Furnishings

Hey Bill S.! If you make furniture, and would be interested in making some for me, email me with your details (pricing, styles, etc.). Or if you know someone who makes cool stuff, lemme know. I've been looking at Morris-style chairs and think that might be perfect for my sunroom.

In There

I am in the "where did I put that?" stage, though there's still more than a little of the "where am I going to put THAT thing?" left to do as well. The clothes are put away--though I need a better solution for several categories of items. The kitchen stuff is put away--though there's still a lot of crap around, and I have yet to actually cook a meal here. The dining room table is still in the corner, with tools on it. No pictures have been hung, so that stuff is all still in boxes or leaning against walls. There are three or four boxes of stuff to unpack, but it's mostly crap. There are also 35 boxes of books, but I don't have the bookshelves settled yet, so no books will be shelved until I know where the shelves are going to live. But I pick away at it, and next weekend, after the budget stuff is done, I'll spend some time on it, and I don't think it will take all that long. I've tried to live here a little while in order to decide where some things will go (bookshelves, pictures), and that's proving to be a useful strategy, even though it also means that there are piles of crap everywhere.

Anyway. The real adventure was on moving day, when the woman who works at the front desk in the old building came knocking on my door at 9:45 am on moving day, with these two guys in tow. It turned out that their movers were coming at 3 pm, and they had originally planned to move into a studio apartment in the old building until a one-bedroom opened up--and the front desk person suddenly remembered that one WAS going to open up, namely, mine. But only if I was willing to get every last thing out of there that day--no leaving the plants until the weekend; no leaving the cleaning until later; no change of address completed yet. No matter; I'd get my security deposit back! I scrambled around, and my friend A--she of the wine the night before the move--was able to park her kids with a friend for a couple of hours and come haul my crap for me.

In addition, the movers were really quite fabulous--they had to haul all my crap up several flights of stairs, and they still finished a half an hour earlier than they had estimated. I tipped them a bunch extra, because, hey, my security deposit had fallen into my lap. So a couple of days later I realize that part of the cord from my Ott light had become detached, probably in the moving truck. I called the movers yesterday, explained the situation (after praising the movers to the owner, to whom I was speaking), and he said, well, not likely, but I'll ask. Sure enough, 15 minutes later he calls me back to tell me that one of the guys had found the cord and brought it in, and that guy then proceeded to drop it off at my place on his way home that day. So, yay, everybody wins, once again.

I'm really not going to have time to put stuff away until next week, though; I have social stuff to do for the next few days, and a bunch of work at work next week, and a meet-and-greet with the other condo owners next week (hosted by my downstairs neighbor, which I think is rather nice of her). I'll try to get the big bookshelf settled this weekend so I can unpack the books at my leisure, and I'll have some time next weekend to set up the office/second bedroom, start thinking about where pictures might go, move the table out of the corner, actually cook a meal here, etc.

It's definitely a little strange, and I whimper a little when I think about how much is left to do; I really could use another week off to take care of everything, and, if I weren't so crushingly busy at work, I would have done that. The big stuff is done, true, but, just as there are tons of little stuff to take care of when you're moving out, all that little crap is the stuff that is also a pain to put away at the other end. On the other hand, it's not exactly what you would classify as a genuine problem, so, despite the apparent lamenting above, I'm pretty content. I make my lists (and cross things off!), I'll measure windows and move the bookshelves and figure out where stuff goes, and little by little it'll look less like a moving van threw up and more like my usual mess.

46 Things

ohmygawd.

Yeah, okay, so I have "achieved" a hundred boxes, more or less, but not a LOT less. My friend A came over tonight to help me schlep the stereo and the duffel bag to the new place, and then helped me drink wine while I packed some more boxes. And then I stopped, and just drank wine and water (and did not turn the latter into the former) and she and I caught up, and tomorrow morning I'll have a couple of hours to do the last few bits. Will it be Enough Time? No fucking clue.

And?

Don't fucking care.

I have the keys to the old place, legally, for 46 more days. Even bringing only one thing per day, there's no way I'm leaving 46 things--nearly every fucking thing is in a fucking box already. So I'll get up and fill the rest of the boxes I have, and I'll dump the bedding in a bag, and maybe I'll do a load or two of laundry if I wake up early enough, and I'll finally get around to figuring out how to drain the rowing machine . . .

And then the movers will show up, and I'll let other people haul shit so my back doesn't give up completely.

Boxing Day

Usually when people say they have no food in the house it's something of an exaggeration, but, in my case, I'm down to club soda, an unopened bottle of wine, some dried cherries, some chocolate, garlic, baby carrots, currant jelly (for glazing things), and the stuff I'm going to dump (capers; outdated salad dressing; some really old mustard).

I inch closer to the everything-is-packed state, but I'm beginning to think that it's one of those conundra--each time I hack at it, I get half of the remaining amount of packing done, which means I'm NEVER GOING TO BE DONE. Which had better not be true, as the movers are going to show up in, let's see, 60 hours, and nothing slows down movers like having crap that's not packed. Friend came by yesterday with his vehicle, and we managed to haul all of the clothes, all of the food, and the cleaning stuff; once we got to the new place, I put away the food and clothes while he vacuumed. That's a little bit of a misrepresentation, because we ended up making a second trip for the rest of the clothes, plus a bunch of them are in a pile in the bedroom, or still in bags, because I don't yet have a place to put the socks and underwear and t-shirts (I've had built-in shelves and drawers for 12 years, and, before that, I had less stuff, plus I either had a dresser or shelves).

So, really, I don't have that much more to do. Tonight I packed three boxes and a duffel bag, plus threw out a bunch of stuff, and then my back/hip was rather excruciating, so I went and found some dinner. I'll try to do a little in the morning, and then finish the rest on Wednesday night, along with a load or two of laundry. I think I'm even going to disassemble the bed on Wednesday, just to make Thursday more relaxed--get up, make some tea, wait for the movers; if I still smoked, I'd have a few cigarettes as I wandered around, checking to make sure i haven't forgotten something in a corner somewhere.

Truthfully, though, it kinda doesn't matter much if I do forget something, as the landlord wouldn't let me out of my lease early. Yeah, pain in the ass, but it also means I'm not giving the keys back until the very last minute, and it means that Friend and I can move the plants next weekend, and it means that if i do forget something, it's not that big a deal. They're letting me use the security deposit as the last month's rent, so I actually don't have to shell out anything. Woulda been nice to get that extra bump--to pay for the movers, for example--but whatevs. A few more days of hassle, and a few days of unpacking, and I'll have a fab new place to live.

It's disorienting, for sure, for multiple reasons: the last time I moved, for example, my marriage and my life were disintegrating around me; I've been in moving mode for two months, ever since I decided to look for a place to buy; and I've done a whole bunch of this whole thing by myself. Friend put in a full day on Sunday, for which I am extremely grateful, and I know that GirlFriend will take me shopping for whatever I need after I'm done moving (she was out of town this weekend), but I've been packing and hauling and boxing for weeks, and I'm tired. Exhilarated, excited, happy, but also tired. But also exhilarated, excited, and happy--and I'll be more of those, once everything is actually in the new place, rather than sitting in piles around me here.

Closed

Well, as of about noon, I own a sunroom; the bank owns the rest of the place, but they're going to let me live there if I throw them a bunch of money every month, and, little by little, I'll be able to claim actual ownership of more of it. I didn't get back to the place until later this afternoon, but it was kinda cool to wander through the place by myself and try to soak in the sensations, such as they were.

Mostly, I'm just glad that I'm going to live someplace that's a nice place--plus, compared to where I've been living, it's huge (probably about 1400 square feet)--and all for a monthly amount that isn't any more than I'd be paying in rent for a nice apartment in this part of the city. (And, actually, it's still going to be less than Chuck and I were paying for rent in the place we shared four years ago.)

