It's summer. Tons to do for clients. Mountains of worry going on -- family-wise, we've got all kinds of turmoil. But all is solid with the wife and me, at least.
Long story short, things will likely be extra-slow around these parts for a while. Hopefully I'll return with a light-ish heart and a minimum of "life lessons" to reflect on -- that is, I'm hoping things won't go entirely to shit.
And I'm still eminently reachable through the usual channels, of course.
iTwit (like Twitter, but more me)
- Rainier! Cherries!
- I have been most thoroughly mosquitoed. Unpleasant.
- Off to Zed 451 in a bit, so no eating allowed before then!
- Okay, Firefox, make up your mind already: am I allowed to play youtubes while browsing through you, or no?
- And this week's "Best Google Search That Brought Someone to This Blog Award" goes to "why are costco rib membranes such a bitch"
- Zune v. iPod? So far, the Zune is holding its own!
- Was Raymond Carver truly a minimalist, or did he just share my suspicion that too many words are being used to say too little?
- What's that? How did I injure my left knee while grilling??
- My smoking and grilling technique is unstoppable!
- Make that FOUR out of eight light bulbs gone dead
Monday, July 14, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
The vortex
I have this theory that if I link to a post on another blog that in turn links to one of my posts, the entire internet will echo with a giant feedback loop that will eventually destroy us all.
Let's find out....
Let's find out....
Saturday, July 05, 2008
I've still got five fingers on each hand after a fun 4th
So, how was your 4th of July?
No complaints here -- we went up to the palatial lake home known as MacLean Manor on Thursday afternoon (the 3rd) intent on merriment and mayhem a-go-go. And we weren't let down.
Though our host wasn't going to be there until the late afternoon, the wife and I left mid-day intent on beating traffic, exploring a bit and finding a place that had New Glarus beers at a good price. We succeeded on all three counts.
Our explorations were pretty much limited to Kenosha, which was nearly 10 miles further off of the expressway than my memories had placed it. As we headed east toward Lake Michigan, I kept thinking "yep, the lake is just ahead of us." And the twentieth time I thought it, it turned out to be the truth.
We headed north from there and parked at a marina. It was sort of a strange setting -- established marina surrounded by lots of new townhomes and condos. Not sure if they were supposed to be year-round residences, weekend escape homes or rental units; the whole scene was made discomfiting by the lack of trees and the preponderance of brick, concrete and vinyl siding.
The boats could be viewed at a distance but not approached -- secured gates cut off access to the piers, in stark contrast to the marina across the lake in Saugatuck, Michigan (which is probably the only other marina I've ever been to). We walked around a bit hoping to find food, but the closest offering was an ice cream stand, which we declined to patronize. Instead, we got back in the car and continued north, intent on finding Carthage College, where Amy, a good friend of mine from grad school, did her undergrad (as did two dorks named Craig from my high school graduating class, as I found out once while visiting the school with her and seeing her senior class picture).
The Carthage campus reminded me of a Midwest-version of the UC Santa Cruz campus, minus the oceanic cliffs, drum circles. magnificent forests and omnipresent safe-sex promotions. And it was much smaller, of course. Like most smaller schools of a religious bent, it's pretty well separate from the town -- and, like UCSC, very much set up to minimize the potential for mass riots or incursions by outsiders/escapes from the inmates, with only two roads leading in/out. So after a brief driving tour, we hightailed it outta there.
On our way out of town, I was happy to stumble upon the Big Star Drive-In, where I'd once enjoyed a delicious cheeseburger with Amy without leaving the car (legend has it that she makes an annual solo sojourn up there each year around her birthday to get her burger on). So the gal and I stopped to do the same, happy to fill our bellies up and make a preemptive strike against the oncoming drinkie fest.
We then began heading west, returning to the main highway to hit an old staple, the craptastic Brat Stop (where Patrick Swayze may well once have been a bouncer, or at least played one) and the wonderific Woodman's Market, an employee-owned grocery store with an awesome liquor store featuring lots of reasonably priced crafts beers attached. We were mainly in scouting mode, as we had some goodies in the car already, but enjoyed browsing each store nonetheless. A quick jaunt to a roadside fireworks stand (of the type that sells works that are actually legal to set off in Wisconsin; that is, nothing that flies or nothing too explody, though you can certainly buy those in Wisco as well), and it was on to our destination on Bohner's Lake, a place that has certainly inspired any number of dick jokes over the years.
As expected, we were the first to arrive at MacLean Manor -- more than an hour ahead of our host's 5 pm ETA. So we grabbed some beers and headed down to the terraced lawn to sit in the swing and watch the lake. The boaters were few and far between this early on the holiday weekend, making for a tranquil lake. A gaggle of geese wandered the shore and occasionally dipped their feet into the water at the house next door, and the chipmunks scurried about in their munkish way.
Wily Will E showed up a bit sooner than we expected, and we were no longer trespassers but actual guests. We put in dibs on a bedroom (leaving the two largest ones to the folks what were bringing children), unpacked a bit and started getting our drink on up on the home's magnificent main-level deck above the walkout basement. For those who haven't been, the Manor is a huge place: 5 bedrooms, 3.5 baths, three levels, two kitchens (one pretty much nonfunctional except for the all-important beer fridge) and two sitting rooms on a smallish natural lake that offers 150 or so homesteads right on the water along with several public beaches. Just about everyone has a pontoon boat, with many others also opting for a speedboat and/or wave runners and the occasional paddleboat, rowboat, fishing boat, canoe or kayak.
As the house began to fill up thoughts began to turn to food. The primo fancy shiny new gas grill proved to be inoperable, so instead the old standby backup unit was fired up. I shucked some corn and snapped the ears in half for some combo indirect/direct cooking, and placed the five-pound pork tenderloin that I'd smoked for three hours at home the night before onto the warming rack for a reheat and saucing. Brats, soy meats (or "smeat," if you prefer) and a few random sides rounded out the offerings. Tasty fun for all.
By early evening it was pretty clear that I was riding the Mothership to a good and stumbly place, and having a most fine time. What better time to set off some fireworks? I had a mess of leftovers from last year, when "the man" shut us down for lighting off 'works several days after the actual 4th (which fell on a Wednesday last year, prompting us to celebrate it over the weekend starting the 6th). I did off my dozen or so Roman candles and eight or nine triple-burst shells (which looked somewhat like ants minus the legs and antennae as I stuffed them down the mortar tube) on this night, working with Nate to try to coordinate some semblance of an aerial display. It being Thursday night, we had little competition for the title of fireworks kings on the lake, and so we were.
As is usually the case, the wife and I were first to bed (well, third after the two shorties). And due to mass consumption of hootch, too much sun and too little sleep on previous nights, we were last to rise on this 4th of July. We missed breakfast by waking after 11 am, and found peeps were busy planning the day. Procurement of additional foodstuffs, bevs, cleaning supplies and household products dominated the discussion, and a list was being drawn up by a brave volunteer who intended to drive the full 20-something miles back to Woodman's. The wife and I took the list and took it upon ourselves to score some of the items as well as others of our preference, but opted to hit the local Pick 'n Save rather than leave the county.
The grocery store was delightful -- hadn't been to a P 'n S in more than 20 years, but it was definitely solid. We managed to rack up 100 bucks at the register (meat and beer and Rainier cherries and donuts and bean salad fixins, they ain't cheap) and returned to the Manor to laze about. After the previous night's rager most were content to sip rather than slam (in my case because I didn't have a beer as delish as the Mothership, settling instead for a few varieties of New Glarus product and a truly vile Belgian White produced by the so-so folks at the Point), and we wiled away a few hours sunning and reading and napping and gorging on cherries and fighting over who's iPod would supply the music and just what music it should supply before firing up the grill around 6 for a burger fest. And more corn, and homemade sides this time around.
