Dog Heroes!!

We were celebrating Cynthia’s birthday on Saturday with a spirited round of drinking and board games. Cynthia and Steffi hosted and around 1:30 we were spent from Apples to Apples (featuring a truly awesome argument why “Screeching” was the only possible choice for “Natural” by Megan) so Gabe, Megan, Matt, Ginny, Robin, Knut and I headed out the door in a big herd.

Outside, about a half a block from the apartment, we saw a man sitting on the curb and a black labrador wandering on the street. We just assumed the guy owned the dog, but he asked us if we knew her and explained she was blind. He was outside half a hour previous and saw her and now he was nervous.

The dog didn’t look too old and she was plump and silky despite a few bare patches, but there was clearly something wrong with her. She did not have a collar. She was wandering aimlessly in a little circle in the middle of the street, shying at shadows and manhole covers. The guy, Kirk, explained that he has called animal control, but they wouldn’t be in until seven the next morning. What could we do with her in the mean time?

She was a sweet dog. She gratefully accepted our petting and sat politely on the pavement when asked. While we petted her, Gabe got out her phone and rang Cynthia. Cynthia gamely agreed to let the dog stay in her backyard until animal control could pick her up. Now we just had to get a sweet blind dog to walk up the street, into an alley, and into a strange backyard.

Matt walked with her, holding a hand on each side of her body to guide her. The rest of us walked on all sides to help steer her and encouraged her with whistles and frequent exclamations of “Good Girl!” We got her into the tiny backyard and went home—where we promptly worried about her all night. We were afraid someone had taken off her collar and dumped her in a nice neighborhood.

Then on Sunday, I received these emails:

From Cynthia:

so in case any of you are curious as to what happened to our canine
friend -- as luck would have it, she's actually back with her owner!

apparently she belongs to one of my neighbors, who heard her barking in
the middle of the night. he had been looking for her and was worried
(apparently she just went blind two days ago), and thought the barking
sounded familiar so he followed the sound to my backyard, hopped the
fence, and took her home (probably just a couple of hours after we put
her there). luckily i had left a note to the other tenants in my
building which included my name and phone number, so he was able to call
me this morning to let me know what happened. i'm glad i was still
asleep when he called -- i would have been really perplexed if i'd woken
up and found that she wasn't there. anyway, he sounded like a nice guy
and said he really appreciated us having kept watch over her.

sadly, due to a mixture of grogginess and surprise, it didn't occur to
me to ask him the dog's name until after i'd hung up the phone. but
it's nice to know there's a happy ending to the story. thanks for
spearheading the rescue mission! i'm really glad everything worked out
the way it did.

And then this one from Kirk:

Hi all.

Thank you SO much for your compassionate assistance with the dog last night. In a bizarre twist, it turns out I know the dog and her owner, though the dog was unrecognizable to me last night. Last I'd seen her, she was in perfect health, ten pounds lighter, fully sighted, and totally sprightly ... so I couldn't imagine that we were dealing with the same dog last night.

Her name is Shadow, and she's only six years old, but due to illness she's gone blind and aged a great deal in the last month and a half. I visited her owner today, and she's back in their care. Her owner is incredibly attentive to her, so she'll get great care, but without the small team we had last night, I'm pretty sure things would have gone a great deal worse. [Her owner] was overjoyed that we had all taken time out to bring Shadow in, and out of harm's way.

Cynthia, thanks so much for putting Shadow up for the night. Apparently she heard her owner's car and barked, and they heard her and took it from there.

So here’s my appreciation to the Dog Heroes: Cynthia, Matt, Gabe, Robin, Megan, Ginny, and Kirk!

Yoda the Four Eared Cat

Gosh, I love this cat!

He’s soooo cute!

And I’m horribly allergic to cats. I would take shots for this little guy.

He has four ears. Should anything with four ears be so darling?

He must be like cuddling a little space alien or X-Cat.

Full story on Yoda here.

Super Chef, Super Spy!

This news story seriously had me pumping my fist. How cool is it that Julia Child worked for the OSS?

I think most people find this era of spying the most exciting. It seems a bit more gentlemanly that the Cold War and the backdrop is too glamourous.

