The IDS Tower looks down on our apartment window.
February 27, 2004
bite ME, pizza hut
Even though the 4forAll pizza from Pizza Hut looks damn good, I refuse to try it due to all the annoying ads that pop up at every turn.
February 25, 2004
"The one that made me sick was called 'hot dog.' I couldn't believe people eat the dogs."
What a great idea, StoryCorps. It's this organization whose mission is to preserve stories in sound. You sit in a little recording booth in the middle of Manhattan and tell your story. Okay, maybe not everyone has a great story to tell, but the ones spliced and edited on StoryCorps' website are pretty interesting.
There's 90-year-old Albert Kahn who talks about Coney Island's movie houses. Harold Slappy, aged 91, talks about what it was like visiting Harlem's Savoy Ballroom every Saturday, seeing Count Basie, Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Elvis, Louis Armstrong. A mother tells her son about her first "romantic encounter." In the photo, she's this silver-haired grandmotherly type smiling sweetly into the camera.
The idea is really simple. You start by choosing someone to interview. Then you reserve space in this little "story booth." You prepare a list of questions (they have a "question generator" for this) and you show up, do the interview, and they'll make a digital recording of it right then and there.
It's like mini audio documentaries. I love it.
Depart: Minneapolis, MN
I've never understood how airline fares are calculated. Listed on my Yahoo fares, Providence, RI is $233 and Paris is $262 (no, not Paris, Texas). London is $367 and Hartford, CT is $344. Cyber savers aside, airfare prices never seem to correlate in price and distance traveled.
Yep, can you guess who's been skulking around orbitz.com and travel.yahoo.com?
I also realize I'm no longer the intrepid traveler. For instance, hostels are no longer fun and adventurous; instead, they're cramped and dormitory-like (you know, reminiscent of the men's dorms in the basement stinking of sweaty gym socks). I've slowly crept away from the lonely 1-star for the total glitz and glamour of 2-stars, a 2-and-a-half-star for a special occasion. This saddens me.
The nicest hotel I've stayed in was in Toronto, the Metropolitan. An endless supply of blanket-sized white towels and a view that pigeons would shit for. Paid for by my job. The worst was, well, I can't remember the name but I do remember waking up to that husky-looking cockroach perched on the pillow beside me. It was singing, "Wake up, little Susie, wake up," his little antennae waving around like batons.
Yep, can you guess who's been skulking around orbitz.com and travel.yahoo.com?
I also realize I'm no longer the intrepid traveler. For instance, hostels are no longer fun and adventurous; instead, they're cramped and dormitory-like (you know, reminiscent of the men's dorms in the basement stinking of sweaty gym socks). I've slowly crept away from the lonely 1-star for the total glitz and glamour of 2-stars, a 2-and-a-half-star for a special occasion. This saddens me.
The nicest hotel I've stayed in was in Toronto, the Metropolitan. An endless supply of blanket-sized white towels and a view that pigeons would shit for. Paid for by my job. The worst was, well, I can't remember the name but I do remember waking up to that husky-looking cockroach perched on the pillow beside me. It was singing, "Wake up, little Susie, wake up," his little antennae waving around like batons.
February 19, 2004
word game addiction
I can't... stop... playing... laying... paying... play... lap... lay... pay... pig... gin... pan... pin... gap... gay... pang...
February 17, 2004
coincidence?
Remember that little trip to Atlanta I took two weeks ago? I just found a Hollywood video* that I rented a few days before I left. It's not as bad as that check I bounced last week, first time I've done that since Clinton was in office.
I think I'm mildly affected by Seasonal Affective Disorder, otherwise known as S.A.D. Do you think its acronym is purely coincidental? Or do psychologists sit around a gleaming cherry wood conference table trying to come up with words that begin with s, a, and d?
Maybe they should call it H.I.B.E.R.N.A.T.E., or How I Become Enervated Rather N... oh never mind.
Money can't buy you happiness, but it can buy you a nice jelly pen from Border's.
