E-Reader Love

I like to read. No, I love to read. I love everything about it. I love the sense of excitement and adventure a new book contains between its covers, the unknown about to be revealed. When our children were small our budget was so tight my one big treat was my annual $9 subscription to National Geographic. I read the covers off those magazines, traveling in my mind, starting each article as an adventure. The budget's looser these days, but I still read, every single day, without fail. I have always prided myself on the fact that I will read nearly anything. I am one of those people who believe e-readers are a great invention. Look! I always have multiple books with me, wherever I go! Shakespeare to Henry James to Booth Tarkington to Nevil Shute to Dave Barry, always with me, always available. I personally think they rival the wheel.

I'm big on accessing books for my e-reader from our local library. I like to buy books I know I'll read multiple times. For most others I'll check them out of the library. So the other night, I'm looking through the offerings on the library website and discovered to my shock and horror, I will not read almost anything. I have identified a few categories that are "no goes" as far as my reading sensibilities go:

1. The cover shows a guy with no shirt? I'm not going to read that.
2. The cover shows a guy with his shirt unbuttoned down to his navel? Nope.
3. The cover shows two guys with their shirts in various stages of unbuttoning? Not interested.
4. Period clothing on the cover? I don't think so.
5. Geometry problems on the cover? Not for me.
6. In a foreign language? Not my thing.
7. One in a series with an impossibly cute name? No, just no.

I like things of substance, books that inform, educate, make me laugh, make me cry, books that take me places. I've not got unlimited reading life left so I don't hesitate anymore to chuck a book aside if I'm not enjoying it. I don't feel obligated anymore to push through a steaming pile just because I started it. The only downside of e-readers, so far as I can tell, is that there's been an explosion of tripe being offered up as "books." Anyone can, and does, self-publish in hopes of being the next big thing. Checking out the category of "Best-Selling Free Books" on Amazon reveals that people like tripe and fluff. It's hard to come up with things worth my reading time in the free category. Except for classics and believe me, I'll read those all day long.

Quality Alone

My spousal unit had a consulting job out of town overnight. I had some much-needed time alone. What did I do with it? I spent yesterday reorganizing my side of the closet. I know, right? Such adventures! Such tomfoolery! Such a gay, mapcap thing to do! I know, I know. It's almost too much, even for me. 

I got rid of three black trash bags, mostly full, of stuff and you really can't tell. It made me realize I don't need any more clothes, probably ever. But I can't stop thinking about a couple of things I saw while I was out with a friend Tuesday afternoon. And that's how it continues. The new things are always, always, better than the stuff I already have. I'm not sure exactly at what point the new things turn to crap, but I know they do. I can stand in there, looking for something to wear, and find nothing I'd ever want to be caught dead in, even if there's something new, still with tags, hanging in front of me. I am going to go through it again sort of using Marie Kondo's idea of "sparking joy." She writes you should have nothing in your house that doesn't "spark joy." Which is all well and good, but some things can't spark joy but you need them anyway. Things like yoga pants, tank tops, and socks, for example. How much joy can you get from workout socks? I did eliminate stuff I liked but didn't fit (keeping it until it does fit doesn't work, especially if it's currently too large---I'm not going back), and things that had stains that I'd wear around the house to do scut work in. 

Shopping is like eating for me. I really, really have to work at not doing as much as I want to of either. I could eat myself up to looking like a stuffed tick and could shop myself in to the poorhouse, so budgeting and calorie-counting work. Well, the calorie-counting does when I actually do it, as does the budget. But I'm being pretty strict now. You know, except for those two or three things I saw Tuesday. I'm trying to hold out until they go on sale.

An Earthly Hell

My spouse and I went out to dinner tonight, kind of spur of the moment. Which is fine by me -- any time I don't have to cook, I'm all good, I don't even much care where we go or what we eat. When I have to go in to the kitchen and produce actual hot food, I sound like the castle guards in "The Wizard of Oz." O-o-h o-o-h, oh oh oh, dragging my feet, dread filling me even to my soul. I hate everything about it. The shopping (my gosh, I just bought _______, where'd it go?), the putting stuff away, the chopping, the thinking of something, the stirring, the cleaning up after, rinse, lather and repeat, over and over and over. I. Hate. It. And I realize I'm in the minority what with the Food Network and all the cooking shows out there. I realize it but I've had the cooking zest sucked right out of me by being married to the most picky man on the planet for a long, long time.

