Sunday, June 30, 2013

the sunday currently: so long, june

R E A D I N G I'm in between books -- I just finished a long, heavy (awesome) book, and to cleanse my palate, I read this  fluffy "pink book" in a few hours. It was a mindless roll your eyes and tear up at the same time kind of book -- exactly what I needed. Right now I'm trying to decide between a WWII love story and a novel about being black in the United States -- both birthday gifts from Y's parents. They pick the best books. 

W R I T I N G STOP NAGGING ME. I'm writing this, aren't I? Baby steps.

L I S T E N I N G to Haim and She & Him. Pure summer. 

T H I N K I N G about everything that's happened since I last put any effort into blogging; and what parts are interesting enough to share. I mean, do the people want to know about the best cheeseburger in Minneapolis? Do they want to know about that time my friend stole a member of Rebirth Brass Band's trombone? Do they want to know about that time Ike pooped out a whole cherry tomato? These are the perils of being a blogger. 

S M E L L I N G clean dog smell. Almost as satisfying as new car smell. 

H O P I N G that the edible things growing in our garden -- the mint, the tomatoes, okra, sweet potatoes, and apples -- actually keep growing.

W E A R I N G holiday pajama pants. That's how I roll.

L O V I N G biking. brunch. bloody maries (marys?). kayaking. waterfalls. the happiness emanating at the gay pride parade today. basically everything about this weekend.

W A N T I N G more excuses to use our patio. Or as we like to call it, our veraaaaaaaaanda. (see photo above)

N E E D I N G a lot of sleep. We went on an impromptu 10 mile bike ride in flip flops after eating the most unhealthiest of lunches (poutine, people. french fries smothered in cheese curds and gravy. it doesn't get any grosser/more delicious.) and I could probably fall asleep standing up.

F E E L I N G tired and happy and blistery and full. And sticky. As nice as summer here is, I still kind of hate the feeling of being sticky all. the. time. Whether it's from sweat, sunscreen, or bug spray, it makes me all... bajiggity. 

C L I C K I N G two New Yorker articles. "The Lottery Letters" takes me back to my eighth grade creative writing class where I first read (and was mildly horrified by) The Lottery; "Company Man" by David Sedaris reminds me that I basically want to be Mr. Sedaris when I grow up. Also clicking this music video, eight times a day, every day. I think Pharrell saying ERRBODY GET UP needs to be my alarm in the mornings. 

Saturday, June 29, 2013

the obligatory RSS feed post

I know you're all spending your precious summer weekend moving your data from Google Reader to Feedly or Bloglovin'; poring over your subscriptions and deleting the ones that haven't posted in awhile.

(or was that just me that spent a few hours of my life doing that?)

Anyway, just wanted to tell you that I have not fallen off the face of the earth, and um, please don't delete me. 

Because if you do -- see the mean pitbull face above -- Ike will find you. And Ike will lick you.

That's a threat. 

By the way, notice that I said IKE would lick you. Obviously you can't tell via the blog, but I have a slight problem with annunciation. So when I tell people about the interesting shenanigans Ike gets into, it often sounds like I did them. 

Ike lunged into the lake yesterday to chase baby ducks. Ike humped the dog bed this morning. Ike pooped out a whole cherry tomato. 

Last week I told a co-worker that Ike ate five tampons. She wrinkled her eyebrow slightly.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, vaguely concerned. VAGUELY. This means she was mostly accepting of the fact that I allegedly ate five tampons. 

Anyway. Where was I going with this?

Oh, right. Don't get rid of me when you switch your blogs from Google Reader to Feedly or Bloglovin'

Because I post important, relevant stuff.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

fatherly advice

I love this picture. I even have it on a shirt. 

My dad doesn't know this, but he helped me out of a sticky situation recently.

My friend T and I were taking in one of the many festivals in the Twin Cities; this one was an art festival in the hipster paradise of Northeast Minneapolis. As we passed necklaces made out of wrenches and food truck after food truck, T sighed.

"I need a pep talk," she said. 

I panicked. As a friend, I kind of suck in the advice giving department. Listening, sure, but I'm not one of those people who can come up with that perfect nugget of wisdom. I get so hung up on saying the right thing that what usually comes out is projectile word vomit.

T continued. "I can't decide if I should start looking for a better job." She detailed the reasons she was thinking about leaving her current job, and it sounded pretty clear to me that she needed to get out of there. See, I can think the advice. I just can't verbalize it. 

She looked at me for my opinion. I opened my mouth and what came to me immediately was the first pep talk my dad ever gave me.

"When I was potty training," I said, "my dad had a cheer to make me use the potty." 

I cleared my throat. 

"Ra ra roo! Daci go poo poo!"

A few passing hipsters shot me dirty looks, but when this becomes mainstream potty training advice they'll insist they knew about it first. T looked at me like I was crazy.

I gave her a frustrated look. Why didn't she understand where I was going with this? I continued with my advice:

"So what I think is... ra ra rob! Apply for that job!"

I don't think T applied for the job. 

But the next week, when I was trying to decide whether or not to wear my bat mitzvah dress to a bar, I knew she had been listening. 

 Because you know what? It's good advice, and applicable to nearly everything.

Happy Father's Day to a dad who has my back on everything; pooping and beyond!