Meganomics

Seasonal Reading

2009-10-19T17:27:00.000-07:00

On the day of the dead, when the year too dies...

There are certain books that are forever linked in my mind with specific seasons. It's October again, and as I do every year, I'm rereading Susan Cooper's The Grey King.

Set in late October in the mountains of northwest Wales, The Grey King paints its scenes with Cooper's typical precision. One of her most striking gifts is the ability to integrate the minutiae of time and place into her stories so that the land and the seasons become characters in their own right. Take, for example, a passage from The Grey King:

... he peered out at the little grey town as the windscreen wipers tried in vain, twitch-creak, twitch-creak, to banish the fine misty rain from the glass. Deserted shops lined the little street, and a few bent figures in raincoats scurried by; he saw a church, a small hotel, more neat houses. Then the road was widening and they were out between trim hedges, with open fields beyond, and green hills rising against the sky: a grey sky, featureless with mist....

Rhys turned the car inland, towards the mountains, and almost at once Will had a strange new feeling of enclosure, almost of menace. The little road was narrow here, like a tunnel, with its high grass banks and looming hedges like green walls on either side. Whenever they passed the gap where a hedge opened to a field through a gate, he could see the green-brown bulk of hillsides rearing up at the grey sky. And ahead, as bends in the road showed the open sky briefly through the trees, a higher fold of grey hills loomed in the distance, disappearing into ragged cloud. Will felt he was in a part of Britain like none he had ever known before: a secret, enclosed place, with powers hidden in its shrouded centuries at which he could not begin to guess.

Stone hut in Snowdonia, by magnuscanis

I don't know when I first read the books in the Dark Is Rising cycle, but now I can't see the trees changing colors without wanting to reach for The Grey King, just as the smell of pine needles and the metallic tang of snow makes me wish to curl up with The Dark Is Rising (book 2 in the series).

Cooper is one of the rare authors who uses her setting as something more than just a frame on which to hang her narrative. Like a candle in a dark room, she picks out elements of beauty from the treasure trove of British and Celtic legends, yet leaves a sense of infinite mystery hanging just beyond the light. The world her stories inhabit seems to exist long before and long after her characters come to life.

Two of the five books in Cooper's young adult fantasy cycle received Newbery nods. In the hands of a lesser author, they might have been reduced to narrow cubbies like "action-adventure," "neo-Celtic Arthurian fantasy," or the dreaded "bittersweet coming-of-age story." The Dark Is Rising books both inhabit and transcend these genres; they are true classics.

What books do you read every year, and when?

Anne and Laura

2009-08-10T21:16:00.000-07:00

A bedroom in the original "Green Gables"

I’ve recently started rereading the “Anne of Green Gables” books. Maybe I was inspired by a Facebook meme asking me to list the 15 books I’ll never forget. Maybe “Green Gables” is my official summer reading, infused as it is with memories of Junetime PBS pledge drives and afternoons too hot to do anything but read.

I think the real reason, though, is that I’m getting married in seven weeks. The “Little House on the Prairie” and “Green Gables” books shaped my ideas of womanhood like no other books I’ve ever read. As I prepare for my wedding, I revisit these touchstones of my girlhood to remind myself who I used to be and learn again who I am.

What strikes me now is how different they have appeared to me as I’ve grown. Following Anne and Laura in their journeys to adulthood, I can trace the evolution of my own attitudes toward adulthood and marriage. When I first read them, I was nine or ten or twelve years old and they embodied everything I wanted to be. I, too, was precocious, dreamy, gawky, the smartest in my class. Of course I dressed up as Laura Ingalls Wilder for Halloween! My life, I thought, was on an orderly path to a career in teaching, qualified independence, and the inevitable wedding to my Gilbert Blythe or Almanzo Wilder. Since there was no romantically-charged academic rivalry between me and any of my classmates, I figured the Almanzo model—quietly heroic, plainspoken—would be my fate.

After a few years at my feminist-leaning all-girls Catholic high school (yes, they do exist!), my opinion of the Green Gables and Little House books was entirely different. My readings of my childhood favorites were tinged with contempt; Anne and Laura forsook promising careers to get married and… that’s it? They quit? Just to spend all their time worrying about jam and babies? They might have been good enough icons for, say, the unenlightened 1950’s, but surely the late twentieth century needed feminine examples better suited to reversing millennia of male oppression.

I didn’t read Anne and Laura’s stories for many years after that, thinking that I’d left them behind. Then I met Tony. Our courtship was uneventful except for the remarkable serendipity of our first meeting—not storybook material at all. In the weeks and months leading up to our wedding, we talked about the future: careers, houses, children. I was surprised at the desires I found myself expressing, incompatible with the relentless ambition I once believed to be my duty as a Western woman.

Now, as I read their stories again, Anne and Laura’s choices don’t seem like inevitable defeat at the hands of the patriarchy. What stands out are their rebellions, the fierce spirit that inspired them to strike out on their own in times when women still depended on men for their livelihoods—and then to negotiate marriage on their own terms. I’m reminded that while a wedding may be the end of one book, it is the beginning of another.

Laundry Day

2009-06-28T11:19:00.001-07:00

While Tony slaved away at 14-hour days at his company's conference in San Francisco, I decided to surprise him by doing the laundry. All of it. At the same time.

Understand, we have a washer-dryer in our penthouse urban paradise. It's small, meaning that I have to wash the bedclothes one sheet at a time, and so slow that a full cycle of regular clothing can take up to two and a half hours and still be damp at the end. The fact that this sort of arrangement is ubiquitous in Europe (at least according to our landlord) is small comfort. Though we manage to keep up well enough with our day to day needs, you can imagine how the nonessentials pile up. Add to that the magnificent wedding shower gift of new sheets and towels, and our situation had become dire.

So I rented a station wagon (!!!) from Zipcar and threw ginormous bundles of laundry down the stairwell. Linus, who had already suffered through the trauma of Tony's 4am departure, was convinced that I was packing up and leaving him forever and began a howling fit commensurate to his grief. (Nothing in this life is always sunshine and puppydogs. Not even puppydogs.)

It took 4 giant washing machines, three and a half hours, and one emergency trip to the ATM, but we finally have clean sheets again. Sometimes the suburban life is very appealing.

(Ed.: Sorry for the repost. Mobile uploading didn't go as I planned)

The Power of the Mocha

2009-06-19T19:09:00.001-07:00

Tony, enjoying a mocha at our favorite coffee shop (where everyone really does know our names). It's the only thing that makes him human in the morning.

It has long been our habit to compete with each other in making absurd puns using the word "mocha". Typically we select a theme such as slogans (in mocha we trust), Christmas carols, or hymns (what a friend we have in mocha!). Then the last person to dissolve in helpless laughter is the winner.

I like our rituals.

Making subway rides go faster

2009-05-07T18:50:00.000-07:00

Behold my latest effort: socks. The yarn is that niftiest of inventions, self-striping sock yarn (who knew?). It is handed down from a friend who had to give away some of her stash when she moved into a smaller apartment. The delicious irony? Tony and I now live in the same size apartment, two floors up from her. Yes. They are small.

My needles are US size 1 -- just about the thinnest you can get -- and are made of bamboo. They are light and flexible; using them is like knitting with toothpicks. The stitch marker that mark sthe beginning of the heel section is actually a light bulb-shaped paperclip. Ah, electric industry swag.

Where I stand on the risk ladder

2009-05-05T19:02:00.000-07:00

On April Fool's night, Wednesday, April 1, Tony came home from work and began to rearrange our living room for his weekly poker game. He slid the sofa into the kitchen, carried the coffee table into the bedroom, and extracted his motley collection of folding chairs from the corners they inhabit six and a half days a week in our tiny apartment. Suddenly his phone rang, flashing my name. He picked it up: "Hey." A strange voice answered: "There's been an accident. You're going to have to go to the hospital." What happened, Tony wanted to know, which hospital? "I'll call you back."

At the same time, I was stretched out on the side of a rain-slick road, trembling from shock and fear and cold, feeling my way around the holes in my memory. I had awoken to lights and strange faces in my eyes. They wanted to know what day it was. My lower lip was swollen and sticky with blood.

In the month since crashing my 150cc motorscooter in the warehouse district near Gallaudet University, I've tried to stitch together my patchwork memories. Based on what I remember and what the paramedics told me, I think I lost traction on a right-hand turn and panicked, slamming on the rear brakes. Braking in the middle of a turn is one of the worst things you can do on a motorcycle. Instead of laying the scooter down on the right side and collecting a few bruises, I caused the scooter to flip violently to the left, throwing me off to land on my face (judging by the gouges on my helmet) and slide down the road. The paramedics told me with some admiration that I must have practically hydroplaned on the wet street.

I don't know how long I was unconscious; I don't know who called the ambulance. When I woke up, my helmet, jacket and gloves had already been removed and my jeans were soaking wet. The paramedics, jolly and gentle, put a plastic collar around my neck and strapped me to a board for the ride to the hospital. With effort, I told them Tony's phone number from memory and insisted repeatedly that they had to call him. I tried to tell them that it was poker night and someone with a car would be able to give him a ride.

