Word Cookery

Cooking vs. Baking

2011-06-20T23:56:00.000+01:00

The showdown is on. And you know who is going to win when Cooking takes on Baking.

Cooking enters the ring, wearing whatever it happened to have on, in a distracted and desultory manner. It isn’t excited to be here, it isn’t inspired or celebratory or even unusual. It’s just your run-of-the-mill ‘everyone’s gotta eat something so let’s get this done’ activity. Sure it’s got stamina – it’s been around forever and it rarely misses a day (although some of these heatwave Summer days prompt its absence with their menus of cereal, salads, and the very occasional [Louis Blue] otter pop). Still, Cooking stands if not proudly, then certainly steadfastly.

Then the upstart enters the ring. Baking is carefree, it’s whimsical, it dances around and joyfully sings out “special occasion!” Baking has its own special equipment, its own traditions (think licking the spoon/beaters/bowl, blowing out candles, decorating for godsake, and gift-giving), and its own mood. Tell me that you feel get as giddy broiling skinless chicken breasts as you do baking chocolate chip cookies. Go on…

You can’t. Because there is just no way.

So the problem is this. Baking, that seductive old friend with its come-hither looks and tantalizing smells is so much more fun, so much more satisfying … and yet, when dieting, so much more forbidden. Oh, sure I could bake and not EAT any of it, but what’s the likelihood of that? Pretty damn slim. I’m not even sure a mega-dose of raisins would keep me from the hot-off-the-cookie sheet goodies at this point.

The question is this – does anyone have anything that they cook that they think is actually as fun as something they bake? If so, I’d love the recipe. Or for you to cook for me, while I lament my erstwhile baking hobbying.

Catching Up!!!

2011-03-06T17:41:00.006Z

So, it's March. And I had a bunch of stuff that I meant to post during the holidays. So here they finally are. Some tidbits.

Knit Goods
I decided to knit a couple of new-to-me scarf patterns. Eleanor's was very easy to knit, but required paying attention, a fact I was apt to overlook in the middle of random TV viewing. Michelle's was a snap -- and a mindless one at that! So I was able to indulge in trash TV whilst multi-tasking: soooo productive!

Christmas Scarf for Eleanor

Christmas Scarf for Michelle

Baked Goods
I bake pretty much year round, but thought I'd try some cute little bits for the holidays. I managed to give most of this away, a fair amount of which went to my sister and her family. My nephew Zach did the lion's share of the eating, or so I hear. He polished off a healthy portion of each of the below in one evening.

Shortbread Stars

Pecan Tartlets

Chocolate Spritz

Eye Candy

2010-12-08T23:59:00.005Z

Today was a spontaneous redecorating day in my cube, thanks to a visit from Kate in our UK office. She came bearing gifts. In the form of David Beckham. Okay, not him personally, but some posters. So I had to relocate the LPS4 poster to a new spot, making room for Becks in a place of honor. Or, to be specific, a spot which is in my range of vision all day. ALLLLLLL day.

Due to this shift, my good friend and cube neighbor, Gabe, now gets to ogle Kitty, Horse, and Cocker Spaniel whilst I feast my eyes on David.

Let's just say that he is not as pleased as I am.

Move over, LPS!

It's time for another view!

Let Them Eat Pie

2010-11-12T18:58:00.006Z

It’s our annual pre-thanksgiving potluck at work today. Which means I spent last night in the kitchen baking. Really I could have gotten away with one pie. Or even (gasp) buying a pie … or something -- because let’s face it, I wouldn’t have purchased a store-made pie! But I was waffling between apple and pecan and so rather than make a decision I thought “why not both?”

Silly.

Here are a few reasons why not.

It takes about 20 minutes short of forever to peel all those apples. Which is why I then feel absolutely justified letting the cuisinart do the slicing. And then, come to think of it, why wouldn’t I make the crusts (for both pies) in there too? So I decided to do that. But the thing with that is that it’s very hard to tell what’s going on in there whilst mid-mix. And making a pie crust is more an art than a science. I mean, sure, you need to not overdo the flour or the water or the butter, so you kind of need to measure correctly which is more like science. But really, cutting in the shortening and then adding just the right amount of water, well, it all depends frankly. Sometimes I’ve had to add the entire suggested amount. Sometimes I add barely half of it. It really depends. And if it’s all happening outside your line of vision (i.e., shrouded in the damn cuisnart), it’s really anybody’s guess.

Apple-iciousness

But for some insanely stupid reason, I persevered with the cuisinart. Because in my head I KNEW it was “easier.” Ha! I needed essentially 3 crusts (2 for the apple, 1 for the pecan). Well, maybe I needed 3.5 or 4 (my pie plates are rather deep). But I must have made 10. Literally. So, no. I think I have now properly dispelled that misunderstanding. It is not easier.

Then when it came to pack up this morning I looked at both pies, pretty in their ceramic plates … and weighing in at about 8 lbs each. And I realized the problem with pies, is that you can’t exactly stack them. Or throw them in a big bag and go on your way. I have a proper carrier… but guess what. It’s meant for one pie. Because who in their right mind would make two that needed to be transported? No one. No one in their right mind.

Pecan Nom Nom

So I put one in the carrier and the other, foil-covered, I precariously ensconced in a thin paper shopping bag. Then I picked them both up, along with my coffee (it goes without saying that I desperately needed that coffee this morning after baking all night) and a tub of ice cream, and started the difficult journey from apartment to car to cube. And barely made it. But they’re here. Bon appétit!

Breaking up is hard to do

2010-10-31T17:24:00.002Z

Over the Summer -- at least I think that's when it was -- I broke up with my hairdresser. We'd been together for a really long time, maybe 10 or 11 years. We'd been through a lot: she moved, twice. I moved, many times more than that and once, even, across the seas to England for a spell. But then this past Summer, the long distance relationship just became too much for me and I broke it off. I felt bad -- I mean, we'd been together longer than I had ever been together with any other hairdresser. But making the hour-plus drive each way was taking its toll to the point where I wasn't even looking forward to our time together. So... I called it quits.

But of course, since then, I've played around a bit. Tried out a couple of different stylists, all of course conveniently local. But none of it is has been ... you know, quality. I mean, the cuts and the color were fine, sure. But only that -- just fine. No sparkle, no sizzle ... no real chemistry I guess.

Consequently, unsurprisingly, my hair now looks mostly like crap. I've taken to impulsively snapping up box-o-color shades like "flame roasted coffee" (brown with a hint of red, obviously) and spending an unsatisfying, messy, tedious weekend morning battling the ever-resurgent not-quite brown strands that are adamant about showing through -- and then vainly attempting to blot said flaming java out of the rental carpet.

All of this leads me to admit that maybe I was too hasty. Maybe I didn't really understand what a good thing I had. Maybe I took my stylist for granted.

Because, seriously, it has been a long time since I had this good of an idea about what my "real" hair color is -- and, frankly, the truth is somewhat surprising. I'm sure it wasn't quite so much this color the last time we were chummy, back in say ... 2001. So on top of the melancholy regret at letting a good relationship go bad, I'm also not in love with my hair.

I wonder ... if she'd ... you know ... consider taking me back.

Ah, well, time again to don the plastic gloves and unleash the hue-spattering havoc.

It's Nice to Be Nice

2010-10-22T00:17:00.001+01:00

Probably. For the most part anyway.

