Vacation!

Well, I'm off.  First thing tomorrow, I head for the airport, then off to Portland for all things adventurey.

Unlike most of my vacations, I don't expect internet access on this one.  (And believe me -- I have a reputation for being able to hunt down "the only working modem in a ten-mile radius."  Go on, ask the people at the island in the Great Barrier Reef.  You'd think I could sniff out the internet connection or something.)

Anyway, I'll have my cell phone with me -- which, thanks to that whole update-your-journal-by-IM thing, would be capable of short updates -- but according to my carrier's coverage map, connection will be spotty at best.  I don't know why people think it's more important to hook up coverage in urban areas as opposed to wildlife refuges, but that's how AT&T set up its priorities.

In the absence of reliable internet coverage, I'm going old fashioned on this trip, and will be bringing a pen and some paper.  Haven't actually put pen to paper in a long time for anything more than a page or so at work, so this will be an experience in itself.  Still, I really enjoyed journalling (here) my New Zealand/Fiji trip and I think I'll want to do something similar for this trip, even thought I won't be able to post the entries for public consumption until I return to more civilized places.

See you next week.  Be good.

 

Homework -- Holidays

For this week's homework, Scalzi asks:

Weekend Assignment #28: The United States Congress (or appropriate legislative body in the country in which you live) has vested in you the power create exactly one National Holiday, celebrating anyone or anything you want, no questions asked. What is the name of your holiday, what does it celebrate, and how should we celebrate it?

One Rule: It can't be a holiday that honors someone who already has a holiday. Share the wealth, people.

Some of these homework questions are easy -- this is one of them.  I would add the day I've been celebrating as a mock holiday for, gosh, must be going on 20 years now.  Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you... The Last Wednesday In May.

Ah, The Last Wednesday In May -- the day when all the really good summer movies open.  Y'know, when there's a picture that wants to get a jump on Memorial Day weekend and everyone else pretty much gets the heck out of its way.  This was the opening date for the Indiana Jones sequels, and the Star Wars movies (back when they were good).  (Sometimes, due to the way the calendar falls, it is, actually, the Second-to-Last Wednesday in May.  But we call it "The Last Wednesday" anyway.  Sounds spiffier.  And everyone knows what you mean.)

It was the only time I ever, ever played hooky from school, and I think the whole process would be more convenient for everyone if they just gave the entire the country the day off and we could all stand in line for whichever highly-anticipated kick-butt action-adventure picture we want to see -- to start off the summer right.

Happy Binocular News

So, if you made your way through that last entry (which I realize is longer than the average attention span), you know that I was going to call the camera place and take back the binoculars for which I was undercharged.  Because they sold me 10 magnification binocs, put them in the 8 magnification box and charged me the 8 magnification price.

Turns out, everything is ok.

In planning to go back to the store, I dug up the receipt.  Which actually SAYS 10x on it and has the product number for the 10x binoculars.

The fact is, they KNEW they were selling me the 10x binoculars at the 8x price.

So, y'know, yay.

Gear Shopping -- Part Deux

OK, first of all, yes, I bought the rain pants.  I'd been hoping for more input from the Great Journalling Community, but really, once Wil (Olddog299) invoked the word "diflucan" as a possible downside to not having them, the decision was made.  You must have had a lot of experience debating women, Wil. 

The bad news was that when I went back to REI to buy them and exchange the sixteen dollar undies for sixteen dollar undies that fit, I found they didn't have any sixteen dollar undies in my size.  I therefore returned the drawers.

There was an up side -- between the refunded panties and a discount they credited me because something I'd bought on Sunday went on sale today -- the rain pants were pretty much covered. 

Then again, I bought so much other stuff there today, it isn't like I came out ahead pricewise or anything.  I keep telling myself that I'll have all necessary gear the next time I go someplace, but, really, I know I'll be back at REI again.

Strange, it wasn't so long ago that I first set foot in an REI -- to buy a gift for a friend.  I was instantly offered assistance by at least four employees, because I had that "confused City Girl in an adventure gear store" look on my face.  You know that face you had the first time you went to Price Club and saw 96 rolls of toilet paper in one package?  Yeah, that face.  And now -- I got my REI card, I can tell the women's clothing from the men's without asking, and I pretty much know my way around the place.  Scary.

I mean, y'know how comfortable I felt there?  I actually bought some items that I didn't need for this trip, but saw 'em on sale, and figured I can use them for other things.  Holy cow.  I'm impulse buying at REI.

When I got home, I thought I'd unpack some of the stuff I bought this weekend, and when I did, I made an unfortunate discovery about the binoculars.

