29 April 2010

Sick today.

It really didn’t come as a surprise. Ever since last weekend, I’ve been ridiculously tired, even thought I’ve gotten 7+ hours of sleep every night. I still went to work, though. I feel like I suffer more if I stay home and lay around all day than if I get up and get my mind off the illness.

After picking Owen up from his aunt’s place, we stopped at the library. Owen wanted to play at the playground there, but I told him I was too sick, and I just wanted to get home. But Owen argued that he’d be willing to let me just sit on the bench while he played, which was very sporting of him. I told him “5 minutes” which, somehow, has come to = 30 minutes these days.

Owen made friends with a kid at the playground. At first there were a bunch of 8-10 year-olds there, but then they left, so it was just Owen, this other 4 year-old boy, and a girl. Owen and the boy chased each other around and took turns throwing rocks down the slide and then sliding down after them (I’m not sure what the appeal of chase-the-rock is). When I told Owen it was time to go, he came right over and said he was ready; no complaints. He hugged the boy goodbye – robot-style – then told me he liked that boy, but that he never got used to the girl. I told him I never get used to most girls, either.

30 April 2010

The radio was on in the lab today, and during an advertisement, radio personality Terry Traen said that winners will receive a party for themselves and 100 of their closest friends. I didn’t catch what the contest was, but I just thought that was funny: One hundred closest friends? I’d have trouble picking out 100 people I even like. On second thought, there are lots of people I can stand in small doses, so maybe if I knew that someone would be coming to my party with 99 other people, I wouldn’t have to be such a stickler about how well I really liked them.

But, still, I’m not sure how I could get to 100.

First off, I think these “friends” would have to live close by. Can’t imagine my Floridian father, for example, hiking it up here for a simple party. Second, how well would I really have to know them? Let’s see…

First my wife and Owen: 2. Then my wife’s family – including parents, uncles, aunts, siblings, nieces, cousins, grandma and assorted others comes to about 25 people. This even includes some really small children and a few people who may or may not actually be part of the family. Then I suppose I could invite my co-workers, most of whom would have a significant other to bring. Counting even there kids, too, I come up with about 35 people; bringing my total to 62. I have a few people who would be considered primarily “friends,” which I am defining as anyone I chose to spend time with even though I’m not related to them or work with them. This adds 20 people, as long as we include their kids.  Then there’s my family, which, these days, actually means “my sister’s husband’s family,” so there’s another 6 people.

Yeah, so as you can see, the grand prize for this contest would be wasted on me.

01 May 2010

As of about noon today, there were 1,000 more trees in the Como Park area of St. Paul. I’m pleased to say that Owen and I planted about ten of them. We hooked up with Happy Trails Nature Club, which in turn was hooked up with the St. Paul Parks and Recreation division for some Arbor Day madness. We met at 9:00, then we split off into groups headed by someone from the P&R who showed us how to plant trees the proper way.

Owen was very diligent about filling in the holes after the tree was planted. When it was time to get the mulch, he stayed back at the tree – which worked out very well, as I could quickly find where our tree was located again. Owen helped spread out the mulch and water the new trees. He seemed a little disappointed that we were dealing with seedlings and not seeds, but he took solace in have earthworms crawl around in his hands. Also, planting trees is extremely taxing when I’m sick. Ugh.

Then, we took off for Hyland Park in Bloomington. The Raptor Center held their yearly raptor release there today. And man, there were a lot of people there. We had to park in the overflow parking area, which is just a grassy hill. There were booths set up to do activities and learn about the Raptor Center and the birds. There was the largest playground I have ever seen. We got to see many large birds with permanent injuries who are unsuitable for life in the wild, but seem to be doing just fine in captivity. And…I’m not sure how this qualifies as a raptor, but…they also had a Blanding’s turtle there, too, and Owen got to pet it.

But the best part was the release of the birds. There were four rehabilitated birds re-released into the wild today. Each one was brought, one at a time, onto a make-shift stage and introduced. After their story was told, we all counted down from “3” (Owen counted down to zero, even though the rest of us stopped at 1), and then the birds was practically thrown into the air. The winds were strong today, so the birds had to use some power, but they all took off with amazing speed.

One bird had been shot by a hunter in South Dakota. Somehow, it didn’t die – in fact, it was discovered by just the right person who got in touch with the Raptor Center. The bird was flown by Delta airlines (incidentally – how much do you change an eagle for a plane ride? Delta says: “Eagles fly free in America”) to the Twin Cities, where it underwent restorative surgery to its wing to fix broken bones. It wintered here in St. Paul and, today, it was again free. Talk about beating the odds.