So we were talking on the way home, noticing how many people were standing outside this restaurant waiting to get it. And trust me, it wasn't a hip, trendy place. It's just run-of-the-mill Mexican food, semi-newly opened. Enchiladas, burritos, beans and rice, nothing out of the ordinary, but people were lining up, willing to wait upwards of 40 minutes. So I was musing about where these people'd come from, where had they eaten before? My husband pipes up with "That's what we should do, open a restaurant in Saddlebrooke." After I unwrapped my hands from his neck (Ha, only in my mind), I told him that when I die and if I get sent to Hell, that's what my hell will be -- a kitchen and I'll have to cook forever and ever and ever. He laughed but I was dead serious. That would be my idea of Hell: going to the store, lugging it in to the kitchen of Hell, unpacking it, chopping it up, frying it up, stewing it up, and then cleaning the kitchen, over and over. Maybe that's what Hell is: individually tailored to our most intensely disliked task. For me? Every time I have to go in the kitchen? I feel like I'm already there.

Limoncello Not

So the limoncello thing isn't going to work. I got half way there but didn't complete it. I might just as well have taken the vodka and poured it directly down the drain. Actually I could have saved some intermediate steps and just taken the money and thrown it and a bunch of lemons in the trash. I'd have been money ahead because I wouldn't have used the gas to go to the store, or spent all the time peeling the lemons, poorly. I started to have doubts when I reread the recipe and it said to be very careful not to get any of the white part on the lemon peel. Well. My peels were lousy with pith. Reading is a powerful tool when used properly. However, I did freeze some lemon juice so now I have two ice cube trays full of raw lemon juice. To what end I don't know.

I suspect I'll wait about six months and then throw them out.

ED Dysfunction

Today's topic is the commercial for the ED product that uses two bathtubs in its advertisements.

Here're several questions the above-mentioned commercial raises *snicker* for me:

1. Where's the plumbing? I see no evidence of faucets, drains, or hot water heaters in those "romantic" commercials. How does the water get into the tubs? Who's heating all that water? What happens to the water after it cools off and the sun goes down? Do they just pull the plugs and let the water run underneath the tubs, which would only serve to make mud, which would get feet muddy, which, I'm guessing would ruin any remaining romantic feelings.

2. Why two tubs? If the whole point of the medication is to "make sure you're ready when the time is right," wouldn't it make more sense to both be in the SAME tub? I could see where hopping from one tub to the other, especially if the weather is somewhat chilly, would cause things to droop, shall we say? Plus there's always the potential for some very nasty slippages going from one tub to the other, what with all the water and porcelain involved.

3. Where are the towels? I see no chairs with towels on them, no stools with towels draped over them, no towels hanging from tree branches. Where are the TOWELS? Sooner or later you're going to want to get out of those tubs and towels will be crucial to that operation. Or are you just going to stroll back to the house, buck-naked, from the forest, woods, mountaintop, or wherever you've put your multiple tubs? I'll bet the insects are just waiting in the trees or grass for the naked buffet to stroll by.

4. Who cleans those tubs? And they would need to be cleaned after being left out in the open, season after season. And how many times would they actually be used? Are tub sales up after this series of commercials?

Somehow I think these commercials were made by men who were trying to appeal to women but who also didn't bother to talk to any women before spending tons of bucks on the tub concept. I'd just as soon not be in a tub out in the woods, especially if I'm the one heating water, carrying water, cleaning out the tubs, etc., etc. I think it's exactly the kind of idea that some men would THINK would appeal to women, but in all reality, those men haven't done their due diligence.

Look what I found when I went to set the timer for the lights on the palm trees! Aren't they sweet? They're about 4" long and absolutely petrified. There were four of them but one was too frightened to huddle with the others.

