Andrea

Local: hang out and do crap the day after Thanksgiving

Thu, 15 Nov 2007 05:12:44 GMT

In honor of Buy Nothing Day, I'm going to sit around my apartment and do crap. Sewing, spinning, weaving, I don't know. You are invited to bring your crap and do the same. Friday November 23rd, noon-ish to dinner-ish, as I don't expect too many people will be vertical and mobile any earlier. (I'll mostly be home, let me know.)

I'll have snacks but bring what you like or get something at the taqueria next door. Near San Francisco General Hospital, RSVP for directions. Those of you who do know how to get here, RSVPs are appreciated. I have a sewing machine, a place to cut out patterns and various other textile implements including a spiffy front-loading washer.

Just a warning, parking is gonna suck and DPT is not taking the day off. Our street is a permit zone but others nearby are not. (Better yet, don't drive.)

local sewers: plus-size patterns

Sun, 02 Sep 2007 15:46:18 GMT

I'm culling the pattern collection, so I've got a stack of ones I will never use. They are all at least size 18. If you want one, let me know and either Dillo or I can get it to you next time we see you or you can stop by.

Burda 4520 swing coat 18-28 (old Burda, no seam/hem allowances)
Butterick 3378 long princess seam/pleated dress 20-24
Vogue 7334 Today's Fit princess seam jacket, double breasted or not, G-J
McCall's 3871 scrubs: tops and pants 26-32
McCall's 2233 kitchen uniforms unisex XXL (50-52 chest)
Burda 3009 straight skirt, blouse, jacket 18-28
McCall's 2538 Palmer/Pletsch 3 hour shirt 24-26
McCall's 2341 Palmer/Pletsch perfect jacket 24

Some of these are still current, you should be able to find info on most from Google.

Discordians everywhere are snickering

Thu, 14 Sep 2006 01:24:59 GMT

Finally something I thought this bunch would appreciate and be worth posting...

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/news/archive/2006/09/13/state/n172804D30.DTL

(09-13) 17:28 PDT Los Angeles (AP) --

A distant, icy rock whose discovery shook up the solar system and led to Pluto's planetary demise has been given a name: Eris.

I am so glad we are getting out of this dump

Sun, 18 Dec 2005 19:39:21 GMT

So, the landlord bought a submersible pump, punched a hole through the concrete in the back hallway and dug a pit. One that I've been trying to avoid sticking my foot into for the past week. But didn't bother installing the pump, which has been sitting out in the hall. The pit has collected most of the rain the past two days.

But this morning we had some serious storms. I only happened to look. The front drain was overwhelmed by water running down the back stairs and was flooding the empty apartment next door and the utility closet. If my neighbor and I hadn't noticed when we did, ours would have been next.

All that water is seeping into the walls and the foundation. And, now that there is a hole, the sand underneath. I keep reminding myself that I don't own any of this and we are actively packing boxes for an imminent move. This is the only thing that keeps me from screaming.

Oh, and his cell phone voicemail is still full. At least his wife was home. If he sticks to his usual, I'm expecting him to stop by to investigate sometime around Tuesday.

"Real" job? Maybe?

Thu, 15 Dec 2005 06:29:46 GMT

For the past few weeks I've been doing work for a new client, where a friend of mine works. They have Macs to set up and are seriously lacking the skills to do it so she brought me in to set up a room full of OS 9 computers. Way back, many months ago, I also submitted a resume in response to an open position. The organization is large and stable, and not prone to insane unpaid overtime. People have families and are allowed to enjoy them. My friend has her gripes but generally is happy. As expected in the job world these days, I didn't hear squat.

In the middle of this ongoing project, I get a phone call from HR. I was actually at lunch with my friend because she called me to do some things that day. So I scheduled a more convenient time to return the call, and we had a good giggle about it. I arranged to stop by to talk to the HR person (since I'm around the office anyway) and we talked about it.

The position I applied for was desktop support and although the announcement was a little vague it looked to be heavy Mac. Exactly the kind of thing I've been looking for. Turns out she was looking at a Solaris and SAN sort of thing, stuff I have little experience with. Ok, fine. But there was this other that she thought would be worth passing my resume on for, a different desktop support position. They really, really need a strong Mac person but since there are still mostly Windows machines they also want a Windows expert. I know people who do that, but bill at outrageous rates and are not exactly interested in dropping successful consulting businesses for a fairly mundane IT job. The manager recognizes this and there had been some talk about redesigning the position so some actual human might be found willing to talk to them.

I go see the manager, and we have a nice chat about Mac and Windows and other fun stuff. He has a few other people to talk to and he likes me a lot but wouldn't it be really spiffy if the perfect expert in everything might fall from the sky. Ok, whatever. This week I get a call from him, can I drop by sometime? We make arrangements. He calls back to ask if we can reschedule, because then the VP will be available. Up to now things had been rather casual, but this means it's serious. I dress up and head in for my interview.

I am paraded around various departments talking to managers and techies. I have a rather unexpected conversation about the details of Postscript with a manager who I think was just as surprised to find I actually knew something about it. I tinkered with it a bit in school, as a hobby. He even gave me one of my standard questions when I'm interviewing people, "what kinds of computers do you have at home?" (It being obvious at this point there had to be more than one.) I had to explain my answer, "pretty much everything except Windows" by naming some of the wide assortment of things lurking in dark corners. He asked just what we *do* with the Sparcs and everybody had a good laugh at my comment that at this point they are mostly space heaters. I have a long conversation with the VP, some of it really interesting and some of it me trying to not sound stupid in responding to open-ended "what do you think" kinds of interview questions.

It is important to note that this all comes in the middle of actual work, I took off from configuring machines for interviews. It wasn't planned, but I got a call to come in this morning for some last-minute stuff. And apparently one of the people I was working with came around asking the guy who would be my manager where I was and when I was going to be back.

So overall I think things went well. They like my skill with Macs and the broad general technology background. I am willing to support Windows and take some training classes. The fact that I cheerfully write documentation is met with astonishment.

All of this is leading up to the point of this post: "Desktop support? Are you mad?"

From the questions I got, I can see there are two major things to be answered. First, if they are willing to take someone who has little Windows experience but a very strong Unix and Mac background. That's an organizational thing. But I think the bigger question is if they are convinced that I really do want to work there, give up my high-flying software career for desktop support. Again and again I had to respond to that. It's actually an honest concern, as I'm overqualified in many respects and the culture of technology considers going from software development to desktop support a major step down. I could easily drop them like a rock and rush off to the next great startup, and I'm sure they have seen it happen many times.

I had to skirt around my specific reasons, there is a small internal development group I could possibly move into later. I don't hate writing code, I hate the culture of software development. Pure software shops are like some kind of macho proving ground. Every cowboy for himself (and I use "himself" on purpose.) I like to work with people, a group effort for a group success. Cowboys are all about how to make themselves happy and screw everybody else. Nobody cares what some user down the road will have to deal with, because the developer will have cashed in and moved on long before then. Maintenance? That's for sissies. Upgrade management? Well, just install it already! My experience in those kinds of environments have so soured me on development that I haven't wanted to look at it for years. And the Bay Area has plenty of startups full of cowboys. I'm good at solving problems and figuring out which problems need to be solved. I can differentiate between my personal interests and what it takes to make things work. I know that not everybody knows, or cares, what nifty techie thing is going on inside that box. Some people just want their email. That's ok.

We have had long conversations about this at home and it finally became obvious that I really do have what it takes to support users. The "Plays Well With Others" factor is just as important as technical skill. More, if the technical skill is so hampered by inability to communicate with humans that you aren't effective. I still don't think of myself as a "People Person" because it isn't a natural thing for me. I have to work at it. It's only the comparison with other techies that makes it seem that way. If I'm so burned out on software, IT is one way to use my experience and stay in the industry. For a while I wasn't even certain I wanted to do that, but the practical reality is that it's the best way to a reasonable professional career. Textiles are fun, but the economics of it is that as long as I must have some kind of income I have to look elsewhere.

