surprise, surprise

Okay, so what rhyme scheme do you think is used for the Wikipedia entry on iambic pentameter?

Carl Kasel on my home answering machine

It's been too long.

Months ago at a silent auction, I purchased the opportunity to have Carl Kasel's voice on my voice mail.

Carl, who the WSJ describes as "the National Public radio newscaster and the judge/scorekeeper/second banana on NPR's weekly call-in quiz show" usually offers his voice as a prize for winners.

But the pressure ... this is such a great opportunity, and I lack inspiration for what to ask him to say.

Please send ideas my way.

phantom mice and others

I still remember the first time I realized I had roommates that didn't pay rent.

 

It was the early part of 2003, after a snowstorm so bad that it destroyed the roof of the B&O railroad museum's roundhouse. I was sitting at my dining table, reading, when I glimpsed something scurrying out of the corner of my eye.

 

My feet left the floor. My thoughts, however, went to my landlord. Mom had read a clause in my lease indicating that I would be responsible for any "vermin" in my apartment. So I called Don.

 

Don, in his characteristically pleasant and sing-songy voice, explained that rodents often moved in when it snowed because they had a hard time finding water and other necessities. He mentioned peanut butter would be good bait for the traps he'd leave for me. Because, you see, "if you've seen Mickey, then Minnie's not far behind," he chirped. 

 

I suddenly had a vision of human-sized cartoon characters roaming around my house. What's more horrible --- an infestation of Disney legends, or brutally killing said beloved childhood figures?

 

Anyway, I put out the traps but never caught anything other than my own index finger, so I avoided the disposal issues that friend and frequent commenter Maliavale is dealing with.* But the problem continues, with the occasional mouse darting across the kitchen or jumping off the metal shelf unit where I keep snacks.

 

Now, I grew up in a city and have endured my share of roaches and other urban insects without too much distress, but I hate mice. My fear of rodents stems from an unshaking belief that these mammals harbor some sort of grudge against me --- for being large, for being loud, for past transgressions against their brethren**... what I'm saying is, these guys might have a justifiable desire to claw my eyes out and sink their perpetually growing incisor teeth into my soft flesh.

 

So super-early Christmas morning, when I got home after work and midnight mass and dinner and baking cookies, I had gotten into bed and was trying to fall asleep when I heard ... something. Something like little teeth and claws chewing on a paper bag in the kitchen -- perhaps the bag with the cookies I had brought back home after my impromptu baking party! I thought for a moment and decided I did not want to share my snacks.

 

I got up, turned on the light in my room and grabbed one of the Redhead's slippers. I stood in my bedroom doorway and looked across the hall at the kitchen. There was a bag near the stove, but had the mouse had chewed a hole in the bottom or had it had fallen/jumped in? If it had jumped in, maybe it would jump out if I went to pick up the bag.

 

I got an idea: as I lobbed the slipper at the bag I dived back onto my bed --- just in case the mouse decided to dart back into my room, for some reason. Then I waited there for a few moments on my hands and knees, listening. I heard something -- perhaps the sounds of teeth chewing on the cookie container, perhaps just a creak as I shifted my weight.

 

Another attack was in order. I put on an old pair of shoes, to protect my exposed toes, and hefted one of the Redhead's boots, still wrapped in a plastic bag from our trip to Boston. I threw it at the bag, again, and again ran to the bed.

 

That's when I remembered there were no cookies in the kitchen, actually --- I had left them in the trunk of my car.

*This is no longer true, as of 12:05 p.m. Dec. 27.

**addendum, not for the squeamish: In college, during the six-week-long experiment of my required neuro lab course, an indulgent partner allowed me to avoid contact with my rat for a really long time. For example, I didn't have to swing the rat in a circle*** to confuse it so it wouldn't freak out when we injected it with drugs before we put it in a little harness to measure how many times it turned right or left -- she took care of that.

 

It wasn't until after we had anesthetized them, and cut open their scalps, and used a dental drill to make a hole in their skulls, and injected a poison to make a lesion in its brain, and then stapled its scalp back together with something that looked like a binder clip, that I had to touch the rat.  

 

It lay there splayed out under a warming lamp, breathing softly, with the metal staple lifting the folds of skin like a mohawk on its head. After it came out of sedation the rat had to go back into its regular cage with access to water, but indulgent friend had to go to class. When it started to stir, I carried the plexiglass container into the locked room where the animals were kept and put it down on a table. I started talking to it, saying things more to reassure myself for the task at hand.

 

Then I heard something to my left, from the bank of cages. I turned and saw another rat, also stapled, poking its head ON TOP of one of the cages -- not inside, where it belonged. And that's when I ran away.

 

Flight instincts kicked in because I knew that that rat was coming to get me. Wouldn't you resent one of the humans who had literally messed with your head?

 

I ran to the student center and the library and the computer center, hunting for someone in my lab or who had taken it before, who could help me with my plight. Finally I found an Emily who was a TA and she said comforting things and came with me back to the lab and she put both rats away.

 

***addendum to the addendum: We didn't swing them by their tails; the lab partner would hold the rat so that it kept its front legs folded across its chest and would not be able to bite. It's not as mean as it sounds.

 

postscript: yes, I was the worst neuroscience major ever.

 

A final note: I really like cats. I don't like birds. I don't like the way they move.

Boston is not Baltimore

Why do things like this happen in Boston and not in Baltimore?

On second thought, I'm not sure whether I want to be clubbed by soft objects in the cold.

Especially when things like this happen here.

As The Sun says (fourth item), it's nice that they put up a barrier so people don't splashed with paint.

saving water

Some of these tips you probably know ...  I'm not sure about the one I've quoted below, however.

"Don't pour cooking water down the drain. Water from pasta, vegetables, rice and potatoes can be saved in the refrigerator for a couple of days and used for soup. That captures flavor and water-soluble vitamins and minerals, too. (Potato cooking water is great for making bread.)"

I like the idea of reusing the water, but I'm not sure I make soup often enough for this to make sense.

When I have the resources to build a dream house out of something other than LEGOs, it will have a grey water system that will reroute wastewater from drains into the toilets so that I'm not flushing away drinkable liquids. But until then, I'll just continue to overwater my house plants.

happy news

The city of Baltimore will now accept more plastic through its recycling program! Yes, of course we should reduce our waste and reuse what we can, but hopefully this will encourage more people to sort their trash. I'm glad that my yogurt cups will be reincarnated into something else!

