What's so great about the Eighties?

I used to think that nothing worth anything came out of the Eighties. It was the age of plastic jewelry, plastic clothes-- everything was too fake and too big-- hair, makeup-- neon everything. Obnoxious.


But yesterday I came across the song "Closer to Fine" by the Indigo Girls, and I thought, "Huh, something good did come from the Eighties."

That's when I decided that maybe that decade marking my early youth wasn't so bad after all, (even if I was burdened with a younger brother and sister during that unfortunate time period.)

Despite my sibling rivalry issues, I do have fond memories from the Eighties. I had slap bracelets, plastic headbands, Kit and Kaboodles, and when my brother would share, Marios Brothers on the Nintendo and MTV on the gigantic TV console.

And if my younger siblings monopolized the sun room, I could always go up to my room and listen to cassette tapes while jumping aroung in my leggings and over-sized seatshirts singing "Like a Virgin" into a hairbrush, crimped hair everywhere.

When my much older cousin came to live with us for a year, I would watch her tease her WHOLE head of brown hair so high it looked like it might need structural reinforcements. She would be wearing some shade of a sparkly sweater, or a ripped jersey sweathshirt off of one shoulder, tank top showing from underneath. Her stone-washed GUESS jeans would be folded or pinned at the bottom and her jewelry would compete with her hair: BIG, plastic hoop earrings, (her favorite were white), lots of rings and bangly bracelets.

She would finish primping herself with a smear of bright blue eye shadow, a touch of black mascera and red, red lipstick. The whole bathroom would smell like her: Debbie Gibson's "Electric Youth" perfume, AquaNet hairspray, Marb lights, and occasionally, a touch of pot.

If I got sick of watching her get ready to cruise the strip listening to bands like Guns and Roses or Metallica in her Dodge Charger, I would leave the stickiness of the bathroom to rifle through the VHS tapes, pushing aside Jane Fonda for Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, Ferris Bueller's Day Off or Back to the Future.

And if I was sick of watching movies, I could always sift through the major networks and stop by a rerun of Charles in Charge, or Family Ties. The Simpsons were even an option before the Eighties were over.


Most of the time, though, I would ditch all of the plastic recreation of that decade, grab my jelly sandals (can't abandon everything) and head outside to find a tree that needed climbing.


So, what I want to know is if the music from the Eighties wasn't all the bad, (and how could it be with groups like the Indigo Girls, Red Hot Chili Peppers, U2 and Ozzy Osborne), why is it the only shit you hear on the radio during "Back in the Day Cafe" is stuff like this:

Songs like this just leave a bad, slightly metallic, technofunk taste in my mouth that colors my opinion of the rest of the decade a putrid shade of neon green.

I'm a girl of the Nineties, and things were still bad in that decade for a while.

Good thing before I had to start worrying about following social trends, the backlash of the Eighties had dissolved into the windpants (skids!!) and fanny packs of the mid to late Nineties.

Jeeps

What a wonderful day. I woke up, enjoyed a nice breakfast, went horseback riding at 10:30 (and had a GREAT ride) and then went to the local Fillin' Station for some soup and tea for lunch. I was even highly productive with grading until Liz met me and we moved outside to enjoy the beautiful weather.

This is when the productivity decreased, but the day ripened. We chatted casually for a little while-- I told her about the Wilderness Trails Ranch being interested in my application materials, she talked about her need for a pair of sparkly underwear (j/k, Liz ;-), and we talked with a couple guys in a wedding party (one who happened to be "the hot meter reader guy"). Later, when she was talking with her mother about various tax deductions, I leaned back in my chair, felt the sun on my back and watched clouds bump into each other as they moved across a crisp, blue sky. It was grand.

Sometime after she got off the phone, I thought of the Jeep and how great it would be to have one at that moment. I asked Liz if she would come with me to test drive one. She agreed, so I called the man selling it to set up a time. He needed an hour, so we killed time at the bookstore across the street, (we read some pretty dirty stuff-- I think my favorite was a sex scene from a book where the author wrote it from the first person perspective, but then switched to third person when referring to his member).

This is the beautiful piece of machinery that we drove around all over town today:

My verdict: Pretty damn sweet. Just needs a hard top so I can actually hear the radio when traveling on the highway. Also needs to come down a couple thousand in price, and I am still debating whether or not I should hold out for black.

Liz's verdict: Although she thought the Wrangler was cool, it still wasn't a CJ. Apparently there is some sort of weird Jeep culture where rivaling gangs defend the superiority of their Jeep's particular model. A Wrangler just isn't as tough as a CJ, I guess.

After an hour and a half, the Jeep went back to its rightful owner. I do think the man was a little worried after we were gone so long... and maybe the fact that I said, "See ya in a week" after he handed me the keys through the driver's side window had something to do with it. Heehee.

I am going to do my research on buying a hard top and a CD player before I talk turkey with the man. Haha. Talk turkey. What the hell kind of cliche is that? Who ever came up with "talking turkey" as a way to express negotiation?

