Percival (2007–2007)

It brings me much sorrow to report the passing of Percival, a hamster Claire adopted so recently that he had yet to make an appearance in this blog.

Claire had been on the lookout for a hamster, preferably a female one, and she had been giving me reports of the the cute ones and the sickly ones, and one little guy that seemed particularly feisty and less friendly than the others. While this wasn't exactly a glowing review, I had suspicions that I might be hearing more about the guy. He managed to make an impression, which is no small accomplishment when you're three inches tall and look pretty similar to everyone around you. Sure enough Claire started the next phone call with a guess what?, and I managed to guess what pretty quickly.

As he was getting settled in, Claire referred to him as her 'ham,' and I called him 'the little guy.' One evening, while navigating London by map my eyes happened upon Percival David Foundation of Chinese Art, and I realized I liked the name. The Arthurian connotations seemed to fit well since Percival must have seemed a little fierce when the knights first found him in the woods. Claire liked the name, too, and noted that it fit the connections with Perseus, since the little guy had wing-like tufts of fur on his haunches.

About a day after the name was selected, Percy began to exhibit symptoms of wet-tail, a disease that affects many young hamsters, especially those whose immune systems are weakened by the stress of the shipping process. Other hamsters at the store had been showing the symptoms, so it wasn't hard to believe that Percy had managed to contract it. Claire gave him medication and lots of tender loving care, and he was showing signs of improvement in the last day or so, taking brief spins on his wheel and eating a little more. Recovery, though, was not in the cards for Percy, and he died during the night.

Though I never met Percival, he will forever maintain a special place in my heart as the first pet I named.

By the numbers

Claire and I celebrated a year-and-a-half together with a lunch at Wolfgang Puck's 20.21 in the new Walker Art Center. We were already visiting the building so that I could shoot some video for a project I'm working on for a professor, so the restaurant lent itself to our cause quite readily. We both enjoyed the pan-Asian cuisine, which managed to take enough pleasantly unexpected turns to set the menu apart from, say, the local LeeAnn Chin. The pot-stickers we ordered for an appetizer came with a vinaigrette instead of the usual soy sauce concoction, and the lettuce wraps had a much more complex blend of vegetables than I've tasted in similar dishes. I wouldn't make a special trip to 20.21, but I was pleased to find that the food justified the high costs that one normally finds in art museum restaurants.

More spectacular was 112 Eatery, which we visited this evening as my official (albeit delayed) birthday dinner. I started out with duck & radicchio salad, which was heavy to the (very delicious) dressing, but the entrées Mom, Dad, and I ordered (tagliarini w/ blue prawns & vin santo, nori encrusted sirloin w/ ponzu, and pork tenderloin w/ sweet potatoes & Roquefort butter, respectively) were truly spectacular. Laura, never quite as adventurous, ordered the 112 cheese burger, which managed to frustrate her with its exotic array of cheeses. She was happy, however, with the cauliflower fritters, a side we all shared. More than once we felt that the familiar food in front of us (sirloin, sweet potato, cauliflower, or other) was better prepared than anything we'd previously experienced.

Live from UWEC

I'm visiting Eau Claire, and Claire is presently taking her final exam of the semester. I came into this computer lab to check my email and remind myself the order of the electron shells (Wikipedia tells me it's s p d f g—Claire and I couldn't remember g). I managed to get around to it eventually, but I first managed to get myself involved in editing a cover letter for one Joseph T. Jensen, who is graduating this weekend and is searching for a job in the mortgage-lending business. I helped him with his wording (active voice!), cleaned up his punctuation, and showed him that there are better fonts than Times New Roman. I always get a kick out of people's reactions when they're looking over my shoulder as I write/edit.  I'm sure I'd react similarly if I had the change to peer over the shoulder of Stephen King or maybe Thomas Pynchon, whose exquisitely-written Against the Day I'm beginning to read.

