Truth Pirates

Drunk-cooking not advisable.

2010-02-02T14:48:00.001-06:00

Come along with me, to a snapshot of my life:

It's 2:30 am on a Monday night. (Yes, I know, technically it's a Tuesday morning but shh I'm telling a story.) A 24-year-old girl shuffles home from the bar, up three flights of stairs to her apartment, and smiles as she gazes dreamily upon a stew that has been dutifully crock potting itself for the last six hours. If she can depend on nothing else, my good people, she can depend on this delectable vat of turkey chowder.

She feels a little cloudy-headed as one in her situation would, and is mightily amused and distracted by her phone buzzing with messages from her sentimental pals with the desire to giggle and delight over the antics of the evening. She boils some water, throws some egg noodles in, and starts transferring the stew to a hefty 3-gallon pot.

The noodles finish! She stirs them into the potato/corn/turkey/carrot concoction and tells herself that this stew is one step away from perfection...and that step is named "a generous dash lemon pepper". She shakes the lemon pep over the top of the stew - but wait! - something is amiss. She immediately feels confused about the texture and look of the ingredient. Upon closer inspection, she realizes that she has just covered her stew in...CINNAMON!

And instead of scraping the cinnamon off and salvaging the taste of the soup, she, in her unreasonable state, stirs it in. All the way in. Thus dooming her future sober self to roughly two gallons of cinnamon-flavored turkey chowder.

Stupid, stupid girl.

Let's talk doppelgangers.

2010-02-01T17:56:00.001-06:00

I just have to say that I am fascinated by all of this doppelganger business! People posting pictures of their friends, significant others, their old selves, celebrities...all people they think they look like. It is just supremely interesting to me how people really see themselves physically.

Recently, a friend of mine had to get her photos taken for work and out of maybe 30 or so, her roommate and I picked the same photo as our favorite and the one we thought looked most like her. But the one she picked I have to tell you looked absolutely nothing like her and I don't think it showed how truly beautiful she is at all. The one we picked, to me, looked like a model shot.

Why do we see ourselves so differently than other people see us? And why do some people historically look fantastic in photos and others can't take a good picture to save their lives?

I was nervous to jump on the celebrity doppelganger bandwagon because for the last two weeks I've seen people post photos of celebrities that are a thousand times hotter than them and I did not want that to be the case with me.

So I put it to my coworkers to pick one for me, and this is what they came up with. A young Catherine Keener. I wouldn't say that I'm sold on the resemblance, but at least it's not Pippi Longstocking or Punky Brewster, which is honestly what I was expecting.

Too soon? Sorry, Haiti.

2010-01-25T14:32:00.001-06:00

When disaster strikes, there are lots of celebrity artists that want to step up and help.

Even at Minnesota Public Radio!

Listen: Haiti Relief Song

10 artists. 1 (un)clear message. 2 female pop star impressions by your favorite blogging public radio employee.

Bus vs. Bike: A One-Act Play with Themes of Prejudice, Obscenity, and, of course Transportation

2010-01-22T10:45:00.001-06:00

The scene: No. 4 bus headed downtown, 8:15 a.m.
The characters: Balding bus driver with deep-seated anger issues; biker with a potty mouth; bus rider innocently reading about Mormons in her new book “Under the Banner of Heaven”

Bus rider is learning about a Mormon prophet’s plan to build a City of Refuge at the foot of the Dream Mine near Provo, Utah to prepare for the coming apocalypse, when all of a sudden she is distracted by a commotion at the front of the bus.

Driver: This is my lane! Get in your own lane!
Biker: I’m in my own lane, ***hole!
Driver: (kissing noises) You’re just jealous!
Biker: F**k you! (obscene gesture)
Driver: Sticks and stones! Sticks and stones!
Biker: F**k you, ***hole!
Driver: (kissing noises) Sticks and stones! Report me! Get on the phone and report me!
Biker: I will! (obscene gesture)
Driver: Report me! My supervisor’s right over there! (indicates nearby TriMet office)
Biker: (obscene gesture)

Both parties scowl at the other. Exeunt.

i cannot control the volume of my voice

2010-01-11T11:55:00.005-06:00

I may be 10 days late in posting my resolutions, but one of them was to procrastinate to my heart's content. So really I'm right on track. And now, without further ado, I give to you that which I resolve to accomplish in '10:

Learn at least three new knitting skills. I've maxed out on boring hats and scarves, and I'm in the middle of a blanket that looks exactly like the last one I made. My buddy Danielle taught me how to do a cabled pair of fingerless gloves on Saturday, the first of which I finished last night. Goes to show me that I shouldn't fear the un-knit-known. I'd like to make 2010 the Year of the Sweater and Sock.

