Ker-plat!

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POW!

Oh Lordy Lordy

What a whirlwind. I've been to Portland, Oregon attending a family wedding. We had an excellent time, until we went to the airport to fly home and realized that a communication error had led to us not being booked on a flight home. I spent more on the return ticket than I had spent on the rest of the entire trip.

The kitten was being checked-up on by Paws to Consider, a JP dog walking and pet-sitting service. She did really well. The pet-sitters left wonderful notes about how sweet and adorable she was, and she was very happy to see us when we got home. She hasn't acted ticked-off at us at all. She also had her first check-up, and things went well.

Now I just have to re-acclimate to work on Monday.

I wish I were this cute!

This is Foot Foot (after the Shags song). She has one peanut butter colored foot (back right) and three chocolate colored feet, or paws I guess. We could call her Reese's. But we liked Foot Foot better.

Foot Foot was born to the feral colony that lives next to our house. When we first moved into this apartment, a litter had just been born. I occasionally see one of those cats lurking around. All of these cats are shy and even fearful of people. No matter how careful and patient I've been, I've never been able to get closer than a few feet before they've bolted. This summer another litter was born. I wish I had the resources to do more for this group, but getting one female off the street and spayed, innoculated and into a safe home will help, I hope.

Labor Day morning, we were looking through the chain link fence that separates our yard from the scrap yard behind the office building next door, and we saw some kittens and the mother cat. They all bolted. Except Foot Foot. She just pranced back and forth, just on the other side of the fence. If we walked away from her, she ran after us, mewling all the way. We hung out on the back steps with the door open and a bowl of water for her. Once she let herself in, we knew we were going to keep her.

When she came in, I left her with the missus while I went to the store for a litter box and some food (and cat toys, and cat nip, and litter). By the time I came back, she was passed out on the missus' lap. She sleeps with us, she follows us from room to room, and she purrs when we scratch under her chin. Ahhh contentment.

Annus Novus

I am very connected to the academic calendar. Even though I am more-or-less done with formal schooling, living in Boston puts you on the September to August cycle. Everyone moves on September first, an odyssey I will never indulge in again.

September first this year marked one year in the new apartment. To celebrate, we adopted a kitten. It wasn't a conscious decision. The feral colony next to our house sheds a litter of kittens every summer, and usually none of those cats wants to have anything to do with people. They literally melt into the trees and scrap yards in the neighborhood. But one little kitten was being very brazen this weekend. She would take a few steps away when we approached her, but chase after us when we turned around and walked away. We gave her some water, and she followed us into the apartment. Once we closed the door behind her, that was that. She's a house cat now.

So, where's my money?

When I was little, my family were constantly reminding me to not talk to myself. I've always done this, and still do. It isn't like I don't know what the answers are going to be. I just like to have a little company. But what I remember most is my grandmother telling me that people would think I had money in the bank if I talked to myself.

Still, no money in the bank. I'm going to keep talking to myself, though.

Blu.....bla...blacccckkk

Blooorghh...Blahhhh. Blurp.

Ah. I feel better now. Sometimes my brain needs to upchuck, like my tummy.

I Was a Weird Kid...

...and I haven't changed much.

When I was six or seven, I got a desk for my birthday. It was the greatest thing I had ever been given to that point in my life. I was ecstatic. When I was little, I played "office" the way some little kids play "school." I would just sit at my desk and pretend to do paperwork.

Today, I was working on redesigning a form that my office uses to process work, and I had to ask a coworker about some edits I was making. She commented on how well I approached editing the form as if I were someone using it, and I started waxing rhapsodic about forms in general.

"I love forms. They're like the artifacts of policies, and policies are how we express what our priorities and norms are. When you look at a form, you see what's important to people."

"...um...

...yeah...

...that's great, Kev. Let me know if you need my opinion on anything else."

Cripes. It's no wonder I always get pegged as the dork in the room.

Strong Bones and Teeth!

The weekend is for fun. Rest and relaxation. And building strong bones and teeth. I do that with a nice cup of ice cream and a walk around the pond. August is when JP Licks goes all out with their flavors of the month. They have this chocolate chunk insanity madness type thing. It's got cashews and chocolate chips and it's yummy. Hooray for the weekend!

An Allegory

If a man is addicted to heroin, and the increasing cost of the heroin drives him to burglary and theft in order to afford the heroin, cheaper heroin isn't going to solve his problem.