Did I mention the binoculars?  I wanted some.  I saw some foldy compact binoculars at Eddie Bauer for like $80, and thought maybe I could do better at the camera store.  So I go to the camera store (I was in a mall) and asked for help with the binoculars.  The employees were much more interested in selling lenses and digital cameras -- the only "help" they'd give me is taking out a pair of binoculars and letting me try them out.  I tried one pair and they were crap.  I gave them back and asked to see the next pair over, the Minoltas.  They hand me the Minoltas and they're terrific.  Best binoculars I've ever looked through.  Crystal clear image, good magnification -- I am sold on these puppies.

"How much?" I ask, thinking that if they come in anywhere in the less-than-the-ones-at-Eddie-Bauer neighborhood, I'll buy them.

"I don't know," comes the helpful reply.  "I'll have to go in back and get the box."

Five minutes pass.  Ten.  I have to get the heck out of the mall and meet someone at the theatre in about five more minutes, and these people are killing time trying to find the box.

With about 30 seconds to spare, the woman comes running out from the back with an empty Minolta box.  "This is the only one," she says.  Fine.  I'll take the floor model.  She scans the box and comes up with a price of $35.

I'm stunned.  I say the only thing I can:  "I'll take 'em."

She jams the binoculars in the box.  She can't entirely make them fit and I don't entirely care.  I'm late.  I tell her so.  I pay her and take the binoculars home.

OK, here's the problem I just discovered -- the magnification listed on the binoculars is different than the magnification listed on the box.  They're, um, better.

Rats.

I will always, always tell a merchant when they've made an error in my favor.  Absolutely.  Without question.  That's how my parents raised me and that's the way the world ought to work.  People shouldn't take advantage of other people's mistakes.

I go online to the store's website to see how much I should have been charged.  They do not even list the model I actually have.

I surf around the net and discover that ... well, first thing I discover is that some people totally rip you off for binoculars.  I mean, one website had the binoculars (i.e., the model I actually bought) listed for like $125.  I nearly soiled myself until I noticed they had the cheaper model (the model the store thought they were selling me) for $110.

While I have no way of figuring out exactly how much this store should have charged me, it looks like I should have paid somewhere between $8 and $15 (or so) more for the binocs.

What gets my panties in a bunch about this is that I'm supposed to leave on my vacation on Saturday, and I don't have the time between now and then to haul back out to the mall with binocs, box and receipt, and point out to this woman that she undercharged me by an unspecified amount.  Especially when she is likely to respond by not having the right box and therefore not being able to correct it.  I'm envisioning myself standing in the store negotiating a price for the damn things.

Ugh.  Maybe I'll call them tomorrow and see if I can't resolve this on the phone.  Morons.

 

Alarm Clock

Over the weekend, my alarm was set for 10:00.

Last night, I set it for 7:00, and crawled in bed.

Then I thought, "Oh wait -- I don't have to be at work until 9:30."  Realizing I could really use that extra half-hour of sleep, I reached over and reset my alarm.

I have never in my life reset my alarm clock without turning on the light and doing it right.

But really, how hard could it be?  Turn alarm function off, hold down the timer button, hit the minute button until the readout says 7:30, toggle between "current time" and "alarm time" to make sure everything is as it should be, turn alarm function back on, snuggle back into bed.

Guess which step I missed.

I found out at 7:36, when my back-up alarm clock went off.

That would be the one that's cute and furry, and meows when it's about time to be let into the bedroom for the morning pet-fest. 

I'm so proud of her -- getting me up on time for work.  (I just hope she doesn't carry her enthusiasm for waking me up at 7:30 into the weekends.)

Good kitty!

Gear Shopping!

OK, here's a quirky little fact about me:  I've got to have the right clothes for the job.

I so totally blame my parents for this.  (It's OK -- there's really very little I blame them for, I think they can take this one.)  When I was a kid, whenever we'd have some field trip where we'd go for a "hike" (which, for us, would've been, what? a quarter mile?) or some sleep-away camp weekend up in the mountains, all the other kids would get these nice shiny new hiking shoes or snow boots or whatever the appropriate footwear was.  And my mom would say, "I'm not going to spend $40 for some pair of boots you're only going to wear one day.  You can just wear your sneakers."

And I hated it.  I don't even know if I ended up with more blisters or soggier feet than the other kids, but I know that I certainly blamed each and every blister or seeping bit of wetness on the fact that I had the wrong damn footwear. 

As a grown-up, I've come to understand that there's a right tool for every job -- and, at least as it comes to clothing (especially for the "field trips" of adulthood -- vacations), I want to have the absolute right tools.

Which leads me to gear shopping for my next trip.

The cruise company (it's an adventure cruise, on the Columbia River -- hopefully it won't be cancelled due to volcanic eruption) -- ANYWAY, the cruise company sent me a "Gear List" for the trip.  To my (pleasant) surprise, I actually own a good deal of the stuff on the list.  (Which just goes to show, I guess, that you do get to use this stuff again.)  But there was quite a bit I didn't have, so I spent this weekend trying to acquire it.

