I Want a Cookie

Aw, Yeah

2008-05-05T09:40:00.020-05:00

Boof Bonser served up six runs in the first inning of yesterday’s game, and although I was sorely tempted to find something better to do with my time, My Ho and I stuck it out, and my Darling Beloveds repaid our perseverance with a come-from-behind win that put them a game and a half in first place in the A.L. Central. This may be as fleeting as springtime in Minnesota, so let’s enjoy it while it lasts, shall we?

As if that wasn’t enough baseball joy for one day, last night My Ho, Demigoddess the Younger and I made a trip to the Champps in Eden Prairie to see Michael Cuddyer host a “Twins Unplugged” event featuring Jesse Crain and Nick “Is it warm in here, or is it just me?” Blackburn. I had never attended one of these events before, but when I heard who the guest Twins would be, I decided that Mr. Blackburn is definitely worth a drive to Eden Prairie. And I was so right.

I got an autograph and thanked him for restoring my will to live after the you-know-who trade. He looked straight at me and smiled (SWOON), and said he didn't think he'd be filling those particular shoes any time soon. It took considerable effort not to climb over the table and LICK HIM.

Boof Bonser was also there and appeared to be in good spirits despite the above-mentioned first inning. He confirmed that he is still letting Livan wear the big trousers.

The Adventures of Veganman

2008-04-08T08:58:00.026-05:00

Nick “Slow Burn” Blackburn performed nicely in his second start last night. It wasn't as pretty as his first start, but it was good enough to earn him a third this Saturday. The Twins were ahead 3-2 when he left the game, and it looked like he might just get himself a win, until Pat Neshek suddenly developed a hitch in his hip thrust, managing to smash Joe Crede's bat and give up a grand slam home run with the same pitch.

One wonders if an ill-intentioned bat boy secretly tucked a Chicago dog into our vegan reliever’s locker before the game, knowing that close proximity to animal by-products would sap his mojo, just like kryptonite to Superman.

Fortunately, a Chicago dog's potency is much shorter lived than that of kryptonite. Within a few hours, the smell of funky relish will announce to everyone in the locker room that something is rotten in U.S. Cellular Field. And today's off day will provide Mr. Neshek with the recovery time he needs to return on Wednesday and show the White Sox why it's never a good idea to piss off Veganman.

He's Baaaaaaack...

2008-04-06T09:21:00.011-05:00

We hadn't planned on attending yesterday's game until I realized on Friday night that it wasn't going to be televised, and was lamenting that fact to My Ho. He said, "Why don't we go?" I said, "Why don't we?" So we did.

And when 1 for 17 Justin Morneau came to the plate for his second at bat of the game, with the Royals ahead 2-0 and two men on base, I turned to My Ho and said, "He is SO due. This would be a really, really good time...." And My Ho agreed.

And then Mr. Morneau shelled one right out of the park, and everybody jumped up and down and screamed, and as he rounded the bases, I though I could hear our curly-haired Canuck say, "HA HA you fools! I was only PRETENDING to be in a hitting slump to see if you were paying a-tten-tioooooonnnnnn!"

A Note to Messrs. Everett and Lamb

2008-04-05T11:18:00.014-05:00

Hi guys--

I know I've talked some smack about your ears and unibrow, respectively. And I made that joke about watching games on the radio at your expense. But, I feel I must clarify something.

Because while a more traditionally good-looking guy who plays bad baseball will never, ever, be hot, at the same time a less, erm, aesthetically pleasing player (or two) who pulls off a perfect suicide squeeze is totally in the running for boyfriend status.

Nicely done, fellas.

(Heart),
TwinsGoddess

It's a World Gone Mad

2008-04-04T09:00:00.007-05:00

Clearly, that series against the Angels was only a warmup for the arse-whuppin' we're in for at the hands the FIRST PLACE KANSAS CITY ROYALS.

I think I need to go lie down now.

Is It Warm In Here, Or Is It Just Me?

2008-04-02T20:54:00.016-05:00

Apparently Nick Blackburn pitched a few innings last season, but I guess I was too consumed by another well-documented obsession to notice. Clearly, I was suffering from a nasty, nasty case of Venezuelan myopia.

Because early in tonight's game, I was astonished to find myself feeling strange stirrings in places I thought would never feel strange stirrings ever again.

So tall! So pretty! So deliciously side-burn-y! So completely free of unfortunate facial hair!

Did I mention the pretty?

Never mind that the Twins couldn't manage to win it.

KKKKKK=HotHotHotHotHotHot

Oh, dear.

Opening Day

2008-03-31T23:09:00.016-05:00

It was a fine day for baseball:

Not really.

But the baseball happened anyway, in spite of the weather. In spite of the fact that Torii Hunter was on the field wearing an Angels uniform. And in spite of the fact that the only Santana in the Metrodome was Ervin "The Other" Santana, also in an Angels uniform and most definitely not a certain two-time Cy Young winner who was SO VERY NOT THERE.

Torii got a standing ovation before the game, and he pointed into the stands and fist-bumped his heart. It was close, but I didn't cry.

And when I heard that a certain lefty for whom I once harbored certain unreasonably passionate feelings struck out eight for the Mets earlier today, I winced, but there were no tears.

I had a hot dog, My Ho kept score, I sang along with the Hormel Row of Fame song. And these new Twins--that speedy one, the one with the unfortunate ears, that guy with the unibrow, the one with the brother, and the pitcher with the big trousers? Well, they went ahead and won the game.

Here's hoping they can do it again sometime soon. Maybe even a few times.

That would be good.

More Hot Haiku Action

2008-03-14T10:22:00.004-05:00

The full video is now on the Strib website, including another reading of mine by Joe Mauer.

(JOE MAUER!! **SQUEE!!**)

Boof Said “Big Trousers”!

2008-03-12T08:33:00.006-05:00

Last Friday, a call for spring training-themed haiku went out from Section 220.

My contribution, which I posted as “TwinsGoddess” (my old Batgirl moniker), was this:

Boof is thin, Livan
Is here ‘cuz someone has to
Wear the big trousers.

And here, direct from Fort Myers, is a dramatic reading of my original work, by none other than Boof Bonser himself.

I've only watched that video about seven thousand times.

A package? For ME?

2008-03-11T08:30:00.011-05:00

I received a very special surprise in the mail yesterday, from my exceptionally awesome cousin Tiffany in Seattle:
It's a Joe Mauer Dugout Doll of my very own!

I have yet to find out how he came to be in her possession in Seattle, but apparently the DemiGoddesses have been in on this one and did an excellent job of keeping it on the down-low.

At first, I put him in my bedroom, in between my official Doug Mientkiewicz limited edition Rapala fishing lure and the ball My Ho caught when we were at Safeco. But then he started to freak me out, so I had to move him to the living room.

Dude's got the CRAZY EYES.

Spring Training, Now With More Butts!

2008-03-07T09:54:00.014-06:00

"TWINS 8, ORIOLES 7
at Fort Myers, Fla.
Thursday, March 6

Twins at the plate: Delmon Young drove in two runs with a single to right field in the first inning, part of a 3-for-3 day at the plate for the left fielder…

(Mr. Young. Hot.)

"...Minnesota rallied in the eighth inning on RBI singles by Jon Knott and Matt Macri."

(Messrs. Macri and Knott. Hott.)

In the spring, a Goddess' fancy lightly turns to thoughts of hot guys in baseball pants.

2008-03-06T08:24:00.008-06:00

“TWINS 7, YANKEES 5
at Tampa, Fla.
Wednesday, March 5

…Delmon Young blasted a long solo homer in the second inning off the black batter's eye beyond the 408-foot mark in center field. Garrett Jones slugged a two-run homer in the fifth inning off the party deck in right field, his first of the spring…”

Delmon Young

Garrett Jones

Mee-YOW! That is more like it.

Here's Hoping They're Really, REALLY Good at Baseball

2008-03-03T16:06:00.035-06:00

Mike Lamb

Adam Everett

Jason Pridie

Otherwise I'm going to be catching a LOT of games on the radio this season.

*Sigh.*

Certainly Not Wishing Him Ill in Any Way

2008-02-29T13:24:00.003-06:00

But I have to admit, this helps a little:

How Bad it Got

2008-02-28T15:31:00.019-06:00

The Day After

From: Concerned Co-Worker
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 9:41 AM
To: EverydaySuperGoddess

are u ok?

From: EverydaySuperGoddess
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 9:45 AM
To: Concerned Co-Worker

Pretty far from it, actually.

From: Concerned Co-Worker
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 9:46 AM
To: EverydaySuperGoddess

We got robbed - I don't know what they were thinking.

From: EverydaySuperGoddess
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 9:52 AM
To: Concerned Co-Worker

It doesn't matter any more. I've decided to become a Cleveland Indians fan.

From: Concerned Co-Worker
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 9:55 AM
To: EverydaySuperGoddess

That is crazy talk. You are not abandoning your team!!!

From: EverydaySuperGoddess
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 9:59 AM
To: Concerned Co-Worker

I can't take the Twins' brand of baseball any more. I need a team that's willing to pay to keep its talent, not pass it on for not even a handful of f*cking PROSPECTS.

Besides which, Grady Sizemore is HOTT.

From: Concerned Co-Worker
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 10:00 AM
To: EverydaySuperGoddess

You are changing teams for a piece of as$. I am so disappointed in you.

From: EverydaySuperGoddess
Sent: Wednesday, January 30, 2008 10:06 AM
To: Concerned Co-Worker

It's always been about the butts. I've never pretended differently.

The Day After The Day After

From: Sister Meghan
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008, 8:01 AM
To: EverydaySuperGoddess
Subject: HYA

How are you today? Feeling better?

From: EverydaySuperGoddess
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 8:08 AM
To: Sister Meghan
Subject: RE: HYA

I think I'm having an existential crisis. Asking the hard questions.

I'm also thinking of taking up ceramics. That seems like a nice, non-painful hobby, and at least I'd have something to SHOW for it.

From: Sister Meghan
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 10:18 AM
To: EverydaySuperGoddess
Subject: RE: HYA

What hard questions are you asking?

From: EverydaySuperGoddess
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 10:29 AM
To: Sister Meghan
Subject: RE: HYA

Oh, you know, questions like:

Why would I continue to be a Twins fan when every time I grow to really love a player, they disappear to the free agent market or get traded for a microphone?

Should I quit baseball all together? Could I if I even wanted to?

Or, should I just quit the Twins and find myself another team? Because, clearly, I am constitutionally incapable of NOT becoming overly emotionally invested, to the point where my mental stability is in peril.

And, if I do abandon baseball, or even just the Twins, then what exactly does that leave me with? Who would I be then?

Those kinds of hard questions.

And, of course, the hardest one of all—how interested am I, really, in living in a world without Johan?

From: Sister Meghan
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 10:32 AM
To: EverydaySuperGoddess
Subject: RE: HYA

Well, you could become a Mets fan. At least he didn't go to the Yankees....

From: EverydaySuperGoddess
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2008 10:41 AM
To: Sister Meghan
Subject: RE: HYA

Yes, thank God for that. It is a small consolation that he's gone to the National League, which means I'll hardly ever have to SEE him pitch in another team's uniform. I don't know if my heart could take it.

Or, make that, I don't know if the cold, dead space that used to be my heart could take it.

A Few Days After That

From: EverydaySuperGoddess
Sent: Monday, February 4, 2008, 10:50 AM
To: Batgirl
Subject: Johan

None of my co-workers were at all surprised that I took a sick day on Wednesday.

On Thursday I took down all the photos that I had up at work.

The next, and most painful, step will be to take down all the stuff at home and put away my jersey.

And I am straight-up mad at everybody.

From: Batgirl
Sent: Monday, February 04, 2008 1:41 PM
To: EverydaySuperGoddess
Subject: Johan

i know, i know. i've chosen to pretend it hasn't happened.

From: EverydaySuperGoddess
Sent: Monday, February 04, 2008 1:49 PM
To: Batgirl
Subject: Johan

Yes. That's probably best.

Except that, well, the change will become painfully apparent on opening day, when a certain butt is noticeably not doing a certain waggle on the pitcher's mound.

(*Insert pained, weepy sigh here.*)

But then again, I probably won't be able to see anything through the tears, anyway.

I serously cried for five hours on Tuesday night. I came home from work, grunted in the general direction of the children, and then went directly to bed with a box of tissues and a pizza. The girls didn't even know it had happened until My Ho called and told them.

DemiGoddess the Elder made me snickerdoodles.

Still Nursing the Gaping Black Hole Where My Heart Used To Be*

2008-02-27T10:11:00.015-06:00

I cannot go to the ocean
I cannot drive the streets at night
I cannot wake up in the morning
Without you on my mind
So you're gone and I'm haunted
And I bet you are just fine
Did I make it that
Easy to walk right in and out
Of my life?

Goodbye, my almost lover
Goodbye, my hopeless dream
I'm trying not to think about you
Can't you just let me be?

So long, my luckless romance
My back is turned on you
Should have known you'd bring me heartache
Almost lovers always do

*But I am out of bed now, so that's something.

OhPleaseOhPleaseOhPleaseOhPleaseOhPlease

2007-12-05T12:40:00.000-06:00

12:15 p.m., from Peter Gammons
• Don't expect to see a Twins-Red Sox or Twins-Yankees whopper. The sense is now that Minnesota will hold onto Johan Santana.

I've been obsessively checking and re-checking every rumor blog and news wire since early Monday morning. Never in my life have I paid any attention whatsovever to these kinds of offseason wranglings, but this is Mi Corazón we're talking about now.

Every time I start to think that maybe, maybe this could happen and I'll still, someday, be close to okay, then I think of next year's American Leaguge Championship series, and the possibility of the Twins maybe going into Game 1 to face Johan Santana starting for the Red Sox, and then I just want to die.

This is What Happens When an English Major Does Math

2007-11-29T09:48:00.000-06:00

Fitting three and a half dozen helium-filled balloons into my Honda Civic should be no problem, right?

Ugh.

2007-11-28T08:12:00.000-06:00

So, Torii is an Angel. We all knew it was coming, I've been braced for it for two years, and given that the last couple of weeks have been jam-packed with school musical performances, the Thanksgiving holiday, Mother Bear Project appearances and preparing for DemiGoddess the Elder's Super Sweet Sixteen Birthday Blowout Bonanza (I've hired Hannah Montana to entertain, Ben & Jerry will be staffing the ice cream bar, and each guest will receive their own Hummer in a pink satin party bag), I haven't had a lot of time to get overly upset about it.

