How to start a Monday off right:

1. Receive gifts of farm-fresh Iowa bacon from friends.

2. Read and tear off two Dilbert cartoons from your daily calendar (which you may do because you obviously did not go in to work over the weekend to tear of the weekend's cartoon, so you have to flip through the weekend and get to Monday - woohoo!).

3. On a more serious note: gratitude. Practicing gratefulness can definitely help a person start Monday out right, and it's amazing how that plays such a role in shaping one's attitude. I really am grateful - I have a great job that I love (most of the time), wonderful family and friends, a church where I belong and fit in and contribute, health, housing: I am very blessed. And remembering that has helped me make this Monday better than the last few.

How to start a day off right:

Watch a coyote cross the street a block from your home.

This might explain why you've seen fewer deer in the neighborhood in recent memory.

Just a Few Things to Make a Person Feel Old Today:

Bon Jovi is 50.

This morning I saw a circa 1979 VW Rabbit with collector plates.

Lou Reed is 70.

It's Leap Day.

Internet,

It's Leap Day. So kick up your heels or eat some frog legs. Enjoy it!

xoxo,

L

I'm-a gonna get me some culture.

Internet,

You're very useful. Through you, I bought opera tix today. For a SCHOOL NIGHT! Now, let's hope and pray like mad that I will be able to use my ticket: I would prefer not to end up sitting at work on the floor or in committee when the opera is going on a few short blocks away. In the words of a co-worker today (Hi, Ed K!), "Man plans. God laughs." But I hope that God is laughing with me in this case - all the way to the Ordway.

And apparently I've completely forgotten my own advice from the last couple of weeks (see more uplifting, funny, comedic things, and less dramatic, stab-out-your-own-eyeballs-depressing things): Lucia di Lammermoor. But it has music! So that makes all the difference in the world. People can say the saddest things ever, as long as it has beautiful music to accompany it. Right? (Says the girl who loves melancholy throughout her music and believes 90% of the best music comes in minor keys.)

Anyway, as long as we're on the subject of the theatrical performances, I'll mention that Cat on a Hot Tin Roof last weekend (or was it the weekend before? I can't remember...all of my days blur into one big work-fest) was good. It was a little difficult to watch in some ways - I'm already stressed out, and watching other people (fictitious though they may be) stress out isn't exactly relaxing. But it wasn't as bad as End of the Rainbow, either, in that I didn't wish for death by a thousand paper cuts, using the playbill as the weapon with which to find solace. So. In short, I really don't think any production can ever really overcome Liz Taylor and Paul Newman, but it was good. I think the best actor in the entire production (and made me forget the movie the most) is David Anthony Brinkley, playing the role of Big Daddy.

And as long as we're talking culture, we might as well throw in Masterpiece Theater. Last year, Internet, I got totally hooked on Downton Abbey. So you can imagine that it was with great anticipation that I watched the second season, finally finishing the last episodes over the weekend (pretty sure it was just this weekend). It's all over the top and completely British and a guilty-soap opera type-pleasure. And I love it, along with pretty much everyone else in America.

And now that I've moved onto stuff people watch on TV, well, the high brow has left the building, and if I keep going down the cultural rabbit trail, I'm going to be discussing live active yoghurt cultures soon. Let's not, shall we?

xoxo,

Minny LinnEy

p.s. Lest you think I am too uppity for words with all of my opera, theater and other snobbish, dry television performances, does it make you feel better to know that I renewed my Reader's Digest subscription today, too? And that it's the only magazine to which I subscribe? Hmmm? Well, it should make you feel better about things. But I'll be perfectly honest: it's not like I'm going to sit at the opera and read RD whilst I await the performance to begin. Just sayin'.

Keep an open mind, but not so open that your brains fall out.

Dear Internet,

Last weekend I went out to dinner at Masa. I rate it quite highly, to the point where it's now #2 on my list of favorites in Minneapolis. Why, you ask?

