Two blogs I read today had posts about sleepwalking incidents. Here is my sleepwalking story. Names have been changed to protect myself from these people getting really mad at me.

I was babysitting a little girl named Lily when I was in middle school. Lily was very cute and liked nothing more than playing with her Bert doll (from Sesame Street), and me reading The Monster at the End of This Book (starring Lovable, Furry Old Grover) in funny voices. Including the shouting.

In retrospect, it is not the best idea to get a five-year-old all riled up by yelling and laughing right before she goes to sleep, but I was twelve and dumb. And Lily did fall asleep. Once she stopped getting out of bed to ask for things ("Can I have a glass of water?" "Can Bert have a glass of water?" "Will you play hide and seek with me?" "Do you want a glass of water?"), I sat down to watch their copy of Jurassic Park (I was a little obsessed with Jurassic Park in middle school. I bought a pair of hiking boots because I was convinced I was going to become a paleontologist, and there was at least a month of Study Hall when I read nothing but Jurassic Park, going back to the beginning of the book as soon as I reached the end).

The movie was just about to the part when the guy gets eaten by the T-Rex on the toilet when I heard Lily get out of bed again. I expected her to come in and ask for a glass of water, or a Fruit-Roll-Up, or a puppy, but instead she went into the hallway linen closet.

"Um, Lily?" I asked her, going over to the closet. She did not reply, so I asked, "What are you doing in there?"

"Towels," she said, sitting down on the floor. "I have to go."

"What?" I was confused. "Go where?"

"I have to GO," she said, adjusting her seat.

"Go wh- OH!" I said, waving my hands around in distress. "How about you GO over here, in the bathroom?"

"Okay," she said, standing up rather unsteadily and following me into the bathroom. She got herself all set up and did her thing while I waited in the hallway.

"Are you okay?" I asked, peeking into the bathroom after a long moment. I was just in time to see Lily throw her toilet paper... right... into... the bathtub. I would have thought this entirely gross, but I was laughing and Lily was making her way back to bed, zombie-like.


Another time, I was at a hotel with my family. My sister and I were sharing a bed (which, sidenote, is not the easiest thing when the person your sister sleeps on all the pillows at the same time). In the middle of the night, my sister sat up in bed.

"What a great idea!" she said.

"Huh?" said my mom.

My sister went to the door of the hotel room and opened it. "Great idea!"

"Not a great idea!" said my mom, and caught her before she went out into the hallway.

I'm almost sure I have never walked in my sleep. The closest I've probably ever come was in high school, when I woke up in my bed at my parents' house and saw that the last two numbers on my digital clock read :42. My school bus came at 5:44! I was going to miss it!

I leaped out of bed, threw on some shoes, grabbed my backpack, ran down the stairs and out down the street.

It's 5:42! I'm going to miss the bus! It's 5:42! I'm going to miss the bus! It's 5:42! I'm going to miss the bus! It's 12:42! I'm going to miss the bus! It's 12:42! I'm going to miss the bus! It's 12:42! I'm going to... wait. It's... crap.

And I turned around, walked back to the house, and went to bed. Because it was 12:42 AM, and I, inexplicably, thought that was the same as 5:42 AM.


(Also weird, this post is dated yesterday. I'm from the fuuuuuuture, everyone! Tomorrow people will post on their blogs about sleepwalking! You'll see!)


National Parks are the Shizz.

I am a fan of Ken Burns. I'm not sure if that is square, or stupidly conformist, or neither, but I am a fan of Ken Burns. I love the Ken Burns effect (if you don't know what that is, you obviously don't have a Mac or don't use iMovie). I love the music. I love the to-the-point yet always entertaining narration.

My first introduction to Ken Burns was in my American Military History class in college (which, by way of anecdote, was taught by a foul-mouthed dead ringer for Ulysses S. Grant... best casting career choice ever), where we watched portions of his Civil War documentary. We watched more of it in my Civil War History class (taught my the same professor), and thanks, Ken Burns, I got As in both.

I haven't seen Baseball, but I'd like to. It's the only one of his documentaries we don't own at the library, which is incredibly annoying. The West is enjoyable, Jazz I have to enjoy because I was in a jazz band once upon a time, and he was apparently in Gettysburg. NERD!

I'm currently watching The National Parks on PBS, which after one and a half episodes, is fantastic. I thought before it started that it might go through the history of a handful of individual parks, which was silly because that isn't really the way Ken Burns does things. Instead, it's taking us through the history of the formation of the National Parks and the National Park Service, which is brilliant. I have re-fallen in love with John Muir (sure, he had a semi-gross beard, but he's John Muir). It has also given me a major case of the wanderlust, which is decidedly inconvenient.

If I don't see Yosemite and climb Half Dome before I die, I shall be very put out. If I can't put a finger on a giant sequoia at some point in my life, then that's just stupid. I pay federal taxes and thus own things like the Grand Canyon General Sherman, and would like to go visit them. Say hi. Probably cry a little. It'll be great.

I haven't been to many National Parks. I camped in Rocky Mountain National Park this summer, and wish I could thank everyone involved in the park's creation so that we can enjoy it today. I have been to Gettysburg, but I was a wee child and didn't realize where I was when I was there (stupid kid!). I have, however, been to many National Forests, which are sort of similar in that they are natural areas that our ancestors decided to set aside for all of us to enjoy (thanks, ancestors). One of my favorite places on the planet is a National Forest. Going there changed my life. Does everyone have a place that changed them? Whether everyone does or not, I feel lucky that I was able to visit such a place.

Ensign Lake Campsite

The thing you can't understand from this photo is how peaceful it is. How the islands feel under your feet, and what they smell like. How tired your arms are and how sunburned you are after paddling all day to get there. The sense that getting to this place is its own reward. So really, you can't get the most important things about the Boundary Waters from looking at this photo, so you can stop looking at it now.

Does anyone else geek out when they realize that celebrities they like are friends with each other? Like when you find out that Wil Wheaton is having lunch with Neil Gaiman? On second thought, that may be too nerdy. It would be like Felicia Day having lunch with Brian K. Vaughn. No? Um... what if Bono and Barack Obama were BFFs? That's how I feel when I hear about Teddy Roosevelt and John Muir spending a weekend together talking about nature. It blows my mind, man!

Also, they shot Return of the Jedi in Redwood National Park, so clearly if I don't go there dressed in a Princess Leia cammo outfit with my Wicket puppet, I am a terrible, terrible geek.


