action for the first time. KT was at a work party which had the possibility of ending late and the potential of bad decisions. I, having to work the next day, burrowed in at home for an eventful night of FIFA. About 11, with no word from KT, I decided to turn in. Before doing so, I took a glance at my phone. I had a missed call from her at 10:40. And, she left a voicemail. Intrigued and a bit excited, I decided to use Google Voice to read what the voicemail said. Here is the exact transcript:
Yes, hey. Hello. 5th. Hello Yes, Hello, hello, p, Hello Hi Paul, hello Hey, this is KT know, Hey Hi Paul,This. Hey, hey hey, hook. Bye. Hello, hello, hello Hey, I had to here. But. Hello. Bye, hey hey tara atHello Mr. If you saw a lot. Hey, hey hey hey. The Difference yo. Hello, We will hallways, hey okay.Hello going bye, hey hey. I do. Well, I'll. Hey, call it I think, hey Yeah, hey hey hello. Well, Well. Hello.Ohh. Hey, it's me Why. Hey bye hey. Just, ohh. He's a I, hey. All goodbye and by and.
Major fail. Google Voice definitely is not the answer in my quest to avoid taking calls. Concerned I may have missed an important message, I decided to listen to the voicemail. Turns out Google Voice nailed it. The transcript is exactly what she said.
Well played, Google Voice. Google Translate, it's your move.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Old Dog Commits a Crime: A Six Chapter Picture Book
Maggie was born one week after 9/11. She has been with us since October of 2001. Like any lab, Maggie was a master thief when she was younger. Turn your head for two seconds and the sandwich you just made and set down was gone. She never, ever, missed an opportunity to commit larceny. After all, she knew how to charm the jury and always got off with no more than a public shaming and two minute time out. Maggie is much, much older now. Her reflexes aren't quite as quick, but she still absolutely knows how to commit the crime. Security cameras caught her in the act this morning.
Chapter One:
Suspect contemplates last remaining käramel roll (pretzel dough, caramel, salt, as good as it sounds) on the table. Suspect notes käramel roll has been unattended for a period of more than 5 minutes. Author's note: Anyone judging the fact that we ate käramel rolls for breakfast, the giant mounds of Lady Kenmore behind Maggie or the fact that we spent the morning watching The Inbetweeners is just jealous. Suspect notices KT, Paul and Audrey engrossed in television and not focusing on käramel roll. Suspect thinks käramel roll smells delicious.
Chapter Two:
Suspect, keeping one ear open to approaching authorities, approaches target. Suspect confirms it definitely is a käramel roll and that there is definitely nobody watching. Author's note: I never claimed she was bright, only that she was a master thief. Suspect decides this käramel roll must get in her belly.
Chapter 3:
Suspect makes her move. In one swift twitch of her tongue, käramel roll is consumed. Suspect becomes aware that perhaps she may have been noticed when she hears protestations to her actions, but can't quite confirm it yet as nobody has actually moved.
Chapter 4:
Suspect now is sure she has been spotted as someone definitely said, "what do you think you're doing, assface?" Author's note: It's a term of endearment coined by KT and adopted by all. Suspect decides that absolutely zero fucks will be given and she will finish the job anyhow.
Chapter Five:
Suspect, now apprehended, is really, really sorry and promises she will never, ever, ever do something like that again. She claims temporary insanity caused by old age. Jury buys her story yet again and suspect is released to her own recognizance.
Chapter Six:
Suspect, clearly struggling with a guilty conscience, shortly suffers major sugar hangover, and spends the next several hours struggling to ease her tortured soul.
Chapter One:
Suspect contemplates last remaining käramel roll (pretzel dough, caramel, salt, as good as it sounds) on the table. Suspect notes käramel roll has been unattended for a period of more than 5 minutes. Author's note: Anyone judging the fact that we ate käramel rolls for breakfast, the giant mounds of Lady Kenmore behind Maggie or the fact that we spent the morning watching The Inbetweeners is just jealous. Suspect notices KT, Paul and Audrey engrossed in television and not focusing on käramel roll. Suspect thinks käramel roll smells delicious.
