FOOTSTANK

Jul. 6th, 2008 01:21 am
yrmencyn: (Default)
So, almost a year and a half ago I bought a pair of Chaco Z/2s.  They're absolutely the best shoes I've ever owned -- amazingly comfortable, rugged, durable, and they can be resoled (they're quite due for a resoling, actually).

There's only one problem -- I've had this pair since March '06, and by this point they've acquired a stench that threatens to take on a life of its own.  I mean, it's BAD.  I sit at my desk at work and think "Oh Jesus.  Is that me?"  And this is when I have my shoes on, so the stank is somewhat contained.

I've tried scrubbing them a couple times, but it's pretty much ineffective.  So tonight I went looking on the internet to discover how to deal with the problem. 

Turns out I'm a moron.  If I had just looked at their website (or for that matter at the literature that came with the shoes, I suspect), I would have found out that the proper cleaning method is... the washing machine.  Just throw them in with the laundry every couple weeks and then let them air-dry. 

So my shoes are in the washer right now.  I'm so excited!  I can't wait to (not) smell them.
yrmencyn: (Default)
Hi, flist.  Been a while.  The while, though, has been largely nice.  This quarter is much calmer than last, which is very nice.  So I've just been going around, writing my poems and reading others', occasionally going and listening to artists talk about their work, and pretty much having a quarter that's simultaneously relaxing and fulfilling -- how about that!  Of course this isn't 100%.  There are moments of stress, like when Faire happens to be on a weekend where I also have to write a major presentation on a book of poems, or whatnot.  Faire, by the way, went swimmingly.  It was a lovely faire day to begin with, and Minstrelry had two well-attended, well-enjoyed performances before the rain.  Yes, the rain.  It poured torrential buckets for a little over an hour, which effectively killed the faire in terms of numbers.  Nevertheless, the show must go on, and we still had our third performance (after it had stopped raining, luckily).  Very small audience (mostly cast, honestly), but still enjoyable.

What else.  Got Kevin moved out of his apartment yesterday, which was 'fun'.  Not too bad, really, since we'd already done some preliminary work (he more than I) and his parents came down with minivan and flatbed.  Only scary part was when we thought we might lose the mattress and box spring while going through 5th and O. River... good times.  And then there was the cleaning, which was also reasonably painless.  Saw Cathy's senior recital afterward, and was greatly impressed: the tuba is an underrated instrument.  Also, any recital which includes P. D. Q. Bach's "The Only Piece Ever Written For Violin and Tuba" (S. 9, 10, big fat hen) has got to be good, right?  Funny thing, though: I had worn a hat on the way over, and I accidentally left it it the auditorium when I went off to the reception.  When I went back to get it, I listened closely at the door to make sure there wasn't a performance going on; hearing nothing, I went in.  I went in, and was greeted by stares from audience members, as my entrance coincided with a vocalist's entrance to sing another piece (they had been quiet in polite expectation.  So what could I do but close the door softly behind me, go back toward where I had been sitting, and send a msg to Amanda, who was giving me a ride home, saying "Trapped in aud in recital will leave as soon as able sorry.  If must leave will understand."?  Ariel Matthys, soprano, does a lovely rendition of Schubert lieder, in case you were wondering.