Claire Left And I Reminisce Electronically

Michael was kind enough to drive Claire and myself to the airport this morning so that we could say our good-byes and she could fly back to MSP. As we approached the terminal I told him we were looking for Delta check-in. His response was "Don't expect luggage to arrive." Sure enough, Delta managed to make Claire's day a difficult one. Upon arriving in Cincinnati, she discovered that her connecting flight had been canceled, and she was being moved to a Northwest Airlines flight four hours later. Only after she specifically requested a meal voucher did they give her one. And, upon arriving in MSP, she had to wait an additional 45 minutes for her luggage to catch up with her since Delta hung on to that themselves, even though they gave Claire over to NWA.

Fortunately, the frustrations of her trip home were atypical of the weekend as a whole. We generally kept things simple and at home. We cooked most of our own meals (Claire made pad thai and pancakes, I baked cookies and chocolate martinis, and we teamed up to make spinach lasagna). We watched a film on DVD instead of going to the movies (Y tu mamá también was the Road Film of the week). We got plenty of sleep and did a bit of homework when we got ourselves sufficiently motivated. Our one dinner out was a disappointment (due to outrageously slow service), but the potluck we hosted for my classmates was a success. All in all, it was a lovely weekend, and I expect the six remaining weeks until the end of Claire's semester will seem all the longer for it.

Since 1984

Happy twenty-second, Claire!

First Rush

Claire and I celebrated our one-year anniversary this evening with a trip to the new Guthrie, which had its grand opening last weekend. The first official production, The Great Gatsby doesn't open until 21 July, and previews don't even begin until the fifteenth, but a touring production by the Druid Theatre Company of Galway, Ireland, is breaking in the McGuire Proscenium Stage this week. The rather complicated run of DruidSynge involves the presentation of some combination of plays, varying nightly, by writer John Millington Synge. Claire and I saw one-act The Shadow of the Glen followed by the more famous The Playboy of the Western World. Claire and I both struggled to follow Shadow on account of the actors' thick brogue but enjoyed Playboy, which offered more meat to the plot, more time for adjustment to the accents, and more cushion for those lines that were lost upon us.

If the show itself lacked accessibility, the overall experience in the new Guthrie made up for it with a vengeance. The new building was both gorgeous and functional [I'd like to address the architecture in a separate post], and the enthusiasm among the other attendees was noticeable. Claire and I, being on a tight budget arrived without tickets and instead took our chances with the rush line, which sells all tickets at $15 a piece starting 30 minutes before the start of the show. I made certain we arrived early, and we claimed the first spot in line, making us the first Friday night rushers for the new theater. The manœuvre paid off: we snagged sixth-row center-section seats (valued at $55 a piece). After the show Claire and I enjoyed magnificent deserts at the Level 5 Café and enjoyed each others company at the end of the endless bridge, overlooking the Mississippi river.

I'm looking forward to returning to the new Guthrie. And, of course, I'm looking forward to spending another year with Claire.

A decade of May

I made my annual visit to Dr. James F. May this morning, knowing well that it may be the last with my soon-to-be-retired orthodontist. I was still a bit saddened to hear him tell me that future check-ups will no longer be necessary. Trips to the orthodontist, while never fun, have been a reassuring routine in my life for over a decade. The first appliance he installed was a trans-palatal arch, which he and his staff tweaked every month through 1996. On a cold January day of the following year he installed my braces, and from the start of 1997 to the summer of 1998 they cranked on the braces too. After the day of emancipation (in late July, I recall), my visits with Dr. May became ever-so-much more pleasant. Since then he's checked my retainers' fit annually, and has always found it to fit well, and our appointments have been brief, happy affairs. I may not see him again, but I suspect Claire (another patient of his) and I will reminisce on Dr. May (and the suffering through which he put us) for years to come.

Eye of the storm

A snow that is almost a rain is falling on Syracuse, quieting what might otherwise be a raucous Friday night. In fact I forwent the Devo dance party being thrown by my classmates and instead headed to the Inn Complete where I sat by the fire and imbibed two pints of Guinness, my favorite of beers, while reading Moby-Dick.

