She Wasn't There This Morning

Once, maybe twice a week I see her watching me fill up my car. From the second story of her apartment building she sits in her brass-backed chair and watches everyone as they pump gas. I always look for her and I try to make eye contact with the woman. I never wave because I’m never sure she’s actually looking right at me. Although, it always feels as if this very old woman is ignoring everyone else while I’m there. She sees me scrub the bugs off my windshield. She watches as I try to convince the pump to dispense precisely 12 gallons of gas into my tank. She knows when I’m bad and duck inside the store for a doughnut and a chocolate milk.

On the mornings when she’s not in the window I worry about her. On Mondays, I think she has died and it makes me terribly sad. On Wednesdays I think she’s sick and too weak to sit up on her own. If it’s Friday or the weekend I think she’s sleeping in because she’s too old and too tired to bother watching. Regardless of the day, I never like it when I see the shiny brass back of her chair. I want her up there, in the window, prepared to call the cops if I get mugged or an ambulance if I spill gasoline on my pants and catch fire. I want her up there so I know she’s okay.

She wasn’t there this morning.

It’s Monday, so I’m pretty sure she’s dead.

UPDATE: Two people have asked if I've seen the old woman lately. Yes. The last time I filled-up she was sitting in the window and it appeared as if she had pen and paper. It might have been a crossword or maybe it was something more like, Dear Diary - The pudgy guy is getting gas again across the street. He is staring at me again. . .

East Si-Eeed!

Deciphering the skill hierarchy of recreational badminton is simple:

The good players all congregate to the west side of the gym. The bleachers on that side of the building are where the people with serious attitudes and the best equipment rest between matches.

I sit on the east side of the gym. That’s where you’ll find the players who wear “I LOVE BEER” T-shirts and depend on the loaner racquets provided by the rec. department.

If you need more clues about which set of bleachers is for you just look at racquet manufacturers:

• Yonex: The best players have not one, but two or more of these $150+ beauties packed in nice, thermal bags to preserve the integrity of the string tension.
• Weird: These players can keep up with the best players, but they never quite win. Their racquets are from companies you’ve never heard of and unless you live in Malaysia; you probably never will.
• Wilson: These are the decent players who have elevated their games beyond backyard barbecue proficiencies. Every now and again they have some really great games but the Yonex players make them look like they’re still at the barbecue.
• Black Knight: These are okay racquets from Canada, but they’re the loaner racquets used by the program so most people with them in their hands are wearing “I LOVE BEER” T-shirts.

As for me, I’m sportin’ a $30 HEAD racquet that came all the way from a business park in Montreal. It got quite a bit of attention from the Black Knight players looking to upgrade; particularly when they found out it was only 30 bucks.

I like recreational badminton. I’ve been having fun. I depend a lot on whatever muscle memory remains from my tennis days. This actually has served me fairly well as I have been able to keep up in matches with the Yonex crowd. For the most part, though, I roll with the east side posse. We seem to smile and laugh a little more easily when we miss a shot which means there's a lot of laughing.

Thanks for the Reminder, Richard

I got an email letting me know that I've been signed up for another year of Wired. The email told me the subscription was from Richard Springman.

Richard Springman. That name makes me think of a lot of things like:

Beer bread
Coats from the 70's with fur-trimmed, tunnel hoods
Weight lifting
Chili
Drill weekends
Donuts
Moving furniture
Hagen Das
One o'clock shadows
Glasses
An overrated British band with a name that rhymes with bowling cones.
Annoying Sesame Street toys
Tuxedos
School
Friends
Family
A Family who likes your friend more than they like you
Wired Magazine

Icky

I wanted to complete my State Fair experience today by having a corn dog. We skipped the $6 version on the midway and settled on a stand in the carnival area that was selling them for $4.

I walked up to the window and told the guy I wanted a corn dog. As he wrapped it up for me he smiled, "Everybody loves these. Everybody wants these. I know why."

I smiled at him mainly because he didn't have any teeth and I was having a hard time understanding him so I leaned in.

He asked me, "Do you want to know why I know?"

I told him I wanted to know and he said, "Because I know what's in 'em!"

He had already handed my corn dog to me and I know that despite my grinning I had a look in my eyes that said, "You're going to tell me your seminal fluid is in the batter, aren't you. . ."

