The Island of Lost Resolution

In preparation for the coming year, a progress report on last year’s resolutions, which Rochelle recently found on her computer.

Rochelle found the following snippet on her computer, dated at the end of last year:

“Crap Reduction and Abatement Program — While we have remained committed to the idea of having less stuff, we still have way too much crap. Michael has promised to get rid of his BeBox collection by January 17th (the one year anniversary of their arrival). I have promised to throw any remaining BeBoxes out the front window on January 18th. I have vowed that since Spring semester doesn’t start until February, I would dedicate a couple of weekends in January to weeding through the dressing room which, despite our good intentions, has reverted once again to the Island of Lost Crap.”

For the record, all three of these things will be on our resolutions list at the end of this year, too.

A Sad Passing: Seltzer Sisters Is No More

When I arrived at Rochelle’s house to pick her up for our very first date, she invited me in for a few minutes, and offered me a beverage. She took an old fashioned seltzer bottle out of the refrigerator, put a little vanilla syrup in two glasses, and spritzed in the seltzer, stirring to mix in the syrup. It was delicious, a retro luxury, and I knew then that Rochelle was supercool, someone whose tastes would complement mine. Less than three months later, we were engaged.

When I arrived at Rochelle’s house to pick her up for our very first date, she invited me in for a few minutes, and offered me a beverage. She took an old fashioned seltzer bottle out of the refrigerator, put a little vanilla syrup in two glasses, and spritzed in the seltzer, stirring to mix in the syrup. It was delicious, a retro luxury, and I knew then that Rochelle was supercool, someone whose tastes would complement mine. Less than three months later, we were engaged.

Rochelle’s seltzer came from Seltzer Sisters, a local small business that provided home and commercial delivery of seltzer all over the Bay Area. Rochelle had been a customer of theirs almost since she moved to San Francisco 15 years ago.

Today we learned that after being in business for 20 years, Seltzer Sisters has ceased operations, due in large part to the wildly escalating costs associated with workers’ comp. insurance.

I don’t know who’s to blame for the horrible workers’ comp. situation, but it’s clear it’s killing businesses I care about. Here’s hoping that the new governor of California, whom I didn’t vote for, can fix it, and that Seltzer Sisters can find a way to make a comeback.

To Craig and the rest of the crew at Seltzer Sisters, we wish you the very best of luck. We will miss you terribly.

Update: They’re back, and as good as ever.

We’re in the NY Times

Rochelle and I were mentioned, and Rochelle quoted, in this Sunday’s New York Times.

Rochelle and I were mentioned, and Rochelle quoted, in this Sunday’s New York Times. The article is about couples registering for wine when they’re getting married, which we did, and recommend. Go read the article for more details.

Rochelle’s marking an item off her “to do before I die” list, and we were both happy that we weren’t the couple with the largest age range mentioned in the article (we’re 4 years apart, while the biggest gap was 11 years).

Rochelle. Lays. Down. The Law.

It would appear that my wife has decided I’m not doing enough with my time off, to clean up the house and otherwise work on useful projects (with “useful” being a word _she_ gets to define). She’s decided that I need to get up with her in the morning, take a bath with her, and have coffee with her before she goes off to her job. All of this to ensure that my day at least starts early enough to accomplish something.

It would appear that my wife has decided I’m not doing enough with my time off, to clean up the house and otherwise work on useful projects (with “useful” being a word she gets to define). She’s decided that I need to get up with her in the morning, take a bath with her, and have coffee with her before she goes off to her job. All of this to ensure that my day at least starts early enough to accomplish something.

I suppose this could have something to do with idolizing Sarah Hepola’s life in a previous post. Or that I can never remember everything, or much of anything, I did with the day while she was at work. Or that she’s usually waking me up from a nap when she calls home. Or that the stack of BeBox husks is as huge as ever.

At any rate, I now have to be much more productive and accountable. Expect me to blog more, so I can at least point to the posts as something I accomplished.

Ninja!

Rochelle is closing in on her Ninja degree in tequila, which is the optional degree that comes after the Ph.D. The Ninja degree is when you (a) have your Ph.D., and then (b) drink (yet another) 35 tequilas, neat — i.e., in a snifter, straight, not in a margarita or other cocktail. You don’t need a Ninja to become a Demigod, and indeed, fewer than a dozen people have achieved all four levels.

Rochelle is closing in on her Ninja degree in tequila, which is the optional degree that comes after the Ph.D. The Ninja degree is when you (a) have your Ph.D., and then (b) drink (yet another) 35 tequilas, neat — i.e., in a snifter, straight, not in a margarita or other cocktail. You don’t need to be a Ninja to become a Demigod, and indeed, fewer than a dozen people have achieved all four levels.

While we both got our Ph.D.s at the same time, Rochelle’s Ninja degree is coming about a year before mine will, as I just can’t drink more than one in a sitting. I have bad memories of bad tequila from my early 20s, that there’s just no doing away with.