But what has happened in my long silence? Michael and I, partners from the start of the semester, had a successful midterm review. Our analysis of power dynamics in the Palazzo Barberini led to a number of interesting iterations and some snazzy graphical analysis. Alas, we had to part ways when we returned from spring break in order to better accommodate the class as a whole, as certain partnerships had to be avoided and other maintained. Spring break was quite pleasant. I met with members of the Minneapolis office of SmithGroup, and I am very much hoping that they will be able to offer a summer internship. I completed my taxes (and sent Uncle Sam a check for what I owed), did homework, and caught up on sleep. Claire started her break on the Friday of my own, and we enjoyed each other's company, both on our own and with my family. The first day back at school I, along with my teammates Kirby and Miep, led an hour long discussion of the film Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring, which seemed to go well.

Who knows what the rest of the semester will hold, but for now I can say that life—while hectic—is good.

Venitian hilarity

Claire and I ended our time together with a trip to the cinema to see Casanova. My previous prejudices against Heath Ledger were assuaged by his appearance in Brokeback Mountain, which I can respect even without having seen it, and I'm quite glad they were, for Casanova was one of the funniest movies I have ever seen and certainly the funniest I've seen since The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra. The film had the makings of a Shakespearean comedy: a tangled web of romance, an entertaining villain, sight gags, clever quips, and the right timing. Claire and I even got one laugh from the end credits. I also enjoyed the on-sight cinematography in Venice. Last weekend we watched Top Hat, a favorite film of mine, and we couldn't help but notice that the Hollywood mock-up of Venice looked more like the freshly painted sets of Munchkinland than the City of Canals. Casanova delivered the real thing and was better for it.

Clear Water

I returned from my second of two trips to Eau Claire, Wisconsin this morning. The first was a quick two-nighter in December, coming home with Claire for break. For that visit we stayed in Claire and Melissa's dorm room on campus, but this time we were staying in an off-campus house with Claire's friends Robyn and Marissa, which provided the comfort of some extra legroom. Highlights of this second visit were our tour of the Leinenkugel bewery (where I sampled their Creamy Dark and their seasonal Apple Spice beers) and our meal at Flavor of India (possibly the best restuarant in any Days Inn anywhere).

The Whole "Twenty-One" Thing (Part II)

I managed to get carded at Cub Foods yesterday when I stopped to pick up AriZona iced green tea and Mike's Hard Lime for our New Years Eve Party. The cashier, a middle-aged woman, looked saddened when she saw my license, and she told me that she didn't want to believe that someone with my birth-date was already old enough to drink, but the computer had indeed approved me.

The party was a great deal of fun. Claire and I joined my parents and a four couples from church in playing Hand & Foot, a canasta-type card game. The party ended quite soon after midnight, which granted Claire and me some quality together time before she leaves tomorrow and allowed everyone else to get to bed.

The Whole "Twenty-One" Thing (Part I)

Christmas marked my twenty-first birthday, and apparently I magically became old enough to drink responsibly. So tonight Claire, her older sister Karla, and I went out to Houlihan's to break-in my new adult-status Minnesota Driver's License. I ordered Samuel Adams (2 for 1 during Happy Hour), but was, alas, not carded. The place was quite packed, so we ended up sharing a table with a group of seemingly random Minnesotans who happened to be friends. They all knew each other, but aside from one pair being sisters, they seemed to have no definite connection. They were all in high spirits, however, and before long started including the three of us in their rounds of drinks. The first was a shot of Rumple Minze; the latter - I was told - was a "Red Headed Slut" (1/2 oz Jagermeister, 1/2 oz peach schnapps, splash cranberry juice), but since it was served in an Old Fashioned glass (instead of a shot glass) I'm not entirely sure.

Christmas past

I had a full and enjoyable Christmas. Claire joined my family and my sister's friend Joanna for my official birthday meal at Joe's Crab Shack on Friday. She was ill that night (for reasons unrelated to the meal), so I stayed the night and took her to urgent care on the morning of Christmas eve. She was already doing better by the time she rejoined us for dinner, the candlelight church service, and, of course, opening of presents. The highlight of my collection was a Tom Bihn Brain Cell laptop case for my new Alienware notebook computer.

The next morning we opened stockings (Mom gave me three bars of dark chocolate!) and ate homemade lemon doughnuts. We were joined for a lunch of roast ham by my aunt and uncle and my cousin Karl and his girlfriend Natalie. Pictionary and chocolate chip birthday-cheese cake followed. Claire and I finished the day by creeping ourselves out with the unpleasantly dark movie Seven, and we were both glad to have each other near.

