FlipSide:Starting November 5, 2001

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A journal of the trials, tribulations, and triumphs in the life of a woman in the 21st century.

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Monday, November 5, 2001

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There is something unsettling about my linebacker-like husband prancing about the house in kitty-cat ears singing "I feel pretty, oh so pretty . . ." in his baritone. This image alone should sum up the strangeness that is my life.

Last night when my daughter, who seemed to be industriously working on her homework at the kitchen table, was revealed to be a thieving frosting stealer. While doing her homework, the child managed to run her finger across the surface of a freshly frosted chocolate cake with butter creme icing enough times to ingest roughly 1/2 a can of frosting. When discovered, she attempted to point the (messy) finger of blame at her younger brother. Her plot, however, was foiled by the fact that the evidence of her guilt was clinging to her lips and mouth. I'm not sure what irritated me more, the fact that she sucked 1/2 a can of frosting from the cake via her fingers or the fact that she tried to blame it on her brother, who frankly, doesn't need her help to get into trouble.

And my son has a new favorite word. "Wiener". And he ain't talkin' about dinner. Sigh. Then there's his bloody nose that made my bathroom look like a homicide scene. All that was needed was the chalk outline and the crime scene tape. There was even blood on the tub toys. I don't know how he could have lost that much blood and continued to function, let alone cheerfully greet his father who went in the bathroom to help him. (Of course, what his father did was call for me. Apparently the mess was beyond his meager cleaning abilities. Or his sensibilities were offended.)

Tomorrow is election day. In Minnesota, it is mostly school board referendums and mayoral elections. Both Minneapolis and St. Paul have their mayoral elections tomorrow. The CEO of my company, Jay Benanav is running for mayor of St. Paul. Since the WCRA is a quasi-public agency (by law, we are the sole provider of workers' compensation reinsurance in Minnesota) Jay's position as our CEO made us a campaign issue. Needless to say, when you work for a company that can be legislated out of existence (on my first day of employment, I was made aware of my severance package!) you get a little (okay, a LOT) nervous when you start getting bandied about on talk radio, especially when no one who is talking about your company really understands just what you do. Anyway, everyone has been a little on edge due to all the upheaval caused by the campaign, even though Jay has been gone on leave for several months. Tomorrow, as a reward, our acting CEO has invited everyone to the hotel bar after work for a drink. He's buying.

It looks like Rhiannon will be leaving her current daycare. For roughly half the cost, she can go to an after-school program at her school. She is excited. It will be good for her. She'll be with her classmates. She won't be the only one in a uniform at her daycare. [Which has seemed to be some sort of symbol separating her from the other kids. Some of this is, I think, is coming from the parents. They see the uniform, know it is from a Catholic school, and, well, I don't know if it is they have a problem with Catholicism or they think we are rolling in money (yeah, right!) but some of the attitude coming from the kids must come from home.] And God knows it will be helpful for our finances. We had been putting off moving Rhiannon until Jack started school, but, while contemplating how the charges were racking up at daycare, it became clear that we needed to make a change. But, now that we know she can start pretty much anytime, I find myself ambivalent towards the whole thing. Rhiannon has been there for 5 years. We know all the teachers. Or at least we used to, until they started having an alarming turnover rate. Which also played a major part in the decision. Rhiannon will leave her brother behind at her current daycare, as he has an exceptional preschool teacher. It is the first time that they have been separated like that. I guess it is just another symbol that they are growing up way to fast for me. Sigh.

Gee, how did we get from my husband's strange singing habits to baby blues? Yet another example of the strange world I inhabit.

Tuesday, November 6, 2001

As a child, we were taught, through the example of our parents, that chocolate was a guilty pleasure. Something to be enjoyed, but not indulged in too frequently, lest we be viewed as a pig. Like many old wives' tales, however, researchers are disproving the many ill effects that were thought to be caused by chocolate and finding many health benefits to the ingestion of chocolate. So, as a public service, I am publishing the following scholarly work. (With appropriate comments by yours truly. What? Did you really think I was going to manage to stay out of this?)

