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 :)