But now the speculation vacuum that Mr. Hunter left behind is filling in with rumors concerning Mi Corazón. I warned my boss yesterday that I've already started saving up sick time, because if Johan goes anywhere, it will be a few days before I'll be able to get out of bed.

He actually thought I was joking.

A Memorable Birthday

2007-11-12T10:03:00.000-06:00

I got a Wii and Guitar Hero III and food poisoning.

A Costume for a Goddess: The Reveal

2007-10-31T21:22:00.000-05:00

Here it is:
Have I mentioned that the Marketing Deity is a Yankees fan?

The false eyelash adhesive is not for eyelashes, I used it to glue several more plastic flies to my face and neck this morning, just like Joba in game 2:
But, unlike Mr. Chamberlain, I'm carrying my own bug spray.

Happy Halloween, everybody!

I'm Not Going To Discuss It

2007-10-30T09:11:00.000-05:00

"If Hunter leaves in free agency, the Twins would receive no compensation for losing one of their biggest stars and a locker room pillar who takes some of the attention away from young players like Joe Mauer and Justin Morneau.

Keeping him, however, will no doubt cost a pretty penny. And with Johan Santana set to become a free agent after next season and Morneau sure to get another big raise in arbitration, the small-market Twins have to decide who they can keep and who they have to let go."

...until whatever happens, officially happens.

To quote Batgirl, the offseason sucks.

A Costume for a Goddess V

2007-10-29T21:31:00.000-05:00

Hint #5:

One Last Postseason Thought

2007-10-25T23:01:00.000-05:00

Stupid Red Stupid Sox.

I am very, very angry at the Boston Red Sox for denying me seven more games of Grady Sizemore. Just when I was warming up to the idea of having a Cleveland boyfriend, just when I had decided that no, not the eyes, definitely that mouth is Mr. Sizemore’s most beguiling feature, just when I was beginning to feel better about how they had kicked the Twins' collective arses around all season, since they were clearly headed all the way to the World Series...

Well, you know how this ends.

It was a nice diversion. I forgot worrying about Torii Hunter going to Texas or Chicago or wherever, or Johan maybe someday becoming a You-Know-What-Kee, or what, exactly, life with the Twins’ new GM is going to be like. For a couple of weeks, I stopped asking how, how, HOW a team with an American League MVP and a Cy Young Award and an AL Batting Champion could finish the season under .500.

But I cannot root for the Red Sox and I do not care about the Colorado Rockies, so it seems that baseball is done for me until next March. Let us never speak of the 2007 season again.

And because I am a one-team goddess, I return now to being a straight-up Twins fan, wishing only strife and futility and pestilence upon the very team on whose behalf, as My Ho will confirm, just a few nights ago I was anxiously pacing my living room carpet.

That includes Mr. Sizemore, even though he is so PRETTY.
"Oh! You gods, why do you make us love your goodly gifts, and snatch them straight away?"

A Costume for a Goddess IV

2007-10-24T21:30:00.000-05:00

Hint #4:

A Costume for a Goddess III

2007-10-18T21:14:00.000-05:00

Hint #3:

Yet Another Random Postseason Thought

2007-10-18T20:10:00.001-05:00

Separated at birth??

Another Random Postseason Thought

2007-10-18T19:46:00.000-05:00

Grady Sizemore??

Grady HOTTmore.

A Costume for a Goddess II

2007-10-17T14:31:00.000-05:00

Hint #2:

A Random Postseason Thought

2007-10-16T12:26:00.000-05:00

Trot Nixon is very possibly the best baseball name ever.

A Costume for a Goddess

2007-10-15T13:24:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, the Marketing Deity decreed that this year, all his subordinates are required to wear a Halloween costume to work on October 31.

I don’t normally dress up for the holiday, but the Marketing Deity is boss to my boss’ boss, which means I fall into the “his subordinates” category.

So, from now until Halloween, because it amuses me so, I will post photos of certain elements of the ensemble I have created for the occasion.

Hint #1:

Making Room for Jesus

2007-10-09T11:17:00.001-05:00

The homecoming dance was Saturday night, and the DemiGoddesses both looked appropriately sparkly and fabulous, in spite of the fact that I cruelly forced them to do housework on Saturday afternoon. This caused major dismay on the part of Demi the Younger, who voiced concern that she might "smell like bleach" at the dance. As the bathroom-cleaning she was engaged in at the time was five hours before her scheduled departure, I assured her that she would have plenty of time to take a shower and de-bleach her loveliness.

Another crisis was narrowly averted when I realized that I had absolutely no idea what to do with Demi the Elder’s hair. It’s curly, you see, which my own most definitely is not, and so the wash/volumize/blowdry routine that works so well on my head was not translating well on hers at all, and my ineptitude with a diffuser attachment soon became painfully apparent. Fortunately, my sister Molly, who is gorgeous and who has almost the exact same hair as Ms. Elder, arrived in time to save the day. A little conditioner, a little scrunch-scrunch-scrunch, and sister Betsy was ready to add the finishing touches with the curling iron. Voila!

Demi the Elder’s date was the Adorably Geeky Boyfriend (the AGB, for short), who apparently has not been to a lot of dances with girls, because when presented with the yellow rose boutonniere Ms. Elder brought for him, he tried to pin it on HER. There was no sign of a corsage. (Does this boy not have a mother?)

Grandma and grandpa, the aunts and I all fussed and admired and took pictures, and as Ms. Elder was on her way out the door, Demi the Younger reminded her sister to “make good choices” and “make room for Jesus.” This is Demi-speak for keeping enough space between oneself and one’s date to allow for the holy spirit to interpose and preserve the purity of all involved.

I have no doubt that Demi the Elder would have behaved herself at the dance anyway, but it was reassuring to know I’d have a mole in attendance who would be more than willing to report back on any Jesus-squeezing that might have been going on.

Exceptionally Awesome Boyfriendage

2007-10-05T12:09:00.000-05:00

Not only did he show up at my house last night with a graphing calculator (only a couple of hours after being on the listening end of a highly unattractive telephone pity party inspired by DemiGoddess the Elder’s announcement that she needed a graphing calculator for math class, which happened to occur on the same day I learned my insurance company would not be bestowing me with quite as large a home repair settlement as I had been led to believe, which took place on the very same day I had just spent a not inconsiderable sum of money on contact lenses for Demi the Younger), because he just happened to have one lying around his desk at work.

Not only did he tolerate with good humor the exclamations that Demi the Younger and I made during the Cubs game regarding a certain Mr. Theodore Roosevelt Lilly (“Oooh! Look at all the CUTE!”).

But also, he remembered that today is our three-year anniversary.

Thank you, My Ho, for sharing my passion for Indian food, reality TV, independent films and Icees; for allowing me to find out for myself that Kent Hrbek is maybe a just little too big for his already sizeable britches; for being my source of understanding and wisdom during the 2007 baseball season; for making all my co-workers jealous by sending me three dozen roses at work; and for not doing anything embarrassing when we were on the Kiss Cam.

Here's hoping we can celebrate number four at an ALDS game.

Pick a Plague, Any Plague

2007-10-02T13:23:00.000-05:00

My Fix-it-Up Feller is putting new flooring in my sunroom today. This linoleum represents much more than just an easy-care, scratch-resistant, simulated stone tile finish with a 15-year warranty. It is the final stage of recovery from my leaky skylights problem, which I started dealing with two days less than two years ago. I know this because I blogged about it (See? Blogs are good for something!), and also because my insurance agent has reminded me multiple times that Thursday is the last day that he can pay out on my claim. With a little luck, I’ll just make it.

Here’s a play-by-play of what has happened in the months since that storm back in October 2005:

A “Preferred Service Provider” contractor guy, recommended by my insurance company, came to my house and pulled down the ruined drywall, only to find that the leaky skylights had caused quite a bit of damage. The wall and part of the ceiling and part of the subfloor would all have to be replaced, and maybe the roof, too, which the insurance company might or might not pay for. An adjustor would have to get up there to inspect the roof to be sure, but by that time, there was snow up there, and the adjustor wouldn’t be poking around on any roofs until spring. So I stapled plastic sheeting over the rotten studs and exposed insulation and waited.

In the spring, an adjustor climbed up on the roof and said that the insurance company would pay for most (but not all) of a new roof. A few weeks later I hired a roofer guy, and soon had a fresh layer of shingles, a skylight-free sunroom, and noticeably less anxiety every time it rained.

Because the sunroom is adjacent to the kitchen, I decided that when the new sunroom flooring went in, I might as well replace the flooring in the kitchen as well, so it would all match. But the kitchen was in serious need of some love, which I figured should probably happen before the new flooring. Thus, last spring’s kitchen-painting project.

Another insurance adjustor paid me a visit, inside the house this time, and said that the insurance company would not be paying for the necessary repairs to the walls and ceiling and floor, since that damage had been caused by the ongoing skylight leak and not the October storm. They would, however, pay for new drywall and new vinyl flooring. Which could not go in until the damaged walls and subfloor were replaced, at my expense. By then it was fall again.

More plastic and a long winter of angst later, in the spring I found my Fix-it-Up Feller. He repaired the walls and ceiling, replaced the drywall and installed two new sliding-glass deck doors. He also removed the giant wasp nest that had been hiding under the rotten portion of the subfloor, and magically eliminated my ant problem (Huzzah!). All this, he did for considerably less than the “Preferred Service Providers” quoted me two years ago. (“Preferred” my arse.)

Over this past summer, I painted the new walls and ceiling (because I just can’t get enough painting), installed new ceiling fan lights in the sunroom and in the kitchen (again with the matching), and then spent the last couple of weekends ripping up what was left of the vinyl flooring and the damaged underlayment from the old sunroom floor. It turns out the Goddess is a real badass with a pry bar and a hammer. Consider yourself warned.

Which, finally, brings us to today’s flooring installation. Everything that used to be in the sunroom is now in the garage or the dining room or the living room. It’s all a major mess at the moment, the worst part being that I had to dis-assemble the computer, cable modem and router, so the Goddesses are 100% offline at home today. (I hope it’s just for today.)

When this process began, my insurance company informed me that I am only allowed to file a claim once every two years. At the time that seemed very scary. But now, suddenly, I’m in the home stretch, two days away from that two-year mark.

Bring on the hail, fire, frogs and locusts.

The Party’s Over

2007-10-01T10:00:00.000-05:00

Well, so much for that, then. Nice that my Darling Beloveds could go out with a win (at Fenway no less) but they end the season under .500, and that makes me very, very sad.

Nobody seems to be able to explain exactly what happened. The bats died, Liriano was out recovering from Tommy John surgery, and the “Piranhas” were laugably un-piranha-like. There was the hand-licking greasiness of Sidney Ponson and the futility of Ramon Ortiz. Catchers dropped right and left, the bullpen faltered, and Mi Corazón was used and abused by Cleveland again and again and again. That hurt.

Justin Morneau broke his nose and bruised a lung, Joe Mauer had a hernia, and Michael Cuddyer tried to kill himself with his own batting helmet. Mike Redmond took Jim Thome’s bat upside his head and lived to tell the tale… until a smashed-up hand finally took him out in September. I waited and hoped, hoped and waited, for a 2006-style turnaround that never materialized, and toward the end of the season, about the only thing worth talking about any more was whether or not Torii Hunter will be back. And as I’ve said, I don’t have a whole lot of patience for speculation. Terry Ryan’s announcement a couple of weeks ago was like the crappy cherry on top of a seriously crappy cake.

Which is too bad, because this year My Ho had season tickets, and we had a lot of fun getting to know the ladies in the seats next to his in the front row of section 220. We were in those very seats when My Ho and I were pictured on the Kiss Cam.

I brought DemiGoddess the Elder and a couple of her friends, including Ms. H., who has been passionately in love with Joe Mauer for a large percentage of her young life, to the game during which he was awarded his American League batting title:

And I watched Demi the Younger’s friend A. wrestle a foul ball from some twentysomething asshat who tried to take it from her (I was halfway out of my seat to intervene when the formidable Ms. A. prevailed).

I spent a glorious Fourth of July sitting in the sunshine, gazing out over the lake and listening to my Darling Beloveds win at Yankee Stadium, thanks to the miracle that is My Ho’s XM satellite radio. Even though we had to listen to the Yankees announcers call the game, their repeated mispronouncing of “Kubel” and “Guerrier” soon turned into an awesome drinking game.

There was Bat Baby’s complete game, as well as a visit from Dr. Dave, during which we caught a Royals game, just like old times. And then there was the 20th reunion party for the 1987 World Series team, where, thanks to MyHo (who knows people), I very much enjoyed some face time with Tom Brunansky, Frank Viola, Greg Gagne, Jeff Reardon, and other members of that celebrated Minnesota Twins team.

It wasn’t all bad on the field, either. Jason Tyner finally got his major league home run:

Torii Hunter, Justin Morneau and Johan were All-Stars, and Scott Baker very nearly pitched a perfect game:

And Mi Corazón’s 17-strikeout game will continue warming my heart well into this coming winter.

At least until Twins Fest, anyway.

Go See This Movie

2007-09-28T11:26:00.001-05:00

Every Oscar season there is one movie I get really wound up about. Last year it was “Little Miss Sunshine,” the year before it was “Brokeback Mountain, ” and about 20 minutes into “Once,” I knew that this was my movie of the year.

It’s a lovely, lovely little film, and the chemistry between the two lead actors is so intense that I was very surprised to learn that they aren’t actors at all, they’re really musicians. Which explains why the songs in this film, mostly written by the two of them, were in my head all weekend long. After listening to me rave about the movie and the music in my head for days, My Ho, being the kind of guy he is, smuggled a surprise copy of the soundtrack CD onto the driver’s seat of my car. I found it when I left for work on Monday morning.

“Falling Slowly” breaks my heart every single time (you can hear it here). And I’m humming “If You Want Me” while I’m typing this very post. If you don’t see another movie this year, seriously, go see this one.

Hello, Goodbye

2007-09-27T10:18:00.001-05:00

A couple of months ago I had a very vivid dream. It was like one of those you have after somebody dies, when the person you miss so much is there with you, and you know it isn’t really happening, but you’re so happy to see them and to spend time with them that you don’t want to wake up. Except in my dream, the person I was so happy to see was Demigoddess the Elder, age two. She was little enough to fit in my lap, and I held her there, smelling her head and gratefully stroking her hair.

