Sunglass badass
August 11, 2010
If I were a U.S. Marshall, this is what I’d look like—at least if I played one on USA Network. I only had these on for a couple of minutes (basically long enough to snap the photo), but for those two minutes I channeled my inner Mary Shannon and felt like a complete badass.
I’ve worn eyeglasses since I was seven and so just never got into the habit of wearing sunglasses. Even for the many years that I wore contact lenses I didn’t have an overly-developed need to put on the shades, though I did do my little part to support the industry. I suppose I could get prescription sunglasses but it has never seemed like even a low priority in my financial world.
This scene happened on my recent vacation in London. My friend Spiros suddenly suggested that he, our other friend Dan, and I try on each other’s glasses. Dan and I have eyeglasses, Spiros had sunglasses. I have quite poor vision and so Dan’s glasses didn’t help much and conversely, my Coke bottle prescription must have seemed dizzying. Not to mention the bifocals aspect.
When I put on the sunglasses I couldn’t see a thing. Not only was my vision uncorrected, it was uncorrected and darkened. But I wouldn’t have needed to see a thing because I suddenly looked like a badass. Anyone I encountered would just run from me in terror and it wouldn’t matter that I couldn’t actually see them—they wouldn’t know that. I’d just turn my face in the direction of the sound of their footsteps or voice, and maybe straighten my posture to a more menacing stature, and any would-be confronter would turn around and flee like a tiny bunny flashing the whitetail danger sign.
I am not a badass. I handed back the sunglasses and returned to the security of my -9.0 lenses.
A kernel of purpose
August 9, 2010
It was bound to happen eventually. It was finally going to be the blog entry in which I pondered the meaning of life (doing so without God’s aid, since I don’t believe in that*). And once again I am spared answering the bigger question.
I don’t know what the serious answer is to the bigger question. Maybe if I did, I’d feel more fulfilled in my life. There are probably several actions to take with outcomes to experience that would make me feel more fulfilled. But I continue to coast along not really seeking out anything through soul searching or other means.
Certainly there are things that give my life a drop of meaning in the small, immediate scope—the three wonderful creatures I live with, bowling, karaoke, my favorite beers, my online social life, my dab of a real social life. But I basically go to work, live paycheck to paycheck, and don’t push hard or at all for anything different.
Today I took it upon myself to be proactive with my neighbor cat Nick who is under my care for the upcoming week. This upcoming week we are also to have some of the hottest, most humid weather of the summer. Nick doesn’t have air conditioning. When I went up to his place to get the lowdown on his care, it was a hot day. It was miserable in his apartment.
So I brought Nick downstairs to mine. I have air conditioning and I’m not afraid to use it. Just ask the electric company. I weighed his physical comfort against the mental stress of being plopped into a strange environment that includes my two cats and rabbit. My conclusion was that while he may be used to being hot, he’s used to being hot when Ruth is there to monitor his health. I’m not there. I decided that I didn’t want to risk his expiring from heatstroke on my watch.
Okay so on the one hand I’m still being selfish because I don’t want the guilt from a dead cat. But I also genuinely don’t want him to be uncomfortable. I feel a little bit like my caretaking of Nick is giving me just a kernel more purpose for a few days. Nick seems to be appreciative.
I’ll take what I can get.
*No disrespect to those who believe in God. It’s just not for me.
It???s not a purse, it???s a bag
August 7, 2010
I don’t carry a purse. If someone calls it that, I correct them. If it straps over two shoulders and rests on my back, it’s not a purse, it’s a bag. Quite often it’s not even a bag, it’s just my wallet. Quite often it’s not my wallet, it’s the little take-out insert that holds cash, the drivers license, and a couple of cards. Frequently it’s just my drivers license and cash or a card in my back pocket.
The wallet holds all the necessaries, clockwise from upper left: the wallet with my transit stored value card; gum; cherry Carmex (which, incidentally, I was leery about getting but the store was out of plain and it turns out the cherry adds a nice little accent to things such as coffee and Diet Coke); cards (car insurance, dental insurance, health insurance, HSA VISA card, business card, $20 Marshall’s gift card, frequent buyer card for Robbin’s brand of rabbit pellets); wallet insert (driver’s license, cash, VISA check card, Dunn Bros Coffee customer loyalty card).
