If you looked up exhaustion in the dictionary, you'd, sadly, see a picture of me, and probably the majority of my staff huddled close by, as well. At the moment, we're so tired we are keeping ourselves awake at night. Between surviving bouts of broncitis masquarading as faux pneumonia, outrunning cops while driving on suspended licenses, pretending not to have a hacking cough, the ufortunate illness of a dear friend, and the pinnacle of fatigue.....a visit from Marianne and Jim. If you can remember Lili Von Shtupp from Blazing Saddles...."let's face it, I'm tired". We're all tired and the light at the end of tunnel comes full blast at 10pm, Saturday night. At that point, I have a feeling that anything that comes later will be a piece of cake.
Big dinner, and all of the supporting cast, with the exception of your favourite author, have yet to experience something on this large a scale. Actually, that's not completely true...the bonbon candy did survive the June picnic. So, she's got the second most experience..... I'm not overly concerned, just midly cautious. I expect to make it seem to everyone who'll be getting drunk on shitty wine and even shittier beer that the entire affair was effortless. To those of us behind the lines, all we want is a bunch of pills, lots of booze, some excellent foot massages, the occasional hot breathy kiss on our throats, and some sleep....sleep that is not interupted by a towerlike pile of towels that requires folding and surely not interupted by sole that needs breading or brisket that needs braising or napkins, all 225 of them, that need tieing into need folds.
I'm ready for my close up Mr. DeMille......
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
and this is why vorizon sucks....
I don't know whether to talk about Gettysburg or the fact that vorizon sucks the biggest pile of horseshit this side of the Rockies.
First Gettysburg - inspirational, educational, breathtaking and heartbreaking. The south sucked. I'd lean toward the fact that they still suck, but, there are some people below the mason dixon line that I'd toss a glass of water at if they were on fire....
However, being in Gettysburg, which resides smack dab in the middle of Pennsylvania could have been out in the middle of the great plains states for all it has in common with the rest of the megaglopolis of the east coast. These people even talk with an accent. And the clothes of the locals...well, the only word to describe it is tragic. And, everyone smokes. I saw one guy riding a motorcycle with his rifle strapped to the side. Am I to believe he's hunting...??? on his motorcycle?????
Most of the wine from PA vineyards is pure swill. We were hard pressed (haha, like the grapes, oh, I crack myself up sometimes) to find anything that wasn't cloyingly sweet. Most of the merlots, pinots and cabs all tasted like they wanted to be ports when they grow up. And the mead??!!! Don't drink the mead! No wonder the vikings were pissed and trying to leave norway all the time. Mead, made from fermented honey tastes like honey with everclear in it. With macerated bee wings tossed in for good measure.
End of the day, Gettysburg was magnificent. It breaks my heart and dampens my soul to know that after 150 years, that battle still seems like it may have been in vain. Too many people either still fighting that war, still angry they lost, or not prepared to accept the responsibility of teaching others what the victory was supposed to mean.
And then there's vorizon. Devil's spawn. I have that whole verizon triple screw you package - phone, internet and television. I wanted to have one of the tv boxes moved from one room to another. I wanted to schedule an appointment but they are ill prepared to actually schedule appointments. What a racket. You need them....they'll come when they are damn good and ready. Set the appointment in the agreed upon 4 hour window of opportunity. They can land the damn shuttle with a smaller window of opportunity than a fios dude can make a house call. What bullshit.... At 4:45, 15 minutes before that window slammed shut, I called to ascertain where my shuttle...ah...service technician was. I got the first human at 5:10pm. I was then passed to several other departments. Each department has a copy of the same script...'oh, I don't know how or why you were transferred to this department, this isn't the fuck you up the ass department at all, that's what you want, I'll connect you'. Marianne (my mother, visiting from florida, a whole other story..) asked me where the vorizon office was located. "Mars", was my response.
Apparently, the service ticket was written incorrectly. You'd think they'd phone. After all, when I scheduled the appointment, no less than 3 different people asked my phone number. With all the technology they profess to have at their fingertips, isn't it amazing that they have to ask your phone number when you call...that it doesn't appear on the work screen in front of them. I'm little more than joe blow from windy city and even I have caller ID.
At 5:45 it was clear to all players involved that no one was coming to hook me up today. An hour to agree that I wasn't going to get a visit between 1-5pm. Geniuses, the lot of them. Fine...lost time from work, blah blah blah...set me up again, this time I want a scheduled appointment for tomorrow, 8am. More interminable hold. Only this time, I've finally got a superivsor dealing with me, so the hold is of a better quality. I don't have to be subjected to elevator music on crack.
What I do get is this: I can have a technician tomorrow between the hours of 8am and 5pm....and get this...because they are doing me a favour by squeezing me in. Oh yes, indeed...they were going to do me a big favour. Thanks for the lube, vorizon, that's a big favour, all right. Not only did I waste the 4 hours waiting for a monkey with a wrench, but add on the almost 2 spent on the phone with the monkey with the keyboard, now they wanted to add another 9 hours of 'wait and see' . I wonder if I can say, the next time a vorizon bill comes 'sorry, the bill arrived upside down in my mailbox, so it will be deleted from my records, try again next month'....I wonder how that would go.