Well, first, because I ate beef tenderloin so addictively delicious that I'm positive the good people there feed some baby cows crack.* And then they take that beef and cook it to perfection and serve it smothered in deliciously melted chihuahua cheese. (And if that cheese was actually made from chihuahuas or chihuahua milk, I'm pretty sure they fed the chihuahuas crack, too. It's just that good.)

Second, because the meal was amazing from start to finish. I don't know about you, Internet, but I hate going to a restaurant and dining on a perfectly delightful first course or three, and then the dessert course bombs (and not like an actual bombe or bomb pop - a total dud is what I mean, and not like the milk dud kind, either). No, indeed. Masa does it right from the tortilla chips and guac to the pastel de tres leches.

_____

Hey, Internet! Wanna go to a play that rips away all the nice notions you had about Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz? Then go see End of the Rainbow at the Guthrie like I did on Saturday! (And saw it right before I found out Whitney Houston had died...kinda weird...lotsa similarities...anyhoo.) Judy Garland: child star, adult addict. Brilliantly acted, horribly sad. (But at least it wasn't like Burial at Thebes earlier this season, which made me want to slit my own wrists - or someone else's wrists, like the playwright's, the director's and half of the actors'). Next up: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.** In future, Guthrie people, you may possibly want to sprinkle in more Charley's Aunt-type plays between the ones that make people feel stabby. Just a thought.

_____

I pulled a muscle in my back, Internet. Even as I type this I'm lying on a not-quite-ice-anymore pack. It was terribly exciting to even get the chance to work out on Monday evening, and then I tweaked a muscle. So between the phlegmy behavior and the decrepit gait to my walk and my inability to pick things up off the floor and my complaints about workload, I believe I have gotten a glimpse of what it will be like to be 64 years old: a perfect maelstrom of complaints. I will be old enough to blather on and on about my health problems and how it sucks to get old, but young enough to still whine about work.

Maybe you're realizing I'm having a dark moment or four, Internet. You'd be right. I can't get rid of this blasted cold I've had the past two weeks. It's driving me mad. I go around snorting all the time, hoping to clear my sinuses.*** That didn't work so well, so then I attempted to use the phlegmy-ness to get lobbyists to leave me alone at work. It's done nothing of the sort because rather than recoiling in horror as they ought (and then properly excusing themselves from ever speaking to me again), everyone just gives me strange looks or sympathetic sighs and keeps right on talking.

_____

But seriously, though. There have been some really great moments lately, too. Last Sunday's was a really excellent sermon at church. A kind soul has provided me with a foam roller for my back. I have a really great streak of Scrabble wins going. It's my mom's birthday on Saturday, and we're celebrating. I have been eating animal crackers with a jar of chocolate frosting all week. See? All positives.

xoxo,

Minny LinnEy

*I do not actually condone feeding baby cows crack. Well, maybe cracked corn. Or better still cracked olives! Mmmm. Cracked olives. I would eat cracked-olive-fed baby cows, preferably garnished by more cracked olives. But I don't care about those little yippy chihuahua dogs - feed them all the crack you want.

**After all of that talk about milk duds earlier, now the very thought of Big Daddy makes me want to eat a Sugar Daddy. Or Sugar Babies. Or pretty much any kind of caramel-y goodness. But now all I can think about are Sugar Babies, because they supposedly have bacon extract in them, and we are all extremely well acquainted with my bacobsession. But preferably this bacon didn't come from that pig that smoked cigarettes for that PSA.

***Hey, YOU! You with the evil mind, who read "snorting" and started thinking "I know what's dark: SHE'S on crack!" To you and your jumpy conclusions, I take offense. I do not do crack or cracked anything besides some cracked olives. No crack, no plumber's crack, no cracked mirrors, no cracked sidewalks. And no, I'm not superstitious, either. Cracked mirrors just make my eyes and brain hurt and I don't want to go all cross-eyed. And we've established that my back hurts, so I don't need to be tripping on any cracks in sidewalks and falling down, making it all that. much. worse.