The paramedics left me in the hospital waiting room, still immobilized in the stretcher. I never learned their names.

Uncontrollable shivering. A desperate need to use the bathroom, followed by a near-disaster when my left leg collapsed as I tried to stand up. X-ray. CAT scan. Tony arriving with dry clothes. Nothing broken, though my left knee was swollen and my left calf hurt so much I couldn't bear to have it touched. Going home on crutches at 2am.

A month later, I can once again walk and turn my head and lift my left arm above shoulder level. There's an unexplained achy lump in my left calf, which might be a blood clot, a torn muscle, or a knot that never loosened. I'm still waiting to hear from the doctor.

Tony and my family weren't surprised that I was back on my scooter the next week. Others marveled that I had the courage to ride again, but here's the thing: when you choose to engage in potentially dangerous activity, you decide how much risk you're willing to take. Then you live with that decision. I spent a lot of money on good riding gear and everything that I bought did the job that it was supposed to do: the armor in my jacket prevented me from dislocating my shoulder, the chin bar on my helmet kept my face in one piece, the gloves ensured that I still have skin on my hands.

I knew what I was getting into. I may never look at turns the same way again, but the crash hasn't changed my attitude toward riding. That's life: you pays your money and you takes your chances.

Turn and face the strange changes, Part 1

2009-03-23T16:19:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends and Fans,

I've been meaning to send the Official Meganomics Update for some time, but I kept delaying my efforts because several major life issues were still in flux, and I wanted to have something concrete and certain to write.

After three months of apartment agony, Tony and I have finally moved. We rent a top-floor apartment in a condo building that, like so many ambitious condo projects in DC after the economic downturn, has been converted into rental units. It has many luxury yuppie fixin's like granite countertops, a balcony, and one of those nifty kitchen sink faucets that pulls out and converts to a sprayer (whee!). We are very happy with it (the animals are unanimously in favor of the sunny south-facing balcony), and we anticipate staying here for a while. The only drawback is that the downstairs neighbor complains that she can hear Linus's toenails clicking through the hardwood floor, but clearly she's deranged because Linus is perfect in every way. I'm just glad not to be moving every six months anymore!

Linus works on his tan

New home... for now

2009-01-04T14:06:00.000-08:00

Earlier this fall, no longer able to stand the hour-long commute separating us, Tony and I moved in together. It's a choice that I would never, in my devout Catholic girlhood, have imagined making. I still have some old-fashioned beliefs about relationships.

But DC is big, expensive and hard to get around if you don't have a car. Our houses were five miles apart on opposite sides of the Potomac river: a 25 minute trip by car, but an hour or more by public transportation. It grew harder and harder to bear the vagaries of DC subway travel and to limit our time together to a rigidly-outlined dating schedule. If one of us went away, even for a few days, we might not see each other for over a week.

My lease ended in November, so we began a tentative apartment hunt in August. We had just about settled on a well-run apartment complex in the Maryland suburb of Silver Spring--a little far from downtown DC but quiet and pleasant--when the owners of our favorite coffee shop, where we've been eating twice a week for a year, told us that their friends were almost finished renovating the upstairs apartment of the house next door.

Well.

A ten-minute walk from a metro station in the neighborhood I've grown to love AND easy access to the best mochas in DC? We were sold. It seemed too good to be true.

And, of course, it was. The owners promised us several renovations, some of which were still incomplete when we moved in. That was ok. We could be understanding tenants. No mailbox? Letters could slide under the door! A front door that only locks with a padlock, from the outside? Someone had been hired to redesign the whole entrance--and designers are so unreliable! Anemic heat? You know how old buildings can be!

Then the kitchen sink started to leak. Our landlords would call a plumber and ask us to meet him during work hours... and then he wouldn't show. After another couple of days and more phone calls, the landlords would hire another plumber, who might show up or not. And another. After eight weeks and a complete replacement of the (newly installed) disposal and pipes, the sink only leaks a little, small drips easily caught in a cereal bowl that I dump out once a week or so. We've kind of given up on that because we have bigger issues to deal with.

The first time I ever ran the clothes dryer at night, it shorted out the current for our whole apartment. That's because all the outlets in our apartment are--wait for it--wired to a single circuit. The apartment is under-powered for the number of appliances it contains, so our landlord was supposed to apply to PEPCO (our local electric company) to increase the voltage sent to the apartment. PEPCO has no record of any such application. For now, we have to turn off the heat every time we run the dryer. I forgot today and had to replace yet another fuse.

Tony is bent on getting our of here with our security deposit and credit rating intact, so he began the grievance process by sending our landlords a letter listing all the housing codes the apartment violates (at least four) and threatening to schedule an inspection with the local housing agency if they haven't begun repairs in two weeks. Did I mention that Tony is my hero? He is now in charge of all customer service complaints.

For my part, I am ambivalent about leaving. The apartment is inconvenient at best and, with our exits impeded front and back (the fire escape is bent and rusty), dangerous at worst. Ok. But it offers a lot of things that many other places won't: we can have the animals with no problem; I can store the scooter, the bike, and the trailer in our back yard; and the kitchen is a glorious, gorgeous expanse of sunlight from its south-facing windows and storm door. That picture above? That's Linus on his private sun porch, where he guards the approach to our "castle" while enjoying the greenhouse effect. Plus, I dream of growing herbs--maybe even potatoes!--on the fire escape come spring.

I just want our landlords to fix the problems so we don't have to move again (remind me to tell you about the sofa delivery nightmare sometime). Tony wants to live in a place that has adequate heat and power supply. The saga of the kitchen sink has shown us that improvements, if they come, will be lengthy, inconvenient and unreliable.

We're in for an exciting couple of months. These days find me more and more nostalgic for the beautiful little apartment I had in Winston-Salem, where I paid $450 a month to live by myself near a park in the center of town AND had stained-glass windows. Alas.

But there's an upside: Tony is here at last. Forever.

Season's Greetings

2008-12-29T18:20:00.000-08:00

Several readers have asked, most flatteringly, for updates. I hope to provide some soon. In the meantime, we extend from our family to yours our very best wishes for a peaceful and love-filled holiday season.

Merry Christmas* and Happy New Year from Megan, Tony, Linus and Pepper!

(* retroactive ;-) )

Million-dollar dog strikes again

2008-10-26T17:58:00.000-07:00

Linus has contracted kennel cough, a common disease among dogs that is essentially canine bronchitis. It is noisy, unpleasant, and inconvenient for the both of us (phlegmy coughs = no sleep and frequent cleanup). He's responded very well to antibiotics and doggie Sudafed, however-- even though the latter made him so dopey that he often seemed to lose track of simple things, like where he was and what he meant to do next.

This is the first real health problem Linus has had in a year, so I should count myself lucky. Though his immune system may always be weak, his recent second birthday marked the close of a happy and mostly healthy year. He has attained his final weight (45 pounds) and established an ever-widening fan club in the DC area.

Linus's birthday will always be special to me. After the first year, my family and I held a party to celebrate the achievement of his simply surviving for that difficult twelve months. This year, I am reminded how precarious his puppy days were, and how grateful I should be for the cheerful, sturdy dog he's become.

This year's birthday present was a new dog bed, as Tony firmly nixed the bringing of any of Linus's old, scavenged, ratty beds into our new apartment (new apartment! Soon! Hooray!). After a good deal of searching, I found a bed that was well-built, washable, and stuffed with recycled soda bottles to satisfy Linus's desire to be an environmentally friendly dog (not that I'm projecting or anything). Here it is, with the center cushion, arranged just the way he likes it:

A far cry from this sad specimen, no?

One reason I've never wanted to work for an animal shelter is my certain knowledge that I would want to save every animal that entered the doors, and fail, and continually be breaking my heart. It is that knowledge that makes me so grateful for the chance to have saved one unfortunate creature, even if I can't save them all.

I hab a code

2008-09-29T17:13:00.000-07:00

Bleh.

more animals

The first cold of the season has struck Tony, my officemate, and me. I blame Tony for bringing it with him to said officemate's debate party last Friday (Obama FTW, by the way!).

Of course it's unfair of me to pin this all on poor Tony, who heaven knows did his own share of suffering. He and I have a tacit agreement, however: I am allowed to get irrationally angry at stupid things, as long as I take out my anger on him and not on myself as I did in my scarier and less healthy days. Strange maybe, but it works for us.

Mysterious Ways

2008-09-05T07:49:00.000-07:00

One year and five days ago, Tony and I attempted to meet at a neighborhood bar for drinks, an occasion now officially known as The Worst First Date Ever to Have a Second Date (TM).

Two months and 17 days ago--on my birthday--he asked me to marry him. I cried. And then I said yes.
He is one of the best gifts God has ever given me.

Back in the saddle

2008-08-05T19:15:00.000-07:00

Where to begin? A friend, having recently resumed blog-writing after an absence of many months, suggested that it is easier to begin in medias res than to risk the distraction of a lengthy and complicated catch-up entry. I am tempted to follow her advice, except that I couldn't write without reference to all the things, good, bad and wonderful, that have happened in the interim. It has been an eventful four months.

