The Next Dark Age
We're in it Now
Cost vs. Convenience vs. Health vs. Environment
We like bottled water. It comes in bottles. That we can throw in the car, or knock over at our desks and not make a mess. Right now I have one leaning over a pillow on my bed, where I can reach it. Can’t do that with a glass.
We have been buying the 2 1/2 gallon refridgerator jugs and refilling bottles regularly. I reuse a bottle for a few days, then recycle.
The water in the last few jugs have tasted like plastic to me. Baking in the delivery trucks, perhaps? I don’t know whether that is actually unhealthy, but it tastes terrible.
We had a water filter on our faucet once, but it never got the water cold enough and then it broke.
So I called Culligan. They have a “water club” where they rent you a cooler and the Culligan man brings you 5 gallon bottles once a month.
This seems really indulgent, I know. Particulary when the financial people all say not to add monthly expenses if you can avoid it. And I have been pretty good. When we picked up DVR, we cancelled all of our premium cable channels and ended up ahead. Then, feeling all frugal, we scaled way back on our telephone service. So this is a step in the opposite direction for me. But here is the math:
Those 2 1/2 gallon jugs cost $5.00 at my grocery store and we went through about one a week. So call it $20.00.
Culligan’s 3 bottle service with a hot and cold water cooler is $25.95. So basically, for an extra $5.95 per month, someone brings the water to my house. Plus I get the room back in my refridgerator. Plus instant hot drinking water. And I know that Culligan is all reuse/recycling the bottles.
I am taking that deal.
At the Library – Back Online
No. Amazon sells them for 11.00 new and as of this afternoon, ours was the only used copy available. Had to be listed.
The good news is that with so many reviewers, I feel less pressured to go through as many as humanly possible in an evening shift. Because this week, my back was still hurting and I just wanted to read. So I compromised and went through one box. I listed three books. Bought two for myself. Then settled down to read my own.
What luxury. Last semester, I had been in the habit of spending 90 minutes going through donations and 90 minutes doing my homework. By the time May came around, there were so many books to go through that I skipped studying for my final exam! I am confident that won’t happen again.
We’ve had a pretty productive summer at the UBS, I think. And I hope we can keep it all up when the school year starts again!
Messing with a Good Thing
I do not like talk radio. Since most of my driving is to and from work on the suburban nightmare called Palatine Road, I just want to blast my eardrums out with some music. Q101, which I consider the best radio station for that effect, was never any good for me in the morning because the DJs will not shut up. Mancow Muller was the most famous personality. But I had noticed over the last six months or so that it was more music than talk. And the small bit of talk was often about sports, which I enjoy. The Chicago Tribune just reported that they are changing the format again so that they can talk more:
“Sherman and Tingle have grown their show tremendously in the past year, resulting in a great response from our listeners to their highly entertaining content between the songs,” Tisa LaSorte, director of brand and operations for Emmis Chicago stations WKQX-FM and WLUP-FM 97.9, said in a memo announcing the move.
“We believe their show can attract a higher level of listening for us in the mornings, and look forward to having them prove us right,” LaSorte wrote. “This move is a strong step towards greater success for Q101.1, as we deliver on our promise to be ‘Chicago’s Alternative.'”
Sherman and Tingle. “Taps at the 10s and Trash at the 30s” Phony phone calls and saying rotten things about former flames on the air. Dear WKQX: I’m not sure the audience that finds this interesting is awake for the morning show.
I’m just going to have to put the iPod in the car.
At Least One of Us Has a Life
The other day my grandfather called. He was getting ready to leave for Grand Teton (above)and asked if I knew any better tricks to bypass the crowd at O’Hare. I start to explain about the online check-in and baggage drop off and the no-longer-secret shorter security line. He knew all about them and said they take too long. He wanted to know if there was anything faster than leaving the bags with the skycap.
Um. No. I don’t think so. He knows as much as I do.
I reflected on the fact that earlier this year I couldn’t give him his Father’s Day Gift (a National Park Passport) because he had already left for Yellowstone. And before that he was in New Mexico. Or Alaska. Or Arizona or Las Vegas (which he finds very nice once one gets off The Strip).
I once had to pick him up from the airport because he was hurt while on vacation. He was building a house for Habitat for Humanity or something and needed a lift to the hospital. I imagine he is literally climbing a mountain right now, just as the florist arrived with the flowers he sent for my mother’s birthday.
He does stuff. I want to be him when I grow up.
At the Refuge – Cyril
Cyril is a Pionus parrot. Check out those gorgeous feathers! I don’t know her very well and I don’t know Pionus parrots very well. But in the interest of getting outside of my comfort zone, I was working in her room tonight. She made quite an impression.
The first thing I saw was an egg. In her cage. She was up on a perch, not particlarly interested in it.
