Thursday, June 08, 2006

One way you know Shanukah's coming...

Important ingredients go on sale.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Daffy does IKEA

The new Ikea opened today in Canton, Michigan. I timed it - it's only 22 minutes from my door to its, and I couldn't be happier. The doors opened at 9am today, with lines switchbacked and wrapped almost all the way around the store.

There was live music, Mrs. Michigan...
...and a balloon artist.

I sidled up to him, waited very politely behind the tiny children, and tentatively began: "Mr. Loony?"
"Mr. B. Loony," he corrected me, but agreed to make me something after I told him I wanted to hold it, not wear it. I gave him free reign to do his favorite. Thus began a complicated, four balloon concoction of black and orange. At the end of the twisting, squeaking, and rubbing, he handed me this rather large thing. Others in the crowd oohed and aahed, and I held it aloft (I think backwards) and said, "Oh thank you so much. I love it." I had no idea what it was.

It was Daffy Duck (my very least favorite cartoon character)...and then there were the two of us, making our first forays into the lobby of our very own Ikea. Just inside the doors were thirty or forty staff people cheering and whooping and banging together these inflatable tubes created (I think) specifically for the purpose of making noise during openings. It was lovely. I cried real tears, and during a momentary lull, I yelled out: "I'm happy to see you too!"

Together, Daffy and I explored the kitchen section - we've basically waited until this opening to remodel the kitchen. Ikea is the only way we can really afford to do it...

(in the corner base cabinet)
(sink option one)
(sink option two)
(a style I love)

I left without buying anything (okay, I bought a hot dog), but that doesn't mean Ikea hasn't already claimed me.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

It's getting strange in here

I am in love with my compost piles.

Yes, I know it's a bit odd, but I could really see myself getting to be one of those women who advocate for environmental causes, and, like, knit a million worms.

I'm still composting tissues (hey, it's sneezy in Michigan), and I'm composting paper towels (and the rolls), brown paper bags, dog poop (yeah, that's right...we got a lot of it), rabbit poop, paper egg-cartons, cardboard, and the millions of index cards Alexis has produced over the course of her boards prep. I don't want to compost junk mail or laser-printed stuff, I just don't know what's in the ink...but other than that, everything's fair game. It occurred to me that it would be an exceedingly good idea to compost newspaper rather than recycle it. Recycling takes a huge amount of energy and water, and uses tons of nasty shit like chlorine to make it appear as if the paper is brand new when it isn't. Composting, on the other hand, uses very little energy, very little water, and makes good delicious happy stuff for the earth instead of poisoning it further. Tough choice.

Friday, June 02, 2006

The secret of my wild success:

Pickle juice.

There must be seven levels...

Of dorkiness.

Right now, I think I'm hovering around level 5, for I have officially developed a *stamp obsession*. I've just come upon the interest philately. It's not so much that I keep stamps around, but that I review the annual selection, eagerly await the new arrivals, and may order stamps online if they are unavailable locally (it costs only a dollar for shipping, which is low, but what is the post office doing charging shipping for stamp delivery? Doesn't that strike you as odd?). So, I was excited to the point of agitation when I saw the poster for these beauties in the lobby of our local office.

Land of Superlatives.

If I am at dork level 5 of 7, these stamps are, like, at 8.

The "Land of Superlatives" is actually a 40-point patriotic manifesto. I mean, if we have the most active volcano - Kilauea, the largest land mammal - the American Bison, and the the loudest animal - the Blue Whale...why then, we have every right to butt our nose into global business. We're the longest, the largest, the tallest, the fastest! We rule! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

Wait...did they just say that the *Blue Whale* belongs to us? (All your Blue Whale are belong to us.) Like, "We hereby claim this species for the United States of America. As evidenced by this flag I'm placing in, this, um, blowhole."

Wait, the American Bullfrog is not the largest frog. I've seen Bullfrogs, and I've seen pictures of bigger frogs.

By jove, I don't think they mean the largest, fastest ANYTHING. They just mean the est-est in the States! It's like going into a shoe store, asking for a size nine, and having the shoe salesman say: "Our largest are these size sevens. Ain't they grand? Ain't they majestic? Don't they make you want to put 'em on and go spread Democracy?"

People, if you delineate a small enough area, everything's gonna be the somethingest. For example, I am currently the most burnt thing in my house. Crisfield is the waggiest. Grex is the murpliest. A is the stripiest (and the swirliest). I just don't think we have bragging rights...(though I have decided to claim tapirs for our newly-formed nation state of Shalexia.)

If we really want to claim our global prominence - let's do it for real:
We have the highest infant mortality among industrialized nations.
We are the fattest.
We produce the most solid waste and greenhouse gasses.

I'd like to see the stamp manifesto for those (almost as much as I would like to see the stamp for inflamitory bowel disease).

Thursday, June 01, 2006

I love, like, poison

You know what?
DEET rocks.

Our backyard is mosquito central. I'm not talking little flitty things - when these guys fly around, you look to the sky for low-flying aircraft. And there's like, a brazillion of them. We have one little hoarded spray can of DEET that we haul out when things get serious, and it works like a charm. It's amazing.

I asked el doctor about the dangers of using said poison, and was warned that, over time, my eggs will have thinner shells. I guess that means I'll have to find safer places to clutch than between the couch cushions.