Friday, February 18, 2005
Researching
I have library drama.
When I went to check out a book from Creighton's library earlier this fall, they said I had a book out still from December. No way!
I looked everywhere for that book. Tore the house up. Tore the car up. Tore my bookbags up. After shredding the house, the car, and the bookbags in ribbons looking for it, nothing.
On Susanne's brilliant suggestion, I went looking for it on the shelf at the library. Sure enough, it was there, right where it should be. I didn't touch it, but filed a search request, because I wanted them to find it on the shelf without it having ever been in my hands.
It took them two weeks, but they found the book and cleared the massive fine for the missing book.
Today I tried to check something else out. They think I've graduated, so my borrowing privileges have been suspended.
Can't a boy check out some political cartoons and a couple books of old poetry?
When I went to check out a book from Creighton's library earlier this fall, they said I had a book out still from December. No way!
I looked everywhere for that book. Tore the house up. Tore the car up. Tore my bookbags up. After shredding the house, the car, and the bookbags in ribbons looking for it, nothing.
On Susanne's brilliant suggestion, I went looking for it on the shelf at the library. Sure enough, it was there, right where it should be. I didn't touch it, but filed a search request, because I wanted them to find it on the shelf without it having ever been in my hands.
It took them two weeks, but they found the book and cleared the massive fine for the missing book.
Today I tried to check something else out. They think I've graduated, so my borrowing privileges have been suspended.
Can't a boy check out some political cartoons and a couple books of old poetry?
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Small-Holed Funnel
Right now there are several wonderful pictures on my picture phone, but for some reason the phone refuses to connect to the service to upload the pictures. These images are like the ghosts on Ghost Busters, sucked into this tiny machine and then seemingly trapped forever.
Soon as I exorcise them I'll post them. That is something like what I have to do, actually: upload from phone; access on the Sprint webpage; download image from Spring webpage; upload image from my computer to Flickr; grab Flickr link; post to webpage. Must be a better way.
Good thing I've a few spare pics lurking on Flickr yet.
Soon as I exorcise them I'll post them. That is something like what I have to do, actually: upload from phone; access on the Sprint webpage; download image from Spring webpage; upload image from my computer to Flickr; grab Flickr link; post to webpage. Must be a better way.
Good thing I've a few spare pics lurking on Flickr yet.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Which _______ are you?
Gosh, I'm a sucker for these quizzes.
Well, I was, anyway, before I sat down to do these ones, courtesy of Natalie's direction.
I tried three, just hoping I would get a cool picture.
You're like the Goddess of Love!
?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
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You're like a Unicorn!
?? Which Mythical Creature Are You ??
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You're Like a Sea Angel!
?? Which Angel Or Demon Are You ??
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Curse these quizzes! I always know that answering the "nice" answers gets me nowhere.
I'm sick of being a loving sea unicorn! Today I'm an angel of destruction!
You Are Like Azrael the Hell Demon!
?? Which Angel Or Demon Are You ??
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Well, I was, anyway, before I sat down to do these ones, courtesy of Natalie's direction.
I tried three, just hoping I would get a cool picture.
You're like the Goddess of Love!
?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla
You're like a Unicorn!
?? Which Mythical Creature Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla
You're Like a Sea Angel!
?? Which Angel Or Demon Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla
Curse these quizzes! I always know that answering the "nice" answers gets me nowhere.
I'm sick of being a loving sea unicorn! Today I'm an angel of destruction!
You Are Like Azrael the Hell Demon!
?? Which Angel Or Demon Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla
Basement Treasures
This is the Governor Dodge House, which sits majestically atop one of the Loess hills which are the spine of Council Bluffs.
This house is the only attraction in town to warrant a brown sign on I-80. Our home is directly down the bluff from the Dodge house, and when people from out of town visit I tell them to follow the signs.
The house is lit up in the evening, and when I park my car at night I can see the house through the trees, hovering like a ghastly spectre.
Around Christmas time, Susanne and I went to see the house, as it was decorated for Christmas and we have a running joke that I am going to give her the deed as a wedding present. One begins one's visit at the residence next door, which has been appropriated by the city as an extension of the museum. There, one purchases overpriced tickets from a crusty woman who is as old as the worn rugs on the floor. She directs visitors to have a seat on a folding chair in the parlor across the hall, where one watches a video about Governor Dodge before walking next door to see his house.
