An interview with the artist

Cat in tree. By Logan R., age 8.

Minnesota Transplant: What color is this cat?

Logan: Calico.

Minnesota Transplant: Why calico?

Logan: I heard it from [big brother] Drew and now I know what it means — a bunch of different colors.

Minnesota Transplant: Why are the cat’s ears red?

Logan: Because that’s how cats’ ears look.

Minnesota Transplant: So you’re a dedicated realist?

Logan: What?

Minnesota Transplant: What’ s your favorite color?

Logan: Green.

Minnesota Transplant: Why?

Logan: Because more people like blue, and not as many people like green, and I like to be different. And green doesn’t represent anything bad.

Minnesota Transplant: What does black represent?

Logan: Guns.

Minnesota Transplant: So what does green represent?

Logan: Grass and trees and peaceful prairie.

Minnesota Transplant: So how many tools do you think you have to choose from?

Logan: Eighty-eight.

Minnesota Transplant: There are way more than 88 tools in your palette.

Logan: Two hundred then.

Minnesota Transplant: Describe them.

Logan: Markers, crayons, colored pencils, pastels, smelly markers.

Minnesota Transplant: What’s your favorite smelly marker?

Logan: Orange is my favorite.

Minnesota Transplant: Why did you have me smell the marshmallow one then?

Logan: Because that’s my least favorite.

Minnesota Transplant: What’s your favorite subject in school?

Logan: Math.

Minnesota Transplant: What’s your least favorite?

Logan: Music.

Minnesota Transplant: Why?

Logan: Because my music teacher is really grouchy.

[17-year-old cousin] Caswell: Like my dad?

Logan: No. Worse.

Minnesota Transplant: What do you want to be when you grow up?

Logan: A pilot.

Minnesota Transplant: What happened to mime? I thought you wanted to be a mime.

Logan: I can be both.

Minnesota Transplant [extending her hand]: Thank you for the interview.

Logan [walking away]: I don’t want to shake your hand!

Minnesota Transplant: So you’re a tortured artist?

Logan: What? You’re weird, Auntie.

‘Select people you know and trust’

In a world where friends know what you’re reading, high school classmates from 30 years ago know what you now look like and retailers know when you become pregnant (oh, yes they do — read this), expectations of privacy — let alone isolation — are dubious.

If privacy is what you want, destroy your credit cards, unhook the internet and give up all hopes of collecting Social Security.

Generally, I’m OK with the Mark Zuckerberg status quo of societal awareness. I’m impressed with the way Facebook finds people who haven’t been in my life for decades and invites me to reconnect (hey, Zuck invented the “block” feature, too).

I’m mostly comfortable with this new level of openness which is why I write a daily blog that includes my joys, my disappointments, my bad jokes and my favorite recipes. Sometimes I’m surprised about who’s reading but I’m almost always flattered — flattered that in this great big world full of fascinating people and entertaining writing, somebody’s reading Minnesota Transplant and finding it interesting.

But today, I laughed out loud when I logged into LinkedIn using a different email address, and the world’s largest professional network on the Internet felt it important to give me a long list of people I may have worked with in the past.

Under the suggestion, “Select people you know and trust, and connect with them to stay in touch,” LinkedIn posted the smiling face of a woman I am party to a lawsuit against and a man against whom I once filed a complaint with the Illinois Department of Labor.

Um, no. I know them. But I don’t trust them. And I thank heavens they’re no longer in my professional network. I’ve moved on to a better place.

My guffaw turned to a chuckle when I realized: They’re probably seeing my smiling face, too, with an invitation to stay in touch.

Huh. I haven’t heard from them either.

Te, he.

The jokes in my dreams must be much funnier than the ones in my blog

Laughing in one’s sleep is not a sleep disorder as far as my vast research on Google goes (first page, two entries), so I guess I’m fortunate.

It’s not restless legs syndrome, sleep apnea or night terrors, so we’ll chalk it up to being light-hearted. Whew.