The plan is to move next week (!!!), which means I need to spend the next week packing the remainder of my stuff. Despite the absolutely insanely cluttered state of my apartment right now, I'm about 75% packed, I think--maybe even a bit more--so a few more concerted hours of effort should get me all the way there. Really, I don't have much choice--it is imperative that everything be packed before the movers show up. I'm moving on a Thursday, and I'll take off on Friday as well, so I'll essentially have three days to unpack my crap and put it away, which should be enough to get a bunch done. I realize that i have no idea where some bits are going to go, but I also know I don't have to decide everything now. I also know there are some things I want to do that will take some effort--build a mini-shelf in the kitchen, in a narrow space next to the counters, that will serve as a place for the mixer and the food processor--and that I may not get done right away.

Anyway. There's a ton of stuff to do, and I'm insanely busy at work, so the blogging is going to remain light for the time being, most likely.

Neither Long Nor Thoughtful

I don't have the time or the energy for a Long, Thoughtful Post--even provided I had Long-Winded, Thoughtful things to say. So the quickie version:

My apartment looks like a moving van threw up in it. There are a ton of packed boxes, because I packed crap on Saturday until I ran out of tape and wrapping supplies--all of the books, and the summer and winter clothes, and some of the dishes, are packed and stacked in various locations in the apartment. But then I had to stop, and, until I can get to the store and get more supplies, I can't pack any more. If I put in a solid day on Saturday, I should be fine, but it's kind of whirlwindy right now, and it makes me a little crazy.

I'm trying to move in two weeks or so, even though I didn't manage to get out of my old lease early. They're not going to get the keys until the lease actually runs out unless they relent, but, hey, I'd rather leave someone else's property unattended than my own.

The closing is still scheduled for next Monday. Theoretically. Let me just say that, if, two years ago, the banks had been as particular about having every last fucking cent documented in four different ways before they agreed to a mortgage, then the fucking financial system would not have fucking melted down. Yes, I AM peevish; why do you ask? Of course I understand the golden rule--he who has the gold makes the rules--but it makes me roll my eyes because they already have a big wad of information showing that I am actually likely to pay my mortgage each month and they still want more. Apparently they are unfamiliar with people who live within their means, save money, don't have a wad of consumer debt, etc.

The first tile-making class was entertaining. I'm not going to be able to learn enough or get good enough in the ten weeks allotted for this class--not least because i won't be able to spend other time there (the studio allows you to go in whenever, not just when you have class)--but I can see that it's something that could entertain me for awhile. Turns out that I really like making things. Oh; wait; I already knew that. I've always had some kind of project going on, and, more often than not, it has involved learning a new skill of some kind. So, really, there are two parts to it--making something, which has usually but not always been a part of it, and learning (or teaching myself) something new, whether it's needlepoint, or knitting, or handball, or yoga, or drawing and painting, or baking, or whatever.

The child-molestation ring that is apparently the Catholic church disgusts me and angers me. If any other group of people had members who systematically abused children for years and other members who covered for the molesters, everyone would be up in arms. And the fact that the same group still feels free to pass judgment on the rest of us? Bite me. Two times.

Okay, that's not all of the news, but it's almost 5 am (yeah, I know; I woke up at 3:30 this morning and it became apparent that I wasn't going back to sleep, even though I have a long day ahead of me) so time to do some yoga, make some oatmeal, and head to work for a day of long meetings about budgets.

Crime Scenes

Nearly all of my entertainment is crime-related these days: I'm making my way through the Parker and Spenser novels, and my current Netflix choices are the Inspector Morse series and, this past week, the first season of "Hill Street Blues," which is still, IMHO, the best show ever broadcast. Unfortunately, only the first two seasons ever made it to DVD legitimately (I've seen some stuff for sale that I think isn't quite legit that claims to provide all seasons of the show), so I am destined to be left wanting more. Back in the day, when HSB was first broadcast, I made no plans for Thursday night that did not involve being in front of the TV, watching the latest installment. (This was long before VCRs, DVDs, TiVo, Television Without Pity, etc., and you either saw it or you didn't.)

The show hasn't been on television much since then, despite having produced enough episodes for syndication, because the stories overlapped and the threads often ran through multiple episodes, and they'd make no sense if you didn't watch them in order, which, I imagine, would make syndicated broadcast difficult. In the first five shows of the first season, for example, there's some question of whether one of the cops is on the take. If you saw those episodes out of order, they'd make no sense. In the first three or four episodes, the precinct is preparing for a visit from the president, which involves a gang truce that Furillo negotiates. (Most amusing cameo so far: a gap-toothed David Caruso, as the leader of the "Shamrocks," an Irish gang. Which, really? An Irish gang? In which city, in the 1980s?)

The creators of the show never specified what city it was, though I do remember Philadelphia's city hall making an appearance in a couple of shows. I later learned that the scenes of the outside of the precinct house were filmed in Chicago, at the Maxwell Street house. I realize now--now that I've seen the originals, as it were--several other of the opening scenes, most particularly one with an Old Style sign outside a bar, were also filmed in Chicago; I think most of the rest of it was filmed in L.A., even though the city has the weather and the grit of an old industrial city--Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, Cleveland, Chicago, something like that.

Anyway, one of the things that has become glaring is how technology has changed in the last 30 to 40 years. In the Parker (and Dortmunder) novels, for example, Parker acts and talks like someone out of the 1950s, maybe early 60s. I think, as Robert Parker did with Spenser, the origins get blurred a little in the later novels, so that he can still be doing his thing in the 1990s and not have to be 85 years old to make the math work out. (In one of the early novels, Spenser says something about serving in Korea--which would have been in the early '50s, and would make him around the same age as my dad, who is 79. I remember reading that in later novels, it sounds as though he served in Vietnam, not Korea. Similarly, Parker has a dishonorable discharge somewhere in his past.) But in one of the later novels that I read out of turn, Parker observes that it's harder to find wads of cash these days, where so many transactions happen electronically rather than with piles of paper in hand.

I can't help wondering what would have happened if Parker and Spenser had crossed paths. The reality is, they likely would not have. Both of them operate on the principle that people do stupid shit, and they find ways to exploit that, Parker for his own benefit and Spenser for his clients' benefit, but neither of them does a lot of stupid shit of their own. Parker doesn't mind killing someone, at least not in the early novels (though Dortmunder and Kelp and their compatriots never resort to violence), but he doesn't do it out of pure malice. If someone gets in the way--typically by intruding in some way on Parker's activities, rather than by innocently stumbling into the path--Parker does not hesitate to kill him or her, but in general it's not his preference. He doesn't kill for fun, and he doesn't kill if he doesn't have to do so, which kind of sets him apart from the crime that hits our newspapers, and, most importantly for this what-if, he avoids making stupid mistakes himself; killing someone unnecessarily is stupid.

On HSB, all of the phone calls are on land lines--many even on public phones--because no one had cell phones in 1982. Thus, communication is actually a plot point in many ways: where is this person, where that conversation can be held, what kinds of tracing are possible. By way of contrast, I have conducted about 85% to 90% of the business of buying a condo via email, other than actually looking at the place. I have never met the lawyers in person, though I have spoken with the lawyer and her assistant several times (including twice today, as we finalized the papers that are going back to the sellers). I have met the mortgage guy once. I never met the appraiser, though I have paid them money. Except for some mortgage papers that I signed in person--in part so the mortgage guy could explain things to me in person--I've even submitted a lot of paperwork to him via email. The papers the lawyers have sent on my behalf, for example--i've only seen PDFs of them.

But being so immersed in crime (and hockey and racing) is a little weird, even if the crime is fictional and even if my reading and viewing is on both sides of the line, as it were. It also makes me wonder what it is that makes someone decide that theft is the way to make one's money, and it definitely makes me sure that I have little or no interest in making my living that way.

I haven't forgotten kstyle's comments, either, about baking and cooking, but it's time for bed, so those musings will have to wait.

