It was a gorgeous day here today. I went to the drugstore to buy a notebook and it was actually warm outside, not just bearably not-cold. I sent in my freelance piece, so I'll be getting paid, and I finished cutting the quilt fabric and sorted it into nice organized stacks. And Robbie went golfing, which he's been yearning to do for a while, so it was a good day all around.

And now it's time for this week's installment of Something That's Destroying The Fabric Of American Society And Something That Isn't. This week's Something That's Destroying The Fabric Of American Society is the series our local NBC affiliate is doing about local stores that have sold winning ($100,000 or more) Powerball tickets. They have a whole quasi-scientific setup showing the locations of the tickets, and lo and behold, there are clusters in downtown Pittsburgh, and other major population centers. This must be significant, don't you think? This must be totally unexplainable by other means. And they carry on about this, interviewing the store owners and so forth, who naturally say that they've always felt they ran a lucky store, and then they run a little disclaimer at the end that Powerball officials say it's all random, but you know that dozens of people have already hopped in their cars to drive to the lucky stores to buy lucky tickets. It's irresponsible, not only from a public-welfare standpoint, but also in terms of presenting meaningful statistics. There's nothing wrong with playing the Powerball, but it breaks my heart when people are sure they're applying science to it, and dump a lot of money in as a result.

This week's Thing That Isn't is the weekly masterpiece that is "American Chopper." This show has totally changed my stereotypes about motorcycle aficionados. Sure, these guys curse all the time, so I guess that follows the stereotype, but they're nice as can be, they're family-oriented, and there's nary a naked-lady calendar to be seen. And having worked at a family-run business, I find it amazing how many similarities there are among all family-run businesses. Now if I could only get my dad to watch it, he would have a much broader range of dining options in the middle of the country.

Just in passing, I think Nicole Kidman is remarkably beautiful, but did anyone else think she looked like the Crypt Keeper during Renee Zellweger's acceptance speech tonight at the Oscars? Oh well. I suppose even Nicole Kidman has her bad days.

Comments
Dr. Tizzed: I nominate that the next thing that isn't be : Edys/Dreyer's Tagalong Girl Scout cookie ice cream

Chi: actually, I think Nicole Kidman has looked pretty scary the last couple years. Not sure why, but I think she might be overdoing it on the makeup, etc. Even just a few years ago (in The Others, for instance), I thought she still looked really good. I didn't see Renee Zellweger's speech so I can't comment on the Oscars in particular...

Heather: Heh, yeah, I have heard that Nicole Kidman has been known to have her bad days...

Jess: I was thinking, apropos of what Chi said, about this thing Courtney Cox said once that when a woman gets to a certain age she has to choose between her body looking good (and her face looking haggard) or her face looking good (and her body looking plump). I'm not sure I believe this theory, but Nicole did look kind of pinched facially, like Courtney Cox does.

Hilatron: Nicole Kidman looked terrifying the whole night, like at any moment she would just chew someone's head right off. I think she must've gotten some work done around the eyes. They seem almost involuntarily wide and intense. It just occurred to me - has anyone seen her blink recently? Because I have not.

Chi: yeah, it definitely has something to do with the eyes... and I think the forehead too. I was arguing with Emily's roommate yesterday about the merits of Nicole Kidman vs. Uma Thurman. UMA THURMAN! Sure, maybe 5 years ago it may have been close, but these days???

This morning we went down to the Strip District with my parents to do some food shopping. Robbie was able to find Pocket Coffee, a coffee candy thing that he discovered in Italy, so he was pretty excited about that. We also got cheese and bread and sausage and tomatoes and vinegar, so I think we're stocked up for a while now. Oh, and olives. I hadn't had olives for a while, and I was really starting to miss them.

After the Strip, we had lunch with my parents, and I talked to Heather for a while. Apropos of Buebbesfest, Heather posed an interesting question: If someone is jumping out of a cake, how exactly is the cake constructed? It must be at least somewhat hollow, or the scantily clad lady will suffocate, which would cut in on any festive atmosphere, I'd think. (Actually, Heather's original question was whether the jumping girl actually got baked into the cake, but I think we all know that Heather has a twisted, twisted mind.) At any rate, I'm Publicity Chair and not Cake-Jumping Chair, so I guess it's not really my problem.

Then Robbie and I took a walk through the park to see if the golf course had opened yet (it had), and I wrote my freelance piece, and I got some work done on the jigsaw puzzle my parents gave me last night, which they've had for years. It's called "Hay in a Needlestack" and is exactly what it sounds like, and one summer vacation when I was eight or so we all spent way too many hours trying to complete it, and failed miserably. I've had a whole Ivy League education since then, though, so I think now I can maybe handle it.

It's late and I just got back from my parents', so I'm going to use tonight's entry to give you all a collection of odds and ends that I've been meaning to share for a while:

1. My tomato plants have sprouted, but the hot peppers look not so good.
2. I got a freelance job with my old company this week. I have an assignment for next Monday, and more assignments coming.
3. I'm reading a book by my Iowa writing instructor, and it's very good. I'd recommend it to all of you, but it's out of print and very hard to find. If you come to my house you can borrow my copy.
4. I've decided to rewrite my first book, from near-scratch. I don't want to, but I think I have to. I was reading it this week, and I've been revising it to the point that I think it could be sold, but it's not as good as it could be, so if it did get sold, I think I'd feel embarrassed to see it in print.
5. I disagree with Tizzed that Richard Hatch wasn't sexually harrassing Sue Hawk last night on "Survivor" because he's gay, although I might disagree that it was sexual harrassment for other reasons.
6. I'm almost done cutting my quilt fabric. Next week I start sewing, so please move to the edge of your seat to await those updates.

Last week, my mother asked me if I wanted to plant some vegetable seeds with her that she'd had lying around for a little while. She wasn't sure they were still good, since they weren't from this year, but she thought they'd be worth a try. I've been on a growing-vegetables kick for the past couple of weeks, and I figured I might get a few plants out of it too, so I agreed.

So, when I got to my mother's house today, I was set to help her plant. Little did I know that out of the dusty reaches of her basement would come two whole boxes of seed packets, some of them from 1975. My parents didn't even live in that house in 1975; they moved those seed packets there two years later. My mother, nine and a half months pregnant, packed the seeds up and trucked them out to their new house because she didn't want to throw them out, and then stored them in the basement, untouched, for twenty-seven years. That right there explains many of the psychological problems that I have.

You can tell a lot about my parents' history by looking at the seeds my mother bought: early in their marriage, my mother bought a lot of hot pepper seeds, because my father liked hot peppers. Then as the bliss of marital pepper consumption wore off, she moved into flowers, and then, in the fullness of her late thirties, into variety herbs. In the 1990s, she entered an inexplicable squash period. I think maybe this is because I really liked squash when I was in high school, and I went through a phase where I ate squash every night, but it was always frozen squash, so I don't know where the fresh squash went. Now she's back on hot peppers, which seems like a good sign, in a Hallmark special-y kind of way: "As they near the autumn of their lives, one couple rediscovers the meaning of love and compromise, Texas-style."

But I digress. Today we set up a whole scientific experiment with several variables: age of seeds, manufacturer, variety, and whether or not the package was open. I'll have a full report for you all later in the season, but I predict the following conclusion will be drawn: for the love of all that is holy, don't keep seeds in the basement for twenty-seven years. But you need not fear--whatever the results are, however scientifically trivial, they'll be presented as carefully performed regression analyses, because I like carefully performed regression analyses. Maybe I can win some sort of Burpee's genius grant.

On a lighter note, tomorrow we're going boozing at my parents' house, because they think Dottie and Ethel will be coming back on Monday and so this weekend is their last hurrah. I feel something is wrong about this, but we'll be tasting white wines and eating blue cheese, so I can get over it.

Comments
Robbie: So with these 27 year old seeds, you are answering the question "Can a vegetable be both fresh off the vine and rotten at the same time?"

Stefan: Was just looking at Robbie's comment and his proxy entry for Jess yesterday, and something really struck me. Robbie's spelling has improved immensely since high school. What happened?

robbie: I really like these check-spelling-as-you-type spellchecker. They help immensely 'cus you see it is wrong as you type it. Of course, the fact that jess was there and I kept yelling "How do you spell 'cilantro'?" helps too. You have to be able to get it close enough that the spell checker can guess the right answer.....

Robbie here.

