Saturday, May 02, 2009

The Adventure of the Chicken Rescue
I had totally forgotten about this particular bit of lunacy...

Back in the mists of time my friends the Steves and I were wandering around Chinatown where we saw this ancient guy with a live chicken. The bird was obviously going to be dinner and Steve decided to rescue it. I think we paid $10 buck for the poor thing.

OK, now what?

Step 1: Go to a friend's house and borrow the cage that belonged to their own version of the dead parrot sketch.
Step 2: Figure out someplace where people might have chickens.
Step 3: Be really stupid and forget about someplace close, like Santa Cruz or Woodside. Decide to drive up to frickin' Placerville. Because, of course, that's the closest place to SF where you might find chickens.
Step 4: Put the by now entirely confused chicken in the cage, put the cage in the back of the car, and hit the road.
Step 5: Be grateful the motion of the car puts the chicken into a coma by about Richmond so she shuts up.
Step 6: Drive to Placerville.
Step 7: Troll slowly around looking for someplace with chickens. When you find one, park down the road from it.
Step 8: Creep up to the house like you're going to make off with their car. Try to keep the chicken quiet. Realize you're city kids who actually don't like live chickens that much.
Step 9: Throw the poor bird over the fence and run like hell.
Step 10: Celebrate with milkshakes and drive all the way back to SF.
Photo of the day: Capital

I'm going to make a comment that has nothing to do with this photo.

I am madly in love with my husband.

I shall now stop being mushy and return you to your regularly scheduled web-surfing.

Friday, May 01, 2009

Meet Bob and Mary. And Mary and Bob
I don't know about you, but I always refer to couples by the order in which I met them. For example, I was friends with Mary for ages before she met and married Bob. And they will always be "Mary and Bob" when I talk about them. "Let's have dinner with Mary and Bob." I'll say, in spite of the fact that Mary and Bob don't live in the US and we can't really have dinner with them that often.

Then there's John and Jane. John and I became friends at work and, once he married Jane, they became "John and Jane." And they will always be "John and Jane" in that order.

And this holds true for all the couples we know. Whoever I met first always comes first in the couple canon.

There has only been one exception to this rule, and for this I can't use aliases. I was friends with Tom in college and then he started going out with Jerry. Actually it was Gerry, but still....Tom and Gerry? I don't think so. Since I refused to call them after cartoon characters, they became Gerry and Tom (and, later G&T after their favorite pre-dinner drink). But that was the only time I ever broke the rule.

Is this just me or do you do this too? I think it makes perfect sense, but then again....I'm odd.
Photo of the day: More from the Hallowed Halls

Meanwhile, back at Stanford. Everything looked peaceful. Little did they know that overly-hyped flu lurked around every column.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

The Woe of Shopping
As confessed before, I hate to shop. But my lack of nether garments rendered such an expedition necessary and thus I sallied forth, bravely. Well, not so bravely. With gritted teeth, is more like it.

I'm sure the majority of American women would have enjoyed themselves. Strolled around, did some browsing, perhaps tried on a few things just for fun. Made a few impulse buys. Spent time wandering through the summertime dresses with their bright flowers and small straps.

Me? I stalked in, clubbed a few pairs of jeans over the head and brought down the kill.

Well, that's what I wanted to do. But, unfortunately, I had to engage in my least-favorite activity of shopping trying things on. Ugh. I hate that repeated having to take your shoes off and guessing of sizes. Why in the name of holy dancing Jesus can't women's sizes be consistent? Men have it so easy. The walk into the men's department, go to the slacks, look for the 34 x 36 rack and pick them up. Shirts? Same deal, he's a 15/34. Doesn't even have to try the damned things on.