*The movie was The Weight of Water. I just drank two 8 oz. glasses of (gasp)... water when I found it. Coincidence? You decide.
I think I'm mildly affected by Seasonal Affective Disorder, otherwise known as S.A.D. Do you think its acronym is purely coincidental? Or do psychologists sit around a gleaming cherry wood conference table trying to come up with words that begin with s, a, and d?
Maybe they should call it H.I.B.E.R.N.A.T.E., or How I Become Enervated Rather N... oh never mind.
Money can't buy you happiness, but it can buy you a nice jelly pen from Border's.
*The movie was The Weight of Water. I just drank two 8 oz. glasses of (gasp)... water when I found it. Coincidence? You decide.
blow the dust off ye olde passport
create your own visited country map
or write about it on the open travel guide
Wow. You visit one Canadian city and half of North America turns red. You visit bunches of European countries, and the what turns red could fit neatly within Texas.
link via radioactive murakami detectives
February 11, 2004
"If I were invited to a dinner party with my characters, I wouldn't show up."
It's Dr. Seuss' 100th brithday next month. The Jean Stephens gallery in downtown Minneapolis is displaying his work as an editorial cartoonist, advertising artist, and children's author. His art is a cross-breed of heffalumps and oompa loompas stamped with sassy limericks. His commentaries could be quite biting.
"Economic Situation Clarified"
Here's a cute story I learned from the exhibit. He was asked to come to Chicago to receive an honorary degree, only to find out he was the speaker at the commencement ceremonies. With little time to put together a speech, he quickly penned one up called "My Uncle Terwilliger on the Art of Eating Popovers." It lasted 75 seconds.
My uncle ordered popovers
from the restaurant's bill of fare.
And when there were served,
he regarded them
with a penetrating stare...
Then he spoke great Words of Wisdom
as he sat there in that chair!
"To eat these things,"
Said my uncle,
"You must exercise great care.
You may swallow down what's solid...
BUT...
You must spit out the air!"
And...
As you partake of the world's bill of fare,
That's darned good advice to follow.
Do a lot of spitting out the hot air
And be careful what you swallow.
Sound advice, even though it makes me think of Monica Lewinsky, or rather "be careful what you don't swallow." I know. Ick.
"Economic Situation Clarified"
Here's a cute story I learned from the exhibit. He was asked to come to Chicago to receive an honorary degree, only to find out he was the speaker at the commencement ceremonies. With little time to put together a speech, he quickly penned one up called "My Uncle Terwilliger on the Art of Eating Popovers." It lasted 75 seconds.
My uncle ordered popovers
from the restaurant's bill of fare.
And when there were served,
he regarded them
with a penetrating stare...
Then he spoke great Words of Wisdom
as he sat there in that chair!
"To eat these things,"
Said my uncle,
"You must exercise great care.
You may swallow down what's solid...
BUT...
You must spit out the air!"
And...
As you partake of the world's bill of fare,
That's darned good advice to follow.
Do a lot of spitting out the hot air
And be careful what you swallow.
Sound advice, even though it makes me think of Monica Lewinsky, or rather "be careful what you don't swallow." I know. Ick.
February 08, 2004
"I Taught Myself Knitting"
I picked up the "I Taught Myself Knitting" kit at Wal-Mart last month. On the way home, I attempted Lesson 1, "casting on." I grew tired of Lesson 1 within ten minutes, accomplishing nothing but growls and harrumphs. I shoved the kit in a kitchen drawer when I got home.
A week later, I pulled out the kit and attempted Lesson 1 a second time. After staring at the directions a few minutes, I hastily shoved the kit back into the drawer.
A week ago, I pulled it out once again. I spent twelve bucks on this damn kit, so I was determined to at least learn Lesson 1. And I did. I accomplished Lesson 2, "Knit stitch." With eyebrows furrowed, mouth slackened, and my impatience mounting, I finished my first piece. I'll even share it with you. Can you guess what it is?