When you first bring that little newborn home, full of anticipation and new-parent fears, no one dares to tell you that someday that little person will walk out the door and down the street toward her first day of high school, with barely a look over her shoulder as you wave from the front step. No one talks about the ache you’ll feel in your chest when, in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, you spy a little girl with hair almost the same, or you hear a certain familiarity in someone else’s child’s laugh at the grocery store.

I always thought that when the Demis grew older, I’d feel a sense of accomplishment. A readiness to let them go out into the world and do what they will with the things I’ve tried to teach them. And I do feel a lot of that. But saying goodbye to those little people hurts a lot more than I expected. I wasn’t prepared for this very real grief.

I don’t wish they had never grown up. I don’t want them to think that I begrudge them their maturity and independence. I’m very proud of the opinionated, creative, busy young people they’ve become. Which is why, when DemiGoddess the Younger complained a few days after the fact that I hadn’t made a bigger fuss about her first day at the senior high school, I said, “Just because people aren’t behaving in ways you expect, that doesn’t mean they aren’t dealing with things in their own way. What you didn’t see is that I spent most of that day trying very hard not to cry.”

Very Much Keeping the Doctor Away

2007-09-26T07:28:00.000-05:00

The return of Honeycrisp apple season has become one of my very favorite things about fall. It’s an especially welcome event this autumn, during which there will be no joy of post-season play for the Twins, and no, I really don’t want to talk about that, thanks.

I bought our first Honeycrisps of the year on Monday night, and while I remembered them being delicious, the reality of these apples is sooooooo much better than I even remembered. They are so delicious that I had to lay down an allocation as soon as I brought them into the house—one per Goddess/DemiGoddess per day—because last year the Demis demolished five pounds of them in two days.

(Eat the cookies! Snack on chips! Walk up to the McDonald’s and buy yourselves a couple of Big Macs! But stay away from the Honeycrisps, you fresh-fruit gluttons!)

They're big apples. One per day is not unreasonable.

The Demis were not happy about the rationing, but clever Demi the Younger has found a way to prolong enjoyment of her daily allotment by cutting her apple in half in the morning. One half goes into her lunch, and the other half she stashes in the refrigerator for after school. She even sprinkles the after-school half with a little lemon juice so it doesn't turn brown before she gets home.

They are exactly THAT good.

But these morsels of September heaven also present a problem. The crisp, the juicy, the crunching and lip-smacking and “mmmmm-mmmmmm-mmmmm…” noises are impossible to stifle here in cubicle-land. So this morning when I arrived at work I apologized in advance to the co-worker in the next cube over. Because Honeycrisp apples are cannot be eaten quietly, and I don't think I can wait until lunch.

Quack, Quackity, Quack

2007-09-25T12:07:00.001-05:00

So there is this boy that DemiGoddess the Elder spent a lot of time with last summer. He's a year ahead of her in school, but they met when they both had parts in The Visit last spring. His only scene was at the very beginning of the play, and hers was waaaay at the end, so the two of them spent a lot of get-to-know-you time backstage in between, apparently.

Once the school year ended, about once a week they’d get together to go bowling, or for bike rides, or over to his house to play Scrabble. She pretended it was all very casual, and assured me repeatedly that he hadn’t tried to make any moves on her. But from where I was standing, the thing was walking and talking an awful lot like the proverbial duck.

Mid-summer my suspicions were confirmed when, via instant message, he asked her if she'd like to "go out." This, I have since learned, is 21st-century teen speak for becoming boyfriend/girlfriend. She replied, also via IM, that she totally did want to "go out" (while also gently reprimanding him for asking a question of such monumental import in an instant message), and we knew it was official when the boy in question changed the status on his Facebook page from "single" to "in a relationship with DemiGoddess the Elder."

I was a little bit nervous about this development, obviously. She and I talked at length about how love can cause even a smart DemiGoddess with demonstrated good judgment to sometimes make choices that are not always in her best interest. (I did not go into explicit detail regarding how, exactly, I know this to be true, of course.)

Then one day he brought over his stop-motion camera and the two of them spent an afternoon creating animated movies featuring Fisher Price Little People. How could I not approve of that? And when Ms. Elder informed me that she wouldn’t be seeing him for the next few days because he was spending a week at meteorology camp, I knew I had nothing to worry about. My daughter’s boyfriend is a great big geek, and I couldn’t be more pleased.

Now that school is back in session, they're both busy with school work and extracurriculars, including the school musical. (He's in the pit orchestra this time, because he plays like nine different instruments. 'Nuff said.) So interactions have mostly been limited to the phone and the IMs. Which, again, is just dandy with me.

Last year Demi the Elder went to a couple of dances with boys, but homecoming next week will be her first one with a “boyfriend.” We found her a sparkly gold Jessica McClintock dress-up dress (at a deep, deep discount at my favorite outlet store), which she is very excited about wearing. And because I am such a smart Goddess, I had already picked up some blingy dress-up shoes and genuine faux jewels at various end-of-summer sales, knowing that we’d likely have use for them in the near future. Luckily, they all work beautifully together. She’s been wearing the shoes around the house all week, practicing her walk in heels, just like the girls on America’s Next Top Model.

Tyra Banks and me, we’ve got her back.

Can’t Quite Bring Myself to Type the “N” Word

2007-09-24T11:36:00.000-05:00

Tiny tots were rocking the Goddess household last Thursday night, as my sister-cousin Kerry left her two children with the DemiGoddesses and me for the evening. It has been a long time since people that small occupied my home for six consecutive hours, not to mention that one of them was of the male persuasion. As we’ve established, I’m still figuring out what exactly one DOES with these “boy” creatures.

Keara is six months old now, and at one of my very favorite baby stages. She smiles and laughs and responds to funny faces with cute little gurgly noises, but is still mostly immobile and easily entertained by anything colorful and/or fuzzy.

Zeke, the BOY, at age 2½ is as delightful a child as there ever was—easygoing, agreeable, chatty and completely charming. I unearthed as many boy-friendly toys as I could find buried underneath the Polly Pockets, Beanie Babies and Barbie accoutrements in the Demis’ old playroom, and he entertained himself happily enough with that odd assortment. But the real score was when My Ho showed up with a big box of wooden Brio trains from The Youngster’s archives. Like magic, Zeke was suddenly all about constructing wooden bridges and having deep philosophical conversations with Thomas the Tank Engine. Boy toys to the rescue!

I must admit that at one point, as I pondered how to schedule the dinner, bottle, two diaper changes and bedtime ritual that would need to take place within the next hour, I wondered how in the hell I used to manage all of this on my own every day. How quickly we forget.

Another thing I forgot—that time after both children are finally tucked into their beds, fed, dry and freshly jammied. Those sweet, sweet few minutes when you finally get to sit down and breathe. Delicious.

As it turned out, my evening of hanging out with Zeke was perfectly timed preparation for the arrival of my sister Meghan’s new baby, who came into the world early on Friday morning, and is totally a BOY.

I know. Go ahead and take a moment to let that sink in.

Thankfully, the loveliness of both Zeke and Batgirl’s baby Dashiell have done much to temper what would otherwise be utter shock and dismay on my part. The baby’s name is Ben, which has morphed into “Big Ben,” since he came into the world weighing 9 lbs., 6 oz., and was 22½ inches long (oof).

Welcome to the family, Big Ben. And thank you in advance for your patience as we figure out this “boy” thing.

(NEPHEW. There. I did it.)

Supernatural

2007-08-20T08:36:00.001-05:00

Siddown, Bitchez.

"Santana set a franchise record with 17 strikeouts in eight innings to lead the Minnesota Twins past the Texas Rangers 1-0 Sunday."

Holy HOTNESS.

Welcome Aboard, Mr. Macri

2007-08-16T08:43:00.000-05:00

The arrival of the Twins' newest infielder has presented me with an unexpected opportunity to recall just how I came to love baseball in the first place.

My Darling Beloveds may have lost their mojo, and the pieces may be refusing to fall into place the way they’re supposed to this season. There may be injuries and ass-bats and shutouts. But as hope for Twins postseason action grows thinner and thinner, I'm suddenly reminded that, really, none of it matters.

Because I will always have cute guys in baseball pants.

Out:

In:

I am SO liking this trade.

Aftermath

2007-08-07T07:39:00.001-05:00

The DemiGoddesses and I tried to walk over to the bridge after the Twins game on Friday night, but were met with police tape for blocks and blocks. The closest we could get was well upriver, below the Guthrie Theater, and all we could see from that vantage point above the locks was the very north end of the wreckage. The top of that slab that sticks straight up was illuminated by the floodlights, a glimpse of twisted green girders that was enough to me cry.

I can't understand why there hasn't been a place designated for us to go, a place where we can see what happened to our city. All of us who live here have had our sense of place violently altered. Even the people who weren't directly impacted need to grieve. The Stone Arch Bridge has opened, at least, but the police tape still blocks off a huge radius around the site.

I didn't know until it was happening that our fine president was scheduled visit Minneapolis on Sunday morning. I wish I were a person who could simply accept without question another person’s attempt at kindness, but W's statements from the site just made me angry. I wanted to march down there and tell him to go back to Washington DC, because we are not interested in his brand of bad-grammar, staged-sympathy bullsh*t here. He said he was speaking "on behalf of the American people," but I'm pretty sure the American people can speak for themselves, thanks.

For example, there was this, a letter that arrived, along with a big box packed full of Moon Pies, pork rinds and other goodies, in the Minneapolis Star Tribune newsroom. It seems to me a much more genuine gesture, a gift from strangers in one part of the country to strangers in another part of the country, who suddenly find they have something in common:

“To Star Tribune Journalists:

A few days after the Virginia Tech shootings, a large box arrived in our newsroom. Inside was a note and lots of stress-relieving junk food like you'll find in this box. The note was from Joe Haight, managing editor of The Oklahoman of Oklahoma City. Joe wrote that similar boxes arrived in his newsroom after the McVeigh bombings. He recalled what that gesture meant to his staff, which had been worn down to a nub covering the catastrophic community event.

We were so moved that we vowed to pass it on when we next sensed a newsroom could use a little pick-me-up. So please consider this a journalistic chain letter of sorts, one that you'll pass on when the next bulletin breaks in a newsroom somewhere in America.

Enjoy the snacks. Sorry we couldn't send beer (company policy, ya know). And most of all, take care of yourselves.

The Roanoke Times Newsroom”

Forgive the Random, I'm Trying to Wrap My Brain Around It

2007-08-02T11:52:00.000-05:00

“I’ve driven across this bridge every few days for thirty years. There are bridges, and there are bridges; this one had the most magnificent view of downtown available, and it’s a miracle I never rear-ended anyone while gawking at the skyline, the old Stone Bridge, the Mississippi. You always felt proud to be here when you crossed that bridge, pleased to live in such a beautiful place. Didn’t matter if it was summer twilight or hard cold winter noon - Minneapolis always seemed to be standing at attention, posing for a formal portrait . We’ll have that view again – but it’ll take a generation before it’s no longer tinged with regret and remembrance.”
--James Lileks

Around 5:45 p.m. last night, I drove DemiGoddess the Elder to a library one suburb over from ours, where she met up with a couple of friends to do some volunteer work. Ms. Elder has been very vocal about the fact that she is boycotting McDonald’s because of their contributions to rainforest deforestation, so last night, while she was otherwise occupied with her friends, I took the opportunity to stop at our neighborhood McDonald’s to pick up some dinner for Demi the Younger and myself. We two still enjoy our junk food.

Sitting in my car outside the drive thru window, I was deep in my head about some incredibly important thing or other, when I looked up and noticed the sunshine on the trees across the street. Really saw the late summer lushness of the leaves, and the gold tinge of the light.

I thought of all the days, of all the dates that disappear from memory while we are so occupied by life that they slip past without notice. I thought of the dates, like September 11, that we never forget because of some awful tragedy that marks them. I said to myself, “Today is Wednesday, August 1.”

That was at about 6:20 p.m. The bridge collapsed at 6:05, although I didn’t know that until I was home and My Ho called to see if I was okay. I didn't understand the reason for the concern in his voice. He told me to turn on the TV.

A number of Twins fans were on and near that bridge last night, headed for the baseball game that started an hour later. During the live news coverage, my breath caught when a hovering news helicopter captured the image of a woman wearing a Kirby Puckett jersey, the number 34 clearly visible on her back, standing near her crumpled car on one of the fallen slabs. In video clips of people helping survivors reach safety, I saw Twins jerseys, T-shirts or hats on both the rescuers and the rescued.

I saw the lot where I parked before the games during the playoffs last October.

The fact that so many of the people who survived the fall, banged up but mostly okay, immediately ran back onto the rubble to help other people, that they went back to help carry those children off that school bus, says so much about the people who live in these Twin Cities. It makes me so proud to have been born and raised here.

I keep thinking of Governor Tim Pawlenty’s oft-repeated no-new-taxes policy.

Somehow, I am not taking a lot of comfort from our president's statement that he is praying for us.

I was on the phone last night with my sister Betsy when a journalist from a Montreal, Canada, CNN affiliate called on her other line. Apparently he had called the French restaurant where she works, hoping to find someone there who could speak French, and the restaurant manager gave the journalist my sister’s phone number. She can, in fact, speak French, but she had just heard the news herself and wasn’t able to provide him with much information.

I talked to many friends and family members on the phone last night, brief conversations mostly consisting of, “Are you okay? Good. Yeah, we’re fine. I know. I can't believe it, either. I’ll call you later.” This morning I had e-mails from people in town, as well as from family members in Boston and even London. Such tiny gestures of concern that speak volumes. Thank you to everybody who has checked in.

I love you, too.

We're Okay

2007-08-01T23:07:00.001-05:00

And, as far as I know, everyone in my inner circle is okay.

I have driven over that bridge hundreds of times over the years--it spanned the Mississippi right between the University of Minnesota and the Metrodome--and all evening I have watched the news coverage, unable to believe what I'm seeing.

My prayers go out to everyone who was involved, including the rescue workers, and all of their families.

Bat Baby Goes Nine

2007-07-22T12:22:00.000-05:00

DJ Bat Baby completed nine full innings in what was just his second career appearance at the Metrodome last night, and the Minnesota Twins rewarded the rookie’s outstanding performance with a 5-2 win over the Angels.

