Everywhere I look, there’s food.

None of which is there for me to eat.

I’ve been kind of keeping a low profile for the last few days,  mostly because we’ve had company.  My sister Alice came here from B.C. for a visit,  and her significant other decided to come along as well.  The more the merrier I say.  Basically.

They camped out in the basement apartment for the most part.

 

Originally Alice was going to stay until the 25th I think it was,  but things weren’t working out with the visits to the Grand Daughters,   so she opted to change her flight and head home on Sunday.  Rick, (her friend) was only scheduled to stay until Friday anyway.   Of course,  Muggins here is always pressed into service to cart folks off to the airport,  but whatever.   Not like I have other pressing items on my punch list.

 

Anyhoodle,  I’m looking forward to having something to eat much later today,  since I’ve been doing my “prep”.

Does that liquid look somewhat vile?

That was my first glass from yesterday afternoon.  I’ve just now taken a second.  The first one wasn’t quite as bad as the second for some reason.  It’s organgy flavoured,  but it doesn’t really help.  It’s totally gag worthy.

Then of course,  there’s a “rumbling”,   and you can guess the rest.

If you’ve never done this “prep”,  then you have no freakin’ idea what I’m talking about.  And you’re turn will some day come,  trust me.

Of course,  if you have done this “prep”,  then I’m already preaching to the converted and you know exactly what I’m talking about. So that’s as far as we’ll go with that.

 

Um,  I think that’s all I got.  Pushing my luck here.

 

Keep it between the ditches.

 

Thanks for stopping in.

So the answer really is, “nothing”.

Rolled in this morning at around 1:15.  Of course the flight was late. 

Not chronically late,  like the time I was two and a half hours late getting back from Barcelona to Vienna on a Sunday, which subsequently meant that I had to take a taxi from “Wien Mitte”,  since the subway system had by then shut down,  messing up my whole, “I can get from my front door all the way to the airport and back for eight Euros” program.

Gah! Total transportation budget out the window.  I was miffed.

Actually,  not so much.  I think I would have been mightily upset if there hadn’t been taxis hanging around,  or if I perhaps didn’t have the fare in my pocket. 

No, this was more like about 20 minutes late which,  considering it was the last flight of the day, is almost something to be expected,  since most of these types of flights consist of flying back and forth between two stops,  so if there’s any “issues”,  it’s a domino effect.

Not sure if the crew would have had to turn around and fly out again in the morning?  I would hope not.  We were both a little groggy this morning, but neither of us were faced with ferrying a bunch of people half way across the country.

 

It’s still hot and humid here,  but the new air conditioning is working just tickety-boo.  Mind you,  there is a bit of a breeze outside,  and I did cut the grass last night at around 8:30 or so,  and it was tolerable.  (well,  depending on your take on “tolerable”?)

Very easy to work up a sweat of course, but it would have been way worse in the middle of the afternoon. 

No thanks.

 

So what was I saying?  Right.

From time to time,  when Travelling Companion comes home from work,  or when I have the car and pick her up from work,  there is that one question that gets asked.  “So, what did you do today?”   And most of the time I just say, “Meh, nothing.”

I think some days she actually believes me,  but truth be told,  whatever the hell it is I do all day is so helter skelter, that coming up with an actual comprehensive (and comprehensible) answer is just too much of a challenge.

Today however,  I decided to finally tackle something that has been annoying me for going on twenty years now.  Nothing to do with my personal appearance or well being either.  There are many areas of improvement there,  but let’s not do that.

No,  I’m talking about the door to what is now the sewing room,  which has always been just the worst example of how to hang a door I think I’ve ever seen. 

 

First of all,  houses do “settle”.   So back in the nineties at some point,  I had to half-assedly relocate the strike,  so that the door would actually latch.

 

Not a very tidy job I’ll admit,  but there was always the intention to “get back to that one day”,  so I wasn’t too concerned about aesthetics.  That’s my excuse anyway.

The door stop had already been removed on that previous occasion, and I simply hadn’t bothered to put the thing back again.

 

I also must have messed around with the jam,  since I discovered that someone had nailed it back in place with ardox (spiral cut) finishing nails.   The original nails in this house are smooth.  A lot easier to remove too,  by the way.

So fine,  it sort of worked.   The thing was though,  the door itself wasn’t hung properly.   The top hinge was way off,  and that was from the original installation.  Where I have the tip of that screwdriver,  the hinge is out of alignment by a good eighth inch. 

No amount of adjustment is going to sort the thing out.

So,  it’s gotta come out.

 

Not a big deal if you have a reciprocating saw.  You may recall our little toilet seat surgery of a few weeks back?  Handy dandy tool,  even though the one I have isn’t cordless. 

I sometimes lust after a cordless version, but since I’m not one to scamper up on roof tops, thereby having to run miles of extension cord,  it’s pretty hard to justify.

 

So,  this is going to be a “do over”.  Like when you screw up as a kid.  Just do it over. 

Of course,  the last time I messed around with this door jamb,  I was really only trying to make it work a little better.  I didn’t really succeed.  However,  since I removed and remodelled a closet a few years back,  I now had a spare door jamb squirreled away in the attic of the shed. 

I’m feeling pretty good about this.

 

 

I was feeling even better that the thing was too long to start with,  which mean being able to cut off a good inch of the messed up part,  but then when I held it up there,  there was just one little problem!

  

Oh c’mon!  Are you kidding me?

Virtually all of the door jambs in this house are five and a half inches.  Not this one.  It’s six and a quarter.  (These were done in the pre metric days)  There are a couple that are just…six and a bit.  What?  Were they just ripping them up as they went along??  Oh gawd.

 

The door right next to it?  Five and a half.  The door leading out to the veranda?   Five and a half.

 

For some reason,  known only to the silly bugger who installed that door,  it’s an odd size.    Well,  actually I kind of “get it”,  since it’s right next to the chimney,  and there were some issues with the framing.  So they layered on the plaster,  shimmed out the trim, and that was as good as it got.  And that wasn’t very good.

 

So the short term solution was to make some lunch and bitch about it here.  

I’m here all afternoon.  Be sure and tip your server.

 

I’m sure I can phone around and see if there are wider jambs to be had out there,  but I’ll be hard pressed to match the look of what’s there.  I may consider cobbling something together from the parts I have on hand. 