Wait for It

As those of you who have purchased property know, there's a lot of hurry-up-and-wait, and I'm in the middle of one of those periods right now. The lawyers appear to have completed the backing and forthing; the appraisal is happening (or perhaps has already happened; they called me the other day to get money from me); the mortgage has been pre-approved, so I think the appraisal is the final step in that.

The one kink is that my parents very generously offered to throw in some cash for the down payment, and they sent it via certified mail. My mom chose that method because, according to the people at the post office, it's tracked and signed for at every step of the way. Except she mailed it three fucking weeks ago, and no one seems to know where it is. I don't think it's going to become an issue--the closing date is supposedly April 5th, so there are two weeks to get this figured out--but my parents and I will both feel a lot better when it's done, not to mention when the checks are found.

Meanwhile, I've started to contemplate packing, and Friend brought some boxes over today--the boxes I used four years ago, as a matter of fact. This is at least the third, and possibly the fourth, time they've been used for a move, as I got them from someone in my yoga class, and I think that someone Friend knows also used them. I'm just glad I don't have to buy boxes or kill trees to do this.

I'm contemplating packing a lot of the kitchen first, even though that's the area where I'm least likely to get rid of stuff. I have no plans to bake a bundt cake in the next two months, for example, or make lasagna, or use my ramekins, but I'm not going to get rid of that stuff, either. I have two coffee pots--a 12-cup Mr. Coffee, and a small three-ish (depending on the size of your cup or mug) pot, and I have used neither of them in four years, so it's probably safe to pack them, too, but, again, I'm not going to get rid of them. And so on. I'm not going to pack every last kitchen item, but there's no reason not to start cleaning and packing the stuff I know I'm not going to use. Same with the books.

So, yeah. I'll, uh, get right on that. Just not today.

Not that I did a whole lot. During my trip downtown to get my hair trimmed (can you stand the excitement that is my life??), I walked through one of the areas that has a bunch of bars with faux irish names. Perhaps needless to say, I saw drunk people. Many, many drunk people. In green-themed costumes. Standing in lines to pay a cover charge to get into a bar and pay exorbitantly to drink some abominable "lite" beer. And all of this was 1:15 in the afternoon, so there's no telling how drunk everyone is at this point; I'm just glad I'm not among them.

Wild Turkey Rag(u)

First, the inspection. By and large, it went fine. There are a couple of smallish things, mostly plumbing-related, but I hope they don't derail the thing. My understanding from others is that this isn't unusual; given my lack of experience, I will only be convinced when I take possession of the property. Or, rather, take residence therein; I won't take "possession," per se, until 2040, at which point I would be 81 years old. Which kind of freaks me out a little, so I'm not going to think about it.

I was further distracted/depressed on Sunday by news that a cousin was killed in a motorcycle accident this weekend--he was 54. His mother (who is my mother's first cousin, so i guess he's my second cousin?) and sister are favorites of mine (he lived on the west coast, so I haven't seen him in years and years), and it's just terribly sad. My parents are upset, too, not surprisingly.

Yesterday Friend and I hung out, watched hockey, played cribbage, and finally got around to doing some cooking. He had some wild turkey legs and thighs that he had cooked in his slow cooker last weekend; he has discovered that that method makes it easier to separate the meat from the tendony fibrous bits, and he likes to make gumbo with the meat. But he had more than he needed for the gumbo, so I got to use some of it.

I took two pieces of bacon and cooked them, mostly to render the fat. I removed nearly all of the rendered fat, as well as the cooked bacon, from the pan, and then sauteed a diced onion and several pressed cloves of garlic in the bacon grease. When they were done, I added some onions, shitakis, and wine sauce from last weekend's sauce for the venison steak, as well as the crumbled bacon. That cooked for awhile, then I added the shredded turkey, a drained and rinsed can of white beans, and a bag of frozen herbed slow-roasted tomatos from my freezer that I'd brought over there awhile ago. I added a splash of madeira and a splash of balsamic vinegar and I let it simmer away for a little while. I made some whole wheat fusilli, and, a minute or two before it was done, I added a bag of baby spinach (i.e., just long enough to barely cook the spinach). Sauce on top of the spinach/pasta mixture, with some grated cheese of some kind on top. (I have no idea what the cheese was; I'd brought it over, but quite awhile ago.) Extremely tasty, I must say. For dessert, last week's caramel plus bananas plus walnuts, except this time I had chocolate ice cream and Friend's freshly made banana bread over which to put everything, plus I fucked up the caramel sauce (crystallized the sugar instead of having a nice smooth caramel).

As i worked out yesterday morning in Friend's basement, I was listening to my iPod but also had the Food channel on for visuals (the sound was down). I was guessing that I was going to be able to follow along. One of the shows was something about five ingredients--I think no dish had more than five ingredients? In any case, yesterday's show featured:
1. oven-roasted grape tomatos, with garlic and olive oil
2. creamed spinach (with heavy cream)
3. beef filets stuffed and topped with a butter/stilton cheese mix
4. white chocolate mousse (egg yolks, cream, white chocolate, sugar)

All I could think was how much fat would be in that meal. My arteries ached just looking at it.

And it's not as though I never eat like that--Friend and I had French food Friday night. He had scallops with some kind of creamy mashed potatos and about a pound of butter, as well as a cream-based soup and a shared chocolate mousse for dessert, and I had coq a vin over black pepper noodles, and started with french lentils and carrots in endive, with some kind of wonderful sauce, as well as half of the mousse, and we both had plenty of bread with roasted garlic spread on it.

Both of us were stuffed as a result--I even took some home--despite not having had lunch that day. It was quite good, of course, but I truly don't want to eat like that more than once every couple of weeks. And that's what kind of irritated me about the TV show. It wasn't being presented as "special-occasion" food, it was being presented as everyday food--look, only five ingredients, so easy to whip up! Yes, i realize that grains and veggies and beans aren't all that exciting, at first glance, and don't make exciting television . . . or would they? Actually, I'd like to see that (I'd like to DO that): making quick, tasty meals that don't give you a heart attack. Even better--the leftovers heat for lunches, and/or can be combined to make whole new meals. Wouldn't that be a more useful cooking show?

Have a Cup

Things are proceeding, though not apace: the inspection was scheduled for this morning at 9:00 am, but the inspector called at 7:30 am, while I was in transit, to tell me that he had been up all night sick, he could usually work through being sick, but they were sticking an IV in him at the moment, and he was really really sorry. My agent said he was very apologetic with her, too. So, no big deal, we asked for an extension of the 5-day period, we rescheduled the inspection for Saturday morning, and I continue to take care of other bits (getting the last bits together for the mortgage; lining up homeowner's insurance; that kind of crap).

We may be looking at an early- or mid-April closing, which means my new place and my apartment lease would overlap for seven weeks or so, which is perhaps a little more than I'd like, but not enough to fuss about too much. Let's face it; I don't actually have a single thing packed yet, I don't have movers lined up (which I can't do until there's a closing anyway), and there may well be things I want to do in the new place that would be done more easily in an empty apartment. I'll take notes on that Saturday during the inspection, though offhand I can't think of much.

I am going to hire people to clean the place before I move in. I normally get squeamish at the thought of hiring people to clean my space--I've never done it, as a matter of fact--but I'm going to make an exception, I think. I may clean the carpet in the second bedroom (or tear it up). But I'm not going to do any painting or anything like that, and, even though I intend to replace the backsplash in the kitchen with handmade (by me) tiles, that's something that will have to happen over time, not something that can be done before I move in.

So, I'll try to ootch the closing date up a week or two--maybe mid-April or so--if it comes to that. The office people have already said it's unlikely the owners will let me out of my lease a month early, which means, fuck 'em, they'll get the keys at midnight on the last day, no matter when I move out. But none of this is all that important, in the long run.

