The Morning Commute, The Final Chapter.

After apparently stalling on the highway for a few days, our heroine has finally entered the last stretch of her commute to her day job. Off in the distance, the mutant trees stand naked in support of their power-line support peers.



No, really, I have no idea what's up with these trees. There is nothing built there; there doesn't seem to have been a fire; I don't understand why someone would go to the trouble of stripping most of the branches without just cutting the whole stand down. But there they are.



Now we're getting somewhere. To the left of the big water tower is Beaver Stadium, home of the Penn State Nittany Lions. I park my car right next to the Stadium and walk to my building from there. And as you can see, despite our rural surroundings and distance from any major city, we have our share of air pollution on some days as well. It's not as bad as it loosks in this picture...but then again, I guess any is bad. People here think it's fog.



Only a few more miles. This entire stretch of highway, by the way, was just built and opened up about a year ago. Before this, it was 45mph, two lane roads the whole way, with lots of traffic lights. The week before they opened it, they held a day where you could walk or bike the whole thing.





And finally, Beaver Stadium. Seats 103,500 since the recent renovation. Fourth-largest college football stadium in the country. Pretty much, a big damn shrine. (As the bumper sticker goes, if God isn't a Penn State fan, then why is the sky Blue & White?)


Thank for commuting in with me. Now it's time to go home!!!

From the Good Earth

It was this time last year when we moved into our apartment. Much warmer, then, as I can remember. A few more new shoots and forsythia emerging from the frost.

"Boy, this yard needs a good raking," I thought.

Our dog and cat were happy for the yard, and promptly took to christening it with poop. I took to cleaning the poop and the leaves, and cutting back the overgrown vines on our big old maple tree.

"Spring again...time for a flea bath and a collar for the cat!" After noticing a couple little flea bites on my hand, it was obviously time.

"Damn these flea bites," I repeated days later. "There are even more now!"

I take a break from the yard work. Another flea bath, dog and cat both. Spray the carpet. Wash the blankets.

The next day, while still raking and planting flowers: "I can’t understand why these fleas won’t die! Where are they, I don’t even see them but there are bites on my legs now!"

Another flea bath. My cat is now wet more times than he is dry. He fears the bathroom. My dog fears the hose.

"That’s it!" I say, both hands red from scratching and eyes red from waking up itchy. "We’re not this ghetto. What the hell is going on? Are these Biblical Fleas??"

My husband, biteless and losing sympathy, finally turns on the light bulb over my head.

“Let me see your hands,” he commands.

“Those aren’t flea bites,” he quips.

“Why not?” I look confused.

“Pus.” He recoils in horror.

“Pus?” Pustules, to be exact, I see upon further examination.

“Yard work,” he suggests.

“What?” The last shred of hope slips away…

“Three leaves. Shiny.”

And thus disappeared into oblivion one last shred of childhood naivity.

At least I wasn’t peeing in the woods.

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Really Good Driving Songs

A long time ago, this blog had a theme.

But like all things, themes are hard to sustain without a little conscious dedication to your craft.

My craft, in this case, would be driving. Windows open, highway, blue skies and sun, curves, trees, loud music and rushing wind. Driving.

Unfortunately, this pesky little thing called winter tends to put the brakes on this craft, so to speak. Lucky for me, for you and for this structureless blog, spring hath sprung. I took the long way home yesterday, with a little help from 90.7 and Parliament. This is what summer is all about!

Damn you, OPEC.

If anyone wants to secretly nominate me for an episode of “Motormouth”, I’d be happy to comply. Also, if you’d like to donate to the “Send DL to Bobby Ore’s Stunt Driving School Fund”, I’ll be happy to give you thanks by name in the credits of my first feature film. Or sports car ad.

Now, it’s going to take a little nuturing, a little coaxing from the frozen ground like those first crocuses…but just in case you thought I forgot:

Really Good Driving Songs, Volume II is now in session.



Really Good Driving Song: Trouble by Ray LaMontagne

Nominations for Really Good Driving Songs will also be considered this season! Please see the disclaimer here.

The Morning Commute, Chapter Two.

