I love Christmas music. There is nothing like a rousing Hallelujah Chorus or O Holy Night to get me excited for that magical time of the year. However, not all Christmas songs are created equal, and some are so annoying that they make me wish that radio stations did not offer 24-hour-a-day Christmas music. Here are the worst offenders, the songs that I do not miss now that Christmas is over.
Baby, It's Cold Outside
I actually like this song, but in my head, I think of it as the Date Rape Christmas Song. Christmas songs should not evoke visions of date rape.
Christmas Shoes
Taking over for I'll Be Home for Christmas and Blue Christmas as the saddest Christmas song ever, this one features a dying mother. Nothing like a little impending death to bring out the generosity of others, eh? I change the station every time this comes on and keep hoping that other people will catch on that this song does not belong on the radio at Christmas time (or any other time, if you ask me, but clearly no one has).
Anything by Wayne Newton as a child
The Sirius 40s station, which plays Christmas hits from the good old days, introduced me to these classics. His voice grates on my nerves. If you aren't familiar, take a listen on You Tube. I dare you to listen to a song in its entirety.
Jingle Bells "sung" by barking dogs
I had to stop listening to the pop Christmas station on Sirius because they played this song multiple times each day, and I couldn't bear to listen to even a few seconds of this horror show. Jingle Bells might not be the finest song ever written, but it deserves better than to be barked to.
Do They Know It's Christmas?
Sigh. Where to start with this one?
First of all, I hold it at least partially responsible for would-be Vice Presidents and Miss Teen USAs who think that Africa is a country.
Second of all--and I understand that philosophies regarding philanthropy have changed over the years, and perhaps it's not fair to judge the writers based on today's standards--but one of the best ways to bring relief to an area is to increase tourism. Did the writers of the song believe that "a world of dreaded fear," "where the only water flowing is a bitter sting of tears," and "the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom" portrayed Ethiopia (or rather Africa, since Ethiopia was never mentioned by name) in the best light?
And that's not all. Since the song mentions only Africa, we have to evaluate the words for the entire continent, and it is simply not true that Africa is the place "where nothing ever grows, no rain or rivers flow." Furthermore, parts of Africa do receive snow!
I don't want to disparage the fund-raising efforts of those involved, and I'm sure that most of them participated because they wanted to help. However, a more positive and accurate song might have raised the same amount of money and have helped beyond just a check.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Pregnancy: The bad and the ugly
I haven't written much in the last few months, mostly because I had a lot to say but wasn't ready to talk about it. But now I am ready, so prepare for the deluge! The happy news is that I am pregnant with an active baby boy that my husband wants to name Rooster. (So not happening.)
And so for my first pregnancy post, I'm going to tell you about all of the bad stuff that comes with being pregnant! I hope that this post does not set the tone for future posts; I intend at some point to write about all of the positive side effects of pregnancy, if I can come up with more than two of them, anyway.
Pregnancy introduces a new normalcy of health that frequently feels far from normal. Here are a few of the symptoms that have characterized my pregnancy thus far. I suspect that more are still to come...
NAUSEA
I am very lucky that this stage was short-lived for me, though while I was in the middle of it, I had no way of knowing that its worst would last only 3 weeks.
My nausea was not as bad as it could be; for instance, I did not break my twenty-plus-year streak of a vomit-free existence (I don't know why I don't vomit; it just doesn't happen). However, I did spend much of my time lying on the couch, wondering why on earth women willingly have multiple children.
At its "best," my nausea was similar to the seasickness I felt on our Caribbean cruise, or to the way that I feel after I consume dairy without a Lactaid pill. This feeling was constant and stayed with me most of the day.
At its worst...this is difficult to describe. Do you know the feeling you get in your stomach just before the stomach cramps tell you that it's time to find a bathroom, and fast? It was like that, only there was no way of making it go away.
I probably should have mentioned this, but as you can already tell, my blog is not going to offer The Sexy Gal's Guide to Pregnancy-type of information. But if you've been reading for any amount of time prior to this, you probably already knew that.
I discovered that frequent eating of small meals helped. After I ate, I usually felt better for about 15 minutes, and then the nausea returned. If you wait too long to eat, you feel terrible and the last thing in the world that you want is food. However, if you can convince yourself to eat, you will feel better, or at least I did.
The worst of my nausea was over within three weeks. However, I didn't really feel like myself for several more months. Standing for long periods of time was difficult, and I still felt a general malaise that was difficult to kick. (More about my sleepiness later.)
A side effect of this nausea was a mild case of the blues for which I was unprepared. I think there were a few causes.
First, I had no idea how long the nausea would last; for some women, it's a few days or weeks, and for others, it lasts the entire duration of their pregnancy. I couldn't imagine 9 months of feeling as bad as I did.
Second, I had to hide it as best as I could, as I was not ready to share the happy news with everyone so early. Pretending to feel great when you don't is exhausting.
Finally, my nausea was not something that I could treat, as most drugs are off-limits, and I felt powerless in my sick feeling.
I feel lucky to have had such short-lived nausea.
STUFFY NOSE
The nausea ended, and the congestion began! However, I will take a stuffed-up nose over sickness any day.
The medical cause of this congestion isn't known, but it's fairly common among the preggos. I dealt with it for as long as I could and then convinced B that we ought to get a humidifier. He was amenable, so we hit our local Target in search of relief. There I learned that there are both hot and cool air humidifiers, and the hot humidifiers are best for congestion. Hot won.
A hot humidifier boils the water, so it sounds a little like a hot pot while it's running, but it helped immensely and minimized my usual wintertime dry-weather cough, so it's a keeper. Plus my congestion is much better, though I'm not sure whether I should credit the humidifier or simply the passage of time.
SLEEPINESS
I have always been an enthusiastic and needy sleeper. I used to require a minimum of 8 hours per night to not feel tired during the day, and this need has only increased since I became pregnant. My typical bedtime is now around 8 PM, and I sleep until 5:30 or 6 AM. On weekends, I have been known to go to bed at the same time and sleep even later (and sometimes take a nap, too).
It's possible that this sleepiness is at least partially related to my next symptom:
SLEEPLESSNESS
This symptom comes and goes. When it comes, it usually sticks around for several nights. I can always fall asleep when I first go to bed, but if I wake up in the middle of the night, I stay awake for three or more hours. I'm usually able to fall back to sleep around 5:30 or 6, but if it's a weekday, that's when I have to get up anyway.
I have no idea what causes my sleeplessness, which feels like jet lag. I'm sleepy but unable to sleep.
Last week, several nights of sleeplessness left my defenses down, and I came down with a ferocious cold, which I unfortunately shared with B. I'm mostly over it now, over a week later, but he is still fighting the worst of it.
IRRATIONAL CRYING
I am nothing if not rational...most of the time. But these pregnancy hormones are tricky little buggers. Minor annoyances that I would--if I were able to think rationally all the time--be able to ignore and forget about become major grievances for no reason whatsoever, and the only response that I am able to muster is an immediate emotional breakdown.
I slipped and almost fell down in the lobby at work one rainy day and had to go spend some quality time crying about it in the bathroom. I had to spend similar time in the bathroom at the symphony the other night after they made me throw out my tea. Who makes a pregnant, sick woman throw out her tea??? Jerks. Though in their defense, I suppose they couldn't tell that I was pregnant.
It's best to succumb to the tears once they start coming on, or they stalk my eyes for hours to come. However, giving in has its downside because once the crying starts, it's very difficult to make it stop. I read a sad book a month or so ago (The Friday Night Knitting Club?) and cried after the end for a solid 30 minutes. You can do stuff like that when you're home alone. When your husband is home, he's likely to be scared by such behavior.
Lucky for me, my irrational crying is not an everyday or even everyweek occurrence, so most of the time I do not feel like a weeping, blubbery mess.
ITCHY BELLY
I did not expect this symptom. My belly is itchy practically all the time. I got some "tummy honey" by Bella B; it's supposed to prevent stretch marks (sigh), so I've been applying it liberally, and it helps with the itchiness. But it doesn't make the itch go away completely. I just have to deal with it and try not to scratch too much.
FREQUENT BATHROOM TRIPS
Remember the sleeplessness? The reason I wake up so much in the middle of the night is because I am constantly running to the bathroom. Each night involves a minimum of one and sometimes as many as three trips to el banyo. It's not unusual for me to use the bathroom multiple times within a span of 10 to 15 minutes.
A couple weeks ago at our last ultrasound, the technician told us that the baby's head was resting right on my bladder. That explained a lot. He's getting big enough that I can now feel when he presses down on my bladder. I won't attempt to explain it in detail; I'm sure you can imagine the sensation. It seems to happen the most when I'm in the car.
So there it is, all the bad stuff, or all the bad stuff that has happened to me so far. More tales from the bump to come...
And so for my first pregnancy post, I'm going to tell you about all of the bad stuff that comes with being pregnant! I hope that this post does not set the tone for future posts; I intend at some point to write about all of the positive side effects of pregnancy, if I can come up with more than two of them, anyway.
Pregnancy introduces a new normalcy of health that frequently feels far from normal. Here are a few of the symptoms that have characterized my pregnancy thus far. I suspect that more are still to come...
NAUSEA
I am very lucky that this stage was short-lived for me, though while I was in the middle of it, I had no way of knowing that its worst would last only 3 weeks.
My nausea was not as bad as it could be; for instance, I did not break my twenty-plus-year streak of a vomit-free existence (I don't know why I don't vomit; it just doesn't happen). However, I did spend much of my time lying on the couch, wondering why on earth women willingly have multiple children.
At its "best," my nausea was similar to the seasickness I felt on our Caribbean cruise, or to the way that I feel after I consume dairy without a Lactaid pill. This feeling was constant and stayed with me most of the day.
At its worst...this is difficult to describe. Do you know the feeling you get in your stomach just before the stomach cramps tell you that it's time to find a bathroom, and fast? It was like that, only there was no way of making it go away.
I probably should have mentioned this, but as you can already tell, my blog is not going to offer The Sexy Gal's Guide to Pregnancy-type of information. But if you've been reading for any amount of time prior to this, you probably already knew that.
I discovered that frequent eating of small meals helped. After I ate, I usually felt better for about 15 minutes, and then the nausea returned. If you wait too long to eat, you feel terrible and the last thing in the world that you want is food. However, if you can convince yourself to eat, you will feel better, or at least I did.
The worst of my nausea was over within three weeks. However, I didn't really feel like myself for several more months. Standing for long periods of time was difficult, and I still felt a general malaise that was difficult to kick. (More about my sleepiness later.)
A side effect of this nausea was a mild case of the blues for which I was unprepared. I think there were a few causes.
First, I had no idea how long the nausea would last; for some women, it's a few days or weeks, and for others, it lasts the entire duration of their pregnancy. I couldn't imagine 9 months of feeling as bad as I did.
Second, I had to hide it as best as I could, as I was not ready to share the happy news with everyone so early. Pretending to feel great when you don't is exhausting.
Finally, my nausea was not something that I could treat, as most drugs are off-limits, and I felt powerless in my sick feeling.
I feel lucky to have had such short-lived nausea.
STUFFY NOSE
The nausea ended, and the congestion began! However, I will take a stuffed-up nose over sickness any day.
The medical cause of this congestion isn't known, but it's fairly common among the preggos. I dealt with it for as long as I could and then convinced B that we ought to get a humidifier. He was amenable, so we hit our local Target in search of relief. There I learned that there are both hot and cool air humidifiers, and the hot humidifiers are best for congestion. Hot won.
A hot humidifier boils the water, so it sounds a little like a hot pot while it's running, but it helped immensely and minimized my usual wintertime dry-weather cough, so it's a keeper. Plus my congestion is much better, though I'm not sure whether I should credit the humidifier or simply the passage of time.
SLEEPINESS
I have always been an enthusiastic and needy sleeper. I used to require a minimum of 8 hours per night to not feel tired during the day, and this need has only increased since I became pregnant. My typical bedtime is now around 8 PM, and I sleep until 5:30 or 6 AM. On weekends, I have been known to go to bed at the same time and sleep even later (and sometimes take a nap, too).
