Spring Break Blues

I got my first official wedding present today. Actually apparently the psycho upstairs neighbors got my first official wedding present. They left it in the storeroom outside of our back door. Getting a "first official wedding present" was almost worth Mikes waking me up at 7:00 this morning when he discovered it there. Almost. I mean, it's friggin' SPRING BREAK. Hello? Does sleep ring a bell?

Speaking of weddings...mine is less than a month away. More like three weeks and two days...and I think I may be a little stressed. WE may be a little stressed. Tempers are short and even the cats are on edge around here. We have to make an effort to remember that we're stressed out and that we can't yell at each other about little stuff just because we're stressed. For example, the other day, Mike was pre-boarding us for our honeymoon and I was sitting on the couch grading papers or something and we had an argument because I had registered under Lucinda Harris which would no longer be my legal name. Silly things.

It is indeed my spring break and I am spending it working. Unfortunately, my spring break also is the "Between quarters" break. So I have to have three new syllabi prepared and chapters read in three different textbooks before Monday. I got sorta bullied into teaching a class I wasn't really interested in. They cancelled my speech class which dropped me from three down to two classes. This wasn't really a problem, though, because they had a Latin American Literature class still available and I emailed saying I'd take that class provided it would work with my schedule. The class scheduler emailed me back and said they had a class called "East-West Signature" that was about to become open. The class is required of all students before they can graduate and the current session was completely full and they still had people who needed to register so they were going to open a second section of the class. I emailed back and said I'd really rather have the literature class. She emailed back and said that the director of the department had recommended me for the signature class. Translation: Signature course, here I come. The problem is, the head of the department has recently found out that I have a Liberal Studies degree rather than simply an English degree. True, a majority of my classes were literature and English classes but I am fully qualified to teach theology and humanities as well. The signature course is a higher level course, so I suppose I should be flattered that they offered it to me. I'm not. It entails me reading a book called, "Guns, Germs and Steel" by a guy named Jared Diamond. I had to laugh because this is a book we already have a copy of. Mike bought this book for his own pleasure reading. At first I wasn't dreading this so much because Mike had the book and I thought, "No problem. Mike can help me get through the book and understand it blah, blah, blah." Then I suggested Mike go through the book and familiarize himself with everything and finish reading it. When he said, "I've tried...like...three times to read that book"....my heart sank. I'm going to be going through a book that my educated, brilliant boyfriend can not finish....with Chicago's inner city youth. Oh yeah. This'll be great. Good times.

School has been stressing me out anyways. Thankfully, the quarter finished up last week. I turned grades in and started working on getting materials gathered for this quarter. I sat down to add a "few details" to my syllabus and have written what is well on it's way to being a multi-paged manifesto. I'm going to have to do a little trimming on it. It's good therapy but I'm fairly certain that administration would not approve of me starting it with the words "I swear to God I will fail your ass if..." It's really sad that I have to put some of this stuff down on paper - it should be common sense. For instance, "it is not ok to come to class 45 minutes late, sign the attendance sheet and then leave." and my personal favorite, "between the hours of midnight and 6am, calling my home phone is off limits."

Next time I promise to blog about Mike's "bachelor" party with his co-workers. It was a riot. It's a story that involves handcuffs, a feather boa, many many drinks and a cake shaped like breasts.

It's true...

It's true...all the pretty girls want to kiss Mike. Should I be jealous?

Future father of the year?

Last weekend, Mike and I had brunch with Siobhan and her daughter, Laiba. Laiba is about four months old now and quite a smiley baby she is. I spent a fair portion of the meal holding her and asking Mike, "Wanna hold the baby, Mikes?" He, on the other hand, spent his time laughing nervously and saying, "Heh...That's ok." Halfway through the meal, Siobhan took Laiba and fed her. Apparently she got too much milk because shortly after they returned to the table, Laiba "urped" and spit up a little bit. Now I do not have children of my own but I've been around one or two. My nephew used to get nauseated whenever I picked him up. No sooner would I pick him up than he'd be tossing his cookies all over my shirt. While Siobhan cleaned up her shirt and wiped the baby's mouth with a napkin, I peeked over at Mike. I could literally read the thoughts crossing his mind from the look on his face. I just KNEW he was thinking, "Oh my God...is she touching that with her bare hand? Oh that is just GROSS!" I laughed and told Siobhan that I should have made him hold her before because there was no way he would pick her up now. It turns out I was wrong. He did pick her up. I was holding her when it came time to leave and I made him hold her while I slid out of the booth and stood up. THIS was the best part of the whole day. He took her and held her out as FAR away from his body as he could get as if she was filled with dynamite. I can only hope that any kids we have are born about 3 years old. No fuss, litter muss....otherwise I may be on my own.