I didn’t always feel this way and, some days, I still don’t. Maybe it’s a function of getting older and mellowing the F out, and I’ve definitely found this easier to achieve after a nice relaxing holiday. But it’s really much less stressful to stave off the furies and try to be nice. I mean, I end up in a much better mood if…

…on the way to work I politely let someone who waited until the last minute squeeze in front of me right before the turn we both need to make rather than tailgating the car ahead as I do my damndest to keep them out.

… I hold the elevator, smile, say good morning or have a nice day instead of attempting to make zero eye contact with anyone from car to cube.

… I laugh off the fact that someone want me to hunt through my inbox to find something because they haven’t bothered to keep track of it.

... I decide that my cube neighbors decision to have a loud and lengthy speakerphone conference call in her cube is a good reason to listen to music via headphones rather than grounds for a justifiable homicide.

… the Starbucks lady decides on a whim that I would much prefer to have a different coffee to what I ordered, and I sat to myself ‘oh, what the heck. Hazelnut can’t be that bad, can it?’ Actually this is an exception because it turns out that, yes, actually hazelnut can be that bad after about four sips.

So yes, there may still be a few exceptions to the “little things” (Hazelnut coffee, for instance) and certainly there are still loads of “big things” worth going stroppy over, but mostly life is better when we just laugh it off and let it go.

What “little things” can’t you let go of?

Love at First Sight

2010-10-19T23:44:00.004+01:00

I know of two married couples who met via online dating. They’re both happily married, with offspring. But I have to say I have never had luck with that medium. Maybe I am too picky, but it seems to me that all of the guys fall into one of these not-too-flattering categories.

Guys in Spandex
They love their bicycles so much and they think they look good in tights. I probably don’t have to say this to most of the men I know, but just in case -- Note: Almost no one does. If you're not a world-famous dancer, give it a pass.

Guys in Cars
Hey look! Here’s me sitting in my car. Don’t you love me?

Note: There are two sub-types to this category:
A) You can’t see much of my car, but trust me it’s the awesomest.
B) You can’t see me, but you can see just how truly awesome my car is, and that’s enough, isn’t it?

Glaring Guys
If I look like I might be a sadistic serial killer on the lam, all the girls will want me.

Oblivious Guys
What? Really? I look unattractive in this photo where I am slumped over on the sofa with greasy hair and six chins? Really?

Self-Shot Guys
I am a complete hermit and social misfit. I have exactly 1 friend and he has no hands or feet and therefore cannot take a photo of me. If he had hands and feet, furthermore, he would probably not be my friend. But never mind that. I also don’t know how to work a camera timer or possibly don't even realize that cameras have them. So I took eighteen photos of myself with my arm extended in various spots around my place. I tried to crop out my extended arm though, so you can’t tell. Oh wait? You can? Really?

Over-Served Guys
Check me out in this photo that was taken 10 minutes before I totally blew chunks. I was soooo wasted! Cos I can totally party. I am that much fun. And loud. Your coworkers are going to LOVE me at the holiday party. Let's go out!

The "What Ex?" Guys
Take a look at all the photos of me where I am oh-so happy. They're a little off-center and oddly misshapen. Because, um, they were taken by my nephew and he's not so good with a camera. No... No of course that one of me in the tux isn't my wedding photo with my ex-wife cut out of it. How could you think that?

Period Guys
I might be caught in an era. But you can't be sure because my photos are all from that era. Maybe now I dress in more current styles. Maybe I don't. Regardless of that, without a doubt I am a good few pounds heavier and have a hell of a lot less hair. But damn! Look how good I looked in that blurry photo circa 1989-1991!

World Traveler Guys
Here's a shot of me in front of the pyramids. I'm that little speck to the left. No, not that speck, next to that speck. And here's another one that was taken when I was on safari. It's a little blurry because the jeep was going pretty fast because we were being chased by a pride of lions. I'm not actually in this photo. But I took it. When I was in Costa Rica. That's how cool I am. I've been outside the US. So I must be a total catch right?

Sweaty Guys
Hey look at me after I just ran a marathon/did a triathlon/mowed the lawn. You're helplessly attracted to me because I am active. And you can tell I am active because I posted this photo in which I am beet-red, sweaty and completely unattractive.

Professional Photo Guys
I had these head shots taken so that I could be guaranteed to show my best side. Sure it looks cheesy with my chin on my hand, but at least you can’t tell that I have no friends. Note: These guys all mostly live in Southern California.

The first rule of BOOK CLUB ...

2010-10-19T00:01:00.002+01:00

I’ve gone and done it. No I haven’t cut all my hair off. Or gotten a tattoo god-knows-where. Or sold all of my worldly belongings to join a cult. But it is something that I have never done before and now I've gone and done it. I joined a book club. Really, I've joined the Book Club.

Anyone who knows me knows that I read a fair amount. And I am not really a book snob -- although I do draw the line at Romance, that genre just leaves me cold. Well, actually it's rather like porn-for-girls and in that regard actually quite steamy at times, but all that story stuff they put in between the sex scenes can be horrifically tiresome. I pretty much will read almost anything that isn't Romance (and, in hard times -- those being when I am out of materials, ahem, I have been known to dip into a Romance, but they're not my choice. Plenty of other books offer sex scenes without the tedious story lines). Anyway, I pretty much like most stuff (spy thrillers, murder mysteries, chick lit, etc. etc.). So I figure getting together with like-minded readers over a few bottles of wine to chat about books -- it's bound to be a win-win.

My introduction will be in a few weeks and we're reading The City and the City. I'll let you know how it goes. In the meantime, feel free to peruse Shelfari for my recent reads.

Cheesy-licious!

2010-10-18T23:04:00.005+01:00

We finally had a wet and dreary day, so I decided to make a baked Macaroni and Cheese. It was a jiff to whip up ... but then, I did kind of cheat. I didn't have enough cheese on hand, so I halved the recipe. And I'm not overly keen on onion, so I opted out of that. It also turned out that there were no bay leaves and no powdered mustard in the house. So I 86'ed the bay leaf idea completely -- and the egg (I was going to attempt to throw in roughly half an egg, but then I saw that I was supposed to "temper" it in and, as I had exactly zero idea as to what that meant, it went too. (I have made plenty of cheese sauces sans egg, so I figured it wasn't going to ruin it). I also neglected to measure the paprika and the salt, I just threw it what looked "about right." When the sauce was basically all compiled, I squirted in some nice old English mustard.

Other than that, I pretty much followed this exactly and, in the end, I think mine looked remarkably like Alton's (for all my waywardness and the fact that it was a bit shorter given the halving and the lack of a smaller pan to cook it in) -- and I am sure it was just as tasty. Yum!

Wait. Really?

2010-09-09T22:03:00.001+01:00

My last post was in April? Seriously?

Oops. More later. Later as in soon though, not later as in someday maybe.

I Suffered -- and How!

2010-04-29T23:09:00.002+01:00

You may have heard about a certain ashy volcano in Iceland that contrived to shut down European airspace for several days. Millions were stranded. Some were forced to take trains (gasp). I happened to be in England on a business trip at just that time.
Okay, so I wasn’t stuck at the airport for five days straight. And I didn’t have to spend thousands of my own dollars on either a hotel room, food, or a new flight. But that isn’t to say I didn’t suffer. Let us count the ways.

1. The bed in my room at the Park Plaza County Hall (my third hotel of the trip) had only two pillows. Two! So obviously there was some kind of pillow drought. What with all of the flights being grounded, apparently they couldn’t fly in any new down from … wherever all those plucked geese are kept.

