Bandit B Gone

Just wanted to say that I caught another 2 raccoons this week. I'd like to thank the first one for eating blackberries before capture so that I now have a big purple stain on my pooped deck. I'd also like to shout out to the second one who left 'signature' in big scratch marks.

I know, I know, I should have set the trap on say... cement, but I've never had those problems before.

Anyway, the kids got to see the last one and have now had the 'My Daddy catches raccoons' experience.

Critter Review - Summer 08

Ok, well for starters, if you haven't figured it out, I've been blogging over here a lot more lately as things have kinda changed around the Gardner household recently. I will probably continue to do so, but I couldn't really justify griping about feral animals on the family blog, other than the fact that Yordanos wanted to know the Amharic word for "Raccoon." I'm like, "No Amharic. Raccoon English Only," and pulled up this picture in an attempt to describe why I don't want them running around the backyard, dining on free cat food.So yeah, about 3 days ago I could no longer deny the fact that there were too many flippin raccoons hanging around. I put food out for the cats and a half hour later, no cats, but *4* raccoons (looked like a mother and 3 'cubs' or whatever you call them) were enjoying dinner. So I put the trap out, and needless to say, I caught the one male cat that I couldn't get when I was on the 'neuter the neighborhood' spree. It was kind of a toss up, but I decided to let him go and hope for one of them masked bandits. About an hour later, I looked out and saw a small raccoon in the cage. But here's the thing, whenever I've captured a cat, the other cats all do the, "No sir, I didn't see anything, officer" pose. But this is the first time I've gone out to the cage to find 3 other animals trying to help the trapped one out, and let me tell you, mama was pissed. So I took the little guy 'to a better place' and set the trap again, hoping to catch the mother, figuring that it would be my best bet at keeping them all together. Less than 15 minutes later, another sibling wandered into the trap. Again, he is now in a better place and hopefully caught up with his brother. I guess losing 2 in an hour was enough to convince mama raccoon that there was no such thing as a free meal at the Gardners because there has been no evidence of raccoon activity and the outdoor cats have been lounging around the yard all afternoon (lately they've been dine-and-dash'ing.)

But speaking of the outsiders, it's been over a week since we've had a 'Fat Murray' sighting and I think it's safe to say she's slinked off to the eternal catnap. Once she was no longer pregnant, she really wasn't very fat, but the name stuck anyway. I've probably mentioned this before, but I was amazed that we didn't lose any cats in the winter when the temperature dipped to -25. I figured if they could survive that, they could handle pretty much anything. But I guess when you're talking about feral cats, it's really a matter of when, not if. She was a gentle cat, I hope it was quick.

So cheers, Fat Murry, your serene, fuzzy face will be missed.

How I made my insurance man's day

Step 1: Find bat in attic
Step 2: Go to internet and search for "OMG, I has a bat in my attic! Please Advise." Be sure to read about how good they are for the environment, how disease ridden they are, and then the part about how there's a big fine if you're caught exterminating them, you insensitive twit.
Step 3: Call insurance guy and say, "The interwebs said that most home owners insurance policies cover bat removal and clean up. Does mine?"
Step 4: Tell him to call you back when he's done laughing.

For extra credit, read about how you aren't supposed to 'relocate' bats in June, July, or August because the babies can't fly yet. Then look at this and try to care (No, it's not my attic.)

Ok, but the ironic thing is that, although they won't help get the bats out, they will pay for property damage caused by bats. Not clean up, but actual damage. So I guess I have to wait until the attic is so full of bat turds that it crashes through to my dining room. Geniuses.

The Saturn does not need more "BAM!"

So Friday night, Chris stayed late in Elgin to hang with her knitting crew, and I went out to Open Mike and Karaoke. So, I'm walking home at 1am and I see Chris's car parked in the street, which is *really* unusual. I guess I had left my car in the driveway and she wasn't up for the car swap it would take to get her car into the garage.

Now, normally this is not a problem, but occasionally, on weekends when the weather is good the youth of Belvidere take advantage of unattended vehicles. I say "occasionally" because since we've lived at this house I've had stuff done to my car a handful of times. Getting my mirror whacked off was probably the most serious, but that happened to every car on the street that night, and clearly nothing personal. Some might say once is too much, but for me it's not so much the damage that bothers me, it's more just the feeling of being violated.

