| Good-Bye Means Nothing If It's All For Show |
[Jul. 1st, 2009|11:48 am] |
Day Three of this unfolding hostage crisis!
We went by the house again last night to get more clothes; we'd been wildly optimistic when we packed the first time. The water remediation guys had been at work, and so had the emergency electrician. There are work lights strung all over the apartment, largely hung from the lattices of the suspended ceilings in the bathroom, dining room, and kitchen (all of whom have had plaster failures in the past), and giant industrial dehumidifiers parked, but not currently running.
The water remediation guys had also taken all of the soggy hung tiles away, which is a relief; they were getting stinky. I had planned to pull them down and chuck them Friday, trash day, but now I don't have to. The plaster does look damp in places – I have no idea if it'll dry, or if they'll have to replace it. (I sincerely hope for no destruction and construction in our space.)
In fact, I sincerely hope we'll be able to get back in at all. All of our information is being transmitted through a little boy. Well, OK, he's a college graduate, and smart, and supportive – he told us that they've told the adjusters that they want us back in the apartment, and this is not a handy time to turn it or take it themselves. But he's still young, and doesn't think as programmatically as Mrs. Professor does. He doesn't ask things like, who makes the decisions, and when will they be made?
Mrs. P asked him to find out who’s in charge and get us that phone number, which makes more sense.
We're feeling quite disconnected and spacey. We feel that if we knew what was happening, it'd be better -- can we move back in, and, if so, when? This must be absolutely devastating and hallucinatory for the landlord and his family, of course; we're also trying to cause them as little additional aggravation as possible.
I have an appointment at the Joslin tomorrow morning (diabetes doctor); we're trying to decide whether to postpone it. My records are sitting on the kitchen table, so if we keep it, we'll have to go by again tonight and rescue them. Eventually, we'll have everything moved to the motel. (Actually, we also brought our laundry back and threw it in the appropriate hampers when we got more underwear; being there and not being there is adding to the surreal atmosphere.)
I spoke to the desk clerk and extended our stay for another couple of days. It turns out that the landlord's insurance will cover our "emergency relocation expenses" up to $750, so we have a couple more days to play with before it starts to cost us real money.
To end on an amusing note, it's Inappropriate Quotations Time! The breakfast buffet has a terribly clever waffle maker; put in the pre-measured batter, close and rotate (no, I don't know why) the griddle, and wait two minutes and ten seconds. There's a sign by the machine that reads, Please spray Pam on "the top and the bottom" of the waffle maker before using!. Once again, instead of emphasizing they both need spraying, they've cast doubt on whether the griddle has a top, or a bottom, or is just an existential concept in an empty universe. Which would not contain syrup. Which would be sad! |
|
|
| Comments: |
Not knowing has to be the worst part of it all. *hugs* to you both.
close and rotate (no, I don't know why) the griddle
Oh, I know this one. If you don't rotate the griddle, then the top part of the batter doesn't come in contact with that plate of it until it rises enough to hit it, and the result is an unevenly cooked waffle that's generally sort of patchy on top and possibly slightly undercooked. When you rotate it, part of the batter has already started cooking on what used to be the bottom plate, but the rest of it falls down onto the former top plate, and things cook from the outside in on both sides, so all the squares of the waffle are filled on both sides, and it cooks pretty evenly, resulting in golden-brown deliciousness throughout.
I have one of these griddles personally -- my dad, who travels a lot on business, had encountered them at hotels, and when he ran across a source of them, he bought them for me and my sisters for Christmas last year. It's pretty awesome.
You are such a one for knowing!
Makes perfect sense. Though, of course, my normal civilian waffle iron doesn't do that; apparently there isn't enough clearance to require it.
Good waffles, aren't they? ;)
Yeah, only the deep Belgian waffles need that extra step.
It's absolutely worth it. When you guys get back into your place, I'll see if I can find one of these to send you as a house re-warming present. :)
I sincerely appreciate the idea -- but we have no counters whatsoever in the kitchen, and neither of us can eat waffles. (Our lives are sad!)
Other than that, it's a lovely idea! ;)
Big hugs. Not being settled in one's home is hard.
this rain makes all that stuff suck all the more.
i had a friend who went out with a girl named Pam once but I don't think that he ever got a chance to spray any part of her.
I have never had any luck with anyone named "Pam", starting with Pammy Robinson, who locked me in a closet.
"...instead of emphasizing they both need spraying, they've cast doubt on whether the griddle has a top, or a bottom, or is just an existential concept in an empty universe. "
It's a Klein Griddle! | |
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}