she's just saying...

"Cold, tired, hungry...

a woman is always one of the three."

- quote from a former boyfriend. And you know, around him it was true.

I'm reminded of that quote by a question from my sister re: blog topics:

"...what food do you instinctively reach for when you are tired, cold and hungry? I read somewhere that there are 2 types: English muffin people and baked potato people, each with appropriate fixings. Me, I'm an elbow macaroni woman. I say this as I'm making some at 11:00 at night, with 2 meetings and a 3 hr. class under my belt since 4:00 pm (but no dinner)."

Buttered elbow macaroni was a staple when we were kids. Elbows, butter, salt and pepper. Yum. I still occasionally go for that, though being a sophisticate, I add Parmesan. I think many comfort food preferences are set in childhood. PB&J, grilled cheese, cereal and milk - high in cals and carbs, warm, soft and filling. Mmm. Like a hot bubble bath. OK, I'm getting kind of grossed out now.

As an adult, I actually tend to be a cheese and crackers person (with wine, but that's a given). Or if I have time to boil a potato, mashed potatoes. With gravy if there's some congealing in the fridge. I've been known to spread butter on a saltine in an emergency.

Henry is more of a top ramen or chicken pot pie guy. Or cinnamon toast (he got that from me).

What about you guys? 

Really?  You actually need a book?

Pity the poor apostrophe

At the Museum, we hold a day for kids once a year (though really, every day is for kids). We've been having a little debate about the proper punctuation of that day, in particular, where (if at all) to insert the apostrophe. (OK, we're nerds. We work at a museum -- what do you expect?)

I finally gave up and banned the apostrophe from the day altogether, but it kept sneaking back. We managed to print it three different ways, depending on who was writing the blurb, sign or article. Here are our varied approaches:

Kid's Day (a day owned by a kid, or as we put it: "It's your day!" )

Kids' Day (a day owned by lots of kids: plural possessive for you grammar wonks)

Kids Day (a day about kids, kind of like Reptiles Day. We Celebrate the Reptile, but they don't own the day.)

There's actually a movement out there to kill the apostrophe. The website's writer goes on about how it takes too much time and money and it's snobby or something. While writing this post, I also ran across a website for apostrophe catastrophes (extra points for the cute name) that's guaranteed to increase your blood pressure if you care about these things.

I've been keeping a collection of flyers, letters and notices from Henry's school that contain misused apostrophes, mostly so I can rail on about how public education is going to hell and how our taxpayer dollars are going to punctuation abuse. It's shocking. I mean, c'mon, teachers and education administrators getting it wrong? Shouldn't there be a grammar test before you can teach school?

Or maybe it is an archaic custom. Maybe we should just kill the squiggly little nuisance. But I think I'd miss it.

Chart geek

I thought I'd ease back into this posting thing with a frylet. So tasty, so salty, so pleasing to find at the end of the workweek!

This is so much more clever than I could ever be. I stole it from here, a fascinating site for data wonks. To be of which I am proud.

Can this blog be saved?

What, you've given up on me and stopped reading? Okay, I admit, I've been a bit distant lately - maybe it's my fault. Let's try again! I know we can get back on track. How can we work this out? Or is it too late for us?

This is a two-way relationship, you know. You're all just take, take, take. You could step up here and fill in for me - that's what friends do, right?  Are you incapable of picking up the keyboard and doing a little post now and then? Am I asking so much?

Sorry, you're right; it's me, not you. I'm just so unmotivated lately. Maybe I need vitamins. I don't know, it's all just so much sometimes. It's just that you expect so much from me -- I've got a lot on my plate, you know. I could just use a little support.

No, no, I know you support me. I love it when you comment - it makes me feel so loved. You're really good to me, really. You do so much. I hope you know how much I appreciate you. You're the best.

But really, why is it all on me? Yes, yes, I know it's my blog and you shouldn't be expected to do my work. You have your own blogs to manage, I realize. But, really, aren't we a partnership? I know I'd help you in the same situation. I don't want to play the blame game. I'm not blaming you, really. I'm sure you mean well.

