Monday, 06 September 2010

Instead of talking about something I DID do today, I’m gonna first talk about something I DIDN’T do: I didn’t go to the State Fair today. In fact, I didn’t go to the Great Minnesota Get Together at any point during the last ten days when it’s been open.

And that’s just fine with me. When I was a teenager, there was a certain fun to going to the Fair, as I went with groups of friends and we all just sort of hung out there together. But, as an adult, I’ve found it half boring, half annoying.

I’ve often said to my wife that the State Fair is just like going to a mall, only worse. For one thing, admission to a mall is free. Parking at most malls is, sometimes frustrating, but again, free and within the realm of possibility. With the Fair, the logistics of simply arriving are an (unwelcome) adventure in themselves. It seems every year Jennifer and I try to find some better way to arrive at the fair: park far and walk, take a bus, go with our friends who work nearby and can park at their job…

Another thing: if you show even the slightest interest in any booth, or even if you just walk by, the fair hucksters harass you. This happens a lot less frequently at malls, and even then, you can usually just avoid the stores with the most annoying employees (aka: Jewelry stores). If you are genuinely interested in something, the booth is just a stripped down version of a superior store that exists at your local (free) mall. And if no such store exists, your better off waiting until a specialized fair comes to town. For example, if you like all the cars on display at the fair, just wait until March, and go to the auto show that will be arriving on the same grounds. If you like the environmental stuff at the fair, just go to the Living Green Expo, which comes around every May to the same spot, but with no admission fee and free parking!

Worst, though, is the food. If you like a variety of food at reasonable costs, I suggest the Mall of America. If you like less options for ridiculous prices, then go to the Fair.

Also today, I put gas in Cavalier for the first time since July 26^th. That’s 43 days! And back on the 26^th of July, I only put in half a tank. During my time off of work to be with my new baby, there have only been six days that I’ve turned on the car and driven somewhere. Back on August 9^th, I took Owen to his Little Engineers class, and another day I took him to a doctor’s appointment. Sometimes, the trek has been quite short: A couple of weeks ago, I took the car to Mississippi Market and back (total distance: 1 mile); and yesterday, I drove to Papa John’s and back (total distance: 2 miles).

Jennifer and I purchased the Cavalier in August of 2000. It was the newest, nicest car we’d ever bought and, even to this day, it’s the most expensive car we ever bought. Jennifer said: this car better last us ten years if we’re gonna get our money’s worth.

It has.

Friday, 03 September 2010

Following a 14-year tradition, my mom took Jennifer and I out for dinner this evening for our anniversary. It’s been 10 days since our anniversary, but my mom, to her credit, purposely does not bother us during the few days surrounding our anniversary, as she figures we might be doing something special (often we are). Also, she wasn’t even in town until two days ago, so she couldn’t have done this much sooner anyways.

I noticed that these mom-sponsored meals are probably getting more expensive for her, even taking inflation into account. For our first couple of anniversaries, my parents were still married, and so they took us out together. Once they parted ways, my mom continued to take us out for dinner on her own bank account. For the last few years, she’s had to pay for Owen, too, and soon Isla will be ordering food, too.

We ate at T.G.I. Friday (Thank Ganesha It’s Friday). I ordered a salad and a side of mashed potatoes. I really was in the mood for a baked potato but – get this – Fridays does not have baked potatoes. Hm. That’s weird. I mean, they have fries and mashed potatoes, so why can’t they just bake one of those potatoes instead of just frying or mashing it? I suppose they probably get their potatoes pre-fried and mashed.

Saturday, 04 September 2010

Today was taken up largely with the wedding of a co-worker. I’m sorry to report that I did not officiate this wedding, but happy to report that I did not videotape it, either.

This was the second Catholic wedding I’ve attended. Like the first, it lasted about an hour. Despite its length, however, it would appear the typical Catholic wedding has about as much practical content as the 10-minute wedding that I performed back in July. I’m not saying that to take a slam on Catholics, I’m saying it because, and I think all those Pope-lovers will agree with me, there’s an awful lot of pomp and tradition in there.

