The Leading Man Quiz: Jimmy Stewart? Well, yeah-eah

Can you imagine that, Harvey?

Jimmy Stewart
You scored 23% Tough, 9% Roguish, 61% Friendly, and 9% Charming!






Link: The Classic Leading Man Test written by gidgetgoes on OkCupid Free Online Dating

You are the fun and friendly boy next door, the classic nice guy who still manages to get the girl most of the time. You’re every nice girl’s dreamboat, open and kind, nutty and charming, even a little mischievous at times, but always a real stand up guy. You’re dependable and forthright, and women are drawn to your reliability, even as they’re dazzled by your sense of adventure and fun. You try to be tough when you need to be, and will gladly stand up for any damsel in distress, but you’d rather catch a girl with a little bit of flair. Your leading ladies include Jean Arthur and Donna Reed, those sweet girl-next-door types.

Find out what kind of classic dame you’d make by taking the Classic Dames Test.

Wild Kingdom

I like living indoors. That, and eating regularly, are two big reasons why I continue to work. Therefore I can understand on a certain level the desire of wild animals to move into my house. What I can’t understand is the recent appeal. Last Sunday it was a gopher. Last night it was a bat.

Our bedroom is on the second floor and we have a large awning over the window. In the dark I’m sure the space under the awning seems very cavelike. It’s also an old house and the top of the screen in the window doesn’t always stay in its track. Rather than find a replacement for the screen, I use the Red Green approach of strategically applied duck tape. About 1:00 a.m. my wife and I heard a tell-tale skritch at the screen, followed moments later by the screen popping and the sound of leathery wings in the room. I turned the nightstand lamp on to reveal a rather large specimen of a brown bat with a wingspan a little bigger than my hand, circling the room with lots of sudden changes in altitude.

Suddenly in the middle of our own Wild Kingdom episode, my wife claims the role of Marlin Perkins: “I’ll stay in the bed with the sheet pulled up to my eyes while John wrestles the beast into submission and counts its teeth.”

The first order of business is for me to commando-crawl over to the window to raise the screen in the hopes the bat will go out the same way it came in. Yeah, I know the bat doesn’t want to run into me anymore than I want to run into it, but it’s hard to maintain good posture when a crazed creature is zooming around at the level of your adam’s apple. Next, get on over to the small closet door and close it and the door to the master bath, and then into the walk-in closet to turn the light on. Past experience has shown us that if you give a bat a dark place filled with lots of clothes to hide in, that’s where it will go. This time it is too easy, as after about a minute of doing laps around the room the bat finally got itself lined up properly with the open window and was long gone.

We get about one bat episode a summer and I suppose I should try a more effective approach with the window screen, but I have to admit that this is kind of fun and a good source of material. The first time we had a bat in the house it came in through my youngest daughter’s window. She started crying about a bug in her room, which sent my wife in that direction, rather grumpily, wondering why a bug was such a big deal – until she opened the door and turned on the light. Stalemate. My wife wasn’t going in, my daughter wasn’t coming out, and the bat kept circling. I went in, scooped my daughter and my wife slammed the door as I came out and we left the situation for daylight.

The next day I went in with my leather work gloves, a broom and a dustpan and finally determined the bat must be hiding in the closet. I opened the windows and tried to make enough noise and commotion to flush the critter out, but it was hanging tough out of sight. My wife came in and started to go through the closet one hanger at a time, pulling out the clothing and shaking it while I stood ready to pounce on whatever moved. About a third of the way through the closet she shook a dress and the bat dropped out … and slid down my wife’s bare leg (she was wearing shorts) to the floor. I really wish I could have admired her bat dance in greater detail but I stayed focused on my mission and clapped the broom down on top of the creature. Once the secondary tremors had faded my wife grabbed an empty trash can and put it over the bat as I removed the broom; it was soon returned to the wild via the window.

The episode is one of our favorite family stories, and we’ve since learned that my wife’s bat dance is dramatically different from her spider dance. But that’s a story for another day.

