Monday, 12 September 2011

After getting ready for work amidst a house full of boxes, I arrived at my cube only to be surrounded by more boxes. As you may recall, I coincidentally switched cubes last week, and so I spent most of my day unpacking. I’m once again in that mood where I want to get rid of stuff. That feeling doesn’t come around often enough for me, so I like to take advantage of it when it does.

In going through my stuff, I filled up my recycle bin and my garbage bin. I also put in a request for an under-the-desk drawer. My last cube had one, and I was shocked – shocked!, I tell you – to discover there wasn’t one in my new cube. The form I filled out asked why I was making the request, and I wrote, “so that I have a place to put my pens.” And then the form asked, “What would be the consequence of not performing the request?” So I wrote, “My pens will be all over the desk.” Evidently, this was air-tight reasoning, as I came back from lunch to find a drawer installed.

Tuesday, 13 September 2011

I once read somewhere – and I’m sorry I can’t recall the source – that cities have “neighborhoods” and suburbs have “developments.” Isn’t it weird, the source said (and I’m paraphrasing here), that a construction company comes into an area, chops down the trees, fills in the wetlands, plows down the hills, removes the big rocks, kicks out the wildlife, and then proclaims the site to be ‘developed’? As a memorial to such environmental pillaging, the construction companies name the development after whatever they have destroyed. For example, if you live in Elm Park, be assured that the construction company mowed down dozens of elm trees to pave those roads. Fox Glen, Rolling Meadows, and Babbling Brook are similar examples.

It’s funny because now, when I drive past apartments or neighborhoods or ‘developments’ that declare their name on a prestigious sign, the first thing I think of is what the name betrays. Did they plow down the hills, block the view, uproot the trees, what? It’s like the name is an underhanded betrayal.

A comedian (again, the source escapes me, sorry) once commented on a similar underhanded betrayal of reality. He said that people will often preface their words with a disclaimer that belies their real motive, or stymies your attempt to respond. It’s hard to explain, so I’ll just give some examples…

Have you ever heard anyone begin talking by saying, “Not to be too blunt, but…” You know that person is going to be blunt, right? And now there’s not much you can do about it, because they’ve already declared that they’re not going to be blunt.

Or here’s a better example: “Well, in all honesty…” (Translation: ‘I’m going to be rude.’)

“For lack of better words…” (Translation: ‘I can’t think of a way to say this politely.’)

“Well, not to rip on someone when they’re not here, but…” (Translation: ‘I’m about to rip on someone who’s not here.’)

I wish I could think of better examples, but once this was pointed out to me, I began noticing it all the time. It’s kind of funny, really. It’s amazing how often – especially in work settings – people set up these disclaimers that are supposed to absolve them of culpability. I laugh a little each time I hear one.

Wednesday, 14 September 2011

Today, I paid another visit to A-1 Vacuum in St. Paul. About two weeks ago, I made a stop there to figure out what was wrong with my vacuum. They replaced the filter, cleaned it out, and sold me a new belt. They were a little underhanded in their practices, but nothing to really complain about (though I did blog about the event).

After leaving their store, I brought my improved vacuum home and set it aside. There was no reason to vacuum, really, since we weren’t living in the house yet. So the vacuum did absolutely nothing for nearly two weeks.

Back on Sunday, we used the vacuum for the first time since A-1 installed the new parts. The belt broke. On its first use.

I thus brought the vacuum into the store today and complained that the belt didn’t even last for one usage. One of the employees took the vacuum apart, pulled out the belt and proclaimed that I must’ve vacuumed up something like a rock that broke the belt, because this sort of thing doesn’t just happen on its own. (No shit, Sherlock.) I said, “Yeah, but shouldn’t it survive more than one usage? My last belt lasted over five years.” He said something I didn’t understand, and then said he would not replace it for me.

“Really?” I asked, “Even though I just bought it and used it only once?”

He confirmed this was correct.

