Where I work
February 23, 2012
Hate the headache
February 20, 2012
When did I become dependent on coffee? For the longest time ever, I’d just have my decaf in the morning. Maybe twice a month, I’d dare to have a cup of regular in the afternoon. I was so staunchly decaf that I bought my own little four-cup coffee maker for the office so that my decaf-making wouldn’t interfere with the regular in the big pot. I used to tell people that it would self-destruct if it came in contact with caffeine.
Now it’s me who sets myself up every week to self-destruct with regular coffee. I have swung completely in the opposite direction.If I manage to behave myself, I only have half-caf in the morning. But a lot of the time it’s a couple of cups of the full octane joe. And in the afternoons I don’t even try to be reserved. I like the post-lunch pick-me-up of my two, sometimes three, mugs of regular. And then I wonder why I don’t feel like going to bed earlier at night.
By the end of the week, my need for speed rears its ugly head earlier and earlier. By mid-morning on Thursday and Friday I get that caffeine headache that I know I’m easily prone to. And on the weekend I look forward to the major headache because I don’t usually make coffee at home. My routine is just different and doesn’t make me think of sitting and sipping. I suffer through it and resolve that next week I won’t give in. I have known for ages that I quickly become “addicted” to caffeine and that’s why I was perfectly content with high-quality decaffeinated for years and years; I didn’t want to deal with the headaches. I hypothesize that as I stay at my position longer and longer (seventeen-year anniversary coming up next month) and the types of projects I work on become more and more routine, the little jolt I get from caffeine makes me cheerier on the job.I guess I have come to accept the weekly withdrawal as a small price to pay for something that gives me enough pleasure during the week. I am weak.
Operator, would you help me place this call?
February 16, 2012
I resisted a cell phone for a long time. Just ask Jim and California Rob. They were early adopters (though not so early that they had those bricks from the ’80s, at least I don’t think they did) and I believe they grew quite frustrated at my willingness to remain wired and unreachable, particularly on the occasions when we were trying to make plans to meet up at the now-defunct City Billiards for a night of beer, billiards, and flirting with Liz the waitress (who I still see once or twice a year at a different bar).
Once I did get my first cell phone (a very lovely Nokia candy bar model, of which I had two, until I couldn’t get it anymore. Similarly, I’m on my third iPhone model. Because, if I find something I like, I buy multiple versions of it, such as shirts in all the colors. But I digress.)
Once I did get my first cell phone, it didn’t take long until I canceled my land line. Well, why would you keep it? Because when people know you’re footloose and fancy-free, they’ll call the accessible, portable version that they know you have on your person rather than the hit-or-miss, tethered version. They will impose themselves upon you. In addition, long distance is included, so any “plan” you have through the landline is redundant. And I don’t spend that much time on the phone anyway, local or long distance, so it quickly turned into a no-brainer to go solely with cell.
Consequently, when I bought and moved into my current place, I had no use for the existing phone jacks. And there were plenty of them. Apparently one of the previous residents of my space was a blind fellow called Blind Elvis. There were outlets in every room. Every now and then I think that if a place were going to be haunted, it would be mine, by Blind Elvis, because he died while he lived here. Not under any nefarious circumstances; he just died.
I ripped out the phone jacks and covered them up, or I must have. Though at the moment, the only one I actually remember doing that to was in the bathroom, but what did I use? I don’t recall cutting out small rectangles of drywall to patch in. … Nope, I’ve gone into the bathroom to review. The other locations were just wires coming out, not full-blown outlets. I pulled them out and covered up the tiny holes with patching spackle stuff.
I covered them up, all except one. And it’s the one that’s in the middle of the kitchen/dining room, the most visible location possible. You would think that after eight and a half years I would have been bothered to installed a covering plate. But I haven’t been. And usually, the jack part is just hanging, dangling from the hole. I posed it nicely for this photo.