Update:

When it comes to animal control problems, what are a few bats and gophers around the house, anyway? At least I don’t have to feed them. One man is going to great and hilarious lengths to keep his birdfeeder from becoming a squirrel’s answer to Old Country Buffet, and you can read about it here.

Win that hamburger eating contest, there are children starving in Africa!

Last Sunday the StarTribune’s OpEx section featured two photos side by side that the paper had downloaded from its news service. The photos had come one right after the other and though they were for unrelated stories the editors couldn’t help but notice the juxtaposition: one photo was of a starving child from (I believe) Niger and the other was of competitors chowing down at a hamburger eating contest.

My copy of that section has long since wrapped fish, but my recollection of the text is that the Strib mainly pointed out the interesting coincidence of the order in which the photos arrived and let the contrast pretty much speak for itself. No doubt there may also have been an implied message of, “look how decadent – no wonder they hate us,” but maybe I’ve just become sensitized and cynical. My own thought would be, “no wonder so many people want to come here.”

I expected a flood of letters to the editor to appear declaiming American wantonness in the face of suffering and based on logic as thin as refugee camp gruel. Only a couple were printed, however, and they were not as mealy-mouthed as I would have expected.

The Sunday Op Ex pictures of a starving child in Africa vs. the American pig-outs at food-eating contests are stark! How often I’m reminded of our national feeding overindulgence when I see the leftovers at restaurants, especially at the “breakfast-special” restaurants or the “all-you-can-eat” buffets, with enough pancakes, toast, bacon, sausages and hash browns left behind to feed a Nigerian family for days.
– George Mayerchak, Long Prairie.

Yes, there is no doubt we Americans take our abundance for granted, are wasteful and even profligate. (At least in the Household of the Night we don’t believe in throwing good food away. We wrap a leftover and put it in the refrigerator and wait until it becomes bad food, and then we throw it away.) The reason is because food is so cheap. Say what you will about our culture, but our economic system has mastered the growing, raising, harvesting, processing, shipping and buying of food to such a degree of efficiency that something so essential can essentially be dirt cheap, even though everyone involved at every step in the process takes their cut. Am I going to save that last ear of corn from dinner when I can go to Cub tomorrow and buy six fresh ones for a dollar? (You might be able to tell that I didn’t grow up during the Depression.)

Hello, can you hear me now?

It was Kevin who tipped me off to the World Map feature on Site Meter. I’d never looked at that until this week, and it was amazing to me. In the course of this week I’ve had visitors from New Zealand, Australia, Singapore, the Philippines, the Ivory Coast, Iran, Pakistan, the United Arab Emirates, Germany, Belgium, Spain, the UK and the distant and exotic land of Canada. (Does anyone know how you say, “Hey, y’all” in Farsi?)

Granted, just about all of these came to me as a result of Google searches, and may have stayed only long enough to say, “Vas ist das scheisse?” but it’s still kind of cool that I have the potential to create an international incident any time I sit down at the computer.

To paraphrase Satchmo, “What a wonderful World(wide web)!”

On camping and commandments

I’m working on a longer post on another topic that I hope to finish tonight. In the meantime, a couple of interesting news stories (click the links to read the entire article):

“Camp Reality” sets up across from “Camp Casey”

Military families disturbed by a sea of crosses erected by anti-war protesters near President Bush’s ranch in Crawford, Texas, have removed crosses bearing the names of their fallen children and transferred them to another site to show support for American troops in Iraq.

Anti-war protesters “never asked for my permission to put up a cross for my son for their cause,” said Gary Qualls, whose son was killed in Iraq. “They are not respecting our sons and daughters.”

… Also, starting today, about 500 yard signs that say “Support Our Troops” and “Bush Country” will be placed on property directly across from Camp Casey by a group called GrassFire.org.

“We will also unfurl a huge American flag” to fly at the site, which is being called “Camp Reality,” said Steve Elliott, president of GrassFire.org. He said his group has collected 400,000 petitions supporting both Mr. Bush and U.S. troops.

Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals rules 11-2 in favor of Nebraska town’s Ten Commandments display.