In any event, I’d always admired Julia Child. Cooking on television is a risky proposition, but her charisma and humor always made her so entertaining. I particularly enjoyed some of her more practical suggestions like that no one knows what happens in the kitchen, so if you drop something just pick it up and wash it off. It’s a nice departure from the slightly paranoid views expressed on Food Network these days. Remember, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger… unless it irreversibly weakens us to the point where something else kills us.

This reminds me too of one of my favorite novels, Shining Through. PLEASE don’t confuse the novel with the film dreck of the same name. The novel is witty, exciting, touching, funny, and very well researched. Linda, our heroine, is a real person and her actions are not always so heroic. Really really great. Compare the climaxes:

The book: Linda (a Queens stenographer turned spy) has been discovered in Berlin. She has found the mole in the operation and made the decision to kill her, only after being wounded herself. She is saved by Edward, her former boss, a New York laywer and WWI hero, who speaks no German. He is posed as a Nazi General (in the hopes that such an important rank will not cause people to question him) whose war wounds prevent him from speaking. Linda poses as his mistress going to Switzerland to get an abortion. The final border guard recognizes something is wrong with the papers, but is muffled by the sight of Edward’s scars, manner, and a huge wad of Swiss francs. The guard smilingly ushers them to freedom. It’s tense and funny and real feeling.

The movie: Linda (Melanie Griffith who was only good in Body Double (although I think that was more about casting than acting) and has gross wormy glossy red lips) and Edward (Michael Douglas… eh.) stagger across the border to Switzerland with Nazis shooting at them. When they cross the invisible line (which isn’t invisible) the Germans magically stop shooting them. Because the Nazis were all about respecting boundery lines. Linda then reveals that the microfilm (yes, microfilm. This is not in the novel) was hidden in her glove because she “knew that it would be discovered if I was examined by a doctor, but not by the SS.” Indeed. If I were looking for microfilm on a dead body, I expect that not only would I remove all clothing, I would probably search all body cavities. Perhaps this is my German efficiency speaking?

Ugh. It’s so awful when they destroy a novel you love in a lame film version. Anyway, I heartily recommend the book.

As Fine as a Troll's Hoard

I have my jewelry class tonight and I’m thinking of bringing some of my most favorite jewelry to ask the instructor how it was made.

My favorite jewelry store in THE WORLD is in Valle, Norway. It is the home of Hasla.

We found it totally by chance. We had decided to drive through Norway from our home in the West to Oslo. In the wintertime, you have to take the highway that runs around the southern coast, but in summer, you can go through the mountains right across the center.

This is always charming because a good portion is through isolated country without human inhabitants, but lots of sheep. Farmers let the sheep up in the mountain to graze all summer long and then bring sheepdogs to round them up in early Fall to bring them back in for the winter. There are no fences and the sheep roam at will and nap in the road. They know no fear and you frequently have to stop the car and honk the horn until they get out of the way.

Anyway, after a tough morning of sheep-honking, we decided to stop for lunch just on the other side of the pass. This happened to be a tiny village called Valle.

It has a gas station, a city hall, a restaurant, a church, and a church community center. But towering about them is a silversmith in an enormous building built rather like a stabur.

Walk inside and it’s immediately clear there are masters at work. The workshop is visible through glass and the wall lined with sale cases. Hasla makes extraordinary bunad jewelry. Delicate filigree silver work is a trademark. It is beautiful, but I most love their modern pieces.

I have in particular two modern pars of earrings made in bronze. One is an elongated stem ending in four curved petals, known as their tulip design. The other is a bold twist of wires in a design the elves of Middle Earth might have admired.

They also use their bunad skills to other effects creating marvelous confections shaped like butterflies or daisies. Really spectacular.

It’s a shame, in a way. Their traditional pieces are fairly widely available, but the pieces I’ve really fallen in love with only seem available in that funny little valley.

www.hasla.no

A Work Day Fantasy

I’m not having a particularly nice day at work today, so I think I’ll lapse into a Walter Mitty style fantasy for a moment. Where would I like to be…

There is a beach in Hong Kong, not far from the worlds largest seated Buddha (not to be confused with the world’s largest reclining Buddha which is in Bangkok).

And on this beach, there is a pretty outdoor restaurant where the tables are set in the sand under a canopy. The sand is a little gritty and gray white.