Highlights of the evening included a spectacular three-run inside-the-park homerun by Joe Mauer—the first for the Twins since July 2001—and Bat Baby’s enthusiastic gumming of a plastic Coke Zero bottle for several innings.

“It was great to see him get his first complete game,” Mauer said. “When it looked like he was going to go all nine, we knew we had to do what we could to get him a win."

Bat Baby delivered the best start of his young career so far, giving up only one short nap and consuming 7 oz. of formula. After putting in eight successful innings in his first outing, DJ Bat Baby's record now stands at 2-0.

“DJ continues to show a lot of potential,” said Twins manager Ron Gardenhire. “We see him playing a major role in the future of the team.”

The youngster also received post-game congratulations from Minnesota Twins Hall of Fame veteran Tony Oliva, and a tour of the press box courtesy of official scorer Howard Sinker.

Examine My What?

2007-06-25T09:21:00.000-05:00

I did not see Justin Morneau get his lung bruised on Friday night because sister-cousin Tiffany was in town from Seattle, and that is cause for much hoopla and celebration, as well as lots and lots of sangria.

Tiffany and the rest of the sister-cousins all attended parochial school back in the day, while my parents opted to send my sisters and me to public school. I always considered my 1970s Catholic upbringing to be very “Catholic Lite.” For us, CCD class was heavy on the touchy-feely, peace-and-love. We never once darkened the door of a confessional, and I couldn’t say a rosary to save my life. So we did not know until Friday night that in parochial school health classes, my sister-cousins and their little Catholic-school girlfriends learned some very interesting methods of ~~birth control~~ family planning. I won’t go into the gory details, but the phrase “examine your mucus” became the punchline at more than one point in the evening.

Gross, yes, but still arguably less traumatizing than seeing the American League MVP coughing up blood on TV.

DemiGoddess the Younger spent the weekend up north with my former mother-in-law, while Demi the Elder chose to stay home due to her numerous and pressing social obligations. Well, really, due to just one social obligation, which involved a certain sophomore boy from the cast of “The Visit,” with whom she shared a couple of spectacularly John Hughes-esque moments backstage during rehearsals. So this particular social obligation came in just a smidge higher on her priority list than spending the weekend in Brainerd with grandma. She had little heart bubbles bursting over her head all weekend.

I also took Ms. Elder out to practice driving on Saturday morning. The first time I let her drive my car was over Christmas vacation, and the fact that it took me six months to do it again is absolutely not a reflection on the quality of her driving. It simply took me that long to recover from the cramp in my right wrist, incurred as a result of an extended death grip on the passenger-side door handle during our first lesson.

For our second lesson, I chose the parkway around Lake Harriet, where the traffic is one way and the speed limit is 25 mph. She circled the lake three times, did not hit anything and was only honked at once. And I can still grip a pencil, so I’m calling it a success.

Signs that the School Year is Winding Down

2007-06-08T16:13:00.000-05:00

DemiGoddess the Elder’s Girl Scout troop had a bridging ceremony the other night. She and the other girls in her troop, most of whom she’s been chums with since kindergarten, went from being “Cadettes” to “Seniors,” which is the last stop before adults. Looking at the little Brownies who were bridging to "Junior" Girl Scouts, it seemed like Ms. Elder was that little just a couple of days ago. I didn't bawl, though. I think that's progress.

During the ceremony, Ms. Elder paused mid-bridge, in front of all the parents of all the Scouts who were bridging that night, and did a hammy QEII-style wrist wave before crossing over to accept her new sash. I couldn't have been more proud.

Demi the Younger spent today at the pool with the rest of her eighth-grade class. She left for the bus this morning wearing flip-flops and her swimming suit under her clothes, even though it’s only about 70 degrees out today.

The kids got to eat pizza at the pool for lunch, which is just as well. She tells me that the offerings in the school cafeteria get progressively weirder as the last day of school approaches, as the lunch ladies attempt to use up and sell whatever food is left. Last week’s menu included something called “sub sandwich hot dish.” I don’t even want to know.

Damn West Coast Road Trips

2007-06-05T10:21:00.001-05:00

Last night My Ho and I were on the phone until way past our regular bedtimes because the Twins were playing in Anaheim, and in spite of our better judgement, we just couldn’t look away.

My Ho watched from his bed at his house, I watched from my bed at my house, and as the game progressed, things started to get a little punchy.

Inning Six—10:45 p.m. CST, Twins 1, Angels 6

ESG: “So, I’ve been watching ‘Flavor of Love Girls: Charm School,’ and flipping to the game during the commercials. It’s a very bad sign when ‘Flavor of Love Girls: Charm School’ is less of a train wreck than the baseball game.”

Ho: “Yes.”

Inning Seven—Twins 1, Angels 8

(A shot of Ron Gardenhire in the dugout, looking toward the field and twirling his index fingers around each other.)

ESG: “What was that?”

Ho: “It was a sign.”

“I know that. What did it MEAN??”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe it was the sign for, ‘Can we please get this wrapped up so I can go back to the hotel and drink a lot of vodka?’”

“Could be.”

“Actually, no. I think it was the sign for, ‘Does anyone have a sharp object handy? I need something to jam into my eye.’”

Inning Eight—Twins 1, Angels 8

ESG: “Who’s that guy?”

Ho: “Jason Miller, one of the new relief pitchers. We saw him during the game against Toronto last weekend.”

“Oh, right. But we were at the Dome for that game, so we were too far away to see that he looks like a turkey.”

Inning Eight—Twins 1, Angels 12

(A shot of the lineup card posted on the wall of the Twins’ dugout.)

ESG: “Did you see that? Right under where Boof’s name was crossed out, Gardy just wrote ‘HELP ME.’”

Inning Eight—Twins 1, Angels 14

ESG: “This is cruel. Why is he still in there?”

Ho: “No reason to burn up somebody else’s arm in this game.”

“If he gives up two more runs, he’ll have doubled the score in a single inning. That would be impressive.”

Inning Eight—Twins 1, Angels 16

ESG: “Called it.”

(Gardy summons Pat Neshek from the bullpen, and then, mercifully, visits the mound to dismiss Jason Miller.)

Inning Nine—Twins 1, Angels 16

ESG: “Did you just see him picking his nose on TV?”

Ho: “It was a double pick, even.”

“Who gives up eight runs in an inning and then sits on the bench and picks his nose??”

“I totally agree.”

“Maybe he was looking for his fastball. I don’t think you’re going to find it up there, Jason.”

Final Score—Angels 16, Twins 3

(For the more intelligent end of the conversation, see here.)

Almost, But Not Quite, Entirely Unlike Chipotlé

2007-06-04T08:18:00.000-05:00

Halfway through her burrito last night, DemiGoddess the Younger said, "We're eating Aztec food. I'm doing a report on the Aztecs for school."

"The Aztecs ate rice and black beans and tortillas?" I asked.

"No, they ate dogs and turkeys and humans and tortillas."

"Aah. Sounds tasty."

You Can’t Miss Her

2007-06-01T16:38:00.001-05:00

Last night I lost DemiGoddess the Elder in Super Target. One moment she was right there, then she said, “I’m going to look for some eyeshadow,” and she was gone.

In our usual (regular, average, non-super) Target store, this isn’t a big deal. It’s a smallish store, and we always run across each other eventually as we’re shopping. But Super Target is, as the name implies, super big. All the departments where I usually find her are in different places than they are in our Target, and they are very far apart.

On my third loop through the store, I called her name in the women’s dressing room and even checked the bathrooms with no luck. Demi the Elder is well past the age of easy abduction. It’s hard to snatch and run with a 5'5" high-school freshman without drawing a considerable amount of attention. But even so, I started to freak out.

In desperation, I went to the guest services desk and asked the two women working there if they’d page her. They said they only do pages for children under age 11, but they could send a call out to the store's employees over their walkie-talkies. They asked me what she looks like.

I said, “She has dark, wavy hair. And she’s wearing a bright pink T-shirt that says ‘You Have Died of Dysentery.’ ”

I found Ms. Elder a few minutes later in the shoe department.

Seriously.

2007-05-31T17:07:00.000-05:00

Is there anything better than driving around on a sunny day with the windows rolled down and the music turned up loud enough to annoy all the neighbors?

Make way for the funk-tastic Nano-licious Goddess mobile, Bitch-ez.

Last Christmas My Ho's Youngster made me a mix CD as a gift, which I thanked him for sincerely and then didn't listen to until, like, February. Because I was afraid.

The Youngster is a member of a high-school garage band named "Ocelot Slaughterhouse." I have never seen them perform in person, but one time My Ho played a CD for me, which Ocelot Slaughterhouse had recorded in one band members' parents' basement or something, and while their enthusiasm was admirable, I found the music to be a smidge heavy on the screaming for my taste. I was pretty sure that this mix disk probably contained a lot of the same.

In fact, there is a little of the screamy stuff on it, but a lot of it is really not all that bad. In fact, some of it is really pretty good, and by bands I probably never would have heard of if not for his gift.

I became so obsessed with one song in particular, "Certified," by Diverse, that when my Nano finally arrived, I went straight to iTunes and downloaded the whole album. I'm sure I look very cutting edge, a thirty-something mother of two driving around in an aged white Honda Civic, blasting the hip-hop music through her iPod. You can call me G-mom. The Original Goddess.

It is, as the kids say, tight.

So Dear, and Also, So Thoroughly Disgusting

2007-05-30T10:10:00.000-05:00

Over the weekend I was in my backyard mowing the lawn when I came across an empty hole in the ground, about the diameter of a Coke can. Next to the hole was a little pile of dried grass and grayish tufts of fur, a clear sign that this hole had once been home to a litter of baby rabbits.

Our neighborhood is thick with rabbits, and my dog has caught several in our backyard. One time I opened the back door to let her in the house, and she came trotting merrily up the deck steps with the freshly eviscerated remains of a full-grown rabbit hanging out of her mouth. I could see that she had plans to bring her prize inside to finish snacking on, on the living room carpet no doubt. After some prying, I got her to drop the carcass into a garbage bag, and when I let her in the door, sans carnage, she flashed me a look that I would later see many times on my thirteen-year-old daughter, a look which clearly said, “Why do you have to be so MEAN? Gawd!”

So on Saturday, as I kicked loose dirt into that hole to fill it in, I tried not to think about what probably had happened to the baby rabbits. I hoped really, really hard that I would not have to find out for certain what had happened to those baby rabbits.

Then, last night, it was dark outside and starting to rain, so I opened the door to let the dog in. As I was admiring the little yellow flowers that have sprouted on the tomato plants in the pots just outside on the deck, the corner of my eye caught something dangling from her muzzle. Before I could say, “NononononoNONONOOOOOOOOO,” she had strolled past me and dropped her dangling something onto the kitchen floor. It was a dark, wet, shapeless little pile, which had tiny pink rabbit feet attached. Based on the smell, these remains were decidedly un-fresh.

Another plastic bag later, the offending pile was out of the house, but its aroma was not. Disgusted, I put the dog into her kennel and latched the door shut.

I watch plenty of “The Dog Whisperer.” I understand that my dog is an animal, and she was only doing what she, as a dog, is hard-wired to do. But at the same time, I was so appalled that I could not even look at her.

This morning when I went to let her out again, I thought I still smelled that smell. Maybe it was only the memory of it that I was detecting. Or, more likely, my darling hound probably took a nice, long roll in her stinky pile before picking it up to bring in the house, and I am going to have to give her a serious scrubbing in deodorizing shampoo tonight.

I am choosing not to wonder exactly how many baby rabbits were once in that hole.

I am also choosing not to wonder where exactly my dog might have others stashed away for later.

Mmmmmm... Rabbits...

I Have an iPod!

2007-05-29T09:58:00.000-05:00

I have an iPod!
I have an iPod!
I have an iPod!

I pretended for a really long time that I didn't want one at all, because I didn't WANT to want one. But really I DID. And now I have one of my very own, and it is all silvery and awesome and full of This American Life podcasts and music that is inapproproate for children.

Joy.

Sigh.

2007-05-24T08:34:00.000-05:00

Because Batgirl is my friend, and because I compeletely understand and respect her reasons for ending what has been a beloved gift to Twins fans and baseball lovers everywhere, I am not going to tell her how genuinely heartbroken I am right now.

R.I.P. Batgirl.

You will be sorely, sorely missed.

(Also, see here, and here, and here.)

Maybe With a Squeeze of Fresh Lime

2007-05-23T14:31:00.000-05:00

It’s been a few days since I posted, so I thought that today I’d share the e-mail I wrote this morning in response to my lovely sister’s inquiry as to how I’m doing:

Well, yesterday I took the morning off of work to try and fix a pipe that was leaking water all over my basement. I thought I had fixed it, and it IS better, but it's still dripping. I think I put a part on wrong, which means I have to take it all apart again. Just about every six months, it seems, some random bit of my house starts dripping/leaking/spurting water. It's awesome.

Last night I busted a DemiGoddess (who shall remain nameless) in the middle of chatting online in Facebook. I've told the Demis that they're not allowed to do online chat rooms, and My Space is forbidden. I never mentioned Facebook specifically, but given that it wasn't until my third inquiry that she finally admitted what she was doing, I'm pretty sure she knew I would not be okay with it. The cable modem is in my purse until further notice.

Yesterday after a visit to her friend's house, the other DemiGoddess (who shall also remain nameless) walked in the door and said to me, "This is going in my memoir, and you are NOT going to look good." My offense? Making her walk home from her friend’s house, which is half a mile away (the same distance as the coffee shop that she walks to at least once a week). With gas at $3.40 a gallon, I will not be driving her a half mile to anywhere.

I didn’t bother to mention that the only reason she got to go to her friend's house after school at all was because I was so distracted by the dripping pipe yesterday morning that I forgot to tell her I had changed my mind about letting her go based on the latest grade update on the school website. Specifically, her grade in Chorus, which was a letter that a person would basically have to be sleeping through Chorus class to receive.

After fighting unsuccessfully with our CD-R drive and ending up listening to the playlists on the Demis' iPods in the car on the way to the lake for Mother’s Day weekend, last week I finally broke down and ordered a refurbished 4 GB Nano for myself. I'm simultaneously wracked with guilt over spending money on such a frivolity and obsessively checking the "Order Status" link on the Apple website to see when it’s coming and where it is today (Sacramento).

Other than that I've pretty much been driving the Demis around (to places that are more than half a mile away) and watching crappy-ass baseball on TV.

Except for last night's game, which was magnificent.