We do have the technology.   *sigh*

 

 

 

Have a fine weekend.

 

Thanks for lookin’.   Wish me luck.

 

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Now if I could only find those sandals.

Actually,  they’ve been found.  But those few words have been rattling around in my brain off and on.  Aren’t you lucky.

We’ve gone from nipple tweaking cold,  to torrential downpours to now hot and humid.  Welcome to Southern Ontario.

Sorry,  I had to put this one in:

 

 

Whenever the Viennese would mention or grumble about their supposed humidity, I would try not to be insulting or condescending in any way,  but they really had no idea. I’ve more than once explained the weather in Vienna as being like a “weather island”.   (Wetter Insel auf Deutsch)

 

And really,  it’s not that bad.  We’ve had humidity so bad you almost could swim through it.  I’m trying to keep my wit dry.  It’s a challenge.  Everything outside this morning was mighty damp. 

 

The good news is,  I’ve finally had a reason to try out our new air conditioning.  Bob is pleased.  The thermostat in the main hallway is showing 72.  

I know,  we Canadians are supposed to be all about measuring in Celsius,  but I’ve always set the thermostat to Fahrenheit, since it’s easier to fine tune a setting anywhere between 68° and 72°.  That’s four degrees.  Whereas with Celsius,  that same set of parameters is only just slightly more than two degrees.   Did you get that? 

 

 

 

Our little house guests have hatched and are already starting to get a little crowded in the nest.

 

They have their mouths open not just for food.  It think it’s a wee bit warm in there.

 

The parents don’t seem to crap on the car quite as much as they did a few weeks back, but I still like to put it in the garage whenever it’s convenient.   Either that or do a cursory inspection before heading out anywhere.  I’m not overly keen on driving around with bird crap on the car.  I don’t like it and besides,  I don’t think it’s all that great for the paint.  Oh, and Mom and Dad DO NOT LIKE squirrels.   Seems I can tolerate a little crap after all, ‘cause we’re on the same page when it comes to those bastards. They like to chew on the house.  *grumble*

 

Oh,  and someone asked about Westjet flying out of Toronto?   Yes,  it all depends on where you’re headed.  I just took a brief look at their site,  and you can get from Toronto to Calgary,  or go from Hamilton to Calgary.  If you want to get to Kahului, Maui say,  you need to leave from Toronto.  Probably changing planes in Vancouver.  I suppose the choice between Hamilton to Calgary over Toronto to Calgary might depend on the day of the week?  Not sure.   Heaps easier out of Hamilton, I’ll say that much. 

 

Well, I suppose I should be doing something besides this.  Travelling Companion doesn’t get in until midnight,  so once again at least the traffic will be OK. 

Big consolation.

 

Keep it between the ditches, and keep your powder dry.

Thanks for stopping in.

 

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I get ideas.

Most of which are goofy,  I’ll readily admit.  Once in a while though, there’s a glimmer.  Only just a glimmer.

Last night as I was whipping up yet another banana bread (hey, it’s ALL I GOT),  it occurred to me that our drawer full of handy kitchen utensils was mighty crowded.  There always seems to be more things needed than there’s room for.  And no,  I didn’t take a picture.  There’s nothing in there that would leave any scars or anything, it’s just the usual baking cr*p.

Which brings me to these:

I mean,  they could be hanging.  Somewhere.

I don’t really like too much clutter in the kitchen though,  so that usually means I’m at an impasse.  Then the idea.

There’s no measuring or drawings here.  I just hack away until I come up with something.  That’s the big “plan”.

And later that morning…

Bob’s yer Uncle.  Or Dad, or something.

 

The hidden agenda for whipping up the banana bread,  apart from the over ripe bananas that seem to always manifest themselves,  was that Travelling Companion would need a snack this morning right around breakfast time.  She flew Westjet to Calgary,  and they’re not really known for their snacks.  That,  by the way,  is OK with me,  since then you can take along just whatever your little heart desires,  knowing full well *going in* that you’ll not be fed.  I’ve been offered some crap on planes in the past, and would really have preferred to have just taken my own dinner,  had I known how horrid the food was.

So we left for John C. Munroe airport this morning at about 5:15.   Traffic was light,  I’ll offer that much.   Oh,  that’s Hamilton Airport,  for those of you from far away.

And here’s the thing,  it’s right around a half hour from our front door.  As a matter of fact,  I had dropped off T.C. and was back here eyeing the kitchen cupboards already at 6:20.   So just about an hour round trip.

I can dig it.   The thing is though,  there are only certain places you can get to from Hamilton.  Thankfully,  Calgary happens to be one of them.

It’s probably a good thing this airport isn’t quite so very busy just yet,  since they have a ways to go to get it all streamlined-like.

That’s the main entrance.  Departures AND arrivals.   I think the gates are about 50 metres on the other side of that door. 

The only slight near wrinkle was when I damned near missed the entrance.

Now I ask you.  Do you see a big ole sign that says “Hamilton International Airport”?   Well,  neither did I, ‘cause there ain’t one. 

The Merc has good brakes,  it turns out.

Oh, yes there is that tiny little sign with the outline of an airplane,  but I thought there would be an actual sign. 

Silly me.

Anyhoodle,   we got there in plenty of time,  and she just now called to say she was on the ground in Cow Town.   This isn’t her first time,  by the way.  There was life before we went to Europe.  She’ll be on her way to Airdrie in short order.  That’s the location of the Company that Cannot be Named. 

 

Not nap time just yet.  Stuff to do. 

 

Keep your head down!

Oh wait,  that only applies to golf.  Never mind.

 

Thanks for stopping in.

 

 

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The Ministry of Silly Walks.

I wanted to say, “tying up loose ends”,  but it turns out I was wrong.

Lemme ‘splain.

First of all, in our fine province of Ontario,  there’s not just one way to get your driver’s license.  Well,  maybe that’s wrong too.  *IF* you already have a license and only want to renew it,  you go to Service Ontario.  It’s a very loose definition of “service” of course,  and is the place where you line up to get your “tags” as the Yanks call them (we call them plates)  or renew your driver’s license.  Apparently you can get your “Health Card” there too.  I may have to do that one fine day.  Mine is the old kind from the sixties.  Still works,  it’s just that it doesn’t have my mug pasted on the front.  The horror.

