surprise, surprise

Okay, so what rhyme scheme do you think is used for the Wikipedia entry on iambic pentameter?

Carl Kasel on my home answering machine

It's been too long.

Months ago at a silent auction, I purchased the opportunity to have Carl Kasel's voice on my voice mail.

Carl, who the WSJ describes as "the National Public radio newscaster and the judge/scorekeeper/second banana on NPR's weekly call-in quiz show" usually offers his voice as a prize for winners.

But the pressure ... this is such a great opportunity, and I lack inspiration for what to ask him to say.

Please send ideas my way.

phantom mice and others

I still remember the first time I realized I had roommates that didn't pay rent.

 

It was the early part of 2003, after a snowstorm so bad that it destroyed the roof of the B&O railroad museum's roundhouse. I was sitting at my dining table, reading, when I glimpsed something scurrying out of the corner of my eye.

 

My feet left the floor. My thoughts, however, went to my landlord. Mom had read a clause in my lease indicating that I would be responsible for any "vermin" in my apartment. So I called Don.

 

Don, in his characteristically pleasant and sing-songy voice, explained that rodents often moved in when it snowed because they had a hard time finding water and other necessities. He mentioned peanut butter would be good bait for the traps he'd leave for me. Because, you see, "if you've seen Mickey, then Minnie's not far behind," he chirped. 

 

I suddenly had a vision of human-sized cartoon characters roaming around my house. What's more horrible --- an infestation of Disney legends, or brutally killing said beloved childhood figures?

 

Anyway, I put out the traps but never caught anything other than my own index finger, so I avoided the disposal issues that friend and frequent commenter Maliavale is dealing with.* But the problem continues, with the occasional mouse darting across the kitchen or jumping off the metal shelf unit where I keep snacks.

 

Now, I grew up in a city and have endured my share of roaches and other urban insects without too much distress, but I hate mice. My fear of rodents stems from an unshaking belief that these mammals harbor some sort of grudge against me --- for being large, for being loud, for past transgressions against their brethren**... what I'm saying is, these guys might have a justifiable desire to claw my eyes out and sink their perpetually growing incisor teeth into my soft flesh.

 

So super-early Christmas morning, when I got home after work and midnight mass and dinner and baking cookies, I had gotten into bed and was trying to fall asleep when I heard ... something. Something like little teeth and claws chewing on a paper bag in the kitchen -- perhaps the bag with the cookies I had brought back home after my impromptu baking party! I thought for a moment and decided I did not want to share my snacks.

 

I got up, turned on the light in my room and grabbed one of the Redhead's slippers. I stood in my bedroom doorway and looked across the hall at the kitchen. There was a bag near the stove, but had the mouse had chewed a hole in the bottom or had it had fallen/jumped in? If it had jumped in, maybe it would jump out if I went to pick up the bag.

 

I got an idea: as I lobbed the slipper at the bag I dived back onto my bed --- just in case the mouse decided to dart back into my room, for some reason. Then I waited there for a few moments on my hands and knees, listening. I heard something -- perhaps the sounds of teeth chewing on the cookie container, perhaps just a creak as I shifted my weight.

 

Another attack was in order. I put on an old pair of shoes, to protect my exposed toes, and hefted one of the Redhead's boots, still wrapped in a plastic bag from our trip to Boston. I threw it at the bag, again, and again ran to the bed.

 

That's when I remembered there were no cookies in the kitchen, actually --- I had left them in the trunk of my car.

*This is no longer true, as of 12:05 p.m. Dec. 27.

**addendum, not for the squeamish: In college, during the six-week-long experiment of my required neuro lab course, an indulgent partner allowed me to avoid contact with my rat for a really long time. For example, I didn't have to swing the rat in a circle*** to confuse it so it wouldn't freak out when we injected it with drugs before we put it in a little harness to measure how many times it turned right or left -- she took care of that.

 

It wasn't until after we had anesthetized them, and cut open their scalps, and used a dental drill to make a hole in their skulls, and injected a poison to make a lesion in its brain, and then stapled its scalp back together with something that looked like a binder clip, that I had to touch the rat.  

 

It lay there splayed out under a warming lamp, breathing softly, with the metal staple lifting the folds of skin like a mohawk on its head. After it came out of sedation the rat had to go back into its regular cage with access to water, but indulgent friend had to go to class. When it started to stir, I carried the plexiglass container into the locked room where the animals were kept and put it down on a table. I started talking to it, saying things more to reassure myself for the task at hand.

 

Then I heard something to my left, from the bank of cages. I turned and saw another rat, also stapled, poking its head ON TOP of one of the cages -- not inside, where it belonged. And that's when I ran away.

 

Flight instincts kicked in because I knew that that rat was coming to get me. Wouldn't you resent one of the humans who had literally messed with your head?

 

I ran to the student center and the library and the computer center, hunting for someone in my lab or who had taken it before, who could help me with my plight. Finally I found an Emily who was a TA and she said comforting things and came with me back to the lab and she put both rats away.