Bring back that blogging feeling

I don't really have anything witty for you at this time. Cindi says that I'm lazy for not blogging recently, but I'm all about having a topic.

Tomorrow night my co-workers are throwing me a pre-wedding party at a restaurant. It was supposed to be a Bachelor-type party but seeing that I work with nearly all women, that wouldn't quite be right. I'm not sure what will be in store exactly. Hopefully Cindi will be coming with me.

Friday is my birthday. I'll be celebrating by not eating meat. Whaa!

Saturday morning I will be attempting to get tickets for the greatest rock band in the free and non-free world, Pearl Jam. Having 2 shows in Chicago is awful tempting. Oh yeah, I gotta work for a few hours too. Whaa!

My birthday dinner will be post-poned until Saturday night when I can properly enjoy myself while consuming meat. I think we'll be going to Club Lucky, an Italian joint in nearby Bucktown.

I haven't heard anything yet from the Cook County job as far as a second interview. I hope to hear something soon about the two openings for the City of Chicago Health Dept.

Just an observation...

Am I intimidating? I've never really thought so but I suppose I am my mom's daughter. Ask anyone at the hospital where she works and they'll tell you that when they started (and almost all of them have been there less time than she has because she's been there next to FOREVER) and they'll tell you that they were scared of her for a few weeks. (Yeah, mom, I know..."Well, I don't know WHY. Do I seem that scary to you?") To which I can respond that Mike was, indeed, a bit terrified of her at first, too. Poor Mike kinda got ambushed by my family from the get-go. There had been some talk about Mike's...err...family background before he came to visit at my parents' house the first time. My brothers especially were curious as to whether Kurczewski was a Polish last name. At that time I had no idea exactly what his ethnic origins consisted of and I told my brothers he was probably part Czech or something. The LAST thing I wanted was them thinking they were cute telling Pollock jokes to him. Then the first night he met my family, we were playing trivial pursuit and my little brother, Matt, decided there was one way to find out exactly what his background was. He turns and says, "So, Mike...how many Pollocks does it take to..." I. Was. Mortified. I stared him down and mouthed, "Shut the hell up!" which naturally only encouraged him more. He said, "Whaaaaaaaaaaaat? YOU said he was Czech." Thank goodness Mike has a sense of humor. I don't have a point here...just an observation.

I must go get ready for the brunch we are having with my friend, Siobhan. I'm going to make Mike write something soon. He's so lazy!

May the road rise up to meet you...

Is a birthday really a birthday when you sit at home doing nothing? Well, yeah, of course it is. Man, I'm so bored! Have you ever seen that episode of Seinfeld where Kramer is alone all day in Jerry's apartment? That's what it's been like on Dickens Ave. today. Mike had to work today and with all the stuff going on at his job, I didn't push for him to take the day off. I've done laundry, watched two movies, read two books, watched Judge Mathis, played with the cats, written in my journal, taken a bath AND a shower, checked my email compulsively about 40 times, played Grand Theft Auto: Liberty City and nearly had a fist fight with Furio. The thing I haven't done is pull out all the grading I need to do. It's my birthday! No way am I grading essays.

Mike actually took me out for my birthday yesterday. We went for a very nice birthday dinner at the Outback and then he took me to the book store. Perhaps you didn't understand. Mike Kurczewski VOLUNTARILY TOOK ME TO BORDERS. When he suggested the trip while we were eating I nearly choked. Then I looked at him suspiciously and thought to myself, "Oh, hell. He's either losing his job, terminally ill or about to break up with me." Yes, I know - he's a nice man who does sweet things for me all the time. But we're talking bookstore. When he told me my limit was "no more than FOUR books," I was like "Who are you and where's the real Mike? You aliens think you can fool me with this pod people version of my boyfriend but I'm WAY too smart for you." I'm still waiting for him to peel his face off and reveal his true identity. I'll let you know...

We're going to a hockey game tonight. Go Blackhawks! They're giving away green Blackhawks hats and I must possess one. I must.