Clearing chocolate's good name

Chocolate has gotten a bad reputation for causing everything from pimples to headaches. "Unfair," say some research scientists, and they have been working hard to dispel the myths. Various studies show that chocolate:

Doesn't cause acne
{no, that's just a curse from God upon the plague known as teenagers. More subtle than leprosy.}
Isn't as bad for your teeth as most sweets. It contains an antibacterial agent that inhibits the formation of plaque
{so, where is my Godiva toothpaste?)
Doesn't cause migraines. Scientists theorize that it is situations, like PMS and stress, in which women tend to crave chocolate that trigger migraines, not the chocolate itself.
Doesn't cause sleeplessness. While a cup of coffee contains 140 mg of caffeine, a 1.4 oz chocolate bar only has 23 mg

Lactose intolerant? Eat chocolate Are you unable to drink milk due to lactose intolerance? Stir some chocolate into your glass and chug away. Chocolate may improve your ability to digest milk by stimulating the enzyme that breaks down lactose. {See, it's actually a miracle drug!}

The sweetest antioxidant

Are you popping vitamins A, C and E because you've heard how wonderful antioxidants are? They neutralize those nasty free radicals that cause damage to your cells and tissues and contribute to aging.

Guess what? Chocolate contains both phenols, the antioxidants believed to lower the risk of heart disease, and catechins. Catechins are potent antioxidants that can also be found in tea. The good news for chocoholics is that solid dark chocolate has four times as many catechins as brewed tea. {Broccoli, smoccoli. Reese's peanut butter cups are a much better side dish with your pasta!}

Who needs Prozac?

Feeling blue? Eat some chocolate. Phenylethylamine is an amino acid found in chocolate that acts as a painkiller and antidepressant. Both the phenylethylamine and anandamide in chocolate trigger the release of endorphins, the chemicals in our brains that make us feel good. Carbohydrates in chocolate stimulate the production of the neurotransmitter serotonin, which produces feelings of calmness and well-being. {Well, hell, I could have told 'em that one. That's why so many women drown their sorrows in Hagen Das. Chocolate Chocolate Chip, of course.}

The food of love

Casanova used chocolate during his seductions and we all know how successful he was. It is considered an aphrodisiac, maybe with good reason. Chocolate contains phenylethylamine, the same chemical that is released by our brains when we fall in love. {Sorry, who needs sex when you've got chocolate?}

(ed - Uh, Me? -- jd)

Eat chocolate, live longer

A Harvard study found that chocolate lovers live a year longer than people who don't indulge. If you eat chocolate one to three times a month you have a 36% lower risk of dying than someone who doesn't. {How about if you eat it one to three times a day?} Eat it a much more reasonable three or more times a week {ahem, I said a day!!!} and you have a 16% lower risk of dying than those who abstain from the pleasure. Researchers believe the reason for increased longevity may be the antioxidants in chocolate that reduce the risk of heart disease.

A cocoa cancer cure?

Researchers have found that cocoa helps prevent adverse changes in DNA and flavonoids found in chocolate are anti-carcinogens. In animal studies components of cocoa prevented cancerous cells from progressing into cancerous lesions. Epicatechin, which is found in chocolate, was shown to inhibit the formation of benign skin tumors in mice.

Apparently the birds that fly around downtown St. Paul aren't too bright. I frequently find "bird prints" on the glass windows on the skyway leading to my building. (For those of you who actually live in a climate mild enough to walk outside in January, skyways are indoor bridges between downtown buildings.) Jodi and I will be walking to the bus and find imprints of myopic pigeons who have crashed into the glass, at top speed, leaving a lovely imprint of head, beak, and beating wings. Sometimes you even can see the feathers. However, yesterday we discovered a new breed of dust bird. An owl had apparently been not watching where it was going and left a lovely imprint of itself in flight. If you have ever seen an owl in flight, you know they are very beautiful with very distinct feathers on their wings. Well, it all got imprinted on the window.

