Santa Came!!!

Twas the day before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring not even a mouse. When suddenly P woke and saw something outside, so she jabbed her hub K and it hurt, so he cried. "There's a package on the porch K, do you think that its true, has our luggage come back from Timbuktu?" So out of the bedroom K flew like a flash, threw open the door and let out a gasp. He got so excited he tripped up the stairs, "it IS our luggage P!" (she was washing her hair). "Well go get it!" she said, cause she needed clean drawers, so K lept down the stairs and threw open the doors. He snatched up the luggage, with exuberant might, he had never quite seen such a beautiful sight. He took the bag up to the room where they stay, opened it up and saw all was ok. P's clean drawers were there, and his legwarmers too, the camera, the presents, and P's jeans that are blue. "All is here!" K yelled, "what a wonderful day, let's now go and celebrate the northwesterners way!" So they did, and that is what they are doing right now, so this post has to end, seriously, don't have a cow!

Post.Christmas.Program.Reflections

Here are things that invariably happen at *every* church produced Christmas program:
1. Like an unstoppable contagion, the under-5 kids wave at their parents. The parents gush and wave back, only to restart the entire process over again. This waving goes on until the under-5 portion of the program is over.
2. A little girl in the front row, wearing a velvet, maroon dress, proceeds to lift it over her head intermittently throughout the entire program. She sways whilst she does this for no apparent reason at all.
3. The youngest kids forget a majority of the poem/song they are to recite, probably from all of the excitement from waving, until one kid (my nephew) remembers his line and shouts it above all others. The friends of the child's parents turn with a thumb up, smile at the parents, and mouth "that's yours!!!"
4. Grandpa falls asleep, son in law jabs him in the gut with robust pleasure
5. Disaffected father types on his blackberry until he realizes that everyone around him is standing and clapping at the close of the program. In an attempt to recover for his inattentiveness, stands up and begins to clap louder than everyone else, indicating if only to his wife that he was, in fact, a negligent audience member. Disaffected father proceeds to spend the night on the couch, warmed by the luminescent glow of his digital companion.
6. Nephew turns to uncle and says to him "I have to poo-poo," uncle hands nephew to nearest closer relative to take care of the job.
7. Parents stumble over one another to take pictures of these precious moments. People sitting closest to the aisle ponder tripping them as they walk past.
8. Pastor makes an insecure joke about how the kids draw more of a crowd than he does. The audience laughs because they think he is really joking, when is not, after all.
9. The phrase "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" and every other gimmicky correlative is recited more times than can be counted.
10. Littlest kids resort to singing "Happy Birthday" to Jesus because they can remember that, and they do it very well.
11. The phrase "wasn't that just wonderful" is recited more times than can be counted.
12. There is a live reenactment of Mary, Joseph, and Jesus. They just stand there as the kids sing about them. No lines, nothing. They look awkward and once their job is done, they return to their seats, or somewhere else they belong. They stare down at the sometimes live baby for an inordinate amount of time.
13. The shepherds do something obnoxious with their staffs, whether it is hit one another with them or play air guitar
14. A fat child with a terrible voice gets a solo because it is Christmas after all. Son in law tries not to laugh, but cannot help it because the child sings with such focused intensity. some people wait a lifetime for a moment like this, after all.
15. A pre-pubescent boy sings a song in a vocal range that makes the girls think he is one of them. He also looks awkward.
16. We all talk about what role our kid, or kids we know, will play next year. This always leads to a reflection on what role your kids used to play. Son in law contemplates running into traffic.
17. Cameras are misplaced because someone else always has a better shot that you just must have.
18. Cute niece dances during all of the songs. Well, she bends her knees and flails her arms, which is a smoother dance than most who admire her could accomplish.
19. Pastor gifts are given. Pastor attempts to deflect the attention, but cannot help himself. He hugs his wife affectionately, smiles obnoxiously, and makes a non-verbal gesture back to the kids. He even invites them to lead the final song. Secretly, he wishes that the present was monetary rather than a bad floral arrangement that he will likely throw away before the week is over.
20. The program is too long for toddlers who are all asleep on parents, or other affiliates shoulders, as they make their way to the exit.

Holiday Shenanigans

Our more devoted readers will no doubt remember a post I click-clacked this past summer that discussed the baggage-based mishaps that occurred when we returned to Illinois from Oregon. For those of you who aren't aware of this post, or, lack the memory or inclination to look at older posts, shame on you. Anyhow, on our way back from Oregon this past summer our baggage was misplaced, and since we were "out of delivery range" it had to be shipped Fed Ex a couple of days later [sigh]. It was a huge hassle, but it happens. whatever.

Upon arriving IN Oregon yesterday evening, we had the wonderful pleasure of finding that P's bag was again misplaced. It is now nearly twenty-four hours later and we have still not been contacted by an airline baggage representative. This means that at the present moment, nobody knows where our bag is, could be in Bangladesh for all we know. The joke of it is that we used the exact same luggage that was lost the first time, so this rolling blue duffle bag is 2 for 2 in terms of getting lost in the fold. Is this bad luck or bad karma? I am going with luck, since I know that if anyone has something coming to them karma-wise, it is not P, but myself. Still, I feel sick over the loss, is that weird?

Uh-oh, gotta jet. The niece and nephew are performing in a Christmas play. Stay posted.

Four Years Ago. . .

It is a rare gift to be married to your best friend who blesses each day with abundant love and laughter.

Happy Anniversary P, I love you!

