Read This Because I Probably Won't Call

This is sewius.

2009-12-15T19:16:00.001-08:00

I think this is about the Rose Bowl. Not sure.

The Muppets: Ringing of the Bells

2009-12-11T08:06:00.001-08:00

Dog Lessons Part II

2009-12-07T18:34:00.000-08:00

You know when someone says, "Living with [name here] has taught me patience," you know that [name here] is a pain in the ass.

Annie has taught me patience.

She won't relieve herself in the backyard when it rains, no matter how much it must hurt to hold it in (and she doesn't always succeed at holding it in). I might remind you here that we get 155 days of measurable precipitation a year.

She will pee on other people's lawns when it rains - no problem! - so I try to take her for a walk, but it hurts her to walk (arthritis), and one of our neighbors is a self-satisfied, velour-track-suit-wearing dog hater. We end up walking very slowly in odd dotted lines, kind of like a Family Circle cartoon read in slow motion.

She uses the furniture as her personal napkin and back scratcher, and has taught Scotty to do the same.

She spends all day in bed, getting up only for meals and treats and an occasional romp with Scotty.

In grooming jargon, she "blows" her coat twice a year, completely shedding and rebuilding her coat, top layer, undercoat, everything. To pet her during one of her shedding seasons is to get a handful of dog hair. Not her fault, but still.

Before her arthritis got bad, she would bolt at the first sign of an open door or open fence gate. To what purpose? Even if she could speak English, she would not be able to tell you, because I am pretty sure this is only one of the signs that she was dropped on her head as a puppy. For a dog who likes nothing more than spending the entire day in her fluffy bed, this behavior just does not compute. Yet, I have had to pick her up from the pound once, from the local water treatment plant once, and had to chase her down too often to remember.

But. Scotty likes her. It's fun to watch her outwit Scotty over toys and treats. And who else would put up with her? Besides, she's cute.

I'M SORRY I CAN'T HELP IT

2009-11-29T20:43:00.001-08:00

Grammar Rant No. MCXXVI

2009-11-28T09:01:00.000-08:00

Oh, Facebook, I hate you so.

Before you, I never knew how many of my friends and relatives were grammatically retarded. No, that's not fair. Let's call them Grammatically Apathetic.

A story:

There are some really annoying people who seem to have come from the womb knowing grammar, who could diagram sentences under heavy fire, and who may or may not have been kicked out of classes for correcting their teacher too many times. I am one of those people. It's like being able to hear at a frequency that only dogs and English majors can hear. Bad grammar can be absolutely earsplitting when others are unaware of any sound whatsoever. You can imagine that Facebook can cause such insufferable prigs (such as myself) some degree of discomfort.

So just for fun, let's review one of my pet peeves quickly, shall we?

TO is a preposition, identifying the object or expressing motion. For instance: Erma is married to Percy, or He left his bike chained to a post.

TOO is an adverb (modifier) or an adjective. For instance: I ate too much. Too can also be used as "also." For instance: Eunice is coming too.

Sorry about that. You may go now.

Thanks

2009-11-26T11:24:00.000-08:00

Thanks, everybody, for reading this lame blog.

I appreciate you sticking through the right-brain periods, where I can't think in words, and the times where I'm obviously just dumping stuff I find on other websites because I have been too busy consuming to produce (which is a bit of an American epidemic). I think my New Year Resolution will include fewer hours plugged into podcasts, and more hours stirring up my own brain matter and moulding it into interesting shapes.

Hope you stay tuned.

Hit the Full Screen Button and Turn It Up to Eleven

2009-11-24T10:22:00.001-08:00

This has all the best monsters. It's new and awesome. Watch it twice.

Reason No. MCXXI to Move to New Zealand

2009-11-23T12:31:00.001-08:00

Even their Book Council is cool.

Easier Than Writing My Own Blog Post

2009-11-22T14:07:00.001-08:00

I'll just swipe The Awl's "How to Cook a Fucking Steak."

Meet Dave Hill

2009-11-16T10:46:00.000-08:00

Do you know this renaissance dude? Because you will. This much talent can't stay a secret for long. Does he do stand-up? Yes. Does he have a one-man show? Yes. Does he host comedy nights with guests the likes of Dick Cavett? Yes. Does he play in a rock band? Duh. How does he do it all? I'm not sure. I'm guessing bipolar disorder with lengthy manic phase.