It's possible that this sleepiness is at least partially related to my next symptom:
SLEEPLESSNESS
This symptom comes and goes. When it comes, it usually sticks around for several nights. I can always fall asleep when I first go to bed, but if I wake up in the middle of the night, I stay awake for three or more hours. I'm usually able to fall back to sleep around 5:30 or 6, but if it's a weekday, that's when I have to get up anyway.
I have no idea what causes my sleeplessness, which feels like jet lag. I'm sleepy but unable to sleep.
Last week, several nights of sleeplessness left my defenses down, and I came down with a ferocious cold, which I unfortunately shared with B. I'm mostly over it now, over a week later, but he is still fighting the worst of it.
IRRATIONAL CRYING
I am nothing if not rational...most of the time. But these pregnancy hormones are tricky little buggers. Minor annoyances that I would--if I were able to think rationally all the time--be able to ignore and forget about become major grievances for no reason whatsoever, and the only response that I am able to muster is an immediate emotional breakdown.
I slipped and almost fell down in the lobby at work one rainy day and had to go spend some quality time crying about it in the bathroom. I had to spend similar time in the bathroom at the symphony the other night after they made me throw out my tea. Who makes a pregnant, sick woman throw out her tea??? Jerks. Though in their defense, I suppose they couldn't tell that I was pregnant.
It's best to succumb to the tears once they start coming on, or they stalk my eyes for hours to come. However, giving in has its downside because once the crying starts, it's very difficult to make it stop. I read a sad book a month or so ago (The Friday Night Knitting Club?) and cried after the end for a solid 30 minutes. You can do stuff like that when you're home alone. When your husband is home, he's likely to be scared by such behavior.
Lucky for me, my irrational crying is not an everyday or even everyweek occurrence, so most of the time I do not feel like a weeping, blubbery mess.
ITCHY BELLY
I did not expect this symptom. My belly is itchy practically all the time. I got some "tummy honey" by Bella B; it's supposed to prevent stretch marks (sigh), so I've been applying it liberally, and it helps with the itchiness. But it doesn't make the itch go away completely. I just have to deal with it and try not to scratch too much.
FREQUENT BATHROOM TRIPS
Remember the sleeplessness? The reason I wake up so much in the middle of the night is because I am constantly running to the bathroom. Each night involves a minimum of one and sometimes as many as three trips to el banyo. It's not unusual for me to use the bathroom multiple times within a span of 10 to 15 minutes.
A couple weeks ago at our last ultrasound, the technician told us that the baby's head was resting right on my bladder. That explained a lot. He's getting big enough that I can now feel when he presses down on my bladder. I won't attempt to explain it in detail; I'm sure you can imagine the sensation. It seems to happen the most when I'm in the car.
So there it is, all the bad stuff, or all the bad stuff that has happened to me so far. More tales from the bump to come...
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Cashmere aspirations
Last winter, in the midst of the cold, rain, fog, snow, and other atrocities that January and February bring, I decided that as long as I was going to put up with winter, I might as well start wearing more cashmere.
Cashmere is lightweight, warm, soft, and very expensive. Even the sale prices of 100-percent cashmere sweaters are very high. Not surprisingly, my efforts at developing my cashmere collection were dampened by the high cost of each cashmere piece. It's difficult to justify buying one cashmere sweater when I can buy two or three (or more!) other pieces for the same cost.
By the end of the winter, I had added only one cashmere-y piece to my collection, a black long-sleeved turtleneck sweater that isn't even 100-percent cashmere. Despite its shortcomings, it's a staple piece that I wear throughout the winter, so it was not a bad place to start.
However, I have a long way to go. My goal is not to achieve cashmere mafia status but perhaps a few more cashmere pieces would make winter more tolerable.
A couple weeks ago, I was scanning the sales at one of the online daily boutique stores (this time, ideeli, though I also belong to Gilt, Rue la la, and HauteLook) and came across a boutique of winter essentials. The boutique included several cashmere items--clearly I am not alone in my quest--including a gray duster (like a sweatercoat, but no buttons) that was begging to come home to me.
Ordinarily, gray is not my go-to color when it comes to sweaters, but a cashmere sweater is a basic piece that should last for years and transcend the cuts, colors, and styles of one season's fashion trends. Therefore, I willingly and happily bought it. The free shipping credit I had received earlier in the week from ideeli made the purchase even more worthwhile.
The sweater fit perfectly and is now hanging in my closet, awaiting the arrival of more cashmere friends, whenever they might arrive.
Cashmere is lightweight, warm, soft, and very expensive. Even the sale prices of 100-percent cashmere sweaters are very high. Not surprisingly, my efforts at developing my cashmere collection were dampened by the high cost of each cashmere piece. It's difficult to justify buying one cashmere sweater when I can buy two or three (or more!) other pieces for the same cost.
By the end of the winter, I had added only one cashmere-y piece to my collection, a black long-sleeved turtleneck sweater that isn't even 100-percent cashmere. Despite its shortcomings, it's a staple piece that I wear throughout the winter, so it was not a bad place to start.
However, I have a long way to go. My goal is not to achieve cashmere mafia status but perhaps a few more cashmere pieces would make winter more tolerable.
A couple weeks ago, I was scanning the sales at one of the online daily boutique stores (this time, ideeli, though I also belong to Gilt, Rue la la, and HauteLook) and came across a boutique of winter essentials. The boutique included several cashmere items--clearly I am not alone in my quest--including a gray duster (like a sweatercoat, but no buttons) that was begging to come home to me.
Ordinarily, gray is not my go-to color when it comes to sweaters, but a cashmere sweater is a basic piece that should last for years and transcend the cuts, colors, and styles of one season's fashion trends. Therefore, I willingly and happily bought it. The free shipping credit I had received earlier in the week from ideeli made the purchase even more worthwhile.
The sweater fit perfectly and is now hanging in my closet, awaiting the arrival of more cashmere friends, whenever they might arrive.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Hello, fall
Just now, as I was putting our Love Actually CD into our stereo, I realized that we're getting close to the time when it's ok to play Christmas music.
For the record (har har), the CD features only a couple of Christmas songs, but they feel a little off in May. The rest of the CD is so awesome that I play it all year, but now as the weather turns colder, other people (including my husband) won't think I'm so strange for listening to the occasional Christmas song.
The falling leaves are bringing other changes. Throughout the last week, skeins of Canada geese heading toward warmer climes and fruity drinks with umbrellas have darkened our dusk skies. Some are better than others at observing the regulation V-shaped flying formation, but even the shape-challenged birds noisily announce their presence. I could happily live without those dirty birds and their tendencies to wander into traffic and make annoyances of themselves, but I look forward to their annual cacophonous melody, and not just because their departure heralds fireplace season.
That's right - it has arrived! We have adopted the winter configuration of our living room, with one of our leather chairs placed perilously close to the fireplace. Well, not so perilously, as there was a minor incident last winter involving a pillow falling between the chair and the glass of the fireplace. Technically, there were no flames. However, B seems to think that my insatiable quest for warmth could lead to danger, so I have been instructed to keep myself and my accoutrements a safe distance away from the hot glass.
Just right now, for instance, I am nearly a foot away. Safety first!
Chilly weather also brings an excellent excuse for shopping - Christmas gifts! If I can't shop for myself all the time, the second-best option is shopping for other people. We started our Christmas shopping this week, entirely online so far, as most of my shopping seems to be these days, unless I have a craving for mall food court Indian food with peshawari naan. The stuff we cook at home pales in comparison.
Anyway. Enjoy the fall. Pick an apple, photograph a leaf, and enjoy the beautiful sunsets because rumor has it, snow will be here before we know it.
For the record (har har), the CD features only a couple of Christmas songs, but they feel a little off in May. The rest of the CD is so awesome that I play it all year, but now as the weather turns colder, other people (including my husband) won't think I'm so strange for listening to the occasional Christmas song.
The falling leaves are bringing other changes. Throughout the last week, skeins of Canada geese heading toward warmer climes and fruity drinks with umbrellas have darkened our dusk skies. Some are better than others at observing the regulation V-shaped flying formation, but even the shape-challenged birds noisily announce their presence. I could happily live without those dirty birds and their tendencies to wander into traffic and make annoyances of themselves, but I look forward to their annual cacophonous melody, and not just because their departure heralds fireplace season.
That's right - it has arrived! We have adopted the winter configuration of our living room, with one of our leather chairs placed perilously close to the fireplace. Well, not so perilously, as there was a minor incident last winter involving a pillow falling between the chair and the glass of the fireplace. Technically, there were no flames. However, B seems to think that my insatiable quest for warmth could lead to danger, so I have been instructed to keep myself and my accoutrements a safe distance away from the hot glass.
Just right now, for instance, I am nearly a foot away. Safety first!
Chilly weather also brings an excellent excuse for shopping - Christmas gifts! If I can't shop for myself all the time, the second-best option is shopping for other people. We started our Christmas shopping this week, entirely online so far, as most of my shopping seems to be these days, unless I have a craving for mall food court Indian food with peshawari naan. The stuff we cook at home pales in comparison.
Anyway. Enjoy the fall. Pick an apple, photograph a leaf, and enjoy the beautiful sunsets because rumor has it, snow will be here before we know it.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
The importance of a second opinion
You might remember that in May, I inquired about refinancing from a local mortgage broker, and she offered only bad news - that we didn't qualify for the government mortgage programs and that we'd have to pay PMI if we refinanced. I don't believe I mentioned that she said she'd call me back with more information and never did, but that combined with her not knowing the difference between an area code and a zip code made me wonder if a second opinion would be worth obtaining.
These many months later, I finally got around to finding a second opinion. The local broker had recommended calling the company that holds our mortgage and asking for a better rate; I didn't think we'd have much luck taking that route, but I figured a phone call couldn't hurt.
I called to ask about refinancing, expecting to be told the same story, but the man on the phone was actually very helpful. He was some sort of pre-screener, and he quoted me a rate in the 4s (a whole lot better than what we have now) and said he we wouldn't have to pay PMI since we didn't have to pay it originally. Excellent news!
He asked if I wanted to speak with a loan officer; I said I'd rather wait till B got home, especially since the mortgage is in B's name alone. I made an appointment for someone to call later that evening.
When the phone call arrived, we put the loan guy on speaker phone so we could both chat. And he was even more helpful than the first guy!
He checked a couple of things and told us that we do in fact qualify for the Fannie/Freddie government program as long as we have at least 95 percent equity in our house. We're going to receive a phone call in the next couple days about an appraiser coming over; that meeting will determine how much we'll have to bring to the closing to reach that number. He also confirmed that we do not have to pay PMI.
He offered more great news - the rate that we locked is below 4 - shockingly low! I was happy with the rate that the first guy quoted and didn't think that it could possibly get any lower. But it did.
The best news of all? We're going from a 30-year mortgage to a 15-year mortgage, and our monthly payment is only going up a smidge. Oh, happy day.
One negative is that I'm not really sure of next steps that will happen. When I asked questions of that sort, his answers were typically, "Oh, they'll call you about that." We haven't received any phone calls yet, so I guess we don't have to do anything other than collect the paperwork he requested.
Stay tuned...if I learn any lessons from our refinancing adventure, I'll be sure to share.
These many months later, I finally got around to finding a second opinion. The local broker had recommended calling the company that holds our mortgage and asking for a better rate; I didn't think we'd have much luck taking that route, but I figured a phone call couldn't hurt.
I called to ask about refinancing, expecting to be told the same story, but the man on the phone was actually very helpful. He was some sort of pre-screener, and he quoted me a rate in the 4s (a whole lot better than what we have now) and said he we wouldn't have to pay PMI since we didn't have to pay it originally. Excellent news!
He asked if I wanted to speak with a loan officer; I said I'd rather wait till B got home, especially since the mortgage is in B's name alone. I made an appointment for someone to call later that evening.
When the phone call arrived, we put the loan guy on speaker phone so we could both chat. And he was even more helpful than the first guy!
He checked a couple of things and told us that we do in fact qualify for the Fannie/Freddie government program as long as we have at least 95 percent equity in our house. We're going to receive a phone call in the next couple days about an appraiser coming over; that meeting will determine how much we'll have to bring to the closing to reach that number. He also confirmed that we do not have to pay PMI.
He offered more great news - the rate that we locked is below 4 - shockingly low! I was happy with the rate that the first guy quoted and didn't think that it could possibly get any lower. But it did.
The best news of all? We're going from a 30-year mortgage to a 15-year mortgage, and our monthly payment is only going up a smidge. Oh, happy day.