As the sun went down near 9 our neighbors around the lake made it clear that they too believed in the right to bear fireworks, and the sky was a glorious site. I was reduced to the relatively cheesy stuff, but still had fun doing off some missile launchers small and large and a handful of tiny sky rockets and many many fountains while my droogs set to work with the heavy artillery. Lawyer John set up a fire but we found that every lighter we had was a piece of junk (I was using matched to light wicks toward the end), but I solved the "how do we get the fire started?" problem by dropping a half-dozen lit sparklers onto the kindling. Which in turn led to the burning of much spent cardboard ordnance along with the occasional dropping of a small 'work into the fire just to keep everyone on their toes.
For the second straight eve it was fairly cool, tempswise, and between that and the endless barrage of fireworks many peeps actually ended up inside watching DVDs of Harvey Birdman by 11 or so. Our attention was occasionally caught by some fireworks mishap or other outside -- including one shell that barely cleared a sticky tube before going off and bringing the scary. If sittin' around buzzed and gorged watching cartoons while yahoos are blowing stuff up all around you isn't America, then I don't know what is.
We were far more grownup on the morning of July 5, waking up at a reasonable hour and cleaning up all of the fireworks debris and filling a 30-gallon plastic bag with empty bottles and cans to recycle back home after overwhelming the Manor's own refuse-collection system. A rush and a push and the wife and I were headed back to Illinois by 11 or so (first to leave as always; doesn't everyone have work waiting at home for them on the Saturday of a holiday weekend?), happy to have spent another 4th having a good time with good peeps and feeling slightly Big Chill about the whole thing.
But dangit, we never did find time to watch The Right Stuff -- the movie that makes me most proud to be an American while making me wistful for a time when this great nation could unite around a massive effort that didn't simply center on dropping bombs on other countries -- over the long weekend despite loose plans to do so.
That's my account of the holiday, and I'm sticking with it.
No complaints here -- we went up to the palatial lake home known as MacLean Manor on Thursday afternoon (the 3rd) intent on merriment and mayhem a-go-go. And we weren't let down.
Though our host wasn't going to be there until the late afternoon, the wife and I left mid-day intent on beating traffic, exploring a bit and finding a place that had New Glarus beers at a good price. We succeeded on all three counts.
Our explorations were pretty much limited to Kenosha, which was nearly 10 miles further off of the expressway than my memories had placed it. As we headed east toward Lake Michigan, I kept thinking "yep, the lake is just ahead of us." And the twentieth time I thought it, it turned out to be the truth.
We headed north from there and parked at a marina. It was sort of a strange setting -- established marina surrounded by lots of new townhomes and condos. Not sure if they were supposed to be year-round residences, weekend escape homes or rental units; the whole scene was made discomfiting by the lack of trees and the preponderance of brick, concrete and vinyl siding.
The boats could be viewed at a distance but not approached -- secured gates cut off access to the piers, in stark contrast to the marina across the lake in Saugatuck, Michigan (which is probably the only other marina I've ever been to). We walked around a bit hoping to find food, but the closest offering was an ice cream stand, which we declined to patronize. Instead, we got back in the car and continued north, intent on finding Carthage College, where Amy, a good friend of mine from grad school, did her undergrad (as did two dorks named Craig from my high school graduating class, as I found out once while visiting the school with her and seeing her senior class picture).
The Carthage campus reminded me of a Midwest-version of the UC Santa Cruz campus, minus the oceanic cliffs, drum circles. magnificent forests and omnipresent safe-sex promotions. And it was much smaller, of course. Like most smaller schools of a religious bent, it's pretty well separate from the town -- and, like UCSC, very much set up to minimize the potential for mass riots or incursions by outsiders/escapes from the inmates, with only two roads leading in/out. So after a brief driving tour, we hightailed it outta there.
On our way out of town, I was happy to stumble upon the Big Star Drive-In, where I'd once enjoyed a delicious cheeseburger with Amy without leaving the car (legend has it that she makes an annual solo sojourn up there each year around her birthday to get her burger on). So the gal and I stopped to do the same, happy to fill our bellies up and make a preemptive strike against the oncoming drinkie fest.
We then began heading west, returning to the main highway to hit an old staple, the craptastic Brat Stop (where Patrick Swayze may well once have been a bouncer, or at least played one) and the wonderific Woodman's Market, an employee-owned grocery store with an awesome liquor store featuring lots of reasonably priced crafts beers attached. We were mainly in scouting mode, as we had some goodies in the car already, but enjoyed browsing each store nonetheless. A quick jaunt to a roadside fireworks stand (of the type that sells works that are actually legal to set off in Wisconsin; that is, nothing that flies or nothing too explody, though you can certainly buy those in Wisco as well), and it was on to our destination on Bohner's Lake, a place that has certainly inspired any number of dick jokes over the years.
As expected, we were the first to arrive at MacLean Manor -- more than an hour ahead of our host's 5 pm ETA. So we grabbed some beers and headed down to the terraced lawn to sit in the swing and watch the lake. The boaters were few and far between this early on the holiday weekend, making for a tranquil lake. A gaggle of geese wandered the shore and occasionally dipped their feet into the water at the house next door, and the chipmunks scurried about in their munkish way.
Wily Will E showed up a bit sooner than we expected, and we were no longer trespassers but actual guests. We put in dibs on a bedroom (leaving the two largest ones to the folks what were bringing children), unpacked a bit and started getting our drink on up on the home's magnificent main-level deck above the walkout basement. For those who haven't been, the Manor is a huge place: 5 bedrooms, 3.5 baths, three levels, two kitchens (one pretty much nonfunctional except for the all-important beer fridge) and two sitting rooms on a smallish natural lake that offers 150 or so homesteads right on the water along with several public beaches. Just about everyone has a pontoon boat, with many others also opting for a speedboat and/or wave runners and the occasional paddleboat, rowboat, fishing boat, canoe or kayak.
As the house began to fill up thoughts began to turn to food. The primo fancy shiny new gas grill proved to be inoperable, so instead the old standby backup unit was fired up. I shucked some corn and snapped the ears in half for some combo indirect/direct cooking, and placed the five-pound pork tenderloin that I'd smoked for three hours at home the night before onto the warming rack for a reheat and saucing. Brats, soy meats (or "smeat," if you prefer) and a few random sides rounded out the offerings. Tasty fun for all.
By early evening it was pretty clear that I was riding the Mothership to a good and stumbly place, and having a most fine time. What better time to set off some fireworks? I had a mess of leftovers from last year, when "the man" shut us down for lighting off 'works several days after the actual 4th (which fell on a Wednesday last year, prompting us to celebrate it over the weekend starting the 6th). I did off my dozen or so Roman candles and eight or nine triple-burst shells (which looked somewhat like ants minus the legs and antennae as I stuffed them down the mortar tube) on this night, working with Nate to try to coordinate some semblance of an aerial display. It being Thursday night, we had little competition for the title of fireworks kings on the lake, and so we were.
As is usually the case, the wife and I were first to bed (well, third after the two shorties). And due to mass consumption of hootch, too much sun and too little sleep on previous nights, we were last to rise on this 4th of July. We missed breakfast by waking after 11 am, and found peeps were busy planning the day. Procurement of additional foodstuffs, bevs, cleaning supplies and household products dominated the discussion, and a list was being drawn up by a brave volunteer who intended to drive the full 20-something miles back to Woodman's. The wife and I took the list and took it upon ourselves to score some of the items as well as others of our preference, but opted to hit the local Pick 'n Save rather than leave the county.
The grocery store was delightful -- hadn't been to a P 'n S in more than 20 years, but it was definitely solid. We managed to rack up 100 bucks at the register (meat and beer and Rainier cherries and donuts and bean salad fixins, they ain't cheap) and returned to the Manor to laze about. After the previous night's rager most were content to sip rather than slam (in my case because I didn't have a beer as delish as the Mothership, settling instead for a few varieties of New Glarus product and a truly vile Belgian White produced by the so-so folks at the Point), and we wiled away a few hours sunning and reading and napping and gorging on cherries and fighting over who's iPod would supply the music and just what music it should supply before firing up the grill around 6 for a burger fest. And more corn, and homemade sides this time around.
