in other news

it's cold, in minneapolis, in january. And it's snowing. My front porch swing sighs as it rather impatiently awaits spring breezes.

personal holiday productivity

Project #1 (and #2) of my sewing afternoon at home. I finally got these throw pillows for the not-so-new-anymore couches complete. Love the map of London duckcloth (thank you, Crafty Planet) and the yummy brick-y corduroy from Vogue in Chicago.

Three cheers for domesticity!

randomness

My latest Onion horoscope:
Capricorn (December 22 - January 19): Others can say what they want, but flogging that dead horse just seems to get funnier the more you do it.

Wednesday's Waking Up Soundtrack was sponsored by:
Me and Mrs. Jones by Billy Paul (1972)

shun the nonbeliever!

I guess you're just what I needed

amidst a bit of angst about starting a new job (will I fit in? will it be a good match? do I have the right shoes? do people bring their lunches? will I screw up the bus-riding schedule?), my mom sends me this.

Mom says confidently,
"Honey you will be just fine, put on a great outfit and some lipstick, stand up straight and don’t let anyone tell you that you aren’t intelligent, capable and wonderful to have as part of their team, they would be foolish to think otherwise. And you can fit in anywhere there are intelligent and creative beings, which last time I looked....I think downtown had plenty of that species! You’ll do great cuz dad and I will be praying. Have courage and tell yourself that you won’t be afraid! DONE DEAL!"

Lessons learned:
1) It's important to have a mom.
2) It's even more important for me to be an encouraging mom. (I know my daughter's only 3. But for some reason, I angst that she won't like me in 25 years.)
3) If my mom thinks I kick butt, than I obviously do.

some birthday memorabilia (finally)

I'm so lame for always forgetting my camera.
But thankfully, friends don't let friends not have pictures of the birthday. Thanks, Diana!

Summating Tuesday

"Kill me. Send me to heaven with Barbaro and my 40 virgins."
(Diana)


Tuesday's wake-up song was brought to you by:
The Absence of God
Rilo Kiley, on More Adventurous (2004)

mmmm mmmmm music.

City Pages is aggregating the music they cover in MP3 links. Mmmm.

I love it when a plan comes together.

Two worlds colliding in the very best way: The Decemberists have their very own embroidery kit. Neato!

iPod, how you know me

Does anyone else who owns an iPod think that it knows you? Like, really, really KNOWS what you need?

I know, it's absurd.
But I needed some motivation this afternoon, and the iPod has seen fit to mix up a little combination of Ted Leo, Rolling Stones, and the Shins latest.
It's perfect.

Karma's plot to undermine the tragically hip. Or, Mondays at work.

It's the last Monday in January, here in Minneapolis.
This means a few things:

• 2 more meager months of winter yet to survive. February is usually the worst month (at least for me), but thankfully it is jam-packed with classes, weddings, and social events. So, perhaps it will pass and leave me (relatively) unscathed. March is actually OK... snowy, but not as cold. And it stays light for a decent amount of time in the evenings. And I don't leave for work in the dark. At least not by the end of the month.
• I am sick of every sweater I own.
• Rollergirls open their league season and give me something to drink PBR and shout about in an otherwise barren landscape of ice, sensible shoes, and an irrepressible instinct to make starchy dinners.
  
• I have lost a pair of gloves and a hat so far this year.
  
• I have reviewed the seed catalogs, plotted the garden out, and done my gardening algebra. We'll order seeds on the 20th (ish) and be planting seedlings by mid-March.
• Show season starts very soon, as bands begin the onslaught of 2007 releases (have I ever mentioned my theory on the cycical nature of amazing albums?)... coming soon to a blog near you will be reviews of the Current Fakebook with Chuck Klosterman, TV on the Radio (yes, again!), Of Montreal, Ted Leo, Kaiser Chiefs and the Walkmen. Yes, and all that music goodness will happen before I can break out the flip-flops again.
• I have a sudden realization that I need to get out and take some January photography of the city before Thursday. Any suggestions about what is unique to Minneapolis in January (not including me drinking Comfort tea snuggled under an afghan working through my netflix queue. Adorable, I know... but does it make for good pictures, really?)
• I'll be working at a new job in a mere week. I'm not ready; though I am. I feel grossly underequipped in the wardrobe department to go back to working downtown.
  

Mostly unrelated:

• I was fortunate enough to snag an early copy of Arcade Fire's March release, Neon Bible. Oh Baby. Mojo has a great review; I won't bother to reiterate what he already says.
• Public Service Announcement: As much as I would like it, I am not in charge of the US Postal Service and cannot control when things get mailed/delivered/returned to me. Ongoing angst with the mail; how you haunt me.
• Angry Chicken posted a Beatrix Potter natural foods cookbook which is out of print. Dammit. Now I want one.
• I picked on Jana for consistently having Rod Stewart in her Amazon recommends... list. (Don't ask. This is the kind of insanity that only comes up at trivia.) Except now that I have opened my mouth, I have received 2 or 3 emails urging me to not miss out on the big Rod Stewart show. Whuut? Gah. It's some karmic move attempting to amp down our awesomeness factor. Hrmph.
• By the way, I refuse to link to Rod Stewart in this blog.

today's wake up call in my head was brought to you by:
We Will Become Silhouettes
The Postal Service, on Give Up (2003)

inevitabilities

So as I'm frantically trying to tick things off my list of accomplishments which must happen in the next 2 business days, I am retyping the title of the program I am working on.

It's Hothouse.

I do a find and replace in a big fat Word document.
Except that I am typing so fast I'n not really thinking of what I am typing. And my laptop is a piece of electronic garbage and is seriously lagging.

So instead of waiting to see what it did, I just clicked replace all.
Then, going back to the document, I realize that I didn't replace all the words with Hothouse.
I replaced them with Whorehouse.

I win Friday.

frantic, frenetic

I have forgotten how busy feels. As I wrap up this last week at work (T minus one week til my last day; already?), I am suddenly inundated with a to-do list of transitions and documentation and last-minute, can-we-squeeze-this-out-of-Sarah-under-the-wires. (ah, the life of a writer.) I am acutely aware of my busy-ness level by my sheer ability to type faster, yet not spell anything correctly.

Having nearly died choking on a bagel this morning, I realized that while I am intensely sad to leave what I thought would be my dream job a yearish or so ago, I am also relieved. I sit here all alone, and if I were to be in serious medical danger, I'm not sure they would find me til it was too late and I was purply-blue. Oh, maybe someone who reads my blog would phone the authorities once they realize I haven't yet posted on a workday. But by then, it may already be too late.