One negative is that I'm not really sure of next steps that will happen. When I asked questions of that sort, his answers were typically, "Oh, they'll call you about that." We haven't received any phone calls yet, so I guess we don't have to do anything other than collect the paperwork he requested.
Stay tuned...if I learn any lessons from our refinancing adventure, I'll be sure to share.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Banff wildlife: Bighorn sheep (aka Rocky Mountain sheep) and a goat
Of all the wildlife we saw in Banff, the bighorn sheep were the most plentiful. They were everywhere! They appeared mostly in groups but sometimes flew solo. They were able to climb the steepest of rock with ease and were most frequently seen mineral deposits from the rocks and roadside.
Here are a few of my fav sheep pics, plus the one goat we saw.
In case you're wondering, both the males and females of the bighorn sheep have horns.
Here are a few of my fav sheep pics, plus the one goat we saw.
In case you're wondering, both the males and females of the bighorn sheep have horns.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Banff recap
It's been a while!
My summer has been busy but great. B and I spent the start of summer in Banff, a glorious 2 weeks of jaw-dropping jocund days, misty mountaintops, and...I don't know how I'm going to work in standing tiptoe into that one. Apologies to R&J fans for my inadequate allusion.
We landed in Calgary and hopped in our rental car, a Hyandai Accent that we affectionately called the Silver Bullet, though it resembled a bullet more in size than in speed. No matter; it was an adequate vehicle for which I have greater fondness than is rational because of the wonderful adventures we enjoyed in it. Now I see these silver (and green and blue) bullets everywhere and feel wistfulness and nostalgia for our journey.
The drive between Calgary and Banff crosses unremarkable cow country. If you're heading east, it's dull. (I can confirm this fact because we did it on our drive back to the airport at the end of the trip.) If you're heading west, the mountains peak through the far-off clouds and promise great aventures ahead.
And we did have great adventures. We visited 4 national parks (Banff, Jasper, Yoho, and Kootenay) and one provincial park (in Kananaskis Country), walked on a glacier, saw countless waterfalls, rode up a couple mountain gondolas, saw turquoise-blue lakes, were chased by bees, saw the continental divide, and waded into 40-degree water. Ok, only B did that last one.
There aren't many roads out there, and they're mostly highways, but they have a set of rules and expectations that are wildly different from what we have at home.
First of all, bikers ride in the breakdown lane of highways because, as I mentioned, it's the only road available. There was very little traffic on the highway so it wasn't a big deal.
Second of all, stopping on any road is commonplace and expected. Everyone tries to pull over and put their hazard lights on, but everyone who comes behind them stops, too, because we all are there to see wildlife. And we saw a ton of wildlife.
We saw grizzly bears, black bears, moose, elk, bighorn sheep, moutain goat, mule deer, white tail deer, hoary marmot (dressed in a scandalous pink and lace outfit - haha just kidding), regular marmot (attired much more conservatively), porcupine, big-earred rabbit, and maybe a wolf. We saw the wolf on our first afternoon there; he was running down the median of a highway, and I assumed he was a big, black, wild-looking dog. Oh, to go back in time and take a picture!
We saw so much wildlife we became complacent about it. "Oh, it's only one elk," we would say dismissively, having seen many groups of elk previously. Or, "Oh, it's just some more bighorn sheep," since we saw over a hundred of them over 2 weeks.
We have the Silver Bullet to thank for all of our wildlife spotting. People on big-bus (and even smaller-bus) tours see much less wildlife. We know that because we spoke to some such people and their wildlife counts were significantly less impressive than ours.
Not that it's a contest. But if you're interested in seeing lots of animals and being able to choose your daily adventures, consider going it alone.
We had a solid itinerary to guide us through our trip, and we mostly stuck with it. It ensured that we didn't miss the best sights and provided us with back-up options for when the weather was less than ideal.
The weather was good. Most of our days were overcast; a couple days were beautiful and sunny; and a couple days were rainy. Temps were on the chilly side most of the time, 50s and 60s, and cooler at night. Days were long enough that we always had to fall asleep in the daylight and never saw a single sunset. We did see a sunrise on the day we flew home. Early flight.
I recommend a trip to the area to anyone who wants to see beautiful vistas and wildlife. There's a peace of mind and a level of relaxation that come with a nature-oriented trip, a feeling that you can't get in a city. It was a great change of pace from our usual trips.
My summer has been busy but great. B and I spent the start of summer in Banff, a glorious 2 weeks of jaw-dropping jocund days, misty mountaintops, and...I don't know how I'm going to work in standing tiptoe into that one. Apologies to R&J fans for my inadequate allusion.
We landed in Calgary and hopped in our rental car, a Hyandai Accent that we affectionately called the Silver Bullet, though it resembled a bullet more in size than in speed. No matter; it was an adequate vehicle for which I have greater fondness than is rational because of the wonderful adventures we enjoyed in it. Now I see these silver (and green and blue) bullets everywhere and feel wistfulness and nostalgia for our journey.
The drive between Calgary and Banff crosses unremarkable cow country. If you're heading east, it's dull. (I can confirm this fact because we did it on our drive back to the airport at the end of the trip.) If you're heading west, the mountains peak through the far-off clouds and promise great aventures ahead.
And we did have great adventures. We visited 4 national parks (Banff, Jasper, Yoho, and Kootenay) and one provincial park (in Kananaskis Country), walked on a glacier, saw countless waterfalls, rode up a couple mountain gondolas, saw turquoise-blue lakes, were chased by bees, saw the continental divide, and waded into 40-degree water. Ok, only B did that last one.
There aren't many roads out there, and they're mostly highways, but they have a set of rules and expectations that are wildly different from what we have at home.
First of all, bikers ride in the breakdown lane of highways because, as I mentioned, it's the only road available. There was very little traffic on the highway so it wasn't a big deal.
Second of all, stopping on any road is commonplace and expected. Everyone tries to pull over and put their hazard lights on, but everyone who comes behind them stops, too, because we all are there to see wildlife. And we saw a ton of wildlife.
We saw grizzly bears, black bears, moose, elk, bighorn sheep, moutain goat, mule deer, white tail deer, hoary marmot (dressed in a scandalous pink and lace outfit - haha just kidding), regular marmot (attired much more conservatively), porcupine, big-earred rabbit, and maybe a wolf. We saw the wolf on our first afternoon there; he was running down the median of a highway, and I assumed he was a big, black, wild-looking dog. Oh, to go back in time and take a picture!
We saw so much wildlife we became complacent about it. "Oh, it's only one elk," we would say dismissively, having seen many groups of elk previously. Or, "Oh, it's just some more bighorn sheep," since we saw over a hundred of them over 2 weeks.
We have the Silver Bullet to thank for all of our wildlife spotting. People on big-bus (and even smaller-bus) tours see much less wildlife. We know that because we spoke to some such people and their wildlife counts were significantly less impressive than ours.
Not that it's a contest. But if you're interested in seeing lots of animals and being able to choose your daily adventures, consider going it alone.
We had a solid itinerary to guide us through our trip, and we mostly stuck with it. It ensured that we didn't miss the best sights and provided us with back-up options for when the weather was less than ideal.
The weather was good. Most of our days were overcast; a couple days were beautiful and sunny; and a couple days were rainy. Temps were on the chilly side most of the time, 50s and 60s, and cooler at night. Days were long enough that we always had to fall asleep in the daylight and never saw a single sunset. We did see a sunrise on the day we flew home. Early flight.
I recommend a trip to the area to anyone who wants to see beautiful vistas and wildlife. There's a peace of mind and a level of relaxation that come with a nature-oriented trip, a feeling that you can't get in a city. It was a great change of pace from our usual trips.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Good hair
I get my hair cut and colored every 4 months because (a) I'm still growing my hair out from the last big chop, and (b) Such visits aren't cheap, but I am (about some stuff, anyway). This weekend, at my thrice-annual salon visit, my hairdresser tempted me with a new texturizing treatment called Keratin. She said it eliminates frizz and will leave my hair straight and easily manageable.
Another stylist at the salon had just had it done. She said she went from spending 120 minutes (!) blowdrying her hair to only (!) 45 minutes, and her hair was now straight. She was clearly blissfully happy with her new frizz-free hair.
"Just think of all the time you'll save!" she said. I kept to myself that my blowdrying sessions rarely reach 10 minutes, but I was tempted by the treatment anyway. The older I get, the wavier my hair gets, and sometimes I wish for the bone-straight hair that is all the rage these days.
"Does it hurt?" I asked of the treatment.
"No, not at all," my stylist said.
"How long does it last?" was my next question.
"On your hair, probably 6 months," she answered.
And then, the all-important question: "How much does it cost?"
She paused (for dramatic effect?). "$470."
You might think that the price tag was a dealbreaker. Instead, my first thought was, "How can I convince B that a $470 hair treatment is a worthwhile way to spend our money?"
"How can I convince my husband that I need this?" I said aloud.
She said that she had it done, and her husband was thrilled with the results--not so much with the appearance of her hair, but because he no longer had to help her blowdry her hair, and they could leave the house in a reasonable amount of time.
Because I am able to get ready in a reasonable amount of time as it is, I didn't think this argument would hold water with B. However, surely he would understand that the opportunity to get the hair I've always dreamed of was worth $470, maybe even more. (Ok, it would definitely have to be more, especially when you considered the tip that would be required for such a treatment.)
I told my stylist I'd seriously consider the treatment, all the while calculating how long it might take for me to save up my monthly allowance for such an extravagance, and whether I would be able to stop spending for long enough to do so. Plus I decided that perhaps I ought to research this magical Keratin treatment to determine whether it was actually safe.
The research idea turned out to be a good one. My initial review revealed only happy customers who loved what the treatment had done to their hair. But, as with any beauty treatment, Keratin had its naysayers. I paid particular attention to them and dug deeper.
The main problem with Keratin is its active ingredient, which you might remember from biology class--it's formaldehyde. What you might not remember from biology (or perhaps chemistry) class is that formaldehyde is a carcinogen, and that you're supposed to wear a gas mask if you're anywhere near it. Since my stylist didn't mention a gas mask accessory to the treatment, I determined that safety protocols with this treatment were perhaps not the best.
Some companies advertise formaldehyde-free Keratin treatments, but it seems that most, if not all, contains other variations from the aldehyde family, which is essentially the same ingredient with a different name. It's no less dangerous, and perhaps even more so because people think they're opting for the safer product when they are not.
The question of how to pay for this treatment no longer needs an answer, as I have decided that I'd rather have wavy hair than cancer. But now I am even more concerned because I will have no way of knowing in advance whether my salon is performing the treatment on someone while I am there, and just being in proximity of it is dangerous. Luckily, I am no wallflower and will speak up should I see it being performed.
Speaking of spending enormous sums of money on hair--if you haven't seen Good Hair, the Chris Rock documentary, I highly recommend it. It opened my eyes to a hair world that I didn't even know existed and raised great questions that people ought to think about. The documentary, along with the formaldehyde revelation, are convincing me that being happy with what the hair that you have leads to a simpler and easier life.
Another stylist at the salon had just had it done. She said she went from spending 120 minutes (!) blowdrying her hair to only (!) 45 minutes, and her hair was now straight. She was clearly blissfully happy with her new frizz-free hair.
"Just think of all the time you'll save!" she said. I kept to myself that my blowdrying sessions rarely reach 10 minutes, but I was tempted by the treatment anyway. The older I get, the wavier my hair gets, and sometimes I wish for the bone-straight hair that is all the rage these days.
"Does it hurt?" I asked of the treatment.
"No, not at all," my stylist said.
"How long does it last?" was my next question.
"On your hair, probably 6 months," she answered.
And then, the all-important question: "How much does it cost?"
She paused (for dramatic effect?). "$470."
You might think that the price tag was a dealbreaker. Instead, my first thought was, "How can I convince B that a $470 hair treatment is a worthwhile way to spend our money?"
"How can I convince my husband that I need this?" I said aloud.
She said that she had it done, and her husband was thrilled with the results--not so much with the appearance of her hair, but because he no longer had to help her blowdry her hair, and they could leave the house in a reasonable amount of time.
