American Idol. I'm serious.

Hey Cockeyed fans, scroll way down.

Hey regular readers, I'm sorry it's been a while. I got so many dang hits from Cockeyed I didn't want to blog and disappoint those folks. Like, they'd click the link over here and wonder what the hell all this random bitching about traffic and home improvement and the life of a high school teacher was. Anyway, I do have stuff to say on all those topics and more (notably in the life of a high school teacher, some notes on my new classroom, including demolition and fleas), but first, I just can't NOT talk about last night.

First of all, let me just say that a month ago, I lost my wallet, inside which were my ticket stubs from a Patti Smith concert, a Violent Femmes concert, and a Nine Inch Nails concert. I no longer have those, and I’ll never be able to get them back, but at least I have my memories. The ticket stub I do have now, though, is for this year’s American Idol tour. That’s right. I went to the American Idol tour. I’m going to go ahead and refer to it as “AI” from now on, because it’s easier, and it seems fitting in the sense that those initials tend to remind one of artificial intelligence. And artificial it was.

Why did I go? Well, a year ago, a friend of my mom’s was getting rid of a vintage O’Keefe and Merrit stove, and gave it to me for free even though they can be sold for thousands of dollars. And that very woman bought something like 8 tickets to this concert, assuming that everyone she knew would want to attend. She had miscalculated, and now needed people to go with her and use the tickets. In a desperate bid, she asked my mom, and my mom asked me. We both thought it would be gracious to accept, and since we both like this friend and my mom’s other friend B, who was also attending, we decided to go. Sigh.

Well, I have seen two worse concerts than this one. The first was at the Distillery years ago. A Johnny Cash cover band called “Folsom Prison Blues” slaughtered the man in black’s songs for about 45 minutes, and I was ready to cry. Then a few weeks ago, I saw a GREAT show with Daycare, the Snobs, and the Skirts. The show leaned toward the rock/pop-punk side of things. Great bands, all. A surprise addition to the bill, however, called the Slick Boys, was rather a surprise -- they were synchronized-dancing R&B lip-synching drag kings. Now, I have nothing against drag kings, lip synching, or synchronized dancing per se, and although R&B is not my favorite genre, I don’t hate it, but the effect of all these things together, coupled with the facts that they are not very good and were stuck in the middle of an unsuitable show for them, and the result was pretty rotten.

But enough stalling. On to AI. Oh, do I have to? I hardly care to re-live the evening. I certainly have no intention of giving you a play-by-play, but rather some general impressions and notes. First of all, it was so incredibly scripted, choreographed, and over-produced as to have made me a little nauseated. Each one of the “Idols” had clearly been taught the same wave, for example; they reached one arm at a time straight out toward the crowd, then wiggled only their fingers from the knuckles down. No elbow, no wrist. It looked strange on the girls, but on the men, it was utterly emasculating. Every single performer went to one side of the stage, waved multiple times, then walked to the other side and waved there.

I also hated the “shout-outs” to our town. Perhaps the local girl really was happy to be here, but everyone else had certainly been coached backstage to say “I’m so excited to be here in SacTOWN.” The worst, really possibly EVER, was when Chris sang “Wanted: Dead or Alive,” and changed the lyric “I ride all night just to get back home” to “I ride all night just to get to Sacramento.” I mean, how insulting, really.

Other creepy things included the extreme close-up of Ace’s chest as the first strains of George Michael’s “Father Figure” began to play -- he was pushing his chest out towards the camera in an ooky impression of a heartbeat. And when he sang the lyric “To be bold and naked at your side,” he took his jacket off at the “naked.”

I have to say that Elvis, Freddie Mercury, Patsy Cline, and Judy Garland are all rolling in their graves. When the following artists die, I assume they, too, will commence to rolling: Bob Seger, Melissa Etheridge, K.T. Tunstall, Aretha Franklin, Gladys Knight, Beyonce Knowles, Axl Rose, Jon Bon Jovi, Robert Plant, Stevie Wonder, and even Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta. Hell, Uncle Kracker is probably on that list. I was seriously thinking as one of the guys sang -- “well, he’s no Uncle Kracker.” Is there any worse insult than “You’re no Uncle Kracker?” Really.