My turkey doesn't look very confident.

Anyways, so I left and headed for St. Clair with Nathan. The drive was beautiful. The pavement was wet from a quick rain, and the sun was sitting lower in the sky, but still strong enough to make everything smell intensely spring-like. I love that wet pavement, wet dirt and grass smell. Very fresh. All of the colors were intensified by the rain and sun, and the sky was almost a cobalt- a vivid, deeper blue to the East. I was driving and marveling at the beauty of this blue against the bright yellow of the dried cornstalks when suddenly a rainbow started to appear. I actually watched a rainbow appear out of nothingness against the backdrop of these draining clouds and golden corn. These are times I wish I had a camera with color film in it.

It was so amazing that I pulled over on 83 and showed Nathan. We sat and watched the rainbow deepen and intensify as the sun set a little lower. It was quite entertaining to see Nathan as he giggled and tried to say "rainbow" while pointing out the window. Unfortunately, I eventually had to pull back on the road-- I was beginning to feel like people might think we needed assistance. Who knows, maybe I do need help. I did spend like 10 minutes, mouth open, oooing and ahhing at light reflecting off of water drops in the sky.

In case you feel the need to oooo and aahhhh at sun reflecting off of atmospheric moisture, I have added the following image:

Hope that was as good for you as it was for me.

The night closed with Nathan jumping up and down in the bathtub, treating the 2 foot by 4 foot tub filled with 5 inches of water like a waterpark. Drenched everything within the three feet of the tub's edge, including myself, but he was having so much fun yelling "Booyyyeeee Yah!" and jumping on his knees, that I couldn't help but let him do it over and over again until there was more water outside the tub than in it.

Really a wonderful day.

A lifetime and only 4 measly sentences

GODDAMN MOTORCYCLES. I don't know what else to say. I just learned that one of my students from last semester died just a couple weeks ago.

I remember talking to his mother, often... working with him after class one-on-one to help him pass the class...reading his personal narrative about how he fell in love with a girl he met at a lake up north last summer.

This is the third person I have known to die young from a motorcycle accident. The first is a nameless highschool friend of my mother's-- in fact, one of my earliest memories is of my mother cursing motorcycles under her breath as she visited his grave in Oslo, MN. As for myself, one of my classmates was impaled by a tree after flying off his motorcycle just days before high school graduation.

Now, Nic, and I say "Nic" because that is how he wrote his name on all his papers, is also gone. What really pisses me off about this is that I am sure there was so much to say about him, so many personality traits, hobbies, hopes, and yet nothing remains. I googled his name, and the only thing I came up with was his obituary. Four measly lines and they didn't even spell his nickname right.

Nicholas “Nick” Janni, 19, of New Ulm died Friday, March 23, 2007, from injuries he received in a motorcycle accident near New Ulm. Funeral services are 2 p.m. Tuesday March 27 at the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity in New Ulm with burial in the New Ulm Catholic Cemetery. Visitation is 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. Monday and 7:30 a.m. to 1 p.m. Tuesday at the Minnesota Valley Funeral Home in New Ulm.

God as an Authoritarian Discipliner?

The following is a current surface map of the United States. I am a little confused because it looks like there is a huge chunk of white stuff over Minnesota, yet it is is almost the middle of April. Hmmmm.. this leads me to ask, "Is there no God?"



What have we done to deserve this? Is it because of Minnesotans' poor attitude towards their friendly neighbors, the Wisconsinites? Maybe God is dishing out a little negative reinforcement. It seems to me that if Minnesotans would try to be nicer to their amicable neighbor to the East (and I mean real nice, not passive-aggressive nice), maybe we wouldn't be dealing with 10 inches of snow just two weeks after 80 degree weather. I'm just sayin'.


So back to how much snow sucks. Snow sucks. Although I do wish I was plowing-- seems the best way to play with snow is in the cab of a plow truck. I imagine those folks are all warm and cozy, hot cocoa in a thermos, radio on high. And to top it off, they get to play with a big-boy-sized shovel attached to the front of their truck. Think of the gigantic snowmen that could be made.

If I could get my hands on a plow truck, I would make a creation like this (only maybe not as creepy looking):





Hats off to all you who have to go out in this weather. Personally, I'm hoping school is canceled tomorrow.

$3.99 a minute ain't that bad

A Chinese fortune cookie told me today that, "Nothing is to be feared- only to be understood." At first this seemed profound and thought-provoking, until I actually thought about it a little more-- WHAT IN THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN? This sounds like a whole lot of bullshit, albeit a timely bit of bullshit considering the uncertainty of my future. Dammit. Why can't I just have a little crystal ball that tells me what my life will look like in a year? I am beginning to understand the appeal of those $3.99-a-minute psychic hotlines.

I would readily part with a crisp twenty dollar bill to have all the answers-- that money would give me 5 minutes of quality time with someone who just has to tap into a sixth sense to let me know when I am going to figure out Mr. Right, what career is best, where I should move, and what my dead grandmother has to say.

