Deviant behavior
May 5, 2011
Yesterday on my walk home from work, I engaged in behavior which, in my mind, was surely worthy of receiving an ASBO. I thwarted my initial plan because I couldn’t overcome my self-consciousness to act in the location I really wanted to (Nicollet Mall and 5th Street South/Light Rail). There were just too darned many people milling about waiting for buses, waiting for cross-walking right-of-way, and the like at that unpopular time of day known as rush hour. Someone would, at the very least, see me, and at the very worst, be curious and stop to ask me about it. I chastised myself, didn’t change my mind, and moved on.
As I contemplated its execution a little further down 5th Street (at 3rd Avenue South, in front of the Qwest building, if you must know), I came to notice just how many security cameras we really have in downtown Minneapolis. I guess that’s not exactly a bad thing; a few years ago, a violent criminal was apprehended because a citizen phoned 911 immediately and authorities were able to track the suspect on sequential cameras as he ran away.
For my own little plot, I got nervous because Gotham City Hall is across the street, and also because after noticing the cameras, I figured somebody was watching me take photos near a sensitive building and would be swarming out to disappear me, in light of the Osama bin Laden developments over the weekend. I didn’t wish to take any chances. I put my head down and hightailed it onward.
For a couple of blocks, I felt like an utter, pansy failure. Then I had The Brainstorm. I’d have to be patient, but I would still have the opportunity to perform my duty in a location well-traveled by desirable types. I spent the next fifteen minutes walking another three-quarters of a mile to the bike trail that connects Downtown East to my home neighborhood.
And then I did it.
I drew in chalk on the pavement.
Conscience is a man???s compass
April 21, 2011
I’m not entirely sure I have a conscience, at least not the kind that makes me want to sponsor starving children in Africa or hang out at the local retirement home. My conscience goes as far as it’s convenient, and that’s roughly it.
I have friends who do far better than me. They volunteer at hospitals, they walk and run for all sorts of causes, they organize benefits for earthquake and tsunami victims in Japan. I merely have three receptacles to separate trash, paper, and glass and plastic. Even my recent donations to Minnesota Public Radio and Twin Cities Public Television were spurred as much by the thank you gift as anything. Nobody’s life is being saved.
Not that the measure of conscience has to be as dramatic as saving a life. I do feel pretty good about my recycling habits. I was aghast recently when I was at a neighbor’s place for our condominium board meeting and he said, upon the other three of us immediately chiming in about his cavalier tossing of a piece of paper into the trash rather than recycling, “You mean I should have an additional garbage can for saving paper?” We all chirped the indignant “yes!” He just didn’t get it. Occasions like that are when I feel so frustrated when I imagine how much landfill volume would be saved if each person recycled just one more [fill in the blank].
So I recycle well and I drive a little gnat of an economy car and I do anything except drive my little gnat of an economy car for my less than two-mile commute to work. But I still feel inadequate on the life-saving, life-changing scale. It’s not that I don’t care, exactly, but my selfishness holds the trump card.
I do think about it. As my child-bearing years draw to a conclusion and I wonder how I will ever (because I sure don’t currently) feel fulfilled in my life since I didn’t procreate, it seems pretty obvious that one way to compensate would be by volunteering with some organization like Big Brothers Big Sisters, through which I could have a long-term, hands-on, influential relationship with a youngster. But even that I don’t think about foremost because I want to be a positive force in some kid’s life. I think about it in terms of how I can still eke out some measure of life-worth for my own puny existence.
But if I get to that place in the end, does it matter so much why? I don’t know.
Open letter of application
April 14, 2011
Dear the3six5,
For weeks, nay, months, I have been waiting to find the perfect time to write the perfect email to you to apply for an author spot on your interesting blog. I should have known better. The perfect time never happens. And the other perfection is in the eye of the beholder.
Tonight I have finally gotten fed up with my inaction and fairly quickly come around to the notion of turning tonight’s entry on my own blog into my application to your blog.
All along, I had been planning to give you the link to my blog as my resumé for your project. Because what better way to demonstrate that on any given day, I can write about something, anything, than to show you that I do.
I like to write but I hate coming up with ideas, so this is where I confess that it’s not entirely my own imagination that drives my blog. For a year and three-quarters I have been playing on tweaktoday.com where we do something different every day, documenting said thing, most often, with an original photo, but sometimes with a video. It eventually occurred to me that using our daily mission as the jumping-off point for my blog would be an easy way to overcome that bit of laziness. But it would still be a challenge because by letting an outside influence dictate my direction, I wouldn’t get to write about something near and dear to me a lot of the time. So for a year and a half, I’ve been taking what the community dealt me. I think it’s gone pretty well.
It’s ironic that today, when I finally apply to you, the mission chosen on tweaktoday.com is by me and that no one, including myself, has submitted anything.
