It's 72 degrees (22.2 C) outside. That's just... well, that's one of the things that makes me think there's something to global warming, but damn, it's nice out.
tags: weather, global+warming
31 March 2006
There's no such thing as a chocolate milkshake
It's absolutely true. Sure, menus everywhere claim to have them, they'll even bring you a glass full of a thick cold concoction resembling chocolate ice cream. Don't be fooled.
Of course it is remotely possible that I live in my own personal Bizarro world where the chocolate milkshakes I order never taste like chocolate. I know what you're thinking... it's a syrup or restaurant issue. I assure you, it's not. Every chocolate milkshake I've ever ordered from any kind of establishment has not been chocolate flavored.
It's not just me either. On occasion, I have insisted my companions sample for themselves, and they've agreed with me.
Today's tasted like strawberry. Not a single swirl of pink in the whole mix. Not even a drop. At least I like strawberry; it has more kick than vanilla.
So why do I keep ordering them?
Good question.
I reckon it comes down to faith. Some day my shake will come.
Over four years have passed since I wrote this, and I can't remember the last time I ordered a milkshake. I guess I don't have faith. I'd rather have a smoothie anyway.
tags: chocolate+milkshake, reevaluation
Of course it is remotely possible that I live in my own personal Bizarro world where the chocolate milkshakes I order never taste like chocolate. I know what you're thinking... it's a syrup or restaurant issue. I assure you, it's not. Every chocolate milkshake I've ever ordered from any kind of establishment has not been chocolate flavored.
It's not just me either. On occasion, I have insisted my companions sample for themselves, and they've agreed with me.
Today's tasted like strawberry. Not a single swirl of pink in the whole mix. Not even a drop. At least I like strawberry; it has more kick than vanilla.
So why do I keep ordering them?
Good question.
I reckon it comes down to faith. Some day my shake will come.
Over four years have passed since I wrote this, and I can't remember the last time I ordered a milkshake. I guess I don't have faith. I'd rather have a smoothie anyway.
tags: chocolate+milkshake, reevaluation
29 March 2006
Tacos and the bear
The El Paso taco dinner kit has been one of my favorite meals my whole life. During the course of dinner, my mom asked my dad what Larry had had to say about the bear. Apparently the bear had left some paw prints on our neighbor's house and even in our yard.
"You mean you didn't bother to tell me there were bear prints in the yard? Where are they?" I asked, looking out into the yard hopefully; it was still light out.
"They're probably gone by now," mom said, "We've been walking back and forth there all afternoon."
I sighed. I'm always missing the bear. Over the years, my parents have seen him a few times, but there's no photos, no video, no nothing to console myself with.
We've even had the talk: Do you really want me to wake you up at 5:00 AM if I see the bear? My dad assured me the only times he's seen the bear, it's been very early and all he could really see was a dark lump moving around. Also, by the time he woke me up, it would probably be gone. Since I detest being woken up to begin with, I reluctantly decided "No" was the proper answer.
I finished my fourth and final taco as Mom started telling me about last night's episode of House. I wasn't really in the mood to hear it, so I nodded politely and cleared my dishes. They weren't done eating yet, so I spent a few minutes in the kitchen, rinsing my hands, and getting caramel calcium chews for mom and me. I ate mine and whacked hers onto the counter so it would stand on its corner edge. I set it on top of a jar of olives; the silver wrapper shone warmly and cast a diamond-shaped reflection on the gold cap.
I walked back into the dining room to see if any dishes were ready to be cleared.
Through the sliding glass doors, I noticed something large and black by the tree that holds the wire cord for lowering the bird feeder.
"There's a bear!" I exclaimed.
My parents both looked at me blankly.
"No, really. There's a bear!" I said, pointing for emphasis.
As they got up to look, the bear brought its forepaws to the ground and started walking. I ran into the living room to follow its progress. Sleek black fur with the brown muzzle, just like pictures of real bears, at least 7 feet tall standing. Beautiful.
"Grab your slippers and come out on the deck*," mom called to me.