You know, let's just drop it. We're both a little upset right now. Maybe we need a little time apart. Or maybe we just need to spend a little more time together, just enjoying each others' company with no expectations. But of course, somebody's got to post around here. I mean, this blog isn't going to just take care of itself. Fine. I'll do it. No, it's fine, really. It's no problem. I'd love to. I do it all for you, you know. It's the least I can do. Love ya', mean it!

Meta-post

This post intentionally left blank.

[The "meta" or self-referential nature of this is that the post isn't blank if it actually says something, even that it's blank. Get it?]

Would someone please send me a topic to write about? How about this: I'll write something on the first three suggestions I get. As long as they're not nasty.

Kind of a scary challenge, but I'll try anything right about now...

What you do in Texas

back from the land of meat

Well, we can safely say I'll never be one of those bloggers who write long boring fascinating travelogues while on the road. I took a blogging, no, actually a computer break for the week. Ironic as I was surrounded by computers in a tech-rich environment.

Here's one shot that gives you a taste of Texas.

BigBro at Upper Crust

This is what we do every day in Austin.

Deep-fried

Avocado taco, from deep in the heart of Texas.

Eastward Ho, the wagons...

One of Henry's more entertaining homework projects last year was to plan out what he'd pack in a covered wagon to cross the Oregon Trail. Each kid was assigned a character, with or without family in tow, and told how many pounds they could carry. There were a few mandatories and the rest they had to figure out based on a list of random items and weights. We had a good time debating how many boots and axes and bedrolls to stuff in. Henry's pig ended up riding in the wagon with the family and he had to ditch the grandfather clock at the last minute to fit in a side of beef, I recall. Tough choices, really.

Today we're back at it, packing up the [station] wagon and setting out for the southeast in the morning. First we head north over the mountain passes to Portland town, then onto the big silver bird to Austin, Texas, to visit MyBigBro, known to this blog's readers as YrBigBro.

Preparing for an expedition is always an ordeal around here. As usual, it all starts with laundry. Organizing Flash, cats, fish, mail and Henry somehow always falls to me, with Henry in charge of  movies, Hot Wheels and snacks. Kennels and neighbors are lined up, litter boxes are cleaned, plants watered, a variety of electrical gadgets are charged and loaded, and of course there are the knitting projects to plan out. My standard method is to pack everything, take half of it out then stuff most of it back in while dragging the bags to the car.

Along with missives by Pony Express and the Wells Fargo wagon, I'll be blogging, tweeting, texting and foursquaring as we go. Wish us godspeed and pray that we don't fall afoul of injuns, typhus, runaway oxen or the one-pound Cinnabons in the San Jose airport. We're hitting the trail. Yee-haw!

Room Service? Lemme have a Mormon, with some Buddha on the side

If you've been to a swanky hotel in the last few years, you may have been given your menu options of pillows, like this:

How many people do you think actually order up body pillows? Or, you might be like one of the people I used to travel with on business and you already packed your own pillow and comforter (you know who you are...).

But at this last haute spot I stayed in, we were given further options:

I'm curious about that "Help Me" button - do they send up a spiritual adviser?

I ordered both the Quran and the Torah, just to confuse them. Now I'm on a watch list at Homeland Security.

So maybe I'm obsessed, but I'm not alone.

Ravelympics stats:

• total # projects tagged with ravelympics2010: 24,284
• total # projects tagged with ravelympics2010 and finished: 12,878
• total # Ravelers that finished: 6,296 (out of 9,538 participating)
• total # countries participating: 65
• total # of people posting into a Finish Line: 5,186
• total yardage used: 8,068,000 (yes…this is 8+ million!)
• total yardarge spun/dyed: 448,000

OK, I'll stop talking about this now, because I'm beginning to annoy my readers.

What's your state nut?

Why I enjoy living in Oregon

1. No valet parking in the entire state.
2. It's got ocean, mountains, desert, lakes, rivers and a cool city. And Bend, of course.
3. Tumbleweeds still roll through our airport parking lot.
4. The state schools' mascots are a Duck and a Beaver. Isn't that cute?
5. State motto: "She flies with her own wings." (Way better than WA: "Bye and bye.")
6. People are really chatty here (something that annoyed both sisters on visits).
7. It's the home of the hazelnut.
8. Only state with a trail named after it. Ever heard of the Ohio Trail?
9. No sales tax.
10. You don't have to pump your own gas:  it's actually illegal. 'Nuff said.