A week of Christmas: recipe wrap-up
February 13, 2012
As you may remember, my Christmas coping strategy was to keep myself busy in the kitchen. I did so with gusto the entire long weekend, and here, finally, are the photos and recipes I said I’d post. I realize that you’ve probably forgotten all about my promise but I haven’t, and in that collection of twisted wires I call my brain, I will not be able to move on and write new posts until I take care of this outstanding business. I seem to have tidied-away my menu plan for the week, but fortunately I sorted my photos into a Christmas Week 2010 folder.
If you care to print any of the recipes, I have inserted a page-break at the beginning of each recipe so that it can be on its own piece of paper.
A week of Christmas: alone again, naturally
December 28, 2011
Judge me as you must, but I am glad my parents are gone. I am not a people person, and having two extra bodies in my space for the equivalent of four days (three extra bodies, if you count their rabbit, but she was really mellow this visit) just about did me in, especially with the frequent butting of heads in which my mom and I engage.
This morning I was really glad to go to work—not because I love my coworkers, though they’re mostly fine—but because I was thrilled to get back to a normal situation. Tonight, I came home and have just sat and watched TV. I caught up with Downton Abbey, then got depressed as I knew I would by the documentary Food, Inc., then watched a couple of hours of Anthony Bourdain as an antidote. All accompanied by beer. Now it is approaching midnight and I really wish I had about six more hours and six more beers, because among other things (I don’t know what), I’d like to watch the Hitchhiker’s Guide movie.
I cope by overreacting.
In a weird way the unexpected holiday greeting that I found in the mail tonight when I picked it up for the first time since Thursday was very comforting, reassuring me that my own life still exists, post-parental visit. Thanks, Meghan 🙂
A week of Christmas: the longest day
December 26, 2011
The good news is that despite what I thought would be mistimings and failed recipes, the Christmas dinner was pretty darned good after all. The bad news is that my mom and I have reached our point of more rather than less head-butting with each other. Can I just hide under a paper bag now, please? No? Okay, then I’ll sit here in bed in the dark with my iBook again. Illuminated screens in the dark are a great way to feign sleeping in order to be done with socializing.
I thought the turkey in particular turned out above average. This time I differently blasted it at 450°F for the first fifteen minutes to sear the outside and hopefully lock the moisture in, then cooked it at 400°F until the little thingy popped out, which was about an hour sooner than I was expecting. Consequently, I barely had my side dishes started before the turkey was finished. I overroasted the Brussels sprouts. The butternut squash gratin, which looked great on paper but then which seemed quite less than spectacular while putting together, ended up being everybody’s favorite part of the meal. I paired the redux of yesterday’s excellent homemade cherry pie with Odell Friek, the combination of which I had been anticipating all weekend and it didn’t disappoint. Nor did my (now) perennial favorite, Ommegang Three Philosophers, with the meal. Thanks again to Tori and Aaron for introducing me to that one a couple years ago.
But then it came to cleaning up time, and in my mother’s infinite desire to be helpful and my nearly infinite desire for her to just sit down and relax and stay out of my way, we had a major clash. I’d tell you the gory details, but I guess it wouldn’t be very becoming. Suffice it to say my mom and I are both very stubborn.
And yay, there’s a day and a half to go. Stay tuned.A week of Christmas: bug-up!
December 25, 2011
I thought the highlight of the day would be the awesome cherry pie I made—it was good—but the most fun turned out to be playing a game called “bug up” that my parents and I frequently played when I was a youngster. (The sausage and mushroom strata turned out the best that it ever has, too. I made it with whole grain bread this time instead of sourdough.)
“Bug Up” might also be called “7 Up.” We aren’t sure. If I weren’t typing this in the dark on my laptop in bed, I’d take the time to look it up. Cribbage is the only card game I really ever got into, so you probably know more than I.