Anyway, the sun is rising higher and higher, and the apartment is somewhere between gross and squalid.  We have guests coming this week, so cleaning is in order.  And finishing a book of poetry for Monday, and commenting on people's poems, and seeing a choral concert, and celebrating a birthday.  I should probably also finish scheduling classes for summer and fall.  Just your typical, lazy Sunday.
yrmencyn: (food)
This weekend is one of the first in a long time that I've been home, instead of gallivanting around the country or recovering from camp (or preparing for camp) or whatever.  As such, I've really been having a good time just relaxing.  Today, I went to Highland Coffees for the first time in a long time, the better to sit around, read, and drink coffee and tea.  I was most excited, since I'd received Middlesex  on Friday (and thus it begins!), and I was looking forward to a nice long session of caffeinated reading, sitting in the warm Louisiana summer air under Highland's bower.  Mmmm.  Anyway, getting to the subject, today I was wearing a shirt that was given to me by Dr. Ancelet.  It has text on it in French.  While I was getting a refill of dark-roast coffee (mmmm), the barista asked me what my shirt said.  I responded "Speak French on purpose!"  It was only as I was walking away that I realized I had answered the pragmatic question, not the actual one (that is to say, I had responded as above, telling her what the shirt meant in our lingua franca, rather than saying "Parle français par exprès!", which is what the shirt literally says).  The amusing fact is that I was, in a way, actually acting directly counter to the instructions of my shirt.  No real point, just recounting.

Middlesex, by the way, is wonderful so far (about a third of the way through).  I should expect no less, of course, since it's been recommended to me not only by national reviewers (and the awarders of the Pulitzer Prize) but also by [livejournal.com profile] rnbowpixy; personal recommendations carry a lot of weight.  It is absolutely nothing like I expected, but in a very good way.  Rather than being a stridently political book about an intersexed person (which I foolishly expected), it's a broad-reaching symphonic study of sexuality, love, immigration, and a myriad other topics that all combine to make up human nature.  Beautiful.

Last night Shane, Rebecca, and I went out to eat at J. Alexander with two of Rebecca's fellow TFAers.  I'd noticed the restaurant over by the Mall of Louisiana earlier, but hadn't really given it a second thought.  225 Magazine, however, recently ranked it as having the second-best salads in the city, and thus was Rebecca's curiosity piqued: as an Orthodox Jew, she eats a lot of salads when she dines out, since they're one of the few safe things.  J. Alexander's turns out to be a somewhat upscale steakhouse/Americana place that I found to be very pleasant.  It's got a very fancy feel without being overly stuffy or pricey, which I appreciate.  The cheeseburger I had was one of the best I've had in a long, long time, juicy and savory and full of beef flavor.  The wine also made me happy; I got a quite reasonably priced Côtes du Rhone, which was quite tasty.  Course, the tastiness was only enhanced by the fact that they serve all their wines in -- wait for it -- Reidel!  I mean, Christ, what restaurant in the 15$ non-steak-entree price-range uses that level of glassware?!  Very fun.  Even if the waiter was a little flaky, but I'm over it :)

My parents had been in earlier in the day to steal away my bed.  See, I had no plans of taking it to Ohio, and my brother's moving to a house off-campus in Austin this year, so he's getting it.  Mom and Dad drove from Nac, took me to lunch, helped me transport a dresser I bought home, packed up the bed, and drove back, because my whole family is crazy; we don't think that much of driving 10 hours in a day.  Did I mention lunch?  Yes.  I hadn't been to Parrain's in a while, and I was very happy to go there.  I hope they enjoyed it like I did -- I had the barbecued drum like last time I went there, because it's so. damn. good.  Our waiter... this is weird.  I got friended by this guy on Facebook a couple weeks ago, but I declined it (because I don't know him) and thought nothing more of it.  So yesterday, our server is greeting us and I'm thinking "he looks really familiar!  why?"  The bill comes with his name and... ah, it's him.  There we go.  So odd.

Also, did I mention a dresser?  Why yes I did.  The parents also took my dresser, which is a primary colored wooden thing that's been in my room since my childhood.  In its place, I now have a faux-pine chest of drawers, straight from your friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart.  About ninety bucks and three hours of assembly later (it took forever because my Phillips head screwdrivers seem to have run away, leaving me with only a multi-tool to work with), I now have a nice looking dresser that doesn't make me feel like a juvenile.  There was also a lot of cleaning involved, as you can see from the pictures below.