When we last saw our heroine, she was trapped in the travel lane on the outskirts of town. The sun had risen an hour ago, leaving the evildoers behind in the night. Now, staring out through a streaky, dusty windshield, she sallies forth through the perilous farmland...

...I SAID - perilous FARMLAND.

OK, FINE. "Now, staring out through the streaky, dusty windshield, she sallies forth amongst the perilous high voltage lines, past the Bowling Alley of Evil...

and up the onramp of death into the PERILOUS FARMLAND." There we go.

Now we pause for a station break.

The perilous farmland isn't quite so perilous, except for the fact that you might get shot if you step a foot beyond the fence. This beautiful span of wilderness I drive through every day is actually acreage owned by the State Penitentiary at Rockview. They own...I don't know, a couple thousand acres??? A large portion of Spring Creek runs through here, which is good because in that way it is protected. Occasionally there are talks of them selling parts of the land to the university, but I hope that won't be the case. I regularly see large herds of white-tailed deer, and two or three redtailed hawks along this stretch of road. I believe they produce a large portion of the produce they consume, as well as raising cattle and horses. I assume it provides work for the inmates as well.

And now we must leave our heroine at the Merging Moment of Mayhem! Will the thrill of the highway be too much for her Compact Car to take? Will the vast wilderness swallow her whole? Will she make it to work safely while trying to take photographs through the windshield at speeds in excess of 60 mph? Stay tuned! There is much more excitement and scenery to come in the next thrilling episode of "The Morning Commute."

(As a side note, I urge you to click on the pictures for a larger version. They're MUCH better that way.)

The Morning Commute, Chapter One.

(All recognition for the idea for this post goes entirely to Jamie, who started with pictures of buffalo and will hopefully continue when the weather improves!)

I have to say that I love my morning drive. I walk out the door by 6 A.M., so most days it is dark. But lately, the light has been breaking earlier, and the scenery is pleasing with a cup of coffee and a good CD. Since the dull gray of the past few mornings would not have made a very good post, I got up early on Saturday to take these pictures. My drive is about 10 miles each way, but I took so many pictures that I’ve decided to break it up.

Welcome to my street. You can’t see my house or my car in this, but you get the idea. The layout of this town is amusing. One block away from here, and you’re in the “Historic District”, where you can’t even paint your house without consulting the Board. Here, the regulations cease, and the boxy gray duplexes have been plopped down against the otherwise Victorian skyline. I can’t decide whether it’s better to live in the Victorian house and stare out at the gray box, or live in the gray box and stare at the beautiful Victorians. But I like our big old house, or at least our cut up apartment within it. So here I start, for now.

I come through town and down this hill. Not much traffic my time of the morning. In the summer they hold the Bellefonte Cruise here, and line this street with crazy hot rods and antique classic cars. Again, the Victorian town acts as interesting backdrop.

On past the park, and Spring Creek. Spring Creek is known for it’s great trout fishing. It was polluted many years ago, however, so it’s catch-and-release only. This section that runs through the park is off limits to fishing, and they stock it with some of the biggest golden and rainbow trout you will ever see! There’s a fish food dispenser for kids (and me) to use…but the ducks end up getting most of the food. This summer, after Hurricane Ivan, the water was up to the road. These people have a great collection of pictures from that flood, including this one of the same view as my own.

After passing the creek and crossing the railroad tracks, you head out from the last edge of town. Straight? Right? Actually, I can take either road, but we’ll head on up the hill since that’s the way I usually go…not much to see here.

In another 15 years, I assume this area will be developed. There are some townhouses already, and businesses up ahead…so it’s only a matter of time. For now, it’s your only chance to get around the slow guy in front of you, otherwise known as the Each Driver For Themselves Suicidal Passing Zone, Where Speed Limits Are Optional. I love those.

So there you have it. Chapter One. The cast of characters keeps growing...more soon!

Train of Thought Derailing

There have been a number of things I’ve considered posting about today, but I can’t seem to narrow down a good topic, so let’s just have an abridged overview, shall we?

Number One:

Today is St. Patrick’s Day, which only means one thing to the college crowd in this town. You get up early, don your kilt, and stand in line at the Phyrst by 7:00 A.M. to begin a full day of Green Beer and Irish Car Bombs. Once that crowd passes out and is escorted home, the next round shuffles in by about noon. Rinse and repeat.