Topsy Turvy

The last few summers I have made note of the fact that I hear cicadas either on or after August first. This summer I was surprised to hear my first cicada in late July -- it may have been as long as two weeks ago. What is really strange is that now that August is here, I haven't heard a single cicada. I'm getting all thrown off and disoriented.

Mixed Media

I was reading the Boston Globe's new free monthly magazine, Lola, while eating my lunch today. The article I was scanning covered some suggestions for summertime activities. I'm not sure what the intent was, but many of the things listed were in boldface. I found myself lingering over the bold type, re-reading the sentences several times. For example, let's say one of the suggestions was, "summertime is a great time for a walk along the beach with an ice cream cone." My eyes would keep going over "ice cream cone" over and over. It suddenly dawned on me that I was waiting for a hyperlink. Like, where is the ice cream cone? Why aren't you sending me someplace where I can get more information about the ice cream cone? TOO MUCH INTERNETS!

Cozy

When I was a kid, I had a very visual way of thinking. I guess that's pretty normal. I would picture certain things when I thought of certain words. The one I really remember is that every time I heard or read the word "cozy" I would picture two things: the scene in Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer when Rudolph, Herbie and Yukon Cornelius all settle down (together) in bed on the Isle of Misfit Toys, and the cover of my copy of The Cricket in Times Square. That was my favorite book when I was -- I think -- seven. I'm pretty sure my grandmother and mother read it to me, and I eventually read it myself when I was a little older. I've been perfectly happy living in small apartments in the city ever since.

What I Live (Here) For

Twenty-one more days until September. Autumn is the reason I will never leave New England. And as far as I am concerned, Autumn runs from September 1st until the weekend after Thanksgiving. I know it isn't good to be living in the past or the future, but when summer starts to get a little boring (weather-wise) I really start to wistfully anticipate the cooler, drier weather.

Agnostic

Here I was, thinking all along that the Sox weren't doing so well because I wasn't being a good fan and following along closely enough. See, there was a time when the West Coast trips were my favorite part of the season (and they used to happen later in the summer) because there was nothing better than staying up until 1 or 2 in the morning on a hot summer night watching or listening to a game. But those days are gone the way of my twenties -- and thirties -- and with the West Coast swing just before the All-Star break (and the break itself, which never really holds that much interest for me), I kind of fell behind in my support. I was still paying attention, but I wasn't really catching up on a daily basis.

I figured my sub-par support was responsible for their slipping in the standings. I mean, I knew Manny was up to some hi-jinx, but I didn't think it was causing much more of a distraction than usual. One thing I did think, though, was that the scuffle he got in with Youkilis a few weeks ago seemed really unusual. Yeah, yeah, pushing the geriatric travel secretary over in the clubhouse was kind of low class, but who hasn't wanted to punch a suit now and again? I mean, I am a suit, and I want to punch me all the time. Well, now Manny's gone and I'm off the hook. The new guy seems to be having an easy time finding that left field wall (both offensively and defensively) and Youkilis seems to be back on track. Hmmm, wait a minute. That all happened since I started paying attention again, didn't it?

Post-lunch Conversation, Friday Afternoon.

Me: "I'm so glad they installed a sink in the break room. Now I can brush my teeth after lunch someplace other than the men's room."

D-- and N--: "Ewwww."

N--: "You can't brush your teeth in that sink. That's where I'll be cleaning the coffee pot and my lunch dishes."

Me: "So what?"

N--: "That's gross. You can't be spitting your saliva where I wash dishes and prepare food."

Me: "Where do you go to clean the coffee pot now?"

N--: "The ladies' room-"

Me: "And the sink in the public toilet is OK, but my saliva grosses you out?"

N--: "That's not the point-"

Me: "Besides, you can't possibly believe that no one has ever brushed their teeth in the ladies' room sink."

N--: "But it's not sanitary to be spitting in a sink where people will be preparing food."

Me: "People will be washing their hands there, too."

N--: "So."

Me: "Most people's hands are dirtier than their mouths."

N--: "Speak for yourself."

Me: "Really? Which one do you use to wipe your ass?"

N-- and D--: "EWWWWWW!"

(This is how most conversations among the three of us end.)

Splitting hairs. (Hares?)

