Sandra bought a chain saw on Friday. She didn't get to bring it home; almost all chain saws dealers are out of stock. Hers is on order. It has push-button assist so that it's easier to start.
That other sound you hear comes from the work deadlines whooshing past. I received an email yesterday afternoon from one of the engineers on my current project. I learned that we're not delivering 12 separate products, but one solution with 12 features. Instead of 12 books due by Wednesday, I now have one big book. In many ways, that's much better. I'd prepared for that possibility from the start.
We stopped by my father's house yesterday. On Saturday he mentioned that he'd bought a new wireless door bell, but he couldn't test how it sounded because no one was around to ring the doorbell. One friend was in Michigan, visiting family. Another two no longer drive because of health reasons. And the rest, well, you know. So, we rang the bell. It worked fine, although might not be quite loud enough if the TV is also loud.
Dr. John, aka Mac Rebennack, showed up on the music shuffle this morning. I first heard the Dr. John in the 60s when some guys at college returned from L.A. with his Gris-Gris album. The album is rich, dark, and tangled, like the backwoods of Louisiana. He's had some commercial successes and has emerged as one of the sustainers of New Orleans music, along with the Marsalis and Neville family.
Dr. John also, as certain angles, looks like our friend, Don. Enough so that when I hear the good doctor, I remember Don, even though I don't remember Don playing New Orleans or cajun music. Memories make the connections that they want to make.
Another bit from those smoke-filled years. On one of the classic rock channels, I recently heard "The Wind," by Circus Maximus. A check on the web shows that Jerry Jeff Walker played with CM. Didn't know and can hardly imagine that. "The Wind" was one of those long songs, a bit more than eight minutes, that DJs would put on the turntable when they needed to get away from the studio for a bit.
Arthur Lee, of the 60s California band, Love, recently died of leukemia. He was 61. He had a great voice, intriguing, haunting, supported by good material played by a good band. The band never achieved big commercial success, just deep respect from a dedicated group of listeners.
Vegetarians can enjoy a chuckle while we puzzle about meat.
- It used to be that you could get spaghetti sauce that had meat in it. Rarely did they advertise what type of meat it was, but it was meat. Now, the sauces are "meat-flavored." Again, we've no clue about the type of meat. We are left to imagine a cow or a pig or a raccoon walking through a vat of marinara to give it that meal flavor.
- A friend has returned east from Washington state. He reports that, unless you bribe the kitchen staff, you can't get a restaurant to serve you a steak that's medium rare or rare. The state has decided that under-cooked meat is a terrorist threat.
So, rather than gnawing on that piece of e-coli-free shoe leather the next time you're in Seattle, you might want to have the sushi instead. (BTW, here's a video clip with the real story behind sushi in America.)