For a complete change of subject, I had a new experience Tuesday: my acupuncturist treated me with cupping, rather than needles. The explanation of the supposed mechanism of action makes me roll my eyes--are you really going to claim that this procedure is drawing out unspecified toxins that are causing my back pain?--and it definitely looks weird. Did it "work"? Hard to say.

A year or more ago, I managed to figure out that I was most likely experiencing sacroiliac joint dysfunction, for which there are two treatments: (1) stab a needle full of novacaine into the joint, and, if it eliminates the pain, it confirms that it is a SI problem; repeat as necessary, because it won't stay pain-free, or (2) surgically bolt the spine to the pelvic bone. Neither of these necessarily works all that well, either. Needless to say, neither of these alternatives appealed to me at all, so I've been trying other strategies, mostly focusing on exercise and acupuncture. The January commitment to daily yoga was a part of that as well, and I was prepared to try physical therapy if none of these other strategies worked.

Back in September, my back pain was persistent, it often radiated down my leg, and I found myself taking ibuprofen nearly every day, sometimes multiple times a day. My initial exercise-plus-acupuncture effort at treatment (I resumed regular exercise after September, when my social life at the time kinda drew me away from it) definitely reduced the pain quite a bit, most of the time. Much as I personally liked the old acupuncturist, the one I started seeing in November/December seems to have done an even better job in further reducing or eliminating the pain. Since the beginning of this year, I've added a very small amount of yoga practice to the mix: I haven't stuck to the every-day part of the program, but I do it probably 4 or 5 days out of 7, and I've added some asanas to the original mix.

And I've gone from pain that sometimes shot up to a 6 (on a 10-point scale) and that was a least somewhat present at milder levels nearly all the time, to discomfort that mostly stays around the 2 range and often disappears completely. (The acupuncturist switched strategies/meridians a month or so ago, which made a noticeable difference.) I take ibuprofen or aspirin less often than once a week, maybe two or three times a month.

In other words, this strategy seems to be working. I rather doubt that any one part of it--yoga, exercise, acupuncture--would have done the trick completely, though of course there's no way to tell for sure. Frankly, I don't care. Sitting here right now, for example, I can "feel" my right hip--the whole joint, radiating very slightly down to my knee and around my back--but it's not stabbing pain, more of a very mild discomfort/awareness, mostly because I'm thinking about it, as opposed to the pain, which was unavoidable and intrusive. So did the cupping help? I have no fucking clue. On the other hand, if I go back to the acupuncturist and say, hey, this thing we're doing isn't working so well, he'll try something else, and it won't be any more intrusive than anything else we've tried, and it will be a fuckload less intrusive than a bolt in my hip, so, I say it's a win.

CondoMe, Part 3: The Clock Starts Tomorrow

I listened to kstyle, and put out the cider/water/soap mix, thus creating a fruitfly graveyard. And they were nearly gone! Except I must have left the garbage one day too long, and today it's a fucking infestation again. So, more graveyards, and no cooking, until they're all dead. They are completely fucking disgusting, and I am really sick of them.

As noted, Tuesday before my acupuncture appointment I signed and initialed a bunch of papers to put in a bid for the place I saw on Sunday. This morning my agent called to tell me the owners accepted my offer. Starting tomorrow, we have five business days to complete an inspection and have the lawyer do the title crap; the inspection is scheduled for next Wednesday morning. Then we do the rest of the paperwork--mortgage, closing date, etc.--but the dates on all the paperwork were in April, so I could, at least theoretically, acquire a whole bunch more debt, and a new place to live, within six weeks or so. It's kind of nuts, given that I only started thinking about doing this less than a month ago, but, hey, there it is.

There are still a lot of things that have to happen, of course, and more than a few places where things could fall apart, so I'm not exactly celebrating just yet, but I'm pretty fucking happy about it so far. A little while ago, I was wondering to myself whether it was too fast--i.e., that there might be a Better condo out there for me--and I realized that was pretty unlikely. There were a few things on my list that were must-haves, particularly the nice-sized kitchen, and the southern exposure for the rooms in which I will do my living (as opposed to sleeping). But it looks like maybe I ended up with three other things that were on my would-be-really-nice list--the sunroom, which is a total score, AND a little deck out back, as well as a window in my shower (I really like that, but it was not at all a must-have)--and a couple of things I didn't expect, like all the built-ins, the fireplace, and a second bathroom, not to mention a ton of closet space.

All at a reasonable price, in a building that is a half a block from the lake (east of Sheridan, for those of you in my city), well-managed, with good reserves. And the assessment includes, in addition to the usual, heat and cable. I know this neighborhood moderately well, and there aren't a lot of places like this one out there, at least not at a price I can afford. (Yes, I likely could have gotten a mortgage for some of the more expensive ones, but I knew ahead of time what I was comfortable spending each month--and, even though I'm actually going to be spending somewhat less than Chuck and I paid for the place we were renting downtown, four years ago, it's still a big check to write each month for someone who wasn't getting a comma in every paycheck a little more than two years ago.) So, I think it will be a great place.

I've already made two decorating decisions, the first of which is that I'm not going to rush to decorate. Even though I won't come near to using all the space in the place, I'm not going to buy much furniture until I've lived there for a little while and can see how I use the space. I need a comfy chair for the sunroom, but I have to think about what I want. I am going to take a tile-making class, so I can replace the wood backsplash in the kitchen with tiles--I'm going to design and sculpt and paint my own tiles. But otherwise? Dunno. I'll probably need a rug for the dining room. I'll likely use the bedroom with a rug as my "office," because it has carpet on it and I wouldn't have to worry about marking up the floor with the desk chair, plus it's a little oddly shaped and it might be difficult to fit a bed in there. I'm not yet sure where to put the rowing machine (and the TV I watch while rowing). And so on.

Did I mention that I have a fuckton of things to do before I'm really truly in a new space?

Eureka

Yes, indeed, I have found the place I want. When I saw it yesterday, it was nearly everything that I had suspected from the pics I'd found online. Entertainingly enough, the one thing it does not have? A laundry room that can be reached from inside the building. But we ended up running into two women in the laundry room and chatted with them for a few minutes, and they said that people go down in their pajamas to do laundry; it's down a set of back stairs, and, except for the going-outside part, and the steps-rather-than-elevator part, probably not terribly different from my current arrangement. It's not across a courtyard, for example. One of the women has lived in the building for 17 years and the other for more than 10, i.e., it's clear that people like living there. So, the agent will be submitting a bid for me tomorrow; we're meeting late afternoon and I'll start the process of initialing and signing things, including pieces of paper that transfer dollars to other people. (When you start thinking about it that way, it becomes ridiculous very quickly.)

While on one hand I very much would like this place, it has not become the least bit real to me yet. There are way, way too many things that have to happen, and, especially given the difficulties that other people I know have been having, I'm not celebrating until I have keys in my hand--or, more likely, until I am moved in. The reality is, if it doesn't work out for any of a number of reasons, I'll need to keep looking.

On the other hand, I've also started thinking about how I'd go about using the various spaces. I wouldn't have nearly enough furniture for the place, but I'm not worried about that; I'd prefer to live there (or somewhere else) for awhile before buying furniture. The backsplash in the kitchen is wood, so I'd start thinking about designing and painting some tiles so I could eventually replace that--that's the kind of thing that I can do over time (and, for that matter, might well be something I could no matter where I move). One of the bedrooms is a little oddly shaped and carpeted, so it would be useful as an office space, because I could put my desk and chair in there and not worry about scraping up a hardwood floor, and I could get a futon couch (one that's a little smaller than my current one), and, voila, office AND guest bedroom. Both bathrooms are nice--one has a big shower and no tub (which I like), and the other has a window in the shower/tub (which I love) and wonderful bright blue accent tiles. Both bathrooms are directly connected to the bedrooms. I would definitely need a nice comfy chair for the sunroom, so I can sit there and read or do needlepoint.