I've spent the past several years working with Macs and Unix from an IT perspective and looking for a Mac-focused position. There aren't that many out there. If I know that this is a path to career sanity, it really doesn't matter to me if it's thought a "downgrade." I had to think about it a long time to be comfortable with that, because as much as it now drives me nuts I'm still the product of a software culture. It is better than sitting on my ass and more reliable than my feeble attempts at being self-employed. I did a lot of time in unpaid positions trying to get some experience outside of software development. At various times I thought they might more directly lead to paid employment but they have turned out to be a financial disappointment. Sometimes a personal disappointment, too. So now I'm looking at something where I can do Mac stuff and be taken seriously for it.

There is still that little twinge of regret, that I'm "throwing away a promising career." Doing what? Killing myself for some piece of crap software that is shoved out the door and forgotten as soon as possible? Organizations that burn up and blow away, only to be replaced by another almost indistinguishable except in name? Traveling for a pimp shop who doesn't understand the concept of sleep? Never seeing my home even if I'm still in the same city? I need a new game to play, one that respects that I am not and never will be a cowboy. Software organizations, like others, make much of the desire for "team players" but those are not the people who are rewarded. Yes, I got plenty of brownie points for putting out the fires. But nobody would listen to my questions about why there were fires in the first place. I don't want to be a superstar. I want to be part of a sustainable organization, not one that falls apart when the lead engineer gets hit by a bus. Superstars spend all their time maintaining their positions of self-imposed power and being the center of attention. I don't want to be the center of attention. I want to have a life. If this is a demotion, I'm all for it. Now I just have to convince everybody else.

We're in!

Mon, 05 Dec 2005 21:01:32 GMT

After a month of paperwork and phone calls, we did it. I got a call today that the other buyer backed out and we now get the house. Well, an interest in a three unit Victorian anyway. We now are allowed to hand over almost as much as I paid for my old house as a downpayment and more than twice our current rent to own something in San Francisco.

spinning

Wed, 28 Sep 2005 22:17:50 GMT

I don't normally post textile stuff to my regular journal, but Dillo reminded me that I should update the non-fiber folks. I finished the work for the big spinning program last month and I got the results this week. I passed. I'm still working on my article about the process.

Expanding my horizons... or not.

Tue, 22 Mar 2005 00:46:51 GMT

There were various flavors of fake meat on sale at Whole Foods today. I basically hate this stuff, I have no particular political or social reason to be vegan or even vegetarian and I think of it as fake food. I'd rather have real tofu than something pasted together with bits of soy to look like something else. But, people tell me that it's really great, I should try it. After all, I regularly use soy cheese because the normal stuff gives me so much trouble. So I did. I came home with Now and Zen "steak" and "ribs," one for lunch and one for dinner.

I opened up and heated the mushroom gravy steak, that I think is wheat gluten or something. It looked like a malformed rubber dog toy, but it smelled ok. I cut off a bite (actually difficult to do with just a fork) and stuck it in my mouth. Almost immediately, back out it came. And the entire plate of ersatz food immediately chucked in the garbage. It not only looks and feels like a malformed rubber dog toy, it tastes like one too.

Ok, so much for that. The "ribs" promised tasty morsels in a savory sauce. At this point I wasn't counting on it being acceptable for dinner, so I opened it up. Better to find out now, I suppose. It is apparently the same stuff, in a different shape and with a different sauce. Same result.

I could take it back, because Whole Foods promises to refund my money for basically any reason. But I wasn't interested in keeping these vile objects in my fridge until the next time I go to Whole Foods to stand around waiting for someone to give me my five bucks back. What I have learned is that my original statement is in fact correct: fake food. And not even good fake food.

So we won't have our vegan friends over for dinner much, but when we do I will continue to cook real food that happens to be vegan. I'm pretty damn good at it, I might add. They may be willing to eat this dreck but I am unwilling to serve it in my home.

I have a potluck dinner meeting tomorrow and I've decided I'm making quinoa with leeks, green garlic and Napa cabbage. Everybody needs more whole grains and fresh vegetables. The event is not specifically vegetarian, but for my first time somewhere I like to bring food that as many people as possible should be able to eat. And, so far, I haven't gotten any complaints.

Just another exciting night in my neighborhood

Mon, 07 Mar 2005 03:52:10 GMT

What is it about groups of drunk people?

I am somehow failing to understand why asking the cigarette-smoking drunks hanging around outside the bar to allow me to pass on the sidewalk is "pushing my way through." It took me two rounds of "Excuse me" to be able to get anybody's attention to get past, which was annoying already. But an hour later when I came back, the same people were there. I walk up and I get "Well EXCUSE ME!" from the cigarette-smoking drunk chick who then proceeds to lecture me about how rude I am for interrupting their party by having the nerve to want to actually use the sidewalk for transportation purposes.

This is why I hate people. People, generally and as a class, are assholes and can safely be assumed to be assholes unless proven otherwise.

I think I hear an echo in here

Tue, 22 Feb 2005 03:04:15 GMT

So The Boyfriend is away for two weeks, off doing geek stuff. I couldn't go because the institute didn't get so much money this year and he had to buy his own ticket. We couldn't afford two. I stay home while he is off seeing Europe. Or something like that. Staying on campus is not actually all that much different than being here: there are people we know, everybody speaks passable English and there is high-speed Internet. There is even a mini-Exploratorium in the basement. Well, there is the bad cafeteria food. (Really bad. I didn't think Italy could create bad food until I went to the dorm cafeteria. Scary.)

On the plus side, I cleaned the kitchen and it is *still clean*. (As long as you don't look down. I'm getting to that.) I can cook large quantities of tomatoes with no complaints and at some point I'm ordering a pizza all for myself with soy cheese. There is never anyone hogging the bathroom. I'm working on cleaning the rest of the place, a common Dillo-Free activity, but mostly I'm doing other Feorlen-like things such as decorating the apartment with various kinds of fibers. (Vacuuming is high on the housekeeping list. I was sorting raw llama fiber on the floor over the weekend and now the place is covered in flax debris.)

We have not been able to get the video/audio thing working but there is always AIM. Strangely, we both think nothing of serious household discussions and cutesy chatter entirely by instant messages.

So here is what he is doing:

http://wireless.ictp.trieste.it/school_2005/index.html

All you fiber people already know where to find what I am doing:

http://www.spinnyspinny.com

No! More! Ants! Die! Die! Die!

Fri, 07 Jan 2005 22:33:36 GMT

More rain, but there has not been an ant to be found since the bug guy was here. I'll be more certain tomorrow. They had mostly let up because it was dry for a few days, but if they haven't come in after two days of heavy rain, it's not going to happen. (This is my theory, anyway.)

The guy with the big spray can of toxic chemicals came yesterday and I had to move things away from the walls so he could apply it. That was no small task right there, the apartment was a complete disaster because I had to basically throw stuff everywhere as best I could and there were things that were just not going to move without a site plan and exploratory party. After a break to let it dry and air out, I spent the rest of the day reassembling the apartment. The wonderful and amazingly focused Boyfriend spent all evening cleaning up the clothing and other items that had been all over the floor before I unceremoniously dumped them on the bed. (Although, for the sake of full disclosure, I did have some unkind words for him while I was hauling everything out of the bottom of the closet. I found carpet I'd never seen, and more remnants of a previous rodent invasion.)

Dealing with this the past month has been miserable and it really seems like it should be such a minor thing what with all the various other world events going on. But it's right here, right now and in my face and I can't ignore it for a few minutes and do something else. I would walk around the apartment about every hour looking for ants to kill because if I didn't then by mid-afternoon there would be a huge ant party going on in the kitchen. By evening it would be wandering out into the rest of the place, inviting over all their ant-friends and having a grand old time. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and find ants everywhere. Every little dark spot or tiny movement started to look like an ant. I couldn't sleep and I even swiped a few of The Boyfriend's Valiums he got for his back trouble. I haven't had a problem this bad since Florida, when I would have nightmares about giant flying cockroaches. (They are, they do, and not just in bad dreams. Many of you already know that.)

Now the ants are gone and I don't miss them at all. I practically had a spontaneous ant wake and memorial blow-out party on the spot. The apartment now even looks better for the cleaning and reorganization that happened in the aftermath. As much as it is a Big Pain In The Ass, I have to say the state of the residence is vastly improved and it probably wouldn't have happened otherwise.

