I'm conducting an experiment with a half loaf of bread in my office. It's been there roughly since the end of last September. It has yet to grow any mold whatsoever. I'm not sure why, but I find this fascinating. I call it my "Wonder Bread." On a monthly basis, I update my co-workers on the status of my wonder bread. In fact the last update was only a few days ago when we returned to campus from the holiday break. Still no mold. I'm starting to wonder if my bread should have a special place in the Smithsonian Institute. I suppose bread is an odd thing to fixate on, but considering this whole mess with the dissertation process, it's really all about the little mindless things. Therefore, I largely credit my unmolding half loaf of bread for a big chunk of my sanity. Not that I'd want to open it up at this point and smell it. But then again, maybe it's just fermenting. Can bread turn into alcohol?
Unfortunately, the same can't be said for many of the things in my refrigerator. I opened it up the other day and realized half the containers of food had been in there possibly longer than the gestation period for rabbits. I opened up one container and discovered nothing but white fuzz. It took me a while to realize the container was actually full of sliced tomatoes I had cut for BLTs. That's when I remembered I had also bought lettuce. I opened up the veggie drawer. I never knew lettuce could turn into brown liquid before. That's when I noticed the mushrooms I had bought for the Christmas meal I cooked--also disgustingly liquified. I had used most of them, so the package was open. Unfortunately, I tipped the package as I took it out of the refrigerator and brown ooze dripped all over the floor and my bare feet, which sent me hopping around and more brown ooze dripping across the floor. I guess this is probably a sad commentary on my dog, but Audrey was anxiously standing by wanting to lick up the disgusting goo! Labs really have no taste buds whatsoever.
Cleaning up that mess, I decided maybe I should take a look at the milk. Jeremy had been complaining for several days (maybe a week) that every time he opened up the fridge, he could smell it. I had basically just been not breathing when I opened the refrigerator door, so I could never confirm or deny his claims. I picked up the jug, carried it to the sink and started dumping. I will just confirm he was correct in his assessment of the smell, and I will just note that it was --well--far from pleasant. Also, it didn't really pour from the jug so much as plop. And I'm fairly certain milk should never plop nor should you have to run the garbage disposal to get rid of it.
That done, I then discovered the leftover cheesecake I had made for Christmas day sitting in a container. It didn't smell bad, had no mold, but I'm fairly certain one month old cheesecake should not be eaten. It had been (at the time of cooking it) a chocolate turtle cheesecake, with the bottom layer a sticky mixture of carmel, evaporated milk and pecans. Somehow, that had bled through the crust and the thing was cemented into the pan. I decided it might be better to let it sit out on the counter and warm up before I tried to dislodge it. So, I set it down on the counter with all intentions of coming back to it a few hours later and tossing it. I forgot. Well, maybe not so much forgot as dreaded the whole scraping, prying process it would take to get the thing out. So, Monday passed, Tuesday, Wednesday. . . Every time I'd go into the kitchen, I'd look at the container on the counter, think, "well, it doesn't smell," get a soda, and then just leave it sitting. I finally got it out of the pan the following Sunday night. I'm not sure if it was a result of sitting for so long in both the refrigerator and on the counter or what, but I swear the thing gained mass. For something that's basically eggs and cream cheese, I'm pretty sure it weighed roughly five pounds by the time I got it into the garbage can. Maybe I should have saved it--it might also have been a candidate for the Smithsonian Institute!
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Monday, December 10, 2007
The Cake
Admittedly, my cooking skills often have been somewhat questionable (as with other domestic-type skills). While they have progressed and improved immensely, early attempts were, well, unedible. However, some of that was simply misreading directions. Take for example the first meal I ever cooked for a boyfriend. I could have swore the package said cook at 120 degrees for 20 minutes. I did and was pleased to set a lovely plate of food in front of my now ex. Unfortunately, that was definitely not the proper cooking method for . . . um . . . chicken. For the next two years of that relationship, every time I cooked chicken, I was asked the same question: "Are you sure it's done?" Apparently, the threat of salmonella poisoning was probably too much to ever overcome.
Then there were, okay are cookies. I have never gotten a single batch of homemade cookies to turn out properly (as can be seen in an early blog). Besides the lowfat cookie debacle, there was the improper substitution of baking soda for baking powder (or maybe it was vice versa--I still have no idea which one can't be substituted for the other). I believe I made the first ever unleavened cookies that had a molecular combination stronger than steel. No matter what I did, I could not pry the things off the pan. I ended up just throwing the whole pan out. Then there were the the "combination" cookies. I wanted a cookie that was peanut butter chocolate chip carmel. I could not find a recipe anywhere for that type of cookie, so I decided to combine two different recipes. The end result was a sticky, chewy mess that tasted--well, let's just say the taste was indescribable, and not in a good way. On the plus side, I fed a couple to the dogs, which was very entertaining (yes, our dogs will eat anything). It took them roughly 10 minutes to finish chewing and swallowing the things.
The pièce de résistance, though, was a chocolate cake I made for treat day at work. I decided that instead of buying something, I would make an extra effort and actually make a cake for treat day. Now, this was not from scratch, but I anticipated delight at my culinary box cake preparation prowess. The first snafu I encountered was that I did not have the right size pan to bake a cake. No problem, I thought. I'll just use an 8 x 8 square pan and cook it a little longer. So I popped it in the oven and added an extra 10 minutes; I mean really, how much longer could it take to cook a cake in a smaller pan? When the timer went off, I proudly marched over to the oven, ready to pull my delectible cake out and frost it. However, when I opened the oven, the thing had puffed up like a gigantic mushroom, roughly three times as tall as the actual pan! While this definitely was a dilemma, I simply placed it on the counter and walked away. After all, it did need time to cool before I could frost it. I figured in the mean time, I could come up with some sort of solution to this problem.
