Jun
7
June 7, 2007
I’m feeling this intense desire to read blog comments instead of paying attention to my current writing task at hand, which involves using the annoying terms personal productivity system and, worse, actionable (SHOOT. ME. NOW), so riddle me this, Bat-Reader, how did you get introduced to blogs, or blogging?
My story: in the last part of 2001 JB and I visited southern China; during that trip there was one night when I was hanging around our hotel room waiting for JB, and tooling around on his laptop to pass the time. I can’t explain what happened next, except to say that I was probably feeling a little lonesome for Americana at its finest . . . at any rate, I found myself googling Jean Teasdale, which inexplicably led me to Wendy’s site. I read through all of her archives until it came time for us to head to dinner (where a waiter repeated what I thought was “Chicken hot! Chicken hot!” to me, and I nodded in understanding—hey, I can handle a little spice, my good man—and promptly bit into what turned out to be a chicken heart. Which wasn’t half bad), and from Poundy I eventually discovered many more excellent blogs (well, online journals, as they were called at the time). A few months later, I decided to try my hand at writing on the web, and I’ve been duly blathering away—and reading—ever since.
How about you? When did you start reading blogs, or writing a blog? If you are really feeling generous, you could also tell me how you stumbled upon my blog, because I’d love to know.
PS: if you haven’t seen this video yet, prepare for your day to get about fifty thousand times more awesome. “NOT FUNNY!” Oh, but it is. (Via MightyGirl.)
Jun
6
June 6, 2007
The remodel has been underway for a while now, and this week the new living space was framed in (much to Dog’s sorrow; she finds the air compressor to be deeply disturbing). Here’s what things look like today:
Not pictured: the creepy big puddle of muddy water near the foundation that looks exactly like the filled-with-skeletons pool in Poltergeist. Did we build on an ancient Indian burial ground? No one knows.
Soon the truly horrible part of the work will begin, which will involve tearing into our existing kitchen and front entry. Apparently we’ll have the front part of the house sealed off with sheeting, and the plan is to put the fridge and stove . . . somewhere in the living room. It’s not clear where. It is also unclear what sort of dish-washing options we’ll have while the sink is out of commission. I’m thinking that all of our non-recyclable dishes and pots will get pre-rinsed by Dog, then washed in the bathroom sink. Hey, want to come over for dinner? The menu includes dried dog saliva and soap remnants! Mm MM.
This weekend I’m going to clean out the kitchen cabinets in preparation for all this madness, and I guess it’s finally time to get rid of a few of our eight million Rogue Ale-branded pint glasses, and the cheap commemorative wine glasses from the Newport Seafood and Wine festival, and maybe, just maybe, the stash of clean jelly glasses that JB insists on keeping, in case our nation experiences some sort of dire Smucker’s-jar supply crisis.
JB asked if having the kitchen down meant we could order pizza more often (as in, more often than “never”). The great hope I heard wavering in his voice made me suspicious; I’m now thinking it’s possible he engineered this entire project in order to increase the odds that some Canadian-bacon-and-pineapple will be allowed back in the house after months of abstinence. Never underestimate the lengths a man will go to get some pizza.
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