Holiday Happenings

In the blur of the last few weeks of the semester, we have left out several of the fun things we have done around the area. The week before Thanksgiving, we got to go up to Chicago and watch the lighting ceremony. We went up early in the day to get lunch and visit the outlets in the suburbs. We then rode the "L" into the city where we got to enjoy the first sights and sounds of Christmas. The Marshall Fields building on State Street in downtown Chicago has a tradition of decorating their window displays with a thematic Christmas scene. This year was an impressive version of the Nutcracker Story (I will post pictures). We then followed the crowds down Michigan Avenue where we enjoyed a meal at Buca di Beppo. On our way out of the restaurant we found that we could not get through the revolving doors onto Michigan Avenue because the street was so crowded--somebody thought it would be fun to set a world record for largest caroling group. Anyway, we shopped on Michigan Avenue and then watched a parade where Mickey Mouse waved his wand and block by block lit up. The grand finale was an impressive display of fireworks near the Wrigley Building over the Chicago river. After the fireworks we got some hot chocolate and headed home.

The following week we headed the opposite direction to St. Louis to watch a St. Louis Rams versus Seahawks game. After a scary first half...and a nailbiting finish...the Seahawks won. Hooray!

So...this pretty well brings us up to date in terms of the holiday festivities. As always, our neighborhoods are decked out with crazy lights and lawn art. Next week we will be having our annual book exchange Christmas party.

Introducing "Loki"

A couple of posts ago, I relayed sad news about my parents' Westie Hobson. I am happy to write in this post, however, that my parents have rescued an orphan Westie puppy named Loki. I have been told that Loki is a bit smaller than Hobson, loves to cuddle, loves to run and play, and is a bit precocious. He seems to have brought my parents a significant amount of joy and we are happy that they were able to provide him a safe home.

Throwback Bruchi

Mom sent the picture below this morning. They grow up so fast!

Happy Birthday

Our friend Tara D. had a birthday yesterday and we are excited to celebrate it in whatever way we can. Since we don't have any pictures to post of you on the web, and since we are so far away, you will have to settle with us eating banana-chocolate chip muffins in your honor while we sing to you in disharmony!

In Memoriam, Horsey

Yesterday evening, my parents called to tell us that their Westie Hobson had died. This situation is particularly difficult for my parents and us since Hobson has been a part of so many of our family's memories. We adopted Hobson around the time that I was 15, and I remember clearly the day we brought him home: he followed me around as if I were the one who needed to show him the ropes. He since came to favor my parents, mostly because they sat with fleece blankets in the evenings. Hobson loved fleece blankets; he also loved to go for walks, chase squirrels and bunnies, attack fat cable men, get his belly scratched, launch himself at khaki panted in-laws (sorry Mike), eat cookies, chase his stuffed toys-especially his monkey, pose for mom's endless photoshoots, play with Nikki, take afternoon naps in the sunshine and lick his paws. In fact, during his lifetime you would scarcely hear me call him "Hobson," it was more likely "stoplickinghobson!"

Hobson was sensitive to our feelings, as most good dogs are. When we would cry, he would simply curl up next to us, never to leave until we had stopped. He would also share in our laughter, scolding us when the joke had not yet been made clear to him.

Although at times it did not appear so, Hobson loved our other Westie Nikki. This fact became even more clear when Nikki died two years ago. Since that time, Hobson would cry at us unexpectedly as though he were telling us that he remembered her and wanted her back. So we held him closely, knowing all the time that we wanted the same thing.

It is truly difficult to lose your pets, as I am coming to find. Somehow, they weave themselves into the interstices of your everyday life. You come to call them friend, companion, and comforter. They follow you when you walk out of the room, and you become aware of that presence only when they are no longer there. They come to hold nicknames, alter-egos, and carve distinct personalities for themselves: Hobson was horsey, hobbyhorse, little $@^#, bubby, honey, the list is endless. They are excited when you come home, they listen when you speak to them (unless you are commanding them), they warm you when you are cold, they create a lifetime of happiness and memories.

To my parents, for whom this is the hardest, Hobson loved you with an amazing abundance, and you loved him the same way. You will miss him, to be sure, but he resides with us in our memories.

Goodbye Horsey, we love you!

Giddyup!

Our nephew and two nieces dressed as their own little posse for Hallowen this year. Cowboy (and cowgirl) up!

We don't lie!

Anyone who has visited our house has witnessed the exuberance of one precocious beagle who seems eager to impress everyone by getting into (and onto) as many things as possible. Feeling truly bad for our dog's transgressions, P and I apologize and explain that most of Bruchi's day is spent sleeping on the couch, that he is really mellow most of the time. I have even been known to tell stories of Bruchi's symphonic range of snoring that often accompanies my long writing sessions during the day. Well, as they say, the proof is in the pudding. See below. Bruchi, under our Ralph Lauren quilt, konked. 11:00 am, Halloween.

Bruchi, a.k.a. the Love Bandit

Bruchi has had a range of love affairs in his short lifetime, the longest of which has been with my dad's forearm. He has gone through several stuffed ducks, a couple of couch pillows, a couple of beds, and the pattern that seems to recur is this: once I love you, I must destroy you. Because these activities tend to cost us money, time and irritation, P and I have recently attempted to break the cycle by scolding him whenever he begins to love on his, or our, new items. See, for example, the image below taken after a scolding following an attempted love session with his bed. His look to me says, "um, what's the problem exactly? AND why are you photographing this? Victorians!"

Happy Hound-a-ween(-er)!