If you live in an apartment and your landlord does not recycle, you can find a location to drop off your items here .

the Urban Word of the Day

makes me laugh and laugh and laugh.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: <daily@urbandictionary.com >
Date: Dec 4, 2007 7:00 AM
Subject: Urban Word of the Day: Hobosexual

Urban Word of the Day
www.urbandictionary.com

December 04, 2007: Hobosexual

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Hobosexual&defid=1179918

Adjective. The opposite of metrosexual; one who cares little for one's own appearance.

Examples: Michael Moore, Peter Jackson.
First documented hobosexual - John the Baptist.

Vote early and often

Laura Vozzella (third item) writes that HGTV is offering a "municipal makeover" for cities like Baltimore --- but it's just one Northeast Baltimore neighborhood, Pen Lucy, that's in contention for sprucing.

Mayor says to vote as often as you want

Remember when big-city mayors looked to Washington for money? Today, they turn to HGTV.

Sheila Dixon is urging residents to stuff the ballot box in a Home and Garden Television municipal makeover contest.

"You can help bring some much-needed support and attention to our wonderful city by voting for Baltimore!" the mayor exclaimed in a news release.

The network is offering makeovers to four cities in its "Change the World, Start at Home" contest. Baltimore is one of 10 finalists. If the city wins, HGTV won't doll up all of Charm City, but it will help pay for a revitalization project in Pen Lucy.

(Details about the project and how much HGTV would contribute were not immediately available.)

Dixon is encouraging residents to vote early and often at www.hgtv.com. HGTV allows anyone to vote once a day until the contest concludes Dec. 21.

So the network cares more about Web traffic than representative democracy. At least it's got some money for cities.

check out the blotter version of my life

It's the third item. Police are on the lookout for someone fragrant, yet germy (because s/he left the hand sanitizer).

Central

Theft // A 2007 Honda Civic was parked in the 300 block of E. Biddle St. early Wednesday when someone shattered a passenger window with a rock and stole coconut-scented hand lotion and an iPod cable. Total value of the property and the shattered window was $310. The rock was found inside the car.

the charms of Charm City

I finally feel like I'm a real resident of Baltimore, because someone smashed in my car window between midnight and noon today --- first time in five years!

Or, perhaps this is a sign I should leave.

To tell you the truth, it's not unexpected. I had a really bad feeling when I parked my car yesterday on the bridge over Interstate 83, between Guilford Avenue and east Baltimore next to at least two piles of broken auto glass --- often the only place I can park my car when I get back after work, after 11:30 p.m.

The haul: a bottle of hand lotion and the cord that connects my iPod to the stereo. The thief/thieves, who worked by the perpetually blinking blue light of a Baltimore Police Department surveillance camera, left my E-ZPass, old cell phone charger and hand sanitizer behind. Must have been scared off by the alarm, because my real valuables -- the Scrabble set in my trunk -- were also unmolested.

This unfortunately violates my life philosophy of staying out of the police blotter.

But no lasting harm. Safelite installed new auto glass in time for me to make it to my shift tonight and the technician let me use his vacuum to suck the glass crumbs out of my vents and from between my multiple layers of floor mats. It's all good.

lies the Little People told me

You know, the children's playset is probably not a bastion of historical accuracy. But, I'm pretty sure there were no black people on the Mayflower.

Perhaps he is a stowaway!

the best URL ever

http://www.losanjealous.com

Down with the heteronormative agenda!

Baltamour blogged about relationship articles that expound about what boys do and girls do better, assuming we all fit into neat categories based on our gender.

Lists such as these particularly burn me up when it comes to the presumption that women are better nurturers ... No, I'm not the best equipped human in the room to care for children, just because I have ovaries. Frankly, the best child caregivers have patience, and I sorely lack that quality.

Coffee, meet tea

So what is a "chai latte"?

"Chai" is a blend of tea and spices. "Latte" is espresso with steamed
milk.

So is a "chai latte" coffee or tea? Is it coffee-flavored tea? Is it
tea-flavored coffee? Wouldn't that be "toffee"?

Amazing that we've managed as a society to complicate the combination
of dried beans (or leaves) in water. Confounded pumpkin pie chai
latte! I shake my fist at you.

An announcement

I've often said that the world would be a safer place if I did not drive in it.

Unfortunately, it's just gotten more dangerous.

Maliavale and I are putting together PL8WTCH --- a blog about vanity plates. Please send contributions you've spotted our way.

A spoonful of sugar helps the theology go down

In my Line of Work, I encounter a lot of marketing of consumer goods with a somewhat tenuous tie to religion. Here's a great taste-test of candies with a religious theme --- gotta love the chocolate Om and Biblical Sandy Candy. Maybe you'll get some in your treat bag this All Hallow's Eve!

It was compiled by a panel at beliefnet.com ... perhaps a little redundancy in the URL, but they've got good content, if you're into the Godtalk, or Godstalk, if you're more the polytheistic type.

shocking omission: unidentified delights

I can't believe I went on and on about chocolate and savory things and did not mention that I finally tried the mac & cheese & chocolate at Jack's Bistro! We went on my birthday, which was a Sunday, to take advantage of the $12 entrees-in-the-bar special. The event was doubly sweet because I was not working and we ended it with a short trip to Vaccaro's in O'Donnell Square.

We started the meal with a cheese course, of sorts --- both the aforementioned macaroni and cheese and the fried cheeseburger balls. My assessment? I am a big fan of macaroni, and cheese, and macaroni and cheese, and chocolate, and while all of those ingredients tasted independently good in the dish, I'm not sure they fit together in a deliciously complementary way, like Voltron. The cheeseburger balls are a better choice.

Invasion of giant nuns, thwarted

So after The Sun confirmed on Page 2b that the Giant Nuns were in fact larger than life-size, some not-so-Good Samaritan rats them out to the city's Department of Public Works , according to City Paper! But not before the enormous consecrated women waged havoc on the city, leaving rubble in their wake.

unidentified delights

The Redhead's mom is a sweet, intelligent woman who I enjoy visiting with, especially because the two of us become a unified force in ganging up on the Redhead when the three of us are in close proximity.

She's also funny, because she does not believe that the Redhead checks his mail at his apartment, so she sends gifts and birthday cards to him at my address. I think his aunt and grandmother have the same idea.

But! I received my own little joyous surprise last week, in honor of my own birthday. It was a lovely orange box of chocolates, wrapped up in a giant orange ribbon (did I mention she taught me how to tie gift bows with real ribbons?) and full of interesting sweets.

Tangent: boxes of chocolate are great because I can nurse them in my own anal-retentive, OCD-kind of way, allowing myself only one delectable treat per day for a month of tastiness. Who can eat an entire chocolate bar in one sitting? They are only good for fondue.