I bought a bottle of cherry lambic at Trader Joe's last week and I'm thinking seriously about drinking the entire thing tonight while I watch the "Lost" season finale.

Aren't you glad you asked?

DemiGoddess the Elder is a Poet

2007-05-10T09:46:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, Demi the Elder told me that she’d entered a poem she had written into a poetry contest at school. I knew she was clever and creative in many ways, but until then I did not know she wrote poetry. Intrigued, I asked if I could read her submission.

No, she said. It’s too embarrassing.

Oh, my child, I said. You have no idea about embarrassing. I told her that I had, buried in the basement, reams of my own high school poetry—self-obsessed, pretentious, over-the-top with angst high school poetry. Poetry that is the very definition of embarrassing. And which she might read, if she would let me read hers.

It was a deal.

Her poem is called “Soon They’ll Come Out with a Barbie Girl Mastercard.” It’s a commentary on some of the more rampant consumerists in her peer group, and is scathing, earnest and funny.

Yesterday at school Ms. Elder found out she won first place in that poetry contest at school.

I’m hoping she’ll use the Barnes & Noble gift card she received as a prize to purchase something a little more worthwhile to read than my eleventh-grade creative writing.

22 Games, 2 Home Runs

2007-05-09T08:22:00.000-05:00

Halfway through the eighth inning of last night's Twins/Bitch Sox* game, Chicago was ahead 4-1, thanks in large part to an ugly and totally avoidable throwing error by the starting pitcher, Boof Bonser. I left the TV to change laundry loads in the basement (the washer is fixed now—woohoo!), resigned to the fact that this was going to be another one of those games.

When I came back upstairs, the score was 4-3, and thank goodness the DemiGoddesses had been watching so they could fill me in on all the mad piranha action that I had just missed.

To quote Mr. Gleeman: “…if you're going to extend your [hitting] streak to 22 games like Hunter did last night, doing it by tying the game with an eighth-inning, two-out single is the way to go.”

Hell yeah, it is.

And THEN? Justin Morneau came through with a tenth-inning, three-run, second home run of the game (and a monster of a home run, too), for the win.

Have I mentioned how much I enjoy the celebratory man love?

*See Batgirl.

Ten Thousand Years in a School Auditorium Will Give You Such a Crick in the Neck

2007-05-08T09:54:00.000-05:00

The four-day run of DemiGoddess the Younger’s school musical, “Aladdin Jr.,” took place over the weekend, and as a result I have had the song “Arabian Nights” circling in my head since Friday evening. Not even an excessively loud Flogging Molly session in the car on the way to work this morning had the power to exorcise the thing from my brain.

(“…more often than NOT, it’s hotter than HOT, in a lot of good waaaaaaays…”)

In the days leading up to opening night, Ms. Younger had expressed doubts about how the choreography was coming along, and commented disdainfully that some of the other actors were still not “off book” yet. (Apparently that’s theater speak, and means that they still hadn’t memorized their lines. Aren’t we just thespians?). But in spite of her reservations, it turned out to be a fun show, with colorful costumes and lots of high-energy musical numbers, and all the kids did an impressive job with the singing and the dancing.

Ms. Younger’s performance, including several spoken lines and a couple of short singing solos, was as spectacular as expected. And I was astonished to hear her good friend K., whom I had long been convinced was incapable of speech (she is almost always completely silent whenever she is at our house) belt out her solo parts at an ear-splitting decibel level. Who knew?

And after three hours of “The Visit” on the previous weekend (not to mention the rest of the past years' consistently lengthy productions) I am not too proud to admit that my favorite part about this particular show was that it was one hour long.

I kept checking my watch after it was over, feeling like someone had just sprung ME from a magic lamp.

1+1 = So Out of Luck

2007-05-04T13:02:00.000-05:00

Remember a few months back, when I did some significant upgrading to my home PC? I had finally started using a digital camera, there was the blogging, the Demis were pining for iPods, and they were both increasingly using the computer for Important! Homework! My old desktop computer was just not cutting the mustard, so, with a little help, I installed a new processor and a new motherboard, boosted the memory and upgraded the software. And for a while, it was all very exciting and good.

The irony, of course, is that the upgrades have allowed the DemiGoddesses to become heavy users of things like iTunes, YouTube and instant messaging. And with just the one desktop PC for the three of us, well, let’s just say that the math hasn’t worked out quite the way I had hoped. I've been forced to come up with some very creative chore assignments just to be able to check my e-mail ("This dog needs waxing. And you, go rotate your dresser drawers. Do I have to do everything around here?").

Oh, the bickering.

So, a couple of weeks ago, when my workplace announced a drawing for a bunch of used IBM Thinkpads, I was all over it. With a laptop, thought I, I would finally be able to get some screen time at home. Why, I could even take a laptop to the neighborhood Cairbou Coffee, where I could drink expensive coffee drinks with whipped cream and candy bits piled on top while I blog, just like the cool kids.

So last week I was thrilled to learn that I had won one of those used IBM Thinkpads, and once again enlisted my skilled and generally high-quality friend Daniel to get me set up with a wireless network. Which he did, again, for the price of a sandwich from Jimmy John’s.

And just last night, after some network wrangling and one more trip to MicroCenter for an Ethernet cable (and, since I am incapable of leaving that store with only the item I went in to buy, a wireless mouse that is SO COOL), we went live.

…aaaaand within fifteen minutes, DemiGoddess the Elder was adding photos to her blog on the desktop PC, while DemiGoddess the Younger was researching current events for school on the Thinkpad.

At which point I went out to the backyard to scratch my next blog post in the dirt with a pointed stick.

In Which I Become a...

2007-05-01T20:55:00.000-05:00

The DemiGoddesses have been busy, busy, busy young thespians lately. DemiGoddess the Younger is just finishing up rehearsals for her school musical, “Aladdin,” a junior-high-appropriate show based on the Disney movie. And, over the weekend, DemiGoddess the Elder played a news reporter in her high school’s production of “The Visit,” a play that is weird and dark and a lot like a three-hour episode of “The Twilight Zone.” With eunichs.

My Ho and I saw the show on Friday night, and just like when she performed in “Grease” and “Little Shop of Horrors” and “Anything Goes” and “Love’s Labours Lost,” I was astonished at how articulate and composed Ms. Elder is on stage. I had another one of those sobering moments when I wondered who that pretty dark-haired young woman was, and then realized suddenly that she was my daughter, so close to grown up that it knocked the wind right out of me. Again.

She had a good-sized bit of dialogue, all of it in a single scene toward the end of the play. Because there was no flash photography allowed during the performance, after they'd taken their bows, the kids returned to the stage and worked their way back through the show, re-creating a number of key scenes so that the parents could take pictures. I waited patiently while they set up props and changed costumes and posed for dramatic moment after dramatic moment. As the drama teacher called out scenes from nearer and nearer the beginning of the play, it became clear that she had skipped over Ms. Elder’s big scene. Conflicted, I watched the mass of parents jostling back and forth in front of the stage, cameras flashing as they elbowed each other out of the way, and considered whether the desire to capture my daughter's big moment for posterity outweighed my reluctance to become one of those parents.

The next thing I knew, I was standing behind the drama teacher saying, “Um, excuse me… Hi, I’m Demi the Elder’s mom. Do you think maybe you could have them do that town meeting scene? It’s the only one she had lines in.”

It turned out that the teacher had intended to set up that one, but she’d overlooked it in her notes. She thanked me for reminding her, and then quickly had the kids change back into their act three costumes. I got my superstar her photo, and I only had to hip check two bald guys with video cameras to do it.

Just in Time for Summer

2007-04-20T09:38:00.000-05:00

Fruity cocktails count as health food, study finds

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - A fruity cocktail may not only be fun to drink but may count as health food, U.S. and Thai researchers said on Thursday.
Adding ethanol -- the type of alcohol found in rum, vodka, tequila and other spirits -- boosted the antioxidant nutrients in strawberries and blackberries, the researchers found.
Any colored fruit might be made even more healthful with the addition of a splash of alcohol, they report in the Journal of the Science of Food and Agriculture.
Dr. Korakot Chanjirakul and colleagues at Kasetsart University in Thailand and scientists at the U.S.
Department of Agriculture stumbled upon their finding unexpectedly.
They were exploring ways to help keep strawberries fresh during storage. Treating the berries with alcohol increased in antioxidant capacity and free radical scavenging activity, they found.
Any colored fruit or vegetable is rich in antioxidants, which are chemicals that can cancel out the cell-damaging effects of compounds called free radicals.
Berries, for instance, contain compounds known as polyphenols and anthocyanins. People who eat more of these fruits and vegetables have a documented lower risk of cancer, heart disease and some neurological diseases.
The study did not address whether adding a little cocktail umbrella enhanced the effects.

Drink your strawberry margaritas, everybody!
They're GOOD FOR YOU! WOOHOO!!!!

DemiGoddess Guerilla Art

2007-04-19T11:07:00.000-05:00

A couple of nights ago, I stepped out my front door to take out the trash and found this:

Spring, it seems, has sprung.

A Little Bit Like the Fireplace at the Cabin

2007-04-18T12:22:00.001-05:00

My washing machine crapped out again a couple of weeks ago, which, while annoying, didn’t seem like a big deal at the time because (as I’ve written previously) I was wise enough to purchase the extended warranty when I bought the washer four years ago. So I will not have to pay for this latest $800 repair, just like I didn’t have to pay for the four previous $300 repairs on what has proved to be a highly unreliable home appliance. (I am not strong with the math, but it seems to me they would have been better off buying me a new washer by now, no?)

In fact, however, this latest crapping out has turned out to be a big, giant, smelly pile of a deal, because the repairman can’t fix my washing machine until all the parts arrive from the manufacturer, and to date only two of the four parts he ordered at the time of his first visit—three weeks ago—have arrived.

When the DemiGoddesses were little and we lived in an apartment, schlepping the laundry was a weekly ritual. Our building had only one coin-operated washer and dryer for eight apartments, and those machines were in constant use by other tenants. Not that it really mattered to us, of course, since we were always too broke to pay to use them anyway. For years, every Sunday morning, I hauled both kids and a carload of dirty clothes over to my parents’ house, and then stayed there all day long while I washed and dried load after load after endless bloody load. When we finally bought a house that had a washer and dryer, I swore that I would never complain about doing the laundry again, because my days of hauling baskets of dirty socks and underpants to and from the car were finally OVER.

But about a week and a half ago, strange aromas began to emanate from the DemiGoddesses. I could see that they had stopped wearing socks altogether. I did not ask about underwear. As much as I hated to admit it, I could no longer deny the inevitable. Laundry would have to be schlepped.

So two Thursdays ago I left work early, picked up $30 in quarters at the bank, and took a mountain of clothes to the nearest self-serve laundromat. I had never visited it before and, in fact, had only found the place by looking it up on the internet, even though it turned out to be less than two miles from my house and I have probably driven right past it a thousand times.

I fully expected the laundromat experience to suck rocks. So I was pleasantly surprised to find the place clean (relatively), quiet, and completely empty when I arrived. It smelled reassuringly of fabric softener, and, best of all, there were four triple-sized washers. I washed, dried and folded every article of clothing in the Goddess household in less than two hours.

By yesterday the Demis were running low on clean jeans again, and I was astonished to find myself actually looking forward to another visit to my good friend #40 Mega Washer. I even invited DemiGoddess the Younger to come with me. And, once there, she had to agree with me that it was strangely soothing, watching the suds and the water and her favorite jeans swish, swish, swishing in circles behind the round glass door.

A Question Posed During Last Night’s Merciless Pounding Baseball Game

2007-04-11T09:08:00.000-05:00

Why is it that no one on the Yankees team ever seems to age?

Pettitte and Jeter and even Mariano Rivera have looked exactly the same since 1996.
I think they must drink the blood of small children during the off season.

Successful Living with a Teenage Daughter in Four Easy Steps

2007-04-10T08:35:00.000-05:00

Step 1—No matter what outrageous, baiting, completely detached from reality utterance comes out of her mouth, DO NOT RESPOND. Do not speak. Don’t even open your mouth.

Step 2—Go directly into your bedroom.

Step 3—Shut the door.

Step 4—Stay there until*:

a) She graduates from high school; or

b) She no longer has any memory whatsoever of what she was angry about in the first place (usually about two hours).

*Alcohol consumption is optional.

Celebrity Snark, Goddess Style

2007-04-04T09:12:00.000-05:00

Last weekend DemiGoddess the Younger spent an afternoon at the Mall of America (insert cat-hacking-up-hairball sound clip here) with a group of her friends. The next day she announced that, after much searching, she had finally found a perfume that she wants to purchase. Because it smells soooo good.

“But,” she said, “it’s kind of an embarrassing brand.”

“Was it JLo perfume?” I asked.

“No. More embarrassing.” She said.

“What could be more embarrassing than JLo perfume?”

“Britney Spears perfume.”

“Oh. Oh, no. Are you seriously going to tell your friends at school, when they ask what you’re wearing, that it’s Britney Spears perfume?”

“I’ll just tell them it’s hairspray.”

That’s my girl. When in doubt, lie to save face.

“What does it even smell like?” I asked. “Bald people?”

That earned a snort from DemiGoddess the Elder.

“Well, I thought it would smell like Red Bull and Cheetos, but it doesn’t. It smells really good.”

“I know what it doesn’t smell like,” said Demi the Elder, who, apparently, had been waiting patiently for her intro.

“Underpants.”

(Thank you, you’ve been a great audience. We’ll be here all week.)

A Most Excellent Hope Opener

2007-04-03T16:10:00.000-05:00

Joe Mauer hit a single in his first at bat, which was exciting for a few minutes until it was upstaged by back-to-back homeruns courtesy of Justin Morneau and Torii Hunter. Rondell White made an amazing catch, and the American League MVP made an old time hockey-style hit at home plate that inexplicably did not force the Orioles catcher to drop the ball, but did have him running to the dugout for a Band-Aid. Mi Corazón sat down six, the bullpen struck out several more, and my darling beloveds beat Baltimore by a score of 7-4. An optimistic start to the season, I think.

For the first time, DemiGoddess the Elder did not sit with Demi the Younger, My Ho and me. She attended the game with her friend Hannah. Just before Brad Radke threw out the first pitch, she called me on my cell phone to ask if I could see her “Circle Me Bert” sign (she had cleverly created it on the white underside of a vinyl snow tube she got for Christmas and then popped during an extra-vigorous sledding party over the winter). Yes, I said, we could see it, waaaaaaay up in the nosebleed seats, across the Metrodome from where we were sitting in the lower deck. She said she could see us waving through Hannah’s dad’s binoculars. Then she had to hang up because the game was about to start.