At any rate, Rochelle will be graduating this Sunday. With our planned trip to Tequila, Mexico in late October, Rochelle is slated to become the latest person to achieve all four levels in the Tommy’s Blue Agave Club.

Woohoo! I’m proud of my baby!

Queer Eye for the Straight Guy

Rochelle’s a big fan of the makeover show “What Not To Wear”, down to playing the same game with Hilda, our upstairs neighbor. They’ve been spending a couple hours on multiple weekends, going through each other’s closets, trying things on, nixing some, swapping some, and putting the rejects in the Goodwill pile. Now comes a great new show, for men, called Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

Rochelle’s a big fan of the makeover show “What Not To Wear”, down to playing the same game with Hilda, our upstairs neighbor. They’ve been spending a couple hours on multiple weekends, going through each other’s closets, trying things on, nixing some, swapping some, and putting the rejects in the Goodwill pile. Overall, about 5 bags of clothing and shoes have left the house.

Now comes a great new show, for men, called Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. You may have read about it recently, but the simple concept is, five makeover gurus show up, run a helpless slob through the gauntlet, and in the end, he’s prince charming. The hook is, the five gurus are gay, the slob is straight.

It’s a lot of fun. If you get Bravo on your cable or satellite service, you should give it a whirl. Unlike most makeover shows, this one is 60 minutes, instead of just 30, which gives a lot more time to the different aspects of the makeover.

I doubt if any of this will rub off on my personal sense of style — or lack thereof. But the show’s funny enough, I’ll keep watching anyway.

A Comedy of Errors

Rochelle and I have great fun with each other while on vacations, but we don’t always travel well together. Our trip to Costa Rica was a textbook example. The passport problem was just the beginning of our troubles.

Rochelle and I have great fun with each other while on vacations, but we don’t always travel well together. Our trip to Costa Rica was a textbook example. The passport problem was just the beginning of our troubles.

We actually, for the first time ever, were completely packed well before our departure time. This was critical, because we’d made dinner plans with friends, to go visit RNM across the street (great food, spotty service). We’d intended to send them off with an hour of time left before leaving, but we were having a such a good time that we suddenly freaked out when we realized we had only 20 minutes to get ready and leave.

Among the many things we accidently left behind were Rochelle’s new flip-flops, really nice ones with loofa-style surface for massaging your feet as you walk. And we left some critical travel supplies (booze and sleeping pills), which meant our plane time was torture. Like democracy, air travel sucks, but it’s better than all the alternatives — especially if you can consistently knock yourself out.

I also didn’t get to pet all of my kitties before leaving, at least not the way I like to before taking off for a week. The taxi out to the airport is where I always think, maybe I should just stay home.

There aren’t very many direct flights to Costa Rica, so we were flying by way of Houston, where we had hoped to hook up with Rochelle’s brother for breakfast. But Code Orange got in the way of him being able to meet us, and we weren’t able to make contact by mobile phone to make alternate plans, so we just headed to our gate. Fortunately there was a bar literally right next to our gate, and the biscuits and gravy from the Popeye’s 100 yards away was astonishingly good. I think that says oceans about the food they serve on planes.

Two things did work out well for us. Our friend David was able to connect with us in Houston, and continue with us to Costa Rica (he was with us the entire trip, except the SF<–>Houston legs). And our flight timing, starting at 1am on Friday and getting us into Costa Rica at noon, was brilliant, because we were able to grab our rental car, race out to the hotel, throw our stuff in our room, and proceed directly to the pool and chill out. Once the waiter brought us drinks, we were almost completely recovered from our travel traumas.

Paying the Stupidity Tax

Rochelle and I have a thing we call the “stupidity tax.” It’s where you pay more money than you should, for a really dumb reason. My most common stupidity tax is forgetting to send in rebate forms. Last week I paid the stupidity tax three times.

Rochelle and I have a thing we call the “stupidity tax.” It’s where you pay more money than you should, for a really dumb reason. My most common stupidity tax is forgetting to send in rebate forms.

Last week I paid the stupidity tax three times:

  • Paid my car registration three days too late. ($12)
  • Waited until too close to our vacation to order from Amazon.com, and had to pay for expedited shipping. ($13)
  • Let Rochelle go to the MADE IN FRANCE open warehouse and moving sale unsupervised. ($300)

At least I get to eat the cheese from the last one.

Missing Mate

Yesterday Rochelle did a load of laundry, and this morning I was putting my items away. I came upon a single sock, and couldn’t help but ask aloud “Why is it that I only lose socks when Rochelle does the laundry?”

“Why is it that I only lose socks when Rochelle does the laundry?”

Yesterday Rochelle did a load of laundry, and this morning I was putting my items away. I came upon a single sock, and couldn’t help but ask aloud the above line.

Which of course is unfair, it’s totally unreasonable to immediately blame one’s spouse for a missing sock, when it could easily have still been in the laundry hamper. So, while the trail was fresh, I went down to our basement — where we have the washer and dryer — to look.

Found it. In the dryer. Waiting for its mate.