Saturday, May 31, 2008
NBA
I used to watch a lot of NBA games. Yes it was back in the MJ era when practically anyone with a TV watched the NBA. I had actually watched a few teams years before, then my interest waned, then I watched a lot, then it waned again. Kinda like a bell curve. Way back when I first watched pro bball, my team was the Boston Celtics. Don't ask me how a 10 year old from the south decides to like a team that plays in the heart of "Yankee-ville". So I'm always hopeful when they do well in the 4 month long post-season. This year is no different.
Go Celtics, destroy those lily-livered Lakers*
(*I do not like the Lakers. Not even Magic Johnson or Derek Fisher, two of the nicest guys on earth could make me tolerate them. Why do I not like the Lakers? Other than they were the opponent of the Celtics when I first started watching basketball lo the many years ago.)
Go Celtics, destroy those lily-livered Lakers*
(*I do not like the Lakers. Not even Magic Johnson or Derek Fisher, two of the nicest guys on earth could make me tolerate them. Why do I not like the Lakers? Other than they were the opponent of the Celtics when I first started watching basketball lo the many years ago.)
Friday, May 30, 2008
la la la la la
Said with my hands over my ears and my eyes shut. You see, I'm not going to see Sex and the City until SUNDAY. Yes, that's two days I have to stay uncontaminated by reviews, other people's opinions and ratings. I love Carrie and the girls (and especially Mr. Big). I want to see it on my terms. Yes, it's opening will be big, heck, NPR even had something about it this morning and I had to turn to a local worn out pop station to avoid hearing anything about it.
Fortunately, I do the "hermit thing" pretty well....I guess I'll be listening to Punch or NIN on the way home....
Fortunately, I do the "hermit thing" pretty well....I guess I'll be listening to Punch or NIN on the way home....
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Picking at scars
Something I'd like to say I've stopped doing. Truth is, I haven't. Physical scars, as my mosquito bites, clogged pores and occasional zits will attest to. Emotional scars aren't left alone either.
I was "playing around" on Facebook yesterday after ensuring that my 5 friends aren't doing anything exciting. Did a search on a name I rarely even utter. Score. Noticed some odd things about that person. Living not far away now. Odd. Person's SO never liked the South or the US in general. Would have expected to see them in the UK. Nope, right up I-40, no more than an hour and a half away. Teaching, which I would expect. Lots of contact info, email at college, could make a friend request on Facebook. But what would I find out if I did?
We parted ways over the above mentioned SO. There's no polite way I can think of to say "Are you still shackled to the homophobic jackass? Or have you found a way to be your authentic self again?" If the answer to the first question is "yes", to the second "no", then I'd regret making contact. No need to pick at that scar. If the answer to the second question is "yes", first question "no", then it would be worth it. But the thought of the first still holding true is a bit more than I can bear.
Funny how a decade is practically nothing. Seeing the picture, that I had the right person, made the parting day seem recent, fresh. More like picking a fresh wound than a healed scar. At the time, I don't think anyone close to me got how incredibly painful that was. I'd never hurt that way before and never have since. A good deal of that is keeping the guard up, not letting anyone "in that close" and pushing out those who could cause that much damage. Unfortunately I've also missed a great richness of life, of having someone who truly "got me" during that time. And I miss that. Not enough (yet) to venture contact, but damn, am I ever curious.......
I was "playing around" on Facebook yesterday after ensuring that my 5 friends aren't doing anything exciting. Did a search on a name I rarely even utter. Score. Noticed some odd things about that person. Living not far away now. Odd. Person's SO never liked the South or the US in general. Would have expected to see them in the UK. Nope, right up I-40, no more than an hour and a half away. Teaching, which I would expect. Lots of contact info, email at college, could make a friend request on Facebook. But what would I find out if I did?
We parted ways over the above mentioned SO. There's no polite way I can think of to say "Are you still shackled to the homophobic jackass? Or have you found a way to be your authentic self again?" If the answer to the first question is "yes", to the second "no", then I'd regret making contact. No need to pick at that scar. If the answer to the second question is "yes", first question "no", then it would be worth it. But the thought of the first still holding true is a bit more than I can bear.