Jess is over on the sofa in pain because she is feeling bloated. She took some Rolaids, but unfortunately today relief is still spelled
R-E-L-I-E-F. Apparently this makes Jess not want to bloggernate so I took over for today. *I* think she is not feeling well because even though she was in Oakland (the part of the city that has Pitt in it) around lunchtime, she didn't have lunch with me. I had a mole burrito, which, as evidenced by my current good health, settles the stomach. It tasted OK, but it was no Santa Barbara burrito. I would kill for a Chilitos chicken and papas burrito with cilantro and salsa that is actually hot.

Other than the Mexican food, Oakland has some pretty good food. Much better than UCSB actually. They pretty much have one of every chain-y lunch restaurant, but the best place to go is the lunch trucks outside the library. There is a Chinese/Thai truck that is really good and a Indian truck that has the best Samosas I have ever tried. You know it is authentic 'cus when it is warm, pretty much the entire Indian grad student population is at the Indian truck. I like the cold weather better with no lines.

Oh, the other big news on the food front (I'm not sure how/when this turn into a food blog entry) is that the local grocery store seems to be stocking New England-style hot dog buns again. This is a relief (R-E-L-I-E-F) because, although they had them when we first got to Pittsburgh, they seemed to disappear for a while from the store shelves. I asked the stock boy about them and he looked at me weird. Now all they need is Fenway Franks......

Comments
JR: What's a New England style hot dog bun?

robbie: A New England style hot dog bun is split on the top, instead of the side. This makes it usable for lobster rolls, as well as nice for hot dogs as it is easier to butter and toast the outside of the bun. The only picture I could find is here... http://www.hollyeats.com/Rosies.htm Maybe Matt Lippert has some more insights from his stint as a Friendly's waiter....

matt lippert: In my professional experience, while New Englanders enjoy a good hot dog (nothing so frou-frou as lobsta rolls at Friendly's), what they really came for were the frappes.

When I was eight, one day one of my classmates came in with a light bout of the stomach flu. At some point early in the school day, he vomited. It was no big deal--sometimes kids just vomit--but this one day, everything and everyone was aligned just so, feeling just queasy enough, that it set off a vomiting chain reaction. Kids were vomiting in desks, in the bathrooms, in the hallway. At one point those of us who had not yet vomited were herded into the lunchroom to try to prevent us from seeing any more vomiting, an idea that, while sound, fell apart completely when a known vomiter, running past the lunchroom on his way to vomit in the bathroom, decided he couldn't make it and stopped instead to do it into the lunchroom trash. When my mom picked me up from school and asked me how my day went, I said, "Mom, this was the grossest day of my life."

I'm proud to say that record stood for nearly two decades, but today we took my mother's cat to the vet, and I think we have a new winner. For those of you who don't know, my mother's cat is eighteen, which, I learned at the vet, is ninety in cat years, and he doesn't act a day younger. I mentioned last week that he's having some incontinence issues, and I was dismayed while riding to the vet's today in the passenger seat with his box in my lap to discover that he was having them again.

As inauspicious of a start as that was, it was small potatoes compared to the living hell that broke out at the doctor's office. You know what happens when you turn on a blender without the lid? Picture that with a cat. It was--well, it was amazing. Just in quantity, and in variety, it was amazing, and then there was the hissing, and the attacking, and the weird Cheat-sounding noises, and the part when he bit my mother through her leather glove and broke her skin, and then--and this part was my personal favorite--the part when he tried to bite my mother and his tooth fell out. Yes, right out of his mouth, the whole thing. Then, naturally, there was the subsequent oral bleeding, which left the vet's office looking like the vet had taken a blood sample and failed to attach a syringe to her needle.

Apparently, however, the cat is in fine health. I asked the vet what a cat in bad health might be doing instead of soiling every square inch of the vet's office and clamping down on everything that moved, and she said sick cats tend not to eat or drink enough. And, as we could all attest, there is really no chance that this is an issue for him.

In other news, the plumbing in my great-aunts' house needs to be replaced, except for one solitary cast-iron pipe in the garage that is apparently sound. Other than that, it's out. The total plumbing replacement is so incredibly much money that even though it's not my money, and a good portion of it will probably end up being the insurance agency's money, I still gasped in horror when I heard the total. Oh well--at least my cousin's son will have several fulfilling weeks of watching the backhoes and the plumbing men. We could give him several fulfilling months in the south of France, sporting about like the four-year-old bon vivant he is, for the same amount of money, but I'm trying not to think about that.

Comments
EV: A kid vomited in my classroom last year. The saddest part is he was the little dumb kid that no one liked, and they were hideously cruel. But they were always like that.

Jess: There was a boy in my sixth grade class who would weep uncontrollably whenever the fire alarm went off. I always really, really wanted to know what the backstory was to that.

Dr tizzed: If your cat could talk, do you suppose it would also have conspiracy theories abut butter?

Robbie and his brother Adam had a cryptic instant-messaging exchange today, which Robbie cut and pasted and sent to me because although he himself didn't understand it, as far as he could tell it might pertain to me, or at least I might find it interesting, if we could ever figure it out. I've been fighting the urge ever since to email Adam and demand to know what's going on. There's really no indication that what's going on (if anything is, in fact, going on) is interesting or directly relevant to my life, but that's never stopped me before.

Among some groups of people, my insatiable curiosity has brought me in for a lot of ribbing. Perhaps the most legendary time in one circle (the circle we'll define as "Chi, and Robbie laughs too") was the time I overheard the following conversation, recounted below in its entirety, between Chi and our friend Niki:

Niki: So, how are things going?
Chi: Things are going pretty well.

and decided that Chi was dating this girl Kate that we knew from college. Even I'm not sure how I pulled that one out, but I know that I had very good reasons for believing it at the time. So ever since I found out that Robbie's brother tried to tell him something, cryptically, I've been fairly certain that someone is engaged or pregnant or dropping out of school, or maybe all three. It's a rich tapestry of intrigue here inside my head.

But I'm really just carrying on a fine family tradition when I spin stories out of virtually no information. My great-aunt Dottie has come up with some of the greatest, most obscurely derived conspiracy theories I've ever heard, of which my two favorites are:

1. Former Pennsylvania governor Bob Casey did not actually receive a heart-liver transplant in 1993, as reported. He received either the heart or the liver--probably the liver.
Reason: What are the odds that both a heart and a liver would be available at once? Never thought about that, did you?

2. The ingredient list on commercially available butter is woefully incomplete.
Reason: You're living in a dream world, with your butter and your hoity-toity ideas. I eat oleo and I like it. Let me tell you about Mom, and how when she was on her deathbed we fed her oleo even though she said she'd only eat butter, and did she complain? Not a peep.

Comments
Robbie: What *I'd* like to see is a debate between a dairy farmer and a butter company executive......

AJ: Well don't leave us wondering, this "cryptic exchange" should be posted for all to scrutinize

Jess: Unfortunately, I deleted it. It's lost to the mists of time.

AJ: reminds me of that classic Strong Bad. "DELETED"

Chi: heheh, I remember that conversation. Don't remember the logic behind the conclusion though... =)

EV: I remember you trying to get us to find out more about the Chi/Kate affair, because we were meeting one or the other of them for drinks. And I'm feeling a little out of sorts, discovering that since the last time I saw him, AJ is now old enough to use the word "scrutinize".

Anthony Foglia: 1. I think the odds of a heart and a liver available at the same time are pretty good. They both came from the same person who died of something unrelated to his heart or liver.
2a.Butter is just churned cream. There's nothing added (except salt for salted butter).
2b. You actually call it oleo? I thought no one outside Will Shortz's social circle did.

robbie: FYI: Dottie believes that commercial butter must be made from other ingredients as cream is too expensive. Thats why she wants to see the debate.

Jess: Oh, sure. But try explaining any of that to Dottie.

Since nothing else happened today, I'm going to present this week's installment of Something That's Destroying The Fabric Of American Society And Something That Isn't and then get on with the real business of the evening, eating an uberloaf sandwich.