Keep the apartment in better shape. I usually have a frenzied cleaning sesh once per week and then let crap pile up for the next six days. I have yet to internalize the notion that if I could just tidy up a little bit every day I wouldn't have to devote half my Sunday to Messrs. Clorox and Swiffer.
Freeze more leftovers. I recently started freezing leftover soup in my favorite found muffin pan. It amuses me to no end to open my freezer and see soup masquerading as muffin-pops. Plus it's really satisfying to pop soupcicles out of the flexible pan.

Speaking of cooking, I would be a waste of space if I let 2010 pass without attempting Julia Child's Boeuf Bourginon from her chef d'oeuvre Mastering the Art of French Cooking. The dullness of my knives and my tendency to chop vegetables far slower than the average bear will probably make this an entire day's labor, but I shall persevere. Maybe for Valentine's Day.
Keep my French up to snuff. Dieu knows je can't get by en France with seulement my Franglais, hardcore though it may be. I'm going to attempt to watch French news at least three nights a week for the double benefit of increasing my comprehension skillz and getting in tune with French current events. I used to have to listen to five hours of spoken French per week for my French Business class in college--three of which I knocked off with dubbed American thrillers like House of Wax, and the rest I spent watching the 8:00 news on TF1. If I want to be vraiment sage, I'll write down the vocab I don't understand and look it up, and write a summary of what I learned. Chances of that happening: slim to none. But in case you were wondering, it snowed a lot this weekend in France. It was hard to drive due to freezing rain in some areas. The storm made one very unhappy leek farmer, who lost about 50% of his crop. A dairy farmer was also upset, but I'm not sure why. They are using sand and salt to make the roads more passable. Bam.
Make my biceps disgustingly large. In the year 2009 I gave my muscles some definition for the first time in my life. 2010 will be the year I make my gigantic muscles define me.
And, finally, I resolve to increase the clarity and volume of my speech. While home for the holidays, I had a record number of people exclaim in frustration that they had no idea what I was saying. One of them, whom I had just met, told me to, "Speak the F**K up!!" In lieu of keeping exclusive company with fellow low-talkers, I suppose it's time to give my vocal chords some exercise.

All of these resolutions seem fairly doable, though not quite as doable as the ones I made two years ago-- all of which I kept to a T, by the by.

Allow me to serenade you.

2010-01-04T11:29:00.004-06:00

For the record, my a cappella group has been together far longer than Glee or the Sing Off ever existed.

Moving on.

Last night we had a little recording session and one of the songs is a Rilo Kiley ditty that I sing the solo in. Please enjoy.

Download or play: Breakin' Up (Rilo Kiley) by Late Night Menu.

And just to prove to you that I actually can successfully rap at times without making a complete fool of myself, last night we also recorded that Duffy song that I embarrassed myself with during our last performance.

Download or play: the sweet rap part of Mercy (Duffy) by Late Night Menu.

Ok. Happy day to you! Seacrest out.

Happy holidays, my little pirates!

2009-12-17T11:08:00.002-06:00

I'm not gonna lie oh readers of TP, I've been feeling pretty festive lately. I decided to put together a little jazzy holiday mix to thank you for your sweet sweetness over the two and a half years npp and I have been regaling you with the minutia of our lives.

Thanks ever so much, and best wishes for a happy holiday season.

(give her a minute to load up, she's a big one)

Or, listen on Grooveshark here.

Woot for small hands!

2009-12-10T17:49:00.004-06:00

A coworker crocheted these gloves but they ended up being too small for her. My freakishly long and skinny hands luckily fit them, well, like a glove.

Oh feeble typing hands you shall be chilled no more. Come warmth!

(Though in a weird way I feel like Madonna meets your grandma meets an Easter egg.)

My pics for the Current's "Top 89".

2009-12-07T17:36:00.009-06:00

I know not everyone that reads this blog listens to MPR's indie rock station but here are some of my favorite songs that were new this last year. I have to say, it was a great year for music.