I shall catch you up, faithful readers, but I will do so by taking the advice of that other cyber-authority, Manolo the Shoeblogger, and writing lots of posts. With pictures.

What's that you say?

2008-03-26T21:04:00.000-07:00

The first draft isn't due till April 15th?
Dave Olson, you are the best thesis advisor ever!

The Moment of Truth. What a fucker.

2008-03-25T18:30:00.001-07:00

Very soon, I'll have to stop researching and organizing and start... writing. I hate that part.

Thesis (or not)

2008-03-19T19:50:00.000-07:00

You're probably going to be seeing a lot more posts from me now, since I'm supposed to be writing my Master's thesis. The first draft is due April 1.

I'm writing about measurement in the nonprofit field--specifically, how grantmakers and foundations measure and evaluate "success" in this often-nebulous field. Details to come soon, as my procrastination becomes ever more frantic.

Here, have a picture of Linus in luxury:

Oh, and I have inadvertently grown Mushroom-Zilla. More soon.

Bonjour le monde!

2008-02-29T19:30:00.000-08:00

We return (again). Wow, two and a half [ed: now three] months. What happened? Well, there was Christmas and the ensuing madness. Tony spent the Christmas week at his parent's house in Michigan, which was awful and led to us agreeing never, ever, ever to spend Christmas apart again. Then when he came back to DC, he brought a special present back just for me: a nasty Northern cold that robbed me of my voice and left me bedridden for days. But not in an interesting 19th-century heroine kind of way--more like a crotchety great-uncle who lays around and moans and never actually sleeps though he always claims to be tired, and who always wants to know "Where's my chicken soup? I said I wanted chicken soup BRING-ME-MY-SOUP-DAMMIT!"

Suffice to say, I am not a good invalid.

Then, even while I was recovering from the Plague, I got a new part-time job waiting tables at a local restaurant. The characters are, of course, novel-worthy subjects and I can't complain with the money, but the late nights kick my ass. For the first couple of weeks, I had to take an extra-long lunch break every day so I could nap--or I would visibly nod off in meetings and lose track of crucial details (like proofreading our ads). Now I schedule my naps. The Sunday afternoon doze had become A Priority, and woe to anyone who interferes with it.

You know what else has been kicking my ass? Winter. I was fine through Valentine's Day. But then it was Lent, a time of penance and sacrifice, and it was SO COLD, and I foolishly gave up tea as my Lenten sacrifice, and it's SO COLD, and there are no more holidays till Easter and I'M READY FOR IT TO BE SPRING WAAAAHHHH. Honestly, I've just given up. I wear a full layer of SmartWool under my clothes at all time and I put on my down parka even when I bike. You win, Winter.

We finally received our first heating bill this [ed: last] month and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth, with the result that the heat for the house has been turned down to Arctic levels. Here's how the we're dealing with it:

Seriously, I drew the line and started running a space heater in my room when I noticed that Linus was visibly shivering.

And what else has been keeping me busy? Well, being miserable at my day job has kind of sucked all my energy away. I realized two weeks in that it wasn't going to be a good fit for me and determined to stick it out for at least a year, but I'm starting to reach the end of my rope. My boss isn't a bad person, but he's not a particularly good boss. And Marketing? Totally not my bag. But there is hope on the horizon, maybe! And look--much-deserving, ever-struggling Beth has a new job that she's excited about--so miracles really do happen.

Speaking of miracles:

Tony, as quiet and as essential to me as air.

Exhibit A in the Good vs. Evil debate

2007-12-11T20:48:00.000-08:00

Taken over 6 months ago in Winston (ah, my lovely lost apartment!). He is now taller and more graceful, but otherwise pretty much the same.

As Tony Metro observed, "Obsessed with socks from an early age."

Good puppy? Evil puppy? Traffic light puppy?

2007-12-11T19:02:00.000-08:00

You decide!

Gas attack!

2007-12-01T11:41:00.000-08:00

After taking advantage of Nate and Rebekah's generous hospitality long enough, I realized it was time for Linus and me to find a more permanent temporary home in DC--one where I could have cats and ransom my beloved Pepper from my parents' house. Through my connections with a neighborhood maven, I heard of a beautiful townhouse for rent five blocks from where I was living. I jumped on the opportunity, advertised the other two bedrooms on Craigslist, and after a hectic four-week roommate-hunting period was all set to move in.

Then the day after we all moved in one of my roomies detected a gas leak. We thought it might be in the basement crawl space, so we brought some plumbers out. Three separate plumbers came out over the course of four (heatless and stoveless) days, took a look at the 12" x 18" entrance to the crawl space, and unceremoniously left. A fourth might have been willing to chance it, but discovered that the gas was running through illegal copper pipes and refused to touch the job for fear of liability issues.

Finally Plumber #5, clearly an outside-of-the box kind of guy, conducted a more systematic inquiry and found the leak--right by the gas meter, where anyone could have turned it off.

So now we have heat and--we hope--the problem is fixed. The owner (who didn't know about any of this before Plumber #4 pointed it out) plans to have all the illegal pipes taken out and replaced with...whatever it is you're supposed to run gas through, but obviously none of us is eager to do this in winter as it involved shutting off the heat for several days while contractors rip up the basement and, quite possibly, the kitchen. So we're going to try to get through the winter and hope nothing else happens. Not the ideal solution, but there it is.

Really makes you rethink the joys of home ownership.

Bad Car-ma

2007-11-28T13:06:00.000-08:00

I've never had a serious accident in my twelve years of self-propelled locomotion, getting into far more trouble the rare times when I've had a car than during the many when I've relied on foot and pedal to get me around. I like to credit this to experience and skill, but I've recently been made rudely aware that my fortune is probably just rooted in damned good luck.

Yesterday during our morning walk, Linus got clipped by a car. We were waiting at a crosswalk for the light to turn green, Linus sitting automatically as he's been trained to do. The light changed, we stepped off the sidewalk, and a car zoomed out of the lane on our left and turned toward the spot where we were standing. I yelled and jumped out of the way and Linus mostly followed me, but not before the speeding vehicle smacked him on the hip and pushed him toward me.

I couldn't move, trapped by fury, shock, disbelief and post-crisis "what if" horror. The driver barely checked his speed--and perhaps his rear-view mirror--before tearing toward the next traffic light. Which was red.

If I'd had more presence of mind, I'd have punched the car, chased it down, gotten the license number... something. I will spend many days reliving that awful handful of seconds, regretting my paralysis. How can anyone be so stupid, cruel, unaware?

It didn't stop there. We took three more steps into the intersection and a car from the opposite lane took a left turn toward us, nearly hitting us before my wild gesticulations caught the driver's attention.

When we got home, I said a lengthy prayer of thanks over my oatmeal that these two moments, so blind and thoughtless, had not (as they so easily could have) tipped over the edge of tragedy.

Later as I biked to work (riding like a car in traffic as I've been taught to do by many a mentor), I nearly T-boned a driver who took a left turn into my path.

And then today, I was the one who got clipped: a driver sitting behind me at a red light wanted to turn right. Rather than waiting the extra millisecond to let me continue riding straight across the intersection, she zoomed around me and turned into my path without warning. Again I barely avoided injury, escaping with an audible THUMP of my wheel into her door and several undignified wobbles.

Here's the thing: this driver knew I was there--we made eye contact in the moment before collision. Did she think that my bike wasn't in motion, that I was also turning right... or that I didn't belong on the road and it was her job to "teach me a lesson"? I've encountered drivers like that before, particularly along Florida Avenue, one of the main roads in my neighborhood. It's that rage and easy destructiveness that makes me worry about cycling on the streets--and it's also why I don't own a car myself. I can never sidestep the reality that getting behind the wheel of a car instantly gives me possession of a deadly weapon.

So, if you drive a car, I'm begging you: please, please, please watch out. There are mothers and children, cyclists and runners and cute puppies with loyal Internet followings out there. If you ever have an accident, no matter whose fault it was, you will likely walk away and the pedestrian/cyclist/puppy will not. It won't be fair, but that's how it will happen.

It's that simple.

Pupdate #20 (Birthday loot!)

2007-11-06T18:14:00.000-08:00

Here is a picture of Linus in The Chariot, long-sufferingly sporting the coat that his doting grandparents gave him for his birthday. He's also wearing the colorful new collar that was my contribution, though it isn't really visible.

I never thought I'd be the type to dress up my dog, but Linus gets cold during his trailer rides--he was visibly shivering by mid-October. Though his hair has grown in as much as it's going to, it is still so fine that his pink freckled skin is easily visible. And, of course, he has no body fat. I justify the dress-up by telling myself that Greyhound owners do it all the time.

And, hello, maximum cuteness! The sight of Linus in his tan coat with the red plaid lining and green corduroy collar is enough to mend broken hearts and promote world peace.

Hmm... maybe I should park him in front of the Capitol and see what happens...