Diana and I learned (at least started to learn) how to knit socks last night at Crafty Planet. It was fun (of course, when would it not be fun... I love that stuff.) I was surprised at how little time it took me to get it. Especially being blessed with the gift of left-handedness, it is sometimes difficult to visuall and cerebrally transpose everything I am trying to learn. It's a good thing we lefties are so bloody smart. Also realized how much I love Nordeast (OK, I realize that every time I venture in that direction) and how glad I am CP has been successful. It is really neat to see normal urban citizens making a small business successful and making an impact on the indie and crafty communities. Yay Trish and Matt.

Thinking about making banana bread this weekend. Mmm.

Oh! And I have a new favorite musical: Into the Woods.

Thanks to Mary Lucia, I woke up with Bobby McFerrin's Don't Worry, Be Happy in my head yesterday. That was annoying. This morning, I woke up with They Might Be Giants, Road Movie to Berlin... I think I need to start blogging the song that wakes me up (it plays in my head) every morning. It's almost never the same song twice, and who knows? Maybe there's some sort of psychological insight in there, somewhere. Or it could just be indicative of how much music I listen to in any given day. That's probably more like it.

I want this for memorial day more than I want _____.

(from j.crew)

[Fill in the blank]
more than I want french fries
more than I want a Premium
more than I want to sit on my couch and not work out tonight

beaming with pride, and other news.

Fimoculous has a link to a great list: top 10 songs about wonderful cities. But why is Detroit on this list?
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Diana just passed on an article which infuriated me. Apparently the Little House on the Prairie book series (which I had read twice over by the 3rd grade) is getting a makeover, which includes nixing the original Garth Williams' illustrations. Uh, I do not approve. Make sure you read the 10-year-old child's comment about how pictures are more real than illustrations. Great. This is the environment my precious preschool gets to initiate herself into next year.
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Closed loop to Gin and Phonics: Precisely why my faith has been restored in humanity, too. It's just damn cool to know such a quality human being. Besides, the food was amazing. (am I a big flapping dork to say how proud I am that this is about my boyfriend?)
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I'm relatively certain I wore this dress to an 8th grade dance. Why? Why are these disastrous 1980s tragedies reappearing on people?
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Coo! The Walkmen and Kaiser Chiefs will be here on April 21.
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[via Lifehacker] I'd try this neato thing, Grocist. As soon as I can get my hands on a barcode scanner. Yah. Because that's the one thing I need cluttering up my kitchen counter.
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Why the museums in NYC are the best. [via Make:]
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Hmm. As an avid seamstress, vintage-clothing recycler, etc... this got me thinking about my penchant for the 8-dollar old navy t-shirt, and if I should consider reusing before I run out and buy disposable clothes. Fascinating; I never thought about it this way. The green part of me is ashamed.
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Gah. Reason #059483 I'm not a fan of endorsements creeping their way into the arts.
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From the Star Tribune: File this in the WTF file.
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Have I mentioned Tastespotting yet? (warning: don't look at when hungry.)

the post title, my friends, is blowing in the wind.

I had a brilliant idea of what I was going to name today's blog post at trivia last night.
Unfortunately, the flash of brilliance came after the Presidential State of the Union Address Drinking Game. So I have forgotten (as Jana accurately predicted.)

I fear there isn't much blogworthy to report. Although there seems to be stellar dinner to be had at Modern Cafe in Nordeast. The macaroni and cheese appetizer is an utter foodgasm. And bonus: Tuesdays are half-price wine bottles. Three cheers for a cheap portugese red with a huge presence. My favorite portion of my dinner was the end... Dave was so impressed (really something for him to be that impressed, what with his gourmet background and all) he sent a bottle of wine back to the kitchen as a tip. They were adorably flabbergasted. And I'll admit, it's sorta fun to walk out of a restaraunt on the arm of somebody's hero. Seriously, I recommend the place highly. Food wasn't too expensive, and you can't beat it for delish comfort-foodness. (and let's be honest: we all know I'm about the comfort food, when it comes right down to it.)

I'm having an acutely heightened sense of smell today. I don't know what's going on. It's like I can smell the shampoo everyone used this morning. Odd.

Big changes on the horizon for urbanwanderlust... meh, not really for the blog, actually. More because I have a new job (!). I'm heading back downtown for work come February (aw, aren't you bummed I won't be posting about suburban reverse-commuting and idiots who steal the compact spots?)... and I am excited. I'm excited to be able to take the bus, to have some quiet time iwth a book and my iPod in the mornings. I may even be able to bike to work when it gets warm out. I'm looking forward to Thursday lunchtime farmer's market, and lunches with my girls who work downtown, and a reason to leave my office for lunch, and most of all... foor real work again. I have spent the last few months really struggling with making what I am doing now (transitioning and finishing this final project here) a full-time job (hence, the alsmot daily postings... and sometimes just incessant rambling). While I am thankful for RSS feeds and Kingdom of Loathing for keeping me occupied while I waited to be engaged, I have to say, in a week and a half, I'll be excited to have real work to do all. day. long. I don't like to feel as if my skills are going to waste.

Looking forward to the weekend already... I 'm making my list of to-dos to transition my work, but also thinking about baseball, rollergirls, and crafty goodness.

Not time's fool.

William GraffitiSpear, originally uploaded by MonkeyHumper.

there's been a good deal of Shakespearean reference in my life as of late.
Easily explained: it's not a well-kept secret I love Shakespeare.

But this is too beautiful. Graffiti + Shakespeare = eat it, cops who busted me trying to tag the underpass in my hometown with Macbeth.

a little manifesto about roses, teddies, and Hallmark

Paige's Valentines for school this year (carefully edited for the U-6 crowd, mind you.)
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Seeing the craft blogs explode with Valentine's crap in the last week or so reminds me to post an annual rant about love and commercialism. Ha ha! You thought I was going to get all smarmy and cutesy on you.

