Winter is the season in which people try to keep the house as warm as it was in the summer, when they complained about the heat

When we arrived last night, our BnB lady showed us the heater and its swanky controller, and said "You need to make sure the little sun is visible on the display, otherwise it won't work".

See, they can't isolate buildings worth a damn here. Single-paned windows, drafts everywhere, paper-thin walls. And why? As my brother put it last night, "They think they live on a tropical island". Which they don't. In no way, shape or form. Its spring here now, and last night it was around ten degrees, if that. I wore a hoodie and a beanie and was still cold. The beer helped, though. And the walking. All them hills, and we live at the very top of one.

Back to the heater. We got in last night, punched the correct buttons and went to bed. I woke up in the middle of the night, freezing. Luckily the duvet is about a mile thick, so I pulled it over me and went back to sleep. This procedure was repeated several times during the night.

This morning when my brother got up he pulled the control thingie from its place on the wall, squinted at it and said "Hey. This isn't a sun. Its a snow flake". Anyone surprised it was cold? Hooray for us.

We're supposed to be two fairly technical guys. Certain incidents involving microwave ovens spring to mind...

Who will be the strongest thumb?

I lost two thumb wars in a row this morning. What. The. Hell. I have a powerful thumb. Meaty. And I lost. Twice.

Did you know that there's a Thumb Wrestling Federation?

I would love to stand here and talk with you... but I'm not going to.

But really, I am.

We decided to fry up some shrimp and halloumi today, and build us some serious sandwiches. When we visited New Orleans in April, we bought a jar of Frank Davis Stricly N'Awlins Barbecued Shrimp Seasoning (try saying that five times in a row, really fast). We've only used it in minor quantities until now.

Tonight eighteen shrimp went in a bag, which I held while Mah Girl poured some seasoning over them. A great big gout of spices exploded into the bag. And out of the bag.

Let me put it this way. I doubt the New Orleans police department uses Mace or pepper spray to subdue criminals. Instead, they visit Frank Davis once a year, buy a truckload of his seasoning, and load up their spray cans. If someone ever tries to invade my home, I know what I'm arming myself with.

The laptop remains dead. Three geeks with oceans and oceans of PC know-how looked at it, hummed and hawed and concluded that the only thing I can do is reinstall Windows (the power of Christ compels you!).

It's not really this broken.

I have been a Good Boy and done backups regularly on an external harddrive, and them geeks supplied me with a bagfull of wires and gizmos so I can pull the drive and extract whichever files aren't backed up, since reinstalling Windows will wipe all of it. I tried today, but couldn't even figure out which wire goes into which part of the drive. And I'm supposed to be a technical boy (again with the microwave). For shame.

Tomorrow I bring all of it to work again, and hope that The Mighty Morphin' Power Geeks can help me, hands-on. Fingers crossed, y'all.

You anti-semantic bastard!

I just realized I've started the last three blog headers with "A". Shame on me.

Correct language usage is a big deal to me. Part of it comes from my mother, who is a teacher (of Swedish, English, French and general good manners) and part of it comes from me being the obsessive know-it-all that I am.

Some years back (I was going to write "a few", but then I looked at the website and realized it hasn't been active since 2003...) I was part of an online community against "särskrivning". Can't think of a proper term in English, since the phenomenon itself stems from Swedish words that are usually written as one word being separated into two since that's the way it's done in English. Hard to explain unless you're a native. The website is still online, but not active. I am still, though.

Not sure where I'm going with this...more than to acknowledge the fact that I'm a know-it-all. Oh well, most of you are probably very much aware of this fact already.

Anywho, I will leave you with this excellent sign I saw the other day. 'tis in Swedish. And mostly for Ellie.

This conversation…is over

Snippets of conversation today.

Me: “Are those cows or horses?” (driving)
Mah Girl: (looking over, trying to discern what I’m talking about)
Me: “Cows. Horses. Horses? Cows!”

Once again proof that I do know my moo-cows from my horsieses.

Me: “How come the timer isn’t moving?” (staring at the archaic microwave)
Mah Girl’s father: (walks up and pushes the “start” button. Microwave starts) “Maybe that was too technical for you?”

A rather technical geekboy upstaged by a 65-year old man. Oh the shame.

Mah Girl: “Look at that orange room!”
Me: “Where?” (driving, intent on the rain-soaked road)
Mah Girl: (sighs) “Too late. But it looked like our living room.”
Me: “So not orange. Terracotta.”
Mah Girl: “Yeah. I only said orange to piss you off.”
Me: “I know. I said terracotta to let you know I know you wanted to piss me off.”
Mah Girl: (smile) “I know.”

We’re so much alike it’s scary.

And the quote of the day:

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.
- Ray Bradbury