Weebles.

I was at a barbecue today at the home of some dear friends with a young daughter. As I sat outside eating and chatting with friends, I noticed some Weebles sitting on the table. I've been a fidgeter for a long time, always needing to do something with my hands. When I was in high school, we used to hang out at the local Big Boy restaurant, where we would catch up with friends and figure out what craziness to pursue that evening. If we were there long enough, I would steal someone's lighter, and start to melt whatever crayons were on the table from whomever had sat there before us onto the old paper placemats, making some kind of design with the melted waxy substance. I play with the paper napkin rings at restaurants, or fold or shred paper napkins...anything to keep my hands busy. I guess when my hands are busy, my mind is, too, taking in conversations, mulling over scenarios, watching people. In the fine tradition and pattern of my life, I couldn't keep my hands off the Weebles that were on display in front of me, almost taunting me.

So, I spun them. Repeatedly. And I pushed them, knowing they wouldn't tip over. And I studied them, discovering two screws countersunk in the back of the wee Weeble. And I started to wonder how the heck they were made. I was tempted to ask for a screwdriver, but decided instead of ruining a young child's toy when I invariably wouldn't be able to reassemble it, I would go in search of my own Weebles to dissect.

I stopped at Target, knowing the toy section was paltry at best, but hopeful. Target disappointed, so I moved next door to Meijer, and had similar bad luck. I hate to admit, especially to all of my liberal friends who will be mortified at this, but I was desperate! I popped into WalMart in an effort to end the Weeble madness, and was relieved to discover they did not carry Weebles, either, and I managed to escape the megastore without a purchase.

Now, just to get this out of the way, I have taken enough Physics classes and have enough common sense to figure out that the bottom of the Weeble must be heavier than the top. I am not questioning the physics behind the Weeble. I am curious with what the bottom half is weighted. Is it just all hard plastic, injection molded into the shape of the bottom part of an egg? Is it a plastic shell, with some kind of weight inside, though we couldn't really hear anything jiggling or moving inside as we shook the Weebles next to our ears?

I performed the obligatory google search to no avail, as the websites all seemed to point out that the bottom half is heaver than the top (no shit, Sherlock!). So, I now have more questions. Where can I locally get a flippin' Weeble? If I get my hands on one, and tear it apart, will I be able to answer the question? What is my Plan B if I only reveal the bottom half of the Weeble, with no way to access the middle? Why is the Playskool website so awful, providing little to no information about its toys, not even a list of all of the Weebles available to purchase? Why must a Weeble entice me to shop at three different stores, perform several internet searches, write a blog post, and yet still leave me so unsatisfied and empty?

Visions of Sugarplums...

I hate stream of consciousness, which is why I shouldn't do it but I'm somewhere between conscious and exhausted...
Fell asleep before 12:13pm...when I got a text. I heard the chime, but couldn't move...I was melting into the couch. Had been listening to Phish and reading Rob Sheffield. Had Phish on low and could still hear the cars on the expressway. I can't believe I fell asleep. Woke up at 1:09 am to the chime again...it's not an odd time to send or receive a text, but I still can't believe I was sleeping...I'm not so naive to think I would sleep 'til morning. I know I would've been up around 4, and napping by 7 with the nagging thought that there's no physiological reason for me to avoid sleeping more than five or six hours in a row...I always feel like I will miss something(s)...I saw a rainbow today on my way to the mall to grab a bite to eat after the pit cleaning and a well-deserved shower and before stopping at the bookstore...it reminded me of a trip to DC when I saw both sides of a rainbow, and managed to get pictures of both sides from a moving vehicle. I can't remember if they were in black & white or not, but it seems if they weren't, there's a picture floating around of a different rainbow in grayscale...I still can't believe they got rid of indigo...kids these days are screwed...they can't sit Indian-style since it's not PC, so now it's criss-cross (with "applesauce" added to the end if like to rhyme)...and their rainbow acronym changed from Roy G. Biv (who doesn't remember him??) to Roy G. BV...try saying it, and you might make raspberries...I feel bad, too, that they don't have quality Saturday morning cartoons followed by the Three Stooges followed by Abbott & Costello followed by a Saturday afternoon cheesy movie that would invariably have the whole family sucked into watching if the weather was bad and we hadn't been kicked outside to go play...ah, the good ol' days.

