Saturday, 03 March 2012

Last week, when I was buying sheets of plywood for my garage, I had a few minutes to wait. One of the employees was cutting the wood into manageable sizes for me, so I wandered around the store. I found a bathroom faucet for sale, on clearance from $60 down to $28. It looked nice; a vast improvement over what currently exists in the downstairs bathroom. So I bought it.

 The ugliest bathroom faucet I’ve ever owned.

Today, I finally got around to installing it. Owen and Isla accompanied me to the local hardware store so I could pick up a few items I needed to do the job, and then I set to work. The connectors I bought were too long, so I had to go back and swap them, otherwise everything went smoothly.

Owen gave the faucet its inaugural run. He seemed pleased with the results. So was I.

But I didn’t stop there. No sir-ee. I also finally removed the keychain-slash-bill holder shelf that came with our house and centered it on the wall. Yeah, not sure what the bonehead previous owner was thinking, but there’s a narrow wall separating the back door from the mudroom, and he hung the shelf there…off-center by about an inch. It wouldn’t be noticeable on a large wall, but when the wall is only 10 inches wide, it’s obvious. It took me all of about four minutes to locate the exact center, mark it, unscrew the shelf, and rehang it at the exact center.

Sunday, 04 March 2012

In the continuing saga of home improvement, today I put these little caps on the bolts that come up from the floor and hold the toilet in place. I actually bought some caps yesterday but, seeing they didn’t fit, I returned them at the same time I swapped out those connectors. Boy, that was dumb of me. Turns out, you can saw the bolts down.

I wasn’t sure if this would work, since they are rather sizable bolts. But with a bit of olecranon tallow, I was able to hacksaw my way through both bolts. The new caps fit well, and they make the whole thing look better. Well, it’s still a place to take a crap, but you get my meaning.

Also, in an effort to gain more room in the garage (since I no longer have the workshop for my own use), I brought in several pieces of baby furniture (you know, like a swing, a jumper, and a car seat) and some cardboard boxes. I’ve never liked that these things have been in our garage, but we didn’t really have a choice when we lived in the apartment: there was just no room in our home. For a while, we kept them at my mom’s place, but when she hooked up with Keith, my kind, loving, considerate, friendly stepfather, he asked us to take our junk elsewhere. Or, rather, he had my mom ask us, since, you know, he can’t talk to us without suffering grave repercussions.

This is what happened to the last JW who foolishly tried to talk to us.

So…yeah…anyway…our stuff’s been out in a dirty garage for two years.

When we moved into our home almost six months ago, I didn’t even think about it. All that stuff had been in the garage already, so I just absent-mindedly put it in the new garage.

But today, with Owen’s help, I carried the items into the house and put them in our attic. They’ll stay cleaner and safer in there and, should we need any of it again (or wish to get rid of it), it will be a lot easier venturing into the attic during a cold winter’s day than out to the garage.

Friday, 02 March 2012

This evening, Jennifer and I once again engaged in a conversation about my middle name.

She’s not excited about this idea. She said something like, “But it’s who you are – I remember when we first met, you used to always tell people your whole name.”

“Yeah, I know, and that’s just it. So many people hate their middle name or are embarrassed by it, but I had no such issues; I was proud of my name and I liked to tell people my whole name.”

Actually, the notoriety I afforded my middle name was not initially born out of pride, but out of a need to distinguish myself from my father. My parents, in a masterstroke of creativity, bestowed upon me the same name as my father and, upon my sister, the same name as our mother. The four of us were James and Diane and James and Diane.

This was super-cute, and despite what everyone evidently thought, there were no name issues at home. After all, the big people were known as “Dad” and “Mom,” and the little people were “James” and “Diane.”

But it wasn’t so cute as the kids became adults. Our mail got mixed up. People called asking for Diane, and I’d have to ask “Which one?” My mom hated being called “Big Diane.” My Dad confounded people by introducing himself with the “childish” name of “Jim” or “Jimmy,” while calling his young son the authoritative sounding “James.” My sister took to filling out forms and signing up for magazines as “Michele Diane” (a swapping of her first and middle names). I, meanwhile, signed my full name, or at least put in thie intial – D – to distinguish me from my father.

But I don’t like my middle name anymore (I’ve written about this before).

So I want to change it.

But will it mess with my identity?

I pointed out to my wife that she changed her name, and she said she had to, ’cause we got married.

I rebutted that she did not have to. I distinctly recall initiating a conversation regarding which name we would take.