The Official State Nut. The only state with an official nut, actually.

Socks-o-matic

(with apologies to the Pointer Sisters)

When the apocalypse comes and we have to start knitting our own socks, there are a few things you should know.

First, there is nothing more comfy than a homemade sock.

Just like a side of beef, there are distinct sections to a sock, each of which is handled differently. (See chart at right)

Socks are normally knitted starting at the cuff and down through the toe.

Some people knit them the other way around for a variety of obscure reasons. I did it this time because I like a challenge. And sock-knitting can get really boring otherwise.

(I didn't knit this and I don't know who did)

Here's my first toe-up sock. It was touch-and-go there during the heel gusset, but I powered through with only a few mistakes that I won't point out.

Once they're washed and dried they'll fit perfectly and I'll re-post a shot of them then, because you all share my fascination with hand-knitted socks, right?

Those inscrutable south asians

Remember this post? No, of course you don't - I think only three of you were reading this blog back then.

Anyway, Henry is now deep into his voice-over career, or as much as he can be in Bend. He's been recording an ongoing series for an Indian physical fitness computer course, or something like that. The script is being provided by an unnamed client directly from India.

Here are some random lines from today's script:

"This is nice grass, but I would like to go swimming to improve my muscular endurance."

"Hey kid, I can help you make some fitness equipment. All you need is this one gallon bottle of bleach."

"There is nothing like the element of dangerous toxins."

"There is nothing like the smell of chemicals in the morning."

I am not kidding you. What exactly are they teaching those kids?

The tooth, the whole tooth and nothing but the tooth

this seems a little dirty somehow, but maybe it's just me

I went to my dentist's today for a routine cleaning and enjoyed the opportunity to lie back and meditate on dentistry while a young lady gouged my gums.

When we were little, we'd drive to a nearby town to visit the dentist (didn't they have any in our suburbs? dunno). After the cleaning, they'd give us a certificate for an ice-cream cone. Ensuring future business, I guess. But it's exactly what you want after a trip to the dentist. I should have gotten one today, really.

My dentist is all computerized. Plus they no longer have the little sink next to the chair where the water is running the whole time to spit in. It's all done with hoses and suction.

I've always gotten compliments from dentists on my teeth. "You have a fantastic bite!" I remember one of them saying. (One of my many attributes.) I didn't get a cavity til my 20's and only have three. I attribute that to the commies fluoridating our municipal water supply to to sap and impurify all of our precious bodily fluids. (See Dr. Strangelove.) What doesn't kill you makes your teeth stronger, or something.

Of course, here in the wild west, we don't take to no strangers adulterating our pure god-given mountain water. That's some sort of east coast liberal gummint social engineering and we won't tolerate it. "Have you ever seen a commie drinking a glass of water?" I didn't think so.

Guns don't kill people; joysticks kill people.

(I don't think joysticks exist anymore, but you get my drift)

Like any good liberal mom, I always declared that we would never have toy guns in the house, and we haven't so far. Henry has shown no interest in guns. Either that's a personality trait or from a lack of gun-shooting testosterone in the house, but it's been an easy rule to keep.

Of course it's easy to follow when you're talking about replica guns and rifles -- clearly banned. But what about water guns? Nerf guns? It's a slippery slope. And it gets slipperier when you add video games to the mix.

I always loftily decreed that Henry couldn't play shooter games, the ones where you win by killing the most enemies. Clear enough, I thought. But then Henry started testing the definition. OK, no gun games, but what about shooting down evil alien monsters with lasers? Karate games, games where the Hulk drops people off buildings, samurai sword-fighting? And if those are OK, then why aren't shooter games? 

I came up with some lame excuses like sword-fighting is more of an athletic challenge, but we're talking video games, not re-creations in the park. (Bend can't be the only town that has teen boys dressed up in capes playing with fake swords in the park, can it?) Or this reason: shooter games glorify war and killing. Hmmm. Luckily, he's not interested in those games, except for the fact that since they're not allowed, they clearly must be cool.