Scrambled (or, Grandma's attic, part I)

First, I'll tie up a few loose ends. We had a great visit with my mom (aka Grandma Wanda), her big hairy Lab-Chow mix Tuffy did not eat the baby (this was Seth's personal fear), and we made it home just fine. The experience of flying with a 3.5 month old actually did quite a lot to restore my faith in people. Not one person was rude to us. There was not one disgruntled sigh or eyeroll as I walked on the plane with a tiny baby. People were just amazingly kind and considerate. When I squeezed into the window seat next to two men obviously traveling to DC for business, I said, "I swear the baby has been great on all our other flights!" One of them replied,"I don't mind babies. They're just babies. What I do mind is adults who act like babies!" Well said, seatmate.

Now, on to the main feature. I grew up in a house where things were Saved. They were not thrown out. Ever. These things were squirreled away, stacked up in closets, and Saved, because you might need them someday. These things included string, rubber bands, plastic margarine containers, piles of Army-surplus sleeping bags and ammo boxes, canvas tarps, broken watches, and my old t-shirts from highschool. When my parents moved from New Mexico to Idaho almost nine years ago, my mom made a valiant effort to thin out The Stuff, but she came up against a brick wall known as my Super Saver Pack Rat father, and most of The Stuff made its way to Idaho.

Sometimes I'm glad that it did, because gems like this are unearthed from my mother's kitchen cabinets. Behold, THE EGG SCRAMBLER!



Oooohh yes! This is 1970s Only! Available! On! TV! Call! Now! at its very finest. You delicately spear your unscrambled, raw egg on the magical vibrating needle, and it (GET THIS) SCRAMBLES THE EGG IN THE SHELL. Then you just crack the egg into your hot frying pan, and voila! SCRAMBLED EGGS. Because actually cracking the egg into a bowl and using a fork or a whisk or even an egg beater would be far, far too tedious, time consuming, difficult and messy for today's woman. Here's the Egg Scrambler alone in its vaguely Seattle Space Needle glory:


Now, I must confess. It is my fault that the Egg Scrambler entered our household. I was probably five or six years old, the prime age to fall prey to TV offers. I saw this device during afternoon cartoons, and I was mesmerized. Further, I was utterly, irreversibly convinced that my mother absolutely, positively needed this device. And Mother's Day was coming up. I do not know what appalling amount of begging, pleading, wheedling and convincing my poor father was barraged with, but it was enough to get him to order the Egg Scrambler. Which was proudly presented to my mother at breakfast on Mother's Day. And yes, of course we promptly used it to make scrambled eggs. Which were doubtless pronounced THE BEST SCRAMBLED EGGS EVER. And my proud little child self knew the TV commercial had been right.

Aaaand then, the Egg Scrambler went back into its box where it sat for twenty-some-odd years until it was unearthed and moved to Idaho and put away in a cabinet. Where it was unearthed again by my mother at my insistence because I could not believe she still had this thing. Now she can never get rid of it. I think its incredible kitsch value in 2009 has just elevated it to family heirloom status. I think this says it all about my generation : yes, the family heirlooms inherited before were gold watches, maple sideboards, vintage jewelry. My children? They will get THE EGG SCRAMBLER. And their lives will be better for it, see? The Egg Scrambler promises.


(And, incidentally, "Great for camping!" WTF??)

I am such a sucker for an animal story

This tendency runs in my family. When I made a visit home with a law school beau many years ago, my dad regaled my hapless boyfriend with his endless litany of Animal Stories. These stories starred not just our own Noah's Ark of pets, but other people's animals and livestock, and wild animals. I'd heard these stories for years, so I didn't pay too much attention, but I did notice when my otherwise night-owl boyfriend excused himself to go to bed at 9:00 pm. The next day, he said,"I'm sorry I just went to bed, but I couldn't listen to one more Animal Story."

A few years later, when my parents moved from New Mexico to Idaho (New Mexico had clearly become overrun with too many people and too few animals, so they set out for a less populous, more rural state), I learned on one visit that something inevitable had happened. We were driving to my aunt's house, via the back roads, when my mother said "Which left do I want to take?" and my father replied, "It's the one by the house with the three-legged dog." "Oh, of course, the three-legged dog" confirms my mother, with no hint of sarcasm, mockery, etc. Yes, my parents had begun to give directions by animals.

