Sad news cats

Our landlord hates life, apparently, including kitties and puppies and rainbows and sunbeams, so we cannot have pets without paying another $500 (on top of the security deposit) and an extra $50 a month on top of that.

So when I found a stray barn kitten at my mom's, I had to tearfully give it to my brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law to raise for me for a few months until we moved into our new house. After all, I'm pretty sure hiding a cat just isn't going to happen. Dave agrees. No pet 'til the holidays, he says. Maybe later.

Sigh. OK, OK.

But word came late Friday night, in the form of a picture message (of the kitten watching TV at my brother's apartment), and then in a follow-up text message. Word was not good. Word is, the kitten is never going to get to the Badger State. No. He's a Buckeye. Forever. That's right. My brother reneged on our deal. The little guy was too cute to give up.

What can I say? Well, OK, to be honest I thought of a few things. One, "remember that time in college when you ran over my cat in the driveway, and broke the news to me over a bowl of cereal --'Pass the milk, by the way, sorry I killed your cat'?" Two, "remember that time you said you'd just keep him for me for a little bit?" But that is not what polite people say. Besides, he is kinda cute. The cat, I mean.

Polite people say nothing -- or text nothing back -- and just go on with their lives, sans cat. Little Julius Sumner Miller, the cat in question, is now Julius Caesar (apparently, they have more respect for history than they do a good PBS physics guy). And I don't think I'll ever see him again. Again, I mean the cat.

I guess this means we can get a dog. And the humane society's filled with cats.

But, let's have a moment of silence for Julius Sumner Miller. The cat and the physicist (above, from cadbury.com/au).

And no, I do not want your cat's kittens right now. I am in mourning.

Can't wait 'til October so I can stop thinking about planning a wedding ...

This week in wedding news: "The Guest List: The Final Version." You'll find the straight-to-DVD program in the "Top things that give Erin a stomachache this week" section at your local video store. You'll find the program "'Stomacheache' Looks Funny Spelled Out," too.

Small families we do not have. We've managed to be really quite frugal (read: cheap) with our wedding plans, so the "we cannot invite them because we are on a budget" issue is not the problem.

The problem is remembering who we forgot, scratching people off the list, adding people to the list and going "Uncle Fred? I have an Uncle Fred? Whose list is this?" Oh, and that sitting down together and coming up with a list thing. That's a problem, too. But that's just details. I'm sure our thinking of doing the final guest list will lead to the guest list compiling itself, while we sleep, in alphabetical order, 11-point Times New Roman, 1-inch margins, with cross-references for easy searching and footnotes with descriptive text: "Jaimie, cousin of Erin, dark hair, just got married to that guy Matt" and "Sam, the uncle who's the mayor," etc.

It's funny how the non-relatives list changes -- someone doesn't "do" out-of-town weddings. Another hasn't spoken to us (or us to them, to be fair) since last September. A couple others are in the "Where are they now?" pile. VH1 is currently helping us seek them out; those invites are pending.

And then there are the "YES," says one of us, in all capital letters. "NO," the other says. Luckily, we only have a few of those people (all of whom I know don't read this blog, so I'm safe). We've been able to make our points, state our reasons and move on down the list in a civil fashion with all but one person:

"You realize my grandma is going to be in the same room," I say, thinking about said person standing next to my little old, sweet grandma in the same room, and envisioning the earth swallowing itself and calling it quits now that it's seen it all, and finds itself in an uncomfortable situation.

"Yeah. It'll be OK," he said. I am still picturing how it would look if the earth swallowed itself.

"Remember the last wedding we were at with him? He was loud, rude and people at other tables wanted to hurt him when he shouted out his favorite 'can't say that on television' words. He told dirty jokes too loudly while some man covered his kid's ears. He stole drink tickets and scared small animals and children," I said.

"Yeah. That was two years ago." I admire Dave's patience.

"Yes, and you haven't talked to him since then," I say. I am smiling, trying to be patient.

The man in question has a record. Two, actually. One of the "post-hardcore rock" type, one of the "I make people uncomfortable and cops know me" type. My grandma likes to bake and dance to polka music. I see a big difference here.

