Kitchen (mis)adventures

The Screw-up Fairy graced us with yet another visit yesterday.  When I started writing this entry, it was after 7 p.m. and Thanksgiving dinner was still an hour or more away from being ready.  I suppose we shouldn't have been surprised; I can't recall when (if ever) we've managed to serve a turkey dinner that's not hours off schedule.  That's one "family tradition" I could do without, you know?  Anything but turkey, and we're at least within a half-hour of the projected time.  Roast beef, rinderrouladen, duck, chicken, pork roast, you name it.  I just don't know what it is about that big frickin' bird that does us in every time.

The day had been a comedy of errors from the start.  I'd decided to try a new dessert recipe, and unfortunately the folks who market the specific brand of pre-made graham cracker crust called for didn't bother to say which size crust to use, the 9 oz. or the 6 oz.  So, silly me, I assumed the product pictured on the recipe card was the correct one.  I should have known better.  First there was too much filling for the crust, and then it tried to climb out of its shell in the oven before it set up.  I dunno, maybe I over-whipped the filling or something, but it just seemed odd.  And it took about 15 minutes longer to cook than the recipe indicated; it's not a good thing when you have to increase baking time by another 50%.  It tasted great, though, so I guess it wasn't a complete FAIL.

Athos had decided to follow a recipe he'd found in Cook's Illustrated for the turkey.  So far, every recipe of theirs that we've tried has been a keeper.  He prepped all the veggies for the seasoning mixture, cut the turkey into the requisite parts (leg quarters and breasts are best cooked for different lengths of time, after all), set them on a rack over the veggie mix, basted the bird with butter, and popped everything into a slow oven per the recipe.

Four hours later, the leg quarters were barely done, and the breast meat was still reading much too low to be anywhere near table-ready.  So he put everything back in for another 20 minutes or so.  OK, better results that time: Legs and thighs had passed the magic number on the thermometer, so they were ready . . . but the breast was still underdone.  So back into the oven with the white meat.  Twenty minutes or so later he checked internal temps, pulled it out, said screw it and just nuked the breast to finish it off.

That's when we finally got to turn the oven temp up and cook the damned dressing.

We'd both been thinking something isn't right here for awhile, so Athos dug one of our old, everybody's-got-one, inexpensive bimetal thermometers out of storage and stuck it into the oven.  Damned if it didn't tell us we were running a good 50°F below what the set-point thermometer in the oven claimed!  Well, that explains everything.

Problem now is, what went wrong?  It was just over a month ago that the entire oven unit*, along with all the sensors, heating elements and convection fans, was replaced.  The repair guys checked it post-installation and it was working just fine.  We double-checked the temp readings; no problems.  We've used the oven in the meantime without unexpected difficulties. So WTF?!? 

* That's what the manufacturer recommends for the heating element failure we had, and it was still under warranty, so the 2-guys-for-four-hours labor charge was on their tab, thank gods.  We have it on good authority that the mfg. had received a short run of not-quite-to-spec parts from one of their suppliers, and it took awhile for problems to show up. Some components from that run have developed problems, some haven't, and likely won't. To the mfg.'s credit, they've been repairing the affected units as soon they receive notification, pretty much without question.

Bonus: Our repair guys left us the here's-how-you-take-it-apart-and put-it-back-together manual from the mfg. (but not the instructional DVD, dammit), as well as the old oven unit, with all the still-working goodies attached.  So now we have two spare convection fans, the halogen lighting units, probe thermocouples, two top and one bottom non-defective heating elements, etc. on hand should we need spare parts in the future.  That adds up to several hundred dollars' worth of stuff we won't have to buy later on.   And we know we'll need them eventually; lights burn out and fan motors fail, given time.  Sometimes heating elements burn through.  That's just how it is.

A VERY good suggestion from a friend

She wrote:

Christmas Card List

When doing your Christmas cards this year, take one card and send it
to this address. If we pass this on and everyone sends one card, think
of how many cards these wonderful special people who have sacrificed
so much would get.

When you are making out your Christmas card list this year, please
include the following:

A Recovering American Soldier
c/o Walter Reed Army Medical Center
6900 Georgia Avenue,NW
Washington,D.C. 20307-5001

The brave men and women who have put their lives on the line for the rest of us deserve to be remembered and honored.  Let's see if we can make this holiday season a little brighter for them!

City, 1; Senior Citizens, 0

I was perusing regional news today and found an article at The Post-Crescent's website.  An 84 year-old resident in Appleton, WI is being held responsible for a $3,000 water bill from earlier this year, a period of time during which his house was vacant.  City workers removed a water meter with visible damage from the house and rebuilt it without determining whether the meter was functioning properly or not.  According to the city, the man and his wife used 44,700 gallons of water over a 3-month period.  The city claims broken water pipes in the house are to blame, yet no water damage is visible.

WTF?!?!?  How do you run that much water through a building without there being water damage anywhere, unless it's contained by water pipes???  (The ones the city claims leaked.)  Think about this: A 30-foot by 15-foot swimming pool that's 12 feet deep holds less water than the city says ran through that house.  Looking at it another way, if you ran 20 gallons of water out your faucets, every hour for 24 hours a day, for 90 days . . . you'd still be shy of that 44,700 gallons.

My MIL suffered a broken water line once when she was gone for the day, and had to replace flooring and drywall in a number of rooms.  The estimate for her water loss was well short of the 44,700-gallon mark, so you can imagine the havoc that would ensue if a swimming pool were emptied through someone's living room or basement.  (BTW, her city's water department wrote off most of the bill, even though there was no question that the leak occurred on her side of the meter.)