Pictures )

Friday night was also a night of fun and food (that seems to have gone on a lot this weekend, wow).  Erin, Katie, Mandi, and I started out by going to Waka House, a new sushi place out at Sherwood Forest & Coursey (give or take).  The sushi was quite good, and the value was wonderful: we ate until we were nearing stomach rupture, but we only spent 15$ plus tip apiece.  That's... shocking.  I mean, really.  Yay!  We continued by going to Hole Experience, where Katie and Mandi intended to get piercings.  Unfortunately, there were some issues, and it didn't end up happening, but still it was good times.  We had planned on going to see Clerks II, but it appears that it's no longer showing in Baton Rouge :(  I do note that it's still showing in New Orleans, but apparently only until Thursday?  So I guess I'll have to wait for it to come out on DVD.  Instead, we wet to see Pulse.  It was't a bad little flick, as dystopian cyber-horror goes.  I do have to say it was the most bizarre depiction of Columbus, OH I've ever seen.  I realize they were probably trying for a representative city of average Middle America, but... well, Columbus just isn't that urban of an urban space.  Sure, it's definitely a city, but that whole tenement-y buildings everywhere, full of urban angst and disquiet shtick?  Not so much.  Very amusing to those of us that know the city.

And now, finally, I think I've come to my conclusion.  Huzzah!
yrmencyn: (Default)
It is an absolutely gorgeous day today.  The sky is completely clear and blue, the sun shines strong and bright, and the temperature is coming slightly down now from its mid-afternoon high of around 75.  I decided to take my lunch outside (leftover green onion soup, French bread, and fresh-brewed Assam iced tea), and on the basis of that experience decided to completely disregard my plans to get some hard-core work done on the thesis in the early afternoon.  It's a Friday, it's beautiful out, the jasmine is starting to bloom on the trellis, and I checked out Jeffrey Steingarten's It Must Have Been Something I Ate from the library yesterday.

Instead on working on translations, I sat in the sun and read the Steingarten.  Since it was so pleasantly hot, I changed into my lounging shorts (light nylon ones) and took off my shirt to bask.  Yes, like a lizard.  It's really quite strange, I don't think of myself as a sunbather, yet I do it more and more.  As I was doing an extensive clean of the kitchen earlier, I got to thinking about that.  I always thought of sunbathing as a rather vain activity, but I don't think of myself as a vain person; how to draw the distinction and form a rationale that prevents my brain from hemorrhaging?

I came up with a two-pronged attack.  First, I enjoy the sensation of the sun on my bare skin.  I was lucky enough to be born with pretty dark skin for a white guy, so sunburns are only an issue for me in extreme situations (river rafting for multiple days, high altitudes, etc).  Therefore I feel quite free to indulge in a hearty bath of radiation.  Furthermore, it's a question of self-image.  I see myself as a deeply tanned person.  I've actually been relatively pale for the last few years (about 2000 on, intrinsically linked to no longer directly supervising children in swimming pools every day for six to eight weeks in the summer), but when I was growing up I was dark in the summer.  DARK.  People occasionally thought I was Mexican, which is strange, since my facial features don't really reflect that, but I can't account for other people's inability to discern ethnic heritage.  So now, with my current paleness (relatively speaking), I've got a bit of a disjunct between my internal and external appearances, and it gets to me.  It's one of the reasons I cut off my long hair: my mental self-image has short hair.  I feel more comfortable in my skin when I get darker, hence closer to what I think I should look like.

Of course, I'm not going to be so obtuse as to completely deny the social conditioning factors inherent here.  As a culture, we like tanned people.  We constantly celebrate the hue of sundrenched bodies.  We think it gives people a healthy glow (although skin cancer specialists rightly hold a differing opinion).  And frankly, I'm willing to buy into the hype.  Cause you know what?  Even after just today, I feel hot.
yrmencyn: (Default)
So, Kregg last week had made some passive aggressive comments about the bathroom needing to be cleaned.  I had figured, fine, whatever, I'll clean it Saturday.  Then he up and started cleaning it on Friday, to which I could only say "uh... I was going to do that tomorrow."  "No big deal, you can do it next weekend."  Fair enough, fair enough.  Shared duties and all that.

