What isn’t Apple, audiobooks, or alcohol is probably cats.
General news and thinking about living in the Alderete-McCune household.
The story continues, literally while I typed the first…
OK, it’s worse. Rochelle and I were in fact recounting last night’s incident, laughing hysterically, when he committed his second felony in two days. Literally while I was working on the first cat shit story, Cecil went to the front of the house and took another enormous dump.
Once again, Rochelle dropped a paper towel in place and ran, and once again I got to “be the man” and handle the really foul stuff.
I think this means that Rochelle is on catbox duty for a few weeks.
That was Rochelle’s way of describing what happened when she cleaned up a recent cat…mess.
OK, this one is gross. Don’t read if you don’t want to read something gross.
You’ve been warned.
Last night Rochelle and I went to EOS, a local restaurant and wine bar, for one of their weekly wine flights (in December all of the flights are Champagne). Along with our wine we had some wonderful food. EOS is truly one of the outstanding restaurants in SF.
We got home about 8:00pm, and after puttering around the house and the computer for a while, we were both in bed by 9:15pm. After I dropped my book to nodding off for the third time, we decided it was an early night, around 9:45pm, and switched off our lights.
About a half-hour later, Rochelle decided she needed some water and an Advil, and got up. “Oh no.” was quickly followed by “Oh my god!!” and then “You won’t believe what Cecil did.”
Knowing better than to get up, I stayed in bed. The scent found me anyway.
At first it was the usual cat poop smell, which you get used to after you’ve cleaned a litterbox a few times. Then it got a bit worse, and I decided to hold the blanket in front of my face until Rochelle cleaned it up (it was, after all, her cat that committed the crime). Then it was so bad I needed to seek fresh air.
I got out of bed to find Rochelle headed for the front door, gagging, in the hopes of getting fresh air. The odor in the hallway was overpowering, and when I snapped on the light in the dressing room and stepped in to see the magnitude of the incident, I started gagging too.
Let’s just say the Cecil is an old cat, and his digestive system is doing unnatural things to his food. The amount of cat shit, in two distinct, solid piles, was more than a human puts out in a normal day. Unbelievable.
Rochelle had managed to throw a paper towel on top of each pile before being completely overcome. I handled the rest of the clean-up, and barely managed to not throw up.
Rochelle was not so lucky. She threw up three times, at either end of the house, when the fresh air wasn’t enough to overcome the smell. The first time she had to run the length of the house, hand over her mouth, to get to the toilet. The others went into the kitchen sink.
Hence the title of our little story today. Aren’t you glad you read it?
At least OTHER people do stupid things with electricity, too.
As mentioned in the previous FwE, our house heater was broken for a while. We had our neighborhood appliance repairman come by to fix it, and I was the person who got to stay home to meet him.
It was fascinating to see someone who really knows what they’re doing with home wiring (even the low-voltage stuff). He quickly tested our thermostat, found it wasn’t the problem, and headed for the basement. A quick twist of some wire, and the heater came right on, proving the heater itself worked fine.
So the problem was between the thermostat and the heater, i.e., in the wiring. At first this seemed like it would be a hard thing to track down, but after checking the integrity of the wire in the basement, we headed back into the house, where the problem became obvious.
We had hardwood floors put in about half the house over the summer, and as part of that, the installers needed to even up our baseboard. They use a special saw that cuts along the wall exactly the thickness of the wood they’re going to install. Can you see where this is going?
Yes, exactly, as they trimmed the baseboard under the thermostat, they also “trimmed” the thermostat wiring, which was mounted on the wall. In this case, “trimmed” = “cut”, and “cut” = “our house is friggin’ cold!”
Fortunately fixing it was about 15 minutes of work for Mr. Pearson, of Pearson’s Appliance Service, who we highly recommend if you have appliance problems or restoration jobs, and you don’t want to get ripped off.
Wherein I continue to do stupid things with live wires.
So, yes, there’s a part two, and yes, it involves more stupid behavior with electricity.
Three days ago I came home to find Rochelle and Dante drinking, and drunk, and cold, because our house heater was broken. Being sober, and a problem-solver, I went to collect our little space heater from the front room.
When I got there I tried to unplug it from the extension cord it was attached to, and discovered that Cecil had peed on it, and the two had apparently fused together. The plug would come a little ways out, but then wedged.
It seemed less stupid than it actually was to try to pry the two apart with a screwdriver — without unplugging the extension cord. I guess I got lucky, but the short circuit definitely knocked out power to that room, and melted two notches into the screwdriver.
Rochelle made me buy a book about ’lectricity. Think I’ll read it.