Sometimes it really does happen that way

2007-10-31T20:49:00.000-07:00

moarfunny pictures

You might have wondered about the handsome dark stranger holding Linus in the "Dog Is My Copilot" photo below. Well, he is the other reason I've been too busy to post recently and his story goes like this:

It was a Saturday in August, one of the hottest days of the year, and I was getting over another heartbruise. Not a break, exactly, not even a sprain (I have now concluded), but yet another weirdness in a three-year series of weirdnesses after a drought of even longer. The kind of weirdness that starts you wondering what's wrong with [members of the sex to which you are attracted], and ends with you deciding that there must be something wrong with you.

So there I was on the Metro platform with my book and my pretty grownup clothes... and I noticed a handsome young man looking at me from a little ways down the platform. I gave him my "Hello, nice stranger" smile and went back to my book. A minute later I looked up and he was still watching me. This time I did the "Please don't be crazy" smile--and kept reading. The train came, we both got on the car, and he was still staring! I tried to read my book, but I kept shooting furtive glances at him and then looking away when he caught me.

We must have played that junior-high game for five minutes before I decided "The heck with this" and, with an internal sigh, asked him about the slogan on his T-shirt. Then he asked me about my book, and we fell into a conversation that lasted the duration of the train ride, the escalator ride, and the walk to my bus stop. Knowing that the bus would come any minute, I did something I've never done before:

I wrote down my name and number on a scrap of paper and handed it to him, saying, "There are some cool new bars where I live. If you want to get drinks sometime, give me a call... OH! Unless you're seeing someone! Are you seeing someone?" (Yeah, 10 points for style.) I walked away grinning, thinking he would never call but it would make a great story for the Monday lunchroom.

Well, he called. And that Friday we had the most awkward first date in romantic history--certainly the most awkward ever to have a second date. It began with a geographic mishap that had us on opposite sides of the city, and ended with me having to invite him back to sleep at our house (on a spare bed, people!) when the bus stranded him in my neighborhood.

And yet, there was a second date. And a third. And suddenly it was impossible to imagine getting through a week--or even a few days--without seeing the guy I'd picked up on the Metro.

Dog Is My Copilot

2007-10-27T19:57:00.001-07:00

Linus serves as Chief Navigator for his birthday trip to his grandparents' house.

Why I've been gone so long...

2007-10-27T19:35:00.000-07:00

I wish I had a dramatic tale of sudden change, disaster or elation to explain my thoroughly inexcusable absence for the past two and a half months. The truth, as lame as it is, is that I've been... busy. Busy doing stuff like this:

... and this:

So, that's it, really. A couple of Emergency Sewing Projects (ESPs) and my sudden transformation into a documentary filmmaker chewed all my free time to bits. It's been a lot of fun working on them, but I'm ready to get back to a more normal schedule now. And resume posting about the Mighty Linus, of course.

Speaking of, guess who celebrated his first birthday two weeks ago! Video of the festivities shortly to follow!

Garden cooking

2007-08-04T13:55:00.000-07:00

So I have this little postage-stamp garden, planted from the example of a green-thumbed friend in Winston-Salem (who was one of my visitors last month and who chided me for under-watering my tomatoes, but that's another story). It contains a mismash of herbs and vegetables, some planted with a definite culinary purpose, some for amusement--like "Simon Gardenfunkel" here:

Pop quiz: what could these four herbs possibly be?

...and some just because I have romantic childhood associations with the names. The lemon verbena bush falls into the last category. Lemon verbena was supposedly Laura Ingalls Wilder's favorite scent (according to a source I totally can't remember right now) and another word for the verbena family (confusingly NOT related to lemon verbena) is vervaine, which is the surname of one of my favorite supporting characters in one of my favorite books ever.

The plant itself is an unassuming shrub with a glorious lemony-floral smell. Because the species is native to warmer climates, mine will probably die this fall unless I can find a place for it inside--so I've been searching for ways to preserve its lovely flavor.

After tinkering a bit in the kitchen (and let me tell you, it can get downright dangerous in there!), I hit on the idea of combining lemon verbena with the blackberries that are so plentiful in farmers' markets right now. The lemon flavor is not obvious, discernible mostly through its scent and lingering aftertaste, like a faint but delicious memory of your favorite summer.

Without further ado, I give you:

Megan's Blackberry Nostalgia Sauce

(with thanks to Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything and to Rebekah for her excellent taste in cookbooks)

2 cups fresh blackberries. Buy these from a farmers' market, if at all possible. You will need 2-3 of the little square boxes laughably called "pints."
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup sugar
1 Tb cornstarch dissolved in 1 Tb water
At least 9 large lemon verbena leaves. You can see from the picture above that they grow around the stem in threes; I clipped off a stem below the third full-size trefoil and included all the leaves, even the little baby ones, in the pot. Add more leaves if you want a stronger lemon flavor.

Place all ingredients in a heavy-bottomed, medium-sized saucepan and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Once the mixture is gently bubbling, simmer on low. Stir constantly, mushing blackberries with a wooden spoon or potato masher:

After sauce has thickened (about 10 mins), remove from heat and pour into a strainer that has been set over a bowl or other container. Continue crushing blackberry mixture until all liquid is extracted and only skin and seeds remain in strainer. (You could also use cheesecloth and squeeze the mixture to get the most sauce-y goodness possible, but be careful not to burn yourself.):

Yields: Oh, I dunno. A cup or two, I guess.

You can eat this over ice cream, but it would be especially nice on pound cake or some other base that won't overwhelm the delicate flavor of the lemon verbena. Bon appetit!

Coming next:
Pesto for a Broken Heart!

Pupdate #19 (Summer of love)

2007-07-25T17:50:00.000-07:00

Hello! Linus and I have been enjoying one of the benefits of living in a destination city: friend visits! Not only is Washington DC much more likely to attract out-of-town guests than Winston-Salem, it is also much more convenient to public transportation. Ergo, our last few weeks have been occupied with friends traveling from up and down the coast to ogle the monuments and coo over Linus.

This week, however, Hotel Megan closed its doors for maintenance and I have been busy washing sheets and replacing stolen ashtrays (just kidding, guys!).

One of our guests, Linus's Aunt Katieberry,* lived in Vietnam for several years. I used the fact that one of the featured cultures was the Mekong River to persuade her to visit in time for the Smithsonian Folklife Festival. THEN she found out that one of her acquaintances was one of the translators for the Festival! We all experienced the cultural opportunities in different ways: I admired the silk weavers,

Katie revisited the happy days of her Southeast Asian sojourn, and Linus ate a chopstick.

We walked further down the Mall with Katieberry, who'd never been to DC before, and got a classic hippie picture of her with her puppy nephew:

A quick swing to the north took us to the White House, simultaneously the highlight and nadir of New York Liberal Katie's trip.

KATIE: Damn you for destroying my country!
LINUS: Who is this crazy lady and why is she holding my leash? Please don't arrest me.

Afterwards, Katie wrote some very nice things about her trip. All I have to say is, the world would be a better place if everyone performed Child's Pose more often.

PS. Sorry the pictures are being weird. Blogger and Flickr are either feuding, or conspiring against me. And I left all my HTML brains at work today.
_____________________
*I can only call her that behind her back!

Pupdate #18 (Have puppy, will pedal!)

2007-07-06T11:02:00.000-07:00

Linus and I are both sturdy walkers and we have found a lot to explore in the three-mile radius surrounding our neighborhood. A girl and her puppy can only go so far on foot, however, and DC is a big and exciting place. We could be having even MORE fun if we were more mobile. So in order to overcome this challenge and fulfill a long-held dream,* two weeks ago I purchased a Burley trailer from the friendly folks at Capitol Hill Bikes.

Linus doesn't love it yet--our rides are punctuated by a persistent whine that ranges from "Hey, pay attention to me" to "I am an entire litter of HELPLESS PUPPIES being SKINNED ALIVE" (a sound guaranteed to draw attention from all in hearing range). But I have determined that this trailer is the key to infinite adventure--doggy happy hours! parks! camping trips!--and so, he will LEARN to love it. The Puppy-Mommy has spoken.

Here he is in the trailer, looking deceptively happy:

And here is a suitably patriotic picture of him meditating on the wonders of representative democracy:

Hope y'all had a fantastic Fourth!

__________________________
* And by "long-held," I mean, "Conceived about a day after I traded my car for a three-quarters-dead puppy."

Pupdate #17 (making new friends)

2007-06-19T20:03:00.001-07:00

THE SCENE: An ordinary morning on Trinidad Avenue

LINUS: Hi, Sparky. Hi, Dozer. How are you guys?

SPARKY: This is MY yard. I'M the boss here!

LINUS: Says who? Dozer's an awful lot bigger than you are.

SPARKY: Ha. Dozer can't hear you. He's deaf--it happens in white dogs sometimes. See: YOUR MOTHER WAS A PUG AND YOUR FATHER LOVES CATS!!

Ha! No answer. I, on the other hand, have unusually acute hearing thanks to a genetic anomaly that attached my ears BACKWARDS. Behold, the power of my BIONIC RIGHT EAR:

LINUS: Umm, okay. I have to go threaten the Six-Pound Hellhounds now. Catch you later.

