What prevents your city/town from being the best place in the country to live?
Submitted by Cherney.
It takes me a while to warm up to a new place to live. When we first moved to Chicago, I remember driving down those endless crowded streets with their payday advance loans and their Mexican grocery stores and being terrified. It wasn't an easy adjustment. I remember Jenna's excited assurances that it would exciting, a fresh new place to live, and I just squeezed her hand in reply.
Eventually, after I got to walk around the neighborhood, I warmed up to Chicago. I got excited about the theater and the new and different restaurants and the museums and especially the lakefront. The longer I lived there, the more things I liked about Chicago. The drivers were still crazy, but I adapted to their unique brand of craziness. And I bought groceries from the SuperMercado. I even bought elotes from a street vendor. I liked Chicago.
And then we moved again.
And once again, it took me a while to warm up. We drove down those crooked, oddly named streets with their unpronounceable bakeries and total lack of ethnic food, and I was freaking out. But Jenna was excited about the bike paths and the local events and the beautiful view when the fog lifts from the bluffs, and I squeezed her hand again.
I love it here. I want to convince everyone I know to move here. I wake up and drive along the river and think, Is this really my home? We walk around the lake and I wonder how I could be so lucky. When I pull into the coffee shop, the owners know my order and when I go to the bakery, I get free donuts. It's a great place to live.
But would it kill them to open an Indian restaurant?
What do you tend to worry about in the middle of the night?
1. How could I have been such a numbskull today?
2. In what myriad ways will my actions from today come back to haunt me tomorrow, this weekend, and in the months and years to come?
3. What did I not accomplish today during all that time I spent being a big dumb bonehead today?
4. Is there a bug on my neck right now?
5. What's tomorrow going to be like if I don't get enough sleep?
This week has been hot. It's one of those jumps in temperature that happen every summer, when stepping outside hits you like a blast furnace (or as I called it in front of a bunch of HVAC folks, a "heat furnace" which is about the stupidest thing ever). The heat has a withering effect on you. If you're doing any lifting or walking, you're soaked and filthy in seconds, and generally miserable for the rest of the day, great rivers of sweat bloom in your armpits or drop from your forehead and somehow find their way into your mouth after a thorough tour of the inside of your nose. It is oppressive weather. It is Satan's weather.
But it does happen every summer. It is to be expected.
And I tend to get to this point in the summer and I want to throw in the towel. The sweat-stained, sand-encrusted, sad little towel. All my thoughts of "wait until summer, when we can finally have fun outside" have gone out the window. Or, in the window? Definitely through some kind of window of some sort.
What a waste. Summer is hot. It takes some getting used to, sure, but it's not a roadblock. It's not a mine shaft cave-in. It's tricky terrain. It's learning an alternate route. It's a taste that needs to be developed, like jalapenos or onions.
Or ras malai.
In celebration of Father's Day, (and let's be honest, because she found a recipe for it), Jenna made me a batch of ras malai, which is a homemade spongy cheese served in sweet milk, topped with pistachios. It was fantastic. Better than at the restaurant. And it's served chilled, so it's so refreshing on a hot day. We were both very excited about it. Aaron refused to touch it.
He might have been on board until he saw me shelling pistachios. The sight of that wrinkled green nut was enough to put him off ras malai and how.
Well, I reasoned, it's a dessert. And the kid eats a lot of sweets. No need to push another one on him. But at the same time, it's a new food. I know it can be tough for a four-year-old to take a chance on new foods. They've got so many taste buds at that age. They need to be meticulous, to treat each bud like a newly blooming flower, gentlly nourishing it with chicken nuggets and chocolate milk. And the occasional half chewed candy found in the dirt at the playground. And sometimes a key. Seriously, he says he swallowed a key. He won't eat a combination of dessert and cheese, the two best things ever and he's wolfing down a key?