I just hate it when they cover songs I love, and I actually heard the first two notes of “Whole Lotta Love” and turned to Mom screaming “Not Led Zeppelin!!” Incidentally, my horrified screaming could not be heard (twice) over the enthusiastic screaming of the crowd.

Other surreal moments occurred when I heard songs like “Patience” and “Wanted: Dead or Alive.” Did anyone think, twenty years ago, that these songs would bring entire stadiums to their feet in twenty years’ time? Did anyone know that kids who had not been born when the songs came out, kids who, in all probability, have never even HEARD the original versions, would sing their lungs out when the microphone was pointed towards them during the chorus? So odd, really. Also, I could practically smell the pierogis in the Kit Carson middle school cafeteria, where we held our afternoon dances. I remember swaying in tiny circles, knees locked, with Tony Winter’s arms around me. “I been walkin’ the streets at night... just tryin’ to get it right...”

As the concert started rolling towards its conclusion, the winner, Taylor, came on stage and began doing his crazy dance. And I thought to myself, of all the thousands of people that auditioned for this show from all over the country, this bowlegged, funky dancing, bushy-eyebrowed Elvis-butchering motherfucker is the best they could do? He’s our American Idol? Really? This is it? Because I know that there are better singers, better performers, actual songwriters, and real artists playing in shitty bars in tiny towns all over the country every single weekend.

One of the saddest moments, I think, was watching one of these girls sing Aretha Franklin’s “Think.” Having seen Aretha perform this song in “The Blues Brothers,” I couldn’t help but see Aretha superimposed over whichever sad, pale imitation was performing there in front of me. It was like a palimpset of the real song, with the soulless, thin version there underneath. What a stark contrast. And I realized that the whole concert was like that -- a history of American (and, okay, British) music with all the passion, love, and soul surgically excised. It was almost like a horror movie, where you find yourself in a parallel universe with all the good parts of life removed. Have you read “A Wrinkle in Time”? There’s a part where Meg and her brothers are eating a fabulous spread of a meal. Her brother is brainwashed into thinking that it is all, indeed, gourmet food, whereas Meg tastes only sand. I was tasting sand, but everyone else around seeed to taste Turkish delight.

There is an upside, though. And that is this: AI is not actually representative of modern music or the pool of talent in this country at all. It couldn’t be, because they don’t foster art or creativity. They seem to think they are weeding out bad singers in favor of good singers, but what they will never have is great singers, because a great singer is something else entirely. Van Morrison? Not a good singer, but nevertheless a great singer. Hell, he’d never have made it to round one. He’s funny-looking and short and stalks across the stage in an odd manner, and his voice is gruff and strange. Janis Joplin? Breathy. Bob Seger? Awful. James Taylor? No stage presence. Joe Cocker? Don’t quit your day job. Chrissie Hynde? Not an accessible look. David Byrne? Pitchy. So you know what? Let’s let American Idol keep being what it is, and let music keep being what it is, and understand that they are two different universes. And next year if I get asked to go to Season 5’s concert? I’m afraid I’m busy that day.

How Much is Inside My Fridge

A thoroughly unauthorized rip-off of Rob Cockerham

One of my favorite web sites is cockeyed.com. I think Rob, its creator, is brilliant. In fact, if you google my full name, the very first hit is for cockeyed on a page called “Critics rave about Cockeyed.com.” In any case, I have been reading the web site for years, and always wished I was creative enough to do something that Rob might link to. Then one day, I saw that he had linked to this:

Goofy college kids' "how much is inside" project.

I thought this was pretty lame, given that it wasn’t even a full-sized fridge. In true Crocodile Dundee style, I said out loud (with the Australian accent) “That’s not a fridge. THIS is a fridge!”

Now my fridge, I thought, would be worthy of a “How Much is Inside” experiment. However, I am criminally lazy, so I did nothing about it.