As the sun went down near 9 our neighbors around the lake made it clear that they too believed in the right to bear fireworks, and the sky was a glorious site. I was reduced to the relatively cheesy stuff, but still had fun doing off some missile launchers small and large and a handful of tiny sky rockets and many many fountains while my droogs set to work with the heavy artillery. Lawyer John set up a fire but we found that every lighter we had was a piece of junk (I was using matched to light wicks toward the end), but I solved the "how do we get the fire started?" problem by dropping a half-dozen lit sparklers onto the kindling. Which in turn led to the burning of much spent cardboard ordnance along with the occasional dropping of a small 'work into the fire just to keep everyone on their toes.
For the second straight eve it was fairly cool, tempswise, and between that and the endless barrage of fireworks many peeps actually ended up inside watching DVDs of Harvey Birdman by 11 or so. Our attention was occasionally caught by some fireworks mishap or other outside -- including one shell that barely cleared a sticky tube before going off and bringing the scary. If sittin' around buzzed and gorged watching cartoons while yahoos are blowing stuff up all around you isn't America, then I don't know what is.
We were far more grownup on the morning of July 5, waking up at a reasonable hour and cleaning up all of the fireworks debris and filling a 30-gallon plastic bag with empty bottles and cans to recycle back home after overwhelming the Manor's own refuse-collection system. A rush and a push and the wife and I were headed back to Illinois by 11 or so (first to leave as always; doesn't everyone have work waiting at home for them on the Saturday of a holiday weekend?), happy to have spent another 4th having a good time with good peeps and feeling slightly Big Chill about the whole thing.
But dangit, we never did find time to watch The Right Stuff -- the movie that makes me most proud to be an American while making me wistful for a time when this great nation could unite around a massive effort that didn't simply center on dropping bombs on other countries -- over the long weekend despite loose plans to do so.
That's my account of the holiday, and I'm sticking with it.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
The JD Z
Hey, I had an experience like this earlier today after FedEx came by with my new toy.
Sadly, I forgot to take 20 pictures of it. Or even one! And even if I did, then I would've had to take the memory chip out of the camera and plug it into the PC, then resize the shots, then have a drink or 10, etc. Basically, my photos never would've found their way here, so it's just as well that they don't actually exist.
And in a few days, I may even take my new toy out of the box. But for now, it is object, not tool. Form, not function. Like the recent Blade Runner box set, only rarer and more obsessive.
And as an MS product, it will almost certainly return to object/form status zune enough.
Sadly, I forgot to take 20 pictures of it. Or even one! And even if I did, then I would've had to take the memory chip out of the camera and plug it into the PC, then resize the shots, then have a drink or 10, etc. Basically, my photos never would've found their way here, so it's just as well that they don't actually exist.
And in a few days, I may even take my new toy out of the box. But for now, it is object, not tool. Form, not function. Like the recent Blade Runner box set, only rarer and more obsessive.
And as an MS product, it will almost certainly return to object/form status zune enough.
Three years
Happy-ish day -- today marks three years since the corporate shackles were uncuffed and I was kicked out into the real world, challenged to somehow make it on my own.
And so far, it's been so good. The first year was slow. The second year posed some interesting challenges, but also got me in with my "anchor client" that keeps me busy each and every week. And the third year feels just as good as the second, albeit slightly less busy due to some combination of the economy and my unwillingness to really dig dig dig to find new work.
But while the inclination would be to go forth and celebrate on this day, the truth is that I've got tons of work to do this birthday/holiday week. Some of it for the company what let me go three years ago, even! Fortunately, there are no more tedious staff meetings for this boy to attend....
And so far, it's been so good. The first year was slow. The second year posed some interesting challenges, but also got me in with my "anchor client" that keeps me busy each and every week. And the third year feels just as good as the second, albeit slightly less busy due to some combination of the economy and my unwillingness to really dig dig dig to find new work.
But while the inclination would be to go forth and celebrate on this day, the truth is that I've got tons of work to do this birthday/holiday week. Some of it for the company what let me go three years ago, even! Fortunately, there are no more tedious staff meetings for this boy to attend....
Saturday, June 28, 2008
You might just be an idiot...
...if you seriously say "Yeah, how about that?" in response to this piece of drivel that's been going through the Cracker News Network, aka dopey email forwards of the sort that relatively well-off people who can't be bothered to actually follow the news pass around to keep the fires of their angry victimization stoked.
>>Just wondering...
*Thanks to reader Marc for pointing out that my original figure here was a few hundred high. So now I'll under-report it....
>>Just wondering...
Where are all of the Hollywood celebrities holding telethons asking for help in restoring Iowa and helping the folks affected by the floods?Seriously -- anyone comparing the swift and brutal displacement of a million people and the deaths of more than a thousand* to the severe yet manageable flooding of the Mississippi is either willfully playing dumb or just plain dumb.
Where is all the media asking the tough questions about why the federal government hasn't solved the problem? Asking where the FEMA trucks (and trailers) are?
Why isn't the Federal Government relocating Iowa people to free hotels in Chicago ?
When will Spike Lee say that the Federal Government blew up the levees that failed in Des Moines ?
Where are Sean Penn and the Dixie Chicks?
Where are all the looters stealing high-end tennis shoes and big screen television sets?
When will we hear Governor Chet Culver say that he wants to rebuild a 'vanilla' Iowa , because that's the way God wants it?
Where is the hysterical 24/7 media coverage complete with reports of cannibalism?
Where are the people declaring that George Bush hates white, rural people?
How come in 2 weeks, you will never hear about the Iowa flooding ever again?
And where's Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton?<<
*Thanks to reader Marc for pointing out that my original figure here was a few hundred high. So now I'll under-report it....
Thursday, June 26, 2008
There ain't no rockin' in a police state
So, we had a bit of stormy weather 11 days ago. And it damaged the heck out of trees at two houses on my block.
In each case, the homeowner acted quickly to relocate all of the downed limbs to their curb, with expectation that the village would come by with the big chipper and truck. Since they have the equipment and all.
A week and a half later, all of the rotting wood and dead leaves are still out on the curbs. Curious, thought I. Maybe the village crews have been so busy with cleanup in other areas that they haven't had time to get to us, what with us being on the very outskirts of the village.
So I called the village forester yesterday. Left a message with the general situation, my concerns about safety, my general location and my phone number.
Got a return message this morning. Turns out that since the trees that were damaged on my block were on private property rather than the parkway, the village will not be doing any cleanup. The property owners are responsible for contracting for the removal, and will be cited, then fined, if they fail to do so.
So I wandered over next door to see if my neighbor knew about this wondrous policy. Turns out he just learned about it himself earlier this week when he stopped to talk to the guy down on the corner who also has a massive pile of downed limbs sitting on his parkway.
Both of them are pissed, and plan to leave the debris out there and become martyrs to the cause of protesting against villages that suck at offering services. I suggested they call one of the local rags and get their smiling mugs in the paper. Because this whole thing just reeks of one of those policies that a cost-cutting village board sneaks through during a meeting in front of three attendees who just show up for the free cookies and coffee and heat -- I mean, if you're going to be all proud of being a Tree City USA, you should probably help your residents out with their tree-related issues. Before they go all Mr. T or something.
In each case, the homeowner acted quickly to relocate all of the downed limbs to their curb, with expectation that the village would come by with the big chipper and truck. Since they have the equipment and all.
A week and a half later, all of the rotting wood and dead leaves are still out on the curbs. Curious, thought I. Maybe the village crews have been so busy with cleanup in other areas that they haven't had time to get to us, what with us being on the very outskirts of the village.
So I called the village forester yesterday. Left a message with the general situation, my concerns about safety, my general location and my phone number.
Got a return message this morning. Turns out that since the trees that were damaged on my block were on private property rather than the parkway, the village will not be doing any cleanup. The property owners are responsible for contracting for the removal, and will be cited, then fined, if they fail to do so.