Mike "accidentally" woke me up too early today. His excuse was, "Oh yeah. I forgot you don't have to work today." Yeah. He just wanted a chance to do his usual...."How old are you? 29. How old am I? Oh, yeah....still only 28." That's is SO not amusing any more. It was cute when we were 22, 23, 24...but as I age, I appreciate it far less.

Oh! Mike got home early. I suppose I should go change out of my pajamas so we can get go to the hockey game. Yeah, that's right...It's 4pm and I'm still in my pajamas. Big whoop...wanna fight about it? Anywho, I'm off. I'll try and update more later.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I solemnly swear that the testimony I am about to give...

To: Administration
CC: Dr. G., Dr. P., R.B. (Head of Security)
From: Me
Re: The incidents of 02-22-06 in the English tutoring office
Date: March 1, 2006


The Incidents of February 22

Student M approached English tutor, Ms. O at approximately 10:30 on the morning of February 22, 2006. Ms. O was tutoring that day and stationed at the front desk. I was not currently on the clock as a tutor but was sitting at the rear desk preparing for my classes. His manner was rather short and I remember this specifically because I thought that he addressed Ms. O in a rude style. Ms. O requested that he make the corrections suggested by his teacher and bring back a clean copy of his paper to her for further revisions. She attempted to explain to him the benefit of this method. He refused and insisted that she look at the paper as it was. While he was speaking to her, his voice was raised in volume and he continued to speak to Ms. O in an inappropriate manner. I came from my cubicle and, in an attempt to defuse the situation, advised Ms. O to go ahead and work with the paper in hand. At that time, I informed Student M that we were here to help him and that he was being hardheaded. I returned to my station and heard Student M tell Ms. O to give him his “shit” back. He left the office without further interaction. A few moments after he removed himself, Dr. G entered the office to speak with me regarding another matter. I advised Dr. G of the situation and the actions of both myself and Student M.

Approximately 15-25 minutes later, Student M returned to the office with a revised, clean copy of his essay. His manner was rigid but no longer as rude and angry as he had been previously. Ms. O and I worked with him for approximately two and a half to three hours, concluding at nearly two p.m. During this time, Student M made several remarks indicating that his teacher was not grading him fairly but was not discourteous to Ms. O or myself. I suggested that he speak with his teacher but he said that he felt he could not speak to her and that when he tried, she would “blow him off.” I informed him that, were he unhappy with his grade, he could appeal his class grade or ask to have his papers reviewed by Dr. G. He left our interaction on almost pleasant terms, thanked me for my help and advised us that he would return after making revisions to have his paper looked over again.

Student M did indeed return to the office. I entered the office at approximately four p.m. and he was working with Ms. O.H. (a different O. than before) on his paper. I spoke with him briefly and he asked me if Dr. G was in his office. I stated that it was my belief Dr. G would be gone because of the lateness of the hour and that he should wait to see what his grade was before speaking with him. Student M stated that he could/would not wait because he could not afford to fail the class. At this point his manner was tense but our interaction was quite civil. I walked Student M upstairs to show him where Dr. G’s office was located. It happened that Dr. G was in his office speaking with Ms. L. Despite the fact that Dr. G was obviously meeting with someone, he threw himself dramatically against the door and said, “Dr. G, I need your help!” He then opened the door and asked if Dr. G had time to meet with him. Dr. G advised him that he was meeting with Ms. L and then he would be leaving for the day. Student M asked if he could give Dr. G something to read at home that evening. Dr. G replied that he could and Student M left to collect his papers from downstairs. I spoke to Dr. G for a few moments and returned downstairs in time to see Student M leaving with his papers. At this time he shook my hand and thanked me for all of my help.

I sat down and began working again. A few minutes later, Ms. L came into the office and informed us that Student M had come into Dr. G’s office and insisted that Dr. G read his papers rather than taking them home with him. Approximately 15-20 minutes after Ms. L arrived in the office, Student M came through the door. At this point, I was standing in the middle of the office between the front and rear desks. Student M entered the office and immediately headed in my direction. He walked toward me and put his finger in the vicinity of my face stating that Dr. G had refused to read his paper and that it was my fault because I had unfairly prejudiced Dr. G against him by informing him of our conflict earlier that morning. He went on to say, still with his finger in my face, that I had provoked him by calling him “hardheaded.” At this point, Ms. L became involved in the conversation. I believe her intervention came both as a desire to speak on my behalf and as a result of her frustrations due to him interrupting her meeting with Dr. G. The situation quickly escalated as both parties raised their voices. Student M became increasingly aggressive, at one point making a fist and slapping it against his palm in Ms. L’s direction. At this point, I took Ms. L with me to speak with Dr. G. I wanted to inquire as to Dr. G’s reasons for, as Student M had stated to us, refusing to even read his paper. I took Ms. L with me in an attempt to separate them and defuse the situation.