Happy F'n New Year

Sun, 02 Jan 2005 00:44:48 GMT

If it is true, as some cultures believe, that what you do on the first day of the new year is what you will do all year, then I am in trouble.

I have spent the past month dealing with ants all over our apartment. When the rain starts, it drives them inside through the foundation. In previous years it has been a problem, but mostly one that could be dealt with by being reasonably tidy and a little boric acid here and there. Soapy water kills small ants well, and is completely safe to use. (I use very dilute Simple Green.)

Now not only can I not leave dirty dishes in the sink for a few hours, the ants just roam around looking for whatever they can get into. In the hour between making lunch and going back to finish cleaning, they had climbed into the shelf with my kitchen gear and gotten into the pots, pans, and basically everything I have that isn't for eating off of, including the flatware. (Plates and glasses are in the only two small cabinets I have.)

Already, every corner is covered in blue powder (Roach Prufe, 98% boric acid) and I've even pulled up the carpet in places. I've put the stuff everywhere I can get to, but the major problem is behind the sink cabinet where I can't get. There is also some trouble in the bedroom closet, which I have been attempting to get The Boyfriend to clean out for about three years now. I mentioned it to the owner a few weeks ago and he wasn't terribly concerned. I'd been trying to locate him around the building for a week or so to talk about it when finally I heard him out back yesterday morning when I woke up to thousands of ants covering the sink and stove.

He's going to get a professional to look at it and also treat the soil on the other side of the foundation wall because that is obviously where they are coming from. I know there is a problem back there because we've also had mice. The owner doesn't believe they come in under the sink, but I've blocked off the other major entry (*huge* gap under the front door) and now when I do find them it is always in the kitchen around the sink. A few bait blocks when I smell them and that takes care of it but the ants are out of control.

So, since I found ants crawling all over my kitchenware, I've spent today washing dishes. There will be no cooking until probably tomorrow evening while I do everything in batches and let it dry. The worst part is the bin of a zillion little kitchen gadgets that don't stack nicely and have fussy shapes.

And since we haven't had a day without heavy rain for a week and it is forecast to continue, I basically have limited use of my kitchen until something gets done. And is is possible that the soil treatment cannot be done until things dry out, I don't know.

We discussed this several days ago and decided we are not going to put up with another winter in this basement. It's drafty, there are serious pest problems and it's so small we are constantly bitching at each other just trying to deal with everyday living. And now we are seeing gang taggers on the street. I am still open to the possibility of buying this and the unit above, but not unless it's cheap enough to offset the cost of completely re-doing the kitchen and pulling up the carpet elsewhere to deal with the ants.

Odds and kitchen ends

Mon, 27 Dec 2004 03:10:59 GMT

The past few days I've had more stuff around the kitchen than usual, getting ready for holiday parties. I did a few things I haven't in a while: zest oranges for flavored sugar and render bacon fat. They sound like fancy-tv-chef sorts of things but really they are both very old practices that are now often forgotten because there isn't a button on the microwave for it.

I got one of those fancy microplane graters a few months ago. It's really a shop tool repackaged for the kitchen but it works great. I had a whole box of oranges from Costco for us and others, so I dragged it out and went at it. The result was yummy orange-flavored sugar from what is normally tossed away. We never did get around to making the sugar cookies with it, but it's pretty nifty in tea.

One of the local holiday traditions is the Christmas Morning Bacon Orgy. I don't know how it came about, it just sort of happened one year and that was that. We usually bring the bacon, so I went and got three different kinds. Some went to the party and some stayed home. I cut a pound of it up into small pieces and slowly cooked it to get nice crispy bacon and rendered fat. I strained off the fat and still had this pot coated in it, so I thought I should use it to do something. Out came the previously cleaned and chopped vegetables (mei qing choi stems and green garlic) and into the pot it went with a spoonful more fat. One of the nice things about animal fats is the high smoke point -- they don't break down as quickly as vegetable oils. That means I get nice caramelized brown stuff around the edges. It doesn't taste like bacon, but it does give a nice flavor.

Normally I throw away both these things, citrus is fussy to zest and bacon is a saturated fat bomb already without keeping the rest of it too. But now, while it lasts, I'll enjoy them.

On the matter of Gainful Employment

Wed, 15 Dec 2004 05:28:40 GMT

So now I have another potential job thing. I sent an email this morning in response to a mailing list item that sounded interesting and I got a phone call within an hour. A very good sign. I have some basic information from the recruiter, including a representative hourly rate, as this is a temporary position. It appears to be moderately senior with some specific skills, all of which I have. And it is something I can see myself being actually interested in doing. What I didn't get is if that rate is as an employee or as an independent contractor, and the taxes and expenses involved with being self-employed mean this is a serious issue.

As an employee, it's not dotcom spectacular but very acceptable and about what I would want. As an independent contractor it is very lukewarm, bordering on serious lowball. This particular recruiter is an employee of what is sometimes called a "body shop", a company who hires people only to farm them out at a much higher rate to clients. (They are sometimes, less charitably, called "pimps" for obvious reasons.) The position may be as an employee of the agency, not a direct 1099 from either them or the client but this is not clear.

There is still much to be determined about this particular position, and I hope I'll know more tomorrow. But it did bring up another discussion on the matter of rates and the value of one's labor.

Some background:

Both of us have turned down professional work, even in the depths of the tech implosion, because it was at an unacceptable rate. There were some positions offered around here for tech positions paying less than average clerical office work and occasionally barely more than minimum wage. (Some not even that much, as at the very bottom there was a rash of "internships" that required suspiciously professional-level experience.)

We had a discussion some time back about what we considered "demeaning" work. I applied for several positions in retail and light industrial all paying little more than minimum wage for low-skill work. I have done several small housekeeping jobs for not a lot more. If I were physically capable, I would have done more of this but I just can't. And financially it was generally more effective for me to stay home than to take a job that would only barely cover the cost of the services I would no longer have the time to do myself. Yet I do not consider it to be demeaning. It is honest work at market rate. What I do consider demeaning are the unscrupulous offers of professional programming work at similar rates that were to be found around here in 2002 and 2003.

I have not had regular full-time employment for several years. I have not been completely out of the market because I have been involved with substantial work for other projects but none of them full-time and always a little here and a little there. I have also kept up with professional events, training, personal projects and study. I do not consider myself to have been "out of the work force" in the sense of abandoning professional pursuits for other things, even if what I did hasn't actually paid any money. I have presented myself as a consultant for part-time non-profit projects and I do not feel that is unwarranted. I am quite clear that it was intermittent and that not everything was programming or even technical.

So I work on more-or-less what I please, for people I wish to associate with and not the highest bidder. The trade-off is that I have many non-professional tasks to support the household and I do many, many things that have a financial impact and would otherwise cost money. I see it as having two part-time jobs, one as a "consultant" and the other as a fairly traditional housewife. Simply cooking meals saves huge amounts of money over eating out and what I cook is vastly better that cheap fast food. Dillo may be unwilling to investigate what his cholesterol numbers are, but I can assure you that it has almost certainly improved since the time I took on the role of Domestic Goddess.

We are not broke. Not getting this, or any other job, would not mean we would be homeless or starving or even all that bad off. It means we get by and we don't save as much as we like or do certain things we'd prefer. Any income I bring in is a supplement and means we get ahead that much faster. That's important because we would like to buy a house in an extremely expensive market and generally have a moderately affluent middle-class lifestyle, but it's not critical to daily life.

Dillo says that he's happy to see me working towards a "normal" full-time professional job and that getting my resume together, interviewing and generally getting seen out in the market outside our circle of friends is a good thing right there whether or not I get an offer or accept a position. But when I press him on it, he gets twitchy about how he would feel if I were to turn down something that is appropriate professional work but at a below-market rate. I am willing to accept some discount below absolute market rate for a top-level senior professional, particularly if it is especially interesting, but not terribly much. I don't believe it is healthy to take a position at significantly less than what one considers reasonable, and only acceptable in the most dire of circumstances.

So the question is to you, dear readers: what would you do?

Housekeeping rant

Sun, 12 Dec 2004 19:53:22 GMT

Dillo and I often argue about housekeeping matters, I think it's because I'm a Female and he's a Dillo. But there are things I just don't understand and maybe somebody else has enlightening commentary.