My most-often toted bag is my giant leather backpack which usually goes to work with me. It carries my lunchbox, wallet, iPod, umbrella, anything. It is well-worn and a few years ago I tried unsuccessfully to find a replacement. Then people kept complimenting its rugged demeanor and calling it cool so I stopped searching.
Next is my mini-backpack. That goes to bowling with me and in it you will find my Nalgene bottle with 200mL ice frozen in the bottom and filled with water, my iPod, and my wallet.
When I went to London recently, I did give in and buy this green pouch. I wanted something big enough to put my passport in, and it turns out it was also quite happy to carry a large water bottle. Since my return, I’ve found that it’s handy for wallet, iPhone, and keys when I go to work out and don’t have any pockets. I imagine that when I have to start wearing a jacket again in the fall, it will lay unused for the most part. I confess I’m surprised by how much I like this thing. Maybe because it’s green. Even so, I can’t bring myself to call it a purse. Purses are bigger and have make-up and stuff in them. I don’t carry that around with me; Carmex is the closest I get to that. Purse is too girlie for me.
Even when I’m carrying one of my bags, the iPhone rides around in my back pocket.
Hoofed and behooved
August 6, 2010
This afternoon, I suddenly got to wondering how a word that looks like it would mean “possessing hooves” came to mean “be a good idea.” Is it because in ancient times before cars were invented, it was a good thing to have hooves, whether they were your own or those of an animal that was carrying or pulling you around? To one way or another have hooves would be advantageous. With the passage of time, did the original meaning get bastardized and generalized until “it would behoove you to” generically came to stand for “it would be a good idea if you”?
Such was my train of thought this afternoon as I pedaled home from work on my round, rubber hooves. I was also relieved that I had topic for tonight’s blog entry other than trying to make how I found half-price Birkenstocks at Marshall’s for my five-toed hooves sound interesting. Well, maybe this isn’t that much more interesting …
The behoove etymology study began at Online Etymology Dictionary.
behoove. O.E. behofian “to have need of,” verbal form of the ancient compound word represented by behoof.
behoof. c.1200, “use, benefit, advantage;” O.E. had bihoflic “useful,” implying *bihof “advantage, utility;” from P.Gmc. *bihafjan (cf. O.Fris. bihof, Du. behoef, M.H.G. bihuof, Ger. behuf “benefit, use, advantage”). In the common Germanic compound, the first element is cognate with be- and the second with O.E. hof, past tense of hebban “to raise” (see heave). The original sense is perhaps, then, “taking up (for oneself).”
hoof. O.E. hof, from P.Gmc. *khofaz (cf. O.Fris. hof, Dan. hov, Du. hoef, Ger. Huf “hof”), from PIE *kopos (cf. Skt. saphah “hoof”). For spelling, see hood. Sense of “to walk” (hoof it) is first attested 1641; “to dance” is 1921 Amer.Eng. (in hoofer).
A quarter in college of Chaucer in Old English does not qualify me as an expert, but I see “O.E. ‘hof’” in both entries. Does my idea have legs?
Also, show horses often have their hooves painted beforehand to make them look nice. In other words, to give them a winning advantage in the ring. It behooves them to have painted hooves.
hoof. “… corresponds to a nail or claw” (Merriam-Webster).
As a woman, does it behoove me to paint my hooves? Does it give me a winning advantage with the opposite sex? I think it’s a little overrated, myself, yet I kowtow to societal pressure and engage in this little bit of primping. This is a new shade, and in the store it looked like it would be quite a bit darker than it is. And these are my newest hoof shoes, the aforementioned Birkenstocks.
Of course I know what I’ve said is completely ridiculous. I’m just having fun.
Collection: produce stickers
August 4, 2010
I never meant to end up with a collection of stickers from my fruits and vegetables. It happened accidentally. It probably started when I was unpacking after a trip to the store and realized, hey, look at all these different stickers, I think I’ll stick them on my cupboard door.
Each sticker comes from an item that I myself consumed. The only exceptions are a couple of banana stickers that my mom brought me and one sticker from something that someone had at the office; I can’t even remember what it was, only that it was organic and that on the day I couldn’t resist grabbing the sticker, even though I knew that was cheating. There are also no duplicates.
I have thoughts of discontinuing the collection. But until I take down the old stickers, I will continue to add new stickers.
