If a man has sex in the woods with a corpse, is he still wrong?

In the news - the Wisconsin Supreme Court wrestled mightily before deciding 5-2 that necrophilia is against the law in the state. In so doing, says this news account, Wisconsin joins more than 20 other states that ban sex with corpses.

Okay, so what I'm hearing is that necrophilia has not yet been banned in at least half of our states. I double-checked that stat for you, and believe me YOU DON'T WANT TO GOOGLE IT, EVEN FOR VERIFICATION PURPOSES. Is this not a no-brainer we could add to a few legislative calendars as an easy bang-up lawmaking success? Are there parties filibustering on the issue somewhere? In a world in which everything causes division, it seems to me this is one topic we can all rally around.

Give Peace a Chance, and Dead Means No.

Sorry Mr. Mayor

I send the Mayor to my vastly inappropriate website!

I don't know how it happens, really. But I write Mr. R.T. Rybak to tell him that I'm new to town and that Minneapolis should do an even better Earth Hour celebration next year, and he writes back (maybe even himself! Personally!) and asks where I'm from. I'm sure he was just being polite and gathering preliminary 2010 census data, but a mayor is the closest I've come to a real live celebrity, and I somehow get all flustered and the next thing I know I've bought him a BFF charm bracelet with www.ocityishness.com engraved on it.

And after I hit send, I regret it. Because after my heart stops racing, I realize that the two posts below this one involve a pretty choice topical array: earwax, crack, and a discussion about the Buds' Hump Fest.

So on the off chance that the Good Mayor is just crazy enough to visit, I would like to take this opportunity to say keep up the good work. And also dog humping is something I discuss mostly infrequently. And about the excessive earwax - now that's just a medical condition no one should be judged by.

Lunds does not understand who I am

So ages ago I posted about having my groceries delivered.

This is part of my life plan to Not Do Things I Hate. The way I figure it, my free time is very limited, and I choose to not spend most of it doing Things I Hate. This includes grocery shopping, laundry, and washing my car at home. So, I outsource. This frees me up to do more Things I Like, like spending time with the DNB and the Buds, shopping at Sephora, and planning.

The point of this post, however, is to revist a recent and terribly disappointing grocery delivery experience. You see, as you add each item to your online cart, the Lunds & Byerly's website gives you the option to allow your personal shopper to substitute for another item if your selection is out of stock. Lately, I've been allowing it. Partly because I could fix the DNB's recent Starburst habit with the Original or the Baja flavors, and partly because it's interesting to see what the shopper chooses as the substitute.

EXCEPT FOR YESTERDAY.

I ordered good 'ole Wonderbread because I was intent on eating a peanut butter & jelly sandwich the way my mother would never let me: on two pieces of bread completely without substance or crust.

And because the store was out of stock (other people still buy this?), my personal shopper substituted that enriched white flour goodness with WHOLE WHEAT BREAD. Yeah, he's fired.

We'd better start having children, STAT

I develop an obsession!

It's with the work of a local artist, Shaylind Standing, who creates the most amazing, whimsical, colorful pieces with acrylic and ink. Not only is she a wonderful artist, but she's also very gracious, as evidenced by the patient way she's responded to my 1,000 excited emails since I found her.

Below are a few things I bought from her Etsy shop. They're so perfect for Madeline and Kirby's rooms that I've obviously had to start amassing them. I'm also buying pieces for just about everyone I know, so you're welcome.

Grandma's Chicken Salaaaad, II

I have a crush on my bus driver!

It's not all the bumping and jostling. Or even the heat of too many riders in parkas. It's the way she purrs the names of the stops like a 900 number operator.

With my background in radio, I have a special place in my heart for anyone who can make "12th Street" sound indecent. And I guarantee I'm not the only one who gets a little shiver when she drives us past 69th.

S Goes to the Library, Is Sidetracked and Ends up Venting

We visit our local library!

It's underground, which is cool, but there's no free parking and the place hasn't been updated since it was built, which are not.

I am in search of audio books on CD, but what I find, amidst homeless men in line for the computers, is a selection made up mostly of cassettes. Really? Tapes?

Dude, who still listens to cassettes? I'm guessing the same people who shop at K-Mart. Boy is that a god-awful store. They probably sell a lot of tape decks because they sure as hell don't sell fireplace paraphernalia. Maybe it's because all of their customers live in nasty cheap apartments with no fireplaces. But with lots of tape players.