Chapter Two:
Suspect, keeping one ear open to approaching authorities, approaches target. Suspect confirms it definitely is a käramel roll and that there is definitely nobody watching. Author's note: I never claimed she was bright, only that she was a master thief. Suspect decides this käramel roll must get in her belly.
Chapter 3:
Suspect makes her move. In one swift twitch of her tongue, käramel roll is consumed. Suspect becomes aware that perhaps she may have been noticed when she hears protestations to her actions, but can't quite confirm it yet as nobody has actually moved.
Chapter 4:
Suspect now is sure she has been spotted as someone definitely said, "what do you think you're doing, assface?" Author's note: It's a term of endearment coined by KT and adopted by all. Suspect decides that absolutely zero fucks will be given and she will finish the job anyhow.
Chapter Five:
Suspect, now apprehended, is really, really sorry and promises she will never, ever, ever do something like that again. She claims temporary insanity caused by old age. Jury buys her story yet again and suspect is released to her own recognizance.
Chapter Six:
Suspect, clearly struggling with a guilty conscience, shortly suffers major sugar hangover, and spends the next several hours struggling to ease her tortured soul.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Da Swedes
KT works at the American Swedish Institute, which over the past couple of years has undergone a major transformation and expansion. It's a stunning expansion and the cafe has quickly and deservedly become one of the hottest eating spots in town. Consequently, I have been spending an increasing amount of time attending events at 2600 Park Avenue South. From grand opening galas to royal visits (King Carl, Queen Sylvia and I had an engaging conversation regarding birch trees, but I digress), I have had the opportunity to observe and interact with numerous Swedes. I've picked up a few observations.
1. Science be damned, their genes are the dominatrix of genes. Every high school science student can tell you that dark hair and dark eyes are dominant traits. If a person with brown eyes and brown hair has a baby with somebody who is blonde and blue, the odds are that the children will have dark features. For example, my dad has startling blue eyes and once upon a time had platinum blonde hair. My mom, on the other hand, has brown eyes and brown hair. So, as science tells us should happen (something about recessive genes or chromosomes or blahblahblah), both my brother and I sport the brown and brown look. KT, and her dominant Swedish genes, weren't interested in science, however. Both Al and Audrey popped out blonde and blue and haven't looked back. They could be dropped in the Mother Country and immediately be indistinguishable in a police lineup. Inexplicably, this seems to be the norm with Swedes rather than the exception.
2. They have invented everything. Within the course of a week, I will be informed or reminded countless times that the Swedes are responsible for inventing basically everything. I cannot put on a pair of jeans in the morning without KT informing me that the zipper was invented by the Swedes and without them, I would be continually soiling myself as it would take hours to unfasten the cryptic puzzle of contraptions that previously existed in pants. I cannot mention the name of a plant without being reminded that the Swedes invented the classification of botany and without them, all flora would simply be called "green things". I cannot operate a computer without being reminded that without the Swedes, the computer mouse would not exist and computers might have just been a passing fad without them. If I light a candle I am reminded that the Swedes invented safety matches and without these ingenious devices one in every four homes would be in cinders. Additionally, it has been reported to me that about 50% of the population would be dead if not for the honorable Swede that invented the pacemaker.
3. Swedes aren't "mean", they are "direct". My Germanic sensibilities have a difficult time distinguishing between the two, but I have been assured by KT and others that there is indeed a difference. So, if you were to spend hours painstakingly preparing a gourmet meal and a Swede's reaction was "I've had better", you shouldn't be offended. They weren't being mean, they were simply being direct. Similarly, if a Swede were to say "you are fat" or "wow, you're an idiot", you shouldn't feel insulted. I have two perfect real-life examples, both courtesy of KT's Grandpa Marlin, whose parents were fresh off the boat. The first time I met Marlin was when KT was pregnant with Al. As KT introduced us, Marlin first words were, "How do you spell your last name?" After I spelled it out for him, he responded, "Hmmm....German, eh? Boy, you sure are a warring people." Being we were just pups and I was the guy responsible for the giant bulge in his granddaughter's belly, I took it in stride. Flash forward 20 years. Grandpa Marlin is in town and we are having lunch with him at the American Swedish Institute. KT introduces Marlin to a co-worker with the last name Marsala. Marlin ponders the name for a while and then asks for the origin. When informed that it is Finnish, Marlin pauses a second and says, "Well, at least it's better than Kruse". Keep in mind, this is two children, two dogs, a cat and five homes after the first time I was introduced to him. I think it's pretty safe to say that I'm not simply knocking up his granddaughter and running. Later, when recounting the incident with KT (she didn't notice anything at the time), she explained that he was simply being direct.
