Half-Assed Homemaker

Mom came to visit again. She, my sister and I took our last ride together in the Hooptie. I'm donating the car in a month or so.

This is the car that was the sleekest thing I had ever seen when my father brought it home the first time. It's mileage climbed as he drove it to and from the office in New Jersey. It braved my commute to and from college. It tooled my sister around Boston during her last year of Law School. It limped around Oakland with her. She turned it over to me and it was a worthy respite from my plastic days of roaster ownership. It asked for very little in the last two years. It loved tire rotations and wheel alignments. It staggered along after losing a tire in the middle of the highway. Blinking it's airbag light like a little scar. It wore it's hit-and-run gash rather proudly. It still wows people with it's oscillating heating/cooling vents. It tells the world to Increase your Fertility by composting.

A prius is on the way. Hello geek mobile.

I have been on a mission since the last reconfiguration in my housing situation. Phase I is complete which consisted of sifting through all the stuff in various storage areas and getting rid of everything I don't want or need. I made a visit to Claire yesterday.

Phase II is to start replacing crappy stuff that I've put up with for too long (and most likely acquired for free). I made a short shopping list of kitchen utensils and food storage apparatus that, darn it, I deserve. A pot with a glass lid would make steaming greens an even more vibrant experience.

Also on the way out are my pillows and that dreadful halogen lamp which remarkably hasn't burned the house to the ground yet. Rest assured, everything will find a happy new home except for the lamp. That can do no good to anyone and will forever remain in the landfill.

Phase III is Wish list and some European-made garden tools are looking pretty sweet.

A dude here in the office once mentioned that he had an immense amount of CC debt which baffled me because he must be making a decent living and I'm naive enough to think that someone should be able to live comfortably within those means.

He asks what I'm doing for lunch today. I said "I brought my lunch." "You and your bringing lunch." he spat. "You and your debt." I quipped. Lots of awkward forced laughter later, "I'm horrible, sorry" I said as I walked back to my corner. "Buzz killer," he laughed.

I like to save my pocket money for when I'm not patient enough to cook or when my fat cravings exceed the ingredients on hand. Or at least when the flavor to fat ratio of the food I have on hand is usually not in line with my craving. Delicately nutty sharp white cheese doesn't melt as well as Taqueria jack.

Someone noted the precision of the sources of my cheeses. "You have all Irish cheeses she said." "Not true, one is Irish, one is Celtic and one is Welsh... point taken though." Upon consulting the dictionary, all those origins qualify as Celtic. Such good cheese.

Some visitors were in town tonight. How do I know, you ask? I know because they needed help. While waiting for my soup order, an ordinarily slow-steppin' looking guy rushed in and began to ask for a polaroid camera. "This is going to hurt" I thought, as I had a pretty acurate guage of the breathe of the English of these vegan Vietnamese cuisine matriarchs. There was miming and sound effects and then giving up. As he walked passed me on the way to the door, I identified my phone as a photo taking device and began to explain email and the "packets" of data that are sent across the globe daily. Well it was more like "I can shoot some photos and email them to you, do you have email?"

He thanked me and went on about how much the ticket was. He pointed out the little corners painted into the asphault marking off their parking spot. I asked them to write down an email address, the paper and pen digging commenced. I mentioned how I could probably store it in my phone but "that sounds hard" so I went in to get my soup while they wrote down the info. We bid a collective adeau. I too congested and spacey to get or give names or identify myself as a Master Composter in training and they in a hurry to make a house meeting back in Santa Cruz (sorry to those who voted Berkeley, Arcada or Eugene).

Me: I don't need a bag for that. Thanks.
Her: You don't want a bag for this?
Me: No thanks, I got my car.

Pause while the guy ahead of me completes his transaction.

Her: I'll give you a small bag. (she narrates)
Me: (Defeated) Thanks.

"I got my car." is how I explain my bag quantity preference. I think it's because I like the way James Dean said it, please note the movie quote is not related to bags. I mean to say, I'll be walking no more than 50 feet on average before these items are safely put away. Most of the transit time will be on a padded seat or carpeted floor, it's quite cushy so I choose not to use up a bag unless the configuration is particularly unweildy. Rather wordy yes, but that is what obscure quotes from classic films are for.

