One day a couple of my J.F.C.C.C. housemates and I started discussing (I no longer remember why) group dynamics in terms of the personalities of the members of U2. This led to a search online for a "Which member of U2 are you?" quiz. One of the questions on the quiz we found was "Do people refer to you by your nickname more often than by your real name?" I ended up being a Larry, but we decided what tipped me over the edge (so to speak) was that I answered the nickname question in the negative.
In the days after we took that quiz I noticed M. wasn't calling me Angela anymore. I finally asked her, "Are you trying to tip the nickname scale for me?" Yes, she admitted; that was exactly what she was doing.
All this to explain how I've acquired the name "Angie-Pants," or "Pants" for short.
She, in turn--and because she is moving to Japan soon to teach--has acquired a new nickname of her own. You can find it in my blogroll.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
The Joshua Tree
The Joshua Tree album just turned 20 this past week. I've been celebrating by playing my tape of it (actually my brother's tape--I stole it from him back in '91) in my car. I've been listening the way I used to listen to albums--over and over and over, letting the auto-flip take me from Side A to Side B to Side A.
I never noticed before how Lenten this album is, and wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't found out it was released this time of year (as Pop was (ten years later, less one week).
I mean, sure, it's got lots of desert imagery, but it's got a lot of wind and rain too. But that's what my Lenten experience is usually like--these forty days are storm season. "In the howling wind/Comes a stinging rain," indeed. And geez, try to count how many references to crosses there are in these songs! I wonder how they'll sound during Holy Week? (Especially "With Or Without You." Imagine that as one of the Seven Words from the Cross.)
I'd forgotten how much I love "Red Hill Mining Town." It's such a pure listening experience--there's no overlaying of memories of hearing it in concert or on the radio; I have no personal connection to the lyrics; I know nothing about the miners' strike that inspired it. But of course I also love listening to the songs that have layers and layers of meaning added to them, like "Where the Streets Have No Name." I can hear something different in that one every time. In Lent, I hear more longing in it than fulfillment. "The city's a flood"--a forty-day flood, by any chance?
Things have been busy at the 'Bread--grant season. Sent out a request for bananas today. We're having an ice cream social in early May; thought banana splits might be nice.
I never noticed before how Lenten this album is, and wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't found out it was released this time of year (as Pop was (ten years later, less one week).
I mean, sure, it's got lots of desert imagery, but it's got a lot of wind and rain too. But that's what my Lenten experience is usually like--these forty days are storm season. "In the howling wind/Comes a stinging rain," indeed. And geez, try to count how many references to crosses there are in these songs! I wonder how they'll sound during Holy Week? (Especially "With Or Without You." Imagine that as one of the Seven Words from the Cross.)
I'd forgotten how much I love "Red Hill Mining Town." It's such a pure listening experience--there's no overlaying of memories of hearing it in concert or on the radio; I have no personal connection to the lyrics; I know nothing about the miners' strike that inspired it. But of course I also love listening to the songs that have layers and layers of meaning added to them, like "Where the Streets Have No Name." I can hear something different in that one every time. In Lent, I hear more longing in it than fulfillment. "The city's a flood"--a forty-day flood, by any chance?
Things have been busy at the 'Bread--grant season. Sent out a request for bananas today. We're having an ice cream social in early May; thought banana splits might be nice.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Cookie-ism
The office went out for lunch yesterday to Gold Star Chili. Mary Beth got a to-go box for her Coney dog--white and styrofoam like an ordinary carryout container, but oblong instead of square, like a carryout container got cut in half or thirds. Cookie took one look at it and said, "That looks like a Barbie coffin."
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
England and Ireland and India (and, er, Mexico) Night
By the way, those of you trying to follow a narrative (ha!) in this blog might be wondering, "Didn't Jeremiah's Aunt say she was gonna go on a trip this past weekend? Is she ever going to tell us about it?"
The answer is yes, I did go on a trip, and yes, I will tell you about it right now--I had a lovely time. We did not talk about U2 exclusively for four hours, but I think we could have talked about U2 far longer than we did. This is what happens when uberfans get together. I've missed having those kind of conversations. The trip was a pause that refreshed, as the saying goes.