4. Norwegian things don't exist. This one puzzles me to no end. After all, just over 100 years ago, Norway and Sweden were one country. Only by the good grace of the Swedes did they allow Norway to form their own independent country (that's how the Swedish history books explain it anyways). Today, however, Norway and it's customs are as exotic to the Swedes as a lost tribe of the Amazon. In social settings, when KT will respond to a query about where she works, inevitably lefse gets mentioned. Sometimes it's the very next sentence, sometimes it is a few moments later, but it is without fail mentioned. However, go to the Swedish Institute, say the word lefse and you will get nothing but vacant stares. They have absolutely no idea what lefse is. Or so they claim. I'm calling bullshit. I don't live in Canada, but I still know what a Labatt Blue is. I find it impossible to believe that they don't know what lefse is. Here is a more maddening example: The Swedes love their lutefisk. The Institute throws a giant party every year which revolves around eating loads of the slimy crap and washing it down with enough alcohol that you don't actually taste it. The Norwegians eat lutefisk as well. However, if you were to ask anyone at the Swedish Institute when the "loot-a-fisk" party is, the unanimous response would be "I have no idea what you are talking about". See, in Sweden it is pronounce "loot-fisk". It is the same disgusting inedible substance, spelled exactly the same, but the extra syllable the Norwegians add to the pronunciation make it undecipherable to the Swedes. Again, I'm calling bullshit.
5. Swedish women, once they reach a certain age (usually in their 50s), cease visible signs of aging. I'm not sure how they do it (perhaps one of their famous inventions that haven't yet graced the rest of the world with), but the majority of Swedish women look identical from the time they hit their "age" until they die. This isn't an assertion that they all look alike, just that they retain their physical features for a freakishly long period of time. Also, and perhaps related, they develop (or maintain?) the ability to be outstandingly flirtatious. KT once came home with a birthday gift for me from a friend at the ASI. It was a tiny wooden Dala horse with a note attached that said, "Paul - a lucky Dala for you. Put this in your pocket and rub it and maybe it will grow." Then there is Sigbritt who, upon learning I had arrived on bike, asked that I pick her up and give her a ride the next day. Tempting as it was, I didn't and Sigbritt has not stopped asking KT when I am coming by on my bike to take her away. Nothing makes me blush more than spending a day with the ladies at ASI. It's awesome and I am clearly developing a fetish which is probably a good thing considering what I married.
Friday, January 4, 2013
New Year's Revelations
Rather than resolutions, which I have long since abandoned, I tend to focus on revelations, as in "what did I learn in the past year?". As I age, the list of revelations I mentally stockpile each January tends to dwindle, but I am still able to sit back in a bit of awe at some of the things I'm still learning each year. Here are three that hit me this year:
1) I may be losing a bit of testosterone.
