17 May 2003
Well, that's it for our Wild. No more hockey until next season. Ah well. The Ducks are really on fire, and I think it's better to have one's team lose to a team that's playing really well than to one that scores on flukes or bad officiating. We were making up songs for the Wild in the third period, to the tunes of other songs. Timprov was making suggestions that they break into the goal department ("This is where you used to live!"), but mostly we were singing at Gaborik, the star offensive player, things like Steven Brust's "Marian" ("Shoot the puck, Marion, keep on carryin'...") and Counting Crows' "Butterfly in Reverse" ("Marion, you'd better score this goal. Your team is already three in the ho-ole..."). It didn't work. We'll still probably sing at the Twinkies if they make the playoffs this year, though. It's the sort of thing we do.
We might not wait for the playoffs. If Timprov is feeling good enough, we're planning on going to a game with David on Wednesday, since the Twinks are in town. We'll probably refrain from singing there, though, lest David refuse to be seen with us in public again. (I make no guarantees about the train ride home.)
The evening was improved by the presence of Amber and arroz con pollo. The whole house still smells like good things, including a fairly strong component of saffron. (And oh, do we have leftovers. We're having leftovers for dinner sometime this weekend for sure.) The clerk who sold me the saffron had never sold any before, and she was wide-eyed and confused at the cost. I can't say we'll be cooking with it on a weekly basis, but once in awhile, a little bit is all right. We'll do the arroz con pollo again, I'm sure, and Michelle sent me a soup recipe with saffron in it, and if I was a really good Scandichick, I'd make saffron buns for Lucia Day.
It just hit me that when Lucia Day comes around, I will be in a city where they will understand why I am making saffron buns. That's a pleasant shock to my system, though it shouldn't be shocking at all. I was reading one of Pamela Dean's livejournal entries, and she and her mom got lost trying to get to the Whole Foods down by the Lakes and Uptown. That one twisted at my heart, too. I would go there, I thought, and then I'm gonna go there. Not too long now. But it is too long. Even though it isn't very long.
The summer I went to France with French Club, right after I graduated from high school, the movies "French Kiss" and "Forget Paris" came out. And Scott and I dragged Mike and Jackie to sit through those stupid romantic comedies, one of which even featured Meg Ryan, so that we could poke each other and whisper, "Dude, we were there." "We stood right there with Katie Pickett!" "Hey, the good éclairs were, like, five feet from there, why don't they get the good éclairs?" We were pretty obnoxious. (Which, of course, never happened before or since. Scott and me being obnoxious? Don't be silly.)
And I'm kind of like that with Minneapolis right now. Only sometimes it's more like I'm three years old and telling you what's going to happen on my birthday. "And then all the kids will come and we're gonna eat strawberries and laugh at the clown and the unicorns will gallop in and wish me happy happy birthday but only Britney won't be there cause I don't like her any more and then Mommy will bring out my cake with a million bazillion katrillion candles...." It's like that. Only sometimes more realistic. "And we'll go walk around Nokomis and get mosquito bites all over our legs and I will scratch the one behind my knee until it bleeds, and then it will feel funny to bend my knee all the way...." I don't expect unicorns. I expect mosquitoes. I suspect that unicorns are not a Minnesota Thing anyway.
For some reason, my brain has demanded Dave Matthews Band this morning, so that's what I'm playing. Now it's going to think it's in charge all the time. It gets bossy, my brain. Doesn't give the other bits as much of a chance as it might.
You would think that would be a good thing, but often what the brain thinks it gets is not all that congruent with what the back thinks it needs. And I'm not sure which bit is worse to leave in charge.
There is much, here. Sometime this weekend, Mark and I really need to run some errands, as people's birthdays will not wait for us to feel like braving the mall. And as we have one metric ton of old clothing in the closet waiting to go to Goodwill. And so on. So there's that, and there's cleaning the kitchen up a bit. (We finished a bottle of wine and made a dent in another! Both were already open, and the arroz con pollo took a cup and a half of wine, but still, it's less wine to move or worry about moving, yay!) There's work on the Not The Moose Book; there's laundry to wash and dry and the last of the second George R. R. Martin book to read. (Am I the only one who has a problem putting spaces between multiple initials? I never want to type anything about J. R. R. Tolkien but rather about J.R.R. same, and it's nearly impossible for me to make myself address Ceej with a space in the middle.) So yes, there are tangents upon which to embark. There are e-mails to answer. There are collabs and individual shorts to ponder. There's even a manuscript to edit, as I thought I might as well have it ready for when I'm feeling cranky. (Actually, if I'm feeling cranky enough, I might go through two of my previous books. But I don't know how soon I'll be feeling that cranky, and the timing partially relies upon Factors Not Discussed Here. You know, I have the journal entry for when I want to discuss them half-written, because I'm just so used to putting this sort of thing in my journal that I couldn't stand it any more. Sigh.) There are insurance forms to fill out. There is a bill to pay and a drain to clear. There's food to bake and food to eat. There are library books to fetch and library books to return. There are phone calls to make -- Andrew and Kari, possibly La Michelle if she doesn't beat me to it. There are airline reservations to make, too. There are cards to sign and mail.
This isn't entirely what I thought being a grown-up would be like, ten years ago. Mostly it's the lack of physics that's a surprise, but when you're 14 and thinking about your grown-up life, you really don't think about running defunct pants to the Goodwill. It's not on the list. If you're a pretty aware kid, paying bills and doing laundry will be things you think of eventually. It's almost impossible to get at all the details, though, no matter how aware you are. And I remember that when I think about other things that'll change in my life, other ways I just won't be able to see what it's like until it's just Like That.
I think I can count on the mosquitoes, though, and also on the lack of unicorns.
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