SPARKY: Fine. Leave. This is MY YARD! I'M the boss!!

Later that day...

LINUS: Heyyy... where's Sparky?

DOZER: ZZZZZzzzz... oh hi, Linus. Sparky's under house arrest for digging up the garden.

LINUS: You can hear! Why do you pretend to be deaf?

DOZER: You would too, if you had to share a yard with Sparky all the time.

LINUS: Good point.

Pupdate #16 (Linus puts his work gloves on)

2007-06-06T19:32:00.000-07:00

The Trinidad neighborhood in NE DC gets a bad rap, but the truth is that there are many beautifully maintained early 20th c. townhouses and charming postage-stamp gardens in our area. In an attempt to hop on the bandwagon--and excited at finally living in a place that has a yard--I began Memorial Day buying and potting plants for a small container garden in the front yard. Our yard now boasts:

Basil
Tomatoes (Roma and Patio)
Mexican roses (Portulaca)
Lemon thyme
Lemon verbena

I have a whole bag of potting soil left over, so I might go crazy (or is that grow crazy? Ha!) and buy some more plants...maybe mint and parsley so I can have fresh tabbouleh all summer. And maybe some cucumbers for gazpacho. Mmm....

Of course, Linus did his bit to help:

He's so "handy"!

I also celebrated the holiday by biking to the Mall (I still find it trippy to be living so close to Monument Central) and watching my crazy dad and his crazy friends march in the parade on Constitution Avenue:

Then I shopped. Really, all my Memorial Day lacked was burgers and watermelon.

Pupdate #15 (arrival)

2007-05-31T19:19:00.000-07:00

We're here!!!

We spent our last weeks in Winston-Salem in a blur of cleaning, packing and good-byes, with Linus taking the chance to say good bye to his very favorite vet, Dr G:

As for the move itself, I must say it was the best-organized of my peripatetic career. Then again, that may not be saying very much considering how stressful moving is and how bad I am at organizing concrete objects. Of course, I had a little help:

Believe me, one roll of waxed paper was a small price to pay for fifteen minutes of quiet puppy!

Pupdate #14 (Bring your puppy to work day!)

2007-05-07T12:37:00.000-07:00

As a present for Linus's half-birthday last month, Munchkin Girl* and I brought him to the Marketing Office on campus and made him Chairpup of the Board for a day. He took his supervisory role very seriously and helped us roll out some new initiatives at the day's board meeting. Here is a day in the life of a working dog:

Chairpup believes in powerful first impressions.
He arrives in style, courtesy of Munchkin Girl Limo & Sedan Service, to be greeted by his adoring subjects.

Pup-ularity is a full time job!
Chairpup receives hundreds of e-mails each day.

Chairpup is known for his high standards.
Here, he reviews a press release waiting for publication.

Munchkin Girl attempts to explain that her gifts lie in organizing, not writing...

...but Chairpup says NEIN!!!

After Munchkin Girl rushes off in tears at disappointing her beloved but demanding supervisor, Chairpup is forced to make his own photocopies.

Fortunately, they reconcile in time for the much-anticipated board meeting, where Chairpup unveils his daring new strategy:

DECREASE CATS
INCREASE BONES

All in a day's work.

____________________
* not because she is short, but because of her TOTALLY AWESOME Munchkin-voice rendition of "Sweet Child of Mine," which forever sealed my determination to be her friend.

Pupdate #13 (See Linus catch!)

2007-04-26T10:17:00.001-07:00

Again, with the no posting! Here's a video to tide you over. This is us in the local park, polishing Linus's "catch" skills. We got kicked off the tennis courts one time too many (useless sport!), so I've taken to putting him on a 20' lead and working with him in the open grassy area. It's a good system most of the time, until Linus sees something he wants and forgets that he's still on a leash, hurling himself to the end of the line and then wha-BAM! turning into a canine tetherball.

Sorry for the the long silence, folks. I've been busy GETTING A JOB!

Yes, I have found a theater company in Washington, DC that is actually willing to hire me to sell their shows, run their blog, and be an all-round marketing and internet lackey. So Linus and the cats can continue with their gourmet pet food habit and I have Saturdays off for the first time in three years. I can't wait!!

But wait! My story gets better. A college theater buddy has just recently bought a house in the Trinidad neighborhood of Northeast DC with his wife... a house that conveniently features a finished basement with separate entrance. And is three miles away from the theater I'll be working at. Oh, and did I mention that they love dogs? It's perfect! The only downside is that Nate the Great is highly allergic to cats, so Pepper and Brenin will have to live with my parents in Maryland until I can find a permanent place for myself and the menagerie.

More posts soon. We celebrated Take-Your-Puppy-to-Work Day the other week, and the pictures are fabulous.

Pupdate #12 (The joy of playdates)

2007-04-01T17:17:00.000-07:00

Got back from New York at midnight (!!) Friday a week ago. I've been spending most of my time since then either working at The Store or chiseling away at the Federal disaster area that was my apartment. It had reached a state I call Critical Mess: so cluttery and fuzzy-around-the-edges that spending time at home was no longer enjoyable and I couldn't concentrate on anything.

I am happy to report some success in my efforts: the carpet is green again and the stove is white, the bathroom is less of a biohazard than it was (still a work in progress!), and there is no longer a big scary pile of clothing-and-blankets threatening to topple from the foot of my bed and smother me in my sleep.

Linus thoroughly enjoyed his stay at Casa John and Melissa's, coming home covered in cuts and bumps from having been flung about the yard by their three big shepherd dogs. The next day, he was still... subdued. Well-behaved, even. Amazing.

"A tired dog is a good dog," the saying goes. Unfortunately for me, on an energy scale of 0 to Border Collie, Linus ranks about a 9. These pictures are a small taste of what he gets up to when he CAN'T burn it all off.

Yep, that's my hammer sticking out from under his pillow.

So I take every chance to introduce him to new doggy pals who will run him around and beat him up (in a good way!). We also perform the same service for our own dog friends--Linus is much in demand as a play-pal for his ability to run any other dog (including Stella the whippet mix!) into the ground. On the weekends, we've taken to visiting our friend Nonprofit Dave, who has a new Scottie puppy. Teddy was adopted as a companion for Paisley, the grand old lady of the house; however, he is less than a year old and more eager to play than Paisley likes. After our first visit, Dave called me and said, "You've gotta bring Linus back. After your visit, Teddy didn't move for TWO DAYS!"

Here are Linus and Teddy playing:

Arrrr! Death to the stuffie bone!

Spring is here! Doesn't it make you want to leap off your couch and run in circles on the grass?? Me too.

Pupdate #...? (Happy Late Monthday!)

2007-03-19T18:45:00.000-07:00

Last week, Linus celebrated his fifth arbitrary monthday (the 7th of each month). Here is his monthly picture, showing one of his favorite toys. He likes to have stuff to carry when we go outside:

Linus is currently visiting with his aunt and making new doggie friends at Casa John & Melissa, as I have to be in New York City this week for school stuff. Naturally I am getting twice-daily progress reports.

You'd think that a Spring Break trip to NYC would be just what every little arts manager desires, but I would so rather be home right now, wrestling with Linus and decontaminating my apartment. Anyway, I am currently the guest of the marvelous Flogging Katie, who has provided me with shelter, enthusiastic welcome, and a much-needed dose of pointed absurdity. Now if I could just stop falling asleep in front of important theater executives...

Pupdate #10 (the Destruction Duo)

2007-03-04T17:08:00.000-08:00

It's homework time again, so obviously I have to post another Linus video. Clever stalling tactic, huh?

Brenin and Linus together are a kind of tag-team of destruction, with Brenin gleefully knocking valuable objects off their havens for Linus to chew. One of Brenin's favorite tricks is to steal the sash out of my bathrobe, drag it to wherever Linus is sitting, drop it in front of him, and wait for the fun to begin.

This scene is staged for documentary purposes, but it accurately reflects daily life in the Meganomics household.

P.S. YouTube promises that the video will be ready shortly.
P.P.S. I hope you like it! This is my first foray into the exciting world of video editing.
P.P.P.S. The song is by Magnetic Fields.

Pupdate #9 (See Linus sit!)

2007-02-28T13:07:00.000-08:00

Linus practices his tricks and works off his rainy Sunday zoomies. Pepper is not amused:

Sorry about my annoying voice and Virgin Radio in the background.

Pupdate #8 (Progress report)

2007-02-27T19:02:00.000-08:00

Here I am, conspicuously not creating a performance calendar and budget for an imaginary theater in San Francisco; nor am I outlining a plan to determine how the Executive Director of my semi-hypothetical nonprofit organization will be hired, trained, and evaluated.

Yeah, you are so jealous of me right now. With exciting projects like these, who wouldn't want a Master's degree in arts management?