Magical sporting moments and Almanzo Wilder

There's a magical moment that happens in close team sporting events when there is a ball, flying in the air. For this particular kind of moment, the ball must be in the air at a pivotal moment in the game, because the game itself hangs in the air, with that ball. Everyone stands up, breathless, waiting. Time seems to stand still, because that moment is full of hope - for that seemingly endless moment that the ball is in the air, anything can happen. The game may be over, depending on what happens with that ball. But for the short time that ball is in the air, it is flying through endless possibility.

Of course, hopes are dashed or met when the ball is caught, or blocked, or dropped, or hits the back of the net. But while the ball is in the air, everything is amazing. This moment is of course best when your team is down by one point, and that ball would just nudge them over the edge toward winning.

I love that moment. I don't care if it's baseball or American football or soccer or cricket or squash or hockey (in that case, it's a puck. Obviously). It is a magic moment, and I less-than-three it.

In unrelated news, I had a dream last night that I was Laura Ingalls, and Jude Law was playing the part of Almanzo Wilder. It was one of those dreams you wake from and try very hard to recapture by falling asleep immediately after hitting the snooze alarm. Oh, Almanzo (not sure why my brain felt the need to substitute Jude Law when real Almanzo looked like that, but I'll take it).

That's all. How are you?


I hate this place, and I hate this cat!

Nobody enjoys hearing about other people's dreams, right? That is, of course, unless they're funny, or involve you in some way.

Did I tell you about the one I had in which I had somehow been roped into joining the army and was deployed to Iraq? I acquired some sort of stray desert cat as a pet while there, and the most vivid part of the dream was me screaming at the top of my lungs, "I hate this place! I hate these tents! I hate this sand! I hate this place, I hate this place, I hate this place, and I HATE THIS CAT!"

What about the one in which I was carjacked outside a mini-golf course? I woke myself up when I screamed to Oprah (who was playing mini-golf), "HELP ME, OPRAH!! CARJACKING!!" I'll never know what Oprah would have done, as I awoke screaming, "Carjacking!!"

Last night my dream was not nearly as pleasant as these. Suffice to say it was the most terrifying and awful nightmare I've had in years. I managed to startle myself awake at about 3:00 this morning to find myself confused and tentatively relieved that no, the country had not been destroyed by h-bombs, the population of the country had not been reduced to melting Dali-esque mutants (all of whom were desperate for my help... I didn't know what to do, re-mold them into more peopley-type shapes?), and my right eye had not melted and fallen out.

Put that way, it doesn't sound terrifying as much as it sounds gross. One thing I learned from this dream, though - DO NOT TRANSPORT NUCLEAR WEAPONS IN SEMI TRUCKS.

I always trust the advice I get from my dreams. You don't see any cats in my apartment, do you? Nosiree.


It's a whatnow?

Microsoft is playing dirty, giving us commercials with adorable children in them! The commercial with the little girl making the slideshow about Windows 7 reminds me of an exchange I had with a small child when I worked at Linens N Things. She was putting things from her mom's shopping basket on the counter for me to scan:

Girl (handing me napkin holder): This is a napkin holder.
Me: Oh, thank you.
Girl (handing me lettuce knife): This is a lettuce knife.
Me: Thanks.
Girl (handing me a lotion bottle): This is a lotion.
Me: Sure is.
Girl (handing me a washcloth): This is a towel.
Me: Close enough.
Girl (handing me a garlic press): This is a schwigglefrishiggle.
Me: ...you bet it is.

Adorable children or no, I will not go to the Windows side. Oh no.

I'm watching The Vampire Diaries right now, because I enjoy watching television shows that make me feel stupider. It's the same reason I watch Gossip Girl. I'm not sure why a show called The Vampire Diaries has spent the first half-hour of the show assuming the audience has no idea that one of the characters is a vampire. Are we stupid (I think I already answered my question, there)? I wonder if the vampire could be the guy who has all the antique pictures in his house who acted weird when the main character fell down and cut herself! How totally out there and unexpected. Insert eyeroll here. (And yet, I have not turned it off. This suggests very bad things about me.) Remember when vampires were bad (with the exception, of course, of Louis and Lestat), and Buffy killed them? Boy, those were the days.

Sheesh, is the football game going to start soon?


See you in September

Ah, September. The time when a young man's fancy turns to - wait, no. What? Who are you?

Now, I know some of you are nerds (it's okay, you can admit it) and you should be watching The Guild. I won't link to it, because if you're a nerd you already know where it is, or you are net-savvy enough to type it into Google. While you're doing that, can you figure out a way to make me be Felicia Day?

School is back in session. The students are back on campus. My insane amounts of down time at work are now at an end and have left me with far too much to do. I'm not sure how that happens - it's like there are twenty minutes in which my free time and all the stuff I have to do coexist, and then the twenty minutes are gone and I'm left with... a huge to-do list. Whoever decided time would work this way is fired.

The end of summer did provide some good times, however. I went to a baseball game with some of my favorite people on the planet (this planet, that is - you wouldn't believe how awesome people are on Neptune... sorry, Earthlings), attended more than one bonfire, caught something which may or may not have been Swine Flu, and acquired several Jane Austen BBC miniseries adaptations from the library.

Like I told the class in the library this evening, I'm a librarian. I get excited about things like having a new copier.

...and finding imitation designer shoes at Target. I am a woman of simple pleasures.

In other news, who is going to start a collaborative video project with me, hmm?


Do do do, de do do do. GO-PACK-GO!

I've been meaning to go to training camp for a couple weeks, but yesterday was the first evening that the planets aligned in such a way that it was not storming, that I was not working, that I didn't have dinner plans with coworkers and there was an evening practice. Thanks, planets! It was absolutely worth the $0.00 ticket and I will be going again.

In what I believe to be one of the coolest traditions in professional sports, local chill'uns wait outside the locker room exit at Lambeau Field with their bikes. Players then either walk across the street to practice, or borrow the bikes to ride across the street to the practice field, with the kids running along carrying helmets.

Wow, these look awful shrunk down all small-like. They're better actual size, should anyone out there be interested - just click. Or they're on my Flickr.

The local paper reported (yes, this is news up here) that this was the first time in two years that Aaron Rodgers rode a bike to practice. Lucky kid! (Also reported by the local paper - this kid is Aaron Rodgers's Facebook friend. This is the weirdest town in which I have ever lived.)

Then, if they have time, many of them sign autographs. And I do not know why all the players except Donald wear their pads to practice. Also - check out Donald's legs. They're prettier than mine... and probably yours. Unless you're Donald Driver. In which case, hi Donald! Nice legs.

Not only is it cool for the kids, it warms my heart to see huge men riding tiny bikes - some of which are pink.

Pink bikes and extremely small bikes are the best. This kid was sprinting the whole way in an attempt to keep up and it was adorable.