I don't get it. But I figured if he's brave enough to eat keys, he should be brave enough to eat a new treat. We asked him, we told him he'd like it. We offered him to have just a tiny bite from our dish. And he blanched and turned his face away and informed us that ras malai, whatever else it may be, is also icky.
The bite on the spoon got smaller and smaller. "Just try it," we encouraged. "It's sweet, like cake."
And then he did. Truth be told, I was not expecting that. But he took the tiniest bite of ras malai, prepared to spit it right back onto the spoon, but he didn't. He liked it. He seemed as surprised as the rest of us. In fact, he asked for his own bowl. Just no pistachios.
Then yesterday, while he was at home with suspected pink eye (false alarm, and I can't figure out any way that could be related to swallowing a key), he tried a pistachio. After his success with the ras malai, it didn't take much convincing. I just told him it tasted like a moon nut, which is his phrase for cashew.
Once again, he loved it. He started shelling them himself, making a neat little pile of withered green nuts to pop into his mouth. I was excited for him.
And I've been thinking about it today, and I think it's pretty significant. You've got to trust someone an awful lot to take their word that something is going to taste good. And it's not like we've never steered him wrong before. He's spit out asparagus, sweet potatoes, even Super Nerds, which are my new favorite candy. But he was still willing to give these strange looking foods a shot, and all for the better. It turns out he liked them. Two new foods for us to put on the list of Things The Kid Likes To Eat.
As a parent, I think it's easy to get caught up in the Big Things. We've been talking up him writing the words "Stop" and "Go" all day. That's a big step for him. But just as important it's the little things. He takes the time to add two new foods to his repertoire. He learns to trust Mommy and Daddy's tastes one more time. He forges ahead in a situation that would be just as easy to back out of.
Which brings me back to the heat furnace. (Good grief.) Yes it's too hot today. But then, after that, it's too rainy. And then it's too buggy. And then it's too windy. And then it's too cold again, because summer is passed and we're all a little older. Might as well play outside. Take a chance that you'll find something you like out there despite the urge to spit the day back onto the plate. Maybe you'll get to add one more day to the list of Days the Grownup Really Likes.
And if today is not that day, so be it. Console yourself with some comfort food. Just don't eat a key.
What is something you consider to be "overrated." (Ed. note: Bonus points if you show it to us!)
Submitted by Laurie.People always say that baldness is so great, and how everyone wants to be bald and overweight and how all the cool people are fat and bald and nerdy, but you know? It's not that great.
On Friday, we woke up early, loaded our suitcases into the car and began our vacation. Earlier, when Aaron had asked for a story, I told him of a marvelous place where waterfalls cascaded from giant mushrooms, and swimming pools created waves that let people bounce up and down, and kids could ride tall twisty slides and splash in a big puddle below. It was a wonderful place, a magical place where kids had had a blast.
Then we took him to a countertop shop.
We wandered up and down the aisles of slabs, admiring the granite, soapstone and recycled glass. We admired vanities and countertops and perused samples. We used a wet rag to see the difference between soapstone that has been oiled and soapstone that is au naturel.
Aaron told us he didn't like our vacation.
I tried to get him excited again by showing off that famous Mauston, WI landmark, the Gas Sign That Looks Like A Semi. He was mildly amused, but still not sold on the whole vacation thing. Finally, we pulled into Wisconsin Dells, the place where you can't throw a go-kart without hitting a waterpark, and the very first thing he saw was a minivan with a green alien on the luggage rack. Suddenly, Aaron's interest was picqued. Minutes later, we saw a PT cruiser with a moose on the roof. Plus, we drove right behind it, so you could get a clear view of his moosey hinder.
Suddenly, this was the greatest vacation in the world. All it took was a moose butt, and suddenly my son was transported into the vacation wonderland of his dreams. And then we got to our waterpark.
I've never seen a kid smile so much at a twelve-foot slide. He was beaming. Like, sunshine was actually pouring from his mouth. Then, Grandma and Aunt Katie and Cousin Emily showed up, and let me tell you this, friends, it was a superb vacation. We're already talking about doing it again.