I didn’t think it would be that cool but…it was. It felt real invigorating. Some people were even crying they were so happy. Owen, sitting atop my shoulders, clapped each time, and said “yay!” when the kestrel was released (he must have a soft spot for kestrels, but who doesn’t?) and I took some pictures:

This bird is a permanent member of the Raptor Center. He has ambassadorial status.

Here’s another permanent member. Sorry, forgot to ask what kind of bird this is.

This turtle’s definitely got a winning smile…but am I the only one who doesn’t get how this reptile finagled its way into a raptor center? It’s a freakin’ RAPTOR center!

Here we see Owen positively beaming with delight as he pets the turtle. The handler explained to us that turtles swim in the same water they pee in, so it’d be a good idea if we washed our hands later. I remembered this two hours later, after we’d gotten home and Owen had snuggled with mama for about ten minutes.

Vulture.

I know this looks like a bad picture, but actually it shows a few of the other – alright, fine, it’s just a bad picture.

By the time I took this picture, the hawk was already behind this tree. See him?

State Representative Betty McCullum, Dem. (as if any Republicans would attend something like this), prepares to release a non-voter back into her district.

Free at last!

Going…

Gone.

27 April 2010

Are there still people out there that don’t realize that banning a book simply increases it’s popularity? I, for one, had never heard of the graphic novel series Bone until it was brought to my attention last week as a potential for banning.

Specifically, Ramona DeLay, wanted to get the books removed from District 196’s libraries (Rosemount, Apple Valley, Eagan). I don’t live within the borders of this district, but my friend Ryan does. He first told me about this throwback to medieval Europe last week in an article he’d read. He said there was going to be a hearing on the matter. So, today, he and I attended the hearing.

Ramona’s argument started out strongly enough: she first clarified that she only wanted the books banned from the elementary schools, that the books contain sexual encounters, and that the overt drinking and smoking in the books sent a conflicting message to students who were also being indoctrinated in the cult of DARE.

But then her argument kind of fell apart. She used the term “age appropriate” – which is too ambiguous to be of any use. She also claimed that the smoking in the novels caused her young son to question the practice, and she had to explain it to him. Which, to me, sounds like ideal parenting. My son, not even old enough for school yet, has likewise asked about smoking. I don’t get what’s so bad about that, and Ramona offered nothing to change that.

Next, the lead librarian for the district spoke. She argued that these books have received multiple accolades, and have been a venue for getting kids into reading for several years. She read a letter from the author in response to the motion, wherein the author explained that the smokers and heavy drinkers are the “bad guys” of the books, and those who gamble and swindle receive their just comeuppance. The author said he could not address the issue of sexual encounters because – get this: there are none.

The librarian, while certainly not shattering any stereotypes in her steady, metered speech and conservative dress, nevertheless concluded with a personal, impassioned plea that the district not go down the path of banning: if a parent chooses to keep a book out of their house, that is fine, but they mustn’t legislate morality for the other children in the district.

Then there was a discussion among the 11-member panel. My friend Ryan blogged about it, so go there to read some details. During the discussion, it quickly became obvious that the majority were in favor of keeping the books in the libraries.

The lone dissenting opinion was offered by the panel’s sole male. He argued that Ramona made some good points (she did) and that he was afraid the books might be too complex for some students, and others might wonder why a character’s hat caught on fire when he saw his lovely girlfriend bathing naked. (I actually wonder that, too – has this ever happened to any of you? If so, how old were you, who was the woman, and what style of hat were you wearing?) When he said he wasn’t sure that a book depicting smoking and drinking was the best we could offer our kids, his points were quickly rebutted. One mother on the panel said that, if we were to ban on the basis of drinking and smoking, then the Little House series would get the boot, too. A librarian argued that if she were to choose only the best-of-the-best for her students, she wouldn’t have a library…she would have merely a shelf. He also said he was concerned that, since the protagonists were adults, children might have trouble identifying with them, and might end up relating to the bad guys. You know, like the time you went to see Return of the Jedi and, in the confusion of adults like Luke, Leia, and Han, you ended up identifying with Jabba the Hutt, the rancor, or  the sarlacc.

After a ~45 minutes of discussion, a paper vote was taken. Victory for free speech by a 10 to 1 margin. The voting was anonymous, but I am ashamed to say the one person who kept it from being unanimous was certainly the one who belonged to my gender.

