Shoes, Ships, and Sealing Wax

Quote of the day

It's almost time for me to become completely immersed in the Tour de France, so to get myself ready I read this Velonews interview with Floyd Landis at lunch today. This cracked me up:

VN: So you're more concerned about doing your job?

FL: Sure, I worry about things when I have to, but, come on, man, at the end of the day, it's just bicycle racing. We're not solving the world's problems here, are we? We might be actually creating problems, creating traffic jams and stuff like that, so who knows?

I'll be seeing you

I was listening to the '40's station on my XM radio in the kitchen tonight. Swing on a Star came on, and I was suddenly hit with such a strong memory of hearing that song at my grandparents' house (probably on WMAL, back when they played music) and of my grandmother singing along with Bing.

Tonight I was chopping vegetables, singing along myself...

Or would you rather swing on a star,
Carry moonbeams home in a jar,
And be better off than you are,
Or would you rather be a pig?

My grandmother was often in the kitchen, and often singing or whistling with the radio. I would never claim to be half the cook my grandmother was, but in some ways it is because of her that I even cook at all. After she died, I took all her cookbooks, which started me on the new hobby of collecting recipes. I also took a little stainless steel paring knife that she used for everything. Before I had this knife, I couldn't boil water. As I just said, I'm not half the cook she was, but I can make some credible meals now. It's because I have her knife. It's like Excalibur.

So I was making dinner, singing along with Bing, thinking of my grandmother.

And the next song up on the XM?

I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day through

I'll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you

I was hoping for "I am a Lab Rat"

Context (more of my ranting about the Jeremy Roenick rant)

Jeremy Roenick says his rant was taken out of context, and after reading more complete transcipts, that seems to be the case.

But there is still just one thing I want to hear from the NHL, from the owners, from the union, and from the players.

(Make that two things. The first is "We have reached an agreement," because that isn't a done deal yet.)

Other than that, though, all I want to hear is "We are sorry we let this happen."

Both sides are responsible, and everyone involved on both sides needs to be doing their best to win people back, not cussing them out.

All they took away from me was entertainment...it was like being grounded for the season. But they hurt people: the waitresses who lost tips, the guys who sell popcorn at the arenas, the team office staff who go laid off. Look at them, then try crying poor about the lousy deal the players are going to end up with...that's the context I'd like to see Roenick consider.

You guys saw my hockey collection...I'm not exactly the casual fan. If the NHL and NHLPA can alienate me like this, I do wonder how many people will take them back with open arms.

Yeah, this takes the sting out of the lockout

A friend of mine suggested I check out this little item over at Fox Sports:

"If people are going to sit and chastise pro athletes for being cocky, they need to look at one thing and that's the deal we're going to be signing in about three weeks,'' [Jeremy ] Roenick said. "Pro athletes are not cocky. Pro athletes care about the game. Everybody out there who calls us spoiled because we play a game, they can kiss my a--.

"I will say personally, to everybody who calls us spoiled, you guys are just jealous. We're trying to get this thing back on the ice and make it better for the fans. If you don't realize that, then don't come. We don't want you in the rink, we don't want you in the stadium, we don't want you to watch hockey.''

To sleep

The first house I really remember is the townhouse my family lived in from the time I was a toddler until the summer I was seven. It was (cue music) a wonderful neighborhood for a child: the houses were set on one big court, so the road was relatively safe for bike riding and roller skating. We had a park in the center for kick ball and Red Rover (and more obscure games like "What Time is it, Mr. Fox?" and "Colored Eggs"). We had the swimming pool, and lots of other kids of every age.

When I think about that house, it is nearly always summer in my memory. Often one or more of the neighbors would grill dinner outside, and we kids would be allowed to roast marshmallows on the embers afterwards. The adults would gather in someone's backyard and sit and talk and play cards while we played croquet, and as the sun faded we'd catch lightning bugs.

After dark children would be sent to bed. My bedroom was on the back side of our house, my bed under the window. I would lie there in the dark hearing the murmur of voices and laughter from the grownups out back. Sometimes I'd go back outside in my nightgown, the grass cool and wet under my bare feet, and protest that since they were making so much noise that I couldn't sleep, I might as well stay up and play...