Now granted, there were moments that could have gone better. For example, there was some running in the pool area. There was some climbing under the table at restaurants. There were some moments of sheer terror when we tried a waterslide that was a little too fast. And while everyone else tried to nap, all Aaron and Emily wanted to do was blolw raspberries on the fancy hotel chair. Actually, I found that pretty funny.
Recently I went to a conference, where the speaker told us that those family vacation disasters, the ones where everything seems to go wrong and tempers are high and people suffer until they get back from vacation, that those are the ones that really matter, that bring families together. And maybe it's true.
But I think I'd rather have a fun vacation anyway.
Would you rather be rich or famous?
Yeah, I guess I would.
Do you know what gets on my nerves? I'll tell you. I'll tell you what gets on my nerves. I will create a list that reflects those things which have found my nerves and got right on them. And that list shall include five things, because that is how I roll.
1. Carpenter Ants. Carpenter ants, I thought we had a deal. You would live far away from me and not gnaw through things that belong to me and I will not squish and or/poison you. Well, carpenter ants, you blew it. It was a nice agreement for a while. I was happy. You were not dead. But look what you've reduced me to, carpenter ants. Look at me now. Squishing and squashing and setting out traps and generally being unhappy with the whole lot of you. You feel free to writhe around all you want after I squish you, and wave your pathetic legs in the air in a sad disconcerting way. I don't care. Get out of my dishwasher. Stupid bugs.
2. Trains. Do you know what is more annoying than when you're just trying to get home and there's a train crossing in front of you and it just goes slower and slower and slower until finally it stops and just sits there in front of you like a stupid dead ant with no intent to do anything? And everyone shifts into park and sighs and says "This is
3. Backaches. If you have a job that requires you to lift objects, bend over, stretch, or just sit motionless in front of a thing, then you do not want a backache. And since every job in the world requires one of these things, that means that I'm talking to you, personally. I have a backache, and it means it takes me four minutes to stand up and I have to walk like an penguin with the shits and whenever I pick up a sofa I have to explain to the other lifters that I hurt my back and they all roll their eyes and think, "Right, sure, you just don't like doing actual lifting." And then I waddle back to my desk and take three minutes to sit down and meanwhile my vertebrae are slowly rotating my spine into a double helix and it's all my own fault because I didn't lift with my legs because (and here is my terrible secret) I still don't know what that means. I lift with my arms, not my legs! And my back! Until now. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to wait for a train with a sore back? It makes me want to kill an ant or something.
4. The power cord on my computer. If I don't sit in just the right way, the AC power will not get into my computer and I'll switch over to battery backup. Then the screen dims and tells me that I have 94% of my power remaining (21 minutes). And then two minutes later, I have 6% of my power remaining (3 minutes). So I sit cross-legged, with the cord draped over one foot and sit perfectly still, unless my back hurts, in which case I move my foot and the power cord stops working. Why doesn't it work? Something wrong with the wiring, maybe? I'm assuming it was eaten by ants when I wasn't looking. Possibly it happened during the twelve hours I was waiting for a train. So I'll get started on a project or blog entry or something and then sneeze, which is hell on a sore back, and then suddenly it's a race against time to find the perfect position before my cable shuts down. Well, screw you, cable. Screw you three degrees to the left and push you in slightly and there we go, the power's back on.
5. Cranky people. Don't they drive you crazy? You try so hard to be friendly, but they're just in a bad mood and they just want to slam their door in your face and insult your perfectly reasonable policies. And when you've had a whole day dealing with cranky people, it starts to seem like it's a conspiracy against you. Like all these people's moods are being controlled by barometric pressure or the phases of the moon so you ask your daycare provider if, overall, the kids were all hellions this particular day and when she says no, you wonder how that can possibly be true. Is it some other factor? One that affects only adults? Or very specifically geographic in nature? Or anything else that doesn't lead to the fact that maybe they're cranky because they've had to deal with me, who has a sore back and ants in his dishwasher and I've been sitting in front of stationary trains for the last nine hours. STOP IT I'M NOT TRYING TO BE IRONIC HERE, YOU oh crap there goes my power cord agai
Since graduating from college, my professional life has pretty much hinged on my masterful ability to turn a phrase, my willingness to travel great distances in order to get to work, and my stunning good looks. How I am not yet CEO of Time-Warner, I'll never know.