As Ryan and I discussed as we were leaving, unanimity would have been nice, but it’s good to know that the suburb we both grew up in is, at least, 91% sane.

I am putting “read Bone collection” on my ever increasing to-do list.

28 April 2010

My wife handed me a page-a-day calendar the other day, and I brought it to work to set on my desk. It’s a “green” calendar, offering tips, statistics, and quotes about caring for the environment and living sustainably. I’m a little torn about a calendar that promotes green living whilst creating trash in the form of a tear-off page each day, but I digress.

Today, the calendar says this:

90: The percentage of time Americans spend indoors.

I’m presuming they’re telling me this as if it’s a bad thing; the implication being that we should get outside more. Which is…very true, I guess. But I am wondering…

What is the ideal percentage of time I should be spending outside?

Does the 90% include sleep time? ‘Cause, if so, geez, give me a break already.

When I’m in the car – am I outside or insider? What about when I’m in a tent?

Does this statistic take into account the fact that many Americans live in freezing places? The time I spent outdoors in January is undoubtedly less than 10%, and I have no desire to change that anytime soon.

Anyway, just wondering. I did go take a walk (outside!) during lunch today, so the calendar’s already doing a good job with the guilt.

24 April 2010

A few days ago, my wife called the Lexmark Customer “Service” Center to get help on our printer. The problem was that, even with a new ink cartridge, an error message kept popping up saying there was no ink. The Lexmark employee explained (in a really lousy version of English) that the color cartridge must be low.

How stupid is that? We simply wanted to print text: ALL BLACK. Why would a color cartridge be needed? It’s not…the printer is just set up that way.

As if it provided any help to my wife (who needed to print her homework NOW so as to have it ready for class tomorrow), the employee offered to ship us a cartridge for free. (Damn, we’re good at getting free and discounted things.) She took down my wife’s name and address (it took her three tries to spell my wife’s name correctly – I guess my last name is unusual in Calcutta) and shipped us this:

This is exactly what the contents looked like upon opening the box this afternoon. A tiny box with an ink cartridge, approximately 3x2x1 inches, plus a sheet of bubble wrap that was not touching the tiny box in any way. The box used to ship this was over a foot wide, ~18 inches tall and about as long. Shame on you Lexmark! Your shipping capabilities are as crappy as your printers.

25 April 2010

In May, 2007, I invested $1 in a spider plant (Chlorophytum comosum) that was for sale at my job’s yearly garden fair. My Dad used to own one of them; which is funny now that I think about it, because all the plants in our home were just kind of community property. But, I guess, somewhere along the line, my Dad decided the spider plant was his. He said he liked them because they were the one plant my mom couldn’t kill. Now, I recall certain plants in our home living for years – including one that eventually touched the ceiling and had to be cut in half – so I suspect my Dad was exaggerating, but, she is his ex-wife.

At any rate, since I’m a dad, too, now, I figured I needed to own one of these as well. When I brought it home, I set it out on our deck for the summer, where it doubled in size (from ~4 to ~8″). In early October, I neglected to notice the dip below the freezing line, and I brought my plants indoors after they had spent a night below 32 degrees (or 273 degrees, for those of you who prefer the Kelvin scale). But as I was about to bring it inside, I noticed the spider plant already looked dead. So I left it out there for two more days. Finally, my wife said: “Why don’t you bring it in, I don’t think it’s dead.”

It sure looked dead to me. The leaves were brown and moist, like an old banana, and they lied limply on the soil, spilling over the edge of the pot. Regardless, I brought the corpse inside. My wife set it on the kitchen counter in the sun, and soon new shoots came up. We repotted it, giving it a home hanging from the ceiling, and by the turn of the year, it looked as good as ever.

By the summer of 2009, the plant was thriving – with stolons and plantlets coming off everywhere. On our deck, I potted three separate offshoots, being mindful to keep them connected to the mother plant for two weeks while they had time to take root. I cut the umbilical cords in late summer, gave one offspring to my mother-in-law, and set the other two on our shelf above the TV in the living room. Here’s one of them:

Through the fall and winter, my wife has occasionally cut off and discarded some of the offshoots, as they keep falling into onto our dining room table.  Yesterday, I brought the mother plant down from it’s hanging pot, and potted three of its five offshoots in this big network of propagation. Finding another pot in the dark recesses of our walk-in closet, I potted a fourth one today:

In 14 days, I will break the links, and all the baby plants can get to work cleaning our air. If you’re in the market for a spider plant, just let me know. I’m willing to give some of them up for adoption.