When we arrived at Dr. G’s office, he was putting on his coat. I inquired as to what had transpired between the two gentlemen. Dr. G asked if he was still in the office. I informed Dr. G he was currently in the office working with Ms. O.H. Ms. L and I followed him down to the tutoring office. I was in the hall and did not visually see anything that transpired inside of the office. I heard Dr. G ask Student M if he was in the office bothering the tutoring staff. I heard no response and I did not see if Student M responded in any way with his body language. I then heard Dr. G state that he was going to contact security. Dr. G then left the office and headed down the stairs. I entered the office and sat down. Ms. L came to stand in the doorway but did not speak. Student M turned in Ms. L’s direction and said, “You trick ass bitch!” Ms. L angrily replied that he could not speak to her in that manner. He put his finger in her face and replied that he had “already stepped in some shit” and that he would “do whatever he pleased now.” Ms. L repeatedly told Student M to remove his hand from her face and advised him she would call security who would “have him out of here in under two minutes.” Student M refused to remove his hand and told her that she “thinks she has so much pull around here” but that she “wasn’t shit.” Ms. L left to get security and Student M followed her out of the office. During this last interaction between Ms. L and Student M he was not aggressive towards myself, although I find his behavior toward Ms. L to be inappropriate and quite aggressive. I was later told by Ms. L. that Student M had threatened the tutoring staff and herself by stating that, "He was going to jail tonight" because he intended to "beat someone's ass" and that we "had better watch our asses" when leaving campus at night.

I feel that disciplinary action is required in the case of Student M. Threats, whether stated or implied, should not be tolerated by {name of the school for which I work} . I am willing to testify in any hearing held by the administration. Thank you.

LLH

Return of the Living Unwed

I know, I know. Mike and I have been absolutely horrid about posting lately but you would not believe the crap that has been going on. Between the two of us we have suffered through job interviews, a coup d'etat at work, wedding dress fittings, bridesmaid dress issues, hotel reservation issues, unexpected wedding expenses, unexpected car expenses, wedding hair stylist issues, general financial bugaboos and an incident in which I was threatened by a student. Stay tuned for a proper update soon. I promise!

I got the Hippie Hippie Shakes

So Cindi says to me on the way home, "I'm really craving these scones that one of my co-workers brought in to work before. She gets them at Whole Foods. Any idea where there's one by us?" I told her that I hadn't seen one around and I really just wanted to get home. So we get home and the first thing Cindi does is pull out the phone book and I knew what was on her mind. Luckily, she didn't see me roll my eyes and attempt to hide my discontent. "It's at 3300 North Ashland. You know where that is?," she said. "Yep, let's go, we need some pop anyways," I muttered.

Whole Foods turns out to be an organic grocery store. Some of the things were quite interesting (ostrich burgers and filets) and expensive too. I felt like I entered hippie heaven. If Jerry Garcia was still alive and he lived in Chicago, he definitely wouldn't be afraid to shop there. He would have to go somewhere else for his Coca-Cola fix though, as it was nowhere to be found.

I walked around, separate from Cindi, checking out the meat items for sale and looking for some bagel chips. I thought I was talking to a different person when she came up to me and said how she saw some rosemary tofu at the salad bar that actually looked appetizing and that she wanted to try it. I made a face that said "go ahead, try it but don't expect me to."

We found some snack items like Belgian frites style potato chips, vegan chocolate chip cookies, bottled water, bbq chips, pita chips and a $4.39 bag of sea salt and pepper kettle chips. We must have looked like we were hanging out all weekend at a Phish concert or something.

The last purchase was truly magnificent. I carefully perused the beer selection and saw that they had tallboys of Fat Tire Amber Ale. Hallelujah! They just recently began supplying Chicago with their bodacious brew. Their beer selection was small but pretty decent.

All in all, I think we were sold on going back. I'll be going back to try out an ostrich burger with a Ben and Jerry's pint for dessert. They'll be no tofu for this cowboy.