Distance has a way

Google Earth tells me that when Claire and I are in our bedrooms at school we are seperated by 733,900 smoots. What is a smoot? Wikipeida has the answer:

A smoot is a unit of distance used for measuring the Harvard Bridge. It is named after an MIT fraternity pledge at Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity, Oliver R. Smoot (class of 1962), who in October, 1958 was rolled head over heels by his fraternity brothers to measure the length of the bridge. The smoot is equal to his height (five feet and seven inches -- 1.70 m), and the bridge's length was measured to be "364.4 smoots plus one ear". Everyone walking across the bridge today sees painted markings indicating how many smoots they are from the Boston-side river bank. The marks are repainted each year by the incoming pledge class of Lambda Chi Alpha. Markings typically appear every 10 smoots, but additional marks appear at other numbers in between. For example, the 70-smoot mark is omitted in favor of a mark for 69. The 182.2-smoot mark is accompanied by the words "Halfway to Hell" and an arrow pointing towards MIT. The markings have become well-accepted by the public, to the point that they are sometimes used by police to indicate the location of accidents along the bridge.

This was only the beginning of Smoot's career in standards and measurement; he later became Chairman of the American National Standards Institute (ANSI) and President of the International Organization for Standardization (ISO).

For those of you who still aren't keen on the smoot, the distance converts to 1,249 kilometers.

Since 1984

Happy twenty-first, Claire!

Beginning

This evening marked the official end to my being "single," something that I've been since 23 January 2004. Who has set me free from this label? I suspect any regular reader could guess that it's Claire.

Botany refresher

Claire and I went to the Weisman Art Museum this morning. We went specifically to see Fresh Cuts, which was billed as "an international exhibition of the American Society of Botanical Artists." We both enjoyed it a great deal, and Claire helped me summon some botany terms from the dusty corners of my memory. I'd like very much to relearn what I knew in the fall of 2003, especially now that I'm so enthusiastic about someone who's enthusiastic about plant biology.

We both particularity appreciated a watercolor of rhubarb by Maine artist Hillary Parker. My favorite piece of the day, however, came from the West! Frank Gehry and the Artists of Venice Beach, 1962-1978 exhibit. Guy Dill's 1971 work Untitled (17 Wood Blocks), a fascinating sculpture held together by tension in the ropes and friction between the blocks.

III

Claire and I just returned from Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. It seemed long and every scene with Natalie Portman was cringewothry, but I liked it on a whole. The actor playing Skywalker did a very good job (somewhat better than he did in Episode II and much better than the child actor did in Episode I).

Hope

Claire is single today.

Blink of an eye

My best friend Claire visited Madison for the weekend, arriving Friday for a late dinner and departing mid-afternoon today. I think the past 44 hours were surely among the most fleeting I've experienced. We had dinner with her good friend, future roommate, and traveling companion Melissa, Melissa's host for the weekend Brenna, and Brenna's friend Rachel. During the next day and a half, Claire and I succeeded in visiting Memorial Library to retrieve a volume of James Joyce Quarterly I needed, in applying an oatmeal facial mask (below), in visiting the Elvehjem art museum, in visiting Memorial Union, in taking a nighttime stroll around the capitol, and in mixing and consuming cosmopolitans. We failed to visit Jamba Juice (in part due to the surprisingly frigid weather) and the Community Pharmacy. We had two memorable meals; Sarah, Evan, and Mike's girlfriend Annika took us out to King of Falafel to both meet Claire and celebrate my admission to Syracuse School of Architecture (Mike was unfortunately away visiting family). It was a most enjoyable meal and get-together. We had our last lunch at Pelmini, a hole in the wall that serves Russian dumplings. They serve potato dumplings and beef dumplings; you can order them butter-style or spicy-style. That's it. (They do have a fridge with cans of soda and tubs of sour cream, both of which are included in an order.) The dining experience, like the rest of the weekend, was very highly enjoyable. Claire's visit most pleasantly bisected our two months apart between spring break and summer vacation.