The restaurant is owned by Ex Pats, so they serve bread to start with. We order seed bread packed with poppy and sesame seeds. We order Sangria. It’s clear red wine served in a small round wine glass, garnished with a stick of cinnamon and a slice of green apple.

We kick our shoes off and our toes dig like hermit crabs into the sand. We sip the sangria and nibble seed bread while the sun floats just above the horizon.

We spot another table beneath the red striped canopy. They are Englishmen dressed in traditional Indian white cotton outfits. We sneer a bit as we admire our seersucker and sundresses. The Englishmen have ordered many bottles of wine, but their inebriation is wholly cheerful.

We order grilled shrimp and crabs steamed with garlic. This is some of the freshest sea food in the world. We lick our buttered fingers and smile as the sun fades and pretty strings of miniature lanterns glow above our heads.

There’s still a bit of light so we leave our shoes under the table and take a a stroll along the tiny beach. A few children make grainy sandcastles but our attention is caught by something else. A feral cow stands on the shore, briny water lapping at its hooves. It’s furry and rather small. It wears no brand or ear tag. It will not let us touch it but is not bothered by our presence. The children jump up and we join them in chasing the cow down the beach. The cow jogs lazily along, clearly not too bothered by the game.

The sun goes on to warm the other side of the world and leaves us, the cow, and the children with only the glow of the party lights and the stars.

Daily Coyote

It's been a very busy week so I haven't had much of a chance to do a lot of posting, but I got the chance this morning to catch up on my favorite blog (besides this one):  The Daily Coyote

This blog is the work of Shreve Stockton, who is a most interesting woman.   She began by moving from San Francisco to New York, not with a U-Haul like the majority of us, but alone on a Vespa.  On her way, she fell in love with Wyoming and returned there, instead of continuing to live in New York.

In Wyoming, she encountered a motherless baby coyote and felt compelled to save him from certain death.  This blog is the story of Shreve, Charlie the Coyote, and Eli the Cat as they go through their daily lives.   It's recorded mostly through beautiful photographs.  

I'm always a little envious of people who have the ability to cast practical thoughts aside and roam at will.  Most of us are stuck in a groove that forces us to do quite reasonable things like stay in jobs we hate because we're accustomed to the money, live in areas purely because they're what we're familiar with, or stick to experiences that hold no threats for us.  The truth is that freedom is a very scary thing and too many people will trade liberation for security.

In any event, Charlie's life is one I fear stands a good chance of ending in sadness, but it is so exhilarating to watch it even from afar.

http://dailycoyote.blogspot.com

FOGHORN Returns!

The Foghorn Magazine has returned!

And it comes bearing a new article by.... wait for it...

ME!!

If you want to read the sort of bloody curdling tales my darling mother reveals, read CHEERFULLY MORBID at the Foghorn Magazine. 

I guarantee you'll be shocked and amazed at what people in Crookston, MN in the 1950s got up to!

Media

I am convinced the media creates most of the fear in the world. I mean, if you just go along from day to day, you worry about things like getting hit by cars, leaving the stove on, or getting catching a cold from your colleagues. Watch CNN for an hour and your simultaneously worried about drought, floods, serial killers, bioterrorism, zombies, giant subterranean man eating clams, rabid gila monsters, glue sniffing teens, monogamous gay couples, and japanese long horned beetles.

Most of these are either not really a threat or strictly the kind of threat that we can figure out how to defend ourselves against, except for gila monsters and gay couples. They just want to be allowed to be themselves and live comfortable productive lives.

Which leads me to this great page!

Benjamin Radford writes great essays dealing with the slight of hand of the media, the hype, and the misinterpretation of data. He also contributes to Skeptic Magazine (look for his hilarious account of a haunted house investigation!)

The book is great, and he has several essays posted for free. Here are some of my favorites:

The Today Show's Fake 'Stranger Danger' Test

A Closer Look at Internet Predator Laws

Is Barbie Really an “Ideal”?

Predator Panic: A Closer Look

Chilling Tales for a Hot Day Redux!

It’s a hot sunny day, but I still think we could use the chill… of a GHOST STORY!!

This is my personal ghost sighting! I have seen one ghost and one UFO and I’m always disappointed when people don’t treat me like a crackpot whenever I tell the stories. When I see Bigfoot, someone better treat me like a crackpot! Possibly my otherwise rational and practical outlook is unfairly shielding me from the outraged reactions I deserve.