I'm not a fan of Valentine's Day. Haven't been for quite a while. Here's why:
1) I seemed to never have a boyfriend/crush/romantic interest on Valentine's Day through most of my formative years. It was always such a crushing disappointment. Especially for a 10-year-old who still thought popular approval was a prerequisite to living a complete and balanced existence.
2) Once I *did* land a romantic interest of some sort, I was in high school. Meaning, I was living with my parents. Who own a floral shop. Let me tell you: I love flowers. There is something so peaceful about working with cut flowers and turning something with so much natural beauty to begin with into an artwork (like wedding flowers, or a beautiful vase of wildflowers from the farmer's market, or the like.) So, I dig on flowers. But after spending 5 days straight stripping the thorns of countless overpriced, immature roses which didn't open right and wilted quickly and lacked fragrance because of the way in which they were raised... my hands were raw. My feet hurt from standing. And I didn't want to talk with anyone, because I had just spent nearly a week taking orders from men who bought 2 dozen roses for the wife I knew they cheated on the rest of the year (because the rest of the year, these same guys rolled into our flower shop at 9AM Sunday morning to buy flowers for the missus after being out drinking all night, often with lipstick on their collar and cheap perfume intermingled with stale cigarettes on their jeans and jackets.) While in high school, Valentine's Day only meant dollar signs to my family. When the sun went down on February 14th, we all ordered pizza and collapsed in the TV room. Romance, thy name is floral goods.
3) So, I went away to college and promptly landed a job in retail. More Valentine's commercialism. For a month, we did nothing but pick up polyester-silk nighties from the floors at night. They came on those ridiculous padded hangers which, covered in cheap polyester silk, wouldn't hold a static charge, much less a negligee made primarily of a substance which seemed like a cross between silicone and woven evil. The store was flooded with crap... tiny bears embracing heart-shaped bottles of hot pepper oil, cheap earrings bespeckled with shitty red rhinestones, grandma-pins with snuggling white walruses. The strange part? That crap flew off the shelves, faster than the demonically-possessed chipmunk-reciting Rudolphs we had for Christmas that year. I was perplexed. No one is ever going to use that heart-shaped bottle of hot pepper oil to cook anything. It will gather dust in the kitchen until there is a nasty breakup, at which time it will be a) shoved into a box in the inevitable "here-have-all-your-shit-back-I-hate-you" scene; b) thrown at someone's person during the breakup fight; or c) tossed in the garbage. or lake. or river. or overpass, in the "this is how I get closure" scene.
4) I don't understand why, generally speaking, we as a culture insist on letting Hallmark express how we feel. Don't get me wrong; I love giving cards. I enjoy stationery and I love it as an artform. But I almost never give a store-bought, commercially-manufactured card. Because local artisans do a great job of getting their handmade cards on the market. And if I do give a card which is commercially made, it's almost always a blank card. This way, I can express what I feel, and not what some amphetamine-laced writer locked away in a design studio in Kansas thinks I might feel On This Very Special Valentine's Day, about My One True Love. Bah. (Don't get me started on why I usually make my own cards, when it's important, like for Christmas or Paige's birthday invitations or the like...)

The bottom line: showing someone how much you care about them isn't about a price tag. It isn't about roses that cost too much and aren't sustainably and lovingly harvested. It isn't about cheap retail shit which has no purpose. It's not even about expensive retail shit that does have a purpose. And it is most certainly isn't something that someone else can sum up for me. Moreover, it isn't about a single day. St. Valentine's Day commemorates all kinds of different crap... from Catholic martyrs to pagan fertility rituals. But industry has bastardized its meaning to be "The ONE Day You Must Tell Someone You Adore Them."
Meh. If you like someone, shouldn't you be showing them? Telling them with your actions? And doing it on a regular basis? Like, daily? I don't know, it's like... your review at work should never be a surprise, right? If you are doing well, or doing not-so-well, your boss (the person with whom you have the closest relationship, figuratively speaking, anyway) should be talking with you about it. You should have a working relationship that doesn't include any big surprises. Same with Valentine's Day. Why all the pressure? If you havea good relationship, shouldn't you already know where you stand?
I think it is of utmost importance the people you care about know how you feel. And I also think that when we care about others, we should express it... in our actions, in our deeds, in our words. But why spend just one day conforming to what the greeting card industry says you should do to express your love?

I guess that's my challenge, to myself and to the people I love: find a way to demonstrate your love daily. It doesn't have to be big, and it doesn't even have to be flowery words (in fact, if you read this blog you know I'm way more conversational than flowery-wordy...) The cliche actions speak louder than words is a cliche for a reason: it's true. I won't buy flowers or a cheesy card for anyone this year. But I will take it on myself to make sure the people I love know it, because they see it in how I live my life with them.

K-N-I-G-H-T-S (it's all I can remember)

I have been doing my best to resist these dumb little quizzes... but I wax nostalgic today (is it because of good wine, good conversation, and someone to watch Buffy with last night?) and after some serious reflection on high school, for whatever reason, I can't help stealing this one from Diana.

Let's travel back in time to those horror-filled years I called high school, shall we? (this is why I relate to Buffy. Living in a small-town while attending high school was a lot like living atop the hellmouth...)

Who was your best friend?

I'm going to be brutally honest about this: I never had a best friend growing up. And I didn't really have one in college, either. I was a bit of a lone wolf. I mean, I didn't lack for people to hang with - I had some really amazing friendships throughout my time there, but because I came in the 8th grade, everyone already had their best friend picked out. It was like getting picked last for kickball. Boo.

What kind of car did you drive?

That depends; what year do you want to know about? When I was 15, my auto-mechanic father bought me a 1966 Plymouth Fury. I crashed that promptly the spring I was 16 (narrowly escaping death, after trying to race a friend's boyfriend to show him girls can drive too).

Then my dad and I bought a 1962 Ford Falcon. I helped him overhaul the inline 6 engine. It was a good trusty little Maude (that was her name) ieven if she decelerated when I put the pedal to the floor up hills and even if her windshield wipers were aacuum operated, so I often had to hydroplane just so I could see the road. Safety first, baby.

When I decided to go to the cities for college, I was allowed to buy a 1989 Ford Escort named Claire. She was read and trusty and got great gas mileage and got me everywhere. I loved that car. I still saw her driving around town every once in a while a few years back... but I bet she's gone to her rest by now. Damn, I loved that car.

It’s Friday night; where were you?

If it was my weekend shift, I was at the nursing home doing rounds and sneaking cigarettes behind the kitchen with the other nursing assistants (who had kids older than I was, but taught me how to blow smoke rings anyway.)

If I wasn't working, I was probably out on a date. Or at a movie with friends. Which meant I was a half-hour from home in Alexandria, the closest thing I got to civilization during high school. Chain-smoking and drinking too much coffee at Perkins. Driving home at speeds I would be real irritated to know about now that I am a parent. Kissing boys. Or plotting to kiss boys. More often, plotting, and it never working out the way I envisioned.

