Monday, December 28, 2009

Gross Out

Oh Gross Out (or more accurately Groc Out), your suspect deals continue to entice us. The Kissables I bought are delicious, though slightly dangerous. To create M&Ms in the shape of a Hershey's Kiss is to create a package of overly sharp M&Ms. The Hansens smoothie I got from you was also very tasty, but I'm not sure that a can of smoothie should go phhhhhhhh when I pop the top.

Sure, Gross Out is a great place to find deals on snack foods, possibly-real cheeses and candy that didn't work out on the mass market, but it's not a great place to find anything that's either fresh or healthy.

And Gross Out employees, please don't scowl at us when we bring in our reusable bags. We just don't want your crappy plastic ones. Any bag that isn't structurally sound enough for cat poop isn't going to cut it for our groceries, cheap and weird as they may be.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Syncing the Droid with iTunes
(nerd post)

I'm a happy Droid owner who has spent a very long time on the iTunes issue. Namely I wanted to sync my phone with iTunes and get:
  • Music I've picked out to be on the phone.
  • All podcasts as soon as they are available.
  • No podcast that I've unchecked.
Here's how I did it so you can do it too:
(The iTunes instructions work for both Mac and Windows, but when it comes to syncing I only go into detail on Windows. I do have a possible software link for you Mac people. If anyone has used it let me know how it goes.)
First: Create the music folder on your Droid.
  1. Hook up the Droid to your computer with the usb cable.
  2. On the Droid you should see an USB notification. Click it and tell it to mount the USB drive.
  3. On your computer go to My Computer and then open the new drive which has appeared - it should be the Droid's SD card.
  4. Create a new folder called Music.
Second: Get iTunes ready
  1. Create a music playlist for your Droid. You can call it whatever you like, mine is called Phone Music.
  2. This playlist is just for the music, so don't put the podcasts in here. We'll take care of that next.
Second.5: Create a Smart Playlist to combine your Phone Music playlist and your podcasts.
This playlist will aggregate all the songs in Phone Music as well as any podcast which has a check mark next to it.
  1. In iTunes go to the File menu and choose New Smart Playlist...
  2. Choose the following criteria for your list:
  3. iTunes is now ready to sync to your Droid.
Third: Download and install iTunes Agent
  1. http://ita.sourceforge.net/download.html (you want the Windows Installer)
  2. Install iTunes agent
If you have a mac you might try Sailing Sync: http://www.salling.com/MediaSync/Mac/
I haven't tried it myself but it looks like it would do the same thing as iTunes Agent.

Fourth: Configure iTunes Agent
  1. Connect your Droid to your computer and mount the SD card. (See Part 1, or if it is still connected you can skip this step.)
  2. Run iTunes Agent. It appears as a small iPod icon next to your clock.
  3. Right-click on iTunes Agent and choose Preferences.
  4. Create a new profile and call it whatever you like. Mine is called Droid.
  5. Tell it to sync with the Music folder on the Droid, the iTunes Smart Playlist, and then save changes.
Fifth Sync your Droid
(Now that everything is set up you'll follow theses steps each time you want to sync your music and podcasts)
  1. Launch iTunes Agent (This launches iTunes too)
  2. Hook up the Droid to the computer and mount the SD card
  3. Once your computer has found the Droid right click on the iTunes Agent icon (next to the clock, lower right) and choose Synchronize Devices.
  4. iTunes Agent will sync your music and podcasts with your Droid. When it's done the progress window will disappear. (The initial sync may take a while.)
  5. Tell windows to remove the Droid, then unplug it from the computer.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Tuesday: Fine

Wednesday: Two words: anal glands. Damn you cat!

Monday, November 16, 2009

I've had a rough few days. Let's make a time line:

Wednesday 11/11: Upon leaving the house to run some elands I discovered that my scooter had been stolen. Sure I wasn't using it, but they could have at least stolen it before I put $600 into getting the transmission fixed.

Thursday 11/12: Having to work after a holiday is always a little disappointing.

Friday the 13th!: On my way home from work I get into the left hand turn lane on Brannan street in San Francisco to turn onto 7th. There is a large white truck in front of me waiting for traffic to stop so he can turn left. As he starts to make his turn and drives off to the left I can now see the motorcycle sliding toward my car followed closely by the motorcycle rider. One or both hit my car and then ended up on my left side. Amazingly the motorcycle rider had no broken bones, but my bumper, wheel well, and quarter panel didn't fare so well. It's sitting in a body shop waiting for the insurance people to decide what to do about it. Four days ago I had two vehicles, today I have zero.

