Monthly Archives: June 2004

Second Hand (Bo’s)

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My cow-orker Bovina has returned from her vacation or family leave or whatever. She normally logs in at 830, but is always here way, way early.

So this morning she put her name on the sign up sheet for “down-time” (an unpaid time off request) at 8:15 frickin ACK EMMA. She wasn’t even officially “here” yet. A fact that was pointed out to her, in a joking/not really joking way, by a couple of other people. The fact that she signs up every day there’s a down-time list posted has become a joke to more than a few folks.

I mean, why bother to show up?

Fortunately, the air circ today is blowing the stale tobacco smell the other way for once. So I’m not necessarily rooting for the down-time for her today.

On the other hand, it’s a fun day today – there’s food (I didn’t participate in that, it’s just an excuse to overeat I don’t need) and we’re wearing hats and (some of us) bedroom slippers. It helps. But I’m on the edge of grouch mode nevertheless.

Assclips

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Directory of clips from the Daily Show that include Asscroft evading a charge of Contempt of Congress and generally being a holier-than-thou, know-better-than-thou jerkwad under questioning.

Swiped with love from BoingBoing.

Fitness Bozo

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… well, because I’ll never be a guru, actually. But after the extremely humbling trudge I had hiking around at Starved Rock last weekend, I finally decided it was time we started working out again. Granted, it was hot on Saturday, which totally wipes me out. But come on, I was passed by an elderly couple going up the stairs. Jeebus.

I’d have felt slightly better about it if they hadn’t been light-heartedly humming and chatting, while I stood to one side gasping for breath and sweating like a Clydesdale hauling barrels full of skunky bad American beer.

So anyway we worked out Monday, and again tonight. For me, “working out” tends to consist of about half an hour of cardio settings on various cycling/elliptical machines. Tonight, I did a full 30 minutes on the elliptical trainer thingy – Monday, all the juice I could muster was 10 minutes on the same machine (which is similar to the movements you make when cross country skiing, except without the falling and cursing and wildlife scaring). Eventually, I’ll get to where 45 minutes on the recumbent bike is no problem (except for the horribly uncomfortable seat).

I figure I’ll build up a bit of endurance before taking on the weight machines again. I liked some of the upper body ones, loathed some of them. Lower body: no problem, in fact my legs are a little TOO strong, which probably contributes to their baluster-like unsveltness. However, it’s always funny getting on either of the different leg-press machines and ripping off 3 sets at 325 pounds after some guy just did 250 with much testosterone-assisted grunting. And it’s hilarious loading the weights up on the same machine after a woman has been doing all of 30 pounds. And I was doing just that last winter – but it’s not that great for the knees, so when I do start that up again, it’ll be at much lower weight settings. Something easy-peasy.

Say about 250. That’s about right. 😉

But upper body? Wuss. 30 pounds overhead is all I can manage. Pulldowns – that’s another matter, because I can use back muscles on that. I can do 75 pounds easily, and 90 pounds eventually.

There’s a woman weightlifter at the local Smelly’s Gym and Extortion While-U-Sweat that used to do bicep curls with 90 pound weights in each paw – she’s a little scary. I used to call her “La Machine.” Me? They probably call me “Miss Flabbypants.” Or possibly Mrs. Davenport, since I’ve become rather well-upholstered and somewhat overstuffed of late.

O’course, I have to stay away from the Butterfingers in the candy machine… that might help.

This is SUCH Bullshit

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The East-West Tollway’s name officially was changed to the Ronald Reagan Memorial Tollway.

Bullshit! Bullshit bullshit bullshit bullshit fucking bullshit.

Wait, let me tell you how I really feel.

What a steaming load of low-grade assfault.

Laid on by a bunch of sycophantic political buttlickers.

Who are all ghost employees padding the payroll for their necrotic shirttail relatives.

The Trib is already calling for new nicknames, noting that the “Eisenhower” (It’s I-290, people) is usually called “The Ike” by people trying to sound cool.

Well, my name for it is “The Gypper.” And yes, I spell and pronounce it that way for a reason.

The other night, I watched C-SPAN’s wall to wall coverage of the Reagan internment ceremonies (which were, in fact, interminable). It took more than an hour for everyone to leave the area after the service concluded, because each person or couple felt compelled to walk to the foot of the coffin, stand in full view of the camera, do something personal to indicate their respect or liking or farewell gesture in the direction of the coffin and then walk off.

It was bizarre – everyone felt they had to do something to put their personal touch on it. Some gestures were of the normal variety of respect, such as bows from an Asian, possibly Japanese couple, and people crossing themselves (including Governor Ahnold). However, there were any number of little salutes, snappy little one-finger brow taps, hands over hards, thumbs ups, and so on. But it was odd how many non-Asian people bowed respectfully.

After a while, I decided the people who were bowing were showing the tastiest bits of their brains for Zombie Reagan to snack on later.

Yes, yes, yes, very shocking, but I was very, very, very tired of the endless drooling coverage of a not-that-great President who was most adept at taking credit for making world events happen that were already in motion when he communicated (greatly, as always) them to the rest of the nation.

You should read what Ron Reagan has to say about it – he made a very pointed remark at the “private” family service:

“Dad was … a deeply, unabashedly religious man. But he never made the fatal mistake of so many politicians wearing his faith on his sleeve to gain political advantage,”

He goes on to say… “these people are overly reaching, overly aggressive, overly secretive, and just plain corrupt. I don’t trust these people.”