However. The next morning I found where they'd spent the night. Obviously I'd scared them from the safety of their previous night's lodging. They'd taken up residence in my garage. Perhaps you ask: How did they get in? We've been fighting pack rats (Ah! The joys of desert living!) for years. The crafty rats have chewed off the ends of the rubber stop on the garage door and voila, in they go. They have forced us to set enormous traps to catch them. And trust me, I do not worry about removing them to safer havens. I have reached the point of being happy to toss their dead bodies into the trash or out for the coyotes. Pack rats are destructive and nasty. They love to eat wiring on cars and haul in all kinds of things to decorate their nests. The fact that they make nests is also an indication that babies are in the near future which only means more destruction and mess. Hence the annihilation of any who dare to cross into my garage.

So the bunnies, being smaller than the rats, probably went in four abreast and proceeded to conduct maneuvers throughout the night. Or perhaps they were just so excited to be indoors and safe, they couldn't control themselves. Whatever the reason, I awoke to tons of bunny poo and urine; this necessitated taking everything out of the garage, shop vacuuming and then washing it. I was not pleased. I left lights on last night as a warning that this probably was not where they wanted to be. If they don't take the hint, more drastic action will be called for. I cannot continue to clean the garage on a daily basis, for goodness sakes. I am toying with the idea of posting pictures at bunny eye-level, showing dead rats. You know, with the crosses over their eyes. Just as a warning.

Home Improvement

We have an older home. Not old, just older. Time for a few nips and tucks. A little straightening, a little cleaning out, a little maintenance. Doesn't sound awful, does it? But it feels as if we've been under siege for over a year now. It began, really, last year when I was going down the hall toward our bedroom to put away some laundry and noticed a funny smell. Not horrible, but just not right and I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. What it turned out to be, when investigated further, was septic tank back-up in the shower. And contrary to my first impression, it became more truly awful the closer I got. So, being as the house was 35 years old, the leach lines needed to be replaced. Unfortunately for us, they ran under our concrete driveway. So, as long as we're doing a new leach field, we might as well put in a new septic tank, right? And away we went.

We decided, thanks to a friend in the masonry business that the fireplace was in the wrong place and needed to be moved 90 degrees and about 20 feet to another wall. In the course of removing the old fireplace, we found there was NO insulation above our heads. None. As in, nothing. So, since we were thinking about doing the roof anyway we decided that would be an ideal time to insert insulation where we could. It had to be coordinated with the roofing company because the easiest way to access the areas where we could put insulation was top down.

Next came the roof. The house is designed with an open living room and dining room with great long beams and wood between the beams. Unfortunately, it was built in the 70s when energy wasn't as much a concern as today. Above the wood there is....nothing. We go directly into the roof. So we have about 2/3 of the house well-insulated and 1/3 with only 2" foam sheets on it. Better than the nothing we had before. And let me just say that there should be a special circle of hell for roofing contractors.

So after the roof there was a little lull. Then we started putting wood floors down. I love the floors. I'd love them even more if they were done. Parts are undone because we wanted to wait until the new windows went in so the wood floors would butt up against them. So we've been living with a 4' strip of concrete for months. Which is handy when sweeping the wood part---just push it all over to the concrete where it blends. So, now the windows are mostly in (we have "issues" with 4 of them) and we have to get the drywall repairs done and the painting done so the rest of the wood can go in. And, while we're waiting for that to happen, we're going to have the HVAC units replaced. You know, just so we don't get used to peace and quiet. I'm finding I don't function well anymore without strange men in enormous dusty boots, clomping through my house, accompanied by loud banging sounds, cursing, and music turned up so loud my ears bleed.

And in between all that somehow, we've gotten new furniture and I've recovered 8 dining room chairs and a bench and have the makings for pillows for the couches. But I have no earthly idea when any of them will be done since I'm going day-to-day. I also have a 32' wall of new windows that need to be washed (among other regularly sized ones) since I don't want large oily handprints on them. Imagine that. I don't know why contractors who deal in windows don't throw in that first washing. Why they don't contract with window washers to leave the windows clean and sticker-free as part of their contract. They could also, while they're at it, contract with a cleaning service to remove all the dust they create while they're "carefully" installing their products. There can't be more dust in the Sahara desert. In fact, I'm guessing the Sahara is a little low on dust since a great whack of it is now in my house, tromped in one large bootful at a time.