And that, my friends, is that.

More Exerpts from ShineOn!, "A Newspaper of Service & Service Learning" Published by the Minneapolis Youth Development Program

Eighth grade responses to the question, "Should kids be able to vote?"

- "Parents might not trust their child to vote, but those same parents trust their 16 year old to drive a car which is way more dangerous that [sic] filling out a ballot."

- "We have no say in who is our president, and that is unfair if every other citizen in the US is allowed to vote but us. According to the 15th amendment ' the right of all citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied by the United States or by the state on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude.' I know that this doesn't exactly state that kids can vote . . . ." Fortunately for a lot of kids making stupid decisions, you aren't treated as full citizens for all legal purposes.

- "Kids don't get to vote - we have to sit there and watch some bald-headed white dude in the white house who don't care about people." Can someone tell this kid that there hasn't been a bald-headed president in his lifetime?

We Go Camping, and then Wish We Hadn't

It was a disaster.

I don't necessarily believe that God reaches through the cosmos to divinely direct a crappy series of events to warn us away so we won't have a crappier time later. But this time, I think he did.

From the outset, nothing went right. The fleeces I bought to keep the Buds warm were too small and needed to be exchanged. The orange-logoed Home Depot does not carry orange hats. Or camping chairs. The Dick's Sporting Goods was on the other side of town. The interstate we needed was closed for the weekend (what state DOES that?). We had a three hour trip ahead of us with a dog who hates the car. It was going to be dark when we got there. We weren't actually sure where we were going to camp, just somewhere in the state forest. I was still sick. It was hunting season.

You follow?

We drove north into the evening, passing lake after lake. When we reached the not-so-cleverly named Land O' Lakes State Forest, the sun was setting. We drove quickly to find a campsite. But all the good ones were taken by hunters wearing day-glo orange from head to toe, with ATVs and dead deer on trailers behind their pickups. So we in our BMW with our fleece-outfitted small, white dogs drove on.

We finally found a spot just off the road. It was too dark to go adventuring for a better location, and we set up the tent with the aid of a flashlight. Oh, the tent. It was free, so I can hardly complain, but it is GINORMOUS. It's one of those two-room deals that sleeps a family of 12 plus grandma. Except grandma wouldn't go camping in November because her years of life experience would have taught her that it's FREAKING FREEZING out.

We were white, suburban, excess America to the max.

And then Aikane started barking. AND NEVER STOPPED. And I, the ever paranoid City Girl, had to keep shining the flashlight into the darkness that surrounded us because what if a bear was coming to eat us and Aikane was trying to warn us? We had to wear vibrant orange hats so the hunters wouldn't have an excuse if they shot at us to restore the Quiet of the Wilderness.

When we finally went to bed, tummies full of charred hobo dinners, I couldn't sleep. It was too cold. And the side of our Mexican-Family-Sized Tent kept flapping in a manner which sounded suspiciously like an attacking bear.

The next morning, we awoke to the sound of distant gunfire and the dogs' resumed barking. It was 25 degrees, and I was coughing so hard it was making me gag.

We try to keep our language clean, but that morning the DNB used the most well-placed swear word I've ever heard. He surveyed our campsite and the barking dogs. He looked at me, hunched over in a coughing fit. He donned his combo head warmer/baseball cap bright orange hunting hat and shivered.

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

The DNB Has Got This Crazy Idea

Apparently we're going camping tonight.

So I and my sniffles; the Buds and their white, fluffy hair; and the DNB and his car packed absolutely full of gear are heading north for a trip that, most assuredly, none of us will forget.

Back again Monday morning.

Exerpts from ShineOn!, "A Newspaper of Service & Service Learning" Published by the Minneapolis Youth Development Program

I hate to make fun of kids, but . . . no, actually, I love making fun of kids. Who am I kidding? Here are some special selections from the "I Have a Right" essay contest.

2nd Place High School Winner:

"To be truthful, kids should be heard more than anyone else in the nation, because kids are important, and they should be in the center of the biggest circle." I think maybe she's referring to the Circle of Life.

"Now, don't get me wrong, adults have a say-so in things too. They should be secondary say-so's because adults should put children in the center of opinion."

"Adults could use some advice from children, because you never get too old to learn new." I feel like there's a word missing from the end of the sentence.

