In and Out

Part III:

So, we're finally in the airport, on our way to...Adventure!

Actually, we're on our way to get our rental car. Luckily there's no lineup at the counter, which is odd for me, because I've only ever rented cars in Florida before, and there's ALWAYS a huge lineup there in the Spring.

So we tell the lady at the counter our names for the reservation, and she says "Can I see a credit card please?", and my wife responds "well, it's pre-paid", and she's like "Can I see a credit card please??", and my wife pulls out a piece of paper, from the company, that says "don't show the counter people your credit card until after you've shown them this piece of paper with the confirmation # first". And she thus responds with "Mame, show me your credit card, or you won't get a rental car!". So we finally do, always having planned to, but just doing what the company told us to do, and then the woman behind the counter switches to all fake nice "What brings you to Arizona? Oh, a wedding? That'll be fun" "S'hup bitch, give us our wheels".

Anyway, that brings me another annoyance. Rental car companies telling you exactly what car they're going to give you when you place your reservation, only to always give you a different car when you're there. If you're just giving a holding spot for a midsize sedan, just say "midsize sedan", not specifically "Chevy S-Series, 2004 with 4 doors and it likes to be called Steve, once it trusts you". And they always look confused when you ask why you're not getting the car it says you're getting, but a much lower quality model. The excuse this time was "But...we don't have any of those kinds". It'd be like if I ordered a sandwich at a restaurant, the waiter goes "Great, I'll be right out with it", and then brings you fried chicken, and says "Well, it's roughly the same size. Take it or you won't get to eat," and then looks confused when you ask why you didn't get a sandwich.

Well, maybe not exactly like that, but I'm hungry.

So we get our car, and get the air conditioning going, because it's June in Arizona, and I'm a Canadian.

Then we go check in at our hotel, which seems alright, but has WAY too much staff in the hallway compared to guests, who seem to stare at us really intently all the way down the hallway, until we get close, and then say "Oh, hi!". The hotel is confusing, so we ended up parking far away from our room, but we only took small suitcases (carry-ons only, so there's no problems with losing baggage or checking them in at the airport. Saves much time.), and we're a hearty crew, so we get there alright.

Before we go for lunch, I go check where the ice machine is at, because that's very important. Right beside the ice machine is what looks to be an open door to a closet, but instead is an open door to some guy's sad little office, and he just stares out the door, and anyone who is getting ice near his sad little office. I decide to go up one floor in the future to get ice.

...and the vacation continues from there.

Summertime Madness

Part 2:

Well, I got the airport, but my wife had taken a different flight (because we decided I was going as well for the wedding there at the last second) and I'd have to wait for her in Phoenix for about a half hour.

At this point, I was exhausted, having been up for over a day, and in a plane or two far too long. All the seats at her gate were taken up at first, so I had to stand there outside a Texas BBQ takeout restaurant that they had there.

Her flight was coming from Dallas, and the flight going out after her, was going to Dallas. Surrounded by Texas BBQ, and countless cowboy hats, and the word "Texas" on the monitor, my sleepy mind forgot for awhile that I wasn't in Texas. It wasn't until just before she arrived that I remembered what state I was in.

Then I found a seat, next to a woman who was saying her librarian hates letting kids take out the Harry Potter books. She felt like she was spreading black pagan worship amoung children, but her bosses were making her do it. Then they talked about helicopter rides.

Then my wife showed up, and the vacation begun in earnest...

Vacation matters

Here's my review of my own Arizona vacation, Part 1:

The plane ride to Arizona: 1 star. Seriously, the kid behind me whined everything he said, and he said A LOT. I felt bad for the parents, because they did everything right, and everything within the law that won't get your child taken away from you. But maybe getting that child taken away wouldn't be that bad. The kid, maybe 7, had just seemingly learned the phrased "don't you ever tell me not to*insert what they told him not to do* ever again!", and kept freaking out over his Gummi Bears. "You made me drop my Gummi BEAR!!! You owe me more Gummi Bears!!!". He also kept getting out of his seatbelt during take off and landing, even like, 5 seconds before we hit the runway. "Look honey, we're about to land!" "wow, where's Phoenix?" "This is all Phoenix" "They'd better have a Toys R' Us, Mom! Hey, I need my video *gets out of seatbelt and starts going towards bag on floor*" "No!!".

Yes, that's a lot of non-children having married travelling man bitching, there was the most well behaved little girl in the same age range in front of me, to compare to. Plus, the amount of bitching I do is dependant on how big a headache someone gave me. I haven't bitched enough yet to make up for it. But I will save it for another audience.