 

***addendum to the addendum: We didn't swing them by their tails; the lab partner would hold the rat so that it kept its front legs folded across its chest and would not be able to bite. It's not as mean as it sounds.

 

postscript: yes, I was the worst neuroscience major ever.

 

A final note: I really like cats. I don't like birds. I don't like the way they move.

Boston is not Baltimore

Why do things like this happen in Boston and not in Baltimore?

On second thought, I'm not sure whether I want to be clubbed by soft objects in the cold.

Especially when things like this happen here.

As The Sun says (fourth item), it's nice that they put up a barrier so people don't splashed with paint.

saving water

Some of these tips you probably know ...  I'm not sure about the one I've quoted below, however.

"Don't pour cooking water down the drain. Water from pasta, vegetables, rice and potatoes can be saved in the refrigerator for a couple of days and used for soup. That captures flavor and water-soluble vitamins and minerals, too. (Potato cooking water is great for making bread.)"

I like the idea of reusing the water, but I'm not sure I make soup often enough for this to make sense.

When I have the resources to build a dream house out of something other than LEGOs, it will have a grey water system that will reroute wastewater from drains into the toilets so that I'm not flushing away drinkable liquids. But until then, I'll just continue to overwater my house plants.

happy news

The city of Baltimore will now accept more plastic through its recycling program! Yes, of course we should reduce our waste and reuse what we can, but hopefully this will encourage more people to sort their trash. I'm glad that my yogurt cups will be reincarnated into something else!

If you live in an apartment and your landlord does not recycle, you can find a location to drop off your items here .

the Urban Word of the Day

makes me laugh and laugh and laugh.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: <daily@urbandictionary.com >
Date: Dec 4, 2007 7:00 AM
Subject: Urban Word of the Day: Hobosexual

Urban Word of the Day
www.urbandictionary.com

December 04, 2007: Hobosexual

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Hobosexual&defid=1179918

Adjective. The opposite of metrosexual; one who cares little for one's own appearance.

Examples: Michael Moore, Peter Jackson.
First documented hobosexual - John the Baptist.

Vote early and often

Laura Vozzella (third item) writes that HGTV is offering a "municipal makeover" for cities like Baltimore --- but it's just one Northeast Baltimore neighborhood, Pen Lucy, that's in contention for sprucing.

Mayor says to vote as often as you want

Remember when big-city mayors looked to Washington for money? Today, they turn to HGTV.

Sheila Dixon is urging residents to stuff the ballot box in a Home and Garden Television municipal makeover contest.

"You can help bring some much-needed support and attention to our wonderful city by voting for Baltimore!" the mayor exclaimed in a news release.

The network is offering makeovers to four cities in its "Change the World, Start at Home" contest. Baltimore is one of 10 finalists. If the city wins, HGTV won't doll up all of Charm City, but it will help pay for a revitalization project in Pen Lucy.

(Details about the project and how much HGTV would contribute were not immediately available.)

Dixon is encouraging residents to vote early and often at www.hgtv.com. HGTV allows anyone to vote once a day until the contest concludes Dec. 21.

So the network cares more about Web traffic than representative democracy. At least it's got some money for cities.

check out the blotter version of my life

It's the third item. Police are on the lookout for someone fragrant, yet germy (because s/he left the hand sanitizer).

Central

Theft // A 2007 Honda Civic was parked in the 300 block of E. Biddle St. early Wednesday when someone shattered a passenger window with a rock and stole coconut-scented hand lotion and an iPod cable. Total value of the property and the shattered window was $310. The rock was found inside the car.

the charms of Charm City

I finally feel like I'm a real resident of Baltimore, because someone smashed in my car window between midnight and noon today --- first time in five years!

Or, perhaps this is a sign I should leave.

To tell you the truth, it's not unexpected. I had a really bad feeling when I parked my car yesterday on the bridge over Interstate 83, between Guilford Avenue and east Baltimore next to at least two piles of broken auto glass --- often the only place I can park my car when I get back after work, after 11:30 p.m.

The haul: a bottle of hand lotion and the cord that connects my iPod to the stereo. The thief/thieves, who worked by the perpetually blinking blue light of a Baltimore Police Department surveillance camera, left my E-ZPass, old cell phone charger and hand sanitizer behind. Must have been scared off by the alarm, because my real valuables -- the Scrabble set in my trunk -- were also unmolested.

This unfortunately violates my life philosophy of staying out of the police blotter.

But no lasting harm. Safelite installed new auto glass in time for me to make it to my shift tonight and the technician let me use his vacuum to suck the glass crumbs out of my vents and from between my multiple layers of floor mats. It's all good.

lies the Little People told me

You know, the children's playset is probably not a bastion of historical accuracy. But, I'm pretty sure there were no black people on the Mayflower.

Perhaps he is a stowaway!

the best URL ever

http://www.losanjealous.com

Down with the heteronormative agenda!