I was really surprised. When I used to work at Lenscrafters, by comparison, they had a 30-day guarantee: You could return your glasses for any reason for the first month. If they didn’t work, you didn’t like them, or even if you just broke them in half in a fit of rage. And keep in mind the lenses were often custom made.

Nevertheless, the employee was 100% confident that the belt was not faulty. He refused to give me a new belt just in the interests of customer service (and their website does promise 100% Customer Satisfaction). And, even though their site also promise refunds and replacements on damaged parts less than 14 days old, he didn’t even offer me a discount on a new belt (the belt broke on day 13, I arrived back at the store on day 16). I told him to reassemble my vacuum and that I would go buy a belt from his competitor.

Also: Check it out – my University is ranked 11th by US News and World Report for best Regional Universities. It’s the top ranked University in the state, too.

And here’s my review of the book The End of Christianity. I previously wrote about this book HERE, but that was back when I was only about half finished with the book. The review provides my synopsis of the whole book.

Saturday, 10 September 2011

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. -Anatole France

Is it odd to mourn the loss of an apartment? A home that, in every measurable way, is not as good as the one we moved to today?

So long, hilariously-named intersection.

Our new home has a fireplace, central air, a two-car garage, three bedrooms, a washer and dryer, a yard, a playroom – even a gazebo, for Christ’s sake! – all things that our apartment did not have.

While moving a piece of furniture from point A to point B, one of my friends said, “I bet you’re not gonna miss this apartment, are you?” I hesitated to answer.

It’s true, though: I won’t miss living less than a block from the highway. I won’t miss the loud neighbors. I won’t miss sharing my walls and floor with strangers. I won’t miss having to show up with $2.50 worth of quarters every time I needed to do a load of laundry. And I certainly won’t miss the cramped space.

But there are things I will miss.

The first Monday after we moved in to our apartment, I carried Owen with me as I walked downstairs to get the mail, and he stood next to me as I used the key to open the mailbox. I told Jennifer I was saddened that getting the mail wouldn’t be like it was at our previous home. There, he and I walked down to the end of the driveway and he opened the mailbox himself and pulled out the mail. But now, I didn’t think he would be able to figure out which mailbox was ours. And he certainly wouldn’t be able to figure out the key.

Boy, I was wrong.

The very next day, he walked right to our mailbox, and within a week he had mastered the key. Over the years, he and I made a game out of it, taking different staircases down and back up, using the elevator, kicking a ball down the hallway as we went and, eventually, letting Isla hold the keys as we walked down.

So I will miss getting the mail.

I’ll also miss the coziness of the apartment in winter – with windows on only one side, and with two floors below us, the walls and floor were warm even on the coldest days.

I’ll also miss Owen’s bedroom. He’d had a beautiful bedroom before, and I have every assurance he’ll have a beautiful one again, but I was happy that my wife went in and painted his room before we even spent our first night in the apartment. His calendars hung on the wall, his books were aligned nicely, and a solar system model was suspended from the ceiling. Owen’s little kitchen was set up in one corner, and his chalkboard in the other. Owen affixed numbers to the outside of the bedrooms and bathrooms – his room was number one.

This apartment was also our home while I took guitar lessons, while Jennifer went on a trip to Seattle, when we voted for the first and second time, when we visited Duluth, when we (re)started college at St. Kate’s and Hamline, when Owen attended preschool and kindergarten, started first grade, and put his first couple of baby teeth under the pillow. It’s where we lived while I hosted a TV Show, when we went on several nature walks with Happy Trails, and while we explored the cities – including fossil hunts, a trip to the planetarium, trips to Crosby Lake, Como Lake, and Fort Snelling, visits to the Model Train Museum, the Transportation Museum, the State Capitol, and, most recently, the Foshay Tower.