Why is just putting the dirty clothes *in* the laundry hamper such a big deal?

I will say that Dillo has gotten much better about this, things do end up in the hamper quite a bit. That didn't used to happen at all and I attribute it mostly to my stubborn refusal to recognize dirty clothing anywhere else. (This has resulted in a few of his own emergencies.) But too often I ask "Is there anything else?" and out comes another almost full load basically out of nowhere. This becomes annoying when suddenly getting the laundry done takes an extra two hours I hadn't counted on. We have to share the washer and dryer too, so I may or may not be able to actually do an extra load on any given day.

The other effect of laundry on the floor is that it collects hairballs. We both have long hair and without constant maintenance this creates things that look like dust bunnies gone horribly wrong with a steroid accident. I try to vacuum regularly to keep it under control but there are just too many things on the floor to work around. So instead the dirty t-shirts and socks and underwear that are left to age pick them up and I have to remove great volumes of hair on laundry day.

I have argued that putting things in the hamper when they are dirty not only avoids collecting hairballs off the floor, it allows me to vacuum and avoid them in the first place. My words appear to vanish into thin air with no effect and rarely do I even get an acknowledgment that this might, just possibly, be worthy of consideration.

Is this just a Guy thing? Is there any hope?

Amusing time-wasting meme

Mon, 15 Nov 2004 20:38:19 GMT

I don't normally give in to these things, but somebody sent it to me in email. And it wasn't even the usual huge spam thing, either. I replied to a few non-lj people there, but I'll post it here for everybody else. There isn't anything here that really needs to be private, as for the whole identity theft thing goes all I can say is "Been there, Done that."

Welcome to the new edition of getting to know your friends. Okay here's what you're supposed to do, and try not to be lame and spoil the fun! Just copy (not forward) this entire email and paste into a new e-mail that you can send. Change all of the answers so that they apply to you. Then send this to a whole bunch of people you know, *INCLUDING* the person that sent it to you.

1. WHAT IS YOUR FULL NAME? Andrea Therese Longo. I only use the whole thing if forced.

2. WHAT COLOR PANTS ARE YOU WEARING? None. But the filthy dress I've been doing housework in is supposed to be white.

3. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The disturbing number of computers sitting on the shelf next to me. And the landlord knocking on the window because he's locked himself out again.

4. WHAT'S THE LAST THING YOU ATE? Nuked pork fried rice from the cheap place that delivers. Leftover Chinese food, it's What's For Breakfast!

5. DO YOU WISH ON STARS? No.

6. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Charcoal. Traditional looking, but capable of many strange things.

7. THE WEATHER RIGHT NOW? It's overcast but not raining today.

8. LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? Yet another collections agency to attempt to get rid of the bad debt some criminal left on my credit report six years ago. Again.

9. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT YOU THIS? Yes.

10. WHAT DO YOU FIRST NOTICE ABOUT SOMEONE? If their clothes are well-made and fit correctly.

11. FAVORITE DRINK? A good tart lemonade.

12. HAIR COLOR? Brown

13. FAVORITE SPORT? Sport? HAHAHAHAHA. Very funny.

14. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? No.

15. SIBLINGS? One sister.

16. FAVORITE MONTH? April. It has nice weather in all the places I'd like to be.

17. FAVORITE FOOD? Beef steak, very rare.

18. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Something somebody else had on the tv. Last movie I voluntarily watched from beginning to end: Shrek 2. This is what I get for being involved with an ex-PDI employee and graphics geek.

19. FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR? None in particular, I'm not much a holiday person.

20. WHAT DO YOU DO TO VENT ANGER? Shout obscenities. I try not to break things or people. If I can't or shouldn't, I am prone to cry from frustration.

21. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TOY AS A CHILD ? Tinker Toys, with the battery-operated motor.

22. SUMMER OR WINTER? Winter. Florida is uninhabitable without air conditioning most of the year and that is still what I think of as "summer."

23. HUGS OR KISSES? Hugs.

24. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? Vanilla. But only a good vanilla. Chocolate is nice, but not all the time.

25. DO YOU WANT YOUR FRIENDS TO WRITE/ E-MAIL BACK ? Yes.

26. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Not sure.

27. WHO IS LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? The Boyfriend will probably think about it but might not actually get around to finishing.

28. LIVING ARRANGEMENTS? With partner, in a tiny basement apartment. Two storage units so far, in two states.

29. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? When I was so angry I wanted to hurt someone but I didn't want to shout at the person I was with.

30. WHAT IS UNDER YOUR BED? Shelves with all the stuff that didn't fit in the pantry, plus other random things I don't trust to the storage unit. And a travel alarm clock that I'd like back but am unwilling to disassemble the bed to retrieve.

31. WHO IS THE FRIEND YOU HAVE HAD THE LONGEST? High school pals I spent a good amount of time shuttling between each other's houses because I was the one with the car. They are now married to each other.

32. WHAT DID YOU DO LAST NIGHT? Entertain a friend who really needed to get out of his house and eat something.

33. FAVORITE SMELLS? Citrus trees in bloom, fresh key limes and grapefruit.

34. WHAT INSPIRES YOU? Texture.

35. WHAT FRIGHTENS YOU? Chaos and the unknown.

36. PLAIN, BUTTERED OR SALTED POPCORN? I had braces for seven years. No, thanks.

37. FAVORITE CAR? I'd like something small and electric but I'm rather fond of my truck if I can only have one. It also can't be stolen by four strong drunk guys.

38. FAVORITE FLOWER? Gardenias.

39. NUMBER OF KEYS ON YOUR KEY RING? Currently seven.

40. CAN YOU JUGGLE? No.

41. FAVORITE DAYS OF THE WEEK? Any day I can do my own projects without someone else's agenda.

42. WHAT DID YOU DO ON YOUR LAST BIRTHDAY? I don't remember but it probably involved hiding from people who wanted to sing at me.

43. IN HOW MANY STATES HAVE YOU LIVED? Six, if you count the three months with my sister.

44. IN HOW MANY CITIES HAVE YOU LIVED? 10: East Hartford CT, Tolland CT, North Palm Beach FL, Tampa FL, Jackson MS, Ridgeland MS, Atlanta GA, Decatur GA, Dover DE, San Francisco CA.

45. HOW MANY CARS HAVE YOU HAD & WHAT WAS THE FIRST CAR THAT YOU HAD? Four. The first was a rust-colored Plymouth Valiant, 1974 if I recall correctly. My father abruptly hauled it off to the junkyard one afternoon, right after I had just filled the tank. Only the current truck I bought myself.

46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Hartford, CT

47. Special Bonus Question: What were you supposed to be doing instead of answering this? Going to the courthouse to file some papers.

That's it! Off to Canada! (But not the way you think.)

Sat, 13 Nov 2004 06:34:49 GMT

If you don't like long, boring trip reports, you probably want to skip to whatever your next LJ friend has to say. This is long and if you don't care anything about what goes on in Vancouver, likely boring.

Last week I finally decided I needed to go to Vancouver. A friend had been inviting me to visit for a long time, and I was speaking to his employer about some possible contract work. Things were reportedly still going with that but nothing seemed to be happening, so I already had been thinking it was time for a trip to see if they were serious. Ranting about the election results pretty much only added to it.

The entire trip ended up being one weird thing after another.

Dillo and I discussed it at lunch last week, and on the way home I got stuck in the middle of a thunderstorm with hail. In downtown San Francisco. Sure it's nothing to write home about many other places, and I'll admit that as thunder and hail storms go this one was pretty wimpy, but that stuff just doesn't happen around here. Also at the same time, a rather nasty problem we had been having with someone holding our equipment hostage suddenly was resolved. We had already filed the lawsuit but the other party didn't even know yet because the court is way backlogged on requests for service. Yet he was calling us up wanting to know when we could come get our things and did we need any help.

Fortunately Dad has a pile of frequent flyer miles he's never gonna use and I could hit him up for a donation. I had to pay an "expedite fee" (also known as "large penalty service charge") to get a ticket only a few days out but it was still far cheaper than what I found by the usual method. Make sure the bills are taken care of and start packing.