That doesn’t mean that I can’t write. And I’ll even write on a holiday, such as my birthday or Christmas. And look, this letter just happens to be 354 words long, almost perfectly fitting your author guidelines.
Sincerely,
Kelly Doudna
Zucchini porn, semi-literally
April 10, 2011
A while ago—maybe last summer or the summer before, or maybe the winter in between—my friend Jim who is fluent in sarcasm and snark, made a thusly-flavored comment disparaging the “dildo-sized” zucchinis that appear here in Minnesota grocery stores.
My esteemed work colleagues know that I am very impressionable. All it takes is a word or sometimes a mere syllable to pop a song into my head, which I then start whistling. Half the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it. And if I hear someone else in the office eating potato chips, well, you can bet that I’m suddenly craving some, too.
Way back in the recesses of my mind, I remember vague rumors from high school which involved a couple of female classmates and carrots and wieners.
So the zucchini-as-dildo comment stuck with me. I find it impossible to fondle them while making my selection without feeling a little bit dirty and a little bit self-conscious. I’m convinced that at least one person is watching me and questioning my motive as I pick them up one by one, choosing those that are similar in size and giving them a gentle squeeze to test for firmness, deciding yea or nay.
Of course, my end use of them is as pure as a petunia. I most often cut them in half the long way and broil them (or grill them, if it’s summer). Sometimes, I’ll make them the way my mom did when I was small, slicing them thinly and frying them in butter with pepper and finely chopped onion.
Today, they were part of the dinner pictured below, a celebration of this spring’s recent release of Bell’s Oberon Ale. It isn’t any better than when it’s paired with steak, especially if that steak is topped with sautéed mushrooms. Add the zucchini, some asparagus (this time with Hollandaise sauce, which I never do but it sounded good today), and a salad, and you’ve got one of my favorite meals.
It’s delicious enough to make me forget about the shame of shopping for the zucchini in the first place.
April 3, 2011
I???m looking over a yard-weed clover
April 8, 2011
This is the story of an unlikely, wonderful houseplant. It began life as a science experiment for a book I wrote. I needed to sprout some seeds for a growing experiment, so I got one of those little pots from the dollar area of Target. It had clover seeds.
February 24, 2010. I sowed the seeds and used the incandescent bulb in my swing-arm lamp as the light source. The office air is very dry, especially in the winter which this was, so I made mini-greenhouses with sandwich bags to keep the dirt moist. The seeds sprouted in just four or five days and never looked back. Clover, it seems, grows very quickly and very enthusiastically.
March 16, 2010. It wasn’t long until it outgrew its starter pots. I transfered the seedlings to somewhat larger pots sat back for the ride. At times I almost felt like I could see the growth happening before my eyes! (That’s garlic in the foreground that I grew from cloves for a separate experiment.)
May 11, 2010. Even in the now too-small pots, the clover thrived, and became a tourist attraction for visitors from outer space.
July 13, 2010. I soon moved the clover into its permanent home. I put the plants from both small pots together in the new large pot and that’s where they’ve been ever since, growing the heck out of it!
April 8, 2011. For over a year now, I have enjoyed this yard weed as a unique and conversation-starting desk plant. It has been perfectly happy under my lamp and I love how hairy and wild it is. Because of its success, I started some strawberry plant seeds the same way (in the small cup on the overturned pot) and though they have sprouted and the leaves are taking on the serrated quality of mature leaves, it just doesn’t grow quickly at all. The seeds took about two weeks to sprout and the growth you see in the photo above is about two months’ worth. Quite a bit less satisfying. Yesterday I transplanted them to this slightly larger cup in hopes that they would find the extra leg room inspirational. If they ever become worthy of it, the overturned pot will be theirs. Time will tell.
My desktop garden also includes several philodendrons which love the conditions. And just recently, I started buying a stem or two of cut flowers at a nearby florist because it adds a nice element of gaiety—a touch of fancy, if you will—to the environment.
In case you’re wondering, my clover has not yet produced any four-leafers.
No name (2)
April 6, 2011
I am not a person who goes around naming my objects. I have several friends who name their cars, and I just don’t get it. It’s a car. I suppose I can understand naming ships and trains and planes. They’re big. They have routes. They go places—across the country, across the ocean, to another continent. A car goes to the grocery store.
And if I were a guy, I certainly wouldn’t name my, you know.
What I do name are my computer hard drives. When I first started thinking about this this evening, I assumed it was because “Macintosh HD” is so non-descriptive that you’d get confused if you didn’t name it something else. But that’s really not true, at least for home use, even if you have more than one computer, such as I do. I’m not going to be too confused by seeing two “Macintosh HD”s on the network. One is the computer I’m using, the other isn’t.
