Mischa's puppy class graduation was tonight. She did very well (alarmingly so) at the Loose Leash Walking trial, including giving several successful "sit"s when we stopped (genius), and she did ok at staying in a sit, staying in a down, etc. Gave a high five when asked, touched her nose to the palm of my hand when asked, and really was very focused and enthusiastic.
We know that having the big dogs here has probably done as much for her behaviorally as the class did. I mean, we learned TONS in the class and it was sooo worth the money and I highly recommend it to everyone. But I think we also just have to know that boredom and loneliness were contributing to the most of Mischa's behavior problems. Now she is just exhausted in the evenings, after running laps with her mouth around Bridgette's head all day. Before she was a complete spaz and wouldn't leave us (or poor patient Charlie Murphy) alone when we got home from work.
So what does that mean now? I think we've officially decided that Ingrid is going back out to Dad's after he gets home from Florida. She's more comfortable out there, I've said it many times. And probably Bridgette should go as well, right? Of course. For one thing, she is a Destroyer of Yards. She has found every random bit of plastic in the yard (bowls, tupperware that once held dog food, planters) and shredded it. She digs. She has TRAMPLED my lavender and I'm worried it won't recover. She should stay with Ingrid, they are good friends and Ingrid is a good mentor for her. But Mischa is in loooove with Bridge. The truest love. I'm very worried about how Mischa will respond when her pretty yellow friend goes.
So the way I see it that we have three options:
1. Send both big dogs back out to Dad's and deal with the consequences with Mischa, making more of an effort to keep her active and applying all the training we've learned in class to help her make the adjustment.
2. Send Ingrid back to Dad's and keep Bridgey and see how that goes for a while.
3. Send both big dogs back out to Dad's and get a new dog (I can't believe I just said that out loud...).
I guess the phantom option 4 would be to keep all three dogs up here, but I don't know if Dad will stand for it, or our grass.
Ingrid is snoring happily in front of the door. Bridge is in the middle of the floor, almost under the coffee table, and she's extra pretty when she sleeps. Mischa is SACKED out after all the excitement of graduation (liver brownies! a diploma! pictures with Mom and Dad!) laying across my (Guinness-slippered) feet. Charlie Murphy is on his throne (formerly Mackenzie's throne, but whose fault is that?). Kenzie is in the doorway of the bedroom, vocally pointing out several discrepancies in her food-bowl fill line policies. Corvinius is licking the blinds in the blue room. Because he is Odd.
I have been working on the be-all, end-all post about how I'm feeling right now regarding children and parenthood. Having the house full with all this animalia, and being very happy about it, makes me feel like my current position (kid free for the foreseeable future) is the right one. This is a good place to be.
P.S. I'm thinking of holding a benefit/fundraiser/donation campaign to finance a Return Move to Nashville for Badness and the Redbeard. I miss my Sous Chef, and christmas cookie season is upon us! I'm going to issue a release demand to Chicago and see if I can't get their indentured servitude canceled.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
You are what you eat
Here's the truth: two straight days of Super Nintendo does not a fascinating blog make. I feel like a clam, like a sloth, like all of my creativity and cleverness (and that's assuming a lot about myself, that I am either clever or creative in real life) has been sucked out by countless hours prone on the spare room bed with a controller in my hand. Now I see why we weren't allowed to have a gaming system when I was young (the SuperNES that I'm playing now was purchased in the summer of 1993, when Mom was getting her Master's degree and needed some form of bribery to keep my sisters out of trouble). I would have been a total braindead slacker, or at least more of one than I already was.
I swear I'll post something interesting tomorrow. If it doesn't rain it's Mischa's graduation from puppy school tomorrow night! Genius dog learns how to give high fives and not jump up when we come in the house! Or at least that is the conclusion we are hoping for... Having the big dogs here has certainly mellowed Mischa, both physically and emotionally. I'm really proud of her.
Back to Bowser's Valley. Don't judge me.
I swear I'll post something interesting tomorrow. If it doesn't rain it's Mischa's graduation from puppy school tomorrow night! Genius dog learns how to give high fives and not jump up when we come in the house! Or at least that is the conclusion we are hoping for... Having the big dogs here has certainly mellowed Mischa, both physically and emotionally. I'm really proud of her.
Back to Bowser's Valley. Don't judge me.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
gotta go save that princess, don't interrupt me
I totally didn't go see Mike Doughty at 3rd and Lindsley tonight. I even bought a ticket in advance.
Instead I stayed home with Austin and Jenny and Patrick and ate good food and played Nintendo. We made Curried Couscous with Roasted Vegetables and Cilantro Yogurt, yum yum. It gets better every time I make it, I think it's been the biggest breakthrough hit meal of this year. Cilantro Yogurt would be good in a bowl with a spoon, let alone with lots of spicy things smeared around on the plate with it. And then Double Hot Chocolate Pudding for dessert, with cayenne and Dutch-process cocoa (direct from the Netherlands, thanks Sherraden) and chopped Ghiradelli bittersweet and cinnamon and espresso powder. Four hours later, I'm thinking, Geez, why am I not sleepy? Oh. Caffeine-loaded dessert, duh.
