Journey to the West

Bleagh! A piddly sprinkling of snow is poor compensation for a 40-degree plunge in the mercury. Sometimes it's no wonder Chicagoans treat every winter as some new curse laid upon our undeserving heads.

I have a living room again, by force majeure. monshu came over on Saturday and brought his moral weight to bear on me even while snoring in the bedroom. You can see the birchwood top of my dining room table and the gleaming white tiles of the kitchen floor. Tonight, I hope to have the butcherblock in place and beginning oiling it. None of my so-called "friends" felt it necessary to point out that I could just use Mazola and didn't need to run to Despot for something froofy in a can. So now FAIR WARNING: Anyone else found witholding valuable home improvement advice will be Dealt With--and at a time when I am not feeling supernaturally forgiving on account of being full of fantastic food.

You see, e. and bunj had us out to their place in Transfluviana (as monshu and dubbed it when I was explaining to him the milestones on the route) yesterday. In a CTA bus that was being pounded by rain, monshu asked me, "Why are we going out there again?" It turns out the answer is ALL THE LAMB CHOPS YOU CAN EAT. bunj actually stood in the rain with an umbrella full of smoke over a gas grill that quickly became grease-powered due to the renderings from the chops. They ended up as tender as peameal bacon and I ate them like they were porkchops. We also discovered that the only way to serve green peas is with lots of CURED HAM. On top of all that, there was flan.

And that wasn't all we scored! Thankfully, I remembered to bring along their anniversary gifts, so the exchange wasn't too lopsided, but--to put things in completely impartial transactional terms--I gave them two rocks and walked away with a set of tools, an electric drill, a wine rack, a crock, Japanese sweets, and a bottle of Rioja. (Of those things, only the drill has to go back.) Historically speaking, I'm the unscrupulous Boston trader and they're like the Tlingits or something.

Giving is as good as getting

Oh, in other serendipitous news, I finally found my hanko last night, the one I had made at the Ginza Festival back in August. I remembered that I had put it away in a safe place so it wouldn't get lost in the move. Of course, after the moving, I couldn't remember which safe place that was. As it happens, it was a metal box of odds and ends, such as the music that wouldn't fit anywhere else. I had opened it to put those stray cds into the cd rack that I also scored from e. (forgot to list that among my booty!).

So there you have it. If you like to view the world in terms of instant karma, I gifted my sister-in-law and my brother with chops and--mere hours later--I found my own chop, which I had given up for lost.

I meant to look up "procrastination" but I keep getting distracted...

Arrgh! I'm fretting about hosting Thanksgiving. What if my kitchen isn't ready in time? What if my guests aren't comfortable? What if I forget to supply something totally basic, like handtowels in the bathroom or ice cubes? What if, what if? It's got me so paralysed right now that I don't want to go home and start on things. Silly, silly Da!

It's very sweet of monshu to insist on celebrating at my place, since it's the only way I'll make myself clean and furnish, but sometimes I feel like quietly slipping away to spookyfruit's and welcomerain's. Or Nuphy's--it bothers me that the poor man is on his own this year. Oh, it doesn't help that he's also insisting that we go out shopping the very next day for Christmas gifts. Gaaa! Will the stresses never stop?