I was going to post something else, but I had to change a lightbulb.
The process was supposed to require:
1. Me
2. Ladder
3. New Lightbulb
The process actually required:
1. Me
2. Ladder
3. New Lightbulb
4. Tweezers
5. Screwdriver
6. Needle-nose pliers
7. Eye-goggles
8. Vacuum
Un-be-freakin-lievable.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
And now, a post just for the ladies
I recently stumbled upon a secret that men have been keeping from us.
When I went to Vegas recently, it was only for a couple days, so I didn't check any baggage; I just crammed everything into my carry-on. This means that all liquids and gels had to be in little 3 ounce containers. (Yes, it's actually 100 ml, which is more than 3 ounces -- but having tried to get a 100 ml bottle past security in the past, I know not to fight this.) And, although I had a travel countainer of shaving gel, the damn thing was 3.5 ounces.
Went to the grocery store and stood in the aisle where they keep all the travel-size items. No shaving gel at all.
Shaving cream. For men. In a two-ounce countainer.
I think, "Why not?" A razor's a razor; unwanted hair is unwanted hair. I look around to make sure nobody is watching and I plop the container of Gillette Foamy in my shopping cart.
Holy freakin' cow. Best shave I've ever had. That stuff is so ... foamy. So rich, so thick -- I got an awesome shave with it.
Upon returning, I vowed to hunt down some shaving cream for women. And I did -- some stuff from Barbasol. Claims to be silky and smell like raspberry. I see no evidence of either. Sure, it's better than that shave gel they've been trying to pawn off on us for years, but it can't compete with the wonder that is Foamy.
Trust me on this.
When I went to Vegas recently, it was only for a couple days, so I didn't check any baggage; I just crammed everything into my carry-on. This means that all liquids and gels had to be in little 3 ounce containers. (Yes, it's actually 100 ml, which is more than 3 ounces -- but having tried to get a 100 ml bottle past security in the past, I know not to fight this.) And, although I had a travel countainer of shaving gel, the damn thing was 3.5 ounces.
Went to the grocery store and stood in the aisle where they keep all the travel-size items. No shaving gel at all.
Shaving cream. For men. In a two-ounce countainer.
I think, "Why not?" A razor's a razor; unwanted hair is unwanted hair. I look around to make sure nobody is watching and I plop the container of Gillette Foamy in my shopping cart.
Holy freakin' cow. Best shave I've ever had. That stuff is so ... foamy. So rich, so thick -- I got an awesome shave with it.
Upon returning, I vowed to hunt down some shaving cream for women. And I did -- some stuff from Barbasol. Claims to be silky and smell like raspberry. I see no evidence of either. Sure, it's better than that shave gel they've been trying to pawn off on us for years, but it can't compete with the wonder that is Foamy.
Trust me on this.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Where the hell did I ...?
Things keep running away on me.
I prefer to think of this not as forgetfulness (or, gasp, aging) but the consequence of inadequate sleep.
A few weeks ago, I lost a piece of paper. I have used that same piece of paper every two weeks for, like, years. I keep it in the same place all the time. It was not in that place.
And yesterday, I thought, "I may have put that piece of paper in the file folder with this year's taxes." So I went to check the Taxes file folder.
Except I can't find the Taxes file folder.
Also yesterday, I obtained my father's gift for Fathers' Day. I've had the card for weeks, so all I needed to do was seal up the car--
-- it isn't on my desk, where it ought to be. Now, I know I'd brought it in to work, so I checked at the office today. Not there either. Not at work; not at home. Damn. I'll have to buy a new card -- and it probably won't go out on time, either.
After I came from work today (and did one last fruitless check for the paper, file, and card), I printed out an email that I needed a hard copy of. (Of which I needed a hard copy. Whatever.) It was four pages long and stopped printing after the first three. Why? Out of paper.
Oh. No problem; I'll just reload some paper. I open the cabinet where the paper should be and ...
... I do not freakin' believe this.
I prefer to think of this not as forgetfulness (or, gasp, aging) but the consequence of inadequate sleep.
