The keys to my happiness
March 31, 2011
This is going to be one of those really interesting entries because, although this looks like a boring picture of my keys by my front door, upon closer inspection you will realize that yet again we combine two of my great loves—rabbits and beer. That’s exciting, right?
I’ve had both of the key holders forever, though I installed the upper one only this past weekend after having lived in my current home for five and a half years. I bought the bottom one as naked wood at some place like Jo Ann Fabrics or Michaels and painted it with stain I had left from the rickety dorm room loft I built out of 2 x 4s and nuts and bolts but no fancy joints. Thinking back on it, it’s a wonder I’m alive to tell the tale. The color was the closest to black I could get. It was the 80s, after all.
The top key holder probably came from Lyndale Garden Center (no longer in business), and in your own shopping adventures you’ve probably more likely come across the cat version, where the hooks are the cats’ tails. Of course for the rabbits, they’re just hooks and I had had it up for decoration in my old place. In my current place, an 18-unit condominium, I have built up an impressive collection of my neighbors’ keys—from cat-sitting to main water shut-off access to I don’t know why. A few weeks ago I was rummaging around for something else and came across the holder and realized that it would be the perfect device for storing the other keys in a more accessible way, rather than jumble in the box in which they currently reside. Me being me, I’ve only managed to walk two sets of other keys the ten feet over to it thus far.
As for my own keys, I have two sets. The “big” set that includes my car key and some extra loops, and my “little” set that doesn’t, which I take when I don’t, you know, have to drive. And this is where the beer comes in and your perseverance is rewarded. The little set lives on my Bell’s Oberon tag. Oberon is, you may recall, one of my top favorite beers, and was, in fact, just released Monday for the 2011 season. Spring is not far away when the Oberon flows.
My big keys had a personality change recently. For quite some time they had sported a green whistle sponsored by Corona. If you have learned anything about me, it’s that I don’t drink thin, light, yellow beer. But the Corona whistle was also a bottle opener, so I tolerated its presence. A couple of months ago, there was an upgrade. I attended the Odell Red Ale release party at Pizza Lucé downtown and got swag, including a snazzy Odell bottle opener key ring. Buh-bye, Corona whistle.
I also noticed, in laying out the new picture of my key rings, that I apparently put my car key back on the opposite side the last time my car was in for service.
See? I told you this would be interesting.
Amazing rabbit-powered beer-delivery machine
March 5, 2011
Today I set my English-major brain to work on a mechanical problem—designing a complicated machine to do a simple task. Are you surprised that it involves beer and a rabbit?
Now that I think about it, I suppose my brain was trying to go in a Wallace & Gromit direction. I imagined all sorts of cogs, pulleys, and ropes, powered by my rabbit Robbin, to get another beer from the refrigerator across the twenty-foot span to me lounging in my comfy desk chair because I just couldn’t be bothered to get up. I have, after all, previously established that I am, at the heart of things, lazy.
The trouble with my rabbit-powered beer delivery system—and really, it’s a system more than an actual machine—is that poor Robbin ends up as forced labor, with which I definitely disagree.
So then I started thinking more abstractly about the beer delivery system that’s in place in the state of Minnesota and made a feeble flow chart. It’s particularly relevant because at this very moment, Surly Brewing is in the midst of a campaign to rewrite Minnesota’s archaic alcohol laws. The one that impacts me personally is the one that prevents liquor stores from being open on Sundays. How backward is that?
The one that impacts Surly, which I have indicated in my flowchart, is that they must utilize a third-party distributor to peddle their wares. When I went on the brewery tour a few weeks ago, the beer that I partook of on the brewery premises was technically not a “serving,” it was a “sample,” because in Minnesota, breweries (except for the smallest “brewpubs”) are not allowed to “serve” on-site. Surly is seeking to change the law so that they can build a new, bigger, better brewery facility that includes a restaurant and beer garden in which they’d be able to—*gasp°—sell and serve glasses of—*gasp*—their own beer.