A complete pass to Al Harris!

I was sitting next to a father with his daughter (who was about seven). She had lots (and lots) of questions. My favorite was during this kickoff drill when several players had red bandana-things on their helmets: "Are they wearing those to keep their helmets warm?"

I told her they were. Was that wrong of me?

Lots of people had the same idea I did yesterday. It actually feels like football season - 50s with a chilly breeze. Football weather is my favorite kind of weather. Time to dig out the sweaters.

Then at the end of practice, there's a big ol' team huddle. Awwww.

Some of them come over to the stands and sign more autographs!

They're a TEAM.

Then they ride bikes back to the locker room. Way too cool. Next time I go to practice, I'm borrowing a small child with a bike to bring with me.

(In related news, I'm watching preseason football in the flavor of the Cowboys v. the Titans right now. The new Cowboys' stadium is very cool and impressive, I'll give them that - but I'd rather have Lambeau Field, one of the most revered venues in all professional sports. Tradition, homes. I don't think there's any need for a $40 million TV that blocks punts. How do you build a billion-dollar stadium and put the scoreboard too low?)


...coming home to a place he'd never been before.

I was backpacking through the mountains last week! It was really beautiful and wonderful. It made me wish I took more vacations in general, and it made me wish I took more vacations with friends (do YOU want to go on vacation? I'm a pretty good traveler, promise). I took 524 photos (oops), over 200 of which were on one day (I climbed my first 14,000' mountain, give me a break), and 10% of which were of The Boyfriend's backside (can I help it if he doesn't like being in pictures from the front?).

Here is the advice I have to impart from my experiences on this trip:

1) If you would like to climb a fourteener, you should definitely do so as it is well worth the time.
2) If you are from a place with an elevation of approximately 500' above sea level and you plan on climbing a fourteener, give yourself two days to adjust to the altitude by sleeping and taking shorter hikes at above 8,000.'
3) If you forget this advice and give yourself only one day to adjust to the altitude and get altitude sickness after climbing said mountain, find a no-frills motel a couple thousand feet lower and wait to stop throwing up. This shouldn't take long.
4) If, in the tiny middle-of-nowhere town you find a bar themed around your (very far away) NFL team of choice, buy a pitcher of High Life and marvel at how weird the world is.
5) Take with you someone who will be very understanding about your altitude sickness, just in case.
6) Remember that when you wake up before dawn to climb said mountain, that the sun will eventually rise and you will wish you had your sunscreen with you. Mountains are closer to the sun than your home and thus it is easy to be sunburned upon them (*cough*madeupscience*cough*).
7) Have multiple plans. Having only one plan is a not the greatest idea, as you may be disappointed when this plan is thwarted by thunderstorms and below-freezing temperatures.
8) Go to a well-known college town and ask where "the street with the restaurants and bars" is. While there, find the best bar and chat with the bartender without being creepy. Your tab, which by most estimations would be around $50.00 anywhere else, could be as low as $4.00.
9) Find the local microbrewery and ask the servers questions about the beer. They are usually very excited to talk about the beer and may even bring you secret free beer that isn't on the menu. Four times. And free stickers. And free bottle openers. And free brewery lip-balm.
10) If you are road-tripping, bring with you all seven Harry Potter books in audiobook form. Nebraska won't even take half of book six.
11) Take lots of pictures. The odds are better you will get something good if you take more pictures.
12) Do not run from a bull moose. Do not approach a moose calf. In fact, it is best to avoid moose altogether. If you happen to accidentally run across one on the trail, ensure her you aren't there to bother her and go about your business. She will find you boring and yawn.
13) If it rains for two hours during the 4-mile hike to your campsite and everything you have is soaked, pray (or if you're not the praying kind, hope) really hard the sun comes out long enough to dry your sleeping bag.
14) If you must sleep in a wet sleeping bag and the temperature drops below freezing... ugh, just... don't ever sleep in a wet sleeping bag.
15) If you come home with a sprained ankle, put your foot up on your coffee table with ice all around it while you read a slightly trashy galley about teenage fallen angels that randomly came in the mail while you were gone. Two days of this should have you back up and about.

Also, while you were gone, your neighbor may have formed a Hootie and the Blowfish tribute band. I have no idea what to do about this, but it is definitely a serious problem.



Um, Americans?


(Photo of US national soccer team not from today.) It is hard to explain exactly how inconceivable and unbelievable and unlikely this is if you do not follow international soccer. There is no way the US should have won this game. Spain is the #1 ranked national soccer team in the world. Sometimes rankings don't mean very much, but really - THEY ARE THE BEST TEAM IN THE WHOLE WORLD. And your national team (ranked #14 by FIFA at the beginning of this game) scored - twice. Spain scored zero times.

I'm not sure how it happened (I watched the whole thing, and I still don't know - to be honest, I was half-expecting Spain to score six goals in the last five minutes and go, "Gotcha! Just kidding, guys! We had this under control the whole time, that's how good we are."), but this has made my already super day off completely stellar. Does this legitimize US soccer? Will people actually sing our national anthem at the beginning of games now? Will anyone care? I don't know - they did lose to Costa Rica a few weeks ago. Ouch.


I promise that there will be no more soccer squeeage from me unless the US wins the Confederations Cup final on Sunday (and really, the Confederations Cup means nothing, except that the US beat Spain).

In other news, there are hornets building nests all over the outside of my apartment (I counted two in the front, and there are about ten hornets hovering around my balcony door so I imagine there is one out there too - how will I water my plants?). I think they sense my great fear.


Chivalry is not dead, it has its own dictionary.

When you are a librarian, occasionally you need to do what is known as "weeding the collection." This just means going through all the books and taking out anything that is outdated, superseded by a better edition, doesn't make any sense, etc.

The other day while weeding, I came across a book called A Dictionary of Chivalry. Unfortunately, this otherwise delightful book has very little to do with anything in our curriculum, is not really scholarly at all, and we have lots of other books that cover the same subject much more thoroughly in case someone ever did need to know about medieval table manners. Sadly, out it went. On a whim and as a small experiment yesterday, I put a note on the book before I sent it to my coworkers who would take it and the rest of a cart full of books out of our catalog. This was the note:

I was sitting in my office this afternoon, minding my own business, when one of them came downstairs and gave it to me for free. Greatest note ever!

A Dictionary of Chivalry is mostly delightful for the completely sweet and oh-so-1960's illustrations. Here is a sampling of my favorites (of which there are far too many to post. I just found the Robert (the Bruce) entry and those are great).