And someimtes, when I got in a real funk (or was grounded), I would just sit in my room, don these killer headphones, listen to loud angry music and write angsty poetry.

Were you a party animal?

Not particularly. I mean, I took risks, I got in trouble, and I had the hardest time keeping curfew... mostly because a) I am distorangized, forgetful, and had a hard time saying no to my friends and b) my dad kept me on a pretty short leash (let's recall the movie, 10 Things I Hate About You.)

Comparatively, I was a good kid. I didn't drink (really) at all through high school. I was too scared that I would get buseted and not be able to be in band/choir/theater/tennis/etc.

Were you considered a flirt?

I would not have said so at the time; I had lots of male friends, but I didn't think I was flirty. However, being somewhat removed from that social system now, I have learned that most boys were wholly intimidated by my awesomeness. I thought I was just homely; turned out boys thought I was a hottie and they were all just too afraid to ask out a girl who was cute AND had a brain.

Ever skip school?

I think so, though memory's failing me on a specific reason why. Probably the unwritten rule of "senior skip day". I generally got out of school a lot just because I was involved in doing so much... so I didn't really feel compelled to skip when I rarely went to a full day of school anyway.

Were you a nerd?

Hell yes. I graduated top of my class. I love(d) school. And I wasn't ashamed.

Did you get suspended/expelled?

See above. I was a good student. I got into the high school hall of fame or something. Nah, I stayed completely out of trouble. I don't think I eer even went to detention.

Can you sing the fight song?

Oddly enough, I remember having two fight songs (my school merged with another school when I was a freshman...). I remember the words to the first one, but not to the 2nd. In my defense, I played the 2nd in pep band and never really sang it.

Anyway, when we were the West Central Wildcats, it was:
Oh, we are the Wildcats
And we're here to do our very best for
West Central High School
In all that we do
So come on team let's show some spirit
Jump, shout come on let's hear it
We want to bring the Wildcats home to victory.

Who was your favorite teacher?

I had a great group of high school teachers. I would call it a 3-way tie between Mr. Cochran, who taught social-studies type stuff (some of my favorite classes were Minorities, Curent Events, Post-War History and International Geopolitics...) He also coached Mock Trial, which was wicked fun. He's tied with our french teacher... why can I not remember her name? I think she died of cancer, unfortunately... if anyone out there remembers her name, loop me in. That makes me feel awful. And Mr. Zdrazil was my hero, let's be honest. He directed our plays and listened to Dylan and let us come over to his h ouse and ice-skate. And he taught me Shakespeare and showed me how to be a good writer.

matchbooks, high-jinx, and scotchy blindspots. (or, a birthday tale for the ages.)

The Queen of Hyperbole dubs January 19, 2007 the best. birthday. ever.
I'm done now, I promise.

The birthday saga concluded splendidly Friday evening. Took off a little early from work... met my mom to make the Paige exchange, which was lovely, with the exception of getting lost in the suburbs. Well, at least it's proof I don't frequent them. Headed home and spent some quality time with iTunes makeing a birthday going-out mix and making copies of Bettie Serveert for a couple of friends.

Commence primping... black dress, black tights, tall black boots. I feel adorable in that babydoll dress.
Forget the camera.
Damn.

Head over to Jax Cafe for dinner, It's everything I want it to be, kitchy and supper-club-ish and swank in a way only Nordeast can pull off. They have even graced the tables with little matchbooks imprinted with "Happy Birthday Sarah" in gold. Awesome. Everyone gets there, on-time-ish. We eat pierogies (mmm) and artichoke dip (double-mmm). I get a fantastic steak (heavenly, and we all know how I feel about a good quality side of beef. Wait, I didn't mean for that to sound like a double-entedre... hee hee.)
I was treated to some amazing, heart-felt, we actually like and know Sarah, gifts. So awesome. Best of all, there was a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting from Woullet's at the end of the night. Scrumptious!
After dinner, we headed down toward the Otter for karoke.. a little more traumatuic, as people unfamiliar with the neighborhood god turned around (it's Northeast. I contend it's part of its charm, but I'm biased, having grown up there.) But we all arrived, and eventually procured a table from some lovely people who were leaving after they saw a party of 12 walk in. And I sang Criminal, and Jana sang, and Joel channelled Iggy Pop, and there was whiskey and scotch in abundance. Andrea came! And Laura showed up after the whiskey and I were doing our little thing. (whiskey and I have this very passionate, flirtaceous relationship in which whiskey talks his way into my sour and starts playing Al Green in my soul's living room and suddenly I am a sensual, intimate little imp, who sashays rather than walks, and holds nothing back as far as pride in the cleavage goes, and has a burning and genuine passion for everyone and simply cannot see faults.) I was twentysomething and in love with the people around me and otherwise completely blissed out. It's an amazing feeling to be celebrated by people who genuinely care about you.

Hurray, birthdays. And thank you to my friends for making it a night that still puts a smile on my face.

A bad case of noisemaker blues

Birthday recap, PM version, will be up later today, for those of you interested.

In the meantime: I'm munching some raspberry yogurt, checking my feeds, and pondering my future. All in all, it's a good time to be had on a Monday.
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Daily Irrelevant has a fabulous photo of the back of this truck.
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The much-adored and oft-balleyhooed Mr. Eisenbeis posts a lovely video of Arcade Fire doing a Canadian High School Lunchroom Concert (nice how I made that a formal title, eh?)
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Postsecret made me sad this week.
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Fimoculous points out thingsmyboyfriendsays. Giggle.
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adulation

I'll take praise where I can get it. But you all should be reading the Current Blog anyway. It's good stuff (let's be real; when does the Current not put out good stuff?)

(in other words, I am completely flattered, delighted, humbled even. This from the Queen of Hyperbole... )

Nothing's bringing me down today

I entered another year of twentysomething today, and for the first time in years, I am tickled. Life is good. I am Sarah, and I'm just where I want to be.