"I know what's in 'em because I make 'em. Do you want to know what the secret is?"

I hadn't eaten the thing yet so I was confident he wasn't going to spring anything too horrible on me so I asked, "What's in them?"

"Sprite. Half a cup of sprite. It gives the corn bread a sweeter taste."

Half prepared to hear that rat's milk or strained hydraulic fluid from the Tilt-a-Whirl was his secret the only comment I could manage was, "Awesome!"

The corn dog with Sprite in the batter was good. The chocolate covered bacon was not. It made me nauseous. I'm a huge bacon fan but I couldn't manage the chilled melange of greasy, salty, porky sweetness. It wasn't a nightmare. I can actually understand why someone in a very self-destructive mood might even enjoy this treat. But for me, on this day, it was just icky.

There are much better things out there to eat on a stick.

Julia is Six

From this:
To this:
It happened suddenly.

On Thursday I picked her up and shook her and demanded to know what she did with five year-old Julia. She didn't really have a good answer for me but it's clear six year-old Julia is going to hang out with us for a bit.

I'd better spend as much time with her as I can. It seems like these Julias are switching themselves out on a fairly regular basis.

Allie's Nose

Post Haircut: Ten Lines in Ten Minutes

Because I've disabled comments I thought I'd beat most of you to the punch:


1) Tor Johnson called. He wants his head back.

2) The National Institute of Standards and Technology called. They want to use your head as a template for a perfect circle.

3) Where are Moe and Larry?

4) Hair grows, on average, half an inch every three months. That means Deb will be interested in Greg again around April, 2010.

5) I had no idea hair clippers came with a “serial killer” attachment.

6) Most guys go gray. You went translucent.

7) Now maybe you can devote some of that shampoo budget to dealing with your breath.

8) Well sir, we were going to this bingo parlor at the YMCA. . .

9) Don’t worry; they’re not staring at your hair. They’re staring at your brain now that they can see it beneath your scalp.

10) Daddy, would you mind if Mommy takes me to the birthday party?

Dear Kathy -

The countdown has begun.

July 7, 2009.

The pain begins. . . again.

Artwork by Allie Lee

Bought a Used, Wireless Keyboard and I'm Going to Take it for a Spin Around the Block

Lately I've been having these horrible flashbacks to embarrassing moments from my past. Most of them happen as I drive to work each morning. They are vivid enough to make me shriek out loud as I relive them.

It's not really a shriek. It's a more of an, AAAAGH GOD JEEZ WHUUU!

Now that I'm writing about these embarrassing moments, I can't remember any of them. There was a toga party when I danced with a really cute girl and she shoved me away from her because I kept stomping on her feet.

No. That's not one of them. I'm focusing on the ones that really meant something. The moments when I screwed up so badly that it actually altered the course of my life.

AAAAGH GOD JEEZ WHUUU!

Suddenly more than a few of these bad memories have come to mind but I'm really not going to share them with anyone; at least not right now.

I have on new underpants. They are expensive, high-tech underpants. It may seem foolish to spend money on technologically advanced skivies right now but I have a good reason for buying them. For one thing, they wick moisture away from your body.

I often wonder when I read about these space-age fabrics where the moisture goes once it's wicked away. Turns out that the moisture is transported directly to the outside of the garment. I know this because. . .

I wouldn't consider myself a fastidious person but I'm not altogether slovenly either. I'm clean. I keep myself clean. However, there are those rare occasions when I haven't tapped my wing-wang enough to insure that I have completely voided every inch (foot?) of my urinary tract of fluid. This means sometimes a few drops may make their way into my underwear.

Usually my cotton, boxer-briefs absorb the extra moisture but these new high-tech skivies sucked the pee away from the inside of my underwear and distributed it to the outside. I know this because of the curse of tan pants.

I looked down, panicked and then I silently went over the few tactics you can employ in this situation:

1. Find an object to hold in front of the area to hide the watermark as you make your way to safer territory.
2. Splash more water on yourself to make it look as if there was some plumbing accident that soaked your crotch and not your careless ding-dong manipulation.
3. If there's a hand dryer you can remove our pants and hold them beneath it while you pray no one else wants to use the bathroom.
4. You can go into a stall and get two wads of toilet paper. Place them on either side of the wet spot and rub them until the friction destroys the toilet paper. By the time the toilet paper wads have disappeared in your hands the mark of shame has probably vanished.