This is the illustration for "Outlaws." It doesn't make any sense except that this is supposed to be Robin Hood and Maid Marian. I think I would've gone with something else for outlaws, but it's sort of sweet.

This one is supposed to illustrate courtesy.

I have no idea what's going on except some sort of three-man dinner party. I think the guy on the left is telling the middle gentleman, "Now, wait just a moment, I'm going to say something courteous before I knock you with this ladle. I suggest thinking twice before scratching your fleas at the table, if you please." The man on the right, on the other hand, looks as though he's very annoyed and is going to applaud his dinner companion sarcastically. "Gee, Lancelot. You've got roast pig grease on your face again. I know I always scratch my head while eating a medieval Twinkie, great job, champ."

This is the infant John FitzThomas, Earl of Kildare, being rescued by a gorilla as an infant. I promise that is what the caption says and I did not make it up. I will scan it for you if you like. A gorilla. Rescuing baby Earl FitzThomas of Kildare. From a burning castle.

Why were the Middle Ages so much cooler than the 1980s? I was never rescued by a gorilla from a burning castle. So lame.

This is baby King Henry VI. Isn't he cute?

I do not know why there is a helmet in this picture, nor why said helmet has a bird growing out of the top of it. "Fashion" would be my guess. It's fierce.

This is meant to be Sir Bedevere, of Round Table fame. This image fits almost perfectly with the mental image I have of Sir Bedevere, developed largely through repeat viewings of Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

"And that, my liege, is how we know the world to be banana-shaped."
"Hmm, oh yes. I see."

If you were or are an English major, you will probably have read The Song of Roland. If you are thinking of becoming an English major, you will probably have to read The Song of Roland. You might have read it in high school - you will need to read it again. This is a visual representation of... some part of Roland's song. Evidently the part when he broke into his song upon his cross-eyed steed.

The steed seems to be auditioning for a part in "A Chorus Line."

I feel this one (Blue Garter, Order of the) requires more explanation than I can provide on my own, and frankly, the illustration is much funnier than the actual description, so I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

This book was 100% worth every penny.



Most of the time, I am very happy with American football. However.

Then comes World Cup time. Oh dear, around World Cup time I do wish I lived somewhere that cared about soccer at all. World Cup time is the time a large portion of the rest of the world works itself into a frenzy of national pride and comes together, mostly in the spirit of good sportsmanship, to celebrate the world's game. The world except America's game, that is.

We went to a USA v. Honduras World Cup qualifying match the other weekend, and it was great. At most American sporting events, nobody sings the national anthem. At a soccer match, you must sing the national anthem. The game isn't the same without singing the national anthem very loudly.



Portraits of running in my neighborhood

Things I saw on my run today:

- Cherry blossoms! We are more than a month behind Washington DC (a place I adore, home to one of my favorite people on the planet!), but I think this means Spring is here.

- A middle-aged man in the building next to mine driving to put his trash in the dumpster for tomorrow. The dumpster is about 15 yards away, if that. He was blasting Evanescence with all his windows down. It was hilarious.

- A dog running to bark at, bite, or lick me and another dog intercepting that dog to hump it enthusiastically.

All in all, a good run.


A Thursday List!

Are we already a week into May? Shocking! I do not know how this happened. Thus, a list!

1) I am so glad Brett Favre (for the moment) won't be playing for the Vikings. I had a very long and irate post about the fact that Brett Favre is even less awesome than I thought last season, but I am not going to post it, because some naive part of my brain really, really wants to believe that Brett is a decent human being who doesn't hate the people of Wisconsin. I won't actually believe it until sometime midway through September, and I know he doesn't care what I think, but still. Brett is okay. For now. Dun dun DUN!

2) The Star Trek movie! I have not seen it, and am going tomorrow. I am very excite! I think it will be good! To be honest, I never really watched The Original Series (ToS as it is known amongst Trekkies) and was more a Next Generation and Deep Space Nine fan. It's entirely possible that this makes me a nerd, and it's also entirely possible that I do not care.

3) Sometimes I over-identify with Liz Lemon. Especially when she awkwardly recites rap lyrics and references The Sims. Oh dear. Do the kids still play The Sims?

4) I ran 2.5 miles yesterday, and again today whee! This is more impressive when you consider that at least half of both those runs were uphill (I live at the top of a hill, as I have mentioned).

5) I love love. I love being in love! (Thank you, The Format.)

6) We haven't been below freezing in over a week. I officially declare it pre-summer! In parts of the world other than the upper Midwest, this might be known as Spring.

7) It's possible that with recent state budget cuts and an announcement from our governor today, I will lose my job. I am a state employee and we are at the mercy of taxes, which have been down with so many unemployed in the last year. If you're the praying kind, I wouldn't object if you spared one for me and my friends at the library.

8) To further the pre-summer signs, my electric heated mattress pad has not been turned on for three whole days. Pre-summer! (Shut up, I have a heated mattress pad because I live in Wisconsin and I don't like being cold.)

9) I have been watching Survivor only because a person I used to know is on it. It's a weird show and evidently lots of people watch it. Are you one of them?

10) Do you ever wonder if you're weird-looking? It has just occurred to me recently, watching America's Next Top Model (from the three episodes I've seen, I'm rooting for creepy-chan) that maybe I'm weird-looking, but not in a good way. Just in a way that is sort of irritating to people I am around until they get used to my appearance. Clearly, I am used to my own appearance so I have no idea if my eyes are, in fact, "too close together." Though who decides what is "too close" I do not know. Am I the only person who wastes time thinking about these things when she's trying to fall asleep? Probably.

11) I finally made it to a Brewer game last weekend (first this season - sausage race shown above... as previously stated, I am a fish-only vegetarian - a pesco-vegetarian, if you will, I can not give up sushi - except while camping and at Wisconsin sporting events, when brats are a full-on go. Oh, Secret Stadium Sauce! Don't ever change), which was fantastic. They won, which was more fantastic. The Bratwurst won the sausage race, which was even more fantastic, and Trevor Hoffman got his wish for louder walk-out music, which was ridiculous on top of fantastic. Hooray for baseball! Hooray for the Brewers being over .500! Boo for the Brewers losing tonight, but hooray otherwise! I read an article once that described Brewer fans as over-enthusiastic little league parents who applaud their team just for trying. This is accurate.

That is all I have for today. I've had a great week (aside from the layoff possibility, which is not great, but the weather has been beautiful and they figured out what is wrong with my car, yay!), and I hope you have too. It's a little strange, not feeling pressured to come up with something to blog about every day. It's nice.

And then of course, when I come back what do I do? Post a list of random stuff. Alas. Habits! I do like my lists.


It would seem that I can't win.

Happy May, everyone!

