Be Ve-wy Quiet, We're Hunting Houses

That's right, I'm boldly moving toward buying my first home. OK, "boldly" may be an overstatement. Trepidatiously sticking one little inconsequential toe into the water while making sure that all other body parts stay safely on shore. Yeah, that's more like it.

I don't understand people who jump right into home ownership. Hell, I don't even understand how anyone makes it to closing. It has taken me at least 3 solid weeks to just work up the nerve to call a real estate agent. Before yesterday, every time I picked up the phone, I broke out in a cold sweat and had the shakes. Picture a pimply-faced gawky teenage boy calling the most popular girl in school. Now multiply that by 100. That about says it all. Except I'm not pimply-faced, or gawky, or a teenage boy. Still, you get my point. I was nervous.

In the 3 weeks that I haven't been calling real estate agents, I've been doing a lot of research. Scientific research. First, I got myself addicted to any and all home-buying shows on HGTV. If someone's looking for a house, I'm all over it. The shows have been helpful in showing the ins and outs of the home-finding and home-buying process. It's helped to see real people buying real homes. It's helped to see them come out of the process with smiles on their faces, rather than huge dark circles under their bloodshot eyes, fingernails worn to the quick, and countless beads of sweat on their foreheads. I'm guessing that they've had some serious pharmacological intervention, and I want to make sure that it's a standard part of the closing process.

Here's where the shows haven't been so helpful: It's not helpful to see people who are my age qualifying for 3-4 times more than I'm able to afford. I've developed a real dislike for those people. It's particularly unhelpful to see younger people who are looking for a second vacation home in a different country. I've multiplied my dislike for those people. I actually enjoyed watching the episode where the guy bought a home in Honduras, followed by news of political unrest. I know that I'm probably going to hell, but I smiled at his misfortune. Poor bastard will have to live full-time in his beach house in Malibu. My heart bleeds.

In addition to HGTV, I've polled some of my house-owing friends to get their advice in this process. Some of the advice has been very helpful. For example:

• If you buy a house with a basement, make sure the basement doesn't leak before you buy the house. Sound advice if I've ever heard any. Yes, the friend who passed this along learned from experience and God bless her for forging the path for the rest of us.
• Buy in a neighborhood that does not appear regularly in the Police Blotter. Also good advice.
• Don't buy a house with a big yard if you don't like yard work. This is a tricky one because while I have a strong aversion to lawn mowers, I also want some space between me and my neighbors. I haven't yet figured out how to negotiate a balance here, though the idea of a hunky gardner is not without appeal.
• Think long-term. In other words, don't expect the house to be perfect from the moment you move in, and be ready to take your time to make it your home. Good advice. Reminds me of something a work colleague used to say: The reason God made time is so that everything doesn't happen at once. Very true.
• Have an idea of what you want but don't narrow your search too much in the early stages. Sure, you want to be on one side of town. Don't completely rule out the other side of town. Walk through a wide range of houses so you can really define your likes and dislikes. I'm hoping my real estate agent agrees with this advice.
• Get a copy of "Homebuying for Dummies." Here's one time where I don't mind being a dummy. This book is a gold mine. I almost understand "points." Where were these people when I was trying to understand statistics?

Friends have also offered less helpful advice. For example, "the market is down so aim for the absolutely best neighborhood in town and accept no substitutes." Yeah OK, I'll do that. Yes, it's a recession-style housing market. The problem is that I also have a recession-style income. So unless one of those fancy homeowners is willing to give their house away, I'm not going to be moving to that neighborhood anytime soon, unless I decide that walls and a roof are really overrated and I'd be just as happy with a canvas, poles, and some stakes.

Another friend advised that I should put 20% down to avoid the private mortgage insurance (PMI). This isn't necessarily "bad" advice, it's unrealistic advice. Sure, I could put 20% down - on canvas, poles, and stakes.

The advice I keep coming back to is something my grandfather told me years ago. I was buying my first car and the dealership kept pushing a car that wasn't exactly what I was looking for. My soft-spoken grandfather looked at me and said, "If you're going to pay that much money for it, you should get what you want." Absolutely.