This revelation came in October. The day started out testosteroney enough - I played a semi-vigorous game of football in the late morning with the uber-elite Schlitz Sporting Club, followed immediately with a few beers while hanging in the park (just like high school!). As we departed, I decided to go for a bike ride as I had been itching to check out the new Lowry Bridge (transit nerds give me a holla). On my way, I happened upon Jimmy's Bar, a place where my buddy Danny and I often meet for meat raffle/pull tab/happy hours. I wanted to guilt Danny for not showing up for football, so I pulled up to snap a photo of the sign to send him. As I sat straddling my bike, clad in tight (for me, anyways) sweatpants, windshirt, massive bike helmet and snapping away on my phone, two gentlemen stepped out of the bar. The two were of vastly different shapes (think Shaquille O'Neal standing next to Kerri Strug) but of equal shit-faced drunkenness. I was into geeking out my photo, so I didn't really pay them much attention. The bigger of the two fellas popped a cig in his mouth and ambled towards me, the little one close at his heels. I, still focused on my photo, continued to pay no attention. Finally, as the big fella put his thumb and middle finger together and snapped my helmet with considerable force, I was forced to give them notice. I looked up at the guy (and it was up) and noticed his eyes were kind of off in two separate directions - not because he was born that way or had a horrible accident, but because the sheer amount of alcohol he had consumed had filled his massive frame to the point that is was seeping into his ocular cavity and forcing one of his eyeballs to the side. I uttered an inquisitive "Hey?", to which he responded, "You rellly tink dat hellmuts gonna help you?". Meanwhile, his buddy kept staring at his own shuffling feet and muttering "mmm-hmmm" over and over. I, quite neutrally, replied "not really". His quite logical response was "then why the fuck are you wearing it?". He had me. At a loss, I replied, "Because it look cool?" My new friend thought a moment and said, "No, it makes you look" - literally a 30 second pause here - "fucking stupid!!!". I wasn't quite sure how to respond, but didn't really need to, as his buddy, still staring at his fascinating foot shuffling, said "C'mon Dave, he ain't worth it". After a ten second pause, "Dave" said, "yeah, you ain't worth it" and the two walked away. Here comes the kicker: Not until Dave told me I wasn't worth it did I realize he was looking for a fight. The entire time I was thinking Yay! New friends! (Spongebob voice). When I got home and relayed the magnitude of my misinterpretation to KT, her response was, "whoa...Low-T" (Apparently there is an informercial that airs in the middle of the night when our television is always on but rarely watched for a new drug called Low-T that I don't need to explain what it treats). She may be right, but, Hey! New friends!
2) KT likes it rough
Late this summer, our washing machine began leaving giant brown smears on all of our laundry. Nearly all of our light-hued clothing became blemished with sporadic giant poop looking stains. We got by for a while by using the laundromat and Greta's place, but KT finally had enough and starting searching Craig's List for a new machine. She found one rather quickly and, with her mother, went and sealed the deal, bringing Lady Kenmore into our life. Lady Kenmore is not the name we have given her, but rather the name the marketing geniuses at Sears, Roebuck & Co. had decided to name their washers in the 1970's. This machine is a giant. Weighing in at a cool 3000 pounds, and a beautiful olive in color, the Lady Kenmore is truly a classic. Each washing cycle the Lady Kenmore will use enough water to drown a small village and she will severely punish your clothing for being dirty. The Good Lady Kenmore doesn't do delicate. She beats the living hell out of your laundry, striking a paralyzing fear in our clothes of ever being dirty again. Lady Kenmore has destroyed more than one of Audrey's sweaters and stretched out underwear to the point of no return. Audrey hates her, Al and I fear her, and KT (of course) is head-over-heels in love with the Lady Kenmore. She has never been happier with the sheer industrial-strength smell and look of our laundry. More than once, I have caught her purring "Laaaaadyyyy Kenmore" to the machine as she pulls the clothes out. It's a bit alarming, but if a few ruined items of clothing keep her happy, I'm willing to pay the price.
3. Cats make noise
I've been progressively losing my hearing for several years and a lethal combination of stubbornness and ridiculously restrictive insurance policies had prevented me from ever taking the necessary steps to do anything about it. Finally, in March, I made an appointment with an audiologist at the University of Minnesota (a wonderful place, by the way). An exam showed my hearing to be at about 40% of normal and down to 20% at high frequencies. I knew my hearing was bad, but was surprised by exactly how bad it was. I was fitted with hearing aids, have been wearing them since and regret I didn't do this 10 years earlier. The most amazing part of hearing again for me has been the cat. Until getting my hearing aids, I never realized that our cat made noise. I knew in theory that cats could meow, but I always assumed that only happy cats meowed. Uma is not a happy cat. She is a constantly cranky asshole who wants nothing more than to confuse the hell out of us. She will go from "love me" to "I will kill you in your sleep if you ever touch me again" within seconds. She has tortured the dog with sneak attacks for so long that poor Maggie is a shivering paranoid mess. It never occurred to me that Uma was actually making noise when she bared her teeth at me. My shock upon hearing it for the first time was such that I frantically called KT into the room, convinced I was going to have to Google "How to dispose of a dead cat". It took quite a bit of convincing from KT to assure me that Uma has always meowed like that and wasn't saying her final "Go to Hells". Other things have caught me by surprise (our coffee maker beeps when the coffee is done!) but I still crack up every time Uma talks.