2. The room service menu (also at PPCH) had a really rubbish dessert offering. Which did not even include Banoffee Pie. Consequently I ordered dessert once, ate one bite of it, and never ordered another again. Seriously.

3. I didn’t manage to get any Pimms. In spite of the purported ash cloud, every day was a bright sunny day, without a cloud (or aeroplane trail) in the sky. And yet I never got to sip Pimms riverside. Clearly, this is partly my fault. I should have made that happen. But whosever fault it was, clearly I was hard done by to spend an entire two weeks Pimms-less while the sun shone.

4. Eurostar travel was so chock-a-block with stranded fliers that I couldn't even use the bonus time for a cheeky trip to Paris. Which left me, indeed, "stuck" in London. I can imagine worse fates!

So that’s that, then.

2010-04-23T15:28:00.006+01:00

Job done.

Curry. Check.

Yummy chicken korma. Followed this up with chicken tikka masala a few nights later (thanks, Dave for helping me with the tough decisions!). I have only a day and a half left now. Wonder if I can fit in a few more…

Cheese & Pickle Sandwich…es. Check.

Thanks to Jo for making some lovely ones and bringing them along to the sunny picnic in Wisley. And to John & Nat for taking me to Pret for a posh cheddar and pickle encore.

Full English. Check. Check. Check…

When didn’t I have it (that might be easier)? OK, there were a few days here and there where I opted for continental so that I could have pain au chocolat (since it’s all rubbish in the US). Wonder if I can bring some home…

Afternoon tea. Check.

It wasn’t quite right sadly. Cole and I took tea at our first hotel (oops, our second, actually. you know your stay has run over when you have more than one hotel), but the chef must have been French or something. It was tasty, but a bit over the top on the chocolate. It was chocolate everything. Who am I to complain about chocolate? And I am sure you’re thinking that there is no such thing as too much chocolate. Sadly that proved to be untrue. The scones had chocolate chips in them. (what?!) and they were served with (what else?) chocolate ganache (WHAT?!). Oh, don’t get me wrong, there was a tiny little offering of clotted cream as well, but it seemed more like an afterthought or a precursory nod toward the convention. Most disappointing. And… more chocolate: éclairs, mousse, cakes. No lemon curd even. Ah, well. The tea itself was of course very nice.

Not quite right tea treats

Banoffee Pie. Check.

Frankly, I haven’t had enough of this. I’ve only had it once. Probably only because it wasn’t offered at most of the restaurants I visited. Clearly I am hanging out in the wrong places! The one I did have (coincidentally at the hotel that served the not-right afternoon tea) was bliss.

Absolutely perfect.

Prawn Mayonnaise Sandwich. Check.

Steak and ale pie. Check.

Walkers Sensations Thai Sweet Chili crisps. Check. A whole bag. At midnight. After having afternoon tea and then skipping dinner.

Flapjack. Check, sort of.

I had some nice little mini bites from M&S – and they were tasty, but not the same thing as something freshly baked. May need to revisit this.

Visits: Jo & Tom. Sus & family. Pete & Cat. Brian. John, John, Nat, Natalia, Nicola, Ali, Karin, Greg, Andy, and Justin. Check.

5 Lbs gained. Check.

Oh, and … Work stuff done. Check.

Caprica: The New BSG?

2010-03-10T17:38:00.004Z

It wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t seem like they were trying to Twilight the f#@% out of it. I mean seriously, does every damn doe-eyed teen on the show have to have a love interest? I fear this is the not uncommon faux pas of believing that by including these sappy teen angst angles, they can ‘expand their audience’. And yet by devoting so much time to these storylines, they’re alienating those of us who really, really wanted to love Caprica. Even if it was only half as much as BSG.

No, I haven’t seen Twilight. And I don’t want to. I’ve had a hard enough time coping with Potter for the last [excruciating] 5 or 6 years. (Because, yes, confession time: I did actually like the first one a bit. But JKR managed to help me get right over that by following up with books that got increasingly more tedious … but this is a totally different rant, best saved for a month or so from now when I am bound to be in HP hell.) But I have seen the damn Twilight actors all paraded about as the new up-and-comings. And maybe it makes me old to say it, but neither of those guys is a Keanu. I mean, if you’re going to base your acting career on your looks, at least do it looking like Keanu.

To illustrate my point, I thought I'd include a couple of photos. A kind of Then and Now. Here are two that I thought were a good example. And just doing a simple google search of Caprica images should make it pretty clear that they're really targeting the teen set. Go on, do it and see just how many times you see one particular publicity poster of a naked Zoe (I couldn't bring myself to include it). As if any of us want to see her naked. I mean, we went from sexy Six to a simpering sixteen.

Hot

Not

Last week, I had two saved episodes. Because I recorded the week before to my DVR and never watched it. Then the next episode aired and I recorded it. So picture me, thinking happily that I had two episodes of Caprica that I could watch back-to-back over the weekend, mistakenly thinking that was going to be, you know “all that.” Well, of course it wasn’t. I mean, if it was, would I have had an episode on my DVR for a week that went unwatched? Please, as if my life is that exciting.

Question:

2010-03-10T01:45:00.001Z

Is my rather tender right thumb a side effect of a flurry of knitting for the expectant Mr Binks & Mrs Cat or a sign that I am truly overly attached to my iPhone?

Moving On Over ... and Over ... and Over

2010-03-04T00:02:00.003Z

Tomorrow is moving day again. This will be my fifth [work] move in just the last few years [I've also had four personal moves to go along with these]. There are some boxes I don’t even bother unpacking anymore.

My most recent move before this one, looked something like this:

See that sad little setup in the very back, on the right (kind of near the Sims plumbob)? That’s where I sat just prior to moving, after everyone else was already gone (obviously before I had bothered packing).

Here’s how things look today, Moving-Day-Minus-1:

That’s right -- all of the necessities: Pooh Bear (kindly given to me by my good friend Julie-Anne), a big F.O. NERF gu-- er, blaster, and a bottle of bubbly. Last time I crossed an ocean. This time, I am only moving over the cube wall behind me. But somehow moving is still odious.

Underachieving OCD-er

2010-02-19T19:06:00.001Z

So there’s this show, on some random cable channel here, called Hoarders. Each episode shows one family’s home – absolutely teaming teeming with mountains of crap. It actually is pretty disgusting (to me), but that’s potentially because I am more prone toward OCD than whatever neurosis these poor folks suffer. Yep, I am much more likely to go through binges of purging. I love going through my stuff and jettisoning the riffraff. (Full disclosure: the only thing I can’t seem to really do this with is books. But my house, nevertheless, is not overrun by them.)

Here are two of my favorite quasi-OCD compulsive purges.

The refrigerator. The fridge and I have a kind of fickle relationship. I like to go out and buy a lot of healthy food – fruits, vegetables, etc. – carefully stash it all in the refrigerator … and then forget about it for a week or two. By which time, it’s mostly not in a state for consumption and so I reconcile myself to a binning binge. To be honest, I like this one so much that I have been known to practice this on the work fridge.

The closet. This one is harder. I feel compelled to bag the old clothes and take them to a charity shop. This means that I periodically pack up the unwearables and then let them sit in the bottom of the closet until I get sick of that. Then they get moved out to the garage where they again sit for a spell. Finally I get tired of seeing them in the garage and they get put in the back of the car … and after several weeks of maneuvering around them every time I buy my soon-to-be-tossed fridge-fillers, I finally take them to a drop off point.

