So much self improvement!

That's right! I bought a compost bin, went to the gym, and saw my shrink/counselor. I will be self-improved!

All of this self-improvement was quickly tempered by a trip to Dairy Queen. Done and done.

Yesterday, I gave blood. If there's anything that will give you the same moral, civic, sometimes uppity thrill as voting, it's giving blood. It's cheaper than donating to public radio! But with cookies! Plus, they give you the ultimate sign of moral superiority: a sticker. See my sticker, tremble with civic guilt..!

The wonderful thing was that I got to see my two favorite nurses. They are absolutely wonderful and lovely. And might come see Overheard tomorrow..!

Things learned and done today:

- Veterans of Foreign Wars make amazing tacos. My friends Sue and Josh were nice enough to guide me to Winners on the west side of St. Paul, where veterans of foreign wars not only make these beautiful things (they even fried the shells! The salsa was homemade!), but also bring them out to you, and then buy candy bars from their grandkids.

- Performed at Sample Night Live with a group of Improvisers performing "The Quest" - - a Micheal Gellman inspired improv form. We had squirrels and pooping unicorns. For seven minutes, it was seven minutes of fun.

- A string quarter also performed a little bit of "Stairway to Heaven" and there were some lovely familiar faces doing funny things (Hi Joe! Hi Dave!). Thanks, Sample Night!

- My dog might actually be seven years old. A post card from his old old vet (pre-me, in the Pickles timeline) hinted at that.. Who knew?

There was some sort of theme I was going to approach and write about, but it all got washed away.

A gentleman named Vladimir is repairing my bass.

Onward.

Hi

Without going into too much explanation, I've been hiding. But I'm coming back. As I miss you. Here comes babbling!

Note #1
I splitting a CSA share, which means, every two weeks, a box of lonely vegetables will be waiting for me!

The funny and lovely thing about CSA's is that you don't know what you're going to get. It's like a raw Farmers' Market bento box.. This week I'm getting:

- Ramps! What the hell are ramps?! In the onion and garlic family. Cool. People who like ramps REALLY like ramps.

- French Breakfast Radishs. Ahh.. Of course. The breakfast radish, are otherwise know as the Flambo radish, which is possibly the best thing ever.

- Dogwood or willow. I think this means I get pretty flowers. Or possibly a tree.

I'm also receiving a number of things that are "overwintered". This is an incredibly useful adjective, especially given where I live. This year, most of us have been overwintered.

Note #2
I did a play by a dead playwright! This rarely happens. But the play was lovely (and depressing.. It was "All My Sons" by Arthur Miller, as opposed to "My 3 Sons" which one poor gentleman had actually come to see.)

- I got to play the horrible horrible neighbor. People didn't like me. They wanted to like me (as St. Cloud audiences are basically wonderful and supportive), but then I said really mean things. Which is kind of the arc of the play too. Nice people, nice situation on the surface, and then everything goes to shit. Ah.

- As all of the action take place in a backyard, the theater owners decided to lay sod on the stage. It was impressive! And after two weekends, it was full of gnats. Tricky! Kind of gross! And oddly delightful. The play takes place in August, and by god, we had gnats. Flying into people mouths and getting into the grape drinks. Probably laying eggs in curtains, hanging out on the plastic shrubbery. Gross and kind of funny. Don't mess with nature, she'll bring gnats.

Note #3
I get to go see my sister in a couple of days, on her adopted turf of Tempe, AZ*. I'm going to hang out, eat at El Pollo Supremo, and do her taxes. It's already in the 90's down there. I will sweat, look at graduate student art, and maybe clean her apartment.

Thanks for the babble-listening.

Onward.

*Last time I was in AZ, the NBL All Star Game was in Phoenix. My mom and I stayed at a hoochie-filled Hilton in Scottsdale. It was really really gross. Rarely do I hear mom wonder "how many do you think are prostitutes?" Starf*&ers**, in the very least. Cleavage and other parts no daughter wants her mom to see. Ick poo.

**If I ever use the term "starf*&er, you can smell the poser radiate off of me. But I also feel a little like Tori Amos, circa "Boys for Pele"***. Not necessarily a win win, but there it is.

***Damn fine album.