Early Morning Lawn Maintenance

Early this morning (around 6:00), I found myself in that strange, liminal state where the line between sleep and awake becomes blurred.  I dreamed that it was still dark outside, yet I heard the sound of many lawnmowers in my neighborhood.  It was confusing, and I thought to myself, “Who the crap is mowing their yard at 6:00 in the morning?”  I finally got out of bed and realized that my dream was actually closer to reality than I had hoped.  The only difference…people were not mowing their yards, but rather they were plowing their driveways…at 6:00 in the morning.

Living in Milwaukee is  wonderful for about 7-8 months out of the year…past that, it can be somewhat annoying.  Last night’s winter storm dumped roughly 5 inches of snow on the city, and this morning I was forced to join the ranks of my neighbors who had arose early to combat the wintery enemy.  For thirty minutes, I walked up and down my driveway, blowing snow into large piles around my house, and I could not help but return to my dream in which people were mowing their yards in the wee hours of the morning.  Come to think of it, when Spring arrives, I think I will start mowing my yard before the sun has come up…why not?

A Bad Idea?

For the past couple of months, Milwaukee radio has been innundated with commercials advertising laser hair removal from a place called “Ideal Image.”  For the most part, every commercial says the same thing:  “Aren’t you unhappy with all that unwanted hair?  Don’t you want to have more time to do the things you want to do?  Wouldn’t your life be easier if you didn’t have to shave every day?  Isn’t a hairless person a happier person?”  Largely, the commercials are directed toward women, but men are also welcome to partake of the ritual.

In recent weeks, in anticipation of the Christmas season, the commercials have taken a different advertising approach.  Just this morning, I heard a commercial that advocated laser hair removal as a gift for your loved ones.  Get your significant other a gift certificate to Ideal Image for Christmas!  They’ll love you for it!

Now, I can imagine a woman buying such a gift for her man with little to no problem.  Men are notorious for growing hair in strange places, and they are even more notorious for not caring about it.  For the most part, if they don’t have to pay for it, and if they know it will make their female counterparts happy, men will welcome the idea of going in and getting their unsightly growths removed.  Such a gift from a woman to a man is not a problem.

However, the image of a man giving the gift of laser hair removal to his woman is more that slightly problematic.  In my mind, it is on par with getting your wife a thighmaster or an appointment with a nutritionist.  Isn’t “Hey, I thought you might want to take care of that hair I don’t like” the same as “Hey, it would be great if you had smaller thighs?”

Maybe I’m reading too far into this.  Your thoughts are appreciated.

Explosions and Language Barriers

Today I rode my bike down to the lakefront to get some work done at my favorite coffee shop.  I was sitting outside, making notes and minding my own business.  Then, I felt a tap on my shoulder.  I looked over and there was an older lady standing next to me who said, with a thick accent, “are you OK?”  I thought it a wierd question, so I replied, “yes I am, how are you?”  She pointed to my hand, which I quickly noticed was covered in red ink.  “I was sitting over there and thought you were bleeding,” she said.  Realizing that my red pen was the obvious culprit, I said, “oh, thanks for letting me know…my pen must have exploded.”  The lady gave me a horrified look and took a step back.  “Exploded?” she said.  “Yes, exploded.”

She went back to her chair as I got up to throw the worthless writing instrument away.  I realized as I was on my way back to my table how unusual that expression must sound to someone who is not a native English speaker.  “Exploded” is a fairly strange way to describe what happens when your pen leaks on you.  I’m not terribly surprised that she and her friends moved to a more distant table.

Exhausted

Over the past week or so, I’ve found myself with very little energy. This is unusual, especially since the snow has melted and the weather has finally become habitable again. Even with the climatic improvements, I still find myself with a total lack of motivation and drive.

Perhaps it is because the end of the semester is looming in the near future and I’m just waiting out the next two weeks?

Perhaps it is because I’ve got 60 pages worth of writing to do before the school year ends?

Perhaps it is because the coffee beans I last purchased were mislabeled and are actually decaf?

All of these are possibilities, only the last one warrants a beating. Whatever the cause of my slothfulness may be, I find myself lately in a funk that is proving difficult to get out of. There is really no point to this post, it is simply one more way I have chosen to procrastinate. OK, back to work.

Ode to a Pack Rat…Myself

For a good portion of my life, I’ve criticized pack rats. You know…those people who just hang on to every little thing that they touch, pretending that it has some sort of inherent value? Why can’t they just get rid of something? Would it really kill them to take a trip (or three) down to Goodwill and unload some of that stuff they haven’t seen in two years? How can you convince yourself that you’re going to wear that again? Yes I know, it sounds cruel. Pack rats abound, and last summer I finally counted myself as one of them.