Then on Sunday night J. and M. and I were sitting around at the J.F.C.C.C.House. I don't recall how the subject came up, but we all started reminisicing about England. (We've all been to England, all at different times and all before we knew each other.) Actually it was part reminiscence, part one-upsmanship. "I've been to Stratford-upon-Avon," J. would say. "So have I," I would say. "I've been to the reconstructed Globe Theatre," J. would say. "So have I," I would say. "I performed in a show on stage at the Globe," J. would say. "I wrote a new play in blank verse which had its debut at the Globe," I would say.
All right, it wasn't quite that bad. But you get the idea. And the end result is that it had us pining for all things English.
Next thing you know we were calling shotgun for a trip down to Jungle Jim's in the J.-mobile. Jungle Jim's is this foodie paradise, just the most astonishing array of food imaginable. It's huge--we went through what felt like acres and acres to get to the stuff we were looking for. We started off in the cheese section where we picked up some Wensleydale--not that we knew anything about Wensleydale, we had just heard about it through Wallace and Gromit, and in fact they package Wensleydale now with a pic of Wallace and Gromit on it; somebody give that marketing guy a raise--and Blue Stilton--again, not what we knew anything about it, it just said "The King of Cheeses" on the label, and who were we to argue with a cheese?
Then we trekked the half-mile or so to the International section. M. stuck to the India aisle where she sought to reclaim the tastes she remembered from her two years there (in India, I mean. She didn't spend two years in the India aisle). J. and I stayed in the British aisle (hee!) with its Wheetabix and Marmite and Marmart. This last was Marmite--yeast extract--you could draw pictures with.
We brought home for our spur-of-the-moment English party scone-with-blackcurrants mix, clotted cream, salt-and-vinegar crisps, chocolate digestive biscuits, Hob Nobs, the cheeses, crackers and apples. I looked in vain for Orangina; I went to the Mexican section instead and picked out a pineapple soda. We picked up "Waking Ned Devine" from the video store and stayed up way past my bedtime watching the Isle of Man play stunt double for Ireland.
The answer is yes, I did go on a trip, and yes, I will tell you about it right now--I had a lovely time. We did not talk about U2 exclusively for four hours, but I think we could have talked about U2 far longer than we did. This is what happens when uberfans get together. I've missed having those kind of conversations. The trip was a pause that refreshed, as the saying goes.
Then on Sunday night J. and M. and I were sitting around at the J.F.C.C.C.House. I don't recall how the subject came up, but we all started reminisicing about England. (We've all been to England, all at different times and all before we knew each other.) Actually it was part reminiscence, part one-upsmanship. "I've been to Stratford-upon-Avon," J. would say. "So have I," I would say. "I've been to the reconstructed Globe Theatre," J. would say. "So have I," I would say. "I performed in a show on stage at the Globe," J. would say. "I wrote a new play in blank verse which had its debut at the Globe," I would say.
All right, it wasn't quite that bad. But you get the idea. And the end result is that it had us pining for all things English.
Next thing you know we were calling shotgun for a trip down to Jungle Jim's in the J.-mobile. Jungle Jim's is this foodie paradise, just the most astonishing array of food imaginable. It's huge--we went through what felt like acres and acres to get to the stuff we were looking for. We started off in the cheese section where we picked up some Wensleydale--not that we knew anything about Wensleydale, we had just heard about it through Wallace and Gromit, and in fact they package Wensleydale now with a pic of Wallace and Gromit on it; somebody give that marketing guy a raise--and Blue Stilton--again, not what we knew anything about it, it just said "The King of Cheeses" on the label, and who were we to argue with a cheese?
Then we trekked the half-mile or so to the International section. M. stuck to the India aisle where she sought to reclaim the tastes she remembered from her two years there (in India, I mean. She didn't spend two years in the India aisle). J. and I stayed in the British aisle (hee!) with its Wheetabix and Marmite and Marmart. This last was Marmite--yeast extract--you could draw pictures with.