So I wandered over next door to see if my neighbor knew about this wondrous policy. Turns out he just learned about it himself earlier this week when he stopped to talk to the guy down on the corner who also has a massive pile of downed limbs sitting on his parkway.
Both of them are pissed, and plan to leave the debris out there and become martyrs to the cause of protesting against villages that suck at offering services. I suggested they call one of the local rags and get their smiling mugs in the paper. Because this whole thing just reeks of one of those policies that a cost-cutting village board sneaks through during a meeting in front of three attendees who just show up for the free cookies and coffee and heat -- I mean, if you're going to be all proud of being a Tree City USA, you should probably help your residents out with their tree-related issues. Before they go all Mr. T or something.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Well, THIS bites
I'm waiting on an Amazon package -- a little somethin' somethin' for me from me. UPS tracking says that it is "out for delivery" from my local UPS hub.
Oh, wait. Even though it is out for delivery from a location about seven miles north of me, it appears that the truck took a bit of a detour! And took my package to NYC!! And delivered it to someone else!!! 18 months ago!!!!
At least, that's what the tracking info tells me on ups.com....
Oh, wait. Even though it is out for delivery from a location about seven miles north of me, it appears that the truck took a bit of a detour! And took my package to NYC!! And delivered it to someone else!!! 18 months ago!!!!
At least, that's what the tracking info tells me on ups.com....
| Type: | Package | |
| Status: | Delivered | |
| Delivered On: | 12/06/2006 1:07 P.M. | |
| Delivered To: | NEW YORK, NY, US | |
| Signed By: | GOLDBERG | |
| Service: | GROUND |
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
A death by a thousand cuts
Now and then in the 16 years since I finished my undergrad career I've heard tales of how much things have changes in Champaign-Urbana and the campus town that exists in between them.
Twenty years ago campus town seemed the greatest thing ever -- book and record stores everywhere, and interesting/cheap places to eat. And even an arcade, an entity that had pretty well died by the mid-'80s. In fact, the joys of campus town was as much a reason as any that I vowed to transfer down to C-U ASAP after being disappointed by the bleakness of the directional state school I began my college career at.
And while the thrill didn't last all that long after I did indeed make the switch in the fall of 1990, it was still a cool transitional place to walk through every day as I made my way to and from campus. The record stores alone made me cut many a class, be it for new release Tuesday or just to scour the used bins for a solid hour or more. And there was an awesome video store that I'd stop by once or twice a week, if only to scope out that one cute brunette with the sticky mess of new wave hair.
Recent reports from Big Frank indicated that campus town is almost exclusively corporate now, which made me sad as Hell. But reading this just now made me even sadder.
Twenty years ago campus town seemed the greatest thing ever -- book and record stores everywhere, and interesting/cheap places to eat. And even an arcade, an entity that had pretty well died by the mid-'80s. In fact, the joys of campus town was as much a reason as any that I vowed to transfer down to C-U ASAP after being disappointed by the bleakness of the directional state school I began my college career at.
And while the thrill didn't last all that long after I did indeed make the switch in the fall of 1990, it was still a cool transitional place to walk through every day as I made my way to and from campus. The record stores alone made me cut many a class, be it for new release Tuesday or just to scour the used bins for a solid hour or more. And there was an awesome video store that I'd stop by once or twice a week, if only to scope out that one cute brunette with the sticky mess of new wave hair.
Recent reports from Big Frank indicated that campus town is almost exclusively corporate now, which made me sad as Hell. But reading this just now made me even sadder.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The good timez, rold
Now that was a hella good time.
The Q went off pretty flawlessly yesterday, with the wife and I teaming up -- and by teaming up, I mean excelling in our respective ways and staying the heck out of each other's way as we prepared and then served up the delicious vittles -- to serve a crowd of just under 40 people. (Most of whom, curiously enough, were just under 40 themselves.)
Did we completely forget the dream of making the ultimate sangria? Yes, yes we did. Did the wife make up a truly lovely plate of lettuce, onions and tomatoes to top sammiches, only to leave it in the fridge all night? Mmmmm, perhaps. Minor nitpicks can't take down what was a lurvely day and a lurvely time with our many lurvelies.
We laid things out in advance. Smoker was working by 3. Two banquet tables and a card table gave us nearly fifteen feet of serving space. I lined things up with military precision which would end up going to hell eventually despite my best efforts: friends and fiends would get a plate and utensils at the south end, work their way through the meats and the buns and the condiments, then on to the sides and off to eat. Another banquet table in the garage held jars of iced tea and lemonade, some basic boozes, various and sundry mixers. A cooler full of soft drinks -- including the inevitable Capri Sun and Jaritos -- and several vessels full of a wide range of beers, four cases in all, were also in the garage.
First to arrive -- early, even, because it's always 5 o'clock somewhere -- was the tag team of Baywatch and Processed, who might better be thought of as Goofus and Gallant. Goofus was resplendent in a hand-me-down Budweiser tee shirt, and Gallant committed to an outstanding woven hat that he wore for the entire eve. Goofuswatch noted that they intended to be the last to leave as well, and so the gauntlet was thrown down!
Peeps arrived in a steady stream over the next hour or two. Big Frank and Betty. The Murphys, our only friends here in town. That Girl, with Annimal and the Silent Assassin in tow. My younger sis Mimi and her hubby, Armando Montelango. Geoff minus bride but plus The Nicest Guy We Know. Hilts and gf. Listless Craig. Rammstein and Mandystine. Lawyer John, his lovely wife and their charming boy all dressed up in the Ramones shirt I got him for his first birthday. Elvis Danzig and wife and their darling girl. Quills and her man, John Redcorn. Bluestem. Baldie and wife with their two girls, one of whom is going through the Feisty Fives and caused them to beat a hasty retreat back east. Two of the wife's co-workers, Sue Ellen Mischke and Jason of Star Command.
The wife totally outdid herself, making an amazing green salad, a bean salad, salsa and her world-famous guac. Big Frank made up some mac and cheese, roux and all. Bluestem brought a dill-ishish cucumber dish. The Murphys brought an evil cake from Dairy Queen. So many others, too many to mention. Damn near everyone brought beer.
The Weber was first put to use to produce several nice plates of shrimp as a nice preview of the grilled deliciousness to come. Peeps dug it; wife knows how to season things to make them pop. The non-stick grilling basket was put to good use.
I plated some burgers early on in an attempt to keep the snarling, starving masses at bay. Big mistake: should've done brats first, since you can grill a lot more of them at once. The brats had simmered in a mixture of all the beers in our haus that I had no desire to drink: a few ancient Becks ultralights from the Bears Super Bowl more than a year ago, a mess of Corona and a lonesome Sam Adam's that was long past its freshness date. Simmer the brats 'til the casings start to pop, then let 'em sit in the "batter" (only other ingredient: an onion, though some also add butter, which seemed like cardiac overkill) until it's time to char 'em up on the grill.
Failure to rope off the cook's area -- which was clearly defined as "the part of the driveway between the grills and the banquet tables full of food" -- meant we were constantly tripping over interlopers. As at any party, everyone wanted to be in the dang kitchen.
Ribs and tenderloin came out next. Nearly three hours in the smoker at temps between 175-225, with plenty of Butt Rub on the ribs (the tenderloin was premarinated in an onion and garlic combo) and lots of good honest hickory added to the charcoal resulting in several nice sweats of the pork over the hours. And the crowd went wild!
The wife grilled up a mess of mixed veggies, then some snappy asparagus to the delight of our veggie friends. (Please don't eat the vegetarians; they mean well!) I finally got the smeat going: Boca vegan burgers, soy brats and ribs. Served a bit of it up, then forgot all about it, which resulted in some dried out nastiness when I was cleaning this morn.
Cooking done, at last I could relax. At some point in the cooking I had to make a quick move, which left me feeling like I'd torn a stomach muscle. Much drinking was required.
