The Next Dark Age
We're in it Now
Soup Nazi
I couldn’t stand Seinfeld, but it had one good bit: I loved the Soup Nazi*.
For those not in the loop, Soup Nazi had a lunch counter in Manhattan with the best soup all the land. The line for his soup wrapped around the block – but he ran the place like an assembly line. The rules went something like:
1. Form one line.
2. When it is your turn, step up to the counter.
3. Place your order quickly and succinctly. No questions are allowed. No delays are tolerated.
4. Step down the counter. Have your money ready.
5. Pay the guy.
6. Receive your order and step out of the way.
If you messed up any part of the procedure, Soup Nazi would shout, “No soup for you!” and you would not be served.
The schtick was the soup was so good that everyone put up with the guy. And then the girl, Elaine, decided it was just wrong and she was going to teach him a lesson or get revenge or something. Whatever – I was bored again before it all unfolded. What I thought was:
No! I would eat there because of the Soup Nazi. Because he has rules. And kicks out the Bad People!
As I stood in line at Wendy’s listening to a lady making her second call to the office to clarify an order, (“Wendy’s doesn’t sell fish, what else do you want?”) I was wishing for the Soup Nazi.
*The term “Soup Nazi” came directly from the show, so don’t go hassling me about how it isn’t PC.
Kiwi and Kiwi
The answer is: about 26 hours. The question: how long after Manu went to his new home did I bring in another bird from the Refuge?
Rich was there while I was working in the front room. I asked who might like other birds enough to tolerate Kiwi the Grey? He thought Kiwi the Jardine’s Parrot.
“I can’t have two Kiwis in the house!”
He said, “I have two Freds, two Mollys and two Sammies.”
And prior to that we have had two Pacos and two Peaches. Kiwi the Jardine’s is not terribly big and not terribly loud. I am thinking I may have written about him here before, but am not going to bother looking it up. He imitates smoker’s cough and snoring. His Refuge profile is limited, but you can find it here.
Kiwi and Kiwi have not been out together yet, but I am hopeful. Here are some pictures of the new green guy (I think he is a he) and my grey girl. The total ham:
http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf
Writers’ Theatre – The Picnic
After sending Manu to his new home and watching the Bears lose that terrible, terrible game, I went to Writers’ Theatre to see their first show of the season: The Picnic, by William Inge.
The first thing one always notices at The Writer’s Theatre is the staging. They are founded on the principles of honoring the text and creating an intimate environment. This sometimes means that the actors could very well trip and land in your lap, but always means that the staging is creative. This time, in addition to the fancy, comfortable seating there was another section of audience chairs. They claimed it was to create a “theatre in the round”. I am very sorry to say it felt like a cheap ploy for selling more tickets.
The plot summary (from the web site):
When a charismatic young drifter arrives in a small Kansas town on the eve of a Labor Day picnic, the simmering repressions of its residents come rapidly to a boil. Frequently hilarious and profoundly moving, Inge’s masterpiece chronicles the hopes and despairs that lie between the realization of adulthood and the eternal optimism of youth.
This play had a broad spectrum of characters and I swear I recognized them all. Even the actors looked familiar – though when I checked the playbill I didn’t recognize any of the names. Anyway – I was absolutely interested in where it was going.
The women were rather…um…shrill…but whether that was from the text or the direction I don’t know. There was a part when Mrs. Potts, the least-shrill neighbor lady, is talking about having the drifter-guy over for breakfast. She was talking about how different the whole house feels when there is a man in it. All loud and stomping around and making a mess or whatever. As opposed to her regular “prim” space where you would notice a hatpin out of place. While there is nothing prim about my house of two women, that monologue held me – I got it. Even when the man is my kid brother, the whole place feels differently charged.
When I clicked over to their website to see if there was a picture I could steal, I found they are now posting clips from the shows. You can see them here. You might check out the one for Nixon’s Nixon, which they have revived for the fall on the old bookstore stage. While The Picnic is a really good show, between the two, Nixon’s Nixon is really the must-see if you are in the area.
Manu Goes Home
Manu’s new parents came over today and took him home. They have experience with Amazons and understand the kind of patience he will need. I am certain we have found the best place for him.
Will I miss him? Certainly. But mostly I am satisfied that we have done well by him. Here are some pictures that I took last weekend. Don’t worry – the cat didn’t make a move:
http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf
Another Click and Donate
At the Library – Imported Books
Most nights at the Library, I consider myself lucky if I find 10 books worth listing and sell $10 in books onsite. Last night, I listed 19 books and sold $33.50 onsite. By the time I got home, I was exhausted.
Someone donated a whole bunch of imported books and most were in mint condition. As if someone had gone to Ireland, spent all of her souvenir money on books and never read them. Like the above. The price tag was in Euros and I don’t know exactly how that all translates, but luckily, Amazon works it out for me. I’m not sure how quickly this stuff sells, but they were interesting to look at. John Keane was the name I remember. If you want to check them out, click here.