No, we're going to make a list of good things first:

1) I am wearing leggings for pants right now. This is a good thing as they are very comfortable, but I feel a little like Lindsay Lohan. I think I'll be okay as long as I don't go outside in them and pretend they are actual pants.
2) I had pickles and cheese for dinner. Nutritious? No. Delicious? Yes.
3) Bram Stoker's Dracula is on sale at Target for $5 right now! I got it yesterday before I realized my car is actually still broken. It's a very silly movie, but I like it. It's got the Oldman factor, which goes a long way and in fact completely overrides the Keanu Reeves factor. And then there is the Tom Waits factor - sprinkles on a cupcake, Tom Waits is. One thing you may not know about me is that I went through a pretty ridiculous vampire phase in middle school during which I read little other than Anne Rice and anything else I could find with vampires in it. I think everybody has a literary phase they're not tremendously proud of - that was mine.
4) Speaking of vampires, this sparkly lotion makes me feel like Alice Cullen! More sparkles!
5) My car is very clean. I finally took all the stuff out of it (this was a lot of stuff - a LOT of stuff) yesterday and while it doesn't work, it looks nice.
6) Tomorrow is Friday and I get to leave work at noon due to working last Saturday. Hooray! If I don't drive to see The Boyfriend I will take the car to a fix-it place and then take a nap on my couch.
7) The Office and 30 Rock were new today. Yay!
8) I do not know anyone who has the swine flu. Back, Captain Trips, back! I'm not worried until I see Randall Flagg. It is, however, fun to blame problems on the swine flu. I think my car may have it, as did the networked printers at work this morning.

The book, naturally, about eight thousand times better. Stu Redman was one of my first literary crushes. SHUT UP STU IS THE MAN.

9) Keanu just leaned out the side of the carriage and asked, "I say, is the Castle Aarrrrrrgh?"

Oh no, I rewound it and he actually asked if the castle is far. Bummer. "Perhaps he was dictating!"

That's a little better. It's hard to be too upset when the legendary Black Beast of Argh is in the picture.


80's nostalgia, again.

The other day I mentioned my favorite childhood television shows. Today, I would like to talk about my favorite childhood movies.

My first and most favorite childhood movie was the Disney version of Robin Hood. When I was five, I thought this was just about the most romantic movie of all time, ever. Yes, two foxes gazing into each other's eyes amidst the fireflies and the pretty-good animation is just about the most romantic thing in the world. Yes, ever.

I just checked - I still know all the words to this song. (Ooh, he's going to steal Prince John's underwear! Tee hee!)

Today, I don't really get it. For some reason, this was the Disney movie I latched onto as a child - not The Little Mermaid (which is terrifying and horrible), not Sleeping Beauty, not something a normal child would be obsessed with, no. I had to insist on Robin Hood, the red-headed stepchild of Disney films. My theory is that (as you will see below) I rarely liked movies with people in them. Robin Hood has no people, only foxes and bears and bunny rabbits.

I won't lie, I do have Robin Hood and The Lion King on DVD. These are the only Disney movies I own and I still love them both. As I said, I was really into animals as a kid, which brings me to the next movie...

Benji! I don't remember a single thing about Benji, except that he was a dog and that when I was five he was in a movie called Benji: The Hunted. Seriously. I remember liking that one too, because Benji was lost in the wilderness, and maybe had to fight a bear? In For the Love of Benji, he has to outwit some Grecian spies... or something. He's a dog. I don't know.

This is what I watched as a child. It may explain some things about me, particularly the soft-focus on Benji and his lover-dog. Then again, I don't understand it, so maybe not.

Another movie about dogs that I was way too into was The Incredible Journey. This is not to be confused with Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey, which is the remake my sister was totally obsessed with when she was a kid. No, this was the original 1963 version, in which the animals did not talk and instead there was an obnoxious voiceover. Also, there's a Bull Terrier in it, which is pretty sweet.

Though I'm pretty sure that if I watch the end (SHOWN ABOVE SPOILER ALERT!!), I will probably get choked up. Because I am a sap. They all live happily ever after, even the stupid cat.

My question is this: Why did my parents let me watch so many movies about dogs and yet, not let me have a puppy? Cruel, that's what it was. That is why it is a life goal of mine to one day own a dog. I'm really aiming high, here.

I was also very into the Muppets.

Really, who can argue with that? The Muppets are still awesome.

My favorite Star Wars film until I grew some taste was Return of the Jedi (it is now Empire, like any self-respecting nerd's would be). Because the Ewoks were cool, and so were the big big trees. Oh dear. I still say that if someone gave me $500 on the condition that I spend it on something completely frivolous and non-functional, I would buy a Revenge of the Jedi poster. Oh yes.

Then, of course, is my favorite movie of them all to this day, The Princess Bride. This is notable because there are only three dogs in this movie, for about five minutes (when Humperdink is talking to Yellin about the Thieves' Forest... there are some Irish Wolfhounds there), but I liked it anyway. I know people who do not like this movie, and I know people who think it is dumb, but the sad fact is that those people are wrong, or perhaps crazy. The Princess Bride is a genius combination of romance, action, comedy, and rodents, and as long as you are in favor of those things and don't care at all about subtext or themes or other Important Movie Terminology like "deepness" it is a nearly perfect film. It is the fault of this movie that I have insanely unrealistic expectations of the opposite sex.

I lose it when he calls her "Pwincess Buttah-kwap." I used to recite this movie to myself in bed as I waited to fall asleep, because I knew every word. I haven't watched it in a few years, because I don't want it to get stale. It is a movie I wish I could watch again for the first time. The major problem with this movie is, of course, that Buttercup is kind of lame. I realize that it is a parody of traditional fairy-tales and that she is simply filling the damsel in distress role, but she doesn't even do anything when Westley is wrestling the Rodent of Unusual Size in the Fire Swamp, AGHHHH! While this is my favorite movie of all time and I love almost everything about it, Buttercup is not my favorite leading lady, perfect breasts aside. She always sort of annoyed me. Buuuuut... it's hilarious and wonderful, and it is still my favorite movie.

"Probably he means no harm."
"He's very very short on... charm?"

Watching these things for most of my childhood and assuming everyone else watched similar films until they were fourteen, is it any wonder that I was 25 by the time I knew that Mary Jane meant marijuana? It's not that I'm dumb, just incredibly sheltered. It's not like the Benji is lighting up.

And for some reason, we all watched this (though I liked She-Ra better... why did she defend a different castle than He-Man, I wonder?):

...including me. He-Man? Why not Boy-Guy? Or Man-Dude? Him-Gent? Manlymanlymanlymanlyman?