Funny how a decade is practically nothing. Seeing the picture, that I had the right person, made the parting day seem recent, fresh. More like picking a fresh wound than a healed scar. At the time, I don't think anyone close to me got how incredibly painful that was. I'd never hurt that way before and never have since. A good deal of that is keeping the guard up, not letting anyone "in that close" and pushing out those who could cause that much damage. Unfortunately I've also missed a great richness of life, of having someone who truly "got me" during that time. And I miss that. Not enough (yet) to venture contact, but damn, am I ever curious.......
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Damgoode pizza; damn bad experiences
In the larger near city, there is a pizza place (two places actually) called "Damgoode Pies". On the assertion about their food, I could not agree more. However, the actual experience of eating there is inconsistent and noteworthy in a bad way. I leave wondering why Mr. EY generally wants to go there as he's the one who gets more bent about the service. I'm a little more tolerant, but then I have to deal with his irritation after a visit; they don't.
Last night was no exception. Crowded parking lot, unbusy restaurant. Do their employees drive multiple cars to work? When we sit down, I notice an odd sour smell in the place. No one heard of fresh towels? Unsettling. A Pizza Joint should smell like, well, pizza. Changed their menu, which is always clever and second to the food as part of the visit. Not one word on the table or the menu on their beer selection. I know they serve more than PBR and Miller Lite. I'd like to order a nicer beer. One that, oh, might raise my bill (an important thing I'd think to a restauranteur since booze is a high profit item) and make me a happier customer. Far away on a wall, there are scrawlings in chalk that may or may not have anything to do with their beer selection. The print that is large enough to read is someone's "philosophy". The small scrawlings are probably beers, but I'm not getting up to check. I get their casual vibe here, but I am paying (allegedly) for service, so I'm not up to hunting my own beer. I guess I should have gone to the liquor store next door.
I get the Miller Lite. My favorite watery beer. They put down a Blue Moon coaster when it's served. I'd have liked a Blue Moon, but until my watery beer was served, I had no idea they carried it. We order our pizza. Pepperoni for Mr. EY's preference along with other stuff that I found interesting. We chat, the restaurant slowly gets a tad busier. Pizza arrives. No pepperoni. I think "maybe our server didn't understand me; I AM much harder to understand with the braces and the rubber bands". No big deal. Pizza is good. Sauce is good, toppings are good, crust is good. There is some left over that I'll probably have for lunch later.
So we're done. Would be nice to have a box and a check. Fifteen minutes pass. I get that our server is now dealing with a large group who have broken up into "adult's table" and "kid's table" and that managing that is a hassle. But in between going to get their drinks individually, she could have stopped by. She never looked in our direction. She could have sent someone over to check on us. She didn't. Mr. EY had to get up and find someone. Apparently, when a large group comes in, all hands disappear from deck so as to avoid getting sucked in to help in any way. We get our check and a box. We get billed for the nonexistent pepperoni. I consider asking for a correction, but we're already 25 minutes past finishing and ready to go.
I let the pepperoni pass, but on the charge slip for the merchant, I write "you had a tip until you ignored us". I'm sure I'll be written off as a crank, but there was no way I was leaving anything. If we lived near, I'd enjoy their food to go or delivery, but since we're 45 min away, that's not likely.
Last night was no exception. Crowded parking lot, unbusy restaurant. Do their employees drive multiple cars to work? When we sit down, I notice an odd sour smell in the place. No one heard of fresh towels? Unsettling. A Pizza Joint should smell like, well, pizza. Changed their menu, which is always clever and second to the food as part of the visit. Not one word on the table or the menu on their beer selection. I know they serve more than PBR and Miller Lite. I'd like to order a nicer beer. One that, oh, might raise my bill (an important thing I'd think to a restauranteur since booze is a high profit item) and make me a happier customer. Far away on a wall, there are scrawlings in chalk that may or may not have anything to do with their beer selection. The print that is large enough to read is someone's "philosophy". The small scrawlings are probably beers, but I'm not getting up to check. I get their casual vibe here, but I am paying (allegedly) for service, so I'm not up to hunting my own beer. I guess I should have gone to the liquor store next door.