Poor Bruchi. In the middle of his Sunday evening siesta on the couch, K & P decided it would be fun to try on his Halloween costume. (Yes, we splurged and bought him a $7.99 costume from Target.)



At first, Bru just thought we were trying to cuddle up with him. But then, once the hot dog was fully fastened on his back, he realized that this was for real. He looked at us with the "what did I do to deserve this?" face.


Finding no sympathy from us, he tried to get out of his outfit by rubbing it on the hallway wall.




When that didn't work, he gave in to the word "cookie" and posed for the camera.



We'll see what sort of trick-or-treating Bru is in for this year....if he doesn't eat his costume in the next 10 days.

Memo from the NW

So everyone knows, I will only be applying for jobs in Iowa, Nebraska, Oklahoma, North and South Dakota. That is of course, if an opportunity in Illinois doesn't open up.

On the Bright Side...

So...maybe the NW won't take us back because I cheered for the Buckeyes. On the other hand, at least I can say I got to cheer for a winning team. :) :) :)

Unfortunate News . . .

P, has decided to cheer for the Buckeyes this afternoon. The consequences of her decision are either 1) we will never leave the midwest because the NW will never take us back for her betrayal, or 2) we are indefinitely separated until she apologizes profusely for this transgression.

Bow Down to Washington!!!!

As I type this post, I am sporting a heather grey hooded sweatshirt with a purple and gold "W" on the front; the "W," of course, stands for the University of Washington. Today, the Husky football team is 2-0 and preparing for a late afternoon tussle with the Ohio State Univesity.

Words cannot describe how excited I am for this game. While watching it on our television here in the Midwest, I will be looking for the seats on the second deck that my dad and I spent so many afternoons in while I was growing up. I will feel the chills up my back when I hear the announcer welcome the "dawg fans" to Husky Stadium (I am there in spirit!!!). I will scream *literally* when the team hoists their gold helmets up in their air at the opening kickoff. I will hold a cookie in my hand and pretend that it is a "cow-chip cookie" - if you don't know, you can't know. I will call my dad after every score so that it feels as though even though we are thirteen hours and five states apart, we are still doing something that we have always done, and that has been truly foundational to our relationship. I will sing "Bow Down to Washington" during halftime even though I only know the words "Bow Down to Washington" "Mighty are the Men, Who Wear the Purple and the Gold" "Heaven Help the foes of Washington" and "Ra-Ra-Ra."

Some people say that sports are trivial, but maybe that is because they don't get it. I love Husky football because I love my dad who loves Husky football. I love the memories, and I hold fast to each one, from age 6 to age 26. I can close my eyes and see the walk from the parkade, down through campus, past the peanut vendors, through the purple gates, and down the corridor. I can feel my dad sitting next to me, and I can hear him scream, and can see him clap. I look past the scoreboard and see the Sound, the mountains, and my home. I remember all of these things and miss him, bad. I want to make the drive home and talk about all of the plays, the Don James era, the two Rose Bowls we attended, and the time we brought Dave Steele who yacked in his frontyard as we dropped him off.

Below is a picture of Husky stadium.
Don't talk to me for a week if they don't win.

The things you do for love

This past Saturday, P had a test up on the Southside of Chicago so that she could continue teaching ESL until we leave this flatland. It was my duty, of course, to escort her up to this test and sit patiently whilst she complete it.

The morning of . . .
K: how long will it take?
P: well, there's 55 questions, an essay, and a 2 minute interview. The last part should be the shortest.
K: Thanks, where am I going to be during your test?
P: Find a Starbucks.
K: I don't like coffee. How will I know when you are done if I have the cell phone and am off site, so to speak.
P: Guess you can't go to Starbucks.
K: you want me to sit in the car. . .
P: yes [sheepishly].
K: have fun.
P: nooooo, you promised.
K: let me get this straight, you want me to lose four hours of worktime driving you to and from this test, and then you want me to lose however long your test takes because you want me to sit in a hot car in a Southside Chicago school parking lot?
P: well, I guess you don't have to. . . .
K: yeah right, I know what that means (I am not getting a PhD for nothing)
P: it won't be that bad, we'll get a really good dinner afterwards.
K: wow, that's an incentive.

So, I go. I sit, and sit and sit.

To be fair, the school was nice, and I sat at a park bench outside of it during a relatively cool day. And then . . . Three hours in, I am minding my own business, reading a book, and a bee from hell flies next to me and stings me just underneath my left armpit. To my knowledge, I am not allegeric to bees, so I keep it cool, "man it up" if you will, but two days later, that dang bee-sting is itching like there's no tomorrow. We got some stuff for it, but it literally kept me up for a good portion of the night. It's itching right now, probably will itch all day.

At least I got a good dinner.

Ask and you shall receive

The Kittay asked for some more pics of Bruchi, and since others have made similar requests, and since I am accomodating, I have posted them for you below. The blurry one is Bruchi howling.

The Art of Bowling

Last week, for a final summer celebration, we went out to dinner and bowling with our neighbors, Stan & Bree. It had been years since any of us had been bowling, but we needed to add a little spice to our going-out-to-dinner routine, so for $2 per person, we couldn't go wrong. Each of us had our own strategy: (the boys choosing the macho, 14+ pound balls, while the girls sensibly used the lightest balls available--guess who did NOT have sore arms the next day.)
Stan worked on a fancy spin--which nearly cost him his thumb on several occasions
K threw the ball as hard as he could--nearly denting the floor
Bree took the opposite stance--rolling her ball as slowly as possible without aiming at anything
I just tried my best to keep my ball out of the gutter--I think I only had 3 or 4 gutter balls.

