This weekend was a busy one. Friday Jen accepted a job offer from the place she interviewed at on Thursday; in the space of about two hours she got three calls with three job offers. So now I refer to her as ‘Senior Designer.’ Saturday we did a bunch of house-related stuff and visited the downtown restaurant Sascha’s to sample their menu (purely in the interest of wedding research, we swear) and to celebrate. Sunday was more running, with house stuff in the morning and a fun afternoon with friends.
We saw the Sofia Coppola movie Lost In Translation at the Charles, and we all enjoyed it tremedously. Bill Murray is spectacular. He takes the bored, disconnected dad from Rushmore and expands on it—there’s a brave, funny, young man in his body. Scarlett Johansson is young, but much older than she looks, and the two, who would on the surface not go together, pair off perfectly. Highly recommended.
Attempts to get the iMac running with Rob’s donated 27GB drive failed; the boot ROM doesn’t seem to see the drive even when it’s partitioned below 8GB. I may try again, and I may just buy a huge new IDE drive when I get paid and drop it in there.
Generosity. Phyllis, an old and dear friend of Jen’s, is moving out of the mansion where she and Jen once rented apartments. She was good enough to help us move into the new house, and we tried to lend as much help as possible back to her. She’s getting rid of a lot of her furniture, and out of the blue offered us her beautiful drop-leaf dining room table—and then her desk, which happens to be a 20’s era oak library table. We were overwhelmed, but she insisted, and, well, we couldn’t say no. So besides the dining room table we bought from Todd and Heather (which is about as near to perfect in this room as I could hope for), we have the smaller table from Phyllis, and a new desk for Jen’s office.
Jen sent me a link for this kit; we have a serious insect problem, so bats might be the answer.
Doctors. Today I was lucky enough to see my doctor about the poison ivy issue on my hand; instead of the pills (which apparently are for “serious” cases of p-i, and have side effects like sleep disorders, bone issues, water retention, etc) she prescribed some cortisone cream. I pointed at my hands, and told her that it was spreading—I woke up this morning and the blisters had marched across one knuckle, down into the valley of my finger, and up the other side and there is nothing more irritating than poison ivy in between your fingers—my request was in vain. So I have to travel to the Ride Aid to fill the script this evening.
Lis, I know you’re contesting the Crispin Glover nomination, so I found some evidence in the case to convict.
At the risk of fucking everything all up, I have to say this, because I’m so exited for her: Jen had a kick-ass job interview this morning, and it went really well. Everybody wish her luck!
The West Wing was pretty lackluster. I read online that John Wells himself wrote the episode, and it showed. Is anybody else out there confused/puzzled by the fact that Wells writes episodes for three different TV shows? I mean, isn’t there someone else in Hollywood who can write an engaging script? It’s just kind of funny that the media outlets talk about ‘convergence‘ and there’s one dude writing/exec. producing for two of the most popular shows on TV.
debris in the backyard
We made it through the hurricane pretty well the other day; we’re enjoying power again after it cut out on Thursday night at about 8:30. Strangely, the houses on either side of us had power, but our lines go to a different pole than theirs and our transformer blew. We lit Dietz lamps and went to sleep early, and when we woke the next morning the storm was gone. Our neighbors invited us over for coffee and breakfast after our attempts to find some failed; a house behind us was not so lucky and suffered massive structural damage as an older oak tree uprooted and crashed through the bedroom wall. Luckily nobody was hurt. Later in the day Todd and Heather invited us over for dinner and pie, and we gratefully accepted their offer. When we got back, the lights were back on. Thanks to everybody who helped us out!
Meanwhile, Jean-Paul and Sharon are getting married today in Houston, and we are here in Baltimore. I’m sorry we couldn’t be with you, JP. All the best to you and your new bride!
*** STOP: 0x00000077 (0x00000000, 0x8175A800, 0xBFCFDCA0)
KERNEL_STACK_INPAGE_ERRORBeginning dump of physical memory
Physical memory dump complete. Contact your system administrator or
technical support group.
Looks like we’re probably (but not definitely) grounded by the storm, so we most likely won’t be going to Houston tomorrow. Dammit. I was really looking forward to meeting the Masso clan and watching our friend JP get hitched (and getting out of town, for that matter.) Sorry, friend. Luckily Southwest has a pretty cool cancellation/refund policy, so we may be able to get our dinero back, or at least get a credit for a future flight.
In other news, that company I ordered plaster washers from, and who sent me a confirmation email, has no record of the order I placed. When the dude on the phone told me this, I hung up in disgust, but will most likely have to call back and place an order over the phone to make sure it goes through. What a hassle.
(Update: Some dude called the house and mumbled something about not having me in their system because the order already went out, or something stupid like that. So I guess the stuff is on its way.)
I was one of the last retards out on the roads this afternoon, picking up some final things before heading home; I got food, beer, and clean-burning propane. I’m going to go dig out my camping gear and dust off the portable grill, just in case. We already have large tree limbs down in the back yard (as well as next to the Scout) and the power has blinked off about four times already—thank god for laptops.
Remember everyone, tomorrow is Talk Like A Pirate Day. Yarrrr!
clock, Baltimore County Incident Command Center, 9.17.03
Quick! Everybody! Run for your lives! Run for your lives!