We brought home for our spur-of-the-moment English party scone-with-blackcurrants mix, clotted cream, salt-and-vinegar crisps, chocolate digestive biscuits, Hob Nobs, the cheeses, crackers and apples. I looked in vain for Orangina; I went to the Mexican section instead and picked out a pineapple soda. We picked up "Waking Ned Devine" from the video store and stayed up way past my bedtime watching the Isle of Man play stunt double for Ireland.
The Language of Stamps
I love commemorative stamps.
I've set up a whole system for the letters I send out.
"Love" stamps go to foundations and other people we ask for money.
Superhero stamps go on thank you letters. For instance, I went to a class on using a grant resource library yesterday and I sent the teacher a thank you with a Superman stamp on it. Cookie had a li'l writeup in the paper; I sent a thank you to the columnist responsible, gave him a Flash stamp.
I've got the motorcycle commemoratives set aside for telling people about the motorcycle ride we're planning for September or October.
For bills, there's always the fruits and vegetables stamps--preferably squash.
I've set up a whole system for the letters I send out.
"Love" stamps go to foundations and other people we ask for money.
Superhero stamps go on thank you letters. For instance, I went to a class on using a grant resource library yesterday and I sent the teacher a thank you with a Superman stamp on it. Cookie had a li'l writeup in the paper; I sent a thank you to the columnist responsible, gave him a Flash stamp.
I've got the motorcycle commemoratives set aside for telling people about the motorcycle ride we're planning for September or October.
For bills, there's always the fruits and vegetables stamps--preferably squash.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
The Original All You Can Eat Fish Fry
Today's a beautiful day, as last night was a beautiful night. This morning the snow fell in a combination of dance and fury. Last night the moon lit the top of a low bank of cloud. I hope everyone who was looking for a silver lining saw it.
I went out last night with the J.F.C.C.C.'ers. B. wanted to go out to eat; I wanted to go someplace out of the ordinary and someplace where I'd know they'd use our money for good. Then I remembered it was Friday, and I couldn't eat meat. Fish fry!
B.'s husband (who is also a B; B2 we'll call him) suggested Hartzell United Methodist. I wasn't so sure at first--a Methodist fish fry? It didn't seem quite right--but then he said it was all you can eat. Allrighty then.
Mr. and Mrs. Glorious Leader were out of town, as was another of our housemates, but everyone else from the J.F.C.C.C. House joined the party--M. and her friend T. who was visiting, J. and B. (erm, I guess for this story he's B3). The two B.s would meet us there; the five of us from the 'House piled in the M.-mobile amid merry cries of "shotgun!" and elaborate arguments over shotgun rules. (Does everyone have to be out the door before shotgun is called? Some said yes, some said no. Can you call shotgun for the way back on the ride out? No. Does the driver have veto power? No--the driver has the vehicle; that's enough power.)
On the way we discovered this would be The Very First Fish Fry for many of us, a concept that frankly I have a hard time wrapping my head around. But that meant a Methodist fish fry was a good choice--gotta ease'em in slowly. Plus did I mention it was all you can eat?
We arrived just as B squared did. The parking lot looked like a country church picnic's (I wonder how many of my fellow J.F.C.C.C.'ers have been to a country church picnic?) and the line was out the door. But the line moved fast. As we drew near the money-takers we were getting closer to the actual church part of the building. We could hear piano music and see people sitting in pews. "Where's the fish?" we cried in dismay. Would we have to profess Christ (admittedly not a problem in this group) before we'd be admitted to the dinner? Or was the whole thing a setup--were they just wafting the smell of frying Icelandic cod through the place to lure people to their service? No, B2 explained, they were just letting us sit in the pews until our numbers were called as a more pleasant alternative to standing in line. As he said this, the woman on the piano broke into "It's All For the Best" from Godspell. And the selection after that was from Grease.