It is also where we were living when I finally achieved my goal of officiating a wedding and my other goal of viewing every Hitchcock-directed film. More importantly, it was while living in our little apartment that we said goodbye to our cat, Oliver. And, of course…

Sunday, 11 September 2011

My wife snapped this photo of Isla, standing in the now empty living room of our apartment. Last night, for the first time, we slept in our new home – it was only Isla’s 3rd time in her 410 days not sleeping in the apartment. Today we spent our last few hours at the apartment, cleaning and gathering up what little remained. Isla napped in the bedroom one more time.

This is where our baby was conceived. And this very spot is where, nine months later, she was born. And where, one year later, she celebrated her first birthday.

Goodbye, Apartment. Thanks for the memories.

Thursday, 08 September 2011

I took the day off of work today, which makes six days of the last three weeks that I haven’t gone to work (excluding weekends). I started a new class at Hamline today, and coupling that with our upcoming move, I figured I’d stay home today and get stuff done.

Well…I dropped the class.

Everything was going fine in the class for about the first 45 minutes, and then I looked closer at the professor’s class schedule – which she had in electronic version only – and realized the class was scheduled for both Thursdays and Tuesdays. I raised my hand to ensure this was correct…and of course it was. I had specifically asked my adviser to suggest classes that were available only one day a week. There is no way I can leave work at noon TWICE a week and still make my 40 hours each week. Beyond that, this history class is considered a capstone class – meaning it’s essentially supposed to be the last history class I take before earning my minor.

About an hour later, after running around campus getting the proper paperwork and signatures for dropping a class, my adviser told me he had confidence that I would do well in the class. I appreciate his high opinion of my abilities, but I still can’t miss that much work. He suggested I sign up for another class – a Friday only class that begins tomorrow. I considered this option for a few hours, but tonight, whilst talking with my wife, I decided to just forgo a class this semester.I’m just too busy and stressed out right now. This isn’t likely to change anytime in the future, and that really puts my goal of achieving this degree in question.

In lighter news: after picking Owen up from school this afternoon, we headed over to the St. Paul Corner Drug store. Owen saw some paper pumpkins taped to the wall. He asked what they were for, and I told him that if you give the store some money, they will let you put your name on a pumpkin and the money goes to help kids with cystic fibrosis. After the soda jerk told us the cost was a buck, Owen asked me if I had a dollar on me.

I did.

Owen’s is the rightmost pumpkin.

Friday, 09 September 2011

I spent the day at the Minneapolis Convention Center today. About an hour after getting to work, all us employees boarded chartered buses and rode to the City of Lakes. There, they held an “Employee Expo” featuring presentations, ‘cafes’ of activities, food, and games.

I played a trivia game featuring corporation-related trivia questions, such as “Who is the VP of HR?” and other fascinating bits of knowledge. The top two scorers of the day went home with iPads. The best I ever got to was #9. Man, I just can’t seem to win any iPads, Wiis, or iPods no matter how hard I try. I must be unlucky when it comes to products with absurd names.

Later, I assembled kits for making lava lamps and magnetic Silly Putty (these will be donated to kids’ science clubs – the magnetic putty was rather cool; I’d like to make some at home soon).

The most distracting thing about the day, though, was the centerpiece decoration: Hanging Ball Sacks. I’m not kidding you. Hanging. Ball. Sacks.

Take a look:

Ball sacks.

The balls kept changing color, which I think is a clear signal the Convention Center needs to see a doctor. I kept looking up at them, wondering if the contents were going to come spilling out of the ball sacks at any moment. Thankfully, nothing like that happened, which, of course, means that the sacks were well hung.

All right, enough already with the crass jokes.

Monday, 05 September 2011

Today is Labor Day, so if you’re a woman, make sure you stop wearing white until next spring.

What better way to spend labor day than working on our home(s)? More packing…more moving.

I’m kind of disappointed with how much work rose bushes require. Everyday we go to our new place, the bushes look positively parched and, in the 10 days (or so) that they’ve belonged to me, they haven’t exactly flourished. Owen and I set the hose underneath each bush this afternoon, letting the water drain out onto the roots for 20+ minutes each time. I’m kind of split on this matter. On the one hand, rose bushes are pretty. On the other hand, if a plant requires that much care from me, then maybe they aren’t meant to live on the south side of a home in Minnesota.