Each person has an equal number of chips to begin with and you deal all the cards out. If the number of players doesn’t divide equally into 52 then somebody get stuck with an extra card. The person to the left of the dealer starts by playing a 7 if they have one. If they don’t, they have to “bug up” (throw a chip in) to the pot. From each 7 you build upward from the 8 and downward from the 6, by suit. If you can’t play a card, you relinquish a chip to the pot. After a player plays their last card, the remaining players throw one chip for each card left in their hands into the pot, which the winner gets.
We always used Deelie Bobbers as our chips. These, I think I will take the time to look up and link to. I can remember playing with the Deelie Bobbers a little bit in general, but all you could do was stick them together and make shapes. I suppose some people got complicated with them, but Lincoln Logs and Legos would have held more allure for me.
Anyway, in theory, you keep playing rounds until people run completely out of chips. In practice, that can make for a lo-o-o-o-ong session. We played for three hours with one cherry pie break. Cats, it seems, like to play, too. And they like cherry pie.
My strategy thus far has been working. I’ve spent most of my waking time in the kitchen which I find pleasurable anyway, and it’s proving to be an excellent way to keep busy. And we all benefit because we’re eating mighty well this weekend. But after two straight days in the kitchen, I was ready for the mindless relief of tonight’s card playing.
A week of Christmas: countdown
December 23, 2011
In an effort to overwhelm myself, I shall now write down everything I hope to accomplish or have underway in the next three hours, prior to my parents’ arrival for the festive weekend. I probably have more like four hours, but we’ll see how fast I can go. To provide as soothing an environment as possible, I have commenced my annual listening of the complete Handel’s Messiah. I am actually playing the CDs in my stereo!
To do:
– give the litterbox corner some TLC
– vacuum
– cut up vegetables for supper stir-fry
– straighten up
– clean the bathroom
– bake a loaf of bread
– tape up one side of one window plastic that came unstuck
– a load or two of laundry
– some online banking
Hmm. It doesn’t look like so much it written form. It seemed like more when it was just swirling around in my brainpan.
Hi ho!
A week of Christmas: avoidance
December 22, 2011
In what I suppose was a subconscious avoidance technique against my parents’ impending Christmas visit on my last free evening (bowling tomorrow night and parental arrival for supper Friday), I fully honored the winter solstice. I did it not with a pagan, sway-y dance around large stones on the Salisbury Plain, but rather by participating in MacKenzie Pub’s “longest dark day” stout, porter, and black IPA takeover of their taps. #longestdarkday
I’m not a fan of stouts, but I do alright with a lot of porters. Black IPAs are usually just fine.
I started with the Upstairs Bar Flight. I was very glad they were doing flights. I quite enjoyed the Bell’s Java and Southern Tier Choklat. Then I had the Black IPA and Stout #1 flights.
I still haven’t gone to work out. In order to get three in yet this week, I must get up tomorrow morning. I work best under pressure.
I suppose that’s why I frittered away this evening and will now have to cram all of the housework in to about six hours on Friday. Six hours if I’m lucky to have so long, after I don’t set my alarm, do get up and go work out, then come home to shower and eat. Stay tuned.
A week of Christmas: office pot-lucky!
December 21, 2011
Today we had a potluck at the office, which was what I made the Tex-Mex Soup for. I managed to get the two large containers of it to the office intact, despite having to make a dash for the train. I have had liquid disasters in my backpack before due to loose-fitting lids and jostling.
My soup was met with a fair amount of enthusiasm, but not nearly as much enthusiasm as for what Office Santa left under the tree for each of us. We knew we were getting a couple of the recently delivered new company mugs and probably figured that, like past years, there would also be a little bonus check. Boy, what a bonus. My bosses are getting each of us an iPad—an iPad 3 when they come out in a few months, or an iPad 2 now if we’re just too impatient.
Patience is a virtue.
I had been vaguely mulling over the idea of getting one with my tax refund in February but hadn’t yet decided whether to spend that much money on something I don’t really need. Problem solved. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. I have the best bosses in the world. There’s a reason why I’m coming up on my seventeen year anniversary.
There was much gaiety for the rest of the afternoon.
Kelly’s Unnecessary Blog 