August 1, 2010
The day in walk: coin flip walk, July 31, 2010
August 4, 2010
Here’s a great way to explore: flip a coin. If it’s heads, go left. If it’s tails, go right. Do this an arbitrary number of times and set off. I did it ten times and walked. My route was RLRRLRLLLR.
I didn’t censor the coin’s choices. My only stipulation was that to make a turn, both left and right had to be available. I live in an area where two interstates junct and major roads intersect, so sometimes there’s only one way to go, as happened in between flips 4 and 5.
So here then is my walk. Each photo is at the corner looking in the new direction. It is a happy coincidence minus preplanning that my last turn set me in the direction of one of my favorite bars which was only a couple blocks further. What could I do but go have a beer (a delicious Bell’s Oberon)?
July 31, 2010
Local night out
August 4, 2010
It might be National Night Out, but I just had a little Kelly’s night out. Once again, I’d like to thank Tweak Today for giving me the boot in the seat that I needed to just do something. This evening that something was going to a restaurant I’d never been to and trying something I’ve never had.
Himalayan Restaurant is in my home neighborhood and was recommended separately by two of my neighbors. So when this assignment came up, I knew that’s where I was headed. It’s in an unassuming little building on the southeast corner of Franklin Avenue and 24th Avenue South, and the interior is typical of such restaurants.
A moment of quick scrutiny revealed that there were two Indian beers on the menu. I ordered the Kingfisher Lager because the other one came in a 22 ounce serving and I didn’t think I wanted that much. Silly me.
I had perused the menu online beforehand and pretty much knew what I’d get. I ordered the Kathmandu momo (steamed yak dumplings) to start. I was encouraged when my server—identified as Clerk 1 on my bill, shame on me for not looking for a nametag, I’ll call her Clara because I like alliteration—immediately piped up that they were her favorite.
For my entree I ordered the Khasi ko Masu (goat curry). I’ve had goat before, I think, at the Indian buffet where I sometimes go for lunch. I’m not actually sure. It gets dished up for you and I’m never quite clear which tag goes with which item; I just tell them to give me a variety. Again I was reassured when Clara said, as she served it, “My mom likes this. She loves to suck the meat off the bones. She’s Russian.”
I don’t eat out often enough to pretend to know whether what I ate was an outstanding example of Nepalese food and I’m not very critical anyway. What I do know is that Clara was delightful, the food was served steaming hot, the naan was the best I’ve had, and I have leftovers for another complete meal. The important thing for me is that I took myself out to a new restaurant, and it was a bonus that it was a place where I felt completely comfortable as a solo diner.
Hopping mad (Lars vs. Rolf)
August 3, 2010
Today I was supposed to show a mad face. It wasn’t explicitly stated that it should be my own mad face, but I assumed the implication. My personal policy is to not get mad because it’s usually not worth it and it just wastes a lot of energy that could be put to better use, such as talking and trying to work it out.
So instead, I drew these two angry rabbits facing off. And actually, the stare-down didn’t begin until they were in Photoshop. I can only draw them facing to the left.
Who do you think will win? The three opinions that I know of (mine, @thedigitalghost’s, and @superc0w’s) pick Rolf (righty). Lars (lefty) looks more like he’s stubbornly standing his ground versus actually being angry. Rolf looks like he has issues. There is tension in his body language and you just know he will explode at any moment.
That’s why they each do different henchmen jobs for Tiny-bunny.
I’m not saying that I’m never upset by things. I am. I have my mother’s leave-no-thought-unspoken enthusiasm, but it’s tempered by my father’s don’t-worry-don’t-be-angry mellowness. If something doesn’t sit right with me, it will be known to the outside world. But I also have the ability to usually just let it go and not take it personally, at least not for long.
What do you really gain in the long run by being mad?
Ode to universe
July 29, 2010
It was bound to happen eventually. It was finally going to be the blog entry in which I pondered my place in the universe (doing so without God???s aid, since I don???t believe in that*). I have no idea what my purpose is as I don???t seem to be accomplishing much and don???t see my future to be very different. Nothing I could say would sound like much more than a pity party. If I really don???t like it that much, make a change. Or even find God. Whatever.
On my bike ride home from work, I had a could-have-been-death experience and the place-in-universe (PIU) question became more focused, at least for the seven minutes that followed which encompassed the rest of my ride home during which time there could have been two more incidents. It must have been my karma today. I started out this morning grumpy and spent most of the day trying to overcome. But I did, and by the time I set out for home, I was feeling pretty good about things.