PLATTSMOUTH, Neb. (BP)–In the first major Ten Commandments decision since the U.S. Supreme Court had its say, a federal appeals court Aug. 19 upheld the constitutionality of a large granite Decalogue monument that has stood in the city of Plattsmouth, Neb., for 40 years.

The 11-2 decision by the full Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals comes nearly two months after the Supreme Court issued a split decision in two separate cases, allowing a Texas Ten Commandments monument to stand but ordering the removal of a Kentucky Ten Commandments courtroom plaque. The ruling by the Eighth Circuit reversed an earlier 2-1 decision by one of the court’s three-judge panels.

There’s also this:
Anti-war protestors target wounded at Walter Reed

Washington (CNSNews.com) – The Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C., the current home of hundreds of wounded veterans from the war in Iraq, has been the target of weekly anti-war demonstrations since March. The protesters hold signs that read “Maimed for Lies” and “Enlist here and die for Halliburton.”

The anti-war demonstrators, who obtain their protest permits from the Washington, D.C., police department, position themselves directly in front of the main entrance to the Army Medical Center, which is located in northwest D.C., about five miles from the White House.

Among the props used by the protesters are mock caskets, lined up on the sidewalk to represent the death toll in Iraq.

Crunchy beets: cargo ship crashes into wall of Duluth ship canal

The Duluth Shipping News has a series of photos of an incident this afternoon where the Dutch ocean-going ship Vlieborg veered into the canal wall while approaching the Aerial Lift Bridge. The Vlieborg was departing Duluth with a load of beets. No injuries have been reported, though there were a number of tourists near the wall when the crash occurred.

For some time now I’ve enjoyed looking in on the Shipping News site periodically. The editor, Ken Newhams, keeps a running log of the ships in port along with folksy news of what’s happening in the vicinity. The best part, however, is his excellent photography. He does an terrific job of capturing and communicating life in and around the harbor in all kinds of weather. The people, the ships, the storms, the tourists are all there and he has extensive archives you can browse. I find his slide shows from the November 2001 and 2003 storms especially fascinating.

Go check out the site, but keep your eyes peeled for runaway beet boats!

Seen any coupons for cardiologists?

“Hello, this is ABC Cardiology. How may I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m looking to have a little work done, and I’m calling around to find out what it costs to see one of your doctors and have a couple of tests?”

“What kind of tests?”

“Oh, you know, EKG, stress test, enzyme test, whatever it is you folks do to figure out if something’s wrong with the old ticker.”

“Um, I don’t know what that costs. Let me transfer you.”

“Ok.”

“Hello, Coding Department.”

“Yeah, could you please tell me how much a visit with one of your cardiologists costs, and what kind of tests I might expect and how much they cost?”

“Well, I’m not sure I can tell you…”

“Look, it’s like this. I’m thinking it might be a good idea to have someone take a look at me, but I have a high deductible health plan so that means I’m paying for most, if not all, of any visit out of my own pocket and I’m just calling around trying to get some prices for a comparison.”

“Well, let’s see…a consultation is $334 to $432, depending on the amount of time spent.”

“Yow! Is there anyone in town who charges less?”

“No, that’s pretty much the standard Usual, Customary and Reasonable cost accepted by the health plans.”

“So, uh, do you have any coupons or specials this week?”

The above is a composite of the discussions I’ve had recently as I try to follow up after my ultimately innocuous visit to the ER recently. I’m taking this approach for two reasons.

Licensed to thrill gophers by the government of the United Nations

One time a gopher climbed into the outdoor vent for our dryer and wound up falling down the exhaust tube and meeting its end inside the works of the machine. The dryer had to be turned on its side and almost entirely disassembled before we could get to the source of the smell and by that time the little carcass was…well, it was pretty awful.

Today when my youngest daughter, Patience, and I came home from church she opened the door from the garage into the kitchen just in time to see our cat coming hard from the living room in high speed pursuit of a brown streak. Said streak made it to the dining area and underneath a free-standing jelly cabinet, whereupon the cat set up a seige. My daughter scooped the very annoyed kitty and closed him in the basement and came out to the garage where I was still getting things out of the car.

“Dad, Felix chased a chipmunk under the jelly cabinet!”