There were several readings from scriptures, for one thing. The first one, from the book of Tobit, was at least pretty and poetic. The others, including one from Romans, were only marginally applicable to marriage. There were a couple of songs in there, and a candle was lit. The biggest time consumer, however, was when the high priest alternated between English and Pig Latin and between normal voice and theatrical voice. He performed a magic show, in which he turned wine into blood, then he invited people from the audience to come and drink it. I think he passed out Cheez-its, too.

Mercifully, the priest didn’t crack any jokes about the length of the ceremony. However, he did say that many couples, when reflecting on their wedding day, will note that they remember precious little about the ceremony. My guess is that the reason for this is that Catholic weddings, like Witness weddings, are merely carbon copies of each other and so, after years of attending so many such ceremonies, one’s own tends to blend in with all the others.

All in all, here’s how the wedding broke down:

Traditional and ceremonial stuff (that had no relevance to the marriage): 35 minutes

Pretty stuff (that made the ceremony classy/special): 15 minutes

Advice and practical words for the new couple: 8 minutes

Legal procedures (done to ensure the marriage was legit): 2 minutes

And here’s how the wedding I performed broke down:

Traditional and ceremonial stuff (that had no relevance to the marriage): 0 minutes

Pretty stuff (that made the ceremony classy/special): 2 minutes

Advice and practical words for the new couple: 6 minutes

Legal procedures (done to ensure the marriage was legit): 2 minutes

Sunday, 05 September 2010

We’ve had a string of very full days lately. For the first few weeks following Isla’s birth, there were many days where we didn’t even leave the house. Then there were several days of doing just one thing (like grocery shopping, or bringing Owen on a playdate with his preschool buddies). But during the past week, we’ve had lots of stuff everyday: doctor’s appointment, my mom in town, getting our haircut, a wedding, and other random things.

Today we first had to drive up to Jennifer’s parents’ house to pick up our son. He slept over there last night while we partied the night away at a wedding reception. Then Isla had some more visitors this evening. Well, they came to visit all of us, I think, but the main reason was to see the new baby. Owen received the Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots game, which is sure to be a hit (pun intended) as it combines his love or robots and games with his love of making noise.

Tonight, I suggested we watch a movie (our latest Netflix), but Jennifer said she was too tired. Owen watched a documentary on Volcanoes, and then we turned in for the night.

Wednesday, 01 September 2010

Tonight, for the first time in over six years, there will be five people sleeping in my home. The last time this happened (in July 2004), we had a family of three visiting us from Deutschland. This time, our visitor is only one person, but since we are up to four people in our immediate family, it doesn’t take much to bring the tally up to five.

Our fifth (temporary) resident is my mom, on loan from the Centennial State. I’m glad she was able to come here and visit so soon after Isla’s birth, especially as I’m not back at work yet. Her arrival means that Isla has now met all of her grandparents – something I didn’t think would happen for many, many months.

I went to pick my mom up at the airport today, a task I handled with my usual aplomb persona. Just kidding. Actually, the craziness of the streets at the airport, coupled with being on my phone, my son talking to me from the back seat, and turning down the radio, all conspired to ensure I missed the sign that said “Speed Limit 15,” a little thing the policewoman was more than happy to point out to me.

Getting pulled over by the cops is on my long list of things I get unduly nervous about. Actually, another item high on that list is airplanes. And another item on that list is getting lost while driving. So…maybe I’m not the best choice to pick people up from the airport.

Really, though, you can’t get lost at the St. Paul/Minneapolis airport, because there are only two routes you can take: one takes you to an upper level where you get rid of people, another route takes you to a lower level where you welcome them back. For some reason, I always panic and mix these two up. Thankfully, the airport has helpfully provided a road that serves no purpose other than to take you out about 1/2 a mile, turn you around, and let you have another go at it. When my German friends came for a visit, I  managed to take the correct route but, alas, they weren’t standing there waiting for me. Since there’s no place to park, and since you can’t stop (!), you are forced to circle around again, something I had to do 9 times that day. And even when you do successfully meet up with your visitors, you can’t leave your car. And to the cops, “leaving your car” means not sitting in the driver’s seat, something my mom once discovered when she got out to help my dad load his luggage into the trunk. They’re divorced now.

