A bizarre little IM conversation I just had with a total stranger:

downhereatyourfeet: hello up there 4:55

Aprille: um…hi. 4:55

downhereatyourfeet: *waves up to you* 4:56

Aprille: you must be very short. 4:56

downhereatyourfeet: the size of your big toe, in fact. so please dont step on me. 4:56

Aprille: i’m sure you’re a lovely person, but i’m going to be honest with you: it’s 4:58 and it’s been a really long week and I’m just wanting to go home, not deal with somebody being cute. 4:58

downhereatyourfeet: well, feel free to put me in your purse and take me along 4:59

…yeah.

Here’s the August installation of the 365 Days of Self Portraits project.  I can’t believe I’ve already finished month 8 of 12.  Once it’s over, I hope I stay in the habit of taking pictures every day, but it will be refreshing to focus on new subjects.  Maybe I’ll do Bisquito’s First 365 Days (presumably Bisquito will by then have a real name).

Anyway, this month was all about zombie body parts and vegetables.  Click the mosaic to see the individual photos.

Also:

Why does Styx have such ‘tude about technology? In one line they’re saying ” Thank you very much, Mr. Roboto / For doing the jobs that nobody wants to / And thank you very much, Mr. Roboto / For helping me escape just when I needed to” and the next thing you know they’re saying “The problem’s plain to see / Too much technology.”

Doesn’t sound like such a problem to me, Mr. Styx.

I am delighted about the sushi place that opened right downstairs from my office.  I’m not supposed to eat raw fish while preg (although that’s suspect—Japanese women do it at all the time and Japanese people are better than us in most ways).  Fortunately, the place has some non-raw options beyond boring California rolls.  My current favorite is the shrimp tempura roll.  Their miso soup is also really good and only $1 USD.  I look forward to a post-pregnancy visit when I can stuff my face with sashimi.  Yum yum.

It looks like it’s going to be a gorgeous weekend, which is nice because my parents are having their annual Labor Day weekend patio party.  My dad, who is a homebrewer, provides interesting beers for the occasion.  I plan to smell them.  I think it’s rained the last couple of years, which put a damper on attendance and joviality.

I have a date tonight, dinner and drinks (artisanal root beer for me, I’m guessing) with this cute guy.  I’ll dish about it tomorrow.

Whooo, it’s been a long day.  It seems like I’m on about 35 committees and subteams at work, as well as leading my own team, co-leading a major project, and the usual beginning-of-semester craziness.

If I worked in the private sector (grumble grumble argle bargle) I’d make more money for this stuff.  Of course I’d probably also have to work this hard all the time instead of just some of the time, and I’d get less vacation.

The highlight of my day:  John, Darah, and baby Guthrie (aka Gus) gave us a really cute little baby shirt.  It’s so small, empirically, yet so big to imagine that the hand-sized person in me could one day fit into it.  Darah has been a great source of advice and reading material thus far, and now she’s gone and given us a gift.  What a peach.

I had the coolest dream last night:  I dreamed I had actually written the last two Harry Potter books.  They were still marketed under J.K. Rowling’s name, but she’d hired me to do it because she didn’t have time or something.  I remember thinking, “Now I’ll know who my true friends are and who just wants to hang out with me because I’m incredibly rich.”

Chances are I got screwed in some one-time payment thing anyway, though.

Also, that thought was illogical, because if anything, it would be more difficult to know who my true friends were.

The weather was so, so gorgeous this weekend. We had all the windows open and went out for a gentle hike around the Coralville Reservoir on Saturday. The downside is that my allergies are absolutely nuts, and the only thing I can take is Benadryl. That is good for sneezing and stuff, but it also makes me really drowsy, so I can’t very well take it during the day. It also doesn’t do anything for congestion. If anybody knows of a decongestant that’s safe for pregnancy, let me know. Everything I’ve found says it’s category C, which means don’t take it unless it’s really, really necessary.

Wait…isn’t Robitussin supposed to be okay? I’ll check on that. UPDATE: ixnay on the obitussinRay. “Studies on animals show adverse effect and toxicity on fetus.” Stupid animals, ruining it for everybody.

So anyway, it’s rained so much lately that the woods were really fungusy. Maybe you think that’s gross, but it was quite beautiful.

This is us, in case you didn’t know.