Words of wisdom from Rochelle.
“I didn’t twist your arm, Honey, I just suggested something, 9 or 10 times.”
I finished the project at work that I was procrastinating on by working on this site. So you’ll probably never hear from me again.
Yesterday afternoon, the marketing analysis I have been working on for the last four weeks stopped being a pile of shit, so I sent it to the people who need to review it.
I have to present / defend it on Monday, so I’m sure I’ll be working over the weekend…and procrastinating on that by writing here. Depending on how the presentation goes there may be more work to do on my MRD, but it won’t be so urgent, or monumental — there’s nothing so intimidating as the blank page.
But I’ve been posting to this thing for the last month, so maybe it’s become a habit. If not, I probably won’t post again until I have another big project I’m avoiding.
Then again, I may end up hacking away on the code that runs this site, so I can add pictures more easily, and things like that. Which would give me another excuse to write.
We’ll see.
I apparently avoid electrocuting myself, doing a stupid thing.
Two weekends ago, Rochelle and I were installing the first of four new (to us) period lamps that we bought off eBay, in the kitchen.
I climbed up the ladder and started unhooking the old light, without first turning off the circuit breaker, because there was a fair amount I could do without touching any wires. Then I just got involved in untangling things and forgot the lines were still hot.
When the inevitable spark shower occurred, Rochelle could only laugh. I told her I thought it was time she went down and turned off the breaker.
Her comeuppance came later, when she decided to do the hall lamp herself while I was taking my afternoon nap. It’s a lot slower to do things safely when you do them yourself, because our breaker box is outside and all the way around the house. Apparently for the last step, putting the glass globe onto the fixture, Rochelle didn’t feel the need to do the round trip. From all the way down the hall I saw her react to touching something. I asked if that was a shock she’d just gotten, and yes, it was. This time we both had to laugh.
Glad we have life insurance.
Once upon a time, I worked for Be, of BeOS (semi-) fame. I miss BeOS, but have found an acceptable substitute: Mac OS X.
Once upon a time, I worked for Be Incorporated, of BeOS (semi-) fame. For those who used it, BeOS (an operating system for desktop computers) was unique, and special. But Be is officially no more, and BeOS has been dead for a while.
What made BeOS so useful was a wonderful, responsive graphical interface on top of a powerful, Unix-like environment. The marriage of the two was unique at the time, and the work of some engineers who truly had magic powers.
For a lot of reasons Be didn’t make it, and BeOS died when the company did. It would remain a curiosity of computing history, and a tragedy for those of us who cared, except that some of the ideas live on.
I write this posting on a new Macintosh G4, in a Web browser that is the most beautiful, graceful browser I’ve ever used, OmniWeb. When I click the Save button, the information I’ve typed into a lovely GUI application gets transfered to the web server running a PHP application, which saves the text to a database (MySQL), so that you can read it later.
This relates to BeOS in that all of the software used to run my Weblog application is running on the same machine, running Mac OS X. It’s a lovely graphical interface on top of a true Unix-like environment, which allows the use of both a beautiful Web browser and the Unix-based Web server, PHP, database, and the other Open Source software upon which this site depends.
So, BeOS has died, but some of the most important ideas live on. Mac OS X isn’t for everyone, but for those who give it a whirl and can harness its powers, it’s truly magic.
It’s hard to find a good chicken fried steak anywhere in California — but not so hard in Texas.
My original experiences with chicken fried steak — school cafeterias and TV dinners — were so bad I never wanted to eat it again. Then Rochelle introduced me to good chicken fried steak, and I’ve been gobbling them ever since.
In the Bay Area it’s hard to find. We know of only one place to get a really good chicken fried steak, the Bluebird Cafe in Hopland, at least an hour’s drive once you cross the Golden Gate Bridge.
In Texas, where we just went for the Thanksgiving holiday, it’s a little easier. I ate four of ’em in five days, and all of them were at least pretty good.
The best was Hoover’s in Austin, with a fine piece of meat in a delicious coating that stayed crispy the whole meal, and excellent gravy. Rochelle had a fabulous grilled pork chop with mushroom gravy that was out of this world. About four bites into our meal, we decided that Hoover’s would be one of our regular places whenever we’re in Austin.
A close second was Heitmiller’s, in Waco, where the meat was a little better (Heitmiller’s is a steak house), the rest a little less. I only had a half-order, which was more than enough. I can only imagine what my arteries would think of a full order.
Billie knows how to make Rochelle scream in the middle of the night: bring her a mouse!