Oh right, because he wasn't, really.


Oh, young self.

I was thinking the other day about why blogging every day this month was something I felt like doing. I've had a blog for the last eight years, though the first incarnations were before the word "blog" and before blogging sites and sadly have been lost. However, most of them are still around. For example, here is what I wrote on April 30th, 2004:

I had to be very fancy yesterday because I've needed to do laundry for the last week or so, and the only clothes I have left are really very cute skirts and things, but they're skirts, and it's cold, and I feel like I have to wear far too much makeup with them.

Yesterday I figured I'd make it worth my while and go run all my errands while being all cute and hope that Prince AlmostCharming spied me from afar and accidentally hit me with his bike. This would prompt him to apologize profusely and take me inside to the nearest cheese shop, where he would say something like, "You eat these skeezy cheeses that I can't describe," and I would say something like, "Will I look good when I've gotten old? When I get so old and wrinkly that I look like David Brinkley? Oh, and by the way, your eyes are beady," and he'd say, "This is my verse, hel-LO!" then we'd know we were meant to be. He'd give me a glow in the dark band-aid because I hurt myself when he ran me over with his bike, oops. Then we'd have to go outside to find my shoe which had flown off when he hit me with the bike, where he'd find it in a little flower patch and while he retrieved my shoe he'd pick me a bunch of gerber daisies. He would of course give me a ride home on his bike, which would have a little basket in the back with a french baguette and some wine in it, and we'd sit on my couch to drink the wine and eat the baguette and the cheese while he gave me a massage because he felt so bad about hitting me with his bike. (But... really he did it on purpose, except for the running me over part, and he would say so, only funnier, because he'd be very funny, did I mention that?) He would know sonnet 116 and think it's was hilariously wonderfully coincidental that I have that on my door next to a big long Tolkien quote. I'd mention I was getting hungry, and he'd make me dinner using only the things he had in his bike basket and the stuff in my cupboards because he'd have wonderful creative culinary skills. It might taste a little bad because a lot of the stuff in my kitchen is probably stale, but it would be mostly good because he made it. We'd eat this dinner out on the balcony and listen to the pteradactyl in the marsh trying to attract a mate, and then we'd realize after some witty banter that I needed some lovin because I was still a little sore after he ran over me with his bike, and after that I can't tell you what would happen, because this is a PG journal.

Anyway, that didn't happen.

I returned a shirt to Shop-Ko and found stupid little errands to run all over the city in the hopes that someone would appreciate the trouble I went to to be cute because really, it's a pain not to have any clean clothes, but I don't think anybody noticed.

I'll have to try again next week. I can go a few more days without washing my jeans.

This was during my extra-fun senior year of college, and shortly after this I got a job at a really terrible place. It was the kind of place that sucks the joy from everything, not unlike Mordor. I've always used my blog as a sort of escape, and back before I took the job in Mordor it was a rare thing for me to miss a day posting. I didn't post nearly as much while I had that job, because it was very hard for me to find good things to say about it. After two years (I still can't believe I lasted two years in Mordor) the job in Mordor, I went to grad school, and research papers on [insert topic you'd be very impressed to hear I've written a research paper about here] come before blogging in grad school. Since then, I've been out of the habit.

I suppose I was just curious about whether or not I could actually make myself post every day for a month. I've obviously been having trouble coming up with stuff to say, but I haven't missed a day yet. Maybe what I can learn from April 30th, 2004 is that it isn't necessary to have anything to say at all. What did I really say up there? That I didn't feel like doing my laundry, which seemed to be enough.

It seems fitting that this is my 200th post on this blog. How exciting!


Stinging things are bad.

I'm not afraid of many things. There are things I worry about, but I'm not afraid of many things. In fact, there are quite a few things I'm decidedly not afraid of. Spiders, okay. Snakes, cool. Clowns, provided they aren't the kind wielding a deadly weapon, are also all right.

However, when I get up in the morning and there's a hornet flying around the living room... nfsdopi A&(S_ df7 S(*DF 09S D& f9s* U DF)(SD&F)(SDfsd 9p8f7ds9* S&FFS(*S)PF()S8ds 90f 7ds(*&F ()SD*fs!!

Being the kind of person who likes to take care of things like that right away, I got the heaviest notebook I could find in my room (after firmly slamming the door behind me so the evil demon thing couldn't follow me into my zen oasis... I do have a miniature tree in my room) and went back outside to the living room, only to find that the stupid hornet had moved to the sliding door by the balcony. Right. If I were going to open the door to the balcony, that would involve me getting far too close to the hornet, but I did anyway. It was on the screen, so I opened the screen and slammed the glass door, so it had nowhere to go but out. Smart, self. Very good.

His Evilness didn't move! I was all, "You're free! Go! You have been given a second chance at life, little friend!" and it still wouldn't move. Rage! I had to open the screen door all the way and brush it outside with the big heavy notebook. This was the most terrifying thing I did all day.

I can't believe I survived.

I really hate things that fly and buzz and sting and especially things that have the hangly dangly legs. Oh, hangly dangly legs. It's not like I've never been stung before, I've been stung like, two dozen times and I don't even think it hurts all that much. I HAVE A PROBLEM. For some reason, the hangly dangly things make them all the more terrifying. If there's one in the classroom where I'm supposed to be learning, forget it. I'll just watch it the entire class, making sure I always know where it is so I'm not unpleasantly surprised by evil dropping down the back of my shirt.

I played tennis in high school, and I think the courts where we played were poured on some kind of hideous ancient wasp breeding ground, perhaps some sacred place where thousands of stinging insects were wronged and now haunt it and encourage their descendants in horrible deeds of vengeance against the human race. I earned myself the title of Bee Slayer because I perfected the skill of killing bees and wasps and the hangly-danglylike with my racquet. I was good.

Too good.

I think they're out for my blood.

Now, if hornets and wasps and stuff were huge, say, the size of cars, their scary factor would cease to be so paralyzing because you could see them coming from miles away and their stealth sneaking in under the door skillz would no longer be on their side.

However, I guess if you got stung you'd definitely die, and it'd probably hurt a lot more.

You get your ups and downs either way, I guess.


In the middle of the earth, in the land of the Shire...

People have been posting music to their blogs lately. Here is some music I like.

This is Gillian Welch and David Rawlings with Old Crow Medicine Show playing "Wrecking Ball."