That never worked, and I'd be sent back to bed. While sure they were keeping me awake, the next thing I knew all was quiet and the morning sun would be streaming in the window.

Today I live in a townhouse, and my room is again on the back, with my bed under the window.

I had to be at work early today. In preparation, I took a hot bath last night to relax, put on my clean jammies, and packed my lunch and my briefcase. I was in bed at 9:30. Ahhhh.

Except the voices and laughter from the patio next door failed to lull me to sleep.

My next door neighbors frequently entertain, and this spring they built a new deck and put up a new awning out back. They've had a few parties, but last night's was bigger and louder and somehow more annoying.

I thought about going over and asking them to please turn it down...that would be the neighborly way to handle it. But I've done that before and it hasn't helped. When Victor goes over it sometimes works, and my ex used to be able to get them to shut up, but I think there's a cultural thing going on where the request of a woman is not taken very seriously.

So when the party had only gotten louder by 10:15, I was an asshole. I called the cops.

Unfortunately the cops had some real crimes to deal with first, so it was close to 11:30 before the volume dropped. But drop it did, like a stone, and when it did I looked out the front window to see the cruiser driving away.

I'm hoping that this will lead to quieter parties. I'm fearing retaliation. Even once the party stopped, I couldn't fall asleep. I was too wound up, thinking too hard of all the things they might do to get back at me. It was not a restful night.

I'd love to be able to sleep like I did when I was five.

Sunday evening coming down

I've been out of school for more than a few years, but Sunday evening still leaves me with the same feeling I had when I was a kid: Damn. The weekend is over. I still have (algebra homework/a term paper to write/rat cages to clean) before I can go to bed, and then I have to get up tomorrow and do another week again...where'd the weekend go?

I had a great time at Saturday night's ballgame (thanks, Ted!), but I don't think I sat down except for that. Yet the "to-do" list is still longer than the "done" list.

I'd say "I can't wait 'til I retire," but when I was a kid, I thought it would be easier after I got out of school, so now I know not to bank on an imagined future.

Besides, once I do retire, I'll spend the first several years taking care of the things I didn't get finished this weekend.

How much is that doggie in the window?

The dog had a vet appointment today. No big deal, just her annual checkup.

She saw a new vet. First he did the exam, remarking several times about what good shape she's in for a dog her age. (Not that we know her age...I picked her up from the pound eleven years ago, and she was full grown then. She was a stray, and I got her for nothing. Yep, a free dog.) Then we went through her medical history...the grade 3 heart murmur that's now almost zero, the mitral valve prolapse, the lyme disease, the idiopathic thrombocytopenia.

The thrombocytopenia (low platelet count, which means the blood would not clot) was two years ago, discovered completely coincidentally when I took her in to have a cyst removed. (Oh yeah, I forgot to mention the cysts and their biopsies in the above list.) Anyway, she's seen a few different vets in the practice since the thrombocytopenia resolved. Last year, the vet looked back in the chart at her blood counts and exclaimed rather loudly "Holy shit!" Today's vet whistled and said "Holy crap," under his breath.

"She's had some interesting things," I said.

"I'll say," the vet responded. "Not only is she in great shape for a dog her age, she's lucky to be alive."

As I paid her bill, I looked at the inches-thick medical chart and started calculating...the check ups, the vaccines, the drugs, the ECGs, the blood tests, the diagnostics. So much for free dog. On the way home, she stood in the front seat next to me, her big dumb dog tongue hanging out of her mouth, her big dumb dog ears flapping in the wind, her big dumb dog tail wagging so hard I could hear the thump every time she hit the seat.

I'm not even going to try to add it up, because it doesn't matter. Never has the dog ever acted sick or in pain, and I've never had to go without dinner to pay a vet bill. She won't ever be sticking her head out of the window of a Lexus, but I think that's all right with us both.

Baby anythings are cute

I saw some pictures of the National Zoo's baby cheetahs on the news tonight.

Aaaawwwwwwwww.

I'm not even a cat person.