The bear walked out of view, so I ran back towards the door leading out of the kitchen. Only because dad was in the way did I pause to slip on the scuffs Mom had bought me so I wouldn't ruin my socks walking outside. I didn't want to waste one second of bear time.
"What's Larry's number?" Dad asked me.
"Why would I know?" I replied, shoving the storm door open.
Mom was already outside. She walked back toward the door and addressed my dad, "What's Larry's number?"
"He's already looking for it," I said, striding to the end of the deck. She went in to find it.
The bear was loping into Larry's yard, but it stopped and looked back at me. I waved and said, "Hi."
Then it continued straight towards Larry's house. Mom reappeared in the doorway, phone to her ear and cables strewn beside her. "Where's it at now?"
"It's right next to his house," I answered.
Dad joined me for another look. "Where is it now?" he asked.
I was leaning over the rail and pointed. "See where the concrete goes out the back of his house. I think that black bit there... yup, he just moved. He's right behind there or he's still going along the back."
"This guy came out at dusk. He's a young one," Dad commented.
I had been thinking how big he looked.
He continued, "He didn't even try going for the birdfeeder. He went straight for the cables holding it up."
"Well, he's not dumb."
"No, he's not."
Dad went back inside and Mom came back out; she asked, "Where did he go?"
I told her what I'd just told Dad and added, "I'm not sure if that's part of Larry's deck, or if I'm seeing part of the bear through a railing. It's hard to tell in this light."
"That's Larry's patio," she offered, though I still wasn't certain what I was looking at.
The air was biting and the reward for standing outside had moved out of view. I was glad I'd put the scuffs on afterall; the deck was sure to be as cold as the railing.
I went indoors elated. I saw a bear!
*Our deck extends from the second floor of the house, so there was no danger in that suggestion.
tags: tacos, dinner+conversation, bear+sighting, anecdote
"You mean you didn't bother to tell me there were bear prints in the yard? Where are they?" I asked, looking out into the yard hopefully; it was still light out.
"They're probably gone by now," mom said, "We've been walking back and forth there all afternoon."
I sighed. I'm always missing the bear. Over the years, my parents have seen him a few times, but there's no photos, no video, no nothing to console myself with.
We've even had the talk: Do you really want me to wake you up at 5:00 AM if I see the bear? My dad assured me the only times he's seen the bear, it's been very early and all he could really see was a dark lump moving around. Also, by the time he woke me up, it would probably be gone. Since I detest being woken up to begin with, I reluctantly decided "No" was the proper answer.
I finished my fourth and final taco as Mom started telling me about last night's episode of House. I wasn't really in the mood to hear it, so I nodded politely and cleared my dishes. They weren't done eating yet, so I spent a few minutes in the kitchen, rinsing my hands, and getting caramel calcium chews for mom and me. I ate mine and whacked hers onto the counter so it would stand on its corner edge. I set it on top of a jar of olives; the silver wrapper shone warmly and cast a diamond-shaped reflection on the gold cap.
I walked back into the dining room to see if any dishes were ready to be cleared.
Through the sliding glass doors, I noticed something large and black by the tree that holds the wire cord for lowering the bird feeder.
"There's a bear!" I exclaimed.
My parents both looked at me blankly.
"No, really. There's a bear!" I said, pointing for emphasis.
As they got up to look, the bear brought its forepaws to the ground and started walking. I ran into the living room to follow its progress. Sleek black fur with the brown muzzle, just like pictures of real bears, at least 7 feet tall standing. Beautiful.
"Grab your slippers and come out on the deck*," mom called to me.
The bear walked out of view, so I ran back towards the door leading out of the kitchen. Only because dad was in the way did I pause to slip on the scuffs Mom had bought me so I wouldn't ruin my socks walking outside. I didn't want to waste one second of bear time.
"What's Larry's number?" Dad asked me.
"Why would I know?" I replied, shoving the storm door open.
Mom was already outside. She walked back toward the door and addressed my dad, "What's Larry's number?"
"He's already looking for it," I said, striding to the end of the deck. She went in to find it.
The bear was loping into Larry's yard, but it stopped and looked back at me. I waved and said, "Hi."
Then it continued straight towards Larry's house. Mom reappeared in the doorway, phone to her ear and cables strewn beside her. "Where's it at now?"
