According to this article, August 30 was the most likely day of the entire year to engage in a dust-up with your significant other.
"The theory is that post-holiday blues combined with the end of the summer and no more bank holidays until Christmas conspire together to make August 30 the day tempers will fray.
Paula Hall, a sexual and relationship psychotherapist, said the arguments can be explained by a simple equation: Post-Holiday Depression + Financial Strain - Lack of Light/Domestic Chaos = Relationship Stress."
Last night after our annual Labor Day bash, I mentioned this tripe to Pretty and said it was a load of crap. She responded by explaining that there might be something to it, as the impending burden of paying bills with no foreseeable bank holiday was really weighing on her.
"Oh yeah?" I sneered while inspecting our overdrawn checkbook. "I'd kill puppies to have your problems. You know what it's like to work your ass off all day only to come home to this domestic chaos? "
"Here we go again with the puppy killing," sighed Pretty mockingly. "At least you get outside of this dungeon once in awhile. You know what it's like being forced to live in this sunless pit after growing up in Arizona?"
"Fine, Pretty. You go back to Arizona. Who needs this relationship stress anyway?"
I woke up this morning in the utility room, surrounded by empty cans of paint thinner. August 30. What a crock of shit.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
You Decide
Separated at birth?
Creepy Minneapolis meteorologist and inspired storyteller Paul Douglas.
Creepy pedophile and inspired storyteller John Karr.
Creepy Minneapolis meteorologist and inspired storyteller Paul Douglas.
Creepy pedophile and inspired storyteller John Karr.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
20 Years
20th high school reunion tomorrow. It's no big deal really, as I wasn't much a fan of high school.
I played sports, but didn't fit into the jock crowd. I took accelerated classes, but didn't excel academically. School politics weren't my thing either - I never liked meetings, or for that matter, people.
A crew I kind of melded into was a group of underachievers who really didn't give a shit what anyone else thought of them. They weren't bad dudes by today's standards - just an impassive bunch who smoked clove cigarettes and drank Pfeiffer while playing cribbage on Friday nights.
One of them ran for Class President our junior or senior year as the lone member of the Apathy Party. He gave his speech in a black trench coat and concluded by announcing that he could promise that things would be better under his administration, but wouldn't because he just didn't care. The audience, of course, erupted in wild applause. A flustered school administrator begged us to take the election seriously.
Most attendees will probably be the pink polo and Girbaud jeans folks who drove Daddy's Saab, but you never know.
One thing I do know is that it's been 20 years since graduation. Thank God.
I played sports, but didn't fit into the jock crowd. I took accelerated classes, but didn't excel academically. School politics weren't my thing either - I never liked meetings, or for that matter, people.
A crew I kind of melded into was a group of underachievers who really didn't give a shit what anyone else thought of them. They weren't bad dudes by today's standards - just an impassive bunch who smoked clove cigarettes and drank Pfeiffer while playing cribbage on Friday nights.
One of them ran for Class President our junior or senior year as the lone member of the Apathy Party. He gave his speech in a black trench coat and concluded by announcing that he could promise that things would be better under his administration, but wouldn't because he just didn't care. The audience, of course, erupted in wild applause. A flustered school administrator begged us to take the election seriously.
Most attendees will probably be the pink polo and Girbaud jeans folks who drove Daddy's Saab, but you never know.
One thing I do know is that it's been 20 years since graduation. Thank God.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
The Urban Sprawl Fen-tasy
Back from vacation.
Every year, Pretty, BENRY & I load up the Family Truckster & head somewhere on a summer road trip. I'm always amazed at just how much land this country is blessed with. Manifest Destiny, indeed.
Within 30 minutes of leaving suburban Minneapolis, you find yourself in what feels like the middle of nowhere, regardless the direction you venture. It makes you realize that the enlightened "Smart Growth" crowd is, ahem, misguided.
My in-laws, whom we see regularly, are Social Justice types who subscribe to this "Don't believe your eyes, believe us" worldview. At a dinner earlier this year, my sister in-law proclaimed while lamenting Urban Sprawl, "I think it should be illegal to cut down trees".
After noting their sprawling (ha ha) wood house carved out of an acre of woods in a prestigious wooded lakeside suburb, I quietly excused myself from the wooden table, grabbed a cold beer and went outside to play with the kids on the playset. Made of wood, of course. (Hiding behind children during war isn't always reprehensible...)
Here's a map and some statistics from the State of Minnesota that may help if you truly believe we're being overrun by strip malls and McMansions. Only 2.7% of Minnesota is developed. By comparison, 10.6% is home to "bog/marsh/fen".
"Fen"?
Every year, Pretty, BENRY & I load up the Family Truckster & head somewhere on a summer road trip. I'm always amazed at just how much land this country is blessed with. Manifest Destiny, indeed.
Within 30 minutes of leaving suburban Minneapolis, you find yourself in what feels like the middle of nowhere, regardless the direction you venture. It makes you realize that the enlightened "Smart Growth" crowd is, ahem, misguided.
My in-laws, whom we see regularly, are Social Justice types who subscribe to this "Don't believe your eyes, believe us" worldview. At a dinner earlier this year, my sister in-law proclaimed while lamenting Urban Sprawl, "I think it should be illegal to cut down trees".
After noting their sprawling (ha ha) wood house carved out of an acre of woods in a prestigious wooded lakeside suburb, I quietly excused myself from the wooden table, grabbed a cold beer and went outside to play with the kids on the playset. Made of wood, of course. (Hiding behind children during war isn't always reprehensible...)
Here's a map and some statistics from the State of Minnesota that may help if you truly believe we're being overrun by strip malls and McMansions. Only 2.7% of Minnesota is developed. By comparison, 10.6% is home to "bog/marsh/fen".
"Fen"?
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