A few weeks ago, I lost a piece of paper. I have used that same piece of paper every two weeks for, like, years. I keep it in the same place all the time. It was not in that place.
And yesterday, I thought, "I may have put that piece of paper in the file folder with this year's taxes." So I went to check the Taxes file folder.
Except I can't find the Taxes file folder.
Also yesterday, I obtained my father's gift for Fathers' Day. I've had the card for weeks, so all I needed to do was seal up the car--
-- it isn't on my desk, where it ought to be. Now, I know I'd brought it in to work, so I checked at the office today. Not there either. Not at work; not at home. Damn. I'll have to buy a new card -- and it probably won't go out on time, either.
After I came from work today (and did one last fruitless check for the paper, file, and card), I printed out an email that I needed a hard copy of. (Of which I needed a hard copy. Whatever.) It was four pages long and stopped printing after the first three. Why? Out of paper.
Oh. No problem; I'll just reload some paper. I open the cabinet where the paper should be and ...
... I do not freakin' believe this.
New Passport!
The fine folks at the US Government turned around my passport application in 10 days -- and that includes mailing both ways!
So I now have a shiny new passport, with some sort of electronic doohickey implanted therein which apparently makes for quicker passport scanning at the airport. Oooo.
Also got my old passport back, which is kinda cool, because it's a record of all my trips in the past ten years. There are still a lot of blank pages in that thing, but I love how the immigration agents cram all the stamps on the same pages -- so I've got a 2002 London stamp right next to a 2005 Taipei stamp, with a 2006 U.S. re-entry stamp just sharing the page. And a couple pages later I've got Iceland and Fiji sharing a page -- and those two usually aren't in the same neighborhood.
AND, when I sent in the new passport application, they had me send in two copies of the new passport photo. They sent the second one back, stapled to the old passport.
The first time I renewed my passport as an adult, I had to run to three different places to get the photos done. Honestly. The first place's camera was broken and the second place was out of film. (And, no, the first place wouldn't sell me the film to take to the second place.) And I had no car at the time, so was literally running. The result was a passport photo with my hair every which way. I decided that this was actually a good thing. After all, if I had looked all polished and business-like in the photo, nobody would believe it was me, when I'm standing there in an Immigration line after having spent 12 hours in a cramped airplane.
As you can see, I've kept up the tradition of the passport photo that looks like I just got off an international flight. (I'm particularly proud of the dark circles.)
So I now have a shiny new passport, with some sort of electronic doohickey implanted therein which apparently makes for quicker passport scanning at the airport. Oooo.
Also got my old passport back, which is kinda cool, because it's a record of all my trips in the past ten years. There are still a lot of blank pages in that thing, but I love how the immigration agents cram all the stamps on the same pages -- so I've got a 2002 London stamp right next to a 2005 Taipei stamp, with a 2006 U.S. re-entry stamp just sharing the page. And a couple pages later I've got Iceland and Fiji sharing a page -- and those two usually aren't in the same neighborhood.
AND, when I sent in the new passport application, they had me send in two copies of the new passport photo. They sent the second one back, stapled to the old passport.
The first time I renewed my passport as an adult, I had to run to three different places to get the photos done. Honestly. The first place's camera was broken and the second place was out of film. (And, no, the first place wouldn't sell me the film to take to the second place.) And I had no car at the time, so was literally running. The result was a passport photo with my hair every which way. I decided that this was actually a good thing. After all, if I had looked all polished and business-like in the photo, nobody would believe it was me, when I'm standing there in an Immigration line after having spent 12 hours in a cramped airplane.
As you can see, I've kept up the tradition of the passport photo that looks like I just got off an international flight. (I'm particularly proud of the dark circles.)
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Where did the evening go?
Seems it was just a few minutes ago that I sat down at the computer to be my very own Internet Travel Agent to work out my One Day in Istanbul.
It was supposed to be insanely easy. See, the cruise ship docks at around 7:00 in the morning, I fly out at around 7:00 the following morning -- so I've got 24 hours to fill. I'm told that the cruise company will put me up in the Istanbul Hilton and give me a one day tour of the city for something like $650. (The damn Single Supplement rears its ugly head again.)