Cage The Elephant: Ain't No Rest for the Wicked (Cage The Elephant)
Bon Iver: Brackett, WI (Dark Was The Night)
Brother Ali: Good Lord (The Truth Is Here)
Camera Obscura: Honey in the Sun (My Maudlin Career)
Dirty Projectors and David Byrne: Knotty Pine (Dark Was The Night)
The Bird And The Bee: My Love (Ray Guns Are Not Just The Future)
Ben Kweller: Sawdust Man (Changing Horses)
Alexi Murdoch: Towards The Sun (Away We Go Soundtrack)
Grizzly Bear: Two Weeks (Veckatimest)
The Big Pink: Velvet (A Brief History Of Love)

You can listen to a playlist I have made of these songs here (give it a second to load on this page):

Or if you don't like the widget, you can listen here.

We've got a code 70 on isle 6.

2009-12-07T16:54:00.001-06:00

I just witnessed an attempted shoplifting!

I was in Walgreens. Just a regular day at Walgreens, right? I was checking out at the pharmacy department, picking up a prescription and some gum. Classic Walgreens purchase, right? RIGHT?

Then, all of the sudden, the employee that was checking me out calmly but fast like lightening picks up the telephone receiver and says over the loudspeaker "We've got a code 70 on isle 6. I repeat, code 70 on isle 6." I spin around to see 4 blue-vested employees speed-walking toward isle 6 from all angles of the store.

My vision is blocked, but I hear a slight scuffle. Next thing I know, an armload of goods is slammed down on the counter next to me. One of the vested speed-walkers brushes the bangs from her face and says "he had quite the night planned, didn't he?"

I looked over to see what the man had attempted to shove inside his coat: Not, one, not two, but EIGHT two-packs of single-shot energy drinks, and what else? You guessed it. A bottle of lube.

Facebook Defriending Flow Chart

2009-12-03T01:14:00.003-06:00

How many times have you rolled your eyes when Fratty McDouche fills up 90% of your news feed with misspelled musings about minutiae? How often does Susie Shallowstein's CONSTANT updates of her photo albums with yet another picture of her adorable puppy/hubby/druid make you lose the will to live?

You know it's time to weed out the bad apples in your friend list, but you just don't know how to go about it. Neenuh to the rescue. Click on the above image and use the completely scientific method I spent entirely too much time tonight perfecting to make your friend list one you can be proud of.

White girl can't rap.

2009-12-01T16:43:00.005-06:00

I recently joined a small vocal ensemble and last week was my first performance with the group. The song we performed is Mercy by Duffy and it would be accurate to describe my role in this song as one of the "yeah yeah yeah" girls, with one exception. Halfway through the song there is a vocal percussion breakdown where every member of the group except the soloist and myself repeat different vocal beats, thus denoting the breakdown. My part includes 8 bars of rapping. That's right. Rapping. Having a little experience in the karaoke Gangsta's Paradise realm, I wasn't really nervous or anything until I realized that the audience we were performing for was about 100 students from the Black Student Union at the University, and maybe a handful of others (mostly consisting of our out-of-place ultra-white group)*. So the first stanza of my ridiculously non-sensical rap goes like this:

You look at me and think we're the same kind
'Cause you don't know what I got and
I want a bit more than I'm asking for
but I just don't want to waste my time

Pretty easy right? Theoretically. But for a rowdy theater full of yelling, snapping, clapping, boisterous college kids, they were essentially silent when we got up there. The lights were blinding, the mood was one of full-on skepticism. From them, it was probably skepticism over "who the hell are these kids coming to our show to perform in a format we're not used to", and from us, it was skepticism over whether we would perform well, mess up, be accepted, etc. Most of my group was calm and ready to rock. But something came over me when it was almost time for me to rap. I locked up and I got so worried about forgetting the words that this, to my horror, is what came out of my mouth:

You look at me and think we're the same kind
'Cause you don't know what I got and
I want a bit flim flattadata dat
bada blip blop bee boop dip dap dap

I finished the stupid rap unable to look anyone in the audience in the eyes, which meant, since it was stadium seating, that I had to stare at the floor until the song was over. I would like to think I can rap...but scat-rapping is not something I hope I never have to face doing again.

*Truth be told, one of us is 1/18 Hawaiian. That counts towards diversity, right?

And then my ice-cold heart slowly began to melt...

2009-11-29T15:08:00.003-06:00

When Seest0r and I hop on the bus for on our excursions, she enjoys playing with my iPod on the way there and back. Sometimes I'll have her listen to some music, and if she likes it I'll burn it on a CD for her. Lately, she's been filling my woefully empty calendar with important dates like Christmas, New Years and her birthday.

