Counting

Kiwi has a couple of the hard plastic toys that you might give a toddler.  Electronic toys where the child pushes the buttons to hear letters or numbers or sounds.  She likes the telephone one the best.  Thursday night, when I was at the Library my mother, Kay, sent me a recap of a conversation she had with Kiwi. 

Kiwi: (sing-song) 1....2....3

Kay: Kiwi, what comes after 3?

Kiwi: FOUR!

Kay: Kiwi, what comes after 4?

Kiwi: WHAT?!

Kay: Five, Kiwi. One, two, three, four, five!
Kiwi: Ok
 
I don't think Kiwi knows what numbers actually mean, but I am certain she is speaking in context.

That Was Fast

I mentioned that the leaves in my favorite tree turned to yellow overnight.  They also dropped overnight.  I am starting to think that those years when I thought that life was passing me by because I didn't notice the changing of the seasons....were a big lie perpetuated by this monster that has left his soggy bodily waste rotting on my lawn.

Happy Halloween.

Walter Payton

We've been thinking about Walter Payton in Chicago lately.  I mean, we always talk about him, but lately we've been thinking.   For me, it started with word that they were trying to get a statue put in at Soldier Field.  Apparently the Park District, which owns Soldier Field, had a problem with that.

Then, there was that beer commercial.  One came out a couple of weeks earlier featuring Tony Dorsett and I remember thinking, "If they did one of those with Walter Payton footage, I would probably cry."  And can I tell you?  I heard it on the radio.  The sportscaster, calling the game as Payton broke Jim Brown's record.  I freaked out in rush hour traffic.  Beer commercial.

And then, of course, we think of Walter when our team is getting spanked.  Which is why the idea of a half time memorial on Sunday, the 10th anniversary of Payton's death, sounds like a great idea to me.

I was at the public service in 1999 with my friend, Eric.  I have never been to such an event for a celebrity before and I can't imagine what would make me attend another.  But it was for Walter Payton.  I remember the Mayor wasn't there, but the Mayor's brother was.  He botched something ridiculous, like what number Payton wore.  I remember seeing the old teammates.  Dude, it was like Brian's Song, so don't get me started.

The active players had to get up and leave at some point.  They were getting on the bus to go to the next day's game in Green Bay.  They really weren't any good that season, but there is nothing worse than losing to the Packers (unless it is losing to the Vikings).  The last play was Green Bay kicking a field goal to win it.  A really easy one, if I remember correctly.  I don't normally watch field goals, but for some reason I looked.  A Bear got a hand high enough in the air to block it.  We won the game.  In my little circle, "Walter's Game" isn't the day he broke the record.  It was the day after his memorial when it took a small miracle to beat the Packers.

If it takes a small miracle to beat Cleveland on Sunday, I will consider the season over.  But I will still take the opportunity to send some love Walter's way.

Pumpkin Smash

Sometimes when I am all stressed out at work, I take the longish walk to Jamba Juice and get a smoothie for lunch.  I went in last week and got the pumpkin smash.  I heard it was "pumpkin pie through a straw".

It actually is.  Not "pumpkin spice".  But actual pumpkin.  It was slimy, even.

The issue is that there is a serious curve in the diminishing marginal utility.  After four or five sips, it is just too much.  Because I didn't think to take a picture, I stole this one from Serious Eats, that has a real review and even a recipe link.  If Death by Pumpkin sounds good to you.

Dr. Zarkov! There's no sun!

I hate driving to work in the dark.  The weather has been lame, so the sun isn't breaking through, but it's mostly the days getting shorter and whoever had the bright idea of messing with Daylight Savings....was just wrong.

And speaking of the change in season, the leaves in my favorite tree turned.  Overnight.  No kidding, people.  There might have been a day or two of going dark green to light green, but the light green to yellow - overnight.

My Corporate Finance course started today.  It looks scary with the problem sets and the quizzes and the vague instructions on what is expected in the weekly discussions.  And the worst part?  It is all open book.  Anne's Law: Never trust a test that is open book.  If I am still alive at the end of this class, I am going to read nothing but trashy novels for the rest of the year.  I'm pretty sure I have a sequel to Pride and Prejudice around here somewhere...

Matchless

LibraryThing has a program of sorts that offers up advance copies of books to members willing to review them online.  The list of available books is on the home page and it isn't a bad way to keep up with who is coming out with what.  If you care.

On the page right now is Gregory Maguire's new book.  You know, the guy that wrote Wicked.  He has done some really good stuff and some really mediocre stuff, and I took a second look.

It's called Matchless.  My cold black heart sank a bit.  Please tell me it isn't about the Little Match Girl.  I freakin' hate that story. 

It is.