Now I'm listening to Austin talk on the phone to his brother (one of my greatest joys in the world) and tossing out a wuss-ass blog so I can get back to the blue room and keep hacking away at Super Mario World (or whichever version it is, I never remember, the one with Yoshi).
And I'm not even pissed at myself that I skipped that show tonight. I went out last night (to see the Long Players at Mercy Lounge, which was, of course, amazing, but boy was that a weird crowd, all those old people out after 9 pm when it was like 40 degrees out. It has been a long time since I have thought, I'm too young to be here.) and I had way more fun tonight piled up in bed with Jenny screaming and cursing at the video game and remembering all the retarded names we had for the Mario enemies when we were little. I am sure I'll address it more later, and I still feel superstitious talking about it, but I'm so glad J & P have come home to Nashville. It makes everything feel less urgent somehow. More normal.
Oh, and there are lots of lame things about my job, at least one of which is my boss being totally random and inconsistent, but sometimes that comes around to be a good thing, like when he decides to give us Veteran's Day off, a day that no person who doesn't work for the government, or who didn't actually fight in any wars, deserves to take off. But I'll take it, for sure. My plans are to (still) wash my makeup brushes (I swear it) and run the self-clean cycle on my oven so my turkey won't start any fires. Thanksgiving oven fires = bad. And to dig around in my garage until I find the 86 page Super Mario cheat guide that I printed off the internet a couple of years ago, so I can figure out how to beat the secret in Donut Flats 2.
I didn't promise you anything insightful tonight. Sorry. Gotta go spin jump on some koopas.
Instead I stayed home with Austin and Jenny and Patrick and ate good food and played Nintendo. We made Curried Couscous with Roasted Vegetables and Cilantro Yogurt, yum yum. It gets better every time I make it, I think it's been the biggest breakthrough hit meal of this year. Cilantro Yogurt would be good in a bowl with a spoon, let alone with lots of spicy things smeared around on the plate with it. And then Double Hot Chocolate Pudding for dessert, with cayenne and Dutch-process cocoa (direct from the Netherlands, thanks Sherraden) and chopped Ghiradelli bittersweet and cinnamon and espresso powder. Four hours later, I'm thinking, Geez, why am I not sleepy? Oh. Caffeine-loaded dessert, duh.
Now I'm listening to Austin talk on the phone to his brother (one of my greatest joys in the world) and tossing out a wuss-ass blog so I can get back to the blue room and keep hacking away at Super Mario World (or whichever version it is, I never remember, the one with Yoshi).
And I'm not even pissed at myself that I skipped that show tonight. I went out last night (to see the Long Players at Mercy Lounge, which was, of course, amazing, but boy was that a weird crowd, all those old people out after 9 pm when it was like 40 degrees out. It has been a long time since I have thought, I'm too young to be here.) and I had way more fun tonight piled up in bed with Jenny screaming and cursing at the video game and remembering all the retarded names we had for the Mario enemies when we were little. I am sure I'll address it more later, and I still feel superstitious talking about it, but I'm so glad J & P have come home to Nashville. It makes everything feel less urgent somehow. More normal.
Oh, and there are lots of lame things about my job, at least one of which is my boss being totally random and inconsistent, but sometimes that comes around to be a good thing, like when he decides to give us Veteran's Day off, a day that no person who doesn't work for the government, or who didn't actually fight in any wars, deserves to take off. But I'll take it, for sure. My plans are to (still) wash my makeup brushes (I swear it) and run the self-clean cycle on my oven so my turkey won't start any fires. Thanksgiving oven fires = bad. And to dig around in my garage until I find the 86 page Super Mario cheat guide that I printed off the internet a couple of years ago, so I can figure out how to beat the secret in Donut Flats 2.
I didn't promise you anything insightful tonight. Sorry. Gotta go spin jump on some koopas.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
carving out the time
I should be making a grocery list. Or washing my makeup brushes. Or changing the sheets over to the dryer. Those Saturday chore things, from the list in my back pocket.
Instead I'm piled up on the couch with the Boo and a puppy draped across my ankles, alternately working a book of word puzzles and then going back to composing and deleting first paragraphs to possible blogs.
Really all I want to do is think about Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday, and I've been lucky enough to spend several Thanksgivings recently with my family in California, and I'm sad that I can't be there this year. My Aunt Paula and I would plan for months and trade menu ideas and cook for two straight days and then collapse after dinner and hope someone else (meaning Mom) would do the dishes. This year, we're hosting (which is one of my favorite things) and I've been making menu notes in my Palm for weeks. I've been going through magazines, ripping out recipes, storing gravy-making notes and cranberry compote flavor combinations and brainstorming where we're going to put all this food and all these people. This is the time of year that I start thinking that maybe I should install another refrigerator in our garage, and also maybe invest in a double commercial oven, which is, of course, never going to happen. Thanksgiving is like my fantasy holiday.
I've made the same turkey every year for at least the last 8 years, it's a Two-Hour Turkey (found on Epicurious, I think?) and it is absolutely killer. And foolproof. Two hours of turkey time means I can get the bird done reasonably early, keep it under foil until it has rested and is cool enough to carve without scorching my fingers (ok, Dad's fingers), and have plenty of oven time left for side dishes. Here's the genius part for this year: we're having the big dinner on Friday instead of Thursday. Jenny and Patrick are spending Thursday with his family, and this way Casey and Trent can spend as much time as they like with his folks, and I can cook and clean all day Thursday and cut the labor down for the actual day of feasting. We're having friends come in addition to the core family, and I'm just so excited about all of it, particularly about Megan's offer of donating sous chef labor. I love having people in the kitchen with me, it gets sort of lonely in there sometimes.