*grump*

Here goes! Imagine I’m holding a flashlight under my face…

Blind Turn

July of 1999 was warm and humid in Illinois, even at two O'clock in the morning.

I was reasonably carefree 19 year old girl behind the wheel of my grandmothers 1985 blue-rinse Oldsmobile with my friend Ryan beside me. We had had a fun evening with friends, first going to a movie at the big Randhurst theaters and then having a midnight snack at a 24 hour restaurant before heading home.

Ryan and I were busy talking and laughing and gossiping about friends from high school when I decided to take a shortcut.

We lived in the old Northwest suburbs of Chicago where the rich folks of the city built their summer places before urban sprawl set in and engulfed them. The short cut I had decided to take was through the old Lutheran campgrounds, a leafy, unlit, heavily forested site on the bank of the Des Plaines river consisting of perhaps 15 white painted cabins, a small swimming pool, and lots of privacy. Churches and other organizations often had day camps there, but very few of the cabins were in use these days. It was a lovely alternative to drive along that quiet path rather than go past all of the Dairy Queens and gas stations that littered the major roads.

Ryan and I, still talking and laughing, turned off Busse Road, making the sharp turn downward sloping path that led under the overpass by the river. The road had gone into a blind turn when I interrupted Ryan’s chatter by hitting the brakes and shouting "Oh My God, that woman is going to get herself killed!"

Directly in front of us, hidden previously by the concrete wall of the overpass, was a woman bicycling almost in the center of the right lane. She shone whitish in the brightness of the headlights, a thin older woman in a floppy knee length skirt on an old fashioned bicycle without reflectors or any lights. I was furious, not only because she was bicycling on such a deserted road at that time of night, but because she made no indication that she had seen or even heard my car.

I passed by her carefully in the dark, giving her a wide berth. I looked in my rearview mirror a second later just to make sure that she was okay. She was no longer there. I yelped in surprise. Ryan turned around to look for her too, but she had vanished. We looked at each other in shock. There was absolutely nowhere where she could have gone. One side of the road was thick rough Mid-Western forest that was hard to navigate even on foot and impossible by bicycle; the other side was a 10 foot high wall of concrete that held up Busse Road. Behind us was only the Des Plaines River lapping at the bank and there was not a soul in sight.

I don't think I've ever driven quite as fast or quite as badly as I did driving the rest of the way home that night. The only thing we, two normally chatty and unsuperstitious people, said to each other during the drive was "What happened back there?"

We've talked about it since and Ryan definitely is still shaken by it. We still don't understand what happened or where that woman could have gone or who she might have been.

I've been down that road dozens of times since and nothing else has ever happened.

Has your blood turned to ice? Good to hear!

Cubbies!

We went to the Cubs game last week. Cubs vs. Dodgers. It was a pretty tense low scoring game, but the Cubbies managed to win in the 10th inning. Go Cubs!

Knut, surprisingly, seems to be the cure for the Billy Goat Curse. He’s never been at a game where the Cubs haven’t won. Unfortunately, no one’s offered to pay him for this service, but we have high hopes. Personally I find it too difficult when the Cubs do well. Last year, they threatened to get into the World Series and they’re famous for not having won since 1908. On one hand, I love the Cubbies and want them to do well. On the other hand, I think it’s awesome that a team with their record still sells out all the time. That’s devotion!

For you southsiders, here’s

The Legend of the Billy Goat Curse

The Cubs were in the World Series again in 1945. During the game 4, Billy Sianis, owner of the Billy Goat Tavern (made even more famous by the John Belushi SNL skit featuring “CHEESEBOOGER CHEESEBOOGER NO FRIES CHIPS!”), bought two box seats. One was for him; the other was for his goat.

However, goats tend to smell pretty bad, even those who have box seats, and the management insisted that the goat leave.

Billy paraded the goat around a few times, but he was angry that his beloved mascot was so insulted.

As he and the goat left the field, he cast the curse, “"the Cubs, they ain't gonna win no more."

And they haven’t been back to the World Series since.

Mysterious, isn’t it? The Cubs are a very old team and Wrigley field has an old fashioned picnic-like atmosphere adored by the Northsiders.

