Chaotic-ness

Although the apartment is full of dust, the bathroom lacks tiles on
the floor and wall, and there are boxes everywhere, a friend slept
over last night. (At least the carpet beetles are gone.) After she
and Husband headed to their respective meetings, I transported Tycho
to his bungalow colony (i.e. - boarding at the vet). When I arrived
home covered in sweat and rabbit fur, the plumber already removed the
bathroom sink, and five guys were unloading packages of cement mix.

Now I'm waiting for a follow up eye doctor appointment, which is the
fifth I've had in six months. (My left eye became blurry, although
only when wearing contacts. It took three tries to figure out that
the lack of clear vision was due to a weak prescription.). After that,
I meet up with Shonda, a blog friend from Oklahoma. I don't know that
I've ever spent time with someone from OK. Regardless of state, I am
psyched to meet her in person.

In the evening, Husband and I are heading to Chicago. We'll spend our
anniversary tomorrow downtown, then head to my parents' house for
family craziness. This will nbe my nephew's first trip to Grandma and
Grandpa's house. Plus, Husband's parents are taking a holiday to meet
Marcus, and it is my granny's 87th birthday. Whew!

--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Monsters in Baltimore

While in Baltimore on Saturday, I encountered two different types of prehistoric creatures:



These (human-propelled) sea monsters patrolled the waters of the harbor. Since I am very interested in sea monsters, I found them fascinating. I hope that we can try one out ourselves next time we go to Baltimore. (Note that maps of the harbor are inaccurate these days, as none seem to include the sea monsters that reside there.)




At the aquarium, my friend (who works there) let me play with this hissing cockroach before she took it out to the general area and let other kids touch with it. Undoubtedly, if I saw a giant hissing cockroach in my apartment, I would scream, not let it on my hand, and certainly not pet it. As I look at this picture, I want to puke. But I swear at the time it was sort of cute.

I wish they had sea monsters of the non-roach variety at the aquarium!

Traitors to the Union

Husband and I tooled down to visit friends in Baltimore yesterday. We
went to the aquarium, where our friend works, and I interacted with
some animals. (Pictures tomorrow.) Dinner was crabs with Old Bay
Seasoning - yummy, messy, and guilty after a day at the aquarium.

This morning, as we walked on Pratt St to the garage where we parked
Fred the Red, I stopped and read a plaque/informative sign about
Baltimore's Riot Trail. It seems that a mob of Confederate
sympathizers gathered around a Union train and shot a soldier. Hence
the first Union casualty was in the fucking Union.

To commemorate this proud occasion, a poem was written about the
"brave" secessionists. It became Maryland's state song in 1939. Of
course. Because only in this fucked up country do we find it
acceptable for traitors and terrorists to celebrate their evil deeds -
as long as they are white southerners. (While the North is far from
perfect in terms of racism, I don't, for example, see New Yorkers
fondly commemorating the Civil War draft riots.)

Grrr... Despite the misguided vileness of "southern heritage pride," I
found Baltimore to be charming. We explored the harbor area, Federal
Hill, and Canton. As we left, we drove throught Patterson Park. (I
know that much of Baltimore is disintegrating and dangerous, but I
think it would be an interesting place to live and do community
development.) I want to come back and see the dentistry museum, the
visionary art museum of self-taught artists, the African-American
museum of MD, and the Baltimore Jewish museum.

--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Lipstick Anniversary

A week or two before my wedding, I visited the Clinique counter at
Marshall Field's in Old Orchard Mall. Although I never wore make-up,
my friends were horrified by my plan to attend my own wedding au
natural, and insisted that I needed to obtain some sort of lip color
for the event at the least. The saleswoman listened to my plight and
suggested that I might like the Chubby Stick, which was essentially a
lipstick crayon. I bought two shades.

After my weding, I returned to my unfeminine ways and rarely used
either Chubby Stick. As I approach my nine year wedding anniversary
(July 2), I still had both. I put one on last week, only to discover
a strange chemical taste on my lips. For once, I exercised good
judgement and threw them out, even though there was a lot left and I
hate waste.