Twinkle, Twinkle...

'Tis the season for lightning bugs to mate! I drove to Novi Wednesday night, and the vast expanse between Okemos and Brighton was filled with little greenish-yellow flashes of lightning bugs trying to get their groove on. Apparently, the male lightning bug's abdomen or posterior flashes when he's looking for a mate. And the female responds with a little twinkle of her own. They flash back and forth, and if both consent, it's a done deal So, this made me think: Wouldn't it be great if this worked the same way with humans? How fantastic would it be to see a man's abdomen or posterior emit a phosphorescent-like glow when looking for a woman, and a woman responding in kind with a little flash of her own? It might take too much of the guess-work out of the mating ritual, but the laser-light show would be spectacular!

Currently listening to Sugar's "If I Can't Change Your Mind"

Burchfield Park...or Why I Will Never Have a Pictionary Partner

It started out innocently enough. Sheryl and I were sending rapid-fire texts to each other about brunch on Sunday, when I finally gave up the fight and called her. I told her I was planning on going to Burchfield Park to check out the hiking trails, and asked if she wanted to go. Sheryl's always up for any adventure, so she was in. After a fantastic breakfast at the Fleetwood (biscuits with sausage gravy!), Sheryl and I stopped at Target for mosquito repellent (note the foreshadowing here) and headed to the park.

We pulled in, paid the entrance fee, and asked the attendant for a trail map. She handed us one, and when I asked where a good place was to start, like a trail head, she stared blankly at us, and told us she had never been on the trails and therefore didn't know. Sheryl started driving toward the picnic shelters and parking lots. We parked, changed our shoes, and watched many people vacate the beach when the thunder clapped and rain clouds moved in overhead. Oh, and we vigorously applied the aforementioned mosquito repellent.

After studying what must be one of the worst trail maps I've seen in a while, we just started trudging toward the woods, hoping we would find a sign or something. We eventually did, deciphered it the best we could, and started on our journey. The rain was actually a welcome diversion. With the protection from the trees, we felt a few drops, but enjoyed that it seemed to cool off just a little bit. We walked for quite a while, stopping periodically to check out the trail signs, and caught up on life along the way.

We came to a part where the trail narrowed, forcing us to walk single-file. I heard Sheryl utter a mortified laugh (if you've heard it, you know what I mean!) and say, "You should SEE the back of your shirt! Stop for a minute." I did, and she cleared what must've been a billion mosquitoes off of me, while we both started slapping our arms to kill the little blood-suckers. The path widened, then narrowed again, and I was walking behind Sheryl and saw what she was talking about. The back of her shirt was horrifying. We kept up our conversation, muttering expletives and hitting ourselves (and each other) every minute or two as we completed our four-mile walk, with most of it in the midst of a swarm of mosquitoes.

I counted the bites on my left arm this morning - from mid-forearm to shoulder, there were 30. I couldn't bear to count the bites on my other arm, or anywhere else for that matter. Suffice it to say, they've been itching all day. I don't know what they are doing at Burchfield Park, but I think they should look into why the mosquitoes there have mutated to the point of being immune to repellent. Of course, I assume it's an issue with the mosquitoes, not the repellent. Perhaps a flaw, but I content that those mosquitoes were unlike any I've ever seen.

I decided to rock out the Crayola markers and a Sharpie (that's for you, Sean) to commemorate the trip with a bit of artwork, and as you see, I will never have a partner for Pictionary again due to my horrible skills.

Movie Afterglow

There's almost nothing better than movie afterglow - the period of time when my cheeks and stomach still hurt a bit from laughing, during which I still get a case of the giggles thinking about a scene. Right now, it's a tie between elephant sex and the Kellestrator of a five-hole. A little while ago, it was the Jessica Baliwood scene, and before that, the JT manhood unveiling complete with a "Thunk!" I definitely recommend seeing The Love Guru. I was concerned it might disappoint, but as I was driving home, I could only think that Mike Myers is served well by waiting a few years between movies.

