House hunting

Today, I am doing what every Southern California girl dreads to do, no, not buy a bathing suit—I’m not brave enough to do that—house hunting.

House hunting in Southern California will daunt the bravest souls. You have to know the lingo, you have to have no fear of insects/arachnids, mold, or decorating felonies. In short, you need to have the heart of a lion, and the patience of a saint. A law degree wouldn’t hurt either.

In the immortal words of Crash Davis (Bull Durham), you have to “know your clichés.”

“Quaint” means so small, that your cat will be claustrophobic, and none of your stuff will fit.

“Cozy” means both small and cave-like, and possibly no overhead lighting. It definitely means no central air.

“Charming” means that the house was built before 1955, and looks it. An alternate meaning is “no closet space.”

“Needs TLC” means not, needs tender loving care, but as my son says (and poor kid, he’s becoming an expert), needs “tender loving construction.”

“Views” often refer to the back neighbor’s ten foot satellite dish climbing over your fence.

“Freeway close” means that you not only can hear the semis, but you can read their license plates.

“Newer appliances” means circa 1985.

“Walk to the beach” means closer to the beach than Kansas.

“Fixer upper” means that you need to be a contractor to get the house up to code.

“Good neighborhood” means that there hasn’t been a gang shooting on the street in over a week.

“Starter home” means that you can’t invite your friends or extended family over because they’ll be ashamed of where you live, or even fear for their lives.

“Move in ready” means that most of the doors can be accounted for, but are probably propped up against the house in the backyard.

“Lots of extras” means that the previous owners added many horrible “improvements,” such as faux painting techniques, wallpaper, and colonial/country fixtures that you will have to yank out and throw away, paint over, or rent expensive equipment to remove.

“Low maintenance yard” means either rocks or cement, and true it doesn’t involve a lawn mower.

“Bonus room” means a do it yourself, windowless, drywall monstrosity in the garage, or over the patio.

Why am I doing this again?

Oh my goodness, I just noticed that my blog (unbeknownst) to me, has added a rating option to my posts.

I'm going to go and give myself a perfect score on each one.

Today I followed a link that led me to this video on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCP5VqmDsf4&NR=1

As always I am astonished by a number of things regarding this:

First, what a crazy beard
Second, would you have filmed yourself cutting off said beard?
Third, would you have thought of showing it backwards?
Fourth, would you have posted this on YouTube?

Now, another, now famous video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6B26asyGKDo&feature=related

Noah took his picture each day for six years for this video. I can barely remember to breathe everyday for six years, let alone take my photo daily, so kudos to Noah.

Also, I saw the same brown plaid shirt at least twice a week--Noah, dude, take some time off of photography and go shopping.

The Hot Weather Ranting Begins

Today it's supposed to be 10,000 degrees, just a bit warmer than it was yesterday. Yesterday, I went to a garden show, and I wore my standard summer uniform of shorts, tank top, and little Indian sandals. My poor feet got torched.

Today, I'm going to a Buddhist festival (why must every thing be scheduled on record-breaking heat days--I ask you?), and have resigned myself to wearing tennis shoes. Now, mind you they are girly tennis shoes, pale yellow Converses with daisies and ladybugs (really), and that would be okay, but to add insult to injury, I need to wear socks with them. Sigh--but wait--I have little hot pink socks that will perfectly match my hot pink tank top (which contrasts beautifully with my white jeans shorts).

Whew, that was close.

Gratuitous Japanese cuteness.

Hey, some days I just need that.

Compressed Air--Revisited

I just read a story about cars being powered by compressed air. Does this mean that I'll have to start believing in compressed air, or is it like electricity--it works when you flick the switch whether you believe in it or not?

Acorns



See these three knitted acorns? They are my big accomplishment for the last few days.

So, you're probably asking yourself, "This is a career woman, this woman homeschools her child part time, she has a house to keep, and a yard to maintain, and way too many pets to care for. What's up with the lack of constructive behavior? Knitted acorns?"

I'll tell you what's up--

Spring Break!

I don't have to do anything. So there.

Okay Kazuki, this one's for you, he who loves all things Japanese and only eats Asian food. I present to you two bento lunches with new lunch boxes.