This week's installment of Something That's Destroying The Fabric Of American Society comes from the TLC program "A Baby Story," which I used to watch whenever I was off work but gave up several months ago because the plot is always the same (woman screams, baby is initially ugly, baby is very cute on followup visit a few weeks later). I caught it again a few days ago, though, and it reminded me of something I always used to find disturbing: the parents who, during the followup interview a few weeks after the baby is born, say "He's just a really fun baby. We just really have fun with him, and enjoy him. He's so easygoing." I can't put my finger on why I find this so profoundly disturbing, but I think it unsettles me that two adults who are entirely responsible for a helpless tiny human being are evaluating his personality on the same basis I used to evaluate people to go out drinking with in college. (I submit, not judgmentally but as a point of interest, that the show is filmed in suburban Los Angeles and suburban Philadelphia, and the parents who say this always live in suburban Los Angeles.)

This week's Thing That Isn't, predictably, is the dollar store. Actually, I know this is incredibly untrue. In the same sense that Wal-Mart and the big box stores are destroying American society, so is the dollar store. But I really like the dollar store.

Now it's time for the sweet, sweet uberloaf and an episode of "Mythbusters."

Comments
Dr. Tizzed: Did you see the episode of Mythbusters where the guys tried to do things to cheat the breathalyzer? Basically, '2 geeks get tanked'. But no jumpsuits. Good Tv indeed.

Chi: I guess I don't find that reaction that disturbing since there is a wide spectrum of baby behaviors and it sucks to have one that is at the extreme end of fussiness... (not that you would mind taking care of your baby no matter how fussy, but it causes a lot of worry because sometimes extreme fussiness is caused by underlying, potentially serious, medical conditions).

Chi: I agree about the Sprint PCS commercial being a good example of STDTFOAS though.

Jess: Oh, yeah. I'd have no objection at all to parents who said "We've been really lucky, our baby got into a sleep routine, eats well, doesn't cry for hours on end, et cetera." It just unsettles me that a month-old baby is being evaluated as "lots of fun" or "not so fun." (And, having known one baby who was perceived as "a nice quiet baby, very mellow, doesn't fuss or cry" for her parents for several months and then later got diagnosed with a vitamin deficiency that was making her listless and indifferent to her surroundings, I’m wary of that happening too—although it’s probably much, much rarer than the opposite situation that you described.)

Chi: heehee, I didn't realize that there were actually parents on the show that described their babies as "not so fun". Now THAT'S pretty disturbing.

Yeah, the discount liquor store--not all it could be, I have to say. It's not any bigger than a regular liquor store, and most of the wines aren't cheaper. They had maybe a dozen types on discount, and some of those discounts were pretty good, but it wasn't outlet shopping as I'd come to expect it to be. Oh well.

Still, though, we had a very nice day nonetheless. We stopped at the outlets on the way back from the liquor store, and they had some really good end-of-season sales. Bass especially--I don't know if this is a nationwide thing, but they had all their winter clothes at 75% off. A lot of the clothes were quite nice, and it wasn't just 0s and 14s, like clearance sales so often are. I got a sweater and Robbie got some shirts. (Bass also had lots of cute shoes that Dr. J would laugh at, but I resisted those.) I also got an orange sweater at Woolrich to replace my old orange sweater, which I wore so much in college and when we were first in Santa Barbara that I wore out the elbows and cuffs. Ah, and I finally spent the Coach gift certificate that I got from Robbie's parents for my birthday last year--I got a white purse with brown straps. It's very impractical, will stain easily, and is really, really pretty. If I hadn't been spending a gift certificate, I would have gotten something more serviceable, so I'm very glad I was.

So, that was a lot of nice useful stuff for very little money. Then we stopped at the dollar store, where we got six items and, predictably, spent six dollars. I think Robbie wasn't quite as enchanted as I was on Thursday--he kept muttering something about his mother and Job Lot--but we got some stuff we needed anyhow. Then we had dinner with my parents and stopped off to visit my great-aunts on the way home. Ethel was dozing off while watching the Powerball drawing, Dottie was entertaining a patient from upstairs, and I met a nurse named Gigi (yes, I resisted the urge to sing, at least until I got to the car). So things seemed under control there.

And yeah, it snowed today, although I don't think any of it stuck. It was actually quite cold and blustery when we were walking around at the outlets--a total change from yesterday. Blah.

Dr. J., now that you're fully funded, you two want to come to BuebbesFest 3000? Heather and I spent some happy minutes on the phone today imagining what a rocking time it'd be if you guys were there as well. Which is not to imply that, even if Buebbles himself refuses to attend (a distinct possibility) and it's just me, Robbie, Heather, and Matt, that it won't be rocking. It will. We will confront our own mortality, and I'm hoping to also have a three-legged race. But the rockingness will improve exponentially if the two of you come too. (And congratulations on the funding.)

Today was really spring, I think. The temperature was well into the fifties, the air was fresh, and the quality of light was different. I celebrated by buying a striped pink T-shirt--not at the dollar store, unfortunately, but it was still cheap. This weekend it's supposed to snow, yes, but I intend not to notice.

Tomorrow, barring catastrophic snow totals, we're heading to Hermitage, Pennsylvania for the discount liquor store. We're bringing the camera, so expect the usual photojournalistic excellence upon our return. We'll also be hitting the dollar store, naturally.

The underwear story (I'm warning you, it's not salacious): no one told me, ever, that you could wear a flesh-colored bra and it wouldn't be totally visible under a white shirt, the way that white bras are. I respect anyone's wish to have their underwear be moderately or completely visible, but my personal wish was to always keep it hidden, and I didn't understand why I couldn't see everyone else's bras constantly, but mine were always out there. Doesn't this seem like the sort of thing someone would tell me at some point before I turned 25 and learned it by accident on the internet?

My mother wants you all to know, by the way, that the reason she never told me was that she thought it was "just the sort of thing that was obvious," and anyhow I wasn't "running around looking tarty" and in fact always looked "perfectly wholesome." I disagree vehemently with the first point, naturally, but unfortunately I can confirm the latter. I think, though, that the reason she never told me was that she was sufficiently preoccupied with arcane safety issues that she just never got around to fashion. For example, there's the time I was a bird for Halloween and wasn't allowed to wear a beak, because I might suffocate. I have a news flash for you all: if you're six, and you're wearing a bird costume with no freaking beak, people say you look like a tree, and your childish optimism dies, just a little. But I digress.

But I'll forgive my mom for the beak thing, and also for never letting me get a Lite Brite, because today she took me to the dollar store, and it was a life-changing experience. I'd never gone into the dollar store because I figured everything in it would be horrid, but only about half of it is. The other half is perfectly reasonable and everything just costs a dollar. I think our standard of living is going to go way up as a result. Admittedly, though, the food was a little uneven. On the one hand, they had a large display of Treet, but on the other, they were selling Parmalat cookies. Yes, Parmalat. Not to cast aspersions on the rest of the dollar-store clientele, but I suspect they're not as riveted by the shifting fortunes of Italian food conglomerates as we were, because the shelves were fully stocked. We snapped up a few--they'll be collector's items soon, mark my words.

Then I came home and ate some of the best lamb I've ever had. Robbie's officemate gave him some very fresh lamb--there was a recent Muslim holiday that involves distributing lamb among friends and the poor--and it was just incredibly good. Robbie cooked it plain, with chives and onions because we had some around and a little cumin, and it was fantastic. We have leftovers, too. Tomorrow I'm having sushi for lunch and then window-shopping. Sounds like a great Friday to me...

Comments
EV: Yes, it's called Kurban Bayram, and the streets of Muslim countries are flowing with blood for a week, and street cats happily carry around slivers of pancreas. And as you can probably guess, this is something I did not learn on the internet.

Jess: The website that I found called it Eid al-Adha, but I suspect this is a Turkish/Arabic nomenclature thing. I don't feel qualified to judge them on a theological level, but on a purely holidayish level, Muslim holidays pretty much rock. First Ramadan, now this. "Street cats happily carry around slivers of pancreas" is just too long for a band name, which is a damn shame.

Heather: Jess, I found out about the flesh-colored bra thing relatively late in life, too. I mean, it was before you did because I remember when you asked if I knew about it, but I'm pretty sure it was sometime during graduate school. But since I'm older than you, I might have been 25 when I found out, too. I think I learned it from Dr. J, but I'm not sure. The female Dr. J, of course.

EOL: Just for the record, it wasn't because I was afraid you would suffocate; I was afraid it would obscure your vision, leading you to walk into traffic or fall down steps or something. And what is a Lite Brite, anyway?

EV: I never got a Lite Brite either. But my mom knew what it was, for sure-- she probably just knew I'd get sick of it quick. And the fact that your mom doesn't know what it is does explain a few things.