Roughly half an hour later, I meandered back into the kitchen. Basically, the only solution I had come up with was to just frost the thing and take it to work "as is." After all, it was still a cake. Imagine my surprise when I looked at the cake, and, instead of a huge puff, there was now a crater in the middle of the cake--the thing had collapsed like a soufflé. Yet, this was a rather pleasing development, for I figured it would be far easier to hide a crater than a gigantic balloon of cake. And I had just the thing to do so: Swiss Cake rolls! I was so pleased with myself for having come up with such a brilliant idea! I took out the Swiss Cake rolls and chopped them into small circles, carefully filling in the crater. Then I grabbed a knife to cut the cake. It was the consistancy of pudding. Now what? Back in the oven, of course!
I cooked it for another 20 minutes. I was positive that would be more than long enough. Pulling it out of the oven a second time, I was dismayed to discover all the frosting and cream had melted off the Swiss Cake roll pieces. They were now hard crunchy little shells. And the cake was still like pudding. I had no idea what to do about the Swiss Cake roll problem. I decided I'd tackle that one after the cake finished cooking. 20 minutes later, pudding. 20 minutes after that, pudding. Sighing, I finally decided it was time to abandon the cake. I pulled out a garbage bag and watched it plop out of the pan. By the time I finished scooping it all out, the garbage bag must have weighed about five pounds.
In the end, it was back to the good old stand by for treat day: a bag of chips and a package of cookies. On the plus side, they were edible
Then there were, okay are cookies. I have never gotten a single batch of homemade cookies to turn out properly (as can be seen in an early blog). Besides the lowfat cookie debacle, there was the improper substitution of baking soda for baking powder (or maybe it was vice versa--I still have no idea which one can't be substituted for the other). I believe I made the first ever unleavened cookies that had a molecular combination stronger than steel. No matter what I did, I could not pry the things off the pan. I ended up just throwing the whole pan out. Then there were the the "combination" cookies. I wanted a cookie that was peanut butter chocolate chip carmel. I could not find a recipe anywhere for that type of cookie, so I decided to combine two different recipes. The end result was a sticky, chewy mess that tasted--well, let's just say the taste was indescribable, and not in a good way. On the plus side, I fed a couple to the dogs, which was very entertaining (yes, our dogs will eat anything). It took them roughly 10 minutes to finish chewing and swallowing the things.
The pièce de résistance, though, was a chocolate cake I made for treat day at work. I decided that instead of buying something, I would make an extra effort and actually make a cake for treat day. Now, this was not from scratch, but I anticipated delight at my culinary box cake preparation prowess. The first snafu I encountered was that I did not have the right size pan to bake a cake. No problem, I thought. I'll just use an 8 x 8 square pan and cook it a little longer. So I popped it in the oven and added an extra 10 minutes; I mean really, how much longer could it take to cook a cake in a smaller pan? When the timer went off, I proudly marched over to the oven, ready to pull my delectible cake out and frost it. However, when I opened the oven, the thing had puffed up like a gigantic mushroom, roughly three times as tall as the actual pan! While this definitely was a dilemma, I simply placed it on the counter and walked away. After all, it did need time to cool before I could frost it. I figured in the mean time, I could come up with some sort of solution to this problem.
Roughly half an hour later, I meandered back into the kitchen. Basically, the only solution I had come up with was to just frost the thing and take it to work "as is." After all, it was still a cake. Imagine my surprise when I looked at the cake, and, instead of a huge puff, there was now a crater in the middle of the cake--the thing had collapsed like a soufflé. Yet, this was a rather pleasing development, for I figured it would be far easier to hide a crater than a gigantic balloon of cake. And I had just the thing to do so: Swiss Cake rolls! I was so pleased with myself for having come up with such a brilliant idea! I took out the Swiss Cake rolls and chopped them into small circles, carefully filling in the crater. Then I grabbed a knife to cut the cake. It was the consistancy of pudding. Now what? Back in the oven, of course!
I cooked it for another 20 minutes. I was positive that would be more than long enough. Pulling it out of the oven a second time, I was dismayed to discover all the frosting and cream had melted off the Swiss Cake roll pieces. They were now hard crunchy little shells. And the cake was still like pudding. I had no idea what to do about the Swiss Cake roll problem. I decided I'd tackle that one after the cake finished cooking. 20 minutes later, pudding. 20 minutes after that, pudding. Sighing, I finally decided it was time to abandon the cake. I pulled out a garbage bag and watched it plop out of the pan. By the time I finished scooping it all out, the garbage bag must have weighed about five pounds.
In the end, it was back to the good old stand by for treat day: a bag of chips and a package of cookies. On the plus side, they were edible
Friday, November 30, 2007
Feeling Grinchy
With fundage being a little short this year, I just can't seem to get into the holiday spirit. Jeremy and I now own three houses, and let's just say this was not what we planned when we talked about eventually investing in real estate! We just recently closed on our dream house, a 50k (yes, that's 50k!), 4000+ square foot Victorian built sometime around the turn of the century. We can't move into it, though, until we get a few things fixed, particularly the fact that it has no heating or air even. That brings us to house number 2, the one we need and are currently living in (also the one that, since it is the end of the semester, has become somewhat, um, messy. That might be an understatement considering I walked in the door from work the other night and Jeremy said, "It's the queen of the dump!"). Then, there's the most expensive house, the pain in the butt and wallet house in North Carolina that STILL hasn't sold. Needless to say, it's going to be a rather meager Christmas, and we won't be able to travel back home :( So, I am having a hard time getting in a Christmas mood. And let's just say all the pre-holiday commercialism hasn't helped either. I do not like to buy Halloween candy, turn around in the aisle and then see Christmas candy. And I won't even get into the Christmas commercials airing on tv in the middle of October.