As many of my readers (two good friends, my husband and my mom) know, we’re selling our home. We are having an open house tomorrow, and I got to thinking. What could I do around here that would make the house look really great? Being naturally nosy, I decided that if I were going to an open house, I would look in the fridge. And then I thought about what my fridge looked like.

This is the fridge.

This is the door.

This is the freezer door.

And this is the freezer.

Now, we’re being generous enough to throw the fridge in with the house*, so I figured it was a good time to clean out the fridge so the potential new owners could see what a fabulous deal they are getting.
*This is not generous at all. The new house comes with a better fridge, and this way we won’t have to move it.

And that brings us to “How much is inside my fridge.” Because there’s nothing like goofing off and having fun while doing onerous housework.

First, I took everything out of the freezer and put it on the counter. I had to take the photographs in sections.






Phew! In no particular order, what those photos (and my freezer) contain is:
56 ice cubes in 4 trays. Two of the trays were inherited when Monkeygirl moved out. They are hard to get ice out of, which is probably why she left them.

Two heels of bread and one half a loaf. I don’t like the Bohemian Hearth bread much, but when I shop at Bel Air, that’s all they have in the way of mostly wheat. The rest of my bread is Alvarado St bakery, and I love it, but I don’t eat the heels. That’s why they’re still there. I keep my bread in the freezer because it doesn’t go stale as quickly as it would otherwise.
An open bad of Trader Joe’s Indian Potato Medley. Good, but probably now tastes like freezer.

Naked Lounge whole bean coffee. Our favorite, second only to the Hula Bean peaberry we brought back from Hawaii. Well, Stumptown in Portland is pretty good, too.

Arborio rice, brown basmati rice, white jasmine rice. We like rice around here. Arborio rice is the kind you use to make risotto.

Two paint rollers with paint. If you don’t want to wash them out, you can freeze them and thaw them later. I forgot these were in here.

Two full bags of frozen stir-fry mix. One half-full bag of carrots and peas.

Two flexible ice packs (for injuries).

Two blue ice bricks (for keeping foods cold in an ice chest).

One bag mixed berries, one bag blueberries, one bag containing about five frozen raspberries.

One container Morningstar Farms veggie sausage patties.

One zipper bag with one piece of my grandmother’s homemade candy.

One zipper bag with several pieces of my own homemade candy.

Frozen corn.

Tiny bottle Bombay Sapphire gin. I haven’t the faintest idea why we have this. I suspect it moved here from my husband’s old apartment.

One large bottle chocolate mint flavored liqueur. I know for sure this one moved in with my husband. Of course, since “the incident,” he’s a teetotaler, and I don’t really drink alone, so this just lives in the freezer now.

The incident.
One partial bag pecans. One partial bag walnuts. Both were for baking.

A few chopped almonds in a zipper bag. Left over from Ice Cream sundae and Muppets night.

Two frozen waffles.

Whole wheat English muffins.

Orange juice concentrate. For Mother’s Day faux mimosas.

Dreyer’s ice cream. Note that the canister seems short. Husband cuts down the carton and puts the lid back on to save space, and possibly to make it easier to eat out of the container with a spoon. Fairly ingenious. I’m not sure if the rest of this ice cream will ever be eaten, as Husband confessed that he had “mined all the fudge out of it.”

Double Rainbow sorbet.

Angel flake coconut (1/2 bag). Left from a German Chocolate cake.

Unsweetened coconut (3/4 bag). From a cabbage curry recipe that wasn’t as spectacular as it sounded.

1 container Fudgsicles. Mmm. Fudgsicles.

On to the fridge.

Well, I’ve been called the condiment queen, and for good reason. The fridge was a much bigger task than the freezer. Again, I had to empty it entirely, but I couldn’t do this all at once. It had to be done in stages. First, the door and part of the top shelf, then the top shelf and part of the middle. Then the middle drawer (where beets go to die) and the bottom shelves and finally the bottom drawers.

Here are the pictures of it all.

















