Category: Life

Pardon me while I cash in on the outrage, but:

Available in t-shirts or bumper stickers at Cafe Press.

My most beautiful wife and the light of my eyes and el fuego de mi corazón, I want to take a moment to explain this little scrip of paper before you find it on a dresser somewhere. It says, in my handwriting:

Melanie Thomas
(314) xxx-xxxx
meet Thurs. night

That’s Melanie at Thomas Construction regarding the work we’re about to have done. We should call her back to give her some additional information or to schedule an evening meeting.

(Am I the only spouse out there who preemptively explains his phone message shorthand when it involves a woman?)

Fark links to a story in the Fond du Lac Reporter about a woman whose water was cut off because a faulty meter underreported water usage for her late mother. It’s a pretty sad story, but what’s even sadder is the way the story sort of changes themes in the middle:

t was no April Fool?s joke when the tap went dry Thursday for a Fond du Lac woman who was left to pay a $1,200 water bill for her deceased mother.

Sonja A. Terry, said neither she nor her late mother, Maria Wittig, had an idea the utility bills were drastically less than they should have been. The problem with an outside meter was discovered only after Terry’s mother died in June 2003 and water utility officials cross-checked what they call the “actual” meter in the basement at 120 E. Second St.

Wittig had requested and purchased the outdoor meter so the reading could be taken outside her home. The outdoor meter had slowed drastically and may not have been working at all.

Terry agreed in December to pay $50 a month toward the $1,200 bill. When she failed to make the two initial payments, her water was shut off.

“I turned the faucet on and nothing came out,” Terry recalled.

Early last week, she was given another shut-off notice due to two more consecutive months of non-payment. The water was shut off Thursday. She agreed to pay $100 and the water was turned on a short time later.

“I can’t make those (extra payments),” Terry said. “They’re putting it on my regular (utility) bill.”

Terry said her most recent regular utility bill was $242. Another $150 was added to the bill ($50 repayment schedule for each of three months), bringing the total to nearly $400 for the quarter.

Before the error at the meter was discovered, Terry said her mother’s bill was $53. The amount is the monthly charge for vacant residences, according to water utility staff. The amount suggests that the outdoor meter wasn’t functioning at all.

“I hate doing this,” Fond du Lac Water Superintendent Dale Paczkowski said. “I don?t like it. (And) it?s time consuming for us to be putting (shut-off) notices on the door and sending letters.”

Paczkowski said the water was used — it ran through the actual meter.

“I agreed (in December) to $50, which I cannot do,” Terry said. “I thought I could (pay $50 per month toward the debt), and I had my back surgery, and I lieves headache and eases insomnia. It can be applied full strength to burns, rashes or psoriasis.

Lavender is a “must-have” in the home, Vores said.

* Lemon increases optimism and sense of humor, helps calm fear and increase memory, according to Vores? list of essential oil uses. In very dilute solution (1 or 2 percent) it is good for acne, he said.

* Peppermint is a mental stimulant, relieves headache and anxiety. It is good for congested sinuses and digestion as well as emotions.

* Tea tree oil builds strength before surgery, says a list of oils Vores has compiled. It?s a strong antiseptic that stimulates immunity.

Vores describes essential oils as the “lifeblood” of a plant, the part that is fragrant. “Pure” oil comes from a single source.

It’s some sort of content error, but it’s always interesting to note how far you go before you realize you’ve missed something.

Sometimes, when I am reading a particularly hard to follow text, I have been known to skip pages when the last words of one page and the first words of the page two pages ahead mesh in a manner no more confusing than the rest of the work. When reading, I admit I don’t slow down and understand each sentence or paragraph before moving on; I tend to gather the grasp of the whole, which is why I keep reading stuff I don’t understand as I am reading it. I expect to pick it up from context. As I have a philosophy degree, rest assured I have run into the situation where I accidentally skip a page and don’t immediately know it many times while contending with works of on the order of Heidegger, Sartre, Dostoyevsky, and others.

P.S. I didn’t get to the whole next paragraph in the above piece, unlike some works.

Which of the fourth-class junk mail envelopes that arrived for me today should I open first?

• Urgent Update – Stop Hillary Now: Help NRA-PVF DEFEAT the “Clinton Candidates” of 2004

  or

• How you can help our new Democratic nominee, return address of James Carville, Democratic National Committee

Perhaps I should do a reality-television like poll about it, but there’s always the chance you whacky, Kerry-loving “friends” would make me open the DNC one at all.

So I point my beautiful wife to this Fark photoshop contest because it’s about a cat and she likes cats. “That one with Natalie Portman isn’t bad,” she says.

My friends, do you see the unjust double standard at work here?

Picture of cat scratching scantily-clad Natalie Portman = not bad.
Picture of Brian scratching scantily-clad Natalie Portman = exhibit in State of Missouri vs. Heather Noggle capital murder trial.