The lipstick outlasted Marshall Field's (taken over by Macy's, and
boycotted by all quality Chiagoans), but happily, not my marriage.
I'll consider wearing a new lipstick when we celebrate with Giordano's
and Ann Sather and the Taste of Chicago on Thursday.

--
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Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Case Histories

A few years ago, I read and fell in love with "Case Histories" by Kate
Atkinson. I thought everything about it was brilliant. The language
and word choices are sublime, the characters are well-drawn, and the
book is full of wonderful observations about life. It's also a book
about the relationships between fathers and daughters. Every time I
read it, I am delighted. It's one of those books I don't want to end
because I love being part of its world.

When the sequel came out, I was excited. But months passed and I
never got past looking at the cover. The next sequel came out. I read
reviews of it and thought about how I should read the middle book.
Then I did nothing.

Today I realized that I love "Case Histories" so much that I was
afraid to read the follow up books, even though I wanted to know what
Jackson Brodie was up to. What if the sequels were not as good as the
original? I didn't want to be let down. My cousin told me that my
fear was irrational and I should read the books.

After my contact lens fitting (yesterday I wasd told that the vision
in my left eye is blurry because I have astigmatism, so I went to get
new lenses, but the lens doctor said that the cause was that my
prescription is too weak, not astigmatism, so she upped it a bit and I
now see fine), I stopped at a used bookstore. I took a deep breath
and headed to the fiction aisle. I risked my life on a rickety step
ladder to pull "One Good Turn" down from a high shelf. I'm excited to
begin reading it as soon as I finish re-reading "case histories."

--
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Speaking of Licking...

On Saturday, I discovered that Del Monte made Daniel Craig-sicles on Britain. According to The Daily Mail, the frozen treats were available from June 1 to June 7. Curses! (I am incredibly impressed at the artistry that went into the popsicles - they really look like Daniel Craig in Casino Royale!)

Anyhow, that afternoon, Husband and I went to David Farmland with Alex Elliot, her husband, and their two kids. I am as impressed by Davis Farmland as I am by the Craig-sicles. The animals were all very well-behaved (including the human ones also visiting) and I enjoyed petting goats, sheep, and calves.

One calf, in particular, really seemed to like me and would not stop licking me, including my butt as I bent down to pet another calf:





She even licked my armpit, which was more than enough for me - I finally left the calf pen. I bet that calf would also have enjoyed a Daniel Craig-sicle, though.

Another Dream Come True!

According to "Entertainment Weekly," I can now lick Daniel Craig to my
heart's content. It seems that Del Monte is making some sort of
frozen fruit on a stick that is shaped like the buff actor who plays a
lot of Jewish guys in films and James Bond. I am not sure if this
treat is available outside of Britain, but from the 14 seconds of
research I conducted on my BlackBerry while Husband drives us to
Massachusetts, British women voted to render Craig as easily lickable
for the masses. (Another reason I am an Anglophile - such good
taste!)

Husband was in London on Tuesday, but either did not see the Daniel
Craig-sicle or deigned to purchase a cooler and dry ice to bring one
home for me. (He did buy me a Mars Bar, though, so big kisses for
that.) When I mentioned the Craig-sicle to him, he scrunched up his
face and glared at me through narrowed eyes. (He's so cute!) Un
fortunatelt, he also hates the Jesus bracelet vi found on the sidewalk
outside my apartment last week, and asked me not to wear it in his
presence.

Can't win 'em all, I guess.

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"The Lost"

On my way back from visiting my sister in Iowa, I read two books: On Writing by Stephen King (excellent - both entertaining and helpful) and The Lost by Daniel Mendelsohn. The Lost is about Mendelsohn's family history and his obsession with learning what happened to his grandfather's brother and his family during the Holocaust. Unfortunately, it is also about historical, current, and personal interpretations of the Five Books of Moses, and semi-related sibling rivalry stories. Also, the style includes a lot of repetition in storytelling after a tangent (just like listening to someone tell a story with lots of tangents) and dramatic foreshadowing (i.e. - "But I couldn't have know what would happen next.") I felt like Mendelsohn should have read On Writing.

