According to a sign I saw this morning, Del Taco is selling a “new classic taco.”
An extraordinary variety of insects is coming into our house. Mostly, this is because we leave the doors open, to help vent the paint fumes. But it’s also because there are lawns.
Imagine that. Lawns.
Yesterday Mr. Sandwich and I were driving to the house. The car in front of us was being driven by someone who was on his cell phone. This is illegal in California now, but why let that stop you? Except that it wasn’t a phone. It was an electric razor.
That’s right. Some guy was shaving his head while driving 70 mph on the freeway.
Today I took the bus to work, as I do. And after a few minutes I became aware that someone behind me on the bus was calling his credit card company. Apparently he wanted to cancel his credit card protection plan. I couldn’t make out his mother’s maiden name, although I do know that he lives a block down the street from us. And I know this because he thought the bus was a good place to hold this conversation.
I thought it was an ironic place to hold it. So when he was given another number to call in order to lower his interest rate (21 percent, BTW), I got up, went back, and asked if he was sure he wanted to conduct this business on the bus.
He said, “Oh, it’s okay,” and I said, “Really? Because I can hear you way up in the front of the bus, and this is a really public place. You have no way of knowing if someone is going to use this information.” And then he said, again, “No, it’s okay. Thanks.”
So I left him to get his identity stolen, since clearly that was his goal for the day.
Why are there so many idiots on the move? I don’t know, but trust me. If you do something this stupid, I will tweet about it on Twitter. And 12 people will read about it.
Mr. Sandwich and I have had white walls for ages. First individually, in our respective apartments, and then after we got married in our shared apartment (the aforementioned crappy one, which we are shortly to depart).
So we’re really enjoying the prospect of choosing our wall colors. In fact, we’ve already done so–the paint is purchased, and the walls in the house are washed, patched, sanded, and primed. Today (with the help of my friend S., who is so awesome that she volunteered at least three times to help paint) we start to work with the actual colors!
The kitchen is going to be the same Sunnyside yellow in Dutch Boy that we have in our apartment kitchen (a result of its crappiness; plumbing repairs required holes in the wall, and while they did patch after several weeks, they never came back to paint–so we did). We love this color, and we’re looking forward to bringing it to our new home.
The bedroom is going to be Behr’s Monaco, a blue that is not quite Wedgwood blue. It’s lighter than that, but still strong. After all those white walls, we don’t want to have dark colors–but we don’t want anemic colors either.
The living room gave us a little trouble, because we couldn’t get the color we wanted (another Dutch Boy) in their low-VOC paint, which has been discontinued in order to roll out another low-VOC paint that won’t be available in time for us. So we wound up with Behr’s Butter Cookie, which we think will provide a unifying background to the colorful furniture, rugs, art, etc. that we have.
The front bedroom will be Behr’s Arizona. This is the only color I’m not sure about. The dollop on the lid of the can seems very apricot-y, and on the card it looked deeper and warmer. We’ll see what it looks like when we get it on the walls.
The smaller back bedroom, the bathrooms, and the hallway will remain white, because we do like white bathrooms and hallways, and we don’t know how we’re going to use the third bedroom long-term.
Is it ironic or Freudian that we forgot to buy white paint?
It’s Blog Action Day 2008, and the topic is poverty. Obviously that’s huge, and I don’t have any solutions to the big problem.
But I do have a small solution that each of us can try. Go to Nothing But Nets and donate $10. That will pay for the creation and delivery of an insecticide-treated mosquito net. Just $10, and you may have saved someone’s life by providing them with protection from malaria–protection they couldn’t afford for themselves.
We closed escrow on Friday and have started moving boxes over to our 3-bedroom, 1-1/2 bath house. The kitchen and bathrooms have been cleaned, and now we’ve moved on to painting. Painting, by the way, is a full-body workout. Climbing up and down the stepladder is better than Stairmaster, and wiping down walls and using rollers and brushes does a lot for the arm, shoulders, and back.
Now I just need a core workout.
The house, garage, and yard give us so much more space, and so much more space of our own. The neighbors on either side seem very nice, and the neighborhood is a delight. I’m told that at Halloween, I’ll need six bags of candy. Hopefully the trick-or-treaters will eat all of it, because otherwise I’ll undo all of my painting workout.
But as it stands now, we’re going to live like kings. Very fit kings.
It’s fall, which in L.A. means that we’re in between heat waves. And what better way to get in the spirit of the season than with a spicy bowl of chili?
Well, if you’re at Encino’s own Chili My Soul, there may not be a better way–regardless of outside temperatures.
The board shows the chilis of the day. These are not based on whim, as each one is cooked for at least 40 hours before being served. If you need descriptions, they have a flyer. Have a few samples. And that’s when the hard part begins.
How hot can you take it? Are you a Tenderfoot (Level 1) or a Demon (Level 10+). Yes, that’s not just Level 10. It’s 10+. More than 10. Just a little something for the demons. Mr. Sandwich and I are probably going to stick to the lower end of the scale. Tonight he had Hickory Beef (4) and I had Blanco y Verde (3).
But wait! I forgot about the toppings. You get three. My choice was cheddar, Monterey jack, and sour cream (for someone who is mildly lactose intolerant, I sure love my dairy). Mr. Sandwich went for the same cheeses, but substituted green onions for sour cream.
Later, there was knockwurst.
This is not a discount chili place. But the chili is really good, so I’m okay with that. Enjoy. I know I did.
UPDATE: Sadly, Chili My Soul closed a few years ago. Even more sadly, it’s because the owner died unexpectedly. I’m really glad I got to go there a few times, because it was a restaurant that was a labor of love.
So we’re watching “Chuck” and this week’s episode (yes, I know it airs Monday and today is Wednesday–there’s just too much TV on Monday, so thank goodness for complete episodes on the web) features a character named Sasha Banacheck. And what character did Linda Fiorentino play in the 1985 movie Gotcha!?
That’s right. Sasha Banicek.
But does anyone really provide Gotcha! shout-outs? I mean, who other than me would get them?
There has been a lot of back-and-forth. A lot of back-and-forth.
First there were the multiple offers we had to submit, first in increasing amounts and then, weirdly, in decreasing amounts. (Then they increased again.)
Next, we identified a closing date. Then the seller’s lender specified a different closing date. Then we moved the date up. Then we moved it back. Then it turned out that the seller’s other lender had specified an earlier date. Then the two lenders agreed on a different date. Then we chose a date, and then the current occupant couldn’t move out in time. Then he could.
So you can imagine our surprise when, after signing loan papers and FedExing a very large cashier’s check to our escrow agent, the seller’s lender(s?) announced that there would be no close of escrow until the tenant had moved out.
Why do they care whether the tenant moves out, you ask? Good question. And it turns out that they don’t. They cared that the cashier’s check hadn’t arrived. Except that it had. So we have no idea why they chose to express concern about the check as concern about the tenant’s move-out date.
But in the end, we’re closing on Friday. I hope it sticks.
It must be. I can understand the late-season heat wave we just got through. On its own.
But nothing can explain the prediction of rain for tomorrow. This is not January. And when you put late-season heat wave and early rain together, well, something is up. I’m just saying.