Hitting new lows

I've done something terrible and the conflicting part of it is I feel great! Despite years of being warned about its evils and destruction and chaos and potential for unraveling the tenuous fabric that holds society together, I threw caution to the wind and went on a walk on the wild side... yes, I VANDALIZED A SIGN!!! I know, I know... that ranks up there with pulling off a mattress tag or smoking marijuana, but I couldn't help myself. It was more of an expression of creativity than destruction, anyway, so therefore TOTALLY justified. Actually, I just defaced a sign that had already been defaced... it wasn't like I was working with a clean canvas. (Did I tell you that my talent was self-justification when I represented Norway at the Mormon Missionary Universe Pageant? And the white shirt and tie combo I had on totally blew the Elder representing Italy out of the water... And don't even get me STARTED on the Bible Bash competition. It was awesome!)

Anyway, back to the vandalism: The Multnomah County Health Department has a sign for bathrooms in restaurants that says: "Don't spread disease. Wash your hands after using the toilet. And again in the kitchen." Well, some mildly creative soul had blacked out some letters to spell: "Don't spread disease. Wash your hands after using the toilet." But they'd left the "And again in the kitchen."

Well, my years of playing Scrabble and Boggle finally paid off, because I noticed that I could black out some letters in that phrase and complete the thought. I've attached a picture of the final product, and I have to admit that I'm pretty pleased with the result. Hopefully it will catch on and I'll see people replicating my strike-outs in restaurants throughout the city! I've finally made a mark in public restrooms that doesn't have to be cleaned up with a mop and bucket!

Summertime's a comin'

Whew--not a moment too soon has the weather started its shift from the soul-sucking grayness of spring to the bright, warmness of summer. In fact, on Tuesday, Margaret and I went on a walk and I made the mistake of wearing flip-flops. If I had known we would be walking several miles, I would have worn regular shoes, and by the middle of the walk (of course when we were FURTHEST from the house) one of the straps started chaffing me so bad that it became unbearable--now I know how those poor Chinese women with bound feet must feel like! In an act of desparation, I took off my shoes and walked home--on roads, sidewalks, and--most appreciatively GRASS--barefoot. It went ok--other than dodging the occasional broken glass and dog poop, but I wasn't so careful running across a busy street and planting my tender foot on a round rock. You might think a sharp rock would be bad, but a foot that hasn't seen anything but the sole of a shoe for years doesn't take kindly to even a round rock and I think I bruised the bottom of my foot. It still hurts when I walk even with shoes on! What would my Indian ancestors think of me? (Actually, I'd probably be long dead if I had to live in the past--my eyesight is so bad that the only thing I'd have been good for would be modeling for totem poles or being bait to catch bears or mountain lions.)

Speaking of good weather, finally getting to wear shorts again reminded me of one time when I was eight or nine, my brother and I decided to make some cut-offs. Since our mom wouldn't have approved of us cutting up our school jeans, we had to take matters into our own hands. Of course we had no idea how to make cut-offs, and every time we'd try, the legs wouldn't be even or they would go up in the back or some other problem. So we kept trying, eventually getting the shorts a little too short. Then it became a game of how short we could cut them off. It got to the point that we'd only left the seam down the middle--I know... we'd inadvertantly made THONG cut-offs. Of course we didn't realize the ramifications of such short shorts until we tried them on... and then proceeded to bury them in the trash in the hopes that mom didn't find the destroyed clothing. My brother is still adventurous--he cuts the sleeves off t-shirts--but I've completely given up altering my own clothing. Something about tighty-whiteys hanging out of jean shorts so short Daisy Duke wouldn't wear them was enough to scar me for life!

Wyoming makes the news...again

...and not because of Brokeback Mountain. Reading the paper this morning, this little tidbit jumped out at me, since it happened in the little town in Wyoming where I grew up and where some of my family still lives:

In Gillette, Wyo., a thief siphoning gas from a car late at night spilled some of the gas on his pants and decided to use his cigarette lighter to see how wet his parts were. He's recovering with second- and third-degree burns to his legs.

Just for the record, the majority of my education was in Idaho, NOT Wyoming.