Needless to say, Bree's consistency (and loud shrills) won both games, and I never took last place. It was a fun evening of strikes, high fives, laughs, and looking like geeks.

WONDERFUL News!!!

Many who read this blog have asked for an update on Tim and Amy K regarding her pregnancy. I am happy to announce that we received an email from them this afternoon notifying us that Amy had a healthy (nearly 7lb) baby boy. They have named him Zachariah Samuel, and as far as I know everything is GREAT. As you know this is truly miraculous news and we couldn't be happier for them. I have posted a picture of Zachariah below. If you would like to get in touch with Tim and Amy to congratulate them, send an email to our gmail account and we will forward their address to you.

Why I Tell the Stories in this Family

A couple of days ago, P had a failed blogging attempt when she, in an effort to be funny, wrote about a miscreant child named Marilyn who had blatantly rejected her hand on the way to the daycare bus that day. This surly little girl subsequently went off path, stepped into a huge muddle puddle, and sobbing wet made this plea to the crowded bus "does someone have a napkin so that I can clean off my shoes?" Now, (1) keep in mind that this child is a kindergartener, (seriously between trashbombs and napkins for shoes, what is happening to today's youth) and that (2) I got serious flack for my previous trash bomb post about "hating children." So you can imagine my surprise when P's response to Marilyn was a heckling laugh and a scolding "well I don't feel one bit sorry for you." Guess we all hate children . . . (I handed her a cookie).

Those of you who know P's parents know exactly where her unsympathetic comment comes from: Shugs (P's dad). Shugs has been known, a time or two thousand, to commit such a line to P's lil brother when he, for some reason or another, has exasperated him. Now, if blogs had sound bites, I would be offering my best imitation of poor Shugs right here, and we all would be laughing because his routine is truly comical. He pauses, his bottom lip drops a little bit so that there's a little lisp on the "s" - his voice hits a higher register on the "I" for emphatic appeal and the "bit" hits you like a hammer of pure contempt. If one has perfected the pure synthesis of scorn and exasperation in this line, surely it is him.

In any event, P had wanted to use this post to draw an ironic tension with the little girl's name because that name (as you know) happens to be my mom's. The post started "who names their child Marilyn these days" and simply went downhill from there. As a writing instructor, I cautioned her against publishing this post without revision. I offered some key heuristic strategies that would help her improve the writing, but alas, she (like so many of my freshman) simply gave up (though she was busy, not apathetic).

Initially, I felt a little guilty about my critique. After all, this is her blog too and I felt pretty down in the muck when she told me not to "post on that intellectual crap anymore." I was wretched from my guilt, however, when we received a call from my mom that evening. Wanting to make up for my bad behavior, I started the story in front of P so that she knew (thought) I thought she was funny. I began with a brief context, P was at school...it has been raining...there was this bratty kid and when I got to the name, she cut me off and said "Marilyn, who names their kid that . . . ah eh eh eh (her laugh)" Vindication! VIN.DI.CA.TION!

I knew when my mom made that comment that I had done my job as P's bff. Now I love my mom, LOVE my mom, but she (like P) is not that funny. Or, I should say, they are funny in a special way: in the way that they tell really lengthy (bad) jokes/stories and you laugh because of how hard they are laughing about it and laugh even harder when someone teases them (you know I ham right mom). To be fair, mom and P have surprised me; lately P, has come up with some shockingly funny things (which I will post on later) . . . but for the most part, jokes are reserved for the consistent, often inappropriate, and always hyperbolic characters who if their joke is bad, know that they must take the heat as the next target . . .

Drs. J

P will say that her recent application to the doctoral program at ISU was motivated by the simple fact that I cannot be the only one in the house with a PhD. The truth, however, is that she is an exceptional student and thinker, and wanted to advance her knowledge by attending a few more years of school (to eventually write a booklength dissertation project). Now, should her recent acceptance (!) startle anyone into believing that we will be residing in Normal any longer than necessary, the answer is emphatically "no!" P, will accelerate her doctoral coursework so that when we leave, she can conduct her research from afar (indeed, A FAR). Never the less, this post is to celebrate her accomplishments, which seem to be accumulating at a rapid pace.

One of my master's advisors once told me to relish the moment when one gets accepted to a PhD program. Something like one percent of all undergraduates go to graduate school to earn a masters degree and one percent of those students go on to be accepted into a doctoral program (there's no saying what percentage actually finish!).

Congratulations P!

I Got Trash Bombed!

Those who know me (K) know that I am prone to hating children from time to time; namely, when they give me the flu-or sick in general-, when they scream at the top of their lungs for more than 10 seconds, when they write in my books, when they are defiant in social situations because they know that they are less likely to get in trouble, and so on. I don't consider this feature of my personality to be particularly incompatible with wanting children of my own, nor do I think that feeling this way (moderately irritated, hate is certainly not the right word) will make me a bad parent in any sense of the word. Give me a few seconds of silence, a warm cookie and I get over it pretty quick.

This evening, however, I experienced a renewed animosity for children when P and I were walking around the lake with the hound. We were walking behind a couple pushing a stroller, and walking next to them was (I would guess) their five year old son. The boy was really cute; his parents were obviously of Latino descent and he had blond hair and blue eyes with a dark complexion. His attitude, however, was, oh how to put this delicately: naughty.

So we are walking by them, we smiled, said hi, and the little %@()%# turned around, wound up with all the strength his five year old body could muster and chucked an empty Frito wrapper at me screaming at the top of his lungs "YOU GOT TRASH BOMBED!!!" I smiled and kept walking, P started laughing and I said "I have to blog about this."