Jess: Sure. I mean, you see birds falling down stairs all the time. A Lite Brite. Little light-up pegs that you stick into a board, making fun light-up pictures? You don't remember this? I really, really wanted one for a couple of years... You thought I'd electrocute myself.

EOL: Now that you mention it, I do remember something of the sort. But in the context of the bird costume and Halloween, I suspected you were referring to some kind of lightstick.

EOL: And for that matter, you don't all that often see birds with pajammy feet because their mothers sewed hundreds of feathers onto one of their old terry sleepers.

Jess: Yeah, but unfortunately you see trees with pajammy feet every day...

EOL: Maybe not every day back then, but nowadays you can't get away from them: http://www.slunecnice.cz/screenshot.php4?pr=3520&ss=4714

I got paid! I am, at this moment, all about the benjamins. The fact that there is more than one benjamin involved is especially thrilling for me.

That was, by far, the most exciting thing that happened today, but I also took a walk around the lake with my friend, bought a replacement light fixture that is plastic and thus impervious to dance accidents, and got some good writing done this afternoon. I also found a new wardrobe for Heather online and taught her all about Pol Pot. I advise Matt to approach Heather with caution for the next few days. But then, that's probably a customary step after she's been talking to me.

Tomorrow I'm going to my mother's, where I hear she's got some fun stuff lined up involving the cat, who is marking all over the house out of disorientation or possibly spite. I never realized when I was studying all the time in high school and trying to be pleasing that someday I would become my parents' special special princess simply by being continent 100% of the time that I'm in their house, but hey, I'll take what I can get. Then Friday I'm going clothes shopping (mostly window shopping, I suspect--I'm feeling flush, but not that flush). And Robbie and I are already cooking up the weekend plans, which in their rough form involve a trip to the state-border wine outlet. Yes, it's high living here.

Comments
Heather: I want to know what you're doing with the cat.

Jess: As it ended up, nothing. The plan was to buy a blacklight and comb the house looking for stains, which we would then eradicate.

Hmmm. Well, today started with a dream in which my brother-in-law AJ was standing on the lawn of his house, wearing summery clothes (possibly squash clothes, actually) and ugg boots. I asked him if he wanted to go to the Haven, and he said he couldn't, because he was trying to lose weight for football, and I was really annoyed because I was hungry. Then he started to walk around with a backpack, only he was wearing it backwards so the pack part was in front, and he was telling me that all the youth were doing it that way, and internally I started to laugh at all the youth. Then I woke up.

I don't know what any of this means, although I'm open to interpretations, but there's one thing I'd like to make clear: if you're a sixteen-year-old girl and got here by Googling AJ, you should know that he's totally normal, eats a totally normal amount of hoagies, and wears attractive yet reasonable footwear. I think he also carries his backpack normally. Other than the whole caramel-macchiato thing, in fact, he's totally normal in every way.

So, that was an odd start to the day. Then I worked on the page proofs, and those are all wrapped up now. I'll be bringing them to my client tomorrow evening--it was supposed to be this evening, but we had some scheduling issues. I really liked doing this kind of editing, and I hope I get more jobs like this in the future--I like editing for content too, but there's something very satisfying about this kind.

Then tonight Robbie and I went to Panera for dinner, and he explained to me how to successfully eat a sandwich. See, I have this problem with sandwiches, not the sticky kind but the kind with lettuce and tomato and variety meats and cheeses, where the insides always fall out or I end up with extra bread at the end, and this really bothers Robbie, and since we're still near Valentine's, the season of love or at least feigned interest, I had him instruct me on the correct method. It was actually very informative--he instructed me on one half and then, because we aren't pedagogical fools, I came up with my own ideas for the second half and just ran them by him. So now I can eat sandwiches with the best of them. It really fed into one of my major fears, though, which is that there are huge sections of life that other people know all about where I'm just totally in the dark. (I have a really good example of this, but it involves undergarments, so I'll spare you.)

One last thing--I have no affection for AOL, but I really like the new AOL commercials with the guys from "American Chopper." They preserve the personalities of the guys on the show so well. Especially Paulie.

Comments
Hilatron: I desperately want to know about the undergarments. Especially because I share your exact fear, and in fact I'm pretty sure that each one of us is mystified by things that others take for granted. (Like, example, how to spell "mystified," which I have to look up every damn time.)

EV: Wow, that's pretty funny, considering my blog entry today. And Tron, speaking from first-hand experience with both of your fine selves, I think that Jess's fear is slightly more justified than yours. Jess, you know I love you though.

Jess: Hilatron, I sent email to you at the Leisure Agency explaining this and other questions you might have. And Evie speaks truth. I don't know how with-it you are, but she really doesn't think anyone could be less with-it than me. (Well, to be fair, I think she respects that I'm with something, just not "it".

EV: Oh, you're definitely with something, no argument there.

Lynz: I'm overly curious about the undergarment thing too. I think that's worthy of an entry in itself. Come on, the world wants to know.

The World: Yes, I want to know.

Jess: Whoa, that's pretty persuasive. Now I'm torn between immediately posting the story (which isn't that juicy, honestly) and waiting to see if the Trash Heap will also speak.

EV: Unto you I heap praise for the Fraggle Rock reference.

I'm going to be honest with you all--tonight I have a sort of blogger's paralysis. See, tonight Heather and I were emailing about blogging, and why I blog, and why she doesn't blog, and it's made me a little jumpy. I like to think of myself as someone who doesn't take herself too seriously, because people who take themselves too seriously are an easy target for satire, but it's hard to reconcile that with writing four paragraphs daily about one's day and asking other people to read it. I mean, some days I don't even leave the apartment, and yet I'm not suffering from any interesting mental illness, I just sometimes get lazy. So it's sort of strange to ask people to look at what I have to say about my days, although you do, which is nice.

I think a lot of people, myself included, compensate for this uncomfortability by being funny most of the time, because when you're being funny it's less obvious that you're taking what you say seriously. I think, though, that one of my favorite Dorothy Parker quotes applies here: "If you're going to write, don't pretend to write down. It's going to be the best you can do, and it's the fact that it's the best you can do that kills you." If I write funny, it's easier to pass it off as fluff that I don't really care about, but of course I do--I hope that people laugh, and to be totally honest, I hope that people laugh but also feel a thrill of recognition to see what they personally have thought many times stated so pithily.

I'm really not feeling wavery about writing an interesting blog--people read it, and they appear to like it, and I like writing it, and that's good enough for me. What I'm worried about tonight is that it may be a small step to holding hands with other people in a circle and offering deep thoughts (hey, I was a Unitarian, I know how these things can go down). Unfortunately, if I'm going to be a writer, I'm going to have to admit that I think I have something to say eventually, although that does open me up to other people saying (as I've said to the screen many times while reading especially navel-gazing blogs), "For the love of God, shut up. You have nothing to say."

I have a whole other set of thoughts prepared on my complicated relationship with praise and why, for example, although I would tell you that I crave praise on my writing, and sometimes people I know tell me I'm a great writer, the people I consider my closest friends would all rather cut out their tongues than say anything akin to that, but I'll save that for another day. It doesn't really apply, anyhow, it's just on my mind.

Comments
Dr. Tizzed: Do we need to delve into the 'themed blog entry' as we discussed a while ago? My ego can take the constant hits of 'Man, Jess' entry was better' ala Erin and Punxsutawney... I just can't think of themes.

Chi: we loves you, Jess!

Today we went to Ikea. It's been a while, and I think we'd both forgotten the gut-wrenching marital trauma that results every single time we go there, so we gave it a try. I wanted to get a new dresser for sweaters, to replace the Rubbermaid tubs that we'd been using for the past six months, and lately also I'd been thinking about getting a bookcase. We have books all over the floor, and I looked in the catalog and they had a decent one, part of one of their systems, for not too expensive. I showed it to Robbie, he seemed amenable, and off we went.

So, we get there, and we're looking at the bookcase, and it looks exactly like it does in the catalog, so I figure we're all set, but Robbie starts talking about how maybe we should just get an unfinished wood one somewhere else. I disagree. We start in on that, but then we decide to take a break and go look at the dresser. They have a tag saying the dresser is out of stock. Now I'm starting to lose it, but eventually, we salvage the entire trip by deciding to use the system to make a half-bookcase, half-dresser item. Great. It's cheaper, if a bit smaller, and everyone is more or less happy.

