04 May 2010

Today at my job, while hard at work in my cube, a announcement came over the intercom saying to evacuate the building. “This is not a drill,” this disembodied voice said. So I got up, began walking out, and was soon swept up in a sea of people.

Along with some of my co-workers from my department, I headed towards the rendezvous point in the parking lot. There were five of us from my department and, after standing around for five minutes, we began to wonder where the other members of our department were. Turns out, they were still in the lab, as the intercom system is a little too quiet to be heard in there. Let’s hope that gets corrected. One of my co-workers phoned into the lab and told everyone to get out, but about five minutes later, they called another co-worker to see if the first co-worker was serious. So…um, definitely some room for communication improvement.

Turns out, there was a bomb threat. While security and some bomb-sniffing canines cased the building, we stood up on a hill beyond the parking lot. I gotta say, whoever made the threat pretty much picked the most perfect day ever. It wasn’t too hot or too cold (a serious concern when people are rushing out without grabbing their coats), it wasn’t raining, and the wind was minimal. Had the threat been phoned in yesterday or tomorrow, it would’ve interfered with some time-sensitive sampling I’m doing. Which, of course, doesn’t matter to me in the moment, but would’ve meant a lot more paperwork.

All told, we were out of the building for over three hours, though one of those hours was just our lunch break. Not quite as exciting as the time I showed up for work at Lenscrafters, discovered no one could even get into the store due to a cut power cable, then was sent home for the day with full pay. But a close second.

05 May 2010

I have often contended that my performance in any given class is weakest on the second assignment. Here’s why:

When the first assignment is due, I have little idea what the instructor wants. I mean, I know what he/she instructed us to do, but it’s tough to know what their particular ‘style’ is. The further removed from pure logic (=math) the class subject is, the more it is crucial to know what sort of ‘style’ the instructor wants. But at least the first assignment is the easiest. So, I just sort of fly blind and do the best I can at the first and easiest assignment.

But then it comes assignment #2. If the instructor has returned paper #1 to me, then I now have a partial picture of what they expect (though my sample set is only 1). But if they didn’t, then I’m still lost. Also, assignment #2 is a lot harder; class is in full swing now and there’s no more pussyfooting around.

I could give lots of boring examples of how assignment #1 was spoon-fed to the class, and how assignments #3 – #10 (or whatever) were just exercises in giving the teacher what he/she wants. But I’ll save you the boredom.

So, as you can see, assignment #2 is the trickiest one. And, again, I could give many examples of how my second task in a class represented my worst performance. But I won’t.

As you can imagine, then, in my current class it has been very difficult for me to turn in papers #3, #4, #5 and #6 without having received back paper #2. I mean, I had paper #1 back for over a month, but she really held our hand through that one. Today, finally – more than three months after class began! – I received back paper #2. I eagerly turned to the last page to see my grade.

It’s funny, a couple of weeks ago, while in a small group, one of my classmates asked me what grade I was getting in class. I laughed. “Well,” I said, “I got an A- on the first paper, but that’s all I know so far.” She laughed, too, realizing we didn’t have much to base our performance on, even though we’d completed three months of the semester. I mean, I had somewhat of an idea; part of our grade is based on attendance (mine’s been perfect) and another part of the grade is based on participation, and I feel I’m one of the three or four most vocal students in class. Just wish that guy in front of me would stop commenting so much. He’s really making it difficult to shine. I’m supposed to be the class Hermione – not him! Oh well.

Anyway, A.

02 May 2010

Planning Owen’s birthday party has been uncharacteristically hard work this year. Of course, we’ve known since the start of the year that his birthday would correspond with finals week, so we were already concerned with how we’d adequately fit in both activities. So, several months ago, we thought we’d just go ahead and hold his party at some party room somewhere.

But this isn’t as good as it seems. For one thing, those places are expensive. For another thing, they all have crazy restrictions, like a (stupidly low) limit on number of people, or a restriction on bringing in outside food. One of Owen’s classmates had the celebration part of their party (you know – cake and presents) just at a random table at a community center, then we all went downstairs to a play area. This seemed like a good idea to me, as it gave the kids a fun place to play without having to pay for a party room reservation, but further research led me to conclude this was risky business, as there’s no guarantee we’d be able to find an empty spot to hold the party, and the play area downstairs could be filled to capacity and we could be turned away.

We thought of Choo Choo Bob’s Train Store, which is pretty relaxed in the restrictions department and, mercifully, not crazy expensive. But…they’re booked. We could have held his party there on the 23rd (over a week after his birthday), but it would’ve had to have been in the morning. Yuck.

We tried one of the local city parks, too, but they’re totally booked. It’s tough competing with Mother’s Day and graduation season. The other thing that worries me about booking a pavilion is the weather. It has been known to rain (and snow!) in May.

Why not just have the party at our place, you ask? Two reasons: 1) we only have about 10 square feet of usable space, and since we wanted to invite some of Owen’s classmates this year, we feared our home would be standing room only. And 2) getting back to finals week: it’d be quite tough to clean and decorate during the same week we’re trying to finish up some big projects.

Owen’s party will be held at his grandparents’ home this year.

03 May 2010

So…I don’t normally advocate destroying media…but I made a big exception today.

While cleaning out my car, I came upon a cassette tape I hadn’t seen in years. Back in 2002 and 2003, I worked in Oakdale, which was about a half hour drive from my townhome in Apple Valley. There was this woman in my congregation who listened to the Watchtower and Awake! on tape in her car and, when she heard I had a longer commute, she offered to give me the cassettes she’d finished with. I listened to some of them in the car but (and this probably goes without saying), they were boring. Sometimes the Awake! magazine had some interesting articles related to history or science, but I never listened to the Watchtower. I tossed them in my backseat, and got rid of them sometime later.

Except for the Watchtower from August 15, 2003, which somehow managed to slide itself under the backseat and hide from detection for over six years.

When I brought it in the house today, laughing about what I’d found, Owen said he wanted to listen to it. I told him it wasn’t music, and he said “oh.” I was going to just throw it in our garbage but – not wanting to pass up an opportunity for learning, I instead fished out the spool of tape and handed Owen the cassette.

“Go walk down the hall,” I said, “let’s see how much tape is in one of these cassettes.”

He walked down the hall, laughing. When he got to our bedroom door, I said: “I think you’re gonna have to open the door and keep going.” He did, and then when he got to the far wall, I looped the tape around a chair and walked down the hall to meet him; the tape de-spooling as I went. Then I grabbed his end of the tape, and had him walk back. When he got down to the kitchen, he asked if the tape was done, but I pointed out it wasn’t even half done. Not knowing where else we could go, I just instructed him to run around the kitchen, into the dining room, through the living room, back towards me, then round and round again and again. Though he snagged the tape on some dishes, a chair, and a couple plants, nothing was ruined.

I was pleased to, at last, find some educational value in the Watchtower.

Here, Owen is holding the bulk of the tape that we de-spooled running up and down the hallway. On the left side of the photo, you can see the tape emanating out from from my hand – each line of tape runs at least 12 feet – past the dishwasher, sink, counter, then into the living room in front of the TV. The cassette itself can be seen, still attached, dangling right in front of me.

Look at all that tape! Owen is clearly enamored with this activity.

Owen took this picture, wherein I placed some of the tape on my head like a wig. My first thought upon seeing this photo was “Man, he takes some lousy pictures.” But on further consideration, I think this is how sees the world – in a continuous frenetic blur – and he’s just documenting it as accurately as he can.

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.