So, tomorrow, I'm heading out on my first house-hunting adventure. I'm hoping to get through the afternoon without any episodes of screaming back to my relatively safe comfortable apartment. I'll let you know how it goes.

Letting the Chips Melt

Here's my motto for the day: When life hands you buffalo chips, make cookies!




Though I would advise chocolate chips, instead of the buffalo variety.

I'll admit that although warm chocolate chip cookies are satisfying in many ways, I still long for the satisfaction of kicking the Governor squarely in a place that would have him singing soprano for a while. But, in my ongoing effort to avoid criminal charges, I'll stick to the cookies. I'll just console myself with the knowledge that if the Governor wanted one of my cookies, I would look him straight in the eye and say, "No. You can't have any warm cookies because you are a mean, mean man with a cold, cold heart." Then I and my fellow state employee friends would eat our warm cookies right in front of him. That'll learn him to pass a mandatory furlough edict.

Wish I could take a picture of the smell permeating my apartment. Even on a hot July day, you gotta love the smell of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies.

And...in case you're wondering, I licked the beaters, spoon, and the bowl.

My Bliss

"Follow your bliss." How many times have we heard this overplayed Oprah pop psychology? Just do what you feel passionate about and you'll achieve everlasting harmony between your work and non-work life. In fact, you'll be so happy, you won't even realize how much you're "working." It's the modern day path to nirvana. I'll admit that I've drunk the Kool-Aid and after careful consideration, I've decided that my bliss is a frustrating tease.

It all started 8 years ago when I lapped up the Kool-Aid and decided to leave a promising career to embark on a new career as an historian. I was following my bliss, but my bliss wasn't going to make it that easy. Instead of studying at an idyllic southern university, my bliss said, "If you want me, you need to move to the northeastern post-industrial wasteland to study at the Concrete Jungle where it snows 8 months out of the year." I took another sip of the Kool-Aid and agreed.

Six years later, I returned to the South and finished my degree. "There," I told my bliss, "I held up my part of the bargain. Now, bring on the bliss." "OK," my bliss replied, with a sly smile, "If you want me, you'll need to teach over 160 ambivalent students each semester while simultaneously looking for a full-time job. And, oh, did I mention that you won't drive 15 minutes to the major university across town? Instead, you need to commute 90 minutes one way. All of this will leave you with precious little energy to write or do research." I took another sip of the Kool-Aid and agreed.

Three months ago, I secured the Holy Grail of academia - a full-time, permanent, tenure-track job in the Humanities. "There," I told my bliss, "Now, I have you." "Hmm," replied my bliss, "If you want me, you need to accept a relatively low salary, a heavy teaching load, and another commute." I took another sip of the Kool-Aid and agreed.

Just as I decided that I followed my bliss to a pretty good place - my bliss scampered farther down the path earlier this week. Looking back from the bend in the road, my bliss said, "If you want me, you'll have to work just as hard but take home even less money." This time, I shook my fist at my bliss. "Why can't you just stay still? Why do you have to keep pushing me to prove my devotion? Don't you know how hard I've worked?" I cried while setting up the decorations and party favors for a real, full-on Pity Party.

After some time for reflection, I'm beginning to pull myself out of this funk. In these difficult times, I keep reminding myself that in the end, I'll still get paid to talk about and think about history all day. Reading history books isn't a hobby that I try to squeeze in around my work life. While many of my friends struggle to find secure employment, I've been lucky enough to land a job that lets me live where I want to live. I get to interact with some pretty great people - and yes, some of them are students. From this perspective, the good outweighs the bad. Maybe it's the Kool-Aid, and if so, fill up my cup again.

That said, I still think this whole forced furlough idea stinks.

Fun with Technology

Today, I'd planned a full multimedia experience for my students. I had youtube pop-ups, I had iTunes on the iPod, I had a clip from a DVD, and I had 2 powerpoint presentations. Yes indeedy, it was going to be a big, big blockbuster of a day.