Guitar God

"See ya in a bit Cindi. I'm off to Best Buy." Or so I thought. The trip to Best Buy took nearly two hours. What was my detour, you might ask? While walking by the video game section I heard the familiar strains of stadium rock from one of the try it before you buy it video screens. The game playing was Guitar Hero for Playstation 2. The controller is a small plastic replica of a Gibson SG guitar with 5 color buttons for the frets and a strum bar for the strings. The main section of the screen tells you which notes to play and when. I watched a young guy struggle through a song and have the video game "crowd" boo him off the stage. I HAD to try this game. I'm quite sure that I had the same look on my face as when I saw the BBQ pit in the store, but Cindi wasn't with me to verify that.

I started off with an easy song, "I Wanna Be Sedated" by The Ramones. I'm pretty sure that the version on the game is tougher than the actual guitar part in the song. I rocked through that song and several more. I played "I Love Rock N Roll" and got through that without too much trouble. I nearly got booed off the stage after the guitar solo in "Thunder Kiss 65."

I was really into this game. It's too bad that Best Buy was out of the game or I would have bought it immediately. I had the whole head bob and foot tap going. I resisted the urge to get up on the shelf racks and do a David Lee Roth-esque jump off of it with a Pete Townsend windmill strum on the landing. I wanted to duck walk down the aisle like Chuck Berry then light the guitar on fire a la Jimi Hendrix.

I'm putting the band back together. I'm on a mission from God. The man upstairs and I just need to wait until I get the game shipped in from Amazon.com. Rock on!

Corporate Sell Outs

Mikeandcindi.blogspot.com is now open for corporate advertising to the highest bidder(s). For the big players out there, we prefer Coke over Pepsi, Miller over Budweiser and GM over Ford.

Mike needs some extra money for a Plasma TV for the spare room and Cindi needs cash for a new designer purse and Sony PSP.

Cindi sent me an email she received from Liberty Tax Service. Apparently, one of their people did a web search and found their name on our blog. We got an email from them for a web site to get a $20 coupon off their services.

A church by any other name...ok, it isn't the same

There was a bit of an snafu regarding that church that Mike and I were going to be married in. Our officiant recommended a little convent chapel. We went and viewed the chapel, loved it, took lots of pictures and decided it was perfect! We went back to our friends' house and called the sisters to make arrangements. Our friend, Rachael, spoke to one of the sisters who said that this was a very busy time for them and that we should call back after Christmas. Ok. We decided to contact our officiant who had "contacts" within the convent. Christmas came and went and we still weren't exactly sure what was going on.

Finally, Rachael and I reached the point where we were like, "We just need to know. Yes or no...can somebody let us know what's going on?" The sisters were reluctant to have a wedding there, so it seemed. They weren't saying no but they wouldn't really commit to a yes either. Our contact with the convent told Rachael and I that they could probably "twist the sisters' arms" and get them to agree to have the wedding there but I am reluctant to begin my marriage by putting the hurt on nuns. Luckily, Rachael is resourceful and knows a lot of very, very nice people. They scouted out another church, sent us some pictures and reserved our wedding date.

So behold! This is the church in which Mike and I will be getting married on April 22, 2006. In the top picture, if you look closely enough you will see our friend, and Rachael's beloved husband, Aaron. He is waving. The picture was taken to show that even though the church has a cemetery in front, we could take wedding pictures outside without the gravestones showing.

The second picture is the inside of the church. One of our requirements for a church is that it be small-ish. We're not having a huge lavish wedding and so I wanted an intimate atmosphere. No sense having a ceremony attended by about 15-20 people in a venue that holds 1,000. Know what I mean?

Today I started looking at "memorial candles" for the wedding. I don't know why I put that in quotes...I just felt like it. Anyway, besides making me cry at work (which is never cool), they cost around $40! $40 to put my brother's name on a candle that would cost me (maybe) $5 at Wal-Mart. I guess it just proves that weddings are big business. Feh.

Well, I must finish preparing for my drama class which starts in 31 minutes. I'll end with another quote from one of my favorite playwrights, Wendy Wasserstein.

"Because of Mozart, it's all over after the age of seven." - W. Wasserstein

Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are!

Ok, so it's not February 10th but who knows if I'll get a chance to post again on that exact date! This is close enough. But, Cindi...what's Feb. 10th? (I hear you ask) Why, my darling children, that is the birthdate of the late-great James Francis Durante...also known as The Schnoz. Yeah, that's right...I'm a bottomless well of useless factoid trivia. Big whoop, wanna fight about it?