We paid our money, got numbered tickets, and sat in a pew. We leafed through the Methodist hymnal and listened to the guy up front call numbers like this was bingo or somethin' (he was really letting us know when we could go get our fish). Bingo Guy was named Harold--of course he was--and he was wearing a shirt that said on the back "The Original All You Can Eat Fish Fry--Hartzell United Methodist Church" with a Bible citation at the end. We asked him to turn around so we could get the verse number. He obliged, shaking his tailfeather to the music as he did so. It was Matthew 15:29-38. The pews were equipped with Bibles, so we looked it up--it was the feeding of four thousand with loaves and fishes.
When our numbers were called, we went into the Fellowship Hall. The smell of fishy goodness was making us hungrier and hungrier, but the end was in sight. We dropped the main portion of our tickets in a basket ("Save the little part for the dessert table!" a church lady admonished) and picked up a plate of cod, mac'n'cheese, cole slaw and bread. The girl pouring iced tea and lemonade knocked over a glass of ice as I approached. "Oh, snap!" she said, to the delight of the My Name Is Earl freaks among us.
I was beginning to lose my faith in the promise of all you can eat fish; we'd already gone through the line and given up our tickets, so how could we get more? Then we got to our table. There was a bright orange laminated fish in the middle of it. On it was another Bible verse about a miraculous feeding--the "and fishes" part of "loaves and fishes" was italicized and underlined--and the words "Want more fish? Wave me!" That explained the people I'd seen at other tables holding brightly colored laminated fish over their heads. No one was waving them, though M. made hers "swim" as she held it up.
The meal was excellent, as was the company, and we all ate a lot of fish. We thought going bowling would be a nice way to round out the evening, but the local alleys all had tournaments and private parties, so we went to Starbucks instead (with a side trip to DQ for some of us) where M. and I explained the -Pants Rule to those who hadn't heard it.
It was a fine evening, and we plan on doing it again next week. So if you're in the area and want some great all you can eat fish next Friday, drop me a line (rimshot).
I went out last night with the J.F.C.C.C.'ers. B. wanted to go out to eat; I wanted to go someplace out of the ordinary and someplace where I'd know they'd use our money for good. Then I remembered it was Friday, and I couldn't eat meat. Fish fry!
B.'s husband (who is also a B; B2 we'll call him) suggested Hartzell United Methodist. I wasn't so sure at first--a Methodist fish fry? It didn't seem quite right--but then he said it was all you can eat. Allrighty then.
Mr. and Mrs. Glorious Leader were out of town, as was another of our housemates, but everyone else from the J.F.C.C.C. House joined the party--M. and her friend T. who was visiting, J. and B. (erm, I guess for this story he's B3). The two B.s would meet us there; the five of us from the 'House piled in the M.-mobile amid merry cries of "shotgun!" and elaborate arguments over shotgun rules. (Does everyone have to be out the door before shotgun is called? Some said yes, some said no. Can you call shotgun for the way back on the ride out? No. Does the driver have veto power? No--the driver has the vehicle; that's enough power.)
On the way we discovered this would be The Very First Fish Fry for many of us, a concept that frankly I have a hard time wrapping my head around. But that meant a Methodist fish fry was a good choice--gotta ease'em in slowly. Plus did I mention it was all you can eat?
We arrived just as B squared did. The parking lot looked like a country church picnic's (I wonder how many of my fellow J.F.C.C.C.'ers have been to a country church picnic?) and the line was out the door. But the line moved fast. As we drew near the money-takers we were getting closer to the actual church part of the building. We could hear piano music and see people sitting in pews. "Where's the fish?" we cried in dismay. Would we have to profess Christ (admittedly not a problem in this group) before we'd be admitted to the dinner? Or was the whole thing a setup--were they just wafting the smell of frying Icelandic cod through the place to lure people to their service? No, B2 explained, they were just letting us sit in the pews until our numbers were called as a more pleasant alternative to standing in line. As he said this, the woman on the piano broke into "It's All For the Best" from Godspell. And the selection after that was from Grease.
