Autism Ribbon

My nephew Ben is autistic, so I'm adding this ribbon to the side of my blog. I need to post it so I can link to it.

I'm a proud 1996 graduate of Macalester College. It's a relatively informal school where you had direct access to every professor. I didn't get my registration materials while I was studying in England, but all I had to do was sport a shirt and tie, walk into each professor's office, and get signed into each class the day they started.

Try as the administration did to put some "official" school spirit in the student body, we always prided ourselves on defining our own spirit, dour as that may have been at times. We had a lot of colorful characters, both likeable and not. We had Sven, who wore a viking helmet and pissed on random bushes on campus; Grimace, who sported a 'fro and any chemical pleasure you desired; Ben, who wore skirts and rode big wheels to class; Bowman, a complete slob; Rebecca Newman, who sang to squirrels (which is the only sort-of nice thing I can say about her) and many, many more. But instead of using their imaginations, they came up with this mascot.



Meet Mac, a chipper-looking Scotsman. I lived in Scotland for a short time and I never saw a Scotsman look this happy, even with beer. This mascot looks like he's hopped up on cocaine and NO2 AND has a banana shoved up his ass.

For shame.....

Misfits and Cracked Ribs

Somehow, when I see I misfit, I wonder what caused that person to cross my path. I'm not exactly sure why, except I'm not the typical person myself. Typical people aren't interesting to wonder about mostly because, well, they're typical. Misfits allow your imagination or sympathies, depending on your mood, to wander.

The other night, my roommate and I were enjoying the smokefree atmosphere of Mickey's along with a beer (or two, or three*) when a man in his 40's walked in. If you don't know Mickey's, it's the bar where someone will be arguing about the genius of alt-country, you can hear T. Rex and Johhny Cash on the juke box, and I'm at the upper end of the age range. A 40+ person is noticable. He had a supercuts hair cut, wore a Three Stooges shirt that bulged around his middle, and, well, was a misfit, at least for the location. He order a beer, sat down at the rail along the outside wall, watched the tv in the corner, and shook his leg feverously. He talked to no one, looked at no one, and was in his own world.

Now I'm working on a back story for him. I figure he's divoriced, has a 17 year-old son named Ted, works in administration for the school system, and owns his own house. Now I'm not sure why he's out for a beer. I need help on that one. Any ideas?

Oh, I also cracked a rib when I flipped off my bike a couple weeks ago and it hurts when I sneeze.




*This smoking ban in Madison is turning out to be bad for my health.

Stokke

I think I found where my ancestor came from. His name was Kettle Helgeson, but there were many Kittle Helgesons in the south-central Wisconsin. So his last name became Stockland after the area where he was basically a sharecropper.

So interesting, isn't it? Oh, and this is where my mother's side of the family came from many, many moons ago.

Shut Down

In the Spring of '95, I studied in England and was blessed with a 5 and a half week spring break. Of course I took the opportunity to wander around the Continent, bouncing from city to city. It consisted of arriving, finding lodging, converting money, finding food, finding things to do, talking to people (being somewhat shy, that takes a lot of energy for me), sleeping, waking up, rinse, repeat. Day in and day out, I had to figure out everything again and again. By the time I made it to Switzerland to catch up with my parents, I was utterly burned out. I turned off my brain and let them decide everything. That gave me a much needed rest.

Lately, it's been the same. Wake up, go to work, figure things out, go home, do homework (or avoid it), see who's around, do chores, get a beer, etc. Again, I need to figure all of this out. I'm finding simple things, like brushing my teeth, agonizingly tedious. I wish someone would say "This is how it is" so I could turn off my mind and get some much needed mental rest.

*yawn* it's the weekend in seven hours, which means sleep and biking. That's not too difficult.

Not Here

It's in the 60's and I'm supposed to be doing a 20 mile loop at Kettle Moraine.

Instead, I'm at work.

Damn responsibility. Maybe Dave has it right. The comment at the bottom, I mean. I agree with a lot of the post, but, at the moment, I'm taking the more positive view of biking a lot.

Perfect Weather

After a string of 90+ degree days, the weather took a turn for the better. The 66 degree weather feels more like the 50's given the recent hot weather. Not a ray of sunshine pokes through the clouds. On my way to and from lunch, I had the passenger windows slightly down, so the cool air tickled the back of my neck. All the colors seem more vivid and everything seems quieter. This reminds me that fall is almost here.

Last night I had my usual strange dreams. I dreamed my parents were moving from the house they have lived in for almost 26 years (and where I lived, unfortunately, for 13 years. Not a comment on my parents, but the location. It's in the middle of nowhere). I was cleaning out a cabinet that had 20+ year old NutraSweet packets in it along with all my old games and puzzles. After that, I was in the second floor of an old house. I noticed a wheel on the ceiling, the type you turn to open something. I found, or more appropriately, dreamed myself something to turn it with. I opened an attic access later and found my paternal grandfather up there. In reality, he died before I was born. I think he was dead, but alive, in my dream. You know how those things work. I can't remember much, but he had some old telescope lenses.

Oh yeah, and Dave, I had a dream the other night that you were wearing fish net tights and doing a line dance with random dream extras. I wouldn't read much into that.