So now it's just puttering through the next two weeks until the big day. Here's the rest of the tentative menu:
Mashed potatoes and gravy
Green bean casserole
Roasted Sweet Potatoes and Red Onions with Rosemary and Parmesan
Stuffing
Macaroni and cheese
Roasted Cauliflower
Rolls or cornbread
Cranberry relish
(bites before dinner):
Carrots and celery (with ranch dressing)
Black Pepper Almonds and Pecans
Cheese and Crackers
Dad's Chip Dip (Dad: can you bring chip dip?)
(dessert):
Triple Chocolate Cheesecake
Pumpkin Bread Pudding or Pumpkin Creme Brulee
Apple Crumb Pie
Menu notes: the last several years, I've tried fancier mashed potatoes. With caramelized onions and goat cheese, or with garlic and leeks and mascarpone. But lately I've just been making simple, straightforward fluffy mashers with cream and butter, and it's really the best. So I'm not messing with this dish this year.
The green bean casserole is, yes, the recipe off the Campbell's cream of mushroom soup can, or the French's French Fried Onions can, or whatever. And it's the one dish that Austin requests every year, and I always roll my eyes, and he always points out that it is all gone by the end of the meal, and he's always right.
I started doing the roasted sweet potatoes with red onions a couple of years ago, instead of a sweet approach, and it's really amazing, and can be made ahead of time. It's just as good at room temperature as it is warm.
I still haven't settled on a stuffing plan. Casey has made a batch of Stove Top in addition to whatever fancy stuffing approach I take every year, and I occasionally wonder if maybe she's right. I have lots of good ideas for great stuffings, which involve a mix of regular bread and cornbread and cinnamon raisin bread, dried cranberries and dried blueberries, toasted pecans, chopped apples, and maybe a partial batch with andouille sausage. But maybe I'm just going to dump a box out into a pan and add vegetable broth and a pat of butter and no one will notice or complain (and at least one sister will rejoice).
I understand that macaroni and cheese is probably not a traditional Thanksgiving side dish, but I noticed that this menu was suffering from a shocking lack of cheddar, and this will solve that problem handily.
I'm not entirely sold on the roasted cauliflower yet either. I might just make that as a standard side dish with a regular dinner some other time. I do want to try it, though.
I make the same cranberry relish every year, with ginger and cardamom and dried cherries, and I'm always glad that it doesn't all get eaten because it's my favorite part of leftovers.
I'm most pleased with the dessert selection. It's traditional flavors but a different approach to them. I have never made an apple pie before (I really don't make many pies), but this one looked so pretty and lush in the Thanksgiving issue of Everyday Food that I'm just going to go for it. I can make a pie, right? And based on my recent discovery that I'm really good at making cheesecakes, even if they aren't my favorite, I think the chocolate cheesecake will be a good crowd pleaser. Every menu benefits from a chocolate option. And I will take a vote between the pumpkin creme brulee (with maple) or the pumpkin bread pudding (with caramel bourbon sauce). Anybody out there have a preference?
You might notice that this isn't exactly a gourmet production. I go pretty traditional for this holiday. No fennel, no chanterelles, no chipotles. That's for the rest of the year. Thanksgiving is for comfort food, lots of it, spread all over the table and the kitchen and filling the house with warmth. I just can't wait.
Instead I'm piled up on the couch with the Boo and a puppy draped across my ankles, alternately working a book of word puzzles and then going back to composing and deleting first paragraphs to possible blogs.
Really all I want to do is think about Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday, and I've been lucky enough to spend several Thanksgivings recently with my family in California, and I'm sad that I can't be there this year. My Aunt Paula and I would plan for months and trade menu ideas and cook for two straight days and then collapse after dinner and hope someone else (meaning Mom) would do the dishes. This year, we're hosting (which is one of my favorite things) and I've been making menu notes in my Palm for weeks. I've been going through magazines, ripping out recipes, storing gravy-making notes and cranberry compote flavor combinations and brainstorming where we're going to put all this food and all these people. This is the time of year that I start thinking that maybe I should install another refrigerator in our garage, and also maybe invest in a double commercial oven, which is, of course, never going to happen. Thanksgiving is like my fantasy holiday.
I've made the same turkey every year for at least the last 8 years, it's a Two-Hour Turkey (found on Epicurious, I think?) and it is absolutely killer. And foolproof. Two hours of turkey time means I can get the bird done reasonably early, keep it under foil until it has rested and is cool enough to carve without scorching my fingers (ok, Dad's fingers), and have plenty of oven time left for side dishes. Here's the genius part for this year: we're having the big dinner on Friday instead of Thursday. Jenny and Patrick are spending Thursday with his family, and this way Casey and Trent can spend as much time as they like with his folks, and I can cook and clean all day Thursday and cut the labor down for the actual day of feasting. We're having friends come in addition to the core family, and I'm just so excited about all of it, particularly about Megan's offer of donating sous chef labor. I love having people in the kitchen with me, it gets sort of lonely in there sometimes.