The first half of class went well. I got all the youtube clips set up and brought up the first powerpoint presentation (the same presentation I had to completely reconstruct when I ran into compatibility issues yesterday. Hate it when powerpoint versions just can't get along.) My riveting lecture on the origins of the Cold War went smoothly - complete with the inevitable student's question: Why did the US government get so upset about communism? I've decided this is the biggest indication of a generational divide between me and my students. Well, that and hip hop, which I really just don't get. As a child of the 80s, the threat of communism is ingrained into my DNA. But, for today's students, born after 1989, they have a hard time understanding the dichotomy between democracy/capitalism and communism - and then trying to understand why the US and USSR couldn't just get along.

(Hmm, maybe my 2 versions of powerpoint are fighting a Cold War...)

Anyway, had a good discussion about the threat of communism and moved on to Cold War society. I gave the class a break so I could eat a snack and get set up for the second half of class. Here's where class crashed against the rocky shoals of classroom technology. When I tried to insert the DVD into the computer, I discovered that some jackass decided to mash the eject button all the way into the computer, making it impossible for me to open the drive. Undeterred, I tried the DVD player in the classroom. It would run the DVD, but there was no remote to select scenes - and I didn't want to show the entire movie.

Left with no other choice, I called Tech Support. In the meantime, my diligent students filed back on time. It's the first time all semester that they've been back on time and the first time that I couldn't resume class on time. Anyone who knows anything about psychological theories of reinforcement knows that I'll never get my students back in class on time ever again.

Meanwhile, Mr. Tech Support squatted in front of the computer and jammed a very large knife into the DVD drive. Honestly, I wasn't aware that Tech Support guys were allowed to carry the equivalent of a switchblade hunting knife on campus, but OK, whatever works. I also didn't know that you could jam a machete into a computer and walk away unscathed. He explained that the "knife method" was the only way to work the drive. OR, he said, he could use a student's laptop, if someone would volunteer. The clouds parted, the angels sang, and a student brought forth his laptop. Knifewielding Tech Guy went to work.

While he fiddled with the laptop, cords, plugs, and knives, I explained homework assignments, I whistled a tune, I reviewed the previous lecture - and before I launched into an ad lib comedy routine ("Funny thing about Joseph Stalin..."), I checked in with Knife Boy. No dice. The laptop wouldn't work because the audio plug was no good, which meant no iPod music either.

Knife Boy promised to have everything fixed by Monday and left. The rest of class went better than I expected, mainly because I was still able to show the clip of Elvis and his pelvis. Thank God for Elvis! Here's hoping everything is working on Monday, because teaching late 20th century US history isn't the same without the bells and whistles.

Evergreen, Never More

Remember this photo?





I snapped this shot at the height of Freak Snowstorm 2009. As the photo shows, this was big, heavy, wet snow, and these two trees are bearing the brunt of it.



Within 4 days of this picture, the snow had melted under sunny skies and temps in the 70s. The trees bounced back, shaking off the heavy snow, raising their limbs, and boasting evergreen needles while all the surrounding trees had to wait another month for their summer finery.


All seemed fine, but below the surface, something wasn't right. Over the next few weeks, the tree on the right began to show signs of stress and fatigue. After several weeks of steady decline, it looks like this:





I'm no hortoculturist, but I don't think the little tree is doing well. I like to believe that the little tree fought the good fight through 2 years of drought, but the big pile of heavy snow proved to be too much to bear. It's a sad sight, particularly poignant when set against the vibrant green of the other trees and grass that seem to be bragging about their ability to hold up under adversity.

I feel certain that the corporate management of my apartment complex has already contacted the landscaping service to remove this blight on their perfectly constructed apartment paradise. One day soon, I'll come home and all that will be left of the little tree will be a stump and some wood chips. Before this post takes an irreversible turn into Maudlinville, I'll just say that I'll miss the little tree. And that other tree is just a big show-off.

One more thing - I don't want to ever live in a place called Maudlinville.

That's Entertainment!