“Good,” I said, “let him earn his keep by keeping the varmints under control.”

“Daddy, we can’t let Felix get him,” she said in some distress, “and besides I’ve already locked him in the basement.”

This was not good news. We don’t see many chipmunks around our place, so I was thinking gopher. Which of course reminded me of the last time a gopher breached our perimeter. I had also been thinking a dead, rotting gopher in the dryer was about the worst thing we ever hoped to experience as homeowners, but now I started wondering if a live, excited gopher could be more destructive – and a lot harder to remove.

I went inside with Patience to scope out the situation. She announced she was going to try to trap the beast using a shoe box and some hazel nuts from the cupboard; an idea I thought would be spectacularly unsuccessful. Still, it was an idea, and since my thought of letting the cat retrieve the interloper (and then retrieving the neutralized rodent from the cat) was in disfavor I figured it was useless to suggest the Carl Spackler options of flooding, shooting with a high-powered rifle, or plastic explosives shaped like the gopher’s “friends”.

The situation seemed stable for the moment, so while Patience assembled the elements of her scheme I went outside to see if I could find a gopher-sized opening into the house; hopefully one that didn’t already have a gopher-sized sign advertising “free high-speed internet.” Minutes later Patience came bounding outside as well.

“I tried to force it out from the cabinet and toward the box with the food in it,” she said, “but it ran into the kitchen and under the stove. And I think it’s a gopher and not a chipmunk.”

“Ah, Mr. Gopher, we meet again,” I thought. I was not surprised that the trap hadn’t worked because – in order to defeat my enemy – I was already thinking like my enemy and I sensed that a gopher on the run in strange surroundings would not be thinking, “I’ve got to get out of here – but first, a snack!”

I was thinking again of unleashing the cat, but my daughter was thinking strictly in terms of an exit strategy. “If only we could get him to run outside,” she said. I was about to say, “Oh yes, perhaps if we asked him nicely…” when it started to dawn on me. The stove is opposite of a door that leads directly to our driveway. Both are located in a narrow neck of the kitchen that leads to the larger part of the room. If we could just establish a barricade to prevent any flight deeper into the house, and if we could hold the door to the outside wide open….why, yes, it could just work!

Quickly we laid chairs on their sides, perpindicular to the front of the stove. Next my daughter selected a broom, and I positioned myself in the threshold, holding the inside and outside doors open as widely as possible. Patience then started to probe gently under the stove with the broom. Almost instantly the gopher shot out from under the stove, crossed the narrow strip of floor between us and was out the door in front of me and launched itself off of the stoop. It landed in stride and crossed eight feet of pavement faster than you can say “great gobs of” and flung itself into a hedge with a last exultant leap. I choked up like at the end of “Free Willy”.

But do you want to know what the best part of all this is? The cat still thinks the gopher is under the jelly cabinet, and is camped out. I plan on breaking the news to him in the next day or two.

Sweet 17

The summer of ’88 was a summer of heat and drought, which my pregnant wife and I weathered in an unairconditioned garden level apartment. Wednesday night August 17 was as steamy as the rest, made even more unpleasant for my wife because she was more than a week overdue with our first child. We went to Wednesday night service at our church that evening and our pastor had me, and the rest of the congregation, pray that the baby would come soon but not before service was over.

About midnight that night the heat wave broke and the temperature dropped by about 20 degrees in two hours time. My wife, and apparently nearly every other full-term pregnant woman in St. Paul, went into labor. When we arrived at our hospital early on the morning of August 18th every bed in the Labor and Delivery area was already full. It turned out to be a day of complications that kept our prayer chain busy as we waited for space in L&D to open up, waited for an anesthesiologist to show up and administer an epidural (which didn’t take), waited an hour and a half for another anesthesiologist to come and try again while I tried to be as calm and comforting as I could be while my wife went through contraction after contraction. When she rested in between I would step out of her line of sight and lift whatever piece of furniture or heavy equipment I could get my hands on to vent my own frustration. I think the nurses were ready to call another anesthesiologist to bring a tranquilizer dart. At 4:33 p.m. it was all worth it.