So it turns out that I give in to a little bit of frivolity on this front after all. It is, I must admit, a little more entertaining to see the name of your hippity hoppity bunny rabbit. I name my hard drives after my pets.
My rabbits have gotten the hard drives, the cats have gotten the peripherals. The “turnover,” if you will, in both departments has been compatible. So, let’s see if I can remember what they’ve all been.
Macintosh Performa 631CD: Hazel (rabbit)
UMAX Macintosh clone: This was probably also Hazel, as he lived for 10 years. This was a great machine.
40 gig external hard-drive: Hilda (rabbit #2)
Sony Memory Sticks for digital camera: Dhia, Yul (1st, 2nd cats)
iPod 3rd gen: Daisy (shortlived 3rd rabbit). This is still a hard-drive iPod, not one of the newer flash drives, so it counted for getting a name.
Apple G4 dual 867MHz: Robbin (5th and current rabbit). This computer is a tank, and if the Mac OS hadn’t left it in the dust, I’d still be using it.
Extra internal HD in the G4: Belle (shortlived 4th rabbit, posthumously named, because this was the one case where sweeties and hard drives got out of sync), used for music storage
(Wow, did I go from the UMAX to the G4? Holy crap, I did. It seems so long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away.)
G4 iBook (2004, still in use, I’m writing on it AS WE SPEAK): ROBBINBOOK. iBook 2004, Robbin Rabbit 2003.
Mac Mini dual Intel whatever: ROBBINmini. Mini 2010, Robbin Rabbit 2003.
External hard drives used with ROBBINmini: Dasie (1), CJ (3rd and 4th, current, cats). Dasie gets the music, because she’s crazy and fun-loving and crazy. CJ gets the one that’s for back-up, because she’s more no-nonsense.
Endnotes
1. Yes, there have been two Daisys. Daisy the rabbit only lived for half a year due to defective genetics, probably due to purebred inbreeding issues. When Dasie the cat came to me, I knew I couldn’t keep her shelter name of Sadie. I thought Daisy was a fun name, so when I realized that I could anagram Sadie into Dasie, it was a no-brainer. It still sounded the same, but was a different spelling as well as a non-traditional spelling. And it totally fits her personality, just as Daisy had fit the rabbit’s. She was a devoted, little ray of sunshine.
I go out walking
April 2, 2011
Today, I recorded myself walking. Once again you’re thinking, oh how perfectly fascinating. Well, I think it actually is pretty interesting. The environmental noise is wonderful. It’s the everyday soundtrack to my walk home from work, though I hardly ever actually listen to it. There is something a little different to hear in each of these short clips, which change, roughly, with every change of pavement during my mile and three quarters journey home. The movie is about five minutes long. Thanks for watching!
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.
Birds don???t make me angry
March 30, 2011
I’ve never been a big game player. Oh sure, back in the day I was pretty good at Centipede and then Joust. Tempest held my interest graphically and I was just dumb-lucky enough at spinning the dial thingy around to keep going for a while. I think you can immediately tell from the preceding discription that, though I sometimes find a game that I find interesting and easily understandable enough to play a second time, you could hardly call me a gamer. I’m not.
Once I got my computer I, um, didn’t really start playing games. In the early days (we’ll call it 1996-ish) on my Mac, I enjoyed Peter Gabriel’s Secret World, which I borrowed from work, but my home computer was never quite beefy enough to make that a satisfying experience.
In about 2004, I finally found a game I could get behind—Super Text Twist. I play the desktop version, not online. I don’t care if I match my prowess against a bunch of people I don’t know. Initially I played the untimed version, but it didn’t take long before I took on the greater challenge (such as it is) of always playing timed. Of course, it helps that I figured out a sort of cheat that helps me figure things out if I’m having trouble.
Then I got my iPhone and boy, did things ever stay the same. I have a bunch of games on it, but my favorite is another timed word game—imagine that—Scramble CE. I don’t like, a little bit, that it’s by Zynga, but it’s free and I can play by myself. I do like that I have to think rather than shoot. There again, I play the slightly more challenging “Advanced” option, in which I have to find—oo-oo-ooh—four- rather than three-letter words.
And shooting brings us to, what else, Angry Birds.
I feel about Angry Birds sort of like I feel about the iPad. It would be fun, but I don’t really need it. Nevertheless, I forked out the US$1.06 for it because, let’s face it, that’s a lot more affordable than $400 or $600 or whatever the iPad is.
I know people who are obsessed with Angry Birds (well, really, and iPads, too). I’m sure you know someone. I am not one of them. Right now it is only a way to relax in bed for a few minutes before switching to Scramble and falling asleep, or maybe to reading a little, too (still on iPhone), and falling asleep. Though I do admit that, because I have failed screen 9 of Poached Eggs at least thirty times (see screen shot at top), the victory smirk(s) of the pig(s) is(are) beginning to get to me and I can see how it could become compelling to those with weaker resolves. I suppose there are cheats posted online, but fortunately I don’t care that much yet.