Valley Lodge "All of My Loving" from Valley Lodge on Vimeo.

You can find out more above Dave Hill at his website. You can also follow him on Twitter, if you don't mind copious joke makings, some of which are LOL funny.

Just thought I'd pass on my pretty gestaltic knowledge of what makes me laugh.

My Past Lives

2009-11-15T18:07:00.000-08:00

Now that I'm slipping into the regrets age I'm starting to understand certain mystical obsessions such as the Shirley MacLaine-style fascination with past life regression, where someone with more money than they need finds someone with an enterprising way to help relieve them of some of that money by helping them "remember" a past life - always a romantic one involving royalty or beauty - in which she relives the time when she was a prince, a knight of the round table, or a sultan's favorite concubine.

I'm guessing that "remembering" past lives is a way to enjoy more life than you have been allotted. More and different. Once you feel the slightest tingle of the body's long downhill slide, once you realize you are too old, with too many obligations, to move to Scotland to learn to play the drum and develop a passable brogue, once you are past the age of admittance into the Peace Corps, once you realize the window of opportunity to become an Olympic ski jumper or a travel writer has closed, and you hear this idea that you may have lived lives much more exciting and glamorous, it must be very tempting to believe.

The trouble with past lives is that most have been lived before indoor plumbing, central heating, modern feminine hygiene products, and the perfection of chocolate.

However, if I had lived past lives these are the ones I would have liked to live:

European royalty before that ugly head-lopping-off period. Aside from the funk created by the twice-yearly bath (which seems to dog most romantically historical times), this seems to be good living. Nice clothes, decent meals, sitting for portraits, dancing courtly dances, wearing silly wigs...not bad. Maybe the Austrian court during the Mozart period, but only if he really giggled like Tom Hulce.

Scottish castle dweller some time between one horde or the other showing up to claim it for themselves. Everybody wanted Scotland because everybody talked so adorably. I would just want to make sure I was rich enough to afford plenty of warm clothes and firewood. And I would want my own sheep.

Yes, royalty. I'm afraid royalty was where it was at, pre-industrial revolution. Everybody else had it pretty crap. Everybody else was lucky to be less hungry, filthy and disease-ridden than their dead neighbor.

Maybe Lincoln's secretary. He doesn't get killed or stabbed or anything does he? I've never thought of what it would be like to be a dude, but to sit in on Lincoln's administration, I would consider it. Mary Todd Lincoln is definitely out. I'm not keen on either shopping or mourning.

I would kind of (kind of) like to be a pioneer, if only to have acres and acres of primeval Oregon wilderness to myself. It must have been awesome. And really, really difficult. But imagine, after crossing the mountains and deserts, finally getting to stick your flag (okay, your walking stick with your last remaining scrap of calico drooping from it) into an enormous piece of gorgeous land overlooking the Pacific, and saying "MINE!" Sorry, Chinook Indians. Dammit, I just ruined my past life.

Oh, wait. I've got it. A pre-Captain Cook Hawaiian Wahini. Tropical breezes. Dancing the hula (I can still do a passable hula from lessons I took as a kid in Vernonia - don't ask, long story), eating tropical food, swimming in tropical seas and trying to get fat, cause that's what all the fellas were into. Oh, bingo.

Those are the memories I'd like to have. What about you?

Funniest Thing I've Seen All Day.

2009-11-10T17:43:00.000-08:00

From Cute Overload.

That is all.

Thomas Lennon in a Purple Unitard. Say No More.

2009-11-10T16:58:00.000-08:00

Thomas Lennon. Bringing The Funny. Laugh, meine kleine nachtbaby. Laugh.

Guntram Müller's MüllerCize It! (part 1) from Thomas Lennon

I Raise A Finger In Your General Direction

2009-11-07T10:52:00.000-08:00

After hearing a joke about a joke, I had to look it up myself: who did flip the first bird? And did he then have to explain what it meant (which would certainly have cut the sting somewhat)?

Here is some of an article by Glenn Church, that I found at Associated Content:

The Romans referred to the middle finger as digitus infamis or digitus impudicus (dirty finger). It had much the same meaning as today. The Emperor Caligula insulted people by making them kiss his middle finger instead of his hand. Another Emperor, Augustus Caesar, expelled an entertainer from his presence by an obscene wave of his middle finger.