Wherein Minny LinnEy talks about minutiae that's possibly not worth reading, and shares a joke that's really not worth repeating. *

Internet,

Sorry I've been so reticent lately. I've been a tad busy. But please know that I miss you: I love the carefree feeling I get when I have spare time to wander to and fro throughout Internetland. Okay, maybe I just miss free time.

_____

Do you know that stage of a cold, the one at the end when you're so close to being done with it but your sinuses won't quite cooperate and you whistle through your nose just by breathing? Yeah, that stage. I'm there.

I also seem to have a fondness for choosing cold remedies that involve fizzing water. Is it that I like inhaling half the liquid through my nose as I try to drink it? Not really sure. But I stocked up on Airborne and Alka Seltzer cold medicine and all sorts of other remedies, none of which have worked, yet all of which I am still taking. Maybe I should just drink some club soda or 7Up: I'd get the same fizzy experience with far less expense.

_____

Today was a rough day. I mean, I've had a lot of challenges recently, but this day was especially difficult. How do I measure this? Here's how: I wore clothing that progressively disintegrated throughout the day. All of a sudden my sock sprang a hole, and shortly later so did the left knee of my work trousers. Good thing the work day is over, 'cause otherwise things would be getting pretty dire if the trend continued.

_____

I did manage to workout this evening, which is good, and vented a lot of frustration at a machine I don't particularly care for (the erg - if the exercise itself is frustrating, does that mean I only worked off that workout frustration, and the rest of my stress and frustration from all of the other parts of my life are just being stored up?) for a full 60. Minutes, that is. Though I did contemplate doing 60 seconds and calling it good. But I persevered so I can eat whatever I want for dinner. Yes, Internet, in case you hadn't realized this by now, that's the main reason I exercise: food.

_____

I would be completely remiss in my civic duties if I don't mention anything political, Internet. So, in honor of Santorum's win here in the Minnesota precinct caucuses last night, I leave you with this (courtesy of co-worker L, who has been gleefully sharing this joke for months now, and it's completely ingrained in my head):

Q: Why does Rick Santorum wear sweater vests?

A: Because he believes in the right to bear arms.

_____

xoxo,

Minny LinnEy

*And she rhymes! And also speaks of herself in the 3rd person.

I'm sorry, but your pants have leprosy.

Internet,

I love polka dots. I really do. I own many items of clothing that have polka dots on them. In a nod to all little girls' childhoods everywhere, I own tights with polka dots (and appropriately call them my "leprosy tights"...which raises an interesting fact: I have names for my tights...but I digress). My coffee cup at work is red with white polka dots. I even own a package of polka-dotted drink umbrellas that I will likely never use because I don't really do any kind of beverage that requires umbrellas (but was compelled to purchase them because they HAVE POLKA DOTS ON THEM!!!).

But jeans? No. This is awful. And madness. Awful madness:

I'm sorry, but these pants are leprosy. Or something equally dire. Indeed, these jeans may be life threatening (I fear for your physical life if you wear them, let alone your social life). Be forewarned: I prefer you not to be beaten up for this atrocity.

~Minny LinnEy

"Happy" is not quite the thing.

Internet,

There are several holidays each year that stymie me. Don't get me wrong - I understand their purpose. I guess I should say it's the greeting that stymies me.

It always seems wrong to say "Happy" before certain holidays. "Happy Veterans Day!" (with or without the exclamation point?) comes to mind. I understand its purpose - remember our veterans, thank them for their service to our country, and pray we can continue to enjoy the freedoms that we so often take for granted. But "Happy"?