In other wildlife news: I blew it with the caterpillars. I intended to get another dill plant for them to eat, but this was a busy week. After work I went to check on them, and the dill is nothing but a stick, and the caterpillars are gone. I crossed my fingers and looked in the parsley (they would have had to migrate across a planter of tomatoes), but they weren't there. Hope fading, I searched the basil and the oregano, but they don't like Italian herbs. No caterpillars.

I'm kicking myself for not getting them another dill last week, but I didn't know just how hungry those suckers were. I wish I'd moved the parsley closer.

Sorry, guys...

Next year at the garden center I'll be the one examining the plants looking to buy the one with the larval infestation.

90 degrees so I'm thinking about hockey

Washington will be hosting the Frozen Four in 2009. I don't have a local news item to which I can link, though, because college hockey is barely a suggestion of a blip on the local news radar. Well, no, I must be fair: I heard this on the local news radio.

And when I heard it, I thought: Excellent...but huh? None of the schools around here play Division I hockey.

Unless Navy expects that they will be by 2009.

From (of all places) the San Jose Sharks news:

But the most interesting bid may be that of Washington, D.C., only because the U.S. Naval Academy is the host school. Navy has had an on-campus rink for many years, and the Sharks actually practiced there last season. But Navy doesn’t field a Division I varsity team, so what could this bid be all about?

Well, it makes the MCI Center’s bid much stronger, there’s no doubt. But in a roundabout way, it may explain the recent decision of the Air Force Academy to drop out of the CHA in favor of Atlantic Hockey, a move which will raise their travel budget.

Air Force has scholarship and academic guidelines that are more similar to Atlantic Hockey,so that is one reason for the move. A second is that the U.S. Military Academy, also known as Army, plays its hockey games in Atlantic Hockey, so a natural rival would begin.

But my imagination is racing with the idea of Navy upgrading its club program to a varsity, and playing in Atlantic Hockey with Army and Air Force. That would really be exciting,and would be a great selling point for the conference. A successful NCAA bid would certainly be a jump starting point for such a project, if they chose to do so.

From this article on the Caps web page, Sounds like Navy's coach Rick Randazzo (a West Point grad) has the same idea:

“When I came in six years ago, Division I really wasn’t even in the picture,” says Randazzo. “Now it’s six years later. It has been a dream of mine to have an Army-Navy game. I think that would be great. I always felt cheated not to have an Army-Navy hockey game. Going to West Point, our biggest competitor was RMC, Royal Military College in Canada. It just wasn’t the same as an Army-Navy game where everybody is cheering you on and fans are coming out of everywhere. We never have that. I know if we had that hockey game it would be unbelievable because hockey is the fastest warrior sport we have. If we were able to do an Army-Navy game, it would be on. It would be great. That would make it worth it whether we were varsity or not. All the other sports here – 23 varsity sports and all the club sports – they play Army except for us. With the new rink, I think it’s going to happen and then we’ll just have to see if there is a good fit for Navy to move in.”

Pretty cool, as it were.

...and I assumed that this was a joke

But it's not.

We take 12 modern kids and force them to live as though it were the 1970s. No cell phones, no iPods, no Britney! Only rotary phones, 8 tracks and Farrah. Will they be able to survive the groovy life? Find out in The 70s House.

Paging Al Jaffee

I spent the day at work today putting stickers on filing cabinets that said things like "1 of 8." I took all the books off the bookcases and put them in big plastic bins. I took down all the pictures and everything off the bulletin board. I emptied my desk drawers and packed up the stapler and the tape and the calendar. I stacked boxes in the hall.

Everyone who walked by today said "Are you moving?"

Monocacy Aqueduct

I mentioned back in April that the restoration project on the Monocacy Aqueduct on the C&O Canal was nearly complete. We were up there Saturday, and the project is done. It looks really good:

If you're curious, here are Gazette articles about the start of the work in 2002 and the rededication in May, and some Civil War history from the Smithsonian.

I have only one little tiny problem with all the work they did. Aqueduct itself: improved. Access road to the park: improved. But where the portajohn in the Aqueduct parking lot used to be one of the best portajohns around (this is what I gained from cycling: encyclopedic knowledge on location and conditions of facilities along the back roads of the county), the new permanent outhouse is foul.

This must be why it is still in beta

Notice the category that Amazon is using for microwave popcorn and Tuna Helper?