It has quite a bit of chatting at the beginning, but this is probably my favorite Gillian Welch song and one of my favorite songs in general. Both Gillian and David Rawlings are incredibly talented musicians and songwriters, but I think what I like best about them is how obvious it is that they love what they're doing. This might not be the best video to use as an example, but Rawlings makes the best faces when he's playing, sometimes you can tell that he's thinking ahead in a song and he's come up with something really awesome to play next, because he starts grinning like crazy, clearly digging what he's doing. I find it very refreshing to watch talented people who pretty clearly do what they do first because they love it, and second because they can make money doing it.

Also, it is a not-so-secret ambition of mine to one day become a proficient bluegrass banjo player. About five years ago in a fit of impulse I bought a banjo on e-bay for $89, and have yet to learn to play it. I was under the mistaken impression that since I already know how to read music, it wouldn't be that hard to learn to play a string instrument when I'm coming from a clarinet/saxophone background, with which you don't really need to think much about complicated stuff like chord construction/progression. Slightly naive, self.

It sure photographs nice though, doesn't it?

I was going to put here some songs that I would play on a nice spring day with all the windows of my car rolled down... if I had a car... but the only decent-quality video I could find of Butch Walker's "Hot Girls in Good Moods" was full of Avril Levine pictures, and I didn't want to subject you to that. And then the only version I could find of "Gin House Blues" was not Nina Simone, but all slowed-down Eric Clapton. Alas.

Well. That did not go nearly as well as I had hoped. Because of that, you may have "The Mariner's Revenge Song:"

And "The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins."

You can thank me later.


We named the dog Indiana!

Almost every time I sign in to Facebook these days, another one of my friends is engaged. Let's forget for the moment the fact that some of these "friends" are actually more like acquaintances from high school I freely admit I only friended because I was curious about what they are up to, but everyone is getting engaged. There were two new wedding photo albums on my news feed this week. This week! For a time I was taking some small comfort in the fact that there were a handful of my Facebook friends who were not engaged, I was not alone. This is no longer the case.

The un-engaged, un-married club is becoming much more exclusive, you see. There are not many of us left. We're a dying breed, the reasonably attractive, fairly intelligent, single twenty-somethings who don't have a significant other (here being a fiancee or spouse) with whom to share things like food, student loan debt, an apartment, and a name. This club is awesome to the max. We have to change the secret handshake every couple weeks because people keep getting engaged and leaving the club.

The other scary thing when you get to be my age is that your friends start having babies. Now, I have no problem with babies. They're small and cute and make funny noises and do funny things and make people happy. The thing is that I personally am so far from ready to have a baby that babies are not even on my radar right now. The fact that people my age and younger are having them at a somewhat alarming rate is making me feel left behind. I thought it was scary when my friends were just getting engaged, but now that there are kids in the mix (everywhere) it's as if I'm now two steps behind everyone else.

Two steps behind?! That's like being the one of your friends who has only seen A New Hope when everyone else is finished with Return of the Jedi! You wouldn't know about Yoda, or that Darth Vader is Luke's father! (Spoiler alert.)

Don't misunderstand. I'm very happy where I am. I have a great job, a supportive family, the most amazing boyfriend on the planet and though I'm in my late twenties, I don't feel like I need to get married and start a family right now. A few years ago after I graduated from college I was feeling the pressure to get married and "start my life," but that's (thankfully) passed and these days I'm just happy being happy with what I have - which is a pretty sweet deal. The only things I could ask for is that The Boyfriend and I live in the same city, and for a big, big dog. The irritating thing is a tiny voice in my head occasionally wondering if I should be feeling like a failure due to my single and childless status, based on the information I'm getting from my Facebook peers.

< sarcasm > And we should definitely compare ourselves to our friends,
right? < /sarcasm >

With that in mind, I continue to be two steps perhaps not behind but in another direction, and continue to be content with that. It's not like it's a race.


Perhaps I should invest in a bike.

Oh, today. Today was a weird day, it was all over the place. Mood-swingy.

It all started with last weekend. The Boyfriend decided he wanted to go to the plant nursery near the state park where we camped the morning we left. At this nursery, I found a miniature tree.

Now, this was no ordinary miniature tree. This was a miniature tree that needed me. This was a miniature tree that was less than $10. It was meant to be. Our love is pure.

I brought the miniature tree home (it's a juniper tree). Like all things you find at a nursery, it came in a cheapo, temporary pot, and needed to be replanted. I put this off all week, because I am cheap. Today after work, I decided I would get some soil, a couple pots, some seeds, and re-pot my juniper tree while I planted flowers for the summer. I went to the store and picked everything out. I got the biggest bag of potting soil I could find and three giant pots, as well as a nice assortment of seeds (I'm going to make peas this year!). I bought these things and got in my car. My car started (victory!) and I drove toward my apartment. Everything was going fine, until I got on the interstate exit ramp.

My car stalled. Again. It did not re-start, because my car doesn't do that.

If you have known me for more than two months, you are aware that my car is a continual source of... problem. Particularly since I moved up here and took this job. With this latest incident, I have now exhausted my AAA roadside service, if that gives you any indication of how many times I have been stranded so far in 2009. (If it doesn't - that's a lot. A lot of being stranded time.)

This time, my car stalled blocking traffic at a major intersection on my side of town. AAA informed me that a tow truck would be along in about an hour and a half. An hour. And. A half.

Luckily, Officer Larsen of the GBPD stopped by to see what the hubub was, and Made Things Happen. I've always wanted to be the kind of person who Makes Things Happen. I seem to be the kind of person who Stuff Happens To, instead. Stuff like stopping traffic, not by being hot and naked like Madonna, but instead being sweaty and frustrated and in a non-functional car in the middle of the street. Hooray for Officer Larsen (who was not only able to get a tow truck to me in ten minutes, but was also very chatty and personable, very helpful when one is confronted with Pathetic Citizen)!

After being towed to a service station approximately two miles from my apartment (a service station closed until Monday morning, sadface), I sat in my car and had a good think. I had potting soil in my car, and pots. I also had seeds, some beer from camping last weekend, and a juniper tree at home that needed my love. I couldn't let them down, not all weekend long while I left these things in my car at a closed service station! Heavens no.

So I put my pots, my beer, my fleece, and my seeds into the ridiculously huge bag I was given at the store. I put my purse on my arm and hefted the potting soil on my shoulder. Thus, I set out for my apartment.

It looked something like this.

I may have mentioned in a blog about running that I live at the top of a hill. This is as problematic when walking carrying a huge bag of potting soil and an assortment of garden supplies as it is when running. I must have looked incredibly pathetic, because when I got about halfway to my apartment, a completely awesome woman named Sue ran out of her apartment and informed me that she was going to carry my potting soil the rest of the way.