The day before I left the great city of Atlanta, I drove over to the Penske truck rental location to take delivery of my chariot. It was a 26 foot, yellow behemoth that commanded the road as well as my full, unwavering attention. As I was driving it back to my house, I chuckled to myself, knowing that I would never be able to fill such a monster. I had initially rented a 20 foot truck, but the Penske people gave me a free upgrade because they rented out my truck to someone else. I thought it was nice of them. Well, it turns out this upgrade was actually an act of divine providence, because I needed every last inch.

Thats right, on a hot summer day in Atlanta, my good friend Chip and I (with the assistance of several lovely ladies) completely filled this beast with all the stuff that I had accumulated during my four years in the dirty (durty) south. The sight brought tears to my eyes, but not in a good way. I felt both shame and horror as I stared at the rolling container holding all of my worldly possessions. I felt even more horror when I realized that I would have to unpack all of it just a couple days later.

The drive from Atlanta to Milwaukee is anything but short and miles away from exciting. Keeping the truck from flying off the road consumed most of my attention, but when I wasn’t taming the animal I thought of all the stuff that was riding just feet behind my head. Mostly, I thought of how I would get rid of most of it to avoid having to move it again. I went through all the furniture in my head, and systematically eliminated much of it. Then came the smaller stuff…decorations, books, fake plants etc.

I’m happy to say that, since my arrival in May, I’ve been quite successful in my downsizing. I got rid of several pieces of furniture when I got up here, along with several bags of clothes and quite a few books. On most weekends, I still take about an hour to peek into my closets and drawers to find things that can be purged…it has almost become a game. Today, I cleared a few things out of my closet and then focused on my study. I looked around and thought to myself, “who here is expendable?” My gaze shifted to a shelf, upon which sat a familiar face, one that has glared at me almost every day of my life…a Chicago Bears bobble head doll.

This particular bobble head doll has had quite a life. He is old, dating from the 50s, and began his tenure as a decoration in my dad’s childhood bedroom. He has been a part of my room/house for as long as I can remember. Today, as I stared at him, I thought, “I wonder how much something like this will fetch on ebay?” I know, I know…you shouldn’t sell things like that. But still, my curiosity got the best of me and I did some research. Turns out these things can go for about $150! Amazing! I’m not even a Bears fan! I should sell him!

For a brief moment, I was excited at the prospect of being $150 richer. I got out the camera and took some pictures that would hopefully convince people to bid on him. Then, of course, he would go to the highest bidder. After I snapped three or four pictures and began the ebay post, a feeling of guilt came over me. I felt somewhat like a slave owner who inherited a conscience at the last moment. He stared at me with those familiar eyes, and his little smile just about cut me to the core. I couldn’t sell him…we’ve been through too much.

So, since I already had my camera out, I decided that I would make it up to my little bobble head doll by having an impromptu photo shoot. I had already dusted him off and cleaned him up, so he was ready for his closeup, so to speak. Is this a cheesy story? Yes, of course it is. I suppose the point is that downsizing is a good thing for so many reasons. However, it is important not to get caught up in the whirlwind and forget about those things that are truly important to you. Sometimes we don’t realize how important they are until we almost lose them. Now, because I’m sure you are curious, I give you a photo of my beloved Chicago Bears bobble head doll. I still have not named him, but I’m open to suggestions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Milwaukee is Cold!

Upon waking up this morning, I looked over at the window next to my bed.  Normally, I can see my garage and my neighbor’s back yard.  This morning, however, I couldn’t see anything except white.  “It must have snowed,” I thought.  Wrong!  The white that I saw was actually a layer of frost on the INSIDE of my window.  Thats right, it is so cold outside that the condensation from the inside of my windows is freezing.  I’m sure this will get old eventually, but for now it is pretty cool.

Violence in the Burbs

I live in a fairly peaceful suburb of Milwaukee.  This morning, I was driving up to get a few groceries when I had an unexpected run-in with someone who was not so peaceful.

I was obeying the posted speed limit (25) and minding my own business when I came to a crossroads.  I had no stop or yield sign to obey at this crossroads, so I proceeded as I usually do.  As I entered the intersection, I caught sight of a gigantic Buick approaching from the right.  I knew that he had a yield sign, but it became painfully obvious that he was not going to stop.  So, I slammed on my breaks to avoid a collision.  He did the same.

We both screeched to a stop and, as I began to inch forward, something completely unexpected happened.  The 60ish man got out of his car and started hollering.  It was 8 in the morning, and he was standing in the middle of the road, shouting obscenities and demanding that I get out of my car.  Yeah right.

