Time-travel bowling with my brother: The only updates that the Northside Bowling alley has seen in the last 50 years is the Coca Cola logo. By frame 3, my brother's score is 4 times greater than mine. When I hit at least 1 pin, I do victory dances to Abba's gold.
Running alongside the Willamette River: The recent rains have put the river at toe-level. I run the trails at Minto Brown Island Park, wearing shorts and a long-sleeved top, noticing how Oregon's 32 degrees F is so much warmer than GradShitTownVille's 32 degrees F.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
Snapshots
Five movies in two days: including "Once." This was a movie I missed in the theaters, partly because it got bad reviews and partly because I was immersed in work. Holy crap! I'm sorry I missed it in the theatre, because the music is fantastic, and it would have been great to hear it on proper speakers. If you don't mind slow-paced movies like "Waking Life," and you like Indie music sung by handsome bearded men and a gorgeously feisty Czech woman, I recommend "Once." I splurged and bought the album.
Lessons from under the hood of the 1984 Toyota pickup: Installing a new battery in my dad's truck, wrestling with the aged lead battery terminal clamps. I'm sawing away at the lumpy bits, trying to get the clamps to clamp. There is lead shrapnel everywhere. Dad tries to clean it up and says, "It's hard to blow with gum in your mouth."
Lessons from under the hood of the 1984 Toyota pickup: Installing a new battery in my dad's truck, wrestling with the aged lead battery terminal clamps. I'm sawing away at the lumpy bits, trying to get the clamps to clamp. There is lead shrapnel everywhere. Dad tries to clean it up and says, "It's hard to blow with gum in your mouth."
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
It's been a while since we've had a little allegory
Once upon a time, there was a little girl whose parents had died, and she had to be sent to a boarding school. Her parents had been kind people, and taught her right from wrong, and how to live a decent, multi-faceted life. They taught her how to grow tomatoes, how to snuggle babies, how to ride a bicycle, how to be angry and sad, and how to get over it.
The people in charge at the boarding school were much different. They taught the children how to make stained glass windows. At first, it was very difficult. She cut her fingers on the glass, and often broke pieces in her projects. The people in charge were very disappointed. They said,
"You should be like Jenny. Jenny is our best child, all grown up now. She has made hundreds of beautiful stained glass windows all over the world."
The little girl improved over time. Her stained glass windows were medium-sized and nice looking. The people in charge at the boarding school sold them to tourists and hotel corporations looking for cheaply-priced art to adorn their walls.
Still, the people in charge were very disappointed. They said,
"You should be like Jenny. Jenny is our best child, all grown up now. She has made hundreds of beautiful stained glass windows all over the world."
The people in charge rarely mentioned other things about Jenny. Jenny lived alone. Jenny couldn't keep houseplants alive. Jenny ate too much salty food. Jenny was mean to waiters. Jenny spent so much of her time making beautiful stained glass windows, she hardly had time for anything else. The little girl heard rumors about Jenny, but the people in charge spoke only of her stained glass windows.
The little girl worked very hard to improve. Her stained glass windows now were large-size and very detailed. They were interesting to look at, and real artists hung them in their big white galleries with yellow oak floors.
Still, the people in charge were very disappointed. They said,
"You should be like Jenny. Jenny is our best child, all grown up now. She has made hundreds of beautiful stained glass windows all over the world."
It had been many years since her parents had died. And the little girl was all grown. Some days, she thought of the lessons that her mother and father had taught her about living a decent life, about right and wrong, about growing tomatoes and snuggling babies and riding bicycles. And other days, she thought about Jenny. And
sometimes when she thought of Jenny, only sometimes, usually in the dark of night, she was envious of all those stained glass windows that Jenny had created.
The people in charge at the boarding school were much different. They taught the children how to make stained glass windows. At first, it was very difficult. She cut her fingers on the glass, and often broke pieces in her projects. The people in charge were very disappointed. They said,
"You should be like Jenny. Jenny is our best child, all grown up now. She has made hundreds of beautiful stained glass windows all over the world."
The little girl improved over time. Her stained glass windows were medium-sized and nice looking. The people in charge at the boarding school sold them to tourists and hotel corporations looking for cheaply-priced art to adorn their walls.
Still, the people in charge were very disappointed. They said,
"You should be like Jenny. Jenny is our best child, all grown up now. She has made hundreds of beautiful stained glass windows all over the world."
The people in charge rarely mentioned other things about Jenny. Jenny lived alone. Jenny couldn't keep houseplants alive. Jenny ate too much salty food. Jenny was mean to waiters. Jenny spent so much of her time making beautiful stained glass windows, she hardly had time for anything else. The little girl heard rumors about Jenny, but the people in charge spoke only of her stained glass windows.
The little girl worked very hard to improve. Her stained glass windows now were large-size and very detailed. They were interesting to look at, and real artists hung them in their big white galleries with yellow oak floors.
Still, the people in charge were very disappointed. They said,
"You should be like Jenny. Jenny is our best child, all grown up now. She has made hundreds of beautiful stained glass windows all over the world."
It had been many years since her parents had died. And the little girl was all grown. Some days, she thought of the lessons that her mother and father had taught her about living a decent life, about right and wrong, about growing tomatoes and snuggling babies and riding bicycles. And other days, she thought about Jenny. And
sometimes when she thought of Jenny, only sometimes, usually in the dark of night, she was envious of all those stained glass windows that Jenny had created.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
28 degrees Fahrenheit tastes a lot like butter.
It's cold in GradShitTowneVille. There's snow on the ground; the sidewalks with unshoveled snow have been transformed into bumpy Slip 'N Slides. I've been keeping up with the dog's walks, but I feel like the 25 minute adventures in the sub-freezing temperatures have thrown my body into some kind of hibernation mode. Eating a whole stick of butter sounds like a great idea, which disturbs my rational half.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