So, knowing that it's a nice spring evening and it's not a school night, I approach the Saturn trying to get the glare from the street light at the right angle to see if there's been any damage. I see a big clear splatter mark across the windshield which, if I hadn't gotten the car washed 3 days ago, I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but now this requires more investigation. I continue walking toward the car and I see that there is little bits of something on the ground, but they're not reflecting so it's not glass, which is a bonus.

Care to guess what I found sticking to the hood and windshield wipers of my wife's car? If you guessed "olives" you'd be half right. Yeah... someone threw olives and maraschino cherries at my car. Cherries? Olives? If you can't make a good martini, don't take it out on me. Seriously who, pray tell, decides at midnight that they are going to drive around and garnish the neighborhood?

And this isn't the first time this has happened. Okay, okay, technically last time my car was condiment'ed with catchup but you get the idea. I don't know if the "traditional" vehicle vandalism foods are too expensive now or what, but it's just really weird. What's also weird is that they they didn't just whip the bottle of olives at the car (i.e. I didn't find a chip in the glass, or the container in the lawn) but they did egg the side mirror. ??? As if to say, "It's just a prank, but not really." I really don't mind the "sticky until you wash it off" stuff, but eggs can do real damage. Maybe kids just don't get the difference yet. I know I didn't until I had to clean it up and then realized a couple months later that I had missed some places where the paint had been eaten through.

Kids these days... pfft, whatever. Just stay off my lawn or I'll shake my fist at you.

Bob Strikes Back! (Hoser...)

I've talked about Bob, the World's cheapest man and the previous owner of our house, before. Well, for the past year, I've been watching various hose carriers and reels decay and fall off our house. All I could think was, "We can put a man on the moon, why is it so difficult to keep a hose tidy?" I believe the answer lies in how much one invests in equipment. For NASA that means, "As much as is necessary," while for Bob it means, "As close to zero as possible." Big difference.

(Note how the spigot is actually holding more hose than the caddy at this point...)

So I'm at K-Mart the other day and I remembered that the south side hose caddy is literally on it's last leg. I trudge off to the lawn and garden section, just to kind of get an idea for how much a replacement part is going to cost me and I see that there are about 15 different devices for storing your hose. Finally I find the one that's $3.89 that looks similar to the one that's clinging to my house by it's fingernails. It seems to meet all of Bob's criteria: It's an off brand, has absolutely no frills, and it's the cheapest one... at K-Mart! I get back home and find that my current hose "organizer" is exactly the same brand, no surprise there.

I go back to K-Mart and buy two of them. Why? Because to Bob's credit this particular hose carrier has five mount points, four of which line up perfectly around a brick. So since I got the exact same model, I don't have to drill more holes into my house. And I won't have to the next time it falls off either. Home improvement using the Bob method. Ta-Dah!

Feline Evangelist [Eye Roll]

Want to know how to tell you're a crazy? When you start comparing yourself to other crazy people and you say to yourself you must be ok because at least you aren't like them.

I went to the grocery store today for 3 things. 3. Just a survival run. Milk, tea, and catfood. That's it. The first two took me about 2 minutes, so I go whipping my cart into the kitty section. I'm scanning for the biggest bag I can find, when this other guy in the aisle sees me perusing and says, "Hey, can I make a recommendation?" Sure, why not, and hopefully you're going to point out the stuff that's on sale.

So he points out the only Purina catfood flavor that's not made with animal byproducts. Ok, kinda interesting. He then describes what 'animal byproducts' actually are. Ooo-kay. Then he explains why beaks, claws and feathers are bad for a cat's digestive system. Fine, I got it. Then he proceeds to give me an anatomy lesson on feline kidneys, and the proper diet to care for them. Yeah, yeah, yeah... I look at his cart and it's FULL of cat food, but interestingly, not with the brand he recommended. He then goes into great detail about how the wet food he's buying is way better than the dry stuff he recommended. Glazing commences, no more eye contact. He tells me about how this particular wet food is produced at a fish cannery and not a catfood plant so it's higher quality. He says blah-blah tuna blah, when Chris calls me with a couple more items to pick up. Oh, I love that woman and her timing! I pull back. He leans in. The smell of dirty cat wafts toward me. I stand still, thanking God that my wife wouldn't put up with our house (or me) smelling like that. Then, I kid you not, he then starts to suggest milk alternatives for lactose intolerant cats. Now I'm trying to figure out an exit strategy. He then shows me the two bottles of Lact-Aid buried in his cart under the cat food. Leaving is no longer optional and is now paramount. He says that he learned all this because his other cat died of kidney problems and the vet explained all this to him. KTHXBYE! I leave without a bag catfood. Dude, I was just happy to get out of that aisle.