Saturday: I get a rental car paid for by the body shop. Yay! But it's HUGE and horrible to drive and if I didn't have a ton of stuff to do I'd take it back. Boo.

Sunday: I get all my errands finished for the weekend and look into returning the rental car. I can't, they're closed.

Today: The insurance company informs me that unless the motorcycle rider actually ran a red light (I'm not sure if he did or not) then the accident wasn't his fault, and wasn't my fault, and we all have to pay for our own cars. In the many years that I've had a $1000 deductible I'm sure I've saved that much in insurance premiums, but it still sucks to hear that I may have to put that toward fixing the car that got squished by somebody else.

Still Today: I come home and do some stuff on the computer and listen to Clayton wandering around the house meowling about how he still realllly wants to go outside. He can't. He's an indoor cat, except when he escapes for who knows how long and spends subsequent weeks complaining about his captivity. All this is to say that Clayton was being annoying enough so that I didn't notice that Midge hadn't come to say hello. Eventually I did notice and went looking for her. I found her crouched by the cat box. She was weaving her head around and putting a paw up like she wanted to jump in, but maybe couldn't quite figure out how to do it. I started to worry she had had a stroke when she put her nose under the lip of the cat box and a GIANT spider jumped out and disappeared around the edge of the box. And I'm not talking kind of big, I'm talking huge. It thumped when it hit the carpet. So I very carefully look under the rest of the lip of the cat box, then stack it on a waste basket, then look underneath. Nothing. I lift up the cat box carpet and look under that. Nothing. The largest spider in all of California can not just vanish. As I put the carpet back down I notice that it's clinging to the wall maybe two feet form the ground. If you drew a circle around its legs the diameter would probably be 2.5 or 3 inches. So I did what anyone would do:
1) Ran to get my camera and took some pictures
2) Ran and got the vacuum and sucked its ass into oblivion.

Despite my careful inspection of the vacuum canister I couldn't find his body, but there was a LOT of cat hair so I suppose it was unlikely I was going to find piece of mind in a lifeless spider body. I also carefully inspected the vacuum hose with a flash light even though I could picture the Hollywood consequences of peering down a spider trap, flash light in hand, eye just an inch from the hole.

And now I've been jumpy. I was inspecting a computer screen full of spider pictures when Midge came up behind me and put her paw on my leg. I very nearly jumped out of my chair, but my desk is heavy and I just ran my thighs into my drawer. It scared the crap out of Midge too, serves her right. And it doesn't help that she keeps slowly patrolling the house, looking under the bed, under the shelves, and in all in nooks and crannies trying to figure out where she saw the other giant spider. I'm convinced it's living in my slipper.

Does anyone want to see the giant spider pictures? I appologize in advance if you do, they lack scale.

Update: Photo

I added the quarter in for scale.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Doubtful

Somebody said to me today, "Normally this isn't a question I would ask a man, but have you lost weight? Your face looks thinner."

"No," I said, "but thank you."

I may have spoken too soon. I don't know. I haven't weighed myself for two weeks or so, and when I did I was just barely on the wrong side of 200 pounds. I'm a free range, beef fed, meat sack stuffed full of Jello, to misquote the Pegacorn song that recently won me an anthem writing contest.

Since discovering that I was rapidly nearing gravitational significance I've been to the Pork Off where even the dessert had bacon in it, and then to Iowa in search of marriage blessings and additional gut fat. I know I got one, and I have to assume I got the other as well. My meals there included bacon, at least two cokes a day, steak, mashed potatoes, bacon, potato pancakes, french toast, bacon, deep dish pizza, chicken Parmesan, a beef thing which I had ordering thinking it was some sort of fancy hot dog, airport pizza, and finally a Burger King meal. If my face is any thinner it's because it is trying to get stretch itself farther away from my gut for fear of being consumed.

I'll have to weigh my face in the morning after my billowing waves of tummy have a chance to even out in bed.

Saturday, July 04, 2009

Pork Off!

I went. It was good. I feel greasy.

And Rachel Dratch was there!

Photos are here.

Friday, July 03, 2009

4th!