So now it's just puttering through the next two weeks until the big day. Here's the rest of the tentative menu:
Mashed potatoes and gravy
Green bean casserole
Roasted Sweet Potatoes and Red Onions with Rosemary and Parmesan
Stuffing
Macaroni and cheese
Roasted Cauliflower
Rolls or cornbread
Cranberry relish
(bites before dinner):
Carrots and celery (with ranch dressing)
Black Pepper Almonds and Pecans
Cheese and Crackers
Dad's Chip Dip (Dad: can you bring chip dip?)
(dessert):
Triple Chocolate Cheesecake
Pumpkin Bread Pudding or Pumpkin Creme Brulee
Apple Crumb Pie
Menu notes: the last several years, I've tried fancier mashed potatoes. With caramelized onions and goat cheese, or with garlic and leeks and mascarpone. But lately I've just been making simple, straightforward fluffy mashers with cream and butter, and it's really the best. So I'm not messing with this dish this year.
The green bean casserole is, yes, the recipe off the Campbell's cream of mushroom soup can, or the French's French Fried Onions can, or whatever. And it's the one dish that Austin requests every year, and I always roll my eyes, and he always points out that it is all gone by the end of the meal, and he's always right.
I started doing the roasted sweet potatoes with red onions a couple of years ago, instead of a sweet approach, and it's really amazing, and can be made ahead of time. It's just as good at room temperature as it is warm.
I still haven't settled on a stuffing plan. Casey has made a batch of Stove Top in addition to whatever fancy stuffing approach I take every year, and I occasionally wonder if maybe she's right. I have lots of good ideas for great stuffings, which involve a mix of regular bread and cornbread and cinnamon raisin bread, dried cranberries and dried blueberries, toasted pecans, chopped apples, and maybe a partial batch with andouille sausage. But maybe I'm just going to dump a box out into a pan and add vegetable broth and a pat of butter and no one will notice or complain (and at least one sister will rejoice).
I understand that macaroni and cheese is probably not a traditional Thanksgiving side dish, but I noticed that this menu was suffering from a shocking lack of cheddar, and this will solve that problem handily.
I'm not entirely sold on the roasted cauliflower yet either. I might just make that as a standard side dish with a regular dinner some other time. I do want to try it, though.
I make the same cranberry relish every year, with ginger and cardamom and dried cherries, and I'm always glad that it doesn't all get eaten because it's my favorite part of leftovers.
I'm most pleased with the dessert selection. It's traditional flavors but a different approach to them. I have never made an apple pie before (I really don't make many pies), but this one looked so pretty and lush in the Thanksgiving issue of Everyday Food that I'm just going to go for it. I can make a pie, right? And based on my recent discovery that I'm really good at making cheesecakes, even if they aren't my favorite, I think the chocolate cheesecake will be a good crowd pleaser. Every menu benefits from a chocolate option. And I will take a vote between the pumpkin creme brulee (with maple) or the pumpkin bread pudding (with caramel bourbon sauce). Anybody out there have a preference?
You might notice that this isn't exactly a gourmet production. I go pretty traditional for this holiday. No fennel, no chanterelles, no chipotles. That's for the rest of the year. Thanksgiving is for comfort food, lots of it, spread all over the table and the kitchen and filling the house with warmth. I just can't wait.
Friday, November 9, 2007
I have enough pets already...
...let alone Pet PEEVES!
How's that for a segue? Wocka wocka wocka.
Work related pet peeves:
1. People who staple their checks to their invoices. Don't put staples in checks. Duh.
2. Bill payment envelopes that aren't as big as a Quickbooks check. I'm trying to pay you people! I should not have to do origami just to mail you a check!! I'm looking specifically you, Chase Visa. YOU!
Not work related, necessarily:
1. Bad drivers. I am SO lucky to work approximately 9 minutes (3.6 miles) from home. And I'm never going anywhere during rush hour. I'm still at home in the morning, and I'm still at work in the evening. I really do not have to deal with bad traffic, and Nashville has its fair share. But I'm telling you, it's a good thing I don't, because my road rage shows no end. Jenny and Patrick pointed out that drivers in Nashville are much worse than in NY (which you think of as having crazy drivers, right?) because in NY, you know that if you do anything stupid, someone will HIT you and KILL you and it will be YOUR fault. In Nashville, people just amble through red lights, turn left from the right lane, abuse the suicide lane, wander around in blind spots, because they KNOW that other drivers are just going to get out of their way. I remember my dad, when he was teaching me to drive, telling me about defensive driving (I barely heard him over the roar of my own eye rolling). I had to assume that EVERY other driver on the road was just about to do something stupid, and therefore prepare myself for avoiding the entire situation. I thought, at the time, "Geez, I can't pay attention to what every other car is doing, all the time! They aren't going to do anything wrong. Besides, I have cassettes to change and lipstick to put on. I don't have time." But it turns out, he was RIGHT. I think about this all the time. That car at the cross street in front of me? Guaranteed to pull out in front of me. The car entering the interstate on my right? Guaranteed to want to merge to my left, whether or not I'm in the way. I'm kind of amazed at how right my dad was. Should I tell him? Probably not.