When my African Grey, Kiwi, lays an egg, she turns into a holy terror. She will not leave her cage and she will charge at anyone that comes close. Wait. I think I have a picture of this:
See? Serious business. But Cyril took it in stride. I literally removed the egg in order to change her paper and she didn’t move. She let me pet her head. And when I brought her dinner, she chowed right down. No drama at all.
She has had some medical issues, but it looks like she is just on some dietary supplements at this point. “Sweetheart” is her reputation among the volunteers. Cyril is up for adoption and you can read more about her here.
This is to Make My Mother Mad.
She stopped reading the books and cursed Jo Rowling’s name the moment a certain someone that we all loved got avada kedevra’d (I don’t remember how to spell that) in Book 5. I like that this is more creepy than mind-blowing.
I Didn’t Do It!
It is a testament to my enduring immaturity that the word “Boring” is one of my more frequent exclamations. I even say it to my boss. I have been careful, however, not to use it in front of my nephew. Because the only thing more annoying than a 30-something declaring something Boring is an actual child doing it.
The other night, I called my brother to express my feeling that he had completely missed the joke in a random Star Wars blog that I had sent him. He put the phone on speaker and placed it in the middle of the table. Because his family was eating dinner. Please note: I do not answer the phone when we are eating dinner. Unless perhaps if it is my brother, so that I can tell him to go away because I am eating dinner.
He asked about my trip to Washington. Where I met my father and step-mother. Oh, yeah. That would have been a better reason to call. I explained that I met Grandpa Bradley and Susan. “Then what did you do?” Alex asked.
“We went to the museum to look at the paintings,” I replied.
“Boorrrring!” he proclaimed.
I demanded a note to the permanent record that I did not teach the child that word. It was so noted.
Breakthrough?
I mentioned earlier that I am fostering an Amazon parrot from the Refuge while the building is under construction. Manu seems to prefer men to women in general, but I think he is very content in my home. He has been warming up to me and I was pondering whether I might adopt him altogether. Then we held a volunteer meeting at my house and as soon as Manu saw our director, he was all kisses and cuddles and happy in a way I had never seen him before. I was totally deflated
While he may be content in my home, he will never be that blissfully happy. I began to ask myself a bigger question: is a “good home” is good enough or do we wait and find him “the perfect home” with a guy that he loves as much as he does our director. I still haven’t heard a good answer.
When the bathroom gutted last week, I had to send Kiwi the Grey and Manu the Foster Amazon to board at the Refuge. We had to put them in rather small cages – Kiwi’s was too small for many of her long, hanging toys. And I was worried about them both. The job took six days and they didn’t work on the weekend. I called the Refuge on Saturday to say that I couldn’t pick them up until Tuesday. And I asked how they were doing. Manu was a “complete delight” with our director. And “a little stinker” with every other person that approached him.
So the birds were gone for nine days. I picked them up last night. I walked in and opened the door to the cage where Manu stayed while I went to pick up Kiwi and put her in her carrier. It is always good to give Manu a minute before you try to touch him.
Once she was settled in the carrier, I went back for Manu. He stepped right up.
By “stepped right up”, I mean no coaxing or bribing. No implied threat of toweling. I mean I held my hand out and he stuck his foot in the air and climbed on my hand. And I must have imagined it, but I could swear that he cooed.
So I am all floating into the room with the carrier. He wouldn’t go in or anything, but he didn’t bite me, either. I left him on a perch while I clean up the cages and gathered the toys.
He came back to my house and had his evening snack and watched Kiwi tease the dog like he had never left. Now I don’t know what to think.
Stupid Baby Names
My nephew, Alex, is getting a little sister. There hasn’t been a girl in the family in over 30 years. We called it “The Elizabeth Curse” because that name was planned for each baby that later turned out to be a boy.
So now they are having trouble coming up with a girl’s name. I clicked off ten on the phone the other day – all rejected – and they want a new list of ten by Saturday. I barely have nine. I’d better go hit the family tree again.
It is done.
I am exhausted from trying to put by bathroom back together. But thrilled to be able to shower in my own shower. Here are some more bad pictures. First is the finished vanity. Eight drawers!
The lights, which really mask the paint color. Which is fine because I meant it to be a pale sage-like color and it came out rather minty. The “before” picture would have shown you the icy blue brother to this minty tone, so it is all rather cozily familiar. Oh, and the mirror has panels that are on there yet. We meant this to be recessed, but some pipes or something made it impossible. Whatever.
Perhaps a better view of the tub. You know what rocks? I have had the same shower curtain for about ten years. And it still matches this. You might ask why I want to keep the same shower curtain. It is machine washable. And I like it. And I generally hate everything else.
And finally the commode, which seems much smaller. Why is that? Because the vanity is much higher now. The one single thing I learned in this process is that counter tops were lower to the ground because sinks were actually bowls, rising that much higher off the surface. Now that sinks, you know, sink, there is no reason to have kiddie sized counters. Unless you have kiddies. I do not.
I can’t wait to go get my birds tomorrow.
The Next Dark Age 