Sadly, the neighbor across the street was evicted. Last year, right before Christmas, he purchased roughly 20 crappy, old bathtubs (no, that is not an exaggeration) from an apartment complex that was going to be torn down (another one of his brilliant money making plans, you can probably see why he ended up evicted). Yes, all 20 of them ended up scattered across his driveway and yard. It was all I could do to keep myself from stringing lights on them and buying an inflatable doll to stick in one. Sadly, with his eviction, I will not get to see what this year's "Christmas" decorations might have been.
I thought about putting decorations up in our house, but it just seems like so much work. Last night, I was contemplating getting them out of our storage unit after the semester ended and at least making it seem a little more like Christmas. Then I looked around the living room and realized there was nowhere to put the tree. A 90 gallon aquarium and stand now occupy the one spot that was available last year. No, the tank has no water and no fish. In fact, we can't even fill it because we need to order a piece so water doesn't leak out of it. Upon further contemplation, I have decided that this might actually be a good thing. With no water in it, I can cheerfully hang lights and all sorts of Christmas decorations on it. So, I believe this year instead of a Christmas tree, we will have a Christmas aquarium.
This brings us to Christmas gifts. Since we cannot really spend, well, any money on Christmas presents this year, I have decided to take a different approach to gift giving. No I will not be making anything (this should be a relief to most, as my sewing skills are limited to sewing buttons back on clothes, and you already know how cooking things turns out). Since I cannot buy presents that people would actually want, and since I cannot make anything at all (unless you would like a soda can tab necklace), I am going to send people gifts that they would absolutely never want. Below, you will find images of the delightful presents from which you can choose, as well as a lovely description of each gift:
The carrot pen magnet is versatile and multifunctional. It is streamlined and sleek with a lovely orange body. You can stick it on the fridge and watch the crowds gather round to look at this beauty! If you select this gift, you will be the envy of all friends and family!
Finally, the gift for those who have everything! Search no more, but immediately stake your claim on the this extraordinary collection of Venereal Disease Plushies! Want Chlaymdia or the Clap without the hassle of sex and Dr. visits? Then this is definitely the gift for you! This collection of four beautiful STDs comes with an added benefit: you can even keep one for yourself and share the others with your closest friends! Plush STDs, the gift that keeps on giving!
Now that you've seen the exceptional list of Christmas presents no one would ever want, make your selection carefully! Furthermore, supplies are limited, so make sure you get your request in early! I would hate to disappoint you all this holiday season. Oh! There are only 3 Venereal Disease Plushy sets left now!
However, all our neighbors seem well into the holiday spirit: houses decorated, lights strung, trees glimmering in the windows. The Christmas penis has made it's appearance again at our next door neighbor's house. Well, it's not really, but that's what I call it. They have this roughly 4 foot tall, 5 inch circumference lamp post in their yard that stands away from the house and the nicely lit shrubberies. The light doesn't work, but for some reason, they always feel the need to string lights up it around the holidays. Consequently, at night, it looks like, well. . .
Sadly, the neighbor across the street was evicted. Last year, right before Christmas, he purchased roughly 20 crappy, old bathtubs (no, that is not an exaggeration) from an apartment complex that was going to be torn down (another one of his brilliant money making plans, you can probably see why he ended up evicted). Yes, all 20 of them ended up scattered across his driveway and yard. It was all I could do to keep myself from stringing lights on them and buying an inflatable doll to stick in one. Sadly, with his eviction, I will not get to see what this year's "Christmas" decorations might have been.
I thought about putting decorations up in our house, but it just seems like so much work. Last night, I was contemplating getting them out of our storage unit after the semester ended and at least making it seem a little more like Christmas. Then I looked around the living room and realized there was nowhere to put the tree. A 90 gallon aquarium and stand now occupy the one spot that was available last year. No, the tank has no water and no fish. In fact, we can't even fill it because we need to order a piece so water doesn't leak out of it. Upon further contemplation, I have decided that this might actually be a good thing. With no water in it, I can cheerfully hang lights and all sorts of Christmas decorations on it. So, I believe this year instead of a Christmas tree, we will have a Christmas aquarium.
This brings us to Christmas gifts. Since we cannot really spend, well, any money on Christmas presents this year, I have decided to take a different approach to gift giving. No I will not be making anything (this should be a relief to most, as my sewing skills are limited to sewing buttons back on clothes, and you already know how cooking things turns out). Since I cannot buy presents that people would actually want, and since I cannot make anything at all (unless you would like a soda can tab necklace), I am going to send people gifts that they would absolutely never want. Below, you will find images of the delightful presents from which you can choose, as well as a lovely description of each gift:
The carrot pen magnet is versatile and multifunctional. It is streamlined and sleek with a lovely orange body. You can stick it on the fridge and watch the crowds gather round to look at this beauty! If you select this gift, you will be the envy of all friends and family!
Ever wondered if Santa pooped? Wonder no more with this delightful candy pooping Santa! Smells and tastes great! It also makes a beautiful addition to your holiday decorations. You will be astonished by the compliments you receive and be the envy of all when you add this ergonomically correct Santa to your mantleplace! Also comes in pooping reindeer, pooping polar bear and pooping frosty the snow man versions. Candy poop refills are sold separately.