*
Why, it's a wristband of course! Well, it will be once I learn Lesson 16, "Finishing Techniques: how to join seams."
The first few rows came along quite nicely. Then around row 6 or 7, you may notice some dropped stitches. That was when Seinfeld came on. Rows 10 through 13 may have a few extra stitches. That's after the vodka tonic. Try to overlook the weird knobbly thing in row 22. That was a daring attempt at Lesson 11, "cable patterns."
I don't know how people can knit on the bus. Every bump that 2-ton machine hits, my needle flies past the loopy thing and narrowly misses gouging out someone's eye like skewering a kebob. I've heard folks say knitting is soothing. It gives me a slight headache. I'm hoping it's because I'm still in the wee stages of learning, staring at tiny loops and concentrating intently on the steps.
There's a lady I see on the express bus sometimes. She knits at a rate of .000000001 seconds per loop. All you hear is "click click click click click click click click click," her eyes somewhere over highway 280.
One day, I hope to accomplish these fine patterns found in the back of my "I Taught Myself Knitting" workbook:
A lovely "black and white" sweater.
The matching "Adam & Eve's Rib."
And the handsome "Nordic vest."
After the wristband, I confidently began Project #2: My Very First Scarf.
After my patience ran out somewhere between row 20 and 25, the project turned into My Very First Potholder.
I might post a pic of it if I ever find out where my cats are holding it hostage.
*The twist is unintentional. Not so noticeable when lying flat under a 20 lb. dictionary.
A week later, I pulled out the kit and attempted Lesson 1 a second time. After staring at the directions a few minutes, I hastily shoved the kit back into the drawer.
A week ago, I pulled it out once again. I spent twelve bucks on this damn kit, so I was determined to at least learn Lesson 1. And I did. I accomplished Lesson 2, "Knit stitch." With eyebrows furrowed, mouth slackened, and my impatience mounting, I finished my first piece. I'll even share it with you. Can you guess what it is?
*
Why, it's a wristband of course! Well, it will be once I learn Lesson 16, "Finishing Techniques: how to join seams."
The first few rows came along quite nicely. Then around row 6 or 7, you may notice some dropped stitches. That was when Seinfeld came on. Rows 10 through 13 may have a few extra stitches. That's after the vodka tonic. Try to overlook the weird knobbly thing in row 22. That was a daring attempt at Lesson 11, "cable patterns."
I don't know how people can knit on the bus. Every bump that 2-ton machine hits, my needle flies past the loopy thing and narrowly misses gouging out someone's eye like skewering a kebob. I've heard folks say knitting is soothing. It gives me a slight headache. I'm hoping it's because I'm still in the wee stages of learning, staring at tiny loops and concentrating intently on the steps.
There's a lady I see on the express bus sometimes. She knits at a rate of .000000001 seconds per loop. All you hear is "click click click click click click click click click," her eyes somewhere over highway 280.
One day, I hope to accomplish these fine patterns found in the back of my "I Taught Myself Knitting" workbook:
A lovely "black and white" sweater.
The matching "Adam & Eve's Rib."
And the handsome "Nordic vest."
After the wristband, I confidently began Project #2: My Very First Scarf.
After my patience ran out somewhere between row 20 and 25, the project turned into My Very First Potholder.
I might post a pic of it if I ever find out where my cats are holding it hostage.
*The twist is unintentional. Not so noticeable when lying flat under a 20 lb. dictionary.
February 06, 2004
February 04, 2004
School Picture Day
I was looking at jobs at Monster.com when I saw a position for "kindergarten photographer." I remember those school photographers. The whole class would have to wait in a single-file line, waiting for him to motion you forward and blind you with his flash. He'd call you some nickname that the other students made sure stuck with you for the rest of the day.
Some of the popular girl nicknames were Wonder Woman, Super Girl and Princess Di. I'll never forget that lovely year I was called Strawberry Shortcake.
I had to double-check to see if he was pointing at me. She was the berry best.
I will never forget the year I was called Connie Chung.