We paid our money, got numbered tickets, and sat in a pew. We leafed through the Methodist hymnal and listened to the guy up front call numbers like this was bingo or somethin' (he was really letting us know when we could go get our fish). Bingo Guy was named Harold--of course he was--and he was wearing a shirt that said on the back "The Original All You Can Eat Fish Fry--Hartzell United Methodist Church" with a Bible citation at the end. We asked him to turn around so we could get the verse number. He obliged, shaking his tailfeather to the music as he did so. It was Matthew 15:29-38. The pews were equipped with Bibles, so we looked it up--it was the feeding of four thousand with loaves and fishes.
When our numbers were called, we went into the Fellowship Hall. The smell of fishy goodness was making us hungrier and hungrier, but the end was in sight. We dropped the main portion of our tickets in a basket ("Save the little part for the dessert table!" a church lady admonished) and picked up a plate of cod, mac'n'cheese, cole slaw and bread. The girl pouring iced tea and lemonade knocked over a glass of ice as I approached. "Oh, snap!" she said, to the delight of the My Name Is Earl freaks among us.
I was beginning to lose my faith in the promise of all you can eat fish; we'd already gone through the line and given up our tickets, so how could we get more? Then we got to our table. There was a bright orange laminated fish in the middle of it. On it was another Bible verse about a miraculous feeding--the "and fishes" part of "loaves and fishes" was italicized and underlined--and the words "Want more fish? Wave me!" That explained the people I'd seen at other tables holding brightly colored laminated fish over their heads. No one was waving them, though M. made hers "swim" as she held it up.
The meal was excellent, as was the company, and we all ate a lot of fish. We thought going bowling would be a nice way to round out the evening, but the local alleys all had tournaments and private parties, so we went to Starbucks instead (with a side trip to DQ for some of us) where M. and I explained the -Pants Rule to those who hadn't heard it.
It was a fine evening, and we plan on doing it again next week. So if you're in the area and want some great all you can eat fish next Friday, drop me a line (rimshot).
Friday, March 2, 2007
Friday Round-Up
This week I met Equation Man, who asks for a piece of paper and returns with it covered in numbers. He chatted with me a bit, but nothing he said actually made sense. I mean, the sentence structures existed, it's just that the words were strung together randomly (like the ZooTV newscaster on an old U2 TV special, who said things like, "The category is athletics. Born in Czechoslovakia in 1901 with a free game card, the antibiotics arrived too late for thousands of satisfied motorists; an all-night vigil by protestors met with a year's free subscription. Call toll-free for ex-government salad sandwiches with a choice of fillings"). And now I am the proud owner of a couple of sheets of paper that look like this:
1/16 1/64 046 515 31/64
062 3/64 078 531 9/32
1/52 093 5/64 546 33/64
109 125 7/64 562 9 and 6/16
This week I also learned that Mary Beth's CB handle was "Twisted Sister."
Today we closed up shop early so we could all go to the funeral of the son of one of the people who works here. He was a young man who died suddenly after a short illness. It gave me flashbacks to last year around this time, when I was about a month into my stay at the J.F.C.C.C. House (just as I am now about a month into my time at Our Daily Bread). Then, too, a young man died suddenly after a short illness.
Keep Bouvier and his family in your thoughts and prayers, please.
Going this weekend to Ohio's interior to hang out with one of my old friends from @U2. Very thankful my car is all better.
1/16 1/64 046 515 31/64
062 3/64 078 531 9/32
1/52 093 5/64 546 33/64
109 125 7/64 562 9 and 6/16
This week I also learned that Mary Beth's CB handle was "Twisted Sister."
Today we closed up shop early so we could all go to the funeral of the son of one of the people who works here. He was a young man who died suddenly after a short illness. It gave me flashbacks to last year around this time, when I was about a month into my stay at the J.F.C.C.C. House (just as I am now about a month into my time at Our Daily Bread). Then, too, a young man died suddenly after a short illness.
Keep Bouvier and his family in your thoughts and prayers, please.
Going this weekend to Ohio's interior to hang out with one of my old friends from @U2. Very thankful my car is all better.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)