I shifted into reverse, enough to give myself some room, and then I sped off down the road.  I looked in my mirror, only to see him get back in his car and start following me.  I took a couple of turns and, thanks to a well-positioned alley, I was able to lose him without much effort.  I then continued on my way to the grocery store.

This story is for all who claim that nothing exciting happens in the suburbs of Milwaukee.

Some Consistency….Please?

Yard art, especially the holiday variety, is ubiquitous in Milwaukee. Over the past few days and weeks, statues and figurines have made the journey from attics and garages, only to find themselves out in the cold for the duration of the season. While driving home last night, I noticed an interesting trend.

Much of the yard art that you will see on any given street involves Santa, in one way or another. He is, generally speaking, unchanged from yard to yard. Dressed in red, with an enormous bag of toys and a white beard, he stands as a reminder of things to come. This post is not intended to doubt Santa’s historicity, as if such a thing was either possible or wise. We know, with fairly great certainty, that this jolly overweight phantom does exist and that he lives at the top of the world, journeying south once a year to reward children for their good deeds. Those who are bad….well, you know the end of that story. They are rewarded, but with rocks or dirt, not toys. How do we know these things? I’m pretty sure the Bible talks about Santa at some point, which makes the story true.

My issue in this post deals not with Santa, but with his mode of transportation. The sleigh, like the man, is generally consistent, wavering only with regard to size and sometimes color. The inconsistency comes in the number of his reindeer. Now, if my memory serves me correctly, and please reprimand me if I’m wrong, Santa has “eight tiny reindeer,” as testified in Clement Moore’s 19th century poem, Twas the Night Before Christmas. I’m not quite sure what people believed before this poem made its first appearance in 1822 (or thereabouts), but I’m going to assume that the eight tiny reindeer are as much a historical institution as the sleigh or the bringer of gifts.

If we all agree that Santa’s sleigh is powered by “eight tiny reindeer,” then where does Rudolph come into play? The last time I checked, he is not in Moore’s list of the eight, and thus he makes nine. Perhaps he was only on the journey once or twice? We know, from his red nose, that he is prone to seasonal viruses, so maybe he was allowed to stay at home while the rest drag around all the presents along with their obese bearer?

In connection to the aforementioned yard art, I’m especially concerned with the historical record of all reindeer. In some yards, I count nine, with Rudolph at the front. In others, there are eight. In still others, there are only two and, in some rare cases, just one! We really should try and get our facts straight.

P.S. — For those curious, I have finished my finals. As a result, I now have time to do other things such as write posts about flying mammals with hooves.

Its Your Mess…You Clean It Up

For at least a month now, there has been a wrecked sailboat sitting on the shore of Lake Michigan. It is an interesting site, and it causes almost everyone on the road to slow down a bit and stare. Apparently it attracts large quantities of photographers in the morning, who like to take pictures of it against the rising sun. Every time I drive by it, I halfway expect for it to be gone. After all, it can’t sit there forever, can it? Today, on my way back from the coffee shop, I noticed it was still there and I figured it was high time that I figured out what the deal was. So, I looked it up in the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel (our newspaper) and found the following article.

Cast away but not forgotten

It is a sad story, involving an old boat, an ambitious man and some ill-positioned rocks. The owner of the boat spent a good deal of time restoring it, with the goal of sailing to Europe to meet his girlfriend. Keep in mind, this is a 34 foot sailboat, not exactly a trans-ocean voyager. Regardless, these details don’t matter because he apparently didn’t spend nearly enough time learning how to sail his prized boat and, on its second voyage, he wrecked it.

Sad as this story may be, it becomes rather entertaining in its aftermath. The boat is still on the shore because no one can figure out what to do with it and, more importantly, whose responsibility it is to get rid of it. The boat itself isn’t worth much, especially after being thrashed by the lake for almost two months. Plus, it seems to be sitting in some sort of “gray area.” The Coast Guard won’t deal with it because it isn’t interfering with other boats, and the Department of Natural Resources claims that it isn’t enough of an environmental hazard for them to get involved. Milwaukee County doesn’t want the responsibility and neither does the state.

It almost sounds like one of those arguments you have with your parents when a sibling spills something on the carpet. “She spilled it, why should I clean it up? Its not my mess, let her do it.” My personal experience has showed me that these arguments rarely endure and inevitably someone is going to get stuck with a mess that isn’t theirs. Currently, a private contractor has been attempting to pull the boat out of the water, but he has only succeeded in removing the mast. Maybe it will be gone by Christmas?