Three main tribes formed, according to the layout of the back of our property. The deck and its high back wall and nice aluminum table and chairs and umbrella was referred to by someone as "the VIP area." Others sat in chairs in the backyard, while the two young 'uns seemed to enjoy "the love grotto," our two loungers set off in a corner at the very back of our yard. The third tribe was the garage folk, who never wanted to be more than five feet from the lager, lager, lager. (And ales. And vodka. And gin.)
Goddam the weather was perfect. We held our Q around the same date last year, and it was wicked hot. I drank more water than beer on that occasion. But not here at the '08 Q -- beer followed beer followed beer. (Somehow, for one night, I forgot that rum existed.)
I had the harmless summer mix going through the iPod -- lots of latter day Pitchfork-approved tuneage, plus just about every song I have with words like "summer" or "hot" in the title. (Sadly, not this number.) But then John Redcorn wanted to hear some Yo La Tengo, which led to Big Frank becoming the selector and the garage turning into the domicile of the drunken and the damned and the deranged.
Other moments that may or may not have taken place:
And in three weeks, we do it all again on a slightly smaller scale for our annual summer birthday fiesta for me and my dad and two of my cousins. I hope to be recovered by then.
The Q went off pretty flawlessly yesterday, with the wife and I teaming up -- and by teaming up, I mean excelling in our respective ways and staying the heck out of each other's way as we prepared and then served up the delicious vittles -- to serve a crowd of just under 40 people. (Most of whom, curiously enough, were just under 40 themselves.)
Did we completely forget the dream of making the ultimate sangria? Yes, yes we did. Did the wife make up a truly lovely plate of lettuce, onions and tomatoes to top sammiches, only to leave it in the fridge all night? Mmmmm, perhaps. Minor nitpicks can't take down what was a lurvely day and a lurvely time with our many lurvelies.
We laid things out in advance. Smoker was working by 3. Two banquet tables and a card table gave us nearly fifteen feet of serving space. I lined things up with military precision which would end up going to hell eventually despite my best efforts: friends and fiends would get a plate and utensils at the south end, work their way through the meats and the buns and the condiments, then on to the sides and off to eat. Another banquet table in the garage held jars of iced tea and lemonade, some basic boozes, various and sundry mixers. A cooler full of soft drinks -- including the inevitable Capri Sun and Jaritos -- and several vessels full of a wide range of beers, four cases in all, were also in the garage.
First to arrive -- early, even, because it's always 5 o'clock somewhere -- was the tag team of Baywatch and Processed, who might better be thought of as Goofus and Gallant. Goofus was resplendent in a hand-me-down Budweiser tee shirt, and Gallant committed to an outstanding woven hat that he wore for the entire eve. Goofuswatch noted that they intended to be the last to leave as well, and so the gauntlet was thrown down!
Peeps arrived in a steady stream over the next hour or two. Big Frank and Betty. The Murphys, our only friends here in town. That Girl, with Annimal and the Silent Assassin in tow. My younger sis Mimi and her hubby, Armando Montelango. Geoff minus bride but plus The Nicest Guy We Know. Hilts and gf. Listless Craig. Rammstein and Mandystine. Lawyer John, his lovely wife and their charming boy all dressed up in the Ramones shirt I got him for his first birthday. Elvis Danzig and wife and their darling girl. Quills and her man, John Redcorn. Bluestem. Baldie and wife with their two girls, one of whom is going through the Feisty Fives and caused them to beat a hasty retreat back east. Two of the wife's co-workers, Sue Ellen Mischke and Jason of Star Command.
The wife totally outdid herself, making an amazing green salad, a bean salad, salsa and her world-famous guac. Big Frank made up some mac and cheese, roux and all. Bluestem brought a dill-ishish cucumber dish. The Murphys brought an evil cake from Dairy Queen. So many others, too many to mention. Damn near everyone brought beer.
The Weber was first put to use to produce several nice plates of shrimp as a nice preview of the grilled deliciousness to come. Peeps dug it; wife knows how to season things to make them pop. The non-stick grilling basket was put to good use.
I plated some burgers early on in an attempt to keep the snarling, starving masses at bay. Big mistake: should've done brats first, since you can grill a lot more of them at once. The brats had simmered in a mixture of all the beers in our haus that I had no desire to drink: a few ancient Becks ultralights from the Bears Super Bowl more than a year ago, a mess of Corona and a lonesome Sam Adam's that was long past its freshness date. Simmer the brats 'til the casings start to pop, then let 'em sit in the "batter" (only other ingredient: an onion, though some also add butter, which seemed like cardiac overkill) until it's time to char 'em up on the grill.
Failure to rope off the cook's area -- which was clearly defined as "the part of the driveway between the grills and the banquet tables full of food" -- meant we were constantly tripping over interlopers. As at any party, everyone wanted to be in the dang kitchen.
Ribs and tenderloin came out next. Nearly three hours in the smoker at temps between 175-225, with plenty of Butt Rub on the ribs (the tenderloin was premarinated in an onion and garlic combo) and lots of good honest hickory added to the charcoal resulting in several nice sweats of the pork over the hours. And the crowd went wild!
The wife grilled up a mess of mixed veggies, then some snappy asparagus to the delight of our veggie friends. (Please don't eat the vegetarians; they mean well!) I finally got the smeat going: Boca vegan burgers, soy brats and ribs. Served a bit of it up, then forgot all about it, which resulted in some dried out nastiness when I was cleaning this morn.
Cooking done, at last I could relax. At some point in the cooking I had to make a quick move, which left me feeling like I'd torn a stomach muscle. Much drinking was required.
Three main tribes formed, according to the layout of the back of our property. The deck and its high back wall and nice aluminum table and chairs and umbrella was referred to by someone as "the VIP area." Others sat in chairs in the backyard, while the two young 'uns seemed to enjoy "the love grotto," our two loungers set off in a corner at the very back of our yard. The third tribe was the garage folk, who never wanted to be more than five feet from the lager, lager, lager. (And ales. And vodka. And gin.)
Goddam the weather was perfect. We held our Q around the same date last year, and it was wicked hot. I drank more water than beer on that occasion. But not here at the '08 Q -- beer followed beer followed beer. (Somehow, for one night, I forgot that rum existed.)
I had the harmless summer mix going through the iPod -- lots of latter day Pitchfork-approved tuneage, plus just about every song I have with words like "summer" or "hot" in the title. (Sadly, not this number.) But then John Redcorn wanted to hear some Yo La Tengo, which led to Big Frank becoming the selector and the garage turning into the domicile of the drunken and the damned and the deranged.
Other moments that may or may not have taken place:
- Hilts may have passed the pipe of peace several times in the evening.
- Baywatch may have shown an odd fascination with my assemblage of coolers and taken very seriously his self-appointed mission of reuniting all of the assorted beers into my largest cooler, a wheeled unit that holds 72 bottles -- which someone may have at some point anointed with the title of "Steve's bassinet."
- I may have requested that the music be turned down once or ten times as yesterday became today and the neighbors may have been sleeping.
- I may have made a joke about "the healing powers of doo wop," then proceeded to demonstrate it by doing a bad Bowser impression, stopping, and then saying "Now, dontcha feel a lot better since I stopped?"
- Big Frank may have made a one-man mosh pit in the garage after his 47th beer.
- We may have filled three 18-gallon bins with empties, and two garbage cans with trash.
- I may have cracked others up, or maybe just myself.
- I may have eaten nothing more than a two-patty cheeseburger during the Q, but killed my appetite with a series of Red Bulls to compensate for the fact that I had woken at 615 that morning.
- That Girl may have heckled and harangued as only That Girl can.
- We may have petered out shortly before 1 when the wife said she was going to bed.
- I may have finally had some reheated ribs at my desk and some ice cream cake before going to bed.
- I may have woken up aching all over, then gone back to bed until noon and still found myself aching all the live long day, cursing my failure to wear proper footwear.
- I may have managed to clean just enough of the garage up today to get the MIL's vehicle parked while our car spends another night exposed to the elements.