In my day, if I would have "trash bombed" anyone, I would have been busted. Not only would my dad have punished me with manual labor, but my mom would have made me write an essay about why "trash bombing" was impolite and in that discussion I would need to provide a detailed analysis of what constitutes appropriate action when we encounter people we don't know.

Seriously, where do kids learn this stuff?

The Kicker

Apparently, the "don't call us, we'll call you" policy applies to Southwest's lost baggage troup, as we received a call around 9 about our "misplaced bags." Fortunately, "all the bags were recovered" and "can be to you as early as 3:00am" this past morning. NO PROBLEM waking up for that. So we sit down, settle in to our previously recorded program "So you think you can dance" to receive another call from our peeps at Southwest.

Now apparently! (if you didn't know, we didn't) there is a hundred dollar delivery limit for the bags and if the time of delivery exceeds the one hundred dollars, Southwest must ship the bags FED EX to our house. APPARENTLY, it costs more than 100 bucks to travel to Normal (shocker) so our bags will be to us on Tuesday (more like Friday) which means that the Southwest peeps have two days to open our bags, rummage around, find the good stuff (shaving cream, hair gel, razor blades) and alas we are no better off than we would have been had we simply consolidated. More proof that we apparently just don't belong here . . .

(Yes, I believe I just set the record for the most apparently's used in a two paragraph blog post!)

No Clearer Indication

Should there be any lingering doubt that we do not belong in Normal, this evening's shenanigans offered undeniable proof that we "gotta-get out of this place." After a fine trip to the N-Dub, we arrived at the airport to catch a plane back to Chi town. An hour and a half early, plenty of time, but there was a slight curiousity that led P and I to believe there might be stormy waters ahead. After standing in line for a little bit, we noticed that a rather substantial line was forming at the bag scanner across the way. Now, I don't have any beef with bag scanners, I am thankful for them, but this particular crew seemed terribly inefficient. There was literally a moment where P stopped me and said "we need to consolidate and carry this stuff on," but having my shaving cream, hair gel and razor blades confiscated on the way over, I wasn't about to donate any more loot to the airline crews (btw, do you ever wonder where that stuff goes?) . . .

So we left our bags at the security desk and hustled over to the gate. . .

Fast foward four hours, two bags of lorna doons and a sack of bagel chips later and we are standing expectantly at a baggage claim rotunda. for an hour. and. a. half. No bags. WTF? Go to claims. Takes another half an hour. File a claim. Get on the shuttle to go get our car.

"Where's yo bags?" the shuttle driver asks.
"Lost!" we reply.
"Southwest?" he asks.
"Yup" in unison.
"heheheheh"
"yeah, pretty funny"

We get to the car. Click unlock. No dice. Click click. Nope.

P: battery's dead!
K: yup (I am filtering)
P: See if you can go find someone.
K: 'kay

Car gets jumped (thankfully), we drive off (speedily).

Seriously, two in one day? Dang. At least we gotta bison burger and a cookie on the way home. The hound is good for those who want to know. Doggy camp served him and us well.

Hopefully, we get our bags soon. Stay posted. As yet however, we can't even get a hold of the baggage claim crew. Am I the only person who thinks my bags are a priority? I don't need an answer . . .

On Being Spatially Disoriented

I have been thinking lately about how odd it is when you occupy a space for a considerable amount of time, call it home, and then sell that home (or someone else does) only to later walk through that space whilst other people inhabit it. I had this feeling once before when I drove past my childhood home on 6th to find that the people who purchased my parents' house had pretty well trashed the place. I had this disorienting experience again yesterday when we (P, her mom, dad and I) got a tour through the only house P lived in growing up (I also lived there for two summers). For those who don't know, P's parents are now in the process of building a beautifully spatious house, just a little ways down the road from their old one.

Anyway, to say that things have changed would be, to use a rhetorical term, litotes. This dentist, whom I have only seen in a tank top, has knocked down buildings, built additions, re-floored the entire house, added new countertops, expanded bedrooms, rearranged walking spaces, and put up logs (logs, logs, everyplace). This guy has messed with the place so much that it is nearly unrecognizable, and how weird to experience that? I think, though, that the most weirdest thing was that all of these changes could have been more effectively made by knocking the dang house down and starting all over. Then, at least, I wouldn't have to deal with the awkwardness of seeing this pseudo-relic of my past.

For those who have been there, check this out:

Musings on my Bff Kittay and Oregon

Since the last poetic debacle posted as "Home Improvements," P and I have been out of town visiting our peeps in Oregon. I say peeps because although we have spent a considerable amount of time with the family, I ran into my bff Kittay, his wife, mom and sister. "Ran into" sounds a bit too seredipitous, so it would be better to say that we met at Fudruckers (a burger joint) just outside of Portland this past Wednesday afternoon. In a happy chance of events, our vacay times and sites crossed over and we got to share some eats.



For those who don't know the Kittay, he was the best man in my wedding, a college roommate and teammate back in the days when we were more nimble. Though it should probably be said that Kittay seems quite nimble these days having run several marathons and since he is now preparing for the Ironman competition. I, however, am not so nimble unless you consider bouncing around to aerobic workout videos in the livingroom with the hound as "nimble creating activity."



In any event, it has been over two years since P and I have seen he and his wife and that frankly is too dang long. hear (see) that? too. dang. long. We haven't been back to Spokey town since moving, and they have yet to cross into Normal, so that has left us (me and Kittay) with a phone relationship if you know what I mean. It was good to see them (all).