Because I am able to get ready in a reasonable amount of time as it is, I didn't think this argument would hold water with B. However, surely he would understand that the opportunity to get the hair I've always dreamed of was worth $470, maybe even more. (Ok, it would definitely have to be more, especially when you considered the tip that would be required for such a treatment.)
I told my stylist I'd seriously consider the treatment, all the while calculating how long it might take for me to save up my monthly allowance for such an extravagance, and whether I would be able to stop spending for long enough to do so. Plus I decided that perhaps I ought to research this magical Keratin treatment to determine whether it was actually safe.
The research idea turned out to be a good one. My initial review revealed only happy customers who loved what the treatment had done to their hair. But, as with any beauty treatment, Keratin had its naysayers. I paid particular attention to them and dug deeper.
The main problem with Keratin is its active ingredient, which you might remember from biology class--it's formaldehyde. What you might not remember from biology (or perhaps chemistry) class is that formaldehyde is a carcinogen, and that you're supposed to wear a gas mask if you're anywhere near it. Since my stylist didn't mention a gas mask accessory to the treatment, I determined that safety protocols with this treatment were perhaps not the best.
Some companies advertise formaldehyde-free Keratin treatments, but it seems that most, if not all, contains other variations from the aldehyde family, which is essentially the same ingredient with a different name. It's no less dangerous, and perhaps even more so because people think they're opting for the safer product when they are not.
The question of how to pay for this treatment no longer needs an answer, as I have decided that I'd rather have wavy hair than cancer. But now I am even more concerned because I will have no way of knowing in advance whether my salon is performing the treatment on someone while I am there, and just being in proximity of it is dangerous. Luckily, I am no wallflower and will speak up should I see it being performed.
Speaking of spending enormous sums of money on hair--if you haven't seen Good Hair, the Chris Rock documentary, I highly recommend it. It opened my eyes to a hair world that I didn't even know existed and raised great questions that people ought to think about. The documentary, along with the formaldehyde revelation, are convincing me that being happy with what the hair that you have leads to a simpler and easier life.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Coming up for air
This month, we have two house-related events to celebrate: first, the fourth anniversary of our closing, and second, the paying off of our second mortgage.
We took out a second mortgage rather than pay PMI, or rather, B did all of these things, since we weren't married when he bought the condo. The second mortgage was necessary because we didn't have a 20 percent down payment. It wasn't due to general slackitude - real estate prices around here are high, and they were even higher 4 years ago.
You would think that we would now have equity in our home--but if you thought that, you would be wrong. You see, real estate prices have also dropped about 20 percent. So we've worked very hard these last few years to...not be underwater anymore with our house. 'Tis a bittersweet accomplishment.
I thought that an appropriate reward would be a little refinancing action so we could lower our rate and make our payments toward our primary mortgage count even more. However, a call to a local mortgage broker turned up only bad news. First, our mortgage is not through Fannie Mae or Freddie Mac, so we don't qualify for the government programs that require only 5 or 10 percent equity to refinance. Instead, we'd have to wait to refinance until we had 20 percent equity, or refinance now and pay PMI.
Yes, PMI, even though we've already paid down 20 percent. If we refinanced, we'd essentially be starting from scratch, as if we were taking out a loan for 100 percent of the value of our condo. All of our efforts for the past 4 years would not count. And we'd be stuck with PMI for 5 years or until we paid down 20 percent of the new loan.
Now is a good time to remind myself, as I have been reminding myself since real estate prices dropped, that life can still be great even when parts of it aren't fair, and that expectations of fairness in life will lead only to disappointment. And technically, we won't realize a loss on our condo until we sell it, and we don't plan to sell for several more years at least. By then we'll have more equity.
On the bright side, my Dunkin Donuts index tells me that the economy is coming back. People are back to paying for their daily morning coffee. Parking lots of local area shopping complexes are full again. The bargain basement hotel deals of last year are difficult to find this year.
That last one isn't really part of the bright side, but I appreciate that it is a sign of a recovering economy.
We took out a second mortgage rather than pay PMI, or rather, B did all of these things, since we weren't married when he bought the condo. The second mortgage was necessary because we didn't have a 20 percent down payment. It wasn't due to general slackitude - real estate prices around here are high, and they were even higher 4 years ago.
You would think that we would now have equity in our home--but if you thought that, you would be wrong. You see, real estate prices have also dropped about 20 percent. So we've worked very hard these last few years to...not be underwater anymore with our house. 'Tis a bittersweet accomplishment.
I thought that an appropriate reward would be a little refinancing action so we could lower our rate and make our payments toward our primary mortgage count even more. However, a call to a local mortgage broker turned up only bad news. First, our mortgage is not through Fannie Mae or Freddie Mac, so we don't qualify for the government programs that require only 5 or 10 percent equity to refinance. Instead, we'd have to wait to refinance until we had 20 percent equity, or refinance now and pay PMI.
Yes, PMI, even though we've already paid down 20 percent. If we refinanced, we'd essentially be starting from scratch, as if we were taking out a loan for 100 percent of the value of our condo. All of our efforts for the past 4 years would not count. And we'd be stuck with PMI for 5 years or until we paid down 20 percent of the new loan.
Now is a good time to remind myself, as I have been reminding myself since real estate prices dropped, that life can still be great even when parts of it aren't fair, and that expectations of fairness in life will lead only to disappointment. And technically, we won't realize a loss on our condo until we sell it, and we don't plan to sell for several more years at least. By then we'll have more equity.
On the bright side, my Dunkin Donuts index tells me that the economy is coming back. People are back to paying for their daily morning coffee. Parking lots of local area shopping complexes are full again. The bargain basement hotel deals of last year are difficult to find this year.
That last one isn't really part of the bright side, but I appreciate that it is a sign of a recovering economy.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Ice cream iniquities
Some things in life aren't fair, and I've recently discovered another injustice to share with the world. This iniquity is among the worst because it is related to ice cream.
B and I have a favorite ice cream stand that offers reliably large portions and delicious ice cream. However, after our last visit, I noticed that one of our portions was a bit more generous than the other. Tonight's visit confirmed my hypothesis.
The teenage girls who work at our ice cream stand appear to have taken a fancy to my husband and have decided to show their appreciation through extra large scoops of ice cream. We both order the same size, but his ice cream is noticeably larger.
I proposed a number of experiments to test my theory. B proposed several of his own that mostly consisted of his acting silly without attempting to prove anything. Sniff.
I'm going to have to continue to ponder the best experiment to prove my theory, but until then, B is going to place both of our orders, and then we'll see who gets the bigger ice cream.
B and I have a favorite ice cream stand that offers reliably large portions and delicious ice cream. However, after our last visit, I noticed that one of our portions was a bit more generous than the other. Tonight's visit confirmed my hypothesis.
The teenage girls who work at our ice cream stand appear to have taken a fancy to my husband and have decided to show their appreciation through extra large scoops of ice cream. We both order the same size, but his ice cream is noticeably larger.
I proposed a number of experiments to test my theory. B proposed several of his own that mostly consisted of his acting silly without attempting to prove anything. Sniff.
I'm going to have to continue to ponder the best experiment to prove my theory, but until then, B is going to place both of our orders, and then we'll see who gets the bigger ice cream.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Finally, a camera decision
You might recall that I've been camera shopping for some time now. I've been taking my time because digital cameras are big investments. I wanted to be sure that I got the right model.
I'm partial to Nikon because they created my film SLR, which took dreamy pictures despite my limited photography skills.
I had been trying to decide between a superzoom point-and-shoot model and a digital SLR. The most appealing aspects of the superzoom were its size and weight. It would be an easy camera to schlep around the Canadian Rockies. On the other hand, I suspected that I'd be paying a lot of money for a good but not great camera that might not do those scenic vistas justice.
An SLR, on the other hand, was amost guaranteed to take amazing photographs. However, I dreaded the back pain that would reliably come from carrying around a heavy camera, and I couldn't ignore that an SLR would be a more expensive purchase.
I found myself unable to decide, and so I ignored the problem for several months and waited for my mind to make itself up. And this weekend, my mind decided, and off we went to the mall to buy the DSLR.
The Nikon D5000 was our camera of choice. It's a step up from Nikon's entry-level model (the D3000) and has an overwhelming number of options. I'm not sure if I will ever understand all of them, but I've figured out the basics since yesterday, when we brought the camera home.
At the store, we bought the camera, a couple of memory cards, and a UV lens cover--all I needed to get started. After we arrived home, we bought a camera bag, a backup battery, and another memory card from Amazon.
I've taken lots of pictures, all indoors due to the enormous raincloud that has settled over the area this weekend, and am really happy with all of them. As soon as our bag arrives, we'll venture outdoors and really see what she can do.
I'm partial to Nikon because they created my film SLR, which took dreamy pictures despite my limited photography skills.
I had been trying to decide between a superzoom point-and-shoot model and a digital SLR. The most appealing aspects of the superzoom were its size and weight. It would be an easy camera to schlep around the Canadian Rockies. On the other hand, I suspected that I'd be paying a lot of money for a good but not great camera that might not do those scenic vistas justice.
An SLR, on the other hand, was amost guaranteed to take amazing photographs. However, I dreaded the back pain that would reliably come from carrying around a heavy camera, and I couldn't ignore that an SLR would be a more expensive purchase.
I found myself unable to decide, and so I ignored the problem for several months and waited for my mind to make itself up. And this weekend, my mind decided, and off we went to the mall to buy the DSLR.
The Nikon D5000 was our camera of choice. It's a step up from Nikon's entry-level model (the D3000) and has an overwhelming number of options. I'm not sure if I will ever understand all of them, but I've figured out the basics since yesterday, when we brought the camera home.
At the store, we bought the camera, a couple of memory cards, and a UV lens cover--all I needed to get started. After we arrived home, we bought a camera bag, a backup battery, and another memory card from Amazon.
I've taken lots of pictures, all indoors due to the enormous raincloud that has settled over the area this weekend, and am really happy with all of them. As soon as our bag arrives, we'll venture outdoors and really see what she can do.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Vacation news
Not much new on the Banff front. I've booked a couple of activities, including a boat trip on Maligne Lake in Jasper and a ride up the Jasper tramway. My guidebook threatened a two-hour wait for the tramway and didn't mention the possibility of advanced reservations, so perhaps the online reservation system is new. I'm all for time-saving strategies, especially when they have liberal cancellation policies.
I still haven't booked our final car rental. I'm avoiding this task because I'm not ready to accept the large sum that we will likely spend on a car rental and insurance, which I always say I will skip and then buy at the last minute because I'm paranoid. Another reason why we stay in cities and take trains while vacationing in Europe.
Speaking of Europe, the euro has been tanking against the dollar. On the other hand, the Canadian dollar (CAD) and US dollar are flirting with parity. Parity occurs when two currencies trade on a one-for-one basis. Once upon a time, the thought of the USD and CAD approaching parity would have been cause for riotous and condescending laughter (by Americans). In other words, we haven't chosen the best time to vacation in Canada. However, one US dollar still buys at least one CAD and only $.75 worth of euros, so we're still coming out ahead.
So will Europe be our next destination? Unlikely. B and I both have a lot of vacation days this year, four weeks' worth or more. However, the Banff trip is not going to leave much in the vacation budget for 2010. We find ourselves in a unique position--plentiful vacation days and a piddling budget. Right now, I'm considering a couple of options:
I still haven't booked our final car rental. I'm avoiding this task because I'm not ready to accept the large sum that we will likely spend on a car rental and insurance, which I always say I will skip and then buy at the last minute because I'm paranoid. Another reason why we stay in cities and take trains while vacationing in Europe.
Speaking of Europe, the euro has been tanking against the dollar. On the other hand, the Canadian dollar (CAD) and US dollar are flirting with parity. Parity occurs when two currencies trade on a one-for-one basis. Once upon a time, the thought of the USD and CAD approaching parity would have been cause for riotous and condescending laughter (by Americans). In other words, we haven't chosen the best time to vacation in Canada. However, one US dollar still buys at least one CAD and only $.75 worth of euros, so we're still coming out ahead.
So will Europe be our next destination? Unlikely. B and I both have a lot of vacation days this year, four weeks' worth or more. However, the Banff trip is not going to leave much in the vacation budget for 2010. We find ourselves in a unique position--plentiful vacation days and a piddling budget. Right now, I'm considering a couple of options:
- Renting a house on Mount Desert Island in Maine. Mount Desert is where Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park are. Weekly rentals are reasonably priced (that is, they are less than our monthly mortgage payment) and come with kitchens for preparing meals. I've been wanting to visit Acadia for a while now, but I'm not sure if I want two national park trips in one year.