"Doing me a favour??" I was incredulous, and that incredulty bore repeating, several times. The whole squeezing me in was really the undoing. I am fully prepared to unplug everythign that has a vorizon tag on it and send it back. If I have to stand on my roof top sending smoke signals to communicate with people I'd do it, if just to get the vorizon monkey off my back.
Don't do me any favours, put me in for thursday, 8-12. I better be first or you're going to find your boxes hanging from the chimney.
You cannot make this shit up.
First Gettysburg - inspirational, educational, breathtaking and heartbreaking. The south sucked. I'd lean toward the fact that they still suck, but, there are some people below the mason dixon line that I'd toss a glass of water at if they were on fire....
However, being in Gettysburg, which resides smack dab in the middle of Pennsylvania could have been out in the middle of the great plains states for all it has in common with the rest of the megaglopolis of the east coast. These people even talk with an accent. And the clothes of the locals...well, the only word to describe it is tragic. And, everyone smokes. I saw one guy riding a motorcycle with his rifle strapped to the side. Am I to believe he's hunting...??? on his motorcycle?????
Most of the wine from PA vineyards is pure swill. We were hard pressed (haha, like the grapes, oh, I crack myself up sometimes) to find anything that wasn't cloyingly sweet. Most of the merlots, pinots and cabs all tasted like they wanted to be ports when they grow up. And the mead??!!! Don't drink the mead! No wonder the vikings were pissed and trying to leave norway all the time. Mead, made from fermented honey tastes like honey with everclear in it. With macerated bee wings tossed in for good measure.
End of the day, Gettysburg was magnificent. It breaks my heart and dampens my soul to know that after 150 years, that battle still seems like it may have been in vain. Too many people either still fighting that war, still angry they lost, or not prepared to accept the responsibility of teaching others what the victory was supposed to mean.
And then there's vorizon. Devil's spawn. I have that whole verizon triple screw you package - phone, internet and television. I wanted to have one of the tv boxes moved from one room to another. I wanted to schedule an appointment but they are ill prepared to actually schedule appointments. What a racket. You need them....they'll come when they are damn good and ready. Set the appointment in the agreed upon 4 hour window of opportunity. They can land the damn shuttle with a smaller window of opportunity than a fios dude can make a house call. What bullshit.... At 4:45, 15 minutes before that window slammed shut, I called to ascertain where my shuttle...ah...service technician was. I got the first human at 5:10pm. I was then passed to several other departments. Each department has a copy of the same script...'oh, I don't know how or why you were transferred to this department, this isn't the fuck you up the ass department at all, that's what you want, I'll connect you'. Marianne (my mother, visiting from florida, a whole other story..) asked me where the vorizon office was located. "Mars", was my response.
Apparently, the service ticket was written incorrectly. You'd think they'd phone. After all, when I scheduled the appointment, no less than 3 different people asked my phone number. With all the technology they profess to have at their fingertips, isn't it amazing that they have to ask your phone number when you call...that it doesn't appear on the work screen in front of them. I'm little more than joe blow from windy city and even I have caller ID.
At 5:45 it was clear to all players involved that no one was coming to hook me up today. An hour to agree that I wasn't going to get a visit between 1-5pm. Geniuses, the lot of them. Fine...lost time from work, blah blah blah...set me up again, this time I want a scheduled appointment for tomorrow, 8am. More interminable hold. Only this time, I've finally got a superivsor dealing with me, so the hold is of a better quality. I don't have to be subjected to elevator music on crack.
What I do get is this: I can have a technician tomorrow between the hours of 8am and 5pm....and get this...because they are doing me a favour by squeezing me in. Oh yes, indeed...they were going to do me a big favour. Thanks for the lube, vorizon, that's a big favour, all right. Not only did I waste the 4 hours waiting for a monkey with a wrench, but add on the almost 2 spent on the phone with the monkey with the keyboard, now they wanted to add another 9 hours of 'wait and see' . I wonder if I can say, the next time a vorizon bill comes 'sorry, the bill arrived upside down in my mailbox, so it will be deleted from my records, try again next month'....I wonder how that would go.
"Doing me a favour??" I was incredulous, and that incredulty bore repeating, several times. The whole squeezing me in was really the undoing. I am fully prepared to unplug everythign that has a vorizon tag on it and send it back. If I have to stand on my roof top sending smoke signals to communicate with people I'd do it, if just to get the vorizon monkey off my back.
Don't do me any favours, put me in for thursday, 8-12. I better be first or you're going to find your boxes hanging from the chimney.
You cannot make this shit up.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
who mops a floor at 4:30 in the morning????
Apparently, I do.... Especially when you don't expect to be home before 10:30 at night and you're planning to leave by 6am the next morning.
I cleaned the stove, emptied the dishwasher, washed whatever errant dishes and cutlery that didn't make the dishwasher cutoff, swept, mopped.....and now it's time to get ready for work. I can think of a thousand things to do today, least of all is finally getting packed... but noooooooooooooo, I have to go to work to battle the never endging shortage of change.
No one is using credit cards any longer...and I'm going through change like the Little Old Lady who Lived in a Shoe at the laundramat. 50 rolls of quarters in less than 2 days. 250 bucks in dime, another hundred in nickles and 25 in pennies... amazing.
It's times like this I can see the wisdom of rounding up or down. It takes a muscle necked gym goon to actually lift these boxes, too. I'd kill for an armoured truck service.