1) I may be losing a bit of testosterone.
This revelation came in October. The day started out testosteroney enough - I played a semi-vigorous game of football in the late morning with the uber-elite Schlitz Sporting Club, followed immediately with a few beers while hanging in the park (just like high school!). As we departed, I decided to go for a bike ride as I had been itching to check out the new Lowry Bridge (transit nerds give me a holla). On my way, I happened upon Jimmy's Bar, a place where my buddy Danny and I often meet for meat raffle/pull tab/happy hours. I wanted to guilt Danny for not showing up for football, so I pulled up to snap a photo of the sign to send him. As I sat straddling my bike, clad in tight (for me, anyways) sweatpants, windshirt, massive bike helmet and snapping away on my phone, two gentlemen stepped out of the bar. The two were of vastly different shapes (think Shaquille O'Neal standing next to Kerri Strug) but of equal shit-faced drunkenness. I was into geeking out my photo, so I didn't really pay them much attention. The bigger of the two fellas popped a cig in his mouth and ambled towards me, the little one close at his heels. I, still focused on my photo, continued to pay no attention. Finally, as the big fella put his thumb and middle finger together and snapped my helmet with considerable force, I was forced to give them notice. I looked up at the guy (and it was up) and noticed his eyes were kind of off in two separate directions - not because he was born that way or had a horrible accident, but because the sheer amount of alcohol he had consumed had filled his massive frame to the point that is was seeping into his ocular cavity and forcing one of his eyeballs to the side. I uttered an inquisitive "Hey?", to which he responded, "You rellly tink dat hellmuts gonna help you?". Meanwhile, his buddy kept staring at his own shuffling feet and muttering "mmm-hmmm" over and over. I, quite neutrally, replied "not really". His quite logical response was "then why the fuck are you wearing it?". He had me. At a loss, I replied, "Because it look cool?" My new friend thought a moment and said, "No, it makes you look" - literally a 30 second pause here - "fucking stupid!!!". I wasn't quite sure how to respond, but didn't really need to, as his buddy, still staring at his fascinating foot shuffling, said "C'mon Dave, he ain't worth it". After a ten second pause, "Dave" said, "yeah, you ain't worth it" and the two walked away. Here comes the kicker: Not until Dave told me I wasn't worth it did I realize he was looking for a fight. The entire time I was thinking Yay! New friends! (Spongebob voice). When I got home and relayed the magnitude of my misinterpretation to KT, her response was, "whoa...Low-T" (Apparently there is an informercial that airs in the middle of the night when our television is always on but rarely watched for a new drug called Low-T that I don't need to explain what it treats). She may be right, but, Hey! New friends!
2) KT likes it rough
Late this summer, our washing machine began leaving giant brown smears on all of our laundry. Nearly all of our light-hued clothing became blemished with sporadic giant poop looking stains. We got by for a while by using the laundromat and Greta's place, but KT finally had enough and starting searching Craig's List for a new machine. She found one rather quickly and, with her mother, went and sealed the deal, bringing Lady Kenmore into our life. Lady Kenmore is not the name we have given her, but rather the name the marketing geniuses at Sears, Roebuck & Co. had decided to name their washers in the 1970's. This machine is a giant. Weighing in at a cool 3000 pounds, and a beautiful olive in color, the Lady Kenmore is truly a classic. Each washing cycle the Lady Kenmore will use enough water to drown a small village and she will severely punish your clothing for being dirty. The Good Lady Kenmore doesn't do delicate. She beats the living hell out of your laundry, striking a paralyzing fear in our clothes of ever being dirty again. Lady Kenmore has destroyed more than one of Audrey's sweaters and stretched out underwear to the point of no return. Audrey hates her, Al and I fear her, and KT (of course) is head-over-heels in love with the Lady Kenmore. She has never been happier with the sheer industrial-strength smell and look of our laundry. More than once, I have caught her purring "Laaaaadyyyy Kenmore" to the machine as she pulls the clothes out. It's a bit alarming, but if a few ruined items of clothing keep her happy, I'm willing to pay the price.