I'm looking forward to some Mariska Hargitay action at the golf outing tomorrow, as I'm sure Angela and Sheryl are, too.

Next up on my Netflix queue: Sean and August's recommendations - The Onion Movie and Little Monsters. This of course means that I have a bit of movie-watching to do this weekend.

**I started experimenting with fonts for no particular reason, and had the worst urge to change this to webdings. But I adore my 5 regular readers too much to do that!

Cryin' at the Y

It was a rough day. No real need to elaborate, or better yet, no real energy to elaborate.

Despite my desire to curl up on my couch with my favorite blanket and stare blankly at the television for several hours, I stuck with my normal schedule and headed to the Y for my 8pm water aerobics class. Funny, when I used to lifeguard in high school, we secretly referred to it as the sea cows class. Talk about coming around full circle! It's amazing how crass I could be at that age. I actually enjoy the class, though I would feel better if it was more challenging. But the upside is I get to see some of my dear friends there every Monday and Wednesday. Today's conversation with Jaimie was filled with updates and venting, and when we walked out to our cars, we kept chatting and trying to cope with our respective problems. And we ended up getting very teary-eyed, as sometimes the thought of being so vulnerable and sharing some of our biggest fears and frustrations while trying to keep them in perspective (the world's not going to end, right?) is overwhelming. And we're both criers anyway. But it was another reminder how fortunate I am for the friends I have.

Parte Dos: Should "It" Really Be That Difficult??

My other rant is regarding the United States Postal Service, and particularly the Downtown Lansing branch. We received an application for a PO Box in our PO Box that we use for work. It seemed a bit odd. In reading the letter attached, since Sept. 11 (wasn't that almost 7 years ago??), there has been a need for increased security, and hence additional information from PO Box renters. We needed to complete an updated application, and have each person listed on the PO Box application as one who is allowed to pick up mail come to the post office simultaneously with two forms of ID (excluding birth certificate and social security card - WTF??) to submit said application.
After several phone calls, and being referred to usps.com, which did not provide adequate information to answer my questions, I finally spoke with someone and explained the situation, and referenced the letter. She told me that since the PO Box is used for a business, and since I am already listed on the box, I could complete the application, listing authorized box users (get your minds out of the gutter!), submit my forms of identification, and be on my merry way. She asked if I had the form, and I told her that given the new information, one of my employees completed it incorrectly. She referred me back to the usps.com website, where I quickly found and printed a new form.
I proceeded to the branch, where at lunch time (commonly a busy time at a post office), there were exactly two people working at a total of five stations. I finally made my way to the front of the line, and with a completed application, driver's license and voter registration card in hand, smiled at the customer service agent, explained my situation, and handed her the goods. She looked at me and said, "You didn't fill out the card?!" Card? What card? I was directed to a form. Online. On your website. I printed it. I completed it. I am attempting to submit it. What's up with the card? Apparently, the "form" is printed on a card stock, and sized differently, so the card, not some illegal duplication, must be completed.
Seriously?? Seriously. I stepped aside, completed the form, jumped back to the front of the line (because cuts are legal in that instance in the post office, shockingly enough), and completed my transaction.
I haven't written an email to the USPS because I can't begin to want to deal with that bureaucratic nightmare. However, I decided my potential solution would be for the branches to set up a triage for customers, similar to an emergency room. Oh, and maybe a little retraining for their employees :)

Part One: Should "It" Really Be That Difficult?

I try not to rant too terribly often, but two things lately have gotten under my skin just a wee bit.

I went to the Chili Cook-Off on Friday to help my dear friend Amy in her quest for an amateur prize with her delicious sweet mole chili recipe. I ended up slinging chili for a few hours. I had a blast as I scooped chili and chatted with patrons and looked the goof in my "Vote for Amy" t-shirt and chili pepper earrings, complete with lights. After a while, I thought about the fact that I was scooping chili into styrofoam cups, and refilling a festive bowl with plastic spoons for the patrons.