See you later..
I cleaned the stove, emptied the dishwasher, washed whatever errant dishes and cutlery that didn't make the dishwasher cutoff, swept, mopped.....and now it's time to get ready for work. I can think of a thousand things to do today, least of all is finally getting packed... but noooooooooooooo, I have to go to work to battle the never endging shortage of change.
No one is using credit cards any longer...and I'm going through change like the Little Old Lady who Lived in a Shoe at the laundramat. 50 rolls of quarters in less than 2 days. 250 bucks in dime, another hundred in nickles and 25 in pennies... amazing.
It's times like this I can see the wisdom of rounding up or down. It takes a muscle necked gym goon to actually lift these boxes, too. I'd kill for an armoured truck service.
See you later..
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Like sand in the hourglass...
and blah blah blah..I'm working till 10 or so tomorrow night and if I dont pack my bag tonight, I'll be doing it on Thursday night in my sleep.
Dinner reservations are made for Friday and Saturday. I've picked out several interesting ghost tours but committed to none. How do you commit to a ghost, anyway?? Are they not ethereal and what makes us think they'll show up simply because I purchased a ticket??
It's looking like rain for Friday and already it's smacking of our last historical trip to Williamsburg last March. 40 degrees every day and rain rain rain. Actually, the sun was out until we crossed into the virginia state..only to proceed behind a bank of clouds that proved impenetrable...that is, untill we exited the state like elvis leaves a building. Then, naturally the sun came back out.
Gloom is the perfect atmosphere for visiting a battlefield. Gloom, however, is not du rigor when you are attending a wine and music festival. Thank you, for Saturday I'll take some sunshine, please.
Okay, I have to get my hats and parasol in order. Gloves have to be paired and reticules must be taken from the armoire. Catherine Coatney goes to Gettysburg...I do so love a victorian vampyre with just a dash of tart thrown in for good measure.
Dinner reservations are made for Friday and Saturday. I've picked out several interesting ghost tours but committed to none. How do you commit to a ghost, anyway?? Are they not ethereal and what makes us think they'll show up simply because I purchased a ticket??
It's looking like rain for Friday and already it's smacking of our last historical trip to Williamsburg last March. 40 degrees every day and rain rain rain. Actually, the sun was out until we crossed into the virginia state..only to proceed behind a bank of clouds that proved impenetrable...that is, untill we exited the state like elvis leaves a building. Then, naturally the sun came back out.
Gloom is the perfect atmosphere for visiting a battlefield. Gloom, however, is not du rigor when you are attending a wine and music festival. Thank you, for Saturday I'll take some sunshine, please.
Okay, I have to get my hats and parasol in order. Gloves have to be paired and reticules must be taken from the armoire. Catherine Coatney goes to Gettysburg...I do so love a victorian vampyre with just a dash of tart thrown in for good measure.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Lazy on Labour Day
I got nothing of any consequence accomplished as of this time, today. Perfectly good day off and it's just about the time I'd be trying to leave work.. and what have I got to show for it?? The house is in worse shape than when the weekend started. The futon is open, (MissCocoDolly came home), the kitchen is the stuff nightmares are made of. Laundry wants to be folded but I'm ignoring it at this time. I have to so some letter thing to the Nissan people about my new lease. The dishwasher cannot be emptied because I have neglected to start it. And I'm dying for linguine with clam sauce but have neither the will nor inclination to make the sauce. I'm done in that kitchen for the rest of the day. I don't want to see how filthy the floor is. I don't want to see the broom mocking me from it's hiding spot next to the refrigerator. I'd much rather watch Bottleshock and drink wine for the rest of the afternoon.
Lou and I are going to Gettysburg next Friday. Friday is a day spent on the battlefield and poking around the museums and Saturday is a wine and music festival. I still have to make dinner reservations for both nights, find some touristy ghost tour thing and decide if I want to start racking up the unnecessary miles on the new lease or rent a car.
I did not put the autumn decorations on the front steps. My plan in that regard is to leave a plate of pumpkin pie out in the hopes that it will transform itselt into garlands, orange lights and scarecrow people al la cinderella. I mean, if the Brother's Grimm can pull shit like that off, why cannot I?? Hell, I'll even do a bibidy bobidy boo dance if it would save me the trouble of hacking through that mess I call a garage to look for my decorations. Every damn year it's the same damn thing...put the shit away neatly and it will be nice and tidy for you when you want it again. I mean christ, isn't that what we were taught when we were what..? 3?? But no, I just put in there and hope for the best. How can you hope for the best when the very place you are storing your stuff in has an ivy vine that doesn't seem to matter the lack of traditional sunlight...and is about 25 feet long, and starting to choke everything you have suspended on the walls? Who am I kidding?? My exhusband was just in there a couple of hours ago looking for some chairs for a party he's having next week. He didn't notice the vine (which resembles something Jack would be able to climb to find that errant goose that lays the golden eggs) or he chose not to comment. Commenting could mean that either I'm as poor a gardener as I am a housekeeper (and honestly, I'm not that bad a housekeeper, I just don't want to expend the energy by getting up close and personal with pie crust crumbs) or that we might have some area of the garage roof that is in such disrepair that ivy can meander inside. Take your pick, both answers suck.