I get the Miller Lite. My favorite watery beer. They put down a Blue Moon coaster when it's served. I'd have liked a Blue Moon, but until my watery beer was served, I had no idea they carried it. We order our pizza. Pepperoni for Mr. EY's preference along with other stuff that I found interesting. We chat, the restaurant slowly gets a tad busier. Pizza arrives. No pepperoni. I think "maybe our server didn't understand me; I AM much harder to understand with the braces and the rubber bands". No big deal. Pizza is good. Sauce is good, toppings are good, crust is good. There is some left over that I'll probably have for lunch later.
So we're done. Would be nice to have a box and a check. Fifteen minutes pass. I get that our server is now dealing with a large group who have broken up into "adult's table" and "kid's table" and that managing that is a hassle. But in between going to get their drinks individually, she could have stopped by. She never looked in our direction. She could have sent someone over to check on us. She didn't. Mr. EY had to get up and find someone. Apparently, when a large group comes in, all hands disappear from deck so as to avoid getting sucked in to help in any way. We get our check and a box. We get billed for the nonexistent pepperoni. I consider asking for a correction, but we're already 25 minutes past finishing and ready to go.
I let the pepperoni pass, but on the charge slip for the merchant, I write "you had a tip until you ignored us". I'm sure I'll be written off as a crank, but there was no way I was leaving anything. If we lived near, I'd enjoy their food to go or delivery, but since we're 45 min away, that's not likely.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Gee Ma, I wanna go home
I've been doing a fair amount of travelling lately and I'm ready for it to be over. Yes, it's been fun and I've had great hospitality from friends and family alike. I've gone to 2 conferences and learned a lot. Yeah me. But what I'd really like to do is just have some time alone. Time with Mr. EY, certainly, but also time for me. You may ask "EY, don't you have 'you time' practically every second of your day?' " Less so than you'd think.
I'd really looked forward to Mr. EY being out of town so that I could have some quiet time. No such luck, as Mom and Pop EY wanted a visit right before I went to the side of the state where Mom and Pop Mr. EY live. I stayed with them because it was more fun than staying at a hotel and cheaper for Big Faceless Corp. Sure enough, comfy bed, free WiFi, good food, dogs to hang out with. Embassy Suites is nice, but pales in comparison.
After I get home tomorrow, I hope for very little to do outside the hizouse.
I'd really looked forward to Mr. EY being out of town so that I could have some quiet time. No such luck, as Mom and Pop EY wanted a visit right before I went to the side of the state where Mom and Pop Mr. EY live. I stayed with them because it was more fun than staying at a hotel and cheaper for Big Faceless Corp. Sure enough, comfy bed, free WiFi, good food, dogs to hang out with. Embassy Suites is nice, but pales in comparison.
After I get home tomorrow, I hope for very little to do outside the hizouse.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The Prize Pig
I don't like my parent's church. I've tried. For a few years now. Still, nope, don't like it. Not one bit. Don't get me wrong, all the folks there are perfectly nice and I'm glad Mom and Dad have a place where they are comfortable. But I don't like the experience of going. I'd tried to bargain with Mom this time and said "you know, I go to your church every time I visit. How about us going to an Episcopal church in your town". She agreed to think about it, so I found one, found the service times (same as the church I go to, shock). When we discussed it last night, somehow Dad's one vote overruled mine and Mom's. Truthfully, Mom didn't vote aloud, so I guess it was them vs me. No surprises there.
So to their huge mega-Baptist, pre-recorded schmaltzy, over-produced-music, PowerPoint using church we went this morning. All that is pretty much enough to make me hurl. Too.many.people. I just don't like stadium seating in church. Most of their music doesn't come from their orchestra, pianist, organist. It's prerecorded and way (can I say it again) over-produced. Then there are the PowerPoints. I get that it's the "stained glass" of our day, but stained glass is beautiful in a way that PowerPoint never will be. Especially when the PP has all the bullets crammed into the bottom quarter of the screen and the title runs off the page.