Highlights of my birthday:

• I slept in. The alarm rang at 6; the radio was playing Sunday, Bloody Sunday. Thank you, Universe, for starting my day with an old-school favorite of the band that made me fall in love with rock and roll. I just lay there in semi-consciousness, enjoying that toasty-sheet feeling, lazily drifting in and out of dreaminess, burying my face in the cool side of a down pillow, watching the sunrise seep in through the slits in my shades. I rolled out around 7ish, or so. Lingering in bed in the morning is so rarely something I get to do. It's heavenly.
• I allowed myself to take a scalding-hot, extended-time shower. Complete with shaving, a facial, grapefruit sea salt scrub, deep hair conditioning. Again... the extended-time shower is a rare occurence in a house cohabited by a preschooler with a 5-minute attention span and the Queen of Overbooking herself, then Procrastinating.
• All my favorite clothes were clean... I love love LOVE when that happens, because I get to live in all of my favorite things, all day long.
• I look the time to do my hair. Put on my makeup. In fact, I took my sweet time. Heck yah.
• Put Lily Allen on in the car. Proceeded to sing along with her. I love her accent, and her sass.
• Bought myself a birthday latte. I have either been eschewing coffee or at least buying the real cheap stuff at work (or bringing it from home), but today I treated myself. And, by the way, was delighted to learn that Caribou is now making yummy light lattes. I had a sugar-free, skim turtle latte. Hurray, and mmmm. Let's not forget strawberry yogurt for breakfast. My signature morning meal.
  
• I got to my computer to myriad happy birthday wishes from friends and family.
• I played my top 25 songs on my iPod. All of which are essentially favorites. And cube-danced. Heck yah.
• I got honorable mention on the Current Blog. Squee.
• My favorite foods, packed from home. Cottage cheese, fresh pineapple. A big ol' salad with all the best veggies (who can resist the allure of the cucumber, anyway?) all topped with blue cheese. Tuna and Ry-Krisp.
• Late lunch outing - net gain: (1) Pair of kickass suede black boots. (1) Pair of hipster white sunglasses (as it's bright out today, and I keep losing my non-prescription sunglasses.) (1) Brand-new manicure. (1) Really raucous set of bad car-singing with the Pipettes.
• Leaving work early.

More on tonight's adventures, later... thanks to all for the happy birthday wishes; it's been a spectacular day!

Do a little dance, make a little love...

Get down tonight.
It's Friday, it's sunny (and not arctic-cold), and Lily Allen is here to start a peppy little tongue-in-cheek singalong.

I worship her.

bottoms up, birthday girl.

It's January 19th.
Do you know where your Irish Whiskey is?

(answer: soon, in my tummy. Birthday drinks are just a few hours away!)

Everything comes Down to Zach Braff

Normally, I look forward to laundry and swiffering Thursday nights (it tends to be my housecleaning evening.)
But tonight I'll be sewing and watching the musical episode of Scrubs. Heck yah!

craft 2.0

Seems there's a bunch of buzz these days about the resurgence of craft. Crafty Planet, my local indie craft store, is doing well, and has sponsored a perfectly gigantic and marvelous indie-craft show 2 years running. I just read a great article in Craft: Magazine (in its second issue) about indie-crafting, and it's roots to punk (comparing it to the spirit embraced in the music of the Ramones. Even the boy thought it was cool.)

And this morning, I ran across an article in Wired about Craft 2.0, and how the worlds of geek and craft nicely intermingle. Have to say, I couldn't agree more.

so disturbing, I couldn't not create a post of it.

oh dear god.

It's like the Gatorade of feminine care. (And frankly, the first time I saw this ad on TV, only half paying attention, I assumed it was for a sports drink. Wait, I thought, is that plastic contraption some kind of sport straw? Ohhhhhhhhh …)

And wait a second... is anyone else disturbed by the thought of the Museum of Menstration? What the hell is that all about? Who takes a trip to the tampon museum? Christ almighty.

let hands do what lips do *

let hands do what lips do *, originally uploaded by nardell.

urban. simple. hell yah.

Wednesday, feeling like Tuesday, feeling like Freezing.

According to 3 Quarks Daily, procrastination has been boiled down to a mathematical formula. Sa-weet. I knew all those times I was putting stuff off, I was only being scientific.
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Huh. Doctors are planning to perform the world's first uterus transplant. Wow. I'm not even sure what else I can say about that.
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I had another artistic stroke of semi-genius (or at least an itty-bitty spark of inspiration) yesterday afternoon. It's photography-related... stay tuned.
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Decimating Woodsy the Owl. That's my government (and my tax dollars), hard at work. Sheesh.
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Now, I love my City Pages. But I have to say, I am disappointed today. This article is biased, and paints such a one-sided world about poverty and welfare. I worked in this system for two years, and I know how hard it is to balance the bureaucracy with getting people what they need with being fair to those who are really trying and bringing people who are milking the system to justice. It totally burned me out, and permanently altered my political leanings. I think I feel a letter to the editor coming on.
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More creative inspiration: a yardstick shelf. So. Cool.
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Neat! City Stickers (via Fimoculous.) They are pretty damn gorgeous, if I do say so myself.
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Also feeling mildly excited about the rumor that Joss Whedon is slated to direct an episode of The Office... my favorite "Ohmigod you did so just not do that/so painfully absurd I want to crawl right out of my flesh" show.
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Go Fug Yourself has way too much humor to report in just one link (Thank YOU, Golden Globes.)
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Better late than never... last week's Onion horoscope:
Capricorn (December 22 - January 19): Attempts at self-medicating with alcohol will once again fail to treat your rampant alcoholism.
(by the by, my birthday is January 19th, in case anyone doesn't already know that... squee!)
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squeaky, greasy

I'm riding some sort of good karma wave currently... I don't want to dive into a great deal of depth, but interestingly enough, things which used to annoy me seem to be getting righted, one by one.

Examples:

• Annoying upstairs neighbor, plays his music too loud at 11pm on weeknights. Talked with my landlord, who's really an all-around good guy, as landlords go... and Loudy McSpeakers is going to be put on warning. Apparently he's an all-around champion A*hole. Thank heavens; I thought it might just have been me.
• Interview clothing: 2 interview outfits (one for Diana, one for me), 1.5 hours... less than $100 for both of us. Shopping shock and awe. Especially since I'm not a big shopper.
  
• Phenomenal long weekend. I'm off to an interview in about 5 minutes, so more on that later. Suffice it to say, phenomenal.
• Much-needed girl time at the Aveda Institute netted a free hand massage in addition to the super-cheap (and great) brow wax. And great girl time.
  