I know everyone has asked, "What does a pickle sound like when it yodels?" With this beautifully green gift, all questions are answered! Simply press the button and feel like you've been transported to the Swiss Alps. Want a little variety in music this holiday season? The yodelling pickle is light, compact and portable. Take it with you in the car, take it to the office Christmas party, or even the opera, as it will rival even the best Soprano's vocal quality. You can even add a little flavor to the ho-hum holiday songs and take it carolling. The expressions on homeowner's faces as you carol at their door will not disappoint!
You might recognize this gorgeous item from that timeless holiday classic, A Christmas Story. But this exquisite piece goes far beyond the simplistic model found in the movie. Not only do you get the leg lamp, but also it is an inflatable outdoor decoration! Now, you too can get a leg up on holiday decorating and share this spiritual inspiration with your entire neighborhood!
What could be a more exciting gift to open on Christamas morning than the fabulous meat shower curtain! Hungry when you wake up? Head to the shower and take a deep sniff of the . . . plastic aroma. Better than the real the real thing, the meat shower curtain will not rot. But, if you prefer longer cured meat, just let it age and grow mildew!
Now that you've seen the exceptional list of Christmas presents no one would ever want, make your selection carefully! Furthermore, supplies are limited, so make sure you get your request in early! I would hate to disappoint you all this holiday season. Oh! There are only 3 Venereal Disease Plushy sets left now!
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Lecture Time
Apparently, Jeremy got tired of my "unconventional" parking methods. When I got home from my conference, there was a bobber hanging from fishing line on my side of the garage. I was told that all I had to do was pull up so that it touched the windshield, and I would be nicely parked.
Just a few days ago, we're driving down the road, and Jeremy decides to discuss my parking problem. Frequently, I don't quite get all the way in the garage, and the door bends as it goes over the tire on the back of my Isuzu. I carefully explained to him that this was not my fault, as the garage is miniscule. I mean really, there's maybe 3 foot of space leftover once I park in it. So this parking problem is obvioulsy not my fault. Of course, I informed him of this fact.
For some reason, he decided to launch into a lecture about my driving skills. First, of course, there was the speeding ticket this summer. I can't help it. I don't like to go slow. I also didn't figure this was the best time to tell him that, while going nearly 70 the other day, a cop turned around and followed me (didn't pull me over, but I was a bit worried!). Then, he decides to critique my driveway problems. He is always irritated that, most of the time, when I'm pulling into the driveway, I drive over the grass. I'm not sure why he even bothers with this one anymore. I've always done this. It will never change. Well, it could, but then I'd have to pull into the driveway slowly. And this I explained to him. You see, I'm a very courteous driver, and I don't want to slow people behind me down. Therefore, I turn rather rapidly into the driveway, which means I drive over grass. I told him this and that there was an easy fix to this problem: just make the ends of the driveway flare out more. He simply looked at me and said "You give me a headache."
So we're driving along again, and I step on the accelerator to speed up. This leads to a brand new lecture about the way I stomp on the accelerator and gas effeciency. Setting him straight, I explained how this was not me, but actually the car. Fortunately for me, the car does need a major tune-up, so he willingly accepted this response and dropped the matter. Well, until he drove it himself a few days later and figured out that it was, in fact, me stomping on the accelerator to speed up. My response: "Well, that excuse worked for a little while."
Continuing our drive, something else came up. I'm sure it was something else he "felt" I was doing wrong (sigh, I have no idea where he comes up with all these ideas that I do things wrong). I made some comment, and he just looked at me. You know that "what the hell goes through your mind" look. So I asked him what the look was for. His response: "It's the same look I've been giving you since the day I met you." Hehe. I think it was better left unsaid that there would never be a need to retire that look.
Just a few days ago, we're driving down the road, and Jeremy decides to discuss my parking problem. Frequently, I don't quite get all the way in the garage, and the door bends as it goes over the tire on the back of my Isuzu. I carefully explained to him that this was not my fault, as the garage is miniscule. I mean really, there's maybe 3 foot of space leftover once I park in it. So this parking problem is obvioulsy not my fault. Of course, I informed him of this fact.
For some reason, he decided to launch into a lecture about my driving skills. First, of course, there was the speeding ticket this summer. I can't help it. I don't like to go slow. I also didn't figure this was the best time to tell him that, while going nearly 70 the other day, a cop turned around and followed me (didn't pull me over, but I was a bit worried!). Then, he decides to critique my driveway problems. He is always irritated that, most of the time, when I'm pulling into the driveway, I drive over the grass. I'm not sure why he even bothers with this one anymore. I've always done this. It will never change. Well, it could, but then I'd have to pull into the driveway slowly. And this I explained to him. You see, I'm a very courteous driver, and I don't want to slow people behind me down. Therefore, I turn rather rapidly into the driveway, which means I drive over grass. I told him this and that there was an easy fix to this problem: just make the ends of the driveway flare out more. He simply looked at me and said "You give me a headache."
So we're driving along again, and I step on the accelerator to speed up. This leads to a brand new lecture about the way I stomp on the accelerator and gas effeciency. Setting him straight, I explained how this was not me, but actually the car. Fortunately for me, the car does need a major tune-up, so he willingly accepted this response and dropped the matter. Well, until he drove it himself a few days later and figured out that it was, in fact, me stomping on the accelerator to speed up. My response: "Well, that excuse worked for a little while."
Continuing our drive, something else came up. I'm sure it was something else he "felt" I was doing wrong (sigh, I have no idea where he comes up with all these ideas that I do things wrong). I made some comment, and he just looked at me. You know that "what the hell goes through your mind" look. So I asked him what the look was for. His response: "It's the same look I've been giving you since the day I met you." Hehe. I think it was better left unsaid that there would never be a need to retire that look.