The mascot is, of course, the Cubbie Bear! There have been many incarnations of him, including this rather peculiar hat I’m wearing. In shape, it’s much more like the 1910s style, but the bear looks more like the 1960s Cubbie Bear. The inside is marked “Cooperstown Classic” but I can’t think when it’s from. Last year, a hot dog vendor and I had quite a long discussion about it.

Check out the guys behind us in this photo! Great old school fans. They gave the best running commentary during the game and hooted and booed appropriately. The older guy was going into the hospital the next day for gout surgery. Hope he’s okay! Knut told him it was the disease of nobility!

Go Cubs!

A Chilly Story for a Hot Day

There’s something about gloomy rainy summer days that puts me in the mood for GHOST STORIES!! Wooooooooooooooooooooo…
After all, it was a rainy day in June that inspire Mary Shelley…

I love ghost stories. I don’t much care for those Real! Life! Ghost! shows, mostly because I find the thought of lingering after death as a blip on a magnetic field reader or a speck of dust in a lens flare to be terribly depressing. The stories however, are delicious…

Chicago has many good ones. This is the most famous.

RESURRECTION MARY

Chicago was a bustling city in the 1930s and the South Side was home to some big industry. Fortunately, the Polish and German descended workers loved a good time after a hard day’s work and the dancehalls flourished.

A young man was on his way to one of these dances, driving shiny new car down Archer Avenue. He saw a pretty young blonde woman in a white dress walking along the side of the road. Being a gallant fellow and one never to pass up the chance to meet a cute girl, he pulled over and asked if he could give her a lift. She explained that she was also going to the same dancehall and that she’d appreciate the ride.

They arrived at the dance, and while the mood was lively and the music fine, the girl seemed quiet and withdrawn. When he danced with her, she felt cold so he offered her his jacket. She accepted it but soon asked if he could drive her home.

He was a little annoyed to leave a good party, but agreed. She gave him her address which was on a busy cross street that he knew well. He helped her into the front seat and they were soon zipping back down Archer Avenue. She clutched jacket around her and huddled in the corner of the wide bench seat. He was a little uncomfortable driving with such a strange quiet girl and kept his eyes on the road.

After many minutes of staring down the long deserted stretch of road, he decided to start up a conversation for politeness’ sake at least. He turned his head to look at her and his easy smile froze. The passenger seat was empty. It was as if she had never been there at all.

He sped home.

The next day, the young man worked up his nerve and found the address that the girl had given him. His palms sweated a little as his rang the doorbell, but it was a sunny day and he was ready for some explanation.

A middle aged woman answered the door and welcomed him in. As she busied herself in the kitchen preparing lemonade, his glance fell on a framed photograph on the piano. It was of a pretty blonde girl.

“This is the girl!” He told her.

“Oh,” the woman said, putting down the tray and taking the photo from him. “You’re one of those boys. This is my daughter, Mary. Have you met her?”

“Yes,” he said, “I saw her walking down Archer and I gave her a ride to a party. I even gave her my jacket.”

“My daughter,” the woman said slowly, looking directly into his eyes, “Died five years ago. She was on her way to the dancehall and was knocked down by a car.”

“But, but,” he stammered, “I picked her up! We danced! She asked me to bring her here, but while we in the car I looked over and she was gone! Right there on Archer Avenue!”

“I know,” she said sadly, “If you lent her your jacket, I know where we can find it. If you could just take me down Archer.”

Feeling helpless, he escorted the woman to his car and barely speaking they drove down Archer. About halfway down, she directed him to turn right into a driveway. He looked at the gates over this driveway. They read “Resurrection Cemetery.” He felt each hair on the back of his neck raise, despite the warmth of the sun.

With practiced steps, the woman lead him between the rows of graves, until he recognized with dread his own jacket, apparently floating in air. It was carefully draped over a modest gravestone. The stone bore the name “Mary.” The woman handed him the jacket, gave him a sad smile, and explained “She’s always trying to come home.”

Good, eh?

There are various other bits about that same cemetery. A chapel that lights up at nights with now one inside, steel bars in the gates with slim hand prints burned into them, and a marble statue of a little girl who goes skipping through the graveyard at night.