The Minnesota Licensed Beverage Association (MLBA, the state distributor) seems to think this would be a problem. Perhaps it’s because, if Surly expanded their capacity, they’d have to (once again, by Minnesota law) start using the MLBA to distribute their beer, which they currently don’t have to because they’re too small. How is one new restaurant on the brewery site any more impactful to the MLBA’s profits than a new restaurant or bar at, say, Lake Street and Lyndale Avenue? Doesn’t make sense. The MLBA does not lose in the Surly brewery expansion.
Anyway, then I tried to use pictograms to illustrate the Minnesota beer delivery machine. I thought it would be more interesting, but I don’t think it really is, other than the part where my rabbit and two cats silently judge my beer habit.
I ate Robbin???s cousin for dinner
February 5, 2011
Today I shocked myself by doing something that I never in a million years thought I’d ever do.
Early in the day, Surly Brewing shared that the Ngon Vietnamese Bistro would be tapping a special edition cask of their Bender Ale that was made with vanilla bean. I thought that sounded like a delightful variation on a beer I like, and I’ve been reading good reviews of the restaurant for a long time.
I looked up Ngon’s menu and the word “rabbit” immediately jumped out at me, as in Crispy Rabbit Dumpling. My reflex was to huffily dismiss it as a place I’d never go on principle because they serve up fluffy bunny rabbits. But then I read the description: “Singer House Farms rabbit rolled in a crispy shell with herbs served with a sweet curry sauce & tomato basil confit.” To my horror and amazement I found myself thinking “that sounds really delicious!” I do like curry, after all.
All day long, I kept returning to the menu in fascination, spurred by the strong desire to go have some of that special Bender. Of course I could choose to eat something else, but Crispy Rabbit Dumpling continued to sound appealing.
As I thought about it, I thought why not? Maybe a dumpling would be the perfect way to satisfy my curiosity because it would be in a less recognizable form than, say, something that looked like my rabbit Robbin’s hind leg.
I went to Ngon (changing my previous notion about indulging in some Smack Shack lobster goodness for a Friday treat) and bravely ordered. The server asked me how it was and I gave her an honest answer—interesting, I’d never eaten rabbit before. Interesting in a good way? Well, I have a pet rabbit and this is just a little weird.
“Interesting” applied more to my conflicted emotions about the act of eating it, but in the end it went just fine. It tasted like it belongs in the dark poultry meat family. I’ve found that goat is kind of like that, too, though a little grainier. I have been getting more adventurous with my eating recently and if I am going to even loosely apply the term foodie to myself, I can’t be squeamish.
I was slightly disappointed with the Bender as I couldn’t taste any extra vanilla flavor in it.
I also had a small salad and Black Sesame Shrimp, both of which were tasty as well.
The lighting was very low, so these aren’t the best photos but you get the idea. I tried to throw a little more light on the plates with the table candle, and it wasn’t until I had been moving it around for a couple minutes that I realized it wasn’t even a real candle but a good fake that flickered and all.
A smidge for your fridge
January 16, 2011
Today was one of those rare occasions when I made art for the sake of making art. You have my permission to print out this picture and hang it on your refrigerator, because that’s why I created it.
As you’ve learned from previous entries, woodcut is my preferred medium for art-making. But for work as a graphic designer, I used to have to illustrate simple stories and did so with photo and clip art, such as in the Billy Goat Can Float book. I didn’t usually have to draw stuff from scratch though, it was just a matter of combining elements. That’s fun, too.
Today, however, I created this original illustration in Adobe Illustrator and jazzed it up a bit in Photoshop. Guess what, it’s a rabbit.
Has anybody printed it out and hung it on their refrigerator? I have no idea. But I did. Yes, those are rabbit-shaped magnets holding it up, and there are many other rabbit things present on my fridge. I also have some bowling achievement magnets, a few Minnesota Twins baseball things, ephemera from my favorite radio station, The Current, and a few beer items. Oh, and my guest pass sticker from the day I visited my friend who works at Yahoo.
My new picture definitely brightens things up. I printed out an extra one for my mom. Well, it’s actually an extra that I thought I was printing with a border, but the rule only showed up on one edge. But I know she’ll like it. She hasn’t had refrigerator art from me since the mid-seventies.