But, back to the decorations...I'm pretty sure I know where they are. They should be in the area of the coffin I have in there. Yes, I have a coffin in the garage. It's of a stage prop type, and looks quite victorian. It was made for my 40th birthday party - the theme was a jazz funereal. It's black with gold handles and filled with soft cushy pink satin. By the end of the party, the thing was filled with gifts and flowers and now I have no real use for it. I suppose I could use it for what it was made for, one day...but that's a whole nother topic and I don't really expect to ever need one, anyway. When it comes to dying, someone is going to make an exception in my case. I'm sure of it.
So, time to start looking into the Gettysburg fine dining situations, checking into ghost sightings (I had seen something that mentioned a victorian funeral which sounds very very cool) and possibly do something about procuring some clam sauce.
Lou and I are going to Gettysburg next Friday. Friday is a day spent on the battlefield and poking around the museums and Saturday is a wine and music festival. I still have to make dinner reservations for both nights, find some touristy ghost tour thing and decide if I want to start racking up the unnecessary miles on the new lease or rent a car.
I did not put the autumn decorations on the front steps. My plan in that regard is to leave a plate of pumpkin pie out in the hopes that it will transform itselt into garlands, orange lights and scarecrow people al la cinderella. I mean, if the Brother's Grimm can pull shit like that off, why cannot I?? Hell, I'll even do a bibidy bobidy boo dance if it would save me the trouble of hacking through that mess I call a garage to look for my decorations. Every damn year it's the same damn thing...put the shit away neatly and it will be nice and tidy for you when you want it again. I mean christ, isn't that what we were taught when we were what..? 3?? But no, I just put in there and hope for the best. How can you hope for the best when the very place you are storing your stuff in has an ivy vine that doesn't seem to matter the lack of traditional sunlight...and is about 25 feet long, and starting to choke everything you have suspended on the walls? Who am I kidding?? My exhusband was just in there a couple of hours ago looking for some chairs for a party he's having next week. He didn't notice the vine (which resembles something Jack would be able to climb to find that errant goose that lays the golden eggs) or he chose not to comment. Commenting could mean that either I'm as poor a gardener as I am a housekeeper (and honestly, I'm not that bad a housekeeper, I just don't want to expend the energy by getting up close and personal with pie crust crumbs) or that we might have some area of the garage roof that is in such disrepair that ivy can meander inside. Take your pick, both answers suck.
But, back to the decorations...I'm pretty sure I know where they are. They should be in the area of the coffin I have in there. Yes, I have a coffin in the garage. It's of a stage prop type, and looks quite victorian. It was made for my 40th birthday party - the theme was a jazz funereal. It's black with gold handles and filled with soft cushy pink satin. By the end of the party, the thing was filled with gifts and flowers and now I have no real use for it. I suppose I could use it for what it was made for, one day...but that's a whole nother topic and I don't really expect to ever need one, anyway. When it comes to dying, someone is going to make an exception in my case. I'm sure of it.
So, time to start looking into the Gettysburg fine dining situations, checking into ghost sightings (I had seen something that mentioned a victorian funeral which sounds very very cool) and possibly do something about procuring some clam sauce.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Clean... or make pumpkin pies??
I grew up with a mother who insisted on chores for the kids. Even the mere mention of the word 'chore' makes my nose crinkle. Chore..what an awful word. Kids don't want to do chores, and I don't for one minute buy that crap that it makes us better people. Having an ability to clean a bathroom at the age of 6 makes you a freak, not a better person. I'd fill the sink with water, sprinkle in some comet and pretend all the toothbrushes were divers. I have no idea what a comet coated toothbrush did to myself and the family but I'm sure it wasn't good for business. I never understood why it was necessary to sweep the floor three times a day, either. It's not like we were tracking in burrs and thistles from the wild. We lived on a quiet street with pavement. The sound of a washing machine filling, agitating and spinning can lull me to sleep. My mother did about 75 loads of laundry a week; with the machine in the room next to mine that could have been a disaster. Instead, I got used to letting the sound have the opposite desired effect. What I didn't get was why so many loads...It's not like she was using different water settings. Everything was washed in cold water, with the same water level. So, what was the purpose of seperating out my dad's undershirts and handkerchiefs from the towels and jeans??
So, Marianne and Jim are coming for a week long visit on the 15th. Hands downs, my mother and my sister are better housekeepers than I am. My sister has taken the process of cleaning her house to a manic level that is paralleled only in asylums. She's more my mother's daughter than I am. I, on the other hand, have little in common with either of my parents when it comes to keeping house. I'd rather lounge on the sofa after work than paint the bathroom, change the curtains or move the garage 6 inches to the left. I don't see the purpose of dusting the top of the washing machine or dryer. Why do I need paper lined cabinets for my pots and pans? Does anyone ever really see the dust bunny camp beneath my sofa? If you keeps the lights dim, who really notices the handprints near the lightswitches? Why bother weeding the garden when it's hot? In another month I'll just pull the whole shooting match up anyway.
What I do need to attend to is the refrigerator. I've got enough dried greens at the bottom of the produce drawers that you'd think I was intentionally drying herbs down there. The gaskets need attention, as well. I could move the 'majiuana, hey, at least it's not crack' post card off the front of the refrigerator but then I'd have to clean the door, too.