Anyhoodle,  Travelling Companion and I went there first on Monday (*thinks*  I think it was Monday).   Well no,  the very clever boy at the wicket (no seriously,  I had more facial hair when I was 14) told us that they didn’t do that there,  and that we’d need to go to the “Testing Centre”.   Well now,  that sounds ominous,  now doesn’t it?

So we made plans to get that sorted first thing Friday (yesterday) morning.   Naturally we went and lined up at the wrong place first,  as it turns out the office on Brant street was just another “Service Ontario” location.   Pays to read all the crap they paste on the glass outside the store front.  There were directions there to the actual place that was a bit farther up the street.  No biggie.  It wasn’t like we were walking or anything.

It turns out that,  since Travelling Companion has (well, *had*) a driver’s license from the Netherlands,  that in fact we could have simply renewed her Ontario Driver’s License at “Service Ontario”.    Wonderful. 

Since I have (and yes,  still *have*) an Austrian Driver’s License,   we had to do some sort of switcheroo.   That’s a technical term by the way.

There was a form to be filled out,  a couple signatures to add,  and then I had to shove my head up against some sort of viewing box not dissimilar from the kind of “stereoscopes”  that were prevalent right around the time of the Chicago World’s Fair.    Apparently I can see blinking lights and read really tiny numbers,  so I passed that one.   Paid my seventy-five bucks,  got a couple more pieces of paper,  had to leave my Austrian permit behind (sniff)  and we were almost done.  We went back to Service Ontario and did the renewal for T.C’s and figured all would be right with the world.

The next little thing on the agenda for the day was to get ourselves to the airport and clear our air shipment at the CBSA.

With the exception of having to drive all the way to Mississauga,  that task was considerably easier than the whole Ministry of Silly Walks episode.  We could have shoved our air shipment in the back of the Escape,  but just figured we’d let the shippers do their deal.  There was some “warehouse” we would have had to go to,  and neither of us by that point had any desire to do any more traipsing around.  It was getting close to lunch time.

 

*Well*… when we came in the door to grab a bit of lunch,  there was a message from the chick at the “Testing Centre”  (Ministry of Silly Walks)  telling me that I had to COME BACK!   They needed a translation of the licence.  Even though my Ontario License number is written on the back,  and apparently I’m still in the system,  they had to verify that the license was valid for the past 24 months.   Huh?   I mean,  I’ve heard some bureaucratic horse shit over the years,  but that one really ranks right up there with the best of them.   I kept asking,  “But,  am I not still in the system?”   “Yes but..”  Well, the poor simple bureaucrat didn’t really have an answer.

Didn’t matter.  Them rules is them rules.   Besides,  there are folks out there who have taken a “two year course”  so they can qualify to translate my license,  and they need to get paid apparently.  Seems that my eight years of language training at both the secondary and post secondary levels doesn’t count.  Never mind the fact that I fucking lived in a German speaking country for nearly four years.  

So I got back my money and my Austrian permit,  and next Tuesday I’ll have to phone somebody to get my license translated.  Oy.   (Um ya,  Monday is a holiday here abouts)

What….ever.

 

Oh but hey!  There is some slightly more exciting news.  Only slightly.

If I show you this picture,  can you start to make a guess or two?

Not talking about the snow either. 

We had been snooping around on line and at lots,  looking at BMWs,  the odd Audi (they’re a bit rare it seems)  and Mercs.   T.C. though maybe we’d tool on over to an actual Mercedes dealership and see if they had any old relics hanging around. 

Well,  they did have an old relic hanging around, and I did drool over it briefly,  but it didn’t have a price tag. 

 

Besides,  I love to LOOK at old cars,  but that’s the extent of it. 

 

I very briefly drooled over the McLaren as well.  Well,  it might have been more like looking on in amazement.

 

 

 

There was no price tag showing on that one either,  but I came up with a pretty good guess of a quarter million.

 

I must have been a bit overwhelmed,  since I only took that one photo,  and it’s not very good.  Here’s one I stole off the net.

 

Not sure I like the front though. 

 

Anything worth that much money though needs to come with a huge bathroom,  king sized bed,  and maybe a chauffeur and quite possibly a domestic of some kind.

 

We’re still going to look around,  but T.C. was quite smitten with one of the more run of the mill 200 series mercs.  We’ve had enough silver cars over the years,  so the basic black was also a nice feature.

 

Not the best photo again,  as it had been sitting outside.  I drove it.  Nice car.  Meh, we’ll see.

We do have this thing where we like to check with insurance Dude first,  just to get a handle on all the costs of ownership.  I know it’s that whole, “Well,  if you have to ask,  then you shouldn’t be looking”,  but we still want to know.

Again,  Monday is a holiday, so that will have to wait for a couple days.  That car isn’t going anywhere.  And if it does?  Well,  that’s just the way it goes some times.  I’ve never had problems “walking away”.   Too pragmatic?  Too unemotional?  There are lots more used cars out there. 

 

Stay tuned.

 

Enjoy your weekend.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

 

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Home again, home again. Jiggity jig.

I think that’s the expression. Not totally sure.

We. be. here. 

It’s all good.

I suppose I could stop right there,  but that wouldn’t be quite fair,  would it?

The flight was OK,  really.  

A little bumpy somewhere this side of Greenland.  But the pilot had warned us.  Seems to me there was some nasty shit (that’s a meteorological term,  by the way)  that had passed through these parts earlier on,  and the remnants had to be flown through at some point.  By somebody.  It had to be us,  I suppose. 

Truth be told (and when have I ever not?) we’ve flown through way worse.  So bad in fact,  that you dared not raise your glass of red wine to your lips,  for fear of wearing it.   It never got that bad this time around.

We didn’t do the upgrade ‘cause it was just a wee bit too much money.  The configuration of the plane was a 2-3-2 arrangement,  and we nabbed two of the seats on the outside in row 19.  Like I said,  it was OK.

And I have to say this,  the food on Air Austria is actually pretty good.  Surprising,  I know.   I’m not sure how they manage it,  but it does surpass that of KLM,  even though the seating and such on KLM is better.   And really?  At this point I don’t give a rat’s tiny behind.   It’ll be a little while before we see the inside of another aircraft. 

I’m pretty sure of that.

 

 

There was something about this that simply made me want to take a picture.  Don’t judge me.  I have these thoughts once in a while.