Anyway, it's been a while since we've checked in. Linus is still doing swimmingly. This morning in the park we ran into Soccer Coach Guy and his temporary-but-probably-about-to-be-permanent stray dog Micah, a Lab mix. Coach Guy and I turned the dudes loose in our favorite tennis court and they gleefully dashed about and pummelled each other. Linus acquired several tough-looking scrapes in the process of skidding and tumbling on the concrete. He is practically bulletproof, so they didn't faze him a bit. Then Linus's Godmother, Munchkin Girl, took us to the vet's for some preliminary bloodwork in preparation for his upcoming operation (snippity snip snip!). His looks and behavior were universally admired. I was especially proud of him for not flinching, snapping or howling when the needle was stuck into his leg. He came home with a tummy full of turkey and a dashing white bandage that last 0.07 seconds before he gnawed it off. See on his front left leg:

Here is how the training is going:
The Good:

Housebreaking. Knock on wood, he finally seems to understand that it's not okay to go potty anywhere in the apartment. We moved through several stages with this. First, there was "going potty outside is good!" (The urinary tract infection was unexpectedly helpful in teaching this concept, as he was going outside several times an hour for almost two weeks). Then there was "going potty in the living room is bad, but the bedroom is okay because it's not really my 'den'." Linus and I lived almost exclusively in the living room during his first six weeks with me (hence the sleeping bag that's STILL on the futon), so it took a while for him to include the bedroom in his no-go zone. After that, we got to "go outside when you can, but if you have to go potty inside, go in the bedroom." This stage lasted the longest and is responsible for about 50% of my gray hairs. Thankfully, we finally seem to have reached the "going inside is NOT okay; tell Mom when you have to go outside!" stage. So he knows that if he lingers around the door, I will take him outside. A fun corollary of this process is that he knows the words "Go potty!" and I can brag about having a dog who pees on command.
Roommate skills. Sometime during the summer, the kids and I will move to either New York City or DC. We will probably have to have a roommate, so I've concentrated on teaching him habits that will make him easier to live with. These include the commands "Leave it," "Give," and "Settle" (requiring him to go to his cushion, lay down, and stay). He is making decent progress with the first two, as long as the object in question isn't too enticing. I'm still working on getting him to figure out that "settle" refers to both the place and the action.
Catch. Linus is a tennis ball genius. He can catch a ball before it hits the ground about 50% of the time and overall, manages to snatch the ball from the air 2/3 of the time I throw it. That's better than I can do! He also thinks strategically: if the ball is bouncing, he will run up to it, watch how it moves, and wait for it to reach the right position. It's almost eerie how quickly he picked up the skill. Plus, if I throw the ball low and it rolls, he will run in front of the ball and stop it with his feet before picking it up. Four and a half months, folks. Provided his joints hold up and aren't damaged by all this running around on concrete, I plan to train him for agility or flyball competition when he gets older.
Vocabulary. Here are the commands he really knows: sit, down, wait (= stay. I'm really proud of that one! It's hard to teach!), touch (hand targeting: he bumps my hand with his nose), go to bed, go potty. He comprehends, but has about 40 - 60% reliability with the following: come here, leave it, give, settle, easy (the no-pull command). I think we're doing pretty well!

The Bad:

Fear aggression. There are a couple of extremely dominant puppies in class, notably a spiky German Shepherd and a Bull Mastiff who won't take "no" for an answer. If either of these dogs pins Linus or gets too much in his face, he snarls and snaps. Even if neither of those dogs is approaching him, I've noticed that he shows signs of nervousness -- raised hackles, flattened ears -- during the socialization period of puppy class, even though he likes to meet other dogs and plays nicely with most of the other puppies. He gets along well with older dogs, though he demonstrates more enthusiasm than manners in greeting them. I predict that he will be fine with the vast majority of dogs; however, it's essential that he be as well-socialized and as confident as possible. Not only is it an important life skill, the ability to be calm around other dogs is a component of the Canine Good Citizen test that many clubs require dogs to pass before they can train for competitions or become therapy dogs.
Leash walking. Same old, same old. His leash walking is... okay... certainly better than some of the other dogs that I've seen in the neighborhood, but just okay isn't good enough. When he hits his full strength, he will be able to drag me down the street effortlessly. Plus, I love walking and am looking forward to having him as a companion and a guard (true he's a pussycat, but he can at least look dangerous!). I need to work on this in myself, as I am sometimes inconsistent about enforcing the limits of acceptable behavior. My goal is not a perfect competition heel -- his shoulder aligned with my knee at all times -- but a looser heel in which some part of his body is parallel with my leg. Walking ahead of me isn't really okay, but I permit it sometimes and I shouldn't. We've begun some attention exercises in which I reward him for making eye contact with me. I hope that will help.
Cats/litterbox. Not as bad as it was, but he has mastered the art of the quick lunge and the innocent look as soon as I've grabbed the spray bottle. He has also discovered kitty crunchies, that doggie delicacy. In the picture above, you'll see two crates. The smaller one holds the litterbox and almost succeeds in preventing him from stealing the odd snack. Blecch. At least he responds to "leave it" most of the time.

The Funny:

Snore. I don't call him Mighty Linus for nothing!
Zoomies. Like cats do in the middle of the night, Linus sometimes feels the urge to race madly around the apartment as if chased by invisible demons. I have a video of one of his fits, which I will post here as soon as YouTube starts cooperating.
Oh, a million things. The way that carrying a toy stretches his mouth into a big ol' doggie grin. His luxurious, lethargic exits from his crate after a satisfying nap. The fact that he runs to his crate and waits expectantly when he sees me put my bike helmet and sunglasses on. As frustrating as the present situation is, he's still a joy to have around.

A Meme

2007-02-14T08:16:00.000-08:00

Yes, Linus fans, he will return soon!

In the meantime, here at last is my response to bookwormom's meme poke.

10 Weird Things About Me:

I've had my tonsils out twice.
I pour wine with my left hand and milk with my right hand.
I once re-created a black and gold Elizabethan dress, complete with hooped farthingale, for $50 in materials. Spray paint and glitter glue may have been involved.
When I was 20 I left college and moved to London with $1000, no job, and no place to live. I survived.
I have read Aristotle, Plato and Sophocles in English and Greek. Aristotle makes more sense in Greek.
I took a life-size cardboard cutout of Elvis with me to British Columbia to visit a friend, photographing him with innocent bystanders at every opportunity.
My movie star crush of the moment is Eric Bana. You would be shocked--shocked!--at how many times I've watched "The Hulk."
My ultimate post-breakup girl-power comfort book is Robin McKinley's The Blue Sword.
I eat my dinners according to what gets cold first. [This had to be pointed out to me by a friend, as I do it unconsciously.]
I LOATHE the Build-A-Bear Workshop with a passion that defies all reason.

The Kids Are All Right

2007-02-13T14:22:00.000-08:00

In class today, one of my instructors remarked in a puzzled tone, "You seem a little bitter and scarred from your theater production experience."

"Yes," I replied, "and that why I'm in management now."

One of the things I love about studying management at an art school, though, is the constant refraction of creativity through the most mundane lenses. It's a joy to walk around campus and see students make art out of bake sale posters and the arrangement of parking stickers on their cars. Witness this video, created by a few freshmen to record their all-weekend draft-a-thon:

I've rarely seen an all-nighter so well documented.

Pupdate #7 (Linus 3.0, or "Holy growth spurt, Batman!")

2007-02-08T08:14:00.000-08:00

Howdy, everyone. Linus celebrated his arbitrary fourth monthday last week with a checkup at the vet's. He tested negative for mange, so I can finally start reducing the meds, and got his final round of shots. We discussed the little snippity-snip operation, which I'm hoping to schedule as soon as possible. And we weighed him. He was eighteen pounds in early January, so I expected something in the twenties, but I was kind of shocked at the number called out by the assistant.

TWENTY-SEVEN POUNDS, people. That's almost thirty pounds of pure puppy lurve. Here is the February picture (the grandparents have commissioned monthly pictures so they can track his growth):

contrasted with the January picture:

As you will notice, HIS LEGS ARE STRAIGHT! Yayyyy!!! The wrist joints still look a little weak and knobbly to my untrained eye, and he still has a habit of knuckling over when he sits or relaxes... but now he runs and plays just like a normal puppy.

Our puppy class instructor told me that doubling a puppy's weight at four months is an accurate predictor of the dog's final weight. I'll admit that I was hoping for something in the 50 lbs and under range; however, 60 lbs is still small compared to the behemoth Labradors that I'm used to.

Pupdate #6? (Puppy's First Snow!)

2007-02-01T19:54:00.000-08:00

This is how the cats have reacted to Linus:

No! They're fine! In fact, they have accepted him remarkably well. Pepper, the black-furred middle-aged gentleman, hates dogs as a rule; however, he has gone nose-to-nose with Linus peacefully on several occasions. Brenin, who is just moving out of cat adolescence, is more of a troublemaker. Just when I get Linus settled down, Brenin will come along and bop him on the nose before scooting away. Now how am I supposed to teach the puppy to resist that kind of temptation?!

Fortunately, the spray bottle mostly does the trick.