Friday, October 19, 2007
The Cubs
Growing up in the Midwest, there was only one baseball team for most: The Cubs. Cubs fans are die-hard. We have to be because the Cubs never win. As Bill Bryson says in I'm a Stranger Here Myself, despite the fact that there are a ton of of different divisions and playoff games leading up to the World Series,
- essentially it means that practically every team in baseball except the Chicago Cubs gets a chance to go to the World Series. The Cubs don't get to go because they never manage to qualify even under a system as magnificently accomodating as this. Often they almost qualify, and sometimes they are in such a commanding position that you cannot believe they won't qualify, but always in the end they doggedly manage to come up short. Whatever it takes--losing seventeen games in a row, letting easy balls go through their legs, crashing comically into each other in the outfield--you can be certain the Cubs will manage it. . . .And here's the problem. Nobody deserves to go to the World Series more than the Chicago Cubs. But they can't go because that would spoil their custom of never going. It's an irreconcilable paradox. (25-26, 27)
The Cubs have not won a world series in 99 years. Okay, so the Cubs have managaged, in recent years, to get into the playoffs. But what happens? There was the semi-final playoff series in 2003 against the Marlins. This could finally be our year! The Cubs kept advancing, kept winning. I bought a brand new jersey to replace my old one. My husband bought me a Cubs hat (which he never actually let me wear). Well, we all know how that turned out. Sixth game in the series, top of the 8th inning, Cubs in the lead and a Cubs fan robs Cubs outfielder Moises Alou of an out, catching the ball. It was downhill from there for the Cubs, and the Marlins went on to win the world series. No one even should have blamed the fan; really, wasn't it just "in the cards?"
So this year, when the Cubs made it into the playoffs, I was, once again, elated. Since I'm now in Georgia and far removed from the Cubs, I watched the coverage and celebration in Chicago on WGN that Friday night--All the optimism, excitement, jubilation. I cheered along with the woman, a Cubs fan for 60 years, who screamed at the top of her lungs in a bar that "This will be the Cubs year! They're gonna do it this year!" I believed!
Essentially, there really is a delightful delusion that all Cubs fans have. Every year, we believe they are going to make it, and every year we follow them through the whole season with high hopes. Yet every year, something goes horribly awry. This year, the Diamondbacks easily cleaned the pretty green field with the beloved blue and white and red jerseys. The odd thing is that even when they do lose, we aren't really surprised. I think we bury all the negative thoughts, submerging them in our subconscious. I'm sure psychologists would have something to say about this, possibly even name it the Cubs complex--it might make for a fascinating study.
Well, there's always next year. When the Midwest finally begins unthawing, it ushers in spring training--the Midwest wakes up to the Cubs, waiting for and watching them bloom again. Do we really care if they lose? No. Do we really believe they will win? Yes. So, I'm ready to hibernate for the winter. Nothing much happens anyway until the Cubs come back.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
The Green Submarine
So I'm chatting with a friend online last Friday night, and I get this phone call from Jeremy:
"I sunk my boat," he says, rather calmly for a person who's standing on a sandbar in the river watching his boat sink in freezing cold, foggy, dark conditions.
"What!" I exclaim, panicking, for I believe this would be the normal response to learning your husband's boat was sinking.
"Yeah, I sunk my boat," he says again very calmly, "I'm just standing here watching it fill up with water."
"How did you do that! Are you okay!" Of course, I'm still panicking. Admittedly, I was somewhat (he doesn't need to know this) concerned for his safety. Not only is he stuck out in the cold in the river, but also there are a ton of alligators, snakes, bears. . . Considering how calm he was, I figured he was okay. My next concern was the fact that he absolutely loves this boat and fishing on the river (the Ocmulgee is only about 5 miles from our house). Now, to begin with, this was far from any luxury liner. It was the ugliest, green fiberglass boat imagineable, made sometime around the turn of the century (okay, sometime around 1970). So on the one hand, it was probably very lucky it hadn't sunk already. But on the other hand, it is probably his favorite thing that he owns. So, I'm sitting there wondering if he actually is calm or if I needed to prepare for a grieving process later. I have no idea how I'm supposed to react at all, so I respond with a very generic, "Oh dear!" hoping this covers all the bases.
"Oh, look, there goes my wallet." I groan as he snags the wallet out of the river. "Can you get me the number for the bait shop?" he asks. A friend of his owns a bait shop down the road from us and has a boat. So I run to get the number, feeling somewhat relieved that Rich can now deal with this situation. Like I have any clue whatsoever what to do about a husband stuck on a sandbar. I give him the number and hang up.
Meanwhile, I'm relaying this story to my friend, who is rolling with laughter. I'm still not sure how to respond, but it is pretty funny. Especially since he'd been calling me intermitently all night to tell me how cold it was and how nothing was biting. Maybe it's just me, as a woman, but if I'm cold and miserable, I would have quit whatever it was that was making me cold and miserable. It only seems logical, right?
A few minutes later, Jeremy calls back.
"Well, they're (Rich and Kevin) coming to get me," he says. "Wow, the boat's filling really fast." To me, this seemed like a very obvious statement--what else would a boat with a hole in the bottom do? According to him, this was a very important statement because at that point, he realized just how big the hole was.
"What happened," I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer. Did he finally decide that, yes, it was cold and miserable and that he should come in for the night? No. Instead, he had decided to head FURTHER down the river to a different spot. As he was headed downstream, he hit a tree limb under the water, and down the boat went. Fortunately, he was't very far from the landing. In fact, he could see the cars passing on the highway. Unfortunately, he was on the opposite bank of the river from the landing, with no way to get across. He at least still had his little chargeable lantern, so he did have some light. He decides, at this point, that he should probably hang up and save the cell phone battery. I then relay the latest developments in the story to my friend, who is just dying.
