OK, so... consensus on that last post seems to be "toilet seat." Now if anyone could tell me why someone would want twelve-plus toilet seat decals on their vehicle, that would help me out.
Seriously, I'm just glad no one's said, "Duh... You don't know that's the logo for [insert name of super-famous band that I should know about but don't here]??" That reminds me of a funny story, actually...
I have a former co-worker who told me he once bought a car on which the previous owner had stuck a large NIN* rear window decal. Being a good Christian, Celine Dion-listening man (youth minister and everything), my co-worker had no idea what the crytic icon meant, but he thought it looked cool nonetheless. Only when someone clued him in did he decide to scrape it off his new car. I guess Head Like a Hole and Closer were not ones he felt worthy of personal theme songs. Go figure.
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* Just pretend that second "N" is backwards, OK? I have no idea what the HTML code for that might be.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Hey buddy, what's your sign?
Despite the fact that I follow the same predictable path to and from work each day and despite the fact that I typically hit the same intersections and exits within the same five-minute window each time, it still surprises me when I come up alongside familiar mobile landmarks in my commute.
Sure, the guy with the "Boycott France!" bumper sticker on his truck probably takes Highway 36 to Manning every day just like me, but really what are the odds that I would end up stopped directly behind him at that light at least two times each week? And yeah, the woman with the exact same purple Saturn as I'm driving likely makes the same left turn from Cty Rd. 12 where I make a right to head down from whence she came, but what are the odds we'd be passing each other at that intersection at the same time so very often?
I feel some strange, unfounded kinship with the Saturn lady, and the France-hater just makes me roll my eyes and think of Freedom Fries, but there is one car I see regularly that's had me baffled for several months. On his front, rear, and side windows are no less than twelve decals of varying sizes, all featuring the same cryptic symbol. It must be pretty significant to warrant that sort of enthusiastic and repetitive displayage, but apparently I am clueless and sheltered and I have no idea what it means.
Ordinarily I'd turn to my friend Google or Wikipedia for the answer, but until someone manages to invent a mind-reading or picture-scanning version of those tools, I have to ask you, Internets, for some help.
So. Anyone? Who can clue me in? The dude's emblem looks something like this (minus the pink border that I can't figure out how to get my blog template to ignore):
I've basically ruled out toilet seat and Eskimo head on the grounds that, while the symbol bears some resemblance to either, both are ridiculous and implausible explanations. Beyond that, I got nothin'. How about you?
Sure, the guy with the "Boycott France!" bumper sticker on his truck probably takes Highway 36 to Manning every day just like me, but really what are the odds that I would end up stopped directly behind him at that light at least two times each week? And yeah, the woman with the exact same purple Saturn as I'm driving likely makes the same left turn from Cty Rd. 12 where I make a right to head down from whence she came, but what are the odds we'd be passing each other at that intersection at the same time so very often?
I feel some strange, unfounded kinship with the Saturn lady, and the France-hater just makes me roll my eyes and think of Freedom Fries, but there is one car I see regularly that's had me baffled for several months. On his front, rear, and side windows are no less than twelve decals of varying sizes, all featuring the same cryptic symbol. It must be pretty significant to warrant that sort of enthusiastic and repetitive displayage, but apparently I am clueless and sheltered and I have no idea what it means.
Ordinarily I'd turn to my friend Google or Wikipedia for the answer, but until someone manages to invent a mind-reading or picture-scanning version of those tools, I have to ask you, Internets, for some help.
So. Anyone? Who can clue me in? The dude's emblem looks something like this (minus the pink border that I can't figure out how to get my blog template to ignore):
I've basically ruled out toilet seat and Eskimo head on the grounds that, while the symbol bears some resemblance to either, both are ridiculous and implausible explanations. Beyond that, I got nothin'. How about you?
Monday, September 11, 2006
Off with a hitch*
Since a few of you asked about it via e-mail or in the comments (and since I mentioned it often enough that I feel some need for closure and resolution), my friend's wedding was lovely. The weather could have been a bit milder, but when you're planning a fall ceremony on the shore of Lake Superior, you have to know you run the risk of wind and chill. The poor grandmothers of the bride and groom were bundled in so many blankets that I'm not sure they saw any of the event, but those of us in strapless gowns came through just fine.
I don't think I'll make a habit of this photo-posting thing (for many reasons--two very important ones being my embarrassingly tedious dialup connection and my probably foolish desire for mystery of some sort), but if there's ever a time to show my face to the world, it's when I'm rocking the updo and the taffeta** like this.