And I think, hey, no problem. I can book myself into the very same Istanbul Hilton, and then book the one day tour through the cruise company.
Except, unless I'm booking the whole tour/hotel package with them, my only choice is a 4 1/2 hour tour which dumps me at the hotel around 2:00 -- which is too late to do any other tours and I really don't want to spend half my time in Istanbul cooling my heels at the freakin' Hilton.
OK, no problem. I'll find a full-day bus tour I can book myself.
Except it can't be done from the port. The full-day tours all leave from the hotels, and they leave early enough that there's no guarantee I'll get to my hotel in time to catch one.
OK, no problem. I'll find a freakin' private guide. More expensive (not as expensive as Athens), but, hey, 24 hours in the city -- this is clearly one of those "time = money" situations where I should pony up the cash to not waste the time.
Except I can't find a well-recommended private guide. And I sure as hell don't want to take someone who doesn't come recommended, because, y'know, he'll probably take me to his cousin's carpet shop for the hard sell.
OK, no problem. TripAdvisor is letting me down here, but the message boards at Cruisecritic.com have lots of reviews of Istanbul-specific private guides.
Except they've got several hundred pages on Mediterranean ports, and you can't search the message boards unless you're a member.
OK, no problem. I'll join the damn message board. Joined, confirmed my membership, started searching for drivers in Istanbul and found a tour company that is very highly recommended.
Except not in Istanbul. Apparently, they're terrific around Ephesus, but the quality is questionable in Istanbul. OK, no problem. I keep searching. And searching. And I find a private guide with a good rep in Istanbul. I go to his website and see that he charges about $200 for a day tour.
Except not if you're staying outside the Old City. $200 is for a guided walking tour. (Apparently, all the good stuff in Istanbul is conveniently located all in the same area, where there are several hotels.) And guess where the Istanbul Hilton ISN'T.
OK, no problem. I'll find a hotel in the Old City. Much searching Cruisecritic and Tripadvisor, until I find a hotel everyone agrees is good. (Bonus: they have their own Turkish Bath and spa in the building.) (Bonus because TripAdvisor reviews of the big touristy Turkish Baths are pretty much unanimous that the architecture rocks but the experience blows. It took me some time to discover this.)
So (and I think I know where my evening went now) ... I've got a not-yet-confirmed reservation at the hotel, an email in to the walking tour guy ("Are you available that day? Wanna meet me at the port with a reliable taxi driver?"), and a tentative plan for an 8 hour tour of the city and a reasonably priced turkish bath/massage back at the hotel. Whew.
It only took four hours.
It was supposed to be insanely easy. See, the cruise ship docks at around 7:00 in the morning, I fly out at around 7:00 the following morning -- so I've got 24 hours to fill. I'm told that the cruise company will put me up in the Istanbul Hilton and give me a one day tour of the city for something like $650. (The damn Single Supplement rears its ugly head again.)
And I think, hey, no problem. I can book myself into the very same Istanbul Hilton, and then book the one day tour through the cruise company.
Except, unless I'm booking the whole tour/hotel package with them, my only choice is a 4 1/2 hour tour which dumps me at the hotel around 2:00 -- which is too late to do any other tours and I really don't want to spend half my time in Istanbul cooling my heels at the freakin' Hilton.
OK, no problem. I'll find a full-day bus tour I can book myself.
Except it can't be done from the port. The full-day tours all leave from the hotels, and they leave early enough that there's no guarantee I'll get to my hotel in time to catch one.
OK, no problem. I'll find a freakin' private guide. More expensive (not as expensive as Athens), but, hey, 24 hours in the city -- this is clearly one of those "time = money" situations where I should pony up the cash to not waste the time.
Except I can't find a well-recommended private guide. And I sure as hell don't want to take someone who doesn't come recommended, because, y'know, he'll probably take me to his cousin's carpet shop for the hard sell.
OK, no problem. TripAdvisor is letting me down here, but the message boards at Cruisecritic.com have lots of reviews of Istanbul-specific private guides.