This morning, I caught up on entertainment news. Thankfully, we seem to be moving past "all Michael Jackson, all the time." I came across two interesting bits of news on the BBC News website. In the first story, seems Daniel Craig and Hugh Jackman have agreed to star together in a Broadway play about two Chicago police officers. So, it's official. From now on, only non-American actors will be hired to portray Americans. I believe we have Hugh Laurie to thank for this turn of events.

While you chew on that, consider this comment from the BBC report: Scott Mallalieu, president of Broadway ticket agency Group Sales Box Office, told Bloomberg he expected the play to sell out very quickly. "These are two very sexy men - and male theatregoers will be attracted by the fact that it's a drama about two cops," he said.

Interesting. So, women don't care about the content of the play, and men will only care if the play is about cops. Wonder if this theory applies to selling history books. For my next project, I'm going to write a book about American policemen, and get Daniel Craig and Hugh Jackman to pose for the cover picture. Might even invite Hugh Laurie to join them. I'll be in a new house in no time!

And in other news, I'm not even going to try to explain this:

Hollywood actor Mel Gibson is in talks to take the lead role in a film directed by Jodie Foster. Trade magazine Variety said Foster will also co-star in The Beaver, about a depressed man who finds solace in his beaver hand-puppet.

So many jokes, so little time.

Success!

Good news! I found the recipe. It was right where I left it, in the last place that I looked. The dish is called "Mushroom Wine Sauce," printed on a page devoted shallot recipes. It was so obvious that I'm not sure how I missed it in my earlier searches. I may need to turn in my researcher credentials.

Anyway, here's the sauce, bubbling away:

That's shallots, green onions, mushrooms, and garlic sauteed in butter and flour, then simmered in red wine and beef consomme. From there, it was good, rich goodness on my grilled steak. To complete the meal, I added a baked potato, marinated asparagus spears, and a green salad with dried cranberries, blue cheese, and walnuts. Topped off with a glass of red wine and it was true Sunday dinner goodness, with enough left over for a Monday holiday. Doesn't get much better than that.

OK, I have the ingredients...

The other day, I sat down and planned my grocery list. I carefully planned a week of meals, hoping to avoid the every-other-day trip to the grocery store. I even found a new recipe to try - a sauce for grilled steak. I added the ingredients to my list and I was off.


Yesterday, I remembered the steak recipe and decided that I'd try it tonight. I set the steak to defrosting in the fridge and turned my attention to the sauce. Almost immediately, I realized that I was in trouble. I'd forgotten an important step in my planning process - I didn't mark the new recipe and I'd replaced the cookbook into its proper place. Bewildered, I faced my shelf of cookbooks:

Note the bookmarks. I can assure you that none of them mark a page with "mushroom steak sauce" on it. I know, I looked. At all of them. I also know that the recipe came from one of the Southern Living cookbooks. Note how many Southern Living cookbooks are on the shelf. Hell I know which one is the right one. To add final insult to injury, I think the sauce recipe was an "add-on," so not the primary recipe. In case you're counting, that's all cards stacked against me.

So, here's where things stand, I know that the recipe called for the following ingredients, because I bought these ingredients and they are not staples on my grocery list: That's red wine, beef consomme, shallots, and mushrooms. I seem to recall that the recipe called for more ingredients that I already had in my kitchen. Again, hell if I know what they were.

I tried searching for "shallots," "beef consomme," "mushrooms," and "steak" on the Southern Living website. No dice. I'm beginning to think that I made the whole thing up.

Crap.

Afternoon Delight - Moth Style

I spent the better part of yesterday afternoon trying to make the Progressive Era interesting. During a particularly frustrating moment, I glanced out the window in my home office, hoping for inspiration. Here's what I saw:

As this pictures suggests, it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust after staring at a computer screen for way too long. So, I moved in for a closer look, with my camera. Here's the image, in sharper focus:

As best I can tell, these are two moths sharing a moment of intimacy. Or, it was an intimate moment until that intrusive human glanced their direction, then grabbed her camera and shoved it into their little moth faces. As I snapped several pictures, I believe that I heard them say, "Hey! Do you mind?!"

Everybody all together now, "Sky rockets in flight..."