A few minutes later, he calls back again. There's a "snag." First, Rich showed up without his boat. Since Jeremy woke him up, it didn't register that Jeremy was actually on the opposite bank of the river. So, they had a lovely conversation shouting at each other across the water. That was when Jeremy discovered Rich's boat battery is nearly dead, and Rich has to figure out how to get over to pick Jeremy up. As we're talking, he suddenly says, "Crap, the handle just came off the lantern!" The lantern has dropped into the water and died. Now he's a cold, wet man standing in the dark and fog on a sandbar.
It was at least half an hour later before Rich finally returned with his boat, still with not much of a charge on the battery. In order to get to Jeremy, Rich had to use his trolling moter and putt down the river. Once he got to where Jeremy was, they spent the next 45 minutes trying to start the big engine (I have no idea why they didn't just use the trolling moter again--I'm sure there's some logical reason that Jeremy will inform me of later; I hope). Finally, they reached under water and pulled the battery of Jeremy's boat. Somehow, it still worked, and they finally headed back to the landing. Two hours after he first called me, Jeremy was finally rescued. At one a.m., in he comes. I had fallen asleep by then, so I think all I managed was, "Oh, you're home."
Jeremy gets up the next day, and now has to figure out how to get the boat out of the water. First he calls DNR to report the boat. There's also a dam up the river that is opened every other weekend, so he needs to find out if that's going to happen. If so, bye-bye boat. The DNR lady tells him the dam isn't scheduled to be opened this weekend (lucky for him!), and that as long as the boat is not worth more than $2000, he doesn't have to file an accident report.
With that done, he sets off to the bait shop. Time to rescue the fiberglass monstrosity. As he's headed there, he sees ambulances, fire trucks and police cars speeding down the road. About an hour after he gets to the baitshop, everyone's ready to head out (time is never of the essence in the south). They get to the boat landing, and there are the ambulances, fire trucks, police and DNR. Apparently, someone had reported an overturned boat in the river, and the DNR office had not relayed Jeremy's earlier call to anyone, much less the local DNR. So, he spent an hour answering questions and trying to explain that yes, he had called the boat in.
They're finally ready to head out and rescue the boat. They have two leaky little john boats (one has pin-sized holes all over the bottom and the other's plug is, well, plugged with a cork), Rich's Bass Tracker, and four people crammed in the Bass Tracker. The two john boats are loaded inside one another, so they only have to pull "one" boat down the river. On top of the the john boats are two 16-foot 2x4s. As Jeremy calls it, they did a bit of redneck engineering once they got to his boat (and yes, he is very proud of this feat). Putting the two john boats in the river as pontoons and placing the 2x4s across them, they lift Jeremy's boat up (still full of water), strapping it to the boards with wratchet ties. They next have to figure out a way to rig the boat so they can haul it back to the landing. They can't tie the rig to the Bass Tracker because if the rig goes down, so does the Bass Tracker. In the end, Rich ends up steering the boat, while the other three hang onto the rope tied to Jeremy's boat and tug it down the river. In the meantime, the two john boats are rapidly filling with water. Somehow, they managed to make it back to the landing, but by the time they did, both john boats were about 1/3 full of water and on the verge of sinking! After slowly cranking the boats out of the water, draining them, they finally get them loaded. Once they got Jeremy's boat out of the water, they also discovered that the bottom section of the boat where the limb hit was actually rotted, so it actually wasn't his fault.
In the end, Jeremy finally arrived home at 3 in the afternoon, after starting out at 9 a.m. Needlesss to say, once he got home, he immediately went to bed. This was after telling me how much fun it was getting the boat out of the river.
FUN? We definitely have two very different ideas of what fun is.
"I sunk my boat," he says, rather calmly for a person who's standing on a sandbar in the river watching his boat sink in freezing cold, foggy, dark conditions.
"What!" I exclaim, panicking, for I believe this would be the normal response to learning your husband's boat was sinking.
"Yeah, I sunk my boat," he says again very calmly, "I'm just standing here watching it fill up with water."
"How did you do that! Are you okay!" Of course, I'm still panicking. Admittedly, I was somewhat (he doesn't need to know this) concerned for his safety. Not only is he stuck out in the cold in the river, but also there are a ton of alligators, snakes, bears. . . Considering how calm he was, I figured he was okay. My next concern was the fact that he absolutely loves this boat and fishing on the river (the Ocmulgee is only about 5 miles from our house). Now, to begin with, this was far from any luxury liner. It was the ugliest, green fiberglass boat imagineable, made sometime around the turn of the century (okay, sometime around 1970). So on the one hand, it was probably very lucky it hadn't sunk already. But on the other hand, it is probably his favorite thing that he owns. So, I'm sitting there wondering if he actually is calm or if I needed to prepare for a grieving process later. I have no idea how I'm supposed to react at all, so I respond with a very generic, "Oh dear!" hoping this covers all the bases.
"Oh, look, there goes my wallet." I groan as he snags the wallet out of the river. "Can you get me the number for the bait shop?" he asks. A friend of his owns a bait shop down the road from us and has a boat. So I run to get the number, feeling somewhat relieved that Rich can now deal with this situation. Like I have any clue whatsoever what to do about a husband stuck on a sandbar. I give him the number and hang up.
Meanwhile, I'm relaying this story to my friend, who is rolling with laughter. I'm still not sure how to respond, but it is pretty funny. Especially since he'd been calling me intermitently all night to tell me how cold it was and how nothing was biting. Maybe it's just me, as a woman, but if I'm cold and miserable, I would have quit whatever it was that was making me cold and miserable. It only seems logical, right?