Jennifer reminded me that I was insistent we share a last name, and that I presented an argument that claimed my last name was better. At the time, she readily conceded. I knew she would, because she had lamented how she disliked that people always pronounced her name wrong, or didn’t know how to spell it. I assured her there were no such issues with my last name. So, we went with mine.

Jennifer also noted that she now uses her maiden name online, but I pointed out that she only does this so that people who knew her in her younger days (before she married the man of her dreams) can find her.

I want to have a name like I used to have – one that I am proud of and that identifies me as the person I am. If I’m going to be named after someone (as all three of my names are), then it better A) not be a stupid name, and B) not be named after an asshole.

Jennifer brought up the issue of money, so I – being the spendthrift I am – asked how she would feel about it if money was no concern. I don’t remember what she said. I think I was getting too tired.

Anyway, I don’t know. Maybe it’s silly. Maybe it’s not. Over the past two years, I’ve removed my middle name from everything that I could; even when forms ask for my middle name, I simply put the initial.

Thursday, 01 March 2012

Well, we have now completed 60 days in the year they call “2012.” Here are some things I’ve done so far…

*Officiated a wedding

*Took Owen to three “Build and Grow” events at Lowe’s

*Continued in my internship as an editor with Freethought House

*Gave speech #8 (the one with the standing ovation) and #9 in Toastmasters

*Took a business trip to Janesville, Wisconsin

*Completed editing two issues of The Minnesota Atheist

*Hosted two episodes of Atheist Talk

*Began a history class at Hamline University

*Went to the movies twice

*Insulated and installed a ceiling in our workshop, signed the lease with our renter to begin renting it today

*Read 10 books, not counting the book I reread.

No wonder I’m tired!

Oh – in other news, CHECK OUT MY WIFE’S REVIEW of the book Secrets and Wives. I was glutted with a backlog of books to read for reviews and class, so she offered to read this book and write a review. Go wife!

Wednesday, 29 February 2012

Happy Leap Day!

Leap Day, of course, is one of several days during the whose name I dispute. After all, today is the one day we are not leaping over February 29th. When you think about it, this shouldn’t even be called a Leap Year, since we are not leaping over anything this year; we are planting ourselves firmly in February for an additional 24 hours.

As is true with every February 29th, Jennifer and I celebrated our anniversary.

“What?” you say, “I didn’t know you guys were married on Leap Day!”

“Oops,” I say, “Let me clarify.” We were not married on Leap Day. In fact, our wedding annivsersary – occurring as it does on August 24th – is about as far from Leap Day as one can get.

However, it was on Leap Day in 1996 that Jennifer and I officially became engaged. We – or, as Jennifer likes to not, I – purposely planned it this way. In doing so, we were adding a certain uniqueness to our impending nuptuals, and I was enshrining yet another event to celebrate.

Yes, yes, I know we could have gotten engaged on any calendar day and subsequently celebrated each anniversay. However, let’s face it: who wants to celebrate something as pedantic as an engagement every year? Especially since Jennifer and I already planned to marry and had talked openly of it for months; really, nothing changed on February 29, 1996, except that Jennifer and I now both wore engagement rings.

The key here is to watch your phraseology. In 2004, after going out to eat for our anniversary, Jennifer and I returned to our townhome and a couple of friends came over. My friend Ryan, on learning it was our “anniversary” said: “Wow, so you guys have been married for over seven years, but you’ve only been engaged for two!”

No – he wasn’t quite right, and I had to correct him. Obviously we’d been engaged longer than we’d been married, just as a baby born on February 29, 1996 would currently be 16 years old despite the passage of only four Leap Days.

So here’s how we have to phrase it: “Today is the 4th anniversary of our engagment.”

See? That way it works.

Anyway, we went to Buca for dinner. As was apprpriate for our 4th anniversary, there were four of us in attendance. When the waitress sked if we were celebrating anything, Jennifer said no, but I spoke up and explained that my wife had just lied. Jennifer rolled her eyes. I told her I didn’t like that. She said she was embarressed. I said something like, “Who cares what the waitress thinks? Besides, this is Buca – they have a placemat listing off all the crazy shit you can come and celebrate with them.”

Yeah – it’s true. There was a placemat sitting in front of me that offered Groundhog’s Day and Daylight Saving Time as two of about 20 events to celebrate this month and next.

Anyway, happy anniversary to us. We’re already making plans for our next anniversary.

