Wanna vote? Monday (10/4/04) is the last day for Indiana residents to register for the November election. This includes things like updating your address if you’ve moved. And if you think you don’t want to bother…I’m registered and I’m ready. If that doesn’t scare you into action, I don’t know what will.
Under most circumstances, I’m not the helpful housekeeping hint type. However, Dorothea is not the only person who’s ever had to wash a yoga/Pilates mat, and I thought I’d share. Most “sticky” mats can go through the washing machine in cold water, on the gentle cycle. (A hand-wash cycle is even better if your machine has one.) Skip the fabric softener, and use either a delicate-fabrics type detergent or (my preference) baking soda. If your dryer has a no-heat (”fluff”) setting, then you can use that, although it may take two cycles to dry completely. Alternately, hang it over the shower curtain rod in a warm bathroom, or outdoors. Because the stickiness of the mat comes from the texture of the plastic itself, sticky mats are stickier when clean. (Isn’t materials science cool?)
Me: I’d rather eat my own head than go to that meeting.
Coworker: Can I watch?
Me: You could go to the meeting with me.
Post-Meeting Update: If I hadn’t left early to “add value somewhere else” I might have started subtracting it from other people in the room.
Someone at work IMed me today to let me know she’d found not only Ravings, but Shotgun Reviews as well. Apparently the coworker in question is a huge Leisure Kings fan (and if you’re not, you ought to be), and found my review. I always enjoy finding out who my readers are—or more to the point, that there are readers other than my mom. However, I’m also very glad that I’ve been deliberately vague about work. Not that the coworker in question has anything to worry about, but I must confess extreme relief that I deleted a few…less than discreet posts before they saw the light of day. It’s always good to have a reminder that anything that’s on the Internet is no secret.
Do you think that “Oops, I did it again” was played at Britney Spears’s wedding?
Going to the gym had become a real pain the in the ass, and not the literal kind, for a change. For one thing, I was getting very, very bored with my hour-on-the-elliptical-machine cardio workout. For another, my trainer kept cancelling on me—four times in nine days—even though I had scheduled six weeks in advance.
Enough.
I have switched trainers. The first thing she did was assign some homework—I was to look at the gym’s class schedule and see if I could find a few classes a week that I’d be willing to try. Much to my surprise, I managed to find at least two classes a day that not only caught my interest, but were conveniently scheduled. In the end, I picked out almost everything except step aerobics and cycling classes. I’ll have to work up to some of the advanced classes (cardio kickboxing is at the top of my list), but even with that in mind, I have a very nice range of options.
For extra credit, I decided to try some of the group fitness classes over the weekend. I did yoga and Pilates for the first time in over a year, and much to my amazement, both were easier than I remembered. Of course, I have lost about 30 pounds and put on more than a little muscle, so perhaps I shouldn’t be amazed. I also tried a water weights class, which has some of the most cartoonish-looking exercise equipment I’ve ever seen. (Imagine a 2-3″ wide, bright-red, velcro ankle band. Now imagine it with bright-yellow fins coming off either side. I felt as though I’d raided Aquaman’s closet.) Not only was I excessively enthused about doing something different, I actually had fun doing it. Who’d've thought? Of course, I’ve been nagging Dorothea relentlessly to do yoga and Pilates to help her RSI and postural muscles, so I guess taking my own advice is long overdue.
Here’s what the TransAmerican Team found in the New York Post on February 21st, 1885. It was tucked behind a long, boring article on the dedication of the Washington monument.
Notorious Mafia Hit-Man Escapes Sing-Sing
OSSINING, NY Convicted Mafia murderer-for-hire Joseph Malone perpetrated a daring escape from New Yorks infamous Sing-Sing prison in the early morning hours. Better known as Joey Too-Bad, Malone was convicted of the gruesome 1882 murders of accountant Moishe Silverberg, Silverbergs wife Sophie, and two of the Silverberg children, Daniel (age 9) and Miriam (age 5). The oldest son, Simeon (now age eighteen), was away from the scene of the murder at the time, and was subsequently instrumental in bringing public attention to the case. Malones attorney, Billy Flynn*, attempted to sway the jury with his well-known theatrical courtroom tactics, but to avail. Malone was found guilty of four counts of first-degree murder, and swore revenge on the surviving Silverberg when dragged out of the courtroom following his conviction.