Back to the story: Some boxes of chocolates have a map to help you steer of chocolate-covered cherries and others you wish to avoid, but without reference material you just have to take your chances.

Years ago Mz. Loh gave me food-garnishing advice she may have learned from the CIA: it's good to decorate your food with stuff that offers the eater a clue to the contents, like a nut on a rum ball or other nutty cookies, or sprigs of mint on ... something minty.

But that rule did not prepare me for the first chocolate I tried, which was topped with a white crystalline substance I assumed was raw sugar. It turned out to be salt! It tasted salty. The filling was unclear.

Then I saw a post on this blog (wish it had permalink features) about burnt caramel truffles with Hawaiian sea salt and feel like I've gained some insight. (Be sure to read the post before that one, about the chocolate bacon bars at Ma Petite Shoe, Baltimore's shoe and chocolate store).

It took me a little while to support the concept of chocolate-covered savory things (okay, the time it took to devour my first chocolate-covered pretzel). And I completely agree with the explanation on the bacon bar page that pancake syrup on pork products (I prefer sausage) is tasty. But this is not a universal endorsement: I'm not a big fan of Monte Cristo sandwiches and for political reasons I refuse to try the pancake sandwich at the fast-food-place-that-is-not-to-be-named-or-linked-to.

But who knows? I'm only halfway through the box of deliciousness. Perhaps there's a Chorizo one in there somewhere.

putting the numbers in context

This work by Seattle artist Chris Jordan attempts to put American consumption in context ... I like the simple depictions much better than the photomosaic style pieces. But still --- fascinating.

Updated: found via bagsintrees.com.

a classic New York City statement

found, not unexpectedly, in this quote from overheard in new york:

Nor the Commissions That Run Them

Small girl: Mama, can we take off our shoes when we get to the park?
Mother: Absolutely not! I don't trust parks.

Overheard in New York, Sep 13, 2007

warning, unauthorized product placement ahead!

So I am the owner of a savings account with ING Direct. Today I got an e-mail from them, wishing me a happy birthday! What kind of bank is this?

And it gave me a coupon to buy stuff in its store! ING sells t-shirts in its store! And yoga mats and tents for you outdoorsy types, and an air compressor, if that's your bag.

It also has cafes in cities near you (especially if you live within the I-95 corridor) where you can buy coffee, attend financial seminars and host events.

Crazy talk.

the ultimate parking fantasy

You've all seen that Mentos commercial where the young woman, upon finding her Citroen suddenly blocked by another car employs several burly Eastern Bloc construction workers to extricate it from its parking space.

I've often wished I could perform the same trick, but in reverse --- calling upon legions of stronger people to shift other cars so I could squeeze my car into a space --- but not after reading this tale of car-moving gone wrong.

What country are those Mentos commercials from, anyway? The Netherlands, apparently (no thanks to the company's official website! In America, we like to know the history of our candies!)

everyone should do this

if you've got cool phones that let you record your own ring tone ...


http://lifehacker.com/software/cell-phones/the-inconspicuous-cell-phone-ring-194312.php

funny nuns

Near Mercy Medical Center, they have these cardboard photo cutouts of various Sisters of Mercy ( these sisters, not these), welcoming patients to the hospital. I'm willing to start a betting pool on when the first act of vandalism will occur.

But also: are these nuns lifesize, or have they been blown up to greater heights?

revelation

A transcript of a recent e-mail conversation I had with my sister, after trying to reach her for a few days:

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: dancing monkey <dmonkey@elefkay.com>
Date: Aug 23, 2007 6:37 PM
Subject: older niece's birthday party?
To: Anne-Anne <anneanne@bigsis.com >

can u confirm it will be sat., sept 22?


---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Anne-Anne < anneanne@bigsis.com>
Date: Aug 23, 2007 10:50 PM
Subject: Kayla's party
To: dancing monkey < dmonkey@elefkay.com>


It was supposed to be that day but niece's dad changed it.  Don't know what the new day is yet.
Sent from my iPhone

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: dancing monkey <dmonkey@elefkay.com>
Date: Aug 23, 2007 10:55 PM
Subject: Re: Kayla's party
To: Anne-Anne <anneanne@bigsis.com>

Since when do you have an iPhone?!?!

(furious dialing)

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: dancing monkey <dmonkey@elefkay.com>
Date: Aug 23, 2007 10:55 PM
Subject: Re: Kayla's party
To: Anne-Anne <anneanne@bigsis.com >

Is that why your voice mail is not set up yet?!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Anne-Anne < anneanne@bigsis.com>
Date: Aug 23, 2007 10:58 PM
Subject: Re: Kayla's party
To: dancing monkey <dmonkey@elefkay.com>

call me back

Sent from my iPhone

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Anne-Anne <anneanne@bigsis.com>
Date: Aug 23, 2007 10:59 PM
Subject: Re: Kayla's party
To: dancing monkey <dmonkey@elefkay.com>

yes

Sent from my iPhone

(furious dialing)

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: dancing monkey <dmonkey@elefkay.com>
Date: Aug 23, 2007 11:06 PM
Subject: Re: Kayla's party
To: Anne-Anne <anneanne@bigsis.com>

you know, if you were getting a new phone, you should have at least gotten one that you can hear when it rings.





The backstory: her Blackberry Pearl was stolen, she was still under contract so it would have cost more than $400 to replace it, so she figured she'd just get the iPhone. The funny thing: she couldn't hear it when the Pearl rang, and she still can't hear the iPhone either. And, as a result, she can look forward to bills that are 64 pages long.

Read a Book, addendum

P.S. I'm sure many sports reporters would object to D'mite's instruction to put down the sports section ... I mean, that's a gateway medium, right?

Read a Book

Fellow METPRO graduate Sufiya Abdur-Rahman writes about "Read a Book" by Bomani "D'mite" Armah ... check it out!

traffic ticket myths

From Bankrate.com, via Consumerist: Don't believe these myths about traffic tickets.

is conspicuous consumption worse

when it takes place in a country with a greater disparity between the rich and the poor? Or a larger population of poor? Or is it just easy to turn up one's Western nose at people in developing nations who espouse the same zest for material goods as we do?

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/asia/article2199285.ece

From The Sunday Times

August 5, 2007

My big fat Indian birthday party

Dean Nelson, Delhi

Two-year-old Ishan is too young to remember the extravagant party his parents threw to celebrate his second birthday, but the hungry young beggars outside the tall wrought-iron gates of their Delhi farmhouse will never forget it.

Ishan was dressed in his favourite Noddy outfit to match the theme and to welcome his 100 guests to a party that had set his parents back £4,500.