I started this post earlier in between my classes today and it quickly turned into an "I hate everybody and teaching sucks!" rant. I found that I was tired and cranky. Deciding that perhaps tired and cranky was not the best mood to be in when one seeks to entertain...or at least inform, I decided to break for lunch. Then I got busy. Everybody and their dog is looking for me today. It's midterm week and all the lazies who haven't been to class in five weeks are trying to hunt me down and explain why they deserve a chance to turn in all the work they've missed. Not to mention that I gave my midterm exam in my "Intro to Drama" class. I have frantic phone calls from three students who missed the exam. Two had just been involved in car accidents and one girl has pink eye. So I called everyone back today and, with the proper documentation, they'll be able to make it up. I also got an e-mail from a student in one of my composition classes. He missed class today because he has tuberculosis but he's planning to be in class on Thursday. I was like, "Dude...STAY HOME." Geez.

But I'm off on a tangent...what was I talking about? Oh yeah...I hate teaching. Well, not really. But that's how I felt this morning. I hated everything this morning. Too many people trying to hunt me down, not enough time in the day to sleep, not enough money to buy a playstation portable (I swear that thing's going on my bridal registry!!!!) , not enough time to buy a donut before class, too much homework to grade, not enough room in my bag for all the junk I have to carry around...you name it and I complained about it in my head this morning. Then - to top it ALL off - we got copies of last semester's teaching evaluations in our mailboxes today. I picked mine up when I went to make copies of the quiz I'm giving tomorrow and groaned to myself. Last semester I was working full time at the museum and teaching a full load of classes. I was tired and cranky 98% of the time (it's true...ask Mike), I never had any time to prepare anything extra or (in my opinion) all that interesting for the classes, I was never at school unless I had to teach that day...I was sure that my students hated me last quarter. Or at least felt like I was completely incompetent. I mean, none of them took their classes seriously, I couldn't get anybody to read anything ahead of time for class and getting them to turn in homework was like pulling teeth! Whitney Houston may believe that these children are our future but I was NOT convinced. I decided that today couldn't POSSIBLY get any worse, so I tore open my evaluation envelope. Wonder of wonders...they freakin' LOVED me last quarter. I got a 4.81 out of 5 in my College Reading classes and 4.78 out of 5 for Speech! Not only that...but these kids (most of whom I wasn't sure were even literate) wrote COMMENTS on the sheets. I would like to sample a few of my favorites:

"Very respectful of our feelings"
"I think she is really nice and respectful to everyone in the class"
"Miss Harris is an excellent instructor. She provided the class with the knowledge needed."
"She relates to us."

And I got five that said:
"She is a very good teacher."

I did get one guy (I know it's anonymous, but you can't tell me this isn't a guy) who gave this suggestion as a way to improve our College Reading course, "Less reading." Um...dude. The class is called College READING.

So I decided that perhaps these children may be our future. (Sing it, Whitney...'Teach them well and LET them lead the way') After all, they do have great taste in teachers.

I'm so sad!

Goodbye, Wendy Wasserstein

"We're all concerned, intelligent, good women. It's just that I feel stranded. And I thought the whole point was that we wouldn't feel stranded. I thought the point was that we were all in this together." -from The Heidi Chronicles by Wendy Wasserstein

Portrait of a Grown Man Enjoying a Pop Tart

I must have missed more than I thought when it came to being a kid. Oh sure, I played baseball and football and any other outdoor sports you could think of, had a Nintendo the first Christmas it came out, bikes, fireworks, a pool, the whole nine yards. But I'm nearly 29 now, and I had my first pop tart last month.

Imagine me, a child growing up in the 80s, never enjoying a pop tart as they were meant to be enjoyed. It's a wonder that I wasn't suspected of being a Communist and shipped off to Moscow. A sample of the home raid would have gone something like this: "You're kidding me, right? He doesn't eat breakfast cereal either? He's definitely coming with us! He will be a perfect member of the Young Communists. We shall call him Mikhail. Grab your coat, boots, long johns, and several rolls of your fancy 2-ply toilet paper, comrade."

I guess that the Hypercolor t-shirt, denim jacket, and fake Air Jordans (they were decent facsimiles with the red, white and black color scheme, only without the Nike swoosh and the trademark Jordan with the ball and outstretched arms and legs; come to think of it, they were a very memorable pair of shoes) must have made me look semi-normal, even if I didn't eat what every other kid did.