Tomorrow I'm going to the annual 4th of July Pork-Off tomorrow, so my heart will probably have stopped around 4pm. The pork off includes competition to determine:
- Best main course - pork based
- Best macaroni and cheese
- Best dessert - pork themed (often bacon + something sweet)
- Best haiku

Because Flannery makes the Porku books I got to write the intro haiku. Here were my drafts

Porcine edibles
Delectable poetry
Pork-off of ought nine.

Finely crafted words
Dripping savory visions
Excite the mind’s tongue

Mac and cheese, dessert
The best main course and haiku
All bow to the pig

And the final version:

Finely crafted words
Dripping savory visions
We feast on haiku

Friday, May 29, 2009

Oak Town

Flannery was cat and apartment building sitting in San Francisco over the three day weekend. I spent Thursday and Saturday nights with her at the apartment building gig and had a decidedly hard time falling asleep. The apartment is right next to a hotel, so there are people smoking and talking late into the night. It's also a half block off Van Ness, so the traffic is incessant, and often turns up the hill that goes by the bedroom window. Some of these cars carry the kind of stereo system often featured in Oakland: One where the system is worth more than the car which has to struggle to maintain structural integrity against an onslaught of bass from the trunk. I realized, as I was lying awake listening to sub woofers trying to escape, that I've moved to the country.

Now, sure, those of you who live in the actual country might take exception. And you'd be right to. Somebody just recently took a giant poo in the relative privacy provided on three sides by my car, my scooter, and our recycling bin. He then left a white piece of paper sticking up from the pile which made it look like an enormous, putrid Hershey's kiss. And I've also noticed a lot of small animal bones scattered around on my way to the BART station in the morning. Either the hobos have figured out a way to smuggle roast chickens out of Safeway or the Canadian geese down by the lake need to hire a security guard. These are not country things.

None the less, as I type this, I can only hear a single helicopter - not bad for Oakland. And even that is off in the distance. From halfway across the room I can clearly hear Clayton purr as he massages my recliner - because I've moved to the country.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

I wonder if you can download me to your Kindle.

I have apparently hit the big time. Lulu.com sent me an email today informing me that my typo ridden novel is now being sold my Amazon. I assume this is because Lulu has made some sort of deal with Amazon, and not because the $47 in sales I've pulled in warrants an upgrade in shelf-space. (The shelves at Amazon being of a higher class than the shelves at Lulu.)

I immediately cruised over to Amazon to check it out and figured it would just be a matter of typing Kadel into the search box. But alas, no, I don't show up until page 3. It turns out that Finger & Kadel have been making themselves useful remixing things and selling the results in Amazon's mp3 store. My mom is on page 1 too for her illustration of Good Debt, Bad Debt. Also before me are a lot of prolific Germans, an organic gardening book by, among others, John Kadel Boring (which is an oddly rude mash up of my dad's name and and an adjective), and some tracks like Warmlaufen by Tobi Wörner David Kadel, who is either the same Kadel who is in league with Finger, or, just as likely, a bitter rival. There are probably lots of famous Kadel's in the German music scene, but I have to assume that Fingers are in short supply.

Unfortunately Randal, Congratulations on Your Successful Date (Paperback), isn't a very exciting product page because the only picture available was posted by me, and is therefor not available for public consumption on the front page. You actually have to click to look at it. Also, at Amazon it's $11.67 and does NOT qualifiy for free shipping, even if you were to buy three to get up over the $25 mark. Wheras on Lulu.com it's only $8.97 and the page is nicely laid out with the full color cover art featuring a nice couple trying to enjoy a Valentine's Day meal and wondering why I'm taking their picture and what might become of it.

I may eventually have to participate in NANOWRIMO again so I can through another creation out into these writhing intermets of commerce. Maybe this time I can best my Randal record of $12 in royalties, not an insignificant amount of which came from my own purchase of the book.

Monday, May 18, 2009

The Peculiar To and Fro of Minnesota

I recently flew to Minnesota for a friend's wedding using Delta Airlines. Normally I'd use Southwest. Many people will tell you that Southwest is made of lame, or feels impersonal, or they'll call it Cattle Call Airlines, but I, for one, enjoy Southwest. They usually have prices comparable or cheaper to those of the other airlines (unless you are trying to get to Minneapolis), they have people on board running the safety demonstrations and handing out snacks, the bathrooms are fully functional and Southwest operates the flights on Southwest.