How convenient it is for the city water department that they failed to test the water meter for accuracy, knowing that the city would likely be left holding the bag on the bill, so to speak, if the meter was faulty.  And how inconvenient for a pair of senior citizens who have to defend themselves against the city's allegations, when potential evidence that might have been in their favor has been destroyed by the very people who stand to gain financially from the outcome.

You can follow the ongoing saga here, here, and here.

In all fairness, if you leave a water tap running for that same length of time, you'd lose down the drain far more than 44,700 gallons. My kitchen faucet puts out just shy of 2 GPM. So it's within the realm of possibility that an open tap could have been responsible, without causing damage.  The problem is, the city is not claiming that's the cause, but rather that cracked and broken pipes in the home are to blame.  If you take file a police report alleging someone hit you over the head with a baseball bat, and it was really a pencil, you've filed a false report, and that's illegal in every jurisdiction I know of.  If you take someone to court, alleging they caused damage to your 2008 Lexis, and it turns out you own a '74 Ford pickup instead, well, guess which way the judge is going to rule?   

I realize a city council is not a court of law, but the members -- individually and as a group -- should be honor-bound to serve the public interest, and to do so in a fair manner.  Allegations have to be backed up with facts, not conjectures.  One could certainly argue that in deciding for the water dept. and against the homeowner, the "public good" is being served by adding to the city's coffers.  But I doubt anyone would call it fair.  There's certainly no honor to be found there.  If the pipes did, indeed, leak, then the homeowner could rightfully be held responsible for the bill.  But evidence to support the city's claim (photographs of water damage, repair bills for the damage, the untampered with water meter, etc.) should have to be presented as evidence.  The "it's so because we say it's so" attitude that seems to be displayed by city employees and council members has all the olfactory allure of three-day old carp left to age in the summer sun.

I'm tempted to nominate the City of Appleton for Keith Olbermann's "Worst Persons in the World" segment.

Antigravity cat

Found this over at the Motivational Poster Blog.

California wild fires

I know you've all heard about the Hell many Californians have found themselves in.  Well, this morning I received an email from a dear friend, Mimi Hiller.  I'm sure most of you know her, or at least know of her.  She's run Mimi's Cyber Kitchen, Recipe Circus and MimiMart in cyberspace for I-don't-know-how-many years, and opened a physical-location bookstore called Cookbooks Plus just within the last couple of years.  (And Mimi, if my memory's failing on the time frame, please correct me!)

Anyway, here's the message, reprinted with her permission:

Friday, when the fire broke out, it was on the other side of the freeway,
moving away from our direction. With gusts up to 75 mph, it didn't take
long to consume thousands of acres. We could see the flames on the ridge
and lots of smoke.

Yesterday, they closed the two intersecting freeways close to us (I-14 and
I-5). You could still get in or out, but you had to go all the way
around...a 3-hour trip vs. 15 or 20 min. Going home last night, the whole
side of the mountain was ablaze, but the scary part was that it appeared
the winds were shifting back toward us.

By this morning, the fire was much closer, and this afternoon, when April
came to visit, she said it was up to Golden Valley Road, which is just up
the hill from us.

She left a little while ago, but she came back to tell us that as she was
leaving Friendly Valley, she looked across Sierra Hwy and there was fire.
We talked to the security people and they said it was a controlled burn.

The high winds have diminished, but we're still seeing gusts 25-30 mph,
and worst of all, humidity is only 7%. Yes, that's seven per cent!

Once more, we have the cat carriers ready, my cello is waiting at the
ready with a brief case full of important documents. We're gathering a few
more things and waiting, hoping, we'll just have to put everything back
tomorrow.

One sad note. If you're familiar with this area at all, you'll remember a
house that sits on hill on the east side of the I-5/I-14 interchange, next
to the aquaduct. Quite noticeable, because it's the only domicile within
view, and quite beautiful, especially at night when the water is cascading
down the hill next to it, changing colored lights making the water appear
to be something more appropriate in the Six Flags park up the road.

The house is no more. So is the tall mast that stood before it, proudly
displaying the red, white & blue.

I imagine the landscape will look like a Hollywood depiction of hell for
some time to come. But winter rains are just around the corner, and it
will turn green again, then brown as summer drought kills off the
vegetation and produces more fuel for future fires.

I want to believe we'll be okay. I really think we're safe, but if we have
to evacuate, I'll be back in touch.

Pray for everyone affected by this.

Mimi

That's scary as hell if you ask me.  I've seen a number of grass fires and wildfires over the years and have helped put several out, but have never have I personally witnessed anything that even comes close in comparison to the infernos that have been raging there.  That's a sight that could give the most psychologically stable of individuals nightmares.

I don't know how firefighters can go up against something like that without wondering if they maybe should have chosen a less exciting profession -- but fight them they do, and God bless them for having the courage to do it!  I'd like to think that I could run into a fire if someone's life was at risk, but can't help wondering if I really would have the courage to do so.  I hope and pray I never have to find out.

Yes, Mimi, we'll be praying for everyone's safety....

Foodie porn!

There's some lovely stuff up over at TasteSpotting.  I'm thinking the baked macaroni and cheese (recipe linked from another site) should be on the menu tonight....

Overheard

"Aren't you glad I took my Smart-Ass pills this morning?"

Hmm, wonder where I can get some of those...?

Motivational poster for the day

I'm probably the last person on the planet to find this site, but just in case I'm not, go check out a good place to create your own "motivational" posters. I plan to have some serious fun with their tools!

Yep, that's one of my spoiled-rotten dogs.  I've given up on keeping the four-legged members of the family off of the furniture, it was a losing battle....