All that though would be fairly liveable. A huge church could offer anonymity. You go sit down, you listen, you leave. Oh no. Mom and Dad have talked about me enough that practically EVERYONE within 20 years of their age knows me. Well, they *think* they know me. And Mom introduces me to everyone we pass, just to be sure. It's like being the prizewinning pig at the county fair. Seriously, Wilbur in Charlotte's Web got less attention than I did this morning. And he knew the interest in his well-being was going to prevent him from becoming sausage, so he was cool with it. Me, not so much.
You see, I'm shy. No one reading this will believe it for a second, but if I had the choice of meeting a stranger or just walking by them, I'm walking by every time. Yes, I have friends and I am social with them. But I don't want to hug someone I just met simply because my Mom has told that person my biography. And I hate Hate HATE it when that person says "Now, you're the one who lives in who went to and works at . You just built a house, didn't you?". I'm an only. Yes, by default, I'm "that one". It makes me want to say "No, actually, I'm the 'escort'. Maybe you've seen my latest porno movie? You know, it's a business I just LOVE. I'm going to make Jenna Jameson look like Betty Crocker." Not that they'd know who Jenna is. I don't want to "meet" 30 people in a morning that I'm not likely to see more than 4 times a year. Call me a snob, a hermit, an anti-social crab, whatever. I do not like being led around the megachurch and introduced. I know they're proud of me. That's fine. I am not a prize-winning pig (or anything else). I have no blue ribbons.
I think next time, I'm sleeping later, going to St. Mark's and I'll just meet them for lunch.
So to their huge mega-Baptist, pre-recorded schmaltzy, over-produced-music, PowerPoint using church we went this morning. All that is pretty much enough to make me hurl. Too.many.people. I just don't like stadium seating in church. Most of their music doesn't come from their orchestra, pianist, organist. It's prerecorded and way (can I say it again) over-produced. Then there are the PowerPoints. I get that it's the "stained glass" of our day, but stained glass is beautiful in a way that PowerPoint never will be. Especially when the PP has all the bullets crammed into the bottom quarter of the screen and the title runs off the page.
All that though would be fairly liveable. A huge church could offer anonymity. You go sit down, you listen, you leave. Oh no. Mom and Dad have talked about me enough that practically EVERYONE within 20 years of their age knows me. Well, they *think* they know me. And Mom introduces me to everyone we pass, just to be sure. It's like being the prizewinning pig at the county fair. Seriously, Wilbur in Charlotte's Web got less attention than I did this morning. And he knew the interest in his well-being was going to prevent him from becoming sausage, so he was cool with it. Me, not so much.
You see, I'm shy. No one reading this will believe it for a second, but if I had the choice of meeting a stranger or just walking by them, I'm walking by every time. Yes, I have friends and I am social with them. But I don't want to hug someone I just met simply because my Mom has told that person my biography. And I hate Hate HATE it when that person says "Now, you're the one who lives in
I think next time, I'm sleeping later, going to St. Mark's and I'll just meet them for lunch.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Things I can't say at work
I love it when people talk about hot button topics right next to me. Today's subject: guns. I know that not all gun owners are Nazi-freakos. But if you're an avid gun owner, you probably have more in common with the freako than with me. One of my favorite strawmen, the slow response of police, came up. "If someone breaks into your house, do you know how long it will take the police to get there?" I was dying to say "And if you shoot to kill and succeed, do you know how long that person will be DEAD?"
Sigh.....
Sigh.....
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Problem with Geeks
The problem with letting your geek spouse play with the new toy you got at a conference is that pretty soon, he's going to want one. While my iPod Touch is on it's way back to the folks I won it from (almost 1/3 of the screen is unresponsive), Mr. EY is enjoying his new 32GB iPod Touch as he strolls through Central Park today on his way to Great Britian (what would YOU do with a 7 hour layover in Newark, NJ?). Yesterday morning, there were 2 32GB iPods at the local Target. Not long after noon, there was 1.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Grilled chicken
I'm always a bit suspicious of real grilled chicken. That is, chicken cooked over an open flame of gas or heat from charcoal. Chicken cooked in a grill pan on a stove or simply marked with a device to simulate grill marks, no problem. Chicken, even properly raised chicken, is nearly toxic waste. Surrounded with the threat of salmonella, must be cooked to nearly dust, it's something I eat when I have to, but never really like.