- Visiting Chicago. I desperately want to see a taping of Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, which is taped on Thursday nights in Chicago and aired on NPR stations on Saturdays and Sundays. And the city is full of interesting attractions, both indoor and outdoor. We would either fly or drive for this trip--probably fly.
Monday, March 29, 2010
So this is love: My visit to the library
Sometimes ideas get stuck in my head and refuse to leave until I indulge them. Luckily, most of my whims are harmless (except on my budget) and involve vacations, cultural outings, and other activities.
Recently I decided that I wanted to read the Kathy Reichs books upon which the TV series Bones is based. I enjoy the TV show, mostly for the characters, as I see a lot of myself in Temperance, or maybe the other way around, and a bit for the science (not very much for the dead bodies). I assumed I'd like the books, too, but I didn't want to buy them new, just in case they didn't live up to the awesomeness of the TV show. I decided to pursue other options for acquiring them.
First I investigated the used options on Amazon but didn't find anything in the price range that I had deemed acceptable. Next I turned to the used section of bn.com. This site had many options; however, the shipping costs were prohibitively expensive, and I couldn't find any sellers offering discounts for multiple books. For instance, a book might be $.50, but shipping is $3.99. If you buy a second book from the same seller, you have to pay $3.99 in shipping for the second book, even though the seller is likely to package the books together.
I suspect my reluctance stems from an illogical but unavoidably human trait about not wanting the other person to get a better deal than I was getting, even if the deal was still good for me. I decided to move on.
My next stop was ebay. I became aware of ebay eleven or twelve years ago while in college but never got around to establishing an account or buying anything. When my apartment was broken into a few years after college, the police officer warned us all against ebay ("It's full of stolen items!"), and I continued my indifferent boycott.
I decided that books were unlikely to be stolen items and were a safe purchase. Any burglar who tried to make his living by stealing mystery novels would quickly learn his lesson.
And it was on ebay that I discovered book lots. Book lots, where have you been all my life? Apparently, you've been on ebay, and I've been ignoring you.
Knowing about these magical lots would certainly have been useful these past couple months as I have been collecting all of the Amelia Peabody books by Elizabeth Peters and reading them in anticipation of the next novel coming out next week. Alas.
Back to Kathy Reichs. I found several lots, some priced by reasonable people, others priced by burglars who haven't discovered that used books are not the pot of gold that they had hoped for. I chose one of the reasonable lots, sent it to B, and asked him to work his ebay magic.
He put in his bid, and then we forgot about the lot until several days later, when he checked his account and saw that we had lost. I could have looked for another lot, but ebay was more work than I wanted. Ebay needs a complex wiki-style taxonomy, and until it exists, the site is simply too frustrating for me. I can deal with many inadequacies on websites but poor organization is not one of them.
Out of ideas and unwilling to spend more than $2 per book, I decided to do what I should have done in the beginning--go to the library, where books are plentiful and free.
One night last week (one of the non-rainy nights, of which there have been few lately), we hopped over to the library, applied for library cards, and got lost in the stacks for a while. Ok, we didn't get lost; the library is teeny, even by my small-town standards. But they had Deja Dead, the first book in the series, as well as The Geography of Bliss, which I've been meaning to read, and a Rosamunde Pilcher novel that I haven't read.
Reading three books in three weeks is ambitious, especially since I was only halfway through a lengthy Peters book at home and have more on the way, but I reasoned that I could always renew or return and try again later. B picked up a book about basketball that he secretly wanted to hate but has actually been enjoying immensely.
While at the library, I learned that my collection of travel books rivals my town's. I suppose if one is going to have an addiction, buying travel guides is one of the more tolerable ones.
After arriving home, I enthusiastically dove in to the Reichs book. I quickly learned that the Tempe in the books is not very much like the Temperance in the TV show, and I was woefully unprepared for the graphic descriptions of violent deaths that characterized the first 75 pages of the book. Perhaps the remaining pages feature similar accounts, but I don't intend to find out. I no longer feel the need to finish a book for the sake of finishing it.
I put down Reichs, grateful for having lost the ebay auction. I picked up Bliss and have been learning about happiness ever since. The book is making me want to travel even more than I already do (dangerous).
The near-constant rain that has been plaguing New England these past few weeks, on the other hand, is making me want to stay home and read, so I am glad that I am prepared for hours (days?) of this activity. Spring came early this year, and so, apparently, did the April showers.
While I wait for the rain to end, I'm sitting in our comfy armless leather chair, which during the winter months lives as close to the fireplace as I can get without actually sitting in the fire, devouring my books one at a time, listening to Jimmy Buffett and dreaming about the sunshine.
Recently I decided that I wanted to read the Kathy Reichs books upon which the TV series Bones is based. I enjoy the TV show, mostly for the characters, as I see a lot of myself in Temperance, or maybe the other way around, and a bit for the science (not very much for the dead bodies). I assumed I'd like the books, too, but I didn't want to buy them new, just in case they didn't live up to the awesomeness of the TV show. I decided to pursue other options for acquiring them.
First I investigated the used options on Amazon but didn't find anything in the price range that I had deemed acceptable. Next I turned to the used section of bn.com. This site had many options; however, the shipping costs were prohibitively expensive, and I couldn't find any sellers offering discounts for multiple books. For instance, a book might be $.50, but shipping is $3.99. If you buy a second book from the same seller, you have to pay $3.99 in shipping for the second book, even though the seller is likely to package the books together.
I suspect my reluctance stems from an illogical but unavoidably human trait about not wanting the other person to get a better deal than I was getting, even if the deal was still good for me. I decided to move on.
My next stop was ebay. I became aware of ebay eleven or twelve years ago while in college but never got around to establishing an account or buying anything. When my apartment was broken into a few years after college, the police officer warned us all against ebay ("It's full of stolen items!"), and I continued my indifferent boycott.
I decided that books were unlikely to be stolen items and were a safe purchase. Any burglar who tried to make his living by stealing mystery novels would quickly learn his lesson.
And it was on ebay that I discovered book lots. Book lots, where have you been all my life? Apparently, you've been on ebay, and I've been ignoring you.
Knowing about these magical lots would certainly have been useful these past couple months as I have been collecting all of the Amelia Peabody books by Elizabeth Peters and reading them in anticipation of the next novel coming out next week. Alas.
Back to Kathy Reichs. I found several lots, some priced by reasonable people, others priced by burglars who haven't discovered that used books are not the pot of gold that they had hoped for. I chose one of the reasonable lots, sent it to B, and asked him to work his ebay magic.
He put in his bid, and then we forgot about the lot until several days later, when he checked his account and saw that we had lost. I could have looked for another lot, but ebay was more work than I wanted. Ebay needs a complex wiki-style taxonomy, and until it exists, the site is simply too frustrating for me. I can deal with many inadequacies on websites but poor organization is not one of them.
Out of ideas and unwilling to spend more than $2 per book, I decided to do what I should have done in the beginning--go to the library, where books are plentiful and free.
One night last week (one of the non-rainy nights, of which there have been few lately), we hopped over to the library, applied for library cards, and got lost in the stacks for a while. Ok, we didn't get lost; the library is teeny, even by my small-town standards. But they had Deja Dead, the first book in the series, as well as The Geography of Bliss, which I've been meaning to read, and a Rosamunde Pilcher novel that I haven't read.
Reading three books in three weeks is ambitious, especially since I was only halfway through a lengthy Peters book at home and have more on the way, but I reasoned that I could always renew or return and try again later. B picked up a book about basketball that he secretly wanted to hate but has actually been enjoying immensely.
While at the library, I learned that my collection of travel books rivals my town's. I suppose if one is going to have an addiction, buying travel guides is one of the more tolerable ones.
After arriving home, I enthusiastically dove in to the Reichs book. I quickly learned that the Tempe in the books is not very much like the Temperance in the TV show, and I was woefully unprepared for the graphic descriptions of violent deaths that characterized the first 75 pages of the book. Perhaps the remaining pages feature similar accounts, but I don't intend to find out. I no longer feel the need to finish a book for the sake of finishing it.
I put down Reichs, grateful for having lost the ebay auction. I picked up Bliss and have been learning about happiness ever since. The book is making me want to travel even more than I already do (dangerous).
The near-constant rain that has been plaguing New England these past few weeks, on the other hand, is making me want to stay home and read, so I am glad that I am prepared for hours (days?) of this activity. Spring came early this year, and so, apparently, did the April showers.
While I wait for the rain to end, I'm sitting in our comfy armless leather chair, which during the winter months lives as close to the fireplace as I can get without actually sitting in the fire, devouring my books one at a time, listening to Jimmy Buffett and dreaming about the sunshine.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Maybe next I'll learn how to do hair
This weekend I visited Sephora again. I had to exchange some blush that I purchased online.
I bought the Sephora brand blush a couple months ago and have been happy with it, but as I reached the bottom of the container, I noticed that pieces were breaking off. I didn't spend $12 on a small blush container to lose the last quarter of it in my sink. I wanted to exchange the unopened replacement with something else.
At the mall, B and I were alerted that we were approaching the Sephora store by the small army of men gathered outside, lounging on the railing and trying to look casual. B joined the ranks and I headed in.
I feel weird browsing around a store and then bringing my return to the counter, as if the sales person will suspect that I simply brought in my receipt and grabbed a replacement item from the store to return something that I didn't actually buy. Of course I would never do this, and it's likely that the sales people at the counter don't pay attention to my behavior before I reach them, but I waited in line with the rest of the buyers, only to hand over my blush and then start browsing.
I attempted to look like I knew what I was doing, but I suspect I fooled no one, and a sales person was quick to ask if I needed assistance.
"Yes," I said. "I'm looking for blush." I showed her the blush I returned, explained why I didn't like it, and asked for a recommendation. She corraled a fellow sales person, who thought for 5 seconds and then led me to the Clinique counter and showed me a blush.
"It seems a bit brown," I said. I don't do brown. She disagreed, and put some on her hand. There was not even a hint of brown.
"I'm not crazy about the sparkles," I said. She said that it had the same exact luminosity as the blush I was returning. I was skeptical. She brought me over to the display, and I put some of the sample on my hand. Sure enough, they could have been the same color. (And perhaps they are...)
I laughed and apologized and said that it was clear that she knew far more than I and that I was sorry for doubting her expertise. She laughed with me (or was it at me...) and said it was fine, and she offered to put some on me so I could see it, since I wasn't wearing any blush.
Except I was. I said so. She ignored me and proceeded to put blush on half my face, demanding all the while that I smile. She told me to go look in the mirror. I walked over and saw myself, but with a much rosier cheek than I'm used to having.
"Isn't it a bit...too much?" I asked. "That looks like a lot of blush to me."
Not at all, she explained. Rosy cheeks bring attention to the right part of my face. Or something. I forget the argument. She also said that I wasn't wearing the rest of my make-up. I was, but I decided to remain silent with my protest.
I walked back to her and she blushed up the other half of my face. Again, I was taken aback by the color in my face.
"You mean," I said, "you're supposed to put on enough so that you can actually see the color?"
She pursed her lips and looked at me like I was some hungry animal that refused to eat the food placed in front of it. She then explained where and how I was supposed to put on blush. I realized that no one had ever explained this information to me. I felt almost as if I should latch on to this woman and beg to be taught everything she knew.
Instead, I thanked her for her help, took the blush that she offered, did my exchange, and returned to rescue B.
"Do I look like I'm wearing too much blush to you?" I demanded. B said no, but it's possible that he said that to protect my feelings (as he should). I was again left wondering.
I decided to experiment with this concept of having more than a hint of color in my cheeks, and while I can't quite reproduce the Sephora sales person's skillful application, I think that I have perhaps struck a compromise between her method and my previous method (which, truth be told, was not exactly methodical).
I'm still working my way through the crumbly Sephora blush, but I'll try to remember to report back my satisfaction with Clinique.
I bought the Sephora brand blush a couple months ago and have been happy with it, but as I reached the bottom of the container, I noticed that pieces were breaking off. I didn't spend $12 on a small blush container to lose the last quarter of it in my sink. I wanted to exchange the unopened replacement with something else.