I came back later, but he had cornered some other woman. Sorry sister... he's sexually harmless, so you're on your own.

Here's the thing, I was looking for food for the outdoor cats. Feral cats have an average life expectancy of about 3 years, 5 max. And frankly, I suspect far more die from a Chevy overdose than renal failure. And I happen to know that they can survive -25 degree nights on whatever food is on sale. But there was no way I was going to pick up the 20 pound bag 'o dehydrated chicken eyeballs in front of that guy after that lecture.

Well, not there anyway...

Now, I'm not exactly an emotional cornerstone when it comes to the death of a pet, but seriously, at least I'm not that guy.

Fat Murray is not impressed with the outdoor buffet.
(Yes I stole this pic from Chris's blog. It's a great shot.)

Putting the Oh-Oh-One in m0n0nuc1eosis

Smiles everyone, Smiles! This is officially my 100th post! So I'll try to make it a reeeeally good one, like the 100th episode of Stargate or the 100th Strongbad email. You know... a real American classic.

Or, I could just post an oh-so flattering picture of myself with my head on a stump and be done with it...Ta-DAH!

Back in my day, we didn't have Photoshop. NoooOOOoo! We had dead trees, and a game called, "Saw off my head and throw it at a stump." We played it for hours AND WE LIKED IT!

Ok, Ok, meanwhile...
I mentioned earlier that I finally went to the doctor last week. Well, the lab results came back today and oh, lookie here, there's a big pile of Mono-fighting antibodies hanging out in my blood. The only reason those would still be there is if I had recently had Mono. Lovely. I feel mildly vindicated though. It's kind of like the old Wayne's World quote, "I thought I had Mono once, turns out I was just really bored," but in reverse. Granted, it's not as funny to say, "I thought I was bored for three months, turns out I had Mono," but it's more accurate to my situation.
Anyway, Chris listened to the voice mail, squinted at me and said, "Hmm, who'd you get Mono from?" playing the coyly-jealous spouse card. "You," I said, answering the question and trumping the conversation in one syllable. Her attitude kinda descended after that. Chris had a rough winter too, and not just because I was asleep or the living dead the majority of the time.

Oh, and apparently I'm low on vitamin B12. So my doctor who casually mentioned that I should probably be taking a daily multivitamin, was right. Care to guess the symptoms of a b12 deficiency? Clipped from wiki:

"Common early symptoms are tiredness or a decreased mental work capacity, decreased concentration and decreased memory, irritability and depression."

Really? No freekin' kidding. Here's a summary of my winter: Eye roll. Fidgit-Fidgit. Yawn. Glare. "What were you saying again?" Tap-tap-tap. Sigh. Glaze. Stretch. Head in hands. "What?"

Aaaand Scene!

From the 'Information-I-could-have-used-earlier' department

This morning's excursion into awkwardness was actually an extension from earlier in the week. Monday afternoon I went to the doctor's office because I had sat down at a blood pressure machine again and had pretty much exactly the same experience as last time, and it made me nervous. So my Doctor took my blood pressure twice and couldn't figure out why I was so worried about 110 over 72. I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about why these stupid machines think I'm 130 over 85 and categorically 'prehypertensive.' The rest of the conversation went something like this:
"Has work been extra stressful?"
"No, not more than usual."
"Do you exercise?"
"Yes, twice a week. In fact, I feel great afterwards."
"Then do it more."
"Uh, ok..."
"Are you taking any vitamins?"
"No."
"Do that too."
"Alright."

Now I know all that doctor-speak and medical jargon may have gone over your head, so let me put it in plain English. She said that it was her professional opinion, that I should just suck it up, quit whining, and come back when I'm carrying a limb. If you read between the lines, you'll note my response was something to the effect of, "Ok, but if I have a heart attack tomorrow, it's your fault."