The Romans did not invent this gesture, however. The earliest recorded mention is a play "The Clouds", written by the Greek Aristophanes in 423 B.C. Even then, the middle finger has a clear, obscene and sexual use. It is unlikely that the ancient Greeks were the founders for flipping the birdie. More likely, flipping someone off goes back into prehistory.

The middle finger, extended outward from the rest of the fingers, is an unmistakable phallic symbol. Some have even suggested that the middle finger's use as a sexual instrument, in place of the male organ, is its true origin as a phallic symbol.

Fascinating. They can't find an origin, it's such an old habit. Think of it: even the Latin language has died out, yet we still make daily use of this even more ancient relic. I guess when something so perfectly serves its purpose, there's no reason to put it aside.

I like the word digitus impudicus. I think I'll keep it.

It Was Just a Sneeze!

2009-11-02T15:22:00.001-08:00

I swear, I got my swine flu shot! source

Vaginas Are Gross. Thanks, Lysol!

2009-10-31T18:49:00.000-07:00

The Oregonian sent me to this post on Oddee today. Thanks, Oregonian! I learned that if I don't look lovely in the morning, my husband will find another honey by the end of his work day, and that I better, by Odin's hammer, bring home the right coffee, and if I like a man's slacks, he has a license to kill me, and, well, men are better than women.

Thanks, Mad Men!

Our Long National Nightmare Is Over

2009-10-28T12:33:00.001-07:00

No, we're still bogged down in Iraq. And Afghanistan. And forty-seven million Americans still are hanging on without health insurance. And unemployment is still hovering around 10%. And the Kardashians are still allowed on television.

But Dean and Jenny are moving back to Portland!

They are going to hang on in Colorado past some of the drearier months ahead, wait out their lease until February-March, but here is something for us all to look forward to.

There is little left to keep them in Colorado Springs. The US Olympic Committee has long since pulled all its funding from the track cycling program (thanks, USOC!), and there is actually less racing action in Colorado Springs, even with a much superior outdoor track, than there is here on the moist, mossy track at Alpenrose Dairy. So he's moving back here where his team is. Jenny is doing well at her job, but there is only so far you can take your career while working at a small (tiny) business. She is ready to fly from that nest.

So get ready, Portland fan base, fam base, and friend base. Dean and Jenny are coming back.

Killer Mom

2009-10-24T16:42:00.000-07:00

Do NOT look at this photo if you don't want to smile.

Warned you. From the ever-deadly Zooborns.

And Now for Something Completely Different

2009-10-22T17:00:00.000-07:00

Monty Python geezers on Jimmy Fallon. Good choice of hosts. Fallon is really good here. Doesn't get in the way, and even gets in a few good gags himself. (Hmmm...that's three "good"s in three sentences. Not championship writing.)

There's more somewhere at nbc.com or here.

Avast, Ye Scurvy HTMLs!

2009-10-21T10:44:00.000-07:00

I think I pirated these photos, but I can't read Dutch, so I think that covers me, legally. I had to convert them several times by methods that I don't really understand to get them to save as jpegs, but once I did, they were MINE.

There's Dean accepting flowers and smooches alongside the Thighs of Pain that belong to Gregory Bauge, the world sprinting champion. This is for their 2-man team sprint on Monday night.

Lining up for the Keirin on Day 2. If Bauge's are Thighs of Pain, then these are at least Thighs of Discomfort.

Aaand, they're off. Dean ended up third on this day, which is damn respectable with this group.

More to come, I'm guessing. There are four more days of racing to go.

Continental Sucks, but Dean Survives

2009-10-18T10:57:00.000-07:00

When it's 12:30 am here, it's 9:30 am in Amsterdam, so I have been leaving my iPhone on the bedside table for late-night texting breaks when Dean finds, each day, that Continental still has no clue where his clothes and bike are.

Here is our conversation from last night (includes surprise ending):

12:34 a.m.:

Dean: Still no bag. Tracking number shows it as "missing."

Me: WTF

Dean: Yeah. Beyond frustrated. Racing starts tomorrow. Only one more flight coming from Houston tomorrow morning. Hopefully it's on that flight.

Dean: On the bright side, Amsterdam is the greatest city on the planet. I want to move here.

Me: Glad there's a bright side - besides Scooby Doo (Dean earlier tweeted that Scooby Doo is better in Dutch.)

Dean: Yeah. Couldn't pick a better place to be stranded, really. Plenty to do/see.

Me: Are you in touch with race promoters?