Do you have anything that you actually like to clean?

Not So Cute in the Wee Hours

2010-02-08T18:06:00.002Z

I’d like to take this time to thank the industrious rodent who made the time to roll some kind of flora across the roof and back all night long. Not only did you wake me up with your antics, but you also drove the normally placid (okay, lethargic) Scout nutty (ahem) as well.

I’m pretending you’re a squirrel. For some random reason I feel better about this even though the outcome of your incessant actions is the same whether you were indeed a fluffy gray-tailed squirrel … or some other less beloved sort of rodent.

So, yes, thanks again for all of your hard work and dedication throughout the entire night, but now really, you must go. I’m sure I have some neighbors who would welcome your nocturnal ministrations and I would hate to think that I am hoarding the pleasure.

Thank you, squirrel, and good night!

Introducing Max

2009-09-30T02:01:00.003+01:00

Quite possibly I have just now set myself to waste even more time blogging -- granted, it's not like I post all that often, but for all you know it takes me several hours or days even to finesse what I do post (yeah, I know. If you've read it, you suspect that it's definitely not days and probably are also fairly sure that it's short of even a single hour by about 45 minutes or more). But anyway... I digress. What I really want to talk about is Max.

Check him out. How adorable is he? You can feed him, if you like. Go on, you know you want to try it. You can get your own adorable small friend here.

Watchables

2009-09-21T02:49:00.004+01:00

So the new Fall season is starting up (or just did) and I'm fumbling around to organize my DVR so that I don't have to watch anything live (because once you start watching shows with the ability to zip past the commercials, you really can't go back, can you? But since I don't watch many things live, I skip all the ads, I don't read any glossy mags, and I can't stand the entertainment mag TV programs (sorry, nothing against you if you can stomach them) I tend to miss some things. Like you know the kooky Christian Slater show where he plays a spy who doesn't know he's a spy because his brain was split or whatever it was, that show? it's apparently gone. How can it be gone? It was such a good time. And, you know, RIP BSG, which I am still kinda mourning, to be honest.

So here is what I still have to look forward to:

Project Runway
Oh, yes! It's finally back and it's already on and I still love it. I hate fashion, but I love this show. I don't really get it, except that it's a reality show, so you see people's craziness, but they're there to actually do something instead of just bicker or look pretty so it feels like there is more substance that some of the other reality shows. But maybe I am just justifying. At any rate, every week I think to myself "Wow, Heidi is stunning." Yep, somehow every week I am surprised by it all over again.

Fringe
It's kinda sci-fi meets cop/agent show, so what's not to love? OK, one thing not to love is the son, Peter, who always has the same exasperated irritation when dealing with his father. We get it. Your father's crazy and that's trying, but your repetitive acting is more annoying than he is. Soooo hoping the writers get a clue and realize this soon. Bc it's somehow super-annoying that the thing that is supposed to be aggravating is much less bothersome than having do listen to/watch the actor who plays Peter expressing that it's irritating.

Dexter
Maybe. I mean, I am totally behind anyway (I've watched four episodes from Season 1), and I don't know if it's going to hold my interest. Because Michael C Hall will always be the little brother on Six Feet Under. Anyway, I have to watch on DVD, so it doesn't really count towards my DVR quotas. One last thing about Dexter. I don't know what's up with his hair (plugs? a piece? what?), but it distracts me.

Biggest Loser
When I first heard about this show, I thought who in the hell would want to watch this? But here's the thing: it is sooooo strangely compelling. These people are amazing! And, you know, they're so dedicated that during the run of show, I find myself getting more exercise and eating healthier. It's like they're a good influence on me. I may be a bit of a softie, but I find it pretty heartening to watch them get their lives back on track. Of course I get really pissed off at anyone who whines or slacks, but the beauty is that they end up gone if they slack too much. In the end, I just feel so proud of them. And that's what we really like in TV shows, isn't it? We like either liking the people we watch--or hating them. I have loads of opportunity to find people to hate, so it's nice to actually feel like I want these guys to do well.

Heroes
Not as good as it once was ... but I will watch it again. At least initially. Some of the storylines are pretty grating (most of the shit with the cheerleader, tbh), but I still like Hiro and I need to watch just in case there is anything even remotely as good as the scene last season of Peter (Milo Ventimiglia) being hosed down. (Thanks again to Sus for giving me a heads-up to that fact last season. I haven't forgotten!)

Lost
Well, it's the last season and I feel like giving up now would be like quitting on mile 20 of a marathon. Yeah, it's bound to be mostly painful, but if I persevere I can get through it. I am almost there. That's what I will keep telling myself. I'm almost there! Plus, let's face it, that's the beauty of the DVR. I can FF through the really brutal parts.

What will you be watching? Anything I should add to my list?

Things on Sticks

2009-09-17T18:10:00.003+01:00

So prompted by Stefanie (who implied that I have been sorely remiss in my blogging of late) and Jo who yesterday proclaimed (if one can ‘proclaim’ on twitter, rather than just resorting to the more pedestrian ‘tweet’) that “Other than a Magnum, the moon is [her] favourite thing to have on a stick.”

See when I think of things on sticks, I have to say that one glorious item fairly leaps to mind. I do love the moon, but there is one special golden object which might give the silvery moon a run for her money. That’s right: the corn dog. Star of the summer’s County Fair. A kid-tastic ketchup* vehicle. And so much more.

Corn dogs are such a necessity that you can even find vegetarian versions. Because even if one gives up meat, one cannot live without at least the occasional corn dog. You can also get a turkey corn dog around here (at our favorite little corn dog connection: Ben Franks –bit pricey perhaps, but they do a damn good dog).

I am probably not supposed to like them. But I do. Many things are like that though, right? It’s pretty innocent as far as guilty pleasures go, right? I'm sure some of your are much worse. Feel free to chime in with them ... or let me know what if you have a favorite thing on a stick.

* I enjoy mine with mustard only.

Sick Daze

2009-09-17T03:51:00.002+01:00

The company I work for has a policy of no sick days. The way they do this is by amassing all of your allowed days off into one pile and calling them "personal time off" or PTO. So you can use this time for anything you like: vacation, appointments, mental health days, and ... sick days. But, as you may have guessed, very few people want to take one of these potential holidays to lie around feeling unwell. So they don't.

In some cases, where their job and level in the company allow, sick employees can work from home (to one degree or another, not necessarily any less productively than they would do while in the office). Most of the people in my department have this option. But some of them, and ironically the sickliest among us for the most part, don't in fact opt for it. That seems hard to fathom, doesn't it?

Well, mostly these ailing colleagues are parents (and thus sicker than average, what with their young blossoming petri dishes of infectious disease at home). So staying home in many of those cases is actually more tiring and trying than just hauling their coughing/sneezing/wheezing/snotty self into the office where they can prop themselves up in their cube and rest reasonably assured that no one will want to get very close to them, let alone demand their attention.

So they come in. With their assorted infectious germs. Along with the various co-workers who for whatever reason "cannot" work from home (some, it must be said, purely because they deem themselves too important to not grace us with their presence). The downside of this, of course, is that in my experience germs do not recognize cube boundaries. Or maybe they do but are simply not content to rule one small region, but feel compelled to claim their manifest destinies and reach out to inhabit new, unexplored realms.