I chose option four. Should you find yourself in a similar situation, I strongly recommend option four.

I should go now. I've got my underpants, a stopwatch, a blow dryer and a huge glass of cranberry juice. I am prepared to devote the rest of my evening to science.

It's a Wrap. . .

They had glow-in-the-dark! I'll never understand why she chose pink over glow-in-the-dark.

Spiral Fracture of the Lower Left Tibia

She really isn't smiling all that much these days.

Girl on the Run

She ran and ran and ran and then. . . she ran some more.

Allie's first 5K was a success. It was raining this morning and a little cold, but that made for perfect running weather.

We arrived early and walked the grounds while we waited for Girls on the Run group photos and the start of the race. Allie's coach found a break in the fence and we snuck in line to reach the start which meant we wound up toward the front of the 11,000+ racers/walkers there with us. As we jogged to the starting line Allie asked me when we were going to start. I looked at her and I noticed the start banner was well behind us and said, "We're racing, Allie!"

She did great. The majority of the race consisted of speed play where we'd pick a sign or a person and run to that point and then slow down for little up-tempo walking. I pushed her a little harder than she might have liked a couple of times, but for the most part Allie maintained our 80% running, 20% walking mix on her own.

Slapping her hand against the big mile marker signs as she ran by became small goals for her to accomplish along the course. Her biggest obstacle was a hill that everyone seemed to be walking up that Allie pushed herself on. She made it to the top running all the way as people out on their lawns, drinking their morning coffee, cheered her on.

The best part of the race? Allie says it was getting a drink of water and then being able to just drop the cup on the ground without getting into trouble.

For me it was looking to my right and seeing her grin, all rosy cheeked and panting, as she gave high fives to people along the course.

The only part that we had trouble with was finding Deb and Julia after the race. They waited for us at the finish line but didn't see us cross. We walked up and down the line and then waited for them at the Girls on the Run tent but didn't see them. No cell phones, no contact. Allie was a little disappointed and while they didn't actually see us I know Allie felt great knowing they were there.

We were very fortunate to be a part of an event that holds a great deal of significance for many people that goes far beyond a first-time fun run. I found a clip from today's race that does a far better job of illustrating this point than I could:

http://www.madison.com/video/?id=4335259

Evelyn in Three Minutes

We met Evelyn at the book store. She was in a wheelchair accompanied by a man with a big growth on his neck.

Here's what Allie, Julia and I learned about Evelyn in approximately three minutes:

• Evelyn was blind for four months.
• Now she can see again no thanks to that dumbass doctor.
• She off the medicine and feeling much better.
• She's writing a book entitled, "You Think Your Life Sucks You Should Try Mine".
• She's seriously going to write the book.
• She grew up during the Great Depression.
• When she was a girl she would stand in line for hours to get food that had to last her family an entire week.
• She wasn't invited to a wedding a few years ago because a family member called her a dirty slut.
• Evelyn has a tiny Green Bay Packer duffel bag filled with new $1 coins that she hands out to kids who are adorable.
• Evelyn was molested by her father.
• She loves her grandchildren.
• She's very fond of her granddaughter who lives far away.
• Evelyn has a photo mounted on a small piece of cardboard of her granddaughter sitting on a couch with four men sporting camouflage T-shirts and tattoos.
• The man with the growth not only pushes Evelyn around in her wheelchair but he also softly affirms or rephrases everything Evelyn says as he looks for books.
• Evelyn has two cats.
• Evelyn carries around pictures of her cats mounted on small pieces of cardboard.
• Evelyn punctuates many of her sentences with bad words.

母亲节快乐！(mŭ qīn jié kuài lè)

Mom,

This year you asked me to get you a Mother's Day card.

So, I did.

This is what it will look like:


This is what it will look like when you open it up in a few days or so:


I know you don't speak Spanish, and neither do I, but this card seemed to capture the nuance of what I wanted to express this Mother's Day.

In any language - I love you very much, Mom. You are, indeed, una Madre tan especial.