My flights to Minnesota were on regular sized airplanes - three seats per side with regular sized overhead compartments. But on the way back I had progressively smaller planes. Neither one had regular sized overhead bins and the second one didn't even have a first class. In the miniature egalitarian plane only those of us who brought nylon torpedo bags managed to keep our belongings in our possession the whole time. Seasoned travelers with roller bags had to put their luggage on a large metal rolling shelf on the runway on their way to the "Flight Stairs."

And really, do we have to call them Flight Stairs? They're just stairs that happen to fold out of the side of the plane, which means the plane is too small to use a regular gate. Calling them Flight Stairs does not make your airplane any more grand. If stairs folded out of your house that makes your house less luxurious, not more. You guys aren't fooling anyone.

And getting in a plane that small always worries me. Not because it's so small, but because they make you wander around on the runway looking for your aircraft. And inevitably they have to two aircraft parked next to each other and the luggage racks are overstuffed because nobody told us that our planes were going to be too small to fit luggage, so you can't really see past the luggage to know which plane is which. I got on my plane with my squishy bag and watched another man find that his seat was taken. He and the lady in his seat both looked at their tickets and both said 6D. They checked, they double checked, and they looked confused. Then somebody had a bright idea: "Are you going to Oakland?"
"No, I'm going to Austin," replied the man.
"Oh, then you want the plan over there."

The man squeezed through the oncoming hoards and down the Flight Stairs to get on the right plane. Then the pilot came on and announced that anyone who wanted to go to Austin was on the wrong plane. Cracking security you've got there.

I suppose it's safe enough to have people wandering the runways freely as long as we don't have any liquids in bottles larger than 3oz.

All four portions of my trip (Oakland to Salt Lake, Salt Lake to Minneapolis, and then back in reverse) were ticketed though Delta. I checked in on the Delta site on the way there and on the way back. And yet my return flights were operated by Mesaba Airlines, which is a subsidiary of Northwest, which is really confusing. While I was waiting for a friend to arrive in the Mn airport I noticed that while many airlines arrive in Minneapolis/Saint Paul, only Northwest airlines leave. I worry that Northwest is up to something.

This, perhaps, explains what happened to all the flight attendants. Delta/Northwest/Mesaba seem to have automated a lot of the announcements which happen before, during, and after a flight. There's a little movie featuring a redheaded woman with enormousness lips explaining how one might buckle a seat belt, breathe through the mask, inflate your vest either manually or via ripcord, or float around on your seat cushion. On Mesaba airlines they don't have enough room for TV screens so they single flight attendant has to hide next to the Flight Stairs and explain all this over the intercom. After she's done, and tidies some things up, she walks about a third of the way down the airplane, holds up a seat belt, buckles and unbuckles, stretches an oxygen mask over some passengers, and then goes back to her seat near the door. It makes some vague sense to those of us who have been flying for years because we associate the motions with the spiel, but those new to air travel have to wonder what's up with the seat belt mime. And what, pray tell, are the sandwich bags on the surgical tubing that she's threatening those poor people with?

And if Mesaba only has enough money to pay for the single flight attendant, they certainly don't have the money to pay for the fuel it would take to cart a regular (or regular airplane) sized or well stocked bathroom around the country. Part way back to Oakland I had to squeeze my way out from under the miniature overhead bins (hitting my head) to get to the bathroom. When I arrived I discovered that the bathroom was so small I couldn't stand up straight, nor was it deep enough that I could bend my knees much. This forced me to stand up straight and rest one ear on my shoulder and one ear on the ceiling and look what would normally be sideways to aim. This through off my hand-eye coordination a little, but I managed to relieve myself without making a mess. That's good because they don't have water on Mesaba. They have a sink full of individually wrapped sanitary wipes. So for my last hour in the air I got to feel both gigantic and not very clean. (And I hit my head on the way back to my seat too.)

I can't wait until they invent transporters for real.

Monday, April 27, 2009

From the Archives

I sent this in with the payment for a speeding ticket way back in the year 2000. (Which still sounds like the future.) I just found it while going through my computer looking for something else:

August 6, 2000

Circuit Court
807 Main Street, Room 104
Oregon City, OR 97045

Your Honor,

I was going way too fast,
When the officer I passed.
Flashing lights, I had to stop,
For the speed enforcing cop.