2. Body hair removal. Ya'll know I'm a glamourpuss. I'm never going to go all granola on you and stop shaving, I promise. But seriously. Why does this have to be something that is going to take up a significant portion of my shower time for the rest of my life? I know, there is always electrolysis. I'm never going to be able to afford that. In the meantime, I'm so BORED with shaving my underarms that I can't even put it into words.
3. Inappropriate punctuation. My mom is an English teacher. I'm a little sensitive to the world of grammar, at least more than the average yayhoo. But quote marks around words that are not being quoted, and apostrophes in words that don't belong to anyone or aren't being contracted, drive me up the wall. The day I interviewed for my job, I found the office (in a big warehouse in an industrial district) and the name of the business was on the front door in quote marks "Business X". You can imagine how I reconsidered opening that door. And how I have reconsidered it, daily, since then. There is no such thing as chicken wing's. The only appropriate use of washer's is if you were talking about something that belongs to said washer. Misused commas (and even colons and semicolons) are forgivable; most of the time you can see that the writer thinks they are clarifying something with that comma. Bad punctuation: it's a disease, particularly of East Nashville signage. I'll post some pictures someday.
4. Animals in clothing. Most of you know this already. I have big issues with costumed animals. I believe that this stems, initially, from my much bigger issues with monkeys. Don't like them. Not comfortable with them. Don't think videos of monkeys (monkies?) doing human things are funny. Don't think posters of monkeys wearing three piece suits are amusing. I really don't think that monkeys in the jungle are okay, but it's not my right to judge them in their natural habitat. But when people mess with monkeys? That's when I start to have a real problem. There was a monkey with a music box at the wharf in Monterey, when I was a kid, and if you gave him a penny he'd take it from you and play a song. I'm sure I found this endlessly amusing when I was 4. Now I just think it is unnatural, and beyond that, I PROMISE you that is NOT how that monkey would like to be behaving. I get sadder when I see a dog with a homeless man than when I just see a homeless man. That guy can't take care of that dog. And inevitably the dog is wearing a jacket or a bandanna, probably as part of a panhandling racket ("Look how cute my dog's outfit is. Gimme some money for beer."). I hate it all. The horses with carriages downtown, wearing sunhats. That horse doesn't want to wear that hat! I know I have friends who put their animals in Halloween costumes, and I forgive you, but please don't show me pictures. I can't take it.
5. Fake sugar. I can pick it out a mile away, in anything, and I won't eat it. No diet sodas, no snacky cakes in green boxes, no chewing gum that makes your mouth cold, and no sugar-free ice cream (honestly). I know that high-fructose corn syrup is making our nation (and me, eventually) obese, but surely Aspertame and sucralose are even worse. It is an ARTIFICIAL ingredient and it will make you eat too much of whatever it is you're eating because you just don't get enough pleasure from a small bite. Blech.
I just ended up on the phone with my mom for like an hour and ran out of focus on this topic. I'm sure I'll think of other things to say, and that's not nearly my standard fake sugar rant, so hang in there for me. We've still got 21 days of the NaBloming to go.
How's that for a segue? Wocka wocka wocka.
Work related pet peeves:
1. People who staple their checks to their invoices. Don't put staples in checks. Duh.
2. Bill payment envelopes that aren't as big as a Quickbooks check. I'm trying to pay you people! I should not have to do origami just to mail you a check!! I'm looking specifically you, Chase Visa. YOU!
Not work related, necessarily:
1. Bad drivers. I am SO lucky to work approximately 9 minutes (3.6 miles) from home. And I'm never going anywhere during rush hour. I'm still at home in the morning, and I'm still at work in the evening. I really do not have to deal with bad traffic, and Nashville has its fair share. But I'm telling you, it's a good thing I don't, because my road rage shows no end. Jenny and Patrick pointed out that drivers in Nashville are much worse than in NY (which you think of as having crazy drivers, right?) because in NY, you know that if you do anything stupid, someone will HIT you and KILL you and it will be YOUR fault. In Nashville, people just amble through red lights, turn left from the right lane, abuse the suicide lane, wander around in blind spots, because they KNOW that other drivers are just going to get out of their way. I remember my dad, when he was teaching me to drive, telling me about defensive driving (I barely heard him over the roar of my own eye rolling). I had to assume that EVERY other driver on the road was just about to do something stupid, and therefore prepare myself for avoiding the entire situation. I thought, at the time, "Geez, I can't pay attention to what every other car is doing, all the time! They aren't going to do anything wrong. Besides, I have cassettes to change and lipstick to put on. I don't have time." But it turns out, he was RIGHT. I think about this all the time. That car at the cross street in front of me? Guaranteed to pull out in front of me. The car entering the interstate on my right? Guaranteed to want to merge to my left, whether or not I'm in the way. I'm kind of amazed at how right my dad was. Should I tell him? Probably not.
2. Body hair removal. Ya'll know I'm a glamourpuss. I'm never going to go all granola on you and stop shaving, I promise. But seriously. Why does this have to be something that is going to take up a significant portion of my shower time for the rest of my life? I know, there is always electrolysis. I'm never going to be able to afford that. In the meantime, I'm so BORED with shaving my underarms that I can't even put it into words.