So we're in the warehouse, and I'm loading up the system into our cart, and Robbie goes to check if the dresser is actually out of stock. And lo, they have it. This is where things really start to come off the rails. Now there are three options on the table: half-bookcase, half-dresser; dresser and system bookcase; dresser and unfinished wood bookcase. The first option, which you think we'd still agree on because it makes everyone more or less happy, is immediately discarded, and now we're arguing again between the last two.

Robbie and I don't argue all that often, except at Ikea, but when we do, I suspect it is a sight to behold. He carried on vehemently about the advantages of unfinished wood (nicer), I carried on vehemently about the advantages of the system bookcase (cheaper, matches furniture we already have, taller shelves, right in front of us), and he carried on vehemently again about the unfinished wood (much, much nicer).

Then, and I suspect that this is a moment common to the arguments of most couples, we both sensed, simultaneously, that while victory was within both of our grasps, it would be an entirely Pyrrhic victory and the victor would hear about it every time anything went wrong with the chosen bookcase, and so, instantly, we both switched sides. It was breathtaking. Now I was saying that maybe we should just get the unfinished wood, and he was saying that maybe we should get the system, and the argument ship was clearly sinking and we were both trying desperately to get off. Anyhow, we ended up with the system bookcase, so I suppose I won the argument, although at the end there things got a little confusing. It's assembled and it does look nice.

Now it's time for this week's installment of "Something that's destroying the fabric of American society, and something that isn't." Felicitously, the same sign at Ikea wins both prizes this week--when I was at the bathroom, I noticed that the men's room across the way (indicated with the universal "pants person" symbol) also had baby-changing facilities. This is clearly a plus for American society. However, this was indicated by a baby being changed by--you guessed it--"skirt person." Now, what is that about? Is it that women are allowed to go into the men's room to change babies? Or is it that when a man changes a baby, his genitalia immediately drop off and he starts wearing A-line skirts? Either way, it doesn't seem good.

Comments
EV: What is it with boys and unfinished wood? Jesse is mad for it, and when I'm like, "well you know I'm not going to finish it so if you really want it get ready for a messy weekend," and he's like "oh yeah it will be so much fun," and then we have an unfinished bookcase that gives me splinters for like 8 months.

Jess: The thing is that normally I love it, and it would have been higher-quality, but I didn't feel like dealing. And I knew that I'd be the one finishing it, which normally I do enjoy but wasn't doing it for me right then. I tried to send email to your Princeton account but it bounced because of no space. I really ought to just memorize your new one... so your Princeton account isn't set up to forward?

matt lippert: You should have known better than to get me started on the joys of finishing one's own furniture. World of Wood furnished nearly our entire house. I suppose this just provides further evidence EV's boys, wood, and stain conspiracy. I thought it was great, and I'm certainly not one of those hands-on-do-it-yourself-Bob-Villa-build-your-own-kitchen-experimentalist types!

EV: Nah, the princeton email is my main one which the others go to, but my mother sent me an enormous file today which clogged up my whole inbox (even though I told her to stop doing that because I use the email for work, moTHER). It should be fine, but if you have the problem again write to a2evie@hotmail.com.

Jess: OK, will do. I'll just send the link I was sending now--it's not a big deal, but it's funny.

Happy Valentine's Day! This will be a short post--I wanted to point out that our Rome pictures are now on the sidebar. My dad took about twice as many photos as we did, so you can choose which batch to peruse based on that, or look at them both for extra Rome-y goodness.

I'm going to finish editing and then it's time for a hearty Valentine's dinner of champagne, uberloaf, and devil's food cupcakes...

Comments
AJ: hey, that Lynyrd Skynard picture is awesome. I set it as the album artwork for all of their songs that i have. Happy Valentines

Dr. Tizzed: The cupcakes were very good. We immediately split one in the car, and then R wrested custody on the second one from me after prolonged litigation...

Robbie: There was actually a bunch of graffiti that referenced '70s era bands. There was another one that we really wanted a picture of too, I forget who it was though.....

I realized that not only is this weekend exactly a year since Robbie came to Pittsburgh to interview for his postdoc, but we also left Santa Barbara six months ago Sunday. Time flies, eh?

We were talking at dinner tonight about things that have changed since then, and for me, it's a lot. Pretty much everything, actually--the way I spend my days now bears absolutely no resemblance to the way I spent my days then. On the down side, I miss my friends, and we've really made no new friends here. The latter doesn't bother me so much, not as much as it bothers Robbie, because we'll be moving in a year and a half anyhow and it takes so much work on my part to get attached to someone that I'm not sure it's worth the investment. But I do miss my friends from Santa Barbara. On the up side, there's a lot less drama in my life now, and the drama that is here is legitimate (like worrying about my great-aunts), and not piffling interpersonal-dynamic issues like a lot of things tended to be in California.

I do feel, too, that I'm doing something more useful here, although I'm certainly having a lot less fun. I don't mean in terms of work--it's hard to argue that I'm doing something more useful employment-wise when my yearly income so far is hovering in the high three figures, although I feel very good about my freelance prospects at the moment. But I get to help my family out with things, which is something, and I'm working a lot on my writing, which is something too.

I said to Robbie tonight, though, that sometimes I get homesick, and then I feel almost guilty, because I'm at home, more or less. (I wonder, Dr. J, if the same thing is going to happen to you if you end up moving back to California in a year and a half.) I do miss Santa Barbara a lot sometimes, even totally separate from the people there. I miss the way the outdoors is dusty, and I miss that the first time I ever bothered to look at a weather forecast there was this spring for Dr. J's wedding, and I miss seeing lizards. I also miss the things I thought I'd miss, obviously, like Blenders and seeing the ocean every day, but I never really cared about dust or lizards when I was there. It's just that I remember them very distinctly now, and that makes me feel homesick.

Oh well. Back to the editing for me.

Comments
Dr. Tizzed: I was pricing flights today.. Pittsburgh to LAX , 150 bucks. You're not that far away. I've been thinking a lot of the same things recently (must be the winter) but I KNOW when I go back to SB, something will feel off. Kind of like when I went back to Chicago after I graduated. I was done, I didn't need to be there again, I had moved on. I miss it, but it'll never feel like home again

When I promised yesterday that something interesting would happen today so that I could titillate my blogreading audience, I was a little worried that I wouldn't be able to deliver. But never fear, I had an interesting day after all. (Possibly not titillating, however, unless you're kinda weird.)

First of all, I got email from the woman whose book I'm proofreading, asking if I could pick it up from her husband (she was leaving the country) and then have it done by next Tuesday. So this will be a very busy weekend after all. I'm excited, though--that's all the earlier I'll get paid. So I picked up the page proofs tonight, and they look good (and interesting, which always makes the work easier), although I'm very excited to report that I already found a typo.

My cold is doing much, much better, although excessive noseblowing has caused all the skin on the tip of my nose to start peeling. I spent a decent portion of the day moisturizing, because I didn't want to go to this woman's house and have her husband say, "Thank you so much for proofing my wife's book and AAAAAUGH" and then run out of the room, screaming. And it worked--there was no running or screaming at all, and we had a nice conversation.

In other news, I got a parking ticket. It was reasonable, but I'm still annoyed--because we were sick, we hadn't taken the car anywhere since last Thursday. When I parked the car last Thursday, it was alongside a sizeable ice-and-snowbank that made it impossible to determine where the curb was. However, the nice weather I've been crowing about caused all of that to melt, and lo, this morning when the police came around, I was three feet away from the curb. It's fair--I was way too far from the curb--but I'm still irked, because I think there wasn't a lot I could have done about it. So, that's $55 I'll never see again.

Comments
EV: By the way, since my latest obsession is to be able to make my living by writing, I'm finding craploads of websites that advertise freelance jobs, including editing and proofreading. I'm sure you've found some of these too, but if you need some links let me know.

Jess: Sure, that would be great. All of the links I have I've found on the about.com freelancing site (or I've found elsewhere but are also listed there)--have you looked at that?

JR: Hey EV-- I make a living by writing. I can't get you work, but I would be happy to tell you anything I know. Unless you write fiction. In that case I don't know anything.

Tonight will be a brief update:

1. I'm feeling better.
2. Nothing else is new.
3. I promise I'll do something interesting tomorrow.
4. Robbie's trying to talk me into moving to Halifax (with him, it's not at that point yet).

Check you later!