A full-scale manhunt is underway, focus on areas between New York and Boston, as Malone is expected to try and reach his cohorts in Massachusetts. Mayor Roosevelt is taking no chances, and has put the New York City Police Department on full alert as well. Members of the public are urged to avoid confronting Malone, as he is likely to be armed and is a proven danger to public safety.
By Edward Taylor III
*Of course it’s on purpose.
Via Carl
The sorting hat says that I belong in Gryffindor!
Said Gryffindor, "We’ll teach all those with brave deeds to their name."
Students of Gryffindor are typically brave, daring, and chivalrous.
Famous members include Harry, Ron, Hermione, Albus Dumbledore (head of Hogwarts), and Minerva McGonagall (head of Gryffindor).
Take the scientific Harry Potter
Quiz.
Personally, I think the hat needs a checkup. I scored 100 in Gryffindor, 86 in Ravenclaw, 62 in Hufflepuff, and 52 in Slytherin…much to my surprise.
It could have been worse. I keep telling myself that, and while it’s true, it has yet to make me feel less annoyed.
Yesterday afternoon, I was heading down to the south side of town to visit some friends. For those of you unfamiliar with Indianapolis and its galloping enthusiasm for suburban sprawl, I shall explain further. “Going to the south side” involves a 22-mile drive, much of it on freeways. And the freeway was exactly where I got into trouble. There’s one particular part of I-70 west where I have a little over a mile to merge left across five lanes of traffic—not counting the entrance ramp. I had made it to the fourth lane over when I heard the unmistakeable noise of a tire blowing out and felt the concommitant loss of handling. That meant I had to get over another four lanes in the opposite direction (no breakdown lane on the left side of the road), with a flat tire, in half a mile, at highway speeds. This is doable in light, Sunday-afternoon traffic, but it’s neither fun nor easy. It could’ve been worse; that could have happened during my Monday morning commute. I looked out at the cars whizzing by—including a state trooper—and contemplated my options.
My next step was to call my friends and let them know I wouldn’t make it. They promised to come out and rescue me. I started unpacking my trunk in order to get to the spare. I don’t have a full-sized spare, so going over 45 miles per hour was right out, and on Indianapolis freeways, that’s almost as dangerous as speeding. I had my major stroke of luck before I’d even finished unpacking the trunk. I looked up from my trunk-unpacking to discover that a couple of IPD officers had pulled up right behind me. They promptly got a couple of flares set up and changed my tire for me. They weren’t even on duty yet, technically; they’d been heading to work downtown. I thanked them profusely, and managed to get myself off the freeway at the next exit. That was not a fun mile, but again, it could have been worse.
As I was heading back home, I found myself in a conundrum. Generally speaking, I prefer to spend my money at local businesses. Specifically, there’s a particular auto shop where I prefer to get my car worked on. I’ve been going there for years, and the guys there are great. Unfortunately, they’re not open on Sundays, and I didn’t want to lose half a day of work on Monday getting a new tire. (Given the circumstances, I didn’t think the old tire was going to be salvageable.) As it happens, there’s a super Evil Empire Wal-Mart five minutes from my house, and their auto shop is open on Sundays. They got the job done in under half an hour and for a reasonable price. Again, it could have been worse.
At this point, it was a little after 2:00, and I was already done for the day. I was in my pajamas by 4:00 PM, and I managed to not have any other mechanical difficulties the rest of the day. All together now—it could have been worse.
But you know, it could’ve been better, too.
I had hoped that we were done replacing appliances. And maybe we are; it could be that the garbage disposal can be fixed. All I know is that nothing happened when I flipped the switch. No noises, no burning smell, no explosions…nothing. Ed’s going to take the lead on this one, as I think I have already done my share of appliance troubleshooting lately. Besides, I had other problems on Sunday.
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