Get this: Winston-Salem shut down today for an inch of snow that was gone by lunchtime. I'm not kidding. Granted, they were predicting sleet and freezing rain that never materialized... but here's the good part. School cancellations began yesterday--while the sun was still shining. When my Fargo-born classmate heard about this, she threw her hands in the air and shouted, "I effing LOVE this town!!"

Here is Linus, camouflaged in the all-too-brief snow cover:
Have I mentioned how grateful I am for that tennis court? Here I'd always thought tennis was kind of a useless sport, but wow. Thank you, God, for tennis courts, salvation of the apartment-dwelling dog owner.

Pupdate #5 (Puppy yoga!)

2007-01-21T19:13:00.000-08:00

Hey folks--
sorry for the long interruption. School kinda caught up to me last week.

Anyway, thanks very much to all for the support and kind advice. My last entry was a little ranty, wasn't it? Sorry. Linus has a lot of energy, intelligence, and sociability; while those are all good qualities and ones I would always look for in a dog, they also require an outlet. Without companionship and stimulation for the mind and body, any dog will develop problem behaviors; Linus is no exception. His bad habits--leash-chewing, cat-chasing, and nipping--nearly disappear on days when I can spend enough time with him.

And then, on the other hand, we have Fridays: class from 10:00 am to 1:00 pm, work from 2:30 pm to 9:30 pm. When I got home this past Friday, he was a complete head case. He ran around the apartment for an hour and a half straight, gnawing at my hands when I put him in his crate for time-outs. Once in his crate, he proceeded to shred the nice bed his grandparents gave him for Christmas. I was so furious, I wanted to scream. Fortunately, I retained enough sanity to remind myself that he had legitimate reasons for being hyperactive. So I gave him a carrot. Chewing on it calmed him down to the point of...manageability, if not good behavior.

And then, miracle of miracles, I had the whole weekend off! We've started working on leash-walking skills, a procedure that involves me stuffing his mouth with cubed lunchmeat while telling him how smart he is for walking calmly at my left side.

The first miracle, I forgot to mention, is that I realized last week that the tennis courts at the local park would make a great puppy playground. We go there once or twice a day; I bring toys, but he also finds his own in the form of discarded tennis balls, watter bottles, and candy bar wrappers. Given his past joint problems, I am not entirely thrilled to be running him around a concrete surface for 30 minutes each day...but in the absence of a backyard, it keeps both of us sane.

And by the way, he's been almost an angel this whole weekend.

And you should see this puppy run! He looks like a little white deer! He throws himself around the courts as if he could take off and fly by running fast enough. Compared to the heartbreaking condition of his legs a month ago, it is a joy to behold.

I think I've discovered the secret of his miraculous recovery. Linus engages in an ancient form of yoga so secret and obscure that it is only known to a handful of practitioners, who are born with it in their DNA. Yes, it's true--Linus is not a pit bull mix, he's a rare and gifted Tibetan Rescue Dog!

Ok, maybe not... but you too can cure weak joints and bring about world peace through practicing poses such as the following:

Dead Cockroach!

Flying Frog!

Helicopter Tail!

Practice up to 54 times daily.

Pupdate #4 (Parent Orientation)

2007-01-11T17:44:00.000-08:00

Did you happen to hear a small pop from somewhere on the East Coast at about 8:30 last night? That was my head exploding.

Seriously, I had no idea there was so much advice to give about puppies. And it's all contradictory! New parents (of babies, I mean) have my profoundest sympathy. If I'm overwhelmed by the conflicting directives of dog training, I only need to think about how many different schools of parenting there are. No wonder so many people screw it up!

For example, there is the adage "A tired dog is a good dog;" i.e., you're supposed to give your dog a good workout in the morning to wear him out and make training easier. Cesar Millan, dog guru du jour, concurs, as do the teachers of the obedience class. So, okay, I should exercise Linus. Except... I live in a one-bedroom apartment and I have no yard. So I have to walk him. As I mentioned before, he's doing pretty well; however, he exhibits definite signs of Sled Dog Syndrome (constantly pulling ahead). It's normal for three-month-old puppies. However, I received dire warnings from the instructors last night that in taking him for walks before he's been fully leash trained, I might just be teaching him to pull constantly. So...yeah. You tell me.

It would probably be easier if I didn't care so much and worry so much, but I do. I fret that a seemingly trivial mistake at this crucial time will either scar him for life or turn him into an uncontrollable beast with Jaws of Steel. I want him to be friendly, mannerly and well-adjusted--not just for my sake, but for his. A well-adjusted dog is better equipped socially and just plain happier.

I don't think I'll ever have children. I might die of terminal anxiety.

However, to inspire myself, I've made a to-do list for me and him. As follows:
Behaviors we need to change:

Chasing the cats. Big no-no. He's just trying to play right now (and so is one of the cats, which certainly doesn't help!); but that might now always be the case. And another cat might misinterpret his invitation. I use a combination of deterrent (the Mighty Spray Bottle), redirection (Linus, come here! Sit!), and reward (Good boy! Treat! Wouldn't you rather be with me than a cranky ol' cat?)
Mouthing. On the good advice of one of the instructors, I have tried keeping my hand still when he takes it in his mouth. He immediately loses interest.
Nipping at pants legs. Only does it when he's at his most excited and wants me to play with him. I am trying standing still and ignoring him, as this is an attention-seeking behavior. If it persists or worsens, I'll... think of something else.
Grabbing the leash in his mouth. Does it when he's out-of-control hyper or mad at the leash; i.e., thinks he is being restrained too much. This happens every time we do the "Umbilical Cord" exercise, in which you wear the leash around your waist and attach your dog to you literally at the hip. It's supposed to promote bonding and make you the center of their attention, and it's a homework assignment for class. I'm trying to find some nontoxic deer repellant, as the Bitter Cherry spray didn't work AT ALL. We'll see.

First steps:

I have bought a clicker and trained him to associate it with food, so that every time he hears it he knows he'll get something good. (Done on the advice of many, including pit bull specialists and the inimitable Ms. Kinsale)
He leaves the cats alone voluntarily about half the time; another quarter of the time, I catch him before he acts.
We are beginning to establish a rhythm to our days. Thank God (and I mean that in all sincerity), Linus settles down after the requisite two hours of after-dinner mania.

Enough talk! Here is a picture, taken in the old sweater days, of Linus being cute. I know that's what you really came for!

More on the way, as I just got my first digital camera. And there's a great tongue shot as soon as I can get my last roll of film processed.

Pupdate #3

2007-01-08T17:30:00.000-08:00

As you can see from the above picture, Linus is doing fantastically! His legs are almost straight; the orthopedic specialist my vet consulted assured her that they would indeed straighten in time. The official name for his condition, by the way, is "carpal hyperflexion." You might need that for Jeopardy someday.

Puppy kindergarten at the local dog training club starts this Wednesday. As Linus has already grasped "sit" and "down" and is making great strides (ha! get it?) at leash walking, I fully expect him to rocket to the top of the class. He gets it from his mom.

Speaking of the whole "mom" thing, I'm getting a lot of ribbing from my classmates. Half of them assure me that walking a puppy is a great way to meet guys. The other half insist that no man will want to date "a single mother with three kids."

Obviously the solution is to date a vet.

Pupdate #2

2006-12-27T04:20:00.000-08:00

Hello, friends and fans of the Mighty Linus! I'm writing to you from my parents' house in Practically Pennsylvania (aka Jarrettsville), Maryland, where the menagerie and I are spending Christmas Week. And YES, thank GOODNESS, they have high-speed internet. I have two weeks of Cute Overload, Go Fug Yourself, Smart Bitches, Manolo, and Beth to catch up with.

So here's the big news: I'm keeping Linus! Half the credit goes to Linus himself, who in his unspeakable sweetness, astonishing intelligence, and goshdarn cuteness made it increasingly impossible to consider giving him up; the other half goes to my upstairs neighbor, Soccer Coach Guy. Mr. Coach Guy, who is Linus's biggest fan (after me, of course), said to me at a party, "You have to keep this puppy. I'll do whatever it takes to help you. It'll be okay. We can make this work." And with that, Soccer Coach Guy was promoted from Uncle to Godfather. I have yet to call in that promise, but once I get back to Winston-Salem I will be asking Soccer Coach Guy, Film School Guy, and Munchkin Girl (Linus's godmother) for rides to the vet's and lunchtime puppy-sitting shifts.

I am so, so happy to be keeping Linus! The preemptive grief and jealousy were becoming so acute that I couldn't even visit the Cute Overload website because it reminded me of him. I did indeed put posters up in local vets' offices and in the grocery store where I work (incidentally making Linus a storewide celebrity). One person called and I found myself telling her that Linus was a pit bull (which is probably true), that he would grow to be very big (which is probably not true, given his bad start), and that he wouldn't get along with her other dogs (definitely not true). When I hung up the phone, I thought, "I can't keep doing this."

So, Linus stays. We will work out challenges with school, work, and peripatetic career choice as they arise.