I figure that even if she (or he) bullshits around for a minute or two getting my name, birthdate, underwear color, etc, we could at least get the one and only question I want answered in before I quickly hang up when the egg timer on the oven goes off. Yep, a psychic would grant me some loooong overdue serenity. I can feel it now. Sure would be nice to avoid thinking about life's bigger issues since analyzing the shit out of everything only gives me an answer that becomes yet another question.

I'm tired tonight. Damn tired of everything and sad, really sad. I recently applied to a ranch in Wyoming for a summer job (I can continue to teach online if necessary: everywhere I am looking has WiFi), and I received a prompt response- unfortunately it was a prompt, "We would love to hire you but just recently filled the position" response. Dammit. I was told, "Please try applying next year, only maybe just a little earlier." Grr. I am applying to a couple other places... we'll see what happens.

I'll be bummed if I can't escape my life for a few months on a ranch. There is something so idealistically wonderful about galloping across moutain meadows. Then again, I would be leaving in a month, which means I would have to get my shit together. Speaking of which, where the hell is the semester going??? I have only a month until grades are due, which means I will do nothing other than prep, teach, grade, student conference, prep, teach, grade, student conference, prep..... ah, yeah.... until May 12th. I hope to God I am busy enough to avoid thinking.

Screws and Cigarettes

What a weekend.

Saturday started off dramatic and held strong throughout the day. I had an emotional morning, and Liz, being the excellent friend that she is, offered to drive me around since I was in no shape to do so myself. Her objective was to get some food in me and offer good counsel while we cruised around aimlessly in Mankato.

After a Number 9 from Taco Bell and a short spin on some back roads off of 22, I suggested we head to the barn so she could see some horses. We had a relaxing time at the barn: fed half a bag of carrots to Zippy, took a tour of the place... everything was going so well...until we went back to the van and Liz noticed a hissing noise coming from her front tire. Yeah, tires are supposed to be quiet. We decided to chance it and sped like maniacs towards the Hag all the while talking about decompression and other made-up car/mechanical things that could possibly explain such a noise. Unfortunately, once we parked on concrete outside the Hag, there was no denying what the problem was: a large screw was firmly punched through the tire tread.

Luckily for Greg and Liz, Discount Tires rocks, so after a somewhat nerve-racking drive going 50mph on hwy 14, with me following close behind to check for explosions and rim damage (heehee), we arrived safely at the tire store where they made magic happen in under 15 minutes.

Saturday night was fantastic. Greg and Liz braved the trip to St. Clair after I promised them some salmon and a bottle of Pinot Grigio to split. Greg made the white wine and saffron risotto I have been dreaming about for months, and I pan fried some southern Italian-style peas and baked a terriyaki-glazed salmon. After a delicious dinner, we enjoyed blackberries, hot fudge and vanilla ice cream, followed by the movie Wet, Hot, American Summer, which is both disturbing and amusing, an entertaining combination.

Sunday continued to prove to be interesting as my day was spent scrubbing my bathroom tub naked. Yes, that's right: naked. Sounds crazy, but Soft Scrub is some messy stuff, and since I knew I was going to be taking a shower right after I cleaned it, I decided to avoid getting my clothes wet by taking them off. Worked well.

After this rousing scrub-down, I went into town to put a handle on my pitcher. Liz joined me so I could use her key to break into campus. (For some reason I have a hard time keeping track of keys.) We decided to hit the Hub afterwards to do some "work". The work never actually happened, but I think both of us would blame Katy for that. She was just going to join us for a Mountain Dew and some malted espresso balls (seriously disgusting: DO NOT EAT), but while sipping on her drink, she suddenly gets this mischevious look on her face and suggests we should, "Smoke some cigarettes until we make ourselves sick." Since none of us had ever really smoked before, this was at first just one of Katy's crazy ideas, until she pushed it, Liz seconded it, and I finally gave in. I needed to get baby wipes, anyways.

We first stopped at Kwik Trip where the cigarettes are discount priced but the baby wipes are not. Marb Lights in hand and a honey cigar for Liz, we rolled down the windows, lit up, and drove to Cub Foods for the wipes. We paused for a photo shoot outside the Landcruiser/pimpmobile in the Cub parking lot. (Pictures to come.) Quite the night-- I have to thank both of them for being there for me. Not much cigarettes and heated seats can't do for a girl hurtin' for a distraction.

So here's the thing. It is 12:30 in the morning, and I have to get a baby ready, drive into town, work out, attend photography class, prep for my morning class, and teach for two hours--- All before noon. I also have an afternoon filled with grading and teaching another two hour class. I should be sleeping, BUT thanks to my new friends, nicotine and caffeine (had an espresso drink at 6pm-- not the best idea) I am WIDE AWAKE and just now coming down from the shakes leftover from the ONE cigarette I had (and I didn't even inhale...no, really, I didn't). I thought about calming my nerves with a shot of whiskey, but the idea of bringing the three kings together in under 3 hours didn't seem like the best idea.

Hopefully some toast and a banana will take the edge off enough for me to pass out.