Etcetera.

I really cannot think about it too much--even as it's rather consuming--because there are just too many things that have to happen first.

Meanwhile, I'm going back to the beginning of two series of books: the Spenser novels, by Robert Parker, and the Parker novels by Donald Westlake (writing as Richard Stark). They're interesting on their own, but also juxtaposed. Parker, at least in the early novels, is a little bit outlandish so far, but it's such an interesting contrast to Dortmunder and Kelp, the two main guys in the comic crime novels by Westlake. Dortmunder and Kelp never killed anyone--occasionally someone got hurt or even died, but never at the hands of the main guys; Parker shoots people all over the place, at least in the first novel. (I read a later one as the first, and there was less of the shooting, so I'll see how the series plays out.) But Parker is also an interesting contrast to Spenser. They're similar types, just working on opposite sides of a line--and the line really isn't one about legality. I want to read a few more of each series before i develop that thought, though.

Finally, remember that Big Financial Crisis at my job? It has all but disappeared. The upshot, in many ways, is that the person who was waving hir arms around and setting hair on fire down--and up--the food chain has ended up discrediting hirself more than anything else. Which, really, is the best thing that could have happened. Or the second-best, anyway; the best thing would have been if s/he had bothered to include the rest of us in the process in real ways (rather than merely hand-waving, here-look-at-this-roll-up-never-mind-the-details ways). As with nearly everything else, the thing about budgets is that the devil really is in the details.

Stuff in Boxes

This morning I have the unusual prospect of a day at home with absolutely no plans to do anything. I have already done some basic tidying up and made some tea, but I have nothing else planned: no trips to the grocery store, no acupuncture or haircut appointments, no Big Projects around the house, no baking marathons. There are a few things I might do--baking, assembling papers for the mortgage approval process, doing my taxes, etc.--and I definitely plan to work out at some point. But I don't have to be anywhere at any time. As you know, I have a tendency to take a day like this and start filling it with errands and chores such that a day of relaxation becomes a relentless slog, typically involving buses and trains and carrying heavy bags, and I forced myself to avoid that for today. I'll probably end up being even more productive--or not.

As I prepare to move--even though I haven't found the place I want yet--I'm starting to look around my apartment with a more jaundiced eye (I wasn't sure that was possible, given the bile that replaces lifeblood in my veins . . .). There's a bunch of stuff I need to decide about: from where I'm sitting, for example, I can see a box of rubber stamps and (probably-dried-up) ink pads and glitter-dryer that I used to design my nephews' birth announcements and my solstice cards (for a few years, I hand-made holiday cards). The stamps are still good, but when will I ever use them again? Oh; right; never. (Unless I decide to stencil, decorate, or paint my new walls, which I could well decide to do; I saw something in the background of a shot of something i was watching that gave me some ideas.) Or how about that rechargeable-battery charger? I don't have batteries for it, because they were in a camera of Chuck's and he tossed them without looking at them. New batteries would certainly be a possibility, but will I actually do that? Dunno; maybe.

Or the endless pile of electrical cords and cables of various types, along with multiple dead cellphones. Photos that I've never sorted. A jump rope. Shoelaces from a pair of shoes that I finally tossed because there were holes in the soles (they're long shoelaces and still in fine shape). I know that the front closet has boxes I never opened when I moved here four years ago (can it really be that long?). There are piles of books in various locations--books I know I don't want to keep, but I cannot bring myself to throw out a book, so they need to be hauled to a used-book store, even if I don't get anything for them. Videotapes--and I no longer have a VCR. Albums--and I no longer have a turntable that works correctly. And so on.

Obviously I need to go through these things, preferably before I pay someone to move them to a new space, and I'll end up getting Friend or GirlFriend to help me haul away the things that someone else could still use. Really, I've known for four years that I needed to go through a lot of this stuff, and I've had fits of cleaning and sorting, but it always seemed like too much work, both physically and emotionally. And it still seems like a lot of work, and I know it will have its difficult moments. The last move was at least the second time in my life where I basically threw my stuff into boxes and moved--not because I particularly wanted to move, but because some upheaval was forcing me to do so. As a result, there are boxes of stuff that I (literally and figuratively) haven't opened since said upheaval.

On the other hand, if the timing moves quickly and I end up moving the shit with me, no big deal.

Anyway. I just managed to score two tickets to the Clapton Crossroads festival here in June. They supposedly have a "limited" view, but they are on the side of the stage--literally looking over the stage--so I think they're actually going to be moderately awesome, kind of like the supposedly limited view of the DMB concert last year that involved us standing next to the stage. That's not until June, though (what would have been my 5th anniversary, as a matter of fact, if I didn't suck at being married), and, with any luck, I will have moved into a fab new space by then.

CondoMe, Part 2 (now with extra ranting)

Saw six more places today, plus drove past a few more. One was seriously nasty, plus in a seriously unpleasant neighborhood, plus there were air mattresses around, suggesting to me that people had been crashing there; scratch THAT fucker off the list. A second one was a "garden" apartment, which, no. I lived in one of those, and they suck, plus, in the neighborhood in which I'm looking, I absolutely would not live in a place that's that accessible to the street. A third one was quite stunning--really, really beautiful, plus it had several of the features that I desire greatly (washer and dryer; southern exposure; sun room; nice kitchen)--but it, too, was sort of on the first floor; it's one of those buildings where the real first floor is sort of half above ground and half below, and the actual apartment is a flight of stairs up. In the winter, it's really bright, but the big trees outside mean that it's going to be pretty dark in the summer (and it's only a block south of where I live now, so I know whereof I speak). Still, if it had been on the third, or maybe even second, floor of the building, I probably would have pulled out the checkbook.

The fourth one was in the same set of buildings as number three, and was actually on the third floor, but was in crappy shape, plus no washer and dryer (you had to go down three flights of stairs to the basement) and one could not be added. The layout wasn't exactly the same as the first-floor unit, and, in fact, was kind of cramped. The fifth one was really nice--lots of nice light, well-laid-out, etc.--but had an electric stove (one of those flat-top models, so not as bad as it could have been) and the walls were painted these incredibly dark colors. The main living room had chocolate brown and dark turquoise walls; the kitchen had dark red walls; the bedrooms had intensely green walls. Yes, I know you can paint, but this would have been a major job, in every room--and, really, if it hadn't been for the stove, I would have overlooked the paint. The sixth place was quite nice--third floor, lots of floor-to-ceiling windows, nice kitchen and baths, washer/dryer, good condo association--but it only had eastern and western exposures. Still, I wasn't ready to cross that one off the list just yet; that one was probably the keeper from today's adventures.

All in all, we're getting closer, I think, which is encouraging, given that we've only gone out twice.

But that's not what I wanted to bitch write about.

While trying to find out about yesterday's earthquake (I didn't feel it), I stumbled across a CNN story about cell phones and the plans that companies are selling. Apparently, if I understood it correctly, voice plans are getting extremely cheap. Data plans--e.g., for "smart" phones like the iPod and Blackberries and other suchlike devices--range from cheap to notso. Most phones are "web-enabled," i.e., some kind of internet service is (at least theoretically) available, but not all consumers actually use those services, and it seems to be those people that the cell phone companies want to target.

It began with Verizon Wireless. Last month, that company began requiring certain non-smartphone customers to subscribe to a data plan that costs at least $10 per month. Mobile experts believe Verizon's move marks the first step in a larger trend to make up for carriers' lost revenue from voice. . . . Verizon said it began to require new customers who purchase so-called "3G multimedia" phones to subscribe to a data plan in part so that they could get the full functionality out of their phones. . . . It's not just about increasing revenue, say analysts. [Hah! says Narya.] Carriers are banking on the consumer-friendly aspect: phones are more fun and useful with the Internet.
"The 'naked aggression' reason is to boost revenue to offset declining voice revenue," said Charles Golvin, mobile analyst with Forrester Research. "But carriers also realize consumers won't get the enjoyment out of their devices without data."