But my Beloved wasn’t very happy to be awakened to my laughter at 4 a.m. this morning. When he woke me up, I tried to tell him why I was laughing and I only laughed harder. I was laughing so hard at 4 a.m. in the morning, I cried!

What was so funny?

In my dream, I was in an unfamiliar, ornate living room with an uncushioned sofa, and I was apparently arguing with the creator of the universe, because the punchline I remember was this:

“Jesus, you may be able to walk on water, but you can’t chew on that!”

Huh?

I know. It’s not funny in the cold light of day. My Beloved didn’t appreciate it either.

But it was hilarious — and I mean bust-a-gut funny — at 4 a.m.

In my dreams.

Sparks fly in the bedroom

If you’re looking for more electricity in the bedroom, invest in a heated mattress pad.

My parents gave my Beloved and me a heated mattress pad for Christmas. My parents are great like that, thinking of our comfort during a long, cold winter.

Well, in December it looked like it could be a long, cold winter.

I put the mattress pad on the bed and plugged it in. The heat on each side can be controlled independently which is important since my Beloved is always hot and I’m always cold.

One night we’re lying in bed (c’mon, people! you have to get horizontal to fall to sleep!), and I lightly touched Tyler’s arm.

My finger vibrated (c’mon people! not vibrator, vibrated!).

It was not a shock exactly but definitely an electric current.

OK, my Beloved is an exciting guy, but that was weird.

“Honey, touch me,” I said. (Seriously, people! Get your mind out of the gutter!)

So my Beloved touched my arm with his fingertips.

And his finger vibrated, too.

I’m telling you, this was not exciting. This was scary. Electric current was passing through our bodies. I felt like a steak on a George Foreman Grill.

I freaked out and unplugged the mattress pad.

My Beloved surmised that perhaps our bed was electric (!) because each side of the mattress pad was plugged into different electrical outlets. This somehow was causing a difference in current or volts or something because the electricity had to travel some distance from the electrical box (I’m a blogger, not an electrician — just trust me on this).

So I dug up an extension cord and plugged both sides of the mattress pad into a single outlet.

We tested it out.

Ah, no electrical charge.

From the mattress pad anyway.

Guaranteed healthier gums (and water gun-soaked bathroom)

Dear Housekeeper,

Though it might look like I spit on the mirrors out of spite, it’s not true at all.

It’s just that we’re embracing technology as one of our resolutions this year, and the new Waterpik water flosser is hard to control.

See how you react when a high-speed stream of water is pointed directly at your uvula.

Right, I know, it’s supposed to be directed at your gums, but do you open your mouth? Close your mouth? Close your lips? At least when the dental hygienist is pointing that thing in one’s mouth, one’s mouth is back like a bowl, ready to catch errant water. When I tried doing that, I was squirting the bathroom ceiling!

Whatever you do, don’t use cold water in the thing. You’ll jerk that water-gunning tip out of your mouth so fast, the medicine cabinet won’t know what hit it.

All this in the name of preventing periodontal disease and avoiding the dreaded root planing and scaling or the ultimate consequence [scary beats here]: Drinking cream for breakfast because I have no teeth.

I think I’ve got the hang of this Chinese water torture device now. So when you clean the mirror, please know it should be better next time.

Thanks, Housekeeper. [Insert toothy grin here.] I appreciate it.

Minnesota Transplant

It’s all in your perspective

Ever buy a lottery ticket just so you could dream about how you could spend the money?

Those commercials about a certain mega-amusement park make it out to be the be-all, end-all way to cap any great achievement: “You just won the Super Bowl! How are you going to celebrate?” “I’m going to Disney World!”

We had a Super Bowl kind of day around Minnesota Transplant’s house today, but we aren’t the types to celebrate with, well, Walt.

Around here, certain individuals like horsepower (case in point: world’s biggest snow blower). In fact, I heard “El Camino” repeatedly when my stepson was perusing Craig’s List with his father this past weekend.

So to celebrate today’s Super Bowl-type victory, I made a stop on my way home to invest in a little horsepower:

It’s not Disney World, but it’s a sweet little ‘68 El Camino!