Space technology and the "ick" factor

Endeavour (STS-126) launched launch this evening and, needless to say, we've been watching it. Hubby and I think shuttle launches are some of the coolest things ever.  The first manned orbital missions took place when we were young; I remember watching the first live broadcast from the Moon while still in elementary school.  To our parents' generation, space exploration was pure science fiction; to ours, it's established fact.  My mother still recounts how she was hanging clothes out to dry when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin became the first humans to step onto non-Terran soil, and how she looked up at the Moon and couldn't believe that it was actually happening.  (And my father's still half-convinced that the whole thing was filmed on a  Hollywood soundstage.  Sheesh...)

Anyway, during the scheduled hold at T-minus 9 minutes, NASA TV aired an interview with one of the engineers attached to the Water Recovery System (WRS) project, which is finally on its way to the ISS in Endeavour's cargo bay.  He explained the process, and where the "reclamation material" will come from, then had the interviewer sample the device's output.  The result:  "It's not that bad."  Despite what they quite accurately termed the "ick" factor.

OK, so I'll admit that I might be a tad squeamish myself were I required to knowingly consume a glass of what, until very recently, had been urine.  It's purely psychological in nature, since once the particulates and various chemical compounds our bodies excrete have been removed, it will no longer have either aroma or flavor.  (Ever sample laboratory-pure deionized H2O?  Flat and very boring.)  Yet I'm willing to bet that many of us would still hesitate to take that first sip.

If we stop and consider where our drinking water comes from, every water molecule in every mouthful we've ever swallowed has potentially (and very likely actually has) been consumed by another living creature, to then be released by respiration, decay, or excretion.  Living in a city, where drinking water comes from an anonymous source and has been processed in a treatment plant few actually bother to visit, using processes that the average person probably couldn't describe, doesn't compel one to pay attention to what they're drinking.  We turn on the tap and (presuming we've paid our water utility bill on time) potable water flows out.  Only if some unusual event affects what's in our glass do we take note.  In some areas, summer (over)growth of  algae in the water-source lake imparts a distinct and sometimes disgusting taste to the water; hydrant flushing can temporarily discolor the water with non-hazardous, stirred up sediment; bacterial contamination can result in an inconvenient but very necessary "boil order" being issued.

Living where one is on a well-and-septic system brings the reality a little closer to home.  I am well aware that the waste water from every septic tank, "gray water" drainage field, and barnyard in the area will percolate down through the soil and eventually return to the water table in time, where it will then be pumped back up and flow into our homes for use.  Mother Nature really does a remarkable job of removing or neutralizing biologic by-products if we don't screw with or overload her processes.

Once we leave the surface of the planet, however, all bets are off.  One cannot take for granted the basic necessities of existence: Air, food and water.  You can survive a hell of a lot longer without food than you can without air or water.  Conveniently enough, water is composed of two elements that can be separated to produce oxygen (a definite must-have when one is sealed into what's effectively an air tank surrounded by a whole lot of vacuum) and hydrogen (a fuel/energy source).  

Humans require a minimum amount of water each day simply to survive; add on more for basic hygiene and for cooking or the rehydration of dried foods.  By the time you figure in the additional volume needed for the animals, plants and experimental needs of the scientific team, it doesn't take long to realize that it's not a matter of tucking a few extra water jugs into a locker somewhere; any mission lasting more than a few days will necessitate schlepping a lot of water into orbit.  One gallon of water weighs 8 pounds.  Multiply that by however many hundreds -- or thousands -- of gallons of water needed.  It takes a lot of energy to get that much mass out of a gravity well.  (And remember, in a low- or zero-gee environment, the weight may be nil, but the mass is still there when you try to move or stop the object, so getting your water to your destination will still take a fair amount of energy.)  Under those conditions, recycling and reusing water on the space station -- much less on future missions to the Moon, Mars, or other destinations -- is a no-brainer.  It will also be an absolute necessity for the ultimate survival of the ISS project, on long missions, and at bases established elsewhere in the solar system.

You need to do your research in the low-gravity environment found at Mars Base Alpha?  (You know, the one we should be building by now?)  You're taking a contingent of, say, 20 along to make the project feasible?  You won't be back for 4 to 5 years?  You have to schlep all your water along with you, you can't extract it from the native environment?  And you're not going to reclaim and reuse as much water as possible from biologic waste and gray water?  Guess what: It can't be done.  Not with the technology and equipment we have today.  Maybe not with any technology or fuel source we might develop within the next 10 or 20 years.

OK, so I could be wrong on that last comment.  I don't have the inside scoop on what's in development at NASA, JPL, or any other aerospace-affiliated organization.  Maybe you could fill a dozen or more external fuel tank-sized containers, strap them to the current equivalent of Saturn V rockets, and get all that mass successfully transported to its destination.  But even if you can, you're not going to be able to take enough H2O to cover any and every eventuality.  If you run out of water because you won't recycle, you are going to be seriously screwed.

Don't worry, your coffee won't taste of mouse pee....

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

In all fairness, I do have to point out that there is a certain percentage of water that is non-reclaimable, even in a closed environment.  So you can't just take a bare minimum of x liters of water and call it good.  It's going to have to be x plus some factor that you actually transport.  Having that extra water available for use will make life in space much more tolerable.  And any amount that you can reclaim and reuse makes the energy costs of getting you to and from your destination more manageable. 

Today's Motivational Message

Courtesy of one of DH's coworkers.

Science vs. religion; should one trump the other?

I usually try to focus on entertaining posts when I point readers to other blogs.  But I just read two very interesting pieces (here and here) that Orac has written about the ethically thorny situation that has recently arisen in the wake of the tragic brain death of a 12-y.o. Orthodox Jewish boy, and I feel compelled to suggest in the strongest terms that you go read them, as well as the linked articles he's provided.  Read the comments, too.