At the mall, B and I were alerted that we were approaching the Sephora store by the small army of men gathered outside, lounging on the railing and trying to look casual. B joined the ranks and I headed in.
I feel weird browsing around a store and then bringing my return to the counter, as if the sales person will suspect that I simply brought in my receipt and grabbed a replacement item from the store to return something that I didn't actually buy. Of course I would never do this, and it's likely that the sales people at the counter don't pay attention to my behavior before I reach them, but I waited in line with the rest of the buyers, only to hand over my blush and then start browsing.
I attempted to look like I knew what I was doing, but I suspect I fooled no one, and a sales person was quick to ask if I needed assistance.
"Yes," I said. "I'm looking for blush." I showed her the blush I returned, explained why I didn't like it, and asked for a recommendation. She corraled a fellow sales person, who thought for 5 seconds and then led me to the Clinique counter and showed me a blush.
"It seems a bit brown," I said. I don't do brown. She disagreed, and put some on her hand. There was not even a hint of brown.
"I'm not crazy about the sparkles," I said. She said that it had the same exact luminosity as the blush I was returning. I was skeptical. She brought me over to the display, and I put some of the sample on my hand. Sure enough, they could have been the same color. (And perhaps they are...)
I laughed and apologized and said that it was clear that she knew far more than I and that I was sorry for doubting her expertise. She laughed with me (or was it at me...) and said it was fine, and she offered to put some on me so I could see it, since I wasn't wearing any blush.
Except I was. I said so. She ignored me and proceeded to put blush on half my face, demanding all the while that I smile. She told me to go look in the mirror. I walked over and saw myself, but with a much rosier cheek than I'm used to having.
"Isn't it a bit...too much?" I asked. "That looks like a lot of blush to me."
Not at all, she explained. Rosy cheeks bring attention to the right part of my face. Or something. I forget the argument. She also said that I wasn't wearing the rest of my make-up. I was, but I decided to remain silent with my protest.
I walked back to her and she blushed up the other half of my face. Again, I was taken aback by the color in my face.
"You mean," I said, "you're supposed to put on enough so that you can actually see the color?"
She pursed her lips and looked at me like I was some hungry animal that refused to eat the food placed in front of it. She then explained where and how I was supposed to put on blush. I realized that no one had ever explained this information to me. I felt almost as if I should latch on to this woman and beg to be taught everything she knew.
Instead, I thanked her for her help, took the blush that she offered, did my exchange, and returned to rescue B.
"Do I look like I'm wearing too much blush to you?" I demanded. B said no, but it's possible that he said that to protect my feelings (as he should). I was again left wondering.
I decided to experiment with this concept of having more than a hint of color in my cheeks, and while I can't quite reproduce the Sephora sales person's skillful application, I think that I have perhaps struck a compromise between her method and my previous method (which, truth be told, was not exactly methodical).
I'm still working my way through the crumbly Sephora blush, but I'll try to remember to report back my satisfaction with Clinique.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
I wasn't prepared for the violence
Back in college, I used to go to hockey games with some frequency. I wasn't much of a hockey fan but was unable to turn down free entertainment. Games were exciting but the occasional check was the extent of the violence that I saw.
College hockey was a child's tea party compared to the American Hockey League (AHL) game that we recently attended. Several minutes into the first period, two players got a little too close to each other and exchanged words. I waited for the refs to get in the middle, as they do in every other sport--but they made no effort to interfere. Moments later, gloves and helmets were thrown to the ice, and then the fisticuffs began!
The crowd jumped to their feet, clearly excited at this development. They shouted and demanded that the young men seek vengeance for the slight that had occurred.
I didn't hear the sentiment phrased quite like that; the overwhelming chorus came from the party of blood-thirsty seven-year-olds in front of us shouting, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"
I wondered if the fight was just for show, but upon closer inspection, I determined that the players were throwing real punches! I've never been in a fist fight, but their ferocity looked like it would hurt.
The punching continued until the gentlemen fell upon the ice, and then the referees interfered and stopped the fight. I assumed that everyone had got the excitement out of their system and that play would continue as usual.
Play continued, but the fighting was not over. There were several more fights and many more near-fights throughout the rest of the game. The penalty boxes got plenty of use.
During the calm periods between the fights, I interrogated B about all of this fighting, which made me very uncomfortable. (I can't even handle fake movie violence.) My understanding is that fighting isn't allowed in college or the NHL but for some reason, it is encouraged in the AHL. This policy discrepancy doesn't make any sense to me, but so it is.
If you go to a game, prepare yourself in advance.
College hockey was a child's tea party compared to the American Hockey League (AHL) game that we recently attended. Several minutes into the first period, two players got a little too close to each other and exchanged words. I waited for the refs to get in the middle, as they do in every other sport--but they made no effort to interfere. Moments later, gloves and helmets were thrown to the ice, and then the fisticuffs began!
The crowd jumped to their feet, clearly excited at this development. They shouted and demanded that the young men seek vengeance for the slight that had occurred.
I didn't hear the sentiment phrased quite like that; the overwhelming chorus came from the party of blood-thirsty seven-year-olds in front of us shouting, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"
I wondered if the fight was just for show, but upon closer inspection, I determined that the players were throwing real punches! I've never been in a fist fight, but their ferocity looked like it would hurt.
The punching continued until the gentlemen fell upon the ice, and then the referees interfered and stopped the fight. I assumed that everyone had got the excitement out of their system and that play would continue as usual.
Play continued, but the fighting was not over. There were several more fights and many more near-fights throughout the rest of the game. The penalty boxes got plenty of use.
During the calm periods between the fights, I interrogated B about all of this fighting, which made me very uncomfortable. (I can't even handle fake movie violence.) My understanding is that fighting isn't allowed in college or the NHL but for some reason, it is encouraged in the AHL. This policy discrepancy doesn't make any sense to me, but so it is.
If you go to a game, prepare yourself in advance.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Badly done, Toyota
I have always been a big fan of my Corolla and of the Toyota brand in general, but I am starting to question my fangirl status.
If you've been following the news, you can't have missed the news about the Toyota recalls due to a tendency to accelerate suddenly.
Moving forward, indeed.
As investigations mount, the news that's coming out is damaging. Scores of people have died--and the numbers keep growing as cases are reinvestigated. Others are sitting in prison because their out-of-control vehicles killed someone.
The news and the breadth of this recall makes you wonder how long Toyota knew about these problems before deciding to do something about them. Which ruined life was the tipping point for them?
My car is not included in the recall, but I've come across reports of people who experienced the sudden-acceleration problem in other vehicles that are not included in the recall. If a company put finances before ethics and was willing to ignore a fatal problem like this one, isn't it conceivable that they would try to limit the financial fall-out by not recalling all of the vehicles that are actually affected?
I'd say it's possible.
As I drove home this evening, I wracked my brain trying to think of a time when my car accelerated suddenly and uncontrollably. My car has over 113,000 miles on her, and I've been in the car for most of them. I can't remember a time when she accelerated suddenly without my touching the gas.
But Toyota's reluctance to address this issue in a timely manner leaves me wondering about both the safety of my car and my loyalty toward the company. I used to trust that the company would do the right thing, but now I actively distrust them and assume that they are doing the wrong thing.
Toyota, you have a long way to go before you can count on me to buy another of your vehicles.
If you've been following the news, you can't have missed the news about the Toyota recalls due to a tendency to accelerate suddenly.
Moving forward, indeed.
As investigations mount, the news that's coming out is damaging. Scores of people have died--and the numbers keep growing as cases are reinvestigated. Others are sitting in prison because their out-of-control vehicles killed someone.
The news and the breadth of this recall makes you wonder how long Toyota knew about these problems before deciding to do something about them. Which ruined life was the tipping point for them?
My car is not included in the recall, but I've come across reports of people who experienced the sudden-acceleration problem in other vehicles that are not included in the recall. If a company put finances before ethics and was willing to ignore a fatal problem like this one, isn't it conceivable that they would try to limit the financial fall-out by not recalling all of the vehicles that are actually affected?
I'd say it's possible.
As I drove home this evening, I wracked my brain trying to think of a time when my car accelerated suddenly and uncontrollably. My car has over 113,000 miles on her, and I've been in the car for most of them. I can't remember a time when she accelerated suddenly without my touching the gas.
But Toyota's reluctance to address this issue in a timely manner leaves me wondering about both the safety of my car and my loyalty toward the company. I used to trust that the company would do the right thing, but now I actively distrust them and assume that they are doing the wrong thing.
Toyota, you have a long way to go before you can count on me to buy another of your vehicles.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Not much of an Olympic athlete
Like the rest of the world, I've been engrossed by the winter Olympics these past two weeks. While watching, I realized that when I was a child, the Olympics were my only "interaction" with people from different countries. The Olympics helped shape my expectations about people from around the world.
Now that I'm older, I know that not everyone from Belarus is a gymnast, not everyone from Russia is an ice skater, and not everyone from Germany is a skiier.
Or maybe everyone in Germany does ski, though I suspect there is someone there like me, living in a snowy clime and growing up on the ocean but having zero interest in snow sports and refusing to eat seafood.
Some of us like to defy expectations.
Do you ever watch competitions and wonder if you can do what the athletes are doing? As I watch, I try to figure out the sport that would best suit me.
Short-track speed skating, I learned, is out. The crowded racing conditions would be overwhelming. Plus those competitors appear to be on the shorter side. I think I would face a similar struggle in figure skating, especially partner skating. A six-foot-tall woman is likely not a male figure skater's first choice for a partner.
Long-track speed skating had some appeal, and competitors look to be a bit taller. I like that you get your own lane, and the race is based on your time and not on judges' scores. But I have practical concerns. I have enough problems as it is trying to buy pants. If I had the thighs of a speed skater--forget it! Perhaps all types of skating are out.
Skiing, then? I learned during my only foray into skiing that I don't like going fast. (This news is probably not a surprise to anyone.) Maybe cross-country skiing, then? Did anyone watch that race where the competitors who crossed the finish line immediately fell down in exhaustion?
I don't want to have to work that hard.
I guess the Oympics aren't for me. And that, along with the more obvious reason (lack of skill at all Olympic sports) is why I'm sitting and watching them from my couch rather than competing.
Now that I'm older, I know that not everyone from Belarus is a gymnast, not everyone from Russia is an ice skater, and not everyone from Germany is a skiier.
Or maybe everyone in Germany does ski, though I suspect there is someone there like me, living in a snowy clime and growing up on the ocean but having zero interest in snow sports and refusing to eat seafood.
Some of us like to defy expectations.
Do you ever watch competitions and wonder if you can do what the athletes are doing? As I watch, I try to figure out the sport that would best suit me.
Short-track speed skating, I learned, is out. The crowded racing conditions would be overwhelming. Plus those competitors appear to be on the shorter side. I think I would face a similar struggle in figure skating, especially partner skating. A six-foot-tall woman is likely not a male figure skater's first choice for a partner.
Long-track speed skating had some appeal, and competitors look to be a bit taller. I like that you get your own lane, and the race is based on your time and not on judges' scores. But I have practical concerns. I have enough problems as it is trying to buy pants. If I had the thighs of a speed skater--forget it! Perhaps all types of skating are out.
Skiing, then? I learned during my only foray into skiing that I don't like going fast. (This news is probably not a surprise to anyone.) Maybe cross-country skiing, then? Did anyone watch that race where the competitors who crossed the finish line immediately fell down in exhaustion?
I don't want to have to work that hard.
I guess the Oympics aren't for me. And that, along with the more obvious reason (lack of skill at all Olympic sports) is why I'm sitting and watching them from my couch rather than competing.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Banff update
It's been a while since my last Banff update, but my lack of updates is not an indication that I have not been planning. (But then, you know me well enough to know that.)
Here's the process that I usually follow when planning a vacation:
Here's the process that I usually follow when planning a vacation:
- Identify all of the attractions that we would like to visit in each location. I usually copy the information from the guidebook and include location, cost, hours, and other helpful information. This task is finished.
- Based on our interests in each area, decide how many nights we will stay in each location. This task is also finished. I would much rather explore a location semi-thoroughly than visit many places and spend hours traveling each day, so most of our stays are 3- or 4-nighters.