And here is the list of contents:

Chili-garlic paste

Tempura sauce

Rice vinegar

Soy sauce. Kikkoman Lite and regular, which I combined after this photo so that now it is half-lite.

Garlic marinade

Ginger marinade

Kim chee. So delicious, but not the kind of thing we end up eating a lot.

Sesame oil.

Red pepper dip

Barbecue sauce. Bone-sucking sauce is the best ever.

Strawberry sauce. This was left over from Muppet Sundae, and I haven’t touched it yet.

Balsamic glaze

Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. These are on a decorative little plate because I intended to give them to my next-door neighbors, but every time I saw them, I was doing something sweaty and dirty outside, so I didn’t want to touch the cookie plate with my hands. Instead, it stayed here until I started eating them myself. They’re really incredible. The recipe is here. Scroll down.

Cake flour. That’s just how I roll.

Fizzy water. One is husband’s, the other is mom’s. I think the stuff is foul.

Half and half

Tomato juice. This tends to last me forever, because I usually crave a tiny glass about once every two months, and I put a shot of hot sauce in it.

Pesto. I bought it for a recipe. It’s surprising how little I use it.

Tapenade

Marinara sauce

Tahini. This is sesame paste, which I primarily use to make hummus with, although I’ve used it for baba ghanoush, too.

Peppers. From husband’s coworker.

Watermelon. Yep, they come in yellow. I actually ate this later today.

Grapes. Green from Bel Air, purple from Full Belly Farm.

Ketchup. 2 bottles.

Twin Fin Chardonnay. A lovely, light, refreshing screw-top wine.

Dave’s Insanity Soyabi sauce

Salad dressing

Pepper plant hot sauce. My all-time favorite. They have it out on the tables at a local breakfast joint, and I can’t get enough.

Tofu. Yeah, tofu. What?

Olives

Tandoori paste

Bagel. From New York Bagel Boys, which we were comparing to Sacramento Bagel Company.

Yogurt

Tortillas. I purchased these to make enchiladas, but I haven’t had many opportunities to cook this week.

Salami

Bag of salad

Potatoes. Also from Full Belly Farm

Leftover yams. This looked like a great recipe (whiskey grilled yams), but it took a lot longer than I expected. I served these at a party, but they were done way after people had already eaten everything else. I threw them out after this photo.

Melons. Cantaloupes from Full Belly Farm.

Lemon juice

Mustard. Three traditional yellow mustards, one Sierra Nevada mustard, two that came in a gift pack at Christmas. I can explain all the yellow mustard: We like eating at Tower Cafe, but husband really prefers yellow mustard, which they do not have. So we have periodically bought a yellow mustard for him to sneak in in a pocket while on the way to Tower.

Mayonnaise

Shirazee salad. I made a recipe similar to this last week, only with cider vinegar instead of lemon juice.

Sauerkraut. Vegetarian households get very few opportunities to eat this, so it’s a good thing it lasts forever.

Brownies. I made brownies a few days ago, because, well... Don’t question a woman’s right to make brownies for no good reason!

Chutney

Cream cheese

Bacos

Pomegranate syrup

Orange flower water. It may have occurred to you that I have a lot of marginally exotic ingredients. That’s a fair assessment. I like to cook, especially ethnic foods.

Vinegars. Red wine vinegar, white vinegar, balsamic vinegar, rice vinegar, and red wine vinegar. I’d like to disclose that there is also cider vinegar in the cupboard. I don’t know why that one’s not refrigerated. They’re all different, I swear.

Margarine. This is a special cholesterol-reducing kind, that would have been a better idea if I actually used margarine.

Sweet and sour sauce. 2 bottles.

Gooseberry jam.

Fig jam

Blood orange marmalade

Butter

Cheese. Israeli feta, Tillamook jack (for the enchiladas), Tillamook sharp cheddar, chevre, low-fat string cheese. There’s not usually this much cheese.

Cilantro and lemongrass in a tube. I rarely use these in anything but soup, because the texture is awful.