And in three weeks, we do it all again on a slightly smaller scale for our annual summer birthday fiesta for me and my dad and two of my cousins. I hope to be recovered by then.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Gettin' ready to do the Q
I'm not sure what drove me to do it, but six years ago I decided to try to become the king of the Q.
Sure, my friends and I regularly cooked out in the summertime, but being cheap slackass Gen X-ers it was generally a case of the host providing the grill, fuel and some carbs, and people bringing their own mains and beer, which may or may not come to be shared. So it was communal, but only in a limited fashion. Tribal communal, or somewhat.
So in the summer of 2002 I was living in a garden flat in Lincoln Square, and my building had a massive (by city standards) backyard -- at least 600 square feet of grass! I had come into possession of a large charcoal grill after my older sis and her then-hubby "upgraded" to a gas one, and this big beauty of a machine also prompted me to decide that I would do the Q.
I started out with the predictable stuff -- burgers, brats, vegi burgers and hot dogs -- and gradually expanded a bit over time, in part due to the blonde's coming into my life. Kabobs, portabellos...nothing crazy fancy, but good good stuff. Then, as I started to learn about the joys of indirect cooking, smoked ribs and pork tenderloin came into my reportoire. (Sadly, I lack both the equipment -- a smoker capable of all-day burns -- and the patience to work my way into brisket and pork shoulder territory, but I'm still young-ish.)
And people seem to like my grilling, so now I do two somewhat sizable Qs each summer: one for friends, and one for family. (Never mix the two; it leads to too many insights into your hows and whys.) And I enjoy cooking for a crowd, even if it leaves me a sweaty smoky mess -- and limits my ability to mingle.
This year's friends Q is in two days, and I'm plenty excited. I've got cases and cases of beer and soft drinks and liquor and some of the food stuffs already, but have to make the big Costco run tonight. Complicating things a bit is that the MIL is entertaining here tomorrow night, so I may be doing things like tearing off rib membranes and boiling a big pot of beer in the kitchen whilst surrounded by the cast of Cocoon. Looks like we'll be doing a tenderloin, baby back ribs, hamburgers, beer brats, soy brats and vegi burgers, plus a few sides like corn and something else and something else. And we're counting on our friends to bring the delicious as well, be it a side or a dessert or some sort of bev.
Rain, rain, stay away. Big day coming....
Sure, my friends and I regularly cooked out in the summertime, but being cheap slackass Gen X-ers it was generally a case of the host providing the grill, fuel and some carbs, and people bringing their own mains and beer, which may or may not come to be shared. So it was communal, but only in a limited fashion. Tribal communal, or somewhat.
So in the summer of 2002 I was living in a garden flat in Lincoln Square, and my building had a massive (by city standards) backyard -- at least 600 square feet of grass! I had come into possession of a large charcoal grill after my older sis and her then-hubby "upgraded" to a gas one, and this big beauty of a machine also prompted me to decide that I would do the Q.
I started out with the predictable stuff -- burgers, brats, vegi burgers and hot dogs -- and gradually expanded a bit over time, in part due to the blonde's coming into my life. Kabobs, portabellos...nothing crazy fancy, but good good stuff. Then, as I started to learn about the joys of indirect cooking, smoked ribs and pork tenderloin came into my reportoire. (Sadly, I lack both the equipment -- a smoker capable of all-day burns -- and the patience to work my way into brisket and pork shoulder territory, but I'm still young-ish.)
And people seem to like my grilling, so now I do two somewhat sizable Qs each summer: one for friends, and one for family. (Never mix the two; it leads to too many insights into your hows and whys.) And I enjoy cooking for a crowd, even if it leaves me a sweaty smoky mess -- and limits my ability to mingle.
This year's friends Q is in two days, and I'm plenty excited. I've got cases and cases of beer and soft drinks and liquor and some of the food stuffs already, but have to make the big Costco run tonight. Complicating things a bit is that the MIL is entertaining here tomorrow night, so I may be doing things like tearing off rib membranes and boiling a big pot of beer in the kitchen whilst surrounded by the cast of Cocoon. Looks like we'll be doing a tenderloin, baby back ribs, hamburgers, beer brats, soy brats and vegi burgers, plus a few sides like corn and something else and something else. And we're counting on our friends to bring the delicious as well, be it a side or a dessert or some sort of bev.
Rain, rain, stay away. Big day coming....
Monday, June 16, 2008
It's old getting Hell
Sure sign of impending decrepitude: after spending nearly 10 minutes removing a dead mini-flood bulb out of a 4-inch can light (the second one to burn out -- and we just had them installed a month ago!), not one but both wrists feel sprained or something.
The bulb simply did not want to come out of the socket -- extremely slow going. It seems like the electricians managed to position each of the sockets just slightly off-kilter, which is going to make changing the bulbs suck each time.
And I promised a draft to a client before I get to bed. Good luck with the keyboarding, inflamed tendons!
Ibuprofen, take me away!
The bulb simply did not want to come out of the socket -- extremely slow going. It seems like the electricians managed to position each of the sockets just slightly off-kilter, which is going to make changing the bulbs suck each time.
And I promised a draft to a client before I get to bed. Good luck with the keyboarding, inflamed tendons!
Ibuprofen, take me away!
Stormy weather
So yesterday morning I was awakened by a wicked thunderstorm. Nothing so unusual about that -- we've had a series of powerful thunderstorms as of late.
But the aftermath was a bit surprising. The wife and I had some money-spending to do on this Sunday morning -- because really, the bathroom redo is a never-ending thing -- so we were out and about soon after the storm cleared. A nearby traffic signal was our first signal that the storm was bringing a bit of a hangover to people -- though we were shocked that for once our power didn't go out, as it has at least five times in our two years in this house.
As we drove some side streets, we began to see how hard our village had been hit. Every block seemed to show some damage from wind and/or lightning strikes -- sizable branches had fallen from many a tree, and some of them looked a bit scorched. And a power outage took out one of the grocery stores as well, so the wife's prescriptions would not be picked up on this day.
But it wasn't until we returned home that we saw how bad our own neighborhood had been hit. Heading up a street two blocks down, we noticed police tape all over a house. Then we noticed that a car in the house's driveway had been crushed by falling tree. Looking up, we saw that a dormer on the second level of the house had also been damaged. Chicago's Channel 7 put it like this:
Oddly, while each and every rain typically leaves at least a half-dozen small branches in our yard, there was just a single one to be picked up on our property yesterday morning.
But the aftermath was a bit surprising. The wife and I had some money-spending to do on this Sunday morning -- because really, the bathroom redo is a never-ending thing -- so we were out and about soon after the storm cleared. A nearby traffic signal was our first signal that the storm was bringing a bit of a hangover to people -- though we were shocked that for once our power didn't go out, as it has at least five times in our two years in this house.
As we drove some side streets, we began to see how hard our village had been hit. Every block seemed to show some damage from wind and/or lightning strikes -- sizable branches had fallen from many a tree, and some of them looked a bit scorched. And a power outage took out one of the grocery stores as well, so the wife's prescriptions would not be picked up on this day.
But it wasn't until we returned home that we saw how bad our own neighborhood had been hit. Heading up a street two blocks down, we noticed police tape all over a house. Then we noticed that a car in the house's driveway had been crushed by falling tree. Looking up, we saw that a dormer on the second level of the house had also been damaged. Chicago's Channel 7 put it like this:
The storms woke up many Downers Grove residents Sunday morning. Many of them could not believe the damage the found. That was the case at one home where a fallen tree went straight through one of the bedrooms."We were in total shock. We couldn't believe the tree came through the house. We stood there and shook and ran down the stairs. The wind kept swirling, but we got out all right," said area resident Mary Kay Givens.
As we came down our own street, we saw the next-door neighbor dragging huge limbs to the parkway. One of his trees -- fortunately for the wife and I, not the one between his house and ours -- had lost a huge limb that he had to cut into smaller pieces in order to lay them out on the curb. As I puttered around in the yard a few minutes later, I heard a chainsaw at work nearby -- and noticed for the first time that another house four doors to the west had yet another big chunk of tree on its front lawn.