Now the money that I owe,
I send to you so I can show
Up at work and earn some more,
To spend at school (the learning store).

This starving student sure could use
Money for books, tuition, and shoes.
I know the fault’s completely mine,
And so enclosed is One-Oh-Nine.

But if in your heart perchance you see,
A snippet there of leniency,
To reduce the fine I pay,
Would make this one a happy day.

I am sorry for my speed,
Excessive, yes, I see the need,
To keep streets safe from speeds like mine,
Repentant me, pays you the fine.

Sincerely,


Michael Kadel
Summons #37281

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Pests II

I too just had a moth in my house. It was fluttering up against our rear security door because it:
a) Wanted to get outside and
b) Wasn't smart enough to fly out the more than adequate space between the door and the and the top of the door frame.

Midge was very interested, but because she boarders on being morbidly obese, she's not much of a jumper. She'd look up at the moth and half-heartedly knock on the door with her paw, I suppose in hopes that the paw-force of a cat her size would create a vibration adequate to send the moth tumbling to its death in her mouth.

I felt a little sorry for her so I nudged the moth with my finger, but I guess I inadvertently nudged the pixie dust off its wings because it fell off the door and started to walk around on the floor.

Midge has grown accustomed to food being provided for her, so she didn't really know what to do with a moth at mouth level. She'd look at it, then poke it with her paw to make it walk a little, then stare at it again until it quit moving. Then poke. Then stare. She was very gentle.

Midge was entirely satisfied with this arrangement until Clayton came in, spotted the moth, pounced, then ate it. Midge looked a little disappointed as Clayton crunched away at it, like maybe she'd lost a friend.

Since then she's been sleeping a lot. She's either depressed, or she's a cat. I'm thinking it's probably the cat thing.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Vroom, Vroom!

This evening Flannery and I went to a warehouse in West Oakland where a oddly majestic cardboard track made several loops through the air and passed through a cardboard mountain. Watching over the track was the front of a cardboard ship with a cardboard lady on the front. Those scared of spiders may not have enjoyed the giant cardboard arachnid, but everyone would have like to see the tiny cardboard people living in the intricate cardboard mountainside dwellings.

The point of all this papery goodness was to divide ourselves into teams and drive cardboard covered, radio controlled cars around the track. There were four different paths to take, and you had to follow each path to completion to win. My car, The Olde Broad, only made it around a disappointing three times, two of which were on the same path, and one of which was made possible by the helping hands of the crowd after the motor crapped out. My team (Flannery, Lori (a guy from Scotland), Robin (a girl from Montclair)) and I came in third.

Oakland is strange and entertaining and I have the pictures to prove it.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

We've Arrived?

Had anyone noticed that we are living the future? In the same week I've heard about:
- Hybrid cars being attached to houses to contribute to power production.
- The Astronauts returning from hanging out in the space station.
- A teenager building a fusion reactor in his parent's basement.

And after drilling some holes in a shelf in my living room I had my robot vacuum it up.

Somehow I thought it would be more exciting.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Did I Come on Too Weird?

Quite a while ago now I met a guy at one of Flannery's art events. It turns out I remembered one of the projects he worked on from the Maker Faire - cool rolling metal orbs that communicate with each other. We got to talking and he said I should borrow an audio book of his and I said he should borrow Neuromancer by William Gibson.

The following Monday he called me at work (I'd given him my card), but as per usual at work I had zero time to talk and told him I would talk to him later. The next day I found that his email to me had gotten stuck in my work spam service, and the day after that I emailed him to see if he wanted to get together to exchange SciFi media.

I didn't hear from him for a little over a month, and then last week I got an email from him saying he's posted the audio book to his website so I could listen to it. In his email he made what I assumed to be a spellchecker joke about whether the book was called Neuromancer or Necromancer, which is what spell check always suggests.

I downloaded the audio book and wrote him back to thank him and offer to get together to lend him the William Gibson book. Curios as to what a Necromancer actually was I did some googling. It was not what I thought it was, and I made the following joke:

And it's [the book] definitely Neuruomancer. While spell check might urge you down the path of Necromancing, don't trust it. On the bright side Necromancer has something to do with summoning demons. The bright side being that I assumed that it has something to do with romantic necropheliacs.

Necropheliac: "She seemed a little cold toward me."
Necromancer: "Well did you bring her flowers?"


I haven't heard anything since. What do you think? Did I come on too weird?