That evening, I'm sitting around the house and I hear a loud noise outside. I run out and all I see is a shattered back window of my truck. And a golf ball. I have no idea where a golf ball would come from on a street in the middle of downtown San Francisco, and that worried me. I could see the helicopters above so I knew that the promised anti-election protest was wandering around the neighborhood. I called the cops to report the vandalism, and they actually show up in like half an hour and I get a case number. Normally I can hardly get them to acknowledge that I have a problem. I call Dillo and he hurries home from the office and we spend the next hour cleaning up the mess. The landlords come home and they help us tape up the window and let us park overnight in the locked yard next door. They give me a hundred bucks, on the theory that it could have easily been their BMW parked next to the truck. That covers my insurance deductible. Wow.

All that right there is pretty damn weird already.

The next morning my friend mentions to his boss that I'll be in town, and immediately I get an email asking if we can arrange a meeting. I had intended to send one myself to let them know, but I had to deal with getting the window replaced first thing.

My beloved man, being the mushy sentimental Dillo that he is, took me to the airport. Or, more correctly, I allowed him to take me to the airport because it's really easy to take transit from here to there and it doesn't involve finding a parking space when you get back. But supposedly it's not romantic to see off one's partner at the Bart station up the block. So off we go, much earlier in the morning than I would generally expect him to volunteer for.

The downside of the "free" flight was I had to fly Delta, which does not have nonstop service from here to Vancouver. I get to fly itty bitty aircraft from San Francisco to Salt Lake City to Vancouver. Operated by SkyWest and nearly empty, so it isn't all that bad after all. Except for the creepy part where I have to hang around SLC waiting for my connection, surrounded by white people who all speak English. Ok, I'm a white person and I mostly only speak English. But given where I have lived most of my life, it's kinda weird. I mean, I should hear some Spanish at least. Right?

Anyway, off to Vancouver. It's raining. And it's that annoying cold steady rain that doesn't stop for two days. I commented to a guy on my flight, who I had noticed with a wallet embossed with the emblem of the Georgia State Patrol, that we should just pretend it's Atlanta in February.

My friend is a few minutes late because of the weather, so I have some time to kill. Of course, since he agreed to play banker for me because he often travels to the US, I had no usable cash with which to do anything. And with the new and improved domestic air travel, I hadn't had anything substantial to eat all day. With nothing better to do, I go out to the pickup area, where there is not only no parking but also no sitting around waiting. I watch a woman drive up, park, and run inside the terminal and then some minutes later the uniformed patrol officer wanders over for a look and wanders back off. Any US airport would have the tow truck attached within five minutes, but here they just sorta wait and see. The flashing hazards lights make a good landmark: "I'm in the pickup zone, next to the illegally parked car with the flashing lights."

We drop off my stuff and head out for dinner at a local Chinese place. Just like home: dingy tables, strange non-Western menu items and poor English signage on the walls. And also dirt cheap. Dinner comes and goes and the fortune cookies (invented in San Francisco!) arrive. Mine says "More money and travel is in your future." Well, if I were to actually get some work in Vancouver one could expect it to involved a good amount of both.

After dinner we go to a party at somebody's house. My friend is offered a piece of home-made cake which is claimed to "have no peanuts." Some minutes later, I am experiencing first-hand the Canadian health care system as we take him off to the nearest hospital. It's not perfect, but it's there and no proving financial responsibility before anybody will talk to you. Instead, he has to explain that anaphylaxis is bad and he really ought to get some medication right away. It does take rather longer than we would like to be seen, and his girlfriend runs off to the nearest pharmacy for over-the-counter antihistamines while we wait. Then we all troop off to a little room and he talks to the doctor, who says to stick around the waiting area for a while to see how things go. I'm actually quite surprised that I get to go off to the little room as well and nobody seems to think anything of it. Most places here will allow at most an immediate family member, if that.

That pretty much puts an end to our more exciting than we'd like evening. Sunday we head downtown to get some transit maps and sightsee a bit on the way. Monday I bum around the neighborhood and make some bread with the starter I brought along.

The main street has a lot of little shops and stoned homeless kids everywhere. There is a Safeway down the street which, no surprise, has basically the same stuff as any other Safeway. Including plenty of produce from California. And annoying homeless guys giving the cashiers crap. The bread comes out ok given that the over is completely unreliable and I don't have all my usual equipment. But it's edible and so is the pasta with fresh sauce and broccoli. The evening goes along and I discover that the cat has horked up a hairball on my bed. Charming. I get to sleep on the couch since there isn't a spare change of linens and it's too late to start washing anything now.

Tuesday I head downtown for some sightseeing of my own. There is a big museum called Science World, and I can get in free with my Exploratorium membership. Life is good! It's not as big as the Exploratorium, but few things are, and I spend about two hours wandering around. There is a really cool water exhibit with running water and dams, locks, squirtguns, floaty plastic balls and all sorts of things. It's huge. The museum is really nice. Then it's off to Chinatown in search of lunch. I find a little bakery for some pork buns and then a food stall in a shopping mall like place for a mystery rice plate. As the only non-Asian in the place I get a look or two from the old guys sitting around drinking tea, but after a while they ignore me. Must have given up watching to see if I make a fool of myself with the chopsticks or something.

Vancouver's Chinatown isn't all that big compared to here, but it's ok. Pretty much everything you would expect and it doesn't seem to be the big tourist attraction like ours. One thing is, you don't want to wander too far away, just around the block it gets really nasty. I was walking through a parking lot and saw dozens of little plastic orange caps and needles on the ground. I walked back to the transit station and it reminded me a bit of Detroit. In that shoulda-turned-back-there kinda way.

The apartment has a bathtub! So I get a good soak in the tub, something I haven't been able to do for a while. I have the place to myself for most of the evening so I entertain myself with reading, websurfing and trying to steam the wrinkles out of the dress I intend to wear the next day. It mostly worked, but did involve an extended stay in the steamy bathroom. How terrible, I had to make sure the tub stayed warm the whole time!

I killed some time the next morning and then headed downtown for the interview. My friend had come back home about the time I needed to head out, so we went over there together. With not being able to get lost, I was early but that was ok. The actual meeting went well and they seem interested. If I were willing to relocate I think they would be more than happy to hire me as an employee, but we aren't ready to go there yet. They weren't quite sure what to make of being willing to live in San Francisco and work in Vancouver and were hoping that this meant Dillo would be coming along as well. (They really would like to be able to hire him.) So we'll see what happens as a contract thing. It was a little odd trying to pitch myself for a project I wasn't really supposed to know anything about. It's all confidential but they had already discussed enough with Dillo for us to determine that it was too close to what his current client is doing for him to be able to work on it. So I had some idea, just not details.

That evening we got some dinner and went driving around the city. We went to some mountain that I forget the name of and looked over the water at the city. It was cool. Actually, it was pretty damn cold. Thursday morning we had time to kill because my flight wasn't until late afternoon. The weather was the best it had been all week, clear and sunny and even a little bit warm. Well, not too warm, but better than the night before. We went to lunch at Tim Hortons, which is apparently the sort of thing that Canadians do. I even got a donut with my lunch.

The flight back was pretty dull, so I won't bore you with that. The only interesting thing to comment on is that coming out of Vancouver you actually go through US customs and immigration at the airport and from there are considered a domestic passenger. There are TSA inspectors and everything.

Mean people suck

Thu, 28 Oct 2004 01:10:50 GMT

I have been attempting to ignore the union protesters outside hotels around downtown. It's not working. Daily, sometimes several times, I walk past the Holiday Inn. I can't avoid it, unless I deliberately go out of my way by several blocks. I'm often near other hotels too, because I have business to do downtown. It's part of actually living there you know. For weeks now there have been union members protesting, first the strike and then the lockout. They are arguing over an expired contract. Ok, fine.

EVERY DAY it's the bullhorns. I don't mind the shouting, even the occasional horn-honking by passing motorists (some have gotten tickets for it.) I can't walk past there without at least two people shouting with bullhorns. I've said I don't appreciate being yelled at on my own street. All I get in response is a bunch of "Power To The People" crap. I generally support union issues. But they are pissing off their friends. They don't care.

Today I was walking home from Chinatown. At the Hyatt on Stockton, there were union protesters blocking the sidewalk. I tried to ask to be let by, and then I tried to press through. I asked to not be shouted at with the bullhorns. I said I was a pedestrian and this was a public sidewalk and they should not be blocking traffic.