Our grill, with its hot and cold spots, does little to help. You overcook some asparagus, no worries, it's just a little crispier on one end. You undercook a bit of chicken, you may spend quality time in your bathroom. And, EY does most of the prep work for things that go on the grill. Ordinarily, I don't touch dead, raw chicken unless it's safely frozen. I'll put it down to thaw, but once it's slimy, it's Mr. EY's job from there until the plate. Grilling chicken might bring a reasonable, but unwelcome, call for that to change.
So as tons of people on Slashfood prepare to grill up some chicken, I'll be sticking to asparagus, squash, zuccini, and what grills were made for: steak.
Our grill, with its hot and cold spots, does little to help. You overcook some asparagus, no worries, it's just a little crispier on one end. You undercook a bit of chicken, you may spend quality time in your bathroom. And, EY does most of the prep work for things that go on the grill. Ordinarily, I don't touch dead, raw chicken unless it's safely frozen. I'll put it down to thaw, but once it's slimy, it's Mr. EY's job from there until the plate. Grilling chicken might bring a reasonable, but unwelcome, call for that to change.
So as tons of people on Slashfood prepare to grill up some chicken, I'll be sticking to asparagus, squash, zuccini, and what grills were made for: steak.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Music 'n Me
One of my more commonly-used phrases is "I live under a rock musically". Used primarily as sarcasm, not unlike "I'm a naturally mirthful person". When you look at my musical life, I'm sure it does seem pale. Until last week, I didn't own an iPod. That I do now is more luck at a conference than purposeful action. I did purposefully drop my card in their jar. I'm sure they were giving away something else that I probably wanted more. About 90% of my "radio time" is when I'm in my car, which is less than an hour a day most days. Even that isn't generally music; if I can find NPR, Jim Rome or something in that style, I'm listening to that.
Right now, however, I am VERY much enjoying Punch by Punch Brothers. It's a good thing I'm not driving. For music I'm really into, I tend to want to turn it way up, shut my eyes and float away on it. This is that kind of music. Safe in the confines of my home office. Not so great on a highway at 70 or a city street at 40. Hard to explain to the Boss if you're at work. The new Nine Inch Nails, Ghosts I-IV is much the same.
When Punch moves to the next song, the silence between each is almost jarring. A few banjo picks later and I'm floating again. This isn't a "Dueling Banjo's" kind of sound. I do like the "plinky-ness" of it. Rather like the way a harpsichord sounds.
So I do like music. But my driving is bad enough without me floating away at 70 MPH....
Right now, however, I am VERY much enjoying Punch by Punch Brothers. It's a good thing I'm not driving. For music I'm really into, I tend to want to turn it way up, shut my eyes and float away on it. This is that kind of music. Safe in the confines of my home office. Not so great on a highway at 70 or a city street at 40. Hard to explain to the Boss if you're at work. The new Nine Inch Nails, Ghosts I-IV is much the same.
When Punch moves to the next song, the silence between each is almost jarring. A few banjo picks later and I'm floating again. This isn't a "Dueling Banjo's" kind of sound. I do like the "plinky-ness" of it. Rather like the way a harpsichord sounds.
So I do like music. But my driving is bad enough without me floating away at 70 MPH....
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Phrases that have a different meaning to me....now
Whole new ball of wax--I've used wax for several different things in my life. I've dipped candles, played at sculpting with soft wax, bought a hex candle (which I still have--never know when you need to hex someone). I've used hot wax for more "entertaining purposes". Heck, I've even dipped a bottle of Maker's Mark into the hot red wax that caps the bottle. Now, 3 balls of wax go into my mouth daily. Two to cover brackets on the "inside" of two teeth (i.e. the side of my teeth that my tongue hits) and one to cover the brackets on the "outside" of my bottom front teeth (to keep my jaws from getting caught). So when those wear out or I swallow them, I need....."a whole new ball of wax".