Comments
EV: Halifax is cute, but it would get old quickly I think. And it's a very wet place. Just my two cents.

I got some good news today--I'd put an ad up on an Internet bulletin board-type thing advertising for proofreading jobs, and I got an offer today to proofread a book that's being published. I'm really excited. It's a decent amount of money, and it's also pretty neat that the advertising actually worked--I was skeptical, but it's only been about a week and a half since I put up the ad. Not bad. We're still working out the details, but I should be starting late next week.

Other than that, it's just the same old same old. My cold is all in my nose now, and pretty unpleasant. I can't wait for this thing to be over. The weather was nice again today--sunny and above freezing--and I was annoyed that I couldn't take advantage of it. It looks, though, like the worst of winter might be behind us. They're forecasting temperatures right around freezing and nothing worse than flurries for the next ten days, which is completely acceptable. Internally I'm bargaining that I'll accept one more sizeable snowstorm, and that's it.

Comments
EV: Congrats! I'm getting several responses for writing, but none of which pay me a damn dime.

Well, I think I've turned the corner here with my death cold. At the very least, my symptoms are changing--my throat no longer hurts, I'm more sniffly, and just within this last half-hour I seem to be developing a nice cough. Sounds like progress to me. I'm still requesting that Robbie take me out in the yard and shoot me whenever he asks if there's anything he can do for me, however.

So--there's not a whole lot else I can say about a day that was almost entirely devoted to nose maintenance. (Not much you'd want to hear, anyhow.) Dottie and Ethel both seem to be doing OK, although my mom is now, naturally, sick as a dog as well. The weather was not awful today--it was fairly warm and sunny and I had the windows open for a while, and the fresh air was about the nicest thing imaginable considering I've been sitting in one stagnant room blowing my nose since Friday morning.

Since not much is going on here, I'll put a poll question up on behalf of Matt Lippert. If you had a choice between moving to Lexington, Kentucky and Salt Lake City, Utah, which would you pick? Feel free to use any criteria you see fit, but show your work.

Comments
Dr. Tizzed: Lexington. Kentucky is closer to more places. More driving options. More sinning options.

Robbie: I'd say Salt Lake City because of the excellent skiing. On the other hand, I do declare that the mint juleps in Kentucky are divine.....

EV: That's a trick question. No one would live in either of those places.

Jess: Tizzed, I think you're right, quantity-wise, but SLC isn't far from one really, really big sinning option... Personally, I think I'd go with SLC, especially considering it's only going to be for a couple years. Skiing, pretty mountains, bigger city, neat national parks. Even so, I kinda hope Matt picks Lexington, since it's not all that far from us.

Dr tizzed: SLC is still far enough away from Vegas to make it seem like you're in Lexington, both in physical and emotional terms. SLC is closer to Reno, or "Dirty Vegas", and even then its a 7-8 hour drive. Winnemucca anyone? (I actually once was in a car from SLC to Reno, and back. With my little sister being vomitingly sick the entire time)

Jess: According to Yahoo Maps it's only six-ish hours from SLC to Vegas. And I'm sure once Matt got the Pirates of Penzance cranked up, those six hours would fly by...

matt lippert: After all those drives to and from Sacramento, anything under 6 hours hardly counts as a trip. And there's nothing like a good recording of The Gondoliers to shorten the central valley.

Anthony Foglia: An apropos quote from Monday's Slate: "Learned a couple of things there, too: 1) Salt Lakers party! By the time I arrived, locals were being herded in for the late shift among them dozens of fierce, heavily made-up women who were not shy about jumping onstage and bra-flashing the crowd." Plus, there was never an "Insomniac" from Lexington. Sounds like SLC is a surprise leader in sinning options.

There are certain situations in life that inspire relentless optimism. For example, I strongly suspect that for the rest of my life, my throat will feel better than it does now. I'm going to only buy cheaper cold remedies that work better than this one does. Robbie can only feel better too, and his nose will probably never bleed as incessantly as it has all day today. And what are the odds that I'll be so sick again at a time when not just one, but both, of my great-aunts are in the hospital, so that I can't visit them, or help my parents out at all? And at a time when one of them is so drugged out that she's actually hallucinating?* Unlikely, I'd say. And it's a dead certainty that I'll never see so much glass again, or in such small pieces, as I did this evening, when Robbie accidentally smacked our kitchen light fixture during one of his more vigorous song-and-dance routines and it fell eight feet to the floor.

So there's lots to look forward to. And tomorrow it's supposed to be forty-one degrees, with no precipitation. Forget this whole "cold" thing, I'm putting on my bikini.

*Although I'm tempted to leave this the way it stands, I should probably specify that I mean one of my great-aunts, not one of my parents.

Comments
EV: Yuck, so sorry! Lots of soup for yoU!

A comment on this morning's blog entry is leading me to tell you all two things: I've never learned to ride a bicycle, and I've never seen most of the movies that you've seen. For example, until this afternoon I'd never seen Spaceballs. Until last week I hadn't seen Weird Science. I've never seen any of the Superman movies. And on and on. (I've also never been to Florida, which is the impetus for this declaration, although to be honest I didn't know anyone would find that strange until tonight.) I'm here, I'm culturally deprived, get used to it. Evie has, and if she can, believe me, you all can.

I feel I should say here that, while I love all my blog readers very much (except for my brothers-in-law, because they would hate that), mad props on the subject of my cultural deprivation are especially due Heather, who is the only person I know who's never looked at me, wide-eyed and horrified, and said, "You've never XYZ? Never?" It's refreshing. It certainly makes up for her more thorny personality traits, like breaking into your apartment if you offer her constructive criticism and flicking a switchblade next to your cheek while you sleep.

But enough about me. I've decided that this blog needs a feature, and my feature is going to be "Something that's destroying the fabric of American society, and something that isn't." (Yeah, it does need a catchier title.) We've all heard lately about things that are clearly destroying the fabric of American marriage, for example, and I couldn't agree more: Britney Spears' Vegas wedding, reality dating shows, Ben and Jen, DeBeers ads, Liza Minnelli and David Gest, they're all obviously taking their toll, making a mockery of the American marriage institution. But I'd like to take a look at the more subtle things, the little things, the things that slip through the cracks.

So, this week's entry for "something that's destroying the fabric of American society" is the Sprint commercial with the little girl braiding her dad's hair and telling her family all the gossip about what's going on at school, and then Sprint extends their night hours and the family is happy because the little girl will now go to her room and talk to her friends instead. It's subtle, yes, but I find this disturbing. Sure, her dad doesn't want to have his hair braided, I have no problem with that, but shouldn't he be glad that she's telling him what's going on? Even if it's really, really boring, and involves hair design? Why does he want her to lock herself in her room starting at seven every night and talk to other twelve-year-olds?

On a happier note, "something that isn't" is the show Switched, on ABC Family. (Yeah, yeah, I know. But sometimes a girl likes to relax between 5 and 5:30 on the weekdays.) The premise is that two high school kids switch lives for a week, and each does the things that the other would do: go to school, do sports, go to work, and so forth. It's pretty tame as premises go, but sometimes the situations are so wonderful that it gives you hope for our nation's youth. On the last episode I saw, a great big basketball player from Atlanta switched places with a petite, moderately effeminate figure skater from Las Vegas, and the thing about it was, they were both great sports about everything. The big basketball player put on skates and learned how to spin, and the figure skater went out and shot hoops with the other big guys on the basketball team, and everyone's friends were incredibly nice (well, the figure skater's friends were all girls, and one of them did everything short of tattoo her phone number on the basketball player's hand, so it's not always altruistic), and at the end the figure skater was saying that he never thought he'd like playing basketball, but the rest of the team was so kind to him, it gave him the courage to try other new things he never thought he'd be any good at. And the big basketball player said that figure skating was way harder than it looked. Warms the heart, it does.

Comments
JR: Glad I could inspire 2 posts in one day. Did you like Spaceballs?

Dr. Tizzed: You mean to tell me that you've never had a blog feature??? I mean...er...um.... I'll just stop right now....

EV: To say that I've thoroughly gotten used to it is a bit of an overstatement. I no longer bang my head repeatedly against walls when I hear something you've never seen/heard/done, but I'm still not thoroughly acclimated.

Jess: I did like Spaceballs, yes. I liked Weird Science better, though, even though I missed the end. Evie, the important thing to me is that I can still surprise you. After nearly a decade, it's amazing that we can keep it fresh and interesting, and without the purchase of tawdry lingerie, no less. It's possible I've had too much zinc.

