Clockwise from upper left: 1) carrots, peas, and roasted red-pepper hummus; 2) almond & rice crackers; 3) tomatoes, avocados, black olives and mozzarella cheese with salt & pepper; 4) lentil soup.

Today I got a Mr. Bento system, which is basically a large thermos that holds four bowls which stack on top of each other. Traditionally, the bento is a Japanese lunch box with many separate compartments for a variety of foods. Some people get really cute about Japanese bento boxes and try to make them as pretty as possible, but what appeals to me about bento is the idea of bringing a variety of foods with you.

Every day, I bring pretty much the same lunch to work: Turkey sandwich, orange, banana. Don't get me wrong; I truly believe that those three foods are among the most perfect on earth. But still, even though I occasionally toss a plum in there to stir things up, it gets a little boring.

Leftovers are great when you have them, but smaller items like vegetables, chips, and crackers aren't so convenient to bring to work. Sure, you can buy them in individual packages at 35 times their worth not to mention the extra garbage they produce. And then there are things like hummus and dips, which are just too annoying to pack for travel. All in all, it's easier to eat the same thing every day, and avoid variety altogether.

Which is why I picked up this Mr. Bento system. It all packs together in one container, doesn't need refrigeration, and allows for infinite variety.

Still, I have my reservations. I'll let you know how it works out.

OK, so I got a new car. This winter was sheer murder on the Hedgehog, which was becoming nothing short of a death trap. When both headlights spontaneously extinguished on my ride home one night last week, I decided that I didn't enjoy driving a 13-year-old car anymore. Despite my adversity to car payments, it was time for me to trade up to something a little more fitting to my station in life. So I went to the car store and bought a 2007 Focus.

I'm not including a photo of it with this post because its covered with salt and sludge right now and besides, it's just a Focus like any other. You can Google it if you don't know what one looks like. It's the SE model. The 4-door coupe. Black. OK, it's this.

Anyway, what I'm getting at is that the factory-installed CD player in the car also plays mp3 CDs, and this is going to allow me to embark on my nerdiest project yet. So far I've only made one mp3 CD -- a mix of 9 hours of songs I like, intended to be played on random. But this got me to thinking.

Nine hours of random songs that you've pre-approved is like the best radio station imaginable. You never hear anything you hate, but if you do hear a song you're not in the mood for, you can veto it. There are no commercials. No annoying DJ's voice. But unlike a standard mix tape or disc, it's completely unpredictable and you can listen to it many, many times before you get sick of it.

So what if I not only had one of these CDs, but actually filled the CD holder on my visor with these "stations" to create a visor lined with "presets" if you will. Some would have upbeat songs, some would have slow songs. Some might rock hard, some might just groove. Maybe one would be just for rainy days. There would definitely be one for driving in the dark along a lonely road and possibly getting abducted by Sasquatch.

If you need me, I'll be in one of two places: crouched over my computer making yet another "station," or halfway to Canada listening to god knows what next, while Bigfoot rides shotgun.

I'm not being scientific about this, but it seems to me that most people over 30 are at least somewhat aware of the 1981 Dudley Moore/Liza Minelli movie Arthur. I remember the ads on TV as a kid, and I recall there being quite a bit of hype around the movie. It won two Oscars for best supporting actor (John Gielgud) and best song ("Arthur's Theme - The Best That You Can Do" by Christopher Cross), and was nominated for best actor and best writing. Bravo lists it as #10 on its "100 Funniest Movies," and the AFI lists it as #53 on its "100 Years ... 100 Laughs."

I'd never seen Arthur, and neither had Christa, so when we made it to 1981 on our chronological movie project last week, we decided to watch it.

Sweet mother of God, does that movie blow. I'm serious. This has to be one of the least funny movies I've ever seen in my life.

Arthur, for the blissfully uninitiated, is about an alcoholic New York millionaire whose family has arranged for him to marry a woman named Susan. If he doesn't marry her, he loses his entire inheritance: $750 million. The problem is, he doesn't love Susan, he loves a shoplifter from Queens named Linda (Minelli). Also Arthur, played by the then-46-year-old Moore, loves staying drunk, playing with toy trains, taking bubble baths, and taking hookers out to fancy restaurants. This sounds potentially funny, and I can understand how the producers accepted the pitch.

In practice, however, the movie is just a vehicle for Moore's character, much like The Jerk was a vehicle for the character Steve Martin invented. Here's the difference, however: The Jerk was hilarious, because Steve Martin is really, really funny. Dudley Moore was not funny. At all.