Fun with impaled objects

Ugg, this morning, I read an article in the paper that actually made me a little queasy (and if you've eaten within the last half hour, log off and come back after your meal is settled). The article was about a guy who was suicidal, depressed, AND on meth. That's a bigger recipe for disaster than giving me the church calling where you get to file the church court disciplinary hearing records! (Speaking of which, I remember one time in the mission office, I was filing some missionary application forms and one sister's application jumped out at me because there was writing in the "Misdemeanors and felonies" section! As you could well imagine, given the reputation of Mormon missionaries, that particular field is NEVER filled in. Making sure that the Mission President was nowhere around, I read through the description: "I got pulled over for a traffic violation that turned into a misunderstanding." Wow! I'll say MISUNDERSTANDING if it resulted in a criminal record! Something told me that that was a major understatement... and knowing the sister, I wouldn't put it past her to have 1) threatened the officer with violence, or 2) offered sexual favors in an attempt to keep from getting a ticket. Ahh, does the heart proud to know that she was sharing a message of Jesus Christ to the Norwegians!)

Anyway, back to the article in today's paper: the suicidal depressed meth guy evidently had some fun with a nail gun. Two days after his nail gun frenzy, he went to the doctor complaining of a headache and neck pain. The doctors couldn't find any reason for the headaches (the nails were finishing nails that went slightly under the skin and since the entry points were in his hair, they didn't see anything awry). Anyway, imagine their surprise when they X-rayed him and saw a dozen nails in his head! They gave him a tetnus shot (what else could you do?) and flew him to a hospital in Portland, where the nails were successfully removed and he left the hospital walking on his own. The hospital noted that he still had "some thinking problems, including diffuculty with concrete reasoning and abstract thought." (Although that's a little unfair, because the same thing could be said from most anyone from a red state.) The guy refused to let the article use his name. I can't imagine why not--that's something worthy of the Guiness Book of World Records and he's refusing the limelight?!?

Random Portland

I love Portland for its subtle--and not so subtle--quirkiness. Like in today's paper about a group of people setting up a "non-profit, family-friendly, multigenerational coffee house." How specific is THAT? Evidently this group of parents were tired of going to Starbucks where students and telecommuters were quietly working over the Wi-Fi network and who gave dirty looks to the noisy kids and their parents. (I can ignore noisy kids normally, but every once in a while--most recently it was at Target--there is a parent that completely ignores their kid's tantrum and just continues shopping despite the fact that the sound blast being emmitted from their offspring could bring down the walls of Jericho. Don't they know that some of us are trying to SHOP here?)

Anyway, reading that article, then seeing some homeless guy walking down the street with a cat perched on his backpack--it just comfirmed that the state slogan IS true: things ARE different here. Here's a picture I took with my camera phone--it's a tad blurry--hey, I was running to catch up to him, but still be clandestine in my illegal surveillance--if you squint, you can see the black cat balanced on the guy's backpack. You have to wonder what kind of life that cat leads. I'm sure it's not like that white fluffy cat on the Fancy Feast commercials that eats her canned cat food out of a Waterford crystal goblet with a sprig of parsley and served to her by a butler with white gloves. (The only time I every got anything close to that treatment was one time when my mom brought the mac and cheese to the table holding it in a white oven mitt.)

Here's a close-up I took of the cat tied to the backpack. I'm hoping to see some homeless guy with his pet iguana tomorrow. Unfortunately I'll probably only see one with his own private flea circus.

Parking rage

Last night, we met a few friends for dinner. It was ok, if you like your server bringing your food on the back of her shell and leaving a slime trail. She came so few times that I only got ONE refill on my overpriced pop! What a waste! Anyway, after that experience, we went out to get in the car and some courteous drivers had left us 4" of space in the front AND the back of the car! I was pretty sure I could navigate it tight enough to not have to go back and forth in the spot 20 times as seen in that Austin Powers movie. I could do it in 15. When I was SLOOOOWLY backing up the car so I could feel when the bumpers hit, I couldn't help but wonder how hard I would have to back into the car behind me to set off their airbags. Would that have been wrong? As it was I did finally get out of the spot--but that experience, coupled with the service at the restaurant left me with one of those little black clouds that stays right over your head that you see in all the cartoons.

I'm better now, since I've had my morning Diet Coke.

Gardening plans thwarted

This weekend, we'd planned on getting our yardwork done for the baby shower we're hosting on Saturday. Of course THAT was the weekend that the last major winter storm blew in and dumped several inches of rain and never got over 45 degrees. We just stood at the window, looking forlornly out at the unfinished yardwork that we'll have to take care of after work all week. Maybe we should have just rented out the local roller rink for a 70's theme baby shower--which wouldn't have been that bad, considering we were all babies in the 70's. Plus Margaret could have worn one of those snazzy multi-colored ponchos like my mother had on in almost every photo of her during that era. And I have a pair of skin-tight baby blue polyester disco pants from a... well, I'll leave THAT to another time.

The 20th Century was a simpler time...