The guests would barely have noticed the traffic light beggars pleading for coins as they drove their 4x4s through Delhi's exclusive Chattarpur suburb.

They were taking part in a ritual that is becoming a booming business among the city's elite: the big fat Indian kids' birthday party is now starting to rival the country's all-consuming wedding industry. According to industry insiders, it is now worth around £10m a year in Delhi alone, and it is growing fast.

Driving the phenomenon is a ruthless competitiveness among India's largely Hindu upper-middle classes, whose wealth has grown enormously over the past 15 years.

As their fortunes have soared, their children's weddings, and now birthdays, have become opportunities to display their new riches and social contacts. At little Ishan's party, no detail was overlooked in his parents' campaign to impress their friends and acquaintances.

The guests arrived through a specially commissioned Noddy gateway (£300), onto the sweeping lawns and swimming pool of their mansion. There were 20,000 balloons in Noddy's colours, and thousands more bearing his face and name, costing £750. There were 40 Noddy car models and statuettes dotted around the garden (£150), and four specially built Noddy bars for popcorn, chocolates and sweets (£150). A Noddy clown wandered among the children as they toyed with their Noddy-car goodie bags (100 at £12.50 each – £1,250).

And then there were the fairground rides: A "Columbus" swinging ship, three 40ft bouncy castles, a merry-go-round and a mini-train ride. The games and rides alone cost another £1,100.

There was a running buffet of pizza, burgers and sandwiches, all laid out on tables with matching Noddy glasses, napkins and plates.

The family could have laid on elephants at £25 each for garden rides (a herd is kept by the banks of Delhi's Yamuna River, and hired out for events), or camels at £15 per beast, but these animals are increasingly seen as the pass? preserve of lower-scale parties, according to one party planner. "One Indian family last month asked me to lay on live lions and tigers," he said.

Rakesh Gupta, of the Gift Palace toy and party store in Delhi's exclusive Khan Market, said over the past 15 years, his party business has grown to at least 60 a month, more than 40 of which are staged at five-star hotels, and cost up to £5,000.

"In the early days it was a family affair, but now children's parties are more of a social gathering, more like business parties," he said. Of the 100 or so guests attending most birthday parties, 60 will be business contacts of the parents.

The competitiveness of Delhi's new rich is not limited to the scale of the parties they throw, the social standing of the guests or the choice of exotic rides. It also extends to the goodie bags for guests to take home. According to Gupta, these now include expensive electronic toys such as Xbox game consoles, iPod nanos and Game Boy Advance pocket computer games.

As Ishan's guests boarded their Land Cruisers, they passed the Chattarpur Mandir temple complex, where barely dressed children as young as six paint their faces, sport Hanuman mon-key-god tails and tap on the tinted windows, begging for small change.

According to Pavan K Varma of the Indian Council for Cultural Relations, the discrepancy in wealth will have passed the party-goers by.

"There is a new class in India with more money than ever before. There's no reticence among them about flaunting it. It's glaring in terms of the unacceptable poverty still around us," he said.

"The more invitation cards we send, the more our status and that of our children is assured. It's about hierarchy. The point isn't to celebrate a birthday, but for people to know how you celebrated it."

You think you've got it rough?

Over the last few months, I've realized that things aren't so bad. There have been quite a few changes, but it really could be worse. Like when you find out you're suddenly working nights but then come to appreciate that at least you have two consecutive days off. That's a good thing. Or if you get a schedule you expect to dislike but it lets you see your nocturnal significant other more frequently.

Or when your back paws don't work and there's no way you can leap or pounce, maybe you can figure something else out.

In the center of the rainbow

So I'm spending a few days in south Florida at the Asian American Journalists Association's annual convention.

I made it down here despite a delay that afforded me enough time to enjoy a paraffin manicure. FYI: it's kind of like getting a hand sculptures at the state fair, only not as much fun.

But! Perhaps if the flight were on time, I would not have seen from the plane my first "full-circle" rainbow -- the entire circle, rather than just the bows we kept stumbling upon in Hawaii last summer and in February. Gorgeous.

It reminds me of one of those moments that reinforces the fact that yes, I am getting old. During a tour through Scotland while studying abroad in Stockton-on-Tees at Durham University I was struck by the beautiful scenery, then struck by an entirely alarming thought: I must be an adult.

Because if I were still eight years old, I'd say, yeah, this scenery is nice, but Disneyland is nicer.

Okay, off to bed before a rousing day of workshops and big-picture thinking ...

bad reality tv

I stumbled on Instant Beauty Pageant on the Style Network one night and regret that I can never get that hour of my life back again ... five women randomly approached in a mall and given three hours to prepare for a beauty pageant, complete with gratuitous product placements.

The highlight of the episode I saw: when contestants almost came to blows in the bar of a chain restaurant while preparing (read: doing shots) before the big event.

It was like a bad car accident -- couldn't look away.

Just when you think your life is difficult

stories like this put everything into perspective:

Wide awake, Costa ready to fish again

By Candus Thomson

Sun reporter

July 18, 2007

It took persistence and medicine, but Tim Costa no longer sleeps with the fishes.

Today, unencumbered by two sleeping disorders that forced him from professional bass fishing six years ago, Costa begins his long comeback on the Potomac River in the Stren Series Northern Division competition, a part of FLW Outdoors.

"It's an amazing change. I was so tired all the time for so long that I didn't realize you weren't supposed to feel that way," says the Erie, Pa., native.

Obstructive sleep apnea and narcolepsy - a one-two punch that caused him to fall asleep without warning - made it impossible for Costa to drive his boat or car. He could barely stay awake at his construction job in Plano, Texas, and was a frequent no-show at family activities.

"It was a toxic-type sleepiness," says Costa, 36. "I was living my whole life exhausted, feeling worse when I woke up than when I went to sleep."

Costa admits he was crushed to walk away from his fledgling career in 2001, having worked his way up to 26th place in the Wal-Mart Bass Fishing League. But he insists he could never risk harming others.

This made me happy

When I first opened the box (I get a lot of hopeful promotional items in My Line of Work) I was convinced it's was the ugliest teddy bear I'd ever seen, or as the Redhead said, like it shouldn't be fed after midnight. Now, after consultations with others, I realize it's a sheep, though it could be a lamb. Symbolism works either way, I suppose. Lined in rabbit's fur, though?

Perhaps I should have a Holy Ghost party someday ...

okay, now I'm impressed

Most of the plastic-bag reuse projects I've encountered are heavy on virtue but low on style, except for these plastic bag chickens fashioned by South African crafters. Really gorgeous.

Yup, this makes me go ew.