Yesterday, while on our way to see a ballet performance, she started fiddling with the note function and wouldn't let me see what she was writing. When she was done she got a big grin on her face and turned it so I could see.

So verklempt. So very, very verklempt was I.

FUDGE!

2009-11-27T21:05:00.002-06:00

When my 9th grade geometry teacher got herself with child, we had substitute teachers for a good chunk of the year while she birthed and cared for her spawn. There was the dirty, bearded man who looked like Santa and smelled of vodka, a couple of quavery-voiced ladyfolk, and a longterm guy I'll call Mr. Mullet. He sported a very greasy business/party combo and was entirely awesome.

Exhibit A: Our first order of business when we came to the unit on matrices was to watch The Matrix.

Exhibit B: One day he came across two pounds of fudge he wanted to get rid of. He announced to the class that whoever ate the entirety in the remainder of the class period would be the proud owner of 70 shiny extra credit points. The New Kid, who no one had ever heard speak a word, immediately volunteered. Throughout the next half hour or so, he methodically worked his way through those bricks. Sure enough, he choked it down and went from a C to an A. It was the stuff of legend.

He soon transferred to the city's private school and I thought I would never again lay my eyes upon the one I called Fudge.

Fast forward three years to the summer before senior year. My buddy had convinced me the time was nigh for me to "get my drink on." She led me to a houseboat in the west end of town hosted by a kid named Squirrel. I didn't know anyone there besides my friend and her boyfriend, but one of the kids looked kind of familiar. It took me a while to realize who he was, but after a plastic cup of Beefeater, straight up, I slurred, "You're the kid who ate the fudge!" And indeed he was.

Fast forward another seven years to last night. I was at my dear buddy's house enjoying a lovely Portland Orphan Thanksgiving (also known as T-Give-Sauce, according to my younger brother's Facebook status). It was a gathering of mostly Minnesotans, and several were even from my hometown. I introduced myself to a couple I hadn't seen before. I bet you can see where this is going... the dude was the kid who ate the fudge! I fudge you not! Amazing.

I'm now expecting him to make an appearance at other meaningful life events. Like my first traffic ticket. Or at the birth of my third child. Or the next time I throw up (which won't be for YEARS...)

Seen in the hood

2009-11-23T21:03:00.002-06:00

I'm glad someone's finally working to put an end to the evil despotism of the dreaded fiery sauces of the world. My mouth thanks you.

What is more refined than having the noggins of a six-point buck, a raccoon, and a fox in your sitting room? You can get all these fauna at Flutter.

The geese at Sunlan, the lightbulb shop, are dressed in their Turkey Day finery.

The ants have all gone to their earthly graves, the fruit flies have been vanquished. But the green and silver glamour beetles are peaking this week.

"I have lost my pet serpent, Yggdrazilla, near Le Jardin de la Font Aride. He is fond of the concrete urban jungle, he is drawn to the hum of automobile traffic as he has a voracious appetite for four wheeled things, like Hummers and big diesel trucks. He has been known to chase two wheeled vehicles, but have no fear, he loves two legged creatures, in fact you might have become entranced in his gaze. Although he is friendly, please do not approach him but rather contact me at gjeff88@yahoo.com. Thanks"

Naming a band is difficult.

2009-11-16T15:22:00.001-06:00

If you want to hear what it sounds like when a rowdy and ridiculously unproductive a cappella group tries to come up with a new name, one of our members secretly taped our discussion last night. THIRTY-EIGHT MINUTES WORTH OF IT.

The discussion features poop, farting, wikipedia, Garrision Keillor, Suri Cruz, noisy neighbors, and a stranger named Pam.

Listen: Kill me now.

p.s. I didn't mean to do a deaf voice when doing an impression of the "Noisy Neighbors". It just came out, ok?

And no. We never came up with a name.

My New Favorite All-Purpose Joke

2009-11-16T09:16:00.002-06:00

It is this: "Somebody must have pressed their easy button..."

This joke is endlessly adaptable for any situation. Observe:

Boyf and I had to fly home unexpectedly last Saturday to attend a funeral. Our tickets were for 5:30 in the morning and included a very short layover in Seattle. There were any number of things that could have gone wrong, including our angel friend sleeping through her 3:30 alarm and not fetching us, a massive line to check bags, a massive line at security, a delayed plane that would cause us to miss our connection, etc. But no. Everything went swimmingly. Somebody must have pressed their easy button...