Out of the poop loop
January 15, 2011
It’s a dirty job, and it doesn’t get done often enough. That’s right, folks, I’m talking about the price of living with your furred or feathered sweeties. And scaled, I suppose. I guess fish and snakes poop, too.
Everybody has their least favorite household chore. Mine is laundry. I hate doing laundry. It’s not even the washing and the drying. It’s the sorting and folding and putting away. Socks and underwear have gone whole seasons without getting back to their drawer, as I pluck them clean from the laundry basket on top of the dryer. There is a two-foot stack of clean, folded shirts on a chair which, for some reason, I simply can’t bear to take fifteen feet back to my dressers to put away. What the heck?
So scooping the litterboxes should be simple by comparison. Sure, ideally, it would happen more frequently than laundry—as in daily, when it would be a smaller, faster task—but for some reason I tend to put it off until it seems monumental, and then I put it off some more. And so on.
I give props to all four of my cats (the two current and the two previous) for being very forgiving and reliable, even when the boxes are a mess. My rabbit, Robbin, well, he gets himself to the litterbox corner but …
I know that out in the rest of the house, Robbin doesn’t like current cats CJ and Dasie very much, and I think this extends to sharing the litterbox with them. He didn’t seem to have any beef with my previous cats, Dhia and Yul. In fact, his reliable litterbox use (along with not being a chewer) is what earned him the free-range lifestyle. But then the cat individuals changed, and so did his toilet habits. But maybe it’s also a function of his increasing age (he’ll be eight next month). I know he’s still physically able to get into the box; he still frequently jumps up onto my couch and various chairs. All I’m left with is that he doesn’t like CJ and Dasie’s, um, smell.
Anyway, what I do know is that he is more likely to get into the litterbox if it is fresh, clean litter or if it’s not, if the box freshly scooped. So why the heck don’t I just scoop already?
Bibi (no longer with us), CJ, and Robbin, takin’ care of business.
Hug a tree, in winter
December 21, 2010
I am no tree hugger—well, maybe I am more than some people—but there are no fake plastic trees in my neighborhood! I will start you with this gratuitous rabbit shot. I have come to know that a rabbit lives around these outbuildings beside my home train station. As I am leaving the platform, I stop to locate the rabbit. Tonight, it was snowing again and the pine tree was dressed up for a picture postcard, and the rabbit was giving me a nice, rabbity profile.
It is a few days before Christmas and some have been moaning about all the snow we’ve gotten already this season and about how kind of cold it’s mostly been. Well, I say, if it’s going to be cold (which it is), it may as well snow (I realized tonight after posting a different missive that I probably use “might” and “may” incorrectly in the context of statements such as the previous. I shall endeavor to do better). Unfortunately, that tripped me up with regard to getting to bowling tonight.
Last Monday, after the roads were well cleared from the seventeen inches of snow we had over the weekend, it took me an hour to make a drive that usually takes me twenty minutes, tops. So today, as five to eight new inches were predicted, with the accumulation culminating during rush hour, aka drive to bowling time, I made the decision early not to drive my four-cylinder, lightweight, manual-transmission econobox in less than ideal conditions.
On the other hand, the snow provides for wonderful visions of Mother Nature at her most beautiful, like in the opening photo, or in the photo above, from this year’s first snow in mid-November. For a day, it was a gorgeous winter wonderland. This is the lovely maple tree that’s in my front yard. It’s a beautiful tree, but it does throw a little too much shade on my gardening efforts in the warm season.
Other than the driving of my own car, which I only have to do twice a week for bowling, not commuting to work, you will be hard-pressed to get me to say negative things about winter. I like it.
I will end by coming full-circle, with what you probably knew would have to creep in at some point. This is one of my two favorite shots I’ve produced so far with Instagram, the latest apply-a-filter app. These are other pine trees next to the train station, taken after the snow we had the first week of December.
Winter is beautiful. Oh, and one time only, I hugged a tree.
???Sculpture of a Tape Hare??? by Alduct D??rer
March 12, 2010
In situations like this, I will not be reinventing the wheel. Today’s assignment was to do something unconventional with Duct tape. I didn’t think twice about how I would use this manmade wonder. I spent more time standing in Target trying to decide which of the five non-grey colors of “Duck” tape I would choose.