- Research and book hotels. This task is also finished. I'm used to staying in larger hotels with lax cancellation policies, but not so with these smaller hotels. For instance, one hotel demands a $25 fee if we cancel at any time, even months in advance. I sympathize with smaller, independently owned hotels and understand that they can't stay in business if they allow last-minute cancellations, but I think that such a cancellation fee is as unjust as the so-called "resort fees" that you encounter at some of the bigger hotels.
- Scope out a rough itinerary for each day. I used to plan days more thoroughly (schedule and everything) but now leave more flexibility. (See--people can change!) I've planned all of the legs except Jasper.
- Research restaurants in each location. For this trip, I've been using the guidebook (Moon's Canadian Rockies) and tripadvisor. I didn't used to perform this step, but finding a restaurant is frequently a source of stress on vacation, and having a list from which to choose alleviates stress when hungry bellies are a-growling.
- Plan transportation. I have a rental car booked (through 2 companies actually) but I need to do further research. Some rental companies impose mileage restrictions if you leave the province from which you rent. We plan to visit both Alberta and Britich Columbia and are not interested in calculating miles to avoid fees.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Dunkin Donuts index
Like many New Englanders, I pass several Dunkin Donuts restaurants on my way to work each day, and I always look at their parking lots. I'm not a coffee drinker, and I can't think of the last time I ate a doughnut, but I think that the DD parking lot is a good indicator of overall economic health.
When we first moved here--nearly four years ago now--the DD parking lot was jammed in the mornings, even very early in the morning. The drive-through lane frequently backed up into the street, and every parking space in the lot was full. Times were good. However, times have since changed.
The thinning of the crowds happened gradually, but a year ago, you could find only a small handful of cars in the lot.
Around the same time, the crowds at our favorite mall were similarly sparse. Finding a rockstar parking space was never a problem. Waiting in line at the cash register? No way.
The economy wasn't prosperous, but there were signs of hope. Our nearby shopping center was always crowded on Friday and Saturday nights, and restaurants had wait times for tables. People were still spending money, but they were being choosier about how they spent it.
Now, a year later, signs of an improving economy are all around me. While it hasn't resumed its glory days from 3+ years ago, the DD parking lot has seen an increase in traffic. Our favorite mall, which was tediously busy before Christmas, kept up the trend into January, a promising sign. And while the people in the mall from a year ago had empty hands, today's shoppers are weighted down with their purchases.
Additionally, last weekend during our drive to the museum, we were on very crowded highways. A crowded highway on a weekend tells me that people have money to spend, since it's difficult to leave the house and not spend money (at least for me). We also passed a mall in which nearly every spot in the lot was occupied (by either a car or a giant snow pile--the snow wasn't there to spend money but the cars' drivers certainly were).
My unscientific observations tell me that the economy is in recovery.
When we first moved here--nearly four years ago now--the DD parking lot was jammed in the mornings, even very early in the morning. The drive-through lane frequently backed up into the street, and every parking space in the lot was full. Times were good. However, times have since changed.
The thinning of the crowds happened gradually, but a year ago, you could find only a small handful of cars in the lot.
Around the same time, the crowds at our favorite mall were similarly sparse. Finding a rockstar parking space was never a problem. Waiting in line at the cash register? No way.
The economy wasn't prosperous, but there were signs of hope. Our nearby shopping center was always crowded on Friday and Saturday nights, and restaurants had wait times for tables. People were still spending money, but they were being choosier about how they spent it.
Now, a year later, signs of an improving economy are all around me. While it hasn't resumed its glory days from 3+ years ago, the DD parking lot has seen an increase in traffic. Our favorite mall, which was tediously busy before Christmas, kept up the trend into January, a promising sign. And while the people in the mall from a year ago had empty hands, today's shoppers are weighted down with their purchases.
Additionally, last weekend during our drive to the museum, we were on very crowded highways. A crowded highway on a weekend tells me that people have money to spend, since it's difficult to leave the house and not spend money (at least for me). We also passed a mall in which nearly every spot in the lot was occupied (by either a car or a giant snow pile--the snow wasn't there to spend money but the cars' drivers certainly were).
My unscientific observations tell me that the economy is in recovery.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
What do the French Laundry and NASCAR have in common?
Around 12 years ago, Jeff Gordon appeared on the cover of TV Guide, and my interest in the sport of NASCAR was piqued.
I knew nothing about cars, but hey, Mr. Gordon was a good-looking guy! I began watching races here and there, learning a lot from commentators about the sport and growing to appreciate the skills that are required to do well in it.
After college, the lengthy weekend commitment required of true fans became overwhelming and I mostly stopped watching races. However, my fam's interest in the sport has not waned, and they recently challenged B and me to a fantasy NASCAR competition.
The rules are simple: We each pick 5 drivers for each race. There's no draft, so you can pick any drivers you want. You can have the same drivers for the whole season (the tactic that I'm trying, though my choices did not outperform at Daytona) or change up your drivers each week.
There's no entrance fee, though T offered the great suggestion of the winner being taken out to dinner by the rest of the group. B promptly demanded dinner at the French Laundry, which is not exactly a bargain, even if the rest of us order only water. However, the restaurant's location in California makes it likely that he will have to choose another restaurant in the event that he wins.
Based on my performance in the first race, I have decided to hold off on choosing a restaurant because it doesn't seem likely that I'll be treated to dinner.
If you want to monitor my pitiful progress, check out the Vroom Vroom blog link to the right.
I knew nothing about cars, but hey, Mr. Gordon was a good-looking guy! I began watching races here and there, learning a lot from commentators about the sport and growing to appreciate the skills that are required to do well in it.
After college, the lengthy weekend commitment required of true fans became overwhelming and I mostly stopped watching races. However, my fam's interest in the sport has not waned, and they recently challenged B and me to a fantasy NASCAR competition.
The rules are simple: We each pick 5 drivers for each race. There's no draft, so you can pick any drivers you want. You can have the same drivers for the whole season (the tactic that I'm trying, though my choices did not outperform at Daytona) or change up your drivers each week.
There's no entrance fee, though T offered the great suggestion of the winner being taken out to dinner by the rest of the group. B promptly demanded dinner at the French Laundry, which is not exactly a bargain, even if the rest of us order only water. However, the restaurant's location in California makes it likely that he will have to choose another restaurant in the event that he wins.
Based on my performance in the first race, I have decided to hold off on choosing a restaurant because it doesn't seem likely that I'll be treated to dinner.
If you want to monitor my pitiful progress, check out the Vroom Vroom blog link to the right.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Be my valentine
Valentine's Day has never been one of those big-deal holidays for me. In my personal ranking of holidays, I place it between New Year's Eve, which I not-so-secretly dislike, and Labor Day, which involves zero celebration but does merit a day off.
Ranking holidays sounds like an interesting activity, but I'll have to save it for another time. Perhaps I'll be rewarded with a marshmallow for my ability to delay such fun. Where oh where will I place Arbor Day???
Back to V Day. Prior to B, I spent the vast majority of Valentine's Days as a single lass. I felt obligated to publicly diss the holiday but didn't care that much. (Or so it seems now. If you had asked me then, I might have offered a lonelier response.)
For our first V Day, I bought a couples French cooking lesson for B and me. I thought an activity together might be more memorable than a gift. And it was. While making souffles, we learned how to break cream. It wasn't part of the class; we just overboiled the light cream. Lesson learned: When in doubt about your ability to regulate heat, choose heavy cream, which is practically indestructible.
After our cooking adventure, we took the more traditional gift-giving route for subsequent V Days, but this year I wanted to find another activity that we could do together.
I wasn't interested in going back for another cooking lesson. I booked a night away at a quaint town we'd visited while attending a wedding and wanted to explore more, but I decided I'd rather visit during warmer weather, so I cancelled. I considered another trip to NYC, but again, the weather inspired me to save my pennies for a better time. Any warm location would require flights and wouldn't fit into the V Day budget.
B suggested seeing a show, so I looked around, found a promising jazz performance, and bought tickets for this upcoming weekend. We're also going to a museum that neither of us has visited.
It will be a low-key Valentine's Day but I am looking forward to it.
Ranking holidays sounds like an interesting activity, but I'll have to save it for another time. Perhaps I'll be rewarded with a marshmallow for my ability to delay such fun. Where oh where will I place Arbor Day???
Back to V Day. Prior to B, I spent the vast majority of Valentine's Days as a single lass. I felt obligated to publicly diss the holiday but didn't care that much. (Or so it seems now. If you had asked me then, I might have offered a lonelier response.)
For our first V Day, I bought a couples French cooking lesson for B and me. I thought an activity together might be more memorable than a gift. And it was. While making souffles, we learned how to break cream. It wasn't part of the class; we just overboiled the light cream. Lesson learned: When in doubt about your ability to regulate heat, choose heavy cream, which is practically indestructible.
After our cooking adventure, we took the more traditional gift-giving route for subsequent V Days, but this year I wanted to find another activity that we could do together.
I wasn't interested in going back for another cooking lesson. I booked a night away at a quaint town we'd visited while attending a wedding and wanted to explore more, but I decided I'd rather visit during warmer weather, so I cancelled. I considered another trip to NYC, but again, the weather inspired me to save my pennies for a better time. Any warm location would require flights and wouldn't fit into the V Day budget.
B suggested seeing a show, so I looked around, found a promising jazz performance, and bought tickets for this upcoming weekend. We're also going to a museum that neither of us has visited.
It will be a low-key Valentine's Day but I am looking forward to it.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The marshmallow experiment
The marshmallow experiment frequently comes up in conversation in our house.
If you're not familiar with it, the marshmallow experiment was conducted in the 60s. Researchers gave 4-year-olds a marshmallow apiece and told them that if they could wait 20 minutes to eat the marshmallow, they'd receive a second marshmallow.
The children who were able to delay gratification were rewarded with a second marshmallow and, as it turns out, many more benefits later in life. As they grew up, they were considered more well-adjusted than their marshmallow-devouring peers and scored higher on standardized tests. Being able to delay gratification is a skill that has widespread benefits in life.
I frequently find myself in situations in which I want to eat the marshmallow right away, metaphorically speaking. I recently convinced myself for a period of about 48 hours that my next car purchase was going to be much more extravagant than I originally planned. Why upgrade to a Camry when I could get a Lexus instead? They have great safety ratings and are so quiet inside! Who wouldn't want a Lexus? I deserve a Lexus!
(Beware of all sentences that begin with "I deserve" and end with an exclamation point.)
After 48 hours of Lexus-induced euphoria, I did some calculations and came back to reality. A Lexus is not in my crystal ball, and another vehicle won't even be part of the plan for at least 3 more years.
At first glance, this situation doesn't seem like a close match to the marshmallow experiment. It might seem like I am delaying gratification only to delay gratification further, never receiving a second marshmallow. However, if you consider the financial bottom line, the situation is a close parallel. My first marshmallow will be my new (to me) vehicle and my second marshmallow will come in the form of money that I would have spent on a Lexus that is instead available for other life expenses.
Another area of life for which gratification is difficult to delay is retirement, or, more specifically, saving for it. B and I both contribute to 401k accounts and opened up IRAs a couple years ago. However, after our initial contribution, we haven't made any more contributions to our IRAs.
The tanking of the stock market soon after we opened our accounts did not help our motivation. But I quickly recognized that this reasoning was actually an excuse. When our financial advisor asked what we'd want to do when the market lost 30 percent of its value, didn't we say that that was the smart time to add more money?
Theory and reality didn't quite meet up on that decision.
It's difficult to justify setting aside funds for a retirement that won't happen for another 30 to 35 (or more!) years when there are so many expenses that could be paid now, from student loans to an underwater mortgage. However, we have come to the conclusion that not eating this marshmallow now will mean a better, easier future for us. It's time to start making regular deductions into our IRAs.
Do these fiscally responsible decisions sound boring? That's because they are! Delayed gratification is by nature unspontaneous and dull in the moment. When you get your second marshmallow, life will be exciting and thrilling, and you will be so happy for your hard work or sacrifice or whatever.
Until then, you're sitting at a table with me, and we're staring at marshmallows that we can't eat.
If you're not familiar with it, the marshmallow experiment was conducted in the 60s. Researchers gave 4-year-olds a marshmallow apiece and told them that if they could wait 20 minutes to eat the marshmallow, they'd receive a second marshmallow.