Still, I've gone a long time without having to put together much of a full annual budget. That is, a complete profit and loss statement what with all the incomes and expenses and derivatives and denominators and parentheses for minus signs and whatnot. My budgets have all gone on a project by project basis, usually pooling together printing costs, mailing costs, and a list of suggested periodicals in which to place ads. I've rarely had to think about expenses like property insurance or utilities. Until now. Now, I'm putting together a budget for our whole operation, and it's a little daunting. Marketing is just a line item. One of a hundred.
It's funny, because I've always viewed the budget as a slimy, red-eyed monster that must be slain, and the only way to do it is to balance it at great personal sacrifice to you and the ones you love. Those expenses will always creep upward with your hackles and eventually the only thing you can do to sate its horrible appetite is to burn something you love in such a way that the flames flicker in the reflection of your tear-filled eyes.
Today, though, I noticed something else: it's a bunch of numbers. They don't hate you. They're just telling you what's been goin' on lately. Sometimes those numbers work against you. Sometimes they work for you. Sometimes, and this was the shocking thing, they do both at the same time. If, for example, you notice that every year your business has been in existence, you've spent about $800 on, say, colored pencils, and this year you've only spent $300, then you can think, "Hooray! Now I've got extra money to cover the unexpectedly high cost of shoelaces this year!" or you can think, "Oh no! How much more money are we going to have to spend when this drought of colored-pencils-spending comes back to bite us in the ass next year?" Or let's say you pay a fee per transaction on your credit card machine. You could try to cut that cost, and hope you don't do a lot of credit card sales, or you could hope that this will be the best sales year ever and raise that expense accordingly. That's some pretty thinky stuff.
For some of the items in the budget, I wanted to solve the problem the way I have traditionally. But no one cares if you write puns about net losses or try to rhyme "depreciation" with "a preachy Haitian." You just need the numbers to add up. I have to wonder if fresh-faced CPAs see a balance sheet and it makes their eyes light up and they're off in dreamworld. Does it inspire dreams of making the great American profit and loss page, a budget so balanced and beautiful that it's featured on the cover of business week? It's an odd concept to me, but interest has to be interesting to someone, right? (Pun!)
Anyway, it's been an eye-opening experience. I feel like I understand a lot more about the budget than I did when I started. And I don't feel lost in an incomprehensible fog whenever I look at the numbers for work. It's a very comprehensible fog now. And if I can get really good at creating and balancing a budget, then maybe I can master the other task that has stymied me since I started my job. Maybe I can finally tackle replacing burnt out fluorescent lights.
Did you know that the word UNCOPYRIGHTABLE* is the longest word in the English language (at 15 letters) that doesn't repeat any letters? Is it even a word? You don't hear it much in conversation. Well, too bad. I say it is, and so I copyright it.
No, I'm just kidding. It's uncopyrightable.
If you like things in which letters are not repeated, you may also be interested in the following 26 letter pangrams:
Mr. Jock, TV quiz Ph.D., bags few lynx.
Blowzy night-frumps vex'd Jack Q.
There's also one with the word Vox right in it, but it contains the Welsh word crwth and the clearly made up word Squdgy. Also, jimp, fez, and blank. I'll let you put them in any order you want. It don't make no sense to me.
I guess there are probably a few other ones out there, but I can assure you they're not as good.
But then, I repeat myself.
* Yeah, right, like I'm really going to count DERMATOGLYPHICS
If you could enforce one rule of etiquette, what would it be?
Submitted by S@ngarang.
Don't make the same mistakes I did.