 

Without looking at the sign above that says “Toronto”,  I somehow knew by the customers that Toronto was our destination.  You can draw your own conclusions.

Getting through customs was night and day compared to the last time.  There was actually little to no standing.  There were enough agents working,  and I’d estimate it took us no longer than 10 to 15 minutes to get up to a wicket.  At that point,  since we had ticked off the little box indicating that we had goods to follow,  we went off to the area where you would pay your customs duty if there is one.  Once again,  easy peasy.   Took a photocopy of our list of goods,  and said “Welcome Home”.  It was actually….pleasant.  

I did a double check just to make sure we were in Toronto.  Seriously.  There was no grumpiness,  or dumb-assed questions. 

 

 

Our view from the HOV lane. 

 

On certain highways here,  if you have more than two heads in your vehicle,  you can scoot along in the “High Occupancy Lane”.   It does make a huge difference,  especially when the other three lanes of traffic are parked.

 

The rest is self explanatory.

 

Travelling Companion has had her hair appointment today, we’ve figured out what we’re taking to the SuperBowl party tomorrow,  and life is good.

 

I’ll bore you a little bit tomorrow with my brief Enterprise adventure.  It turned out just fine,  so it’s not like I’ll be ranting about it or anything.  Although I could probably work it up to a bit of a lather if I really thought about it.

I’ll try not to disappoint.

 

 

Keep it between the ditches.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

 

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The last few details.

Along with a last look or two.

 

Just ordinary buildings around the neighbourhood by the way.

 

It’s been a few days now since I ordered our car for Friday (tomorrow) morning,  so that’s all sorted out.  The bugger of it is,  the car will be here at 4:45 a.m.  I suppose in consideration of some of the whacky times we wake up without ever once setting an alarm clock,  getting out of bed at four won’t be that big a deal.  I’ll set the alarm though,  just the same.

Our flight to Amsterdam is for something like 7:00 (it’s some weird time like six fifty eight and nine tenths,  why do they do that?) so that was the reason for the early departure.

Besides the bike riding and reasonable proximity to a lot of places within driving distance, I have to admit that being able to conveniently fly with KLM is one of the things that we do miss by not living in the Netherlands.  I suppose there’s bound to be a few things one has to give up to live in Vienna,  but we never suspected that having a decent airline would be one of them.  Air Austria is pretty much the only game in town when it comes to direct flights from here to Toronto,  and when it comes right down to it,  we’d sooner haul our asses out of bed at some Gawd awful hour to get ourselves up to Schiphol.  (Um, that would be Amsterdam)

We’ve tried different tactics.   Earlier on like a couple dopes, we flew “economy” in Air Austria.  I can’t say I recommend it.  I can handle being a little cramped,  but at a certain point in time during the flight,  it also starts to get kind of hot and stuffy in the cabin.  Almost like there’s a lack of oxygen. 

So then we tried First Class with Austrian.  Well, the food and the ability to stretch out was fabulous.  The air quality still sucked.   And here’s the other thing,  you have the “privilege” of getting on the plane first.  Well see,  I know where my seat is,  and since it’s First Class,  there’s not going to be any issue with finding room in the overhead compartment.   So, why do I need to get on first?  Just to show off?   The other thing too is,  EVERYBODY else who then has to board,  needs to march right past you,  as you’re trying to get situated in your seat and not feel quite so guilty about having ponied up all that extra cash to be there.

“We paid extra,  really!”

Speaking for myself, I don’t particularly want to look at these sad sacks trudging on by as I sip my champagne cocktail.   OK,  truth be told I don’t like champagne very much at all,  but you get the idea.

Once in a while there’s a little show that makes it mildly interesting,  like on one occasion when this lady thought there would be nothing wrong with taking the first seat she came to after getting on board.  She looked and acted like she just got off a flight from Minsk,  so the flight attendants had quite the job trying to explain to her that,  her seat was WAY back there.  Something like 24F.  Not 4F.   Great sport, as in fun to watch.  They didn’t get mean,  but they were getting close. I tried not to giggle.

So then that brings us to KLM.  Well,  for the overseas flight to Toronto,  they have this thing called a 747.   Remember those?   There’s still a bunch of them out there.   Awesome aircraft.   Even in economy,  it’s never been that bad.  I mean,  I *almost* enjoyed it.  

First class on the 747 though,  is a whole different ball game.  When you’re checking in,  if there are any spots available,  you can choose to sit upstairs.   Even if you don’t,  you’re still at the front of the aircraft and you have no idea what’s going on back there with the plebes in steerage.  The only area where they slightly fall down is in the food department.  It’s fine, really, but the Austrians have the Dutch beat when it comes to putting on the feed bag in First Class.  Not a huge consolation though, when you’re hot and stuffy.

 

The question then is,  are we going First Class this time around?   Well no.  We just didn’t want to pony up the dough.  But here’s the thing.  If you have enough points,  then you can get one of the seats in economy that are right up behind the bulkhead,  where there’s very little traffic and lots of room.  This is the 747 don’t forget. With the exception of having the crazy big assed power seats,  it’s almost like being in First Class. 

Well, *almost* 

 

 

 

It’s a little hard to make out, (click on it)  but on this diagram it’s referred to as “Economy Comfort”. 

OK, whatever.  

 

Turns out though,  when I went to choose our seats and print out our boarding passes this morning,  I couldn’t quite get what I wanted,  but we still do have a couple seats with “an extra 10 cm of leg room”.   Oooh,  aah.

Hey,  that works for me.  Not only that,  but these seats are just forward of the exit,  so leaning back isn’t a big deal.

I think you have to click that one too.

Anyhoodle,  that was pretty much all that was available.   There was some brief discussion with the Finance Minister* about paying the extra to get up into first class,  but it turns out those seats were sold out!  Well, poop.   I even phoned some Dude in Amsterdam to make sure.  Turns out that he sees the same screen that I do,  and yes Bob,  First Class is sold out.

 

See,  there are a couple ways to get yourself into First Class.  They both involve paying gobs of money,  so don’t get too excited.   The first way,  is to simply bite the bullet when ordering the tickets in the first place.  You’ll pay whatever the market will bear.   Well,  I can buy a hundred shares of AT&T for that much,  and be earning 5%.  Actually,  it’s closer to 5.3%,  but let’s not get fussy.