"If babies could talk, I also think they should have a point of view of their own."

"I could be having fun with my friends at the mall instead of listening to just an ordinary little kid. But no . . . . "


2nd Place Middle School Winner:

"Hey, my name is Jabre ... and I'm tired just like all the other kids and teens to come to school where people may brings guns and make threats to bomb the schools down."

". . . You know it's been crazy!" I know, Jabre, I know. CRAZY!

"I just don't know why people have to die and the parents died on the inside." People have to die because of the Circle of Life. See above.

*********

We sit for a moment after the DNB and I read the essays together.

"Wow, what horrible writing," the DNB says.

"The whole thing sounds like a cry for help," I reply.

If you want to date Michael Jackson you must . . . B14

There's no Starbucks in sight as I leave Gjerdes, but I remember a Bar & Grille down the street, so I set out on foot. It's 96 degrees out, and I want to die by the time I reach it. Sweating profusely, I take a seat in the bar and prepare to camp out. It's 5:15pm, and the DNB hasn't yet called to say he's left the hospital.

Relaxing a bit with a Happy Hour Drink Special in hand, I look around. I'm the youngest by 15 years, and one of the only people here by myself. The other loner is an older gentleman wearing a cut-off shirt, green cargo shorts, tall white socks, and brown leather slip-ons. He glances my way and smiles. Everyone is smoking.

The smoking thing has been strange to me here. The cities, as a whole, are extremely environmentally friendly (those buses that can legally cut you off? Hybrids.) and health-conscious. Yet it seems like everyone chain smokes. Pick your poison, I guess. They'll all have 3% body fat when the lung cancer sets in.

Another older man sets himself up at a table nearby. His arms are full of large markers and bingo sheets. Bingo Night?! Would I?! As the 7pm Bingo Witching Hour approaches, the Bar & Grille fills up quickly. The old folks are out in force, because what is Bingo Night without them? They all seem to know each other; maybe the retirement home sends a bus.

I have to make a decision, because at last the DNB is on his way. I reluctantly decline the proffered bingo sheet and close my tab. Thirty minutes later he slides into the seat next to me. I smile at him drunkenly, and we head back to the city.

damn it feels good to be a gangsta

I leave the city!

I haven't been out since I got here, and although Savage isn't exactly the wilds of Minnesota (despite its name), it's nice to travel far enough down the interstate that the HOV lane ends. The purpose of my trip is to find Gjerdes Solar Shield, a company which will have the sad task of removing the tinting from my car windows. I've rather liked feeling like a Pimped Out Gangsta in my super tinted vehicle, but Minnesota won't allow any tinting on the windshield, and only very little on the other windows.

Since Gjerdes closes at 5:30, long before the DNB could ever get off work to pick me up (although he's promised to leave by 4:30), I'm anticipating a long wait and am hoping to find a Starbucks close by to kill time.

Inside the store, I explain what I need done - "I need the tinting removed from all of the windows of my car."

"All of the windows? The windshield too?" the customer service representative asks.

"Yes," I reply.

"Is the windshield actually tinted completely, or is there just a sun visor tint at the top?" she confirms.

"Completely tinted," I say, quite sure. I have, after all, been inside my car.

"Let's take a look," she says, walking to the window. I have no idea why she doesn't believe me.

"Oh my goodness!" she exclaims upon seeing my car. "Did you get a ticket for that?"

"No," I tell her. "But I will once I get Minnesota plates . . . which is why I'm here."

She runs to the back of the store and comes back to the window followed by a string of employees. They all make Norwegian-accented sounds of surprise.

"Oh geez!" says one man. "Where did that car come from?" A few customers get up to take a gander as well.

"It wasn't me," I try to explain to the assembled group. "The guy I bought it from did it! He had an eye problem!"

Everyone laughs.

I sigh and head for the door. "I'll be back on Friday to pick it up."

Minnesota Statute 169.20 (2006)

Subd. 7. Transit bus. The driver of a vehicle traveling in the right-hand lane of traffic shall yield the right-of-way to any transit bus attempting to enter that lane from a bus stop or shoulder, as indicated by a flashing left turn signal.

Oops.

S Grocery Shops in Her Unmentionables

There is a knock at the door!