I found myself surrounded by union protesters all shouting at me. Personally. With bullhorns. Admonishing me for being an evil bad management person, apparently. All I really got out of it was "Shame! Shame!" And they were all pointing at me. I asked one guy to stop shouting at me and what he would think if people came to his neighborhood with bullhorns blocking up the sidewalks and making such an infernal racket. He said he would only stop shouting at me if I went to the hotels and made them sign the union's contract. I pushed one woman's bullhorn away as she stood two feet from me, looking directly at me, shouting into the microphone. Here I am, trying to press through the crowd with my walking stick, being harassed like this.

I don't like it when people shout at me. I don't like shouting, generally, but I have a particularly difficult time when I am the object of loud verbal abuse, particularly for no good reason. I shout back. I use words not fit for print in family publications. I am not calm, or quiet, or polite.

A suit-clad management-looking man came to me and tried to get me to move along. He was obviously from the hotel because he had a name tag. I asked him to make these people stop shouting at me and blocking the sidewalk. All he could say to me is "You could call the police". I told him I would do precisely that.

And I did. When I finally got a dispatcher at the non-emergency number, she noted my complaint in that vaguely helpful "Thank you for calling" way. This is why I haven't bothered to call before. I've gotten the same dispassionate monotone from police dispatchers all over the country, to report noise complaints and gunfire and drug dealing and prostitution and it results in about the same kind of response: "Yeah, we'll get to that." I realize that this is not the most urgent of public safety issues but I have no other means of reporting the matter.

Yelling upsets me. I walked away, on the phone with Dillo and several blocks before I could hang up. I want all those union protesters to live in a neighborhood where *they* can't go out of the house without being faced with somebody with a bullhorn who doesn't give a crap about anything other than their own agenda.

I still had to face another set of protesters outside the hotel near us. Dillo wanted me to take the bus to avoid walking past the hotel. Why do I have to wait for a bus to go three blocks just to avoid being harassed on a public street? Why is this my responsibility?

I got to the bus stop and called to see how long it would be for the next bus. (Muni hasn't published a schedule in years, so the signs on the shelters are not even close to correct.) Ten minutes. I can walk in that time. Slowly. So I did. Past the bullhorns and the shouting and the waving of signs (one of which I thought was going to hit me in the head.)

And then I turned around. I went back and into the hotel and asked to speak to a manager. I said "Thank you" and then explained why. I told him about the incident in front of the Hyatt, and how we have to walk past his hotel every day and deal with the bullhorns. About how I have asked them to stop. I told him that I have zero respect for Local 2 because they clearly have zero respect for me or anybody else who has to live or work in the neighborhood.

He asked for my name, and I gave him my card. He seemed genuinely thankful that I stopped to comment, because they are apparently collecting reports of incidents.

I put up with a lot because I want to live downtown. I'm tired of everybody using my neighborhood as a dumping ground for whatever "political expression" somebody cares to think up. They are little better than the anti-war rioters I wrote about previously, and their arguments about why ruining my day is Right and Proper are nearly exactly the same.

I will come out and say it: Unions are Evil. The long history of labor and collective bargaining has been an important part of American society. I want to support union goals, because many of them are my own. But now most unions are no better than any other bureaucracy and only exist to support their own bulk, the people be damned. If the union cannot have respect for the people around them, who they need the support of, then they do not deserve either my support or my respect.

This entire thing makes me want to stay in hotels or eat at expensive and bad hotel restaurants. And I hate hotel food.

Evil Animated GIFs Defeated!

Fri, 15 Oct 2004 06:28:11 GMT

I just installed Firefox for OS X, which is overall pretty spiffy, and set about to changing all the various config items to my liking. Then I went to my LJ Friends page. There were Animations! Evil Blinky Things! DIE DIE DIE!!!!!

If I recall, Mozilla has an item in the prefs to not animate images. I turned it on long ago and then didn't think about it again. I couldn't find one in in Firefox but I knew it had to be there somewhere.

Type "about:config" where you would normally put a URL and you get a list of configuration items. The one you want is image.animation_mode. Set it to "none". When you quit Firefox, the settings will be saved. I went looking and it appears they are all in the file prefs.js (not user.js as some people have mentioned online.)

Warning: Mac Geek Stuff Follows

I found the file buried in a weird randomly named directory:
/Users/feorlen/Library/Application Support/Firefox/Profiles/tyowo9yv.default

not in ~/Library/Preferences like I expected. Nor is it a plist like a "real" OS X application. I'm not going to recommend anybody edit this by hand but I know some of you will so just don't do it while the application is running. The syntax I will leave as an exercise for the reader, that should discourage idle mucking about.

I'm a "Good Chinese wife?"

Tue, 05 Oct 2004 17:40:48 GMT

There's this little dive of a place in Chinatown where we go for cheap meals of dim sum. I have this thing for pork buns, so we tend to be there pretty regularly. The staff all knows us and we now have "our" table in a back corner. We are there more often for dinner than lunch, although we avoid the serious lunch rush and the place is usually quiet.

This allows for some casual conversation and we've mentioned various bits of personal stuff: that we are thinking of buying our apartment, we will probably get married one of these days, Dillo works down the street, etc.

Usually we meet over there, I'm coming from home and Dillo from the office. I typically arrive first and order a few things in anticipation of his arrival and after lunch he heads back down the hill to the office. Our server commented yesterday that I was a "Good Chinese wife," making sure my guy has his lunch all ready so he can get back to his busy day. It was a little odd, because the traditional stay-at-home spouse isn't well regarded these days -- a woman is asked why she has no ambition and a man is just assumed to be a lazy bum.

Dillo has some trouble with resembling a 50s sitcom but for now it's been making the best of a bad situation. Things are looking up on the job front all around but for a very long time now I had not even the suggestion of a real prospect. Dillo has done much better and I've taken over the position of what is basically personal assistant. I'm a lot better at organization than he is and without money to burn somebody has to do the domestic crap.

So I cook and do the laundry and harass him about taking out the garbage. But also I'm advising on various goings-on with clients and potential clients and harassing him about coding habits or doing backups or aren't you supposed to save this receipt for taxes and stuff like that. It's all the traditional wife things but plenty more. So what does that make me? I'm sure using professional skills, one of my previous job titles was "Configuration Manager" and some of what I'm doing now is clearly in the realm of project management.

I don't think much of job titles, so I don't generally offer one unless asked. If I am forced to fill in some blank (generally for a conference badge) I've taken to using "Armadillo Wrangler." Some people look at me funny but I've decided that it's pretty accurate.

Creepy Shit

Sun, 19 Sep 2004 05:35:25 GMT

Once in a while something happens that isn't supposed to, when you end up in the right place at the right time that makes completely no sense whatsoever.

I found my hat today. It's not one I wear everyday, but it's nice and I've been missing it. I haven't seen it in a long time and I had been looking here and there, thinking it got shoved in some box that I haven't been in for a while. I rather liked it, having made it myself. I didn't consider that is was really gone but only misplaced.

I've come very close to losing some of my handspun stuff, but not actually had it happen yet. I lost my coat on an airplane some years ago but still managed to come out with the handspun and handwoven scarf, the first real project I made. I almost lost my purse and my laptop and I did lose my conference badge that trip. It was not a good trip.

My new scarf has my email address embroidered on it, but it's harder to do that to a hat. It's obvious from the construction that it's mine by anyone who has seen it before, but random people don't know me and most people don't get to inspect my things that closely.

Tonight we had dinner at the usual place and the usual time. I sat at the table staring out the window at something on the bus shelter outside, a bit of textile something that looked strangely like... my hat. It bugged me enough that I had to go outside to see what it was, because it couldn't possibly be my hat. I was thinking of my everyday hat, which I knew was home. I hadn't thought the other was really lost.

Everyone looked at me strangely. I grabbed the whatever-it-was from where it had been placed on the edge of the structure. It was my hat, in all of it's three colors per row self, that matches my everyday one except for an extra color. (I swore I would never do that again -- all those ends!)

I had left it at the restaurant over a year ago. The staff got tired of it hanging around and put it outside the day before for whoever wanted it. And somehow it wasn't blown off by the wind, or collected by the bus shelter cleaning people or picked up by a passing pedestrian.