And hey, Part 1 is just that, so I'll have more on the actual airport experience, and stretch this out so far and long that I'll actually be on a different vacation by the time I finish this.

Back from Arizona

...and the first thing I do is order and eat a really greasy pizza. That was about as refreshing to my been up since 3:30am body as those air spraying thingies on the plane are when you're hot or uncomfortable from the guy who sits next to you, says "Don't get fresh with me!", and then pulls out his Bible and begins scibbling notes frantically for 2.5 hours.

If that made no sense, reread the up since 3:30 am thing. Plus the day before we drove between Phoenix and Sedona 4 times, because...well, because.

I have all kinds of things I want to write about the trip when I'm in a better headspace, but I'll probably forget to do that. But I'm okay with that, and I'm sure you are as well.

Dude and Boss bars

The Boss is nutty, but the Dude, is smooth.

*smiles* Ah...childhood.

Heat Wave

Ah, I get to go on a relaxing vacation this Thursday for the weekend.

To Arizona. In June. And I'm a Canadian.

What was I thinking?? Break out the SPF 200. Woo!

On Being Topical

This amuses me.

From Yahoo! News a few minutes ago, the top AP story was: U.S. Toll in Iraq Pushes Past 1,700.
However, the most Popular story on Yahoo! News was: Cats use fax as toilet, spark house fire.

A joke no one will enjoy

*ahem* *clears throat* I think I listen to too much NPR on the drive to work.

"This is Future Tense, with John Gordon:

Blogging blog blog blog blog bloggers blogging blog blog politics blog blog podcast podcast podcast Apple Ipod, podcast blog, blog, the Internet, blog, spyware, malware, podcast blog, from the center for internet applications to the workplace, blog...spyware, blog podcast, malicious emails, podcast, blog blog blog"

Yeah, yeah, I know...but it's Saturday and nothing has happened to me today. Besides my left testicle swelling up really huge, but you don't want to hear about that, do you.

I think I'm going to make some melted feta squares.

And here's the recipe.

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees F. Not C. F.

Cut block feta into roughly 2 inch by 1 inch squares.

Spray a baking pan with a cooking spray, so it don't stick, yo.

Lay the feta squares on the pan. Lightly brush extra virgin olive oil on top. Add about 4 red pepper flakes to each square. Then sprinkle on dried oregano and paprika. Cover with foil and cook for 15 to 20 minutes. I know that's a big span considering 5 minutes is up to one third of 15 minutes, but hey, I don't know your oven, so I have to take that into consideration. Believe me, I'm doing it for you, I could have just typed 15 minutes, and it would have saved me time.

Take it out of the oven, sprinkle on some dried or fresh chopped parsley, let cool so you can scrape it off the pan, and enjoy the incredibly intense flavour before you completely tire of it.

Enjoy!

Left one.

Funny links

I'm not the link posting type, because I rebel against that sort of person!

But anyway, I am today...but I rebel against myself!

Superman is a Dick.

It helps that I don't have the effort in me to post anything like the usual meaningless drivel for the...well, I don't have an audience, but I'm saving my precious thoughts for the future masses. I guess. Unless blogger goes out of business and deletes it's hard drive, or I don't use it enough and it freezes the account, like Diaryland does/did.

Damn you, Tax Man!

The good news: I got an "attendance bonus" at work today, wherein I get 5% or so of my quarterly wage back depending on how little hours I missed. The bad news, 40% of it went away thanks to taxes.

We get all kinds of bonuses at work, being that we're employee owned and all, and I want to blow all of them on expensive useless things. But I can't this time, because I have to save for a car down payment. Stupid expensive useful thing. The wipers still work at least, which is more than I can say for the first car my wife and I had. We drove without working wipers or a heater for over a year in Minnesota. That's living on the edge.

I think I finally have credit built up for a car loan. Being that I'm new to the country, I cause all kinds of space time continuum problems for the credit people, who end up looking at me strange after assuring me that I simply must have good credit. Then I have NO credit, and they get all...what the...you're an adult, how come you don't exist until last year...what do you mean Canadians don't have social security numbers, don't they give them out when you're born...oh...you have your own system.

But a secured credit card, and an insanely huge intrest rate fee car loan later, I think I've built up the credit somewhat. I even got a normal credit card last year, with normal rates and everything, so I can rent cars, and book hotel rooms. Useful things when running from...the law!