I was reading a book review this morning and the reviewer paraphrased the author's description of translation as being "more an art than a science." This is a pretty common phrase. I've always thought they aren't mutually exclusive. It's really more a matter of degrees. There's no rule that says you can't be systematic, disciplined and creative.

It's my idea and you can't have it.

I had a great idea for a commercial for an exterminator service. Or, pest control service. I guess "exterminator" is a little strong for people nowadays. Anyway, I've seen the Orkin ads a few times, and had an idea of my own. It's pretty vague and needs to be flushed out, but this is the gist of it. A woman is following a trail of ants through her house. Of course it's a woman, because guys don't even notice ants in the house. At least not in commercials. Guys don't notice much of anything in commercials. Caked-on crap left on the dishes from the dishwasher. Foul odors. Skid marks. This stuff just doesn't catch a man's attention.

Anyway, Mrs. Housewife is following the trail of ants, and she is on the phone. She gets more and more agitated as she describes the scene: "They're in the bathroom. They're in the kitchen. Oh my God, they're everywhere!" The voice on the other end of the line says, "Stay calm, ma'am. You have to find the source. You need to find out where they're coming from."

She starts to tear apart some cabinets, and pops up into view with an anguished, almost maniacal look on her face. She screams, "Oh My God! They're coming from INSIDE the HOUSE. They're COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE!!"

Get it? Well, that's my idea. MY idea. Don't you go stealing it.

Dinner

2 tbs olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
~1 lb chicken breast, cubed
~3 cups broccoli crowns
~3 cups (uncooked) penne pasta
salt and pepper
grated cheese

Start the water for the penne. Anytime you make something with pasta, the very first thing you do is start the water. If it boils before you need it, just shut it off (or turn it down); it will wait for you.

Heat the oil in a heavy bottomed large pan. I have a large, stainless stew pot that works well. Add the garlic. Let it just start to get brown. Add the chicken. Put some salt and pepper on it. Cook it well on one side, then turn it. Cook it so it's a nice, golden color. When it's cooked all the way through, take it out of the pan.

Toss the broccoli crowns in the pan with about 1/4 cup of water, give it a quick stir, and cover. Turn the heat down to low. Let that steam for about 5 minutes, then toss the chicken back in, leave the lid off, and toss that around. The penne should be ready to drain by now. Toss that in with every thing else, turn off the heat and throw some grated cheese on top. Eat.

This is one of the easiest things in the world to make, other than a steak or a pot of boxed mac 'n cheese. Somehow, though, Lisa enjoys this as much as if it were 4 star cuisine. It's the gustatory equivalent of a bouquet of roses for me: no matter what I've done, I'm pretty sure I can get off the hook with a batch of chicken penne (not that I've ever needed it).

Some Things Are OK to be OCD About

I have to do the dishes before I go to bed. If I wake up in the morning, and the coffee pot isn't clean and ready for me to use, my day is shot. I used to be a lot more of a slob, but nowadays a mess makes me nervous. Especially dishes in the sink. Now I need to develop some kind of neurosis about leaving a mess on my desk.

Good Eats

I love tacos. Usually, I don't like things that involve cramming a bunch of different food together and eating it at once. I like to pick at things separately. I always enjoyed TV dinners when I was a kid, because everything had its own compartment. It isn't that I don't want my food touching; in fact I like to mix some things together. I don't normally like peas (I don't really do anything normally), but if you give me peas, mashed potatoes and gravy, I'll clean my plate. And if you put the peas in a vegetable samosa, I'll give you $7.95 and clean my plate. But I am not a big fan of burritos, fajitas or most casseroles.

Tacos, however, I love. And I love them crammed with all kinds of stuff. FULLY LOADED. GIVE ME THE WORKS! Meat, beans, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, salsa, Tabasco sauce, sour cream and guacamole. Did you know guacamole was an Aztec word that means "sauce (mole) of the avocado (guavacado)?" At least I think that's what it means; I read it on Wikipedia. So, anyway, I love big, loaded tacos. And now, I am aided in my pursuit of fully stacked tacos by Old el Paso's "Stand and Stuff" taco shells. (Stand and Stuff - sounds like something I always wanted to do on an elevator). These shells have a wide, flat bottom (just like me) so they don't tip over when I add the fifth layer of toppings. Of course, they still promptly fall to pieces at the first bite, but that's part of the fun of tacos.