I decided to check the website to see who won which categories, as it was difficult to hear the announcements during the festival. I noticed that they (yes, that ubiquitous "they" who noone knows who exactly "they" really are) estimated 10,000 people in attendance at the event. I thought about how much chili I served, and figured each patron averaged around 5 servings a piece, which I believe is a low-ball estimate. Given those assumptions, roughly 50,000 styrofoam cups and plastic spoons were consumed. There were no recycling boxes set up for the cups or spoons. That is a whole lot of trash to landfill in the name of chili. Especially when the event is run by the Lansing Board of Water and Light. Hmm...that's a utility company. Ohhh...shouldn't a utility company be concerned about the environment?

So, I wrote an email to the organizer of the cook-off. I was civil and polite in pointing out that there are alternatives to styrofoam (would you like paper?? And couldn't you, BWL, incinerate that paper trash as some sort of energy recovery?). And I noted that there are ways to recycle styrofoam. I also gently suggested that instead of plastic spoons, wouldn't patrons be excited if, when they purchased their wrist-band to enter the festival, they received a commemorative spoon that they can take home and reuse? I tried my best to offer solutions, and not just point out problems. Two simple suggestions would make the event much closer to zero-landfill and more environmentally friendly, boosting the BWL's reputation and committment to the environment in the community.

I haven't received a response yet, and I don't necessarily expect one. But I will hold out hope...

The Art of Scrolling

I just started blogging a bit over a month ago. Surpassing my own expectations, I have stuck with it, despite past experiences that would indicate the odds were not in my favor (see myspace...or don't bother, as my page is pathetic). In honor of this achievement, I decided to take some time to learn more about my blog options.

For those who have been visiting, you may notice a few changes. I just discovered how to change my time zone. Yes, I will admit, I had the worst urge to pick a funky time zone, but I stuck with good ol' Eastern simply because I didn't want to have to try to figure out when I actually wrote. So now, it will accurately show that I generally post after work around 6 (not at 3pm Pacific as in the past) or later at night (say, midnight instead of 9 pm). And yes, I am now officially from the United States. Of course, it was difficult to not pick the longest name on the list (South Georgia and the Sandwich Islands if you're counting).

I hope you're as entertained by this as I have been so far.

Currently in my CD player: Buddy Holly's Greatest Hits

Awww, nuggets!

I guess it was a matter of way too many questions over an extended period of time. Picture it...June 12 at BW3 in East Lansing. Trivia night. NTN, to be exact. I made a random comment that I would blog about something that occurred, but alas, I can't remember what it was. Perhaps it will come to me in a dream...

By the way, Happy Friday the 13th!

Civil Rights

I watched a documentary about Emmett Till, a 14-year old black child killed in Mississippi in 1955, and viewed as one of the events that sparked the Civil Rights movement. I have talked to various people over the years about civil rights and equality, and their experiences during the 1950s through the present time. I am often reminded of how lucky I am that I can look at such horrific acts of violence and discrimination, and have absolutely no clue as to how people perpetrating these crimes could be so ignorant. I just don't understand looking at someone and feeling they are worthless, or worse yet, feeling they should die so brutally for something seemingly harmless such as whistling at a woman, and, oh yeah, being black. It's just disgusting.

But the documentary also made me think, have we really come very far? How many more prejudices to we have to attack before people have equal protection under the law? Will same-sex marriages being legalized in California actually be detrimental in the next election, banding the conservative christian right together even stronger, and drawing them out to vote to "protect" families, and keep gays from creating families? And why do people care so much about something that likely will not impact them? In all reality, to how many gays will Jesus Camp attending, mega-church supporting, fear-instilling christian warriors really be exposed?