Happy Father's Day/Phenomenally easy banana bread

The Father's Day menu was Dad's London broil.

We also picked up a couple of pints of fresh strawberries at a farm on the way home from the ride yesterday. Fresh strawberries would be a really good dessert for the London broil, but my dad doesn't eat strawberries...something about the time when he was a kid and ate a couple of pints all by himself, then broke out in huge hives.

After I got home yesterday I realized that two pints may have been a bit overdoing it. As it happened, though, I had a couple of overripe bananas from last week, so I chopped a bunch of the strawberries for inclusion into my phenomenally easy banana bread.

I know banana bread is a quick bread, and phenomenally simple to make. I still had to simplify it further, though, because that is how phenomenally lazy I am. I have it narrowed down to one measuring cup and five ingredients:

2 overly-ripe bananas
1 1/2 cups Bisquick
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup applesauce, pureed plum, or oil
2 eggs or 1/2 cup of egg substitute

(The trick with the one measuring cup is to only use the 1/4 cup. Of course, that means six scoops of Bisquick and three of sugar, but you only need to wash one thing. That makes it feel easier to me, anyway.)

In a large bowl, mash the bananas a bit with a fork.

Dump in everything else.

(You know those recipes where you sift dry ingredients in one bowl, and mix wet ingredients in another, a dirty yet a third bowl putting them together? I have no patience for such recipes.)

If your fork is substantial enough, you can even use that to mix everything together...why get a spoon dirty too?

Now, you can add cinnamon, or cloves, or nutmeg, or whatever spices you like, but I have found that it isn't necessary. The bread tastes like bananas without them. 'Tis a gift to be simple, y'know?

On the other hand, you can also add a handful of nuts, raisins, blueberries, chocolate chips, or (say you went a bit overboard at a farm at then end of strawberry season) chopped strawberries.

Pour into a greased loaf pan and bake at 350 degrees for about 55 minutes, or make muffins (about 15 minutes at 400 degrees.) Use the insert-toothpick method of testing for doneness...an under-baked banana bread makes a heckuva mess when inverted from a loaf pan. (Not that I'm admitting anything by saying that.)

I whipped up a batch of the muffins while I was waiting for the Bordelaise sauce to reduce, and now I have breakfast for the week.

Pass the Geritol

I have a nifty t-shirt from the University of Maryland Department of Entomology commemorating the Brood X cicadas. I picked it up at the bookstore last spring, in my annual return to College Park to see how the campus has changed, stock up on t-shirts, and eat gyros at Marathon Deli.

I happened to be wearing this shirt today when I did the grocery shopping. The cashier, a friendly young lady with shocking pink hair, asked "Do you teach at Maryland?"

I was confused at first, until she pointed to my shirt, and then she repeated "Do you teach there?"

"Ah, no, I just liked the cicadas," I said. But what I thought...with a giant sigh...is that people used to ask "Do you go to Maryland?"

I guess it's time to face the reality that it's been a good eighteen years since I could pass for eighteen.

It's not the Midas touch, that's for sure

When I was a kid...sullen young teenish...my father got a cartop carrier for the annual week-long family vacation. The Saturday we left, he loaded it up, strapped it on the roof of the Oldsmobile, and off we went. As soon as we hit the highway, the carrier started sliding off the back of the roof.

Now, my dad is an engineer, and generally when he puts something together, it stays put. I'm not sure what went wrong with the cartop carrier. He reattached it on the side of the interstate, then instructed me to hold my arm out the window for the rest of the trip so that I could alert him if it started to move again.

It was Wednesday that week before I could feel my fingers. And I've not been keen on carrying things of the roof of a car since.

When I traded my sedan in on a station wagon five years ago I discovered that my bike rack, which strapped to the back, no longer worked on the new car. Victor convinced me to get a roof rack. I had visions of the bikes being destroyed by low overpasses or them coming loose and sailing away. I will say, though, that except for the fact that I'm too short and too weak to get the bike on the rack by myself, it has actually worked quite well.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday Victor put the bikes on the rack for a trip to the canal and we set off for the traditional pre-ride stop at 7-Eleven. Turning out of the neighborhood, we heard a thunk . I expected to see a Gatorade bottle come rolling off the roof, but when nothing rolled off, I was encouraged. Stopped at a light, Victor said "The guy behind us is laughing...I better see what that was."