Then our plane to Minneapolis got in a good half hour in advance! Somebody must have pressed their early button...

Uh oh... I'm feeling a bit airsick. Somebody must have pressed their queasy button...

AH-CHOOOO! Somebody must have pressed their sneezy button....

You get the idea. It sure beats my previous all-purpose joke: "Oh, monkeys... they're like nature's humans." I read this somewhere (sorry if it was your prose and I'm not attributing) and thought it was thoroughly hilarious. It doesn't adapt very well, however, and I find that people don't look at me as adoringly as I want them to when I bust it out apropos of nothing.

When I was in France I discovered that my humor does not translate very well. During my homestay, my French sisters would often say, "Ce n'est pas grave (It's no big deal)," when I inevitably snorted champagne through my nose onto the appetizers or tipped over a priceless Limoges vase or was so incapacitated by a bloody nose that I managed to leave my DNA on my bed linens and in a trail leading from the bedroom to the kitchen to the bathroom (true story). My response was always, "Si. C'est grave (But yes. It's very serious)" even if it was a minor infraction. They didn't get it.

My one successful overseas joke was in Israel. My travel companions and I were all eating at a lovely restaurant when we noticed our leader, Muriel, was looking a bit morose. We hatched a plan to cheer her up, and since I was the only one with a firm grasp on Hebrew it was up to me to put it into action. I flagged down the waiter and said, "Yom hellenich sameach (happy birthday)" while pointing emphatically to Muriel. "Afo sufganiot (where's the jelly donut)?" Minutes later, our dear Muriel celebrated her 29th birthday five months early.

Cake, my friends. One punchline that's universal.

Here! Let me sing for you.

2009-11-03T16:54:00.005-06:00

One of my colleagues frequently writes song parodies for his podcast and sometimes he requests my inner diva to assist him. This one is a combination of a song from A Chorus Line and the swine flu vaccine. (It's short, just 40 seconds.)

He sings one chorus and then my diva is unleashed. Enjoy!

Listen: I hope I get it.

And no it didn't take 12 attempts to get this version.........*cough.

Slow Motion Sneezing.

2009-10-28T16:36:00.001-05:00

Ok I probably wouldn't have gotten swine flu if more people would have watched this video. Although I was reflecting today that because of this "coughing into your elbow" thing that everyone's supposed to be doing now, people who are recovering like me must have some pretty gross and infections inner-elbows on our sweaters and shirts. Hopefully no one grabs my arm if they need me or something, otherwise they're going to get a handful of disease.

Anyway, enjoy this masterpiece. Don't you think it's kind of...beautiful, in a way?

Shhhhh. Secrets.

2009-10-27T14:56:00.000-05:00

I was pulled into an audio booth the other day to help reporter Euan Kerr voice some stuff for his Post Secret story. My secrets talk about racism, God, and hotel rooms. Enjoy!

Triplets from Hell.

2009-10-19T16:31:00.002-05:00

It was a fantastic Zombie Pub Crawl this year. On October 10, between 5,000 and 6,000 zombies took over the West Bank of Minneapolis, and I have to say, we won the award for cutest costume. Ladies and gentlemen I present to you, in full blood-soaked onesies...the Triplets from Hell.

Our mom and dad turned us into zombies in the middle of the night, so we ate them.

I have been swined.

2009-10-19T16:31:00.001-05:00

Well. It got me, folks. The swine reared its ugly head and I was quarantined in my studio apartment for four entire days, without the slightest bit of human interaction. The following was my life for four days.

Note: Graphic.

Wake up to a bloody nose. Shove some Kleenex up my nostril. Clean the inside of my mouth/face of whatever collected in there throughout the night of incomplete sleep, tossing, turning, coughing, and fever dreams. Check my temperature. Put on 10 pounds of clothes if I'm frigid or strip down to shorts and tank top if I'm burning. Amble over to the couch. Put on endless episodes of either Lost or How I Met Your Mother. Groan. Cough. Take some Robitussin. Take some Aspirin. At about 3 or 4 p.m. realize that I haven't eaten or drank anything all day. Sip some water and choke down a little bit of soup. Get another bloody nose. Take care of said bloody nose. Check my temperature. Nap for 45 minutes. Wake up covered in sweat. Go back to the couch. Watch more Lost/HIMYM. Participate in a sterile mail-room exchange of goods from a friend. Wave meekly at friend through window and mouth the words "thank you so much". Collect your items from the floor of the mail room. Go back upstairs. Eat and/or drink a little. Take some more meds. Watch more episodes. Try to brush teeth. Crawl back into bed. Get into a coughing fit whilst lying there trying to fall asleep. Get one more bloodly nose. Sleep. Repeat.