Anyways, last month we were visiting Rachael and Aaron in Tennessee and she knows that Cindi and I both are extremely picky eaters, so she offered me two of Aaron's pop tarts (Frosted Chocolate Fudge) for breakfast. "Sure, I'll give em a shot," I said, not expecting too much. Aaron may have been disappointed that I was dipping into his pastry stash, but he didn't show it. To my surprise, they were pretty damn good, so I had several more the next day, and the next after that. I think Aaron was secretly glad we weren't staying for much longer than a weekend.

Just as I am writing this, Cindi came into the office and glanced at my post. She said, "Oh, wow, I was just thinking about having a few of your pop tarts." I think that I need a better hiding place for them, or perhaps a safe.

A challenge...

This post today is dedicated to to the poor, unfortunate souls who parade around on your city or suburban sidewalks in freezing weather for a lousy $7 an hour. Yes, that's right, I'm talking about the costumed wavers for Liberty Tax Service. I'm sure that you've seen hundreds out there as I have, dressed up as Uncle Sam or The Statue of Liberty, unloved and unappreciated as they wave unnoticed for hours at a time.

What I propose is a contest to give something back to these people and make them feel at home on our streets. The points system is as follows:

Waving back while in your car (a smile is optional) (1 point)
Honking your horn as you go by (2 points)
The honk and wave (3 points)
Buying them a cup of coffee or hot chocolate at a gas station or Dunkin Donuts (5 points)
Buying them a Venti Starbucks with an overpriced dessert (10 points)
Writing your Congreesman and/or Senator to move back the tax return date to September 15 (15 points)

Feel free to have a handy-dandy notebook at your side in your car to keep track of your daily points as I have.

A short update...

It is somehow 1 AM right now, although I'm not sure how in the world it could possibly be that late. Anyway, as a result, I am going to make this a quick post.

There was no way for Mike to try and kill my mom again today because she is on 100% room air today! Huzzah!

She had a visit from one of her best friends in high school, whom she hasn't seen in almost 30 years. On top of that, her cardiologist from Burlington made a special call to her cardiologist in Davenport to check on her progress. The Davenport doctor asked her exactly "who she was down there." It's unusual for a doctor to follow up personally on a patient that's been transfered. Once the reins change hands, that's sort of it. Out of sight, out of mind. Dr. Lazar (Burlington cardiologist) calling Davenport to check on her made her feel pretty spiffy. She also found out that the hospital in Burlington is holding her job for three months in the hopes that when they re-evaluate her heart functions down the road she'll be deemed fit enough to come back to work. It's one thing to retire and another entirely to have retirement thrust upon you, but why worry about something that you have no control over, right?

Well, I'm off to bed. Take care.

I feel WICKED! -(or)- What a difference a day makes!

Last night, my friend Vitka and I attended the Chicago version of the Tony award winning musical "Wicked." The musical itself was wonderful! I was so impressed that I had to rush out today and buy the soundtrack cd and a copy of the original book. Mike just shakes his head when things like this happen. He asked me why I had to have them right away and I was like, "Because I want them! Why else?"

We picked Vitka up after she got off of work at the Field (aka the seventh circle of Hell) and went out to grab a bite to eat to kill the couple of hours before the show started. We went to Miller's Pub in the Loop. The food was fair to good quality. As we were leaving we had what I refer to as an "almost Yao Ming" sighting. You don't see too many 7 foot tall Asian men and we had to stare through the window for a few minutes to see for sure.

