Eulogy to Bob

The family dog back home passed away yesterday after a long battle with cancer. Everyone who ever had a dog will always say that their mut was the best in the world. I know that our dog was far from perfect and that's what made him great. He wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, he was the worst possible watchdog, he always slept on the job, he begged profusely, he stole food, he crawled into unreachable holes and ripped your favorite socks to bits. He had few tricks to his name. Ask him to roll over and he would look at you with a face of absolute stupidity. He didn't understand the game where the owner throws a stick or ball and the loyal hound retrieves the object so it can be thrown again. He survived a kidnapping in 1996. He was gay for about a two year period. He fancied himself as a ladies man but I never actually witnessed him hooking up. He sometimes went missing but always showed up many hours later contently sitting outside the front door of the house as we pulled into the drive. He liked to chase pigeons. I was always impressed with the tiger like approach he used when trying to catch one of these rat-birds. He would drop real low and slink slowly toward the birds. Inevitably they got away every time. The list goes on and on. I'll continue to enjoy the memories for many years to come.

John Law

We had a run-in with the police last night. Nothing as dramatic as one might see on an episode of COPS but that's probably a good thing. Yesterday was Kelley's birthday. We had a party in the apartment. A very respectable and well behaved crowd enjoyed a moderate dose of booze and decent helping of light snacks. The Americans have manners. No doubt about that. Such a contrast to some of the parties I have been to back home where peoples CD's end up in the microwave, amateur stuntmen cycle bikes down flights of stairs, stuff gets stolen, stuff gets smashed to smithereens, furniture gets burned. Of course, this is hilarious when it's someone else's property being destroyed.

The music, drinking and casual but friendly mingling continued past midnight. Around 01:15 two of Minneapolis's finest literally strolled into the kitchen. The people living below our apartment, who are younger than us and at home asleep on a Friday night, had called the police to complain about the noise. You'd think it would be easier to knock on our door and ask us to turn down the music. Obviously not. The two cops were clearly quite confused by the reason for the call. They were probably expecting a bunch of wild naked lunatics to be dancing around the place and snorting cocaine off a toilet seat. They apologized for disturbing us. That's right, they were sorry for interrupting our well behaved party.

My spidey senses tell me that the hostility between the neighbors and ourselves will escalate. I've already traded harsh words with one of the whistle blowers. I am quite content to let it be a long, drawn out, petty and devious campaign of revenge and reprisal.

Deals a plenty

I got a real taste of the America everyone loves to hate today, and I liked it. Kelley and I went to an outlet mall in Albertville, located about 30 miles from our apartment. An outlet mall is basically an architecturally criminal bunch of buildings that house name brand stores like Nike, Calvin Klein, Benetton... selling their wares at rock bottom prices. They're literally giving the shit away. To get there you have to travel beyond the seemingly endless suburban sprawl. Yes, it does end somewhere and fertile farmland survives beyond that point. Not for long. There is no shortage of space in this country and therefore no plans to slow the pace at which cities and suburbs spill out from their points of origin while devouring more and more green fields. The big cities are quite densely populated but go west and you'll see that even the poorest of people live in dwellings that enjoy a footprint much greater than their equally worse off European counterparts.

The outlet mall. It's ugly. It's soulless. It's full of annoying people, but my god it's good value. One pair of Levis, one pair of jeans from the Gap, a shirt and jumper/sweater from Benetton, another jumper/sweater this time from Old Navy, and about three other items since forgotten. How much? About $100.

I remember times at home going into town with a hard earned £100 in my pocket and hoping to exchange this for a pair of jeans and maybe a shirt or two, if I was lucky. What a fool I was.

The sweetness of a good deal is one of life's many pleasures.

Clichés

I've heard many clichéd statements in my time, such as when playing Monoploy and someone will think it very original to say "Imagine this was real money?"

Irish people will be very familiar with what gets said when enjoying a Cadbury's Creme Egg around Easter time. It is customary to proclaim "Imagine you could get an easter egg that was actually a massive Creme Egg?" Sure, it would be great to be able to buy such an Easter egg.

As nice as that would be it would probably cause death. I came across a site recently where some guy took matters into his own hands and made his own monster egg.

Check it (LINK) out.

The Miser's Gold

I counted the contents of my spare change jar this evening, or my holiday jar as it has become known. Martha and I, and maybe some other good folks, will be heading to Glacier National Park, Montana this summer. Around that time the coins from this very jar will be converted into a nice wad of notes. Soon after, these very same notes will be bartered for petroleum distillate that will propel our vehicle west. And what of the dirty jar and its worth? $160 at latest count. Sweet.

Counting my change coin by filthy coin brought to mind a story we learned at school a long time ago, "The Miser's Gold". The miser was an old guy who lived alone in a dilapidated old house. He spent every night repetitively counting his stacks of coins by candlelight. The old bastard was too tight to splash out on a few 60W bulbs. Of course, this was a children's story and through colorful illustrations and simple mental imagery we were persuaded to agree with the futility of greed and understand its effects. My cynical adult mind has been thinking about the tale of the miser and has come to the conclusion that he was not the smartest economist after all. Surely if he had of taken his money to a bank offering competitive rates of interests on savings accounts they would have been happy to nurture his fortune. Likewise, if he had of maintained his house thereby keeping its market value steady he may have been able to live a less frugal and more enjoyable life.

Someone really needs to write a sequel.