This was the first time I had met Sue in my life. If I hadn't been holding the potting soil I would have hugged her. That potting soil is insanely heavy. I thanked her but told her that she didn't have to do that, because it was a beautiful day and not only was I enjoying the walk (and I was, except for the fact that the potting soil was roughly the weight of a pregnant manatee) I wouldn't want her to walk a whole mile to my apartment carrying my stupid potting soil. So she gave me a ride.

Sue is awesome. I run into really, really great people when my car dies. That is the bright side to every breakdown I have - I met Officer Larsen and Sue. I am glad I live in the same city as the two of them.

Then I got home and checked my mail, in which was included an invitation to join the library science students national honor society, because I apparently rock. Or something. And that was really, really nice.

So I re-potted my juniper tree, and now I am having pickles and wine for dinner. You can do that when you're a grown-up and your car is broken. You're allowed to have whatever you want for dinner.


Ladybugs' picnic - in my pants.

Because it's so late and I had a very busy day, I will now tell you the grossest thing that happened to me today and call it a blog post. Are you ready?

This morning I found a dead ladybug.

In my nylons.

After I put them on.

Thus, my message to you is this: If your apartment has the midwestern abundance-of-ladybugs problem, be sure to check your undergarments for dead ladybugs before you put them on. Otherwise, you will feel yucky. Yucky here being the technical term for how I felt for the rest of the day.

At least it wasn't alive. And at least it wasn't one of these, alive or dead (tip: do not click on that link).



Before I get into more RETRO-AWESOMENESS, I wanted to mention that I think most of you are aware that I am a librarian (if you were not, now you are! Hooray, libraries!). A librarian is not a babysitter or a replacement caregiver. It concerns me when people think that the library is responsible for what their children read. That's called parenting and isn't something I'd be very good at.

The university where I received my master's degree has recently come under fire for supporting local librarians in their fight against the removal of some materials from the young adult section of the library. The amount of hate in the world makes me sad.


First of all, in the spirit of libraries and reading, I present... old-skool Reading Rainbow theme song!

The Boyfriend and I were talking today about particularly excellent episodes of Reading Rainbow. I like the one with the book about the farmer in Mexico who was plowing and then... plowed up a volcano! Oh noes! I think it's called Hill of Fire. That was a good one. I also geeked out over the episode on the starship Enterprise. It might've blown my mind a little bit that Lt. LaForge was also LeVar. HOLY COW!

Reading Rainbow was so cool.

Another program I adored as a kid was Dot and the Bunny. Dot and the [thing of the week] was an Australian TV show that I didn't actually realize was a series until thirty seconds ago. My parents had a free trial of HBO at some point during my early childhood and taped Dot and the Bunny for some reason. I have seen this about 23,875 times and until this evening thought I'd dreamed the whole thing up because nobody else I've spoken to has ever heard of it.

In this particular episode, Dot wanders into the wilderness in search of a joey after a mother kangaroo asks for her help. It's a weird combination of live-action and animation, and is the reason I know the song "Waltzing Matilda." Dot sings a lot of songs and makes animals cry (she might also cry herself, there's a lot of crying in this one), before living happily ever after. I thought it was the greatest movie ever.

I also really dug Square One. Square One was all about math. Apparently watching television shows about math does not make one good at it, because I am math-stupid.

Most of the reason I liked Square One was because of...

MATHNET! One time, Kate Monday broke her leg! Remember? Remember? I felt so bad for her! I think Mathnet was its own show, and they only showed little five-minute recaps at the end of Square One. The first time I saw Dragnet, I thought they were ripping off Mathnet. Oh, silly child.

Then there is 3-2-1 Contact. I remember singing the theme song on my swingset. It was probably really annoying for my neighbors. I'm pretty sure I didn't watch the rest of the show, but this was on after Square One and I really liked the song.


Clearly, I was only allowed to watch PBS as a child. That's probably good. I spent a lot of time outside. On the swingset, playing Mathnet.


I have a dream... a song to sing.

I have insane dreams. So does everyone. Nobody likes to hear about other people's insane dreams.

Too bad. We're nine days from the end of the month and unless you want to hear about the lint I found on my office chair this morning (it was purple), we're going to talk about this.

A few months ago I had a dream, the entirety of which was a cooking show hosted by Barack Obama and Derek Jeter. They made burritos.

Another recent dream involved ordering pizza at The Boyfriend's house. When the pizza arrived I answered the door and discovered that instead of bringing us pizza, the pizza boy was actually robbing us! I had to let The Boyfriend know this in a subtle yet effective way. Luckily I had a giant bag of message candy hearts with me, and while being led down the stairs at gunpoint I dug around in the bag and found one that said "Mystery pizza boy robbery" on it. I threw this to The Boyfriend across the room so he would know we were being robbed.

I'm not sure why he didn't get it from the fact that the pizza boy had a gun instead of a pizza.

Friday morning, between hits of the snooze button, I had a dream that I was sitting in Dumbledore's office for a very important and impressive magical reason. At one point in our conversation, Dumbledore said to me, "I'm sure you're wondering about the sheepdog Ferrari incident."

And then my alarm went off.

Noooo! I absolutely am wondering about the sheepdog Ferrari incident! What was it? WILL I NEVER KNOW?

I could never come up with this stuff when I am awake.


Pictures are good when you're out of words.

Vintage picture day! This is me, dressed as a "Ghostbuster." I had a very special imagination.

Clark Kent My dad and I. My dad looks so awkward in this picture, it's amazing. I just look fussy.

Fun fact that I learned last weekend at our family gathering: I threw up a lot as a baby (one of the delights of hanging out with people who have known you for your entire life is learning these fun facts about yourself). Isn't that nice? It's HOT, is what it is. I grew out of it.

Best rain ensemble ever! Notice Snoopy. I dug Snoopy.

At the state fair! My favorite parts of this picture are my Snoopy glasses (I also had these in red), my alligator drink, and the clothes of the people in the background. Yikes, 1984.

These two dapper gentlemen are my grandfathers. My grandfather on the right was ginger, though you can't tell from the picture. There is also a grandfather missing, because I had three of them. What I really want to do is get a bunch of my grandmothers' old pictures and scan those, because old pictures are awesome. The oldest pictures I have seem to be from the early '80s.

I still like the swings.

Swimming with my mom! I was a very gifted swimmer as a baby. Probably because my swimming suit was sweet.

I like old pictures. Looking through them, I've learned that an abnormally large percentage of my clothing growing up was from Oshkosh B'Gosh. My fashion sense is largely the same (that is to say I don't have any - my mom did when I was a kid, but now that I'm on my own... oh dear), except I don't wear quite as many overalls as I did when I was a kid. It's less charming on someone in her twenties.