I was presented with flourescent purple, blue, pink, orange, and green. Given the subject matter, my first instinct was to choose orange. But as you may recall from a previous post or two, I do like my bright green. But what I learned from game after game of Trivial Pursuit is to trust your first instinct. I finally picked up the orange roll.
My orange hare is entirely duct tape. I wadded up a bunch to make a core ball for the body, then artfully wrapped strips smoothly around the outside. It was kind of interesting working in foil and tape, and fun trying to coax the desired shapes into existence, such as the haunches and the ears. They’re both pretty malleable media; tape was quite a bit easier to control than the aluminum foil as it had the advantage of being adhesive.
Okay, so I’ve created two masterpieces. Now what do I do with them? Enter Mom.
My mom is a complete and utter pushover for both rabbits and bears. She really only needed one look at Foil Hare and Duct Tape Hare perched atop my television to start gushing. Although I have piles of stuff all over my house, at times I am able to have an unnatural detachment about the possession of things (and people, for that matter). I asked my mom if she wanted them and it was a done deal. I sort of wanted to keep them because I feel sentimentally about the reason for and process by which they were created.
As my mom was preparing to leave and stashing them in her things, she was dismayed when one of Foil Hare’s ears fell off. I said that I had only required it to hold together long enough to be photographed. I had a brief moment of clarity as I separated the sentimental from the practical. On a number of levels, I am a lot better at being unemotional than my mother. But that’s a whole different subject.
???Sculpture of a Foil Hare??? by Kelly D??rer
March 4, 2010
How often have you wished you could draw? Or write, or sing, or whatever? You don’t have to be good to enjoy doing something. I fully embrace the notion of A for effort.
Take Albrecht Dürer’s Portrait of a Young Hare, for example. My former rabbit Bibi did a much better job of recreating it in the course of her daily life than I did this evening with aluminum foil and intention.
Here’s a question for those of you who live with freerange houserabbits. Have you ever noticed (if you ration their food and feed them at predictable times) that about forty-five minutes before mealtime, they start this whole stretching and yawning routine? Well, they do. At least four of my six rabbits have engaged in such activity.
Bibi was a master (mistress) stretcher-yawner. And one time, I managed fire up the camera quickly enough to capture this portrait. I think she did a far better job with her ownself than I did with foil. I entered her posthumously for the mission of standing in front of a portrait and making the same expression. How could I resist? Who doesn’t think their pet is the cutest ever? (p.s. They are!)
Later that same day, which was a Friday, I eschewed actual work work in order to create my own entry for the mission—a self-portrait in front of the artist’s self-portrait. I swear I could have kept doing it all day. And, it just happened I was wearing brown that day. Dürer’s hair is curlier, though.
It’s weird taking pictures of yourself when there are plenty of other people around who you wouldn’t mind not seeing you doing it. I managed to escaped scrutiny.
Going into the day, my plan was to make my 3D sculpture of the 2D painting with Fun Tak, because I could have worked on it discretely at my desk and nobody would have been any the wiser. But today, unlike that January Friday, work tasks conspired against me and I did not have the opportunity to goof off as much as I sometimes do. The trade-off? I am redesigning the Black & Decker DIY books that you will soon find in your local Menard’s, Home Depot, or Lowe’s. It’s the highest-profile thing I’ve ever worked on. I can live with that.
So I present you with this inadequate foil replica of a masterwork. But as I’ve declared on a few previous occasions, the fun part is that I’m doing something that I wouldn’t have, ordinarily. But I did today.
(For those of you paying attention and remembering my “What’s in a name?” entry, my D does not stand for Dürer. It’s merely a convenient coincidence.)
10 things that make me happy
March 1, 2010
This cup of grapefruit juice*
I like orange juice and tomato juice, but I love grapefruit juice!
This lovely sunny day*
It is the last day of February. On days like this, you believe that spring is truly right around the corner, even though it’s Minnesota and you know there could easily still be stretches of sub-freezing temperatures.