(Click for slightly bigger and less jagged. Clearly I don't have the mad skillz with photo resizing.)
I considered garnering guesses as to which member of Team Bridesmaid is me, but more than a few of you have already seen a photo,** so I figure there is no point. I'm in the middle, flanked by four lovely ladies who in no way granted permission to have their faces published on the Internet; therefore don't be too surprised if this post disappears before too long.
And since I'm photodocumenting again, here are a few other assorted shots from the event:
The flowers were gorgeous... (I didn't hear the bride say she wanted to marry her bouquet, but I wouldn't really have blamed her if she had.)
The cake, was, too...
And the resort simply oozed Northwoods charm...
Just some of the many items in the "I Spy" game that was our room. See if you can find the following: a suspended mini-canoe, one of the room's three birch-log table lamps, a pair of tiny snowshoes, tree branch shelf brackets, a paddle, a hardbound copy of The Legal Aspects of Credit. (Apparently books might be at least one area where they skimp.)
Oh, and the toast? I survived. Moreover, I actually got compliments (several, in fact), which means either word spread that I was paralyzed by nerves and people were kindly trying hard to make me feel better or I actually did all right after all. The crowd laughed at things I didn't even think were funny, which was a most welcome surprise indeed. (I'm well aware our friend alcohol likely played at least some part in that, but I'll take any help I can get.)
All in all, it was an excellent weekend and a fine party with wonderful friends. If I have to lose a Singleton girlfriend every now and then to have good times like this, then so be it, I guess.
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* I've never understood why people say weddings "went off without a hitch." Isn't getting hitched just what the couple is there to do? Wouldn't no hitch mean no wedding? It confuses me no end, but I should really let it go.
** Not to mention the late-summer tan lines... made only worse by my futile attempt to correct with self-tanner, but just ignore that part, OK?
*** I mean, a photo shot close enough to actually identify me in a lineup; that far-off tractor shot at the fair doesn't count.
I don't think I'll make a habit of this photo-posting thing (for many reasons--two very important ones being my embarrassingly tedious dialup connection and my probably foolish desire for mystery of some sort), but if there's ever a time to show my face to the world, it's when I'm rocking the updo and the taffeta** like this.
(Click for slightly bigger and less jagged. Clearly I don't have the mad skillz with photo resizing.)
I considered garnering guesses as to which member of Team Bridesmaid is me, but more than a few of you have already seen a photo,** so I figure there is no point. I'm in the middle, flanked by four lovely ladies who in no way granted permission to have their faces published on the Internet; therefore don't be too surprised if this post disappears before too long.
And since I'm photodocumenting again, here are a few other assorted shots from the event:
The flowers were gorgeous... (I didn't hear the bride say she wanted to marry her bouquet, but I wouldn't really have blamed her if she had.)
The cake, was, too...
And the resort simply oozed Northwoods charm...
Just some of the many items in the "I Spy" game that was our room. See if you can find the following: a suspended mini-canoe, one of the room's three birch-log table lamps, a pair of tiny snowshoes, tree branch shelf brackets, a paddle, a hardbound copy of The Legal Aspects of Credit. (Apparently books might be at least one area where they skimp.)
Oh, and the toast? I survived. Moreover, I actually got compliments (several, in fact), which means either word spread that I was paralyzed by nerves and people were kindly trying hard to make me feel better or I actually did all right after all. The crowd laughed at things I didn't even think were funny, which was a most welcome surprise indeed. (I'm well aware our friend alcohol likely played at least some part in that, but I'll take any help I can get.)
All in all, it was an excellent weekend and a fine party with wonderful friends. If I have to lose a Singleton girlfriend every now and then to have good times like this, then so be it, I guess.
---------------------------------------
* I've never understood why people say weddings "went off without a hitch." Isn't getting hitched just what the couple is there to do? Wouldn't no hitch mean no wedding? It confuses me no end, but I should really let it go.
** Not to mention the late-summer tan lines... made only worse by my futile attempt to correct with self-tanner, but just ignore that part, OK?
*** I mean, a photo shot close enough to actually identify me in a lineup; that far-off tractor shot at the fair doesn't count.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Five reasons I enjoy being single (No, really.)
This may be an inappropriate topic to be pondering on the eve of my best friend's wedding. Or, quite possibly, it's actually an excellent thing for an entirely single girl to be focusing on while she watches someone else tie that knot. Either way, it's what I'm going with today. Five reasons I actually enjoy being on my own.