The ill-conceived "logic" of this PTO arrangement has again become crystal clear to me. Because, that's right, it's flu season. This year, as you're no doubt aware, we even have an uber-flu lurking and waiting to take a foothold. I'm admonished every time I go to the bathroom to "help ensure a healthy work place by washing my hands with soap and water frequently." (as a side note, who are these women who think turning the tap on and rinsing their hands for half a second might actually constitute a wash?! and I am sure it's no better over in the Mens' only I don't have to witness their hygenic leaps of faith). But back to my point about the signs and notices. They're all over the company. We've got dispensers of waterless-disinfectant solutions near the kitchen, signs in the bathrooms, and periodic emails updating us about the "Swine Flu" situation and "precautions".

But no one seems to realize that maybe they need to actually tell people that they cannot come in. Presumably this is a legal issue because they don't offer "sick days" they aren't legally entitled to send workers home? But airplanes can keep you from boarding, right? so why can't an employer keep you from infecting the rest of the work force? It seems to me that instead of posting notices which clearly the hand-rinsers blatantly assume is not targetted at them, they ought to form a Health Brigade. They could do rounds of the buildings and when they spot some snotty one coughing up a lung or whatever, they can escort them right out of the building with a kind "hope you feel better soon."

Oops!

2009-09-04T01:38:00.001+01:00

I've totally missed August. Must get straight on a September post before the month is out. and I guess this doesn't really count.

Dead or Canadian?

2009-07-08T18:48:00.002+01:00

Perhaps they’re just a touch suicidal, but the flocks of Canadian geese who frequent the lagoons around Redwood Shores display a quite alarming disregard for cross traffic. If it’s time to cross the street, they’re prepared to do it regardless of how many cars may be advancing, at one speed or another, down said street.

But here is the interesting part.

These same drivers who aggressively and (it must be said) annoyingly dart around each other endlessly jockeying to get just one car length ahead of where they started show remarkable consideration where our feather friends are concerned. This morning a straggler ended up far behind the rest of his buddies and was torn between awkwardly lumbering across the street in spite of oncoming traffic or be further separated from his flock. He chose to risk the cars.

Let’s flash back to our impatient commuters who have to speed around anyone who isn’t going 30 mph over the speed limit . Let’s remember how rushed they are and willing to rudely cut off fellow travelers for the sake of what can really only be maybe 30 seconds to a (generous) minute gained.

Did Mr. Goose Canadian somehow intuit that the drivers would brake for him? Because brake they did. Traffic across both southbound lanes did not just slow, but stopped altogether to allow his safe passage. And seemed to all appearances to do so unbegrudgingly.

On your way bird brain.

Scout v Angie

2009-05-29T00:46:00.003+01:00

It's a classic showdown. It's up there with chocolate versus vanilla and good versus evil. And while I do pick sides in both of the former, I am actually perhaps one of the few who don't have a preference when it comes to cats and dogs. I like them both, what's not to like? But this weekend at my place there is going to be a showdown of potentially epic proportions. Yes, friends, prepare yourself for Scout v Angie.

In one corner, we have Scout. With the at-home advantage, Scout promises to be a strong contender, possibly even the favorite. Weighing in at an estimated 25+ pounds of solid feline flab, his primary strategy involves looking as B-I-G as possible (enhanced by his enormously fluffy Ragdoll coat and bigger-than-life bad attitude) and utilizing his low, throaty growl to intimidate his opponent. His signature move is flopping over on one side and flicking his tail in an overt "don't F with me" gesture, all while apparently disdaining to even notice that his rival is in the house. Watch for him to move slowly, and only as a last resort. Hampered by his less-than-svelte physique and an old kitten injury to one of his paws, he is unable to perform eveb the most basic defensive maneuvers, namely jumping onto countertops (in fact, he can barely make it as high as the ottoman, and only achieves that lofty purchase by sinking his sharp claws into the leather and limping his ample back half on board).

Scout, in slimmer days, hiding in the blinds.

In the opposite corner we have Angie. This visiting young contender from Julie-Anne's condo in San Mateo is small and agile, but seriously outweighed by her opponent. Angie's game is more jaunty finesse than fight, and we can look for her to employ tactics that play on her cuteness: wagging her long, feathery tail, prancing on her out-turned ballerina/pigeon-toed paws, and emitting a high-pitched whine that promises no resistance and begs for mercy. With a fierce under bite, a penchant for playing with her food, and a nasty habit of peeing when she gets over-excited, Angie is sure to bring an entertaining aspect to the matchup, whatever the outcome. Some have said that Angie is not a "real" dog, but this weekend will be her opportunity to play out that quintessential dog versus cat faceoff and make a stand of which all of her fellow canines can be proud.

Angie, camouflaged in Autumn

Stick around to see how the animal antics play out! Or let me know where you fall in the dog versus cat debate...

Thanks for asking

2009-05-05T00:59:00.004+01:00

It’s like this. I work with this guy. He’s probably a nice guy. But he’s a bit (ahem) tedious. Not a bad guy, but just a bit boring. I can usually muster up some fake extrovertish qualities and make conversation for a certain amount of time without much fuss… But I can only really do that for so long before I start contemplating all of the ways that I can potentially avoid continuing the conversation or, god forbid, ever having to repeat it again. But as I said, I work with this guy. And he had a project that I offered to help on. I would have been happy to help on. But really he didn’t want my help. He just wanted me to go to lunch. Again and again and again.

Lunch would have been okay, if we were just there to discuss the project and get on with the work and cordially ingest some food. But really we didn’t talk about the project at all. In actuality we had rather stilted conversations about “what I like to do in my spare time” and other blind-date-like questions of that sort. Pain. Full. (not to mention not a great digestive aid!)

So what do you do when trying to duck someone’s advances? I’ve decided to start thinking creatively about it after Jo offered this helpful advice today:

“Set up a rule in Outlook. When he mails you, he gets an auto-response: Sorry, Jessica has died…”

Needless to say this is brilliant. I may not do it, but just thinking about it somehow makes my day feel a bit brighter.

Unfortunately, Jessica contracted swine flu and has died. While she would undoubtedly have loved to join you for lunch/edit your copy/grab a coffee/etc., regrettably she is now unable to accept your generous invitation. Thank you for your email and have a nice day.

Mud in My Veins

2009-04-24T21:58:00.002+01:00

This week has been absurdly tiring. It seems like no matter what I do, I cannot get enough sleep. I went to bed on Wednesday night at 8:30pm. I slept until about 6:45. I was still tired all day. Last night I managed to stay awake til 9:30. But today I am walking around as if there is a disconnect between me and the world. I feel so tired that I feel almost numb.

This feeling of not being able to summon any get-up-and-go is something that I like to call “mud in my veins.” That’s what it feels like. Instead of blood, I’ve got mud and it isn’t exactly energizing. Maybe it’s because of the image of slogging through mud. How it sucks onto your shoes and slows you down. Or maybe it’s something to do with making mud pies and how heavy they are—a big damp, solid heaviness in your hands.

Earlier in the week I blamed it on the weather. I figured that the heat was waking me up. Or maybe it was making Scout think that he needed to be outside doing hot weather cat things and he was waking me up. But the weather has turned much milder and my sleepiness hasn’t abated. So it may be time to start considering more hypochondriacal causes. Or more coffee.