I shall go to the Darkhorse, because as everyone knows, Thursday night is Wing night.

Number Two:

My hometown is becoming a crime-infested ghetto. Luckily, I actually grew up in the rural valley outside of this town, so I rarely have the need to go there. It’s still sad, though.

We have two claims to fame there: Jan Lewan, and the Molly Maguires. Unless you’ve ever heated your home with coal, that’s about it.

Number Three:

I still have every intention of borrowing Jamie’s idea of taking pictures of my morning commute. However, it’s barely light out when I drive it, so I’m thinking of doing it on Saturday. I’m actually really excited about this, because there’s quite a lot of unique scenery on the way. Unfortunately, most of it is on State Penitentiary property, so I may have to dodge a few bullets and German Shepherds. I’ll just keep telling myself…it’s all for the good of the blog.

Number Four:

I have the weekend to myself, as the Dudes are participating in yet another Wild N’ Crazy Man-On-Man Weekend.

They like to call it “goin’ to Camp”. We understand.

So I think I little bit of photography will definitely be in order to round out my weekend. This place is looking a little boring, what with all these…..words.

I think that’s about it. I also think it’s time to use every woman’s favorite unky: PMS.
It’s really fun when, once a month, your clothes don’t fit. That’s great.

Whoohoo!

Cowboy Food

Yesterday I accused all you people who don’t take the time to create a home-cooked meal of contributing to the obesity of our society.

Sorry ‘bout that.

I didn’t really mean that, specifically. I’m just acting the part of spokesperson for cooking. Because it’s not as scary as it looks, and is so much more enjoyable!

And as proof, I’d like to expose you to one of the grandest traditions of cooking in this country, one that blows the idea of quick, time-managed thawed box-food out of the water. Clear across the whole damn ocean, really.

Frozen Dinner Family, meet the Kansas City Barbecue Society.

I applaud all of you who have taken the time each summer to drag the grill up on to the deck, slather some bird with sauce, pick out the biggest, juiciest steak you can find and grill up a fine meal at the envy of anybody downwind. You’re well on your way. Just a few slight alterations and you, too, can become a master barbecue chef.

First, don’t put the fire ANYWHERE near the food.
Second, throw out the charcoal and get some wood.
Third, a nice thermometer…a cool 220 degrees will do.
Fourth, put the food on the grill and come back in, oh, at least eight hours.

I told you, FORGET about the time savers. This method will, however, increase the neighbor-envy factor at least threefold. You will also need a suitable lounge chair, as staring at the grill with pride is best done while sitting. Additionally, said chair should come equipped with a convenient beer can holder.

Chickens also make great beer can holders. But we’ll talk about that later.

There’s not much more to it. Add some wood now and again, and the process fuels itself. You have not eaten a rack of ribs, pulled pork, beef brisket, big ‘ol turkey legs or salmon correctly until they are falling off the bone and disintegrating like cotton candy in your mouth.

Now’s a good time for the vegetarian disclaimer, I guess. You should probably stop reading now.

It’s an art, really. I understand if you don’t feel up to the time commitment, or lack the financial ability to keep up with the Joneses in the “My Smoker Is Bigger Than Yours” competition that will inevitably ensue. In this case, the KCBS has a solution for you: The Kansas City Barbecue Society sanctioned Professional Barbecue Competition. Enter to win a sweet cash prize and the applause and admiration of all your peers. Take their Judge training to become authorized to eat everything you’ve been smelling all day. Organize your town’s own competition.

I have to admit that the only one we’ve been to was last year’s New Jersey State BBQ Championship in Wildwood. It’s held in conjunction with a Wing-off and a Blues Festival. Throw in a beer tent, and you’ve got yourself a party. Best weekend we’ve had in a long time! Hella! But before that mini-vacation, we’d spent plenty of time mastering the art. Make sure you look at their schedule and find an event near you. Festival food will never be the same again.

As for us, another full summer of experimentation and I think we’ll be ready to compete. We definitely have “Beer Can Chicken” down to an exact science. I’m sure we’ll be sinking another couple hundred dollars into a new smoker this year.

