What would Dewey Decimal Think?

As further evidence that Sex and the City truly captured what a couple of city-dwelling ladies do on a Saturday evening, Jessie and I spent the other night rearranging my books by color. It looks super cool, but it does tweak my soul a little bit. It dismisses the words and the work of the writers. I can feel Mark Twain glaring at me.

(It reminds me of designer David Carson. For 13 years, his talk about the article he typeset in dingbats has stuck with me. I remember being so angry that he thought the way the words looked was more important than what they said. Anyway, back to my living room.)

Harry Potter is split onto 4 shelves. Kurt Vonnegut is all over the place. But at least the Hardy Boys are sticking together.

And they’re staying that way. Until I move or there’s an earthquake.

Down Under

Is Google trying to tell me something? All the sidebar ads in my Gmail are for immigrating to Australia. Or doing my taxes in Australia. Or getting a work visa. The email it's sidling up to is the confirmation for my Art Institute (of Chicago, not Sydney) membership.

Is there a strong correlation between art goers and ex-pats? And why Australia? Is it the big art scene in the outback?

Hmm. I can't name one Australian artist. Maybe that's it. Google is trying to shame me and my American-Eurocentric art education.

The Honor System Lives!

(from sometime over the summer)

Way up in Richmond, IL there is a place called Ginger Blossom. It's a collection of barns and sheds filled with goods from all over the world.

Plus, there's an unattended gazebo stocked with baskets of veggies grown on their farm. You take what you want, weigh it and then put your money in a toolbox.

I bought a pound of carrots. $2.

They were delicious.

Red wine? Or moldy bread?

Today, I'm going to alternate working on the freelance project I'm being paid to do and publishing the many, many rough drafts I have stored in my "Edit Posts" folder.

I'm hoping blog posts get better with age as opposed to spoil in the back of the fridge .

Jay Manuel, MD? I don't think so.

I'm pretty sure I wouldn't take Jay's (or Tyra's) word that it's perfectly fine for someone with asthma to dive.

According to PADI:
For safety, all students complete a brief scuba medical questionnaire that asks about medical conditions that could be a problem while diving. If any of these [which include asthma] apply to you, as a safety precaution your physician must assess the condition as it relates to diving and sign a medical form that confirms that you’re fit to dive.

I'm so mad. I'd stop watching, but I love the crazy.

I blame the one hour time zone jet lag.

Last night, I'm in the cab on my way home. I tell him Clark and Division. (I get more specific as I get closer.) Driver asks if I want 90-94 or LSD. I get all huffy and say 90-94. Seriously, LSD? I had mentioned it was good to be home. I'm not some easily confused tourist. I was indignant! Then he asks if I want Division or Ohio. I'm thinking Holy Crap, what's with this guy? I'm reporting him to 311. So I say Division. Or North if that's better. He asks if North isn't too far. I say no, it's fine. I'm actually between Division and North. But Division is fine. It's certainly better than Ohio.

I sat there, fuming, indignant, huffy.

And then I remembered I was at Midway and not O'Hare.

SYTYCD! Spoiler Alert!

Unlike the presidential elections of '00 and '04, my absentee ballot actually counted on So You Think You Can Dance. Yay Jeanine!

Surly Curly, Network President

In honor of (in spite of, because of) SciFi Channel's decision to rename themselves SyFy (there aren't words, I tell you), I've decided to launch my own science fiction network. Coming to a cable system near you on or around May 25, 2011. More to come about my hate of wrestling (WRESTLING!) on a science fiction channel and why you shouldn't turn your back on your core audience. But check it out: asimovtv.blogspot.com

Why Asimov? He's not my favorite science fiction or fantasy writer, but he was one of my first. And, I'm guessing the same could be said for a lot of other people. One automatically thinks science fiction when they hear his name. It's an association hard-wired into the brains of millions. (Plus, it sounds cool.)

Surly Razr

When I text, I let my phone predict what I’m typing and at the end, I go back and proofread/edit. Today, I intended to text “Have fun!” to my sister. But my phone’s first go at it was “Hate fun?” What a glass half-empty view of the world my little Razr has.

Why so sad, Motorola Razr?

Anti-Semitism isn’t funny.

I was in the Museum of Jewish Art and History (Le Musée d’art et d’histoire du Judaïsme). It’s a beautiful building featuring impressive and moving exhibits. They provide visitors with audio guides free of charge. I’m not always a fan of audio guides, but the exhibits were frequently in Hebrew and described entirely in French so it was necessary. (The only Hebrew I know is the wine prayer. And while that certainly comes in handy in Paris, it’s not so useful in a museum.)

So I found myself in a room filled with various and ancient Hebrew tombstones. It was amazing to see these concrete (well, stone) examples of the presence of Jews in France hundreds of years ago. I wandered through the room along with an elderly couple, listening to my handset describe the unearthing of the stones and the age from which they came.

As I looked over these memorials to loved ones, Audio Guide Man said, ‘For more information on anti-semitism in the Middle Ages, press 5-5-1.’

Now do you recall those read-along records we had as kids? The one where you’re reading Peter and the Wolf and the record says “At the sound of the beep, turn the page.” Remember his voice? His inflection? His enthusiasm for turning the page? Well, there he was. In my ear in the 4th arrondissement. That same voice. That same inflection. That same enthusiasm for pressing 5-5-1.