On a related note, I gotta say: Absolutely everything that lives under our roof seems to have no trouble reproducing – parakeets, love birds, snails, fiddler crabs, cacti, cichlids, spider plants and, heck, even humans. If you or someone you love is apparently infertile, just have them come live with us for a few weeks.

26 April 2010

Today was a “birthday breakfast” day at my job. This event has evolved considerably since my date-of-hire, and I’m not sure how to plot the trending, but it doesn’t look good.

At first, one of my co-workers ordered snacks – donuts, bagels, fruit – and have them delivered to our department. She did this on each day that a co-worker had a birthday. Then, the celebrations got ramped up: we were treated to lunch in the cafeteria for each birthday. Not just the birthday boy or girl, no, all of us received a complimentary meal.

As some point – maybe about 4 years ago – the luncheon was shifted to a breakfasteon (I think I just made up a new word); our manager cited cost as the reason. About a year later, a declaration was handed down stipulating that, henceforth, birthdays shall be celebrated no more than once a month, with everyone from that month “sharing” a birthday. This took our free breakfasts down from 2-4 times to once a month. Needless to say, I was quite pleased when the only other June baby quit the department. I waited a long time to celebrate my birthdays, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna share it.

Anyway, this morning, as we gathered to walk down for breakfast, our manager informed us that we would each receive a $7.50 coupon for use at the cafeteria. We were still welcome to purchase whatever we wanted, but the company would only kick in $7.50. This is a tough dollar value to stay under, especially since the only decent orange juice is $2.99 a bottle. I skipped on my favorite OJ and still had to cough up 13 cents.

I’m not complaining, mind you; $7.50 is still $7.50…I’m just wondering how these events will next evolve.

I’ve heard a new employee is starting in our department in a couple of weeks. She better not be a June baby.

22 April 2010

Happy Earth Day!

Today was a long day, but a pretty good day. In the evening, we ventured over to our friends’ (Ryan and Esther) place. We got to join them in their inaugural use of the grill and fire pit this season.

Ryan’s trying his hand at gardening. He paged through a tomato catalog with us, like a little kid show showing off his favorite comic book. I hadn’t realized there were so many types of tomatoes, but I guess it’s not too surprising.  Ryan purchased packets of different color and flavor tomatoes, and he offered us a few of his seedlings once it’s time for him to thin out the crop and transfer them from pots on a shelf out to the actual garden.

He even had a topsy-turvy upside-down tomato planter. The claim is, since the plant does not have to fight gravity, it grows better. And since it’s less likely to suffer from root rot or pests, it has a better shot of growing. I’m skeptical; getting it off the ground is certainly a good idea, but defying gravity? Maybe that’ll work…but isn’t the device forcing the plant to work against millions of years of genetic selection? I’m curious to see how that experiment plays out over the summer.

On the other hand, we may not live to see the end of the summer…

23 April 2010

So, today is an odd sort of anniversary. Three years ago today, I was embroiled in an email discussion with my Uncle Bill. He’s a life-long, loyal Jehovah’s Witness and, continuing from an exchange that had begun three days earlier, he was responding to my email in an attempt to win me back into the ‘fold.’

Here’s what he said towards the end of the email he sent me on April 23, 2007:

But know this for sure, you have all, yes ALL of your family backing you 110%.  We ALL love you and want to see you happy.  And most importantly, in the new system with us.  I can’t believe that this system will go on for more than two to three years.

This is typical Witness-speak. They just can’t possibly imagine the world – this “system” – lasting too much longer. My response, in part, said:

How do we know it’s going to be destroyed in our lifetime?  When I was a kid, people said things to me like “You’ll never graduate because the end will be here by then”.  I remember a Watchtower saying the end would come by the end of the 20th Century.  Then they changed the definition of “generation”, so that the end could basically come anytime.  Even the date of 1914 is incorrect, because it’s based on the belief that Jerusalem fell in 607bc.

I was trying to point out to him that, while I couldn’t be absolutely sure the world would last for 2-3 more years, if we look at the history of the religion, we see that they have always claimed the end is right around the corner.

One thing that was unusual, however, was his usage of an exact time frame. Usually Witnesses just say the end is coming “soon,” taking refuge in the vagueness of that word. Using my Uncle’s time frame as a springboard, I wrote this article, which has been on Minnesota Atheists’ homepage for a few weeks now. It would appear that, today, my Uncle’s words have proven false. Yet another Witness expectation dashed to pieces.