The other way,  if you want to take your chances is,  wait until the day before the flight and see if you can get an “upgrade”.  Sometimes airlines will offer an upgrade for a reduced price.  Sometimes.  There needs to be seats available.

I guess it’s a popular flight,  ‘cause I struck out.   Oh well.

Seems we’re not the only ones who are willing to get themselves to Amsterdam to fly KLM.   I’d wager that there are open First Class seats on the Air Austria flight.   There were the last time we went.  Funny ‘bout that.

 

There may be a very brief “blogcation” over the next few days,  as I endeavour to get settled in at home.   I’m looking forward to pizza tomorrow night.  It’s become a tradition.

I’m also looking forward to going to the pub next Friday,  unless of course the world comes to an end.  But what the hell,  at least I’ll have a beer in my hand.

 

 

Thanks for stopping by.

 

*That would be Travelling Companion.  Who did you think?

Busy week.

Or at least it’ll turn into one. 

Travelling Companion is in Romania at the moment,  quite possibly in Bucharest,  on her way to Baie Mare.   It was kind of foggy this morning at the airport,  so we were secretly hoping all flights would be cancelled,  since she really wasn’t overly motivated to go.  This was partly due to the fact that the only flights at a reasonable time were through Bucharest.   Bucharest may very well be a fine destination for a tourist,  but the connections at the airport appear to be hit and miss.  Ever since her very first experience going through there some three years ago,  she’s always flown directly to Cluj Napoca and been picked up by a driver.  I’m not going to dredge that all up,  but suffice to say we could have gone by car and made it in the same amount of time,  and by car it’s seven hours away.   Hopefully things turn out better today. 

That photo more or less sums up the weather on the weekend.  It really tried to be sunny,  but it never really seemed to come together.  Today it’s even worse.  

The only slightly positive thing is,  I managed to watch my speed this time both to and from the airport.  There will be no more surprises that will land on T.C.’s desk.    Could have bought a very nice dinner for the cost of that speeding ticket,  or even a few days worth of groceries.  Idiot.

Of course,  with the temps being what they are,  a very handy meal to make is chicken soup,  which is now something that I seem to be able to pull off reasonably well.  I realise though that I could have cut up my carrot pieces a little smaller,  but it was good just the same.  

We’re trying to cut down on our food consumption on the weekends,  so that was our entire meal Saturday night.  It was plenty.   Until I get out and start “hackin’ and hewin’ at some wood,  or doing some other form of ‘work’,  if my intake exceeds my output,  it will be my downfall.

 

I don’t buy “store bought” soup by the way,  since I find most of them have too danged much salt.   Makes my heart race as a result of bumping up my blood pressure.  Sucks to get on in years,  but that’s what happens. 

I guess all that salt in there in necessary to keep everything preserved,  and I love the taste and all,  but it just doesn’t work.  That whole,  “waking up in the night in a panic ‘cause it feels like someone is sitting on your chest thing”?   Ya.  *That*.

Anyhoodle,  Travelling Companion will get back tomorrow afternoon from Romania,  then she insists that she has to go in to work on Wednesday,  which makes me a little nervous,  since our train leaves at something like 4:00 p.m.   I was kind of hoping she’d just muddle along from home,  but some ‘grand frommage’ is coming over from Switzerland,  and he wants to meet up.   Whatever.

Our train tickets are non-refundable.   Hence the reason for being nervous.  Typically I don’t remember my dreams,  but I distinctly remember dreaming about missing that train the other night.  

I think that’s about it.   There haven’t been any more axe murderers or chainsaw wielding ice cream vendors in the news so far this week,  so there’s not much else to report on. 

 

What d’ya think?   Stocking stuffers?  Just click on it.  You know you want to.

 

The weather forecast for Paris is not the greatest,  but it’s the end of November,  so we may have to bundle up.  No huge snowstorms or such predicted,  so it’s all good. 

Meh,  we’ll be in the shops.

 

For the race fans,  now that F1 is all finished,  you can always go over to the wetter side of things and follow the Vendée Globe.

This is a race that I’ve followed every four years since 2001,  when  Ellen MacArther came in second.   It’s an around the world single handed sailboat race on a type of boat referred to as an Open 60.  That basically means the boat cannot be longer than 60 feet,  and as long as certain safety requirements are met that’s about it.   There’s a bunch of other stuff too like,  they’re not allowed to fire up the engine unless they’ve told the race committee back in France that they’re about to retire,  they can’t accept any outside help,  they’re only allowed to have nine sails in total on board.  There’s more info on this wiki article.    The technology has certainly improved over the history of the race,  but you’ll notice that there have been some competitors early on that were “lost at sea”?    eek.

It’s a tough race.    The fastest time ever is something like 84 days.  Think of where you’ll be in 84 days.

 

 

Keep those oars in the water.

 

Thanks for stopping by.

It did clear up in time.

Ran upstairs last night at some point after six I suppose it was, to catch a last glimpse of the sunset.  This was the first time it was that light out for the entire day.

As the days get ever shorter,  it’ll seem like the sun will be going down in the middle of the afternoon.  I try not to dwell on it.

The whole “clearing up” thing was timely,  as T.C. was scheduled to fly back from Geneva at 8:10 p.m.,  arriving in Wienerland at 9:45.   Seems like an odd time to be going anywhere really,  but the airport was busy.  Lots of folks travelling in the evening it seems.  She could have stayed one more day, but that would have only meant heading back in the morning.   She said it was raining there as they were boarding,  but they flew out of it.   This is always good.   There was at least one time that comes to mind when she was coming back from Serbia,  and no planes were coming any where near Vienna,  as we were getting pounded.  Thankfully our phones were still working.  I still find it kind of mind boggling that she can call from another country and say, “OK,  we’re getting ready to board”.  (Older guy talking here.)  So hard to do even twenty years ago.  So much for the “good old days”.

 

She’s back to the salt mines today, since she wanted to be back in time for their “staff meeting”.  No idea what that really involves or who might need to attend,  but for me it means I don’t have to make her a lunch.  Yes kids,  I make her a lunch every day.  Just part of the program.  Besides,  if I didn’t,  I’m not sure what the heck she’d eat,  there’s nothing around there, and they don’t have a cafeteria. 

 

As you have by now surmised,  there is sweet bugger all going on here today,  which has never been much of a reason not to report on it though. 