Anyway, Scramble and Angry Birds get to be out loose on page 2 of my iPhone. The rest of the games are combined into folders, one for the ones that I play occasionally and the other for the ones I don’t. I am going to give Crazy Penguin Catapult and Tangram Pro honorable mentions. Those are the other two that I like to play. The gameplay in Crazy Penguin Catapult is similar to Angry Birds—you fling penguins through ice blocks at polar bears.
I don’t know. I think the penguins in their battlefield helmets with their salutes are a lot cuter than the angry birds, and I know I like polar bears better than pigs, although pigs are very intelligent and I find that appealing. Plus, I paid a dollar for it so I feel like I should play it in order to get my money’s worth.
Amazing beer dinner with Summit Brewing
March 13, 2011
One of my favorite breweries, Summit, sponsored a fancy dinner at Bank Restaurant downtown last night. I’ve seen the notices about previous beer dinners. This time, the restaurant was along the linear mile and three quarters between my office and my home, and on a Friday. The announcement said that Summit founder Mark Stutrud would be there to host it. I eagerly anticipated adding to my collection of photos of me with the owners of my favorite breweries. What a perfect way to end the work week!
I made my reservation for one. When I arrived at the restaurant my worst suspicion was confirmed. I wouldn’t get to sit at a small, corner table by myself reveling in good beer and good food. No, I would have to join a large, round table with a bunch of people I didn’t know, which would undoubtedly involve talking to them. I sighed and accepted the first beer, Summit’s delicious India Pale Ale.
At this point, participants were standing around on the fringes of the seating area and bar. I had ended up between two groups, people who were obviously associated with the brewery, and civilians. Thankfully, the first of the hors d’oeuvres came around, the smoked kielbasa, red beet horseradish, and onion jam, daintily served on a funny spoon, followed by an oyster shooter, and fancy popcorn.
At this time, I should probably disclaim my overuse of the word fancy in this report.
A Summit Maibock, as well as Mark Stutrud, also came around during the hors d’oeuvres, and I made what was probably a bit of a gaffe by asking for his thoughts on the Minnesota liquor law changes that Surly Brewing is advocating. I got an earful of a different perspective. What a way to make a first impression on a person whose beer you love! Well, I’ve never claimed to be good at small talk.
Mark moved on, and I became aware that the brewery group was wondering about facts related to Japan’s earthquake and tsunami. I spend half my workday listening to world news, so I felt compelled to interject what I knew. I was only trying to be helpful. I ended up talking for a few minutes to Sue and Carrie.
The restaurant guy who was managing things indicated that it was time to have a seat for dinner. Sue didn’t hesitate to invite me to join their table which I gratefully did, and that was the action that ensured my having the best time I’ve in a while.
The delicious food arrived (as usual, my photographic documentation was thwarted by very low lighting). First was a fantastic scallop with bacon and some fancy, dribbled sauces. Mine was gigantic compared to the others which didn’t displease me, because I love scallops! It was served with Summit’s flagship Extra Pale Ale. That is hands down one of my favorite ever beers. Then came a fancy fried chicken puck (referring only to the shape, not the quality) with, among other things, Pop Rocks as part of the garnish, and served with cornbread and Maibock. The “main” course was a Red Ale braised lamb shank with barley and gravy, served with—you guessed it—Red Ale. For dessert, it was an oatmeal baking powder “coffee cake” served with ice cream made with Summit Porter and served with the same.
I so thank Sue and Carrie for being nice to me. You all know I would have been just fine lurking on the fringes keeping to myself. But it ended up being such a blast. Everyone around the table (clockwise from my left: Shawn (J.J. Taylor Distributing), Patty, Rollie, Mark, Sue, Carey, Katie, Tom (COO), and Dan) managed to engage me in conversation at least once. I think Shawn the distributor was getting annoyed with me because all the beers I was saying I liked weren’t ones he distributes, except for New Belgium Ranger IPA, one of my current favorites. I completely had a brain freeze about remembering how much I love Deschutes Hop Henge.
Anyway, I eventually figured out that Sue is Mark’s wife. I got my photo with Mark, and what I love about it is that we look like we’ve been friends forever. Well, I have been friends with his EPA for a long time. Oh! And Sue apparently went to highschool with Tony Magee, owner of Lagunitas and former sponser of my Monday bowling team. They were all engaging, but I could kind of check out when I needed to.
I think I will definitely try to go to the next Summit dinner, whenever that is.
Kelly’s Unnecessary Blog 