Communication with the doctor types is a very subtle art.

We compromised and agreed that it was worth my time to 'get some bloodwork done.' I know it's a common phrase, but I still don't like it when they make it sound as mundane as an oil change. Anyway, the problem is, that I had not been fasting and that I needed to come back when I hadn't eaten anything for 12 hours. Fine.

That brings us to this morning. I walk into the blood lab at 8:32, sign my name on the roster, and look expectantly at the lab tech since I'm the only one there. She proceeds to squeak a highlighter pen across my file a couple time and then reaches under her desk and pulls out a dixie cup and a plastic lid.
"Fill this and bring it back to me. The bathroom is on the right," she said.
"This doesn't seem very sanitary. Don't you have syringes and sterile vials for this kind of thing?" Ok, ok, I didn't really say that. What I really said was, "Wait... what?"
"The. Bathroom. Is. On. The. Right. I need a urine sample," as her tone soured.
Really I wasn't trying to be difficult, but my brain was trying to figure out how 'urine sample' constituted 'bloodwork.' What came out of my mouth was, "Well THIS will be interesting..." and I walked to the bathroom.

See, when you're psyching yourself up to face one of your fears (me and my own blood go way back) you tend to take care of the other calls of nature so you can stay focused on your opponent. But don't worry folks, I was able to pony up and 'meet the demand.' (Just call me Johnny on the Spot! heh...)

But you know, would it have been so hard for for the Doctor to give me a little warning about that? You know, just a little, "Hey, fyi, I circled the 'make him pee in a cup' box too," would have been greatly appreciated. Is that too much to ask? Apparently.

PS) I google image searched for "Urine sample" thinking it would be really funny to add a picture to this post. Yeah, um, again, not one of my better ideas.

Here "Kitty" "Kitty"

I was doing my usual evening routine of cleaning up cat vomit and wandering aimlessly around the house when I looked out back and saw another raccoon dining out of the cat dish.
This has brought me to one of two conclusions:
Either A) I need to get into the Coon Skin Cap business, or B) I've been getting the wrong animals fixed.

Sigh... this is so not how I wanted to spend my weekend.

Guess that explains why I haven't seen any real cats this evening.
At this point, I think I'd take the Cougar.

This Old House, "Spring" Edition

The weather has been crap for crap here in Chicago this April. We had a couple nice days and then it's just been raining steadily since then. It snowed today. It didn't stick, but still...
Anyway, I know it's spring because the bugs that have been happily dormant in our basement for the last 4 months are now out on the prowl again and they're flippin huge. I had a great shot lined up of a 2 inch house centipede when Sibbie heard the camera and came to investigate (i.e. swat at the bug and then lose it under the couch.) Thanks girl, I'm sure next time we find it, it'll be 6 feet long and carnivorous.

I think I'll be sleeping with Janis tonight.

Ugh, so nasty but at least they don't crunch.

As a matter of fact, the bag DOES say "CAT FOOD"

Now, in general, even the feral cats are pretty tidy. Even when we had to bring some of them in for neutering, they all figured out the litter box. But every once and a while there will be a big mess next to the food dish or the water bowl will be full of ambiguous floaters, which to me indicates that one of the cats is sick or has a mouth infection or something. So the past couple of days I've noticed some sloppiness around ye olde feeding trough so I was keeping my eyes open for an ailing cat. Well yesterday I figured out which one it was...

It was the fat ass raccoon. And he's doing just fine.

I wish I had gotten a picture of this bandito, as it stood frozen almost audibly debating whether to bolt or stay "incognito." (Oh, remind me that incognito rhymes with bandito next time I'm stuck for lyrics...) Anyway, that cheeky treerat-monkey thing just stared at me for about 3 seconds and then went on it's way. Apparently I wasn't much of a threat.

Chris came home right about then and said, "Hey, I saw a huge cat earlier in the evening. Turns out it wasn't a cat." "Was it the mask or the ringed tail that gave it away?" I responded. She then blurted, "That's no Coon, it's a space station!" and proceeded to giggle back into the house. Fine. You win. Nerd.

When Raccoons Attack!