3. Inappropriate punctuation. My mom is an English teacher. I'm a little sensitive to the world of grammar, at least more than the average yayhoo. But quote marks around words that are not being quoted, and apostrophes in words that don't belong to anyone or aren't being contracted, drive me up the wall. The day I interviewed for my job, I found the office (in a big warehouse in an industrial district) and the name of the business was on the front door in quote marks "Business X". You can imagine how I reconsidered opening that door. And how I have reconsidered it, daily, since then. There is no such thing as chicken wing's. The only appropriate use of washer's is if you were talking about something that belongs to said washer. Misused commas (and even colons and semicolons) are forgivable; most of the time you can see that the writer thinks they are clarifying something with that comma. Bad punctuation: it's a disease, particularly of East Nashville signage. I'll post some pictures someday.
4. Animals in clothing. Most of you know this already. I have big issues with costumed animals. I believe that this stems, initially, from my much bigger issues with monkeys. Don't like them. Not comfortable with them. Don't think videos of monkeys (monkies?) doing human things are funny. Don't think posters of monkeys wearing three piece suits are amusing. I really don't think that monkeys in the jungle are okay, but it's not my right to judge them in their natural habitat. But when people mess with monkeys? That's when I start to have a real problem. There was a monkey with a music box at the wharf in Monterey, when I was a kid, and if you gave him a penny he'd take it from you and play a song. I'm sure I found this endlessly amusing when I was 4. Now I just think it is unnatural, and beyond that, I PROMISE you that is NOT how that monkey would like to be behaving. I get sadder when I see a dog with a homeless man than when I just see a homeless man. That guy can't take care of that dog. And inevitably the dog is wearing a jacket or a bandanna, probably as part of a panhandling racket ("Look how cute my dog's outfit is. Gimme some money for beer."). I hate it all. The horses with carriages downtown, wearing sunhats. That horse doesn't want to wear that hat! I know I have friends who put their animals in Halloween costumes, and I forgive you, but please don't show me pictures. I can't take it.
5. Fake sugar. I can pick it out a mile away, in anything, and I won't eat it. No diet sodas, no snacky cakes in green boxes, no chewing gum that makes your mouth cold, and no sugar-free ice cream (honestly). I know that high-fructose corn syrup is making our nation (and me, eventually) obese, but surely Aspertame and sucralose are even worse. It is an ARTIFICIAL ingredient and it will make you eat too much of whatever it is you're eating because you just don't get enough pleasure from a small bite. Blech.
I just ended up on the phone with my mom for like an hour and ran out of focus on this topic. I'm sure I'll think of other things to say, and that's not nearly my standard fake sugar rant, so hang in there for me. We've still got 21 days of the NaBloming to go.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
oh right, about that tree...
Thursday October 18: the first really major storm this fall. You know it's been a horrible drought in middle TN, and I know in many other areas as well. On the news, they've been warning us that the drought may cause some trees that look otherwise healthy to fall in high winds. I saw this information on the news Wednesday night, the 17th, and I spent some time in the backyard that night, when I was outside with Mischa, examining the trees around our house, trying to spot any weak areas, particularly the huge tree between our house and Kyle's, our next door neighbor. During the storms around the same time as Hurricane Katrina, in August/September of 2005, a limb from that tree fell that was the entire length of our house. It landed perfectly between the fence and the west-facing wall, and did no damage other than pulling down a clothesline. But this was a big limb. I'm only telling you this because it is pretty odd that I was even thinking about possible tree fallings. I mostly don't think about our trees at all.
So Thursday night, it was getting late, almost bedtime, but Austin and I were still up, watching the Nashville WX weather updates. We were in a tornado watch, and trying to decide if we really needed to box up the kitties, grab the pup and head downstairs. They were saying things like "wind damage likely" and that made me think, oh, cool, we're in the clear. That's no bigs. It wasn't really even storming that hard, and looking at the radar, it looked like just patches of red, mostly yellow, moving fast. Then there was a crash. It shook the roof and the floor and Austin and I jumped to our feet, yelling. The sound just kept happening, thumps, crashing, metal scraping, heavy brushing sounds against the roof and walls. It was still happening when Austin ran into the blue room and saw sparks flash outside the window. The lights inside barely flickered, and then there was silence, other than the storm outside that had come up so fast we barely had registered it. We threw on bathrobes and ran outside to try to see what was happening (note to future self: not always smart to run outside in torrential rains/possible tornado weather). The tree between the houses had splintered, with only one tall but spindly branch remaining, and the rest had fallen on our house. We had to run all the way around the front yard to get around the fallen tree to see the damage.
It could have been SO much worse. This tree could have crashed right through our roof, instead of doing (reasonably) superficial damage. It could have come through the windows, or landed on a car, or caught on fire. The most inconvenient aspect of it was to our poor neighbor Kyle, whose power and cable were out for four days. It didn't take any of our utilities out, they all run to the back of the house. We let Kyle run an extension cable from our garage, so he at least had tv and fridge for the weekend.
The day after the storm, contractors came and covered the hole in the roof with a tarp, and we were told that the tree would have to be removed before any further repairs could be made, or even a reasonable estimation of what had to be fixed. The siding on the front and side of the house was damaged, the gutters were all pulled down and the roof was, of course, in serious need of repair. You could see through the hole into the attic (before the tarp). Inside, the corner of the room where the tree hit (the blue room, which is our spare bedroom and Austin's closet) was split up the seam, and some of the crown molding had split away from the ceiling, but it all looked pretty simple. The tree had also taken off about half of the beloved (very pretty) pear tree from the front yard, but it looked like no damage to the trunk.