And how is Linus? Well, here is a picture of us a week after we came home from the vet:

We are going back to the vet because it turned out that poor Linus had a urinary tract infection, on top of everything else. Naturally, this was the weekend I got food poisoning and had to spend all Sunday in bed. With me randomly vomiting and him randomly peeing--sometimes simultaneously--it was quite the lesson in single parenthood. Anyway. You will notice in the picture that he is kind of pink and blotchy--at this point, he is still bald except for a fine down on his face and some long, wiry hairs down his spine that were probably his body's desperate attempt to keep warm.

This next picture shows him bigger and healthier, but still pink:

You can't really see it, but Linus is laying on his beloved Wilson, source of many happy cuddle-and-chew hours. The hair around his face is thicker and an undercoat has started to grow in pea-sized patches under his sweater.

Today, Linus has almost a full coat of hair all over his body; he finally looks like a normal puppy, albeit a skinny one! He has tough little leg muscles and his hipbones are fully covered. You can still see his ribs when he breathes in, but his weight is about triple what it was when I first found him.

There is still one problem that worries me: his front legs are terribly crooked. They started to bend forward and sideways at the wrist/knee/carapace/whatever joint after his first week home. At first, I thought it was a cute bulldog-type pigeon-toed quirk, but it quickly became obvious that his walking was impaired. The vet told me that malnutrition had weakened his ligaments and that he would recover with time and proper nutrition. It has now been a month, however, and his legs are getting worse. He hobbles around the house on the outsides of his front toes like a crab. When he is tired, his legs bend so much that the joint practically touches the ground, and I've become worried about permanent damage to his soft baby bones. I called the vet again this week--we're old friends now!--and she admitted that she'd never heard of such a severe case. She is calling some orthopedic vets to see what they can tell her.

Luckily, my whole family is behind us. My grandmother became especially fond of Linus during her Christmas visit and is extremely upset about his feet. She added him to her prayer list and wrote his name in the prayer book at Church (I'd love to know how many dogs have appeared there!).

True to his good nature, Linus doesn't seem to realize that anything is wrong. He cavorts around the house with his four-footed cousins in spite of everyone's attempts to keep him quiet. He also behaved amazingly well during the eight-hour drive North. Here is a picture of his typical pose:
(See? He's finally white!!)

By the way, Linus is not only impossibly sweet, he is also incredibly smart. He learned how to "sit" in TWO DAYS. Now he sits before going outside and coming in, while getting his leash on and off, and before meals. Genius puppy! He has also told me in no uncertain terms that he will not wear the sweater anymore. I came home from work one day to find him sitting up naked in his crate, the sweater in a heap next to him. Worried about the colder weather, I tried putting the sweater on him when we got to Maryland. He wore it for a few hours, but I woke up from a mutual nap to find that he'd managed to remove the sweater without even waking me. Clever little nut.

I will continue to post with news about Linus's physical and intellectual development. Happy Holidays to you and all your loved ones from Megan and the Menagerie!

Pupdate #1

2006-12-11T13:20:00.000-08:00

The puppy came home from the vet that Friday (over two weeks ago now, sorry! My neighbor left for Winter Break and took my pirated wireless with him, the bastard!), accompanied by a battery of medications of the squirt-down-the-throat and hide-in-the-food variety. The animal hospital's "Buddy Fund" to help me pay his bills. He was quite a favorite there, with the receptionists taking turns holding him on their laps during lunch and the entire office staff turning out to say goodbye. I told them I was trying to choose between the names "Possum" (because that's what he first resembled) and "Linus." The latter won unanimously.

Here is a picture of him a few days after coming home:

Linus has a crate (borrowed from a classmate), a puppy bed, his own Nylabone (thanks, Mom and Dad!), and a little blue sweater to keep him warm until his hair grows back. He also has his own Wilson (thanks to honorary aunt Beth), which he cuddles with when it's warm from the microwave and tries to "kill" when it has cooled. Thanks to friends, family, and the amazing staff at Ard-Vista Animal Hospital, this puppy's salvation has been a real team effort.

For about the first week, I possessed delusions of dog ownership. He was so cute and helpless and astonishingly well-behaved for a puppy. I even cried on the phone with the vet when discussing how to start finding a home for him.

Fortunately for me, he peed on the floor. A lot.

It turned out that the potty-every-fifteen-minutes thing was due to yet another infection, requiring yet another antibiotic. But while that was curable, it also delivered the "Hello! You are a starving, overworked grad student!" wake-up call that was necessary under the circumstances. Lucky for me, or I would have been in real danger.

Such is the Power of the Puppy, you see.

One Puppy's Thanksgiving

2006-11-27T08:23:00.000-08:00

Last Monday, I stayed up past midnight creating a slideshow to accompany my final presentation for class the next day. As I finally started to get ready for bed, I noticed that one of the cats was spending a lot of time in the living room window, staring and chirping at something outside. As it was a cold night, I just figured that a possum or raccoon was taking refuge against the side of the house--or that the mice living in my heating ducts were having a party.

At about three in the morning, I was awakened from homework-induced slumber by a bloodcurdling series of grunts and squeals outside the window of my basement apartment. After going outside several times and seeing nothing, I finally just stood by the door and talked coaxingly to my air-conditioning unit. Sure enough, after a minute or two a tiny, scabby, beady-eyed white head nudged round the corner of the unit. He was so dirty and emaciated that for one awful moment I didn't even realize he was a dog.

I pulled him into the bathroom, warmed some milk, spooned out some cat food, and plunked him on my lap to warm him up.

Here is what he looked like when I brought him in:

He was too weak to stand up straight, but in too much pain to lie down. After he had some water and whatever food I could find, he settled for half-draping himself across my lap. Every time I got up, he tried to wobble after me.

In the morning I took him to the vet's, where he was diagnosed with malnutrition, dematectic ("Red") mange and coccidia, an internal parasite. He stayed for three days to be cleaned inside and out.

I also checked the spot where I'd found him (much less scary in the daylight!) to see if there were any other puppies. Instead, I found a nylon dog crate in the street, the inside covered with many days' worth of sick-puppy-filth. This puppy wasn't born to a stray mother, nor did he wander away from his litter and get lost. Someone deliberately dumped him.

Sometimes I hate people.

Go Team!

2006-11-19T17:05:00.000-08:00

So with the help of my peers and some good advice from Nonprofit Dave, I solved the sticky work issue by sending Boss a discreetly-worded email and participating in a mostly civil and mature meeting.

Thank you, Getting to Yes. Separate the people from the problem! Don't negotiate on positions! Testify, bruthas and sistas!

A little structure in a mad world

2006-11-13T20:06:00.000-08:00

In an effort to cope with work frustrations, I have been reading some essays from James V. Schall's Idylls and Rambles and listening to Bach's B Minor Mass. I turn to Bach's music in the hope that his unwavering musical compass will serve as a moral one for me. Its precise, mathematical beauty untangles a mind snarled in its own anger.

Here's a question for the ages: if there's something you're supposed to do for your job that's not bad, but that makes you uncomfortable and may cause unpleasant repercussions, do you do it? Do you "take action against a sea of troubles" by telling your supervisor you think it's inappropriate? What if you already have a history as a "troublemaker"--in a Socratic gadfly kind of way?

There's something that I am required to do as part of my job. I don't think it should be done--at least not the way it is currently structured--and I don't think it's right to demand that someone in my position do it. I could tell my boss. He might react one of several ways: (1) by empathizing with my point of view; (2) by telling me to shut up and cooperate quietly for once; or (3) by changing the requirement and then passive-aggressively blaming me for rocking the boat and making life even more difficult for him.

Hence the Bach.

Adventures of a Novice Wrench Wench, Part 1

2006-11-08T12:37:00.000-08:00

Success! I have successfully overhauled the rear wheel shifting system on my bike. This is the most complicated repair I've done yet.

Saturday night (3 hours):

Removed rear derailleur from bike and cleaned thoroughly with denture brushes, Simple Green and WD-40.
Scrubbed chain link by link with toothbrush and dish soap.
Wiped grease off face, scoured fingers with toothbrush, and dashed out of house to serve as marketing ambassador for The Brothers Karamazov.

Tuesday night (2.5 hours):

Bought cable cutters, cable and housing.
Removed old cable. (rusty derailleur cable = fun new cat toy!)
Took GripShift apart. Dropped spring assembly; spent 1 hour trying to figure out how to return spring to "spring cavity." Replaced accidentally-wiped-off GripShift lube with Vaseline.
Ran cable through arbitrary lengths of housing; attached derailleur cable; adjusted; prayed.
Hopped into car to hear election news from Stewart and Colbert.

Wednesday morning:
SUCCESS!! Quick & dreamy shifting!

I guess this is how I get a profile photo?

2006-11-06T13:49:00.000-08:00

If you're the praying kind...

2006-11-06T13:40:00.000-08:00

please say a prayer or send some positive wishes for Lauren and David. Lauren is a PAM classmate of mine; her fiance David leaves for boot camp today. I love and respect them and the relationship they have, and I wish them all possible courage and strength while they are apart.

Testing...

2006-11-06T11:01:00.000-08:00

Just looking to see how this compares to my other blog.