There, just in the door, one meets another crusty old woman, who must have been installed with the feeble electric lighting at the beginning of the 20th Century. This gatekeeper is very particular about making absolutely sure one visits the house's rooms in the precise order listed on the self-guided tour sheet she hands out at the door. If one wanders into the parlor before seeing both the den and the kitchen, she flaps over to steer one back on track. "Oh, oh, have you seen the KITCHEN yet? Yes, look, it's the next number on your sheet. You must see the marble on the mantle."
If one escapes her, one travels up huge staircases, sees bedrooms on the second floor and a ballroom and servants' quarters on the third. For Christmas the home is decorated in each room with a lavish Christmas tree decorated by a clubs or business in the community.
After the upstairs tour, one winds back downstairs through the kitchen and into the basement, where memorabilia contemporary to the Dodges evokes a sense of the time and place in which this grand home was built. It was there, hiding in the crypt-like basement, after all the sumptuous furnishings, tiny beds, period clothes, and ancient furniture, that I saw the priceless treasure which hangs, rather unnoticed, upon the wall--
A photograph of a crowd, and of a man, and of the dog that sniffed his crotch.
This house is the only attraction in town to warrant a brown sign on I-80. Our home is directly down the bluff from the Dodge house, and when people from out of town visit I tell them to follow the signs.
The house is lit up in the evening, and when I park my car at night I can see the house through the trees, hovering like a ghastly spectre.
Around Christmas time, Susanne and I went to see the house, as it was decorated for Christmas and we have a running joke that I am going to give her the deed as a wedding present. One begins one's visit at the residence next door, which has been appropriated by the city as an extension of the museum. There, one purchases overpriced tickets from a crusty woman who is as old as the worn rugs on the floor. She directs visitors to have a seat on a folding chair in the parlor across the hall, where one watches a video about Governor Dodge before walking next door to see his house.
There, just in the door, one meets another crusty old woman, who must have been installed with the feeble electric lighting at the beginning of the 20th Century. This gatekeeper is very particular about making absolutely sure one visits the house's rooms in the precise order listed on the self-guided tour sheet she hands out at the door. If one wanders into the parlor before seeing both the den and the kitchen, she flaps over to steer one back on track. "Oh, oh, have you seen the KITCHEN yet? Yes, look, it's the next number on your sheet. You must see the marble on the mantle."
If one escapes her, one travels up huge staircases, sees bedrooms on the second floor and a ballroom and servants' quarters on the third. For Christmas the home is decorated in each room with a lavish Christmas tree decorated by a clubs or business in the community.
After the upstairs tour, one winds back downstairs through the kitchen and into the basement, where memorabilia contemporary to the Dodges evokes a sense of the time and place in which this grand home was built. It was there, hiding in the crypt-like basement, after all the sumptuous furnishings, tiny beds, period clothes, and ancient furniture, that I saw the priceless treasure which hangs, rather unnoticed, upon the wall--
A photograph of a crowd, and of a man, and of the dog that sniffed his crotch.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Another Dirty Toilet Posting
You may recall that on December 18 I posted a picture from a Texas restroom.
I found its Eve in the mall in Sioux City, IA:
Notice the graffiti on the Sioux City poster, notably absent from the Texas picture. The Yankees like me don't get why one would need to put such a poster in a bathroom stall.
It's easy to assume that, since there's Spanish on the sign, and since most Americans habitually put the toilet paper in the toilet, that it must be those Mexicans who are throwing it in the garbage can, and that they do it because their culture has no conception of how to maintain a proper restroom, so that there's something inherently filthy about those dirty Mexican squatters.
Nevermind there could be a logical explanation.
I found its Eve in the mall in Sioux City, IA:
Notice the graffiti on the Sioux City poster, notably absent from the Texas picture. The Yankees like me don't get why one would need to put such a poster in a bathroom stall.
It's easy to assume that, since there's Spanish on the sign, and since most Americans habitually put the toilet paper in the toilet, that it must be those Mexicans who are throwing it in the garbage can, and that they do it because their culture has no conception of how to maintain a proper restroom, so that there's something inherently filthy about those dirty Mexican squatters.
Nevermind there could be a logical explanation.