What struck me as I sat there with them is that although time has passed and our lives (especially) have totally changed, these people are to me like comfort food: you always feel at home with them. So, anyway, here are a couple pics snapped at the site of the visit.

I have also included pics of (some) other things that Normal just can't touch such as: oceans, mountains, non-humid weather, good fish (seriously, what a sad day when the best shrimp in town is at a local tex-mex place), GOOD BOOKSTORES (I bought like 15 books), tax free purchases, Mariners baseball, non-square cut pizza (I will never get used to that, how ABnormal), low gas prices, non-greasy chinese food, and GOOD outlet shopping. We need to get back home.

Home Improvements

One year ago, K and P got a deal on some granite tile.

With our neighbor's help, K laid it--but it took awhile.

So, now we have a lovely granite floor.

Can you tell my Friday afternoon is quite a bore?

Enjoy these pix for now.

We'll install the hardware and clean up after our evening chow.

K will be home soon.

I'll show him our blog and he'll call me a lune.

But it's okay, cause we'll be in Oregon next week.

So come visit us at my parents, and I'll try not to be such a geek!

Master "P"

We have spent the last several weeks out of town and across the country. In that time, P has earned her masters degree in Education. She did this in one and a half years working full time as a teacher. Pretty impressive. Congratulations P!

Pictures from the Windy City

Did you know?
...Chicago is not called the Windy City because of weather, rather because it has hosted so many political events including presidential nominating conventions
...Chicago has three of the world's tallest buildings (Sears, Amoco, John Hancock), but they are building a new one that will be over 500 feet taller than the Sears Tower
...Chicago is home to the first McDonald's (1955)
...the world's largest and most complete fossil of a T-Rex is at Chicago's Field Museum
...Chicago's Merchandise Mart is the 2nd largest building in America--next to the Pentagon--with 90 acres of floor space
...Chicago is home to one of the world's largest fountains (Buckingham) and the largest indoor aquarium in the world (Shedd)
...the Chicago River is the only river in the world to flow backward (reversed in 1900 to avoid contaminating Lake Michigan with the meat guts) and it is dyed green on St. Patrick's Day
...bus #146 goes a long way North, so you must make sure you are going the right direction before getting on
...Chicago's Lincoln Park Zoo is one of the last free zoos in the world and is open every day
...the Taste of Chicago is the largest free outdoor food festival
...Millenium Park has very cool art--"the bean" that forces you to smile while you are looking for your face in it, and the face fountains that feature Chicagoans who posed for 6 minutes to have their faces on the fountains
...Chicago's Adler Planetarium was the first planetarium in the Western Hemisphere
...and we have now experienced all of this and more!

Chi-CAH-go

We haven't posted in awhile because not much exciting has happened here in the 'Nois--other than daily thunderstorms and lots of humidity. That's about to change as we are in the middle of our big Chicago trip where we are doing all of the touristy things. So far we have:
gone to see Wicked (AMAZING!) at the Oriental Theater,
gone to the top of the John Hancock Building to the observatory (highly recommended),
eaten at The Melting Pot (P loved it, K thought it was good, but overpriced),
gone on an architectural boat cruise of Chicago (a must-do while in Chicago),
shopped on State Street (like the huge, fancy department stores on Miracle on 34th Street),
visited Oak Street Beach (urban skyscrapers meet sandy paradise).

We'll post pictures when we finish our trip. In the meantime, buy airline tickets to come visit us and you too can experience Che-CAH-go.

Announcing Audrey

Well, I had to fly out to the Great Northwest in order to finally get some pictures of our new niece, Audrey. She was born on May 5, 2007. She joins her big brother, Alex, and sister, Lindsey who both enjoy giving her lots of hugs and kisses. Here are some pix for all to enjoy.

Happy Birthday!

Yesterday was P's birthday!
Happy 25th!
KJ

Rock City

P and I spent this past weekend in Detroit because I had a presentation at Computers and Writing (I will refrain from telling you what I presented on). We were a little bit nervous about staying in Detroit because lore tells us it is a high crime, high poverty place. In actuality we really enjoyed ourselves; we stayed at a great hotel overlooking Canada, the conference was held at Wayne State University, a fairly nice campus, and though there are clearly run down parts, the city is clean and the architecture is neat.



Our Detroit highlight had to be the MLB game we went to at Comerica Park between the Tigers and the Cardinals. Having been only to Mariners games, we were quite shocked that Detroit managed to score 14 runs in the game. Those who have been to Safeco will notice the similarities in the stadium structure. Like Seattle, the football and baseball fields are adjacent to one another.

On the way home, we stopped in Ann Arbor, Michigan to walk around town and eat at a recommended delicatessen named Zingermans. Easily the best gourmet sandwiches either of us have ever had! We were surprised to find that Ann Arbor was so similar to Bellingham. Like Bellingham, it is a college town with hippies and outdoor markets, lots of trees and old brick buildings. The university's campus was also really beautiful.

Breaking News . . .

I am D.U.N.
a woohoo

Things not to say to someone who is about to determine your grade in a class . . .

1. Be Kind
2. It's not as good as I would like it to have been, I just needed more time
3. Sorry you have to read this
4. I haven't slept in, like, three days
5. Yep, I just pushed through this cause I have more important stuff to take care of
6. Thanks for an "interesting" class
7. I really like my HOL paper, but the rest is really bad
8. How hard are you grading these?
9. Yeah, I am just not really that into technology (in a class about technology)
10. I hope I pass
11. This cover art thing you had us do was bullshit
12. Me: why do you have a picture of a cartoon man hammering a computer on your cover?
Student: why, do others have a similar picture too?
Me: yep, is that how you feel about this class?
Student: (sheepish grin) kind of . . .
Me: (as they turn the corner out of my office) "F"


Yikes, maybe I should start my courses with what not to say to the instructor in order to maximize your grade potential. Are students really that oblivious?