Wednesday, November 7, 2001

Things have been a little squirrelly at my office lately. Some of it, I'm sure, is due to the uncertainty of the election. Will our CEO be back or not? Well, that depends on a 403 vote margin right now. However, there are larger, more important issues afoot.

We are out of chocolate.

{"A preoccupation with sex has a direct correlation with a lack of occupation with sex." Just substitute the work "chocolate" for "sex". Same thing.}

(ed - no, no comment from the peanut gallery. Learned my lesson. -- jd.)

Normally, our VP of HR keeps us supplied. She heads to Sam's Club every 6-8 weeks to stock us up. She fills her Blazer with it. In fact, she usually needs a cart to get it all up to the office. However, due to lots of busy-ness and, no doubt, normal end of the year fiscal issues, we have been out of chocolate for a good 4 weeks now. People are starting to go into withdrawal. The vending machine runs out of Peanut M&Ms as soon as they are stocked as people are attempting to get their fix. Yesterday, two of us heard a rumor of chocolate (imported Cadbury, no less) in the acting CEO's office and we rushed the place. Poor Buzz. He could tell we were women on the edge. He managed to hold us off and protect his stash by reminding us he had to be alive to buy our drinks at the hotel bar downstairs at 4 (it was 3:00, and we had already had cookies, so we weren't quite so desperate at that point.) He also promised to present the chocolate to the office today. We are waiting . . .

Several aching muscles later . . .

Oh my God. Apparently that first spinning class I took last Wednesday was just to suck me in. I felt like I had worked, but not like this. Oh my God. Going down stairs hurt. I don't even want to talk about up. Hell, just getting on the escalator made my gluts ache. I even took it easy compared to my classmates, who apparently ride in the Tour de France in their spare time. (You know, I could console myself a bit if I had been the oldest one in the class, but I wasn't. Not even close. I wasn't even the heaviest one there. So, I guess I was just the one with spaghetti legs and noodle arms. And jello butt, I guess. Ahh, yet another mental image for you to live with. You can picture me with a jello butt on a bike and John in kitty-cat ears prancing. If that doesn't send you screaming to a shrink, you are completely rock-stable, mentally speaking. Or already so far around the bend that it doesn't matter anymore.) There were still 2 1/2 minutes to go (so the instructor told me) when I got off my bike, but frankly, my thighs and butt were no longer on speaking terms with me and I needed time to get showered and back to my office in a reasonable amount of time. And I knew I wasn't going to be breezing back to my office in my usual manner. I slowly eased off the bike. However, I didn't really realize how bad off I was until I noticed that my leg muscles were trembling as I wiped down my bike. And the effort it took me to go down the stairs to the locker room . . . At least my butt doesn't hurt from sitting on the narrow little bike seat. I put my gel seat on from my real bike (thanks for the tip, Barbara)

Well, I need to contemplate removing my lower body from the comfy office chair that it has become quite firmly attached to and think about heating some lunch. On second though, maybe I'll just sit here awhile longer.

Oh, and yes, the Cadbury chocolate covered biscuit did appear. (And disappear rather rapidly . . .)

And now for a word from the fool we elected...

And yesterday our governor proved just how infantile he can be. (I apologize to any babies who may be offended by my comparing Jesse 'the Idiot' Ventura to them, but read on, you will understand.) Jesse was on our local all news public radio station yesterday. A caller on the phone was discussing (to be fair, in rather combative tone) in polite language the pending contraction of major league baseball and the better than 50-50 chance that Minnesota will lose their baseball team. The caller cited one of the problems as a lack of leadership on the part of the legislature and the governor in trying to combat the loss of the team. The caller didn't manage to get out more than the phrase "lack of leadership by the legislature and the gov . . ." when Jesse was on him like he was back in the wrestling ring. The caller kept trying to get his question out, but Jesse kept talking over him. Finally the host of the show intervened in an attempted get the governor (and I use that term in place of a few choice ones I would prefer to use) to let the man ask his question. In fine schoolyard fashion, the state's highest elected official replied that he was removing his headset so he couldn't hear the guy's question. This was the equivalent of placing his hands over his ears and uttering "lalalalalala I can't hear you". Makes you proud to be an American, doesn't it?