One is mine and one is my husband's. They are both authentic and from Japan. Now, which is which?



And no, I don't really know what "Pleasure Supply" is supposed to be, and I'm not going to even guess, as this is a family blog. I offered to try to remove the decal, but my husband finds it amusing, so maybe he gets it.

Yesterday, while driving, my husband read out a sign that said, "Five hotdogs for four dollars."

I responded, "It would take more than four dollars to get me to eat five hotdogs."

More like a thousand a 'dog, I'm thinkin'.

Today the news reported that a man in Texas killed his girlfriend, and was apparently planning on featuring her on tonight's menu.

Do they have a cookbook for that, or do you have to make up your own recipes?

What is wrong with people?

In the wake of the Iowa Caucuses, I am again struck by the tremendous diversity of this country, and how it's reflected in our candidates for president.

We have an African American man, a woman, and an Hispanic man, and that's just on the Democratic side.

The Republican side is even more striking: a Mormon, a war veteran, a preacher, and perhaps most astonishing of all, an opera lover.

Now, that's what I call diversity.

Yes, this is just the place I would have chosen for Bruno to sleep.

Good morning, Happy New Year everyone!

I got up this morning before dawn to see the sunrise, and greet the new year. Last night, my husband wanted to know if I was going to watch the ball drop to greet the new year.

Well, no, the ball rising is the new year. Like all good pagans, (and morning people), I know that the day doesn't start at some human-created time like midnight--even the name should tell you that--"midnight"--is at night.

The new day must therefore start sometime during the day. This morning it did at about 6:51 am.

Duh.

How can a woman, who rarely wears them, own so many pairs of white socks?

My drawer is full of them. Why don’t I have blue, green, black, and brown--colors I actually wear?

I could wear stockings of course.

Yeah right.

Okay, final post.

Here's dinner:


Notice the innocent looking white pitcher next to the candles, on the left? That is the sauce. One makes the duck for the sauce. The sauce is heaven or sex, whichever you look forward to the most.

My husband spilled a few drops in the sink while transferring it to the pitcher. He tried to climb into the sink to roll around in it.

Really.

Merry Christmas everyone.

And here's desert:


No, I didn't make this myself. Next year. I ordered if from the local French bakery, where I had a pate sandwich for lunch.

What?

So sue me.

I bet at this point you're asking yourself, "What is she thinking; it can't be French--where are the potatoes?"

Here they are:




Potato pancakes with scallions are traditional for Christmas, with duck. There will also be a salad with Roquefort dressing (already done).

Wait 'til you see what's for desert....

This is at the first basting, after the turnips and shallots have been added. There will be a second basting of course; this is French food.


Yes, that is cranberry sauce you see cooking next to the ducks. A holiday is not a real holiday without cranberry sauce. If I could figure out a way to have it on Easter and the Fourth of July, I would.

My husband has been helping me do this, and he keeps saying things like, "Can't we just put them in the pans, you know, so we don't have to wash so many dishes?"

Silly man. If you don't use every dish you own, you're not doing it right, and it's definitely not French.

So far we have used:

two skillets
one roasting pan
two dishes
one plater
two knives
one peeler
one fork
one set of tongs
one wine glass
one spatula
and counting.

Unfortunately the spatula is a poor imitation of my favorite spatula, which has been stolen by faeries or gremlins, so I am using an inferior tool. I hope the duck turns out okay anyway.

I'm sorry, that's two roasting pans.

Duck continued.

On the left are the gizzards that will probably star in a future omelette (dinner tomorrow night?). My husband suggested giving them to the dogs. Over my dead body. Of course, we have a resident sneak thief (remember the adorable Bruno? He's bigger now), so I will have to guard them carefully.

The veggies on the right are for putting under the ducks (so they have a comfy sleeping spot), and will be sauted, roasted, squeezed, and discarded. Hey, this is French cooking, what do you want?





Now, the shallots and turnips are caramelized and then roasted. You get to eat these veggies. The pan is deglazed with wine, and then the result is poured over the ducks and they are roasted for 45 minutes.