Yeah, so, anyways, if you have to go to the airport to pick up someone: stay on the lower level, drive super slow, keep circling around until you see them, and then don’t get out of the car to greet or help them.

Thursday, 02 September 2010

This evening, Jennifer and I happened to be in that part of St. Paul where she grew up, so we did the obligatory drive-past-the-memories routine. We drove past her old Kingdom Hall, her old neighborhood, and even her old house. We also stopped by Creamy Cone, a tiny little eating establishment about four blocks from where Jennifer grew up. Even though I spent two years driving past that tiny place back when I was courting my bride-to-be, and even though I lived just a couple of miles away for a few months, I don’t think I’d ever stopped there before.

We parked, walked up to the counter (that’s all there is – a counter – there’s no indoor dining) and each ordered a flurry. Then we sat at one of the benches enjoying our desserts and (in Isla’s case) breast milk.

While sitting there, a van pulled up, two women got out, and they began trying to roll up the driver’s side window. It wasn’t working, so the began physically pulling on the window to make it go up. One of the women looked at me and said: “Can you help us?” I probably should’ve offered my services sooner, but I’m more the type of person who stares, slack-jawed, at other people’s problems rather than offering any tangible help. So I walked over and, using these hefty pipes I call ‘biceps’, managed to get the window up in no time. One of the women asked she owed me any money (I said no), and the other women gave me a high-five and said “Praise the Lord!” I don’t know why she thought my name was Lord but, no matter.

Anyway, if you ever find yourself on Dale Street in the North End of St. Paul, stop at Creamy Cone. It’s a good thing.

Tuesday, 31 August 2010

Don’t bother going to the Bakken Museum. I took Owen there two years ago, and after about a 1/2 hour, we’d seen and done all there was to see and do. Worse, the Bakken is like the electricity portion of the Science Museum…only with nothing else to offer. Many of the rooms are totally empty, and the employees, unlike the helpful, zealous staff of most museums, just walk around going from one off-limits room to another, busy with seemlingly non-Museum-related affairs. This makes me feel like I’m walking around where I shouldn’t be – as if I’m interrupting something important they have going on.

A few weeks ago, Owen asked if I was going to take him there while on my paternity leave. I was surprised he wanted to go again…but today I met his request and even brought along his cousin (not the three-week old one). Trust me, these photos are cheaper, more convenient, and more entertaining than the museum itself:

Owen and his cousin Lyric use magnets to mess with the colors on a TV. Wow.

I’m pretty sure this was the one reason why Owen wanted to visit the Bakken again: it’s a magnetic crane that picks up nuts and bolts. Notice Lyric waiting patiently to have a turn. Keep waiting Lyric, keep waiting.

Check it out – I’ve attached brain scanners to two children.

This is the only new thing (of ay note) that the museum has acquired in the past two years. Each player straps a band with electrodes onto their heads, and then tries to keep their mind calm. If you can calm your mind more than the other person, then the metal ball (you can barely see it right in the center there) rolls toward your opponent. For a while, the ball rolled back and forth, but Owen was the ultimate winner. It was obvious his cousin got bored, as she began looking around at other things and talking to me while Owen just stared at the ball like a stoic robot.

Lyric stands inside a (defunct) fireplace for no discernible reason, because that’s the sort of thing that Lyric does.

Owen spins a wheel that generates static electricity, which in turn causes small bits of paper to ‘mysteriously’ rise from the table. Lyric (her hands are just visible) tries to ring some gratingly loud bells with a magnet.

There was a flower garden outside the museum, ’cause nothing says “Electricity” like a flower museum. I told them to smile, and Lyric initiated this spontaneous embrace. Aww…how adorable.

Monday, 30 August 2010

I’ve gotta take my hat off to the front-desk lady in the radiology department of Children’s Hospital today.