3. Cats make noise
I've been progressively losing my hearing for several years and a lethal combination of stubbornness and ridiculously restrictive insurance policies had prevented me from ever taking the necessary steps to do anything about it. Finally, in March, I made an appointment with an audiologist at the University of Minnesota (a wonderful place, by the way). An exam showed my hearing to be at about 40% of normal and down to 20% at high frequencies. I knew my hearing was bad, but was surprised by exactly how bad it was. I was fitted with hearing aids, have been wearing them since and regret I didn't do this 10 years earlier. The most amazing part of hearing again for me has been the cat. Until getting my hearing aids, I never realized that our cat made noise. I knew in theory that cats could meow, but I always assumed that only happy cats meowed. Uma is not a happy cat. She is a constantly cranky asshole who wants nothing more than to confuse the hell out of us. She will go from "love me" to "I will kill you in your sleep if you ever touch me again" within seconds. She has tortured the dog with sneak attacks for so long that poor Maggie is a shivering paranoid mess. It never occurred to me that Uma was actually making noise when she bared her teeth at me. My shock upon hearing it for the first time was such that I frantically called KT into the room, convinced I was going to have to Google "How to dispose of a dead cat". It took quite a bit of convincing from KT to assure me that Uma has always meowed like that and wasn't saying her final "Go to Hells". Other things have caught me by surprise (our coffee maker beeps when the coffee is done!) but I still crack up every time Uma talks.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
And how was your week?
Audrey is on a five day roll of epic proportions. Witness:
Thursday, May 17th - Audrey gets selected to the National Honor Society. A magnificent accomplishment, especially considering her parental influence. I didn't get bad grades, necessarily, but the closest I got to the NHS was when Apple Valley High School accidentally sent Brian an application two years after he had already been accepted as a member. My logical deduction was that they had simply mixed up the names and this was meant for me. I diligently began filling it out, even starting the "you're not so damn smart now, are ya?" taunt to Brian. A quick phone call to Marilyn (my aunt), who was a secretary at the school, cleared matters up, however. I definitely was not being invited to apply. And KT...well, we love KT. Audrey, however, is a completely different story. I can count on one hand the number of times I have had to tell her to do her homework since she began school. She just does it. And she does it well.
She got the letter inviting her to apply about 10 days before the application was due. We congratulated her and told her we would look over the application with her later. We then filed it within our 43" inch (and growing) stack of "important stuff we really gotta take care of". And there it sat. Fast forward nine days, 8 hours. Audrey calls me at 10:35 at night. I'm in bed and she is upstairs in her room. This isn't an unusual call as she knew I was still awake and often times I will call her and ask her to let the dog out when I'm too pathetically lazy to get out of bed. I answer and Audrey says, "Hi. Franny just reminded me the NHS application is due tomorrow. Don't freak out." Right. We look over the four page application and talk about it for 15 minutes the next morning while shoveling down oatmeal. Turns out that in addition to the many short answer questions on the application, she also must submit a one page (typed) essay demonstrating a time she showed leadership. She must also collect signatures from several different people and have the whole thing turned in by 3:00. I drop her off at school convinced it's a lost cause. For Audrey, not a problem. She cranks it out and gets accepted two days later.
