Let's talk productivity. I had a kind-of productive weekend, though mostly borne of just one slice of productivity, and all that productivity involved was me (barely) waking up in time to let the service guy in the door. He came at about 9:20, and by about 10:05, I was out a hundred bucks but had a functional washer and dryer. Balls. !

Upside: A functional washer and dryer!
Downside: A washer and dryer closet that won't close - the units are too big, as feared

So, how does one deal with this?

a) Don't worry about it. After all, the washer and dryer are nice-looking, and, while the stuff on the shelving above it (detergent, a toolbox, the extra hoses, things like that) isn't particularly well-organized, it's also not exactly un-organizable.

b) Sulk. The closet don't work.

c) Get creative. Get colorful.

Obviously, the option here was c), because I'm nothing if not i) creative and ii) colorful.

It should be noted that this was basically instantaneous creativity as, moments after the guy determined that the closet doors wouldn't fit, I said, "What about a shower curtain?" and he said, "I've seen it before, even at new houses, when people didn't take into account the amount of space needing to ventilate the dryer."

So, after a Saturday morning run, some breakfast, and a shower, I headed out. Errands. A stop at Borders, because that's what I do. (Arcade Fire, Albert Hammond, Jr. - more below, and Son Volt, on a total and complete impulse - yay, merchandising!) Then to Target, which was packed, and whose shower curtain selection was suspect. Then to Meijer, for groceries, and a tension rod, and some shower curtain loop things, and a navy blue shower curtain. Vinyl. Cheap. Stinky, I would learn as I set it up. It would most certainly not do. Plus, despite measuring the curtain rod-space at 59 inches and meaning to pick up the 63-inch rod, I had wound up with a 74-incher, I believe. So, two things to return. Immediately, as, again, a shower curtain-less closet certainly would not do.

So, to...Wal-Mart. Sigh. But, gosh, the shower curtain was a nice pale green, basically matching my rugs and my pillows, and, gosh, I just had to have that pale green shower curtain. ("Pale green things. Pale green things." The Mountain Goats rule, too.)

So, by Saturday night, I had a proper-looking, functional washer and dryer, stylishly obscured by a tacky shower curtain. By Sunday evening, I had done a load of whites, a load of colors, a load of jeans, a load of towels, my sheets, and my comforter. I didn't realize I had done six loads of laundry, but I definitely had. The comforter's obviously last, because post-dryer comforter is about the greatest feeling in the world.

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It was a beautiful, fantastic, sunny weekend, and I no longer have any qualms about the early start to Daylight Savings time. I never really had any qualms about it anyway, but now, despite the pitch black drive to work this morning, I'm quite happy with it. The sun wasn't down here until, like, 7:45, friends. 7:45! In March! (With snow on the ground. But afternoon temps in the 50s)

But I got two morning runs in this weekend - long, lightweight pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a stocking cap - and a great post-work run in tonight. The local, well-used public track is about a 2 1/2 mile run from home, and it's about a mile around the track, so a round-trip with a lap is about a perfect six-mile distance. In today's case, it was enough to hear the best of GbV from their final three albums. Who remembers how good "Apology in Advance" really is? Not you, for sure.

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I made about the stinkiest dinner I've ever made tonight. Stinky, not as in 'bad,' but as in 'stinky.' But quite good. Sauerkraut, apples, pork chops, frying pan. Also, some salt and pepper. And some caraway seed. Caraway seed's quite good, friends, and I think I'll use it again. It's rye-ish, but perhaps you already knew that. I'd never used caraway seed before, but I'm happy I was able to find it in the spice aisle on Saturday. It'll also be in the spice aisle at your local grocer, and I'd recommend it.

The downside about this meal is, at least, threefold:
1) Sauerkraut is stinky. And a bit embarrassing. I can't bring the leftover chop, plus potatoes, to work for lunch. Who wants to be responsible for stinking up the lunchroom, especially due to sauerkraut?