The stairway needs to be dusted, polished and vacuumed. You can write your name with your finger tip on the landing. Maxi-cat like to poke her paws through the knewels, and you can see a couple of those marks too.
The voodoo dolls and photos on the wall could use the dust rag fairie, too.
There are a few spiderwebs in the foyer. Admittedly, I don't hang out in there overmuch. It's really just a jumping ground for the rest of the house. Shoes are kicked off in there, gym bags deposited, mail and especially bills forgotten. The only thing of any majour importance in there is the wine fridge. If the house ever goes up in flames, at least the wine is close enough to an exit that it could probably be saved.
I need to autumnize the front of the house. That has to be this weekend. I am hoping to get to that today. If not, then it's a project I'll have to do after work one day, and you know how inviting that damn sofa is.
I need to get the Fios dude here, too. When my kids moved out, not only did they take their beds and leave me with the clean up, but the fios situation is poor. One set up in the living room and one set up in my room are fine. There is one in the basement that is a complete waste of money and I think one in my son's room that is only satisfying the television watching urges of the above stairs servants.
I should mop the floors. There's no excuse for the condition of my floors other than I really hate to do it.
I have to clean the bathrooms. It's times like this I wish I only had one, but I have two and both are not up to the standards of my father and his ever present bottle of Jubilee.
I believe my mother gets her housekeeping habits from her mother, who insisted on folding dirty clothes before they were placed in the hamper. With these kinds of genes, it's a wonder I'm from this family at all.
So, Marianne and Jim are coming for a week long visit on the 15th. Hands downs, my mother and my sister are better housekeepers than I am. My sister has taken the process of cleaning her house to a manic level that is paralleled only in asylums. She's more my mother's daughter than I am. I, on the other hand, have little in common with either of my parents when it comes to keeping house. I'd rather lounge on the sofa after work than paint the bathroom, change the curtains or move the garage 6 inches to the left. I don't see the purpose of dusting the top of the washing machine or dryer. Why do I need paper lined cabinets for my pots and pans? Does anyone ever really see the dust bunny camp beneath my sofa? If you keeps the lights dim, who really notices the handprints near the lightswitches? Why bother weeding the garden when it's hot? In another month I'll just pull the whole shooting match up anyway.
What I do need to attend to is the refrigerator. I've got enough dried greens at the bottom of the produce drawers that you'd think I was intentionally drying herbs down there. The gaskets need attention, as well. I could move the 'majiuana, hey, at least it's not crack' post card off the front of the refrigerator but then I'd have to clean the door, too.
The stairway needs to be dusted, polished and vacuumed. You can write your name with your finger tip on the landing. Maxi-cat like to poke her paws through the knewels, and you can see a couple of those marks too.
The voodoo dolls and photos on the wall could use the dust rag fairie, too.
There are a few spiderwebs in the foyer. Admittedly, I don't hang out in there overmuch. It's really just a jumping ground for the rest of the house. Shoes are kicked off in there, gym bags deposited, mail and especially bills forgotten. The only thing of any majour importance in there is the wine fridge. If the house ever goes up in flames, at least the wine is close enough to an exit that it could probably be saved.
I need to autumnize the front of the house. That has to be this weekend. I am hoping to get to that today. If not, then it's a project I'll have to do after work one day, and you know how inviting that damn sofa is.
I need to get the Fios dude here, too. When my kids moved out, not only did they take their beds and leave me with the clean up, but the fios situation is poor. One set up in the living room and one set up in my room are fine. There is one in the basement that is a complete waste of money and I think one in my son's room that is only satisfying the television watching urges of the above stairs servants.
I should mop the floors. There's no excuse for the condition of my floors other than I really hate to do it.
I have to clean the bathrooms. It's times like this I wish I only had one, but I have two and both are not up to the standards of my father and his ever present bottle of Jubilee.
I believe my mother gets her housekeeping habits from her mother, who insisted on folding dirty clothes before they were placed in the hamper. With these kinds of genes, it's a wonder I'm from this family at all.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Broken cookies don't count
The books are cooked, the fix is in....it is officially tee minus 62 minutes to cocktail hour. And, oddly enough, I still don't know what the cocktail du jour is.
Fridays at work are a piece of cake...cake dripping with chocolate sauce, topped with sweet strawberries and a bowl of freshly whipped cream to dip your toes in. One cafe is closed, one is open, and I have a quiet office to myself to ponder the affairs of the vagabond finance fairies. I still have 38 unanswered (and unopened) emails but you really have to draw the line somewhere. Enough is enough.
I did have some concerns abour the lack of prep that was attended to on Thursday afternoon. My staff never let up for a minute, yet still....very little in the way of advance prep was prepped in advance. Tuesday will suck like a hoover for all of them. I, goddess of the demi monde and convection oven that I am...waved my magic tong and lent a hand. Well, actually, I jobbed it out, but who's going to quibble when they see that I got meat...lots and lots of meat and cheese cut for them. 5 turkeys, 2 hams, 2 roast beefs, and enough cheese to choke a rat are all sliced and ready to go. Before you get yourselves all excited, none of it is portioned out. Getting it cut is as close to godlike as I come. They'll have to deal with the weights and measures themselves. I also baked more cookies than Mrs. Fields. Kids like cookies. I don't care if you're 3 or 83, who doesn't love a cookie?