Fast forward to today.  It had totally slipped my mind that I was going to clean the bathroom this past weekend (because... sorry, but I generally don't do a weekly cleaning of the bathroom.  I just don't, it's not necessary to my mind).  Kregg asks me wasn't I going to have cleaned the bathroom this weekend?  I replied, quite honestly, that I had meant to, but it slipped my mind.  He requests that I do so "as soon as you can."  There was a tone thing going on that carried a meaning close to "you are entirely unhygienic."

Bitch, please.  On my way back from translating at Perks today (almost 25 pages, including one quite long poem that had some really crazy stuff going on, rock on), I picked up some Comet and some toilet bowl cleaner, because all we had was some Clorox all-purpose spray and some Windex.  And I'm sorry, you cannot clean a tub with Clorox spray, no matter what the bottle says: it will not get the job done.  Even more so, you can not clean our hard-water-stains-and-other-such-madness tub with a spray, that baby needs scouring powder.  This is evinced by the results of his cleaning last week, which took a long time and had *looks both ways carefully* no discernible effect.  Seriously, how can you be so manic about bathroom cleanliness and yet so not effective at cleaning?  Obviously you didn't have my mother.  She may not have managed to get me to clean the bathroom regularly, but by God when I did I knew what I was doing.

I cleaned the tub, the sink, the toilet, and the floor, then went on to empty the dishwasher and deal with the gross pile of dishes in the sink (rinse, people, rinse!  Caked on peanut-butter and chocolate milkshake is disgusting!) while I was in cleaning mode.  Total time elapsed for both rooms?  A little over an hour.  I am a domestic god, and the tub is shiny white.  You could eat off of that tub.

So take that!  The bathroom's... um... clean to your obsessive-compulsive standards.  Woohoo, I really put one... over... on you... didn't I...?  *sigh*  I can't win.
yrmencyn: (Default)
Shee-it.  I must be sick.  I mean, I've known I was sick thanks to the dizziness last night, the runny nose for the past 24 hours, and the general crap feeling, but I just lost track of the day.  I seriously thought today (the 20th) was Saturday, which it just isn't.  Ugh.  On the other hand, I feel quite productive, more productive than I really deserve to feel, actually, considering what little I did.  Wrote up a one page self-evaluation for the past semester (our department has us do this, I know not why), cleaned my room, and vacuumed it.  That's it.  I also vacuumed the hall and the living room, but that doesn't really count as more stuff, since I already had the vacuum cleaner out anyway. Admittedly, the room was approaching Superfund levels, to the extent that when I wanted to just throw something down haphazardly I was beginning to encroach on the narrow walkway I had left next to the bed and the desk, but still it was mostly a matter of breaking down piles into "books", "school papers", "other important papers", "recyclable papers", and "trash".  Now that my room is clean I'm reminded of how it's actually a pleasant place to be in when it's not cluttered like nobody's business.

Mandi and Erin managed to convince me to leave my Fortress of Illitude to go with them and Katie to grab a bit of food (Phil's Oyster Bar, Home of the World-Famous Phil's Bread Pudding and the Less Famous but Still Ubiquitous Servers of Questionable Humor) and have some drinks at Erin's.  Plus watch some Buffy.  So that was good, really.  Now I'm kind of tired and not tired at the same time, but it's just too late to start a movie, so I guess I'll go to bed.

Oh, wait, one last thing.  Is it so hard to find juice that's made of juice?  Seriously.  I mean, from concentrate is acceptable I guess (albeit undesirable), but what gives with the high-fructose corn syrup?  Oh, and the inescapable add-ins of grape and/or apple juice.  Looza actually makes juice that's comprised of juice, but I haven't seen that brand around here.  POM also does, but they have tee-niney little bottles for too high of a price, not to mention a selection that's based exclusively around the juice of the pomegranate.  Blah.

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yrmencyn

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