Robbie: Although you missed the first 2/3 of spaceballs including some of my favorite parts (ludicrous speed....)

EV: Jesus, a decade? Wow, that makes me feel old. But yes, I agree.

I believe this is the first meme I've inflicted on my blog readers, but I thought this was pretty cool, since one of my goals is to visit all 50 states. (This hasn't been a goal since childhood or anything, but after driving across the country three times, it seemed well within my grasp.)



create your own visited states map
or write about it on the open travel guide

Notes:
1. In my opinion, the prettiest of these states is Montana, the least appealing is Missouri, and the one I could most imagine living in, other than ones I've actually lived in, is probably Wisconsin or Minnesota. (Bear in mind that I visited both in the summer.) Actually, except for Missouri, they were all pretty nice.
2. Kentucky is really a technicality--I've been to the Cincinnati airport, which is across the river in Kentucky. Still, though, when you have a 50-states goal, you take what you can get.
3. I really have no beef with the South, although it looks like I do.
4. North Dakota's going to be a tough one to get. Should've eloped in college, I suppose...

Comments
Dr. Tizzed: We need to New Hampshire/Vermont road trip! Or Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama road trip, but one of these is more appealing than the other...

JR: You've never been to *Florida*? Even people who live in Tokyo and London have been to Florida.

Jess: To be honest, of all the states that are left, that's the one I feel the least shame about.

JR: Oh, yes I hate Florida. But it just feels like a common place to have gone. Grandparents, Disneyworld, Miami, beaches. That was probably the first state I went to after Pennsylvania.

Jess: Aha, maybe that's part of it--my grandparents all stayed around here. Robbie's only been there visiting his grandparents, too.

matt lippert: If you want, you can count Maine since we all know it's really part of Mass. And who cares about Florida; start working on Hawaii!

I should try this being-sick thing more often. I was wildly productive today: I finished marking my revisions on my book (at three in the morning, no less), wrote a bunch on my other book, did some (paying!) work on a grant for my mother, cut quilt fabric, and finished crocheting a blanket. I think this productivity is entirely due to the fact that the only thing that makes my throat feel better is hot tea--I've had about five cups of it today, and I'm pretty amped up as a result.

Still, though, I'm not feeling great. I'm trying Zicam, which is a new(ish) zinc product that is supposed to reduce the duration of a cold, not treat the symptoms. Because it's not treating the symptoms, I don't expect to see any results for a day or so, but if it does work, I should be feeling much better by the end of the weekend.

Ethel's now in the hospital, along with Dottie. I'm not sure what's going on, but apparently she has a sharp pain in her side. Since she has to be lifted in and out of her wheelchair, and since my mother isn't that much bigger than her and thus her lifting techniques can't be ideal, my mother is worried that she may have banged Ethel up lifting her in or out. My mother's been talking to the social worker about a place they can go to get skilled care after they're released, so we'll see how that goes.

Well, I'm either getting sick or I've stunned my body into some sort of collapse by repeatedly lifting a 50-pound bag of rock salt today. I learned that, at least when it takes the form of rock salt in a bag, 50 pounds is the absolute maximum I can lift--I can guarantee you that I could not have lifted a 51-pound bag of rock salt. But my mom's driveway is slightly less icy, which is a very good thing.

When I was looking for rock salt today, I noticed that all the seasonal displays have switched to spring, outdoorsy, gardening-type merchandise. Of course this makes sense, and of course I know that spring will follow winter (even a wretched winter like this one), but it still surprised me, and made me really happy. It's not even overzealous merchandising--I was looking at some seed packets because I'm going to try to grow a few things out on the fire escape this summer, and a lot of seeds need to be started eight weeks before the last frost. That's right around now, I'm pretty sure--maybe a few weeks early, but not much.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm impatient, and especially impatient in the face of uncertainty. I can handle pretty much anything if I know when it's going to end, even if the end is a long way off, but I really can't stand doing something I don't like, or waiting for something I do like, for an unspecified period of time. I think part of the reason this winter is driving me nuts is that although on every rational level I know it's going to be over, I still feel like, who knows, it's awfully cold, maybe it'll just stay like this forever--I'm having a hard time readjusting to the cyclical nature of seasons, apparently. So seeing the seeds and all made me feel like at least someone else was reasonably sure the end was near. Also, when I was chipping away at the ice in my mom's driveway, there was a bird singing. It was thirty degrees out and about to sleet, so this bird was clearly not especially bright, but hey, it was something.

Comments
EV: Ok, the Adventures of Dottie and Ethel are ceasing to be so funny. And speaking of writing, I submitted a review to a music magazine on a whim, and they're putting me on their ongoing assignment list! I think the whim came partially from my envy for your carefree lifestyle. If I even make $5 off of this I'll be tempted to quit my job.

Jess: Hey, that's awesome! (Was it a version of the piece you posted on your blog? Because when I read that, I thought it actually sounded like a formal magazine-ish review.)

EV: Yes, indeed, it was. I sort of wrote it with the idea of sending it out, and when I read it on my blog I was like "hmm, that doesn't sound very bloggy of me, but whatever."

Now the problem is ice. It's not all that cold--just below freezing now--and it hasn't snowed much lately, but the temperature has been hovering around the freezing line for a few days, and so everything has been thawing and running and freezing into a huge thick icy mass. It took me fifteen tries to get out of my parking spot this morning, and the sidewalks are impassable, so basically everyone is hurtling out of their parking spots and barely missing the pedestrians, who are all forced to walk on the roads. I'm really close to the edge here, folks.

Dottie is doing a little better. They aren't sure if she has pneumonia, and I guess there's also some concern that she has congestive heart failure, but my mom visited her and said that at least on the surface, she seems to be doing much better. She's lucid and telling anecdotes, and my mom seems pleased. My mom also got a call today from the social worker, who generally calls whenever someone's in the hospital and might need accomodations at home upon release, and the social worker said that Dottie can get released to a skilled nursing facility for a week, where she can get therapy and so forth. I think this is a great idea--she'll benefit from the attention, and maybe she can make some gains in her mobility. She's had lots of problems with her arms, and now that she's been feeling sick she hasn't been doing much with them and so they've been getting worse, which makes her more depressed and listless, and it cycles. So, very good.

Robbie wants me to put this to a general blog readership vote: who thinks we should take Welding 1 from the community college? Things to consider: it costs $200 per person and frankly, we're broke; we will likely be the only people in the class who are taking it for kicks; it could quite possibly be the bossest thing ever. Carpentry would be slightly cheaper, and probably more useful in our future lives, but unlikely to produce huge sparks and flames and make us feel like Pauly and Big Paul. Think it over.

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Matthew Lippert: Welding does sound pretty cool, and you are in Pittsburgh after all. Although by that logic, if we end up going to Kentucky, we'll have to taking riding lessons.

Dr. Tizzed: Not to be a negative ninny, but I'd go with no. Welding is cool, but I'd consider taking something a little more practical, especially if you're broke. Can you ever see yourself welding anything after the class?

Dr. J: I feel vaguly qualified to do both, but I'd suggest carpentry. Realistically, in spite of the fun, I never weld a home, don't have a torch or necessary flux there, but rather, at my physics lab. However, carpentry is a great skill - at home or in the lab. You never know when you'll have to build your own kitchen or some play-house for your darling (future) child.

Megan of Switzerland: Jesus, people! What does Flashdance mean to you? Jess, this is your big chance. I am big into "less than applicable" courses right now. Swiss German started last night and I am going for a week of stage lighting in the summer in England. Weld away. At least you, Jess. Maybe Robbie should take carpentry.

EV: Hmmm... I am definitely not the person to give advice on this kind of thing... but WELDING? I can't imagine anything more hideous. I can relate to a number of whims triggered by Jennifer Beals' return to the small screen on The L-Word, but really. If you're going to do anything like that, I'd say definitely carpentry. I mean at least then you can whittle a pipe or something.