Pickle relish

Tiny booze. We bought these at an ABC store in Hawaii because, well, because they were the right size to make it appear that our stuffed animals had their own bottles of alcohol.

Soy milk. Vitasoy Light Enriched Original is my favorite, but as you can see, I have the organic and the vanilla flavored. Why? Because Bel Air has been out of my kind for months. And I know they changed the packaging; they just really haven’t had it.

Chocolate syrup

Buttermilk. Thrown out after the photo. I have no idea how long that’s been in there.

Maraschino cherries. From Muppet Sundae.

Partially pollinated corn. I didn’t know how the heat affected corn.

Miso

Bruschetta sauce

Hummus. Husband’s favorite brand is Tribe, so we got this as an experiment at Costco, and at first he said he liked it, but then he stopped eating it.

Ricotta

Sriracha chili sauce. 3 bottles. We call it hot cock. I don’t know if everyone does.

Hot dog buns. Whole wheat, for the veggie dogs.

Veggie dogs

Homemade canned veggies. I know these moved from Husband’s apartment. His mom made them, and he claims to like them, but they haven’t been eaten.



48 of the above items could be considered condiments. There are 87 total items on the list. I counted the five mustards as five and any other item that had to be bought separately under the same standards (therefore, five bottles of vinegar, two of ketchup, etc.). However, if they came together (two melons, eight ears of corn, 12 tortillas), they were counted together. By these calculations, approximately 55% of the items in my refrigerator are condiments.

I also noticed while I was cleaning the fridge that the tempered glass plate that sits above the two crisper drawers in the bottom is marked with some sort of mystical measuring device. As the lines conform neither to the metric system nor the American customary measurements, I have deemed them “fridge units.” As generally it is the longest lines that indicate a whole unit and smaller ones mark fractions of units, I measured several items in terms of fridge units, which are just under 4 inches long. The fridge units are divided into 36ths.


This partially pollinated ear of corn is 2 1/2 fridge units (FUs). The perspective makes it unclear, but the left end of the ear is resting on a FU line.


This organic gypsy pepper is almost exactly 1 FU.

I was disappointed that both items were so close to the actual FU measurement, because I was hoping to find something I could measure in 36ths of an FU. I tried a coffee bean.

This is a really terrible picture, and on the basis of this alone Rob will probably disqualify me from a mention on Cockeyed.com, but I have to post it for scientific integrity.



One-ninth of a FU! I had to do fractions for that, so you know I care...

That nearly wraps up the “How Much is Inside My Fridge” experiment, but there are two more things of note.

First, one of the aforementioned close friends asked me whether I was actually bothering to clean the fridge in the process of finding out how much is inside. The answer is yes. The fridge is sparkling. Unfortunately, anyone looking in it will probably still think we are plum crazy*, since it is still overflowing with plums. They are growing from a neighbor's tree over our backyard and therefore “free.” Meaning, we must gorge ourselves on as many as possible.
*I’m sorry. I try to stay away from puns.

And second, although I already knew it, this project reinforced the fact that my cat needs a corn husk intervention. She’s crazy for them. I’m only sorry that this photo cannot include the “NARRNARRRCRUNCHMUNCHSCHLORP” sound effects that accompany my cat gorging herself on corn husks. In fact, she’s actually being rather delicate here, since she knows she’s being watched.



How many soda cans does my fridge hold? How many calories are in it? Lord knows. How many cubic feet? Ultimately, I could have saved myself some time by just posting this one photo...


...but it wouldn’t have been as fun, would it?

Regarding "How much is inside my fridge."

Okay, regular readers. Don't be surprised if I re-arrange a tad in order to make the fridge project all one piece.

Should I happen to get new readers after mentioning this to Rob (not that I expect to, but just in case): Hi, and welcome. My name is Kara, and I'd just like to apologize to you right off if I kissed you at a pirate-themed party at Rob's house several years ago and then, upon running into you on the street later, did not remember you. A friend and I were having a little contest, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. So had the two bottles of Boone's Strawberry Hill an hour earlier.