• I am in a design/creativity zone of sorts... plans for a dress to wear to my cousin Misty's wedding include brown italian cotton velvet, modding a 50s dress pattern to go from belted dress to a sash, and taking the lapels off the bolero jacket, turning it instead into a mandarin-inspired bolero. Found perfectly matching fabrics for both. Then, stopped at Bead Monkey and picked up the stuff to make an AMAZING necklace to match. I think I may toy more with Dave's idea of getting into a design collective, or consigning the stuff I sew (that I won't wear)...
• I finished a mitten last night. And watched some Buffy. And made myself a little vodka-cranberry. Heck yah, what better way of spending a Monday night than some quiet time?
  

all is calm, all is bright

The blogs I read are unusually quiet for a Friday.
Work is abnormally still.

There must be something about midwinter that does this to people.
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I have two friends who are taking adventures! One to Colorado, and one to Alaska. Having done both types of pilgrimages last year (a last-minute trip to Chicago and a trip-of-a-lifetime to Ireland), I am excited on their behalves. Traveling always leaves its mark on you. It's mind-altering to get out there and see the world. And it's serene and warm and comforting to come home. The journey there -- and the journey back -- are such lovely moments, for such different reasons. Getting there is all about anticipation, that good, frenetic anxiety, the pandoric feeling of not knowing what's to come but being intensely curious, so much so that it can scarcely be contained. And coming home is a siren's call, about returning to stasis and balance, about being quiet and reflecting on how you are in the world and how the world is in you.
It's official: now I want to plan a vacation.
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The Hold Steady played on Letterman last night. I willed myself to stay up. They played Stuck Between Stations. It was classic Finn. He was all up there on the Letterman stage, adorably timid in his thick black-framed glasses, encouraging the audience to clas (but not double-time clap... I would like to think he saves that just for we special kids at the Minneapolis shows.) And he's all sweaty and timid and compelling all at the same time... and I just love his stage presence. Kubler's wearing a top hat (!) and there's a close of of Franz on the keyboard, at about which time I promptly swoon in my flannel pants and slippers. He's just. so. good. at what he does.
And it was pretty damn obvious that Letterman didn't have a fricking clue what band was playing... but at the end of the song, Finn sings:

Well these Twin Cities kisses
They all sounds like clicks and hisses
and we come down and drown
in the Mississippi River

And I think, Oh My God.
He's in New York, which (next to Minneapolis) is my favorite place on the planet. And Craig Finn is doing his little ADDin a studio in New York, with all of its history and art and music and diversity and beautiful buildings and fantastic restaraunts and, let's be honest. It's the urban nerve center of the world. And he's singing about me, and my friends, and my city.

And it was probably just exhaustion and everything else in life right now, but it brought tears to my eyes. David Letterman might not know what he had on his stage last night (and perhaps everyone else actually gave two shits about Madonna's adoption blah-de-blah), but I knew. It was magic.
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Taking Monday off... It's Martin Luther King Day, which doens't mean much (unfortunately) in the business world, at least not as far as time off goes. But I am taking a little mini-retreat of my own (not a vacation, just a retreat) and I'm stoked. I don't know why; it isn't like the whole week between Christmas and New Year was excruciatingly busy. But this is different... with the holidays over, its truly relaxation time. I ponder the miracles a whirlpool tub will work. End scene.
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I had one of those productive nights last night -- the kind where you get all the nagging to-dos off the list -- and felt great about it. I love sitting in my home when it is clean and organized and everything is right. I have all my artwork up now; I have the furniture in it's rightful places; my kitchen is as organized as its going to get; and I didn't even have to fight for the washer and dryer last night. Ah, domesticity.
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A short list of things making me happy right now (I just got some disconcerting news, so I'm trying to take a little advice from Monty Python and always look on the bright side of life... whistle with me now):

• January sunrises that embrace the skyline as it towers behind the lake
• Andy Warhol
• Waking up to a Gomez song
• Exceedingly good hair day
• Thinking about spring training
• Actually needing to wear a scarf a week before my birthday
• the vintage dress pattern I'm going to make to wear to my cousin's wedding
• Walking around Calhoun, getting windburnt
• March, or July, or whatever grace I get

my friend, martini

God Bless You, Gin, Vermouth, and Olive.

Ruby, and the anticipation of other gems

My one and only prediction for 2007: It's going to be a good year for music.

Kaiser Chiefs have a new song, for one. (thank you once again, underrated blog. I am your biggest fan.)
And I've been promised music from Lupe Fiasco and the Shins new one...

And it's only January 11th.
squee.

internet crush

I am quickly developing an internet crush on Current blogger Hans Eisenbeis. He's just so darn witty. And a music braniac. Sigh.
(yes, "gigantic dork" comments are always welcome.)

OK, so thank you, CP Culture to Go, for pointing out Pinch TC, a new(ish) blog co-authored by Eisenbeis and Molly Priesmeyer, of City Pages repute. The link above is apparently a beta site... but I think this could be a delightful resource for witty smarm and other goodness about my fair city. Keep an eye on these two... Corey Anderson calls 'em the new Steve and Sharon. Giggle.

Sigh. Now I have 2 internet crushes.

Fugly Police... for immediate release

BULLETIN -- (for immediate release)
--------------------------------------
We have noticed a dramatic increase in fugly infractions here at the urbanwanderlust homebase, and I feel compelled to send out a bulletin.

I'm all over bending the rules (note: black nail polish makes a pretty regular appearance at the
GreenHouse), all over loosely interpeting dress codes, etc. That being said, there are some faux-pas that circumvent the natural spirit of dress-code antiestablishmentism. (See, I go to grad school, and so I can just make up words here.)

Infraction #1: Tall boots, short pants.
I know, I know... this is a "look" for the fall/winter "season".
Shut up. Short pants and tall boots look ridiculous together, no matter who you are or what shape you were made. Tall, short, fat, thin, old, young, anywhere inbetween... it's silly. There is a season for short pants. Here in the midwest, we call that "summer". There is also a seson for tall boots. Here in the midwest, we call that "winter". Now, I'm no meteorologist, but in my limited experience, I have found "summer" and "winter" to be mutually exclusive seasons. We don't have them at the same time. For a reason. Because we don't want to look like we got dressed in the dark (even if, let's be honest now... most of the time we do, November through February).

Infraction #2: Leggings.
There is one part of the population who can pull off leggings: pre-pubescent girls. Once you have grown hips, had a baby, made it through a kegger at college, forget it. Not only that, but please do not wear an oversized sweater -- with a chunky belt-- with those leggings. Honestly, wasn't once with the Breakfast Club look enough for us all?