A good time was had by all on our end of the Dome, and she had a lot of fun with her friend, in spite of the altitude. But even though her absence meant more peanuts and Twizzlers for the rest of us, it still seemed like our opening day roster was a player short.

There’s going to be a lot more of that in the future, I’m sure.

Porch Song

2007-04-02T09:27:00.000-05:00

Herb Carneal
1923-2007

"Just give me two pillows
and a bottle of beer,
And the Twins game on radio
next to my ear,
Some hark to the sound
of the loon or the teal...
But I love the voice
Of Herb Carneal."

--from “Porch Song,” by Garrison Keillor

Oh, Doug.

2007-03-30T12:56:00.000-05:00

Go ahead and just stab me right in the heart, why don't you?

Whoopsie

2007-03-29T08:23:00.000-05:00

DemiGoddess the Younger had a very close call yesterday morning. Early in her day at school, she was seated at a table in the junior high cafeteria, where she and the rest of the eighth grade were taking their “honors test”—the exam designed to evaluate whether or not they are qualified participate in the honors program at the high school next year.

Two questions into her test, Ms. Younger began to feel a little bit sweaty, and a little bit burp-y, and a little bit like her stomach, which had been feeling not quite right since halfway through her bus ride to school, was suddenly about to stage a hostile takeover. At the last possible moment, she made a desperate dash for the door, and was just outside the cafeteria when she lost her breakfast on the hallway floor.

After getting the call from the school nurse, I left work and brought Ms. Younger home, where she spent the rest of the day on the couch watching Dr. Phil and sipping peppermint tea. A school counselor called in the afternoon to let her know that she’ll be permitted to make up the test on Friday, but her real fears were put to rest a couple of hours later, when her friends called to find out what had happened to her.

Apparently, none of the other students had seen a thing, and only her friend A., who had been seated very near the door, had heard the splat.

What a relief.

(P.S. She’s fine now.)

Right. It’s Not the Cat’s Fault. But Still.

2007-03-28T08:52:00.001-05:00

My Ho and his Youngster are in Massachusetts doing a college prospecting tour this week. Tonight they’ll be having dinner with Batgirl and Jeb and BatBaby Dashiell, and I am properly put out that it will all be happening without me. While I am here. Feeding his stupid cat. And pouting.

What helps is knowing that opening night is only five short days away. My darling beloveds will take the field at the Metrodome next Monday night, Mi Corazón will be the starting pitcher, and My Ho and I will be there for our third home opener in a row. The cat is not invited.

Although I’ve tuned in here and there, in general I haven’t paid a lot of attention to the spring training goings on. I don’t have the patience for all the speculation, being much more a rubber-meets-the-road kind of Goddess. Just tell me who is going to be on the final roster and then get out there and do the thing already.

But Carlos Silva’s struggles have been all everyone has talked about lately, to the point where even I was thinking maybe it’s time for him to go. That is, until I saw this.

I’m all about anything that keeps Johan happy. And somehow, that video makes everything better.

Please Vote!

2007-03-26T11:03:00.000-05:00

All due respect to Aaron and Seth, my vote is for Batgirl.

And my other vote is for The Shadow Thieves, by Ann Ursu (a.k.a. Batgirl).

Go! Vote!

Post-Party

2007-03-25T16:10:00.000-05:00

My Ho's big birthday blowout happened last night. The evening was remarkably low-stress, thanks mainly to the fact that my kind and generous sister Meghan (to whom I am now indebted big time) let me have the thing at her house. Because her house is bigger and nicer than mine, and also because she has one of those husbands who likes to clean.

(I had thought those were an urban myth until I saw him doing it with my own two eyes.)

The details--the food and the drinks and the party supplies--all came together nicely. The balloons and decorations were in Chicago Cubs red and blue, the cat was black, and the fake ivy (which was everywhere) and the miniature replica of the Wrigley Field scoreboard were green.

The cake caught the immediate attention of my niece, Madge, who dragged a chair to the table from halfway across the room so that she could get up close and gaze adoringly at it. "Oooooooh..." she purred, "That's a cool birthday cake!" And it was--with the red Wrigley Field marquee sign ("Home of Chicago Cubs") reproduced in icing on the top. Again and again, we reminded Miss Madge that she could look, but mustn't touch. She obeyed for the most part, although at one point I did see her carefully pluck a single colored sprinkle off the side. Even so, her restraint was admirable.

My Ho’s friends are interesting and social enough that the people from work mingled comfortably with his old college chums, who got along swimmingly with the members of my own family. Even my brother-in-law’s friend Steve, who crashed the party after seeing all the cars in front of the house and popped in to see what was happening, fit right in. My Ho's Youngster, after a long day of helping my sister Molly's aspiring-filmmaker boyfriend make a music video, made a cheerful, if weary, appearance.

And that, I think, was the best part. Seeing My Ho so happy to be surrounded by all of his favorite people, who were there to celebrate his birthday.

He makes it very easy to do nice things for him.

It Was Organic, At Least

2007-03-23T22:46:00.000-05:00

Earlier this evening, while her mother shopped, I spent a good thirty minutes in the produce aisle with my 2½-year-old niece. Together we did a thorough review of everything from Brussels sprouts to sweet potatoes. We sniffed the ginger roots. We contemplated parsnips, beets and fennel. We did a side-by-side comparison of a tiny button mushroom and a giant portobello mushroom.

Granted, I am thoroughly smitten with this child, but I really can’t imagine anything better than hearing her tiny, gleeful voice screech, “That’s an ARTICHOKE!”

We discussed the fact that while radishes look a lot like cherries, they do not taste like cherries. And when I took a moment to return the little bunch of radishes to its display, I turned back around to find Miss Madge happily munching on a carrot. Totally unpeeled, straight off the display.

“I love vegetables,” she announced.

“That’s good!” I said. “Vegetables are very good for you! They’ll help you grow up healthy and strong.”

“They’ll help me grow up healthy and strong, Jewee.”

I love the way she helps me remember how to really see things again. I had completely forgotten how gorgeous eggplants are.

And yes, her mother paid for the carrot.

Nobody Puts Half Pint in a Corner

2007-03-21T09:26:00.000-05:00

Patrick Swayze as Pa?

Oh the humanity!

Maybe it's just me, but this whole Laura as Ma, the Swayze as Pa thing seems like the realization of a Freudian dream Melissa Gilbert had in 1979...

I’d Have Been Better Off Throwing Darts at the Bracket

2007-03-19T14:21:00.003-05:00

My Ho has run the annual NCAA pool at his place of employment since long before he was My Ho. Every year there is a pool where I work, too, but, never having been much of a fan of basketball in general, and of college hoops in particular, I didn’t pay a lot of attention to March Madness until he and I started dating.

Inspired by his enthusiasm, for the past couple of years I’ve gone ahead and filled out a bracket based on My Ho’s picks, and forwarded them, along with my $5 entry fee, to a guy in our accounting department. I have yet to win any money, but with My Ho’s guidance, I always finished somewhere in the top half. It’s something to do until opening day, anyway.

This year he carefully chose a number of underdogs with potential to upset the favorites, because he has participated in enough NCAA pools to know how these things go. And also, he’s super smart. Or, at least, I thought he was super smart, until every blessed one of his carefully chosen underdogs-with-potential picks went belly-up over the weekend.

When I first glanced through the Excel spreadsheet of current standings that the accounting guy e-mailed out to everybody this morning, I thought for a moment that he had accidentally left me off the chart. Then I scrolled to the right and found my name in the faaaaar column. Currently, I am holding strong at number 95 out of 97.

We’re not out if it yet, though. All of our final four teams remain alive, and we can finish in the money IF the remaining half of March goes for our surviving picks a lot like the last half of the Twins’ season did for my darling beloveds last year.

They did end up winning the division, after all.

Maybe I should just stick to baseball.

Another Happy Birthday

2007-03-14T08:51:00.000-05:00

Two of my favorite guys in the world have birthdays back-to-back. Yesterday was Johan’s, and today is My Ho’s birthday, which makes life infinitely easier, because I’m terrible at remembering dates most of the time.

My Ho is not Venezuelan, he is from Skokie. He grew up a fan of the Chicago Cubs, and as a kid would take the El to Wrigley Field early on summer mornings, to wait in line for the bleacher seats. In particular, he was a fan of the 1969 Cubs team, and I am convinced that this is the reason he turned out to be the man of character that he is. My Ho is a sensitive soul, and exceptionally kind, and I believe this is because he learned from an early age the pain of a broken heart, and how to carry on and continue to love, even in the face of bitter disappointment.

As far as I know, My Ho cannot throw a changeup, but he is the fastest two-finger typist I have ever seen. And, like Johan, he is not one to self-promote. Many of the admirable deeds he has done in the past I found out about by accident, which makes knowing him a little bit like a treasure hunt. I just never know when I’m going to stumble across something amazing.

This is a big birthday for My Ho, one that ends in a zero. The real party will happen in a few days, and it will have a Wrigley Field/1969 Cubs theme, complete with a black cat (big thanks to Dr. Dave for the tip). But I wanted to do something special for today, too, as a little preview.

(Ernie Banks was already taken. Sorry.)

Happy Birthday, My Ho!

“Hey, hey, holy mackerel,
no doubt about it,
the Cubs are on their way!

The Cubs are gonna hit today
they're gonna pitch today
they're gonna field today
come what may,
the Cubs are gonna win today!

Hey, hey holy mackerel
no doubt about it
The Cubs are on their way!

They've got the hustle
they've got the muscle
the Chicago Cubs are on their way!!!”

Feliz Cumpleaños a Mi Corazón

2007-03-13T10:47:00.000-05:00

Love on the Rocks Ain’t no Surprise, Pour Me a Drink and I’ll Tell You About My Parrot

2007-03-12T13:17:00.000-05:00

It was a weekend right out of a Neil Diamond song, I’m afraid.

Friday night I met my friend CombatGirl for coffee for the first time in a couple of months, and she filled me in on her recent breakup with the guy she had been seeing for the past year. I knew she had been on the fence regarding this relationship for a while, but apparently the deal breaker happened a few weeks after Christmas, when the boyfriend asked my friend why her father hadn’t shown up for the family Christmas gathering at her house.

Given that my friend has been estranged from her father for years—which she had told the boyfriend all about—and given that she had, not long before, experienced a difficult emotional episode related to her estrangement from her father—an episode which the boyfriend had witnessed part of—CombatGirl was understandably surprised by his question. She promptly introduced herself as the woman he had been dating for the past year, and then broke up with him.

I’m thinking she made the right call.

The next night I had dinner with Dr. Dave, who was in town for a few days, and who, coincidentally, is also fresh on the heels of a breakup. A woman he had met here in Minneapolis started pursuing him via e-mail shortly after his move to Maryland last summer, and at first the effort of trying to do the long-distance relationship thing had seemed worthwhile. They shared a number of common views on things like religion and politics and buying locally-grown produce, and she even liked baseball.

But, over time, he grew concerned that she was a few years younger than him. And that she seemed a little bit closer to her parents than most adults he knows. And also, that she had a habit of taking in wounded or abandoned animals. Her menagerie of pets included a three-legged kitten and a couple of parrots, and while Dr. Dave doesn’t have a problem with animals specifically, there seemed to be a lot of them, and he began to find it a little bit odd that she treated them more like children than animals.

Then, after a couple of back-and-forth weekends, it seemed like she was maybe a smidge more invested in the relationship than he was. And, he learned, she had a funny way of turning every conversation around until it was all about her. And so, after much deliberating, Dr. Dave decided to break it off.

Still, when we met on Saturday, he was not 100% sure he had done the right thing. Much of our conversation during dinner was about just that, and it continued in the car as I was driving him to the airport after dinner.

Finally, he said, “...and she sleeps with her parents.”

“What?” I said, horrified. “Like, in the same bed?”

“Yes,” he said. “Birds. In the bed.”

I realized then that he had said “parrots,” not “parents,” although I couldn't decide if that was better, or worse.

“Is that weird?” he asked. "That's weird, isn't it?"

I imagined little feathery heads nestled into fluffy pillows, with a comforter snuggled up under beaky chins, and Dr. Dave and his girlfriend tucked in on either side.

“I could have saved you a lot of time if you had told me about this months ago,” I said.

But, apparently, he hadn’t known about the birds in the bed until very recently. And I did not ask him for the details of how, exactly, he had learned of the birds in the bed. Because I have learned from experience that one should not ask questions that one really, REALLY, does not want to know the answer to.

I'm pretty sure he also made the right call.

Snow Day

2007-03-02T11:39:00.000-06:00

So, we got a little snow.

It started yesterday morning, with predictions of up to 20 inches, and by lunchtime enough had accumulated on the roads that pretty much everyone at my workplace headed for home. I left at 1:30, and because I was still a little achy in spots from shoveling the dump we got over the weekend, I decided to stop at Target on the way to pick up an extra shovel. We already have two, but there are three of us in the Goddess household, and I wouldn’t want anyone to have to miss out on the fun.

I searched all over the store without seeing a single snow shovel anywhere. It’s March in Minnesota, three feet of snow is in the forecast, and all they’re selling at Target is frilly Easter dresses, flip flops and swim goggles. I could have picked up a very nice new set of patio furniture, but I still kind of like my old set:

Anyone up for a barbecue?

Not one freaking snow shovel. God Bless America.

The first time I cleared the driveway was around 5:00 p.m., and at that time there were about ten inches on the ground.

All evening, the Demis kept their eyes fixed on the bottom of the TV screen as the list of announced school closings scrolled past. Around 9:00 p.m. we received word that our city had called the first snow day in fifteen years. There was much rejoicing. Shortly after that came confirmation that my workplace would also be closed, and there was further rejoicing. Although, since I was tired and my back hurt, it was mostly on the inside. A tiny fist pump and a "whoo" was about all I could manage.

I went out again at 10:30 p.m. and shoveled another four or five inches, and by then I was throwing snow up onto piles that were a good four feet high on either side of the driveway.

Super fun.

So today we're all home. The snow stopped falling some time during the night, and the DemiGoddess have both gone sledding with friends. I’ll need to get out there and clear off the driveway once more before I’ll be able to get my car out of the garage. But I think I’ll wait until this ibuprofen kicks in first.