So why can't women be the same? Is it some freakish feminine psycho thing where women don't want to acknowledge in actual inches the size of their waist? I tried on jeans by three different makers and discovered I'm a size 8. And a size 10. And, fuck me, a size 12! What the hell is that? According to one maker I'm two sizes smaller than with another manufacturer? That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Then there's the whole S, M, L deal with shirts. Again, I'm all three sizes. It is impossible for a woman to walk into a store and buy something, anything, without trying it on because she'll have no clue if she's a fucking petite extra small or should be in the Busty Betty Department.
Photo of the day: Bike Rack

The only time I don't fear the bicycles at Stanford is when they're in the bike rack. Otherwise they have a tendency to pop out from between parked cars and terrify drivers. It's like playing Frogger.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Photos of the day: Stanford

With apologies to the Lurker, Mama D, and all my other Cal-loving readers I present to you shots of the Stanford campus. I'll try to keep them to a minimum to protect your delicate sensibilities.

But it is a very photogenic campus. You'll be seeing more in the coming days. You are warned in case you'd like to avert your eyes.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

What causes us to choose one brand over another? Or is it just me? When I go grocery shopping I have brands that I always get. We buy Coke, rather than Pepsi and Tide rather than Gain. I pick up the same brand of toothpaste whenever we run out. But I don't necessarily get the same kind of shampoo or soap. How come? I will try new products to wash my hair, but not my clothes. I tend to buy the same brand of dish soap, but not necessarily the same scent. I'll switch around on paper towels but stay loyal to tissue (I'm a Kleenex girl).

I know some people have huge brand loyalties to products. Cars, especially. I'm loyal to Honda (though I'd love to be able to afford something really ass-kicking) but will always prefer a Honda to, say, a Ford. And yet I know people who have happily owned four or five different makes of cars.

It's weird how that happens. Even if a similar and, I'm sure, just-as-good product is cheaper I'll still go for the preferred brand in most cases. And I'm not sure why. Especially now, when I'm trying to watch our budget. I'm sure the generic store-brand laundry detergent is fine, yet I'll shell out the extra buck for the name brand I've always used. There might even be something I'd like better, yet I don't experiment. And I rarely switch. I might pick up a different brand if they're out of what I usually buy, but the next time I go back to the old favorite.

So am I dull or loyal? Am I a typical consumer or am I weird. And I find it interesting that advertising has pretty much no effect on me. I don't see an ad on TV and think "I need to try that soup."

The one type of ad I do pay attention to, for the humor value, is bathroom cleaners. Why is it that the people who seem most excited by having a sparkling bathroom start off with bathrooms that look like the local Shell Station? Seriously. They always have the most disgusting bathtubs.
Photo of the day: Drawers

My mother has a beautiful antique sewing machine. Unfortunately it's kept in the closed off part of the house so no one ever sees it. But while wandering sleepless through the night I spent there I took some photos. This is of the cabinet. Two small drawers on either side on the machine itself. It's a gorgeous ensemble that deserves to be seen by more people.

Monday, April 27, 2009

When is a Sale Not a Sale
Yesterday Husband bought some shirts on sale from a major department store, which shall remain nameless. (Although it rhymes with "Macy's.") When we got home we discovered we'd gotten the wrong neck size. So I took them back today to exchange them for the correct size.

I got the right size and went to the counter to exchange them. And once the old ones were rung (wrung?) in and the new ones were rung up I was told that I owed them $125. Um....excuse me?

The clerk had given me credit on the old shirts and then entered the new ones as a new transaction. But they weren't on sale today so she wanted me to pay full price on them. I explained to her that this is not how a return works. A return is when you buy something and if you bring it back and get the same item, even if no longer on sale, you get the same price. And she informed me that I was wrong.

We had a polite discussion that got me nowhere except confirmed her impression that I was a crazy woman who was somehow trying to rob the store that rhymes with "Macy's". This should-have-been simple transaction now required the intervention of a supervisor who came over and couldn't seem to get through to the clerk either. But eventually took her through the whole process step-by-step, by the end of which the clerk still didn't seem to understand what was going on. By this time I'd spent close to 20 minutes trying to do an even exchange. Babies were born and rocks were formed while I waited. But I did walk out with the right shirts and not having to pay them the additional $125.

In other shopping news if you're in the market for a dining chair I suggest you check the prices on the same chair at Amazon and Dining Rooms Direct. It pays to shop around.
Photo of the day: Meanwhile, Back in the Victorian Brothel

There's just something about the light that makes me think of midnight in Lulu's House of Pleasure.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Photo of the day: Iris

This one is self-explanatory.