Infraction #3: The micro-mini. With legwarmer goodness.
I'm actually OK with the micro-mini. At a bar. On Saturday night. In June.
Not:
* At work
* On a morbidly obese woman
* Who refuses to wear support hose
* and instead chooses horizontally rainbow-striped legwarmers

I remember praying yesterday when I spotted this outfit in the cafeteria: please God, I do enjoy my vision. If you have any mercy left in you, do not let her drop something she will have to bend over to pick up while I am behind her in line for water...

Infraction #4: Midriff-baring tops (in the office).
Again... if you have the midriff, and want to show it off, far be it from me to stop you. (I once had a midriff worth baring. I belly danced. That's what those May Goals are all about...)
Allow me to reiterate: I don't have a problem with "bending" the dress code at work. I get away with far more t-shirtiness than I really should. However:
a) Your midriff, whether or not you have it in a washboard state, is not going to contribute to anyone's workplace productivity.
b) Brr. It's freeking cold in this office. I have an extra sweater I keep here. Sometimes I even wear those wimpy little gloves while typing. How does your poor stomach (and lower back) feel all day long, all bare and stuff, in JANUARY?
c) You work in a cube farm. With oodles and oodles of SUV-driving soccer moms and weekend warriors. Who are trying to impress? Save the look for Uptown, sweetheart. It isn't doing anything for you out here in Exoburban Developmentland.

(stereo)typical

Crap.
I think I'm a stereotype.
(from buzzfeed)
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graffiti goodness from City Pages.
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more public service announcements: Idiocracy is coming to DVD. I was able to see it at the Uptown, but if you didn't, netflix it. Hilarity ensues.
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I know I'm a big kitchen dork, so I'm going to qualify this, but I think I might like BakeSpace. At minimum, I'll probably get stalked by fewer creepy guys.
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I need to quit my job so I can dedicate myself to full-time craftiness. Or, maybe just finish my Master's.
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Dear Idiots:
In case you haven't noticed, it's been unseasonably warm outside for a Minnesota winter. Ice on a lake may not equal safe for your oversized pickup (or your oversized redneck self.) If you are stupid enough to drive on thin ice during a very mild winter, please do the gene pool a favor and stay in the frozen lake.

Thank you,
The Society for People Who Would Rather Not Perpetuate the Idiot Gene
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In other baking dork news, the NYT has a decent article about the pros and cons of using silicon bakeware. As a purist, I'm sorta against it. Give me vintage cake pans any day. Anyone else have an opinion?
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My favorite childhood (and hipster-who-no-longer-wants-the-Uptown-drama) neighborhood has a cool new website. Check it out.

reasons why the ladies' restroom at work is my least favorite type of room

1) honestly. there are plenty of semi-private places to have a mobile phone conversation. the handicapped stall in the ladies' room is never the answer. especially so because I would hate to interrupt your conversation about Tarniqua and her baby-daddy with my flushing.

2) the woman who's always in there at 9:15. She's audibly distressed by her morning goings-on. for the sake of us all, see your doctor. that's not normal.

3) simple rule. if you make a mess, clean it up. No one wants to walk on toilet paper, used hand towels, and I'm not even going to mention what else I find when I walk in there.

4) flushing. it's not a new concept. my guess is you do it at home. why is it problematic in the workplace?

5) speaking of flushing, automated toilets. I personally do not want the toilet to flush on it's own accord. I like to be in charge of that. call me crazy. or at least call me not-a-fan of getting a wet behind when the toilet spontaneously flushes. I am an American. I'm not used to that.

6) automated sinks that don't turn on. automated towels that don't come out. It's just a bathroom. Why all the fancy-smarmyness?

7) stop. putting. your. makeup. on. in. the. restroom. Listen here: it's OK to touch up your lipstick. Or dab on some powder, or whatever. I'm on the girl train with the rest of you. But please don't: pluck your eyebrows, pop pimples, curl eyelashes, apply beauty cream, take out your hot rollers, in the ladies' room at work. It's weird. The rest of us show up (at least mostly) dressed and (generally) properly groomed for the workday. Why do you get special priviledges?

8) Most of us aren't interested in breathing your perfume and/or hairspray fumes when we need to pee. Stop spraying that stuff in public. If I wanted to smell like Jean Nate and Aquanet, I'd have doused myself with it before I left the house (see #7).

9) The doorway of the ladies' room is not the place to discuss Jennifer's promotion, Andrew's performance review, the latest STR report, or which administrative assistant is giving hummers under who's desks. This stuff should be discussed in HR, or at least behind a closed door you don't *think* someone else is going to walk into. Chances of a random stranger overhearing you in the restroom = real damn good.

10) Public restroom toilet paper. 'Nuff said.

Paige Pwned: A bedtime tale

Once upon a time lived a sassy, vibrant, smart-as-a-whip preschooler named Paige.
Paige and her mom made semi-regular pilgrimages to the highly overrated city of St. Cloud in order to visit her loving grandparents.
Paige's mama, chronically late and disorganized, was racing to St. Cloud in order to meet the grandparents on time.
She forgot about dinner.
So Paige said,
"Mama... I'm hungry. I want chicken nuggets."
At which time, chronically late and disorganized mama sighed heavily. Then pulled off the interstate to find the nearest Golden Arches.

[Scratchy noises emanating from the speaker.]
"Can I help you?"

Paige's Mama: Uh, yah, could we please have a 4-piece McNugget happy meal with apple dippers and a milk?

Paige: No, Mama... chocolate milk.

Paige's Mama: sorry, there. Make that a chocolate milk, please.

[Pause; additional scratchy noises from the speaker.]
"$3.46, pull ahead."

Paige's mama pulls the car to the first window. A tall, gangly, pimpled boy whose voice has obviously not finished changing, peers dourly out the drive-thru window.
"$3.46."

Paige looks inquisitively at the McDonald's employee.
"Hey." she says.
"You should really use your manners. Mama, he's not very nice. He didn't use his manners."

Paige's mama grins wickedly.


Thank you, St. Cloud McDonald's boy. My 3-year-old PWNS you.

having a tech-gasm.

Oh.

Oh, yes, Apple. Give it to me, baby.

(somebody knows what a $499 portion of her tax return will be going toward...)

The Year of the Kitchen-Aid Stand Mixer

I commented to Diana this morning: So, this is what it's like to be a happy, self-actualizing adult. Sweet.