To an 8-year-old girl (1 of the 5 asians in the school, 2 of the others being my brother and cousin) with a fresh perm (think Little Orphan Asian Annie), this was a good reason to fake sickness to the school nurse and try to go home early.
Some of the popular girl nicknames were Wonder Woman, Super Girl and Princess Di. I'll never forget that lovely year I was called Strawberry Shortcake.
I had to double-check to see if he was pointing at me. She was the berry best.
I will never forget the year I was called Connie Chung.
To an 8-year-old girl (1 of the 5 asians in the school, 2 of the others being my brother and cousin) with a fresh perm (think Little Orphan Asian Annie), this was a good reason to fake sickness to the school nurse and try to go home early.
cool!
Hey, mooshoe made City Pages' "Minnesota Blog of the Day!" Rah!
I know you're sick of hearing how cold it is. But here on the 45th parallel, it is really quite cold.
though it feels Like: -2 degrees.
Did you know the temperature of the air affects the shape and type of the snow flake? Yup.
Tonight, I'll be outside counting all six sides of these plates, perhaps observing the intricacies of the dendrites. But hopefully absent will be hollow columns.
I know you're sick of hearing how cold it is. But here on the 45th parallel, it is really quite cold.
though it feels Like: -2 degrees.
Did you know the temperature of the air affects the shape and type of the snow flake? Yup.
Tonight, I'll be outside counting all six sides of these plates, perhaps observing the intricacies of the dendrites. But hopefully absent will be hollow columns.
February 02, 2004
Georgia on my mind
I'm back from a long weekend in Atlanta, otherwise known as The City of Drivers. The six or seven lanes stretching across the highway, not to mention the additional 6 or 7 from the opposite direction, remind me of Chicago's highways minus the tollbooths. But with Cool 105.7's Super Hits from the 60's and 70's, I guess I didn't mind being in the car too terribly much.
On Saturday morning, we stopped off at a Waffle House to try to soak up the lingering vodka gurgling in our stomachs from the night before. Waffle Houses, if you've never been to one, are small diners sprinkled liberally throughout the south. Their trademark? A bright yellow motif and tasty hashbrowns which you can order scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, topped, diced and peppered. [That's smothered with onions, covered w/cheese, chunked w/ham, topped with Bert's chili, diced w/tomatoes and peppered with hot peppers.] I prefer mine scattered and smothered. And lots of tabasco and ketchup, yum.
This particular Waffle House was packed. We had to wait a few minutes for a booth to open. We were led to a counter booth next to the other two white people in the restaurant. Our waitress shouted a hello and laughed as we all chirped "hi" at the same time. "Y'all make me feel like your teacher!" Four pale faces blinked earnestly at her.
After some hashbrowns and grits, we headed towards Athens, GA. It's a really cute little college town. Lots of independent bookstores, record stores and multi-ethnic eateries clustered along the sidewalks. Reminded me of Madison's State Street. The very slim chance of running into Michael Stipe or one of the Indigo gals was not lost on me.
On Sunday, we spent a lot of time driving around Atlanta. There are some interesting neighborhoods in this city, separated by long stretches of crumbling asphalt and occasional street lampposts. The disparity of wealth is pretty wide. Ten minutes past Atlanta's impressive glass skyscrapers and gorgeous houses, you'll find yourself in these sad-looking neighborhoods made up of crude houses (shanties, more like it) and big plots of open rubble awaiting redevelopment. We drove past a group of kids waiting to cross the street to go to school. No stoplights. No sidewalks at all. Cars barely slowed down at stop signs. The school's basketball court was this big, ugly slab of concrete outside covered by a rusted tin roof. A few minutes further out, you're back into manicured lawns and freshly painted verandas. It's disconcerting.
One thing the South can do no wrong is its iced tea and collard greens. And fried okra and fried zucchini. Southern food is pretty damn tasty. It's funny how my mother has incorporated it into our Korean fare. For some of our family get-togethers, you'll find a plate of country-fried steak sitting next to a plate of sesame-oiled seaweed.