Mary herself even shows up. Many people report picking her up and having her vanish. Some say they see a young woman dart into the middle of the street at night. When the car is unable to stop, it goes right through her. A particularly gruesome one goes that a couple sees a woman in a white dress walking along the side of the road. When they look at her in the rearview mirror, she has only a black void for a face.

Even on the most cheerful summer night, Resurrection Cemetery is creepy. A common Catholic custom is to leave lighted candles in little red jars on the graves. Seeing all those little red flickers reflected in the granite is enough to make you believe in the will o’ the wisp.

Well, has a scary story like that chilled you down in this hot muggy weather?

Urban Legends!

I woke up this morning and thought it was Friday. Then I thought it was Thursday. Now it turns out it’s Wednesday! Curse it!

Anyway, my evenings have been very busy doing some pretty cool stuff for someone of undisclosed gender who frequently reads this blog, so I can’t discuss that either.

I made a new set of bottle cap pies on Monday night (While I watched Bones! Yeah!) and I really intended them to be for my cousin Gretchen. However, less than an hour after I put them up on Etsy, they were sold to someone else. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Gretchen will get her own set personally delivered.

Now, time for Snopes! Snopes is a great website devoted to Urban Legends. I can’t imagine how hard the web keepers must work to keep it going because it’s always full of new legends and rumors. It’s a terrific resource when you get those constant forwarded emails filled with dubious information.

I love reading Jan Harald Brunvand’s urban legend books, but whereas he can really only deal with classic urban legends like the Spider Nest in the Beehive, Snopes stays up to the minute.

If there’s an article on Barrack Obama NOT being Muslim, I know a few people in the office who ought to read it.

One of their nicest features is the photo gallery.

How about a test? Which of these photos are real?

Click the link below to find out! Links go to the relevant Snopes.com page

True or False? Click to Find Out!

True or False? Click to Find Out!

True or False? Click to Find Out!

True or False? Click to Find out!

The Adventures of Swordboy!

Last weekend we went to Medieval Times to celebrate Eli’s birthday and Knut and my fifth anniversary. If you haven’t ever been to one, it’s a giant Lego castle where you eat with your hands and watch a knight’s tournament. Children are encouraged to buy souvenirs and adults are encouraged to drink heavily. We had lots of fun (even though our knight was kind of a tool. He broke character! He didn’t give Eli a rose! The jerk.), but the best part of the night was our visit with Swordboy.

Swordboy was the kid behind the sword counter. It’s an area that gets many looks but not too many buyers. The swords are made in Spain and many are quite beautiful. Knut decided he needed to try out a Viking sword and he was eagerly helped by a young man known to us only as Swordboy! Swordboy was probably around 5’4” and had lank blonde hair hanging over his ears. He was in his very early 20s or late teens and was clearly very eager about swords. My favorite parts of the conversation:

1. Knut leaves his beer somewhere while he’s trying out swords. Swordboy responds “That’s always a problem when you’ve had a few too many.” I suspect this is not experience speaking. Swordboy does not look like he’s old enough to buy alcohol and even if he was, liquor store clerks would probably think twice before selling it to him.

2. Knut asks about the design of a sword. “Is it from the 1500s?” Swordboy responds “Around the 1500s.” You know, give or take a century.

3. Lauren asks which sword would be the best to hunt the raccoons in her roof. Swordboy pulls out a small Roman sword because “it’s fast.” I said that something longer might be better so she could just stab through the ceiling when she hears them running, which leads to…

4. Swordboy giving me a Claymore. It’s probably about four and a half feet long, not six as Swordboy suggests (I know this because he was a bit taller than the sword). I hold it (Grandpa was a Cameron after all) and Swordboy asks multiple times “Isn’t it really heavy?” It isn’t particularly heavy. Way less, in fact, than a large pot full of water. Knut remarks that I look strangely comfortable with it.

5. It’s late and everyone else is putting the sheets over the display cabinets. Swordboy lets us know that if we want to come back and just look at swords, we don’t have to pay the entrance fee. Thanks, Swordboy!

On the way home, we described what we thought Swordboy’s life is like. It was pretty inventive. Good luck, Swordboy! Wherever you are (Schaumburg!)!

It's Idnight and the Oon is Full...

I’m having a (not unusually) crummy day at work today and the weather’s dreary so I’m a little glum.