Love this post from metroblogging minneapolis. And agree about Sven. I'd even share custody if he'd just come to my desk, tell me about the weather, and then just sit here looking adorable.

This just in: It's January 8th and I'm going to jog the trail behind my office building over lunch today. (Because honestly, I need to get started on these fitness goals for the year, but I am afraid to go back to the gym this month... at least until people have calmed down about their new year's resolutions and all...)

Yesterday I adapted my brilliant (late) Grandma Marian's blueberry buckle recipe. It worked well. I celebrated by serenading myself with a rousing rendition of, Damn, It Feels Good to be a Baker (sang to the tune of Damn, It Feels Good to be a Gangsta, of Office Space fame.) I'm not sure how my incredibly proper grandmother feels about looking down at her granddaughter from heaven to see her ghetto-rapping about a blueberry dessert. Though I'd like to think she's proud.

Speaking of goals, I found this niftiness thanks to one of the blogs I read... tracking my steps to getting to my goal (opening the cabin on Memorial Day in a bikini), at least fitness-wise.

I had the delightful, and oft-forgotten, pleasure, of a steaming-hot, hour and a half long bath last night, all while reading a bit more of Infinite Jest. There might be more enjoyable things than stewing in a bubbly bath for the better part of a late winter evening, reading some stellar fiction... but I cannot think of any right now.

Mason Jennings, how I love this:

Look at me now
I'm all dressed up in your words today
Do you think about me
What do you think about me
And if it comes down
It's still about the sweet little things you say
After all that i've run from,
Where the fuck did you come from
Butterfly, baby i still have my doubts about you 'cause
Butterfly, 'cause i can't find nothing bad about you and
Butterfly, you mess me up you made my heart double beat and
Butterfly, i don't know how it is you got inside of me
But you're in there now
Oh you're in there now, you're in there now
You made me yours
With your lovely cures
And life is life
I don't why it is i do things like this
After all that i've come from
You're the woman i should run from
Butterfly, baby i still have my doubts about you 'cause
Butterfly, 'cause i can't find nothing bad about you and
Butterfly, you mess me up you made my heart double beat and
Butterfly, i don't know how it is you got inside of me

(I'm in a mighty good mood, it being Monday and all.)

Through the mirror of my mind

I have spent the better portion of the past days documenting my young life's history. An interesting exercise, as I was instructed to document facts -- not feelings, not conclusions. In juxtaposition to everything I have done for grad school, to my natural tendency to analyze and conclude, I simply documented what was.

Most interesting to me was the sense of peace and closure stemming from simply documenting what was.

Documenting the facts comprising my existence took out any emotional charge, and pointed me to looking at my life holistically. What a wonderful healing experience. I realized while writing: none of these facts make me sad. None of it makes me angry. It just is. Bad or good, I am Sarah because of the circumstances in my life. And I embrace that, and march forward optimistically. Because eventually, any of the big events in life boil down to fact, and those facts chisel away at we blocks of humanity until we are sculpted into ourselves.

long story, shortened baselines

So I started on my reading list for the year, beginning with Infinite Jest. The way I figure it, I'm writing my thesis this month, so when I need a break, I may as well keep my head way up there in intellectual-enrichment-space.

I am beginning to obsess about the writing of David Foster Wallace (mostly because it is beautiful, and as I writer, I simultaneously appreciate and envy his work.) I have been distracted for a better portion of this gray, unseasonably warm January afternoon by a lovely little article Wallace wrote about Wimbeldon this past year.

Three comments:
a) This man is a brilliant writer.
b) I love tennis, love writing, love psychology... Infinite Jest and I will get along mighty fine.
c) I am relatively enamored with the idea of endnotes in writing -- journalism or fiction. This could potentially stem from my myriad years in grad school, in which I have become so accustomed to reading academic journal which insist on endnotes, it is almost second nature. Or it could just be I'm a huge dork. I'd buy either theory.

The article is worth reading, if only for the quote:

For reasons that are not well understood, war’s codes are safer for most of us than love’s.

seeds to seedlings

It's a magical time of year.

While the ground is (finally) crusted with snow and the wind has at least a little bite to it (honestly, this global warming bit is wreaking havoc with an otherwise dramatic description of winter)... seed catalogs are starting to arrive in the mail.

I always get excited this time of year. This is when I start thinking about seeds, because it's a major part of what waits for me on the other side of winter. I love snuggling under a blanket with tea on a cold winter night, plotting out what I most want to plant, figuring out when I need to start my seeds, calculating when I think the last frost will be.

This year marks a new chapter in gardening for me... I'll be planting in a community garden plot instead of in my own backyard, which is cool and urban and, while I'll miss the 7th season of raspberries in the backyard and wonder how the grapevine is doing... it's still a garden. And I am excited to talk with other urban gardeners. I cannot wait to turn over some new dirt in this new life. It seems rather appropriate, actually. I'm excited to have a place where I actually can grow cucumbers. And to not have to fence in the garden to keep the dog from eating my tomatoes. And I can always pick and freeze oodles of berries at the organic berry farms I frequent in the summer. (ooh, that's something to look forward to as well.)

Just about 4 months til the plants go in the ground. Let the countdown begin.

a quest for (improved) literacy

response to my request for book recommendations has been overwhelming; it has been delightful to talk with my friends about the books they love, and why they love them.

So in no particular order, the first 26 books you will be hearing about this year:

What We Believe But Cannot Prove	John Brockman
Great Expectations	Charles Dickens
The Things They Carries	Tim O'Brien
Lolita	Nabokov
Dracula	Bram Stoker
Infinite Jest	David Foster Wallace
Assasination Vacation	Sarah Vowell
Sirens of Titan	Kurt Vonnegut
Dreams From My Father	Barack Obama
Stranger in a Strange Land	Robert Heinlein
Lamb	Christopher Moore
Robinson Crusoe	Daniel Defoe
The Autograph Man	Zadie Smith
American Gods	Neil Gaiman
Incredible Lightness of Being	Milan Kundera
The Stranger	Albert Camus
Blue Like Jazz	Donald Miller
House of Leaves	Mark Danielewski
Animal Farm	Geroge Orwell
The Dreyfus Affair	Peter Lefcourt
Mere Christianity	C.S. Lewis
Jitterbug Perfume	Tom Robbins
Freakonomics	Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner
Man's Search for Meaning	Victor Frankl
For Whom the Bell Tolls	Ernest Hemingway
A Short History of Nearly Everything	Bill Bryson