How? Why? I can't explain. But now I have my hat again.

The exciting holiday weekend

Sun, 05 Sep 2004 05:29:10 GMT

So here it is, another fun holiday. I'm trying to make the best of it, doing things that need to get done or are just easier without another person around. (The kitchen floor is on the list but I haven't gotten there yet.)

Dillo is off in Denmark at a conference, the city feels deserted with everyone gone either for their own vacations or Burning Man. It's prime time on a Saturday evening and there's parking outside, how's that for weird. (Next week is going to make me *so* happy I'm not using public laundromats anymore. You don't want to know what gets put in those things the week after Burning Man.)

Oh, and my parents are without power. They have a generator but the telephone/answering machine is low on the list so I can tell. I hope they are at least enjoying the little bit of quiet because the back side of the storm should be coming in about now. The eye of a hurricane is quite an experience in the daytime, suddenly the storm goes away and it's bright and sunny. But this one came in the middle of the night.

In another life I might be there too: relieved that the storm is starting to fall apart after fearing the worst, but still dreading the cleanup after. But after many decades living in South Florida my folks have got it down. The storm panels went up on the windows early so my father had time to help everybody else with theirs. The pool enclosure is assumed to be a loss, but the new roof is double-nailed and the house itself is cement block.

So instead I'm doing a manic fiber wash session while both Dillo and the landlords are gone and I can take over the back patio for wet wool. It's the only time of year when it's sunny and warm most every day so I should make the best of it.

Tomato Sauce Season

Mon, 30 Aug 2004 21:50:08 GMT

Every few years I decide it's time to do fresh tomato sauce again. It takes that long to forget how much work it is. But I went to the market yesterday and came back with far, far too many tomatoes. When heirlooms are a buck a pound and there are a dozen different stands selling Early Girl for less, it's that time of year.

Dillo doesn't much like tomatoes, so I'm going to stuff myself silly while he's in Denmark. I'm already off to a good start, none of the big lumpy funny-looking heirloom tomatoes are making it into the pot. I ate them all, the last for breakfast this morning.

My favorite tomato recipe:

One or more perfectly ripe tomatoes from the market. Look for the sign that says "Picked Yesterday".

Wash, remove the stem and any nasty bits.

Eat. Over the sink, because it's messy.

I just finished peeling the rest and after a break I'll seed and chop. A little onion and when it's done I'll stir in some fresh pesto. I also came back with two bunches of late season "needs work" basil. I normally buy pesto in big jars from Costco but the latest batch was full of stems and had a poor texture. When I do get around to making my own, I take the extra time to strip off only the leaves.

Too bad it's not also garlic season, I had to go out special to buy some not-so-great garlic. I often buy vast quantities and roast what we don't eat fresh, but it hasn't been looking so good over at Costco lately.

Dillo might not like tomatoes, but I've got something for him before he goes: pesto pasta and roasted chicken too.

Sydney pictures

Sat, 28 Aug 2004 21:40:53 GMT

Go look at the pretty pictures...

http://www.feorlen.org/Sydney/

Sydney

Fri, 27 Aug 2004 19:07:01 GMT

Looooong trip report

This was not my first international trip, although it was the longest single segment I'd flown by several hours. There isn't much that's longer for commercial scheduled flights. So I was packed and ready: sleepy drugs, water bottle, dorky looking neck pillow and so on. I went to the airline lounge and met up with a few other crazy folks who were also going to Australia for the weekend. I was not the worst, this was at least the beginning of my trip. I didn't meet the couple I was expecting because, as I found out later, their flight from Washington DC was late and they barely made the connection. The folks I did find were from LA and Chicago instead and one stray businessman who questioned our sanity but was impressed with the cheap fares. One guy didn't know where he was going to stay yet and decided that my hostel sounded as good as anything so we were going to pair up and head over there after the flight. It's the middle of winter, so there was no big risk there wouldn't be room.

So on schedule the whole lot of us bigtime high-status flyers trundled off for our priority boarding. Of course, we were all sitting nearly together in the nicer section of United Economy which has more room. Clearly it just wouldn't do to be sitting in the back, even if the cheap fare didn't allow upgrades to business. The middle seat was still empty, although many other similar elite flyers didn't do so well. United blocks the middle seat next to high-status flyers as long as possible, but it can be assigned by the gate agents if needed. I very nearly had a row to myself because my seatmate on the aisle got a last-minute upgrade. But since the plane was pretty full, I agreed to let someone take it. The middle was still empty, it made several people happy, and I had a great conversation with an older Aussie man who was heading home after a several month world tour. As it turns out, we were able to discuss both online intellectual property rights and sheep and he was the most gracious and accommodating seatmate I've ever had.

I had ordered the vegan meal, to avoid the potential problems if the regular selection is heavy in cheese (a serious issue for breakfasts.) I was hoping for something different but instead I got the same old couscous, lentils and vegetables that I always get. And that infernal Now and Zen cookie. Vegan cookies are just nasty. I did manage to foist one off on a curious flight attendant once, but normally they just get dumped untouched. For those who have been flying United a while, they are right up there with the old Breakfast Mix (a strange vanilla-flavored collection of pretzels, bagel chips and other usually salty snacks.) They aren't even made in San Francisco anymore, as the new package design now said some subcontractor in Chico, a far-out farm town that's barely considered part of the Bay Area. Same old cookie, unfortunately.

Dinner, a little settling in, then drugs. Drugs good. I went to the doctor special for these and they performed well. It's an anti-anxiety pill, so even if I didn't go to sleep right away I entirely didn't care. It's not like I was going to watch the compelling in-flight entertainment and there wasn't even air traffic control on channel 9. (*hrumph*) My usual long flight sleeping getup looks pretty stupid but it works: big ugly neck pillow, hat, noise-canceling headphones and the scarf wrapped around my head. It both keeps out light and retains moisture, and the hat brim keeps it off my face.

Breakfast was some sort of cooked vegetable mix and fruit, I can't remember exactly but it wasn't the hot whole grain cereal I was expecting. There was a snack box in there somewhere but I didn't even open it and entirely slept through mid-flight service. We came into Sydney very quietly, with no reverse braking, as my seatmate predicted. It was an early flight and the airport apparently has noise abatement restrictions.

I didn't check anything on the way out, so no standing around waiting and I went right to passport control. I was a good little tourist and declared all my prescription medications and wood items and whatnot and had to deal with Australian agricultural inspection. They were polite and efficient but annoyingly thorough. My hostel buddy didn't declare anything so got out well before I did. After buying some absurdly expensive item from the snack bar to get change and figuring out how to work the payphone, we managed to get the shuttle service and wandered outside looking for our ride. It was still only 8 am when we got to the hostel so we had to sit around a bit waiting for the office to open so we checked out the internet kiosk. Functional, but only barely. A shower and a change of clothes later, I was off to explore the area.

The hostel is in Coogee, a little beach town about halfway between the central city and the airport. It is much quieter than the famous Bondi a few km to the north and on a wonderful Saturday morning there were a lot of families out around the beach. What tourist things there are were mostly aimed at backpackers but this is clearly a residential area and quite nice. I found the local supermarket to get basic food and snacks and checked out the main strip before heading out to find the promised knitting meeting in Newtown.

I got a transit map, there really was only one bus to find but once I got to the train station I had to muddle my way through buying the correct ticket and figuring out which platform. Mine was number 19, so that gives you some idea. I got to Newtown a little early so I went shopping for Dillo's music in some stores around there. It's not my sort of thing at all but with some advance research and helpful salespeople I got several things. The guy ringing up my items told me the return policy but I pointed out that there is absolutely no way anybody's coming back to return these if Dillo doesn't like them.

Then off to the cafe, where I find outside a group of mostly women knitting and one person spinning. I announce that this must be the place and introduce myself. Monica, my online spinning friend gleefully tells everyone about my visit and soon it's just a bunch of fiber folks hanging out like any other stitch-n-bitch. Eventually we are able to get a table and get lunch and generally hang out doing fiber crap. Just what I came to do. Monica loved the samples I brought and I hope she will be able to actually do something with them. One of my gripes about fiber samples is that often it's barely enough to spin a little yarn, forget any kind of project no matter how small.