This whole episode reminded me of a time I was up in Northern Wisconsin in a cabin that actually had a raccoon feeder out back. Yeah, it was like a huge bird feeder with a ramp on either side. The folks up there would put out 5 loaves of day-old bread and watch the feeding frenzy in the evening. It was actually far more entertaining than it really should have been, but the best part was when a porcupine showed up and lumbered up one of the ramps backwards, quills at attention. Watching 20-odd raccoons (who had just established some form of pecking order) bail off the feeder like it was on fire was definitely worth the price of admission.

I said tree HUGGER, not MUGGER...

We moved out to this sleepy little community about 8 years ago to get away from the craziness of Big City life. You know, to start a family where life is a little more straight forward. Where there aren't as many bad influences like you have in the burbs. You know, like gangbangers, White Castles, and community colleges. That kind of crap. True story, I knew we were no longer in ChicagoLand when I saw an ad in one of the local papers advertising "A free shotgun with purchase of an ATV." Let me know when you can get that kind of deal at a Starbucks.

But somewhere along the line, everything changed. It's like we just got here and suddenly the schools were overcrowded, the Earth started warming up, and people were driving imports. It's like we were right back in suburbia. And I gotta tell ya, I'm feeling like some soccer mom just crammed me into back a minivan full of cleat-wearing, iPodded, stinky boys and took the beltline straight to Hell. I blame WalMart.

Well, the other night, it hit home. Literally. One of the things I've noticed about youth around here is that they really want to be all 'awesome' like the City kids. So, they do their best to mimic their antics. You know like cosmic bowling, or going to a private school, and my personal bane... littering. I cannot begin to tell you how many Twinkie wrappers and fastfood bags we've found in our front yard over the years. I don't know what it is about my lawn that says, "Don't worry, clearly these folks work for the department of sanitation" but apparently it whispers it to all the kids in the neighborhood. I found a full, upright cup of salsa once, still wrapped in tinfoil (I guess the burrito had enough flavor on it's own.) I also hit a ten dollar bill with the lawn mower last fall. For future reference, don't try to cash a shredded bill at a bank unless you can recover both serial numbers. Who knew?

Anyway, you're probably wondering why I'm grousing about litterbugs when it's 5 below outside. Well, the other night, I walked out the front door and found this laying on my sidewalk:

And my first thought was, "Why the hell would anyone break off a reflector and throw it at my house?" For whatever reason, my brain usually asks "Why" before "Who" or "How." It also takes things extremely personally. I've spent far more energy than I care to admit mulling over whether an errant Ho-Ho wrapper was a symbolic gesture or just windblown garbage. Anyway, upon further inspection, this reflector was not the only piece of vehicular debris in my front lawn. So, I followed the only logical course of action. I took a deep breath, trudged back into the house, and asked my wife point blank if there was anything she needed to talk to me about.

"Like what?" she responded, blinking twice. She caught onto my tone though and was taking me seriously. I could tell because she stopped knitting to make eye contact.

"Oh, I don't know..." I said with as much restrained judgment as I could muster up, "How's your car these days?"

"Why? WHAT? Did you hit my car again?" At this point, I *think* she actually set down one of her needles. But either way, I knew she didn't have anything to do with the situation out front.

"No, nothing, never mind. There's a bunch of green car parts in the snowbank that apparently are not off your Saturn."

"Really?" She went to the window, but at this point it was too dark to see anything.

The next morning, Chris took pictures from the other side of the sidewalk:What the picture doesn't show is that the gouge taken out of the tree is at least 3 and a half feet off the ground. And keep in mind that our house is in the middle of the block. I'm not saying it hasn't been slick out there, I'm just saying that it's not like some bloke just slid through an intersection, hopped the curb and clipped our tree. Someone was going pretty fast... and if that someone is you, I've got your bumper and I'd like a word with you.

It's a sad day when trees aren't even safe to line the streets anymore. What's this place coming to? Will the hatred ever end? I mean, if it was a Sugar Maple, I'd understand... But, dude. Won't someone think about the conifers?!?!!

All we are saying, is give trees a chance.