Baltamour blogged about relationship articles that expound about what boys do and girls do better, assuming we all fit into neat categories based on our gender.

Lists such as these particularly burn me up when it comes to the presumption that women are better nurturers ... No, I'm not the best equipped human in the room to care for children, just because I have ovaries. Frankly, the best child caregivers have patience, and I sorely lack that quality.

Coffee, meet tea

So what is a "chai latte"?

"Chai" is a blend of tea and spices. "Latte" is espresso with steamed
milk.

So is a "chai latte" coffee or tea? Is it coffee-flavored tea? Is it
tea-flavored coffee? Wouldn't that be "toffee"?

Amazing that we've managed as a society to complicate the combination
of dried beans (or leaves) in water. Confounded pumpkin pie chai
latte! I shake my fist at you.

An announcement

I've often said that the world would be a safer place if I did not drive in it.

Unfortunately, it's just gotten more dangerous.

Maliavale and I are putting together PL8WTCH --- a blog about vanity plates. Please send contributions you've spotted our way.

A spoonful of sugar helps the theology go down

In my Line of Work, I encounter a lot of marketing of consumer goods with a somewhat tenuous tie to religion. Here's a great taste-test of candies with a religious theme --- gotta love the chocolate Om and Biblical Sandy Candy. Maybe you'll get some in your treat bag this All Hallow's Eve!

It was compiled by a panel at beliefnet.com ... perhaps a little redundancy in the URL, but they've got good content, if you're into the Godtalk, or Godstalk, if you're more the polytheistic type.

shocking omission: unidentified delights

I can't believe I went on and on about chocolate and savory things and did not mention that I finally tried the mac & cheese & chocolate at Jack's Bistro! We went on my birthday, which was a Sunday, to take advantage of the $12 entrees-in-the-bar special. The event was doubly sweet because I was not working and we ended it with a short trip to Vaccaro's in O'Donnell Square.

We started the meal with a cheese course, of sorts --- both the aforementioned macaroni and cheese and the fried cheeseburger balls. My assessment? I am a big fan of macaroni, and cheese, and macaroni and cheese, and chocolate, and while all of those ingredients tasted independently good in the dish, I'm not sure they fit together in a deliciously complementary way, like Voltron. The cheeseburger balls are a better choice.

Invasion of giant nuns, thwarted

So after The Sun confirmed on Page 2b that the Giant Nuns were in fact larger than life-size, some not-so-Good Samaritan rats them out to the city's Department of Public Works , according to City Paper! But not before the enormous consecrated women waged havoc on the city, leaving rubble in their wake.

unidentified delights

The Redhead's mom is a sweet, intelligent woman who I enjoy visiting with, especially because the two of us become a unified force in ganging up on the Redhead when the three of us are in close proximity.

She's also funny, because she does not believe that the Redhead checks his mail at his apartment, so she sends gifts and birthday cards to him at my address. I think his aunt and grandmother have the same idea.

But! I received my own little joyous surprise last week, in honor of my own birthday. It was a lovely orange box of chocolates, wrapped up in a giant orange ribbon (did I mention she taught me how to tie gift bows with real ribbons?) and full of interesting sweets.

Tangent: boxes of chocolate are great because I can nurse them in my own anal-retentive, OCD-kind of way, allowing myself only one delectable treat per day for a month of tastiness. Who can eat an entire chocolate bar in one sitting? They are only good for fondue.

Back to the story: Some boxes of chocolates have a map to help you steer of chocolate-covered cherries and others you wish to avoid, but without reference material you just have to take your chances.

Years ago Mz. Loh gave me food-garnishing advice she may have learned from the CIA: it's good to decorate your food with stuff that offers the eater a clue to the contents, like a nut on a rum ball or other nutty cookies, or sprigs of mint on ... something minty.

But that rule did not prepare me for the first chocolate I tried, which was topped with a white crystalline substance I assumed was raw sugar. It turned out to be salt! It tasted salty. The filling was unclear.

Then I saw a post on this blog (wish it had permalink features) about burnt caramel truffles with Hawaiian sea salt and feel like I've gained some insight. (Be sure to read the post before that one, about the chocolate bacon bars at Ma Petite Shoe, Baltimore's shoe and chocolate store).

It took me a little while to support the concept of chocolate-covered savory things (okay, the time it took to devour my first chocolate-covered pretzel). And I completely agree with the explanation on the bacon bar page that pancake syrup on pork products (I prefer sausage) is tasty. But this is not a universal endorsement: I'm not a big fan of Monte Cristo sandwiches and for political reasons I refuse to try the pancake sandwich at the fast-food-place-that-is-not-to-be-named-or-linked-to.

But who knows? I'm only halfway through the box of deliciousness. Perhaps there's a Chorizo one in there somewhere.

putting the numbers in context

This work by Seattle artist Chris Jordan attempts to put American consumption in context ... I like the simple depictions much better than the photomosaic style pieces. But still --- fascinating.

Updated: found via bagsintrees.com.