Friday, May 18th - Synchronized Swimming Sectionals. The first day of Sectionals is the "boring" (Audrey's words) part where all the swimmers dress up in identical black suits, white swim caps and goggles and perform different "figures" for the judges. All the swimmers do the same figures. They aren't even announced by name, just as "Swimmer #92". It's kind of creepy actually. There is no talking, no cheering and no music. Just a bunch of drones. Audrey had 51 swimmers in her division. I asked her how she thought she did on Friday night and she said "feh". I pushed for details and she said "it wasn't my best and it wasn't my worst". She finished second (!), but wasn't aware of this until they did the awards Saturday.
Saturday, May 19th - Synchronized Swimming Sectionals. The second day of the event is the fun one where the girls swim their routines. It is an incredibly loooong day, however. Audrey had to catch a bus at 6:45 Saturday morning. It was nearly 7:00 PM when we got home. Audrey swam three different events: a short solo, a trio and a team. The results? 1st place, 5th place, 2nd place, respectively. The top four places qualified for the State Tournament. However, because her trio team scored high enough, they get to participate in state as a "pre-swim". What that means is they get to participate in the State Tournament, but won't be scored. Only one team is allowed to do this. Despite how proud I am of her first place and second place finishes, it's the trio finish that stunned me the most. Audrey is teamed up with a 7th and an 8th grader, both who had never done synchronized swimming before practice began in March. Two months later, they are going to state. The 7th grader started balling on the award stand when she realized she would be going to state. It was pretty cool. So, on to state we go on Thursday and Friday, where Audrey will be competing in two events and participating in a third (plus the "boring" figures).
Sunday, May 20th - A day of rest. Well, not really. Audrey had a houseful of guests Saturday night and KT heard them in the kitchen at 3:30 in the morning scrounging for food. When Audrey rolled out of bed about noon, she made breakfast for her friends and then she and I went out to practice for her drivers license test on Monday. Audrey didn't feel at all ready. She had been bugging us to make an appointment for about a week because everyone had told her that you have to schedule your test three months in advance. So, last Thursday, KT went online to schedule her appointment. Turns out they had a cancellation and there was an opening Monday at 3:00. Naturally, she took it. Audrey went into full-on panic mode. We spent the rest of the day Sunday driving around. After taking Al and I to our basketball game near the U of M, she drove down to Lake Street so we could have a few post game beers with Brian at a bar down there, then drove home through downtown. I thought she did just fine driving, but she wasn't too convinced. When we got home we spent a few terse hours in the church parking lot practicing backing into parking spots and parallel parking. She wasn't doing too badly, but not well enough to pass her test (or so she thought and I silently somewhat agreed). KT and I finally made her stop when we noticed she was tearing up out of frustration as she tried parallel parking for the 30th time, using her parents as cones. I even tried doing a little preventative damage control, saying "Audrey, focus on all the good things that have happened the past few days. Who cares if you don't pass?". It didn't work - she was terrified, exhausted and stressed. We went home and she was asleep within an hour.
Monday, May 21st - Drivers Test. I couldn't get out of work today, so KT took Audrey. She got out of school 10 minutes early at 2:30 to give them plenty of time to get up to Arden Hills for the test. At 2:50 I got a call from KT. She had printed out the directions on how to get to the Exam Station, but forgot them at work. So, to compound Audrey's frayed nerves, they had now missed their exit and were in danger of being late. I talked them through directions, however, and they made it just in time. A side story here, but bear with me, it ties in:
KT has a friend named Ann from work. Ann is Swedish, only moving to Minnesota after getting married to a guy from here. She returns to Sweden frequently to visit friends and families. Lucky for me, Ann usually returns from Sweden with a little gift for me (or maybe for KT, but I usually benefit from it). She brings back aquavit or other Swedish liquors that you can't find her. It's awesome. This time, she brought back a little bottle of Punsch, which is a liquer - kind of like a schnapps. It has a really strange taste - I can't really describe it - but it is delicious. Ann gave KT the bottle today and KT brought it home, knowing how excited I was. Only, she didn't go straight home - she went to pick up Audrey to bring her to her test. Ok, back to the story...