I ask you, is that fair?

So I used to go to Realtor.com to look for the million-dollar homes for sale in the St. Louis and Milwaukee areas, preferably with some land to go with them. However, Ravenwood has shown me I am a piker, for I had not until now thought about buying my own island.

If only I were an entrepreneur, founding my own company that would lead me to wealth through hard work and a bit of self-made luck.

Here’s a new bit on Snopes:

Claim:   Fecal matter sprayed by flushing toilets can collect on toothbrushes.

Geez, Mikkelson, thanks for the graphic details and the extreme tips, such as:

People tend to leave frequently-used articles where they are normally put to use, which means most of us unthinkingly deposit our toothbrushes on the sink or counter in the bathroom. A better strategy would be to place them in the medicine cabinet between brushings. It pays to keep in mind that while you may remember to close the lid before flushing, not everyone else in the household will always be as diligent.

Actually, there are numerous other tips, but I’m not going to implement them. I spend so much time being a paranoid neurotic that I don’t have any time to add another set of obsessive-compulsive tasks. Sorry.

In his Star-Tribune column, Lileks invokes some statistics, or rather alludes to an article which referred to a study that includes statistics about tall people earning more money:

Tall People are more likely to be paid more money. Each additional inch adds $789 annually to your paycheck. The natural conclusion: If you want a new car, figure out the payments, then head off to Tijuana for an illegal shin augmentation.

Pardon me while I add a hearty “You don’t say” to the conversation. Once you get beyond 6′ 4″, brother, you’re looking at actors, basketball players, and Michael Crichton. Undoubtedly, these fellows alone skew the averages quite upward. I am only 6′ 0″ and I can think of plenty of runts who make more than I do. Of course, I am in the IT industry, and everyone in IT makes more than the cheap QA help.

What was my point? Oh, yeah, read this guy Lileks. He’s an obscure Minnesotan columnist, but just because someone is from the upper Midwest and not Wisconsin is no reason to let him toil in his obscurity.

I’d call it a pet peeve, but both pet and peeve sound kinda cute, and what I’m about to explain represents more of a junkyard abhorrence; it’s got a spike collar and a low growl in the throat whenever the subject walks by.

Any time a writer, particularly a professional paid writer or journalist throws this amalgamation into a serious news article or essay, I question the credibility or maturity of the writer. No, I want to punch the johnker right in his or her stunted vocabulary.

So-called is alleged with a sneer, with a sense of condescension that intimates that we, meaning the liberally-educated author and his or her intelligent readership, understand the facade of the following noun for what it is, a cheap manipulation of truth built by the Orwellian right-wing/administration/conservative/techno/military/industrial/business/ (breath) /capitalist/Christian/Zionist/Machiavellian/fascist complex/conspiracy.

Get a thesaurus, pinheads, and leave the so-calling to the adolescents.

(This rant spurred by Roger L. Simon, who made the mistake of linking to Noam Chompsky’s op-ed piece in the New York Times.)

As my former officemate and my wife can attest, I like my gum (loud).

Brother Lileks intones:

Gum has CARBS, you know. And carbs are from SATAN.

So now you know, but I have already corrupted you, too. Only eighteen more people, and I fulfill my contract. Twenty-eight more people and I earn my first incentive bonus.

James Lileks, in his column in the Star Tribune, muses on a modern art exhibit:

Headline in last week’s paper: “Walker’s attendance falls by 30%; Official blames 9/11 for decline in tourism.”

I have a theory, and I’ll admit it might be controversial: It’s possible that no one wanted to see the exhibits.”

and offers his grand unified theory:

Well, you say, you just don’t like modern art. Not true. I hate modern art. No, that’s not right, either. I may be a philistine, but I am a learned one. I have a complex and nuanced response to modern art, be it the rigors of De Stijl, the furious assertions of Abstract Expressionism, the romantic angularity of Lionel Feininger, the anguished gashes of Clifford Still, the whimsical recontextualizations of Lichtenstein and other Pop Art painters; I understand the challenges that Action Painting made to the outmoded bourgeoise notions nurtured in the dusty attics of the beaux-arts mind-set, and I appreciate the connection between surrealism and post World War I disenchantment with rationality, why Dali was a bit of a poser, why Klee makes us nervous, why Bacon horrifies, and Beckmann can best be understood in the climate of Weimar. All this I know. And my opinion is simple: Eh. If it’s not ugly, it’s banal. If it’s not banal, it’s pretentious. If it’s not either, it’s pointless. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it’s great. (Like Feininger.) But in general:

Eh.

If you’re not cyber-stalking Lileks’ writings and reading the Back Fence (his column in the Star Tribune and his weekly Newhouse News syndicated column, you’re pathetic. I mean, you’re missing out on quality writing. I didn’t say pathetic.