Also: my wife has added a blog post detailing Isla’s first birthday. Click and enjoy!

Tuesday, 06 September 2011

The big news today is that Owen began first grade.

This year, his school is beginning to implement free breakfast for all students. I think this is a great idea, and if my college was serious about students receiving a quality education, I think they would initiate free breakfast as well. (I know, I know, it all boils down to money. But believe you me – Hamline is not cash-strapped.)

The system was a little chaotic this morning, but I give the school lots of leeway on day one. The menu listed a hot item, but all the food was cold. Owen had two choices of beverage (milk or OJ), two varieties of cold cereal, a bag of apple slices, yogurt, a bag of cinnamon-flavored cookies, and a granola bar. The woman who normally collects payment during lunch was at her post, but instead of taking money, she checked to make sure each child had what they needed; she reminded Owen to get a napkin and spoon.

After getting his breakfast together, Owen and I walked back to his new classroom and he sat at his desk and began eating. In all my years of compulsory education, I never, ever ate in the classroom. The only exception was when the birthday boy or girl would show up with a cake but, there again, I didn’t partake.

So now I’m wondering how this will go – what if Owen or one of his classmates spills their cereal onto the carpet? Will have drunk OJs and rotting apple slices stink up the garbage during the day? I’m sure they’ve thought about all this, but I hope it goes well.

Wednesday, 07 September 2011

Here’s an article on the death of reference books.

I absolutely love reference books. At the book store and the library, it’s the section I gravitate too. When I was a kid and people asked me what books were my favorite, I would say reference (or sometimes I’d say “general knowledge”). I loved those books – like encyclopedias, the Guinness Book, The Book of Lists, and The Top 10 of Everything, that attempted to encapsulate human knowledge into a single tome. Sure, if I wanted a deeper understanding of, say, astronomy, I’d have to look elsewhere, but for a topical overview – a quick reference – there were no better books. So, it should be obvious that I should mourn the loss of reference books.

To an extent, I do. However, another part of me wonders: Why purchase a reference book on the Presidents (for example) when everything I’d want to know about them is online? See, if reference books were declining in popularity due to a decline in American literacy or a rise in idiocracy, then I’d be sad. But when the old form has simply been replaced with a superior form, then I don’t care as much.

Granted, reference books have their place. I still keep dictionaries around the home(s) and office. If I’m reading a book and I don’t know a word, it’s much easier to look up a word in the old Webster’s, than to boot up the computer, open the internet, hope I have a good connection, and then type in the word. But even given that, the above cited article is just stupid.

Author John Walsh says this regarding the supposed superiority of print reference materials:

It’s precisely the kind of detail you’ll find in a dictionary – and only in a paper dictionary with words on pages. There’s shibboleth, and its fascinating etymology, in the current OED, and in my 10th-edition Chambers. But if I look it up online, on www.dictionary.cambridge.org, I’m given only the definition.

…Um, here’s your problem idiot: you only visited to one website. If anything, this shows the superiority of online resources; if your print dictionary doesn’t have what you’re looking for, then you’re out of luck, but if a website doesn’t have what you need, you can easily go to another website.

He also bizarrely lambastes one Collins’ website for stating that their next print dictionary will omit several words that are no longer used. This is another point for online sources: since there are no space constraints, online dictionaries don’t have to ever remove any words.

Walsh then next complains that there are new words coming into existence! Does this man not know that language evolves? And that English, perhaps more than any other language in history, grabs words from all over the globe? I don’t care if you’re 19 or 91 – you will sound like an old fart if you complain about new things for no other reason than because they are new. Oh no! “Retweet” is now a word! Oh my god! What is civilization coming to? And no one is using “Victrola” anymore! For shame!

Walsh then gives himself away by inferring that new words and online media don’t give him the same nostalgia as old words and print media. That, pretty much, negates all his other arguments. But I appreciate the delayed honesty.