He opened the door, popped his head out, and came back quickly with "Um, the bikes fell over."

One of those bikes is my brand new Trek, the one I'd ridden exactly once since my impulsive purchase in April. I didn't want the bikes mangled, but I didn't want us mangled if we tried blocking the intersection on a busy Saturday morning. When the light turned green I crept (I didn't know I could drive so slowly; a baby could have ridden safely on the roof at my speed) into a parking lot in the next block.

The bikes had indeed fallen over, bike rack and all. The failure was the car's original luggage rack, to which the bike rack was bolted. It was just, well, broken, ripped neatly apart on the front passenger side. We got the bikes down and, once we verified that they weren't damaged, it actually started to be funny. I really don't blame the guy behind us for laughing. For several minutes we sat in the parking lot coming up with increasingly complex scenarios for getting the bikes home without a rack, then common sense kicked in and we stuffed the bikes in the back of the wagon and continued to the canal.

Partway there I realized...I had my camera, I should have taken pictures. "To blog?" asked Victor. I was thinking for insurance claims in case the bikes weren't as fine as they looked, but yeah, this post would have been better with a picture.

I'll be shopping for a new rear-mounted rack. And after the front door lock breaking, and now the roof rack breaking, I'm starting to feel like I have some kind of curse.

The very hungry caterpillars

So, look what I found in my dill:

Tons of them. The dill is literally crawling with these caterpillars (which aren't as creepy and alien-looking as hormworms, but close).

Now, last year I lost pretty much everything to insects, and I had to re-evaluate my let's-not-kill-anything ideal. I didn't mind the sacrifice of the occasional tomato or squash, but when those cucumber beetles wiped out entire plants, I got pissed. This summer, I have pyrethrum and a quick trigger finger.

Except...I did want to look up those little green things bofore shooting 'em. Maybe they are harmless. Or maybe they grow up to be a really pretty butterfly...

It isn't like I eat a lot of dill. Perhaps we have enough to share.

Swiper, no swiping

Sheesh, what I meant to say the other day was that the neighbor's network works much better than ours. Ah, proofreading.

Speaking of which, a friend of mine showed me a resume the other day that included "good poofreader" as a skill.

Speaking of resumes, I'm getting ready to put out the help wanted sign. I bought a book of job interview questions, because I'm really a lame interviewer. The book includes a chapter with "25 questions to identify workers who may be disgruntled or prone to violence."

So, how many of your previous bosses have you shot?

Or maybe it should be more open-ended...Tell me about a time when you wanted to shoot your boss.

Or you could test for creativity: If you wanted to kill your boss without shooting, stabbing, strangling, or poisoning, how would you do it?

So that will be my weekend reading. Maybe it will give me a blog topic or two, since the creative well has run dry. Not that I'm online so much, since I'm still stealing the neighbor's internet connection. I feel really bad about that, but I feel worse without my blog fixes.

I feel so dirty

The neighbor's network is working much than ours.

Pea & Ranch Dressing Salad

I mentioned the other day that I was having an odd pea-ranch dressing craving. I gave into it with the first dish made in the new kitchen.

I really did consider just tossing peas with ranch dressing, but I wanted something a bit more substantial, so I expanded it into a pasta salad:

2 cups of pasta, cooked (I had switched from regular pasta to whole wheat for the various health benefits, but I admit that for some things, the wheat pasta just isn't right. My sister got me to try Barilla PLUS, which she got for my low-carb father...it tastes like regular pasta, but it's higher in fiber and protein, and it's enriched with omega-3 fatty acids. I am impressed. End of unsolicted commercial.)

Frozen peas, thawed (I used about half a bag. Since peas were half my craving, I went rather heavy on the peas.)

Two scallions, finely sliced

One large carrot, diced (to about the size of a pea)

Celery (chopped to about the size of a pea...you get the idea...and about the same amount of celery as carrot. I think it was two ribs.)

One smallish sweet pepper (diced, etc. I used yellow for the color contrast.)

