Tornado Ali's "FastFacts!"
2003-05-15 - 12:05 p.m.
Number of days it’s been since I updated Tornado Ali: 20.
Number of severe head/chest colds I’ve had in the past 20 days: 1.
Number of Kleenexes I’ve used in the past two weeks: 697. (Not counting wads of TP).
Number of FREE Wilco concerts I missed due to said head/chest cold: 1. (Not to mention a friend’s birthday and a Hayseed Dixie performance to boot.)
Number of times this week I’ve said “hello,” (loudly), to a person I passed in the hallway at work and gotten absolutely no response: 4. (And I’m not joking.)
Number of times I’ve made it to work on time this week: 0
Number of times I have made it to work on time in the past six months: 0
Number of times anyone has ever seemed to care what time I make it in to work: 0.
Number of years it’s been since I graduated from college, as of last weekend: 4.
Number of years I’ve spent wishing I was still in college: 4.
Number of places I’ve worked since I got out of college: 3.
Number of statewide journalism awards I won while in college: 3.
Number of worst-in-the-state newspapers I’ve worked for since graduating from college: 2.
Number of times last week my hometown newspaper actually included the word “butt-chewing” in a quote from a city alderman, as in “I got a real butt-chewing over that deal:” 1.
Number of times I’ve dreamed about moving back home and becoming the editor of my hometown newspaper: 1.
Number of times I’d probably want to off myself if I really was the editor of my hometown newspaper: googol. (Or should I say “infinity?” I’m never sure.)
Number of times this week I’ve used a bathroom at a grade school, with my head poking up over the tiny stall, making me feel like a severely mushroomed-out Alice in Wonderland: 1.
Number of times I have actually taken mushrooms: 1.
Number of times this spring my father has given away bags of morel mushrooms that grow on his farm: 10.
Number of dollars it takes to buy a half-pound of morel mushrooms in Seattle’s Pike Street Market (according to a picture of a sign I took in 1999): 20.
Number of dollars required to fix the weird burning-antifreeze smell in my car: 398.
Number of dollars required to fix the window on my car when it stopped rolling down: 150.
Number of times I had to go back to the car place because they put the door on wrong after fixing my window: 2.
Number of times this spring I’ve said I’m going to start walking to work: 25+
Number of times I’ve actually done it: 0.
Number of times this week I have been told by someone at work that I “need to get a tan:” 2.
Number of people who said that to me who I actually like or respect: 0.
Number of times my skin has ever actually tanned, versus burning to a crisp: 0.
Number of my family members who have had skin cancer: 2.
Number of times I will allow myself to roast in a fake-bake machine: 0.
Number of times I have considered buying some bronze-in-a-bottle: 1.
Number of times this week I have had horrible dreams about being forced to go back to the prom: 3.
Number of times I actually went to the prom by myself in high school: 2.
Number of times my parents forcibly made me go to the prom: 2.
Number of times I’ve ever really fought with my parents: 2. (Can you guess what it was about?)
Number of little kids I used to baby-sit for who’ll soon be competing in the national spelling bee, televised on ESPN: 1.
Number of times in my life I’ve ever watched ESPN: 0.
Number of times my sister missed—by one letter—making it to the national spelling bee, back in the day: 1.
Number of spelling bee documentaries I really want to see: 1. (It’s called
“Spellbound,” and I just heard about it on NPR this morning.)
Number of freaky music-related coincidences I’ve had this week: 2. (The first: Having “My Cherie Amor” stuck in my head all night while I slept—hearing it in my dreams—and then waking up to the NPR lady saying it was Stevie Wonder’s birthday. The second: Walking in the house singing that Paula Cole song, “I don’t wanna wait/til our lives will be over….,” because I’d just heard it on the car radio, and then turning to see her on the TV screen, singing it on an old “SNL” episode.)
Number of times this week I’ve had to edit the clutter-y phrase ‘to that end’ out of someone’s writing, including that of my boss, The Superior: 3.
To that end, I’ll stop doing random numbering now.