Except they've got several hundred pages on Mediterranean ports, and you can't search the message boards unless you're a member.
OK, no problem. I'll join the damn message board. Joined, confirmed my membership, started searching for drivers in Istanbul and found a tour company that is very highly recommended.
Except not in Istanbul. Apparently, they're terrific around Ephesus, but the quality is questionable in Istanbul. OK, no problem. I keep searching. And searching. And I find a private guide with a good rep in Istanbul. I go to his website and see that he charges about $200 for a day tour.
Except not if you're staying outside the Old City. $200 is for a guided walking tour. (Apparently, all the good stuff in Istanbul is conveniently located all in the same area, where there are several hotels.) And guess where the Istanbul Hilton ISN'T.
OK, no problem. I'll find a hotel in the Old City. Much searching Cruisecritic and Tripadvisor, until I find a hotel everyone agrees is good. (Bonus: they have their own Turkish Bath and spa in the building.) (Bonus because TripAdvisor reviews of the big touristy Turkish Baths are pretty much unanimous that the architecture rocks but the experience blows. It took me some time to discover this.)
So (and I think I know where my evening went now) ... I've got a not-yet-confirmed reservation at the hotel, an email in to the walking tour guy ("Are you available that day? Wanna meet me at the port with a reliable taxi driver?"), and a tentative plan for an 8 hour tour of the city and a reasonably priced turkish bath/massage back at the hotel. Whew.
It only took four hours.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Stupid Homeowner Tricks -- One
(First in what I'm sure will be an occasional series.)
Yesterday morning, I was operating on 5 hours of sleep, after operating the previous day on the same amount. I can do this once, but twice in a row leaves me not functioning well at all.
I get in the car and back out of the driveway. (Yes, I have the sense to open the garage door before I start backing up.) I nearly run over the flowers because I miss-time the turn (curvy driveway) -- something I haven't done since the first week that I've lived here. I straighten out and fix it, only to slam on the brakes when I see a car coming. I tell myself to look left (I look left) and look right (I look right) and continue.
As I'm driving off, I start thinking that this is one day where I'm going to have to be very careful to keep only one thought in my head at a time, because I don't have enough awake brain cells to actually hang on to two thoughts at once. One thought, finish the act, move on to the next thought. I drive to work basically thinking "drive to work," rather than letting my mind wander to the work I have to do once I'm there.
At around 1:20, my cell phone rings. It's my neighbor (who has never called before, but we've exchanged numbers).
She asks, "Did you mean to leave the garage door open?"
Yesterday morning, I was operating on 5 hours of sleep, after operating the previous day on the same amount. I can do this once, but twice in a row leaves me not functioning well at all.
I get in the car and back out of the driveway. (Yes, I have the sense to open the garage door before I start backing up.) I nearly run over the flowers because I miss-time the turn (curvy driveway) -- something I haven't done since the first week that I've lived here. I straighten out and fix it, only to slam on the brakes when I see a car coming. I tell myself to look left (I look left) and look right (I look right) and continue.
As I'm driving off, I start thinking that this is one day where I'm going to have to be very careful to keep only one thought in my head at a time, because I don't have enough awake brain cells to actually hang on to two thoughts at once. One thought, finish the act, move on to the next thought. I drive to work basically thinking "drive to work," rather than letting my mind wander to the work I have to do once I'm there.
At around 1:20, my cell phone rings. It's my neighbor (who has never called before, but we've exchanged numbers).
She asks, "Did you mean to leave the garage door open?"
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
And ... London hotel obtained too
It's a good thing that this vacation is in about two months, as it's probably going to take me that long to get it together. Today I managed to pin down my flights (yes! only two stops on the way back from Istanbul!) and the London hotel.
The latter was extremely annoying, as my usual sources were letting me down.
Don't get me wrong, given the relatively favorable exchange rate, pretty much every hotel in London was reasonably priced. Hell, hotwire would've put me in a 5-star hotel in the West End for $200/night. Which, in the overall scheme of things, is pretty good. (I remember the last time I went to New York, I couldn't get a room in the theatre district for under $250. If I wanted to actually have a bathroom in it.) So, yeah, $200/night for a five-star hotel exactly where I wanted it would be, y'know, good.