Similarly, though I do hope everyone who gets the day off today enjoys not being at work, I don't think that "Happy MLK Day!" really fits the bill, either. I hope we all remember who Martin Luther King, Jr., was and what he did for this country, and pray we have a better future ahead of us with less racism and more belief in our common bond as human beings - to me, we are all humans created equally in God's image. But "Happy"?

I'm not really sure that fits. In both cases (and some others, too - Memorial Day, for example), I am very happy to have freedom, and happy that others have stood up for their beliefs, and happy I live in this great country, but it also seems somewhat somber as something that should be a day of remembrance for people's sacrifices, and acknowledgement that there is still strife and sin in the world, and reflection on ways each of us can change for the better.

Whatever the word (whether it be noun or verb) - happy, remember, honor, memorialize, hopeful - I pray it is a day of thoughtful reflection for you in the same way it has been for me this weekend.

xoxo,

Minny LinnEy

I must inform you that Alma is NOT Charley's Aunt, but both are quite nice.

Hello, Internet.

It's a new year, yet I seem to be doing some of the same old stuff - going to the theater, visiting a new restaurant...some things will never change (I hope!). And yet some things are new right now, and my life has been a tad on the stressed side. So it was with great pleasure I had some time yesterday to pursue something at a more leisurely pace and cast away my cares for a few short hours.

If you haven't yet seen Charley's Aunt at the Guthrie, you should. Probably the best play I've seen there in the past year, and it was complete comedic relief I found most enjoyable. I've decided we really must incorporate the term "boiled owl" into common usage in this country. It is so much more hilariously genteel than calling a person an idiot. It is hereby my goal to turn "boiled owlism" into a synonym for "idiocy." You may help me purvey this desire to the world, Internet.

And coupled with that comedic play was a dinner out with friends at Restaurant Alma. I thoroughly enjoyed the beets, the squash ravioli, the spiked chocolate cake, all of it right down to the bite-sized vanilla mint meringue as we parted the place. So much deliciousness. And yet, I believe I still prefer Sanctuary, so if you are interested in spending a small fortune to dine on most excellent cuisine in the near future, keep that in mind.

And now, back to the real world. Wish me well, please, Internet.

xoxo,

Minny LinnEy

Merry Christmas!

Out of the orient, crystal skies

A blazing star did shine,

Showing the place where poorly lies

A blessed Babe divine.

This shining star three kings did guide

Even from the farthest East,

To Bethlehem where it betide

This blessed Babe did rest.

[He was] Born of a maid of royal blood

Who Mary didst called by name,

A sacred rose which once did bud

By grace of heavenly flame.

And for the joy of His great birth

A thousand angels sing:

"Glory and peace unto the earth

Where born is this heavenly King!"

Lyrics: English Traditional, circa 1613

Listen to a sample of the most excellent Richard Zgovada composition/arrangement here (see #18), or check out a fairly decent live recording of it here:

Out of the Orient Crystal Skies

Extra verses I found that aren't in the popular Zgovada version but are floating around out there:

Laid in a silly manger poor,

Betwixt an ox and ass,

Whom these three kings did all adore

As God's high pleasure was.

The shepherds dwelling thee about,

Where they this news did know,

Came singing all even in a rout,

"Falantidingdido, falantidingdido, falantidingdido!"

[Side note: Google Translate can't tell me what "Falantidingdido" means, either, so I'm going to assume it's a made up word, à la Dr. Seuss (for the Middle Ages).]

Merry Christmas!

The Big Bang

Internet,

I got a haircut yesterday. I decided it was time for a change...possibly a big one. Well, I didn't go really big, just bang:

I got bangs! And also cut off about six inches. It feels strange so far, but I like it.

And then yesterday evening, I realized something. I have not had bangs in probably twenty years (possibly longer), and with this particular cut, I can kind of look like I did all of those years ago. It's a very strange feeling:

Now to see if I can handle them day after day after day. I will probably wear them as they were cut (picture 1 above) because I might revert to feeling nine years old if I wear them straight down...

xoxo,

Minny LinnEy