Other People’s Libraries
I very much believe that you can learn a ton about a person by looking at his library. Or at least you learn enough to wonder. I have talked about a box of books at the library spinning my imagination in circles and it happened again at an estate sale a week or so ago.
It was in my own neighborhood – no one I knew, but it was professionally run and I remembered the sale manager saying that the prices were not negotiable and the client was very specific about what she expected to get for her snow blower.
I’ve been looking for an end table, which is why I went to the estate sale. Actually, what I really want is a small dresser to act as an end table. I really liked the one in the master bedroom but it wasn’t for sale so I went into the next room and there were the books.
I almost had a heart attack. A whole bunch of Joan Didion that I didn’t have. A whole bunch of Philip Roth that I may or may not already have on my shelf. A bunch of classics. This woman – or her mother or father or whomever – should be my grandmother. Who are they?
Well, there was a Haggadah, so they are probably Jewish. And a bunch of opera books and some other random music stuff. A bagful of paperback popular mysteries. So..cultured, but understanding the need to melt one’s brain. Unless the books belonged to two different people.
I decided that my speculation was intrusive and impolite, so I grabbed a Didion, dropped my dollar at the table and left.
At the Spa – Mario Tricoci
My first ever facial was at Mario Tricoci. I had won a raffle or something. I remember it as a great experience, where I learned a whole lot about taking care of my skin. I have had something like three facials a year since then. My “regular” place is down the street. Less expensive, more functional than la di da pampering yourself. And sometimes I get them when I am on vacation.
Mario Tricoci is a chain and not the gold standard spa experience, in my opinion. But it is a really good baseline. The standard European Facial is $78, which is reasonable enough. But they don’t do paraffin treatment/massage your feet or any of that stuff that come from the places that charge $100 and up. The best news is that they take appointments online.
I had a certificate to Mario, and I was due for a facial so I went today. The technician was competent, asking all of the right questions and hitting on the fact that my purpose was to not about the “relaxing” or the mini-massage, but to take care of my skin already. Then she started talking and I remembered why I don’t like it here:
She was trying to get me to upgrade the service. I told her I would rather spend the extra dollars on product. So she got started. It was a good treatment and at the end she left me with the usual product recommendations, including a vitamin C serum that I had heard about before. Then she sent me upstairs for the “free make up application”. I remembered that as going to get your eyes done before walking out the door.
No. This is where we get more serious about the selling of the products. The makeup chick walked through all of the recommended products to buy before putting on my damn eye shadow. Then she wanted my phone number so she could, “follow up next week”. This, ladies and gentlemen, is why I never answer the phone.
I took the vitamin C serum downstairs and went to the register to pay my bill. The total was a good $100 more than I planned. I asked for a breakdown. That vitamin C serum was $135. I handed it back over the counter.
Verdict: Mario Tricoci does a good basic facial. I can’t comment on the “upgrades” because I refuse to pay for them. But when you get to the “make up application”, plead another appointment and get out.
Why I Like Working Here
I was in Washington in part for our annual 401(k) meeting. Nice timing, right? The guy from our investment company did a great job with the historical perspective and the “you are buying more shares for your dollar” and the statistics. The one that really grabbed my boss was about how you don’t want to miss the “best trading days” after a downturn because that is when we make our money back. The statistic was something about how a whole bunch of those “best trading days” are within two weeks of the worst days.
Here is the best part. After the meeting, I got an e-mail from someone that doesn’t participate in the plan. She went to the meeting and thinks she wants to enroll. Then I got another e-mail – from our system – someone else in that meeting increased her contributions. No one is dropping to zero.
Its appears as though the message was received. Go us.
On the National Mall
Back in Washington tonight, I headed out after work to make my pilgrimage to the Lincoln Memorial. Walking around the side of the Washington Monument, I am waved away by a cop. He herds me and a few other clueless people off to the sidewalk. I see his little car on the walkway with the lights on. Not terribly unusual. VIP or something is filming. Whatever.
Then I hear a helicopter. Also not unusual. I look up and it is headed right for me. Suddenly it is hovering right over my head and slowly descending off to my right. A second one follows.
I haven’t taken a camera with me to Washington in years. But I would have liked to get a shot of those things right over my head. Then I realize that they have actually landed right on the National Mall, between the WWII and Washington Monuments. This is not so much normal.
I keep walking. Crowds have formed. A lady asks if I know what is going on. No clue. Another lady tells her husband that he can keep the kids and watch this circus. She was going to get the car. I see maybe 10 people get off the helicopter and head for some dark SUVs. Um…a new Wil Smith movie?
I kept walking. By the time I reached the Lincoln Memorial, the party had long since broken up. Still don’t know what was up.
The Next Dark Age 