Sunny Outlook

2009-04-20T20:48:00.012+01:00

The best part of living in California has to be the weather. As a native, I used to mostly take it for granted and even whined about the coastal fog, the less-than-balmy climate of SF in Summer, and the occasional (not frequent enough actually) downpour. 2 and a half years in pretty, lush, green (if you can’t read between the lines here, all of this spells R-A-I-N-Y) England washed away those thoughts. For now.

I’ve always thought it was an interesting convention when a writer used the weather as an overlay for the general mood/tone of a storyline too. Overcast, grey skies seem to always signify a less than happy fortune, while clear skies or even fluffy-white-cloud be-speckled blue suggest every little thing is going to be all right.

"All the preceding afternoon and night heavy thunderstorms had hissed down upon the meads, and washed some of the hay into the river; but this morning the sun shone out all the more brilliantly for the deluge, and the air was balmy and clear."

It’s an easy and possibly even an instinctively recognizable symbolism. But more than just the idea that fair weather means a chance for an easier, more comfortable existence, sunshine also boosts our moods. Nothing is quite as cheering as sunshine, warm breezes, and clear skies.

And, of course. thought of clear skies and sunshine always lead me to think of

"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!"

I’ve been (not surprisingly, I suppose) thinking a bit about Eternal Sunshine… and I wonder if we really did have access to such a procedure, how many memories would we be left with at the end of our lives. Because I suspect the temptation to eradicate a fair few of them might be too great.

But for now, I’ll just enjoy the weather.

Courtesy of Jo

2009-03-19T20:08:00.001Z

Jo sent this to me yesterday and it seemed so appropriate, I had to share.

Togetherness

2009-02-21T01:55:00.002Z

I’ve never had my own office. I did once, however, have a desk situated all by itself out on the bustling floor of a MACY’s warehouse thanks to a demented boss. But mostly I have worked in shared environments. Yes, most of my work life has been spent in the ubiquitous cubical “office”.

This open plan is meant (I think) to harbor equality and team spirit and to promote creativity and collaboration. I guess I can admit to that being sometimes the case. At its best anyway. But what it also seems to do, or at least for some of us, is to foster murderous and sadistic thoughts about at least a few of our co-workers. You know the ones.

The Loud Mouth
Everything she has to say is to interesting that she is absolutely 100% positive that everyone in the office wants to hear it. Even if it’s just rehashing last night’s really bad TV program. Or scheduled workout regimen. Anytime she joins the conversation the volume increases about 10-fold because anyone talking with her has to be just as loud to be heard over her. When she really gets going you can’t help but imagine quietly covering her face with a pillow until it all stops.

The Giggler
Typically there are more than one of these. And their laughs all sound slightly different—a girlish giggle (common among more males than you’d care to know), a buffoonish chortle which screams stupidity and is a fake or forced laugh half the time anyway (“No, really! My sense of humor is great! Look everyone, I get it!”), and the incessant chuckler (this is the guy who is pretty much always doing something other than work and seems to want to advertise the fact by his constant mirth. Trust me, the thoughts that occur when the laughter is rampant are not funny at all.

The Very Important Conference Caller
He’s always on the phone, that goes without saying. But what you may be surprised by is the fact that he can’t just pick up the handset like a normal person. He needs to put every call on speakerphone. Which consequently means that he needs to shout at the phone because of course the person on the other end can’t hear or understand him unless he does. Cram his handset right down his craw and end the call.

Miss Ringtone
There is a very special ring of hell for her. Where she must sit and listen to very insipid ringtones for all eternity. Oh sure, it’s funny or cute the first time isn’t it. But let’s see what she is saying when it goes on and on and on forever. If she’d only enabled the vibrate-only feature, she’d probably be supping mai tais in heaven.

The Mellow Listener
No one incites as much animosity as this co-worker. Which is ironic since she thinks she’s adding such a nice, pleasant, soothing touch to the office. The Mellow Listener likes to play the smoothest jazz at barely audible levels. She can’t use headphones because then she wouldn’t be able to impose her really crap musical taste on everyone else. And she’s certain that everyone benefits from the soft strains of schmaltz. Thinking of strangling her with the cord from the headphones that you’re forced to wear just to escape her tedious tunes strikes just the right chord.

But, it's Friday ... so at least I can go home to my apartment ... which is, essentially just a slightly bigger cube, isn't it.

8 things about me ... with a few extras thrown in because I can't help my parentheticalness

2009-02-17T00:06:00.008Z

I hate raisins and I am afraid of spiders. Curiously, I think part of what I hate about raisins is the fear that they might actually be small, dead insects in my food. I love crème brulée and most critters (see first statement).
I met the California governor when I was a child after being featured in a school children safety video. I also met Jesse Jackson at my cousin’s law school graduation. He kissed my nephew’s head, but not mine. Chris Isaac, however, once kissed my cheek.
I once played The White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland and played other various characters in other various plays. But TWR in Alice was my favorite role ever.
Contrary to what some people think, I do not play video games for a living. Not even close.
I have lived in both England and Hong Kong, but have never once lived in a state other than California.
My birthday is halfway between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. And while this makes it in theory a part of the whole holiday season, it actually kind of sucks. Mostly I am over the fact that it sucks, but sometimes it still catches me off guard and it sucks again.
When I was 10, my best friend Kerri and I used to lug “portable” typewriters back and forth between our houses so that we could work on our novels together. As I recall, mine had about 30 “main” characters. Neither of our novels has been published to date.
I like lists. Sometimes I make a list after the fact, just so I can cross stuff off. I might make a list that includes “write a new blog posting for Fin.”

Applying makeup as The White Rabbit. Nice hair clips, huh?

some words spoken silently to michael via the Internet

2007-11-05T23:09:00.000Z

i watched fireworks from my window.

i spelled "liter" l-i-t-R-E today. i used the word liter at all.

i'm worried that spiders are biting me at night when i am vulnerable to the attack.

my life is losing shape.

time in england running out. the green is going. leaving lush lands behind. future is uncertain, but the terrain is dry.

where am i going?

... as i know it.

but i feel fine.

fine.

fine.

Throwing Stones

2007-11-04T07:57:00.000Z

People who work in glass palaces shouldn’t…

So ... in the last two weeks our flurry of not-working has reached all-new, next-gen, hi-def heights. The entire writers team in our UK office was made redundant, half of the UK Creative Services team (of which numbers the writers make up half), and out of our whole office: 21 roles (the roles, not the people, right? Right.), making the UK CS team’s cut of 11 roles, again, nearly half. So as you might expect, even more people are now doing even less work (some are in fact now officially doing none at all) for the duration of our "consultancy" period.

In addition to that shattering news, they announced on Thursday that the company is closing our Chertsey office, yes, that stalwart symbol of conspicuous prominence: The Glass Palace (see below for photo). Which sadly means that all of the contract facilities type people (Grace and Anna from the coffee bar; Simon, Hayley, and the EATS crew) also have a now rather limited shelf life.

The mood, to be redundantly clear, is less than jovial.

I’ve been coping, just. By continuing to work on my projects (mostly Sims and mostly what we used to call "US-led"), I have been able to fall back on my usual course of survival: denial. When I’m not swamped with Sims requests, I find that sleeping and sipping liberally-poured rum drinks offer nearly the same level of oblivion. On a good day, I go to yoga and tire myself out so ridiculously that I can’t think at all, let alone dwell on anxiety-provoking topics.