PS- Apparently our tree was the only victim and that whoever else was involved is ok. A police report was filled out, but we can't request records until business hours, so stay tuned for the next exciting episode of "Get Off My Lawn"

Winter Schminter

This winter is starting to wear on me. Chris has blogged about this as well. But seriously, we have this deal with our neighbors. We mow their front yard, they take care of our sidewalk in the winter. Then, our neighbors on the other side have a plow so they take care of the driveway. It's been quite a while since I've had to do any serious shoveling, and I know I shouldn't expect to get through a winter without shoveling but a guy can dream, right? So here's a couple more action shots from my folks house.

Earlier this week I shoveled on our Snow Day so it wasn't like I had just worked 8 hours and had an hour commute to look forward to. One of my coworkers did go in the day it snowed around 12 inches. The problem was that only about 3 inches were on the ground on the inbound commute, which is bearable. But by the end of the day, the driving conditions were ridiculous. He took a picture on the way home and I thought I'd share just to show how bad it's getting around here. (Double-click to embiggen the picture if you can't read the sign.)

Ok ok, just kidding, but when is the last time I've posted a photoshopped pic...

There's a reason why they call it a Snow Day...

I was hoping to get a chance to go out and shoot some pictures

but it was my turn to shovel

And my cat was useless

And so was this one

And my berries were cold

So I didn't get any pictures

Home Owner Aptitude Test 3: FAIL

Home Ownership Rule #143: You can lie to yourself, but you won't fool the house.

Earlier this week, I found water in my basement. As previously stated, our house is about 100 years old and water in the basement is, at this point, a fairly common occurrence. What makes this particular leak unique is that there's been subzero temperatures for about 7 days in a row. You would think this would have raised a red flag. But it didn't because my super genius brain rationalized it to me in such a way that although I didn't understand, it made sense. It told me that there simply couldn't be water down there in this weather, and that if there was, it must be from some unusual, one-time circumstance. So as I got out the mop, and muttered to myself, "It's freezing outside, there can't be water down here, it's freezing..." my brain wove these marvelous stories that hypothesized about massive furnace condensation, or strange winds blowing snow down the chimney, or about global warming causing the earth to superheat from the inside out. It could be anything. My brain also told me that there would never ever be water in my basement again in January, because it was freezing. And it made me repeat this over and over. They were charming tales and I believed them as I mopped. I believed them the second and the third day as well.
Eventually though, I casually mentioned to Chris that I had been cleaning up water that couldn't possibly exist in our basement.
But she spouted some gibberish phrases like, "Did that spigot on the side of the house freeze and break because you left the hose attached?" and, "You know, like you did at the last house" which in my heightened state of awareness barely sounded like English at all. "No, I took the hose off in the fall. And besides, that wouldn't cause water in the basement anyway. It's freezing outside." I responded logically.
Chris bowed to my supreme intellect.
So today after mopping more water that wasn't in my basement, I played a hunch and found conclusive evidence that my brain was right all along.

I went outside and found a 2 foot ice fountain had formed between the ground and the spigot.

See, clearly a case of furnace condensation.

(Follow up: Yes, the plumber is coming tomorrow morning...)

I can has dream?

Unnamed gray tabby, CodeName: "Fat Murray"

One of the nice things about working for a government agency is that when these federal holidays like MLK Day come around, you can visit all of your favorite capitalists without using a personal day. Today I hit the dentist, the recycling center, Ace Hardware, Lube Pro's, Taco Bell, and the gym. That's a week's worth of lunch hours right there. I had also scheduled an appointment with the Vet in hopes of catching one of the "Outsiders" and getting it's little gears put in neutral, so to speak. (Much to Chris's chagrin, I keep calling them "The Outdoorsies" which is absolutely as lame as it sounds) Under normal circumstances, we feed them before going to work. They know the schedule and come running. But it's been so ridicu-cold lately that even though we put food out early, the cats don't show up until much later after the sun comes out.

Intolerant Tabby would like to celebrate
this day by being left the hell alone.

Anyway, today, I don't know how they knew, but 15 minutes after canceling the appointment and explaining to the Vet that there was no way I would possibly see, let alone capture a cat in this weather, they showed up and brought friends. It's as if they all have little feline cellphones and texted each other.