We can only fit FOUR racks of ribs on this one.

Dirty Laundry

Amen to Leslie.

Before anyone goes shrugging off the idea of being a “modern housewife”, let’s take some time to define exactly what this job entails.

And, more importantly, why I could totally be one.

There isn’t a shred of doubt in my mind that women should absolutely, positively be able to pursue any career they damn well please. If you and your husband will both go through life with full-time jobs in fabulous careers that you at least somewhat enjoy, wonderful. If I find a field and employment that suits me, (read: if I can nail down one of the 150,000 things I’m interested in and find a job that gives me happiness), then I will be pleasantly surprised and firmly committed to defending my right to pursue that career. Hell, even if I’m a lowly secretary dragging my fingers across keyboards for the rest of my life, fine. At least I have the freedom to do so.

But let’s take a moment and consider the luxuries of being a housewife.

First, some theories:

I believe that one of the reasons so many of us are under such stress is our poor time management. More specifically, we don’t accurately estimate the amount of time it really takes to do things. In addition, we don’t give ourselves enough time between finishing one task and starting another. We cram it all into the least amount of time possible, just so we can fill up the time we save with…more stuff to do. We need to relax more than we allow ourselves to.

Now, let’s relate that to the typical tasks of a housewife, IN A HOUSEHOLD THAT LACKS ONE.

Do the dishes. I don’t mean just rinse them and put them in the sink. I mean take them off the table, rinse them, put them in the dishwasher, start the cycle, wait for it to finish, take them out, and put them away. Takes a lot longer than you think it does. Estimates? Well, considering I don’t own a dishwasher, so mine take longer, I’m going to have to say…at least an hour and a half, including drying time? Please correct me if I’m wrong. So if that’s all the dishes for one day’s eating, then it’s 10.5 hours a week.

Dinner. I mean real cooking, too…healthy, homemade, good food. Frozen Stouffer’s Lasagna doesn’t count. Although even that takes time. But cook…get out the ingredients, get out the pans, cut the vegetables, brown the meat, throw in the seasonings, (oh, wait! You forgot something? Run to the store…), wait for the right moment to put it all together, let it cook for an hour…you can’t possibly do all this between the time you get home from work and the time everyone’s ready to eat. That's probably the reason why we’re all so fat. Now, you could do it like my mom and prepare casseroles on the weekend, freeze them, and have them ready to pop in the oven during the week. But that’s if your weekend isn’t already taken up by everything else. One home cooked meal, from first chop to plate on the table: 1 ½ hours per day. That’s another 10.5 hours a week.

Laundry. Let’s take a family of three, including one child. That’s a hell of a lot of freaking clothes in seven days. I know we fill up the hamper in about 5, and there’s only 2 of us. Ok, it’s like 20% socks, but still. You’ve got the sheets for two beds, dish towels, table cloths, bath towels, hand towels, and god knows what else. An average load, from the time you drop it in the wash to the time you PUT IT ALL AWAY WHERE IT’S SUPPOSED TO GO, PIECE BY PIECE, could take two hours. That’s one load. It’s pretty much a daylong event if you don’t get any done during the week. Three people, let’s say four or five loads a week, how’s 10 hours?

I’m not even going to stretch this out to include vacuuming (1), dusting (do people still dust?) (1), bathing the children (3.5), bathing yourself (if there’s time) (3), scrubbing the bathroom (1), putting together breakfast and lunch (4), shopping (driving, shopping, driving, putting everything AWAY) (3), and running errands throughout the week (2). Let’s just put them all at a whopping 18.5 hours a week.

One week = 168 hours with which to have your way.

Normal job = 40 hours/wk
Getting to and from job = 5 hours/wk (that’s a half hour each way, each day)
Sleeping every night = 56
One weekend day taken up by a scheduled event = 11 hours/ wk.

112 hours, so far.

Now add:
Laundry = 10
Cooking = 10.5
Dishes = 10.5
Miscellaneous other cleaning tasks = 18.5

That’s 161.5 hours. You have 6.5 hours per week left for you. You also might want to go to meetings, work out, spend quality time playing with your children, have sex, or join your friends for a rousing bowling match. Your boss might make you work late. You might commute long distances. You might have to drop your child off at school. Or pick him up when he’s sick.