(Oh. And a note to all you happily coupled types out there? I fully realize there's a valid and advantageous counterpart to every one of these on my list, but that's really not what I want to focus on right now, OK?)
(Oh. And a note to all you happily coupled types out there? I fully realize there's a valid and advantageous counterpart to every one of these on my list, but that's really not what I want to focus on right now, OK?)
- I don't remember the last time I saw a mindless action adventure movie (or a traumatizing horror movie) against my will.
- My gift-buying budget is significantly smaller than that of my not-single friends. Moreover, my budget in general is mine and mine alone to discuss. Sure, a second person chipping in for the bills would be nice, but I don'’t have to clear it with anyone else if I want new shoes.
- Seriously, no one but me cares what I shave or how often I shave it.
- I genuinely like having a good amount of down-time on my own, and I very much value activities with my friends as well. Having no boyfriend to whom to allot any chunk of my time helps guarantee ample time for both of those.
- I have only my own family and my own social and work obligations to worry about. I'm not expected to tag along to anyone else's as well.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
What Dreams May Come
I really can't explain what the hell is up with my subconscious these days. I know I said I wasn't going to keep documenting my weird-ass dreams, but I can't help thinking maybe somebody out there has some insight on this absurdity. Amateur dream analysis? Anyone? Here are two more for you.
One: A couple nights ago, I dreamt I was in prison. It was nothing like OZ or Prison Break or anything like that (I’ve actually never seen either of those shows; I’m just guessing for lack of a better reference point). No, it was a reasonably habitable and friendly, no-bars sort of place. There was a common area that looked a whole lot like the church basement where we had school events and sloppy joe dinners when I was a kid, and the whole lock-in thing seemed to be on an honor system more than anything else. I have no idea why I was there, but it seemed to be for some sort of political protest or civil disobedience kind of thing as opposed to a “real” and heinous crime like killing or stealing or whatnot. I actually met a very nice young man there who I seemed to be connecting with quite well, and when I woke up, I immediately felt sad to have lost him. (I surely hope this isn't my brain's way of suggesting I start looking in more unconventional places such as prisons for new boyfriend candidates. I'm really not even close to that desperate right now.) Perhaps strangest of all, though, was the fact that I was in custody (you know you want me to say it: “I’m incarcerated, Lloyd!”), and yet, my biggest (and possibly only) concern was how I was going to send my mortgage payment in from the fake church basement prison. Yes, even in my dreams, I'm an overly responsible and boring dork. Perhaps what my subconscious is telling me in this particular case is that I need to let loose and get out more.
Two: Last night, I dreamt I was visiting my parents at their house in Wisconsin. It was late at night, and I went downstairs for a drink of water, and when I turned on the light, I woke up my infant baby sister--an infant baby sister that I do not have, mind you, and an infant baby sister who was, for some reason, sleeping in a crib in my mother's office off of the kitchen instead of in a proper nursery or bedroom upstairs. She cried for a bit, and then called out clearly, "You've left me alone in here too long! Come hold me!" So I went into the office to pick her tiny self up out of the crib, whereupon we had a meaningful chat in clear and grown-up words that infants generally aren't able to articulate. I asked her if she wanted to go to a movie tomorrow, and she replied, "I'd like that." She then explained how she always felt she didn't get a chance to really know me because I was at college when she was born. I graduated from college nine years ago, so perhaps baby sister had some sort of stunted-growth disorder and maybe that explains the age-inappropriate linguistic ability. Still, I have no idea what to make of this.
In that same dream, I found myself with a need to look up some topic or other, and I went to my parents’ bookshelf for a reference book. The reference book I was looking for (and, of course, unable to find)? Wikipedia. That’s right; I was looking for a bound, printed version of Wikipedia. Again, I am a tremendous nerd, even when I’m asleep. Lord help me.
One: A couple nights ago, I dreamt I was in prison. It was nothing like OZ or Prison Break or anything like that (I’ve actually never seen either of those shows; I’m just guessing for lack of a better reference point). No, it was a reasonably habitable and friendly, no-bars sort of place. There was a common area that looked a whole lot like the church basement where we had school events and sloppy joe dinners when I was a kid, and the whole lock-in thing seemed to be on an honor system more than anything else. I have no idea why I was there, but it seemed to be for some sort of political protest or civil disobedience kind of thing as opposed to a “real” and heinous crime like killing or stealing or whatnot. I actually met a very nice young man there who I seemed to be connecting with quite well, and when I woke up, I immediately felt sad to have lost him. (I surely hope this isn't my brain's way of suggesting I start looking in more unconventional places such as prisons for new boyfriend candidates. I'm really not even close to that desperate right now.) Perhaps strangest of all, though, was the fact that I was in custody (you know you want me to say it: “I’m incarcerated, Lloyd!”), and yet, my biggest (and possibly only) concern was how I was going to send my mortgage payment in from the fake church basement prison. Yes, even in my dreams, I'm an overly responsible and boring dork. Perhaps what my subconscious is telling me in this particular case is that I need to let loose and get out more.
