Here we are in the Newark airport Presidential Club (passes courtesty of my lovely Continental credit card) enjoying potato chips and free drinks.
Archive for the 'bling blog' Category
So, we leave for London in two days. And for Malta in nine days. Yay!
I think the term snail mail is cute, though I often feel bad using it. I’m uncomfortable insulting the United States Post Office. As many of you know, I have long been fascinated by the post office. I just think mail delivery is amazing — so reliable and so cheap and also a little romantic. I love looking at little tiny post offices in postage stamp-sized towns. The idea that I can send a note to friends and family in New York, California, northern Wisconsin, or across town for the same couple of cents is just so great. It was particularly warming to me when I lived in Charleston and then Miami, when I was a kid at camp, or when I studied in Italy. But more recently, I’ve been turned off a bit by the USPS. I am uncomfortable criticzing them in the way that I’m uncomfortable criticizing a good friend or family. But, the prices of stamps continue to rise and they’ve closed several mailboxes around town that I used to use regularly. I know that times are tough and there are more competitors to their services, including, of course, email. In response to their latest budgetary challenges, they’re now proposing dropping Saturday mail service, which I can probably live with, but I’d still like to take a look at their books. They apparently have debt at around $10 billion.
When I lived in Berea, Kentucky the summer between my first and second year in law school, I lived with an older woman named Leta. Leta was fantastic. She was also an extern in the same program that I was in, but she was a student at the University of Tennessee. One weekend, she invited me to go to her niece’s wedding in Knoxville. Well, everyone knew that I had no car and nothing to do in Berea on weekends but ride my bike around the neighborhood cul-de-sacs and check out Pat Conroy books from the library, so I accepted. Of course it seems weird to go to someone’s wedding uninvited but, weirdly, it was the second time that summer I had done so. [My boss had a friend whose daughter was getting married in eastern Kentucky, by the West Virginia border, and he and his wife insisted I go to that wedding with them. I ended up sleeping on some stranger’s couch and being nearly molested by some old Kentucky man who lived with his even older mother. I digress.] Ok, back to the Tennessee wedding. Leta wasn’t exactly thrilled with this wedding because her niece had previously been engaged and gone through all the rigamarole associated with weddings — showers, planning, buying, buying, buying — and then called it off at the last minute. This wedding was supposed to be smaller, I think, and all I really remember of the ceremony was that it was at a church on a very pretty lake and when the officiant declared the couple husband and wife, they turned around and screamed, “We did it!” at the audience and ran down the aisle. They both worked at a Lee Greenwood musical theater place in Pigeon Forge, TN. After the ceremony, we all went to some condo-type place in the Smoky Mountains where there was a keg of beer and some cheetos and a black velvet groom’s cake with a replica of Kiss on it. Lee Greenwood called for directions as he had gotten lost on the windy roads. Anyway, Leta’s sister-in-law whose name I am now blanking on worked for the post office. I was fascinated and bombarded her with tons and tons of questions. The next morning at an ungodly hour, while I was sleeping, she drove up to Leta’s mom’s house, where we were staying, and started honking her horn as she delivered the mail. Apparently, she thought that if I loved the post office so much, I should be up at that ungodly hour to accept delivery of Leta’s mom’s mail. I slept through the whole thing.
Some interesting facts (courtesy of the omniscient and ever-reliable Wikipedia, as well as my own research) about the USPS:
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The post office is authorized in the Constituion in Article I, s. 8, granting Congress the power to establish “Post Offices and post Roads.” [Sidenote, I’m fascinated by weird, old capitalization.]
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It is the second largest civilian employer in the US, after Wal-Mart, employing 656,000 people.
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Its first incarnation was as the United States Post Office (USPO) in 1775, followed by the United States Post Office Department (USPOD) in 1792. It was not until Nixon signed the Postal Reorganization Act into law in 1970 that we got the USPS as we currently know it.
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Prior to 1970, the post office was part of the presidential cabinet and the Postmaster General was the last person in the presidential line of succession.
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After 1970, or 1971, the USPS was no longer part of the cabinet and instead became an independent federal agency, like the CIA or the EPA.
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UPS and FedEx and DHL and anyone else who is not the USPS cannot deliver packages to PO boxes because the USPS has the exclusive right to deliver mail to those boxes. I always thought it was maybe because the private companies didn’t think their packages would fit in those boxes. Hee hee. Dumb Kate.
These are just a few of the interesting tidbits I learned today. Oh, Post Office, please turn yourself around without raising costs, cutting services or reducing pensions (the latter of which it seems the Postmaster General himself has suggested). How this would work, I’m not exactly sure. I’d need to get a look at those books.