"It's right next to his house," I answered.
Dad joined me for another look. "Where is it now?" he asked.
I was leaning over the rail and pointed. "See where the concrete goes out the back of his house. I think that black bit there... yup, he just moved. He's right behind there or he's still going along the back."
"This guy came out at dusk. He's a young one," Dad commented.
I had been thinking how big he looked.
He continued, "He didn't even try going for the birdfeeder. He went straight for the cables holding it up."
"Well, he's not dumb."
"No, he's not."
Dad went back inside and Mom came back out; she asked, "Where did he go?"
I told her what I'd just told Dad and added, "I'm not sure if that's part of Larry's deck, or if I'm seeing part of the bear through a railing. It's hard to tell in this light."
"That's Larry's patio," she offered, though I still wasn't certain what I was looking at.
The air was biting and the reward for standing outside had moved out of view. I was glad I'd put the scuffs on afterall; the deck was sure to be as cold as the railing.
I went indoors elated. I saw a bear!
*Our deck extends from the second floor of the house, so there was no danger in that suggestion.
tags: tacos, dinner+conversation, bear+sighting, anecdote
28 March 2006
A scale with 3 plates
At what point is there so little to lose that you can overcome the fear of making the wrong choice? Perhaps it's when the weight of indecision starts to become more burdensome than the fear.
tag: musing
tag: musing
27 March 2006
Little Creatures: Fred's Rescue (part 2)
(part 1)
When last we met, a wayward salamander dashed into my apartment to set up residence.
I tread carefully and peaked around corners. Several days passed with no sign of the beast.
Mom suggested putting out a saucer of water to lure the critter from hiding, pointing out that it would shrivel and die without it. It hadn't occurred to me and suddenly I was faced with an image worse than the slimy fellow running across my clean kitchen counters. Fred would not die on my watch.
I checked the sources of water in my apartment, even my plants, to see if he'd found refuge. No sign.
In the middle of my living room floor away from easy hiding places I set the oasis. I imagined capturing Fred while he lounged poolside, my styrofoam cup and envelope at the ready. (Somehow these were deemed appropriate salamander catching tools.) Instead, I discovered the evaporation rate of water in Florida this time of year.
By the third time I'd topped off his plate, Fred had become my invisible pet. Before I turned off the lights for the night, I'd tell him supper was ready in the living room.
Two weeks, no sign, and again all the water was gone. Hopeless. I removed the plate.
The week before I'd purchased one of those drain-sludge battling concoctions that I just hadn't gotten around to using. In one of those rare motivated moments, I pulled back my shower curtain only to see Fred, there in the tub.
I quickly disarmed my alarm and gathered my cup and envelope. Fred's a fast little dude though. I couldn't tell if he'd hidden on or under my shower curtain. I checked both sides more than once but just couldn't find him. With some reluctance, I peered into the drain with my flashlight. Impossible to say.
Through the course of the evening, I tried to catch him unawares in the tub but he hid steadfastly. There would be no Drano that night.
This morning, there was Fred hanging out on the green plastic as I took my shower. There wasn't much I could do at that point. I did my best not to splash soap in his direction. My cup and envelope were handy, but since my life philosophy is to sleep as much as possible, there was no time to act before going to work. I could only hope he would stay in the tub until I got home. Thinking ahead, I plugged the drain while I could still see him so that'd be once less place he could hide.
When I arrived home, two weeks of prep and practice under my belt, I was ready. My alarm was off, my door unlocked, and I had the element of surprise. A quick shake to the shower curtain and there he was in the middle of the tub. I hauled the plastic up and over the edge out of his reach. He scrambled but fortunately for me didn't seem able to climb all the way up the tub walls. With my trusty styrofoam cup, I tried to coax him in. No luck, a compelling adversary. Ultimately it was the envelope that saved the day. He climbed onto it so I could cover him with the cup and safely escort him outside. This time, I walked to the bottom of my wet, slimy, leaf-covered stairs. A cool, damp, Florida evening. A salamander's heaven.
tags: salamander, anecdote, pets
When last we met, a wayward salamander dashed into my apartment to set up residence.