My New Refrigerator has Every Convenience, it’s Gonna Make Life Easy for Me

2007-02-28T13:22:00.000-06:00

So sang DemiGoddess the Elder and I last night as we danced together around the kitchen. She is very into the Talking Heads these days (have I mentioned how exceptionally cool my children are?).

Our new refrigerator doesn’t exactly have every convenience. There is no built-in water filtration system or even an automatic ice maker. In fact, from the outside, the new refrigerator looks a lot like the old refrigerator:

Inside is where the real magic happens. Slide-out, divided, spill-proof, tempered-glass shelves! A light in the freezer! In-door adjustable compartments that can hold a gallon jug of milk! And, best of all, I now have a drawer for nothing but cheese!

That’s not the only new acquisition in the Goddess household, either. I am also the proud owner of a brand new timing belt and muffler, which were installed on my aged but trusty Honda Civic yesterday morning. (Tax refund in… tax refund out…)

And, because I am so very clever, I dropped my car off at the shop on Monday night, so that my fix-it-up chappie could get started installing the new timing belt and muffler bright and early on Tuesday morning. Which he did. Right after he called me at 6:30 a.m. to tell me that my car had been broken into overnight and my stereo was gone.

I felt so violated. Why would someone do that to my car? And, come to think of it, why would someone bother to steal a six-year-old stereo that wasn’t worth all that much when it was new??

The very apologetic fix-it-up chappie agreed that it was a major drag, but assured me that the shop has insurance for that sort of thing. So yesterday's final major purchase was a brand new stereo for my car.

It can play MP3 files and has an auxiliary jack for hooking up the Demis’ iPods, and I did not have to pay a thing for it, unless one counts the emotional cost of picking my car up from the shop and succumbing to an overwhelming urge to check under all the seats for any nasty remnants that the stereo thieves may have left behind.

They were exceptionally tidy thieves, it seems. They left no trace, save for a few screws lying neatly in my cup holder, and the gaping hole in my dashboard.

But, getting back to the refrigerator. As I transferred all of our old magnets, business cards, photos and whatnot from the old refrigerator door to the new one, I took the opportunity to thin things out a little. However, this little gem, compliments of DemiGoddess the Younger, will be staying:

I'm so glad she's putting that Teen Vogue subscription to good use.

Boys: 1, Girls: 12

2007-02-22T15:13:00.000-06:00

The boy child has a baby sister!

After astounding us all by producing a son on her first go-round two years ago, my sister-cousin Kerry followed up on Tuesday evening with a gorgeous baby girl. The lovely Ms. Keara brings the count to an even dozen females between my sisters, sister-cousins and our children, and her arrival also means that order has once again been restored to the universe.

Zeke, Keara's older brother, is a delight, but we all knew the whole "boy" thing was, as sister Betsy so eloquently called it, "a blip."

Isn't she pretty?

I had an opportunity to spend a little get-to-know-you time with her last night, and I think she's going to work out very nicely.

Congratulations, Kerry, Erik and Zeke!

(P.S. I totally called it.)

Signs of Spring

2007-02-19T13:34:00.000-06:00

Happy Pitchers

and Catchers

Day Everybody!

Next stop... opening day!

I still haven't gotten over that final regular season game last October. I don't know if I can take that much excitement again this year.

Okay, maybe I can.

Speaking of exciting... My Ho has a baseball blog! How HOTT is that?

Neither Pampered, Nor a Chef

2007-02-13T10:35:00.000-06:00

Last night my lovely next-door-neighbor, Leah, had a Pampered Chef® party. I am not a huge fan of these in-home shopping parties, mainly because every day is a struggle for me to contain my impulse-shopping tendencies, and that’s just at Target. I go into these gatherings with the firmest of intentions, but the sad truth is that it never takes long for the peer pressure and implied sense of obligation (I have to buy something, she made a cake!) to entirely dispossess me of my senses, and the next thing I know I’m whipping out my checkbook to purchase a Crinkle Cutter that I simply must have, so that it can sit, nestled in its protective plastic sleeve, unused in a drawer in my kitchen for years and years because, hello! I DON’T COOK!

But Leah is lovely, and I hadn’t seen her since the last time it was possible to leave the house without dying from hypothermia within seconds. Besides which, I had just finished doing my taxes, and had very recently learned that all those upgrades I made to my home computer last year are totally tax deductible “education expenses.” So I was in an optimistic mood.

I really, really wanted to order a Food Chopper, especially after Rita, the sales representative, demonstrated right there on Leah's dining room table how just a few quick presses of the knob will rotate the durable blades to perfectly chop all manner of nuts and vegetables and chocolate chips as coarsely or as finely as I might like. Nevertheless, through a goddess-like display of super-human fortitude—in spite of the fact that the Food Chopper is also top-rack dishwasher safe—I managed to limit my order to what I’m pretty sure are the five least expensive things in the entire catalog. And I can’t wait to use my new Quikut paring knife.

You know, to cut open the wrapper on a frozen pizza. Or something.

Jeebus Take The Wheel

2007-01-26T10:33:00.000-06:00

DemiGoddess the Elder took driver’s ed class at the high school last fall. At the end of the quarter, she passed the written permit test, and after that I took her to our neighborhood licensing bureau to get her driver's permit card. We filled out forms. She had her picture taken.

So you’d think it would have occurred to me that now I am supposed to take her driving. In MY CAR. And actually LET HER DRIVE MY CAR.

Somehow, though, the reality of the situation didn’t set in until her card arrived in the mail. Turns out, it's much harder to live in denial when one is staring at a photo of one’s child on a lerner’s permit.

I told her, sure, I’ll take you driving. Just as soon as you’ve had your behind the wheel training. It sounded perfectly logical at the time, but was really just a desperate stall tactic as I put forth a monumental effort to hide the fact that I was completely freaking out.

I said, since it’s the holidays and all, maybe wait to schedule your first lesson until January.

Because, you know. January will never come.

Except that here it is, January, and she had her first behind the wheel session yesterday after school. When I asked her how it went, she said it had been fine. She was too scared to go on the busy streets, but she did get up to 30 mph on the side streets, which felt really fast. And she hadn’t hit anything, so that was good. Then she said her instructor would be calling me later that evening. Apparently she’s supposed to have been practicing already, and I have wasted my money by allowing her to take behind the wheel training before she’s had any driving experience.

“Yah,” the guy said when the call came. “She needs a lot more practice. Take her over to the school on a weekend and have her drive around the parking lot, then. She needs to be able to go on those busy streets before I take her out again, doncha know.”

I was being chastised by what sounded like a 150-year-old driving teacher from Lake Wobegon. Sheepishly, I thought, I know. I can do that. We’ll just start slow. It will be fine.

Then he said, “She needs to learn to look right when she’s turning right, and look left when she’s turning left."

Wait, what? She needs to learn that?

When Demi the Elder was a toddler, I bought her one of those Playskool Tyke Bike riding toys. The day I bought it, I eagerly set it on the sidewalk for her, and she toddled over, turned around, and plopped her diapered butt down on the seat. Backwards.

I learned an important parenting lesson that day—Do not to take for granted that some things will be obvious. As in, when you sit on the riding toy, you’re supposed to face the handlebars.

And, similarly, when you're driving the car, you’re supposed to look left when you’re turning left, and right when you’re turning right. Okay then.

But the thing is, a Honda Civic can do considerably more damage than a plastic riding toy. And, my car may be old, but I only have the one.

And, seriously. Where the hell was she looking?

Warning: Do Not Go To This Film

2007-01-16T09:08:00.000-06:00

My Ho and I went to see “Babel” on Sunday, along with my sister Betsy.

I admit that it was me who wanted to see it. And the only reason I was interested was because it received the most Golden Globe nominations, and I felt a need to see it before the awards show broadcast last night. This, in spite of my aversion to all things Brad Pitt. I should have known better.

We left for the afternoon show right after the Bears won their playoff game, which is a good thing, because it meant that My Ho was in an exceptionally good mood right before I forced him to sit through over two and a half hours of pointless storylines loosely connected by long periods of excruciating boredom. And Sister Betsy nearly whoopsied from the herky-jerky handheld cinematography.

But don't just take MY word for it.

So you can imagine my astonishment when the film won the best picture Golden Globe last night. Although I suppose the fact that the cameras spent so much of the evening focused on Angelina Jolie's bony clavicles should have tipped me off that things were not going to go well. And, inexplicably, no sign of Isaac Mizrahi, either.

Betsy and I also saw "Little Children" on Sunday (my sister and I, we are the kind of hard-core movie fan freakshows who will pay to see two films, in the theater, in one day) and although the ending was just a smidge too precious, we both found that one ever so much more enjoyable. And decidedly less nausea-inducing. And also, 100% Brangelina free.

The Rocket Ship Lunchbox

2007-01-15T10:51:00.001-06:00

DemiGoddess the Elder got it for Christmas.

Spectrum

2007-01-05T08:31:00.000-06:00

On December 30, my friend Batgirl welcomed her son, Dashiell John, into the world. She and her husband, Jeb, were in town for the holidays when they discovered she was in labor about eight weeks ahead of schedule. Dash ended up being born right here in Minneapolis, and although he weighed in at a slight 3 pounds, 2 ounces, he is able to breathe on his own and is healthy enough that he’ll spend the next few weeks in the special care nursery, not the NICU.

After confirming with the new parents that it would be okay, My Ho and I made plans to visit Batgirl and Jeb in the hospital on Tuesday evening. I was very much looking forward to meeting the newest member of Team Batgirl.

Then, on Tuesday afternoon, the DemiGoddesses received a call from my Ex with sad news. We had no longer been expecting that his baby, also a boy, would make it to term, but the hope was that he could hang in there for another few weeks, long enough that surgery might be a viable option. But when my Ex called, it was to tell the Demis that the baby’s heart had stopped beating that morning. There wasn’t anything left to be done but induce labor.

That night at the hospital, I stood next to the incubator as baby Dash slept, pink and tiny and perfect, with one scrawny arm thrown back over his head like he was sunbathing under the bilirubin lights. Watching his little chest move up and down as he breathed, I was in awe and in love, while at that very same moment, I ached over the loss of the one named Henry, whose due date had been within a few days of Dash’s.

Some days life is impossibly wonderful. Some days it is brutally unfair. That day, it was both.

Noooooooooooo...

2007-01-04T12:55:00.000-06:00

Say it ain't so, Doug! Say it ain't SO!

Yankees reach tentative deal with 1B Mientkiewicz

Major League Baseball News Wire

NEW YORK—The New York Yankees apparently have found
a defensive caddie for Jason Giambi.

The Yankees have reached a tentative deal with first baseman
Doug Mientkiewicz, the New York Post reported Thursday on its
web site.

No terms were disclosed in the report, which said Mientkiewicz
will undergo a physical Thursday.

Mientkiewicz, 32, won a Gold Glove with the Minnesota Twins in
2001 and would provide the Yankees with a more than capable
defensive alternative to Giambi, who has regressed defensively
over the past several years and figures to be the team's primary
designated hitter in 2007.

A veteran of eight-plus seasons, Mientkiewicz batted .283 with
four home runs and 43 RBIs in 91 games with Kansas City last
season. He is a career 270 hitter with 59 homers and 348 RBIs in
870 games with Kansas City, Minnesota, Boston and the New York
Mets.

Mientkiewicz served in a similar role for the Red Sox at the end
of the 2004 season and caught the final out in the franchise's
first World Series in 86 years. He kept the historic ball for a
time before turning it over.

Speaking of Smack...

2007-01-03T21:11:00.000-06:00

How much do Wednesday nights suck now that Lost is on hiatus?

Seriously. Taye Diggs is cute and all, and I even watched his show once because it came on the TV while I was in the middle of something and my hands were full and I couldn't reach the remote, so I just left it on, even though I vowed that I would never ever watch that stupid show simply on principle. And it was actually kind of interesting, in a non-Lost kind of way. But no. Just no.

The other night My Ho and I took the DemiGoddesses to see "We Are Marshall" (bring tissues, kids, it's a weeper), and the movie was okay, but every once in a while I couldn't help leaning over and whispering in My Ho's ear, "Live together, die alone..." Because, duh, that was totally Jack up there coaching the football.

And then last weekend they went and re-ran the Saturday Night Live show that Matthew Fox hosted, and I'll tell you, it was fun while it lasted, but when it was over, the emptiness was hard to bear.

If I think too much about how ABC has enslaved me with that TV show, how cruelly they teased me last fall with those six episodes, just letting me get good and settled in for a full season before--oops!--killing off Mr. Echo and then YANKING IT ALL AWAY AGAIN until February...

If I think too much about that, I start to get really, really angry.

What Is This “Cash” You Speak Of?

2007-01-02T09:59:00.000-06:00

The DemiGoddesses both achieved the pinnacle of their young lives last week. As in, they both finally got their iPods.

Christmas contributions from many of their extended family members, along with the not-a-Shuffle cash I had placed under the tree for them (in boxes, and wrapped, because I had to watch them open SOMETHING), plus the money they both have been saving for months all added up to the three of us making a trip to the Apple store at the mall.

The place was packed with post-holiday shoppers redeeming their gift cards and buying up all kinds of electronic goodies. As we waited in line, DemiGoddess the Younger twitched and wiggled and occasionally made little squeaky noises. When our turn arrived, she told the young man behind the counter that she wanted a 30 GB video iPod. White, please.

Her voice was clear and decisive, but she was hopping up and down and vibrating, which the employee seemed to find amusing.

“How will you be paying today?”

“Cash,” said DemiGoddess the Younger.

“What?” he asked, looking confused.

From her little corduroy Old Navy purse, Ms. Younger produced a fat roll of bills, which she handed to the man. As he blinked at it in astonishment, she then pulled out a mason jar half-filled with silver change and set it on the counter. A look of panic spread across his face.

“Change??”

“She’s been saving for a while,” I said. “Just add up the bills and I’ll write a check for the rest. I can take the change to the bank on the way home.”

That transaction completed, it was Demi the Elder’s turn, and she wanted a PRODUCT (RED) 4 GB Nano, the one that Apple will donate $10 of the cost of to the Global AIDS fund. The Apple store man seemed relieved that her wad of bills was slightly smaller, and that this time there was no jar of change.