Now I understand that today’s working woman exists not only out of a desire for independence and accomplishment, but also financial necessity. Which is why I referred to the “luxuries” of being a housewife. OR househusband. It is a luxury in our economy to be able to stay home and run the home. It is also a full time job. It is damn near impossible for one person to complete all of these tasks in addition to working. Yes, I know the husband is helping. But he’s just as tired as the wife when coming home from a full day’s work. There are many working women who still feel the need to be the homemaker, the caretaker, the one who keeps these sorts of things in order. It’s not old fashioned, it’s just an instinct. But having a desire for that sort of order, and having the ability to achieve it are two totally different ballgames. In reality, having the freedom to PACE OUT these tasks and “bebop around town”, accomplishing the business of running a house while letting in a little variety to each day is very, very attractive to some of us. That’s the difference between seeing housewifing as a full-time job, or just squeezing in the tasks as “necessary evils” that take up too much time in an already busy week.

Now as Leslie also pointed out...and believe me, this is probably the key reason why I would totally be able to do this...she HATES working. And so do I. There are so many things that I could do with my day that would leave me with a feeling of personal fulfillment and accomplishment, and none of them involve sitting at a desk typing someone else’s memos. At least, not for this many hours in the week. If I could sit down for dinner at the end of an afternoon, and look around at my (currently messy) house and see clean clothes, clean dishes, clean floors, clean bathrooms, good food…if I could look back on my day and feel well rested, well exercised, well-endowed...(can’t a girl wish?)...and a sense of well-being from knowing that things are in order, that would make me happy. But in this day and age, you really have to pick one or the other. Or afford a maid.

So, what do I do without that luxury? I come home from work tired (yes, sitting at a desk and staring at a computer can make you tired); I do some, but not all, of the dishes; I do all of the laundry on Sunday – and nothing else; I pick part of the bathroom to clean because I don’t have time for the whole thing; I haven’t mopped the floors in weeks; I forgo some tasks to do fun things on the weekend because I certainly don’t have time to relax during the week; and if it weren’t for the fact that my husband is practically a gourmet chef and likes to do a lot of crazy cooking, we would probably eat a lot of pasta.

So, in conclusion, I would like to apologize for the dirty dishes in our kitchen, the dog hair in the corner of the living room, and the fact that I use the washing machine that is for all six tenants for an entire day of the weekend. I’m not really frustrated by these things, since I have gotten used to their inevitability. But, I also highly value my free time, and am a firm believer in all of us having more of it. If I did, perhaps I’d have that gym membership and those guitar lessons I keep talking about. AND I’d have clean clothes to wear to both.

And Leslie, I’m convinced I’m probably the last person on earth you would ever expect to hear this from, but if Mr. Husband-cook would like to find a job that will support us both and allow me the luxury of being a modern housewife, I’ll move pretty much anywhere.

The Frilly Apron Revolution will not be televised...we’ll be having too much fun for TV.

Testing the Limits of Technology

Where will we find new sources of energy when our oil runs out?

Here's my suggestion: static electricity generated by Northerners in winter.

Just a thought.

It's that time of year when Pennsylvanians everywhere get closer to the cliff of cabin insanity than they've ever been. We never knew we'd be able to stuff that many used tissues into one tiny bathroom wastecan. In fact, everything becomes a tissue in these months. No toilet paper, paper towel, napkin or washcloth is safe from each year's Yankee Frozen Tundra Endurance Test. It's what separates the quilted from the one-ply.

Shareholders in Robutussin and Vaseline Intensive Care keep a close eye on our extended forcasts as well. One mention of the word "mild", one hint of optimism from Punxsutawny Phil, and CEOs screaming "Global Warming!" run crying to the Eskimo children.

Mothers try remedies new and old to keep a child's hair from looking like they've played with the outlets again. My personal favorite was the dryer sheet trick. Perfumed children walk around until Easter with hair smelling line-dried fresh.

But these time-tested routines we fall into are nothing compared to the Gasoline Gamble. We're nearly out of the woods these days. The bright blue sky and shining sun trick you into believing you're safe. The out-of-doors looks like the safety of a summer's day.