Dean: Yeah. They are great. Yelling at the airline people in Dutch for me. Looking into options for borrowing equipment, and trying to get airlines to give me money.

Me: Awesome.

2:53 am:

Dean: Last bag arrived out of the blue. Rejoice! Clean clothes! Bike parts!

Me: Yay! This trip is going to make such a great story and you haven't even started to race.

Question: If the only flight that they thought might have the bag wasn't due until the next day, where did they find the bag? Neglected in a corner somewhere? Were they sitting on it on their lunch breaks? I call major incompetence. Off with their heads!

Continental Airlines will Steal Your Luggage and Ruin Your Career

2009-10-17T11:24:00.000-07:00

More on this as the story unfolds. I was kind of hoping this saga would be over by now, but no. This is Day 3 of Dean stuck in Amsterdam with no luggage, no bike (for which he paid a surprise $150 fee when bikes are supposed to ship free on international flights unless they don't like the way you look), and no way to compete in the 6-day racing event in which he was contracted to appear.

Continental doesn't even know where his luggage is. "Luggage" meaning a custom-built track bike, uniforms, bike shoes, and peripherals valued at - I don't know - lots.

I've never wished for a large blog audience, until now, when I want to shame Continental into getting off their collective asses and fulfilling their obligations.

Nothing Much

2009-10-16T18:16:00.000-07:00

I just want to go watch TV and decompress after a dense couple of days drafting documents. Over the past week, as I was busy living or just breathing, I had multiple cases of "I should write about that" followed by the inevitable slate-wiping effect of age and input overload. So I'm trying the old "just start writing" technique. Nothing yet.

We went to see Doug Benson and Graham "Palm Strike" Elwood at the Mission Theater in Portland last Friday. I enjoy the comedy. Drew, um, thinks its okay. I don't understand why there is always a heckler. Although at this particular show it seemed to be a happy, drunky, horny girl heckler, with only lust in her heart for Benson. Hello, who gets a girl hard-on for Doug Benson? No offense, but he's a teddy bear of a fellow. Oh. Never mind. I understand teddy bears are "a thing." I prefer dangerous, growly bears with long sharp talons. Yes, eagle talons. On a bear.

We painted the shed all last weekend. "After" pictures to follow shortly. If it's not too awfully wet, we will clean out the garage this weekend, and fill that baby up. Drew will have such an awesome Guy Garage.

The rest of the week, the two of us have been battling some sort of fatigue thing that just plastered me to the couch on Wednesday, but has slowly been wearing off since.

Okay, this has been going downhill ever since the eagle talons bit. I'm going to go watch the Daily Show from last night. Enjoy not having to read any further.

Another Summer-End Flurry of Activity Chez Tracy

2009-10-07T18:14:00.000-07:00

The great question...which I have not been able to answer, despite my thirty years of research into the feminine soul, is 'What does a woman want?' - Sigmund Freud

After some quality horn-locking and soul searching this summer, Drew took a long look at this question and answered, "a shed."

Actually, this is not a bad answer. I believe a garage is for garden tools, garden implements, and yard waste containers. Drew believes it is for road bikes, mountain bikes, cross bikes, dirt bikes, motorcycles, and tools to keep said two-wheeled vehicles in tip-top shape. Garden stuff just creates clutter, which he cannot abide.

In the heat of this friction, the "shed" answer doesn't look so crazy.

So, during his late September-early October vacation block, which he had originally planned to use for some (more) dirt bike riding, he and his friends, who swore that, with their help, we could have a better shed, built in a day, from scratch, for less money than it took to buy a ready-made or kit-made shed, fell upon the side yard with lumber, saws, earth-moving equipment, muscle, and some (some) brains.

When the day was over, we had a ten-by-twelve dance floor. Guess it takes longer than a day after all.

Day Two: walls!

Yes, it rained. Almost every day.

When the week was over, we had most of a shed, but much less money in the bank than we would have if we would have gone with the ready-made job. However, these are fire fighters, and they know what it takes to build something sturdy. We could use this baby as a storm shelter. Make that a fallout shelter. This thing has more studs than the house does.

...and a couple studs on top.

No, it's not quite done yet. It needs a coat of paint and a door latch. But it's a shed that wasn't there a week ago. So it's beautiful.

Test Your Awareness: Do The Test

2009-10-07T12:11:00.001-07:00

This is worth sharing. Dean says Do The Test.