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Mail for Charles?

We get a lot of mail for the people who used to live here, and normally I just recycle it. But I do read the envelopes to see if maybe it's something I should shred. So while I was reading envelopes today my interest was peaked by the a letter from the Trident Society offering me a "Free Pre-Paid Cremation!"

Just the name Trident Society got me wondering what this letter was all about, but the enticing but contradictory Free Pre-Paid Cremation made me open it. (Just as a quick aside, isn't prepaid one word? My spellchecker says it is.)

Turns out they don't just offer a free prepaid cremation to everyone, you have to enter to win it. I suppose everyone needs to be disposed of at some point, but I'm uncomfortable entering to win a free cremation. I want to give somebody money before they cremate me. Otherwise what motivation do they have to wait? Maybe I would view this as a more exciting opportunity if I were older. Right now it's about as enticing as receiving socks and underwear on your birthday, bur morbid.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Not Funny

This is my least favorite work joke. I've just finished being helpful, or doing something for somebody that they really should have done themselves, and somebody says to me, "I don't care what they say, you're the best."

What am I supposed to say to that?
"Who's they, and what have they been saying?"
"Give me names and we'll go kick some ass."
"Tee hee. You're silly!"
"Luckily it's your opinion that really counts."

And when we're within 30 days of just laying off a bunch of people the joke loses the last semblance of fun it may have had.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

In Explanation

For those who do not know who Midge is, and perhaps did not receive our Christmas card this year, this post is for you. Midge is the tall, fit looking one on the right. Clayton is the short pudgy one on the left. In real life Clayton is athletic and Midge is a bit on the girthy side, but that, of course, is the joke.

From Christmas 2008


Please click for a better look.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Out Damn Box

Imagine, if you will, a secret wing of your house. Accessible only through an air tight, easily swinging door (say one which could be operated by cats), this wing would be down a long hallway. At the end of the hall would be a single small room with a slightly convex floor with a square plateau in the middle and thin vents flush with the floor that led straight outside. The window of this room overlooks a dumpster with a shoot on top through which bags of cat poop can easily be flung. The convex floor allows any orphaned cat litter to slide outside so it doesn't stick to the carpet outside my shower, or worse, in my shower when Clayton comes in to lick my legs while I'm trying to grab my towel.

Yes, that's right, I would love someplace other than my bathroom to keep the cat box. If I have to visit the bathroom then, by god, so does Midge. And if I have to be in there for more than a few minutes then the fact that Midge pees upward onto the wall of her specially designed (by my sister) cat box, doesn't drink enough water, and makes no effort to cover it up removes any enjoyment I might derive from hanging out on my toilet. Not that there was much to begin with.

But seriously, Midge - nobody can stink up a cat box like you. If you didn't let me rub your cat bag all the time you'd be out.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Cooking with Michael - Part Ew.

On the menu this evening was a tried and true childhood mainstay: pork chops slow cooked in vegetable soup, with rice and steamed broccoli on the side.

My track record with food is sorry at best (though I did just recently kick the ass of a Valentine's day lasagna), so I thoroughly follow all instructions when I'm aiming at edible. And when a recipe is non-specific or tells me to use a setting I don't have, I ask for help. In all other areas of life I plug things in, turn them on, and try to make them go. It's only cooking that gives me pause and has me calling epicurean tech support.

While making the pork chops I found myself in just such a situation: My extremely brief recipe called for cooking the chops on low for 90 minutes. My little electric skillet goes from off to warm to 200 and then on up from there - low was not an option. So I called my sister who used to whip up this very dish on this very skillet and asked her what low meant. She suggested a little under 200.

With the pork chops bubbling away I started work on the wild rice, then after Flannery got home, on the broccoli. Part way through readying the broccoli to be steamed I heard the rice making popping noises so I took it off the heat to find that it was slightly undercooked on top and burnt on the bottom. Luckily it was not so undercooked as to be inedible, and I didn't want to make the bottom of my pot more permanently scarred with carbon build up than it already was. This a marked improvement, however, over my usual rice: burnt on the bottom, pudding on top. (This is also how one might describe me if I spent too much time outside on a sunny day in shorts and a long sleeve shirt.)