Swiss cheese (diced, etc.)

Mix it all in a large bowl with enough ranch dressing to coat everything nicely.

Just as I was about to chill it, I realized I hadn't seasoned it at all. The first bottle I saw when I opened the new cabinet was Mrs. Dash, and I figured, what the hell, it's a blend...one stop shop. So I added several shakes of Mrs. Dash, stired it again, and chilled it for a few hours. Just before serving, I sprinkled it with sliced almonds.

We had it for dinner Sunday night (with garden burgers and sweet potato oven fries), I've been eating the leftovers for lunch this week, and I'm still pleased. And the pea & ranch dressing craving is sated.

If I were in a meat-eating mood, I'd add diced ham or bacon.

Ok, I'll quit the whining now

Just to recap: here's how the kitchen looked in March:

And now:

(Click for bigger)

It did turn out really nice, once all was said and done (and the floor was mopped up). I'm cooking again. Expect recipes soon.

And today at work we finished the talking about termination and actually did the deed. My boss was more supportive than I ever expected (not that it was painless), but it is over.

I move offices next week (the cubicle in the basement), but except for the Jolly Ranchers melted in the drawers of my new desk, the space isn't horrible. My whole department will be together now, and since the troublemaker is gone, I think the group dynamic will improve. Things are looking up, and I may actually sleep well tonight.

So close and yet so...wet

I'll quit the kitchen bitching...when there's nothing more about which to bitch.

The plumber came today...90 minutes later than the end of the three-hour window. But hey, I didn't want to be at the office anyway, because that's all stressful too, right? And I won't have time to use those hours on actual vacation, plus I can't afford vacation because I'm spending all my money on redoing my kitchen. Which is fine, because spending money on the kitchen is esaier than doing the work myself and having to spend lots of time and energy...oh wait.

Anyway, the plumber hooked everything back up again, and it's all working fine, and I go downstairs to turn the circuit breaker back on, and I hit the puddle of water on the floor, and I fall on my ass, and I get up and turn the breaker on, and I start upstairs, and then it registers.

Why was there a puddle on my basement floor?

I look up and see a steady drip of water off the corner of a ceiling tile.

Isn't it handy that there's a plumber in the kitchen?

Cut to the chase...at some point when somebody moved the dishwasher the supply line got disconnected, and from the time the plumber turned the water back on, water's been flowing through the new kitchen floor and down to the basement ceiling.

It could have been worse.

Someday I'll look back on this and laugh.

But for tonight...bitching.

Plenty of time for more stress

...in spite of what Victor wants, or thinks.

The plumber did come today, but he couldn't hook up anything because the counter guys failed to drill the correct holes for the faucet. A minor thing, but it meant the plumber wasted a trip, and the counter guys had to make another trip, and I had to take a break from my work to call and tell the counter people that their guys needed to come back to drill the correct holes...for want of a nail, y'know?

This is the kind of little stupid crap that has has plauged this job. I've had no outright disasters (and I am grateful for this, don't misunderstand), but we've wasted hours and hours on things that would have been prevented by people just double-checking little details (or paying attention to those details in the first place). Imagine my job, times how many jobs like this are going on every day...that's a bitch of a lot of inefficiency.

And a bitch of a lot of stress.

Why I love the Nats

I don't think it is merely the novelty of having major league baseball that's keeping me loving the Washington Nationals. I have a short attention span: if it were just novelty, I'd have bought my caps and my t-shirts and my batting practice jersey to make sure they got my money, but I would have stopping tuning into the games back in May. And it's not just because they are winning; how they are playing is more important to me than that.

I'm not very knowledgeable about baseball, so of course the following observations may be technically wrong, but they work for me. Here's why my new home team has captured my heart: they're plumbers.

Plumbers, muckers, and grinders. A lunchpail team.

Can you use these terms in baseball? There are no corners, no boards, but there is an attitude. They don't give up. The Nationals came from behind in 22 of their 32 wins. It is a team without a superstar, so everybody works. And they look so damn happy when they score or make that last out, it's like watching kids play.

It's so fun to watch (or hear. I love radio for baseball.), it's brought out the kid in me.