The union workers at my place of employment vote whether or not to go on strike tomorrow afternoon. They should think hard about what really matters when they go to vote...the fact that I'd have to leave my cushy half-office job and do their job if they strike...no one wants that. Well, I don't at least, and that's all that matters. Plus, then I for sure can't buy last second tickets for a June Arizona vacation for my wife's friend's wedding next week...well, that wouldn't be a huge loss. But they're serving burritoes AND fajitas at the wedding...now that's Ari-Mex hospitality.

Do you do the Dew Point?

After listening to some guy (read: egghead) on NPR talk about the dew point, and what it is, and how it's causing Minnesota to be all hot and bothered at the moment, I went home, and brought up the near record high dew point to my wife who has been home sick all day in an air conditioned home and not felt the sting of the dew.

When she asked "What's the dew point?", I was all...well, it has to do with...the temperature...that causes...dew...okay, it's humid!

I'm like an anti-sponge...but only when it's too hot to think. Stupid car's air conditioning breaking just before Summer starts.

Stupid girl at the art fair who was "crazy and creative" because she wore two different socks, and both were wacky!

Stupid person at the art fair food van, "Foods of the Mother Earth" who taunted my wife for overlooking the more artful faire she was peddling, and instead getting the fried potatoes, not even the friend plaintains.

Why even offer them then? Because you like money to put fuel in your gaudily painted food bus.

Where do you get a food bus? Do you just cut a hole in the side of a regular bus, and then install a deep fryer? Is that the only place that it's legal to deep fry cheese curds, snickers bars, and oreos?

It should be.

Garage sale...MADNESS

I went to the yearly neighborhood garage sale, over 100 garages giving up their precious innards, but it was a short visit due to rain and other commitments.

So the final score, though unfair as it is due to time restrictions:

1 - A Time to Kill

1 - The Firm

0 - The Pelican Brief

I'm guessing since the first big sale four years ago, most of those books have now shuffled off into other neighborhood garage sales to be sold for 10 cents. It's anthropology at it's best.

The Hands of time

So, there's a clock in the shipping area of my work, and it drives me crazy.

I was looking at the clock a month or two back, and thoughts, "Man, something is wrong with that clock...but what is it." Then I realized that it was the fact that the second hand NEVER STOPS. I'm used to clocks that go "1. Pause. 2. Pause. 3. Pause" when counting seconds. This one just moves in a smooth motion, never stopping for a...second.

So I thought, "stupid clock, time doesn't move that fast and constantly". Then I realized it does.

Then I thought, Oh my God, I'm getting old!

Then I just read Bill's Blog and thought of all the little cousins and family that I held as babies and are now teenagers going to proms and such.

Then I decided to put on a hawaiian t-shirt to feel young. But somehow afterwards, I feel even older.

Eat At Brian's

We took my wife's grandmother out for dinner tonight, and my official tour of every old person restaurant in south Minneapolis continues in full glory. Tonight's was an amazing array of generic brown gravy and mash potatoes, along with wonderfully similar to tv dinner fried chicken.

And bread sticks! Because they brought us the wrong food, we get one bread stick.

wiggie's Dictionary describes breadsticks as the following: bread, made in stick form. A food no one craves, but will eat when presented in front of you to keep from having to make conversation for a few precious seconds.

And here's a freeform poem about breadsticks.

Breadsticks, can't get enough of you,
Your bland whiteness,
Is only surpassed,
by your bland whiteness.
Look at you,
Your texture is there,
for all to see,
but no one to comment on.
Look at you,
And your companionship with the butter,
That came in a little foil square.
Look at the butter,
And know,
that people want it more than you.
But feel they must eat you,
to have that butter.
Breadstick.

Qwackarooni!

Oh man, I need a mental health day from work, even after the long weekend. Mental health, and physical health, as my job is half physical work in the afternoons, and I'm a big wuss who gets banged up easily. I took the job in a "Oh God, I need a job...hey, this will do!" way, but man, after about 10 months of it, I've got to move on before my knees and back get shot. Plus the oil makes my hands break out...you should see it...well, maybe not, but I'm not one of those rashy people. You know the type, who are always red pussy blotchy at the slighest bit of Sun/weeds/ointment/touching someone with scabbies. Not me, but my hands were all cracked and itchy, and it's hard to scratch your hands, because they do the scratching...wait a second, the other hand can scratch the other hand...that's a great idea! Well, gotta go do something. Later.