In other words, if I get a phone that has internet capability, but I don't actually want to use that capability, I may get charged a fee anyway and be required to purchase that capability--because, according to the cell phone companies, I "won't get enjoyment" out of my phone without it. And, oh!, my phone will be "more fun and useful" if I have a data plan.

To which I say: Bite me.

It's true that I have a device--my iTouch--that has wireless capability, and I use that aspect sometimes, when I'm in a location where I can get free wireless. My phone at least theoretically has that capability, but I've never purchased the service. I get the occasional text, but I think I've received fewer than 10 in the last two years, and that is fine with me. I don't tell people to text me, and I think my company charges 40¢ or so per text I receive.

The thing is, I don't want that service, by and large. The main reason is that I am so. fucking. tired. of sitting with someone and having him or her checking the blackberry, checking the phone, texting away, scrolling around, whateverthefuck. I've been in meetings where a quarter to a third of the people are texting, reading email, sneaking peeks at their phones, etc., and I think it is incredibly rude. I don't bring a novel to read during the boring parts of the meetings (though I may start doing that, to make a point). And the people at these meetings are not dealing with life-and-death matters.

The first person I ever knew who had a cell phone--and it was the size of a brick--was a doctor who did organ transplants, and that made sense to me. For situations like that, time is most certainly of the essence, and being able to reach everyone involved at a moment's notice is really lifesaving.

And admittedly I like having a cell phone; I think of it as a more-convenient (and more-expensive) combination of phone booth and portable answering machine, and it's very handy, especially given the number of hours I'm away from my house. It makes certain kinds of navigation easier and enables connecting on the fly. For example when Friend (who resisted getting a phone until about six months ago, when he succumbed and got an iPhone) is coming back from cheeseland, if I'm going to go to his house, he'll call me when he's an hour or so away so I can begin my trek to his 'hood, i.e., we're traveling simultaneously, rather than in sequence. (He used to have to wait until he got home to call me.)

But I see so many people tied to their devices--tethered to them, obsessed with them, constantly checking them. I almost got run over the other night because some guy was checking a phone in his lap at the intersection instead of looking to see if anyone might be crossing the street. (I wish they'd really start fining people for this shit instead of passing laws and then not actually enforcing them.) Really, people; what's that fucking important? It's as though people are constantly checking to see if there's something going on that's better than the person or event in front of them--which, if you ask me, is a way to breed permanent dissatisfaction.

I also think these technologies are further eroding the ability of people to read or write longer documents. I realize I'm wordier than many or most people, and I find that depressing. Some things can and should be brief, but some things benefit from a more extended discussion, and people who are used to communicating in spurts of fewer than a couple hundred characters seem to lose the will to follow along. Not everything can be communicated in a splash.

I also do not like the notion of being constantly available, particularly with regard to my job--even when I'm at my job. If I'm in the middle of something complicated and detailed, I am not going to drop everything just because you have a question, especially if it's something that you could have looked up for yourself. That's always a balance, of course, because all of us have things that are pressing sometimes, but I think that the texting crap merely promulgates the notion that one is always available for any question.

Anyway, the point is, I do not want those services. I don't need my phone to be "fun." And I get all of the "enjoyment" from my phone that I want or need, especially if I set it to vibrate and put it in my pocket.

Morning Devotions

Many people make grand new year's resolutions--I'm going to go to the gym 43 times each week! I'm going to go to yoga classes every day! I'm going to eat nothing except carrots and wheat bran and filtered water! Did I mention going to the gym???--and, in part because the commitments are unsustainable, they don't last very long. Generally, by mid February, at the gym the lines at the various pieces of equipment or the crowds for a particular class or activity would diminish. We regulars would have the place to ourselves again.

Don't get me wrong: If that kickstart works for someone--where "works" = helps someone find a sustainable change of habits--I'm happy about it. It's not at all that I want those crowds of people to Fail. It even bums me out a bit that so many of them are going to fail, because I think that they'd be happier if they could figure out a way to notFail. And, really, it's even possible that many of them will keep trying and will eventually find a way to incorporate some kind of exercise in their lives in a way that is pleasant and sustainable.

In any case, it's because i remember those crowds of people in January who disappeared by February that, when I try to make changes, I aim to set very small, very specific goals for myself. (I don't have crowds around my rowing machine, however.) I'm still not always successful, mind you, but the advantage of setting isolated goals is that, if it does fail, it's easier to identify the reasons why and, maybe, make another, possibly-more-successful attempt.

One of my mini goals for this new year--drink at least one, preferably two, glasses of water when I get up in the morning and at least twice more during the day--has had subtle but significant benefits. I can't point to a specific effect, but, overall, my innards seem much happier about the whole thing. The first-thing-in-the-morning solution works pretty well for this particular effort, probably because I can just pour a glass of water and drink it.

A second mini-goal was, as mentioned before, a few minutes of yoga. That one has hung in so far, as well, and this one, too, is more likely to be accomplished if I do it in the morning. I miss the occasional day; I sometimes do it in the evening rather than the morning; and I haven't really expanded beyond the original sequence I assembled for myself. But--and this is the important part--I keep doing it. I had two mats, so I took one to Friend's house, which facilitates keeping it in the morning slot. (His cat isn't entirely sure she approves--she'd much rather I chase her around and wrestle with her, which is one of her preferred post-breakfast activities.)

The third thing I've been doing, though it wasn't a goal, exactly, is eating a bowl of oatmeal (steel-cut oats, because I love the chewiness) in the morning, with blueberries cooked right in. Remember that 10 pounds or so of blueberries I bought this summer at the farmers' market and froze? That's what's going into the oatmeal. This one has the added benefit of actually using the damn blueberries and eating more stuff out of the freezer, so it's pretty much an all-around win. For awhile I was making oatmeal at work (in the microwave), but some days I didn't feel like fussing with it, or someone was using the microwave, or whatever. At home it seems like way less of a hassle, somehow.

Basically, I've been trying to restructure my mornings a bit. I hadn't quite conceptualized it that way, but an examination of the above three things made me realize everything I'm doing is a morning thing. One of the things I really don't do in the morning is work out. I've tried it, sometimes I've even sustained it for a little while, but, in general, it's not a good fit for me. I'm an early-morning person (I typically wake up before 5 am, and I almost never set an alarm), but I'm even less flexible in the morning. I'm going to try to do it tomorrow morning, though, because I'm supposed to go out to dinner in the evening, after acupuncture, so it would be useful to get a workout in. (Especially because I hoovered everything in sight today, for some reason.) And, hey, if I end up not going out, I will have already done my workout for the day, so a win there, too.

Anyway. We're in the middle of a snowstorm; we're expecting a bunch more tonight. You people on the east coast got your share already, so I guess it's our turn, but I can't get terribly bent out of shape about it. I don't have to drive in it, and, on some level, it's just snow.

CondoMe, Part 1

So the first batch was interesting. There is/was one place that I kinda loved--I woke up Sunday morning thinking about it--but, as I continued to truly contemplate living there, the rational part of my brain was able to remind the rest of my brain that, although there are, indeed, many windows and a lake view, nearly all of the windows face north. That is, this place will get absolutely no direct light, which, ultimately, will make me unhappy. I should add that, if it had faced south rather than north, I might have written a check on the spot.

That is useful information, at least in my head, because it helps me refine what I want. Seeing actual places helps me figure out which things are REALLY important, and by how much. For example, another place has a balcony--except it's facing a courtyard, and the people across the courtyard are quite close, and there's a taller building past that, so not a lot of light there, either. A skylight helps, but, all in all, it didn't excite me that much, especially for the price. Point being, a balcony isn't the most important thing.