Oddly, while each and every rain typically leaves at least a half-dozen small branches in our yard, there was just a single one to be picked up on our property yesterday morning.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Friday, June 06, 2008
I've seen the future...
...and it's a lot more localized than the present. Or the present you lived in last year, anyway, since some are already reducing their travel due to energy costs. This, as they say, is just the beginning.
Oil up to nearly 140 bucks/barrel. Why? Admissions that known reserves keep shrinking, that fields are running dry, that whole "hey, holy crap, this is a finite resource?" realization kicking in.
And so it is that the Industrial Revolution's promise of ever-climbing standards of living snaps back as the very substances used to fuel the machines near depletion. I'm not optimistic about a market-based solution to this market-created crisis. But hey, I'm a pessimist.
Oil up to nearly 140 bucks/barrel. Why? Admissions that known reserves keep shrinking, that fields are running dry, that whole "hey, holy crap, this is a finite resource?" realization kicking in.
And so it is that the Industrial Revolution's promise of ever-climbing standards of living snaps back as the very substances used to fuel the machines near depletion. I'm not optimistic about a market-based solution to this market-created crisis. But hey, I'm a pessimist.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Blatant dis?
Well, that was kinda strange.
Earlier today, I went to one of my bank's mini-branches, located inside of a local supermarket, to deposit a check from one of my clients. I handed my endorsed check and deposit slip to the teller/nefarious upseller, who then disappeared to the mystical magical back room to make it so.
A minute later she comes back with my receipt and a somewhat odd look on her face. Then she asks "Do you have a mortgage or a loan with us or something?"
Surprised, I just said, "Yeah, a mortgage. Why?"
Sez she, "I just wanted to make sure that you had the right kind of checking account."
Whatta whatta hah? And huh? Does girlfriend not approve of my simple tee shirt, shorts and gym shoes attire? Do I look that demented?? Is it really so strange that my lifestyle gives me the freedom to hit the bank on a weekday afternoon???
"Oh yeah, I'm platinum," sez I as I walk away shaking my head in a mixture of wonderment, bemusement and amusement.
Earlier today, I went to one of my bank's mini-branches, located inside of a local supermarket, to deposit a check from one of my clients. I handed my endorsed check and deposit slip to the teller/nefarious upseller, who then disappeared to the mystical magical back room to make it so.
A minute later she comes back with my receipt and a somewhat odd look on her face. Then she asks "Do you have a mortgage or a loan with us or something?"
Surprised, I just said, "Yeah, a mortgage. Why?"
Sez she, "I just wanted to make sure that you had the right kind of checking account."
Whatta whatta hah? And huh? Does girlfriend not approve of my simple tee shirt, shorts and gym shoes attire? Do I look that demented?? Is it really so strange that my lifestyle gives me the freedom to hit the bank on a weekday afternoon???
"Oh yeah, I'm platinum," sez I as I walk away shaking my head in a mixture of wonderment, bemusement and amusement.
Monday, June 02, 2008
All hail the power of the humble whole-house fan!
Sure, it's kind of ugly and lets heated air escape into the attic in winter time. And it's loud as hell. And it only does what it's supposed to do at those times when there's a sizeable difference between your outdoor and indoor temperatures.
Still, the fact that a mere 20 minutes of operation have lowered the temperature here in my home office from 86 degrees to 81 testifies to the awesome power of the whole-house fan. Just wait for the outside temp to drop 10 or more degrees below the inside conditions (my office has a western exposure that causes it to take a beating in the summertime), open all the windows and doors and fire it up. Voila, a rapid air change for the whole house that doesn't use much power!
What do you do to chill after a long hottish day?
Still, the fact that a mere 20 minutes of operation have lowered the temperature here in my home office from 86 degrees to 81 testifies to the awesome power of the whole-house fan. Just wait for the outside temp to drop 10 or more degrees below the inside conditions (my office has a western exposure that causes it to take a beating in the summertime), open all the windows and doors and fire it up. Voila, a rapid air change for the whole house that doesn't use much power!
What do you do to chill after a long hottish day?
Membrane: such a fun word for such an icky thing
So I was bad when I smoked up a few racks of baby backs this weekend -- the product was a bit icy when I pulled it out of the Costco cry-o-vac packaging, and I just couldn't get any kind of grip on the membranes that all true ribbers know must be removed.
And yet...they turned out pretty damn good nonetheless. Put a bunch of hickory out to soak, fired up the chimney full of coals, slathered the meat with Butt Rub, filled the smoke box up with hot coals topped with some wood and cold coals, and laid the ribs out for the low heat to do its magic.
Two and a half hours and a few fire proddings later plus just a touch of Sweet Baby Ray's (you know it's good, 'cuz the first ingredient listed is corn syrup!) for the final ten minutes, and some most delicious ribs were to be had. Now I've got the itus, but that's my fault. (The wife is suffering from a similar condition, but hers came from too many carbs consumed this weekend.)
Next time, I'll have to take a peek at the youtube below when I go to prep the eats....
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Yum yum guvmint cheese!
It's underreported stories like this that drive me nuts every time someone starts railing against welfare, ignorant of just how much our government gives away to corporations each year....
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Mildly fed up with Freecycle
So, after a quick start that saw me doing a pair of successful gives -- one for a shower rod, curtains and tension pole basket thingies for the bath after our new tub/shower was put in, and the other for former fencing suitable for kindling -- I'm coming to be a bit down on my local Freecycle group.
We're currently giving away a sofa and loveseat. Giving away, as in free. Which, you know, is what Freecycle is all about: diverting usable items from landfill by finding new homes for them. I could've had the crew that delivered our new furniture take the old stuff away for a nominal fee. I could've arranged pickup by one of several NPOs. But I opted to try to do a direct solid for one of my local peeps.
Now, I make no claim that it's furniture that will turn a humble abode into a palace. It's oversized, grey with a bit of a paisley pattern, and a bit nontrad insofar as the back cushions are not affixed to the frame. While the two pieces are a bit worn after a decade and two owners, they aren't torn or stained and they come from a smoke-free house.
My post offering the merch up was met with plenty of interest. A pickup was scheduled the day I listed them to the first person who replied. But that party blew me off without warning or word back. I contacted the individual to find out if he wanted to reschedule -- he did. So we did. And he did me again by failing to show once more. Scratch him from the list.
So it was on to the second party. Very similar results. A woman said her son would be over to take the furniture up one evening. The eve came and went with no pickup action. I got another email from the woman the next day asking if her son could come by that day. I said sure. He no showed.
I worked my way through the list of respondents, sending photos to each and asking for a reply either way.
Some were kind. "We're looking for something smaller." "The color wouldn't go with our stuff."
Others were silent.
Still others were kinda jerky. "Thanks, but no thanks." "Not anything we'd want in our house."
Eight days later, I may finally have a taker here on a Tuesday morning. A woman, her husband and child are trying to furnish a two-bedroom apartment for less than a grand, and she wants them if I can hold them a few more days (their lease begins June 1). I will, even though they're taking up half of our living room. I'm a soft touch like that.
So there's some slightly happy resolution. I hope.
But in looking at some of the "asks" that come through on the list, I'm reminded that people can be a bit...obnoxious? Entitlement-minded? Greedy? Which gets me down.
Here are some items people have hoped to score on my Freecycle list in the past few weeks:
Anyway, I'm gonna work on restoring my good will toward mankind. Step one: stop playing "People Ain't No Good" on repeat....
We're currently giving away a sofa and loveseat. Giving away, as in free. Which, you know, is what Freecycle is all about: diverting usable items from landfill by finding new homes for them. I could've had the crew that delivered our new furniture take the old stuff away for a nominal fee. I could've arranged pickup by one of several NPOs. But I opted to try to do a direct solid for one of my local peeps.
Now, I make no claim that it's furniture that will turn a humble abode into a palace. It's oversized, grey with a bit of a paisley pattern, and a bit nontrad insofar as the back cushions are not affixed to the frame. While the two pieces are a bit worn after a decade and two owners, they aren't torn or stained and they come from a smoke-free house.