2) I fear that the apples will get brown (not cinnamon-y brown, but "cut apple one day later" brown) by the time I have the leftovers for dinner on Tuesday.

3) Heeding my recipe, I bought the refrigerated sauerkraut, rather than the canned stuff. There's a lot of freakin' kraut in the refrigerated bag. What does one do with the leftover kraut? How long does it keep? Right now, it's airtight, and I'm considering adding at least a bit to my NCAA Tournament chili. But that'd probably be disgusting. Perhaps some sausages this weekend, I'm not sure. In The 'Port, amazingly, pizza with kraut and Canadian bacon is quite popular. Perhaps I'll do that, homemade like. Or perhaps I'll accept the fact that the bag was $1.29, and that I used about $.25 worth, and throw the rest away. Or perhaps I'll just keep it in the back of the refrigerator for a month, then use the leftovers for another pork chop and sauerkraut and apples meal, this time one that'll make me sick, owing to use of bad sauerkraut.

Why I've not purchased peanut butter in about ten years: I purchased it on Saturday, the regular-sized jar. I've had probably two sandwiches, two half-sandwiches (with applesauce and raisins, because I like applesauce and raisins), about two spoonfuls, and about three or four index finger's worth.

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I hate cats.

(I once saw a bumper sticker that said, "I Love Cats. Dead Ones." I was offended by it, for the record, though I also kind of laughed. I was about 11 at the time, and was more impressed by the "Don't Like My Driving? Call 1-800-EAT-SHIT" sticker on the same car. But I also liked the one about the cats. I don't think I understood the sex-related one, though I remember now that it existed.)

There's this cat that's been showing up on my patio. I hate this cat quite a bit, because sometimes he/she tries to look pouty and all "let me in to your home"-like, and sometimes he bares his teeth like he's threatening me.

The bastard makes direct eye contact, and makes me feel guilty, so I close the blinds (always after dark - he doesn't show up in the daylight). So I guess that proves I have a soul, what with me not wanting to look at the creature that I'm not helping.

But anyway, if he's threatening me, certainly action should be taken. Especially considering that, with the weather warming and spring on the way, I'd like that patio for myself. So, I think I'll just dump water on the little bastard next time. Thoughts?

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Two music thoughts:

1) Albert Hammond, Jr., of The Strokes, put out an album in Europe last October. It came out in the United States a week ago. (A&R guy for the record? Former Smashing Pumpkins guitarist James Iha, who put out a solo album while the Pumpkins were beginning their downhill slide. Coincidental, though not ironic.)

For the most part, it's nothing like a Strokes album (though closer "It's Hard to Live in the City" kind of is, even though the sentiment is certifiably non-Strokesian). In some places, it's downright Brian Wilson-y. Opener "Cartoon Music for Superheroes" features Hammond on "Vocals / Toy Piano" and it's lush and fun. The guy can actually sing, and the songs are well-constructed, and I'm really happy that I bought it.

Also, there's a bonus track cover of GbV's "Postal Blowfish," in which his voice is somehow treated and he sounds downright Pollardian. It's kind of cool.

2) Maybe I've written about it here before, but we've been listening to this adult pop station lately. WXRT mixed with one of those damn "Best of the 80's, 90's and Today! / Your At-Work Choice" stations. Cool adult pop, plus mom-rock. Eminently listenable, certainly more-listenable than the days we've had Linkin Park (but less listenable than the days when we get Beyonce's "Irreplaceable," which is probably like four months old by now).

For some reason, Old 97s get played to death on this station, and it's been determined that singer Rhett Miller has about the shiniest, poppiest voice in the history of the world, and that he writes fantastically catchy songs. (I was espousing his talent, and used the word 'catchy,' and my coworker said, "Catchy? Catchy like herpes!" which I found funnier than it actually is.)