The four of us woke up early (well, early for us) and got ready, got in the car, and drove into downtown St. Paul this morning. I’m not a fan (= I hate it) of driving in either downtown, so I’m already mad at whatever is going to happen before it even happens. Then we drove around a few blocks looking for the correct parking ramp. Have I mentioned before that Owen is terrified of parking ramps? Yeah, well, he is, so that certainly doesn’t make matters better.

Then we walk into the hospital. You know: those cesspools of bacteria staffed with people who were trained to think the human body is a disease needing saving from itself? Oh, and also, my wife hates going into hospitals. More than the usual person. I think it has something to do with the dumbfucks at HCMC, but I’m not getting into that right now.

Anyway, we check in at this desk, where they give us badges that say “visitor” and this man escorts us to the radiology department. Actually, as long as I’m handing out accolades, let me go ahead and say that it sure is nice that this hospital has people on hand to escort you through their labyrinth of hallways. That sure would’ve been nice at HCMC, but I guess they’ve got their hands full violating patients’ rights.

So then we get to the radiology department. They put a tag on Isla’s ankle (with her name, incorrectly spelled, printed on it), and then we sit down and wait. While waiting, a sick little girl came in, carried in her mom’s arms, while a nurse pushed an IV alongside that was attached to the girl. The girl is taken into a room, where some procedure is performed that makes her scream like she’s being assaulted. I kind of wish someone would’ve closed the door. That sure would’ve helped to not trigger any issues my wife or son may have had.

About ten minutes later, a nurse (or maybe she was a doctor, I don’t know) came over to my wife and asked her a few questions. Basically, here was the problem: she could take Isla into the room now and perform the high-radiation test on her, but it would be smarted to perform the low-radiation test first. The reason being, if the low-radiation test turns up negative, then there’s no need to subject her to high-radiation test. That makes sense, and I appreciate that the nurse/doctor had the good sense to point this out to us. But! (You knew a ‘but’ was coming, didn’t you?) They couldn’t get Isla in to do the low-radiation test until 11:30.

Hm…decisions, decisions. We had a midwives appoint scheduled for 11:00, so that was one conflict. I also thought that spending another two hours in the waiting room – besides racking up my parking fee – would probably also drive my wife and son insane. The nurse/doctor said we could come back at 3:00, but I didn’t think that was a good idea, either, as it takes my wife some time to mentally prepare herself to enter a hospital, and twice in one day seemed too much. So I asked if we could come back another day.

For some reason, the nurse/doctor couldn’t set that up, but instead told me to call a number. (That’s weird – whatever happened to appointment books?) So we went up to the front desk to get the phone number. So then this other woman hands us the phone number, and I say: “Are you gonna pay for our parking since you guys screwed up?”

Yes, yes, I know that I was being a bit rude, and a bit sarcastic, but I had every reason to believe the woman would not grant my request. For one thing, she works at a hospital, which means that even if she personally wanted to grant my request, she would first have to fill out forms A-114 and B-45 in triplicate, submit them to the board of directors, take a urine sample, have me wait in this dinky little room with a creepy skeleton, and then stamp “DENIED” on my forehead…by which time my parking fee would be even higher. For another thing, there was a sign on the counter that read: “No, we DO NOT validate parking.” So, I guess they’ve been asked that question before.

But guess what? The woman responded with: “Absolutely,” which she said in the most pleasant voice, as if I had just asked her if she wanted to go on an all-expense paid Caribbean cruise. She leaned over and grabbed two stickers and, as she handed them to me, she said: “Oh, but it wasn’t us who screwed up, we were just doing what the doctors scheduled your daughter for.” Ha! Brilliant! She deftly defused any further anger by passing the buck (usually I hate buck-passing, but sometimes it IS warranted, and I think the woman was correct in this instance).

But wait, there’s more, she further says to me: “Here’s one sticker for you for today, and here’s one for when you come back.” Score! So not only did I not have to pay $4 today, I won’t have to pay $8 (or whatever) when Isla and I return.

Bravo, radiology front-desk lady. Bravo.