One thing I’m sure I’ve mentioned (and this tends to happen when well into the fourth year of blogging) is that one of the local shops for which I have a “Vorteils Karte”  (advantage card….whatever)  tends to send mail from time to time in addition to all the other mass mailings that gets plonked into our mailbox.   Well,  it would seem that I’ll need to gear up for a bit of a “big shop”  at some point over the next few days.

 

In light of an upcoming birthday,  they very kindly send along a little blurb offering 10% anything in the store.  

Awesome.  I can dig it.

 

 

But wait.  Good thing I didn’t jump on that right away,  since there were a couple more things in the mail again this morning.

 

 

Coupons and stuff…

 

See,  Travelling Companion likes to have at least one cup of coffee every day at work,  and she uses the "Tassimo" system.  I suppose it’s a “system”,  I’m not sure what else to call it.   She quite enjoys it.  It’s her only vice,  and not much of a one.   Click on that link and you can see what I’m talking about.   We just have an ordinary drip coffee maker here.  It’ll get the heave when we leave. 

For the Tassimo,  you have to buy these little ‘hockey pucks’.  Well,  you know what I mean.

The thing is,  them thar suckers is expensive,  at least I consider them to be.  It (apparently) makes for a wonderful cup of coffee and all, which means the whole Tassimo program will be continuing for some time.  So any time I can get 25% off,  I’m in.   Plus of course,  I’ll use the 10% off coupon as well.   Bazinga!

Now I just have to figure out what else to load up on.   I can really only bring home what I can carry in two bags and no,  I won’t be reporting on this later.  It’s groceries.  Who cares?

 

Exciting stuff,  I know.   Hopefully Travelling Companion will be able to put in a “normal” day today,  since it would be kind of nice to actually sit down to a meal for the first time in a several days.

 

Keep those sticks on the ice.

 

Thanks for lookin’.

 

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Good-bye, Norman Bates.

What’s that expression?  ‘Like rat’s from a sinking ship’?

 

Now,  I’m certainly no political junkie,  since I find that the more I read about the goings on at either Queen’s Park or Ottawa,  the grumpier I get.  I’m already pretty grumpy.  No assistance required.

Oh,  and I didn’t coin the moniker, “Norman Bates” either,  but there is a similarity.

 

And truth be told,  years ago when he first got elected (not Norman….Dalton)  I actually thought maybe things were going to work out.  But then I started to feel like poor Janet.

 

OK fine,  I’m getting carried away here.

 

I only wonder though, what’s the deal?  Unless a politician resigns as a result of a serious medical issue,  I tend to look on any sudden resignation with just a touch of suspicion.  The icing on the cake,  is that Mr. McGuinty has prorogued the legislature at Queen’s Park.

For those of you unfamiliar with the way things go on in my home province of Ontario, (Canada,  hello?)  the seat of parliament for the province is in Toronto,  otherwise known as the Legislative Assembly of Ontario.   We tend to just refer to it as Queen's Park for short.   You can sniff out some of the details by clicking on those links.  Fill yer boots.

 

I’m sure it will all come out eventually,  but there were a couple issues that have been gnawing away at the opposition in recent weeks, (well,  months?)  and with everything being put on hold,  we don’t get to find out any more juicy tidbits for quite some time.   Gee, that’s convenient.

Our Federal Fearless Fool   er,  Leader,  The Right Honourable (*pfft!*)  Stephen Harper did something similar a few years back.  Well,  actually three times.  The example of 2008 is most notable.   The thing is,  to “prorogue” parliament is something that can be done in the normal course of events, but is heaps different than a “recess”,  which is just a break in the proceedings.  Parliament normally takes a recess over the summer months,  or during that very long period over Christmas and beyond when nobody shows up at the legislature to do a darned thing.   To “prorogue” means to start fresh,  but without having to get everyone re-elected.  I think I got that right.  That’s my blindingly simplistic take on it anyway.  Pretty handy though, huh?

 

Of course,  there’s been an ongoing snit between our Provincial government and a whole bunch of public sector workers,  so now that the legislature has been prorogued,  we’re not going to find any answers to a couple questions that have been floating around lately,  like,  “How does a government take away the bargaining rights of an employee group and get away with it?”   I think there’s a law suit in the wings,  if I’m not mistaken.  So that’s put on hold too?

It’s easy peasy to make an escape goat of a highly visible employee group when the opposition is rooting around in other areas where you just might have wasted a ton of taxpayer's dough.

And before you start to get up on your high horse,  it’s a slippery slope.   It’s pretty far fetched to think that things would regress to a situation where all Teachers each day will fill lamps, clean chimneys., (interesting list of duties and obligations of teachers from the last century.  Recommended reading.) But, it was these kinds of conditions placed on that particular group,  way back when, that started the whole union movement in the first place.   If you treat people like cr*p,  eventually something’s gotta give.

 

It’s going to get interesting,  to say the least.

Feel free to talk amongst yourself.

 

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There was a question yesterday from Janna (or it might have been Mike,  but I doubt it) from waaaay over on the other side of the planet, about the term “tickety-boo” that I used.  

Oh dear.

My lovely wife (um, Travelling Companion) used to take exception to that phrase,  and that was mostly because (as best as I recall) I had used it in a mocking kind of way once upon a time,  since it was a phrase that was overused by a boss that I had many, many years ago.  I try not to utter those words aloud if I can help it.  For my own good.

 

In terms of its meaning, I suppose it’s up there with “peachy keen”  or some such superlative,  indicating when things are going well,  or just,  I don’t know,  “tickety-boo”?   I think there’s some sort of onomatopoeic quality of that expression as well,  in a similar way that a well running model “T” would sound.  

Say it,  tickety-boo,  tickety-boo,  tickety-boo.   See?

There’s even an Urban Dictionary Definition, if you want to be fussy.  

 

I don’t remember at what point Travelling Companion would have met this former boss,  but she didn’t particularly care for the guy. Unfortunately for me, I had to tolerate him.  

This was back in the days when I worked for an outfit called “Mother’s Restaurants”.  

 

 

They’re no longer around as a corporate entity,  and were partly a victim of overindulgence and high interest rates of the late 80s.    I got out before they collapsed.  I think it was one fine day when our pay suddenly came from a different bank,  that I realised something was not quite right.  That’s another story.