I think we're going to see some more places on Thursday. There are a few seemingly fab places we couldn't see on Saturday, and it's early in the search. It's not as though I have to decide RIGHT NOW, which is what I've generally had to do when I'm moving.

The other project for the weekend was a synergistic blend of "use some of the canned beans and tomatos, already, maybe starting with the ones you bought three fucking years ago when they were on sale and you stocked up" and "how about making some dinners and, especially, lunches, so you have some stuff you can just grab and go, okay?" The real estate agent dropped me off at the Whole Paycheck on Saturday and I did my usual buy-so-much-stuff-my-arms-get-longer, and Sunday morning I went nuts. I ended up making:
*a black bean and sweet potato thing (it's supposed to be pureed but I just mashed it up so it's more coarsely textured), some of which was used for our dinner last night while we watched the game (along with chips, melted cheddar, avocado, mango, salsa, and some slightly freezer-burned chicken breasts from my freezer that were sliced into thin strips and spiced with a jerk chicken blend)
*french vegetable and bean stew, made with leeks (which I've never used before), white beans, tomtaos, carrots, potatos, fennel seed, and fresh tarragon
*tuscan beans with sage--basically, white beans with garlic and sage, and I dumped in a can of tomatos there, too, and maybe an onion
*chickpeas with spinach--again, a can of tomatos, some garlic, as well as cumin, coriander, and a pinch of saffron
The stew will make nice lunches, especially with a hunk of bread. The chickpeas or the black beans can be combined with some brown rice for lunch, and the beans with sage can be combined with pasta for a quick dinner. Everything is packed into little serving-size bags or containers, so I just need to make a batch of brown rice--and possibly prepackage and freeze that, too. All of the recipes were from the Moosewood Low-Fat Cookbook, though I modified a couple of them a bit.

And? I did it all in about three hours, maybe less. I wanted to do some baking, too, and then decided I'd save that project for another day. But I did manage to use up a bunch of stuff--several cans of beans and tomatos, in fact--so I managed to implement both parts of the plan. And the plan has two ulterior motives: further improve my eating habits, in ways that are easy to maintain, and use up as much of the stuff in my freezer and cabinets as possible, thereby reducing the things that will need to be moved.

Meanwhile, my motivation is still missing; give me a call if you find it, 'k?

Time Flies

like an arrow; fruit flies like my apartment. I cannot for the life of me figure out what the fuck is attracting them, and it is getting on my last damn nerve. Looks like I have a project for the weekend.

Other than looking at condos, that is. I am working with an agent--my boss just bought a place, and this is the person who helped him, and he, in turn, got the recommendation from his brother, who is a loan officer. She says we're going to look at five places on Saturday; we'll see how that goes.

Clothing descriptions that annoy me:

boyfriend (used to describe pants, jackets, and shirts) What the fuck is a "boyfriend" style? My favorite in the current jjill catalogue is a "boyfriend" jacket with "princess" seams. Honey, if your boyfriend is wearing things that have princess seams, then he may be more a friend of Dorothy than a boyfriend of yours, if you know what I mean.

authentic fit Because what would an "inauthentic" fit be, exactly? For that matter, what makes the fit authentic?

weekend Especially when used to describe a sweater that is nicer than some of the shit I wear to work. If it's the weekend, unless I'm going Out, I'm wearing a t-shirt or sweatshirt or fleece, or possibly some combination of all of those (depending on the season and whether I'm at Friend's house). I am not wearing a drapey cashmere sweater.

The fires at work aren't burning quite as strongly, pretty much. There are still two piles of debris that are in flames--no; wait; three--but I have high hopes that I can extinguish at least one and possibly all three today. We'll see. I have had so little motivation this week to begin with, and once I started on this findacondo project, I lost all remaining interest in doing work. I manage to focus periodically, though, because various projects Must Get Done or People Will Be Upset. And, really, rightly so; these things really truly must be done. I just wish I could muster some motivation to do them.

Space Station

As you know, I've been contemplating a move, and it has taken an unexpected course. As I rummaged in the "for rent" ads, there was a bifurcation: a fair amount of stuff at my current rent level, give or take a hundred bucks, then a gap, then some more stuff at rents about $500 or $600 more than I'm paying. So I could either move to another shitty apartment--with, presumably, a different array of less-than-desirable factors than my current apartment--or I could nearly double my rent for a nicer one-bedroom apartment. Which is a fuckload of money, so I idly wondered what kinds of prices condos were getting in my neighborhood.

Answer? Sufficiently cheaply priced such that I have decided that I'm buying a place to live, and it'll likely happen within the next three months; I'm actually looking at some two-bedroom places on Saturday with an agent. So, yes, I will likely be moving when this lease is up (or before), but to my own place, rather than to another rental. And, most likely, I'll end up paying less each month for all of the bits (mortgage, assessment, taxes, etc.) than I would pay to rent a similarly nice two-bedroom apartment.

On one hand, it feels a little weird, but, on the other, once I did some simple math, it was a pretty obvious thing to do. I'll be interested to see the actual spaces, rather than pictures, so I can really evaluate my options.

And I'm kinda excited. Part of what was making me not want to move--despite my various peeves with my current apartment--was the knowledge that I really had to go through things that are crammed in drawers and closets. When I moved four years ago, I just heaved things into boxes and brought it along (much like I did in 1993). Periodically I have tried to go through stuff, but there are things I've never looked at or opened since I moved in, and I know there are piles of crap rid of which I must get. (Do I really need three old cell phones? No; I do not. One of them isn't even mine--I found it on the street and tried to return it, but was unable to do so.)

I really was not looking forward to weeding through the boxes and piles of stuff; it's an onerous job, not least because hauling things that can be recycled to the places that will take them requires friends' vehicles. But the thought of hauling things I don't want or need to a recycling location so I can move to a new place that is NOT another crappy rental is magically less onerous. Yes, it will require exactly the same amount of effort, but it's still a different feeling.

So, yeah. Not really what I expected to be doing at the moment, but sometimes you gotta say what the fuck.

Refrigerator Bingo

I have some more bakery rules for you, but I cannot focus on them tonight. Despite not leaving work until nearly 6:00 (and getting in early this morning), I fully intended to work out tonight. But my back suddenly became so painful that sitting and doing nothing is actually about a 3 or 4 on the 1-10 scale, and trying to row shot it way-the-fuck up the scale to a 5 or 6. (Especially weird because most of today was relatively non-problematic.) So I took some ibuprofen and ate some cookies, which will probably take care of the pain, but by the time it kicks in, it will be too late to work out.

This week's episode of Iron Chef: Friend's House required that I use a cabbage and some bacon as my Secret Ingredients, and the usual rules applied (make do with Friend's equipment and pans; create something that has some nutritional value in it, particularly in the form of vegetables and fiber). Friend often buys some bit of something at the local produce store--which isn't that great of a produce store, but he's enamored with it because, when he was unemployed, he'd buy the battered, bruised, brown, and/or slightly soft or moldy vegetables from the Really Really Cheap rack and create stews and otherwise feed himself for very little money--without any clear notion of what he's going to do with it. And, as with the bacon and the cheese in what follows, there may be little bits of things left from something else.

Then, when we're contemplating making dinner of a Sunday, he wants to use whatever it is he bought, along with whatever other scraps are sitting around--and, often enough, I'm the one who ends up figuring out what to do with it. Last week, for example, as I think I told you, I rescued a butternut squash that had a lot of moldy and brown spots on the outside but appeared to be otherwise okay (he cut off the oogy bits and I threw it in the oven, which was already on for the tart), and used the rest of the rutabaga, an onion, some fresh ginger that was sitting around, a little bit of leftover sweet potato (possibly from New Year's, but it wasn't moldy or anything), the juice from some oranges that were starting to go soft, and some of the applesauce he'd made from apples from the produce store rack. It made a lovely puree after it was all cooked together, it got rid of multiple odds and ends, and he now has several lunches' worth of soup in the freezer.