A few minutes later, Jeremy calls back.
"Well, they're (Rich and Kevin) coming to get me," he says. "Wow, the boat's filling really fast." To me, this seemed like a very obvious statement--what else would a boat with a hole in the bottom do? According to him, this was a very important statement because at that point, he realized just how big the hole was.
"What happened," I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer. Did he finally decide that, yes, it was cold and miserable and that he should come in for the night? No. Instead, he had decided to head FURTHER down the river to a different spot. As he was headed downstream, he hit a tree limb under the water, and down the boat went. Fortunately, he was't very far from the landing. In fact, he could see the cars passing on the highway. Unfortunately, he was on the opposite bank of the river from the landing, with no way to get across. He at least still had his little chargeable lantern, so he did have some light. He decides, at this point, that he should probably hang up and save the cell phone battery. I then relay the latest developments in the story to my friend, who is just dying.
A few minutes later, he calls back again. There's a "snag." First, Rich showed up without his boat. Since Jeremy woke him up, it didn't register that Jeremy was actually on the opposite bank of the river. So, they had a lovely conversation shouting at each other across the water. That was when Jeremy discovered Rich's boat battery is nearly dead, and Rich has to figure out how to get over to pick Jeremy up. As we're talking, he suddenly says, "Crap, the handle just came off the lantern!" The lantern has dropped into the water and died. Now he's a cold, wet man standing in the dark and fog on a sandbar.
It was at least half an hour later before Rich finally returned with his boat, still with not much of a charge on the battery. In order to get to Jeremy, Rich had to use his trolling moter and putt down the river. Once he got to where Jeremy was, they spent the next 45 minutes trying to start the big engine (I have no idea why they didn't just use the trolling moter again--I'm sure there's some logical reason that Jeremy will inform me of later; I hope). Finally, they reached under water and pulled the battery of Jeremy's boat. Somehow, it still worked, and they finally headed back to the landing. Two hours after he first called me, Jeremy was finally rescued. At one a.m., in he comes. I had fallen asleep by then, so I think all I managed was, "Oh, you're home."
Jeremy gets up the next day, and now has to figure out how to get the boat out of the water. First he calls DNR to report the boat. There's also a dam up the river that is opened every other weekend, so he needs to find out if that's going to happen. If so, bye-bye boat. The DNR lady tells him the dam isn't scheduled to be opened this weekend (lucky for him!), and that as long as the boat is not worth more than $2000, he doesn't have to file an accident report.
With that done, he sets off to the bait shop. Time to rescue the fiberglass monstrosity. As he's headed there, he sees ambulances, fire trucks and police cars speeding down the road. About an hour after he gets to the baitshop, everyone's ready to head out (time is never of the essence in the south). They get to the boat landing, and there are the ambulances, fire trucks, police and DNR. Apparently, someone had reported an overturned boat in the river, and the DNR office had not relayed Jeremy's earlier call to anyone, much less the local DNR. So, he spent an hour answering questions and trying to explain that yes, he had called the boat in.
They're finally ready to head out and rescue the boat. They have two leaky little john boats (one has pin-sized holes all over the bottom and the other's plug is, well, plugged with a cork), Rich's Bass Tracker, and four people crammed in the Bass Tracker. The two john boats are loaded inside one another, so they only have to pull "one" boat down the river. On top of the the john boats are two 16-foot 2x4s. As Jeremy calls it, they did a bit of redneck engineering once they got to his boat (and yes, he is very proud of this feat). Putting the two john boats in the river as pontoons and placing the 2x4s across them, they lift Jeremy's boat up (still full of water), strapping it to the boards with wratchet ties. They next have to figure out a way to rig the boat so they can haul it back to the landing. They can't tie the rig to the Bass Tracker because if the rig goes down, so does the Bass Tracker. In the end, Rich ends up steering the boat, while the other three hang onto the rope tied to Jeremy's boat and tug it down the river. In the meantime, the two john boats are rapidly filling with water. Somehow, they managed to make it back to the landing, but by the time they did, both john boats were about 1/3 full of water and on the verge of sinking! After slowly cranking the boats out of the water, draining them, they finally get them loaded. Once they got Jeremy's boat out of the water, they also discovered that the bottom section of the boat where the limb hit was actually rotted, so it actually wasn't his fault.
In the end, Jeremy finally arrived home at 3 in the afternoon, after starting out at 9 a.m. Needlesss to say, once he got home, he immediately went to bed. This was after telling me how much fun it was getting the boat out of the river.
FUN? We definitely have two very different ideas of what fun is.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Ready for a vacation!
Okay, so I haven't had a chance to post in a while, but I have a very good reason--sort of!
As an example, this is just the past few days of my fun-filled life (there was some sarcasm intended there).
Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, I worked on dissertation chapter number four, trying to get all the revisions done so I could mail it to my committee by Monday. As I'm working on it (by Sunday utilizing the aid of a few beers), what comes in the mail? Chapter Three from another committee member with the newest set of feedback. I toss it on top of the pile of papers from students that I need to grade.
Of course, it's not til Sunday night that I realize I haven't done the laundry, and half the clothes I own need washed. Oh, the joy of late nights with laundry and a dissertation.
Monday morning, I'm up by 6 a.m. I still need to prepare the class I teach starting at 8 a.m. Fortunately, I've taught it before, so it's mainly a matter of rereading my notes, lectures and planning a few activities. Then the doorbell rings. It's Dave the bug man come to spray our house. Dave only calls the night before he's coming, so most of the time I have no idea he's coming. This was another one of those times. Once again, the house is a complete mess, and I have bras and underwear scattered throughout. So, as usual, I frantically try to stay ahead of his spraying and discretely pick up all my underwear. Later, I realized I missed a bright red pair in the bathroom. I guess he's getting used to this by now.