For those who want to worry about me . . .

P. called me this morning with this news. I don't know him, but this is pretty scary.
http://www.pantagraph.com/articles/2007/05/09/news/125994.txt

UPDATE: I asked some of my peeps in the department whether they knew this kid, they said no comment and "that comes from the president." hmph...while it is nice to know that steps are being taken to get rid of potential violence on campus, why do we not have an outlet for discussing these topics. Silence seems not to be the answer.

Maybe this will reach national news. I think what is most scary about this situation is that there is an elementary school on our campus. Wow, I really just don't know what else to say.

(We Hope!!!) Our Future Sister In Law . . .

For a long time, our little brother JG. brought home these girls that made you want to stick your head in a grease vat. So pretty, yet so utterly vapid that even his mom had to question his better judgment. There was Trisha who giggled incessantly and couldn't quite figure out how to play a relatively simple board game, then there was Kristen who left him alone bleeding in a hospital after a motorcycle accident that was HER FAULT!!!, then there was the beauty school dropout whose name we didn't even bother to learn, we'll call her Daphne. Since Thanksgiving, however, JG. has scored himself a winner, a former basketball and soccer star who snorts when she giggles and whom we ABSOLUTELY love. She knows her hoops trivia, she is wicked competitive (and violent! don't let her near a pingpong paddle), and she laughs at Shugs' jokes even when they aren't funny (let's be honest are they ever funny?). In short she is a keeper. Perhaps the most amazing thing about her is that she has worked at Subway since she was about 7 years old, which means she can make a mean cold-cut-combo. Today, she sent us this photo of her and JARED, yes THAT JARED!!!!

Here's to you AP! We sincerely hope you stick around forever. We miss you and your boy very much and hope you are coming to visit soon!
KPJ

It's less abstract than you think . . .

I catch a lot of crap for spending my time reading ideas that others perceive as "having very little to do with the real world," and whenever I hear this argument I know (I KNOW) that it comes from a larger cultural belief that academics live and work in some ivory tower. The truth, however, is that we work in asbestos filled buildings whose brown carpet has existed since the Nixon administration, but that isn't the point. The point I wish to address is that academics don't care about the real world and what they read has little to do with the everyday lives we lead unless they choose to make it so vis a vis protest or business writing. My argument, of course, is that we care very much about the real world and that is precisely why we do what we do. For example, those who have talked to me recently know that I am in a bear of a course on the philosophy of Michel Foucault. Of late, we have been talking about governmentality and the care of the self which is fancy for - paying attention to how you conduct yourself and what that says about the way power functions in our culture. So think about it in this way, our everyday lives are not influenced by a kind of State based oppression where police make us do things with the threat of violence. Instead, we know how we are supposed to act and do so even though no gun is at our head. I was thinking about this when the power went out around the block of the university campus. The traffic lights, I noticed as I drove home, were out (not flashing, out) and people were acting so politely, each taking their turn to ensure proper traffic flow. Here's what I thought: what makes people do this? Seriously, what makes people adhere to the rules of a traffic light, when the traffic light is not there? The answer, I would argue in light of this Foucault seminar, is governmentality: we have been made automated and docile through governmentality. Now, if you really think about this, it applies in a lot of other places as well: things that we take for granted or merely don't pay attention to. What would happen, though, if we stopped and thought about the process by which we were made docile and whose interests those serve? Wouldn't that be an interesting conversation to have? Post if you think of something.

I just thought of something! When the power went out, I assumed it was a fire drill and walked outside with my peers. AUTOMATION!

A simple question lingering in my mind . . .

Is there anything more embarrassing than having to stand with your dog while he craps in public? P and I were driving on a rather busy street the other day and saw this poor guy standing on the sidewalk with his dog crapping away in front of a Meineke. He looked really uncomfortable, and I could identify with him. The hound has pulled that on me too. Holla if you hear me!

Good Eatin!

The kittay asked a good question via email the other day and I figured that I would share my response. The question was "What’s the name of that restaurant where you get all the meat you can eat and you wear the medallion?" And my response was "You don't wear the medallion and the name of the restaurant is Fogo de Chao." A little context: in Decemeber PJ and I flew out to see the p's in D.C. and asked them to take us to this restaurant. Some of our good friends here in the neighborhood had recommended it, having frequented in while in Chicago. So we went, and, well it's amazing. Amazing in the "gut-splitting, this is so good but I really can't eat anymore, but I am going to" kind of way. The basic premise is that you provide a sizeable down payment to sit at a table where there is a two sided medallion for each person. On either side, the medallion is red and green. Green means feed me, Red means stop. Then, the Brazillian caballeros come around with different cuts of meat; if they see green (the medallion that is) they stop and cut according to your taste. It's phenomenal. Literally the best food I have ever eaten-and I will probably never eat there again unless one of you all want to go (I think they are only on the east coast, so come visit and we will take you).