When I was a kid, I never ate breakfast. I mean, not ever, but hardly ever. It just wasn’t something I did. At least not during the week. I am certain I had a doughnut or two on the weekends when I was little — Donut Delites, after all, was right down the street. I don’t think I really ate it in college or law school, either. We’d go out for breakfast on the weekends sometimes, of course, and indulge in yummy eggs and hashbrowns, but that wasn’t every weekend. In fact, I am really not sure when I started eating the meal. I am sure, though, that now I really don’t function without breakfast. While not my favorite meal of the day, it is my most important and the one I worry most about.
Worry, you ask? Yes, worry. I often worry about what I will have. I have not found something that is perfect for me. The problem is this: I want something satisfying, not too many calories and portable. It’s really important that it keeps me going because I often work out at noon so lunch is not until sometime after 1. I know that you’re thinking, “Kate, you’re hardly a delicate flower, you could get by with an apple and all would be good,” but really, I feel a blood pressure drop if I eat sugar in the morning, which of course fruit is. A banana works better, but I really crave protein. Eggs are great, but who gets up and makes eggs in the morning? Well, Aaron will, but not me. I get up for work and leave about 15 minutes later. I get as much sleep as I possibly can before heading out. So, I am not making eggs. I go in phases where I eat Amy’s bean and cheese burritos for breakfast — not the breakfast burrito ones. These are pretty good and generally fill the bill — whole wheat tortilla and good protein and they come in at 300 calories, which I think is about perfect for breakfast (maybe a little on the high end). Sometimes I do a bagel, but I know I’m not doing myself any favors there. If I put peanut butter on it it works better, but ultimately this option just doesn’t do it for me. What I really can’t do are two things on the opposite ends of the health spectrum — doughnuts or oatmeal. Sugar crash with the former, gag reaction with the latter. Basically, I am on a quest for the perfect breakfast food for me. Which brings me to this morning. And I hope you’re sitting down.
Subway. Recently, Subway moved into the spot under my office building, which had previously been a pretty bad bakery. It was so boring looking and everything always seemed to taste stale, which seems particularly egregious in a bakery. Anyway, I was not exactly thrilled that a Subway moved in, especially since it moved from its former site, which was about two blocks away. But then they did something interesting. They put up posters that they were serving breakfast. And then, fate stepped in. Aaron’s mom sent us a $20 gift card to Subway for Valentine’s Day. What else was the universe trying to tell us other than the obvious: try Subway for breakfast? And that we did. This very morning.
I am happy to report that at a little after noon, I still feel really good and am about to go to the gym. Hooray! How did this happen, you ask? Well, I had the egg white and cheese sandwich on flatbread. With tomatoes (sorry, Kristin). It was truly yummy. I mean, not Sardine yummy, but Subway yummy. It was hot and the cheese was pretty melted — they do a weird thing where you get one of their normal cheese options (provolone, pepperjack and American) and then they add a splash of what looks like shredded cheddar or colby. It was $2 and 320 calories, according to their website. Had I opted for the English muffin, it would have been a mere 170. I am considering this route the next time, but the flat bread was quite good — moist and squishy. Next time? Yes, I believe there will be a next time.
So, since I can’t eat there everyday, I need to get some other ideas of what to do. Will you share with me what you eat for breakfast?
Kate and Aaron v. The Kitchen
Published January 29, 2010 bling blog 9 CommentsTags: kitchen remodeling
As you may remember, the last time we talked, Aaron and I were in the midst of a kitchen remodel. Well, not much has changed. Except it has. I’ve been sorta dreading writing about this because there’s a lot to say and it’s all hopelessly boring. But write I must, as the blog must go on!
Where to begin…Well, Reader, when last we spoke, I was raving about my new top light. It continues to astound me how non-annoying I find it. The light went into the empty kitchen on Thursday the 21st. All hell broke lose on Friday the 22nd.
Friday morning, the installation folks came. One of whom looks just like Bruno Kirby. Bruno Kirby is clearly the head honcho and really the only one who speaks to me. They have at it. Cardboard is flying, saws are spinning and hammers are hammering. Aaron and I hide out with a confused and sometimes frightened Grace in the bedroom. From time to time I check on the goings on in the kitchen, but mostly I stay put. The cute eletrician calls and asks to speak to Bruno because he needs to know if he can come later in the day to do the final electrical work (not really clear on what this is). Bruno gives the ok, and goes back to work. Time marches on. The electricians enter the house and I discover that the kitchen is almost done. I mean, the cabinets are pretty much all up and the crew is just hanging doors and putting in shelves. What? When did this happen? Pretty soon they’re just asking me how I want the hardware put on. And I answer, “Um, what do you think?” And then the hardware goes on and pretty much…Poof! There’s a new kitchen in my kitchen. And I love it. The electricians are going up and down the stairs and then, before I know it, the microwave is in place. Wow. Things happen fast if you hide out with your dog and have five strangers in your house and a lot of cabinets and appliances.