There are three early reviews and there is no consensus of opinion, although it sounds like the ending is somewhat less tragic.  Don't care.  Won't be reading it.

Not From a Box

Somewhere between the third and fourth touchdowns of the worst game ever played in the National Football League, I had to get up and do something.  I made cranberry sauce.  Although technically, the recipe came from the back of the bag, I can call absolutely call this cooking from scratch.

With a full cup of sugar.

My family was perfectly happy with the stuff from a can.  We would refrigerate it in advance and a true champion, like my mother, could get the lump of cranberry jelly to slide out into the dish in one unblemished lump.  I forget why I first tried making it fresh...but I remember my family trying it and saying, "Wait a minute.  This is good."  And being all impressed.

So.  Green bean casserole and fresh cranberry sauce.  That's what I can contribute to Thanksgiving dinner.  If we bother to cook at all.

P.S.  I am convinced that if I had been fed fresh cranberry sauce as a child, I would have found it lumpy and complained about the seeds.  I wouldn't expect Alex to eat this.

Queenpin, by Megan Abbott

Book 41

I saw Queenpin, by Megan Abbott at the library used book store right after utter_scoundrel blogged about another of her books.  Slim volume, so I gave it a try.

The first half was so cliché it made me angry.  Young girl cooking the books for some low budget operation is discovered by a serious player-chick who hires her and teaches her the underworld game.  And Rule #1 is don't let a man screw it all up for you. 

Young girl gets a taste for it and gets good at it and then she meets the jerk.

I must say that the whole, "I knew from the moment I met him that I would do anything for him" routine turned me off in a big way.  She keeps her "relationship" a secret, so then we wait to find out when and how it is "discovered" or whether the boss knew it all along.  I didn't care.

Then comes the day when the jerk presents his plan for her to get him a big score.  Here we go.  And it is all ugly and stupid.  But then, the story actually gets good.

Death of the Jerk just rocked.  And the last third of the book is watching the game unfold in the aftermath.  Does the mentor intend to throw the protégée to the wolves, or is she just buying insurance?  Will the protégée cut and run?  She is a bit of a crybaby.

The climax of the story is not unexpected, but very cinematic.  The "epilogue" is lame.  And there were still some unanswered questions that left me hanging.  But in the end, I enjoyed it.  Abbott's novels do not require much of a commitment (What was I thinking in starting up another Mailer this year?) so I grabbed another.

And While I am Discussing My Spending Habits Again

I went in to Yankee Candle.  I had been using an electric tart warmer for a couple of years, but officially ran out of outlets in the area that I kept it and I don't feel like adding more.  So I went old school.  I use a jar candle when I am going to be home for a long stretch and the standard tart warmers during the week when I will only be upstairs for a couple of hours before going to sleep.  The accessories are getting better.  I love my new jar holder:

Except the picture looks weird with the shadow behind it.  Anyway, the tip of the day for the hard-core Yankee Candle people is that if you use an electric tart holder, set it on a timer for a few minutes before you get home.  So the scent is already wafting by the time you walk in the door.

Credit Card Processing

Warning: Disingenuous Rant to Follow

I was in the Bath and Body Works.  I was once a regular customer of this branch.  While I have defected to The Body Shop for most of my shower gels and creams, I still go to Bath and Body works for a few things.  Today it was hand soap because Vanilla Bean Noel is back in the house.  And the shea cashmere hand cream also made a comeback.  And I had a 20% discount.

After all of the sales and discounts, my total was something under $20.  I swiped my credit card and signed.  While the lady was putting my stuff into my reusuable shopping bag, I put the card away.  She handed me the bag and asked to see the credit card.  Now, I don't mind handing over the credit card, but I really thought the whole point of the self service card swipers that capture signatures was to speed the process along.  I opened my bag, took out my wallet and handed her the card.

She told me my signature didn't look like the signature on the machine and asked to see my i.d.  Staring daggers into her heart, I handed it over.  She looked at the picture, looked at me and handed both back with my receipt.

Now.  Here is my damage:

Of course the signature doesn't look right.  These digital machines can't pick up anything properly, let alone at the odd angle at which I am required to sign because I am left-handed.  Once or twice, when these machines were new, I asked a store to erase my signature and start the transaction over because even I couldn't read it.  Apparently, that was also suspicious.

Ulta has these digital signature storing devices.  I always found it weird that the sales associate had to swipe the card herself.  I am thinking this is why.  She can eyeball the card without making a big display of theft control prowess.

I know that I should be pleased that someone is taking care with my credit. But really. The total was less than $20. I worked the sales and discounts to the extreme. Do the Amex thieves really use all of their little coupons when they have just stolen someone's card? For that amount, many stores don't even bother to collect a signature.

Making me feel like a criminal is not the way to regain (or retain) my business.