Which reminds me -- back to my regular readers. Sorry, Mom and Husband, for the paragraph above. It's probably too much information. Just shake your heads like an Etch-a-Sketch and pretend you never read it.

Open house

Hi all. Okay, I'm working on part 2 of "How Much is Inside My Fridge," but we were out of town all day. Today was our first open house, so we cleaned up, then ran away to distract ourselves. I think the place looks great, and apparently at least one couple came by after the open house for a tour with the realtor, so I guess that's all we can do, right?

Incidentally, if you want to see the pictures and the "virtual tour" with 360 spins (oooh, ahhhh), e-mail me and I'll send you the link. I'd just put it up here, but then every stalker and their grandma would have our address. If you can't find my e-mail address, but you actually do know me, e-mail yourmom AT thegynas DOT com

Okay, take care!

Oh, maybe later I'll tell you about our day in the Bay Area, too, and our 30 second protest march.

The Great Classroom Debate

So at the end of the year, the house leader in our small learning community asked whether I wanted room H10 or room J9 for next year. Here's the rundown:

In H10, there is no air conditioning. There are also no windows. It's a strangely long room, and the whiteboards are a little hard to get to. The benefit is that it's closer to the main part of campus, so it's closer to the bathrooms and closer to the area where I need to pick up my scantrons, mail, etc. It's also pretty close to some of my other coworkers.

J9 has air conditioning. But it also has fleas. Well, strike that; it HAD fleas. They've been exterminated, but apparently it has been somewhat an ongoing problem, and last year the teachers out there all had to move out to other rooms because of the problem. It's also a little further from the main part of campus and further from the bathroom (hey, I have a tiny bladder -- it's a real consideration!). It's closer to the agricultural area, which is a nice way of saying the pig pens. And yes, you can smell pig shit out there.

So the debate was between no AC, but close to everything, or AC, but stinky, far, and possibly flea-infested.

Sweetie says to me "Well, I think the choice is obvious." I didn't. He said he'd choose no AC over potential fleas. The thing is, I am perfectly capable of dealing without AC, but classrooms full of children don't usually feel the same way. Thirty-five teenagers often find they're not so interested in learning when it's 95 degrees inside (and this is Sacramento, so that can be up to four months of the school year).

I chose H10. But then the house leader pointed out that J9 is actually equidistant from the bathrooms (because of how far east H10 actually is, which I had overlooked), I went ahead and chose the other room. The other issue is that in seven years of teaching, I've had to pack up everything I own and move classrooms seven times. I was trying to figure out which room would make me least likely to move again, and the answer is neither. The H wing is undergoing "modernization" next year, and the J wing is almost certain to be demolished and replaced. So either way, I can probably look forward to moving again next year. Sigh. I'm considering becoming a minimalist.

Repent, California! and my own personal wicked ways, plus a sadist and Thor

We've been hemorrhaging money recently, and the most recent was the sprinkler guy. My sprinklers "work," but only marginally. Like, water comes out of them, but it doesn't cover the whole lawn or anything, and a couple of the sprinkler heads just kind of bubble. Anyway, I called a guy my mom recommended to service them so that the new owners don't call us up and say "Hey, I thought you said the sprinklers work!" and I have to show them the air quotes.

So Sprinkler Guy comes, and he looks like one of those guys that wears overalls and chews straw. Like, long flowing white beard, that kind of thing. And on the back of his truck is an orange paper that says "Repent, CA!" Oooo-kay. Well, he does a good job on the sprinklers and doesn't charge much, so whatever. He's kind of chatty, so every time I start to wander away, he starts talking again. Eventually I figure that I don't have anything better to do, so I just take a seat outside and settle in for some chatting. And while we chat, I offer him a glass of water. He declines, because he has water in his truck. He gets his water at the co-op. "You know the co-op?" "Yeah," I reply, "I go there all the time." "I get this brand of water -- it's from the foothills and it's been filtered three times. I know the guy who makes the water." "Oh yeah?" "God." There's a long pause, and all I can think to say (don't ask me why) is "I know the guy who makes the beer."