Long before I ever jumped ship however (I think we have a theme going here) there was a period of time there,  when this former boss decided to buy a little house about two blocks away from one of the restaurants where I was the “First Assistant Manager”.   Big whoop.  Just meant I had to do the schedules is all.  

Anyway,  Mother’s was known for having these specials on the first three days of the work week.  Monday night was “Father’s night”.  (Eight slice three item pizza for $3.49! Can you believe it?)  Tuesday night was “Kid’s night”,  and I don’t for the life of me remember what Wednesday night was.  Something to do with spaghetti?   Doesn’t matter.  On Tuesday nights we had one of those large popcorn makers that was like a big glass box from which you’d scoop out your buttered popcorn.  The kids who came in with their parents were quite welcome to go and help themselves,  and for the most part,  did a reasonable job of scooping up a small bag full of popcorn.    Some would end up on the floor.  That’s what brooms are for.   No biggie.

Except,  my dear beloved former boss, (who shall remain nameless,  and to this day has no idea how much I hated the guy)  would stagger in most evenings to “check up on things”.  I didn’t really give a rat’s tiny behind,  and he could check up on me all he wanted to.   The only thing was,  he’d usually be quite inebriated at the time.    When I say “stagger”?   Um ya, not kidding.

Well, here’s the thing.  He and his wife had had a bit of a nasty divorce (hence the move on his part)  and I just figured there wasn’t too much I could do about the whole situation.  I never met her to congratulate her on her decision either, by the way.

The even more aggravating thing about him showing up three sheets to the wind was,  I didn’t really particularly care for him getting all mouthy with the kids who were helping themselves to the popcorn in the lobby.   I mean,  if anybody’s kid or kids started to act up on my watch, I had no problems dealing with it.   A manager can indeed kick you and your annoying little spawn out of a restaurant.  But the whole idea was,  it was “Kid’s Night”.  So they make a little mess?   Big deal.  There was no running around,  or any other breach of protocol.   Not my protocol anyway.   No telling what the drunk guy was thinking. This went on for a while.  Not too much I could do about it. 

It just so happened though,  that New Year’s Eve was a bit of a big deal when it came to all the Mother’s Restaurants.   First of all,  just about everyone worked.  Even our day manager,  who otherwise was notorious for skating on out of there before the dinner hour.   You’d have all your delivery cars on the road,  and would have perhaps rented four or five more cars from the local car rental outlet.  Good luck if you didn’t get those cars reserved in plenty of time too.  

The whole place would just be hopping on into the wee hours.    Stores would be calling each other with their sales figures on an hourly basis,  as well as letting each other know when one or more of the big bosses would be stopping by for a visit.  It was a New Year’s Eve tradition. This wasn’t the local drunk supervisor dude,  but rather someone like Grey Sisson,  who was one of three owners of the whole kit and caboodle.

So,  in spite of it being crazy busy,  but since there are indeed enough people to do the job,  even the lowly assistant managers got to sit down with the guy and shoot the breeze for a bit.   And so the question was asked,  just how were things going in terms of having the supervisor living a couple blocks away?  That seemed like a bit of an odd question.  I think I might have said something?   I also think it was a fishing expedition,  as there had been some other rumblings that had made their way to Head Office.   So what I may have said was more of a confirmation than anything else.  I don’t recall what I said, but *to the best of my recollection*,  I don’t think it was positive.  I know,  I’m a rat-fink.  But he asked,  I didn’t volunteer. 

Oh, and by the way, if you want your minions to say good things about you, don’t show up drunk.   Simple,  really.

 

Well, not too surprisingly,  it was only a few months later that a huge inventory discovery was made at a restaurant in which drunk supervisor dude was the major shareholder.   He was out.  See,  if you say you have,  oh I don’t know,  $3000 of inventory on hand at the end of a month,  and an inspection reveals that you’ve only got about a couple hundred bucks worth of cheese?   That’s never good.   I think the term under the Criminal Code of Canada is something like,  “Conspiracy to commit fraud”?    Something like that.   I guess you could call it “fudging the figures” or “cooking the books”.   Same difference.  He quit.   Or he was told to.

I think we all did a little dance.

 

So ya,  I try not to say “tickety-boo”  too often, or out loud for that matter,  since it was one of drunk supervisor dude’s pet sayings.    We just leave that one alone.

 

Speaking of alone…

Travelling Companion will be coming back from Switzerland tonight at 9:45.   Supposedly there was some dinner or other that she was invited to attend,  but she’s not staying the extra day.  She’s ‘hobbed’ with those ‘knobs’ quite enough.   She never was much of a one for the political brown nosing kind of thing,  and has no desire to hang around with “the boys”.  

 

Hopefully the weather is just a wee bit better between now and her arrival.  It has rained all night here,  and at times the wind has been quite gusty as well.  Doesn’t exactly make for the best flying conditions.  Along with “tickety-boo”,  it’s something else I try not to mention.

 

Keep your powder dry.

 

Thanks for looking in.

 

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As the seasons change.

 

We enjoyed our meal at the little pizza joint a few blocks away on Saturday night.  Thought I’d mention that,  since enquiring minds surely want to know.

The only complaint I could ever have is, and this applies to any and all pizzas that get served around here,  they don’t cut it!  I swear I’m going to bring along my own pizza cutter one of these times.  A person gets a little weary of sawing away at a pizza after a while.  I’m just saying.

Anyhoodle,  when Travelling Companion and I came back from taking her associate back to her hotel,  we couldn’t help but notice that there were two or three work type vans in the underground parking,  which is certainly never the situation on a Saturday night.  Well, they were switching out the contents of the ice cream parlour,  and by Sunday morning,  a new troop were in there setting up some sort of a clothing store.  This is nothing new. It happens every year,  but it usually happens without us noticing it,  until a couple days have passed,  and we realise something has changed.

 

So that’s it for the ice cream.   Not that I ever have any.  I sometimes have “issues” with ice cream.  It could be just the temperature,  but if I eat it on its own,  I’ll quite often have some….discomfort.  

 

Has anyone been following the goings on in New Mexico? 

It’s a bit of a big deal here in Wienerland.  There have been several blurbs in the local rag.

I missed the one where they had to postpone.  They made a big deal out of that too.  Anything that’s a “big deal”, tends to interest readers.

For those of you who like to exercise your German reading skills,  I’ve set these to their original size.  Be warned.

This was from a few days back.

 

This morning there was a two page spread.