Anyhow, Flannery was home, the rice was finished (if not totally done), and it was time for dinner. I made a big show of dishing up the meal: Packing the rice down in the bowl and comparing it to building a good foundation for one's dinner house. Then I stabbed a pork chop and moved to set the meat walls on the rice foundation, planning later to add the broccoli roof and the vegetable soup chimney. Alas, the slump in the housing market had infiltrated my dinner. The solid caramelized armor off pork and soup juice had joined everything in the skillet into one cohesive unit.

Flannery maintains that it was fine if you ate the top of the meat, but the fact that one has to approach the meat from one direction and stop before getting to the other side is a little disheartening. The cats, however, think caramelized vegetable pork armor is delicious and found it very frustrating that I wouldn't let them put their heads into my bowl.

At least somebody enjoyed it, stupid food.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

The View

On the way to Tilden park on Grizzly Peak Road somebody decided that, in order to really enjoy the view, they should bring some comfortable seating. And they did.


Recliners face San Francisco commiserating in their abandonment.

Urban recycling is one thing. I've been known to pick up recliners left out on the street. But Grizzly Peak is not a place people come looking to trick out their living room. Leaving your heavy upholstered seating on the hill side is just uniquely extravagant, wasteful, and both lazy and a lot of work.

And while I think who ever left their crap out there is a big jerk, reclining back and enjoying the view would have been nice.


Damp upholstery kept me from experiencing what it must have been like for the jerks.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Graffiti Part II

I took my camera to work for a few days this week to try to snap a picture of the Ira Glass graffiti during my BART commute. Unfortunately taking pictures in the semi-dark morning from a moving vehicle doesn't produce the best image quality:



So today I took my camera with me while I did some errands. Behold, in all its focused glory, pictures of the Ira Glass graffiti.





There was quite the array of Graffiti there. It's part gallery, part get-well card.



Monday, January 05, 2009

Miscellaneous

  • Flannery's friend gave us a relationship class on tape. We're listening to it now and the woman on the tape is stuck on a rat-tunnel-cheese metaphor. She's hell-bent on yanking us from our cheeseless tunnel. (Which sounds like a problem for which medication might be prescribed.) And now she's just asked us to change the tape. I believe she means tape metaphorically - some sort of repeating behavior pattern, but because the class is on tape I'm not sure what to think. Yet another reason why nobody uses tapes anymore.
  • While taking the BART to work I see a lot of graffiti go by. Today I saw a the entire wall of a house next to a vacant lot which in huge spray painted letters said Ira Glass. Apparently the hoodlums of West Oakland listen to NPR.
  • Clayton's eye is leaking and he's started chewing on his toes. A friend recommended going to the VCA Bay Area Animal hospital, but I can't get through to make an appointment. The first couple times I called it just rang and rang, never to be answered by anyone. When I called again tonight a lady answered and said, "VCA bayarea animalhosip. I'mtonlyoner anjussatech, caniput you on hold?" I said sure and then listened to 5 minutes of hold music and advertisements for pet weight loss food, monthly heart worm medication, and animal acupuncture. I've decided to take my foot fetish feline to Cheshire Cat Clinic instead.
  • Welcome to 2009: Where everything is the same except I have to cross out the date a lot.

Thursday, January 01, 2009

Join the Police, Park Where you Like

I work right across the street from a Starbucks which is always full of people. Every morning there are double-parkers, people parked in driveways, people waiting in the car while their passengers run in for coffee, and then there are people who work for the city: Garbage trucks, utility vehicles, and police - they park in the bus stops.

That drives me nuts. Nobody else parks in the bus stop because you'll get a ticket faster than you can say grande out of order no whip extra foam luke warm iced water. And it will cost you $250. (The ticket, ice water is free.)

Now, in the mornings I can almost see this making sense. Somebody stopping off real quick to get coffee is going to have a hard time finding someplace to easily and legally stow their garbage truck. And ok, lets just, for argument's sake, say that the cops need to be able to jump in the car and drive away quickly if a call comes in, so easing out of a parallel parking spot is going to be too slow. But when it's shortly after 5pm on New Years Eve and there's free parking allllll they way down the block



there's no need to park in the bus stop. Especially not if you are going to sit down inside and sip your coffees.



Sorry for the blurry shot, but you can clearly see the blurry red curb. Car 2012 was pulling away as I was taking the picture and my phone has a sucky camera, especially when the sun is going down. Also, I didn't want to be super obvious about snapping pictures of cop cars. Next time I'll take pictures of the cop car first, then the available parking.