The children who were able to delay gratification were rewarded with a second marshmallow and, as it turns out, many more benefits later in life. As they grew up, they were considered more well-adjusted than their marshmallow-devouring peers and scored higher on standardized tests. Being able to delay gratification is a skill that has widespread benefits in life.
I frequently find myself in situations in which I want to eat the marshmallow right away, metaphorically speaking. I recently convinced myself for a period of about 48 hours that my next car purchase was going to be much more extravagant than I originally planned. Why upgrade to a Camry when I could get a Lexus instead? They have great safety ratings and are so quiet inside! Who wouldn't want a Lexus? I deserve a Lexus!
(Beware of all sentences that begin with "I deserve" and end with an exclamation point.)
After 48 hours of Lexus-induced euphoria, I did some calculations and came back to reality. A Lexus is not in my crystal ball, and another vehicle won't even be part of the plan for at least 3 more years.
At first glance, this situation doesn't seem like a close match to the marshmallow experiment. It might seem like I am delaying gratification only to delay gratification further, never receiving a second marshmallow. However, if you consider the financial bottom line, the situation is a close parallel. My first marshmallow will be my new (to me) vehicle and my second marshmallow will come in the form of money that I would have spent on a Lexus that is instead available for other life expenses.
Another area of life for which gratification is difficult to delay is retirement, or, more specifically, saving for it. B and I both contribute to 401k accounts and opened up IRAs a couple years ago. However, after our initial contribution, we haven't made any more contributions to our IRAs.
The tanking of the stock market soon after we opened our accounts did not help our motivation. But I quickly recognized that this reasoning was actually an excuse. When our financial advisor asked what we'd want to do when the market lost 30 percent of its value, didn't we say that that was the smart time to add more money?
Theory and reality didn't quite meet up on that decision.
It's difficult to justify setting aside funds for a retirement that won't happen for another 30 to 35 (or more!) years when there are so many expenses that could be paid now, from student loans to an underwater mortgage. However, we have come to the conclusion that not eating this marshmallow now will mean a better, easier future for us. It's time to start making regular deductions into our IRAs.
Do these fiscally responsible decisions sound boring? That's because they are! Delayed gratification is by nature unspontaneous and dull in the moment. When you get your second marshmallow, life will be exciting and thrilling, and you will be so happy for your hard work or sacrifice or whatever.
Until then, you're sitting at a table with me, and we're staring at marshmallows that we can't eat.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
To my fellow former nightclubbers who now go to bed at 9
I believe that I have stated on several occasions that I am interested neither in traveling back in time or in reliving my younger and more exuberant years.
If one were interested in defining the more exuberant period of my life, I would direct them to ages 21 to nearly 25. As I approached 25, I began to realize that the exuberant lifestyle was not as appealing as it once was. Conveniently, that was also the time when B and I started dating.
The summer before B and I started dating, I moved in with a fellow fun-loving roommate. Our apartment, while extremely affordable, was located in a hoody area but was within walking distance of a vibrant part of the city that featured every type of food that you can imagine and more than a handful of night spots.
My roommate and I enjoyed our last call of bar hopping that summer. The details of such outings are not necessarily relevant here so I shall omit them but you can rest assured that we had an enjoyable time.
And as I mentioned, it was my last hurrah. Much as I admired the ladies in Sex and the City, I didn't see the bar scene fitting into my life on a long-term basis. A sour apple-tini, despite its ingredients, is simply not an adult beverage.
I gave up that scene and quite willingly, too. Friday morning breakfasts no longer consisted of bacon, egg, and cheese McGriddles, and Friday mornings were easier in general. I woke up refreshed and ready to enjoy my free time on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Life was better.
But I have to confess that I still have one link to my more exciting past and have not been able to get rid of it, despite all logical arguments that its existence in life is pointless and useless.
You see, I have a VIP card to one of the bars that I used to frequent. How I acquired the card is a story for another time. However, its existence granted me front-of-the-line privileges at an establishment that frequently had out-the-door waits.
I am not holding out hope of someday using the card. The bar, despite its awesome Sunday brunch buffet, is long gone from that location. (Though a sister bar does still exist in NYC. I assume they are related - same name and same font - but one never knows. However, my VIP card clearly states the bar's former address.)
So why am I unable to let go of the card? The fondness with which I view that time of my life has certainly not taken on a hint of wistfulness; I am not sorry to be done with that entire scene. But perhaps there is a part of me that wants to be assured that should I want to venture back, I could, and the transition would be seamless.
And so I continue to hold on to my VIP card, using it as a bookmark as I read in bed before going to sleep. And yes, I go to bed at 9, and yes, I get very cranky when life tries to keep me up past my bedtime. But my VIP card reminds me that once upon a time, I could--and did--shut 'em down with the best of them.
If one were interested in defining the more exuberant period of my life, I would direct them to ages 21 to nearly 25. As I approached 25, I began to realize that the exuberant lifestyle was not as appealing as it once was. Conveniently, that was also the time when B and I started dating.
The summer before B and I started dating, I moved in with a fellow fun-loving roommate. Our apartment, while extremely affordable, was located in a hoody area but was within walking distance of a vibrant part of the city that featured every type of food that you can imagine and more than a handful of night spots.
My roommate and I enjoyed our last call of bar hopping that summer. The details of such outings are not necessarily relevant here so I shall omit them but you can rest assured that we had an enjoyable time.
And as I mentioned, it was my last hurrah. Much as I admired the ladies in Sex and the City, I didn't see the bar scene fitting into my life on a long-term basis. A sour apple-tini, despite its ingredients, is simply not an adult beverage.
I gave up that scene and quite willingly, too. Friday morning breakfasts no longer consisted of bacon, egg, and cheese McGriddles, and Friday mornings were easier in general. I woke up refreshed and ready to enjoy my free time on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Life was better.
But I have to confess that I still have one link to my more exciting past and have not been able to get rid of it, despite all logical arguments that its existence in life is pointless and useless.
You see, I have a VIP card to one of the bars that I used to frequent. How I acquired the card is a story for another time. However, its existence granted me front-of-the-line privileges at an establishment that frequently had out-the-door waits.
I am not holding out hope of someday using the card. The bar, despite its awesome Sunday brunch buffet, is long gone from that location. (Though a sister bar does still exist in NYC. I assume they are related - same name and same font - but one never knows. However, my VIP card clearly states the bar's former address.)
So why am I unable to let go of the card? The fondness with which I view that time of my life has certainly not taken on a hint of wistfulness; I am not sorry to be done with that entire scene. But perhaps there is a part of me that wants to be assured that should I want to venture back, I could, and the transition would be seamless.
And so I continue to hold on to my VIP card, using it as a bookmark as I read in bed before going to sleep. And yes, I go to bed at 9, and yes, I get very cranky when life tries to keep me up past my bedtime. But my VIP card reminds me that once upon a time, I could--and did--shut 'em down with the best of them.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Looking back on the decade
Since I was born at nearly the end of 1979, my ten-year age milestones coincide nicely with the turning of the decades. As we say good-bye to the oughts (an unfortunate name but I haven’t heard anything better), so I say good-bye to my twenties.
The oughts and my twenties, they were a tumultuous time: wild at the beginning for me, and downright unruly toward the end for the oughts.
Ten years ago, I had no idea who I was, but I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to get get away, and so I did. First to England, for a summer abroad, and then to Florida, for a bacchanalistic year of shaking my emotional groove thang. I fought hard to figure out who I was and vowed never to lose myself.
As my confidence grew amid controversies of hanging chads (of which I was blissfully ignorant, thanks to a steady TV diet consisting of early, bad reality television and the occasional episode of Blind Date), the tech bubble sputtered its last breath. While earning my $5.65 per hour (yes, really), I was surrounded by liberal arts grads making little more than I. A game plan was in order.
Back to school I went, and then down came the towers, right in the middle of my English class. Our world was never the same again.
But onward we went because that’s how it has to be. I bought my first car, the sturdy and reliable Island Corolla. Next came interviews, a job offer, graduation, and then a move to the city, a studio apartment of my own because every magazine I ever read said that you had to live by yourself at least once.
I lived paycheck to paycheck, trying to pay off college credit card debt—an experience that taught me that credit card debt eats away at your soul and is to be avoided at all costs, and the definition of comfort is an emergency fund—as the economy struggled to recover, as people mourned the loss of stock options while taking jobs with significant pay cuts.
I paid off my debt, found roommates and a cheaper apartment, learned to offset my reality television intake with the study of current events, and tried to come to terms with the fact that my job was killing me slowly.
And then I met B. Rather, since we had worked together for over two years, I cast my eyes in his direction, and our story unfolded.
Time flew. My soul demanded an escape, so it was time for me to find a new job. Inspired by a life outside the castle, B followed suit. And as the housing market, the second major bubble of the decade, became more and more inflated, the lure of real estate was difficult to resist.
Oh, hindsight. But how I do love our house, despite our lengthy commutes and the overly aggressive neighbor who broke our doorbell. (Long story.)
And then came a proposal, on the evening of a blizzard, and wedding plans began in earnest. A honeymoon in Paris and Nice followed, and a year later, we watched the financial markets collapse from the comfort of our Florence hotel suite. Farewell, Lehman and Bear. Farewell, healthy 401k plans.
The next year, we elected a new president. I felt more comfortable traveling in other countries. I vowed to continue traveling as much as I could, for long as I could. And so we have.
The decade has come to a close, as have my twenties, and I can honestly say that if I were allowed to travel 10 years back in time to the beginning of the decade, I would smile, relive some fond memories, and politely decline. I’ve earned my place in life and have no intention of giving it up.
Here’s to the next decade; maybe it be as informative and fascinating as its predecessor.
The oughts and my twenties, they were a tumultuous time: wild at the beginning for me, and downright unruly toward the end for the oughts.
Ten years ago, I had no idea who I was, but I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to get get away, and so I did. First to England, for a summer abroad, and then to Florida, for a bacchanalistic year of shaking my emotional groove thang. I fought hard to figure out who I was and vowed never to lose myself.
As my confidence grew amid controversies of hanging chads (of which I was blissfully ignorant, thanks to a steady TV diet consisting of early, bad reality television and the occasional episode of Blind Date), the tech bubble sputtered its last breath. While earning my $5.65 per hour (yes, really), I was surrounded by liberal arts grads making little more than I. A game plan was in order.
Back to school I went, and then down came the towers, right in the middle of my English class. Our world was never the same again.
But onward we went because that’s how it has to be. I bought my first car, the sturdy and reliable Island Corolla. Next came interviews, a job offer, graduation, and then a move to the city, a studio apartment of my own because every magazine I ever read said that you had to live by yourself at least once.
I lived paycheck to paycheck, trying to pay off college credit card debt—an experience that taught me that credit card debt eats away at your soul and is to be avoided at all costs, and the definition of comfort is an emergency fund—as the economy struggled to recover, as people mourned the loss of stock options while taking jobs with significant pay cuts.
I paid off my debt, found roommates and a cheaper apartment, learned to offset my reality television intake with the study of current events, and tried to come to terms with the fact that my job was killing me slowly.
And then I met B. Rather, since we had worked together for over two years, I cast my eyes in his direction, and our story unfolded.
Time flew. My soul demanded an escape, so it was time for me to find a new job. Inspired by a life outside the castle, B followed suit. And as the housing market, the second major bubble of the decade, became more and more inflated, the lure of real estate was difficult to resist.
Oh, hindsight. But how I do love our house, despite our lengthy commutes and the overly aggressive neighbor who broke our doorbell. (Long story.)
And then came a proposal, on the evening of a blizzard, and wedding plans began in earnest. A honeymoon in Paris and Nice followed, and a year later, we watched the financial markets collapse from the comfort of our Florence hotel suite. Farewell, Lehman and Bear. Farewell, healthy 401k plans.
The next year, we elected a new president. I felt more comfortable traveling in other countries. I vowed to continue traveling as much as I could, for long as I could. And so we have.
The decade has come to a close, as have my twenties, and I can honestly say that if I were allowed to travel 10 years back in time to the beginning of the decade, I would smile, relive some fond memories, and politely decline. I’ve earned my place in life and have no intention of giving it up.
Here’s to the next decade; maybe it be as informative and fascinating as its predecessor.
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