Watching my cat spaz out with the twirling rainbows on the wall*
I have solar powered twirling crystals in my south window. Poor Dasie just never figures it out.
Saving 10–15 minutes in the morning by neither combing nor drying my hair*
On February 13, I stopped both combing my hair and giving it the tiny bit of blow drying that I do, just to see what would happen. I am not in the early stages of dreadlocks and my curls twist up less frizzily and more curly. The only downside is that all day I shed the loose hairs that were formerly removed during combing. Having that ten or fifteen extra minutes is well worth it to me.
Classical music on a Sunday afternoon*
In my quest to watch less tv, I have returned to doing something I used to twenty years ago, which is turning on public radio in the morning and enjoying it as the backdrop to the whole day.
How it’s light so much earlier in the morning
I know the time change will soon come and darkness will get another hour of morning time, but for now I’ll enjoy that it’s light when I should be thinking about getting up. It has been light when I do get up all winter …
That my rabbit feels better after having his teeth trimmed a couple of weeks ago
The watery eye has cleared up and Robbin seems to be in a better mood. I can even pet his head, something which he had shied away from for years. Now I know why.
The thought of planning my trip to London
I really must make time to do my tax return so that I can get going on this.
Video chat
It has been very satisfying getting to see people who I would otherwise have no opportunity to interact with “in person.”
Coffee in a paper cup
I don’t know why it is, but I really love drinking coffee from a coffee shop paper cup.
*pictured above
Rabbits and Pooh: it started when I was a baby
February 22, 2010
Well, of course it did, because I get it from my mother. She claims to have wheeled a bottle of Brer Rabbit Molasses around in a baby buggy when she was a girl. And she began indoctrinating me when I was just a baby. This is the earliest photo of myself that I have seen with regularity. It wasn’t enough for her to have her cute, happy baby in the middle of a giant bed. No, she posed a rabbit toy alongside. The osmosing of rabbit love began.
As I have gotten these photos together this week, I have remembered that when I was photographed as a child, these “candid” shots always included some prop to make the picture “more interesting.” If you think that stuffed rabbit just happens to be peeking out from behind the ottoman, you are mistaken.
I was just the right age to get in at the beginning of Winnie-the-Pooh’s popularity. So there was often a Pooh in the photo. This is Rubber Pooh that you’ll see in a few shots. He was—wait for it—rubber and jointed. He was a friend for a long time. He would wave to my mom while she was snapping the photo or just generally be a bystander in the shot. We really liked those big boxes.
Rabbits were never out of it for long. I can remember riding that rabbit-horse around the house. I sort of remember that I wasn’t allowed to take it outside so as not to “ruin” it. I may be wrong, but that’s how I think it was.
We have the quintuple bonus picture for my sixth birthday—Poohs and a rabbit, and opening a Winnie-the-Pooh stencil kit. That was back in the day when things didn’t have to have a screen and beep and vibrate for a kid to be entertained. I wore out my Spirograph. I can’t quite tell from the photo if I had melted Rubber Pooh’s nose just a little yet or not. I was playing with matches.
When I was a youngster, we summered at Indiana University while my dad worked summers only on his PhD. The campus featured a cute little stream where my mom and I spent a lot of time playing Poohsticks.
The rabbit thing came to fruition with the first live rabbit that either my mom or I had lived with. I’d tell you her name, but then you’d be able to steal my identity. We came to have this rabbit, Rabbit C, because the neighborhood papergirl, Penny W, brought along a box of baby bunnies one day when she was delivering the news. My mom got suckered in.
I was eight in that picture. I’m trying to remember if Rabbit C made the cross-state move with us when I was almost fifteen. I know a couple of years after the move, we had a different rabbit. I’m kind of thinking—yes, now I remember. She did not make the move with us and was interred in the front flower bed where I always used to plant marigold seeds. Maybe that’s part of the reason why I still love marigolds.
But within a couple of years after we moved, there was a new rabbit, and there has been one in my life ever since, whether successors to Rabbit C with my mom or, beginning when I was, I’m going to say, about 25, a rabbit of my very own.
Kelly’s Unnecessary Blog 