Here's the URL: http://www.fogodechao.com/

Leaky Trap Doors

How apropos that we named our dog after K's favorite steak sandwich restaurant given that once every two weeks or so, the hound jumps up onto one of our laps, plops his rear down and leaves tiny presents vis a vis a little brown stain on the pants. Now, those who have ever been to Bruchi's understand what I am talking about here. The digestive track needs time to acclimate to the steaky-barbeque goodness flowing from the heaven that is this restaurant , and thus for many, after the first visit, it is probably wise to make sure you are near a restroom. In any event, I just can't figure this out-why does the hound have a leaky trap door and why does he always leave a stain on my (K's) pants when I am on my way out?

Do they make cork devices for situations such as these?

A response to PJ's post about Children of Men

It had to happen sometime . . . (there's a scary thought)
PJ's excitement over generating this BLOG has encouraged me to post comments about her last entry-despite my reservations about participating in this medium. After all, this digital mechanism enables us to surveil one another most efficiently, but I bet you all aren't thinking about it like that so I won't belabor the point. I am posting to express my difference in opinion regarding the movie Children of Men, which PJ has characterized as "darkest of dark," "a tragic, dystopic, thinker of a movie," and "depressing with a capital D." If you know anything about PJ, you can probably glean from her tone that all of these features make the movie not worth watching, and although she is currently rebutting (from the kitchen) what she expects I will say, we all know this isn't her type of film. Let me be clear, I am not resisting PJ's reading that the film is dark, depressing or a thinker. What I am arguing is that this darkness is precisely the point and for these reasons we should be paying close attention. The basic premise of the film is that in the near future, the world finds itself unable to reproduce children for unknown reasons and this infertility leads to the proliferation of xenophobia, border protection, fetishism (over youth), and terror (familiar themes wouldn't you say?). Miraculously, a woman becomes pregnant and the plot follows her path to delivering this baby with the help of those committed to her safety (and all that that represents). While I don't want to rehearse the entirety of the film, I should say that what impressed me the most was its insightful (implicit) commentary on what happens when the family is no longer the site of governmental control. That is, this film illustrates how if we do not have children, and all that they metonymically represent, our government seems to lose its grip on culture and we spin violently into a totalizing regime so that some frail semblance of order can be maintained. Makes you think, which is good! (if you can't tell, I have been reading a lot of Foucault)

A final note on this film:
Slavoj Zizek's (philosopher) comments in the extras are spot on, especially his analysis of the film's background, which was, as he says, exquisite. I would recommend this film, it is well directed, well acted, well . . . most everything. It is depressing though. As one of my classmates said "it is shocking how many people have to die in order for this child to live"

Some other notes on the films we have watched lately:
I liked the Holiday, it is an endearing movie. Very fun.

I liked parts of Rocky Balboa, it has more depth than some of the previous films, but the digitizing of the fight scenes made the film awkward.

I loved Stranger than Fiction mainly because of the cast. Will Ferrell is not acting like Frank the Tank or Ricky Bobby, Emma Thompson is great, Dustin Hoffman is great, and Maggie Gyllenhaal is great.

Movies

The picture I've attached has nothing to do with my post...it's just one of us at The Arch last July.

Classes are starting to wind down for the semester. This week we have enjoyed the calm before the storm--just before all our final papers are due. Rather than working overtime to get ahead we decided to relax and enjoy a few movies. Last weekend we watched "The Holiday." It's a good one--an endearing romantic comedy. We also watched "Stranger Than Fiction." It too was enjoyable, but a little bit darker than "The Holiday." Last night we watched the darkest of dark movies, "Children of Men." I do not recommend this one for a relaxing date night. This is a tragic, dystopic, thinker of a movie. Depressing with a capital D. We had to follow it with a few light episodes of "Friends" before being able to go to bed for a restful night of sleep. Oh, on Thursday night, after enjoying the 5th grade band concert at BHS, we watched Rocky Balboa--it's a good one! Okay, now I have to buckle down and spit out two papers---at least one, maybe two.

My Day In Fame!

Along with two other teachers, I (PJ) received a grant from a local newstation. The grant is called "One Class at a Time" and donates $1000 to their "classroom." During an assembly celeberating the district's 150th anniversary, myself and the other two teachers were asked to come forward for a special award. We were all confused as to what on earth we had to do with the district being 150 years old, and then...Sure enough, in walked the newsreporter and presented the school with a nice big check.

The money will go toward sending home family literacy packets to Kindergartners next school year. Each child will take home a Leap Frog Letter Factory DVD this Spring at Kindergarten registration. Then, during the school year, they will check out these literacy packets so that they can continue learning at home. It's an exciting project and should reap great rewards for these kids in the future. In the meantime, no school for Good Friday.

KJ is stuck at the computer 24-7 for the next few days as he has a paper for Dr. W due on Monday--on his dissertation committee and VERY intense about scholarship. Typically KJ gets so nervous for these papers that he becomes physically ill. Hopefully some Easter cookies, ham, and a little Bruchi love will keep him sane through Monday.

In the meantime, Bruchi is bummed because the weather has taken a nasty turn inhibiting his daily walks/runs. We had been spoiled with three weeks of nice 70 and 80 degree days with very light winds. Tulips were about to bloom, seeds were sprouting, and then...welcome back February. There are snow flurries to go along with wild winds and 20 degree weather. Next week is supposed to improve to the 50s, but I think my tulips have had it. :( The weather is never normal in Normal.

Is Winter Finally Over?

After more than 23 inches of snow in February alone (and many days stuck in our house), we thought it would never disappear. Thankfully, we have had several days in the 70s this past week. With lots of thunderstorms to help, we have replaced all the snow with green grass, tulips, and flowers galore! Hopefully, we will not see snow again for a LONG time!

Bruchi--All Nose