Please try not to get H1N1 people. And if you do, bite the bullet and quarantine yourself like I did. I promise after a few days it starts to feel normal not to be part of civilization...like you have your own sickly little hobbit hole. And when your gone, perhaps your coworkers will give you a shoutout at the end of their podcast:

My Sister by Another Mister

2009-10-18T10:56:00.001-05:00

After an application process that took many moons, Big Brothers Big Sisters decided that I was un-scary enough to get a little buddy. It's been about a month since I've been matched, and I thought I'd tell you all about the hijinks that Seest0r and I have gotten into.

On our first playdate we drew pictures. This is a picture of the artiste, by the artiste:

Please notice how the features are tilted to the right, which indicates that she is a budding artistic genius. I also taught her to knit and she picked it up immediately. Not only that, but on our next outing-- a full week later-- she remembered exactly how to do it. Future Mensa member? Almost certainly.

Two weeks I took her bowling for her first time, and helped her get her first spare. I tell you, the smile on that girl's face could have lit a cave at the bottom of the ocean where the fish are colorless and freaky looking.

Last week I took her to see Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, and she spent a good portion of the movie asking how and why things happened. Curious like a kitty. A genius kitty.

We're going ice skating today, and I've spent the morning trying to remember the moves I learned during an ice skating class at the U in the spring semester of my junior year. I was the picture of beauty and grace. Despite what I'm sure is entirely accurate muscle memory, I think I'm going to have to insist that Seest0r wear a helmet just in case I accidentally bring her down with me when I inevitably trip.

I'm most excited for three weeks from now, when we'll see a production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I ran into a higher-up at the theater when I went to get my tickets, and he offered to give us a backstage tour if we got there a little early. Bangarang.

If you have any awesome, low-cost ideas for a future hang out sesh for us, please leave them in the comments. Merci!

Gettin' Knitty

2009-10-07T08:53:00.003-05:00

When the first nippy breeze fills the air, a chemical called Knitularus Obsessus fills my brain. Tis that time, my friends, when I give myself the beginnings of arthritis so I can whale on knitting projects large and small in time for the holidays.

Among the projects I've decided to commit to fiber is a blanket in the vein of the one I toiled over last year. If I hope to complete this monstrosity, along with the gloves and big-person fair isle hat I've got my eye on, I have to be militarily disciplined in my output. I've given myself an inch-a-day quota, parceled out over my bus rides to and from work, my lunch hour and before bed time. If I do not complete a row by the time my bus reaches its stop (and with 238 stitches it's not as easy a task as it seems), then I must make use of my newest skill: Knitting While Walking.

If you've mastered Knitting While Watching Movies, then Knitting While Walking isn't such a stretch. I had to do so yesterday since I was 20 stitches short of my bus quota. I garnered myself several odd looks and even one snicker (I shake my needle at you, sir!), but I neither tripped nor fell down the stairs. No, that came later in the day, when I didn't even have the needles in my hand. It's not visible yet, but I can feel the beginnings of quite the shiner on my bum.

My lunch buddy had to depart before the full hour was up yesterday. Instead of simply staring into space alone on my bench during my furious knit-purling, I acquired the skill of Knitting While Reading. I had to sit on the book's edge to keep the spine flat, crouching over it in quite the awkward manner. I laughed, I cried, I learned all about Frida Kahlo, but I persevered and I even completing two whole rows.

Next up on the list is Knitting While Elliptical Machine-ing and the holy grail: Knitting While Eating. I might require an extra pair of limbs for the latter, but I got faith.

Secondhand Storytime.

2009-09-29T16:52:00.001-05:00

I heard an amazing, shocking and hilarious story from a friend, who heard it from a friend, who heard it from a friend's friend.

At work, I relayed the story to my colleague and he suggested I submit it to a cool podcast called Secondhand Storytime and as it turns out, they recorded my story and the episode aired this week. Let me tell you...based on the responses I've gotten from people much smarter than me...I learned a powerful lesson about hearing things through the grapevine.

Here's the podcast.

Sorry Douglas Adams! I didn't mean to swipe your story. And technically, I did hear it secondhand.