JR: Another vote for carpentry. Making furniture is cool. shelves for you future book? Cool. It'll also help you fix things in your future home that will save you money and make you feel powerful. Welding jokes are great, but you don't need a class to make them.

robbie: I think it would be helpfull for me to give the course descriptions. Welding:This 30-hour welding course will provide the student with an opportunity to build the project of their choice that they will work on in class. They will acquire a working knowledge of oxy- fuel burning and shielded metal arc welding, as well as oxy-acetylene and shielded metal arc safety. A material fee is included in the tuition. Some safety equipment is required at an additional cost.

robbie: Carpentry:This is a 30-hour Carpentry course. Instruction will review basic terminology and skills used in the carpentry/construction trade. Student will become familiar with types of lumber, sheet goods, and nails and fasteners. Student will become familiar with basic framing structures and blue print reading. The welding description sound a lot better to me. Does this change any minds?

Dr tizzed: Agreed that the welding description sounds better, the carpentry sounds really lame. Kind of like my shop classes from middle school. Still, I don't see the joy behind taking welding..

Heather: I hate welding, but I'm a big scaredy-cat about things like that.

EV: I think they both sound gross. I'm going to an Indian Cooking class at the Boston Center for Adult Education tonight, and next month I'm doing Freelance Writing. Those sound better. Do they have one there called "Make Your Own Soap"?

robbie: Indian cooking sounds cool. The worse one here has got to be either "Caring for your handicapped pet" or "Crusing I". Thats right, it is a class about how to sit on a boat. Although I guess it wouldn't hurt to have a refresher on the rules of shuffleboard....

JR: Are you looking at the Sally Struthers Correspondence School catalogue?

Dr. Tizzed: My next new moneymaking idea just came to me. WELDING FANTASY CAMP! Get rich socialites from Manhattan who secretly love 'American Chopper' to go to a camp to build their own chopper. Packages start at only 2,999.99

Well, now Dottie's in the hospital. I'm not sure exactly why, but I know that she has a fever and the doctor who checked her out heard something in her lungs. She was also yelling and not entirely lucid last night, according to my mother, so presumably that has something to do with it. So, that's that. I'll keep you updated.

Today was much more productive than yesterday, mostly because I didn't sleep the sweet sleep of the groundhog-viewer all day. I started in on revising my book again, and I know it's the right thing to do but I can't express how tired I am of this manuscript. It's not even that I think it's all that bad, but I've read it so much that it all sounds trite and ridiculous. Even so, I think I did some decent work today. We'll see.

Tonight I started cutting the fabric for our quilt. I do enjoy sewing, and I'm definitely going to enjoy the quilt when it's done, but cutting is a dull chore. Much of the quilt will be composed of right triangles with a side length of about four inches, and I don't think I realized until tonight how many of those are needed to cover a bed. (1024, plus some larger ones.) I do wonder if, you know, pioneer women were also bored out of their gourds when cutting out thousands of tiny triangles, or if it was a welcome respite from churning butter. That's the problem with frontier diaries: they're always all "Mary got the croup, and the crops failed, and Jed fell in the thresher," and never "My God, I hate tiny triangles so much." Or, conversely, "My God, I hate the butter churn so much, I'd rather cut out thousands of tiny triangles all day."

Remember last week, when our apartment reeked of turkey? Now it reeks of bacon. I think our downstairs neighbors cook all the meat they'll need for two weeks in one night, and then just live off it.

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EV: So sorry about Dottie. I can't conceive of making a quilt. I would love my apartment to reek of bacon.

Thanks to Tizzed, I now have a link to the photo that has it all--the dancing girls, the top-hatted emcee, the motionless, sneering groundhog mascot.

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Dr. Tizzed: That picture disturbs my soul every time I look at it

3:00 The alarm goes off. Robbie says, "I have an idea. Let's just all go back to bed and pretend none of this ever happened." I slept in my thermal underwear, though, and I'm seeing the groundhog.

3:30 We're in the car. We are both belching huge amounts of chili and seven-layer dip. "I'm gonna hurl," Robbie says. He will say this every five minutes until we arrive in Punxsutawney. "You remember how you said you wanted to go to more bars and out and things before we have kids?" I say. "Is there any chance that this counts?"

4:45 Remember how Tizzed said in his blog a few weeks ago that he was going to die on the roads because he's too cheap to buy windshield wiper fluid? This isn't true. He's going to die on the roads because he will hit a deer coming round a bend on a country lane at eighty miles an hour.

5:10 No, he's going to die in the Wal-Mart parking lot by driving on the wrong side of a cement barrier, straight into oncoming traffic. Later this will have to be pointed out to him.

5:20 We pay our $2 to ride the Wal-Mart--Gobblers' Knob shuttle, and are issued plastic top hats. We also get a schedule of events, and Robbie, who was starting to feel less like he had to hurl, discovers that we have missed the dodge-ball competition. He will remain inconsolable throughout the morning.

5:35 We arrive at Gobblers' Knob, a lovely (though freezing) small natural amphitheater that is the center of Punxsutawney Phil events. There are maybe two thousand people there, and it's growing. We spot a man wearing a cage with a stuffed groundhog on his head, and another man carrying a "Republicans Love Phil" sign. Six high school girls are dancing onstage in matching T-shirts. Some of them are enthusiastic, and others are obviously tired. The festivities started at three in the morning.

5:50 There is no alcohol permitted at Gobblers' Knob. Needless to say, the college students in front of us are passing a two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola around. I can no longer feel my toes.

6:00 Tizzed and I visit the concession stand and buy handwarmers, which we stick into our shoes, thus improving the morning immeasurably. We spot the media tent and discuss our odds of getting in, and decide not to try. I apologize to all of you for the paltry, background-less content that you will read as a result. Also, I hear they had doughnuts.

6:30 Tizzed shares with me a Punxsutawney Phil-related joke he's been working on, which involves Dennis Kucinich. I tell him it's no good.

6:45 The fireworks start. They are set to the Star Wars theme, and are surprisingly ornate. I'm hoping to see a groundhog made out of fireworks, but I am disappointed.

6:50 The music switches to the "Emperor's March." I share with Tizzed my theory that the music choices are an allegory for summer turning to dark, foreboding winter. He reacts pretty much the way I reacted to the Kucinich joke.

7:05 While "Love Shack" is playing, someone in a big, furry groundhog costume walks onstage, joining the dancing girls and the emcees in top hats. He doesn't really dance. He just kind of stands there.

7:08 The music switches to the "Come on it's a train, it's a choo-choo, ride it" song. The dancing girls and the emcees in top hats form a conga line, which the groundhog does not join. He turns and looks around, forlornly. He is without purpose. It's a sad day for mascots. "We should form our own conga line," says the nice middle-aged woman in front of us, but we don't. The groundhog leaves the stage.

7:15 This is where things get a little odd. The Inner Circle of the Groundhog Club walks onstage with a police escort. They are introduced to us with their official Groundhog Names, and one of them asks us if we swear allegiance to the Seer of Seers, the Prognosticator of Prognosticators, the King of the Groundhogs. Everyone else says yes, so I do too. I ask Tizzed if he remembers signing anything on the way in.

7:20 The president of the Inner Circle of the Groundhog Club cautions us that Phil is only a messenger. He says that Phil is as eager for spring as we are, so he can eat some fresh leaves and have a little romance. We hoot and holler--we are really keyed up at this point. He reminds us that if he predicts spring we should cheer, and if he predicts more winter... "Shoot the motherfucker," says the nice middle-aged woman in front of us.

7:25 Phil is pulled from his stump and hoisted. After a brief huddle, it's determined that he's seen his shadow. Everyone boos. The president says "Six more weeks of winter," and on the second syllable of "winter," five thousand people turn around and head for the shuttle buses. The president says that there are more events coming later, but it doesn't matter. We're all halfway up the hill and going.

8:00 "I'm in line for the loo," the woman in front of me says into her cell phone. "At Wal-Mart. It's bloody ridiculous."

Comments
EV: That was fabulous. No matter what, I'm still jealous you went.

Heather: Me too.

Dr. Tizzed: I missed that "motherfucker" comment by the woman in front of us. It was early, I'm sorry about the Kucinich joke 2:30. I re-woke up an hour ago

Anthony Foglia: Man, I'm reading all about the groundhog today on Slate , and it's such a sham. First there's his wonderful 39% accuracy rate. Then did you know this is some secularized Christian festival that's was a Christianized pagan festival. (Like Christmas will be in the near future.) And according the an old CNN story, the prediction was made by the Inner Circle in advance http://www.cnn.com/US/9802/02/groundhog/ So, did you run into Walt in the "town of sandflies?" (Damn, it didn't like my URL quoting. The Slate article is at http://slate.msn.com/id/2094817/ )