Yoga aside, none of this has been particularly helpful (yet far) in casting aside the nearly one stone that has been slung about (not my neck, which would probably be even worse!) my middle over the past two years. But now that I’m going to potentially have so much time on my hands, and won’t be inhabiting a great glass structure, it may well be time to toss it.

holding my breath

2007-10-22T19:04:00.000+01:00

sniff. sniff.

This Summer England enacted their very own strict anti-smoking laws. No more puffing in pubs. No more reeking up local restaurants. Smoke free. Aaaaaah.

As it was, our workplace was already smoke-free. Sort of. Basically it meant that anyone wanting to inhale their nicotine fix had to scoot out the door a few feet and then commence with their cough-iriffic habit. This consequently meant that our lovely boardwalk along the lake was frequently dappled, not just with the usual goose poo, but with folks clinching and sucking on cancer sticks. You could go sit outside to enjoy the infrequent sunshine amidst the incessant smoking ... if you dared. Likewise, walking out most of the doorways to the “car park” was destined to dump you in a tobacco haze.

That was before the big change. The new, stricter laws were going to further protect employees from the hazards of other people’s second-hand smoke.

Good, right? Except.

The deck is now devoted to sun-seekers (along with the geese and their droppings). [Here's a view of the deck at the front of the building; it continues the length of the building and there's a bigger deck with tables and such on the other end. Pretty, isn't it?]

The administration, in accordance with the new laws, allotted a singular spot for the smoking masses. It appears, however, that this one locale that they’ve designated as the permissible smoking place is smack-dab next to our intake air vents. So now instead of having to actually go out of your way to breathe incidental toxins, you can sit at your desk and have it brought straight to you via our air system.

Fantastic.

A number of emails, from a wide variety of people, to our facilities department (who fields, or doesn’t as the case may be, these questions) have gone unanswered.

Scary Stuff

2007-10-18T19:12:00.000+01:00

It seems that I have neglected to rave about my new favorite thing: my widgets. Even the word is cute. I’ve reigned in my widget impulse and am now only using seven (you can count them below). If you don’t have them yet, do yourself a favor and get some. At the very least get the weather one.

Right now, I also have a seasonal widget -- my Halloween countdown clock (there he is the lower right corner). It’s an adorable jack-o-lantern and tells me, down to the second, the amount of time remaining between me and the scariest day of the year. I’ve had it for a while. I think when I first added it, we were about 40 days out. Now that we’re getting closer, it was time to change the entire background. Some google image-searching turned up some really creepy stuff. I now have a haunted house scene gracing my PC monitor (which is gigantic, by the way – only newly so, which is why I have to mention it because I am still in love with it. See below). Around the corner (or above in these two shots), is an even spookier graveyard scene on my Mac (well, when I say corner, they’re really side by side, but at slightly different slants).

But here is the most terrifying part about all of this. When I had it all set up (see yesterday's post), I proudly thought to myself “That is WELL scary!”

Huh?

Yeah. See, it isn’t unheard of over here to use the word “well” to mean very or quite. You might even hear someone say that something is “well good.” Which gives me pause, I have to say. I don’t think I like it and yet, there it was, popping right into my head of its own accord.

Spooky.

Nice Work if You Can Get it

2007-10-17T17:48:00.000+01:00

There’s a new craze sweeping our office. Perhaps you’re already hoisting a banner on your own local bandwagon. As with most new things, I am a late adopter, being ever so un-hip. I like to come in just after things hit their peak, when the trend is waning and exhibiting the beginning of death throes. Still, I am throwing myself into this one wholeheartedly. Or at least, as I do, intermittently wholeheartedly. You know, when I can be bothered.

For the past six months or so we have been hearing over and over again that our department is being restructured, our job roles will be changing. We’ve also been privy to a wide range of implications and suggestions about whether we will all even still have roles (jobs, that is) and even blatant assertions that some of us will be unhappy with the changes. In spite of what were undoubtedly the best intentions of our higher ups, this has amazingly had a quite negative effect on the work habits, attitude, and morale of the troops.

And so it ensues… The name of the game these days is do as little as is feasible over the course of the day, which many have industriously shortened to as little as six hours. Which is, after all, really more efficient and shows acute resourcefulness. Why string out a day of not-working to eight or nine hours when you can get just as little done in fewer hours?

While at work, it takes a surprising amount of ingenuity to find things other than work to fill the day. This is sometimes made even more difficult by the non-team players who might actually want you to do some work. They have a very selfish way of interrupting you when you’re playing Halo or expecting you to actually attend the meeting that you arranged.

Yes indeed, it’s hard work not working. I mean, anyone can not work, but to do so without suffering immense boredom is no mean feat. Some are bound to fail. Some will get railroaded into actually completing projects. Some will fall victim to that widespread modern-day office malaise, namely staring into space, drooling in front of their monitors. Others will aimlessly wander the paths of the Internet, trolling for tidbits of even modest appeal and feigning more interest than is in fact warranted by the “information” they uncover. But a valiant few will prevail and fill their hours with amusing coffee breaks, exciting game-playing sessions, incessant instant messaging, l-o-n-g lunches, and even the occasional bout of sport and exercise. Not a very lofty goal? Perhaps not, but in these days of rampant disillusionment and passionate cynicism, we all must do our part.

I'm Still Not Doing Them

2007-10-11T21:04:00.000+01:00

I thought about coming clean (after being inspired by Jo's ducks neatly aligning themselves) about all of the things that I am completely in denial about and avoiding... my taxes, my car reg is which is paid up and current (thank you), but for which they didn't see fit to actually send me a tax disc , my lease which is ticking away toward expiring (though I think I should also get credit because I did phone the agent. She's just never phoned me back. Harridan.), my perpetually anaemic finances, my grandmother's birthday (3 days ago), my nephew's birthday (11 days ago), my non-existent exercise regimen (again, if my yoga instructor nips off to teach in Australia for months on end -- well?) ... and the list goes on and on.

But I don't know that I am actually even going to pretend to try to make myself do anything about them, so perhaps confession is pointless. Denial is working for me. For now.

Here's what's not working for me -- all the freaking spiders. I know I've said something about this before, but let's get real. How many spiders can one small house and garden actually NEED? Well, let me tell you, regardless of what it needs, it can jolly well support a truckload.

This morning I left the house just before 9, and it was a misty, foggy morning... all the better to see the virtual forest of cobwebs, my dears! My front garden looks like something out of a Halloween story. And it's true, I love Halloween, but come on. In hindsight I also realize I should apologize -- I should have taken photos, but I was 1) underwhelmed and not a little disturbed, and 2) lazy. Perhaps I will be lucky enough (ha!) to see them again tomorrow and get a second chance.

I keep telling myself, "yes, but there's no snakes in England," (sometimes even in a self-congratulatory sort of tone) and none of these horrifying infestations either. So I got that going for me.

Real Dan and the Return of the Swiss Miss

2007-10-10T18:18:00.000+01:00

Me and Real Dan, at Carluccio's in London. Photo courtesy of Brian, who is a better photographer than I am anyway.

It happened again. After a wonderful reunion with “Real Dan” a few months back (and sadly my last post as I have been horribly remiss in blathering on about my not-quite riveting life), I got a message via Facebook from another dear friend from my past. Stefani (the “Swiss Miss”) was an exchange student at my high school briefly and then she moved to Southern California and then back to England... and we regrettably lost touch. But through the magic of Facebook she’s back! Hurrah! It’s so super-fantastic that I feel like we could be an advertisement for them.