So, I've been roaming the craft-er sites lately, looking for directions for all kinds of projects I probably won't finish anytime soon. There's some interesting recycling-reclaiming projects out there, with people knitting iPod covers out of cassette tape and fusing plastic bags into raincoats .

But this one really made me want to hurl, and I don't know why, because I've been known to wear an animal product or two, certainly lamb's wool or sheep's wool ... why not cat?

Make felt from pets

parking

So this black girl reads posted about hunting for premium parking spots yesterday.

I'm definitely in one of the first two categories, lot laissez-faire or parking pragmatist. Whenever I find myself hunting for a close spot I think about how I have these perfectly functional legs that might not be so functional someday. When or if that happens, I'll hunt for a good parking spot. Until then, I'll hoof it from the back or the top level ... leaving the closer spaces for the not-so-mobile.

I do believe in parking karma, however. That finding a perfect space without trying indicates that the universe is telling you that you were meant to be in this place, at this time.

As primarily a street parker, however, I have to say that if I could chose a super power, I want the ability to shove cars that are rudely parked in the middle of two parking spaces out of the way to make room for my vehicle.

Many times I travel through my Mount Vernon neighborhood cursing my fellow residents who carelessly stopped their vehicles about a half-car's length away from the no-stopping sign at the end of the block, or some other misanthropic move. I fantasize about leaving notes on the dashboards of mean parkers and others praising the considerate ones.

Can you see me now, eyes clouding over like Storm, as I whirl around and create gusts of wind that gently-but-quickly realigns cars on the street? It would be so great.

The functional-legs consideration also comes into play when debating stairs-vs.-elevator. Some day, I may long for the time when I could dash up a flight of stairs because I can't.

the Enzyme theory of relationships

Apologies in advance for mangling scientific theories for my own personal use.

So let's pretend humans are like atoms, bouncing around in the universe.

Most atoms are at a higher "energy state" when they haven't formed a bond with other atoms. They're kind of tooling around faster, trying to get in the right position so they can share electrons with another atom. Then they kind of 'relax' because they're at a lower energy state. (Are the parallels clear so far?)

But it's hard for atoms to just randomly orient themselves near other atoms in a way for those bonds to form on their own. Most reactions require a certain amount of extra energy, called activation energy, to take place. You do that by adding things like heat, for example.

What enzymes do is reduce the activation energy needed for a reaction to take place by moving atoms and/or molecules close to each other, in the correct orientation for bonds form. Think of atoms like jigsaw puzzle-like pieces that two atoms in a hypothetical reaction would fit into.

"Enzymes" could be anything that helps two people (or more, if you're into that kind of thing) in the situations where they can get to know each other better. Enzymes could be mutual friends, or cooking classes, or social sports leagues, or random parties. Even elevators could be enzymes! You just kind of have to be open to the experience.

There are several addenda to this theory, including one about breakups that parallels one of Newton's first Law of Motion, the one about inertia --- every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it.

I swear I came up with this while taking general science classes a decade ago, but I just found this much more detailed similar theory with visual aids.

Won't you take me to

Funkstown?

A Prairie Home Companion

I have to say that although I'm a self-avowed NPR addict, I could be persuaded to change stations instead of listening to all the news from Lake Woebegone. But I can't live without Garrison Keillor's columns. Here's a great excerpt from this week's column:

"Unrestricted immigration is a dangerous thing - look at what happened to the Iroquois. They failed to impose border controls and before they knew it, they were dying of infectious diseases they had no names for. In the case of California, however, it was Spanish before it was English and now it's simply tending back that way."

financial survival

The NYT has published a sequel to its 2006 column advising young people to lay off the lattes and instead put the money that would buy fancy coffee in a piggy bank (read: IRA) that will allow you to survive until you die.

Survival, it should be noted, is what we're talking about here --- not necessarily living a life enhanced by pleasures that Americans often purchase regardless of their ability to pay. Don't eat out, don't buy new things, and maybe you'll be able to take a cab to the doctor's office when you're old, instead of waiting in the rain for the bus. And, if you start being miserly now, you'll be accustomed to that lifestyle by the time you're old.

Thankfully, I'm already doing a lot of what Damon Darlin recommends. I've been saving for retirement in various ways and am debt-free. As mentioned here before, as the Child of Immigrants I have witnessed firsthand the way the frugal methods my parents followed to save the money to establish themselves in this country and grown to appreciate how they instilled those values in me. Today, however, they have the means to live more comfortably but can hardly bear to spend money on themselves.

I would like to use my money for things that are truly important to me. Better writers have said this more eloquently than I do, but money buys safety, security, peace of mind. You also can use money to support your interests, but lately I'm struck by how much money I spend to support my goals indirectly.

Why did I pay others to prepare and serve at least a dozen of my meals in the last week, when I could cook similar food better myself? Why did I go places and struggle to get the attention of someone who could pour me an alcoholic beverage?

Mostly, it's because no one (more or less) lives in my house but me, and it's easier to meet a group of people at a restaurant or bar than to try to organize a gathering. So, I'm paying for convenience --- and like it or not, getting what I pay for.

Then there's the separate issue of missing the big picture. Why do I drive miles out of the way to save a few dollars on groceries and then waste larger sums paying late fees or parking tickets?

My goal this month: to determine the true reasons behind my spending and see whether it's really worth it.

Say it ain't so

Rochester, N.Y. makes the NYT's most-e-mailed list, but wish it weren't for this reason.

Two Failures Do Not End Dreams of a Rochester-to-Toronto Ferry

By FERNANDA SANTOS

ROCHESTER, N.Y., May 23 — Two years ago, this city of 190,000 people — with more per-capita murders, high school dropouts and children living in poverty than any other in the state — paid $32 million for a high-speed ferry. It was considered a way to help revive the local economy by shuttling thousands of passengers a day to and from Canada, across Lake Ontario.

The idea was not a new one, and a recent, short-lived attempt gave cause for concern about the city's venture. In the summer of 2004, two private investors had launched a ferry that took two and a half hours to journey between Rochester and Toronto. But they went out of business after just 11 weeks when low ridership, unexpected breakdowns and rising fuel prices left them unable to shoulder the costs of the operation.

The investors' 770-passenger vessel, the Spirit of Ontario, was seized by creditors and remained moored in the ferry terminal here for months. After no one stepped forward to take over the service, the city bought the vessel in February 2005 and got into the ferry business itself, offering three round trips a day. But the city did no better than the investors, and by the end of 2005, the operation was $10 million in the red.

When a new mayor took office in January 2006, he put the boat on the market. "I had to stop the bleeding," the mayor, Robert J. Duffy, said in an interview.