After the meeting Monica gives me a ride back. I run into the guy from LA from my flight and he's heading out to an informal bar get-together from the travel website we all are on but I'm just far too tired to do anything. I manage to spot my roommate for just a minute but then it's out cold. And, of course, after a good night's sleep it's then 3:30. *sigh* Jetlag wins again. I attempt a very quiet shower and hang out outside the back door with nothing to do. Eventually I head out about 6, still dark but I know sunrise is near. I eat my breakfast of rice crackers at the beach, watching a cleaning crew deal with the mess from the evening before, including a street-cleaning monster just like at home up and down the beach walkway. A few lost drunks are still wandering around amid the growing collection of early newspaper-readers and joggers.

I started to walk north along the beach just at sunrise, there is an oceanside trail that goes for a good distance. It's an amazing collection of little coves and rock outcroppings all the way up the coast and I kept going until I got to a very large and old cemetery right on the ocean. I found out later that it continues to Bondi and I had done the more strenuous and less well-known section from Waverley Cemetery to Coogee. It's mostly just me and a bunch of joggers. I went back through the neighborhoods, stopping at a little cafe for a break along the way. With the time difference, it's still only 9 or so by the time I get back but I completely don't notice it. I head off to the grocery in an attempt to find some of the requested Dillo junk food.

I locate Monica on the phone and she comes to get me for the afternoon's shopping trip. We head out to a house a good ways out in the country with a shop out back that sells wool and yarn. I bought a whole pile of stuff and the owner is going to send me a sample when the new fleeces come in so I can get some raw fiber, I didn't feel like taking my chances with customs trying to get it past the ag inspection on the way back. Since I was earlier unsuccessful with the candy run, we then go to a much larger supermarket and I find all sorts of interesting things to bring home.

For lunch her husband makes me a great steak at his little bistro. I was so happy to have one cooked the way I like it, although we had some terminology issues. I said rare, and he asked if I wanted it blue. I understood what he meant by context but I had never heard that used to describe a very rare steak. The only thing similar I know is "Pittsburgh", which is very rare but seriously charred on the outside. I'm used to barely getting rare steaks around here what with all the lawyers admonishing everyone to cook all food to the government-certified standard of dead and dry else there Might Be Trouble. I didn't consider that I could actually get what I wanted, which is what I would normally call "very rare". Not cold in the middle but hardly hot either, basically a somewhat warmed-up raw. I don't eat steak much at home, it's a bother to make the kitchen all smoky to do it right and the only places around here with remotely decent steak are expensive.

I had mentioned I was looking for a nice bottle of wine for a friend, so on the way back we stop at her in-laws' place, who own a boutique winery. I am completely amazed when they hand me a bottle of what even I can see is Very Good Wine and I can't stand the stuff. It came out of their own private cellar and is what they drink, so this is no slouch bottle. As a precaution, I stash it in my rented storage locker along with the unneeded electronics and extra cash. Even if this is a fairly family-friendly hostel and nobody seems particularly slimy it does have the usual assortment of long-term residents who appear to be no stranger to a good night's drinking.

With the late lunch I'm not much interested in cooking dinner, so I head out for a snack, and to pick up some blister first-aid . There's a pie place down the street, meat pies and other savory items. I give it a try and eat my beef and mushroom pie, which does indeed look just like a little pie except it's filled with beef and mushrooms. Sortof an early form of the Hot Pocket and about what I expected from British-inspired cuisine. Not too bad, actually, although I don't want to think about what's in that pastry crust. A little wandering around then back to the hostel for some websurfing before bed.

Monday I had already planned to be downtown, so I grabbed an early bus and headed out. I walked around the botanic garden and the Opera House for a while and picked up some interesting books at the garden shop. It was interesting to see some of the same plants as in Florida, the climate is similar so many things there are either from Australia (Norfolk pine, Melaleuca) or have related natives (ficus, mangrove.) It's really slow going because I have to stop regularly to fix the stick-on blister pads after yesterday's excess. It's not too bad, but enough to be a nuisance. I was supposed to see the opening of a lace exhibit but somehow I got the day wrong and it was Tuesday instead. Oh well. I slowly wandered over to Chinatown for lunch. There is a big mall sort of thing there called Haymarket, the downstairs market wasn't open that day but all the regular shops were. I grazed through various establishments looking for dim sum, which here is called yum-cha. I got a pork bun, some sesame balls, a small sushi bento and an eggroll.

I spent a little time wandering through a supermarket looking at the different products. Lots of it is the same that we find in San Francisco, although generally a little more expensive. I think that has to do with the relative size of the US and Australian markets. There was a whole aisle of plastic shoes from China, including several obvious knock-offs and outright pirated logos. Also there were a lot more products from Singapore than we see here, like chili crab ramen cup-o-noodle. I had an interesting chat with some folks who had been in San Francisco for the big anti-war protests, as an international observer of some sort. Eventually they asked how long I had been living in Australia and, like pretty much everyone else, not expecting me to say I'm only there four days. And why am I wandering around the Haymarket IGA when I could be out seeing all the tourist spots? Because I'm much more interested in actually seeing what the place is like rather than being shuttled around to places preened and packaged and sanitized for my protection. I usually go check out locals-only places like markets.

The afternoon was mostly riding ferries in and out of Circular Quay, partly to get a good view of the harbor and part to give the feet a rest. I went to Manly and back and then took the train to Paramatta and the ferry back. The river is lined with mangroves, and they even smell familiar. I took a few pictures along the way but my little digital camera really isn't up to the task. I wanted to get a few nice pictures of the city and the bridge from the water, but the light wasn't being helpful. It's still winter, after all, and it gets dark early.

Back to the hostel for dinner and getting packed up. I was annoyed that they didn't tell anybody over in the other building they were refinishing the floors and I couldn't get to the stuff in the storage locker. When I finally did in the morning, it all smelled of chemicals. Yuck. So I went out for dinner, mostly to use up some more currency. There's no point in exchanging small amounts because it is almost all lost in fees, and I knew I was getting some back from my key deposit that would be enough for the ride back to the airport. So it went for dinner and the internet cafe instead. I finished up the last of the pasta back at the hostel for breakfast and the residents eagerly accepted my remaining food items.

I had to check out fairly early, so I just went off to the airport rather than attempt to find something to do with baggage in tow. My thought was I could just go sit around the lounge but of course it wasn't that easy. I couldn't check in for an hour because nobody was there and had to hang around the terminal with a bunch of other people. At least I didn't have to sit in line because I get to check in with the special (usually) short line. One of the nice things about airline status. On the way to the club, I found a store selling Australian Merino products and I had to get some sheep-patterned socks.

The flight back was completely packed. Fortunately there was a very tiny person sitting next to me, a charming young lady escorting her grandmother to California. The aisle was an expat American retired to NZ and we had a good conversation about all things United. He was "only" Premier Executive this year because he had been burning miles on round-the-world awards recently, mostly just because he could. This must have been a paid ticket however, because he had some upgrade certificates he was somewhat annoyed that he wasn't able to use and was still sitting in Economy. We got to trade frequent flyer stories, like which sleeping pills we were using. I know I could never get anywhere with his Tylenol PM but maybe it was the vodka that helped.

Another vegan meal, this time something like curry noodles. I skipped the movies as usual, the first feature had some technical problem so we got Shrek 2 *again*. It's not like I hate these movies, but I just completely can't escape them and it started even before the first was released. Working on the original Shrek has completely warped Dillo's brain and now I find Shrek or Fiona or Donkey or *something* all kinds of places I'm not expecting them. I could have brought back any number of Shrek 2 products, they are all over Australia just like here. (Instead I got "Nemo Nibbles", some packaged Pixar-branded snack cakes.)

Better Living Through Chemistry and breakfast came around, more vegetables, fruit and an interesting sugar-iced rice cracker cookie. I managed to annoy the guy sitting in front of me fumbling for my shoes in the dark, but things happen and life goes on. Baggage claim was doing it's usual best and my "Priority"-tagged bag of course came out near the end. But I know the customs drill and had prepared for it, so it was easy from there. But oh that bag was heavy. I ended up taking a taxi the three blocks home from BART because I didn't want to deal with it.