But here’s the funny thing: the most recent issue of the Watchtower, instead of fulfilling my Uncle’s hope that the end would be here by now, has instead postponed the end yet again! Check out this paragraph from page 10 of the April 15, 2010 issue:

Let me break down that rambling penultimate sentence for you: It’s basically saying that the end will come before the people whose lives overlap with people who were “on hand” in 1914 all die out. Maybe an example is in order: let’s say someone was born in 1913. They were certainly “on hand” in 1914, right? Okay, now let’s say that person lives to be 100 years old. That means they’re still alive today. My wife is slated to give birth in July…so our infant’s life will clearly overlap with the life of the person born in 1913. Now, let’s say our new child lives to be 100. That means they’ll still be around in 2109. Viola! According to the Watchtower Society, then, a “generation” can last from 1913-2109 (at least – I could have argued for longer lifespans here). So, far from my Uncle being correct that god will bring an end in April 2010, his religion has just informed him that he could have another 100 years to wait. Wow. I’m so surprised.

For the past three years, I’ve held onto this date, wondering if I should write to my Uncle. With the benefit of the elapsing of his hope, I could say something like: “See? It never comes. The Society just keeps dangling the carrot, and you keep thinking you’ve almost got it, then they pull it further away from you again. How far away do you think the end is now? Two years? Or three? I’ll write to you again in 2013.”

But, I probably won’t write. At any rate, his very next line in his email said:

I will wait for however long, but the world is going to destroy itself and man cannot stop it.

So, pretty much, though he wants the end to come really soon, he’s learned to couch his hopes in a pattern of postponement.

20 April 2010

Today was dedicated to schoolwork. I wrote up the rough draft for an essay on the Lovely Bones. Then I spent my lunch hour hunting down internships to write about (for a 2-page paper due next week). Sometime in the afternoon, I read a short story that needed to be read before class tomorrow. This evening, I attended a presentation by author Terry Tempest Williams.

I have to write a paper on this reflection – but I’m not sure how to go about it. She didn’t really have a structured speech. Her words were poetic, lyrical even, and I wasn’t sure exactly how to connect the snippets of her thought together. I think the paper will be heavy on the “reflection” portion, light on the “about the event” portion.

21 April 2010

During my commutes to and from work, I usually spend the mornings listening to the news. On the ride home, I listen to audio books. Only problem is, audio books on cassette are getting more scarce with each visit to the library (I think the libraries replace them with CDs when they wear out). For the past week…I’ve had no book to listen to. So I tried listening to music.

When doing this, I generally toggle between five radio stations: The Current, which certainly has the most eclectic selection. As a non-profit station, they also whine about donations and membership drives too often, which renders that channel un-listenable for several weeks out of the year. They also play way too much hip-hop. It’s pretty much what they play every morning. If there’s anything worse than listening to hip-hop during the day…it’s listening to hip-hop in the morning. Then there’s their sister station of Classical music, which is often very inspirational – I like to listen to the station when I’m trying to brain-storm for writing ideas.  But today, I didn’t feel like either of those channels.

Meanwhile, corporate stations KQRS and KQQL are normally decent for finding my favorite classic rock songs. But today, both stations were practically tripping over themselves in an effort to play Rolling Stones: In the car today, I heard Under My Thumb, Beast of Burden, You Can’t Always Get What You Want, and Miss You. I even heard I Love Rock and Roll which, of course, is not a Rolling Stones song, but it was inspired by one. I don’t dislike the Stones; in fact, I own several of their tunes. I’m just not sure what the constant infatuation is with them. Are they really the Greatest Band in Rock and Roll? Answer: No. I shut off the radio and drove the rest of the way home in silence.

In class today, we broke into small groups. In my small group of five, I was the only one who showed up with a draft of the essay. My uniqueness in this regard – even though it was the due assignment – rendered me as an overachiever amongst my peers. One girl in the group anointed me a “go-getter” and suggested I listen to the Young Jeezy song of the same name. A guy in our group pulled out his iPhone, called up the song, and played it for us all to hear. I assured everyone I would alter my will so that this song is played at my funeral.

Anyway, on the way home I checked out the other station I occasionally visit: Cities 97. In the evenings, they play acoustic sets, which are often just stripped down, lazy versions of songs you’re already sick of hearing. But tonight, they played Peter Himmelman’s “Dixie the Tiny Dog,” and for that, I was grateful.