In many ways, Baltimore is kind of like Rochester squared, but while Charm City always seems to disdain the nearby American capital, the Flower City has tried to capitalize on its proximity to Canada's Gotham. So it's sad to see the fast ferry die ... the Redhead and I took one round trip and didn't think it was that bad. Wasn't amazing, but still.

The Namesake

Not the movie, silly ... funny what a little vanity surfing will dredge up. Loving the creepy robo-dancing and wine glass smashing.

not the kind of thing you'd expect to read in Christianity Today ...

much less on the 'most-read' list ... unless you've added their most-read list to your Google homepage and now know exactly what kinds of those things those Christians be readin' ... but it's interesting, even for you secular humanists out there ...

7 things you need to know about sex

LDRs

So the Divine Miss James has been posting observations this week about long-distance lovin' on her blog, BaltAmour.

I noted that technology like IM and unlimited nationwide cell phone minutes -- and discount airlines -- make LDRs much, much easier to maintain than they probably were in the Pony Express era, when people had to rely on Cold- Mountain-style missives to keep the home fires burning.

I forgot to mention there that all the technology, especially the internet phone service Skype, definitely helps people maintain LDRs over far greater distances than many people would attempt -- even internationally. I have one friend who was based in D.C. but now lives in South Africa with her husband ... they married after about a year apart. Then again, there's the Crab-Kiwi example that definitely didn't work out.

Sometimes I wonder whether LDRs can accelerate feelings of intimacy -- you know, absence makes the heart grow fonder? Or allow a relationship to perpetuate indefinitely because you don't see the things that would lead you to break up sooner.

For example, I talked about how all those Southwest Airlines trips can seem like a honeymoon. But when visits are planned ahead of time, you're totally on your best behavior --- no dirty dishes stacked up in the sink, porn cleaned out of the computer cache (if either of those are deal-breakers for you).

But this doesn't mean surprise encounters are a good idea. I have both surprised and been surprised, and I would not recommend it without intricate support from the significant other's friends. Invariably the other person is busy, or had made plans, plans that do not include you.

I like new friends!

Thank you, sad panda, for introducing me to the lovely resident of Scarlett Place ... I am actively seeking to introduce him, with the assistance of the Redhead and other compadres, to the joy that is Charm City.

addendum to: the Pretty Woman rule?

Speaking of arbitrary lines ... according to other Swingin' Friend, sometimes even boys at speed-dating events abide by the following standard:

I Never Talk On The First Date

People are so impatient nowadays. Everyone's rushing to find someone, get married, settle down, and have kids. Call me old- fashioned, but I...

Doesn't this restore your faith

in the youthful vigor of the Catholic Church?

the Pretty Woman rule?

Okay, so my swingin'-single friend told me something that threw me for a loop today.

She said some guys will mess around with girls but refuse to kiss them, saying they've reserved that intimate act for serious relationships. Because, it's really far more intimate to put your tongue in someone's mouth than your penis ... anywhere. Right, of course.

 

You may recognize this scheme as first voiced by Julia Roberts in the modern-day Cinderella movie Pretty Woman. Did it not seem questionable then, even as a loosely veiled plot device?

 

I also can't believe there are guys out there who are ignoring the proverbial bases (however you define them) and trying to slide straight for home plate.

 

But Swingin' Friend said the phenomena was more of a commentary on where people draw the cheating line ... that somehow arbitrarily 'saving' some acts for a longer-term partner makes it okay to indulge in other acts with your "chick on the side" that most ordinary people would also describe in a randomized survey as intimate.

 

Whatever the justification, a refusal to make out with a fling is a good reason to end what already promised to be a brief encounter even sooner than expected.

turn-ons, turn offs

I like to jokingly respond that my turn-ons are strong hands and windy nights, a combination I swear I wasn't creative enough to come up with on my own. But the meditative state induced by a giant Diet Coke (yuck) and a three-hour drive prompted these realizations, in no particular order:

 

Turn-offs

-- apathy.

 

Damn, I hate it when people don't care. Don't care about this, don't care about that, don't care about anything. I care about a lot of things! I am energetic and enthusiastic, and it kills my buzz when others are nonchalant and oblivious! RRRRR.

 

Turn-ons

 

-- Strong hands (that one's a keeper)

-- doing things.

 

I like people who do stuff, who are good at doing the stuff they do, who can take control and lead. People who accomplish things, even weird things that benefit society in ways that are not immediately perceptible to many people around them. Maybe this, like all my other neuroses, stems from being the Child of Immigrants who don't spend money on stuff like hobbies, but I find myself easily impressed by people I encounter in my Line of Work for this reason as well.

 

The bottom line: I am easily impressed.

 

-- knowing me better than myself.

 

I spend a lot of time thinking and some of that time (not enough) thinking about people I care about. The converse/contrapositive (that freshman-year Logic class seems far away now) is that it's nice to know that others care about me, too. One way people show they care is by showing you are thinking about someone else by doing favors or giving gifts that are nice because they are personal.

 

That is, somehow revealing some knowledge of a conversation you once had or perhaps observing a need this person has ... not because the gift requires a personal loan.

 

Like, the copy of Mother Angelica's biography that I'm giving Mom for Mother's Day ... I get a steady stream of review copies of these books in My Line of Work, so this didn't cost much, but she's going to love it. Don't spoil the surprise!

 

 

 

a great idea ...

or perhaps not.

 

I drove from Charm City to NYC tonight, and something the Redhead called to ask prompted a Great Idea.

 

He asked whether my high school had a special uniform for pregnant students, which it did not -- girls just left when they started to show. Apparently one of his current grad school-mates attended a school that made the pregnant scholars wear special jumpers.

 

I asked her, through him, whether the jumpers featured a Scarlet Letter --- yeah, I've read a little American literature in my time.

Because, in a sense, students were rewarded for choosing to abort their fetuses, because they maintained their privacy about whatever bad decisions they've made in their lifetimes and avoided the embarrassing new outfit (as if most Catholic schoolgirl outfits aren't embarrassing at some level).

 

Actually, my school uniform was pretty cute. But I digress.

 

But my real question was: what did the boys have to wear? You know, the studs who put these woman in the predictament of having to wear a special jumper in the first place.

 

'Cause that's my big problem with abstinence-only programs, and stupid pink billboards with pink bandana-wearing young-ish women proclaiming that they're "not going to give up. And I'm not going to give in." ... they're all directed at women.

 

It takes two to tango, right? Not to speak ill of the dead, but why do we allow society to continue rewarding entertainers who say crap like "I see some ladies tonight who should be having my babies ..."