In case you thought I was kidding

I borrowed the desk thermometer from my office neighbor.

Name That Salad

The air conditioner at work was broken today. Actually, it was broken last week, but last week it was still sping (i.e., cool and damp). Today it is summer, and it was already a balmy 86 degrees at 10 a.m.

Actually, I don't mind it warm. Normal office AC settings make me reach for a sweater. But a muggy day at 86 degrees, with no air moving, was a bit unpleasant. More unpleasant was the fact that the resolution I've been hoping for is not on the table anymore, at least not right now. It gave me a case of the Mondays, so in my disgruntledness, I wasted time today trying to find a recipe for a salad.

I'm not sure where this came from, but yesterday I got hit with this craving for a salad that I used to see at summer pot lucks all the time. It's made in a glass bowl, with layers of shredded cabbage or lettuce, peas, diced tomato, other stuff that doesn't stick in my mind, and it's covered with dressing and left overnight for the dressing to seep down. I think the dressing is usually Miracle Whip-y, but I am remembering one with ranch instead.

(Actually, all I really want is ranch dressing and peas. I supposed I could just go up to the salad bar...it wouldn't be any weirder than some of the "salads" I used to make for the iguana.)

Still, now that I found the salad (not by Goggling "peas+ranch dressing"...that just got me a bunch of school lunch menus...I asked around the office, and it's popularly known as "seven layer salad") I want to make it. I just need an invitation to a pot luck.

Night Baseball

You can keep your Luncheon of the Boating Party. My favorite painting at the Phillips has always been Marjorie Phillips' Night Baseball.

(I couldn't find a good image of it to which I could link, though. It's included here, but it's too small to really see.)

We finally took in some night baseball last night, seeing the Nats beat the Marlins. It wasn't hockey, but it was a good time (and I recognized the beer vendor from the MCI Center. I don't think that means anything. It would mean something if the beer vendor recognized me.)

The people behind us were tourists...we found that out before the game, when one of them called home to report in on seeing the Spy Museum and the World War II Memorial. Their accents were deep south, but I think they were really tourists from another planet. One exchange:

"Where's the game clock?"
"There is no clock."
"Then how do they know when the inning is over?"

One of them figured out for herself that the H on the scoreboard meant "home runs" (and no one corrected her), but she couldn't think of anything the E might mean. I wish I'd heard her explanation for the R.

At any rate, I hope they enjoyed themselves, and maybe they'll take their newfound understanding of the game back home.

Here's my Night Baseball. Nothing like Marjorie Phillips, but then, I was in the upper outfield, and she and Duncan had box seats behind first base.

Have you ever heard of a wish sandwich?

A wish sandwich is the kind of a sandwich where you have twooooo slices of bread, and you wish you had some meat!

Bow bow bow.

When I was a kid, nearly every Friday night we had pizza from a local carryout for dinner. I played Rubber Biscuit on the jukebox every week when we went to get the pizza. I wonder if the owner hated me.

I'm sandwiched between my wish that we could get everything at work squared away (oh my lord, the stories...the problem child has become more pathetic while I've become less sympathetic every day, and waiting for the moon to move into the seventh house and for Jupiter to align with Mars so we can actually do something is surreal) and the wish that I could get my kitchen finished (we finally have the contractor coming back "after lunch on Wednesday;" interestingly, though my calls seemed to be going unanswered, when Victor called from work and mentioned in his message to call him back at The Law Firm, he was able to get a time. Well, such as "after lunch" is. Still, it's farther than I got in a week. I'm sure that is a coincidence.)

Great, now I'm the Creepy Coworker

I met a new woman at work today. Another colleague brought her into my office...we had actual work to discuss...but then her eyes drifted to my bulletin board.

I don't have a huge amount of personal stuff in my office: a couple pictures of my niece and nephews, a little stuffed animal on my monitor, and a calendar with pictures of my pets.

"Are those mice?" she asked, with the hesitancy you'd expect from someone hoping for, but not expecting, the answer to be yes.

"Nope, they're rats." I said. I always say this brightly, as if no one would question it.

"Oh, yeah," said the coworker who already knows me. "I forgot to tell you, if you need to know anything about rodents, talk to Nic. How many do you have now, Nic?"