My post offering the merch up was met with plenty of interest. A pickup was scheduled the day I listed them to the first person who replied. But that party blew me off without warning or word back. I contacted the individual to find out if he wanted to reschedule -- he did. So we did. And he did me again by failing to show once more. Scratch him from the list.
So it was on to the second party. Very similar results. A woman said her son would be over to take the furniture up one evening. The eve came and went with no pickup action. I got another email from the woman the next day asking if her son could come by that day. I said sure. He no showed.
I worked my way through the list of respondents, sending photos to each and asking for a reply either way.
Some were kind. "We're looking for something smaller." "The color wouldn't go with our stuff."
Others were silent.
Still others were kinda jerky. "Thanks, but no thanks." "Not anything we'd want in our house."
Eight days later, I may finally have a taker here on a Tuesday morning. A woman, her husband and child are trying to furnish a two-bedroom apartment for less than a grand, and she wants them if I can hold them a few more days (their lease begins June 1). I will, even though they're taking up half of our living room. I'm a soft touch like that.
So there's some slightly happy resolution. I hope.
But in looking at some of the "asks" that come through on the list, I'm reminded that people can be a bit...obnoxious? Entitlement-minded? Greedy? Which gets me down.
Here are some items people have hoped to score on my Freecycle list in the past few weeks:
- cushman cart moped/scooter
- Futon or Sofa Sleeper
- MATCHING COUCH AND LOVESEAT OR CHAIR
- twin and full size mattresses
- Shower doors for a 48" shower base
- gas dryer - can pick up
- laptop computer
- Little Tykes Outdoor Climber
- Double Jogger Stroller
- Bug zapper
- Good working phonograph turntable.
- Legos
- Dorm fridg/freezer
- Twin Bed Mattress in good condition
- weed whacker
- Garage Refrigerator
- HP LaserJet 6L or 5L
Anyway, I'm gonna work on restoring my good will toward mankind. Step one: stop playing "People Ain't No Good" on repeat....
Monday, May 26, 2008
“Maximize demand, minimize supply and buy the rest from the people who hate us the most.”
So you good folk who read the NYT saw this weeks ago, but for the slow folk like me who just came around to it, this was a great read.
Whodathunk I'd ever be linking to Mr. Flat World?
Whodathunk I'd ever be linking to Mr. Flat World?
Friday, May 23, 2008
Still not quite getting it
Are people kinda dumb, or is it just the press that makes them seem that way?
I just read a long-ish article in the Trib that discussed the new move toward smaller homes in the funtabulous world of new construction in the greater Chicago metropolitan area.
The reason cited for this new trend? Price.
Sheerly and solely, it's all about the Benjamins. Today's young 'uns apparently want to have a little extra money to do other things after paying the monthly mortgage bill. Suddenly, houses are just a place to live rather than an investment.
Somehow, not a word from the builders, realtors and other experts quoted in the article touched upon energy bills or energy efficiency as a motivating factor for this move toward smaller properties. Which makes me wonder whether this simply isn't a concern for people despite projections for some high high gas bills this winter and the potential for higher costs per kwh for electricity as regulators and electric companies continue to duke it out, or whether these experts are being mum about it for fear that the many McMansions on the market (new ones and foreclosures) will be even harder to sell if these additional costs are brought up.
The conspiracy theorist in me says that it's the latter. But maybe people aren't making the connection between high prices at the pump and the massive potential for inflation across other energy types. Keep mum, keep dumb.
I just read a long-ish article in the Trib that discussed the new move toward smaller homes in the funtabulous world of new construction in the greater Chicago metropolitan area.
The reason cited for this new trend? Price.
Sheerly and solely, it's all about the Benjamins. Today's young 'uns apparently want to have a little extra money to do other things after paying the monthly mortgage bill. Suddenly, houses are just a place to live rather than an investment.
Somehow, not a word from the builders, realtors and other experts quoted in the article touched upon energy bills or energy efficiency as a motivating factor for this move toward smaller properties. Which makes me wonder whether this simply isn't a concern for people despite projections for some high high gas bills this winter and the potential for higher costs per kwh for electricity as regulators and electric companies continue to duke it out, or whether these experts are being mum about it for fear that the many McMansions on the market (new ones and foreclosures) will be even harder to sell if these additional costs are brought up.
The conspiracy theorist in me says that it's the latter. But maybe people aren't making the connection between high prices at the pump and the massive potential for inflation across other energy types. Keep mum, keep dumb.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
MSUTMP
Must. Start. Using. Time. More. Productively.
Goddam, but that real-time technology stuff is a time sink. Used to be I could enjoy an evening doing whatever I've been doing since fall 1994 (my internet incept date) and just wait until 11 pm or so to check out things like how my fantasy sports teams are doing and what be the what on a few blogs and boards.
But now, with all of the data flowing in real time and the bigger bloggers living by the publish-or-perish rule and cranking out a dozen posts minimum each day and the mad-crazy commentariat working furiously to be heard on a few message boards, I just can't seem to get away from this here machine.
But it's not the machine that's the problem. It's these web browser things. And my addiction to looking at and reading stuff with them. And then checking back again 10 minutes later for new things to look at and read.
MSUTMP!
Goddam, but that real-time technology stuff is a time sink. Used to be I could enjoy an evening doing whatever I've been doing since fall 1994 (my internet incept date) and just wait until 11 pm or so to check out things like how my fantasy sports teams are doing and what be the what on a few blogs and boards.
But now, with all of the data flowing in real time and the bigger bloggers living by the publish-or-perish rule and cranking out a dozen posts minimum each day and the mad-crazy commentariat working furiously to be heard on a few message boards, I just can't seem to get away from this here machine.
But it's not the machine that's the problem. It's these web browser things. And my addiction to looking at and reading stuff with them. And then checking back again 10 minutes later for new things to look at and read.
MSUTMP!
Sunday, May 18, 2008
If only!
My site is worth $742,166,748.
How much is yours worth?
(Kindly please note that in this example, the variable "my site" = "google.com.")
Finally, a use for LinkedIn!
Found my childhood friend Gomez on LinkedIn the other day, and now we are indeed linked.
Good guy, that Gomez. We tend to lose touch for years at a time, unfortunately. I became friends with him in fifth grade, but we stopped hanging toward the latter half of high school as our interests diverged. Then refriended in college, strangers in a strange land. Then fell out -- I think in large part because of his then-girlfriend, but maybe there were other factors like my occasional motormouthed dickiness -- a decade back. Then hung a few times six years ago before he disappeared on me.
Maybe this time we'll be better at it all. Older, wiser, both bored suburban punks again, etc. Supposed to meet up to consume malted hopped beverages sometime soon. I'll see if I can do a Banksie-style recap if we do.
Good guy, that Gomez. We tend to lose touch for years at a time, unfortunately. I became friends with him in fifth grade, but we stopped hanging toward the latter half of high school as our interests diverged. Then refriended in college, strangers in a strange land. Then fell out -- I think in large part because of his then-girlfriend, but maybe there were other factors like my occasional motormouthed dickiness -- a decade back. Then hung a few times six years ago before he disappeared on me.
Maybe this time we'll be better at it all. Older, wiser, both bored suburban punks again, etc. Supposed to meet up to consume malted hopped beverages sometime soon. I'll see if I can do a Banksie-style recap if we do.
And I'd happily sell it now to anyone willing to put 10 percent cash down!
My site is worth $111.
How much is yours worth?
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Solo!
Kudos to Arlo for reminding me to finally verify the Spanish-language title of Home Alone, which a friend claimed to have seen on a movie poster in Spain many years ago....
Random ejaculations of "Solo en casa!" were right up there with frequent flying high fives accompanied by mocking shouts of "Pearl Jam!" in my world back in 1992....
Random ejaculations of "Solo en casa!" were right up there with frequent flying high fives accompanied by mocking shouts of "Pearl Jam!" in my world back in 1992....