I’m slotting her right back into my life and “we mustn’t drop off like that again!”

In other news ... hmmm, what other news? Exactly. Everything at work is still up in the air and irritatingly quasi top secret. Which brings me to this rant: if you want to keep things under wraps, why not be discreet for godsake? And if you’re not going to tell people, shouldn’t you at least not tell them that their jobs will be changing, that they won’t be happy, aren’t going to like the changes... but hey, don’t worry about it all, there’s nothing you can do so just get on with it...?!

Interestingly, I am only de-motivated part-time. On those days, I drag Jo downstairs to drink tea (or another soothing hot beverage of choice, hot chocolate also works) while we sit and look out at the lake. And I try not to moan the whole time (honestly I do) ... without a huge amount of success it must be said.

In between my whinging episodes, I’m “getting on with it” ... mostly, I think, because the work I am doing has nothing whatsoever to do with the higher up who did actually say those words above to our entire Creative Services team. I’ve been up to my eyebrows in city-building (new SimCity title), island castaways, and some other forthcoming Sims-alicious bits.

There. That about catches things up. I can now pretend that we’re up to speed. (The 2 or 3 of us who might still be reading!)

but he belongs to me like lost baggage

2007-08-07T23:03:00.000+01:00

About two years ago I drunkenly emailed a friend from uni who I hadn’t seen in several years. As you do. It was (thankfully) short and sweet and I wrote it in cahoots with another (equally drunken) friend. And, as you do, I immediately forgot all about the fact that I had sent it.

… Nearly two years to the day (and about a month ago) I got an email from Dan (the recipient of my slushly scribing). He’s finished his dissertation and rejoined the land of drunken emailing and so took the time to respond [Note: if this sounds at all snide it absolutely isn’t meant to]. I haven’t yet written back. But I think that’s allowed. Right? You know – a year to give a wedding gift (never mind I am well into Year 2 for at least one friend) and a reciprocal amount of time to pen a response to a response … or something. It’s a rule. I’m sure of it. Even if I did just make it up.

So anyway. The gist of the email from Dan is that he’s coming to pretty England in August (which is … er … now). So what happens to the rule?! Do I write to him before the weekend then? (it’s OK he’s in touch with Brian too, so I won’t miss him if I can’t pull it together.) But does a transatlantic trip negate the equal response time rule?

Whatever the etiquette, I am immensely looking forward to seeing Dan (or “Real Dan” as he was known among my uni flatmates. He was in one of my comparative lit courses along with another Dan, who my flatmates and I called “Innocuous Dan.” So this Dan was either “Real Dan” (if clarification was called for) or simply (and most usually) “Dan”.

So beware your drunk-dialing and typing! Even if you think it’s long gone without consequences… it can spring itself upon you most unexpectedly. Happily, sometimes that’s even good news.

** I'd love to give you a link to the complete poem alluded to in the title, but alas I cannot find it except for this instance on a Spanish speaker's blog (with a few minor transcription/spelling errors). But nonetheless, with my thanks to Ms Sexton and Clara the blogger. **

7:4 ... at Least til I Think of More

2007-07-24T22:56:00.000+01:00

Seven things I’ve learned in England

To treat collective nouns as plural. On a good day, I can tell practice from practise too.
To think in pounds. Calculating how much stuff here would cost in US$ is flat-out depressing. Conversely, considering American prices in £ is sterling!
The Window Tax. All those bricked up window-shaped non-openings on buildings, in exactly the spot you think there ought to be a window? That’s the Window Tax.
Americans are loud. Mostly. But we do have nice teeth. Again, mostly.
To like football. You know, the soccer kind. And, perhaps more impressively, cricket.
That it will take nearly half a day to wash one small load of laundry.
Being polite and being nice aren’t the same thing. Most people here are mostly polite most of the time, whether they like you or not. But when someone is nice, they always mean it.

But I still don’t get it…

Celsius. Nope. Can’t do it.
And, come to that, metrics in general. A kilo? I know how much that is, but how heavy is that?
Marmite. Eccles cake (pass. for obvious reasons). Meat-flavored crisps.
French wine. I don’t know nearly enough about French wine. Or Australian, Italian, or South African. Clearly, I was too steeped in California wines. Happily, this is one I am content to keep working on. Steadily.

Awash in Bitterness

2007-07-23T22:59:00.000+01:00

See. The thing is. I actually love a good storm. Flashes of lightning, booming peals of thunder, raindrops the size of olives.

What, it turns out, I don't love is continuous rain all Summer long.

A few summer squalls? Fine. Cool, even.

Forty days and forty nights of start-building-the-freaking-ark-rain? Um, no. Not so much, thanks.

On the plus side, at least my tap water is still potable. For now. Or so I think...

Outside work tonight, with reflections of raindrops.

A Very English Summer

2007-07-16T22:22:00.000+01:00

The thing about Summer here is that it’s, well, not so hot and, yes, rainy. And, unlike the chronic sufferers of the Twainian coldest Winters in San Francisco, you can’t drive 20 minutes and end up somewhere hot.

On the upside, this makes for a very green country—rolling hill after rolling hill of lush, luxuriant, Technicolor (or colour, as the case may be) green. My office is nestled in a park that boasts endless stretches of herbage upon which countless bunnies cavort in gluttonous delight.

Traveling around pretty England is a feast of emerald to jade to sage. Everywhere in England is green. Everywhere, that is, except my front garden.

Perhaps it’s not maliciousness on my lawn’s part but a kindly desire to make a California girl feel at home. I look out my front window and here and there see tufts of tawny-trying-to-be-green almost-lawn. But mostly it’s a sad state of miserable, half-hearted growth. It’s my own mini golden hills of California, but without the sun.

I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with gardening skills.

In the Driver's Seat

2007-07-13T20:07:00.000+01:00

So, I've been driving in England for a while now. and I'm doing, you know, sort of ok. As long as I don't have to leave my comfort zone. Which pretty much means from my house to work and to the local Tesco. Anything that doesn't fall within that zone, is not even to be considered. Cos the thing is, driving here is pretty absurd. Yeah, there's that whole other side of the road thing. That's not great. But you know what really gets me? It's the size of the roads. You'd think it would be a given that you'd need at least enough room for one car going and one car coming on a two-way road. But, in England, you'd be wrong. So even within my tiny 2-mile (it might even be less, but let's pretend) comfort zone, there are many Roads Not Taken.

This evening on my way home (at a decidedly and purposefully non-rush hour, thank you very much) it occured to me that it feels a lot like driving in a videogame. That same adrenaline rush of cars speeding towards you and having to dodge quickly out of the way. Because I'm on the wrong side, not -- this time! -- because I forgot, but because on the already ridiculously narrow road there are too many cars parked on my less-than-half to actually use it.

This wouldn't be so bad except that I am crap at driving games. And I don't get to restart if it goes badly.

Then there are roundabouts. The thing about roundabouts is that they're kind of like people--I'm mostly okay with the ones that I know, but the ones I don't know are sort of scary. Even knowing the rules doesn't help. I think I understand the concept . But then when I come up to one I don't know, it seems foreign all over again.

So finally I get home... which is located picturesquely on a gravelly, small lane... and up a tiny little incline is my garage, which I could practically span the width of with my arms and I have to navigate my car inside, hopefully without wrenching off any mirrors. I'm almost used to the smallness factor and maneuvering the car in just so. It's the fact that I can't help brushing elbows with all of the spider residents that still gets me down.