But I hate to blog about that kind of stuff because it’s usually intensely boring to read.

So, why not talk about something I really like? Like “M!”

M is a great Norwegian comic strip by Mads Eriksen This strip features himself and his girlfriend (know only as Madamen. “The Madam” is a vaguely old fashioned way to refer to your wife) and various friends, toys, rubber chickens, random Goths, Vorlon ambassadors, etc. Nearly everything is pop culture based. Star Wars is particularly heavily referenced

Unfortunately, most of the language is Norwegian, but I’ve found a few current strips that are wordless. It’s a bit of a shame because his text is every bit as funny as his drawings. What makes it extra annoying is that Norway is practically bilingual, but alas they will insist on using their native language. I’ve ended up translating M, Nemi, and Pondus strips for English speaking friends.

One great thing about M is how accomplished an artist he really is. The covers of his collect newspaper strips usually have movie poster parody themes destined to make you giggle. For instance, look at this one imitating the classic “Tales of the Crypt” comic books.

Knut and I have noticed some striking similarities between M and Madamen and Knut and me. Interestingly, once we went to one of Eriksen’s book signing in Stavanger. When we got to the store, we were told that it had been rearranged and took place the day before. So I’ve still never seen Mads and Knut in the same room together. Hmmm…

But please do enjoy these! He’s such a great cartoonist that it seems such a shame that he’s really only available to such a small percentage of readers. Also please do go to the website to look at his work. I've reproduced his strips here so it would be more accessible to non-Norwegian speakers.

Birthday for a Thoughtful Rabbit!

Today is my birthday and while I was expecting a quiet day, I have been showered with attention and some really awesome presents! Thank you, everyone! I really appreciate it.

I did go to work today (and I can’t complain! People have been lovely. And the banana and blueberry muffins I baked were much appreciated), but I’ve decided to treat myself to a mental memory vacation for the day.

Got on your comfortable shoes? Camera? Your Jet Pack? Let’s go!

We wake up…

In Disneyland!! Not just regular Disneyland, but Disneyland Paris!

Don’t worry; we walked through a beautiful open air French market to get there, so you’ve got your croissant and café au lait. First we’ll enter this beautiful castle and climb our way down to the grotto beneath it. A fierce dragon lurks there who snorts smoke and flickering his scaly eyelids. But he never eats birthday people, so we should be safe. This time. We’ll make sure to ride the Haunted Mansion many times to figure out the creepy murderous Black Widow story line. After that, we’ll ride Peter Pan and Small World. When our feet start to hurt, we’ll curl up in Skull Rock, knowing that the American Parks no longer have that attraction.

That’s enough fresh air for a little while, how about some intellectual stimulation?

Off we go to London to the British Museum.

Of course, we’ll look at the Sutton Hoo treasure and the Teddy Bear collection, but the main stop is the Egyptian collection. Take a gander at these mummified cats! What did you think of the National Geographic reconstruction of Tutankhamen’s face? Hadn’t other reconstructions suggested that the ancient Egyptians had more African features? Wait! Is that a bunny on that mummy case?

I’m embarrassed to say, that strange sweet smell from the mummy room has made me hungry.

Time for Lunch… at Sola Strand Hotel in Norway!

I can’t eat the smoked salmon myself, but I’m sure you’ll like it. That there is fenalaar, which is preserved leg of lamb, very tasty. This is flatbrod, try putting some fenalaar on that with a little of the egg? Nice? I’m going to fill up on beef tenderloin and shrimp, but make sure to leave room for dessert. There are jellies and apple cake and caramel pudding. Make sure you get plenty of the mixed berries and cream. They grow them all locally. Whew. I am stuffed. I think I need a lay down, but where should we go?

What better place for a siesta than Spain?

This Moorish castle towers over Malaga, birthplace of Salvador Dali. The roomy accommodations here include plenty of benches, lots of shady vine covered verandas, and romantic nooks. What do you say we stretch out in the garden and enjoy the sunshine? Good thing we brought our Panama

I always feel like a little shopping after a nice lunch. Let’s head to Krakow!

This charming shopping street features Polish milled silk velvet scarves, paintings by students, beautiful silver work, blown glass Christmas ornaments, and most importantly amber. Find amber in shades you never imagined existed. Amber cut into cameos. Amber with insects. Who would guess fossilized tree sap would be so beautiful and such a pleasure to wear?