I must confess, I sampled a few. I have a theory that broken cookies contain zero calories. However, break them yourself and the calorie magic doesn't work. They have to be naturally broken. Since I was baking them they had no time to actually break in transit. After all, they were only moving from the pan to the oven and then to a rack. No time for damage. So, upon close inspection I discovered several mutant varieties. Cookies so distorted in shape that any child would run screaming for cover at the discovery of such a cookie. Loathe as I am to waste anything, naturally, I put those cookies out of their potential misery. A warm and gooey chocolate chip cookie , what more could you ask for? Don't answer that. I was at work, after all... how much could you possibly hope for there?
The quiet of the kitchen also gives me opportunity to inspect the kitchen. The pizza area was quite impressively clean. I did discover 8 hardening slices of swiss cheese left in the deli cabinet. By the time Tuesday rolls around those cheese slices could be strapped to the bottoms of a bums feet and he could walk a mile before his flesh touched the pavement. I appreciate the attempt to protect my food cost, but those slices will deal like cards on Tuesday.
The walk in refrigerator and freezer demand some attention. Nothing rattles my cage more than disaray in the boxes. I hate seeing cheese and produce and eggs and salad dressing on the same shelf. I hate seeing half a sliced turkey far and away from the whole turkeys. They are family, they like to be together. They talk turkey when no one is listening and the cut turkey ends up feeling bad about himself because he is not privy to the conversation. I hate seeing the quiznos shit mixed in with the house shit. I hate finding 4 grapefruit clinging to cover in the bottom of a box...put those suckers into a bin! It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't something I'd photograph for Time magazine, either.
The new chef, that naughty boy....failed to locked his coolers at all. tsk tsk tsk. He doesn't know me well enough to know that constant threat of a kick in the ass is as real as the nose on his face. All he needs do is query the 'bonbon' to know I mean business. She has enough footprints on her ass from me to lead Hansel home again. 5 crumb like things on the stove top and a bag of rolls beneath his spotless counter and I'm none too displeased. Something does have to be done about that Mets hat, though....if he'd don a Yankees hat I might not ever insist he wear something professional. The hat situation is my fault, however..they are on backorder.
To the back of the kitchen, the cold prep area. I don't have much to say about this area. The music coming from this part of the kitchen generally sucks but it seems to keep the bonbon and the teamaker happy and productive. There was a festering bucket of sanitation fluid and a disintergrating towel swimming in it, but hey...at least they did have their sanitizer buckets out, eh?
There has been a knotted hairball on the floor of the ladies room for a week. It looks like someone had a huge almost dreadlock in their hair, yanked it out and tossed it on the floor. I know this strange guy comes in to clean the toilets every day (or sniff the air, who knows?) but apparently, he comes sans broom. I look at this thing every day and wonder if anyone else has noticed it. I leave it there because I wonder if the bathroom sweeping fairies will come for it.
Okay...time to wash the dye out of my hair, get my self presentable for date night, coax some ice into a glass of Tito's Handmade Vodka, pick up Lou and have at this weekend.
Fridays at work are a piece of cake...cake dripping with chocolate sauce, topped with sweet strawberries and a bowl of freshly whipped cream to dip your toes in. One cafe is closed, one is open, and I have a quiet office to myself to ponder the affairs of the vagabond finance fairies. I still have 38 unanswered (and unopened) emails but you really have to draw the line somewhere. Enough is enough.
I did have some concerns abour the lack of prep that was attended to on Thursday afternoon. My staff never let up for a minute, yet still....very little in the way of advance prep was prepped in advance. Tuesday will suck like a hoover for all of them. I, goddess of the demi monde and convection oven that I am...waved my magic tong and lent a hand. Well, actually, I jobbed it out, but who's going to quibble when they see that I got meat...lots and lots of meat and cheese cut for them. 5 turkeys, 2 hams, 2 roast beefs, and enough cheese to choke a rat are all sliced and ready to go. Before you get yourselves all excited, none of it is portioned out. Getting it cut is as close to godlike as I come. They'll have to deal with the weights and measures themselves. I also baked more cookies than Mrs. Fields. Kids like cookies. I don't care if you're 3 or 83, who doesn't love a cookie?
I must confess, I sampled a few. I have a theory that broken cookies contain zero calories. However, break them yourself and the calorie magic doesn't work. They have to be naturally broken. Since I was baking them they had no time to actually break in transit. After all, they were only moving from the pan to the oven and then to a rack. No time for damage. So, upon close inspection I discovered several mutant varieties. Cookies so distorted in shape that any child would run screaming for cover at the discovery of such a cookie. Loathe as I am to waste anything, naturally, I put those cookies out of their potential misery. A warm and gooey chocolate chip cookie , what more could you ask for? Don't answer that. I was at work, after all... how much could you possibly hope for there?
The quiet of the kitchen also gives me opportunity to inspect the kitchen. The pizza area was quite impressively clean. I did discover 8 hardening slices of swiss cheese left in the deli cabinet. By the time Tuesday rolls around those cheese slices could be strapped to the bottoms of a bums feet and he could walk a mile before his flesh touched the pavement. I appreciate the attempt to protect my food cost, but those slices will deal like cards on Tuesday.