Two: Last night, I dreamt I was visiting my parents at their house in Wisconsin. It was late at night, and I went downstairs for a drink of water, and when I turned on the light, I woke up my infant baby sister--an infant baby sister that I do not have, mind you, and an infant baby sister who was, for some reason, sleeping in a crib in my mother's office off of the kitchen instead of in a proper nursery or bedroom upstairs. She cried for a bit, and then called out clearly, "You've left me alone in here too long! Come hold me!" So I went into the office to pick her tiny self up out of the crib, whereupon we had a meaningful chat in clear and grown-up words that infants generally aren't able to articulate. I asked her if she wanted to go to a movie tomorrow, and she replied, "I'd like that." She then explained how she always felt she didn't get a chance to really know me because I was at college when she was born. I graduated from college nine years ago, so perhaps baby sister had some sort of stunted-growth disorder and maybe that explains the age-inappropriate linguistic ability. Still, I have no idea what to make of this.
In that same dream, I found myself with a need to look up some topic or other, and I went to my parents’ bookshelf for a reference book. The reference book I was looking for (and, of course, unable to find)? Wikipedia. That’s right; I was looking for a bound, printed version of Wikipedia. Again, I am a tremendous nerd, even when I’m asleep. Lord help me.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Fair ye well, now
My, my, my. Where did my long weekend go? I am beginning to wonder if perhaps I'm experiencing brief but repeated alien abductions or some such thing, because really, there are frequently large chunks of time these days that I simply can't account for. It started with the ten-minute time warps I seem to hit between my kitchen and my car nearly every damned day as I leave. (Does this happen to anyone else? You're ready to go; you're heading out the door; and then suddenly you're ten minutes late and really can't explain why?) But now the missing chunks of time are getting longer and more frequent. I have no idea what I did all day Saturday, for example. I mean, I mowed my lawn, sure. And I probably knitted a little. But was that all? It seems the case. And before you suggest that I'm blacking out into alcohol-induced comas, I will stop you right there and say I had three Cosmopolitans this weekend, and I'm not such a lightweight as to forget all that happened thereafter. So. Mystery Case Files - Minneapolis. Who wants to take this one?
The missing blocks of time and potential alien abductions probably also have something to do with why I'm entirely unable to believe summer is really already behind us. I'm not even a summer girl, to be honest. I love fall; really I do. But the past week or so, I've been noticing little unexpected flashes of bright color in the midst of otherwise green trees and foliage, and it's catching me off guard like it did the townspeople in the middle scenes of Pleasantville... You know--the part where color starts showing up on cheeks and on apple trees, and everyone sees it as something to be feared rather than a sign of beautiful things to come? I'm trying to adjust my attitude and remember how pretty everything will be in a few weeks; for some reason I'm just reluctant to pack away the capris and tank tops just yet.
I did send summer off with some fine activities over the weekend, however. It started on Friday with the trip to the Fair (the official end of summer in these parts). Saturday some friends and I got in one more night of drinks on an outdoor patio, which was lovely even despite the evening chill that sets in after sunset these days. And finally, yesterday I added another 24 miles to my bike mileage for the year (which basically doubled my grand total for the summer; that's how much I have not used my bike the past four months). I think my attempt to squeeze a bit of summer in at the last minute worked, because this morning, when I stepped out my door and smelled the distinct scent of fall in the air, it actually made me smile. I smiled again when I saw the cute little plaid-skirted private school girl on the corner where she hasn't been for months. There were two plaid skirt girls today, though, and a mom beside them as well. Little sister must be old enough for school this year. Time marches on for all of us, I suppose.
I could continue rambling with no discernible point, but instead I thought you might like an update on how I... er, faired at the Fair. I presented five plans the other day, after all, and perhaps some of you are wondering just how they panned out. Incidentally, I do realize this is a rather belated update on this topic, but uploading photos is painful on dial-up, so I had to wait until today to abuse corporate resources instead.