If the earth swallows itself in October, you know which of us made the stronger case. It's not a deal-breaker decision. It's not one that gets me particularly upset, or him either. But you know what would make this easier? Why, what else. This is why God gave us the Internet: Webcast weddings.

"We'll always have Oshkosh ..."

I don't know if it was the champagne cocktails (no, I didn't really have them) or the awesome weather, but Friday night's Free Movies in the Park was a good time. I'd never been before -- not to Oshkosh's, and not to any city's -- so this was all new to me. I was a bit nervous it'd be a bunch of idiots talking and ruining my movie experience (yeah, experience), but it was actually just other people, laying on blankets. That made me happy.

And this week it was "Casablanca," which is only one of my most favorite movies of my 20-some years.

"Oh, Rick ..."

I may go again, but this next Friday would be the only one; "Hook" is playing then. I'm not a big "Zathura" fan, which rounds out this year's lineup.

Friday was pretty entertaining all around; Dave and I went to EAA AirVenture again, and this time actually stayed to watch the air show. I was impressed -- but even more so was I impressed that I didn't pass out from sun/heat exhaustion and near-life-threatening blisters. Visiting EAA: Good. Wearing new shoes to visit EAA: VERY BAD. In the spirit of those who'd gone before me, I cried out "Go on without me, I can't make it any further," offering up my water bottle and free NASA sticker to Dave as I struggled to walk on my tip-toes back to the car in my new shoes.

Needless to say I managed to keep on going. And, also needless to say, I think I've successfully broken in those shoes.

Weekend and Living Well. And you thought Christmas was in December.

You get a two-for-one blog post today.

That's right. It's Weekend time, but it's also Living Well time.

Weekend's got Lyle Lovett (obviously), as he's coming to Oshkosh on Saturday. It's also got some info on Lovaboy (you know them as Loverboy) and the Stones and other good stuff.

Living Well's about remodeling a kitchen. Check it out, dang it. I worked hard on that thing. Not that I didn't work hard on Weekend. Anyhow. Read it.

I got a NASA water bottle. What did you do today?

I went to EAA AirVenture today and experienced the "You gotta be there" excitement -- and OK, I was impressed.

Impressed like "free water bottle" impressed, "free Post-Its" impressed, "free mouse pad, stickers, candy, ruler" impressed, etc.

But no, not Harrison Ford impressed. (For those of you who don't know, Ford shows up at AirVenture every year for the Young Eagles program. I'm not just oddly bringing him up for no reason.) Later, however, my fiance caught him and took a photo, which I will share with you when I get it. He said something about giving Harrison (because we're on a first-name basis) my number, too. Best fiance ever. UPDATE: Yeah, here's the photo.

OK, back to AirVenture. Two of my friends and I went to AirVenture on our lunch break, rushed through the free-stuff booths, grabbed what we could, and walked back to the car, sweating like crazy because it gets hot in Wisconsin. Does it ever.

Bad news -- worse than the sweating, thought that just compounded what came next. Worse than having to wait until the trolley and 50 other cars drove by to cross the road to the car. Worse than the near-blisters my relatively new shoes gave me.

We are officially 10 minutes late to get back to work, and - gasp - there's a flat tire. I, being the stepdaugter of a mechanic and a daughter of a self-sufficient woman, have no idea how to change a tire, and not a really strong desire to learn.

Luckily, it wasn't my car, but I still felt kind of bad that the only help I was able to give was to tell him "Good job, man, yeah, keep up the good work," while standing there going "IT'S SO HOT," dreaming about air conditioning and fanning myself with a free hand (which never works, but I do it anyhow because my hand's there, and I may as well use it to pretend it drops the temperature of the entire outdoors by 15 to 20 degrees).

I'm sure that was a great help, and that he didn't feel like punching me (or at the very least, leaving me there, stranded) at all. What a gentleman.

See this box? It took me three months to unpack this thing.

I was calmly freaking out about my wedding, which is about 80 days away, when Dave saunters by and tells me he stopped by the landlord's today to ask the manager about our lease. Turns out, instead of moving out Oct. 31, we have to move out Sept. 30. By noon.