FREE FUD, NO TRAPZ

ORLY? SW33T

KTHXBAI

So, there I am standing in the snow feeling like Boss Hogg at the end of every Dukes of Hazard episode with nothing to do but throw my hat on the ground, clench my fists, and take pictures of the freeloaders. Happy MLK Day little punks. You won't out smart me next time!

The Past: Overrated

So today I decided to try and make good on one of my goals/resolutions. Chris and I cleaned house yesterday so I figured I'd try to take a bite size chunk out of one of my perma-projects. And actually I nibbled at two.

I mentioned earlier that it's been 'stupid-cold' lately, and it reminded me of a project that's been half finished for, um... two years now. I put insulation up in the ceiling of the basement throughout about 3/4 of the house, and on days like this, when I walk around in socks I can tell exactly where I left off. The worst part is that there are 3 full bundles of insulation unopened and a 4 foot pile of scraps just sitting there, waiting to either be installed or eventually get wet and ruined. There's something extra stupid about being cold and yet literally sitting on a stack of insulation. Anyway, the odd and end pieces are now up and performing as designed and I can at least chalk that off my list.

Another one of my back projects is to sort through the boxes of notes, letters, and cards that I've got stashed in the basement from years gone by. Basking in the glow of successfully warmifying my house (and calculating all the pennies I'll now be saving) I grabbed a shoebox from the storage room and started picking through envelopes and little folded notes. Turns out it was the 1990 through 1993 box, which can pretty much be summed up as "Ugh." See, back in the days before there was text messaging and cameraphones, we would use this thing called a 'pencil' and apply one end gently to a piece of paper, creating a pattern of symbols. It was pretty primitive. It took the full use of your hand, so like, you couldn't send a text, play tetris, and listen to MP3's at the same time unless, of course, you had a typewriter, a Nintendo (there was only one choice...,) a time machine and two friends. And the language we used is what you now call 'Job Interview English' except we used it all the time and not just on term papers. Texting hadn't been invented yet because we still had 10 fingers and we hadn't evolved to the point of only needing our thumbs to communicate with each other. So for an example, the Olde English phrase, "I cannot believe that Susan asked William to TurnAbout" would roughly translate to "SRLY?" As you can see, text messaging is far more efficient and eloquent.


Anyway...
This shoebox was chock full of letters, mostly from girls I had treated badly, and a couple from ones I had treated really badly. There are a few problems with rediscovering old notes from old girlfriends. For starters, they really don't tell you much about you. They're mostly about them. Honestly, now that it's been 15 years, I'm really more interested in how *I* did on my Spanish final than how they did. But not much more. I also think there should be some kind of ritual at the end of a relationship where you give each other back all your correspondence. At least if you got your own sappy letters back then you'd know how your day was and what a dope you were. Can you imagine some relative of said ExSig coming up to you years later asking about what their mother was like in high school? The correct answer is, "I don't know," not "Sure, here's a box with 150 letters of her expressing her unyielding love for me. Woo-Hoo, what a horndog! I've been keeping them just in case someone like you came by." Or maybe a burning ceremony for any notes folded more than once down the middle. That would be acceptable.

Romeo, Juliet, now you listen to me.

On a slightly more serious note, this Sunday I'm singing a song called "I'm Not Who I Was" which pretty much describes how I felt after getting back in touch with some high school folks through MySpace. No really, I'm cooler now. Just ask me. I've been practicing in the mirror for years now...

Yar! She's a cold one!

So for those of you who are not in the mid-West (my blog has a HUGE following in Southeast Asia...) we're finally getting our winter weather. Temperatures are dangling around zero degrees Fahrenheit and the wind drops that another 15 degrees. So that's like -85 degrees Celsius or something.

How does it feel to look Death square in the eye?
Do you feel lucky? Well, Do ya?

Cold like this turns normal routine things into problems. For instance, when you turn your car off, you legitimately have to wonder if you are going to be able to start it again before April. Some of us with older vehicles worry about that kind of thing daily anyway, but now it becomes a real concern. You have to ask yourself, "Have I done absolutely everything humanly possible to help this car start again? Turned off light, defroster, and radio - check. Said 5 hail Mary's - check. Gently stroked the dashboard and whispered, "It's ok girl, you can rest now..." - check.