Or the safety of a hair dryer inches from the tub.

You know those warnings at gas stations that you Southerners always ignore? Are these directed towards humans who seem to attract lightning strikes? People whose jobs have the side effect of 180 volts pulsing through their fingers? No, you can be assured of your safety. They are directed towards us, your Northern neighbors. Full-service stations aside, as I have yet to purchase a fireproof worksuit, I have taken to sacrificing my hand at each exiting of the vehicle. In true hypothermic logic, I make sure I grab the side of my car door before gassing up, the shock of which renders my left arm barely able to clench the pump. (I'm searching for rubber driving gloves, but apparently this market has yet to be explored.) I have convinced myself that this sacrifice means the shock will not occur when I put the pump in the tank.

Still, doing so seems to illustrate the training our parents were trying to incorporate in childhood when they handed us our first exciting version of "Operation". Don't touch the sides, my friend.

So my suggestion to you is this:

If the hybrid vehicle is the transportation of the future, if solar power really wasn't good enough, if the Tanks of Tomorrow are the Firestarters of Fear today, then let's jump the gun on this technology and harness the power of northern winters. Take the next wave of revolutionary vehicular energy into your own hands.

Literally.

King Cotton Rounders

One of the things that I love about a town like ours is the constantly changing selection of live music. Every so often, really good bands come...and go. Though some of them consist of students passing through, many are local musicians who start their careers here. Some are lucky enough to branch out and perform nationally.

But one thing many of these talented musicians hang on to - because, let's face it, it works - is the crutch of covering other artists' music. There's nothing wrong with that, but when you see people perform for long enough, you know they have the talent to put original music on the table.

Let me remind you of Jack's Farm. They're the reason I started going to see bands locally in the first place. The plan for some of them when they went their seperate ways was to try something different - something, perhaps, original.

Some of them have done that so far. But only one that I can link to for your enjoyment! With great pageantry and fanfare - or at least a good beer - welcome to the King Cotton Rounders! With a nice blend of originals and covers (and the added bonus that they play at the only bar that has bands within walking distance of my house), it's so nice to see these guys get applause and recognition for something that they wrote themselves. So here you go!

Some of my favorite originals:
Sunny
Two Long Years
Another Song About California

Equally well-done covers:
Evangeline - The Band
Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere - Neil Young
Take 'Em Away - Old Crow Medicine Show



Explore! Download! Tell your friends! Come visit Daniel's Pub! Support local music!

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A little shameless self-promotion!

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Congratulations Global Flyer!

I mean, really, Richard Branson can obviously do no wrong.

Plus he's hot.

If I ever fly for the first time, I think I'd enjoy it that much more if it were on Virgin. Or with a Virgin. Or something.

But if Fossett is the pilot, I'm going to suggest a couple stops. Land is sort of nice, too.

Speaking of which, we've all missed our chance to win our own seat on a suborbital flight. Tempting it was. I'd settle for the Dinner with Sir Richard contest, if anyone's taking suggestions....

This Morning's Dream

Behind Dr. Grovich's (childhood dentist) office in Conyngham, during local festival.
Drinking wine, with a parent, glass disappearing/reappearing and we comment on how strange that is.
I learn at that moment how to make myself disappear for a moment, just like the glass.
Suddenly I'm a child, using my mind to make myself disppear, which in my mind means I have to picture myself floating away and getting really tiny.
My mom tells me not to do that.
When I am "invisible", all the children buried in the cemetery next door come out to play with me; they're cute and friendly and laughing and happy.
One boy is chased by a big barking german shepherd, because the dog can see him as he steals a boot, he runs away giggling (but not harmed).
Out front, a diner, with outdoor counter; adult again, out with friends, beautiful sunny day,
drinking coffee at the diner, Shar pays cuz I'm broke.
We meet people at the O.I.P. up the street,
find a bar,
can't drink there if you're not staying at the hotel, and because of the band the beers are $6.
Danny walks up (high school crush) - looks just like he did in 1994, we hug, i missed him.
Band playing in warehouse, warming up.
Waiting outside for the band to start, at a
food stand, we order the "Wachovia Lobster" - lobster in sweet buttery broth w/ a donut on top, and glaze dripped on top.
A guy is smoking ribs behind us on big awesome smoker,
I tell him it's not as hard to do as it looks,
he laughs and doesn't believe that I know what I'm talking about.