Monday, 27 February 2012

I keep meaning to talk about this, and I guess now is as good a time as any.

Adele’s album, 21, has now spent (drum roll, please)… 21 weeks at number one on the Billboard charts. The fact that the album title and the number of weeks it’s spent at number is amazing enough (maybe as amazing as when Bare Naked Ladies’ “One Week” spent one week at number one). But what’s more amazing is that this is the longest that any album has sat atop the top position since the century began.

Don’t judge an album by its (boring) cover: the music will not make you fall asleep.

Actually, you’d have to go all the way back to 1984 to find an album that’s spent more time in the top slot.

As much as I like this singer and her music, and as much as I feel she deserves the top spot for as long as the buying public will give it to her, I can’t help but feel she’s wrecked something: For the past 19 years the ten albums that have spent the most time at number one could be broken down thusly:

Two from the 1950s

Two from the 1960s

Two from the 1970s

Two from the 1980s

Two from the 1990s

…And now Adele has gone and skunked that up.

“Hey,” you say, “What are those ten albums that have spent the most time at #1?”

“Good question,” I said, “Don’t bother guessing. You’ll never figure it out.”

“Really?” you say, “‘Cause I thought Thriller was, like, a monstrous best-seller.”

“Okay,” I say, “So it appears you will be able to guess one of them. But don’t bother with the other nine. They’re not what you’d think they should be.”

Okay, enough with the cuteness. Until Adele steamrolled onto this list, here were the ten albums that spent the most time in the #1 position:

• (54 weeks) West Side Story – Soundtrack (1962–63)
• (37 weeks) Thriller – Michael Jackson (1983–84)
• (31 weeks) Calypso – Harry Belafonte (1956–57)
• (31 weeks) South Pacific – Soundtrack (1958–59)
• (31 weeks) Rumours – Fleetwood Mac (1977–78)
• (24 weeks) Saturday Night Fever: The Original Movie Sound Track – Bee Gees (1978)
• (24 weeks) Purple Rain – Prince and the Revolution (1984–85)
• (21 weeks) Please Hammer, Don’t Hurt ‘Em – MC Hammer (1990)
• (20 weeks) The Bodyguard: Original Soundtrack Album – Whitney Houston/Soundtrack (1992–93)
• (20 weeks) Blue Hawaii – Elvis Presley (1961–62)

So now that 21 has spent the same amount of time at #1 as (*choke*) Please Hammer, Don’t Hurt ‘Em, it is now tied for seventh place in the Billboard pantheon of longest-running best sellers.

My wish for the upcoming week is that Adele can one-up Stanley Burrell and last 22 weeks at #1.

Tuesday, 28 February 2012

This morning, as the professor entered class, I overheard her talking with a fellow student, and she said something akin to: “Stefanie emailed me this morning to say she wasn’t coming to class because she didn’t finish the reading. Not a good excuse, to me.”

Yeah, I agree, that’s a miserable excuse.

In fact, in an effort to find some kind of rationale behind this, I broached the topic with a friend later in the day. Specifically, I wondered why a student, already behind on the reading, wouldn’t just come to class and try to learn something about the pages she didn’t read by listening to the lecture. “Maybe she was afraid she’d be called on,” my friend suggested. I disagreed, primarily because the girl would be under no compulsion to raise her hand. I also pointed out that class meets on Tuesday and Thursday, and last Thursday the professor said she would be spending the 28th lecturing about the Great Depression.

Is this a great depression, or what?

Our assigned reading, by contrast, begins with the 1940s, and so there was no reason to even expect we would be touching on the reading. And, in fact, we didn’t.

Maybe the student just felt guilty. Or hungover. Who knows.

The professor wandered around the classroom, saying hello to the students, before the class began. She sauntered over to me, and asked: “James, did you work?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Full time?”

“Yes.”

“And do you have a family?”

“Yeah, I have a wife and two kids.”

“Did you do the reading for today?”

“Yes.”

She began to walk away. As she did, she shook her head and said, “I don’t know why these other students claim they don’t have time for the readings.”

I was going to say, “They must not be awesome, like me.” But I caught myself and, instead, said, “They maybe are taking more credits.”

The professor then asked how many credits I was shooting for this semester, and I told her I was just taking this one class (it’s tough to fit in more credits when I have a goal of dropping classes every semester).

The professor nodded and seemed to feel this satisfied the current conundrum.

“Conundrum.” God, I love that word.