So I teach my classes and then comes my office hours. I have the best intentions of getting all sorts of things done. Then I realize just how many little piddly things I have to do. Three hours later, I have finished all the piddly things, and still haven't touched the papers.
So, I head off. I stop by the post office and wait in line for 20 minutes to mail my dissertation chapter. Then I run by the bank. I haven't managed to get there in several months, so I still have uncashed birthday checks. Next stops grocery store and pet store--I need minnows to feed our big fish.
I get home and start draining the water out of the minnow bag so I can dump them in the tank. Somehow, the guy got a whole bunch of little guppies in there (barely appetizers for our fish) and three of them plop into the sink. I prop the bag up and try to get the guppies out of the sink, which is nearly impossible since they are only about a centimeter long. I finally get them and look over at the bag. It has now spilled all over the counter and fish are flopping everywhere! 20 minutes later, I get all the fish off the counter and floor and finally into the tank. 20 minutes after that, they are all gone--barely even a snack for the fish! Time to call it a day.
So, I get up this morning. Our house is looking, well, somewhat similar to a garbage dump, so I try to clean up the house as much as possible, picking up all the garbage and dirty dishes, putting dirty clothes in the laundry baskets, making the bed. . . At least it's somewhat presentable, as long as no one looks at the floors. I water the plants, feed the cat, the dogs, the fish. I go through all my bills and checkbook, catch up on a few emails (sorry, I haven't responded to some of you for weeks, but I leave them all bold until I do!).
I'm about to start on those papers, when I remember several things I've kept "forgetting" to do for, oh, several months. The first was calling the phone company. Our phone hasn't been working right for months. People call, it will ring once, then hang up on them. Last week I tried to call home 16 times and finally gave up. The second thing was calling the garbage company about replacing our garbage can. It's been missing a wheel for a couple of months, which makes dragging it to the curb a whole lot of fun (Jeremy refused to do it anymore until I called to have it replaced--that was roughly a month ago). So, I have an hour left before I have to go to work, and I still have to update all my class schedules and that stack of papers is still sitting there. Oh yay, I get more papers today!
I decided to blog instead :)
As an example, this is just the past few days of my fun-filled life (there was some sarcasm intended there).
Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, I worked on dissertation chapter number four, trying to get all the revisions done so I could mail it to my committee by Monday. As I'm working on it (by Sunday utilizing the aid of a few beers), what comes in the mail? Chapter Three from another committee member with the newest set of feedback. I toss it on top of the pile of papers from students that I need to grade.
Of course, it's not til Sunday night that I realize I haven't done the laundry, and half the clothes I own need washed. Oh, the joy of late nights with laundry and a dissertation.
Monday morning, I'm up by 6 a.m. I still need to prepare the class I teach starting at 8 a.m. Fortunately, I've taught it before, so it's mainly a matter of rereading my notes, lectures and planning a few activities. Then the doorbell rings. It's Dave the bug man come to spray our house. Dave only calls the night before he's coming, so most of the time I have no idea he's coming. This was another one of those times. Once again, the house is a complete mess, and I have bras and underwear scattered throughout. So, as usual, I frantically try to stay ahead of his spraying and discretely pick up all my underwear. Later, I realized I missed a bright red pair in the bathroom. I guess he's getting used to this by now.
So I teach my classes and then comes my office hours. I have the best intentions of getting all sorts of things done. Then I realize just how many little piddly things I have to do. Three hours later, I have finished all the piddly things, and still haven't touched the papers.
So, I head off. I stop by the post office and wait in line for 20 minutes to mail my dissertation chapter. Then I run by the bank. I haven't managed to get there in several months, so I still have uncashed birthday checks. Next stops grocery store and pet store--I need minnows to feed our big fish.
I get home and start draining the water out of the minnow bag so I can dump them in the tank. Somehow, the guy got a whole bunch of little guppies in there (barely appetizers for our fish) and three of them plop into the sink. I prop the bag up and try to get the guppies out of the sink, which is nearly impossible since they are only about a centimeter long. I finally get them and look over at the bag. It has now spilled all over the counter and fish are flopping everywhere! 20 minutes later, I get all the fish off the counter and floor and finally into the tank. 20 minutes after that, they are all gone--barely even a snack for the fish! Time to call it a day.
So, I get up this morning. Our house is looking, well, somewhat similar to a garbage dump, so I try to clean up the house as much as possible, picking up all the garbage and dirty dishes, putting dirty clothes in the laundry baskets, making the bed. . . At least it's somewhat presentable, as long as no one looks at the floors. I water the plants, feed the cat, the dogs, the fish. I go through all my bills and checkbook, catch up on a few emails (sorry, I haven't responded to some of you for weeks, but I leave them all bold until I do!).
I'm about to start on those papers, when I remember several things I've kept "forgetting" to do for, oh, several months. The first was calling the phone company. Our phone hasn't been working right for months. People call, it will ring once, then hang up on them. Last week I tried to call home 16 times and finally gave up. The second thing was calling the garbage company about replacing our garbage can. It's been missing a wheel for a couple of months, which makes dragging it to the curb a whole lot of fun (Jeremy refused to do it anymore until I called to have it replaced--that was roughly a month ago). So, I have an hour left before I have to go to work, and I still have to update all my class schedules and that stack of papers is still sitting there. Oh yay, I get more papers today!
I decided to blog instead :)
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