Remote control curtains: Good idea in theory

Welcome to Home Improvement with Minnesota Transplant!

On today’s episode, we install a remote control curtain system in the master bedroom.

When we honeymooned, we stayed one night at the Venetian in Las Vegas, where we were impressed with the remote control blinds and curtains in our hotel room. “We should have those at home,” we thought.

We should have room service, too, I think, but remote control curtains might be a reasonable place to start.

Key word: Might.

We acquired this system from eBay. Beyond that, the origin of this system is unknown. For a few clues, let’s look at the instruction manual which includes “Table of Content” (is there an “s” missing?) and the instruction to “Hand the curtain properly.”

Perhaps they mean “hang,” do you think?

Let’s see what you need to install this system: “The tools required for the installation of this product are electrical drill with 6mm diameters drill bit, fiber measuring tape, cross head screw driver, hand saw, a pair of pliers and a wrench. The wrench comes with the package.”

All righty then.

Fortunately, we have a garage full of tools.

Let’s see here, let’s install the transmission box.

“e.2. Pulling the red pad then can draw out the transmission box, as show in figure 8.”

Huh? Where’s figure 8?

Is figure 8 upside down?

I think figure 8 is upside down.

Moving on. Maybe we should just adjust the tension of the wire:

If the motor cannot stop in 2 seconds when the curtain is fully opened/closed even the hexagon bolt has been adjusted to the top end position. You have to release the hexagon bolt anti-clockwise to the lowest position, do not loose out the bolt from the base track, then loosen the big head screw on carrier ‘A’ on half way as shown in figure 1, and pull the wire until it is taut and fasten the screw on carrier ‘A’ again.

What?

These instructions look like English. But they make no sense.

OK, we’re going to have to call in our Chinglish translator for this one.

Honey, if we can’t get these to work, can we return them?

Let’s check the owner’s manual:

This warranty does not apply where:

1. Repairs have been made by others
2. Repairs have been attempted by others
3. Repairs are required due to normal wear and tear.
4. The product has been misused.
5. The product has been improper installed or installed by force.

Uh-oh. Did you say “force”?

OK folks, now’s a good time for a commercial break. When we come back, we’ll find out if “hammer” should have been included in the list of tools required for installation.

Blue humor, with the blue removed, but not the humor (I hope)

Comedian Chris Porter’s second-best joke was the one about his bald spot. He bent over on stage and showed off his bald spot as if it was a big, unblinking eye. Like a Rorschach test, it seemed to speak for itself.

We enjoyed Porter at the Chicago Improv last night with my stepdaughter and her fiance. I liked Porter’s wry observations, but I think he might have been talking over his audience’s head when he riffed on the American hikers who were jailed in Iraq. Probably only CNN fans knew what he was talking about. But the riff worked when it evolved into a commentary on stupidity in America, which was his first best joke. He kept using an expletive filled description that I found hilarious, but because some readers (Dad) object to blue language, let’s just say Porter kept referring to stupid people as “big dummies.”

“Every family has a big dummy,” Porter said. “There’s always one big dummy in every family.

“If you’re looking around the table thinking, ‘hmph, I wonder who the big dummy is in our family,’ I have news for you: You’re  the big dummy.”

It was better, honestly, with the expletives. Though he didn’t say it, I suspect this smart comic was probably thinking, “and if you didn’t get the joke on the Iraqi hikers, you’re a big dummy, too.”

Nothing like a little laughter — and maybe some expletive-laced CNN-inspired humor — to top off the end of a long week.

Climate change wipes out one of nature’s inhabitants (for a season anyway)

Grasshopper Gazette
Final Edition

SOUTH OF MINNEAPOLIS, Minn. — The suburban Minneapolis population of grasshoppers succumbed to icy cold temperatures this morning.

Over 95% of the population was wiped out. This reporter is among only a handful of survivors, and most expect to die tonight, when temperatures dip into the 30s for the second night in a row.