Along the same lines, what about polygamy? I should really hop off my soapbox and turn the mirror back on myself. Being non-religious and an atheist, albeit moralistic at the same time, should my strong feelings about the importance of monogamy be forced on multiple consenting adults who wish to be married to one another (or should that read "married among each other"?)? I'm not referring to the infamous cults that force underage children into marriage with anybody, let alone someone old enough to be their parent or grandparent, so much as people, who as adults, have fallen in love and chosen to live with more than two adults in a relationship all with each other. And if polygamy were legal, would that lead to the demise of those cults, or make them stronger? Hmmm...

Still Waters...

I've been feeling not quite so chipper tonight. I've been having the great debate in my mind about whether I feel lonely or feel that I'm alone or if there's some other word out there to describe what I am feeling right now. So, in an effort to ease my mind, I went into problem-solving mode. The first mission: what the heck is the difference between lonely and alone, if there is one? Lonely, apparently can simply mean alone, or dejected by awareness of being alone. And alone means being without others. I commonly think of that in the physical sense, yet tonight made me think of it abstractly - alone, as in not relating to others or feeling part of something. Mission result: both options are out the window for the most part. About the only time I am physically alone is late at night, after work and all of the other craziness in my life has ended for the day. And I generally cherish the time, or fill it with never-ending housework (see the blog entry from yesterday about laundry). And I generally don't feel lonely. At least, I don't right now. The weekend was filled with seeing people I love who know me best and accept me unconditionally, and who laugh and have fun and enjoy life. And I feel a definite connection with that, and feel part of that sentiment. And that connection doesn't go away when I'm not with them (definitely a good thing).

The second mission: what the heck am I feeling? I went with my first instinct of maudlin. I had one of those moments of, "does that mean what I really think it does?" followed by, "if not, I've been using that incorrectly for years!" I was reassured that it means what I thought - overly sentimental. Although, one definition claimed the cause was often impacted by alcohol consumption (and no, I'm not drinking alone...). And so I stopped with my first instinct. I'm definitely feeling overly sentimental. It's been a crazy few months - mom's surgery, other family illnesses, a close friend will be moving away, and another is talking about moving away as well. I'm not so naive to think that life doesn't change. I know it does, and I know I will embrace the changes and make the best of them. I think I get so consumed with making sure "everything" gets done, that people are taken care of, and being genuinely happy and excited for all of the new adventures (both mine and others) that I forget to acknowledge all of the other emotions that go along with all of these events - fear, sadness, joy at having amazing memories, excitement about making more fantastic memories. And I become overly sentimental...or maudlin, without the drunkenness. Result of the second mission: success. The third mission is a good night's sleep.

"Would You Rather...?" and Laundry: The Mystery

From zobmondo.com... Would you rather have to kill Winnie the Pooh or Bambi? At first, it seemed clear. Winnie the Pooh, of course. He's bound to die of botulism from all the honey, so why not put him out of his misery sooner? Then I thought about Bambi. Deer are hunted either inadvertently by cars or purposely by intoxicated hunters. Given Bambi's odds, this would also be a mercy killing, right? But I think I'll stick with Winnie the Pooh, as death by botulism seems much worse for an animated creature than being killed by a hunter.

And on to Laundry: The Mystery. I know that in life there are few tasks that are every considered complete. Most are ongoing simply because of their nature. Grocery shopping falls into this category - you either eat the food or let it spoil, but either way, you need to replenish your supply. With laundry, unless you're willing to streak around naked (which I did once for a few hours to prove to myself that all of my washable items could simultaneously be clean), it's never done. It's an endless cycle, unless you're a naturalist all the time. But even so, I don't think naturalists drip-dry after a shower, and I'm guessing they have sheets and blankets on their beds like most other people.

I know I promised all of my posts would be connected. The only connection between these two is that they happened to be rattling around my head at the same time tonight. So I thought I would share.

Operation: New Foot

So my mom had surgery recently...a reconstruction of her ankle joint. I took her to her first post-op visit with the orthopaedic surgeon yesterday. And we saw her x-rays of her newly improved foot and ankle for the first time. If you haven't seen an x-ray of a body part with metal in it, I highly recommend taking advantage of any such opportunity. But if your friends and family aren't as gimpy as mine, or as willing to share their x-rays with you, I've included a few pictures here. Neither are from my mom :)