The walk in refrigerator and freezer demand some attention. Nothing rattles my cage more than disaray in the boxes. I hate seeing cheese and produce and eggs and salad dressing on the same shelf. I hate seeing half a sliced turkey far and away from the whole turkeys. They are family, they like to be together. They talk turkey when no one is listening and the cut turkey ends up feeling bad about himself because he is not privy to the conversation. I hate seeing the quiznos shit mixed in with the house shit. I hate finding 4 grapefruit clinging to cover in the bottom of a box...put those suckers into a bin! It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't something I'd photograph for Time magazine, either.
The new chef, that naughty boy....failed to locked his coolers at all. tsk tsk tsk. He doesn't know me well enough to know that constant threat of a kick in the ass is as real as the nose on his face. All he needs do is query the 'bonbon' to know I mean business. She has enough footprints on her ass from me to lead Hansel home again. 5 crumb like things on the stove top and a bag of rolls beneath his spotless counter and I'm none too displeased. Something does have to be done about that Mets hat, though....if he'd don a Yankees hat I might not ever insist he wear something professional. The hat situation is my fault, however..they are on backorder.
To the back of the kitchen, the cold prep area. I don't have much to say about this area. The music coming from this part of the kitchen generally sucks but it seems to keep the bonbon and the teamaker happy and productive. There was a festering bucket of sanitation fluid and a disintergrating towel swimming in it, but hey...at least they did have their sanitizer buckets out, eh?
There has been a knotted hairball on the floor of the ladies room for a week. It looks like someone had a huge almost dreadlock in their hair, yanked it out and tossed it on the floor. I know this strange guy comes in to clean the toilets every day (or sniff the air, who knows?) but apparently, he comes sans broom. I look at this thing every day and wonder if anyone else has noticed it. I leave it there because I wonder if the bathroom sweeping fairies will come for it.
Okay...time to wash the dye out of my hair, get my self presentable for date night, coax some ice into a glass of Tito's Handmade Vodka, pick up Lou and have at this weekend.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
And the really good thing is....
Other than the fact that cocktail hour is a mere 22 hours away....the really good thing is there were no additional casualties after the sub par cook and the nervous nelly. For all intents and purposes, the first week of Fall Semester, 2009 is neatly and securely packed away in the vault. Done deal. Withe the exception of a scrapes, bruises, nicks and burns, we are no worse for wear. All plates cleaned and accounted for, thank you oh so very much. Good by and good luck, thank you very much, you're on you're own, good night.
Which brings us to this holiday weekend. Sure, I have to go to work tomorrow to flash the numbers and cook the books, so to say..but as far as I can tell, the weekend began about 3 hours ago. In keeping with my latest tradition of spending money like a drunken sailor on shore leave, I had some interest in booking lodgings down the shore for the weekend. While we've spent almost every Saturday this past summer in Belmar, we have not experienced the Ocean City boardwalk at all this summer. Not that we're overmuch fond of a town so dry you could dehydrate apples on the sidewalk (can't find a drop of booze in that town for the price of all the tea in china) but we do appreciate the efforts of the entire community to be welcoming. Just don't be a boozer, that is.. So, before Lou and I ever set foot in Ocean City, we make the obligatory stop to the liquor store on the city limit line.
'Twasn't in the cards this weekend. I looked into a few places but nothing reached out and grabbed me or my wallet. Grabbing me or my wallet would have been a cinch, too...I'm as easy as a cheap date. I wasn't opposed to spending the money, I just don't like being forced to book more nights than I desire. A three night minimum on a holiday that only encompasses three days means ditching work either Friday or Tuesday. Since I'm already ditching work next Friday I don't see how I could possibly hit the company up again for time away. So, the Osborne Inn, Manna and the chef's most amazing paella, and even more sadly, Sea Isle City's Basillicos will not be graced with our presence this year. More's the pity, I say.
Saturday is looking to be quite the lovely day on the more northern stretch of the jersey shore. Belmar has the most magnificent beach I've ever been on. Sand as soft as powder, the beach is smoke free, and we are free to picnic and drink wine (out of a cranberry juice bottle....why yes, officer, I always drink cranberry juice on the beach, it keeps me from peeing in the ocean....) to our hearts content. This may be the last weekend I can get down there. Too many other obligations on the horizon which will prevent additional sojourns.
The weekend menu is shaping up. The food challenge at NetCookingTalk.Com is Battle Burger. Strange that a burger battle happens to fall on a holiday weekend that literally screams for burgers, but who am I to question the ways and works of the secret challenge. I just participate, ya know..? So, Saturday, after a full 8 hours on the beach we'll be back home drinking bourbon sidecars and prepping dinner. Not quite sure what an appropriate first course is when burgers are the headliner...but I'm thinking fried zucchini slices with goat cheese and mango slices. The burger must be served with sauteed mushrooms and swiss cheese, not that 1/2 a pound of ground beef needs a friend, but in a for a penny, in for a pound, I say. Before our arteries have a chance to unclog, I'm considering a creme brulee for dessert, or chocolate pots de creme.
Sunday is a bonus night...I get to treat it like a Saturday and start the jazz and liquor parade all over again. Hard to think this far in advance what the cocktail will be.. but the first course is a warm salad of green beans with pan fried potatoes & pancetta. Dinner will be slow braised ham hocks over gnocchi with butternut squash, walnuts and dried cranberries. A dinner like this is screaming for cornbread and I shall oblige, naturally. It's also demanding a pumpkin pie for dessert, which I shall also oblige. Please do forgive if I don't roast and peel a milk pumpkin this early in the season. I'll get around to that chore soon enough.