The End

Picket Fences and Public Transportation

Thanks to this homage to being local by Mrs. S., I found a little bit of fodder for a post, on this uninspiring end-of-winter duldrum day. :-)

I've mentioned before how many times I've moved (see #11), and in some ways I knew that our current location probably wouldn't last. Consequently I've never felt entirely settled. We moved out of downtown State College and into Bellefonte for a number of reasons, namely oil prices coupled with crappy old windows, and traffic, since we lived on the busiest street in town.

I think I've come to the realization that despite the country girl upbringing, I'm also a little bit rock n' roll. I mean, city. Or at least bigger town. More than a cul de sac, anyway.

Of course, anyone who knows where I'm talking about knows that State College isn't considered a city. It's a Borough. In a "Commonwealth", not a State. The permanent population of State College local residents (a 2003 estimate) is around 39,000. But when you consider that the population doubles nine months out of the year due to the 40,000 students that take up residence, you understand that it often feels like a city. At least in the traffic/restaurant selections/number of bars vs. churches sort of way.

Enough with the demographics lesson.

Point is, Bellefonte, though only 15 minutes away, is so disconnected from State College that it really is it's own world. It has a few bars, but only one that requires that you have all your teeth. It has a few restaurants, but only one "chain" (Dairy Queen) and no McDonald's. It has it's own culture, which is equally half wealthy old Victorian homeowners and business people, and half rednecks with screaming children or barking dogs who throw footballs in the street and fight drunk at 3:00 in the morning. There is literally a street that divides these two cultures. A taxi to State College costs around $20 one way, and the bus only runs till early evening and takes about 1 1/2 hours to make it there. So you can see, perhaps, why I want to move back.

Sorry, I'm just trying to give you background here.

Bellefonte would be fine if I was retired. But not now, for me anyway. I guess the things I like about State College are the things that every town or city has, but the difference is that despite it's population and resources, it is surrounded by mountains and beautiful valleys, and you are never more than a 5-10 minute drive from secluded hiking and camping grounds and fresh air.

So what I'm saying is, if the plan works out (and the new job, as well), it looks as though we'll be moving again soon. I just want to live on the bus route (the one that will only take 10 or 15 minutes, that is), and the bike routes as well (you never have to drive in the State College area if you don't want to). I want to have enough of a patch of grass to set up the grill and tie the dog out, while having the ability to go out in town and make it home quickly and safely.

And, Mrs. S., the great thing about State College is that, despite the hustle and bustle, it still feels "local". Because the longer you live here, the more recognizable many local faces get, and you see that sometimes, it doesn't have to be a tiny town to feel comfortable.

Though I could definitly go for some homemade pizza. It's better that way, no matter where you are. :-)

Look Out, Donald Trump

Well, I think the interview went pretty...well. :-) Of course, all the difficult prerequisite questions were asked, but I was pleased with myself and my answers! Even got a few laughs out of 'em when I told them about a "mistake" I made at a job and how I fixed it. Interviewing with four people is interesting, though. In many ways it's more difficult, although I almost found it more relaxing, because you have more people to interact with and more to look at.

Also, a little birdy told me that a lot of the other applicants were "lame".

I am so not lame. :-)

Twenty Questions

I have a job interview in one hour. Hopefully when I come back I will be that much closer to no longer being a "temporary" employee.

I hate the usual interview questions. I never know how to answer the really ridiculous ones in a way that sounds honest.

Name a situation where you had to deal with a difficult person in the workplace and how you did so. Well, there was that one time where I thought my boss was really stressed out and taking it out on the employees, so I put something is his coffee to make him sick for a couple days. I think the vacation really did him good.

Tell us something you do really well as an employee. Oh sure, that's easy, I'm really good at helping people get along and have fun in the workplace.

Tell us something you think you could improve upon. I smell bad and it rubs off on others. I suppose I could bathe more frequently.

Oh well, at least I know that when I think about it, I can't remember ever having had a bad interview. I'm swell. :-)