So why is it 86 degrees at 7:30 at night lately?
What is going on at CNN Headline News? And when did they fire all of their copyeditors?
A couple of months ago, Mr. Sandwich and I noticed that one of the on-screen labels misspelled “Kazakhstan.” Then, a day or two later, they misspelled “Christiane Amanpour.”
No big deal. She’s only one of their star journalists. She’s only worked there for years.
And this isn’t in the crawl, which at least (ostensibly) might be something that gets thrown together on the fly. (Although clearly it isn’t limited to breaking news, so I’m cutting them quite a bit of slack here.)
No, this is in labels. The captions that just sit there at the beginning of a story. The ones that, say, identify the star journalist reporting the story.
At this point, I thought about starting a blog dedicated to pointing out typos on CNN Headline News. Then I realized that I would have to watch a lot more CNN, and I’m just not willing to do that.
But I figured I’d at least write a post about this shoddy presentation. Because what did I see this morning? The word “follwoing.”
That was then, this is now. Tonight we went to meet with our real estate agent and sign still more papers. In the process, we clarified our closing date. Escrow will close on October 6. Huzzah!
To celebrate (and to let the traffic die down a bit), we went out to dinner. On our trip to the office, eastward along Ventura Boulevard, we had identified a number of possibilities. However, we agreed that there was one leading contender: Brats Brothers.
The restaurant–a railroad-car of a place, only 10 feet wide–offers a wealth of brat options. They have everything from Bavarian (smoked pork and beer) and Swiss (mild veal and parsley) to Peking Brat (duck and fig) and Wild West (buffalo and burgundy).
I had a German (veal, pork, onions, parsley) with sides of Grandma’s Sauerkraut and grilled onions. Mr. Sandwich had a Black Forest (mild smoked pork) with roasted herb potatoes and chili. Both were excellent, and all of the sides were delicious.
Then we went really crazy and ordered the Swamp Thing. It’s sausage made from smoked alligator.
That’s right. Alligator.
I know what I’m supposed to say here. “Tastes like chicken!” But it doesn’t. It tastes like pork.
Also it was a little too spicy for me. So next time–and there will be a next time–I’ll stick to something more like the Swiss. Or the Peking Brat.
Now we have no idea when we’re going to close.
I am a
“You stand up for what you believe in, even if it gets in the way of what other people think. You are proud of yourself and your accomplishments and you enjoy letting people know that.”
Meanwhile, I have no idea where I’d find one of these.
I don’t know what part of the continuum we’re on at this moment, but it isn’t a good one. Right now, as I type, the plumber is snaking the drain because the water is backing up into the tub and the toilet. Yes, again. At 10 p.m.
Here’s a video of the tub:
And here’s where the water pours out of the drain pipe, when in fact it should be draining out the other direction. You know. DOWNHILL.
We are so moving.
After work I headed over to the FedEx Kinko’s to send off a handful of forms in varying states of completion. However, I am assured that incomplete forms are just fine. So hopefully that’s true.
What’s next? I don’t know, but I’m reasonably sure that there will be paperwork attached.
Lately I’ve been losing my library books. First it was Debra Winger’s Undiscovered, her odd but interesting memoir about her career and personal life. To make matters worse, it’s overdue. I looked at home, in the car, and at work. At least I finished it before losing it.
Then on Saturday, at the salon, I started reading Off Season by Anne Rivers Siddons. I used to love her books (most of them) and at some point decided that her writing was overly descriptive and her characters unrealistically tormented (also she reuses names between books, which I find annoying when one of those names is Sibley) (plus she used “okie-like” in both a novel and her book of nonfiction, which made me put down the latter before finishing it).
But in spite of that I’m halfway through, and I want to read it, and I can’t find it anywhere. I’m starting to think I left it at the salon. And I’m also starting to wonder what’s up with me and losing library books.
And then today I took one more look through my basket at work, and solved at least half of the problem. Debra Winger, you are officially Discovered.
This afternoon, Mr. Sandwich and I headed to Santa Monica for the Los Angeles BBQ Festival. The event was held in a parking lot at the base of the Santa Monica Pier. By the time we got there, three of the eight vendors were out of food–but that didn’t keep us from sampling several of the remaining options.
Two were from Missouri, and at least one of them still had food available. We decided, though, to concentrate on the local vendors so that we could go to the actual restaurants. Also, the line for the out-of-state style was incredibly long.
The weakest of the three was Baby Blues BBQ, with pork ribs. The ribs themselves were okay, but the sauce was so vinegary that it made me feel like I was on the verge of wheezing.
Mr. Cecil’s California Ribs had a fantastic beef rib and a hot link that was spicy, but not too hot. I’d definitely stop by their brick-and-mortar location for a full meal.
Our favorite was the BBQ Smoked Brick Chicken from Gus’s BBQ in South Pasadena. Flavorful, moist, tender–everything that BBQ chicken can be, and too often isn’t. We liked it so much, we went back for seconds.
Apparently when it comes to barbeque, Mr. Sandwich and I are like ravening beasts.
Thank goodness for wet towelettes.