I caught a plane back to Minneapolis around noon. As I'm nibbling (okay, wolfing down) a tuna sandwich from Au Bon Pain, I hear my name called out. It's my boss from work. He was asked at the very last minute to speak at a conference in Atlanta after someone cancelled. Not only was he flying back on the same flight, he asked if I wanted to upgrade to first class. As a first-class flyer, he's able to upgrade a companion if available. Need you ask? Lucky for me, there was a spot open. It was like riding in a big Cadillac. A big Cadillac with all the free Bloody Mary's you want. A full lunch! Not much room left after that tuna sandwich, but I did manage to polish off that little chocolate fudge dessert thingy. Room to stretch without knocking into someone. Ahh, so lovely.
Back in Minneapolis, it's 30 degrees cooler than Atlanta, but no regrets. The snow makes it all the worthwhile. Well, that and sleeping in my own bed, doghair-free.
On Saturday morning, we stopped off at a Waffle House to try to soak up the lingering vodka gurgling in our stomachs from the night before. Waffle Houses, if you've never been to one, are small diners sprinkled liberally throughout the south. Their trademark? A bright yellow motif and tasty hashbrowns which you can order scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, topped, diced and peppered. [That's smothered with onions, covered w/cheese, chunked w/ham, topped with Bert's chili, diced w/tomatoes and peppered with hot peppers.] I prefer mine scattered and smothered. And lots of tabasco and ketchup, yum.
This particular Waffle House was packed. We had to wait a few minutes for a booth to open. We were led to a counter booth next to the other two white people in the restaurant. Our waitress shouted a hello and laughed as we all chirped "hi" at the same time. "Y'all make me feel like your teacher!" Four pale faces blinked earnestly at her.
After some hashbrowns and grits, we headed towards Athens, GA. It's a really cute little college town. Lots of independent bookstores, record stores and multi-ethnic eateries clustered along the sidewalks. Reminded me of Madison's State Street. The very slim chance of running into Michael Stipe or one of the Indigo gals was not lost on me.
On Sunday, we spent a lot of time driving around Atlanta. There are some interesting neighborhoods in this city, separated by long stretches of crumbling asphalt and occasional street lampposts. The disparity of wealth is pretty wide. Ten minutes past Atlanta's impressive glass skyscrapers and gorgeous houses, you'll find yourself in these sad-looking neighborhoods made up of crude houses (shanties, more like it) and big plots of open rubble awaiting redevelopment. We drove past a group of kids waiting to cross the street to go to school. No stoplights. No sidewalks at all. Cars barely slowed down at stop signs. The school's basketball court was this big, ugly slab of concrete outside covered by a rusted tin roof. A few minutes further out, you're back into manicured lawns and freshly painted verandas. It's disconcerting.
One thing the South can do no wrong is its iced tea and collard greens. And fried okra and fried zucchini. Southern food is pretty damn tasty. It's funny how my mother has incorporated it into our Korean fare. For some of our family get-togethers, you'll find a plate of country-fried steak sitting next to a plate of sesame-oiled seaweed.
I caught a plane back to Minneapolis around noon. As I'm nibbling (okay, wolfing down) a tuna sandwich from Au Bon Pain, I hear my name called out. It's my boss from work. He was asked at the very last minute to speak at a conference in Atlanta after someone cancelled. Not only was he flying back on the same flight, he asked if I wanted to upgrade to first class. As a first-class flyer, he's able to upgrade a companion if available. Need you ask? Lucky for me, there was a spot open. It was like riding in a big Cadillac. A big Cadillac with all the free Bloody Mary's you want. A full lunch! Not much room left after that tuna sandwich, but I did manage to polish off that little chocolate fudge dessert thingy. Room to stretch without knocking into someone. Ahh, so lovely.
Back in Minneapolis, it's 30 degrees cooler than Atlanta, but no regrets. The snow makes it all the worthwhile. Well, that and sleeping in my own bed, doghair-free.
