Just to be on the safe side, I've continued to check out the employment ads. You know, just covering all the bases.


I found this phrase in an ad this week: A company describes itself as "a leader in trace mineral supplements for animal feed."


If you're going to produce trace mineral supplements for animal feed, better to be a leader than a follower, I always say.

OK, Jen, I've removed the clock. It was starting to bug me too.


Kip and I got awesome seats to see Steely Dan in August at the Xcel Energy Center in St. Paul. I am thrilled. Next to James Taylor and Paul Simon, they are one of the musical acts that I have wanted to see for years. (I've since seen Paul Simon twice and James Taylor once, and we may have the chance to see James again in August.) Woo-hoo!


My "interim" job as managing editor of The Business Journal has been extended now until at least July 4. I'm still hopeful that they'll offer me the permanent job. We shall see.

And speaking of hell (as we were yesterday):


The Dante's Inferno Test has banished me to the Eighth Level of Hell - the Malebolge!
Here is how I matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Very High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Moderate
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Moderate
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Moderate
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Very High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

You can take the Dante's Inferno Test too.

I believe I speak for many when I say of this site: What the HELL???

Andrew loves music.


I guess that's no big surprise, considering that his parents own hundreds of CDs, never drive anywhere without the car stereo on, and always play a CD in his room while he's going to sleep. (He's learned to bob his head rhythmically while strapped into his car seat whenever a particularly head-banging song comes on the car radio. He always does it with a huge grin on his face.)


Last night, that new Applebee's TV commercial came on -- the one where they sing "Don't Fence Me In." Andrew was on his way to the front hallway, but he came barreling back into the room and parked himself in front of the TV, where he swayed in time to the music.


We recently acquired a compilation CD that has the theme from "Friends" on it. The first time Andrew heard it, he was mightily confused. He kept looking from the stereo to the turned-off TV, apparently expecting the show to be there. (This may be a sign that we have the TV on entirely too much.)


The day care he attends gives optional music lessons on Fridays. Right after he started, the teachers had forgotten to ask us if we wanted him to participate, so he sat out that first Friday. Apparently, however, he was listening to the music that day and dancing all by himself. (Rest assured that he has been participating in music class since then.)

Why is it so much easier to come up with a list of things you don't like than things you do?


Don't answer that. It's rhetorical. Anyway, here are some things (in addition to fanny packs) that should be abolished immediately:


Women who wear slips beneath skirts with slits. It is extraordinarily ugly to see someone's slip flapping around beneath a slit skirt. Even those slips that come with slits don't work, because they always, um, slip. (Do you think that's why they're called that?) It's just wrong.


Women who wear knee-high stockings with skirts. You know who you are. Stop it immediately. If you're too lazy to put on real pantyhose, just go without it, for heaven's sake. You look like a sloppy old woman who lives in a trailer court. (If you ARE a sloppy old woman who lives in a trailer court, you have a special dispensation to continue this practice. But please don't make me look at you.)


Obnoxious rings on cell phones. A guy on the bus yesterday (you know, if I didn't ride the bus to work, I'd have very little blogworthy material) kept getting calls on his cell phone. Every time it rang, it played the beginning of the theme from "The Sting." By the time he got his fourth call, I was ready to shove his phone into his cakehole. Not that I'm necessarily opposed to the theme from "The Sting" -- I just don't like hearing the opening bars played in a tinny fashion on a cell phone four times within 10 minutes.


Austin Powers movies. Mike Meyers is becoming almost as annoying as Jim Carrey. I'm not sure anyone has ever been as cute and clever as Mike thinks he is.


Danielle Steel novels. I tried to read one of these once. It was dreadful, and that's coming from someone who reads books by Jackie Collins, for heaven's sake. What does THAT tell you?


Have I missed anything? Let me know.

Andrew has learned to say "Oh boy." Kip said it last night, and Little Mr. Mimic instantly parroted it. It cracked both of us up, which of course delighted him, so he said it repeatedly. It's so funny to hear an actual recognizable phrase like that come out of his mouth.


Kip says he was still saying it when he woke up this morning. He picked up some dirty pajamas from the rocking chair in his room, said, "Oh boy!" and tossed them aside.


He learns something new every day. Every day. It's remarkable.

Last night, while seeking out something for supper, I came across the two lost Spice Girls. They are Pickling Spice, who was dropped from the group because she was always looped, and Allspice, who was something of a slut puppy.


OK, OK. What do you expect first thing in the morning?

I had a lovely Mother's Day weekend. On Saturday Kip and Jen and I went to see "8-Track: The Sounds of the Seventies" at the Ordway in St. Paul. It was great! I was particularly enchanted later to learn that one of the four people in the show, Esera Tuaolo, is a former National Football League player who has become a national spokesman for the gay community. (Kip remembered him from when he played for the Minnesota Vikings.) He has a great voice, and his rendition of "Smoke from a Distant Fire" was one of the show's highlights.


After the show, we went out to eat at the Hard Rock Cafe (this was all a celebration of Jen's birthday, which was last Wednesday), and had a fine meal. Andrew learned to say "guitar" as he pointed to instruments on the walls that used to belong to Carlos Santana and David Bowie.

On Sunday the four of us went to brunch at Sidney's and ate too much. Then Jen stayed with Andrew while Kip and I wandered childlessly around the Mall of America. It's strange that a good Mother's Day celebration involves getting away from the small creature whose existence is the reason why you are celebrated on Mother's Day.

We had a drink (OK, two drinks) at Ruby Tuesday, and we tried out one of those Sleep Number beds (we're both sold on the idea), and we bought a few things. It was a very nice afternoon.

As long as we're kind of on the topic of buses: This morning our bus driver (whom I don't remember seeing before) almost took out a traffic light as he turned the corner onto the highway. It certainly woke everyone up in a big hurry, including the woman next to me who was applying her makeup. (It's a good thing she wasn't using the eyelash curler at that particular moment.)

And another thing.


I am officially creating the Society for the Elimination of Fanny Packs.


They look stupid. Period. And the people on whom they look the worst are the people who wear them.


You with me? Let me know.

I am a lazy blogger, it appears. I will try to do better.


On the bus this morning, I sat next to a woman who was putting on her makeup. ALL of her makeup. She even whipped out an eyelash curler and used it.


Now, allowing for the fact that I have always been unable to use an eyelash curler -- I keep bashing it into my eyeball and smearing mascara all over my face AND the bathroom -- I can't believe that people would put on makeup on the bus. It seems like such an intimate thing to do. It's like hopping onto the bus and shaving your legs.


And it wasn't the first time I've seen someone applying makeup on the bus. There's a woman who rides the 7:42 bus with me most mornings who frequently does it. But the public makeup application isn't the most interesting thing about her. Every morning, a bald man gets on the bus and sits with her. Sometimes he carries her bags. They ALWAYS sit together. They hardly ever talk, although one time I saw him apparently comforting her; she looked tearful, and their heads were close together. They get off at the same stop downtown.


I've tried in vain to see if either one of them wears a wedding ring. Of course, given my overactive imagination, I've created an entire history for them: They're having an affair, and the only place they can see each other without arousing suspicion is on the bus in the morning. (Although of course they've aroused MY suspicion.)


I'd really like to find out what's really going on there, although I'm sure it wouldn't be anywhere near as fascinating as the various fervid stories I've created.