Last night, after we had switched off the lights to go to sleep, our bed started growling. Not creaking, not groaning, and not from us moving. From the fierce little monster underneath it.
Usually when Billie growls it’s because she’s fending off Basta, or just complaining that Basta is looking in her direction. But since we had just locked Basta away for the night, we knew that wasn’t it. And when she didn’t stop after a couple of growls, or even 10 minutes, we knew we had to do something about it.
Peering under the bed, I could see Billie, and I could see Five, the neighborhood cat who visits our house for food and occasional head scratching (she comes in an open window that’s a good 12 feet off the ground). But Billie never growls at Five!
Then Rochelle screamed.
She had noticed what I had somehow not: that Billie had a mouse hanging half way out of her mouth. That’s what Five wanted, and that’s what Billie was growling to defend.
It turns out Billie had been chasing the thing around our bedroom, including under our bed, all evening, and had finally worn it down enough that it was no longer fun to play with. Plus now Five wanted in on the action.
It took a couple of tries (she kept slashing at me), but eventually I got the mouse from Billie, and disposed of the remains.
Although Cecil is the all-time champion mouser in the household, it’s because he’s had 15 years to accumulate his kills. Billie is clearly out for the record, though, with two catches in as many weeks. Last time Billie caught a mouse she ate it and then…well, never mind. We just don’t need that to happen again.
There are two crucial questions to ask your pitmaster. The right answers can mean heaven, the wrong answers let you know you should run.
When you’re searching for the perfect BBQ, there are two questions you need to ask the cook behind the counter. If you get good answers, buy something. If you get the best answers, program their Take Out number into your mobile phone.
Here are the critical questions, and possible answers, with the “Best” answer provided by Bob Kantor of Memphis Minnie’s, when we interviewed caterers for our wedding.
Explanation: Brisket is a tough, extremely flavorful cut of meat. It takes many hours of smoking to break it down until it’s tender, and for the smoky flavor to penetrate fully. Anything less than 10 hours and it’ll likely be tough, and boring. Most BBQ joints can’t commit to the full 18 hours, so when you find a place that does, you know they’re special.
Explanation: BBQ that doesn’t taste great without sauce is not good BBQ. Sauce should enhance the flavor of the meat, not hide it. BBQ that’s coated with sauce is probably hiding something.
Memphis Minnie’s is the best BBQ in the Bay Area. And we should know, we tried a bunch!
When Rochelle and I were planning our wedding reception, we wanted a Texas-style summer BBQ (Rochelle is a transplanted Texan). Among other things, this required us to serve real Texas BBQ, which turned out to be hard.
Rochelle started by reading restaurant reviews and other reference sources, looking for places that were considered “good”. We organized a taste test of four of the Bay Area’s “best” BBQ, literally driving 100+ miles to pick up all of our samples.
Brothers In Law, regularly voted the “Best of SF”, was so awful we fed it to the dog. I’m not kidding. Some samples were the favorites of others at the tasting, but were more Southern-style BBQ, coated in sauce with too much sweet for our tastes. In the end, none of the four satisfied us.
A fellow Texan told Rochelle about Memphis Minnie’s, but we quickly learned that the restaurant had lost its lease, and was no longer open. So Rochelle tracked down and called Bob Kantor, the owner, and asked about catering.
There are two critical questions to ask someone about their BBQ, and Bob answered both correctly. Further conversation suggested that Bob was a BBQ Master, but of course, the proof is in the tasting. We arranged to try a sample of his brisket, the quintessential Texas BBQ meat, and said we’d be in touch.
One bite into the beautiful hunk of brisket and we knew we’d found our man. 10 minutes later, there was nothing left of the smoked meat, or of the BBQ sauce he’d given us on the side. Memphis Minnie’s was hired, and did a wonderful job catering our wedding, where we received nothing but compliments about the BBQ (we served Bob’s brisket, ribs, and hot links).
And then we pined away for Minnie’s for months because, with the restaurant closed, we had no way of satisfying our cravings.
Then one Sunday I was laying in the bathtub, soaking in water too hot for Rochelle’s taste, relaxing, when Rochelle started screaming. I literally thought the house was on fire. She ran into the bathroom with the newspaper in her hands and tears in her eyes, and asked me what was the best possible thing to happen to the (then closed) restaurant across the street from us, what was the best possible new place that could open there?
Memphis Minnie’s, of course!
So now we’re regulars. You should be, too. 576 Haight Street, between Fillmore and Steiner. Fire engine red, you cannot miss it. Just look for the Sign of the Pig.
And tell Bob that Michael and Rochelle say hi!