I've been meaning to write this for a long time. I had to log in to Blogger the other day, and had to use my "backup" password, which I had forgotten I used. Why, I wondered, had I used the backup password? Oh yeah! Because when Toltec 1 was here, he left himself logged in to Blogger, and I wrote a glowing post on his blog about how great and hospitable I was, and how cute and smart, too, I think.

Then I was hanging with a fellow teacher, and he said "I FINALLY got to change my password." Huh? Thought I.... Oh yeah -- he lent me his school computer on the day that the message came up "it is time to change your password. Enter your new password now." So I did -- Mockularocks.

Anyway, I think the moral of that is "Don't let Mockula around your computer. All of a sudden she gets a big head."

I got my brows done today, and I don't know why, but it hurt more than it has hurt EVER. Usually the brow lady pats the little muslin strip over the wax, stretches it out a little, then rips, then applies her cool fingertips to the area. It's not too bad at all. But this lady was like SmearPushYankSmearPushYankPushYankPatYankYank. It was in super-fast-forward! Then she plucked some strays, and she was the hurtingest plucker, too! I don't know how it was different, but I think she was grabbing the hair from the very end or something. Yikes! Brow sadist!

We had our first realtor come visit today. He left a card, as is the custom. And his name was Thor M. Realtor to the gods. I'm not kidding.

Buy me stuff!

No, don't really. There's no good reason to buy me stuff for another four months. Nevertheless, I would be deliriously happy if I had this: Alice necklace.

or almost anything else Alice-related from that eBay store. I like this one a lot too: Another Alice necklace.

I like a lot of the stuff she's got on there. Why am I up looking at eBay when I could be reading in bed by now? Who knows.

New hairdo

After
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

Hey all. Is my blog photo-heavy enough yet? Sweetie, I bet you're glad we bought a new camera for me to fuck around with, huh?

Anyway, I called up Monique, my personal hair goddess, and said "Monique, you may do absolutely whatever you want to my hair." She was excited, and agreed. This is the result.

House pics

Front of home
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

Okay, you can now click on this photo and it will take you to Flickr, where the nine most recently uploaded photos are of this house, the one we've spent the last two months (well, two years, really) fixing up. I ran out of uploading room (it's my fault -- I didn't feel like resizing the files to make them smaller), so Sweetie's office isn't on there. I also didn't take pictures of the backyard or the cave, er, I mean "detatched home office." But maybe tomorrow I will and I'll use my other secret Flickr account to post them...

back porch

back porch
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

We're thinking adirondack chairs for out here. I'm sorry there aren't pictures of the bedrooms or the backyard, which is cute. I just jacked these off the web. I'll post more, of course, when we move in (only three weeks now!).

Also, keep your eye out for pictures of my new haircut and the old house all fixed up to sell!

bath

bath
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

Here's our cute little bathroom with original tile. There's a separate bath and shower. No medicine cabinet, so I'll add that. This is between the two bedrooms, which will be ours (on the left) and "the baby's room" (Bryan!) on the right.

kitchen

kitchen
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

Here's the kitchen. I could stand to have the tile redone, but I really like everything else. I might add one of those little rolling butcher block islands, but we'll see... The hardwood in here is funky, but not hideous. The view is from the area where the table would go.

dining room

dining room
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

This is a small dining room. To the right is the kitchen, where there's also room to put a table. Through this dooor is the back porch.

living room 2

living room 2
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

This view is from your POV if you've just walked in the front door and taken a few steps inside. The doorway there is approximately where you'd be standing to take that other living room photo. You can sort of see the doorway to the third bedroom (Reza's office/library).

living room

living room
Originally uploaded by countmockula.

Okay, this is the view of the fireplace from the end of the long-ish living room. The built-in entertainment cabinet is to the left (you can see the edge of it), the dining room is beyond that to the left, two bedrooms are behind you from this view, and one is on the other side of the entertainment thingy wall.