keep it real, MLB

I'm sitting here watching the Twins beat the Mariners again (GO TWINS!!). A minute ago there was a commercial featuring Justin Morneau, American League MVP last season and cute young Canadian bachelor. What was he selling, you may wonder? Was it a sexy car? Sexy athletic shoes? Something sexy? Folks, this is baseball. He was selling...milk. That's right, Land-O-Lakes milk is Justin Morneau's MVP: Most Valuable Pour. How cheesy is that? It sounds like something from 1960's radio. I love it! No milk commercials in football, I assure you. Not that I don't like football. But do Average Joe and the Everyday Joneses spend more time drinking beer with their skinny, beautiful, fun-loving friends, or buying and drinking milk? Baseball is still the all-American game in the best sense of the term, and that means it has real commercials for real folks, at least some of the time. And does Morneau the big sports star have a trendy bachelor pad? Kind of. He lives in a big house, but he pays rent to his house-owning roomie, Twins super-catcher Joe Mauer. Last year, there was even a rookie crashing in their basement. Ever hear of NFL or NBA stars living together in every high school letterman's fantasy world, drinking Midwestern beer and MVP milk, playing ball for thousands (millions?) of adoring fans and watching cable on their 60-inch TV after the game? They may earn very big money, and they may hang out with Miss USA and other such girls, and maybe they benefit from a very good PR department, but these are sports heroes I can get behind. Keep it real, baseball, and I'll keep buying milk.

Riff it- riff it good

Some of the fine folks who brought us Mystery Science Theater 3000 have a new endeavor: RiffTrax. "They don't make movies, they make fun of movies." Thanks to Mike Nelson and Co., you can take DVD's you probably already own (like Lord of the Rings or The Matrix) and some you might not admit to owning (Troll II anyone?), add a $2.99 audio commentary download and voila! turn them into MST3K episodes, but without the frame story and 'bots. After having a highly-entertaining time watching Star Wars: Episode I being riffed, my cuz Jason and I delved into Ep. II. Honestly, the RiffTrak for EI is a bit funnier, but EII has the added bonus of very funny guest riffer Chad Vader of YouTube fame. Imagine if Darth Vader had a younger, less famous, less intimidating brother who managed a small grocery store in Madison.

Here's episode I of "Chad Vader: Day Shift Manager":

crystal blue persuasion

I'm sorry, that title is really a stretch. The thing is, my soon-to-be-officially-purchased condo is in Crystal, MN. Maybe the blue part seeped into my brain through my eyes from all the colorful little squares I stared at in Home Depot today until MEGO set in [def.: MEGO: My Eyes Glaze Over; a state of being overly inundated w/ information; phrase c/o Dr. Don Krummel at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign; syn.: my brain is full].

So here's a picture of the main part of my new place:
That's not my furniture. And I intend to paint the walls (probably not blue, despite the misleading title), but you get the idea. Two bedrooms, deck, nice little skylight. I close on May 3- eek!


Listening:
The Body Acoustic, by Cyndi Lauper








"Reading" on my iPod:
The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak

Lucia Mae today, a family of robins tomorrow

For those who haven't had the pleasure of her joyful company, this is my niece, Lucia:
She just turned one a few weeks ago. Ain't she cute? We threw a birthday-and-while-we're-at-it-let's-have-a-baptism-in-a-birdbath-
in-the-living-room party. Katie, Jav and Lucy have been wonderful and generous roommates the past several months. I'll miss hearing my goddaughter's strangely maniacal laughter every day, but personal home ownership calls. And my condo is only about 4 miles away, so it won't exactly be a long-distance relationship.


Watching: For Your Consideration










Reading: Two Hot Dogs with Everything, by Paul Haven

Please Don't Drool on the Authors

M.T. Anderson is one of my favorite authors. Notice I'm not prefacing that with "for teens"; he's just one of my favorites, period. Wait, make that my very favorite living author. As evidenced by all the 'o's I use when write or talk about his stuff, as in: "I looooove M.T. Anderson." Well, I may add a few more 'o's yet, because I just got back from a discussion panel featuring him, Pete Hautman (who I also really like) and Allison McGhee, who I wasn't really familiar with before. They all did an engaging and thoughtful job discussing their views on teen literature in general, on writing it, reading it, and debating whether "albino squirrel" is a brilliant plot idea or just a noun.