And pretty much anything left in your car that contains liquid is forfeited to the elements. That can of Coke that rolled under the shotgun seat three months ago, is now going to seek it's revenge on your apathy. Heck, I left a pen in my car this morning and I'm debating whether I should sacrifice it or call in a rescue party. Batteries? Drained. Lotion? Solidified.

So Chris and I laid in supplies on Friday in hopes of not having to leave the house again until Tuesday. It's not going to work. We're out of ice cream already. And frankly, if I were in a Zombie movie, I'd face the hordes for ice cream... not that they'd be moving very quickly in this weather anyway. Come to think of it, it would be pretty easy pickings, I mean, it's not like I wouldn't have plenty of time to reload. But I digress...

Speaking of the frozen undead, the remaining kittens of the apocalypse seem to be taking the cold snap in stride. I noticed today that my neighbor's garage door is open about a full cat-width so I suspect that's where they've been shacking up. They come out and sun themselves during the day, so we really only see them on the weekends. I really didn't want to turn this into a cat blog, but they're the only things moving around these days and I got some decent pictures yesterday. So here you go. Oh, and if you ever need to shoot a picture of a black object in snow, here's the trick: BUY A PENTAX. These were shot on automatic (2 points for the idiot proof camera!)

Famine giving Death the hard goodbye.

Kinda makes you wonder about how much infighting there was between the Pale Rider and the others...

Famine posing for a chilly photo op. Death lurks.

All present and accounted for

(Written December 31st)

Ok so stumbling in at 3am after 20+ hours of travel wasn't exactly an ideal day, but when three fuzzy faces greeted us at the door, we knew we were home. So a big Gracias goes out to Megan for taking care of our furballs. As a bonus I saw Death and Famine out back today. I hadn't seen the two of them together since Thanksgiving and figured that nature had run it's course on one of them (they're both black so I wasn't really sure which one...)
Anyway, so now today's challenge is the adjustment back into regular life. I've still got this cold thing that I picked up a couple days ago. Having a cold on a vacation stinks, having a cold and catching connecting flights just sucks. I knew I was in trouble when my ears actually felt better at 36,000 feet than they did on the ground. Also, although I never really felt like I had 'Sea legs' on the boat, I still feel like I'm swaying back and forth. I'll be glad when my living room stops rocking.
So no New Year's partying for me, kids. I'll be horizontal way before midnight.

Home Owner Aptitude, I has it.

Chris and I haven't paid rent for almost 10 years now. Along the way I've learned a few things about home repair, and was reminded of these simple principles as I installed a light fixture this weekend.
1) The right equipment is the difference between a 10 minute fix and a 3 day job. For this particular repair I needed a screwdriver, wire strippers/cutters, electrical tape, 10 foot ladder, electric drill, 2 machine screws, extra electrical wire, mounting plate, Janis, and wire caps. All of which would need to be used simultaneously at the top of the ladder. Piece of cake. "2 Ball cap nuts" are also in the equipment list but I doubt they're really needed. I think somebody just threw them in to make grown men giggle.
2) Safety first. I can't stress this enough, especially when you're doing electrical work in the dark on a ladder on a staircase. At least wait until you've got some daylight.
3) Follow the instructions, but be ready to improvise. No matter how thorough the directions are, there's no way some dude in China could account for (and describe in English) every situation you might run into. For instance, I don't have a 10 foot ladder, but I do have one of those sectional ladders that's 12 feet. Fully extended, the ladder wouldn't fit, so I folded one of the sections to make a nine foot ladder. Then it was still a little low, so I put it on a stair instead of the landing. Then it was a little too far from the wall so I extended the one folded section out until it touched. Remember kids, Safety first! Other than that, you can see from the following picture that I was able to follow the rest of the instructions to the letter.

Couple things to note about the picture on the left. You'll notice that I did not use Duct Tape to harness the lamp to the ceiling. This is an electrical project, therefore I used electrical tape. Also, Yes, the fixture is temporarily lashed to the ladder using spare wire. Yes, the ladder is aluminum. Boy Scouts and Navy Seals have been using this technique for centuries, take it up with them. Lastly, I did not photoshop this picture. The heavenly glow is confirmation that God approves.

15 hours, 3 blown fuses, and 9 lightbulbs later you'll get something that looks like this on the right:

Ta-da! It's just that easy.