It is the Lunds & Byerly's delivery man, and he is bringing me my groceries. You needn't have been in a close personal relationship with me to know how much I hate grocery shopping. It's right up there with eating olives and being bitten. Of course, the real reason we had to leave Indianapolis was that no one there would bring me my groceries! And believe me, I checked.

The prices are the same as the regular grocery store, but there is a small delivery fee (no gratuities accepted). For me, the cost-benefit analysis plays out something like this: a trip to Lunds requires me to actually drive through Twin Cities traffic (ack), wander the aisles trying to find where the bruschetta is hidden, deal with the Ridiculously Slow Cart Pushers Who Block Entire Aisles Without Thought, wait in long check-out lines, and make a separate stop at the Super Skeeztastic Liquor Store*. Home delivery, on the other hand, costs $6.95, I can direct my personal shopper as to the specifics of my grocery needs ("My husband won't use anything other than the top-of-the-line butt-rash cream, so please don't substitute for generic"), I don't have to carry anything heavy, and, oh, they will bring me alcohol, too.

I think we're all in agreement here.

* What is truly amazing about this website is that it in no way imparts how junky this place really is. The DNB remarked the other day that he's never sure during any trip through the parking lot that he won't be either shot or run over. And that's just the outside.

Large Pizza Bianca $19.75. Delivered by a Caped Crusader? Priceless.

A Super Hero arrives at our house!

He is bringing us our pizzas, and my 27-year-old husband giggles all the way to the front door.

"He's wearing tights!" the DNB announces as he returns to the living room with our dinner.

My white pizza is spectacular, with artichoke hearts and goat cheese topping an olive oil and garlic base. Yum. It's from Galactic Pizza, a local pizza joint that bills itself as offering "Pizza With A Conscience." Ordering for delivery is key, if for no other reason than to have one of their costumed delivery persons arrive via a 100% electric vehicle. The company uses wind energy and local produce, and most of its toppings are organic.

"Maybe you can figure out how to make it yourself," the DNB's mother suggests, when I tell her how delicious the pizza is.

What, and forgo the chance to watch a grown man in little tights and a cape prance up to my door? Never.

Block Party

Ka Liko is barking at The Big Bobber Floating Cooler again.

I can't blame him, being terrified of the thing. It's big and, well, looks like a bobber. See below.

The DNB had the great fortune to win The Big Bobber Floating Cooler at our neighborhood Block Party. I have a sneaking suspicion that the raffle gift wasn't entirely new when donated. According to the company website (www.thebigbobberfloatingcooler.com, wouldn't you know?), the thing has "Thousands of Uses" and is currently on sale for $39.95 - they're practically giving it away.

I won an Ikea wine opener (do they know about our drinking?), which, presumably, comes pre-assembled, but you never can tell. "There's bound to be an extra dowel in there somewhere," suggested our next-door neighbor.

I was met with much anticipation as we greeted the neighbors at the party. Many of them met the DNB when he first moved in (and yet were happy to see us!), and this night has been referred to as my "trial by fire" on a number of occasions. I was pleased that it wasn't at all - the neighbors are all tremendously good-natured with most excellent senses of humor. See The Big Bobber Floating Cooler, above.

The ladies in charge planned a number of games, including egg- and water balloon-tosses, which can only ever end badly. During the egg race, the distinguished professor who lives across the street heckled the neighborhood children: "Focus, Cyrus! Stop chewing your gum and focus!" "By the time you get the egg to the other side, it'll be boiled!" "Don't look around, focus!"

It was a fun night, and I was glad to see for myself what a spectacular block we've found ourselves on. I'm off now to ponder the "Thousands of Uses" to which we could put our Big Bobber Floating Cooler. Re-gifting to the DNB's family was my first thought, any other suggestions?

We go to an Art Fair!

I learn a few valuable lessons:

First, the lines for free organic products will always be many times longer than those for free protein bars. This is the nature of these Cities.

Second, I can't afford any of the pieces I love. This is depressing, but not entirely unexpected.

Finally, there are a surprisingly large number of people who spend hours and hours creating absolute crap and who, through eternal optimism and in the name of art, will sit for hours and hours at fairs across the country trying to rid their basement of it for $349. Remember, just because someone sold you a stall doesn't mean your work is good.

We Are Okay

Thank you for your concern - both of us were home and safe when the bridge collapsed. This will be a catastrophic event for the Cities, however, so I do encourage your thoughts and prayers for those immediately affected.