So, with such influences in my life, you can see why I might find this story irresistible:


Swan, Paddleboat Getting Back Together

Mar 26th, 2008 BERLIN -- Petra the swan has a new home and so does her beloved swan-shaped paddleboat.
In 2006, Petra, a black swan, became so attached to the boat — shaped like an outsized white swan — that she refused to leave its side at a lake near a zoo in the German city of Muenster.
Petra and her paddleboat were taken to the zoo.
Zoo officials finally parted bird and boat last week after Petra settled down with a real white swan and the boat was returned to the lake. But the romance was short-lived. The zoo says that, on Saturday, her new beau flew off and sought out the company of other black swans.
A zoo statement says that Petra "appears to feel lonely" and is swimming around in an agitated state. The solution? On Friday, she will be taken back to the nearby lake and her faithful paddleboat.

Office Snark

It's been a snarky day in the office. But you cannot make this crazy shit up, people.

The Magical Disappearing Kitchen
9:30 a.m. - One of our administrative assistants (let's call her Shirley) apparently gets lost trying to find the kitchen. We have only been in this building for three and a half months. I can see how finding the kitchen might still be hard, especially when it is that long 25 feet from your cubicle. Shirley also has a habit of wandering around the office talking to herself at high volume, which is how my colleague ANW collected these gems:

E-mail from ANW:

“I need some coffee!!!”
“Oooh, where AM I?”
“WHERE’S the kitchen???!” (I could hear her voice coming from the end of my little hallway, right next to the door to the kitchen!)
She then walked by my office, coffee pot in hand, and declared “I just get so lost in this place!!”

Eve (another admin. assistant): "Shirley, I hear you."

Shirley: "Eve, I'm over here!"


Eve (walking towards Shirley and “finding” her somewhere near the mailboxes, which are about 15 feet from the kitchen): “Why are you taking the long way home?”
Shirley: “I just get so lost!!"

******

A Turkey. Really. A Real Turkey.

Next, I get an e-mail from a colleague in Boston about how the local "pet" wild turkey, "Mr. Gobbles" has traded his Volpe Center residence on Broadway in Cambridge (we believe he was attending MIT) for the quieter life of the suburbs after getting clipped by a car.

"For the past five years, Gobbles had taken up residence at the Volpe Transportation Center, mostly looking at his reflection in pick-up trucks parked in the center's parking lot, chasing squirrels, and pecking at whatever he felt like."

But that's not all. There is a VIDEO TRIBUTE to Mr. Gobbles, put together by one of the Volpe employees. It's....um....touching. Or something.

***

And back to the kitchen......

Do people in the kitchen not realize that if they sing while in the kitchen WE CAN HEAR IT?

Just being in the kitchen does not render you (a) invisible or (b) silent, even if it is a Magical Disappearing Kitchen.

And, in case you were wondering, the kitchen acoustics do not (c) make you a good singer.

(I just have a thing against singing in the office - I just don't think you should. At all. Ever. Inappropriate. I think I was scarred by a previous work experience where the person who sat in the next cube would sing gospel and hymns kinda loud and kinda a lot, plus some pretty fervent loud praying of the -I'm-going-to-swoon-in-the-church-aisle-and-fall-down-twitching-because-the-spirit-has-MOVED-me type. Which made me want to fall down twitching from sheer discomfort. And Believer cooties - ewww! Gack!)

Monday Musings

A compilation of random stuff that caught my attention today....

First, I would be remiss (and a most unsupportive spouse) if I did not mention the New York Giants' amazing victory over the New England Patriots last night. My dear sweet hubby had the foresight to take off of work today so he could bask or wallow in whatever the outcome of the game happened to be. I am sure he is basking away as I type, probably in his PJs on the sofa, tirelessly watching game highlights on ESPN over and over and over and over and over again. And at least five more times to be sure, while simultaneously checking all the stats again online, reading every Giants chat room and e-mail and article he can find, and pondering which Giants championship merchandise to purchase. Especially regarding the amazing sticky-fingers catch by David Tyree in the last minutes of the last quarter (a Montclair, New Jersey native, for some icing on the Big Blue cake). For some photos of the Super Bowl watching tension, check the Rufus blog here.