Among the songs in regular rotation:
From Old 97s Fight Songs
"Oppenheimer"
"Nineteen" (I thought this was their 'hit' - it was all over The Mix in Chicago, to the point where I wrote a paper about it - but it never charted anywhere. Further research indicates that Old 97s have never had a single chart, so perhaps it was their biggest hit)
"Lonely Holiday"
"Indefinitely"

From Old 97s Satellite Rides
"King of All the World"

From Old 97s Drag It Up
Nothing. That's not a song title. But nothing.

From Rhett Miller's The Instigator
Ditto.

From Rhett Miller's The Believer
"Singular Girl" (which features the awful line, "Lovin' you, girl, is like long division, yeah!" which I still can't figure out)
I'm pretty sure there's another one, but I can't figure out which title it is

Anyway, I just think Rhett Miller and Murry Hammond write good songs. I only have Fight Songs, though I think I'll try to find other Old 97s albums and the Rhett Miller solo records used. Somewhere, where they have used records. Or perhaps I'll download them.

I'd recommend you do the same, especially with Fight Songs.

Also, this music-related portion is the lowest this blog has ever sunk. Old Fucking 97s. Sweet Jesus, shoot me.

I also like The Arcade Fire. And Of Montreal. And Tom Waits. And I love The Beach Boys, but only when Brian Wilson was on hallucinogens. And I love The Hold Steady. Have I redeemed my coolness factor? No? Shit.

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I gotta tell you, friends, I've not looked over the NCAA Tournament bracket really, yet. And my check's not yet in the mail for Flax, though he knows I'm good for it. I've also got the high school friends bracket, and my dad has yet to report on the Rud family pool. The wedding has really shaken things up in terms of our buy-ins, perhaps.

I wish ND got a higher seed, because Winthrop's tough. But ND probably wasn't deserving of better than a 5. I watched Texas-Kansas on Sunday, the first time I saw either (I had planned to watch Wisconsin-Ohio State, but two of the top five teams in the country played an unwatchable game) club this season, and it was awesome. So I'll pick Durant as my favorite player in the tournament, and the guy I want to win it. Wisconsin, meanwhile, won't make it out of the second round, though I can't figure out who their opponent is in the second round.

Michigan State has a chance to be the first team to knock out a number one, though I can't remember who their number one is. Neitzel's that good. Purdue does not have the same chance, though I'm really happy they got in.

I hate the term "mid-major." Can't we use "non-BCS?" Or "minor." Also, I hate griping about who didn't get in. Because you won't remember that by, well, now, I hope.

I'm rooting for Texas to beat Florida, if that matchup is possible in the championship game. Or, for Ohio State to win it, because Mike Conley's the best player in the nation. And I kind of mean that.

Tom Cream-Tom Izzo is a neat matchup. So is Drew Neitzel-Dominic/que James. My favorite post player in the tourney, outside of G'town's Roy Hibbert, is Marquette's Ousmane Barro. He's one of those long-armed, skill-less African post players, but he's actually not skill-less. I watched a fair amount of the first half of a lot of Big East games this year, so it's the conference I know best after the Big Ten. The Big Ten stinks. The Big East does not.

Sports Illustrated has had back-to-back cover pieces, rather than stories. This week: Global warming and sports - a stretch, and not particularly well-done, but a nice effort. The week before: The Program - Ohio State, a profile of how a major, major, major athletic department operates.

It was mostly complimentary, of course, because that's what articles do, and it fawned over Oden, who is by all accounts a good guy and a hard worker.

But, in an article about Oden and in a package of stories espousing the school's commitment to academics, they glossed over two things:

1) He had intended to be a Finance major, but was dissuaded from this by his academic advisors. Because we don't want an athlete taking anything too rigorous - can't take them away from their sports, after all. Officially, he's now Undecided.

2) He's taking two classes this quarter: Sociology 101, and The History of Rock and Roll. He's also getting credit for playing basketball, one of two quarters he's offered this option.

I don't know how major athletic programs actually work, but I was really insulted by point 1, and mildly offended by point 2. I wish the NCAA would call them athletes, and not "student-athletes," and pay them over the table. A lot less hypocrisy that way.

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Gotta go, that cat's making noise. No joke. Crap.