So then. Anyway. Here are the things I did not do on Friday, despite any plans or intentions to the contrary:
The missing blocks of time and potential alien abductions probably also have something to do with why I'm entirely unable to believe summer is really already behind us. I'm not even a summer girl, to be honest. I love fall; really I do. But the past week or so, I've been noticing little unexpected flashes of bright color in the midst of otherwise green trees and foliage, and it's catching me off guard like it did the townspeople in the middle scenes of Pleasantville... You know--the part where color starts showing up on cheeks and on apple trees, and everyone sees it as something to be feared rather than a sign of beautiful things to come? I'm trying to adjust my attitude and remember how pretty everything will be in a few weeks; for some reason I'm just reluctant to pack away the capris and tank tops just yet.
I did send summer off with some fine activities over the weekend, however. It started on Friday with the trip to the Fair (the official end of summer in these parts). Saturday some friends and I got in one more night of drinks on an outdoor patio, which was lovely even despite the evening chill that sets in after sunset these days. And finally, yesterday I added another 24 miles to my bike mileage for the year (which basically doubled my grand total for the summer; that's how much I have not used my bike the past four months). I think my attempt to squeeze a bit of summer in at the last minute worked, because this morning, when I stepped out my door and smelled the distinct scent of fall in the air, it actually made me smile. I smiled again when I saw the cute little plaid-skirted private school girl on the corner where she hasn't been for months. There were two plaid skirt girls today, though, and a mom beside them as well. Little sister must be old enough for school this year. Time marches on for all of us, I suppose.
I could continue rambling with no discernible point, but instead I thought you might like an update on how I... er, faired at the Fair. I presented five plans the other day, after all, and perhaps some of you are wondering just how they panned out. Incidentally, I do realize this is a rather belated update on this topic, but uploading photos is painful on dial-up, so I had to wait until today to abuse corporate resources instead.
So then. Anyway. Here are the things I did not do on Friday, despite any plans or intentions to the contrary:
- Attend the Prairie Home Companion taping. We ended up skipping this for reasons that aren't interesting or important enough to bother detailing. I'm sure Garrison was as awkwardly charming but off-key as usual, but I can't vouch for it in any way.
- Eat a cheese curd. That's right; not even one. If you live in Wisconsin or Minnesota, you know just how wrong this is, and really I have no good excuse. If you don't live in Wisconsin or Minnesota, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about, but you'll just have to take my word for it that battered and deep-fried cheese is a heavenly treat that is not to be ignored.
- Eat a corn dog. I decided to act like a Minnesotan this year and finally try a Pronto-Pup instead. It is a banquet on a stick, after all. How can you go wrong with a tag line like that?
- Pony up money to see the freak show. (Sorry. Traveling sideshow.) My friends did, however, humor me as I took pictures of the Garbage Pail Kids-like banners hanging proudly in front of the World of Wonders tent.
We may not have paid $4.50 to see the real Unique Monique (even the MC seemed dubious about her authenticity; he kept describing her as a woman "who appears not to have a head"--I can only assume law suits and false advertising claims have taken the fun out of his job a bit), but Poobah the fire-eating Pygmy King served up a fine free preview show outside.
- See the butter head. Frankly, if you've seen one teenage girl carved from butter you've seen them all, I say, so really no great loss there, I think.
- Try the Hotdish on a Stick. This actually wasn't on my list at all; I just wanted to share the picture. Rumor has it this came with a side of cream of mushroom soup for dipping, which is a nice touch I find hilariously appropriate.
- Try my first deep-fried candy bar. This photo does not do it justice, but I assure you it was a treat I can whole-heartedly recommend. Yum.
- Look at tiny pigs.
- And tiny ducks.
- Get my finger mistaken for a carrot.
(OK, so it didn't really happen like that, but I did say, "Come here; I have a carrot for you!" in order to get Angry Horse to turn and look at me for this shot. He was not amused.) - See a calf being born. No, I did not take a picture. You're welcome.
- Let my inner farmer out for a bit.
Just kidding. I have no inner farmer. - Stand in line for approximately 75 minutes for a fresh-popped bag from Ye Olde Kettle Korn Purveyors. Oddly, it was actually worth it, I think. Do not underestimate the power of kettle corn.
- Ride the giant slide. Again, I have no photo for this, but can I pretend it was enough activity to count as post-binging exercise for the night? Yeah, I thought not. Back to the gym I go. That bridesmaid dress I have to wear this weekend isn't made of lycra, after all...
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