So there's that. Might as well pack up NOW, I'm thinking, as I have what seems like 10,000 things to do between now and the wedding, and oh yeah, let's move in 66 days.

I feel like I just finished moving. I've moved more than a dozen times in my life. I don't have the energy, the boxes, the newspaper (despite working for one, weird, huh), or the arm muscles to be ready to move again. And we lost all our moving friends when they volunteered to make the trip from Michigan to Wisconsin about 10 months ago.

I have a brilliant idea. How about Sept. 29, I go to bed, and wake up Sept. 30 in a new house, and I wouldn't have to pack or move anything. Everything would be all put away. All the mail would be switched over, and the electric company, too. The Internet'd be hooked up, and Julius Sumner Miller, our cat, would be there, too. Music would play softly in the background, and there would be no bugs or scary mold to deal with.

I could deal with that.

Or, I could just jump out this window here. But then who would feed Julius? OK, fine. I'll stay.

iPod, I love you.

Someone help me.

I've just spent the last half hour subscribing to free podcasts on NPR and PBS. (In case you don't heart technology, a podcast is a free radio-like program that you subscribe to on your computer, and you can put it on your iPod, and it updates for new episodes, etc.)

If I didn't have a blog to talk to about it, I'd still be clicking "Subscribe" as if they were free. OH WAIT, they are free.

I may be the last 20something embracing podcasting (or at least it'd seem that way). I'm like the Christopher Columbus to the Leif Ericson of discoveries here (Flashback to sixth grade history class: He's the Icelandic guy who found America in like, 1065 or something). This means I get all the credit, and you'll all get a day off work each year on a day named after me.

I don't know why I never subscribed to any podcasts before -- They're like listening to NPR's "All Songs Considered," without the hit-or-miss schedule I get annoyed by on the radio. All I want is to tune in for music talk only to hear Click and Clack, the car advice guys, instead. Like I could care less about an oil change. Please. There's even one on iTunes that gives you a song per program from a genre of your choice.

(I realize you most likely already knew this, but give me my five minutes of "Whoa," and nod and smile.)

So right now, I've got "All Songs Considered," "POV," "American Experience," "NPR Books," "NPR Pop Culture," and "PBS Now," all on my iPod. I know I'm supposed to be totally blase to this technology thing, but I am in awe over this. It updates ... by itself. It goes on my iPod, so I can take it anywhere. I can listen to it over my car stereo. I can listen to it while I'm folding laundry. Holy Toledo.

Then I found this link. That's it. I'm turning off the computer. I don't have time for my own surfing, even if it does come with a free show.

Reclaiming my lost youth, one CD at a time.

When I got my iBook, I was so cool. No, like, really cool. I was so cool, in fact, that when I was uploading my CDs onto my computer, I got a bit elitist: "No, Alanis, you get 'Hands Clean' and that's it. No, I will not put on 'Jagged Little Pill,' that was so 1995."

Now, I am scouring library shelves to regain the junior high memories I threw away when I sold my CDs at some crummy record store in Toledo, in exchange for money to do laundry and get gas. And they ripped me off. You can't tell me my entire Stone Temple Pilots collection was only worth $3. No, record store clerk, you look me in the eye and tell me you'll give me $3. Erin's got some towels to wash.

I'm not too proud to say, as I watch the "import" button on my iTunes work it magic, that I am sorry I sold all those second-rate CDs when I did. For a 13-year-old, I had a pretty decent CD collection, which I'd be embarrassed to share with you in person at this present time.

But, watching my mom hunt through the cassette tape racks 10 years ago lets me know that if I weren't reclaiming them now, I'd be doing it 20 years from now, holding the CD in my hand while some kids go "What the heck is that round thing?" Don't act like you're not hiding your own music at home. I went to the David Lee Roth Waterfest concert. I've seen the dancing and the singing along.

CDs Erin's loved, sold for gas money, and is now welcoming back into her life

• "Jagged Little Pill,"
Alanis Morissette.