So I laughed. And no, it wasn’t that uncomfortable, at a funeral, inappropriate laughing. It was real laughing at something really funny.

Okay. So maybe you had to be there. Though by the looks I received from the elderly couple who were there, no, that wasn't it (But I’m guessing they never had that record. Probably don't even know who Peter and the Wolf is. Are.) But if you had been there, you Generation X American, you would have laughed with me. I promise.

Oh, and by the way, if you’re wondering, I did press 5-5-1. And anti-semitism in the Middle Ages (and I’ll go out on a limb here and say every other age, as well) really isn’t funny.

Sheri needs to stop playing with Google.

Type "[your name] needs" into Google.

Sheri needs to find a WWII German nurse's uniform pattern.
(Really, I don't. And I'm frightened that someone does.)

Sheri needs a ride for 1 to San Ramon.
(It's 61 and sunny there.)

Sheri needs help.
(Kind of goes without saying, doesn't it?)

Sheri needs to go.
(To San Ramon? Or to the bathroom?)

Sheri needs a serious attitude adjustment.
(Oh yeah? Says who?)

Sheri needs help with Broodlord quest chain.
(Obviously.)

Sheri needs to get some sleep.
(Who doesn't?)

Sheri needs more data.
(Again, I say, who doesn't?)

Sheri needs a road trip.
(Yes, to San Ramon. We already went over this.)

Sheri needs a deformed finger.
(To get the last of the peanut butter out of the jar? Like the meganosed fly who drinks the nectar out of the long deep floral tubes of its botanical counterpart. Darwin would be thrilled.)

Sheri needs to check with prison officials.
(Always a good idea.)

Sheri needs help identifying the two seated adults in this photograph.
(Uh, check the back of the picture.)

Sheri needs random sex and lots of it.
(Random partners? Random positions? Perhaps it's just a lot of sex with a person named Random, though I know of only one and she's fictional, and teenage, and a she, so not my type.)

Sheri needs direction to proceed with Phase 2.
(Awaiting instructions like a good little agent.)

Sheri needs to be left alone.
(Please exit in an orderly fashion.)

Do Wii need an alibi?

Several months ago, Jessie used my Wii Fit. She hasn't been on it since and while I thought nothing of it, Inspector Wii found it very suspicious. I started him up and he gave me the above message. I'm not sure what the inspector was implying, but it wasn't good. I watch TV. I know.

(Is there any more accusatory piece of punctuation than an ellipsis?)

I would have told him I had done nothing with Jessie; she just hadn't been over in a while. It's cold out. But he has no ears and I have no Wii Speak, so it wouldn't have made a difference. And anyway, it's just a video game. An overly concerned, somewhat invasive, connected to the internet and police forces everywhere video game.

So now I find myself, every so often, posing as Jessie while I do a few hula hoops.

Most definitely not The Jewel.

I was at one of my neighborhood grocery stores (there are three right outside the St. Paul metro station). I tried to buy groceries frequently because 1) it's very French and 2) I was living in a third floor, ancient uneven stone staircase apartment. So heavy bags of groceries were a no.

I'm checking out and the cashier takes my yogurt and says something to me. In French. I put my deductive powers to the test, "What would someone be saying at this point?" 'I love this yogurt.' (No, it seems more important than that.) Ah, she's pointing, saying something about the date. Oh, it's expired. (Holy crap. She was actually checking the expiration dates on the food as she rung it up.)

So I divine that she's telling me I can run back and get another one. Which I do. 'Causing a hold-up. Which (for a change) was totally not my fault.

Is hacker the coolest job ever?

Maybe it's technically not a job, because you probably don't get paid to do it unless you work for an organization of evil-doers but ever since Melissa Z. and I tried to hack (unsuccessfully) into our school's computer the day after watching Wargames at Sheridan (what was then) 7, I've thought that being able to hack into a computer would be an excellent skill to possess.

(Yes, I know. It's illegal. It's bad. Terrible things could happen. But seriously, this made me wish I was in Texas. Texas! I know it's Austin, but still. Texas! And weirdly enough, Austin just keeps coming up these days. Oh, and photo credit goes to i-hacked.com.)

Do we really have to export everything?

So they all live in the trailer belonging to Danny, Michael's cousin. Michael cheated on his wife with some woman who has a kid with her fiancé. If only his wife had asked him how his day was every now and then, he wouldn't have to cheat. (I swear that's what he said.) But, aha, his wife has cheated too. I didn't stay tuned to see who the guy was, but from the build-up, I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out to be Cousin Danny.

There was a little girl…

OK. So I'm not a little girl anymore. Which is a good thing because when I was a little girl my curls were being brushed out into a frizzy mess by my straight-haired, but well-meaning mother.

I give to the following day

Ok. So I am finally going to finish blogging about Paris. If you've heard the stories or seen the pics, please forgive me. Je remet au lendemain. (It's French for 'I procrastinate.' Or literally: 'I give to the following day' which is a really nice way of saying it.

See. It's not that I'm procrastinating; I just want future me to have something to do. Wouldn't want her to get bored.