I took a tour of the Baltimore Incident Command Center this afternoon for a new project I’m working on. It’s curious installation—given my jaded view of Maryland civil government, I was expecting a broom closet with a rotary phone, mop and bucket, and stack of 1950’s era civil defense manuals. Instead we were hosted by quiet, serious staff in a facility that hums with activity and purpose—they are planning for the hurricane and making preparations to deal with the results.
Not much to write about today; I got a bad night’s sleep and I’m kind of groggy this afternoon. We have a new washing machine, although the hoses left in the house are leaky—a trip to the store will fix that. But we are celebrating, because both of us have piles of dirty laundry to wash about a mile high. Tomorrow, the BG&E guys should come back out to mark the panel in the basement, so then I can start deconstructing what goes where and updating it.
(spitting my vodka tonic out all over the keyboard.)
This is a great take on the current filesharing bullshit war, courtesy of Orson Scott Card (and /.)
It looks as if hurricane Isabel is going to kick the crap out of the East Coast, which bodes well for our planned flight to Texas for JP’s wedding. Time to check on Southwest’s weather policy.
In other news, Todd found and told me about the Rejuvenation House Parts website, which deals in new-manufacture lighting for old houses. This stuff is not cheap, but damn, what fine-looking products they have. I’d much rather spend the money on something like this instead of some drippy cut-crystal chandelier at a local “lighting store”.
Today I focused on the Pink room (more commonly known by its moniker to the left there) and began to look at the issues to tackle there. Friday I ordered some plaster washers from the maker—and there’s a good Sunday project for you: Try walking into a Home Depot and asking for “plaster washers” to anybody in an orange apron. The grizzled ex-plumber guys will keep asking you if you mean “plastic washers” and point you to the aisle of Crappy Replacement Parts For Cheap Faucets; the manly Hardware guys will blink at you, ask the same question, and send you back to Plumbing to bother those guys so they can return to hitting on the hot 19-year-old cashier at the Tool Corral. Turns out you have to go to the The Old House site, find the link to the maker/distributor, and buy them online (at $12 per 120.)
But I digress.
The bulge in the G-spot is pretty huge, so it’s probably going to take about 119 of those 120 washers to hold it in place; otherwise there are some minor cracks and small dings to be repaired, but the room isn’t in half-bad shape. One coat of Kilz and several million dead brain cells later, and the Pink room is sort of a sloppy off-white. The Anxious room is becoming increasingly less so as we move along; with a coat of white Kilz on the cieling, a sparkling cleaning job on the fixture, and about 20 lb. of patching plaster, it doesn’t look half-bad. Yesterday I yanked off all the trim from the kickplates to see what it’s like under there; the answer is that they did a decent job of putting the plaster on (contrasted with the half-ass job at 620, where the plaster didn’t make it all the way to the floor.) Which makes future installation of electrical lines that much harder. Oh, well.
Meanwhile, the Presbetyrian Church across the street has fixed their bells, so right now, at 6PM, it’s pleasantly ringing here in my backyard.
I like it here.
Today we drove down to pick up the Taurus from my mechanic, who’s had it at his shop for a month. Ordinarily that would be a problem, but because we were in the middle of moving hell that entire period, it really worked out for the best. When last we left our heroes, it had broke down on the side of the road on our way down to swap it with the Saturn. At that time, the steering was pulsing at any effort to turn the wheel, the left rear tire had a slow leak, the car was stalling at idle, and the engine was overheating. I drove it home this afternoon and it felt like a new car. The steering is tight and stable, the alignment is straight, and the engine seems to have found a happy operating temperature.
Last night we had our friends Matt and Emily over for dinner and to show them the house (and to give them their wedding present, two years overdue. Bad Bill.) We went to our favorite Thai restaurant and had a few Singhas and then returned home to have a few vodka tonics. This morning I remembered why malt beer and vodka do not mix—it was a slow morning for me.
Meanwhile, we started patching the plaster on the walls in the Anxious room, and Jen cleaned the cut glass light fixture (let’s face it, its not big enough to be a chandelier). The fixture looks completely different now that it’s clean, and it throws beautiful patterns of light when it has a 100 watt bulb. Unfortunately the 80-year-old wall switch broke in the “on” position while we were testing it, so we’ll have to wait until the BG&E guys come back to mark the panel before we fix that.
About the only planned attack on America that happened yesterday was the concentrated programming of 9/11 retrospective, first-person, documentary, and “very special episodes” on TV last night. Thank God, at least I can turn the TV off.
BG&E came out to estimate installation of new electrical wiring this morning; they quoted $900 for the ground floor and $2700 for the upstairs. Yeesh. The ground floor would be doable if I didn’t have a lot of irons in the fire, but the upstairs is a different matter. That’s going to have to wait until spring, unless money starts falling from the sky.
In other news, Mr. Johnny Cash is dead at 71. I think that just about every contemporary recording artist should start a fund to build some kind of temple for him in the desert like they did for the ancient kings of Egypt, and inter him in a sarcophagus of black gold. Or build for him a Viking warship, place him on the deck, and send it off to Valhalla under a full moon. Because they owe him big. Rest in Peace, man.