Geesh, I read in the paper this morning for a review of a new video game and am shocked... SHOCKED over over how much they have changed since I first started playing them. I remember playing 2-bit video graphics of just a pixelated Pac-Man with ridiculously simple sound with my brothers... and liking it--no, we really DID like it. When we moved up to the Nintendo Entertainment System, we thought we were in heaven--playing with Super Mario Brothers or the boxing game Mike Tyson's Punch Out--and to let you know how much of a simpler time it was, the game didn't include any special combinations to get Mike Tyson to bite off any opponent's ear. Yes, I told you it was OLD SCHOOL.

So, growing up in the climate of alternating between Nintendo and watching Thundercats on Saturday mornings, imagine my surprise when I read this review for a game called "Rumble Roses XX." (By the way, when I was talking to my brother about it, I made the mistake of saying, "Rumble Roses TWENTY" and his response was, "Uhh... the two X's aren't supposed to say 'twenty'...) After reading the review, that comment made a LOT more sense. Anyway, here's the review:

I expected "Rumble Roses XX to be a mediocre and slow-responding wrestling game where you get hit, fall down and you can't get up. But as it turned out it's defines, instead, by its redefinition of sensuous cheese.

You play as fatless, anime-busty women wearing underwear, or perhaps a smart display of cow-print chaps. These women walk sexy on catwalks, they pose for photos, they wrap their upper thighs around each other, and the loser gets tickled while you zoom your TV camera angle onto the body part of your choosing.

Man, that game sounds racier than most FOX sitcoms--and THAT'S saying something! Busty women? In underwear?? Wrestling??? Loser getting TICKLED????? It seems expressly designed to aggravate the Christian fundamentalists, feminists, AND legitimate users of cow-print chaps! What ever happened to the plumber trying to avoid the barrels rolled at him by a giant gorilla? That game only offended plumbers and animal rights activists.

Impossible standards of beauty

Last weekend we went to see the amazing Cirque du Soleil while it is in Portland. If you haven't heard of it before, it's an amazing circus comprised of acrobats, gymnastics, contortionists, and really funky, artsy stuff--although what else would you expect from those funky, artsy Québécois? Some of the routines are so over-the-top you can't believe that humans can actually do what you're seeing with your own two eyes. One of the performers was so flexible that she could balance on a tiny platform raised on a pole and bend herself backwards so far that her butt was resting on the top of her head!!! In another one, a pair of twins did these aerial maneuvers that had us closing our eyes thinking that they were going to go flying off into the audience. That's them in this picture and notice that the only thing holding them up is two straps around their wrists (and the only thing holding up their outfits is evidently a tiny bit of lycra). Aside from this routine, the costumes are so over-the-top that it is a recipe for a spectacle more engaging than the Mormon Tabernacle Choir performing at the grand opening of the Victoria's Secret flagship store in Amsterdam. If you ever have a chance to go see one of their performances, be sure and go (Cirque, not the Tabernacle Choir--well, I guess if you're in Salt Lake and happen to be on the Temple Square tour and they HAPPEN to be performing I wouldn't dissuade you from going in--I'm just saying that Cirque du Soleil TOTALLY tops people singing hymns)!

Although I have to forewarn you that once you see the perfect specimens of the human form at Cirque, you'll want to go straight to the gym. I've gone to the gym twice since seeing the performance and can now bend so far back that I can look at the ceiling while I'm standing up! Woo hoo! only 3 feet to go...

Common courtesy died with common sense

This weekend at a birthday party, some of the guests were complaining about the lack of party courtesy here in Portland. I don't know if the epidemic has spread past the Pacific Northwest, but here in Oregon, getting people to RSVP is like pulling teeth. We've hosted a couple of parties where guests just showed up and we had to scramble to accomodate them with extra food and drinks. Don't get me wrong, we were happy to have them there, but we would have liked to have known about it beforehand so we could adequately feed them. The coup de grâce of this problem was our wedding reception, where almost 100 extra guests showed up! Fortunately the hotel's kitchen was able to throw together some stuff at the last minute, but that was just a fortunate coincidence.

The reason this is fresh in my mind is that we're throwing a baby shower for some friends and the RSVPs are coming in slow--and we KNOW lots of people are planning on showing. I had an idea, and I'd like to float this out on the Internets to get their feedback--I am tempted to not put our address on the e-vite, so people would HAVE to RSVP to find out where the party is being held. PLUS, the shower honorees get the benefit of pouring guilt on the people who didn't make it because they hadn't RSVP'd and therefore didn't know where to go. It's a win-win in my book!