I'm not saying that Dudley Moore wasn't a good actor, because he was, and maybe that's why the movie fails. Watching Arthur is like hanging around with someone who's plastered when you're not. Drunk people think that they're funny. But when you're a sober onlooker, they're annoying. Arthur Bach constantly cracks jokes that fall flat, and then cackles maniacally after each unwitty jibe: "I wish I had a dime for every dime I had!" Yeah, buddy, whatever you say.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that I literally laughed twice the whole time, and both of those jokes had nothing to do with Moore. One is where Arthur decides to break up with Linda, who takes it very well, but then the camera cuts to show her dad who is bawling his eyes out. The other is when Arthur tells his butler (Gielgud) to run a bath for him, and the butler says under his breath, "Perhaps you'd like me to wash your dick for you, you little shit."

That's right. I just spoiled the whole movie for you. Because I don't want you to watch it. I care too much about you.

I think we're over the hump with this movie project, and that the none of the rest of them will be as bad as Arthur. Then again, I don't hold too much hope for the 1985 selection, either. Maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised.

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I'm starting a photoblog.

It doesn't look exactly how I want it to yet, and I still have some tweaking to do, but here it is if you want to look at the two pictures that are there so far.

For the past week or so, I've been trying to explain, both in my head and out loud to friends, why I need a photoblog in addition to my regular blog and in addition to my Flickr account. It's been difficult to articulate, but it's something I understand and need. I'll try here to spell it out (for myself more than for you, actually), but don't be surprised if I fail.

WARNING: INARTICULATE GEEKY WORDINESS AHEAD

Continue reading "Photoblog" »

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I talk a lot about how I like to consume my media thematically. I think this started in college, when I first heard about thematic reading in an education class. After that, I had a lot of trouble keeping up with my coursework, because every time I found a book that I liked, I turned it into a theme, and read books from my theme in addition to the books that were already assigned to me. It as like taking an additional class that I didn't get any credit for.

The best theme I created was "Novels In Which a Frazzled Gentleman is Likely to Show Up in a Panic, Willing to Tell His Story Only After He's Calmed Himself with a Drink, Which He Refers to as a 'Restorative.'" There was a lot of Jules Verne and H.G. Wells in that theme.

Since then, I've not only continued to read books in this way, but I also watch TV shows and movies thematically, too. I currently have all kinds of ideas for movie marathons which I'll probably never get to, but you never know. Here are a few of them.

Actor-based Marathons
This could be a multilayered theme because I might like to choose good movies from actors that you'd normally associate with bad movies. For example, it might be fun to watch all the good Burt Reynolds movies (e.g. Deliverance). Or I could watch movies starring someone I forget exists (e.g. Shelley Long). Then again, I might like to see how many Judge Reinhold movies I could stomach. (I could re-watch Gremlins or Fast Times at Ridgemont High anytime, but I'd never make it as far as Beethoven's 4th.)

Summer Camp Movies
Summer Camp movies are like Irish pubs: There are a million of them, and I can't for the life of me figure out why. I never went to camp, so it's not like I can relate to these movies, but I'll take any excuse to watch Meatballs again. Plus, I wouldn't mind seeing Little Darlings this century. Which brings us to the next theme...

Movies That Were On Showtime A Lot When I Was About 12
» 10
» Arthur
» Oh, God
» Eating Raoul
» My Favorite Year
» Silkwood
» Porky's
» 9 to 5
» Gandhi

Right now, Christa and I are beginning an ongoing movie-viewing project akin to my chronological reading experiment, wherein we watch one movie from each year that we've been alive, beginning with the aforementioned Deliverance (1972) and ending with whatever a movie from whatever year it is when we finish. We'll take turns choosing movies.

Eventually, I'd like to expand my chronological media idea to television, watching season one of a TV series from each year of my life. That would be a tough one, though.

Just like in college when my themes got in the way of my classwork, my themes are now getting in the way of my themes. I can't read because I have to watch movies, but I can't watch movies because I have to catch up on TV shows, and it's all a vicious circle that ends with me taking a walk and forgetting about all of it.

Yeah, my life is so hard.

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Today while I was sitting in my car on my lunch break, reading and eating a half-frozen banana, I decided that I'm going to behave in a more European manner. Of course, since I've never actually been to Europe and have only met about seven Europeans in my life (I'm not going to include Russians; I don't think they count), I'll have to rely on my American sensibilities to interpret what exactly it means to act European.

I have to admit that even though I love American culture -- especially pop culture -- I already have a pretty good head start on this European routine. For example, I make frequent trips to the grocery store ... [ahem] market throughout the week, carrying a basket instead of pushing a cart. I take four or five weeks of vacation a year. I rarely, if ever, wear deodorant. And as a matter of fact, as I am writing this post, I'm drinking a warm beer.

Now, there are some European things that I am not willing to do. For example, I'm not going to chain-smoke hand-rolled cigarettes while wearing a Speedo. I refuse to have a threeway with two catatonic stewardesses. I don't want to watch black-and-white movies where all people do is cry and walk in and out of doors.