I've never met a famous actor, but I think my reaction would be similar. Is it a sign of my unfettered bookworminess that I get all fangirl when my favorite author is in the room? That's okay. I can live with the geeky adoring fan stigma as long as it comes with a photo:

What a good sport he is. You think the National Book Award winner on the adult side of the aisle is so personable and wears such unflinchingly green sweaters? Well, I don't know. Maybe. I've never met him. But go buy M.T. Anderson's books anway. Feed. Thirsty. Whales on Stilts. The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Volume 1: The Pox Party. Any and/or all of them. This isn't just Anderson solidarity talking. The man is a genius.

Good Friday, Good Jazz

At my church's Good Friday tenebrae service, we each get a nail on the way in. After the service, as we're leaving in darkness and silence, we drop the nails in a tin bucket by the door. The only sound in the church is the patter of falling nails, a sobering reminder that each of us had a hand in putting Christ on the cross. Throughout the service, I was fidgeting with the nail, and by the end I found that I wasn't eager to give it up. I would trace the sharp edges with my fingers, even clutch it tight into my palm, like worrying a toothache with my tongue, as if the constant bite of my own sins was somehow a comfort to have near. The problem is, I don't have the guts to actually pierce my own hand, and even if I did, what's the value of my tainted blood? How often do I find some kind of dark comfort in keeping company with my own spiritual aches and pains instead of turning them over to Christ, who already covered my cosmic tab? I suppose it's because wallowing takes less effort, and I also get a nice martyr-y feeling, as long as I don't think it through too much.

And now for something completely different: after church, I went to see Happy Apple play at the Artist's Quarter in downtown St. Paul with my friend Jason. He's a big fan, and I thought I'd give them a try, and it was definitely worth the effort. Drums, bass, and saxophone is what they've got. According to Happy Apple's mySpace page, they classify themselves as jazz/experimental/crunk. Whatever they are, they are talented and very tight while playing the crazy jazz music, yeah. Here they are in motion:

Whee!

The show also re-enforced in my mind that some types of music go best with a beer. This is one of them. I don't know if it's the classic dark basement jazz club setting, or the nature of jazz itself, but a muscle and brain relaxant seemed to free up a few synaptic pathways for new combination possibilities that my brain may not have been as willing to accept and enjoy when stuck in stone cold weekday patterns. Just a thought.

In an attempt to tie the two halves of my day together, I pose a question:

If the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit played drums, electric bass, and sax in a jazz trio, who would play what, and why?

In my CD player:
Live Current, volume 2 (thank you, MPR)

In my iPod: The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

On my screen:
Jeremiah, Season 1 (jury's still out on this one...)

a pretty place to ramble

On the off-chance that any of the people I know (or some that I don't) are interested in what's going on in my often-ordinary life on a semi-regular basis, here it is. My new blog.

Here are the basics: I moved back to Minnesota after several great years in Olympia, Washington. I was engaged when I got here in July, by September I wasn't, but that's a can of worms I won't squish through right now. Maybe later.

Now I'm a Teen Services Librarian in the Hennepin County Library System. I also work part-time at REI. I live with my sister, brother-in-law, and little one-year-old niece. My blossoming career as the nutty maiden aunt living upstairs will be cut short in June when I move into my new condo. Home ownership: walls to paint, furniture to buy/borrow/scrounge, hootenaneys to host, and a mortgage to call my very own. All mine. And my dog's, but she's not much use in the painting and payment department.

So there it is. Let the ramblings continue.

In my CD player:
The Flaming Lips- Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots (thanks, Clemens)

On my iPod:
audio book: The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak

In my hand:
Blue Noon (The Midnighters, Book 3) by Scott Westerfeld


On my screen:
Alias, Season 1 (better late than never)