With a planned menu ( I have no idea what we're doing for Monday, but I surely hope reservations are involved!) the weekend has begun. Crack open the ice trays, it's just about time for jazz and liquor.
Which brings us to this holiday weekend. Sure, I have to go to work tomorrow to flash the numbers and cook the books, so to say..but as far as I can tell, the weekend began about 3 hours ago. In keeping with my latest tradition of spending money like a drunken sailor on shore leave, I had some interest in booking lodgings down the shore for the weekend. While we've spent almost every Saturday this past summer in Belmar, we have not experienced the Ocean City boardwalk at all this summer. Not that we're overmuch fond of a town so dry you could dehydrate apples on the sidewalk (can't find a drop of booze in that town for the price of all the tea in china) but we do appreciate the efforts of the entire community to be welcoming. Just don't be a boozer, that is.. So, before Lou and I ever set foot in Ocean City, we make the obligatory stop to the liquor store on the city limit line.
'Twasn't in the cards this weekend. I looked into a few places but nothing reached out and grabbed me or my wallet. Grabbing me or my wallet would have been a cinch, too...I'm as easy as a cheap date. I wasn't opposed to spending the money, I just don't like being forced to book more nights than I desire. A three night minimum on a holiday that only encompasses three days means ditching work either Friday or Tuesday. Since I'm already ditching work next Friday I don't see how I could possibly hit the company up again for time away. So, the Osborne Inn, Manna and the chef's most amazing paella, and even more sadly, Sea Isle City's Basillicos will not be graced with our presence this year. More's the pity, I say.
Saturday is looking to be quite the lovely day on the more northern stretch of the jersey shore. Belmar has the most magnificent beach I've ever been on. Sand as soft as powder, the beach is smoke free, and we are free to picnic and drink wine (out of a cranberry juice bottle....why yes, officer, I always drink cranberry juice on the beach, it keeps me from peeing in the ocean....) to our hearts content. This may be the last weekend I can get down there. Too many other obligations on the horizon which will prevent additional sojourns.
The weekend menu is shaping up. The food challenge at NetCookingTalk.Com is Battle Burger. Strange that a burger battle happens to fall on a holiday weekend that literally screams for burgers, but who am I to question the ways and works of the secret challenge. I just participate, ya know..? So, Saturday, after a full 8 hours on the beach we'll be back home drinking bourbon sidecars and prepping dinner. Not quite sure what an appropriate first course is when burgers are the headliner...but I'm thinking fried zucchini slices with goat cheese and mango slices. The burger must be served with sauteed mushrooms and swiss cheese, not that 1/2 a pound of ground beef needs a friend, but in a for a penny, in for a pound, I say. Before our arteries have a chance to unclog, I'm considering a creme brulee for dessert, or chocolate pots de creme.
Sunday is a bonus night...I get to treat it like a Saturday and start the jazz and liquor parade all over again. Hard to think this far in advance what the cocktail will be.. but the first course is a warm salad of green beans with pan fried potatoes & pancetta. Dinner will be slow braised ham hocks over gnocchi with butternut squash, walnuts and dried cranberries. A dinner like this is screaming for cornbread and I shall oblige, naturally. It's also demanding a pumpkin pie for dessert, which I shall also oblige. Please do forgive if I don't roast and peel a milk pumpkin this early in the season. I'll get around to that chore soon enough.
With a planned menu ( I have no idea what we're doing for Monday, but I surely hope reservations are involved!) the weekend has begun. Crack open the ice trays, it's just about time for jazz and liquor.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Wednesday 2 September - stop folding that towel
Sorry I missed last night, but you try spending a day with your boss who critiques the way rice falls from a 50 pound bag and close your books for the month at the same time...see if you have the energy to pass a coherent thought from your fingers after that. Her presence caused one unfortunate towel to be folded and wrung about 100 times as Xanax replacement therapy. She later informed me the towel folder was a wonderful hire...in fact, she was quite pleased with everyone I'd hired. But oh how she can frazzle a person. She intimidates some members of my staff so much that the mere mention of an upcoming visit causes them to swear profusely and then begin assuming prairie dog positions...they burrow down beneath the surface until the storm passes.
We met with the client who is quite pleased with the first two days. She appreciated the small upgrade to the serving/presentation collection that she encouraged me to purchase more. That kind of encouragement, in front of my boss...well that's just the kind of thing you should avoid doing to a shopping, kitch collecting junkie. That was carte blanche, premium weed to me....sure, I'll buy more. Don't you worry.
Okay, I've got to get in there now. I have stories still from yesterday and I'm quite convinced that today will reap a bevy more..
See you later.
We met with the client who is quite pleased with the first two days. She appreciated the small upgrade to the serving/presentation collection that she encouraged me to purchase more. That kind of encouragement, in front of my boss...well that's just the kind of thing you should avoid doing to a shopping, kitch collecting junkie. That was carte blanche, premium weed to me....sure, I'll buy more. Don't you worry.
Okay, I've got to get in there now. I have stories still from yesterday and I'm quite convinced that today will reap a bevy more..
See you later.
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