When you get to the license station, you have to pull up to an info booth to sign in and get instructions. As she is pulling up, KT realizes there is a bottle of booze in the car and that probably wouldn't look great as a sixteen year old takes her license test. So, she determines the best possible solution is to quickly hide it out of view, get past the info booth, then put it in the trunk for the test. A solid plan in theory, but in the chaos (or KTaos) that sometimes seems to follow her, that isn't how it played out. While reaching for the bottle, KT ran up onto the curb while pulling up to the info booth window. So, now she is on the curb and really close to the window. Then, while reaching into the back seat to stash the bottle, she leans against the horn and begins blaring the horn at the attendant in the booth. The attendant said to Audrey - and I'm not making this up - "Are you sure we don't want to give mom a test while we are here, too?".
After that fiasco, they pull up to wait their turn and Audrey instructs KT to get out of the car, but not wait outside. She wanted her to wait inside so Audrey wouldn't be able to see her. Turns out the only place for waiting inside was in a narrow hallway right next to the bathrooms. Also, there wasn't really a chance to open the trunk, so KT stashed to bottle of liquor in her purse. So, while the daughter is out beginning her test, the. mother is standing outside the bathrooms with a bottle of booze in her purse. Audrey goes through the course, pulling back into the lot after about thirty minutes. As Audrey tells it, "the examiner began telling me all the things I did wrong. Then she said, 'But, you passed'." KT texted me and told me she passed. I texted back, "you have to be f***ing kidding me" (sorry mom). Then I thought about the past few days and texted her again, "actually, why should that surprise me at all?"
This evening Audrey drove alone for the first time as she drove to the school for the Carnival that she was obligated to host as a member of Student Council.
I'll update this email tomorrow when she cures cancer and solves world hunger.
So, how was your week?
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Job Searching Chronicles, Part One
A variety of reasons, including:
1. The fact that my company has filed bankruptcy for the second time in five years
2. The fact that the Teamsters have authorized a strike
3. The fact that I am tired of falling asleep before 7:00 PM
and
4. The fact that I really, really (really) miss weekends more than I thought I would
have me back in the job market. Job searching is exhausting, most often discouraging, sometimes exciting and usually monotonous. Today, I came across a posting that was too good not to apply for. The posting read like this:
Swedish Speaking Baker
We need a swedish speaking baker who would be able to read swedish recipes for part time baking. Please respond through email. Thank you.
Here is the email I sent them:
I em fery interested in thees jub yuoo hefe-a edferteesed fur a Svedeesh beker. I hefe-a ixtenseefe-a ixpereeence-a in Svedeesh bekeeng und em eble-a tu reed und vreete-a Svedeesh flooently. I veell nut, hooefer, vurk veet zee cheeckens oor zee lubsters, es I hefe-a bed pest ixpereeences veet zeem. I hefe-a etteched a phutu fur yuoor refference-a und hupe-a tu heer frum yuoo suun. Thunk yuoo. Bork Bork Bork!
1. The fact that my company has filed bankruptcy for the second time in five years
2. The fact that the Teamsters have authorized a strike
3. The fact that I am tired of falling asleep before 7:00 PM
and
4. The fact that I really, really (really) miss weekends more than I thought I would
have me back in the job market. Job searching is exhausting, most often discouraging, sometimes exciting and usually monotonous. Today, I came across a posting that was too good not to apply for. The posting read like this:
Swedish Speaking Baker
We need a swedish speaking baker who would be able to read swedish recipes for part time baking. Please respond through email. Thank you.
Here is the email I sent them:
I em fery interested in thees jub yuoo hefe-a edferteesed fur a Svedeesh beker. I hefe-a ixtenseefe-a ixpereeence-a in Svedeesh bekeeng und em eble-a tu reed und vreete-a Svedeesh flooently. I veell nut, hooefer, vurk veet zee cheeckens oor zee lubsters, es I hefe-a bed pest ixpereeences veet zeem. I hefe-a etteched a phutu fur yuoor refference-a und hupe-a tu heer frum yuoo suun. Thunk yuoo. Bork Bork Bork!
Amazingly, I haven't been offered the position yet. I'll let you know when I get it, however.
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