 

I was able to watch the live (well nearly live,  there was a twenty second delay,  in case something went horribly wrong) internet feed,  although I wasn’t able to watch the whole thing.   It took the guy over two hours to ascend to the height at which the balloon would no longer climb, and I had things to attend to,  like bathroom breaks and eating my dinner.   Not at the same time.  Just so you know.

I’ll say this though.  He really did accelerate when he jumped off that platform!   No air (or damned little) meant he really got up to speed in a hurry.  I wasn’t able to figure it out at the time,  but he did indeed break the sound barrier. 

I’m pretty sure I could have watched without the old guy who was talking to him the whole time though.  Now don’t get all cranky on me,  I’m talking about old Joe,  who did the jump back in 1960.  I have the greatest of respect for the guy.   The thing is though,  he’s in his eighties.  He was just annoying.  I’m sure I’ll be that annoying when I’m in my eighties, (or quite possibly already am) but I would think that I could keep said annoyance limited to those who are near and dear to me.  Total strangers can be spared.  I’ll quite likely be especially annoying to my children.  They deserve no less.

Oh,  and then there was the announcer.  Not sure where they dug him up.  There are times when silence can be truly golden.

 

If I’m talking about guys jumping into thin air, you’ve quite likely fathomed by now that there is nothing all that spectacular coming up in the way of events here on the home front.

I’ll have to head out before 2:00 p.m. sometime to fetch Travelling Companion from her office at three.  She flies out tonight for Switzerland to do the dog and pony show for the “grands fromages”.    The thing is,  they’re up at seven.   And no,  I don’t mean,  getting out of bed at seven.   I mean,  they’re doing their presentation at seven.  What kind of cruel twisted world???

 

She worked all day yesterday making sure everything was just tickety-boo,  and then she and the local “grand fromage”  are going over the whole thing at this very moment.

 

Oh,  and for any of you half baked critics of my French (and I’ll admit it’s not the best)  you can read a handy little article here that points out the times when it is indeed appropriate to put the adjective in front of the noun. 

Normally,  all grammar mistakes are intentional,  but only in English.

 

So it’s off to the airport again.   Fun fun.

 

Keep it between the ditches,  and thanks for lookin’ in.

 

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And….they’re gone.

Was that two weeks?  Seems to have gone by mighty fast.  I suppose time does really fly by when you’re having fun.  Having good guests usually does help to pass the time. 

There was some question about the “catastrophe” in Bled,  and I’ll get to that.  One of these days.  It’s not that all fired serious,  as it has only to do with desert.  Mind you,  I do suppose it depends on ones point of view.  Having a “desert catastrophe” could do irreparable harm to ones psyche.  Couldn’t it?

Anyway,  Travelling Companion and I were up at dark thirty this morning so that we could get her to her office early enough for me to then get back here to take our company to the airport.  Sucks to get up that early,  but the traffic was awesome.  That’s what I tell myself at least.

Most recently,  we’ve had a somewhat busy weekend here in Wienerland,  as I had secured tickets to one of the “Mozart Concerts”  at the “Musikverein” for Saturday night.  

You’re probably wondering just what the heck that could be, and suffice to say it’s one of the local concert halls,   and in spite of what is spelled out in that Wiki article in that link above,  there are actually six different halls within that one honkin’ huge building. (Not five.  Wiki is sometimes wrong you know?) 

I had ordered the tickets on Thursday to be picked up on Saturday night before the concert.  The next ever so slight challenge is to find the correct venue within the building.  It’s not an entirely self explanatory endeavour,  but we found our way after asking a couple questions. 

 

Here are our guests just before the start of the concert.

 

We were in the “Brahms” hall,  which is a fairly typical ornate kind of place.  Nothing new here.

So,  you have to understand that,  having been here in Wienerland this long, we’ve seen this particular performance either three or four times.  I think it’s three,  since the one at Schönnbrunn involved some dancing,  and since there was at least one guy prancing around in tights,  I've mostly blocked that experience from my memory.  I think I can safely say, “three”.

I try therefore to look on the whole experience with the same sort of “newness” that the musicians and conductor must try to have,  since they’re doing this gig every freakin’ night. 

This is one of the concerts that is done in “period costume”.

I just grabbed a pic from the net,  since I don’t seem to have anything decent of my own to offer.   Just so you get the idea.

Really though,  I mostly feel sorry for these poor buggers,  since they’ve all studied for years and years,  only to now put on some great heavy set of drapes straight out of “Gone With the Wind”,  along with some stupid-assed white wig.   Even my own head was starting to itch.

Of course,  these heavy costumes are a little bit more refined than the version portrayed by Carol Burnett,  but it did truly look to me like proper drapery fabric.

 

I think you get the idea.

It’s mostly done for the tourists and well, our guests had been touring around,  and they did enjoy themselves.  It was all good.

 

Even though we had had plenty of meals in restaurants,  it’s never a bad idea to take guests out to Plachutta,  which was on the agenda for last (Sunday) night.   All the vegans can look away at this point, since this is most definitely a “meat and potatoes” kind of place.  As a matter of fact,  a group sat down at a table nearby,  only to get up and leave before having ordered anything,  and since I’m slightly nosy,  and asked our waiter what the deal was, he told me they were looking for chicken.   Ha!Nope.  Sorry.  Only beef.   They even have a big diagram of an animal on the menu with all the various cuts and what they’re called.  Sort of a road map to yumminess. 

The dish that Plachutta is famous for is, of course,  Tafelspitz,  and we’ve gone to this place often enough that it feels like I’m Norm from Cheers.   Well,  it’s not exactly such that “everybody knows your name”,  but at least they now spell it correctly in their reservations program.  Small steps.

 

Above, Margaret is trying to decide if she instead wants to have Schnitzel,  but we steered her in the direction of the house specialty.  There were no regrets.

Oh,  and speaking of feeling like Norm,  when we left the waiter shook all our hands,  and thanked me for bringing our guests to Plachutta.  Too funny.  Never hurts to suck up a bit I suppose. 

That,  and having decided to eat desert first when we were in Bled a few days ago,  are a reasonable representation of the highlights for me over the last little while.  I’ll take these little boosts whenever I can.

 

Tomorrow,  I promise to hack up something on the subject of the desert “catastrophe”.   Really.  I’ll do it.

 

Thanks for looking. 

 

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