My mom is doing great so far. We went to see her in the hospital today, arriving at about 1 p.m. I hadn't seen her before we went in but my dad says he is shocked every day because he sees so much improvement. On Wednesday, according to all sources, she was ashen/gray colored, short of breath and looking quite unhealthy. Post-surgery (in which two arteries were stented) she was given a good prognosis by her surgeons but remained groggy and pretty out of it for the rest of the day. In fact, she doesn't remember speaking to me on the phone, although "speaking" is really a generous word for it. My aunt held the phone up to her ear, I spoke and she grunted back at me. She also doesn't remember being cranky, smacking away helpful hands nor the numerous attempts she made to climb out of bed. The next day, my dad says, he entered into her room and she was sitting on the side of the bed (pre-surgery this was strictly forbidden!). She smiled big and said, "Hey, babe!" She was also no longer the chalky gray color - she had a pink face and pink feet. The difference, according to both my dad and my aunt Linda, was like night and day. (Yeah, that's right...I've got both a mom and an aunt named Linda. Big whoop...wanna fight about it? Actually when I was younger I had two Aunt Lindas - one on each side of the family. There was 1 Linda Parker (my mom's maiden name) and 2 Linda Harrises...crazy, huh? ) My dad was telling me today that her improvement was again a pleasant surprise. Because I hadn't been there through the entire hospital stay, I hadn't noticed it myself. Yesterday she had 6 IV's, an oxygen mask and a catheter. Today the catheter had been removed, she was down to 1 IV (which was turned off during the time I spent in the room) and she was down to a nasal cannula with reduced oxygen. They're weaning her completely off of the oxygen and she is now taking her medicines orally. She has a lot of sore spots, including a burn on her back where they shocked her with a defibrillator to get her heart rhythm normal again either before or during her cardiac procedures. She's got a long road ahead of her as far as recovery is concerned but they're estimating she'll be ready to head home the first to mid part of next week.

Her sense of humor is back, though. Today Mike had the misfortune to sit on the chair that had somehow rolled on top of her oxygen tubing. There was a loud popping noise when the tubing came off from the oxygen source in the wall. We had to call the nurse to come and reconnect it. For the rest of the day, my mom absolutely delighted in telling anyone and everyone who came into the room that her future son-in-law was trying to finish her off. Depending on who she was speaking to I was either an innocent bystander or a willing participant in the devious plot.

The bright side? Mike's beloved WEW was playing in West Point, IA this weekend (very near where my parents live) and he was in town for the concert. Yippee.

Snippets

In an attempt to keep my readers informed and from wandering to other less interesting web sites, I must update. Thanks Mom, for the kick in the butt to get back on the blogging horse. Without further ado, my spurs are a-janglin'.

Congrats to the Detroit Pistons, who are now 35-5. Remember 1984 when a certain professional sports team from Detroit started out at 35-5 and won the World Series? It's hard to believe that this team could be even better than the team that dismantled the Lakers two years ago. Billups for MVP.

Two books I'm currently reading are David Egger's "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" and Neil Peart's (drummer in Rush) "Traveling Music." Egger's work is in the David Sedaris vein and is just as brilliant and entertaining.

I applied for a job the other day as an Epidemiologist for the Cook County Health Department. Sounds important, right? It'll probably be a few weeks before they start interviewing.

On a serious note, our thoughts are with Cindi's mom, Linda, who is currently in the hospital recovering from a heart attack and subsequent surgery. Please include her and her family in your prayers. We will be heading out for Iowa on Friday morning.

Also, a belated RIP to Wilson Pickett, one of the great entertainers and singers of all time, who left us last week.

Random Fargo quote

Mr. Mohra: So, I'm tendin' bar there at Ecklund and Swedlin's last Tuesday and this little guy's drinkin' and he says, "So where can a guy find some action? I'm goin' crazy out there at the lake." And I says, "What kinda action?" and he says, "Woman action, what do I look like?" And I says, "Well, what do I look like, I don't arrange that kinda thing," and he says, "I'm goin' crazy out there at the lake," and I says, "Well, this ain't that kinda place."
Officer Olson: Uh-huh.
Mr. Mohra: So he says, "So I get it, so you think I'm some kinda jerk for askin'," only he doesn't use the word jerk.
Officer Olson: I understand.
Mr. Mohra: And then he calls me a jerk and says the last guy who thought he was a jerk was dead now. So I don't say nothin' and he says, "What do ya think about that?" So I says, "Well, that don't sound like too good a deal for him then."
Officer Olson: Ya got that right.
Mr. Mohra: And he says, "Yah, that guy's dead and I don't mean of old age." And then he says, "Geez, I'm goin' crazy out there at the lake."
Officer Olson: White Bear Lake?
Mr. Mohra: Well, Ecklund & Swedlin's, that's closer ta Moose Lake, so I made that assumption.
Officer Olson: Oh sure.
Mr. Mohra: So, ya know, he's drinkin', so I don't think a whole great deal of it, but Mrs. Mohra heard about the homicides down here and she thought I should call it in, so I called it in. End o' story.
Officer Olson: What'd this guy look like anyway?
Mr. Mohra: Oh, he was a little guy. Kinda funny lookin'.
Officer Olson: Uh-huh. In what way?
Mr. Mohra: Oh, just in a general kinda way.