the sims I used to play The Sims. Now I just live it.

buy this book, dammit Because I'm in it!

It's full of really uncomfortable personal details!

In other news, I'm thinking about legally changing my name to "and others."

kari's may-may hot or cold? warm
coke or pepsi? neither
han solo or indiana jones? han solo
mr. rogers or the speedy delivery guy? mr. rogers
casablanca or gone with the wind? both overrated
the scarlet letter or moby dick? scarlet letter
i love the 80s or trading spaces? I don't have cable.
white gold or gold gold? white, like my wedding ring
grits or cream of wheat? cream of wheat
major highway or tiny little back streets? back streets, boy
glasses or contacts? both at different times
chew nails or cut nails? cut
pearl jam or nirvana? nirvana
sidney or scully? scully
spiderman or superman? Spiderman. Geek. All kinds of hot.
twix or snickers? neither (peanuts)
huggies or pampers? seventh generation no-latex
asshole or asshat? assclown
blue or red? blue
CSI LV or CSI miami? Vegas, baby
Celine Dion or ramming a spike through your head? spike me, please
sharp cheese or mild cheese? sharp
good olive oil or save $5? save $5
oprah or ellen? ellen, ellen, ellen

...katie? After two and a half years, my fondest wish as a parent has been realized. We can sing Highway 40 together. We do the piggies, we "sing like girls" (I just sing it the regular way, since I am a girl), we do the Tom Brokaw part, we do the "big finish."

We make up our own variations, too. "Like Aunt Kristin!" is a big hit. Also: Grandad, our dermatologist, someone eating an apple, my editor at the Chronicle.

We went school shopping today. When I die please inter my remains at Target.

Best Story Book Ever We unearthed J's 1968 edition of Richard Scarry's Best Story Book Ever, and dude, is it ever a trip. I expected the gender roles to be a bit off, and let's just say that the subsequent editions have revised a bit to this end. What gets me is how the book aims to introduce children to the wide wide world, with stories set in Rome and London and whatnot, but it sure is peculiar.

To wit, there is "Couscous, the Algerian Detective," who wears a fez. There are Scottie dogs named Haggis and MacIntosh. My favorite has to be "Schtoompah, the Funny Austrian." Schtoompah is a bear who never puts things away properly. So when he goes to play his tuba ("Uh-ein, uh-zwei, uh-drei!" counts the conductor), all sorts of stuff comes flying out, including a pickaxe, cleats, and lederhosen.

As you can imagine, I secretly get a big kick out of reading "Schtoompah, the Funny Austrian." Except I guess it's not a secret anymore.

no convention I'm not watching any of the convention coverage. Y'all don't need to convince me of anything. Plus I heard there was some annoying kid.

As for convincing others, I think I'm going to host a letter-writing party for Mainstreet Moms Oppose Bush.

We have the Most Annoying Cold ever. It's not severe, merely annoying. Thanks to a morning at Radijazz, which is a crucible of germs. I also...ahem...got a case of the back-door trots. Still, I can't stay mad at you, Radijazz. I'm so sorry we disagreed. Can't we put this behind us and move on? $5 per kid gets you unlimited playtime (and unlimited free coffee) on the weirdest, most Super Mario-esque play structures in town. Indoors. There is piped-in music, most of it tolerable (there was New Order for me on Saturday!) and movie-theater seats along the walls (an artifact from the building's days as the Lincoln Village theater).

There might be dads doing that weird aggro weekend dad stuff like throwing foam blocks at their kids' heads (Uh...hello? I know it's harmless but throwing shit at people's heads? Not a good behavior to model, mmmkay?) and groaning athletically as they scale toddler-sized play boats. But I can deal with that in exchange for getting out of the house to play without roasting in the summer heat. You can bring your own food. All they need is a employee pushing Xanax. Perfection. Or at least pie. I guess I could bring my own pie and Xanax.

animal house The raddest dog ever?

I am sick with Dog Envy. Sick with it.

infrequency If I don't post as often it's probably because I have to clear out all the blog spam advising you, my readers, to buy Ultram and Fiorcet. Nota bene: Please buy neither. Especially if you are in recovery, as certain among you are. I used to have an Ultram thing back in my Valley of the Dolls days. I don't ever ever ever ever ever want to go there again. I had to get off of that ride. Moreover I had to get hold of my pride.

I would have turned around twice and found myself in Hollywood with a gay trophy husband and a fading film career, and then some chick would be ripping my wig off in the bathroom, and I just don't want that. Quasi-trashy suburban breeder? That I can pull off. Please just don't take my Paxil.

My kid used the potty today. I am among the stars.

we're home We are home from Minneapolis.

Only one plant died during our absence.

As we used to say as student journalists, "A good time was had by all." But actually I can't confirm that, because I didn't ask everyone, and those I asked could have been lying. So I guess a good time was had by me.