How to reconcile science and religious beliefs when they come into conflict has always been problematic for those of us who see things in shades of gray.  I know where I stand on the issue, and what I believe to be true, but I also know that I could be wrong.  My "answers", such as they are, might not work for you, just as yours might not work for me.  Recall if you will the adage: Your rights end where my nose begins.  What happens when those rights come into conflict?  And who decides?  If there are extant laws, or even legal precedent, the issue might be settled on that basis . . . but what if acting in accordance with the law violates a person's core beliefs?

I am very glad that I will not be the one who has to make the final decision in this case....

Oh, and just for the record:

 * if my brain stem no longer shows demonstrable electrical activity;

 * if my body requires external assistance to continue to function;

or

 * if I am (in the common parlance) a vegetable due to the (probable) irrevocable cessation of my higher brain functions . . .

Then I am dead.  I do not wish to be kept on extended "life support" as that is not life!  I do wish to have any transplantable organs harvested, and to that end temporary mechanical and/or chemical maintenance would be acceptable.  Otherwise, schlep my corpse off to the morgue and be done with it! 

Just in case anyone's interested.

Blog "find" of the day

WhiteCoat.  "What NOT to Yell Over The Intercom".  'Nuff said.

This one's a drink alert, kiddos.  If you spray soda, coffee or alcohol all over your computer because you didn't put your beverage-of-choice down before reading, I'll be more than happy to laugh at you while you clean it up.

One piece of advice:  Milk's a lot harder to remove from a keyboard than is sticky soda, sez The  Voice Of Experience.

Holy crap, I have readers!

And not just the few friends who I've guilted into visiting occasionally.  LOL  

Best of all, the ones I know about are bloggers I read, whether they're listed on my public blogroll or not.  Welcome . . . and thank you!

There ought to be a law #2

Call me Scrooge, but radio stations should not be allowed to switch over to Christmas music before Thanksgiving.  Especially the ones who play all-Christmas-all-the-time for two months straight.

And speaking of radio stations, don't you just hate the ones who use a national/regional programming service, but then break into the feed in the middle of a song to air local news or commercials.  At least wait until the song's over, guys!  Use some common sense, not just a preprogrammed timer, fer chrissake.  If my son's car radio can tell us how much time is left in a given over-the-air song, I know damn well your controlling software could be tweaked to adapt....

Square pegs and round holes don't mesh

Yesterday evening, Athos and I were having an involved discussion with a gentleman I first got acquainted with nearly 2 years ago.  He has a unique perspective on things, a wicked sense of humor, and a Bullshit Detector that I try not to set off if I can avoid it.  I'm tempted to refer to him as Cleverly Disguised As A Responsible Adult, or maybe as Tigger In Disguise.  (Why Tigger?  If you knew the individual in question, you'd understand.  Catch him in a playful mood and you'll see his inner Tigger sneaking out for a bit of fun.  It's very entertaining.  And a bit contagious. lol)

Anyway, let's just call our friend Cleverly Disguised.  He usually has good advice to offer, and sometimes we even take it.  At one point, the subject of my dissatisfaction with my work situation came up, and CD brought up the square peg/round hole analogy . . . and damnit, he's right.  I am a square peg, always trying to fit in where I can't.  I have yet to find an employer who knows what to do with an employee who's passionate about their work and gets emotionally invested in it, much less actually seems to want one.  I know they have to exist, but I fear the jobs they have to offer are above my pay grade, so to speak.  At any rate, it leaves me not knowing whether it's my failing for caring too much; theirs for not comprehending that not all wage slaves are there with the sole intent of extracting a maximum amount of pay in return for a minimum amount of effort; or a little of both....

I really had high hopes for the business when the new owner took charge.  He brought in a couple of experts to assess both business operations and staff . . . and then nothing of real substance happened despite repeated promises of change.  It's been sufficiently long enough since the takeover for him to have successfully turned the place around if he was actually going to do it.  I find the whole situation to be very frustrating.  

CD reminded me that the business decisions are not mine to make, and that having expectations regarding other people is foolish.  (OK, so I don't recall him specifically using the word foolish, but that was the gist of it.)  He's right, as usual.  I'm just glad he's not prone to saying I told you so because I'd probably hear it far too often.  He may well be thinking it, just not loudly enough for me to catch it.  (Thanks, CD!)

So now I'm not sure if I should stick it out a little longer and hope that things actually will change, however unlikely that seems at the moment; try to find employment elsewhere (in this economy?!?); or find some way to become self-employed.  The first scenario is the safest, but the last is probably the best option for long-term satisfaction.  The biggest problem is what to do.  Athos and I have some ideas, but living in Duck Crossing limits our options unless we want to regularly commute to TooDamnFar everyday or open an internet business from our home.  The last could be problematic if we didn't live in an area where there are few zoning restrictions.  Any place where you can legally discharge firearms just for the hell of it (within reason; safety has to be a primary concern or you shouldn't be allowed anywhere near projectile weapons!) and hunt in-season in your own backyard is unlikely to have a whole lot of restrictions on conducting business out of your own home, so long as you keep the tax collectors and appropriate state inspectors happy.  Manufacturing foodstuffs for sale in my kitchen is a no-go.  Unduly irritating the neighbors would be a bad idea, too, but I can't see us having semis making regular trips down our driveway.  (For that, we'd buy the place just down the road that's up for sale again.  The building's already set up for a manufacturing operation and has a truck-accessible drive.  We think it'd be a wonderful spot for an upscale restaurant, but neither of us is really interested in getting into that kind of operation.)