I actually prefer the silicone-based stuff my dentist gave me, but it requires that the area and the stuff both be dry. If I were putting this on my elbow, no problem. Dry areas in one's mouth tend to be few and hard to create.
Chew on this--No, really if it's OK with you, I'd rather not. Chewing sucks. Drinking large quantities of water, however, is quite fine, although I have yet to get to "enough". I think I'm making up for 5 days in the desert still. My normal 2 liters, not enough. I managed 3 liters one day this week, not enough.
Portion control--the amount I can eat before I am totally bored with the eating process. Bored with eating. That's not something I ever thought I'd experience. Even with delicious food, with things that I love. The way eating feels isn't great and the desire to eat is never as strong as the desire to stop. Smoothies are absolutely my friends these days and if I can keep the peanut butter out of them, they'll be pretty good for me too.....
Monday, May 05, 2008
I love horses
That being said, I trust the experience of the jockey, trainers and vets on the track at Churchill Downs more than someone from PETA. Are two year old horses too young to race? Perhaps. I'm not a trainer. Is racing cruel? IMHO, no it's not. A writer from Detroit decries the cruelty of racing on Fox Sports.com today and it's gotten over 1100 comments. An article on the Pistons from 3 days earlier only managed 87.
Horses are beautiful, intelligent creatures. I rode my first one when I was 3, had her for a few years and have ridden on and off ever since. Dusty, a friend's palamino liked me because I didn't kick him in the flank. However, that appreciation went out the window one day when he was tired of riding and I wasn't. We approached the barn at a speed that was way to fast for EY at age 10. Right past a tree limb that was taller than Dusty, but not taller than me. Fortunately, all I got was a scratched up face, neck and head and my glasses knocked off.
People get hurt on horses. Horses get hurt with people. Eight Belle's injury was serious and untreatable. The right call was made. For a human, a broken leg can be fixed and we resume life as normal. For horses, it's just not that way. I think her story is a tragedy. I hate that she had no other options. But I have to say again, I trust people who have spent their life breeding, raising, training and caring for horses over a group trying to snatch a headline, any day of the week.
Horses are beautiful, intelligent creatures. I rode my first one when I was 3, had her for a few years and have ridden on and off ever since. Dusty, a friend's palamino liked me because I didn't kick him in the flank. However, that appreciation went out the window one day when he was tired of riding and I wasn't. We approached the barn at a speed that was way to fast for EY at age 10. Right past a tree limb that was taller than Dusty, but not taller than me. Fortunately, all I got was a scratched up face, neck and head and my glasses knocked off.
People get hurt on horses. Horses get hurt with people. Eight Belle's injury was serious and untreatable. The right call was made. For a human, a broken leg can be fixed and we resume life as normal. For horses, it's just not that way. I think her story is a tragedy. I hate that she had no other options. But I have to say again, I trust people who have spent their life breeding, raising, training and caring for horses over a group trying to snatch a headline, any day of the week.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Anti-social
Is always said as if it's a bad thing. Truth is, some of us just need less talking, noise, etc. Others just like our "society" in small doses. Everyone cannot be a social butterfly. After a week in a conference, today, I needed some quiet. No casino games dinging at me (conf was in LV, no complaints there, but still), no masses to wade through on my way to anywhere. No group of idiots I had to get away from yesterday at the airport. Today was about quiet.
Sleep late, have coffee, no TV, no IM no email until I was ready. I was a little irritated that I had to call the boss, even. But to sum me up, I've been very anti-social today and I've loved it. My batteries are recharged. I talked to Mom at length. I've had enough "quiet time" that I'm excited about going to dinner with some friends. I really don't think that's a bad thing.
Sleep late, have coffee, no TV, no IM no email until I was ready. I was a little irritated that I had to call the boss, even. But to sum me up, I've been very anti-social today and I've loved it. My batteries are recharged. I talked to Mom at length. I've had enough "quiet time" that I'm excited about going to dinner with some friends. I really don't think that's a bad thing.
