Grand gap in the living room since D. and I dismantled the Christmas tree
earlier today.  Pulled it apart limb by limb by limb, crammed its
needle-shedding tangled-ness into the old cardboard box, smacked it all with
tape, then lifted it to the attic.  Now I know artificial trees aren’t
supposed to shed needles, but this one’s recycled–the hand-me-down conifer
from D.’s former boss back in KC, who’d upgraded to something more grandiose,
tall, magnificent.  Free tree.  Tried to unload the tree at the garage
sale last summer: ten bucks?  four bucks?  Both yellow stickers still
mark the face of the box.  Didn’t sell. (If interested, please send email.)

We’ll fill the space left behind by pulling up the exercycle from the
basement.  Never been resolute enough to keep with all the habit-altering
involved at the first of the calendar year (although there was the time…), but I’ll
hop on the machine a few times throughout the winter, break a sweat, pretend
it’s not miserable outside.  If not, the work of moving exercise
equipment makes up for extended periods of non-use.  Up and down the stairs
a few times or across half of the U.S.–punch it in the calorimeter. 

[8:46 p.m.] Whoa! Just about missed

Who’s Your Daddy? on the Fox Network.  Nah, not really. I wasn’t
about to watch that crud.  I’ve felt the hook of reality television at
times–rare times, and I know that for a fraction of the amount it would cost to
cast David Hasslehoff, the major networks can rustle up an enclave of real
people who’ll vie shamelessly for a chance at a pot of money.  Dangle the
money, attach it to any of life’s vexation–housing, smoking, diet, extreme
careerism, fear, dating and now absentee parenting: film-edit-air:  wine
and cheese parties over the ratings and ad revenue.  Please tell me if it’s
way more complex than this.  Please. Any more slop on the television
and we’re all going to need
these (via

worldchanging).  Except that CNY’s been unusually balmy, we might need
them anyway (keep warning of winter weather around here…been calling it out
for months).  Yet I remain skeptical that the gizmo–for $119–impacts the
shoveling of snow.  Will hold off until I see the neighbors using one, then
borrow it.

tangent n: At the NS (aka work), D.’s planning an after school event
later this week involving
Shrinky Dinks. She’s got the authentic shrinks–the plasticine sheets for
drawing and baking, yields the warp-distort surprise every time!  But have
you ever heard of make-shift Shrinky Dinks, the kind where you color on
styrofoam cups then bake-melt them into variforms?  Sounded dangerous to me
(toxic fumes?).  Anyone heard of improvising with styro-cups as low budget
shrinkies? 

How many sides to the Eisenhower Bridge? About ten days ago, a story
surfaced in Chicago about Richard Dorsay who hunkered down in a small space
inside the drawbridge near downtown Chicago–inhabiting a hollow in the bridge’s
architecture.  Dorsay’s resourcefulness–from tapping into an electrical
outlet to power his TV, microwave, PS2 and heater to watching diligently each
time he ducked into the narrow access point–all have been elaborately
criminalized, dehumanized by the media.  According to this
CBS2 report, he was formally charged with criminal trespassing.  
The in-studio anchor frames the story by IDing the city’s efforts to "flush out homeless people."
Listen carefully to hear on foot reporter Jon Duncanson say, "The question is:
how many more of these (portals to the other Chicago
underworld) are there around?" The question? For balance,
though, they do visit with a "advocate for the homeless" who notes
that Chi-town’s estimated 166,000 homeless people are "hiding out
everywhere."  So as not to keep dumping on the coverage by the local
news station, this is all just to note what’s most interesting to me about the
story: dwelling in the city spaces never conceived as habitable and not meant
for occupancy–climbing inside the metroplex and residing there for as long as going unnoticed allows.  

vine: William
Gibson’s blog and Futurismic