“It’s a massacre,” said One-Eyed Green, who watched dozens of members of his family slow down and then stop. Forever.

This climate change is unlike any seen by any grasshopper living in Minnesota. Temperatures this cold have never been recorded, though archeologists believe suburban Minnesota may have been as cold as 30 below zero eight months ago.

It was only Tuesday when thousands of grasshoppers were living a merry life in this field of yellow grass. Grasshoppers were hopping grass right and left. An enormous dog estimated to weigh at least 8 pounds pounced into the glen attempting to pin down a grasshopper, but it was unsuccessful and eventually departed.

“It was 60 degrees that day,” Green said. “Evading that perky dog was child’s play. Who knew the end of the world would come the next day?”

11 Retirement Realities (not 10 — this Top 10 is ‘enhanced’)

Accession, the Wealth Enhancement Group, sent me an offer for a “free” copy of “11 Retirement Realities You Need to Know.”

I’m flattered that Accession would contact me in the same way I’m flattered when a bartender cards me. Sometimes it’s nice to delude one’s 40something self into thinking one looks younger than 21.

But, like the dumb bartender, Accession has the wrong gal.

The expertly written copy noted this guide is written exclusively for “people with investible [sic] assets of $500,000 or more.”

I have a lot of things (including the ability to spell “investable”), but the last thing I have is a half million dollars to invest. And I’m thinking those folks with half-million-dollar portfolios might be able to buy their own copy of “11 Retirement Realities” rather than wait for Accession to offer them a “free” copy.

So, since I’m not going to get a “free” copy of anything from Accession, I thought I’d develop a version of “11 Retirement Realities” for those of us who don’t have a half million dollars in our mattresses:

11 Retirement Realities You Need To Know

1. Don’t bank on myths. The most activity that happens at that “active” retirement community occurs around a card table. It does freeze in South Texas. And blue hair is your destiny.
2. Social Security is a ponzi scheme. Start collecting glass bottles now because by the time you turn 65, or 67 or 72, Social Security will be paying recipients so little, you’ll get more for recycling those bottles and collecting the deposit. Hey, on the bright side, it’ll take only 80 5-cent bottles to buy a promise from Social Security and a cup of coffee.
3. Forget about that wall Rep. Michele Bachmann wants to build along the Mexico border. The fence you should be worrying about it the one that the 1% is going to build around Wall Street to keep out the Occupy Wall Street protesters representing the 99%. You read it here first.
4. The asset you call your home is worth the lot it’s sitting on. If that. You won’t live long enough to recoup the 2007 appraised value.
5. Wondering if you should pay off credit cards with 9% interest rates or contribute 15% of your income to the 401(k) that your company matches up to 3% and invests in company stock? Stop. The math will just get you a headache. You’re screwed either way.
6. When you finally push the baby bird out of the nest, it’ll be saddled with crippling student loan debt and unable to find a job, er, spread its wings. In the end, you’ll both be competing the same low-paying retail job without benefits. Decide now who’ll get the oxygen mask first.
7. Worried about estate taxes? Don’t. You need to have an estate to pass on to your heirs for estate taxes to be an issue.
8. Start studying up on supplemental Medicare insurance now. It’ll take you decades to get through all the fine print.
9. Don’t lay awake thinking about the price of bread when you retire. Based on inflation over the past 28 years, a loaf that cost 50 cents in 1983 will cost $11.05 in 2039, the year you turn 72. Savor the Wonder Bread today and sleep now because it’ll be hard to sleep on an empty stomach when you retire.
10. Consider stalking public officials — especially former members of Illinois state government and Chicago union officials. They’re collecting outrageous public pensions and might offer poverty-stricken folks like you crumbs off their feast tables. Unlikely, but worth a shot.
11. Retire? Ha! You’ll never retire. You will work until you can no longer form coherent sentences and your legs have turned to arthritic blocks of concrete. You will then move your grocery cart of belongings to the street gutter. Near a van. Down by the river.

And you thought the “free” copy sounded like a deal.