Thursday, 01 September 2011

Owen’s school hosted an orientation this afternoon. I had not planned on attending but, as luck would have it, I spent my early afternoon at my employer’s other location – the one closer to my home(s) – and, finishing early, I found myself done with work about a half hour before the orientation began and only 10 minutes from home(s).

Owen’s first grade teacher is new to his school. She’s been teaching in the St. Paul area for most of my life, but according to the dossier she supplied, this is her first time teaching at this particular school. We arrived with Owen’s school supplies and, to our delight, the teacher allowed the kids to select the place they wanted to sit. Owen chose a spot near the teacher’s desk by the window, and Jennifer helped him put his supplies inside his desk.

The teacher asked Owen what his favorite subject was. Math was the answer. After talking with him and my my wife for a couple of minutes, the teacher showed them the course curriculum for math and they all agreed he’s already above that.

So, I’m not sure what to do about that. If Owen ends up bored in his favorite subject, that’s not good, is it? Maybe he needs to skip ahead; I don’t know. When I was in first grade, the teacher met with my parents and suggested that I skip 2nd grade. My parents, in their infinite wisdom, declined this offer because I was too small. (Yeah…that’s always baffled me. I mean, I’m no line-backer, but I’m not freakishly tiny either.)

In a later conversation, Jennifer and I again bemoaned the constant trial that is the Education of Owen (a phraseology we often use to hearken THIS FILM – featuring another case of educational difficulty). Basically, we agreed that it’s tough to know what to do with a kid who excels in some areas, is right on target in other areas, and is behind in still other areas.

Friday, 02 September 2011

Once again, I feel like I’m on the eve of some very busy, stressful times.

We are moving in about a week. Well, we’ve kind of been moving for a week already, but next weekend is when we’re renting a truck and loading up the stuff that makes a place a home – beds, toiletries, clothes, and food.

But before that happens, Owen will be beginning first grade and I will be starting up another semester at Hamline.

I’m also being transferred to a new cube at my job. After over four years in the same cube – during which time absolutely everyone around me has come and gone – I will be packing up and relocating to building #3. It will be my fourth cube since being hired. It will also mean that, for the first time ever, I will have cubed in all three buildings here at my job.

Two weeks from now, Jennifer, Isla, and I are taking off for Atlanta, too, so there’s that to think about.

Fretting about all the activities coming up is very taxing. That’s why I enjoyed when a friend sent me a link to this video today:

Saturday, 03 September 2011
Today, my parents-in-law came over to our house and helped us get things ready for the big move in.
My father-in-law showed up with a bizarre torture device that can amputate vines from 10 feet away. This allowed me to prune the rose bushes that are growing up the side of our house. I like the look of plants growing on the home (and I know it helps with heating and cooling), but Jennifer and I wanted to trim them away from the windows so as to let in some light.
We also swapped out the wax ring on the upstairs toilet, which wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it sounds.
Then we ordered pizza.

Sunday, 04 September 2011
Today we spent the day at Jennifer’s uncle and aunt’s house in Forest Lake. Ostensibly, the event was a baby shower for the newest addition to the family, but the gift opening took up about 8 minutes of the 8 hours.
Speaking of the baby: she’s the daughter of my wife’s brother and his wife. She was born in late July – just before Isla’s first birthday. Today was my first time meeting her. It’s funny, I keep referring to her as Isla’s cousin. She is Isla’s cousin, of course, but she’s also Owen’s cousin, too. But, in my brain, it must seem like a little baby belongs with Isla, whereas my five year old nieces seem like they go with Owen even though they are just as much Isla’s cousins. Very confusing.
I talked with my other brother-in-law while at the shower today, too. I asked him for an update on Pop Fizz, which is some here’s-what’s-cool-today website and daily email that he has co-created. He said they are looking for more advertisers. So, you know, if you need to advertise your services, you might want to think of advertising with Pop Fizz. Or just sign up for their daily emails and help my brother-in-law earn a living.