Whatever we do, we'd really like to be able to steal a few friends away from their current employers.  We're already know several of them would jump ship if we could offer them a position.  One might be a harder sell, but good people are worth pursuing, right?

Is it April 1st already?!?

So my first thought when I saw Let's get Hurricanes Right First: FEMA Firefighters Manual Covers UFO Attacks, Crashes over at TOTWTYTR was that somebody, somewhere, is pranking us.  But apparently it's legit.  If you follow his link to YouTube in the header, it turns out that one of the ABC affiliates actually did a story about it.  Gizmodo.com has a link, too.

Gee, I feel safer just knowing that if we're invaded from space, FEMA's ready to handle it.  *snort*

Gotta hand it to our nation's firefighters, tho'; they do tend to be prepared for damn near anything.  If they can't keep FEMA from screwing up a First Contact situation, nobody can.

############

Update:  According to a comment left on TOTWTYTR's blog, it wasn't FEMA who put of the "Firefighter's Manual" in question, it was Fire Engineering Magazine.  Somehow DeFrance is tied up with it; do they publish that mag?  I guess the fact that most of us decided FEMA's a joke after the screw-up job they did on Katrina, made us a little more gullible than we would normally have been....

I couldn't have said it better

Ambulance Driver is one of the bloggers I read every day.  He's a damn good writer*, and when he's being humorous he can leave me rolling on the floor.  But sometimes he gets serious, as with today's post, "Thank You, Veterans". Well said, A.D., well said....

Pic from http://www1.va.gov

God bless our servicemen and women of all generations.

*Check out his book, Life, Death and Everything in Between.  Well worth reading.  Better buy your own copy, though, because I'm not loaning mine to anyone.  (Sorry, guys!)  FYI, the revised edition is due to be released early next year in hardcover; I've already preordered my copy at amazon.com.  (Legal disclosure: I have absolutely NO financial interest in any of A.D.'s stuff, I just like to see really talented (but perhaps lesser-known) authors get the exposure they deserve.)

Favorite blogger posts, part 1

I can't honestly say that finding myself wide awake well before dawn is particularly enjoyable.  When it happens on a day when I could have slept in, well, I enjoy it even less.  But it did provide a good excuse to retreat to Local Friendly Coffeehouse for a caffeine fix, a cinnamon roll, and a little web surfing.  

There's a distinct advantage to getting there right around opening time: The Usual Suspects don't arrive until later.  They're mostly retirees, and mostly nice folks, but they do tend to commandeer every available table, where they spend most of the morning gossiping and playing cards.  The owner doesn't seem to mind too much most days, but I know it costs her business on others.  People walk in, realize there's no place to sit, and promptly leave; I've even been forced into it myself a few times.  Some of us prefer to eat breakfast (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) sitting down, while it's still at serving temperature, rather than taking it "to go" and eating in the car.  Four coffees--even with paid refills past a certain point--just can't replace the 12 or more coffees-and-pastries/breakfast sandwiches (or, later in the morning, the early lunches) which that table could've added to the till had there been more turnover.

And yes, I realize there's potentially a certain amount of the pot criticizing the kettle here, since I am occupying a small table while I blog and savor my coffee, but I will leave if it starts getting busy, thereby freeing up the space for other customers.  Unfortunately, not everyone is willing to do that....

{climbs off soapbox}

That said, here's what I originally meant to talk about:

 "Doofus Of The Day #103", courtesy of Bayou Renaissance Man, is a good--and very funny--example of what not to do if you dislike being (a) incarcerated and/or (b) publicly ridiculed for a good long while.  Definitely one for the Dumbass Criminal File.

Ambulance Driver and LawDog . . . if you're familiar with either one of them, you already know it's friggin' impossible to pick out just one or two posts to highlight.  If you aren't familiar with them, you don't know what you've been missing!  MamaCat's advice is to get your lazy butt over there ASAP and read through the archives.  It'll take awhile, but it's well worth the time and effort.  They're both incredibly talented writers.  And should I ever end up needing ALS assistance, I want A.D. there to save my sorry ass.

Crystal, of Boobs, Injuries and Dr. Pepper fame.  Just go read.  You'll laugh, you'll cry, and you'll never look at corn kernels in quite the same way again.  (Don't ask.)

Crusty Ambulance Driver.   Gotta pick his "Let's Play Blood, Poop or Vomit!" and "Crusty's Guide to Successfully Committing Suicide".  No, I'm not kidding.  He has a . . . sometimes unique way of looking at things.  He wouldn't be so nearly so crusty if he really didn't give a damn....

Grunt Doc.  One of the first medical bloggers I started following.  Check out his  "Wasabi Peas: A Word of Caution".

More to follow....

Kudos to AMC

I know my DH gets unhappy with me about all the time I spend reading blogs, but sometimes even he has to admit that it's not always time that's been "wasted".  I think today's find will definitely get his approval.

Thanks to Dr. Chris over at Made A Difference For That One, I now know that the daytime soap opera All My Children has cast Iraqi War veteran J.R. Martinez in the role of a soldier thought to be dead of combat-related injuries, now returned home to Pine Valley and his fiance.  There are good articles here and here on the details.

What makes this so cool is not just that AMC chose a real-life wounded hero to play the role, but that on the 6th they aired an unscripted episode where wounded Iraqi War veterans were allowed to tell their own stories, in their own words.  I wish I'd known in time to watch it.  Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll do something similar again.

And yes, I must confess to having been a regular viewer for quite awhile.  Performances by the incredibly talented and beautiful Susan Lucci kept me watching.  (And when she finally won an Emmy, you bet I cheered!)  For awhile, even my dad got hooked on the show.  The (mis)adventures of "Billy Clyde Tuggle" were what he enjoyed.  Tuggle might have been a dirty rotten scoundrel at best, but dammit, sometimes you just had to like the guy in spite of yourself.  When Billy Clyde left, so did dad....