Fast forward over a week, when a tree removal crew finally shows up at 9 am on a Saturday. It had rained almost every day during the week, so no crews were out working. We had started to get used to having the entire front of the house blocked by fallen limbs. It gave us some nice shade and lots of privacy. We joked that it was a brilliant landscaping decision. But we had to say goodbye to the shade, as well as to most of the pear tree (they trimmed it down to basically nubs). The crew was remarkably efficient and conscientious, and left our yard spotless. They removed the rest of the tree, which was hovering in a threatening way over the neighbors' roof. The trunk was so big they had to shave down the sides to fit it into the grinder.
Another week passed once the tree was removed with no sign of contractors, still just a big hole in the roof. The house looked so ghetto, with gutters and siding still hanging down, big glamorous blue tarp, and that corner of the house now strangely naked and exposed. I called our landlord on Friday afternoon, asking about progress, and didn't hear back from him all week, after he said he knew nothing and would check in with the insurance agent. This morning I was getting dressed and Austin was in the shower when we heard footsteps on the roof. Oh. I guess the contractors are here.
Now it's after lunch, and I'm still holed up in the living room with the dogs. That's my main responsibility today: as Dad says, Ingrid eats contractors. I'm glad I'm not really trying to work from home (nothing too pressing going on over there) because the cacophony of saws, hammers, shouting and banging is distracting. To me at least. The dogs, remarkably, don't mind in the least, and have been sleeping happily, sprawled out on various pieces of furniture. I haven't been told how long this will last, only that the damage was not as bad as they thought, no broken rafters. From what I can tell, we're getting a new roof. I'm not sure what's happening with the siding yet.
Oh, you're waiting for the punchline? Well, actually, here's the joke: Thursday the 18th of October, Austin finished giving Richie all the information he needed to apply for a mortgage. We've been talking for over a year about buying this house from our landlord (who has already said he would sell it to us), and we finally started to move forward last month. We were waiting to get more information as far as mortgage costs and home inspections, but then a big tree fell down and set us waaaay back. Now what? Assuming the contractors don't turn up some structural skeletons in the closet, it's still the same house, right? I mean, sans one shade tree. But what if the new roof puts the value of the house out of our price range (everyone I've put that question to has shut me down, saying that's a non-issue)? I guess, right now, I don't know how our plans might be changed. Maybe this won't affect them at all. But still, what are the odds? It makes me feel a tiny bit superstitious about it now... maybe every step we take towards signing a mortgage, something else is doing to fall down. Maybe we should just drop it and be commitmentphobe renters for life.
Oh, and because we live where we do, our neighbor Frank is out there right now, scavenging aluminum from the wreckage. Mama Snee has said it better than I have, but bless East Nashville for being a small town stuck in a big city with a wider range of characters than you would expect from either place.
So Thursday night, it was getting late, almost bedtime, but Austin and I were still up, watching the Nashville WX weather updates. We were in a tornado watch, and trying to decide if we really needed to box up the kitties, grab the pup and head downstairs. They were saying things like "wind damage likely" and that made me think, oh, cool, we're in the clear. That's no bigs. It wasn't really even storming that hard, and looking at the radar, it looked like just patches of red, mostly yellow, moving fast. Then there was a crash. It shook the roof and the floor and Austin and I jumped to our feet, yelling. The sound just kept happening, thumps, crashing, metal scraping, heavy brushing sounds against the roof and walls. It was still happening when Austin ran into the blue room and saw sparks flash outside the window. The lights inside barely flickered, and then there was silence, other than the storm outside that had come up so fast we barely had registered it. We threw on bathrobes and ran outside to try to see what was happening (note to future self: not always smart to run outside in torrential rains/possible tornado weather). The tree between the houses had splintered, with only one tall but spindly branch remaining, and the rest had fallen on our house. We had to run all the way around the front yard to get around the fallen tree to see the damage.
It could have been SO much worse. This tree could have crashed right through our roof, instead of doing (reasonably) superficial damage. It could have come through the windows, or landed on a car, or caught on fire. The most inconvenient aspect of it was to our poor neighbor Kyle, whose power and cable were out for four days. It didn't take any of our utilities out, they all run to the back of the house. We let Kyle run an extension cable from our garage, so he at least had tv and fridge for the weekend.
The day after the storm, contractors came and covered the hole in the roof with a tarp, and we were told that the tree would have to be removed before any further repairs could be made, or even a reasonable estimation of what had to be fixed. The siding on the front and side of the house was damaged, the gutters were all pulled down and the roof was, of course, in serious need of repair. You could see through the hole into the attic (before the tarp). Inside, the corner of the room where the tree hit (the blue room, which is our spare bedroom and Austin's closet) was split up the seam, and some of the crown molding had split away from the ceiling, but it all looked pretty simple. The tree had also taken off about half of the beloved (very pretty) pear tree from the front yard, but it looked like no damage to the trunk.