Biking downtown is, of course, an adventure every time. Even though I have a designated, dedicated bike lane, motor vehicles just refuse to acknowledge it (and me) 95% of the time. Usually it???s just a car or, at worst, a pickup truck or SUV. Today it was an 18-wheeler.
The problem is that the bike lane is in the middle of the road, so vehicles wishing to turn left must do so by cutting across the bike lane. If I haven???t made eye contact in the outside mirror, I wait.
Such was the case today.
I was approaching the intersection, and about fifty feet from it, a truck-truck drew even with me, then pulled ahead at pace. He at least gets credit for signaling his intent. But I was unable to establish eye contact even though I could see his entire head in his rearview mirror. Then sure enough he blithely began his left turn.
I was nearly stopped and was patiently waiting until he finished his turn, thinking it was a short, delivery-type truck. Thank goodness I looked over my shoulder to discover that there was a semi-trailer being pulled directly toward my position. I put my foot down to wait, then realized that I???d better keep moving directly to the left or I???d be clipped and the driver would be none the wiser.
Finally when there was only three feet of trailer left to go did I finally make eye contact with the driver, who was probably actually looking to see if he thought he???d clear the city bus on the cross-street. Sheepish wave from him. Gosh, thanks. I was using stronger language at the time.
So my first question is to the truck driver: where did you think I went in the thirty feet from the time you overtook me to when you initiated your turn?
My second question is: in the big scheme of things???the UNIVERSAL scheme, not just the personal orbit of a few of you who claim to like me and enjoy my company???what lasting impact have I truly made on your life????truly????no, REALLY.
In the universal scheme of things, what difference would my not being here actually have on things going forward? I???m realistic about that.
——————————-
*No disrespect to those who believe in God. It???s just not for me.
Original verse by me.
Liquid love (the rest of the story)
July 24, 2010
Today I had to identify my favorite summer snack. If by summer you mean those months here in Minnesota when it isn???t snowing and if by snack you mean something that is a treat, then my answer is Bell???s Oberon.
The Bell???s website describes Oberon as ???an American wheat ale brewed with Saaz hops. Spicy and fruity, Oberon is the color and scent of a sunny afternoon.???
It sure is!
I don???t pretend to know all the nuances of ingredients and varieties; historically I don???t like wheat beers, especially if they???re varieties referred to as hefeweizen or weissbier. The flavor tends to be sweeter than I prefer and I usually get a near-instant headache from them. But something magical happened when I tasted Oberon for the first time.
I was at a wine tasting event with a friend of mine who feels about wine like I do beer. He also works part-time at a liquor store and so often gets to go to these distributor-sponsored events, which I believe this was. There is also some sort of food to nosh on; in this case it was several local restaurants that had tables sprinkled throughout the floor.
I had been up and down a few rows and tasted many wines and found myself at the Murray???s Steakhouse table. The chef was serving up beef bites saut??ed in butter, garlic, and mushrooms. They tasted heavenly. The stage was set.
Banished to the overflow tent adjacent to the main hall were a few breweries, including local favorite Summit, as well as a couple of others including Bell???s Brewery from Michigan. My experience with Bell???s at that time about five or six years ago was hearing my coworker (and beer guru) rave about their Two-Hearted Ale. I had tried it and was unimpressed because at that time, my palette had not yet begun its rapid transition into liking hops.
Being at a tasting and being willing to try new things, I walked up to the Bell???s table, explained my slight experience with Two-Hearted, and wondered what else I could try. The first sample I was given was Oberon. It looked pretty light and yellow, but with some body. I was still savoring the flavor of the steak bites. I sipped the Oberon. I was in love!
I know it was largely because the beef had primed my taste buds and then the beer complimented the beef. I still think of it as serendipity and one of my favorite dining experiences. If I hadn???t had those steak bites I probably wouldn???t have been floored by the Oberon. But I had and I was. And the rest is history.
So every April, I look forward to the appearance of Oberon???s bright blue carton and sunny logo on the shelves of the coolers. When I see it, I know summer can???t be too far away.
(As an aside, Minnesota is apparently Bell???s??? best market for their hoppy Two-Hearted Ale. I have since come to greatly appreciate that masterpiece as well.)
Kelly’s Unnecessary Blog 