I did a pretty good job.  I got New Synthetic Fiber Tank Tops (with built-in shelf bra!) that wick moisture away; a couple of synthetic fiber short sleeve shirts, a pair of sports shorts, some mid-weight fleece pants, a fleece jacket, a wool cap, a camera bag, some binoculars, and a new waterproof watch.  (About this time last year, I bought a waterproof Kids' Timex for $14.  Damn thing died the second time I got it wet.  This time, I traded up to a $30 Casio.  I'll keep you posted.)

I even bought... Lord help me... SIXTEEN DOLLAR UNDERWEAR.  Honest to God. 

These are some pretty impressive panties.  Hi-tech, microfiber, moisture-wicking drawers.  The salesperson at REI swore by them.  Because, really, what good is it to have nice hi-tech microfiber, moisture-wicking everything else, if you're sitting there in old-fashioned cotton drawers?  And the little guys are supposed to dry out really fast (like, in 4 hours), so you can just wash 'em out and wear 'em again.  Rotate between them and two pair can last an entire trip.

The little voice inside my head that belongs to my mother rebels against $32 for two pairs of underwear.  Seriously, d'you know how many pairs of panties you could get at Sears for $32?  Eight, at least.

And then ... and this is the one I need you guys' help on... there's the Rain Pants.

The Gear List says "Rain Pants," so, of course, I have to have them.

I didn't even know what rain pants are.  (I could guess.)  What rain pants are is a really nice piece of waterproof clothing that covers your lower half.  Like a rain jacket in handy pant form. 

There's another thing that rain pants are:  they're $100.

OK, sure.  I could buy the substantially cheaper rain pants that are, like, $35 -- although, besides not being nearly as spiffy as the $100 model, they didn't come in Petite sizes, which basically means that I'd be dragging a good six inches of rain pant on the ground wherever I went.  The $100 rain pants fit perfectly.

There's something else to be said for the $100 rain pants.  They're quality.  When I slipped them on over the (also not cheap) midweight fleece pants, I felt so warm and cozy and waterproof, I was all set to conquer Antarctica.

And then I thought, "But I'm not going to Antarctica."

And I thought, "Yes, these make me feel very warm and cozy and waterproof, but if I ever looked out my window and saw the sort of weather which would require this stuff, I'd stay the hell inside."  Seriously.  I'm all about the right clothes for the job, but it dawned on me that never once in my life did I think, "Wow, if only I had rain pants."  Not even when I was sliding down the side of that glacier.  So I'm wondering, if I didn't need that sort of gear when I was hiking on a rock made of ice, am I ever really going to find myself in a rain pant scenario?  More than that, am I ever going to find myself in a rain pant scenario when I'd have my rain pants handy?  A situation in which I'd say, "My, it looks awfully wet out there; I should slip on my rain pants."

So, to sum up:

In favor of $100 rain pants:  They're on the gear list.  They fit nice.  They're good quality.  They keep you dry.

Opposed:  Dude.  They're $100.

I passed on the rain pants.  I still ended up dumping some $300 at REI and I'm not done shopping yet -- I'll have to go back on Tuesday.  (For one thing, I ended up buying the wrong size of sixteen dollar underewear.)

And on the way out of REI, they handed me an advertisement for their sale, which starts tomorrow.

The rain pants drop to $70.

Help me.

Homework -- The Happiest Month

Wow.  I'm late with my homework for the second week in a row.  I hope I don't get detention or anything.

This week, Scalzi asks:

There are 12 months in the year. Which is your favorite? Give us one good reason why.

To which I reply:

Dude, I live in Southern California.  We don't have months like everyone else -- well, not weatherwise, anyway.  Our calendar is pretty much an awful lot of Julys, with some Mays, and the occasional April thrown in.  That's about it.

Back when I lived where they actually have seasons, I liked May the best.  Because I love Spring.  Let me tell you, I spent three years in Connecticut and learned all about what "seasonal depression" is.  Sometime in, say, March or April, it would start looking like Spring -- with little buds peeking out from the tree limbs that appeared dead (but were really just napping for the winter) and green leaves struggling to be all green and cheery.  And my heart would soar and I'd skip down the street and go, "It's Spring!  It's Spring!  It's Spring!"

And then you'd get that one last snow of the season -- that winter was holding in reserve, just waiting to throw at you when you least expected it -- and it would crush the buds and the leaves and my spirits.

But May ... May belonged one hundred percent to Spring, and winter couldn't touch it.  I was always happy to see the calendar turn to May, because I'd know that by then, without a doubt, winter didn't have anything left.