The Forum radio show on KQED was about food so of course I piped in. You can hear the archive here. You can listen to the show or skip to minute 49:50. I mentioned that I go to the JapanTown Farmer's market and he noted my comment as from "Someone from the Japan Farmers Market." he was rushed, it was almost the end of the show.

Soren was very happy with all the vegetables that were served at dinner last night at my house. I love vegetables. I get so much joy from taking a five minute walk each Sunday and coming back with vibrant fresh vegetables and then doing as little as possible to them. The result is chrorophyl induced awe and comfort in thinking "hey I ate me something green, now bring on the cheese!" Yeah, I have been enjoying the post dinner cheese course quite a bit lately. Last night it was accompanied by chocolate and the wine that CO Matt, our other dinner companion, provided.

Some would go out on Mardi Gras. Some would wander into the belly of the beast at midnight. I would be the second of those somes.

After I took this I heard some yelling, I don't think it was directed at me why would an armed police officer yell 300 yards at someone? Especially without shooting immediately after.

Please note that on the far left is the private security guard posted in front of this construction office trailer. I assume he was on duty when the window on the car parked directly in front of him was smashed.

The thing about Shrek is, you see, he knew me when.

Some men in blue told me I couldn't proceed down Santa Clara Street any longer. I tried cutting through the retirement home.

That lead me to nowheresville.

I walk around to third street, say hey to the character who I tried to recruit as my sidekick on the retirement home endeavor. And noticed more broken auto glass. WTF?

Mission Ale is using their side door as an entrance.

Because their front door is beyond the police line. I wonder why I was so easily able to take photos of police officers so easily. I could send this photo to NASA for enhancement because you know that all but one of them is going to participate in the bloody beating of someone tonight. And the odd man out, too brave to rat them out and too cowardly to rat them out who hires a hooker to say he was with her, deserting his post. But the NASA experts said someone with your badge number was there, about your height in relation to the suspects.

The riot gear does not become them so much but them horses sure are pretty.

I started a rapid compost pile. Yep three cubic feet of Jamba Juice Pulp, some spent coffee grounds from Starbucks (I finally found a product of theirs that I like) and shredded newspaper.

The rapid part comes from turning it each day with a pitch fork. This morning, you guessed it... water vapor!

Not enough shots of the interior of the flat but I am sold anyway:

photos

Okay, I have a mug that says "100% San José... Recycle Where you live, work & play." Could I be getting carried away? Perhaps if I have a to do list that looks like this:

Start a rapid compost pile with sawdust and Jamba Juice pulp
Build a chicken pen
Start a worm bin
Make some starter mix and plant seeds for the summer
Make a sun chart of my garden

I slightly slid out the coffee grounds funnel of the coffee maker to get a peak and noticed some steamy coffee grounds sitting there. "I just made a pot, it's right over there" someone says as she pulls out the coffee grounds and dumps them in the trash. It all seemed to happen in the blin of an eye. "I was going to compost those" I whimpered.

So much for waiting for the organic matter to cool before I collect, it's cut throat out there.

I walk into the break room and notice a guy wiping down the counter in front of the coffee dispenser. He then fills his mug all the way to the top and splashes some on the counter as he picks it up, and the just walks away. So I pour some coffee, clean up after this mook and walk away perplexed. Perhaps he was cleaning up after someone else and figures I need to pay my dues too. Well, sir, you'd be disappointed to know that although I did wipe up your spilled coffee, I did not leave a mess of my own; thus closing the cycle of abuse.

By the way the coffee in this new building is quire alright. The decaf at the main cafe here was better then the regular so I drank that but here the decaf is as inferior as you'd expect. The coffee that I just poured is really good. It has spicy rooty hints and perhaps some cardamom notes as well. I wonder where it came from, maybe the hard labor makes it taste better.

Crave sour candy.
Buy said candy.
Eat way too much.

Guzzle water in hopes that it washes away the dirty feeling inside.