 

So my not-so-good idea: An embarrassing, unflattering garment for men to wear if they impregnate an underage woman. Picture a volumnous pink sweatshirt with a giant B on it, for "bastard" -- referring to the pop, not the newborn. Make'im wear it every time he's out of the house -- and a need to do laundry is not an excuse.

 

Except, I know what would happen. This would backfire. These ugly things would become status symbols. Society does not shame men who make babies before they're ready to be fathers; rather, it's a (perverted) sign of manhood.

 

Those bastards.

 

 

 

 

Hey! You!

Although I'm not sure I'm down with the heartbreaker msg of this song, the clap-happy beat is very fun. I think some people believe it's a public service to break up couples that aren't meant for each other?

That is a question I've never been able to resolve.

so many new friends ...

So Scrabble fundraiser was a success yesterday. More people walked in than expected, which was nice, despite my counter-programming with the Kinetic Sculpture race and the Maryland Film Festival. The stalker did *not* come, but that's okay. That let the redhead off the hook. And I have no idea who won the pirate cruise, and that's okay, too. I'm glad somebody likes pirates.

But again, here's to all the new friends and connections with people from all over the world I've made and maintained in the last few months, from Argentina and California to Arlington. Hopefully they will rise above the level of acquaintance.

rules of the road

Recently returned from a lovely trip to California, where I met up with partner-in-crime Loh-rider and road-tripped to see M.E.G. and the Mahimanator ... here are some lessons and observations:

1. Fine wines and spirits are a wonderful accompaniment to fine dining, but its best complement is excellent service.

While waiting for our table at Chez Panisse in Berkeley, I had a beer. Then the first of five courses was an aperitif. And, we (I mean Mahiminator) expertly ordered wine with our meal -- delicious salmon carpaccio with fava beans, risotto with mushrooms and squab salad -- and our host brought us a beautifully sweet moscato to enjoy with our strawberry-rhubarb compote with ginger ice milk, to make up for the wait before dinner.

Needless to say, I was toasted.

That may have interfered with my appreciation of the food, but not of the service. Everyone from the maitre d' on was very chatty and friendly. I discussed the local-vore movement with the sommelier, who had only learned the term that day. And a chef (B.?) took us on a tour of the kitchen afterward where we watched them plate food for the staff.

Overall, it was a wonderful experience that I would recommend to others.

2. It's okay to ignore the border patrol. Apparently this is part of California culture that everyone should just accept.

3. Jewelry and makeup can be fun to experiment with, but the best accessory is confidence.

It was so, so fun to spend a day shopping for earrings and necklaces and clothes with the ladies on the edge of SF's marina district ... an activity I usually avoid, due to my issues with commitment. Then we continued on to close out the makeup counter at the Macy's in Union Square. It was tons of fun experimenting, but in the end I contend being comfortable in your own skin is the best beauty enhancer ever.

But this leads to the circular argument: what if you're only comfortable wearing a mask of makeup? And is cleavage too powerful a weapon --- or can it be used for good?

4. Hair-braiding is not as dangerous as massage.

5. Numbers are only as important as you make them.

No matter the measure --- whether it's a man's height, his annual income or his response to certain questions on his census form --- it's probably more critical to consider how the number affects his treatment of you than to focus on what other people will think.

6. In Berkeley, it's appropriate to upgrade your request of a stranger from cancer stick to a little Mary Jane.

7. Get out the map.

Friendships can endure despite distances of space and time. Thank goodness.

the funniest headline in Friday's paper

Peter Falk should not be used as a walk-on

addendum to year in review

I've finally kicked a nasty habit.

It only took about three decades, but I no longer bite my nails. During that (first) fateful trip to Hawaii, perhaps the longest stretch of un-stressed-ness I've experienced, I managed to not chew on the tips of my fingers until they resembled bloody stumps as I usually do. And, I've managed to return to work -- and fairly intense (sometimes self-induced) stress levels without the nail-biting.

Yay!

peep jousting

I first found a reference to this pastime in a WaPo story, but Anica Skywalker tipped me off to this link . Man, newspapers are offering valuable multimedia content these days ... 

Father Crunk

"Roll deep, and buy your own drinks, for one knows not what someone has put in that appletini." --- Fr. Bailey

The New York Times

June 17, 2006 Saturday
Late Edition - Final

A Hard Core, Hip-Hop Spiritual Journey

BYLINE: By BRENDA GOODMAN

SECTION: Section B; Column 4; Metropolitan Desk; Religion Journal; Pg. 5

LENGTH: 892 words

DATELINE: ATLANTA, June 16

Just as the sun started to burn through the smog on a recent Monday morning, the Rev. Ricardo Xavier-Zatwon Bailey, 32, a priest at Holy Spirit Roman Catholic Church here, loosened his collar, slipped on his headphones and rolled up to a radio-studio microphone.

''Yes, party people, it's Father Ricardo Bailey coming at you live and hard core from the basilica at Q-100.''

Sandwiched between songs by the likes of Trick Daddy and the Pussycat Dolls, Father Bailey has a weekly gig on one of the most popular morning shows in Atlanta, ''The Bert Show,'' where he has been introduced to listeners as ''Father Crunk.''

That an ordained Catholic priest might call himself ''Crunk,'' a hip-hop fusion of the words ''crazy'' and ''drunk,'' might seem outrageous enough, but what is really making Atlantans choke on their morning coffee are his radio riffs, which take their cues as much from the pages of People magazine as the Book of Proverbs.

Recently, for example, the subject of his discussion was a rumored bar fight between the tabloid princesses Lindsay Lohan and Jessica Simpson.

After Ms. Lohan supposedly sent a drink to Ms. Simpson that Ms. Simpson, in turn, supposedly ignored, Ms. Lohan supposedly proceeded to berate Ms. Simpson publicly.

Father Bailey saw multiple lessons in this supposed exchange.

''When you go to the club, Atlanta, roll deep,'' he said, advising his listeners to travel in packs. ''That way, people won't be ready to start some drama with you if you've got some homies around. When you go to the club, Atlanta, buy your own damn drink. Like I said before, you have no idea what somebody put in that appletini.''

Father Bailey closed by advising: ''Jesus rose above the drama. So can you.''

Another talk, titled ''Stop Dippin' and Dappin' if You Don't Know What's Happenin','' compared speculation over the paternity of Katie Holmes's baby to the fallout after the Virgin Mary's pregnancy. ''Folks were hating on Mary,'' Father Bailey said. ''They were filling Joseph's mind with the fact that he better kick Mary to the curb because he wasn't that baby's daddy.''

See the Gospel of Matthew, Mark, Luke or John for more details, Father Bailey said, and stop ''fanning the flames of haterology'' with gossip.