Second, what the heck is going on in the Maryland burbs today?

"Feb 4th, 2008 BALTIMORE -- Helicopters and marine units examined the surface of the Patapsco River Monday after authorities received a report that an adult threw a child off a bridge."
and

"Feb 4th, 2008 LARGO, Md. -- Three men were killed by a gunman after an argument broke out in a restaurant while the Super Bowl was being shown on television, police said. The shooting happened Sunday night at the Uno Chicago Grill restaurant, part of a dining, shopping and entertainment complex near FedEx Field in the Largo area, Prince George's County police said. Two of the men were shot in the restaurant's bar area and the third was shot outside in a parking lot. Police said they believe all three men were killed by a single shooter.
Investigators were trying to determine what prompted the argument, which witnesses said occurred after one team scored."

Yeah, I feel safer in the old "inner city" of Washington, DC, thanks. Random punk-ass vandalism to my automobile aside.

Third, back to bull riding. This answers one of my prior questions about medical bills.

"Pop Tarts and minor home surgery"
Tim "Wild Thang" Lepard has been in rodeos most of his life.
Most bull riders and fighters either retire young or die, so to stay with the show, the 45-year- old Memphis native began training monkeys to wear cowboy outfits and ride dogs in an
act he calls Team Ghost Riders.

How many times have you been hurt?
"I've had nine majors (injuries). ... This right here (on my cheek) was an injury. A bull hooked me in the face and I sewed that up myself. ... I had a bull that hooked me in the mouth. It tore that lip right off right there. The horn went up into my mouth. They done all this reconstructive. I had tubes put in my nose. The whole roof of my mouth is steel."

Did you say you sewed your own face?
"I sewed that cheek up with a clamp gun. ... There's a thing in rodeo, if you go to the doctor, that's your money. You know, we get paid to do our job, but if something happens to us and we have to go to the hospital, we don't get paid. It's kind of like (being) self-employed. If your truck breaks down, you lose. You've got to be on the road and that's it. I've got to be in the arena. For 28 years, except for one time, I've missed going into the arena."

Fourth, monkeys are irresistible. Thanks to MP for the "Cowmonkey News of the Day."
Monkey Rides Dog At Stock Show
A 21-year-old monkey is stealing the spotlight at the Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo. Whiplash entertains crowds of all ages by dressing up like a cowboy and riding on a border collie.
The 7-pound monkey has a large following, his Web site receiving about 1,000 hits a day.
When he's not performing, Whiplash enjoys playing with toys and watching cartoons.

And finally, if you think dressing up a monkey like a cowboy and having him ride a dog is crazy, you need to see Sugarbush the Squirrel. Yes, this is for real. And yes, the woman lives in Florida.

Secret apartment discovered in Rhode Island mall; thousands of teenage girls distraught that they didn't think of it first

Artists Built Secret Apartment in Mall


Oct 2nd, 2007 PROVIDENCE, R.I. -- The leader of an artists' cooperative has been sentenced to probation for setting up a secret apartment inside a shopping mall's parking garage as part of a project on mall life.
Michael Townsend, 36, said he and seven other artists built the 750-square-foot apartment beginning in 2003 and lived there for up to three weeks at a time.
The artists built a cinderblock wall and nondescript utility door to keep the loft hidden from the outside world.
But inside, the apartment was fully furnished, down to a hutch filled with china and a Sony Playstation 2 — although a burglar broke in and stole the Playstation last spring, Townsend said.
There was no running water — instead they used the mall bathrooms.
On his Web site, Townsend said he was inspired by a Christmastime ad for the mall which featured a "an enthusiastic female voice talking about how great it would be if you (we) could live at the mall."
He built the dwelling "out of a compassion to understand the mall more and life as a shopper."
Townsend said plans to make the apartment "super-sweet" with laminated wood flooring and other perks fell apart last week after he and a visiting artist from Hong Kong walked into the room and were greeted by three security guards. He pleaded no contest to a trespassing charge.
Providence Place Mall spokesman Dante Bellini Jr. described the living space as little more than "an area with stuff in it."
But Providence Police Maj. Stephen Campbell said he and other detectives were so intrigued they visited the apartment to see for themselves.
"I was surprised at what he was able to accomplish," Campbell said. "But what he did was clearly criminal. The mall is private property."