From the Apple store we went to the bank (to empty $28 from Demi the Younger's mason jar into my account), and then to purchase protective cases for each of their new treasures—Demi the Younger’s a blingy, silver metallic wallet-style thing, and for Demi the Elder, a clear plastic case that the red is visible through.

All the way home in the car, Ms. Younger raved about how long she’s waited for an iPod, and how she couldn’t believe she finally has one, and she couldn’t wait to get home and charge it up so she could download all the songs from every one of her CDs that she has stored on our computer at home. She asked if she could please use my credit card number to set up an iTunes account, if she PROMISED never to buy any songs without asking me first (“Absolutely not.”). She also vowed that she will never, ever, take her beloved to school. We’ll see.

After buying the iPods and the cases, neither of the Demis had enough money left to purchase the $29 wall-charging cords, so for now they have to take turns charging their perfect precious-es through the USB port on our PC. Later I griped to My Ho about what an insidious racket this whole iPod thing is—you pay a sizable amount of cash for the unit itself, and then they nickel and dime you to death with cases and wall charging cords and docking stations until the cost of the whole mess pretty much doubles.

He offered the services of his Youngster’s friend Sam, who can allegedly build a docking station from scratch.

“Is this the same Sam who got in trouble at school for making a taser out of a smoke detector?”

“He made the taser out of a disposable camera.”

“Yeah. No thanks.”

Round Robin

2006-12-28T09:49:00.000-06:00

Last Saturday, seven-eighths of the sister cousins assembled for our Little House/Sex and the City pre-Christmas flirtini party. After some eating, drinking, catching up and viewing of videos on Tiffany’s laptop, we all hunkered down on the living room floor and began a long-overdue project--sorting and doling out Grandma’s jewelry.

Grandma had a lot of jewelry. Some of it has monetary value, some has sentimental value, and a whole lot has neither. Everything was all jumbled together in trays and Ziploc bags and little boxes—earrings, necklaces, bracelets, pins and rings, as well as a pair of cufflinks, two fancy pens in velvety cases, and a pair of somethings that Tiffany identified as shoe buckles.

We sifted through piles of pieces that nobody recognized until, every once in a while, someone would gasp and say, “Oh…” Then they’d hold up the coral ring, or the Christmas tree pin, and we’d reminisce about the dress she always wore with that one, or how she’d wear that pin to church every Christmas Eve. A lot of the things we'd forgotten that we remembered.

The whole collection had been in my uncle’s basement since we cleaned out Grandma’s condo six years ago. My sister Meghan told us that when she picked up the boxes last week, she opened the biggest one, and when she met with the unexpected scent of Grandma’s perfume inside that box, she burst into tears. I knew what she meant. I have a little quilted coin purse that I carried around for months after Grandma died for exactly that reason. It’s in a drawer now, but it still smells like her, faintly.

We started by passing around the bangle bracelets. They took several trips around the room, and everyone ended up with a few. Then we did the same with the rings. If something looked particularly valuable, or if more than one person wanted it, we set it aside for later. But because we all have different tastes and different sized fingers and wrists, for the most part, if somebody found something they thought they’d wear and that fit, it was theirs.

Hours later, we had only divided up about half of the collection, but by then it was nearly 1:00 a.m. and everyone was tired. We put the valuable and contested items back into the box, along with the pieces that nobody was particularly interested in. We’ll have to come back to those the next time everyone is in town. Maybe next Christmas.

And even though we hadn’t planned it, the following night at my parents' house on Christmas Eve, the DemiGoddesses and I each had on one of Grandma’s rings. Molly and Betsy jangled with her bangle bracelets. And both Meghan and Shanna were wearing her earrings.

And we all looked fabulous.

All I Want For Christmas is a Humping Dog USB

2006-12-23T12:43:00.000-06:00

Yeah, scratch the TiVo and the Wii. Just tuck this under the tree for me, please:

Humpy Holidays Everybody!

I’d Do Much Better on the Amazing Race

2006-12-22T14:18:00.000-06:00

My Dad’s birthday was last weekend, and my sisters all pitched in to buy him an “American Girl” Barnes & Noble gift card, because darned if they weren't all out of the ones with the assault rifles and the NRA logo on them. But I went my own way and gave him a Watersmeet Nimrods T-shirt to wear the next time he visits Upper Michigan. Because I am by far the coolest.

While we were at my parents’ house for the birthday festivities, somebody found a drawer full of old photos of the DemiGoddesses from back when they were all little and cuddly and adorable (sniffle), and from the family trip we all took to England and France in the spring of 1999. I found one of those so particularly horrifying that I had to ask out loud, “Who’s the cow on the left? MOOOOOOOO!”

Of course, the cow was ME.

And that photo was taken three years before my Great Weight Loss of ’03, when one of the inspiration tools I relied on to keep me motivated was another photo, a black and white shot taken by my cousin Tiffany at Christmas 2002, of me sitting on a couch with some other family members. Or, more accurately, me taking up waaaaaaaay more than my fair share of the real estate on that couch. Ouch.

Remembering that photo reminded me that it’s Christmas time once again, and how nice it is to be so very toned and HEALTHY these days. Except for, um, those cookies with the pound and a half of butter in them that are all over my dining room table. The ones that I nibble on every time I pass through that room (many, many times a day). And except that my exercise bike has pretty much served as a coat rack for the past several weeks, and my hand weights are buried somewhere behind the gifts under the Christmas tree.

If I don’t get my act together, by next year I’ll be right back in bovine-land, so I resolved that as soon as the holidays are over, I will consume nothing but water and the occasional cup of hot tea for the entire month of January.

Later that night, we all gathered ‘round the TV to watch the Survivor finale, which reminded me that there is no way I will ever hold to my resolution, because unlike Yul and Ozzie and Becky, I am not a Goddess who can function for any length of time without food. And while Yul without a shirt makes excellent eye candy:

(Yummy.)

...one cannot live on washboard abs alone. In fact, as my children will tell you, when my blood sugar starts to get low, I become one ornery Goddess.

My sister Meghan is exactly the same way, and we agreed that neither one of us would ever last a day on Survivor, unless they changed the ultimate goal of the game from being the last one voted out to being the first person to hack all the other contestants to bits with a machete. Then we would totally win.

I've Shaken Them All

2006-12-20T23:08:00.000-06:00

A bunch of gifts mysteriously appeared under my tree today. A happy surprise, yes, but not a single one of those packages is TiVo or Wii or Johan Santana shaped, which means that there had damn well better be a pony hidden in the garage somewhere.

Just sayin'.

My gifts have all been bought and wrapped, the cookies are baked, and snow is finally in the forecast. Enough with the prep work already. Bring on the Christmas.

The first of the sister-cousins, Shanna, arrived home yesterday. Tiffany, who thankfully was not blown away or crushed by falling trees during the recent killer windstorm in Seattle (she also assures me that Cupcake Royale is safe, and thank heaven for that), is due in on Saturday, and preparations for the second-annual flirtini party are well underway. This year's theme is "Little House on the Prairie Meets Sex and the City."

The invitation pointed out that there were four Ingalls daughters, there were four girlfriends who regularly met at that coffee shop in Manhattan, and there are four sister cousins in each of our two families. And that cannot be mere concidence.

We have been instructed to wear our best sunbonnets and Manolos, and I'm told the menu will include salt pork, corn bread, and Chinese takeout.

I'm sure it will all make perfect sense once we've had a flirtini or two.

P.S. For those of you who have been up nights wondering if the Goddess is a real or artificial tree person, please note the needles on the carpet.

And Yet, They Look So Cheerful

2006-12-19T22:15:00.000-06:00

It's been a very sad few days in the Goddess household.

For months, the DemiGoddesses have been looking forward to the arrival in March of their new baby brother (I am not pregnant. The Ex's wife is.). But now it's looking like this baby was not meant to be.

In spite of all the animosity there has been between the Ex and I, my heart is breaking for him. And for the Demis.

When we got the news on Saturday morning, there wasn't much to be done except pray and wait for someone to call with updates from the hospital. So we went ahead with the baking we had planned, and it helped, a little. Something in the purposeful creaming of butter and sugar, in the application of colored frosting and sprinkles, was a comfort.

We kept on baking, right through Sunday, when it seemed like there might still be hope. And just this afternoon, after the latest news was about as bad as it could have been, the Demis finally finished decorating the last of the cutout sugar cookies.

That photo shows only a portion. The dining room table is full, and there are more in the freezer.

And still, we're really, really sad.

World AIDS Day

2006-12-01T12:31:00.000-06:00

I’m wearing red today, and so is DemiGoddess the Elder. When she reminded me this morning that today is World Aids Day, and informed me that she and all her friends had made plans to wear red to school, I was already wearing a red sweater simply by coincidence. I was simultaneously proud and embarassed to have been educated by Ms. Elder's clearly superior social conscience. But I think my red sweater still counts.

The magnitude of this epidemic seems overwhelming, but there are lots of ways we all can take action to help alleviate some of the suffering caused by HIV/AIDS in the world. Below are a few links to some of my personal favorite non-profits that already working to make a difference:

Mother Bear Project

Make a bear. Make a donation. Or, for the holidays, sponsor a bear for $10 in someone else’s name, and receive a thank-you letter that you can present to that person as a gift. The website also has knitting kits for sale for $15, which make great gifts—the kit includes yarn, handmade needles, a pattern, a tag, and a brochure about the Mother Bear Project. One knitter gave them to her whole family, even the fellas, last year, and wrote a great story about what happened afterwards, which is posted on the website here.

Open Arms

Open Arms delivers meals to people living with HIV/AIDS, both locally in Minneapolis/St. Paul and in South Africa. Their website includes volunteer opportunities, information on the World AIDS Day Beaded Artwork sale that is happening in downtown Minneapolis tomorrow, and links to make donations. They help distribute Mother Bear Project bears in South Africa.

Arm in Arm in Africa

This is another Minnesota-based group that works to alleviate suffering, improve conditions and create opportunities for changing the cycle of poverty and disease in South Africa. They also partner with the Mother Bear Project in distributing bears to HIV/AIDS impacted children.

World Camps

World Camps provide fun and educational camp experiences for HIV/AIDS affected children in developing nations. They distribute Mother Bear Project bears to the children in these camps, and the thank-you notes I received a few months ago were from kids who had received my bears there.

“It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope.”
--Robert F. Kennedy

Black Friday

2006-11-30T16:19:00.000-06:00

The doorbuster deals at Toys R Us used to have me shivering in a parking lot at 5:00 a.m. every year on the morning after Thanksgiving, back when $5 Furbys and buy-one-get-one-free Polly Pocket sets could still make the Demis' Christmas dreams come true. I still get a special thrill from combing through the stacks of glossy Thanksgiving day newspaper ads while I watch the Macy’s parade TV. But for the past couple of years, I’ve opted to skip the Black Friday insanity and just sleep in.

I was planning to do just that last week, but then my friend Daniel, the one who so kindly brought my PC into the 21st century for me, found out from an advance online advertisement that Micro Center stores would be offering 160 GB hard drives for a deep, deep discount on Friday morning. He was very excited until he realized that the discounted hard drives would only be available to the first 25 customers through the door when it opened at 6:00 a.m., and the only Micro Center location in the state is a good 45-minute drive from his house.

As it happens, that very same Micro Center location is about 2.5 minutes from my house. So, since I have some experience with day after Thanksgiving shopping, and since I have a lot more time than money with which to repay the kindness he bestowed on my home computer, I told him I’d go to Micro Center for him.

When my alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. that morning, I threw on the clothes I had laid out the night before, grabbed the Micro Center ad and a protein bar and ran out the door, thinking that I would wait in my car if no other customers had arrived yet. Moments later I found the entrance to the parking lot blocked by a police car with its lights flashing. It appeared to be preventing a block-long line of people from extending into the street.

Alrighty then.

Since I was up already, I decided to try my luck at a couple of other stores instead, which actually went pretty well except that somebody stole my shopping cart in Menard’s. The mass of bargain-hungry humanity that stood between me and the $3 hand-crank LED flashlights forced me to temporarily abandon it, along with the throw rug, the slippers and the various other items it contained. When I returned, my cart had disappeared and there was no trace of my hard-won merchandise. Whoever you are, I hope you enjoy eternity in your special place in HELL, you cart-stealing bastard.

The checkout line at Kohl’s was freaking ridiculous, but it moved along pretty steadily, and was worth enduring because I picked up skirts and sweaters for both the DemiGoddesses to wear on Christmas, as well as a new pair of gloves for a certain Goddess who seems to have a terminal case of glove/mitten dropsy, all for less than I spend on an average trip to Trader Joe's.

I found out later that my sister Meghan had been out shopping that morning, too. She did Herberger’s, immediately earning my respect because another customer in line at Menard's had told me she had tried to go there but left after being unable to find a parking spot, and then had to fight her way out of the lot. And Meghan was there with a toddler in tow, no less.

Now that’s plain crazy.

De-NIED

2006-11-28T12:01:00.000-06:00

In putting together my annual Excel spreadsheet of the gifts I will be purchasing between now and Christmas (What? What??), I was super excited over the prospect of ordering two of the cutest little items ever. Tiny, shiny iPods! With engraving, no less!

I had visions of the DemiGoddesses opening their bitty packages on Christmas morning, gasping with joy, and then leaping over piles of discarded wrapping paper to fling their arms in ecstatic gratitude around their uber cool Goddess of a mother, who so clearly has her thumb on the pulse of everything that is cutting-edge and hip with the youngsters.

The next day, I began laying the groundwork...

“Have you seen those new baby iPod Shuffles? They’re sooooo cuuuuuute!”

…and was quickly shot down.

“I don’t want a Shuffle. I want a 30 GB video iPod.”

“Me neither. I want a Nano. A red one.”

Yeah. Not so much. Even if I were not morally opposed to the idea of buying teenagers expensive (as in, costing more than $79) high-tech electronic gadgets that they will probably break or lose or that will very likely be stolen from their lockers at school within a matter of days (which I am), no amount of Excel spreadsheet wrangling is going to work either of those items into my holiday budget.

After some negotiations, the three of us worked out an arrangement in which I will simply give to each of them the cash I would have spent on their Shuffles (no engraving for ME, sniffle), which they will then add to their respective iPod funds so that they can eventually purchase for themselves the items that they really want.

Gone are the days when I could work some clearance-aisle wizardry and produce a glee-inducing Christmas haul for $50. This year the Demis will be getting cash in a box, which may yet be glee-inducing, but is considerably less fun for ME.

Sigh.