Speaking of movies ... [ahem] films, I've always loved that scene in La Dolce Vita where there's that party, and everyone is laughing uncontrollably, and that drunk woman tries to crawl to the bathroom or whatever, and that guy decides to jump on her back and ride her around the room, whipping her butt with a belt. That was seriously European. So European that as an American I don't even understand it. And while I don't think I'd ride around a living room on a drunk woman's back, I know for certain that if someone else did it, I'd stand there wearing sunglasses and a white suit and laugh like a donkey.

There are plenty of European things I wish I could do, but can't. I'd really like to eat my lunch on the patio at a quaint cafe, drink a bottle and a half of wine with my linguine, and then decide not to return to work. Ain't gonna happen. I'd like to be able to drive through three countries on one tank of gas. I wouldn't mind living in a house that's 800 years old. As an American in northern Minnesota, the best I can hope for in these regards is to live in a house built before World War II, occasionally drive to Canada, and attempt to drink a bottle of Miller High Life on the sidewalk outside the Kozy Bar without getting knifed in the sternum.

I'm not sure exactly how I'm going to take my Europeanism to the next level. I think maybe I'll start out by doing a lot of sneering. Then perhaps I'll take it upon myself to eat a better grade of cheese. Maybe someday I'll get a passport.

[ahem] ... papers.

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This is kinda not safe for work. [contains the eff word]

It's definitely not safe for the dinner table.

More blister fun here, here and here.

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So, completely on a whim, I decided to redesign that other website I fool around with from time to time: Perfect Duluth Day. A few nights ago, I was looking at the old design, which had a lot of black in it, and also pun-a-riffic little icons of neanderthal skulls, stonehenge, and such, and I started thinking about what the site must look like for a new visitor. Maybe it looked fine to the 300+ members who've been using the site since 2003, but suddenly it didn't look fine to me.

I get on kicks, like a lot of people do, and right now I'm on a big redesign kick. (You may have noticed.) The problem with redesigning, intense writing, video editing, photoshopping, and the like is that whenever I do these things, I go right out to lunch. I tweak and tweak. Hours pass. I refresh. Stare. Change some tiny aspect that no one will ever notice anyway. Stare. Suddenly it's 5am. I lose a lot of time this way.

But now, speaking of going right out to lunch, I need a sandwich.

Enjoy the new PDD, if that's your thing.

I'm obsessed with the Superior Hiking Trail. Christa and I have made it our goal this summer to hike the entirety of its Duluth branch, segment by segment. The whole thing is about 39 miles long, but we've been doing it in 3- to 7-mile chunks, and so far we're about halfway through.

We tackled the first seven-miler in the drizzling rain, slogging muddily from Martin Road to pretty much my front doorstep. This, so far, was the most boring stretch. The second stretch was fun, although for the most part it couldn't really be considered "hiking" since two-thirds of it was in town, on the Lakewalk, and through Canal Park. The third stretch, though -- from Twin Ponds to Skyline at Highland, was freaking unbelievable fun.

First off, consider "Forgotten Park." It's so cool when things like this happen. Somehow there is a basketball court and a baseball field in the middle of the woods. Nature is slowly taking it back, with five-foot-tall grass covering the former diamond and with mature trees growing up through the blacktop on the hoops court.

Then the trail winds through the West End and above West Duluth going places I never knew existed. I love the sensation of trudging through the shadowy woods, having no idea where I am, and then suddenly emerging to realize that I've been right in the middle of town the whole time. Weird houses on strange residential streets, a covered reservoir that I'd never even heard about, and an old, unused bridge full of twisted graffiti were just some of the highlights.

I'll be posting photos from the walk throughout the week on Flickr, if you want to see them.

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OK, so, in a nutshell, here's what I want to do:

I want to read one book from every year I've been alive. I'll begin with a book published in 1972, which is the year I was born. Then I'll read the rest of the years in chronological order. I'll finish either when I get to the present year, or I'll keep going year by year from here on for the rest of my life, or I'll just abandon the project somewhere around 1977.

Right now, the project is still at the planning stage, mainly because I'm having difficulty coming up with a book for 1972. I have some 1974-76 books in mind that look good, and I'm really excited about the '80s books. But '72 is stumping me. So I busy myself by asking myself questions about the rules of the experiment.

Can I read books I've already read before?
Technically, I suppose that would be fine, but this practice is frowned upon. I thought about beginning the experiment with Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1972) which I read about 15 years ago. But really, I'd rather not re-read books. So, in actuality, no. No re-reading.

Fiction or nonfiction?
Either is fine, but I have far more interest in fiction, so most if not all of the selections will end up being novels. Short stories are fine, too.

Am I sticking to serious literature?
Hell no. There will be some good stuff for sure. But if I want to read something stupid or fun, I will.

So anything goes?
No. The joy of reading chronologically is that you can progress through time as you read. Therefore, historical fiction is out. Likewise, biographies are probably out, too. The books should take place "in the present day," if this is possible.

So stay tuned. We'll see where this ends up.

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