It's official - the Internet has finally actually killed someone.

Fascinating and uber-creepy. It's amazing what the human brain can talk the human body into.

Chinese Man Dies From 3-Day Gaming Binge
Sep 17th, 2007 BEIJING -- A man in southern China appears to have died of exhaustion after a three-day Internet gaming binge, state media said Monday.
The 30-year-old man fainted at a cybercafe in the city of Guangzhou on Saturday afternoon after he ha been playing games online for three days, the Beijing News reported.
Paramedics tried to revive him but failed and he was declared dead at the cafe, it said. The paper said that he may have died from exhaustion brought on by too many hours on the Internet.
The report did not say what the man, whose name was not given, was playing.
The report said that about 100 other Web surfers "left the cafe in fear after witnessing the man's death."
China has 140 million Internet users, second only to the United States. It is one of the world's biggest markets for online games, with tens of millions of players, many of whom hunker down for hours in front of PCs in public Internet cafes.
Several cities have clinics to treat what psychiatrists have dubbed "Internet addiction" in users, many of them children and teenagers, who play online games or surf the Web for days at a time.

Roller Derby

When someone invites you to go see roller derby, really, it would be impolite to refuse. You've got to go - how often do you get to see roller derby??

It turns out that you can see it fairly often in the DC area - check out the DC Rollergirls for the schedule of upcoming bouts.

The Secretaries of Hate, Scare Force One, Cherry Blossom Bombshells, and DC Demon Cats are sure to entertain.

Fishnets - the official legwear of roller derby.

This is a rough sport. That surface is harder than it looks. We saw a number of knee braces, ankle braces, crutches, and one wheelchair.
Elbows - totally legal.

Yard Art

If you happen upon this masterpiece in the coastal islands of Washington State, you'll know you've found my sister's house. It freaks out her boyfriend every time he walks by. Barbie looks pretty happy though, doesn't she? LIke she's sitting in a hot tub.

How the heck do you get to North Platte?

I know I've been slacking lately, and haven't posted too much. That's because I was on a week-long work trip to one of the centers of the railroading universe, North Platte, Nebraska. "Where?!!" you might very well ask. For when I was told that I would be going to North Platte, I had to do a little Google-mapping and Travelocity-ing myself to figure out how the heck you get to North Platte. The answer is that you fly to Denver, then you rent a car and drive 4 hours to southwestern Nebraska. You could opt to try the once-a-day 8-passenger puddle jumper from Denver to the bustling North Platte Regional Airport, but my colleagues do not recommend that, as inclement weather can turn the once-a-day into the once-a-week flight. So you drive. And on the way there, you amuse yourself by identifying breeds of cattle that you haven't seen much of since your years in New Mexico and Vermont. Or at least that's what I did. I saw lots of Black Angus (them's beef cattle), some Herefords (beef), some Angus-Hereford crosses (beefier beef??), the classic Woody Jackson black-and-white Holstein on a couple of dairy farms (you can smell those well before you get there, if you've been attuned to the aroma by living in Vermont), a few Texas Longhorns (beef again - I wouldn't want to be the one having to milk one of those), and one sort of brindled buckskin colored breed that I've never seen before (gotta look that one up- perhaps a Brown Swiss?).

What is in North Platte, you might ask, that would bring people there? The answer is Union Pacific Railroad's Bailey Yard, which is listed by the Guinness Book of World Records as the largest railyard in the world. If you're a railfan or a "foamer," as they're less flatteringly known (due to tendency to foam at the mouth at the sight of a train), North Platte is Mecca. 120 trains a day; 10,000 railcars every 24 hours.

When I realized those little colored streaks across the photo were all trains and not Impressionist art, I was impressed. The yard is somewhat less impressive when you are driving the eight miles from end to end - the aerial view is definitely the best for the scale.

The other main attraction in the North Platte area is Ole's Big Game Steakhouse. The story is that old Ole made a ton of money with some wise stock market investments, and his wealth freed him to do whatever he wanted, which was apparently to travel the world and shoot everything that moves. Like Noah's Ark, but different. The food is tasty, and the game is plentiful. Definitely worth the trip if you just happen to be in the area.