Fungus

More fungus

My little slug friend

It was fun. We also went out to dinner on Saturday night with Jamal and Alyssa, and the smell of my crab curry was oozing out my pores for a good 24 hours after that. After dinner we saw Superbad, which was quite funny, and the acting was really good.

I was going to say something about par, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it make sense. I don’t know much about golf, but if you go below par, that’s good, right? But when you say something is subpar, that’s bad.

It reminds me of that episode of The Simpsons where Pierre, the sexy bowling instructor, is trying to make it with Marge. Psyching himself up in the mirror, he said (in a French accent of course), “You’re really going to strike out tonight!’

Another thing that happened at the clinic today:

I was waiting outside the phlebotomy room (haha, my spellcheck doesn’t recognize “phlebotomy” and thinks I mean “lobotomy”) for my AFP blood draw. That’s a test that measures a certain fetal protein that’s present in my blood, and abnormal levels of it can mean an increased likelihood of certain birth defects. Anyway, the person in there before me was taking forever, and they had to bring in a specialized stabbing person to get it.

Then she came out, but I couldn’t go in yet because they were still dealing with her issues. Apparently she hadn’t peed enough into the cup, either. That woman must have been really low on fluids.

Also, she had some really serious personal odor problems. When they came out, she was standing right in front of me. I had to put my lap request form in front of my face because it was bothering me so much (pregnancy ups your smelling skills). I felt bad for her that they were discussing her personal medical issues, of which there were many, out in front of everybody. I also felt bad for her that she smelled. Maybe the water doesn’t work in her home, so she couldn’t shower or drink anything. Or maybe she was just gross. I don’t know. I was trying not to be judgmental, but it was tough.

When it was my turn, I went in and started to close the door behind me, but the phlebotomist said “Leave the door open. Please.” Yes, the smell was lingering.

People in the medical profession sure deal with a lot of disgusting stuff, and the nurses and nursing assistants don’t even get paid super-well for it. They spend a lot more time around the grossness than doctors do, too.

They work hard for the money, yo.

I got some targeted spam today.  I should share it with my boss; it sounds like I need a raise.

“If you are like most campus IT executives, the next several days will place significant pressure on your support operations.”

Lah-dee-dah!  I’m an IT executive!  And to think, I don’t even have an office.

If you’re wondering why he says December and not August, it’s because he lived in a different hemisphere.

I feel like I spent all weekend cooking. It was cool enough out that it wasn’t such a miserable thing to do.

Saturday I made a peach pie, with Colorado peaches (my favorites). Denny sides with Missouri peaches, but I haven’t seen those in the stores this year, and the Colorados have just come in. The pie turned out really well. I was pessimistic about the crust (it was very humid out, which made for a sticky dough, and I was trying to listen to Alton Brown and not add too much additional flour). Denny later reminded me that I’m always pessimistic about the crust and it almost always turns out well.

Such was the case here. It turned out really well. You know how fruit pies can sometimes get a soggy, underdone bottom crust? I followed the advice of the Cooks Illustrated baking cookbook and preheated a hot oven (500F) with a cookie sheet in it on the lowest rack, the baked the pie in a glass dish on the hot cookie sheet. The temp gets reduced twice during the cooking process—once when you first put it in and another time halfway through.

This technique not only prevented the bottom of my oven from getting covered in burned-on peach spew, but it also made the bottom crust set up really nicely.

On Sunday, I went out between rain showers and picked as many tomatoes as I could lift in a bowl. I filled a huge stockpot with the tomatoes, onions, garlic, and bay leaves, and I let it simmer all freaking day. The house smelled great.

HINT: if you are making a giant batch like that, don’t bother blanching and shocking the tomatoes to remove their skins, and certainly don’t squeeze out the goo. It’s just not worth the effort, and it’s healthier to leave them in anyway (more fiber, doncha know). I smoothed mine out with a stick blender, but you could use a regular blender too, although you have less control over the texture.

If you’re really horrified by tomato seeds or the occasional tomato skin bit, you could strain it, but I didn’t bother. I just put it in containers and threw it in the chest freezer. Come winter, I’ll be able to do all kinds of cool stuff with it: add veggies, hot pepper, and maybe sausage for a nice pasta sauce…puree, strain, and add some sour cream for tomato soup…add a little tomato paste to tighten it up for pizza sauce…perhaps MORE?

I love having an arsenal of tomato sauce in my freezer.