"Fourteen."

The new coworker visibly paled. "As...pets."

Now, I'm not a jerk about this. I said, "Yeah, as pets. I know it freaks some people out...I was creeped out by rats until I was personally introduced to one...but they're really cool."

Turns out the new coworker was traumatized by a rat as a child. I nodded sympathetically. I said I could see why she wouldn't want to meet one. I mentioned my dog. (I'm normal!) I mentioned work and thanked her for the help she'll be giving me. (I'm professional!) I said I was happy to meet her and was sure I'd see her soon, although she was probably overwhelmed by all the new people she's seeing today. (I'm friendly!)

She said "I'm sure I won't forget who you are."

(I'm...creepy.)

The music meme

Victor thinks I need to shut up about the kitchen. What? Huh? You mean the kichen stories haven't been my best whining to date?

Fine. I'll do his silly meme, then.

Total volume of music files on my computer: Volume? I have 38 songs that I "ripped" for my little thumb-drive thingy a couple years ago. It took me a long time to get those songs loaded. I actually like the iPod concept, but not the laborious downloading of files. Someday I might spring for one that's pre-loaded, though. And I did just spring for XM radio so that I could get real oldies.

If you're interested, my 38-song playlist is in the extended entry.

The last CD I bought was: I think it might have been a Simon & Garfunkle album, or maybe a compilation of '70's hits I saw at Target. It's hard to believe I'm the same girl who used to cash paychecks at the record store.

I have some friends that are slightly younger than I. The first time they came to the house, the guy saw my shelves of LP's and said "Wow, you have a lot of actual records. You really are old."

Song playing right now: The baseball game.

Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me: Hmm. Well, I have a list of 38 songs in the extended entry...all songs I know mean a lot to me. I'm very sentimental that way.

Five random songs that aren't on the list would be:

Nights in White Satin (Days of Future Passed was the first "real" [not teeny bopper pop] album I bought)
Teen Angel (My dad used to sing this to me before bed. Odd, huh?)
Don't Fear the Reaper (A friend of mine loved this song. My friend died at 21; we heard this on the radio on the way home from his funeral.)
Summer Breeze (This song both reminds me of when I was a little kid...I can picture our yard, the windows open on a summer Friday night...and what I expected my life to become.)
Walk the Dinosaur (This is a horrible song. But it has a funny story: My sister plays '80's music for the kids, which I think constitutes child abuse. My nephew, age 4, loves Walk the Dinosaur. My sister told me this, and I was horrified, so she passed on to the children that I didn't approve. Next time I was at the house, I said to my nephew "I hear you like Walk the Dinosaur."
He started singing "Open the door, get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur."
His sister (age 6) came tearing down the hall, screaming in horror "No! Noooooo! Aunt Nic doesn't like that song!"
I thought she was gonna tackle the poor kid to stop him from singing.)

Five people to whom I'm passing the musical baton: Just one: Karen. I want to see how many of her picks are from the '80's.

Feel free to comment on my lack of taste.

Sound of Silence
Fire and Rain
Flowers on the Wall
Goodtime Charlie’s Got the Blues
Sweet Baby James
King of the Road
One Toke Over the Line
Radioactive
Coconut
Ruby Don’t Take Your Love to Town
Hazy Shade of Winter
A Pirate Looks at 40
Don’t Let Me be Lonely Tonight
Mysterious Ways
Satisfaction Guaranteed
Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season
Slit Skirts
Only Daddy That’ll Walk the Line
The Boxer
Galveston
Honey
Wichita Lineman
Bad Bad Leroy Brown
I Got a Name
I Wouldn’t Want to be Like You
Maggie May
Mama Told Me Not to Come
One Less Set of Footsteps
Operator
Rocky Mountain Way
Statesboro Blues
Stuck in the Middle with You
Sweet Home Alabama
Vehicle
Whipping Post
Workin’ at the Carwash Blues
You’re So Vain
Early Morning Rain

An open letter

Dear Person Driving with a Canoe on the Roof Rack and a Bike on the Trunk Rack at Rush Hour on a Wednesday Morning,

Can we switch lives? Pretty please?

Best regards,
Nic