Update (and a bit of a whine)

We got our first letter from Squidboy a few days ago, I just hadn't had a chance to let everybody know.  He seems to be doing okay, and apparently likes the guys he's training with.  I was encouraged by the fact that he didn't start the letter off with: GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!  Not that we could get him out -- he took the oath and that makes him official U.S. Government Property until his enlistment's up.  (Plus however many years of inactive reserve time they slap on at the end of the enlistment period.)

At least we now have an address where we can write to him.  No care packages from home, no magazines, only letters and a few pix are allowed.  Guess the homemade jerky we were talking about will have to wait until after he's out of "submarine basic".  Yeah, after he gets done with the basic training all Navy recruits receive, he'll report to sub school and will have another 8-10 weeks (I forget exactly how long the recruiter said it takes) of intensive sub training to endure.  This is before he goes on to get the training in his specialty....

We're doing better than I feared.  I've only called his cell number once to hear his voice.  His dad says he's thought about, but hasn't done it.  Yet.  Needless to say, we all miss him rather badly.  His dad and I both get teary-eyed sometimes when we stop and think about how long he'll be away.  It will likely be years before we'll get to spend any more holidays together as a family.  By the time Squidboy's enlistment is up, his brother may well be married and starting a family of his own, living who-knows-where.   Squidboy himself could be married by then, for that matter.  Or if not married, either or both of them could be in a serious relationship, and prefer to spend holidays with the girlfriend and her family.

So last Christmas might be the last time we'll get to all spend it together.  We almost didn't.  The guys were going to go spend Christmas with hubby's side of the family (who live several states away), but the weather between here and there went to hell, and they were afraid they wouldn't be able to make it back in time to meet their work and/or school obligations.  They were disappointed, but I have to admit that I was just as glad to have them stay home.  We've spent few enough Christmases together, in our little family group.  Before we moved, we'd be running between the city where his parents lived and the city where my parents lived and dancing to everyone else's tune.  After the move, we would pack up and drive too damned many hours so we could make them happy, never mind how we felt about it.  It finally got to be too much for me and I started just staying here whenever I could.  Can't get off work or can't find anyone to take care of the animals became the standard excuses.  Maybe I should just find the courage to tell them the truth, that I'd rather spend the holiday alone than deal with all the bullsh*t that comes with dealing with either 6 people in the house and only one bathroom, or being forced to stay with a chain smoker when the smell gets into *everything* and makes me sick.

Holidays: Fun?  Not without a 55-gallon drum of Prozac....

The lady's got style

I just ran across a great post by Dr. Isis, entitled "A Wiener Would Help Dr. Isis Succeed in Academia..."

Her blog's well worth the visit.  I think I'm going to have to add her to my reading list....

About "the box"....

It finally dawned on me that someone who hasn't been through the whole loved-one-going-off-to-boot-camp bit might not know that "the box" I referred to contains the recruit's clothes, shoes, and any unauthorized items he or she might have had in their possession upon arrival at boot camp.

I'd already been warned that receiving the box can be disturbing.  I'm certain different people react in different ways, and maybe it doesn't bother some recipients.  Me, I cried.  I'm going to cry again when I open it.  Those clothes are the last physical links I have to my son.  I suspect it may be awhile before I can bring myself to wash them.  

It just feels very odd right now, like nothing will ever be quite the same, or even completely normal, again.  And in truth, nothing will be the same.  This is a point of radical disconnect in all of our lives, one that began when we said our goodbyes and left him with his recruiter, and ended today with the arrival of his clothes.  We're going to have to adjust to what my husband has been referring to as "the new normal", where we're here and he's there, and our lives are no longer intertwined to any significant degree....

I suppose all parents go through this to some degree.  Maybe this is what's referred to as empty nest syndrome, but I think there's more to it that just that.  It would be different if he were, say, away at college or living out on his own in another city.  He'd still be there, still be reachable if we needed him.  I could pick up the phone and hear his voice, even if only on his answering machine's or voicemail's outgoing message.  But where he is now, and where he will be after he finishes his "A" schools, prevents us from easy contact -- and could prevent us from any contact at all for extended periods, even in case of family emergency.  And that scares me.  I'm not sure why, but it does.

Give me some time and I'll adjust.  Life will go on, the routine will resume.

But for now, you'll just have to excuse me while I go cry into my son's dirty shirt.

Packages

I was going to write about something else, and will, but that post's going to have to wait. Right now I have something else on my mind that's a little. . . ah, of more immediate interest, one could say.  See, just about 10 minutes ago, the local FedEx driver delivered a package to my doorstep, one which I have been both expecting and dreading.

I normally enjoy seeing packages arrive, be they surprises from a friend or relative, an expected shipment containing something we've ordered, or "freebie" samples we've requested from a company.  Boxes containing books or teas are always high on our what's come today? list.  As you might imagine, bills (a necessary evil in life, unfortunely) and the IRS has a question for you letters fall to the very bottom of that list, where they fight it out with junk mail for the dredging sludge at the bottom of the pit spot.  The last (and only!) such letter we received from the IRS damn near gave me a heart attack right there at the mailbox.  My kids could easily have come home from school and found me sprawled dead in the street, still clutching the letter in my hands.  My first horrified thought when I saw it was that we we had been chosen for the quite dubious "honor" of being audited; I've never been so glad to be wrong in my life!   All these years later, I'm still trying to figure out how they managed to lose the back side of one of the two-sided forms I'd filled out.   But I suppose it's not for me to question; the IRS works in strange and mysterious ways and can totally screw up your life if you're foolish enough to draw their attention and anger them in doing so.  It's not a pretty sight when it happens.  I knew someone who was idjit enough to get into a pissing contest with the IRS.  He lost.  Big time.  And got targeted for a full audit every year for quite awhile thereafter.