In principle, I like the thought exercise, and I like using what's available, and I particularly like not wasting things. I also know that having healthy lunches in the freezer, in easily grabbable packages, means healthier eating. But sometimes it feels like more of a chore, particularly when I'm the one who is doing all the work (Friend needed to do some work yesterday--several hours of it, it turned out), even though he is very appreciative of that. I was just kinda melancholy anyway yesterday (and today, too, for that matter), so that probably had an effect.

So: I cut the cabbage into thin strips and steamed it somewhat (though not till it was completely soggy). Meanwhile, I made some rice (a mix of brown and wild) and thawed a package of ground venison. The cabbage had to be steamed in batches, because of the small steamer; as I pulled it out, I put on some salt, pepper, and a little butter, as well as chopped-up cheese bits (probably no more than an ounce or two, of I have no clue what kind of cheese).

I added a can of black beans to the rice when it was done, and cut a few thin slices of semolina sesame bread, which I then cut into small cubes. I cooked the bacon and removed it from the pan, then poured off some (but not all) of the grease. I cooked a diced onion in the bacon grease, scraping up the fond as well. When the onions were soft and a little brown, I threw in the venison; when that was browned, I put the chopped-up bacon back into it. I spiced it with some venison sausage seasoning from Penzey's which is largely pepper of various sorts, I think. To assemble, in a lasagna-sized pan: a layer of cabbage; a layer of the meat and onions; a layer of cabbage; a layer of rice and beans; a final layer of cabbage, topped with some grated cheddar and the bread cubes. Baked the whole thing for a while--basically, until the top was a little crusty and bubbly, and I was guessing that it was more or less heated through, at least around the edge.

It tasted pretty good, though it does NOT retain its shape (e.g., like lasagna), and ends up being a heap more than a slice of anything. I would definitely make it again, though I would--of course--make some changes. In particular: I would use a grain other than rice--barley, farro, or cracked wheat would all be good choices--because rice isn't densely flavored enough. (If i did use rice, I'd perhaps do something with tomatos. But then you'd start losing the flavor of the venison.) Friend suggested adding corn, and you could do that, too, but I'd rather add some kind of dried fruit or tomatos. I might cook the cabbage a little longer. Definitely retain the bacon/onion/venison mix; that worked nicely to add some meaty complexity without being a big Wad O Meat. You could also do stuffed cabbage--leave the leaves whole and make the same mixture, but roll it up in the leaves--but this worked fine, even if it was less pretty.

Dessert included more of the bitter lemon tart, topped with a compote of orange juice, blueberries, and honey, and that definitely worked. I've now made that recipe at least three, and possibly four times, and each time it has had a too-bitter edge to it. I've decided I'm only going to make it if I also have oranges and can do a citrus mix. Brazen Tart has had good luck with that recipe, IIRC, but I'm not doing something right--and not doing it right the same way each time, apparently.

And, sure enough, as I've been sitting here, the pain has receded and nearly gone away completely. Which is definitely a good thing.

Bakery Rules

It turns out that a number of things I learned at the bakery apply in other realms, including the office where I now work. Feel free to use them if they're useful to you.

1. Not every day can be a good day.

Bossman says this when something fucks up (or someone fucks something up). I particularly appreciated this when I was the person who fucked things up, but, in general, it's a useful thing to keep in mind. People make mistakes; it's just one of the things we do. Ergo, any plan that requires that everything go absolutely perfectly is a shaky plan. It's a much better idea to have some backup systems in place, though even they are going to fail you sometimes.

2. Blame won't laminate the dough or bake the bread.

It's kind of a corollary to the above. Bossman didn't say this, but the "not every day can be a good day" thing is, I always thought, a way to deflect that blaming. On one hand, if someone consistently fucks up a product, or consistently fucks up, then s/he isn't going to be a great fit--perhaps they should be packing cookies instead of mixing dough. But the kind of blaming and finger-pointing that has been going around in my office is really a waste of time and energy.

3. The person you think of as "that asshole" may still be the person you need to mix your dough.

In the bakery, despite the various tidbits I narrated for the amusement of you guys, people were pretty much expected to just deal with each other. The kind of backbiting and throwing people under the bus that we've been seeing in my office job weren't as prevalent. Everyone had their buttons, of course, but mostly everyone got along, especially once Brad was gone.

Part of this was structural, in at least two ways: For one thing, the "hierarchy" was nearly non-existent. Bossman was working right there alongside everyone else, not sitting in an office "downtown." He might be down in the office doing the books or something, and he was much more able to take off a day or a few days, but, in general, he worked hours that were almost as grueling as anyone else's. Thus, jockeying for "position" was kind of pointless; there weren't positions for which to jockey. (That's also why Brad was a problem: he imposed pointless hierarchy, and it just annoyed everyone.)

The other structural reason for this was that there were just enough tasks that required others' cooperation to complete that it wasn't a good idea to completely piss off someone else. This guy may do all the cookies or all the cakes, but he needs that guy to do at least some of the baking for him. The other person may need help making this product. Everyone may need to gather around the line to make bear claws, which means the person in charge of the bear claws better have his ducks in a row before taking everyone away from their work. I tacitly referred to this when I gave Phil credit for baking the croissants (and I could always tell when it was him and not one of the night guys who had done the baking, because Phil did it better)--I knew that, while my lamination was crucial, baking was a huge part of their beauty, and giving him credit for it acknowledged that. You can take the most beautiful product in the world, and if you bake it wrong, it's going to suck. Same thing is true in office-world, but not everyone seems to realize that.

Finally, though, it was a really good crew of guys, who had known each other and worked together for more than ten years--more than 15 years in some cases. It wasn't terribly difficult to get along with them, at least in my case. If you work hard, do your job, lend a hand, and don't be an asshole, you'll get along just fine. This is more a personality thing than a structural thing, but it does speak, a little, to Bossman's selection of people to work there. He was tolerant of people's personality quirks--basically, he ignored them or, when necessary, worked around them--which definitely set a tone.

4. It takes four times to get it right.

Bossman always says it takes making a new recipe four times to get it right, and that proved itself to be true so many times. Even if you get really close the first time, you're still going to want to do some tweaking--fill the mold a little less, bake it a little longer, use a different shape or size, whatever. You can't change everything at once--especially if you don't know exactly which thing will get you closer to where you're trying to get--so you're going to have to do it more than once or twice. Sometimes, of course, you just have to take a shot and go with it; you don't have time to tweak. But if you take notes, then next time you're going to get a little closer. And, on the flip side of this, expecting perfection from someone else the first time out of the gate is a pretty sure road to disappointment.

5. Meetings are generally fucking useless.

A few months ago, when I stopped in the bakery, we were laughing about how a "meeting" at the bakery was when Phil was loading the oven and I was cutting croissants and Bossman was making galettes and we talked about when we were going to make the rolls, because I was needed to be part of that operation. I'm completely making up the example, but the reality is, the real work didn't stop for "meetings." In my current job, managers--especially at my boss's level--go to so many fucking meetings that it's not even funny. Every time I turn around he has to meet with someone else in the organization, often at another location; what meetings mostly do is take him away from his actual work. As a result, the actual work takes even longer, because the people who need to do it are stuck in stupid meetings. It kind of blows me away sometimes.

The other part about it is the amount of hand-holding that seems to be needed. Some of that is structural: we need some systemic solutions to many of the issues we've been facing, and there are no systems in place, so everyone's kind of struggling a bit, but there's still a notion that when person A has a question, person B--and sometimes person C and person D--need to drop everything to solve person A's problem or question. I try not to fall into that myself, and I recognize that sometimes you really do need an answer before you can go on with your work, but it can make it difficult.

Anyway. I need to get some sleep. I should be packing and watering my plants--Friend and I are heading out of town tomorrow for part of the weekend--but I don't feel like it. There will be time tomorrow.