• "The Stranger,"
Billy Joel -- technically I never sold this one. I just only had it on cassette. Oh, yeah.

• "Whatever and Ever Amen,"
Ben Folds Five.

• "First Band on the Moon,"
The Cardigans. You know them as "that one-hit wonder that sang 'Lovefool' in 'Romeo & Juliet.'

• "Automatic for the People,"
REM.

Hooray for local bands, part XIV

Sometimes I listen to local bands and I have to say "Yeah, neat," because they're OK, they've got enough talent for a roomful of college kids to appreciate, but yet I have to concede that they're just OK. I maybe have their songs in my head, if I know them personally I might go to their Myspace page and download the song, and I totally like seeing them live (see the awesome-to-see-live Toledo band Separation Tree, or the catchy Toledo band The Stylex). But, again, they're just OK.

I think I've found a local band that's more than just OK in my book, world. Meet The Obsolete Machines. They're from Oshkosh, and they consist of a 24-year-old guy and a 23-year-old woman who make electronic pop music.

I'm not saying they're on their way to Grammy fame or anything, but their songs have more than a fighting chance at making it to the "played more than once" pile in my iTunes. You can read more about them on Wednesday in The Northwestern, as they're our Artists of the Week this week.

First trip to EAA ...

This AirVenture convention that starts Monday has got me all excited. To tell you the truth, I wanted to be an astronaut for a hot minute. Then, my mom broke it to me that I'd have to take science and math classes, and that pretty much solidified my future as a journalist. But still.

EAA's AirVenture is something that everyone else knew about but me (until I started investigating Oshkosh last summer, before moving here). Here I thought Neil Armstrong's museum in Wapakoneta, Ohio, was the end-all to flight-related stuff.


But more on that in my column tomorrow ...

Most importantly, I went with some others from the newsroom to check out EAA's grounds so we wouldn't be lost come Monday, and it looked pretty exciting, and nothing was even there yet, really. No Harrison Ford yet, no Beach Boys ... Not many airplanes. Still exciting. This is gonna be awesome. I hope it's not like, 100 degrees, though. Or else I'll be observing from The Northwestern's photo galleries or something. Ha. Yeah, at least Armstrong's museum is air conditioned ...

"What? Tegan and Sara are being replaced? "

Thom Yorke's got me in the mood for some more new music. So, here's what I've found in my Internet travels this week:

1. Dance, Jenny. It's electronic goodness, and it's grammatically correct. Gotta love that. Their rock-oriented songs are better than the straight-up electronic stuff, but none of it's bad. You can check out their Web site at that link, or you can ask them to be your friend at Myspace. They also have three free downloads available on that page.

2. Tapes 'n Tapes. Oh, my god. On their Myspace page, it says they're influenced by "Wire, beach boys, pavement, replacements, pixies, flaming lips, talking heads, television, morris day, and lars eric mattsson (aka. the exciter)," and if all those bands had a baby (impossible, but go with it), it'd totally be Tapes 'n Tapes. They're from Minneapolis, so I thought I'd be able to see them ('tis not too far away from the ol' Oshkosh), but alas, they're going touring in Great Britain. Boo-urns.

3. The Like. I was not looking for another guilty-pleasure Tegan and Sara, but alas, it looks like I've found one. Not a replacement, mind you. The Like is more rock, less pop; more "Walking With A Ghost," less "Take Me Anywhere," if you're familiar with Tegan and Sara.

And for my next trade ... a Phil Vassar promo CD!

I'm well on my way to paper clip bliss. Only mine will start from matches.

I opened the bid officially on Sunday in my column, and by Monday I was told I had a trade coming my way: A used promo copy of Phil Vassar's Greatest Hits (think country music), straight from Tennessee. So, I've started a Paper Clip Experiment list (look to your left), to keep track of where we are in this game to get something fabulous.

Here's how it's gonna work: I have the stuff, you e-mail me with something to trade it for (which I have the right to refuse, by the way), and then you send me yours and I send you mine, and we both go on our merry way. No cost, except postage. Just good old fashioned bartering.

Have something you want to trade? Email me.