We ate at the Tuscan Moon last night.  Mark said he wanted to hear my impressions, and since there is nothing pressing to do at this exact moment (how unusual), I thought I’d write something up.

First, keep the context in mind.  Kalona, Iowa, is a tiny little town about 20 miles from Iowa City known mostly for its Amish Mennonite population.  Not everyone (or even most people) subscribe to that life philosophy, but it’s a visible enclave.  Other than that, it’s a pretty typical little town—cute-ish downtown with some nice local businesses, a few streets with pretty old homes, and lots of farmland surrounding it.  It’s more of a pork-tenderloin-on-a-bun town than a fois gras town (and don’t get me wrong—I appreciate a well-tendered loin).

The Tuscan Moon is an aesthetic gem.  The restaurant occupies a former hotel, and there is dining available on a patio and in several rooms on various floors.  The building is well-preserved and decorated in a pleasantly antique (but not cloying) style.  It would be a great place for a small rehearsal dinner or private party.  Also charming is the secluded bar/lounge upstairs, which would be nice to linger in before or after a meal.

The food is certainly above average.  I am dubious about some of its authenticity (alfredo sauce in a pasta carbonara dish?  Really?), but everything was nicely presented and was certainly a notch above a typical meal. I had what was billed as Rosemary Grilled Chicken.  It was served on a bed of fluffy polenta, which was the highlight of the meal and nicely balanced with a noticeable hint of rosemary.  The chicken was tender, moist, and juicy, but it was covered so liberally in a balsamic vinegar reduction that I couldn’t taste anything else.  Also present was a large serving of sauteed red onions, which were a little out of proportion.

Denny ordered a pasta “al diablo,” (another mixed metaphor—did they think people wouldn’t understand “a la diavola”)?  He had been warned by our dining companions that it was outrageously spicy, so he asked the server whether it was very hot.  He may have expressed concern, though he didn’t specifically ask that it be weakened for him; what he got was not spicy at all (and our dining companions agreed that it was much less spicy than when they’d last had it).  However, he still enjoyed the flavor.  I haven’t tried it yet, but he brought half of it home, so I might get to.

Also of note:  we didn’t personally experience it, but on Friday and Saturday nights they have live music, either out on the patio or inside, depending on weather.  That would be fun, because it’s very much a destination place.  Nobody ever made us feel rushed.

They seem to have a nice wine collection with a variety of types, including dessert wines (which, of course, I didn’t get to sample).  We were too full for dessert, but the choices seemed like a nice mix of traditional (chocolate layer cake) and more unusual (island spice cheesecake).

One small thing:  the non-alcoholic beverages were served in plastic cups.  Maybe that’s only the practice on the patio; still, I would have appreciated a glass.  It was a little jarring with the otherwise lovely environs.  The service was excellent; refills were offered frequently, and our server was happy to split our check and run two credit cards.

My general impression:  I would go back, but it would be a better experience if I could relax with a glass of wine for a while.  I think I would also get a steak; I could smell steaks from the kitchen and I bet they were fabulous.  I would like some more of that polenta, please.

I applaud the Tuscan Moon for bringing a classy dining option to an underserved area.  Go for a fun date night.

Denny and I are going to Kalona tonight to eat at the Tuscan Moon. I’ve heard good things about it, and Denny’s cousin has been waiting tables there as a summer job before she goes off to college this weekend. I like going to Kalona because sometimes you see Amish people in horse-drawn buggies. They have those slow-moving vehicle signs on them. It’s weirdly charming.

It’s strange how the words Tuscan and Tucson are both geographical but have nothing to do with one another.

Also, you know what’s so good? Mint Mojito (although I’ve never heard of a mojito without mint) flavored Orbit gum. It’s almost as good as the real thing.

Actually, not even close, but I takes what I can gets.

My buddy Ken is no longer with us.  He’s not dead or anything (so far as I know; I haven’t talked to him in like an hour and a half), he just changed jobs.

In fact, he’s still in our larger group, just in a different unit so I won’t work with him as much.  It’s kind of like when Denny moved into his newish job.  Still, I’ll miss having Ken just two cubes over.  He was always good for a trip down to the coffee shop or a good story about his kids.  Now if I want any of that, I’ll have to IM him first to see if he’s around.

Come to think of it, that’s what I did before.  Our cubicle walls are high.