Oxford Experience Summer School

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My very dear friend Ellen lives in Germany – her husband David Beard is the Academic Director for the Oxford Experience, a study program that takes place in Oxford each summer.

This would be SO cool – meals are taken in the Great Hall at Christ Church, which was the setting for the dining hall scenes in the Harry Potter movies. They have a really interesting program of subjects, and I wish that I could do this. Maybe some year.

Ellen has been telling me about these for years, and each year I grow increasingly more and more envious. I’d do it just for the pleasure of re-visiting favorite scenes from Dorothy L. Sayer’s Gaudy Night everywhere I went.

If you have an opportunity to take one or more of the weeklong classes, go for it. They recently got a write-up in the New York Times and expect that their places will be filled quickly.

La Grand Jatte

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We’re going to the Art Institute on July 10th to see “Evolution of La Grande Jatte.”David’s parents are members and his mom loves to include us when she gets tickets to the big shows. It’s always a pleasant outing – we generally drive in, meet them on the steps if it’s a nice day, do the special exhibit, and head off for lunch. If there’s time we browse other temporary exhibits. The last time we went, my MIL and I wandered off to find the Mesopotamian section, because I think at the time we were in the process of invading Iraq, and antiquities had been plundered. So we found solace and hope in seeing sibling antiquities that were quite safe, but also got a little depressed about the thought of all the gorgeous artifacts that had been lost. Fortunately, many of the plundered treasures were later found or returned. Sadly, some were not. The Oriental Institute’s Iraq Museum Database continues to track information and take reports as of this date.

Perhaps after we get through with the Seurat exhibition we can wander over to visit the Mesopotamian section of the Art Institute again.

And while we’re there, it appears they have a new collection up this summer about Japan.

Muggy Day At Starved Rock

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ilwaterfall.jpgA long-planned hike to Starved Rock today nearly came to naught because I, unlike Ronnie, am not the Great Communicator. However, we made it to the park and hiked, which consisted mostly of walking up and down stairs and along boardwalks. There are normal trails also, but the area is underlain by a layer of soft sandstone that erodes VERY easily, so the high-traffic areas are boarded.

We met up with Steve and drove down to Starved Rock to join Jill and her friend Gina. I screwed up by not checking directly with Steve to be clear on a change of plans that I had emailed, but we got there eventually. As it turned out, Jill had gotten a later start than she’d intended, so they didn’t wait SO very long for us.

The visitor’s center at Starved Rock was heavily air-conditioned, a fact that we noted in passing. We walked up toward the rock itself.

At the bottom of the trail to the rock, we had a choice – up the to the rock, or along another trail to various places along the ridge. We chose “up” to the rock.

Very soon, I was panting and trailing far behind. Damn sedentary lifestyle. Damn blog. Panting and sweating, I went up the stairs. Finally reached the top, but didn’t take any pictures. I thought it would be cooler up there, but it was muggy and getting muggier. We returned to the trail junction, and decided we really did need the bug spray David had seen, so we went back down to the visitor’s center.

“Ahhh!” we all said as we stepped back into the air-conditioning.

We sprayed bug juice all over ourselves just outside (“Yuck!” we all said as we exited the air-conditioning) and went back to the junction. I bought a bandana and soaked it with water to wrap around my neck. It helped.

When we went up the side trail to the base of the waterfalls in Wildcat Canyon, we found a family already there – the father was trying to get a rather scared girl to join him and another daughter out on a rickety little board where the mom could take their picture in front of the falls. Right in the middle of the shots we wanted to take. So we waited and looked around. Presently, they backed off and we took our shots, but had to aim carefully to avoid getting the junky looking board and log construct that somebody had put out in the pool. David’s shots came out better, mine are just, well, pictorial records.

As we were getting ready to leave, the dad and the little girls took off and climbed up the side of the canyon along a ledge – totally off trail, totally against park rules owing to the damage and erosion it causes. I griped loudly to David within the mom’s earshot – “Is that off-trail? Yep, I think that’s off-trail.” The mom ignored me, my passive-aggresive comment apparently fell on deaf ears. The line “Teach… your children well” popped into my head and the song stayed there for the rest of the day.

The temperature continued to climb and the mugginess increased until finally we decided we’d had it for the day (we had always planned to quit by 1 or so to avoid the worst heat) and headed into Utica for lunch.

First, though, we went to the visitor’s center for a quick pit stop. “AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” we all said as we stepped through the store.

We had already decided to eat there rather than at the lodge because the town had been hit by a devastating tornado, and there was still plenty of evidence that they were repairing and clearing away wreckage. Again, we took no pictures, but I found a website that has a series of storm and aftermath pictures that really tell the story.

Several of them look like they’d be award winners to me – they really tell the story. I think the best of the bunch is the one that’s got the lamppost with the “Utica” banner and US flag on the right of the viewer, and the brick wall close along the left hand. Good shot, that one.

We had lunch at Duffy’s Tavern – it’s the little Irish bar at the tip of the old triangular building with the round Victorian tower. The front windows were still boarded up and the fallen bricks from the facade on either side have been stacked up ready for re-use. But as the sign out front says, “Stop! You’ve just passed Duffy’s! We’re OPEN for lunch,” so in we went.

It’s a GREAT little place, full of funky things stuck on the walls. Great food and good beers, too. I’d like to go back again sometime if we ever overnight in the area.

If you’re ever going through Utica, stop and shop somewhere and leave some much-needed tourist dollars behind. The folks there will be grateful – they’re tough and they’re putting their lives back together, and they’d probably appreciate it more than a government handout.