I think there were moments of interpersonal drama--I tend to find these things out after the fact--but I'm not really into rehashing that. I can tell you that I read twice, and I still kind of feel like a big dork when it happens. I think that's okay. I kind of feel like a big dork no matter what I'm doing. I can tell you that I had a few conversations that were momentous. I can tell you that I met The Other J's lovely inamorata--to further confuse matters, she is also named J.

If it weren't for the fact of the snow and for the fact of my own wussiness, I could live in Minneapolis quite easily. I get confused by solid precipitation and once walked right off the sidewalk into the middle of an unplowed Bay State Road when I was living in Boston. I also got really tired of falling on my ass. I know that sounds stupid, but life is complicated enough without always falling on your ass. Or into snowbanks.

I have decided that Loring Park is the greatest place in the universe. My child agrees with me. I like Zilker, but we don't have those sit-upon digger things.

We ran out of diapers and went to the two-story Target in Nicollet Mall. I am still telling bedtime and naptime stories about that excursion. Specifically about the person vacuuming around the entrance. I'd say it was almost a foyer. Can a Target have a foyer? Perhaps this one.

On two occasions during our travels we became overwhelmed by hunger (particularly the small one of us) but we stymied by timing and location and ventured into certain national restaurants of the J.P. McPickleshitter's Family Feedbag variety. We reasoned that vegetables could be obtained and that the wailing of our child wouldn't make a dent in the ambient noise (air horns and Duncan Sheik). We were mistaken. The unpleasantness of those episodes was rivaled only by the irritation of sitting one aisle ahead of That Guy Who Thinks He Knows Everything on our flight home. But when you leave your house you abandon all control, I guess. Our child also lost control of his bowels frequently. He blew out three diapers during one dinner event alone. We had to remove his poopy pants, and he ran around in a snappie. The good thing about being surrounded by parents and children is that nobody cares. We are used to wiping things up. We don't care if you vomit. When we are in our element, we are like every best friend you ever had in college--the one who will move the trash can next to your bed and put Advil on the nightstand for you. Regardless of our individual variations, we are all experts on waste management.

random notes I keep trying to call the Senate switchboard with regard to the Federal Marriage Amendment, but it's really hit-or-miss. Once we got through and it rang, but then the connection died. If I ever get through to these people, expect me to blurt out something like, "WFNX is Boston's real rock alternative!" after which my impassioned comments about preserving the rights of citizens and keeping the Constitution safe from right-wing nutjob activists will be met with hoots of laughter.

It's not as if my senators are going to slap their heads and say, "You know, Marrit's right! We're paleoconservative gasbags!" Perhaps they'll start listening to WFNX, though. Perhaps that will advance the cause in a fashion.

I ate about half of a chocolate orange and now I feel like I'm going to boot. I went to make some tea, but all we had in the cupboard was our ancient jar of Postum with a teaspoon or so of it petrified in the bottom. It's been a long strange trip indeed.

buy ultram! He got another haircut from the barber and looks like Elder Baldo.

He likes to play with laundry and a spatula.

We went to a party last night for the parents of A., who is a very tall and robust toddler lady expecting a new brother or sister any minute now. We went to swim in the pool, and for the first fifteen minutes or so, Juice Moose was having none of that. Two-year-olds abounded. It was a great time.

I had to skip out on the Telephone Company this morning so I could transcribe my interview with Mink Stole and write the article. Mink Stole!

I'm very scattered today.

the baby book Now that our kid is two and a half, we've started filling out a baby book for him.

Rather than just guess at his favorite colors and animals based on our vague depression-addled memories of his infancy, we figured we've take advantage of his verbal skills and ask him directly.
His favorite food is the bodhi bowl from Zen.
He likes elephants the best, which was news to me.
Then we asked him what his first word was. "Metallica!" he yelled, without hesitation.

This is the same child who claims that as soon as he was born, he told the room, "I'm a pakalolo baby!"

Oh my.

I have begun telling him stories about Kirk Hammett. Baldo knows the word "noodly" and its meaning.

independence day Smarter people than I in the blogosphere are making posts about liberty and government and culture, so I'm not going to try. I'm too tired.

I will tell you that I had excellent pie tonight--blueberry--and a pleasant evening among friends. And that I saw America's Heart and Soul, which I'd happily natter on about if I weren't reviewing it. Why natter twice? Life is too short. I'll say only that the theater was nearly empty while the line for Farenheit 911 stretched out into the parking lot. Then during the cavalcade of advertisements preceding the previews ("The Twenty") I was cheered to hear Von Bondies in a spot for the Olympic Games coverage.

There is hope for us. There is hope for us yet.

must get busy We've seen only fourteen of the IMDB's bottom 100 movies for Trashy Movie Night.

it's official We have a vasectomy.

And I am getting a sinus infection.