I tread carefully and peaked around corners. Several days passed with no sign of the beast.
Mom suggested putting out a saucer of water to lure the critter from hiding, pointing out that it would shrivel and die without it. It hadn't occurred to me and suddenly I was faced with an image worse than the slimy fellow running across my clean kitchen counters. Fred would not die on my watch.
I checked the sources of water in my apartment, even my plants, to see if he'd found refuge. No sign.
In the middle of my living room floor away from easy hiding places I set the oasis. I imagined capturing Fred while he lounged poolside, my styrofoam cup and envelope at the ready. (Somehow these were deemed appropriate salamander catching tools.) Instead, I discovered the evaporation rate of water in Florida this time of year.
By the third time I'd topped off his plate, Fred had become my invisible pet. Before I turned off the lights for the night, I'd tell him supper was ready in the living room.
Two weeks, no sign, and again all the water was gone. Hopeless. I removed the plate.
The week before I'd purchased one of those drain-sludge battling concoctions that I just hadn't gotten around to using. In one of those rare motivated moments, I pulled back my shower curtain only to see Fred, there in the tub.
I quickly disarmed my alarm and gathered my cup and envelope. Fred's a fast little dude though. I couldn't tell if he'd hidden on or under my shower curtain. I checked both sides more than once but just couldn't find him. With some reluctance, I peered into the drain with my flashlight. Impossible to say.
Through the course of the evening, I tried to catch him unawares in the tub but he hid steadfastly. There would be no Drano that night.
This morning, there was Fred hanging out on the green plastic as I took my shower. There wasn't much I could do at that point. I did my best not to splash soap in his direction. My cup and envelope were handy, but since my life philosophy is to sleep as much as possible, there was no time to act before going to work. I could only hope he would stay in the tub until I got home. Thinking ahead, I plugged the drain while I could still see him so that'd be once less place he could hide.
When I arrived home, two weeks of prep and practice under my belt, I was ready. My alarm was off, my door unlocked, and I had the element of surprise. A quick shake to the shower curtain and there he was in the middle of the tub. I hauled the plastic up and over the edge out of his reach. He scrambled but fortunately for me didn't seem able to climb all the way up the tub walls. With my trusty styrofoam cup, I tried to coax him in. No luck, a compelling adversary. Ultimately it was the envelope that saved the day. He climbed onto it so I could cover him with the cup and safely escort him outside. This time, I walked to the bottom of my wet, slimy, leaf-covered stairs. A cool, damp, Florida evening. A salamander's heaven.
tags: salamander, anecdote, pets
26 March 2006
Little creatures (part 1)
I wrote this a few years ago when I was living in Florida. It suits my mood today.
So it's been one of those late start weekends. You know, one where you sleep more than anything else. Sure, you get up, check your email, maybe watch some tv, but then you flop back into bed.
Round mid-afternoon, I'd finally showered and compiled my grocery list. I still hadn't had breakfast yet. Even though I was hungry, there was nothing here I wanted to eat.
I took a few more swigs of water, slipped my list into my pocket and set the alarm.
When I opened my door, I noticed one of the ubiquitous salamanders resting on my door frame. With some alarm, I tried to shoo it onto the landing outside. It started to move, I cried out, "No, no, no, no!" and then it was inside my apartment heading for my bookshelf. Apparently it didn't speak English.
In the following moments, all these thoughts crossed my mind:
If I don't shut the door, the alarm will go off.
I'm not sure the number I have for the alarm company is still right since they were bought out, and I haven't read through the new paperwork carefully enough yet.
If I shut the door and stay inside the alarm will go off unless I can make it to my room.
I don't think I have enough time to make it to my room.
Fuck!
I shut the door. Me outside. Salamander inside. I walked downstairs to post a letter and to give the alarm enough time to set so I wouldn't blow it by opening the door too soon.
I went back upstairs. Opened the door, looked around... no sign of my lizard stowaway...deactivated the alarm.
It was a baby salamander, relatively clear with black spots, much like one I'd discovered in my apartment a couple of weeks ago.