I knew I didn't want to risk that fate, so I photocopied my file photocopies of all of the original forms I'd submitted (plus some of the supporting documentation I hadn't been required to actually submit, in the name of I-don't-want-to-get-yet-another-letter-because-they-also-lost-something-else complete disclosure), and mailed everything in via registered mail, just as quickly as was humanly possible.  I guess that made them happy, we never heard anything more on the issue.  But I digress much too far....

Boxes we weren't expecting can be fun too; usually they mean that The Grandparents have gone shopping and have sent something to our kids.  Aramis has traditionally been happier to see such packages arrive.  He's much easier to please than Porthos, who has very definite ideas about what he does and doesn't like, and can on occasion be somewhat less than tactful when expressing those opinions.  I suspect he'll learn a lesson or two about tact while he's in the military; if not from his instructors/superiors, then from squad mates he's managed to annoy.  ...Or should I more accurately describe them as "squid mates"?

Today's delivery is different.  I know what's in it.  And I don't want to open it.  Because if I do, it will mean that I've been quietly deluding myself to get through this last week's separation.  It will mean that I'm going to have to finally admit that my youngest son really isn't coming home for dinner after spending the day hauling wood or swimming with his buddies, because he is now Official U.S. Government Property; that it will be nearly two months before I can hug him again; and that for at least the next five years, we'll be lucky if we get to see him for even a few days a year.

For so long, I yearned for the day when I'd no longer be changing his diapers, or tying his shoes for him, or nagging him about homework, or ferrying him back and forth to school and sports because he was too young to drive, or signing extracurricular activity permission slips for him because he was a minor.  And that day came, and strangely enough, I wasn't ready for it at all.  He's a grown man now with a life of his own.  And I realize how much of a fool I was for all those years.

I want my little boy back....

Monday ramblings

My work schedule changed recently, so instead of having to get up in the cold predawn hours and, I'm sitting here watching the fog lift, enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee, and reading other bloggers.  Having Mondays off for awhile just might be kind of nice, you know?

The downside to this arrangement is that everything that didn't get done over the weekend will still be waiting for me.  Today's catch-up chores include the sink full of last night's dinner dishes (ugh!) that were ignored in favor of doing something much more interesting: watching the National Geographic Channel production "Five Years on Mars".  For anyone who didn't catch it, it'll be on again Sunday, November 9th, at 12P, according to the NGC site.  The twin Mars Rovers' lengthy survival has provided an incredible amount of information on our planetary neighbor, information we will need if humans ever actually get there.  (But that's a topic for another day, when I have time for a rant.)

BTW, speaking of blogs, Orac has another good one up over at Respectful Insolence.  Apparently the AAPS has decided that Barack Obama is using hypnosis skills to make us do his bidding.  Huh, and here I thought it was November 3rd, not April 1st....

And since it is November and tomorrow is Election Day, I have to urge everyone to get out and vote.  I don't care who you vote for (well, yeah, actually I do, but we're each entitled to our own opinion on the matter), the important thing is that you go to the polls and make your voice heard.  If you're going to bitch and moan about who's being sworn in on January 20th, you'd better have officially registered your choice, or you'll have no right to complain.

Now that I've managed to waste most of the morning on non-productive things, I'd like to leave you snickering with a great Fail I saw over at Musings of a Dinosaur.  Somebody really should have paid more attention to the graphic design before they sent it to print....

YouTube "find" of the day

Remember what I said about having a warped sense of humor?  Well, here's where it comes into play.

Probably 25 years ago (maybe longer), my then-boyfriend-now-husband and his buddies introduced me to a very funny country song.  We actually had a copy of it, but the tape vanished into a black hole a few years later and we had absolutely no luck in finding a replacement.

Now, I don't know about you, but when I get stuck with an earworm, the only way to abort it is to actually listen to the song.  Do you have any idea how difficult that is if there's no copy of the song available?  Now imagine that the tune, along with snippets of the lyrics, randomly pop into your stream of consciousness off and on for 20 years.  It's enough to make Carrie Nation swill gin, I tell you!

Cut to about a year ago.  I'm browsing iTunes and, on a whim, look for the song.  Wasn't there before, but lo! and behold, there it was.  I downloaded that sucker just as fast as I could and took a great deal of pleasure in introducing both of my teenagers to it.  Stupid me, I should have had a camera handy; the looks on their faces were priceless.  Neither one could quite believe what I was playing for them.  There's nothing like having dear old boring mom, that supposed paragon of virtue and taste, and censor of all things inappropriate, prove once and for all that she's even more weird than her kids could have suspected.

Flash forward to tonight: Guess what I found on YouTube, animated even.  So shoo the kiddies out of the room, pour yourself a cold one, and enjoy!

One correction does need to be made.  Whoever animated the video was mistaken.  "The Rodeo Song" was recorded by Garry Lee and Showdown, not David Allen Coe.

Changes....

I don't know if anybody's been here to notice or not, but some changes are in the works:

* Everything here is in temporary flux as I try to get things set up to my liking and search through a veritable haystack of bookmarks for specific blog/webpage URLs.  So if you notice links appearing and disappearing unexpectedly, or seemingly-random changes to different parts of the blog, it's just me tweaking things.  I'm painfully new to this blogging thing and have no freaking idea how to accomplish some goals without a certain amount of trial-and-error.  Needless to say, the learning process is being punctuated by most of the colorful and inappropriate-for-polite-society words I wish my kids hadn't learned from me.....