But there is an issue. Of course there is. Well, a couple. One is that I had noticed that one of the doors wasn’t looking so good — the thermofoil treatment on the doors, which makes them look all sleek and chic, was peeling off. Bruno had said to me, “No problem. We can get you a new door.” So, everything appears to be in place except this one door (and a couple of shelves). Ok. I can live with that. But in looking at the glorious new kitchen, I notice that the cabinets are not flush against the side wall. To prevent them from looking weird, I guess, they put a piece of white wood in between the wall and the cabinet. I can’t express how dumb this looks. I should have taken a picture. So, I said, “What’s the deal here?” And Bruno explained it to me. I said, “But they don’t have pieces that match the maple color of the cabinets?” Bruno said, “Well, they do, but they didn’t send any.” Um, hmm. I just keep staring at it and saying, “But that looks really bad. It looks so distracting and cheap.” It is at this point that The Bearded Guy Who Looks Like He May Have Escaped From the Big House says, not to me but to Bruno, “We could just use the damaged door, cut it up and put it on there.” Genius! And so it happens. And now it looks great. Thanks Bearded Guy!
Ok, so we’re feeling pretty good at this point. Except that we realize that we have a beautiful new refrigerator in our garage and need to find a way to get it into the house. Hmm. Now remember, please, that the Maytag folks would not deliver it to the house because that was an additional fee that we did not pay for. Silly us. When we were told that it was $30 for delivery, but an extra $39 for installation, we passed on the installation since we didn’t need it. The plumber installs the dishwasher and the electricians install the microwave and the refrigerator and the stove just plug in, so why would we pay an extra $39? Seemed silly. Well, again, silly us. That $39 gets you those appliances in your house. And the $30 gets them in the garage, which is probably 30 yards and seven steps away. In hindsight, the $39 was a bargain for what turned out to be a long, painful and expensive process.
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Alternate side parking ticket that Aaron got because we had to park on the street because the appliances were housed in the garage? $20.
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Dolly rental from U-Haul? $10.55 [Weirdly, if you are renting a dolly, they do not insist on a credit card deposit, but instead call your friend — in this case, me — to make sure that the person renting has a friend that U-Haul can call in case the person does not return the dolly.]
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Appliance sticker cost to put old refrigerator on the street for the city to pick up? $35
So, as you can see, even the most rudimentary math skills tell you that the $39 would have been a steal. And that’s not getting into the labor that was used or the years that were taken off of our life in getting the enormous refridgerator into the house. Getting the thing on the dolly in the first place was a chore, but it was nothing compared to the stairs. Oy, the stairs. It took both Aaron and me using all of our weight and strength and courage and prayers to get that thing up those stairs. On every stair, I felt like it was us versus the refrigerator and gravity and that the latter had just as much a chance as winning the battle as we did. I think we prevailed only because, ultimately, we wanted the fridge in the house more than it wanted to be left outside. Though, at one point, Aaron suggested we just become one of those hourseholds that have an outdoor fridge. Anyway, when we got it to the top of the stairs, the real fun began. Would it fit through the doorway? Aaron measured. Doorway 33 inches, fridge 31 inches. Hmm. So, why wasn’t it fitting? Doh! Because he didn’t measure the handles — it was going in sideways. Electrician #1 to the rescue! He says, brilliantly, “Usually those handles just come off with an Allen wrench.” Well, Aaron has Allen wrenches! This is no problem. Off go the handles! Hmm. It still won’t go in. The fridge is on a wooden pallet that is sticking out on both sides and is causing even more problems than the handles. Electrician #2 to the rescue! He says, in a stroke of geniosity (yes, geniosity), “Why don’t I get my saw and we’ll just saw them off?” Hooray! Yes, why don’t we. Off goes the troublesome part of the pallet! Electrician #1 returns (he had been in the garage unpacking our stove so he could put a cord on it) and, along with Aaron and Electrician #2, gets the fridge into the house. Super hooray! I am not doing anything at this point except singing the electrians’ praises to myself. And smiling. $65+ and a bundle of bruises, the refrigerator is home. And then the electricians discover that the pallet is screwed into the fridge. Weird, I thought, but true. So off they go to get some super duper socket wrench or something and they take over and take the damn thing off. Hooray for electricians! We would not have that thing in the house were it not for them. Aaron takes the old fridge out, moves the new one into place, and moves the stove into the house as well. All on his own because at this point I am trying to win the battle against the cardboard. There is a pile of cardboard in our living room that is so big, I wonder if we should just move. After approximately 15 trips back and forth from the house to the garage, I declare myself the (exhausted) winner! I should have taken a picture of the garage, though. The car fit in nicely, but it was nearly impossible to get into the thing and if you managed that, you dreaded coming back home because you weren’t sure you’d be able to get out. Yesterday was recycling day so some of our problems in that regard have been solved. It’ll probably take one or two more such days before our garage is back to its normal, uncrowded, cardboard-free self.
So, pictures. They’re coming.
life and puppies 