When Father Bailey goes on the air with his brand of divinely inspired dish, the telephone lines light up.

The first question from callers has typically been ''Is he for real?'' said Jeff Dauler, a producer and co-host of the show. Then they want to know where and when to find him on Sunday.

Father Bailey, who grew up in the Sweet Auburn neighborhood here, was ordained in 2003.

He insists that he is for real and that his street-smart sermonizing is not for show.

''That's just who I am,'' he said. ''It's not an act. The parishioners are used to it.''

Apparently so. He has become so sought out that the Archdiocese of Atlanta had to give him a dedicated link on its Web site.

His popularity is a great relief to Catholic leaders here, who were not sure that having one of their priests on a radio show that made a name for itself with a gag that outed cheating spouses was such a good idea.

''We were very, very reluctant,'' said Gareth N. Genner, president of Holy Spirit Preparatory School, the school associated with Father Bailey's church. ''There was so much about the show that wasn't a good fit with our mission in terms of the content.''

(The school, in fact, does not let students listen to the whole show. Instead, they get a digital copy of the program and play the 10-minutes of Father Bailey's segment over the loudspeaker on Monday mornings.)

Father Bailey says he is careful to walk a line that entertains but does not stray from Catholic teachings, and he tones it down for Sunday Mass.

As one of just 250 black Catholic priests in the United States, Father Bailey knew he already stood out. He simply decided to use that to his advantage.

Being called ''crunk'' does not bother him, he said, because the word has evolved to mean superexcited or hyped up, not intoxicated. ''When I go to the pulpit and tell people to get crunk for Jesus, I'm not telling them to get 'crazy drunk' for Jesus.''

Still, he knows that not everyone digs his steelo (translation: style).

''I know there are some people who probably have a bad taste in their mouth and say I don't represent what a priest is supposed to be,'' Father Bailey said. Remarkably, he has heard from only three.

Mr. Genner, too, said he had heard few complaints about Father Bailey's approach.

''The only issue we heard is whether we should have been prepared to engage with Q-100 at all,'' Mr. Genner said. ''By engaging with them, we are supporting a media style which is counter to our faith.''

Their rebuttal to those concerns, he said, was that it was important to ''engage culture.''

''You can't lock yourself or your faith in a closet,'' Mr. Genner said.

And Mr. Genner said Father Bailey seemed to be reaching a population that they could not have otherwise engaged.

''We've heard from people who say they haven't been to church in 40 years who come to see Father Bailey,'' Mr. Genner said. ''There are evangelical churches in Atlanta which attract people because of their style and presentation, and I believe Father Bailey is the perfect antidote to that. He tells it to you the way you want to hear it.''


URL: http://www.nytimes.com

where in the world

is Carmen SanDiego?

Not the geography video game, but the PBS game show for kids with the annoying acappella band ...

year in review

I fully intended to post a look back at my life as lived in 2006, but instead here's a rough, belated outline:

1. started the new job at the same company, this time at the office just blocks away from my home. That means I can walk to work, making the world a safer place because I'm not driving in it.

2.  discovered that cars usually work better if you change the transmission fluid more frequently than every oh, say, 100,000 miles. acquired new car (paid in full with parental guilt bonds) that is very very cute. One good friend compares the 2007 Honda Civic to a TicTac, but I feel its design is far superior, more like a Velamint. It's atomic blue (a sky blue shade that coordinates well with its orange turn signals) and has a large digital speedometer that looks like it belongs on KITT. It also allows even the smallest nephew to become a back-seat driver. "Wow, Aunty, you're driving 45? Can you go 100?"

3. Went to new places, including Hawaii, short stays in Denver and Salt Lake City, and returned to some old ones, like Seattle.

more notes on that and other 2006 revelations in future posts. It's nearly 2 a.m. EDT and I sleepy.

solving the mystery

So tonight BJones answered the question that's troubled him since he was a wee pre-teen: what exactly was Eddie Money singing in the chorus of the 80s song "Take Me Home Tonight"?

You know the one. It goes like this:

"Take me home tonight
I don't want to let you go (something something something)
Take me home tonight
Because just like (something something)

And then a woman's voice interjects

"Be my little baby
Baby, my darlin' ... oh oh oh oh oh"

So BJones pulls up the video on the youtube so we can listen to it. JScharp discerns "until you see the light" for the first mystery phrase.

We then search online for lyrics to the song (clearly the easiest way to figure it out) but that's even more confusing.

"Because just like Ronnie says"? Who's Ronnie?

She's the interjecting woman, according to the comments. Wikipedia explains further:

"The Ronettes were a girl group of the 1960s from New York City, best known for their work with producer Phil Spector. They consisted of lead singer Veronica Bennett (a.k.a. Ronnie Spector) ... Their most famous songs include ' Be My Baby'."

"Ronnie Spector accompanied Eddie Money on the 1986 hit song 'Take Me Home Tonight'."


So it's like this song was an early form of sampling! Very interesting. Never picked up on the reference.

the redhead's show

Here's the review of the redhead's show in the CityPaper. 

 

http://www.citypaper.com/arts/story.asp?id=13247

 

Time's Arrow
Group Photography Eloquently Captures The Mercurial Glimmers Of Changes

Here's the good part:

"Ten untitled ink-jet prints from Kelly Egan's "Velocity Series" do take what Furlong sets up and translates it poetically into a still experience. These are landscapes, too--barely extant, wind-swept, flying past, vanishing as if all is essentially lost and irrevocable. They are softly beautiful and coldly worrisome, distressing and serene. "

Here are the details of the show:

http://www.goucher.edu/x15884.xml

"Wishful Re-Thinking," an exhibit featuring photography that reinterprets the idea of landscape, will be on display in Goucher College's Rosenberg Gallery from Monday, January 22 through Wednesday, March 7. The gallery is open from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., Monday through Friday, and during scheduled events in Kraushaar Auditorium. Call 410-337-6333 for additional hours and directions.

A shocking line

This story is so outrageous ... it's like it's embedded with smaller chunks of outrage, like chocolate chips in a chocolate-chocolate chip cookie.

For example, this line:

"The authorities said Mr. Stiffler and Mr. Snow were shocked, too, and angry about being duped by an adult posing as a minor."

 
So, the would-be pedophiles were upset that a 29-year-old had tricked them into having sex with someone they believed was 12? So they are attracted to children, but weren't happy when they found out they had been satisfying their desires with someone old enough to make adult decisions?

Not that this excuses the adult-posing-as-minor from his other deeds --- including enrolling in the 7th grade at several Arizona schools --- but sheesh. I'm not sure that Stiffler and Snow get to be angry.