  

* There are some name changes for the dramatis personae, as well:

  My DH requested a change of pseudonym.  He's now going to be known as "Athos".

  Calling my youngest son "SquidBoy" to tease him is fine and dandy, but he's busting his ass at boot camp, and will be spending the next 5 years protecting our country.  That's an honorable calling.  He could have stayed safely at home, and gone to a technical/trade school, then become a blue collar wage slave for somebody until he got to the point where maybe he could have started his own business.  Or he could have gone to college (which is really what we'd hoped for both of our kids), but that's not where his interests lay.  He would never be happy spending his days behind a desk.  He likes nothing better getting dirty, sweaty and covered in grease . . . unless it's football, country music and girls.  (Yes, I gave birth to a red-neck country boy.  I'm not sure how that happened, but it did.)  Now he can get paid for getting dirty AND have a guaranteed pay check for the next 5 years (or longer if he chooses to re-enlist).

  Our oldest, on the other hand, is just the opposite.  He's happiest when burrowing into the guts of a malfunctioning computer, running systems maintenance, or talking machine code to a CPU.  (At least that's what it seems like he's doing; he gets engrossed in tweaking software to where it does things it wasn't designed to do, or figuring out the best way to either stop a hack or create one, and I swear to gawd he's not speaking English when he tries to describe to us what he's doing.  It's not the same language I grew up with, that's for damned sure!)  He's in a technical school at the moment, aiming to get into systems security when he graduates in a few months.  He's now thinking maybe he'd like to go on to college so he can better his job options.  I wish he'd been of a mind to go into veterinary medicine (most animals them seem to instinctively trust him, which would be to his advantage), but apparently it wasn't meant to be.  And I'd honestly rather see him be happy in his chosen field, than miserable in one someone else (even me!) might recommend.

  So rather than drop the "SquidBoy" and continue calling his brother "Technogeek", I'm changing their respective blog names to "Porthos" and "Aramis".  Blame their father if you like; he's the one who put the idea in my head.  And it is appropriate, considering their dad is an accomplished period fencer.....

Addiction

Should you find yourself interested in the technical distinction between addiction and compulsion, there's a nice article to be found here.  Unless you're a medical or mental health professional, you probably just pretty much lump the two together and simply base your definition of "addiction" on the behavior resulting from either condition.  I know I usually do.

And why am I telling you this?  Oh my gawd, she's getting up on her soapbox again! you may be thinking right about now.  Relax.  I'm not going to sit here and expound on the evils of such things as nicotine or street drugs.  I could, but that'd make me a bit of a hypocrite, seeing as how I'm a confirmed user of both caffeine and alcohol.  (A responsible user, but a user nonetheless.)  So I'm not going to lecture you.

I'm going to confess....

They say confession is good for the soul.  And they say that the first step in overcoming an addiction is admitting that you have a problem.  (And just who are "they" anyway?  Does anyone even know?)

Maybe by going public, I can help prevent some other poor soul from going through the torment themselves, so I'm going to say it: I'm an addict.

It first began many years ago.  Like most such addictions, it started innocently enough with occasional, recreational use.  I was convinced that I wouldn't get hooked, oh, no, not me, I'm too smart, I'd never let that happen.  Then it turned into a habit before I even realized what was happening.  The habit started growing and taking over.  It affected my life in small ways at first, but eventually my family and friends noticed that something had changed, that I was behaving differently.  I was sure I could still control it.  I even stopped for months at a time, but then the urge to indulge would grow into an relentless compulsion I could no longer resist.

I should have known what would happen, that I'd eventually find myself neglecting my family while I fed the monkey on my back; hiding evidence; staying up late or arising early so I could indulge without my husband noticing I'd backslid; lying in bed, staring into the darkness, fighting the urge to go take a quick "hit"; stashing my "stash" anywhere I could.  

Oh, yes, I've indulged my habit, both in alone and in the company of other addicts.  Friends have supplied me with the stuff when I'd run short, and I have to come clean and admit that I've also supplied others.  I've rushed home after work to get my fix.  Much to my shame, I've even occasionally indulged at work when the opportunity presented itself.

But now it's taken over my life and I must deal with the situation before I degenerate into a hopeless wreck whose only hope of salvation lies in professional treatment.  (Although in all honesty it may already be too late.)

And what is this life-altering, all-consuming addiction of which I speak?

I'm a recipe junkie.

Yes, folks, it's true.  The evidence is everywhere.  I have cookbooks and carefully-written recipe cards and hastily scribbled ingredient lists with shorthand directions stashed all over the house.  Several years ago my sweet, considerate, and long-suffering husband built a wall of floor-to-ceiling bookcases for me, in hopes of containing and controlling the expanding collection.  (Have I told you lately how much I love you, Athos?)  We thought that surely 100 linear feet or so of shelving would be sufficient for the job.  Well, those are now close to exploding at the seams and bookcases in two bedrooms have also been taken over by this monster I've created.  I've lost count of the number of boxes and storage totes I have stashed, which house recipes torn from magazines (my own; I've never stooped to stealing pages from publications in waiting rooms or the library!), hardcopies of ones I've found on the 'net, photocopied pages from cookbooks, etc.  The recipes stored on my laptop have overflowed several times onto a startling number of CD-Rs and ZIP disks.  Even more reside on a second computer and three external hard drives.  I belong to recipe lists I don't even have time to read, so I just store the posts away "until I have time" to read and file them.  (We're talking 10-plus years' worth of backlogged posts to wade through "when I have time", and if that's not scary, what is?)

My gawd, I really am addicted, aren't I?  I wonder if there's a 12-step program available for recipe-aholics....