Excepting going to London for five days is just the start of this rather massive vacation, and tossing out $1000 on the hotel in London for the, y'know, pre-vacation part of this vacation seems a bit wasteful. So, I see what Hotwire has in a four-star hotel; maybe even 3 1/2.
Here's an interesting tidbit about Hotwire -- they now tell you the TripAdvisor rating for your hotel. It'll say something like "TripAdvisor rating 4 out of 5, based on over 240 ratings."
You know what this means? It means that, with unlimited time, you can actually figure out the hotel that Hotwire is offering. "Unlimited time" being the key part of this sentence. I mean, I'm trying to find out which 4 star hotel in Regent's Park, Baker Street, or Camden Lock has a 4 out of 5 rating based on over 240 ratings. And when there happens to be more than one of them (which there does), I have to cross-check amenities (ok... the hotwire hotel has a pool... does this one on TripAdvisor have a pool?) It took hours. And the bottom line was: none of the hotels they offered me was awesome enough to be worth their price.
Off to Priceline -- to bid, basically, what I thought those hotels would be worth. (The problem, indeed, with Priceline, is that when you're bidding on, say, a four-star hotel in the Marble Arch area, you want to offer the price you'd be willing to pay for the crappiest four-star hotel in that area -- otherwise, if that's the one they happen to give you, you'll be screwed.)
Seeing as it's now after 1:00 in the morning, I'll spare you the blow-by-blow on this. Four more hours of research later (including nearly booking a room through lastminutetravel.com, until I googled for reviews of lastminutetravel.com), and four priceline offers later (during which time they repeatedly offered me worse deals than hotwire), I ended up with a decent room in a four-star hotel in a nice location for $120/night.
Next up: Booking one night in Istanbul.
The latter was extremely annoying, as my usual sources were letting me down.
Don't get me wrong, given the relatively favorable exchange rate, pretty much every hotel in London was reasonably priced. Hell, hotwire would've put me in a 5-star hotel in the West End for $200/night. Which, in the overall scheme of things, is pretty good. (I remember the last time I went to New York, I couldn't get a room in the theatre district for under $250. If I wanted to actually have a bathroom in it.) So, yeah, $200/night for a five-star hotel exactly where I wanted it would be, y'know, good.
Excepting going to London for five days is just the start of this rather massive vacation, and tossing out $1000 on the hotel in London for the, y'know, pre-vacation part of this vacation seems a bit wasteful. So, I see what Hotwire has in a four-star hotel; maybe even 3 1/2.
Here's an interesting tidbit about Hotwire -- they now tell you the TripAdvisor rating for your hotel. It'll say something like "TripAdvisor rating 4 out of 5, based on over 240 ratings."
You know what this means? It means that, with unlimited time, you can actually figure out the hotel that Hotwire is offering. "Unlimited time" being the key part of this sentence. I mean, I'm trying to find out which 4 star hotel in Regent's Park, Baker Street, or Camden Lock has a 4 out of 5 rating based on over 240 ratings. And when there happens to be more than one of them (which there does), I have to cross-check amenities (ok... the hotwire hotel has a pool... does this one on TripAdvisor have a pool?) It took hours. And the bottom line was: none of the hotels they offered me was awesome enough to be worth their price.
Off to Priceline -- to bid, basically, what I thought those hotels would be worth. (The problem, indeed, with Priceline, is that when you're bidding on, say, a four-star hotel in the Marble Arch area, you want to offer the price you'd be willing to pay for the crappiest four-star hotel in that area -- otherwise, if that's the one they happen to give you, you'll be screwed.)
Seeing as it's now after 1:00 in the morning, I'll spare you the blow-by-blow on this. Four more hours of research later (including nearly booking a room through lastminutetravel.com, until I googled for reviews of lastminutetravel.com), and four priceline offers later (during which time they repeatedly offered me worse deals than hotwire), I ended up with a decent room in a four-star hotel in a nice location for $120/night.
Next up: Booking one night in Istanbul.
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