Thursday, November 8, 2001

(ed - Her creative juices are a bit low this evening, so we'll have to see if she can top off the tank tomorrow... -- jd).

Friday, November 9, 2001

It's a Murphy's Law kinda day. From start to finish. Just didn't move very fast this morning, so I missed my bus to work. As much as I would like to, I can't even blame Jack for it, it was purely me. As the traffic arrow turned from red to green, the bus was pulling out of the park and ride. Sigh.

Then, I get to work and see that my boss, who normally arrives at 9 or later, beat me to work (it was 8:20 by that time). Then there was the email that set the office on it's ear. Our CEO, who just returned to work yesterday, "decided to take a few more days off to close his campaign office". Hmmm . . . considering the Chairman of the Board visited him after hours last night, sounds more like he may be invited to stay away. Plus senior staff seemed to be meeting and doors are opening and closing and there was just a generally unsettled feeling around the office. And that was just my morning.

And why is it that you will spend the middle part of your day with little to do then suddenly BAM! Everything shows up at once at 3:15 and has to be done by 4:30. I tell you, it's an Islamic Extremist plot.

And there's STILL no chocolate.

Then there are the strange mental images I have had to contend with that were conjured by the Belands and my husband. Just don't ask me about goats, sleeping IT geeks, fishnet stockings, and black and blue satin & lace teddys . . . I am still recovering from that one. My husband has completely snapped as he is seeing Catwoman and an extremely well endowed green M&M outside his office building. And Keri tells me that Matt has snapped because he was skipping to his car this morning.

And I killed another mouse. This one got very hot before it just gave up the ghost. Apparently the thing completely overheated. My Power Point claim frequency graphs must have been too much excitement for it. (I know they are for the actuaries.) My IT person told me if I kill one more mouse she will report me to the SPCA. The good new is my new one is an optical mouse. No balls to gum up and it glows red on the bottom. Ooohhhh, the things I could say. But I won't embarrass my husband that way.

(ed - Glows red, you say? No balls, you say? Nope. Not gonna play guess the gender with that one... I'd like to stay the one I was born as... -- jd).

It's an odd odd day.

Saturday, November 10, 2001

After all of my baking in preparation to go up and paint in St. Cloud today, guess what? That's right, we aren't going. Murphy strikes again. Oh well, I guess we will just have to eat the black and white pound cake and the Texas sheet cake (basically brownies with frosting.) If they are any good, I'll add the recipes to the recipe page. (Whenever we go somewhere, I tend to bring food of some sort. It is payment for putting up with my family for the day.)

You know, I give my husband an awful lot of crap about his cooking. Basically, if it don't come out of a box or there isn't open flame involve, he can't cook it. However, I have to take that back. He can cook one thing EXTREMELY well that doesn't come out of a box (and open flames are definitely frowned upon in the house). Omelets. (What, you thought I was going to say hot dogs?) My Dad, on the other hand, only cooked 3 things, hot dogs, tomato soup, and scrambled eggs. When Mom left us to go somewhere, that's what we got. I learned to cook fast. Partially due to interest, partially due to self-defense.