Here’s an organization worth investigating: The Dollywood (yes, Dolly Parton) Foundation’s Imagination Library.

From the “About Us” page:

This program is one of the most important ways I know to improve the educational opportunities for children in your community.

When I was growing up in the hills of East Tennessee, I knew my dreams would come true. I know there are children in your community with their own dreams. They dream of becoming a doctor or an inventor or a minister. Who knows, maybe there is a little girl whose dream is to be a writer and singer.

The seeds of these dreams are often found in books and the seeds you help plant in your community can grow across the world.

I hope you’ll agree to become a champion of the Imagination Library in your community. You will be amazed at the impact this simple gift can have on the lives of children and their families. We have seen it work in our own backyard and I’m certain it can do the same in your community, too.

Here’s what the organization does:

Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library is all about inspiration and imagination. It was developed in 1995 by Dolly for her hometown of Sevier County, Tennessee. Dolly wanted every preschool child to have their own library of books. The effort received numerous awards and extraordinary media attention which generated interest from across the country. After much thought, Dolly decided to offer her Imagination Library for replication in any community that would support it.

Each month, from the day the child is born until his/her 5th birthday, a carefully selected book arrives at the mailbox. Kids across the country have shared the excitement of running to the mailbox to retrieve their book. More often than not, the child wants the book read to them now – not later, not tonight and not tomorrow. Right now!

As an attempted author, I can think of no better goal than to increase future readers. For the children!

The Professor, who like me has an intelligent and attractive wife, links to The Feathered-Back Hair Site.

Why do men like us him linger over sites like this?

My sophomore year in high school, I took a class in Creative Writing with Ms. Williams. It was Mrs. Williams, actually, much to the dismay of fantastic fifteen year-old boys. But I remember the class vividly. For an early exercise in creative writing, the delightful blonde nymph respected shaper of young minds, divided the class into groups. The assignment: to write a page of a short story. When the groups finished their segments, we passed the story to the group on our right, who would add a segment to the story, and so on, until each group had a turn with the story. Here, Tyrone Jackson was born.

Ah, Tyrone Jackson. The middle-aged rabbi from Thailand. Dan, Troy, Jim, and I concocted this character from the fevered imaginations of our adolescence, somewhere amid the giggling (which we would have called chuckling, but our voices were still changing, so it was probably giggling). We injected Jackson into every story passed to us. He suffered a number of untimely deaths and dismemberments once the group to our right determined what we were doing. At the end of the exercise, the groups had to rewrite their original stories using elements from the other groups’ contributions. So our group, ignoring the ignoble assaults on our hero, rewrote the story. Or Dan, Troy, and Jim did; I abstained, as they were not doing our hero justice. Although we got a passing grade turned on whatever they turned in, I was not satisfied. I had greater dreams for Jackson. Thus begat The Further Adventures of Tyrone Jackson.

My first book, hem, was a collection of short stories that chronicled how Tyrone Jackson would have infected all other stories and myths before him. However, each hero must have his arch-enemy, and Jackson discovered his when he met the leader of the Venusian invasion in the undersea base wherein the Venusians were keeping Jackson’s pet bunny Manerd.

“Lyndon LaRouche? You’re the dude from those dippy TV specials!”

Lyndon LaRouche became Tyrone Jackson’s archenemy. When Jackson consulted with his guru on Mount Everest, it was LaRouche sending the Soviet Spetsnaz after him….or James Bond….or maybe MacGyver, who happened to be mountain climbing at the time. When Tyrone Jackson stole Doctor Who’s Tardis, he uncovered Lin Don La Ru was the mortal enemy of Tai Ron Ja Sing in feudal Japan. LaRouche was the all-powerful Denfather in the alternate earth where the Cub Scouts had taken over. Like some archetype or eternal conflict, wherever Jackson encountered his match, it was LaRouche. Jackson always won, though, but LaRouche got away to fight another day… or in another time….

So when I went into the local polling place tonight, the collection of aged election judges asked me whether I what ballot I wanted. “Democrat,” I said. When I was alone in my voting stall and confronted with my allotment of possible choices, I voted for Lyndon LaRouche.

I admit, I have heard his commercials on KMOX radio comparing Ashcroft to Hitler. I have not seen any of his television specials, either, whether sixteen years ago or last week. But I voted for him anyway. Not because he’s got a chance of winning, and not because I think Joe has a chance of beating el Johnissimo. But for old times’ sake.

LaRouche has been a punchline of mine for almost twenty years. Who knows if I’d ever get a chance to vote for him again?

Somewhere, amid the hundreds of lost loose-leaf pages of Tyrone Jackson’s further adventures, undoubtedly Jackson is cursing the the villian’s luck once again. And tomorrow, when I review the election results, I shall recognize my vote among LaRouche’s handful.