Fast forward over a week, when a tree removal crew finally shows up at 9 am on a Saturday. It had rained almost every day during the week, so no crews were out working. We had started to get used to having the entire front of the house blocked by fallen limbs. It gave us some nice shade and lots of privacy. We joked that it was a brilliant landscaping decision. But we had to say goodbye to the shade, as well as to most of the pear tree (they trimmed it down to basically nubs). The crew was remarkably efficient and conscientious, and left our yard spotless. They removed the rest of the tree, which was hovering in a threatening way over the neighbors' roof. The trunk was so big they had to shave down the sides to fit it into the grinder.
Another week passed once the tree was removed with no sign of contractors, still just a big hole in the roof. The house looked so ghetto, with gutters and siding still hanging down, big glamorous blue tarp, and that corner of the house now strangely naked and exposed. I called our landlord on Friday afternoon, asking about progress, and didn't hear back from him all week, after he said he knew nothing and would check in with the insurance agent. This morning I was getting dressed and Austin was in the shower when we heard footsteps on the roof. Oh. I guess the contractors are here.
Now it's after lunch, and I'm still holed up in the living room with the dogs. That's my main responsibility today: as Dad says, Ingrid eats contractors. I'm glad I'm not really trying to work from home (nothing too pressing going on over there) because the cacophony of saws, hammers, shouting and banging is distracting. To me at least. The dogs, remarkably, don't mind in the least, and have been sleeping happily, sprawled out on various pieces of furniture. I haven't been told how long this will last, only that the damage was not as bad as they thought, no broken rafters. From what I can tell, we're getting a new roof. I'm not sure what's happening with the siding yet.Oh, you're waiting for the punchline? Well, actually, here's the joke: Thursday the 18th of October, Austin finished giving Richie all the information he needed to apply for a mortgage. We've been talking for over a year about buying this house from our landlord (who has already said he would sell it to us), and we finally started to move forward last month. We were waiting to get more information as far as mortgage costs and home inspections, but then a big tree fell down and set us waaaay back. Now what? Assuming the contractors don't turn up some structural skeletons in the closet, it's still the same house, right? I mean, sans one shade tree. But what if the new roof puts the value of the house out of our price range (everyone I've put that question to has shut me down, saying that's a non-issue)? I guess, right now, I don't know how our plans might be changed. Maybe this won't affect them at all. But still, what are the odds? It makes me feel a tiny bit superstitious about it now... maybe every step we take towards signing a mortgage, something else is doing to fall down. Maybe we should just drop it and be commitmentphobe renters for life.
Oh, and because we live where we do, our neighbor Frank is out there right now, scavenging aluminum from the wreckage. Mama Snee has said it better than I have, but bless East Nashville for being a small town stuck in a big city with a wider range of characters than you would expect from either place.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
close call
I spent at least 74% of today reading Recaps of Gossip Girl episodes I've already seen on Television without Pity. I seriously am still laying on my stomach on the big brown couch reading the last one and Austin is already in bed which means I'm in charge of convincing the dogs to settle down for the night. I am a total waste of space.
We made pigs in a blanket (with big crescent rolls and andouille sausage and pepperjack cheese) for dinner. They were good but I could hardly finish one.
Last night was Book Club. I sort of don't want to talk about it too much because the awesomeness of it is something that could pale if everyone knew. We talk a lot, in book club, about how sorry we feel for everyone else on earth because they aren't members. The group is 17 girls strong now (although one important member is now located in Chicago and has to check in via email instead of in person, which of course makes me sad). 17 girls is maybe almost too many. Seriously. But we pile up in a different person's house every month, and bring mountains of food and gallons of wine, and legitimate, genuinely, enjoy each other's company. We don't talk about books THAT much, or at all, like last night. But we tell stories, catch up, just the basic girl bonding time that I've spent a lot of my life without (sister bonding time being something entirely different, but the best part is, my sisters are in book club too! So we get sister bonding time and girlie book club bonding time and really, I'm sure this whole thing has gotten too saccharine for words. Sorry).
I feel like I should have remarkably witty smartass things to say, since that's what I've been reading ALL DAY, but instead, I'm just going to call today's NaBloPoMo entry what it is: feeble. You know you love me. XOXO.
We made pigs in a blanket (with big crescent rolls and andouille sausage and pepperjack cheese) for dinner. They were good but I could hardly finish one.
Last night was Book Club. I sort of don't want to talk about it too much because the awesomeness of it is something that could pale if everyone knew. We talk a lot, in book club, about how sorry we feel for everyone else on earth because they aren't members. The group is 17 girls strong now (although one important member is now located in Chicago and has to check in via email instead of in person, which of course makes me sad). 17 girls is maybe almost too many. Seriously. But we pile up in a different person's house every month, and bring mountains of food and gallons of wine, and legitimate, genuinely, enjoy each other's company. We don't talk about books THAT much, or at all, like last night. But we tell stories, catch up, just the basic girl bonding time that I've spent a lot of my life without (sister bonding time being something entirely different, but the best part is, my sisters are in book club too! So we get sister bonding time and girlie book club bonding time and really, I'm sure this whole thing has gotten too saccharine for words. Sorry).
I feel like I should have remarkably witty smartass things to say, since that's what I've been reading ALL DAY, but instead, I'm just going to call today's NaBloPoMo entry what it is: feeble. You know you love me. XOXO.
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