-------- We now return you to your regularly scheduled program . . . --------

Well, after runs to the craft and grocery stores (no, not a whole new type of store, it was 3 different stores), we got home and, as I was getting ready to put the perishables away, I snapped. Instead of our usual "Dominik Half-Assed Clean" that we are accustomed to around here, I just had to fumigate the refrigerator. It started with me tossing containers of things that had once been food, progressed to sponging up a spill, and ended with a bucket of ammonia water, cleaning out the spot underneath my crisper drawers that had become the final resting place for spilled sauces, bits of sun dried tomatoes (I think), and various other things that I prefer not to contemplate as I was doing all this scrubbing without the benefit of gloves or antibiotics. And after that exercise in culinary refuse, I proceeded to make dinner. You'd think I'd have not stomach for it, wouldn't you. But hey, I am a strong gal.

-------- Rest in Peace --------

Today is the 26th anniversary of the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Many of you are probably familiar with the Gordon Lightfoot song, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. It was always one of my favorite songs when I was a kid. However, until I moved up here to go to college, I didn't realize that the song was about a real ship that sank on the North Shore of Lake Superior in November of 1975.

"The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down, of the big lake they called Gitchigumi" Like this November, the November of 1975 was one of the warmest of record. Then a horrible storm with 30 foot waves blew up on Superior, sinking the Edmund Fitzgerald as she sailed toward White Fish Bay, clinging to the more protected Canadian coast. To this day, authorities differ on just what brought down one of the largest ore boats on the lake.

"Does anyone know where the love of God goes, when the waves turn the minutes to hours." The last transmission from the Edmund Fitzgerald was received by the Arthur M. Anderson, another ore carrier following roughly 10 miles behind the Fitzgerald, at 7:10 pm that night saying "We're holding our own."

"Superior its said, never gives up her dead when the gales of November come early." In 1995, the ship's bell from the Fitzgerald was recovered, and a replica left in it's place, inscribed with the names of the 29 souls who went down with her on that stormy November night. The original bell was presented to the families of the Fitzgerald and placed in the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum at Whitefish Point as a memorial to the ship and her crew.

There have been a lot of shipwrecks on Lake Superior. After all, Lake Superior is actually an inland sea, not really a lake. When you gaze out at the lake from the beach, you would swear you are looking at the ocean. There is no opposite shore to see. But most of those wrecks happened in the days of lighthouses. Not with our modern radio equipment and radar. But, despite all of our technology, Superior reached out and reminded us just who's running the show that November night.

Sunday, November 11, 2001

Yes, I know. They lost and I am mourning. Although, I must admit, as a long time Bears fan, I am more comfortable when they lose than when they win. It's my happy place. I know what to expect. When they are winning, I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And today, it did. Size 13. The Bears attempted to defy the odds yet again and not come out of hibernation until the late fourth quarter. However, you can't pull 2 scores out of a hat in the last 2 minutes 3 games in a row. That's just asking a bit much of the football gods. I think I was channeling my father, though. I was yelling at the TV. I was calling them idiots. However, I didn't start rooting for the Pack. My consolation though, was watching the Vikings get thoroughly trounced by the Eagles 48-17 while I was peddling away on the stationary bike. (Have to get those thigh muscles in shape for the sadistic spinning instructor on Wednesday. I swear, if last class was any indication, I need to find a different instructor.) Why is it the only time the local news here give more than 2 seconds to a Bear game is when they lose? Sigh.

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Copyright © 2001 Ann Dominik. All rights reserved. Complaints about the technical details of this page can be directed to the abused geek who takes care of it for me, and is grossly underpaid for what he does, he thinks. No reproduction without written permission. The opinions and content of this site are my own, and not the responsibility of this site's host, my employer, my pets, my parents or anyone else you may care to blame. Please respect my opinions and I will do the same for you. I may on occasion publish e-mail to me; if you do not wish your mail to be published, please write CONFIDENTIAL or DO NOT PUBLISH at the top of the e-mail. If you would prefer to remain anonymous, please note that as well. If you're incapable of reasoned civilized discourse but feel compelled to correspond with me, I'll be happy to filter your mail out after a few choice comments regarding your ancestors, upbringing, and the likelihood of your family tree not