There is one odd thing about Krakow. See those cute young guys in black over there? Look, but don’t touch! They’re all priests.

Whew! It’s been a great trip, but I’m about ready to drop. I think it’s time to head home to my most favorite place of all.

Thanks for coming along!

Happy Annual Bunny Day to you!!

Another Foghorn Event!!

Read the Amazing True Story “NPR at Lucha Libre”

A Thundering Fevered Rollercoaster Ride of a Short Story Combining

ACTION!

DRAMA!

NATIONAL PUBLIC RADIO!

WRESTLING!

ANGST!

HEART BREAK!

GORDITAS!

Smile with quiet amusement as you read “NPR at Lucha Libre!!!!”

Let's Go Fly a Kite! It's Fun and We Can Afford It!

When Knut and I lived in Norway, money was always very tight. To have a large pizza delivered is about $40. As a result, we had no choice but to make our own fun, or to seek out the cheapest fun available. This resulted in us attending an unusually large amount of potato festivals, bunny jumping competitions, farmer’s fairs, and live stock auctions. We also picked berries, took long mountain walks, played “stick” with our dog, and jumped from rock to rock on the shore. We also learned to kite.

As you can imagine, the beach of the North Sea always has a cold wind. Even on the quietest day inland, the wind at the shore whips your hair and demands you take a sweater. Excellent for kiting. In college I bought a small, but good quality multicolored kite to bring to Norway. This lead us to two interesting experiences:

1. Cows are actually extremely curious. We brought the kite to Haa Gamle Prestegaard (the site of my dead whale story) one pleasant afternoon. There’s a rocky pasture right up against the sea and during the fine months, cows are left there to graze. Knut and I clever avoided the cow pats and got the kite into the air. The cows paid us no attention. Unfortunately, it was one of those days where the wind isn’t very predictable and the kite would be soaring one moment and crashing to the ground the next. Then I noticed something interesting. When the kite crashed and I started winding the string up, the cows would look over. They moved closer as the kite jumped towards me. Eventually, I gave up winding the string and just pulled it to excite the cows. I’d let it lay there dead and they’d walk up to look at it. Then, when they were practically nosing it, I’d pull the string and they’d jump back. I can’t tell you how long we did this.

2. Some people will take the simplest things to “The Extreme.” Sandnes put an announcement in the paper for a family kite day. We went with our little kite and admired bought kites shaped like airplanes and some amazing homemade ones shaped like sharks and squids. Everyone was having a very nice time with their kids flying their kites up and down the sand. Then we noticed a particular guy who was using the canopy thing used to para sail. Mind you, he was standing on the beach like the rest of us, but he made a huge show of tugging this thing back towards earth. Knut and I immediately starting shouting “Kiting… to the EXTREME!!” I took several photos of Knut in dramatic poses attempting wildly to control our little kite.

These pictures are from a little earlier this week. A few years ago I bought a beautiful 1950s Chinese silk kite shaped like a carp from a Chinese bookstore in Evanston (they also sell 1950s propaganda posters). Since I am of the persuasion that toys get upset if you don’t play with them, I always felt bad that it was just being used as a wall decoration. I was worried that flying it would ruin it, though. As an experiment I bought this Chinese kite from Cost Plus. It’s also silk and hand painted (nothing so fine as my vintage carp though). Since it didn’t come with string, I bought a drugstore kite and used that line. We put it into the air.

There is a reason kites are nylon and plastic these days. It was heavy and rather awkward, although once I got it positioned correctly it did fly. It was also a little difficult to get it to climb high enough to really maintain its flight. I did manage it, but at a particularly triumphant moment the cheap string broke and the butterfly soared free—into Lake Michigan. A nice Polish man helped me fish it out with his fishing rod, but it was really dirty and a little misshapen by then. Ah well.

I think I’ll keep the carp as a decoration

I Ate Gravlaks and All I Got Was This Lousy Botulism!

Extra! Extra!

See my new essay on the wonders/horrors of Norwegian fish recipes now at the exciting new humor magazine, The Foghorn!

To, uh, wet your appetite here are some photos of the fishy (and I do mean fishy) delicacies described! Now a quiz: how many items pictured can potentially kill you?