atomic_fungus (atomic_fungus) wrote,
atomic_fungus
atomic_fungus

#7655: Well, that's all I can do without assembling it

Cupola is complete: trim ring painted, weathervane bolted to roof, everything ready to go. Now it's time for the hard part, which is getting everything lined up before drilling holes for screws.

Up on the house top, bolt bolt bolt, and we're done. I'm hoping to accomplish that this coming weekend; we'll see.

Once I was done with that I started cleaning up the garage a bit. Mostly organizing, but it was sorely needed. I've got way too much used oil, so before I go to O'Reillys to get oil change supplies for the Jeep and Mrs. Fungus' car, I'm going to put some jugs in the truck to take back.

Anyway, I've made some progress on neatening up the garage, and advanced the cupola task a bit further.

* * *

After I had my Subway BMT yesterday, I just flopped. Next thing I knew, it was 9. So of course when it was time to go to bed, I couldn't sleep.

When the anathesiologist gave me the knockout drug, I was going to try to stay awake, just to do it. Of course I failed! But it was fun to try.

She pushed the dose into my IV, and then walked away; as I lay there I started to feel a little woozy, so I thought, Okay, it's starting to take effect, so now I REALLY need to pay atten-- and that was it, I was out. Heh.

I wasn't completely out--I was conscious enough to know that things were going on around me and I could hear snatches of conversation that didn't make any sense to me--but I might as well have been.

When I was getting dressed, I couldn't figure out which side of my underwear went outside, at first. I was able to text my wife and tell her I was trying to figure out how to put my clothes back on, but the underwear seemed to curve through alternate dimensions, until I finally established that this was how they should look...only they were inside out. That was relatively simple to correct now that I had them untangled.

Once I was finished dressing, I did a quick inventory: shirt, pants, socks, underwear, shoes, everything accounted for. And then I did it again, because I knew I was just loopy enough to have forgotten something. Everything was on my body, and in the correct order, so I was ready to go.

I sure had trouble with words, though, on the way home.

* * *

They wonder why we don't listen to them. White support for burn-loot-murder has declined rather steeply because it's become obvious that the burn-loot-murder crowd is more interested in political graft and a communist takeover than, y'know, "civil rights". The civil rights movement has been a communist front since Martin Luther King, Jr. died. Quite possibly before.

* * *



No, I don't think I want to know.

* * *

When I was a kid, I used to make garlic buttered noodles a lot. I turned pretty much free-range after about age nine or ten, because Dad was busy with work and Mom was drinking after Grandma died, so I either ate PBJ or mac and cheese or...well, whatever there was. It was not haute cusine, and it was mostly carbohydrates, but it was stuff a pre-teen could make.

I'd make spaghetti: boil a wad of Cipriani's spaghetti noodles, then mix in enough sauce to cover the noodles, and eat. I'd make buttered noodles, sometimes with garlic powder, when there was no spaghetti sauce. Peanut butter and brown sugar sandwiches when I got tired of strawberry preserves. Sloppy joes, using Mom's ultra-simple recipe: brown hamburger, then add about a tablespoon of brown sugar; add ketchup until "sloppy", a dash of mustard, and add onion flakes until you could smell them. Stir well, serve on bread or buns. And of course anyone with even slight kitchen training can boil hot dogs.

I don't blame Mom or Dad. Life is hard, and they were people like anyone else, and I didn't starve--in fact, I usually got to eat what I wanted to eat, rather than having to choke down something I didn't like! In those days, you ate what was put in front of you, or went to bed hungry. Those were your choices, and I think our culture has lost a lot with that kind of rule now being considered "child abuse".

Anyway, these days, when I make garlic buttered noodles, I also sautee a chicken breast in butter and then add some white wine and let it simmer, covered, for maybe five or so minutes. The liquor left over from this ends up getting spooned on the noodles (which also have parmesan cheese, besides the butter and garlic powder, which is another recent refinement) and it comes out looking and tasting pretty good.

Still not haute cuisine, mind you, but closer to it, at least.

* * *

Man, it's only Tuesday, but that's okay, because tomorrow is Wednesday.
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