You Just Can't Get There from Here

I got the snail mail the other day.  The mail that even used car owners detest: the recall notice.  Yes, my five year old car has been recalled.  It went on for a few pages but the best I can pull out of it is that there's something wrong with the suspension, which will result in either nothing or horiffic collision and catastrophic fire if ignored.

I'm going to take it to the dealer, as I'm simply not in the mood for catastrophic fire during the holidays. It probably just hates the weather here, as do I.

Last year, you might remember, our car was almost ruined by one of the local suicidal deer.  Perhaps it's a seasonal thing.

Things Just Ain't What They Used to Be

I may have detailed my rapid exit from Baskin Robbins or I may not have.  We had this lovely Baskin Robbins around the corner from my house, where we'd go to get our favorite ice cream confections.  I could be counted on for roughly the same thing every time: cookie dough ice cream with marshmallow topping.  There was something about their marshmallow topping that really set off the ice cream.

Time went on and Baskin Robbins closed [horrors!].  For whatever reason, Baskin Robbins started sharing space with Dunkin Donuts (my wife's motto: Do Not Pass Dunkin Donuts' coffee, Do Not Collect Two Hundred Dollars).

The first time I went into one of these establishments, I had high hopes for the combination.  That was, right up until I placed my order.  They had the cookie dough ice cream but the did not have the marshmallow topping.  Oh, the humanity!

Have you ever tried to explain marshmallow topping to an Eastern Indian gentleman whose first language is not english?  Suffice it to say that the New and Improved Baskin Robbins does not carry marshmallow topping.  Cross that one off.  I even emailed Corporate (and got no response).

Flash forward many years to my dear nephews wanting an ice cream cake in the shape of a turkey.  Their dear mother promised them one, yet failed to consider how to obtain it.  Even I know that you do NOT promise something to a child that you cannot deliver.

Since my sis-in-law suggested Carvel, I started there.  Much like the Great Marshmallow Crisis of 2013, Carvel presented me with a problem: if I wanted to purchase a turkey cake, I'd have to drive to the next state.  If I wanted to order one online, I only had to drive about fifty miles to pick it up.  So much for Carvel.

Next up was [wait for it...]  Baskin Robbins.  We set off to order a cake at the Baskin Robbins/Dunkin Donuts down the street.  We figured while there, why not get some ice cream (since it was the coldest day of the year anyway).

Halleleujah -we located the turkey cake, which came in many sizes with many ice cream choices.  We went to order it and were told that they only accepted orders in the morning.

In the morning?

Yes, in the morning.

Apparently Universal Alignment somehow dictates whether an employee can take a cake order.  Maybe there was feng shui involved too - it's certainly over my pay grade.  Maybe the only employee capable of filling out an order form works mornings.  Let's face it - you want to disrupt the coffee and donut ordering with cake ordering in the morning, right?

So we got some ice cream anyway.  The lady behind the counter knew what marshmallow was.  She also knew she didn't carry it (it was worth a try).  Off we went to eat our ice cream when we had to get back in line: she had not provided us with spoons.  I don't know if they were extra or we were expected to consume the ice cream like my dog undoubtedly would.

The next morning my wife returned to order the cake.  The same lady who couldn't take our order and didn't believe in spoons took her order.  To make things more interesting, the cake only came in one size (not the one advertised) and with limited ice cream choices.  It was also hideously expensive (we could have bought two Carvel cakes).

I think we've been more than fair to Baskin Robbins.  Not so much the other way.

Great Python News!

The boys will be reuniting for a show!

No word on how (or if) Graham Chapman will appear.  Probably tastelessly.


Thanks - we needed this.

B-B-B-Bird Bird Bird, Bird is the Word

Before we go any further, you should probably watch this.

Now that I have control of your mind, I'll tell you a little story.

Long ago (last Monday), in a land far away (my house), I got home from work and saw some sort of flash or shadow go past.  It only registered subconsciously.

And then I saw it: we had acquired a bird.  In the house.  And it was flying around, desperately trying to get out.

And I desperately wanted it out.

I'd like to tell you what kind of bird it was but the best I can come up with is small and gray. Oddly enough, the pets took little notice until the cat finally caught sight of the little bugger.  His inability to fly, in the face of this ornithological event, vexed him mightily.  It also vexed me, as I value his ability as a hunter and this would mean the end of my problem.

But alas, the ground-dwelling feline remained firmly planted on the carpet, while the errant bird stubbornly continued to occupy the ceiling and parts north.

Since I had Important Things<tm> to do, I allotted five minutes to try eradicating the Bird Problem myself.  I thought it was sheer brilliance on my part (I am frequently told that I am my best audience) to turn off all the house lights and open the front door, figuring that the small gray thing would head for parts outside.

Naturally I was mistaken.

The dog still failed to notice his new houseguest, instead opting to search for any spare cat food that might be left about.  As it turns out, this is one of his main activities.

Having exhausted my five minutes, I went about my other business.  The bird flew upstairs and wasn't heard from again.

My wife, fresh from napping, was made aware of the situation.  Just as I was saying the bird had left, it swooped across the ceiling again.  The wife was most impressed, springing into action and locking the bird in the rear area of the house, close to the door.  Apparently it hadn't found the second floor as hospitable as we do.

The following morning we came down and noted that the bird had failed to go out the back door, instead somehow managing to go through the closed dividing door and hanging around the living room some more.

My wife lept to attention, and with the help of a broom, somehow managed to convince our new pet to exit via the front door.  Everyone was impressed (except the cat).

We were really curious as to how the little monster managed to get through a closed dividing door, so we opened it.

What did we find?

The bird.  In the rear of the house.

Apparently we had somehow acquired two birds.

Again springing to action, the wife, again with the broom, managed to eradicate the house of the Bird Problem.  Hopefully once and for all.

How the birds got into the house, we do not know.  While they do like to fly into our clean windows, like that stupid window cleaner commercial, they do not generally like to spend quality time with us.

When I told this tale at work, I mentioned that normal people get one bird in their house.  I was immediately corrected by a coworker: normal people get no birds in their house.