That said, the core of the story is well written and very compelling to me. Plus, I learned important lessons for my own writing. I love me some tangents, but too many of them are distracting. I also always try to cram semi-related stories into my narratives, but now I see why that doesn't work. If The Lost had been about 100-150 pages shorter, it would have been brilliant. (On the other hand, it won a National Book Critic Circle award, so don't take my word for it.)

Reading stories about the Holocaust always makes me restless. Like Mendelsohn, I want to know what happened to my grandfather's family. When I discovered in 2005 that one of his brothers-in-law actually survived and moved to Israel after the war, it was a breakthrough. But that gentleman died in the early 1980s, and none of his relatives knew anything about my family, although they are lovely people and I am glad that I met them. I've always believed that not knowing what happened to someone is one of the hardest things that people deal with. The human mind craves closure.

Blowout!

Dana went to her six week post-birth doctor appointment first thing yesterday morning, (foolishly) entrusting the care of Marcus to my mom and me. Fortunately, the little bugger slept a lot, but when he woke up, it meant it was time for a diaper change and eating. I volunteered to be on diaper doodie (heh heh) while my mom heated up the bottle of pumped breast milk.

The changing process started out well. Marcus screamed himself red in the face while I removed his diaper, but I heard him fart and kept his poopy diaper in place, thus catching the burst of crap that he forced out. As I congratulated myself, however, he peed, which went directly into his face, all over the mat on the changing table, and on the new diaper I set aside to use. Damn. I'd witnessed this before, though, so I knew to wipe him down with wet wipes. Except that he was now soaking wet, and I had nothing to towel him down with before putting on his new outfit, so I grabbed a receiving blanket. While I dabbed him dry, I realized that the changing table was wet from pee, so I wiped that with a wet wipe, and put him down, not realizing that the mat was still wet from the wipe, and making him wet all over again. I picked him up again, wiped down the mat, and as I dried Marcus again, he peed on himself and the mat. I wanted to join his screaming.

Eventually, the stars and moon aligned and I redressed the dry squirmer. We went downstairs for a bottle. We sucked down five ounces in less than 20 minutes. When I burped him, he gave me a very big belch, which made my mom and I grin. We put him in his bouncy chair and watched him while we ate breakfast.

I was almost finished with my eggs when Marcus began crying again. As I lifted him out of his bouncy chair, I noticed a yellow stain near the back of his thigh. Shit! A blowout! (When my friend Dianne's daughter was a month old, I witnessed this horrible phenomena: baby makes a crap so big that it blows out of the diaper up the baby's back.) Back to the changing table, this time with my mom to help.

More peeing, screaming (Marcus, not my mom and I), drying, and re-diapering ensued. By the time Dana returned, Marcus was cozy, clean, and sleeping. Go us! I don't know how anyone does this job full-time.

Friendlyville

Iowa City may be a college town, but people here are very friendly.
While here, I walked to the local Hy-Vee grocery store twice. On
Saturday night, I passed two people out walking dogs, and both said
hello. Monday afternoon, I took a park pathway, and several bikers
greeted me as they whizzed by me.

I should not have been surprised, then, at how helpful the store
employees were. During my Sunday grocery run, the extremely hot
manager (who I noticed on Sat. night - tall, fit, dark hair) took me
from aisle 4 to aisle 3 when I asked him where the chili powder was
kept. On Monday, the cheerful boy stocking sundried led me an aisle
over when I sought Band-Aids and Neosporin.

In New York, I'm lucky if the people who work at my local grocery
store can understand my question, let alone personally guide me. All
this friendliness (and easiness on the eyes)comes at a price:
everything here cost more than I pay at my grocery store. That's what
really shocked me.

I'll miss my family and the friendly, attractive service when I go
back tonight, but it will also be nice to sleep in my own bed, buy
homemade organic peanut butter for cheap, and see Husband, although
that won't happen until Friday afternoon, as he is off to Europe for
work. (He was gone all last week, too.). Fortunately, he'll settle
the Daniel Craig tea towel debate with Mara while he's on that side of
the pond. I look forward to hearing about that!

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