In that instance, it was late and I was freaked out by movement caught in my periphery. It sort of looked like some large centipede. I went to squash it first, missed, and then realized it was a baby salamander. Then it actually became more traumatic trying to capture it without injuring it. I used the old cover it with a container method. (Yes, I was too girly to pick it up.)
This was fine, except that I'd covered it on a vertical surface. Then the challenge was covering the bottom without injuring it. It was going pretty well till I had to deactivate the alarm so I could set it free outside. It wasn't dead, but it wasn't in the best of shape either. I really didn't want to repeat the experience.
At this point, I should mention that these salamanders are truly EVERYWHERE. I see them everyday skittering along the walls as I walk up the stairs. Just now one was sticking to my window screen outside. They don't usually hang out on my landing that much though. It's just these two little ones... god, maybe it's the same damn salamander. It would figure.
Anyway, I was still very much hungry, and there was no sign of the little bugger, so I went to the store. Later on I vacuumed thinking that might scare him out of hiding but no luck. So now there's this little salamander crawling around my apartment somewhere and it really could be anywhere since they can climb walls and stick to whatever. I'm at a loss.
I suppose I'll just have to resign myself to my new roommate who will eventually freak me out some day once I've forgotten about him as he makes his appearance likely at some deuced inconvenient time. Feh.
(NEXT>>>)
tags: salamander, anecdote
So it's been one of those late start weekends. You know, one where you sleep more than anything else. Sure, you get up, check your email, maybe watch some tv, but then you flop back into bed.
Round mid-afternoon, I'd finally showered and compiled my grocery list. I still hadn't had breakfast yet. Even though I was hungry, there was nothing here I wanted to eat.
I took a few more swigs of water, slipped my list into my pocket and set the alarm.
When I opened my door, I noticed one of the ubiquitous salamanders resting on my door frame. With some alarm, I tried to shoo it onto the landing outside. It started to move, I cried out, "No, no, no, no!" and then it was inside my apartment heading for my bookshelf. Apparently it didn't speak English.
In the following moments, all these thoughts crossed my mind:
If I don't shut the door, the alarm will go off.
I'm not sure the number I have for the alarm company is still right since they were bought out, and I haven't read through the new paperwork carefully enough yet.
If I shut the door and stay inside the alarm will go off unless I can make it to my room.
I don't think I have enough time to make it to my room.
Fuck!
I shut the door. Me outside. Salamander inside. I walked downstairs to post a letter and to give the alarm enough time to set so I wouldn't blow it by opening the door too soon.
I went back upstairs. Opened the door, looked around... no sign of my lizard stowaway...deactivated the alarm.
It was a baby salamander, relatively clear with black spots, much like one I'd discovered in my apartment a couple of weeks ago.
In that instance, it was late and I was freaked out by movement caught in my periphery. It sort of looked like some large centipede. I went to squash it first, missed, and then realized it was a baby salamander. Then it actually became more traumatic trying to capture it without injuring it. I used the old cover it with a container method. (Yes, I was too girly to pick it up.)
This was fine, except that I'd covered it on a vertical surface. Then the challenge was covering the bottom without injuring it. It was going pretty well till I had to deactivate the alarm so I could set it free outside. It wasn't dead, but it wasn't in the best of shape either. I really didn't want to repeat the experience.
At this point, I should mention that these salamanders are truly EVERYWHERE. I see them everyday skittering along the walls as I walk up the stairs. Just now one was sticking to my window screen outside. They don't usually hang out on my landing that much though. It's just these two little ones... god, maybe it's the same damn salamander. It would figure.
Anyway, I was still very much hungry, and there was no sign of the little bugger, so I went to the store. Later on I vacuumed thinking that might scare him out of hiding but no luck. So now there's this little salamander crawling around my apartment somewhere and it really could be anywhere since they can climb walls and stick to whatever. I'm at a loss.
I suppose I'll just have to resign myself to my new roommate who will eventually freak me out some day once I've forgotten about him as he makes his appearance likely at some deuced inconvenient time. Feh.
(NEXT>>>)
tags: salamander, anecdote
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Who would've thought some sheep pictures would arouse such magnitude of commentary? Not me.
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