I just did an interview for the Tennessean, to suppliment their coverage of the Kathy Sierra mess.
I gave the reporter my real name.
It’s already out there, anyway. But now it’s kind of official. I don’t know. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. Right now, I’m kind of hoping that the reporter does include the part where I claim to have a rabid pit bull trained to shoot guns, even though I was just joking when I said it.
“You need to take some of your shit off the laptop. I have 80 gigs and it’s somehow out of room.”
“We can take all those music files off. The ones that aren’t iTunes.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
“So, that’s everything in ‘My Music’ right?”
“No, be careful, the iTunes files are in there, too. Don’t delete those.”
“What? No, I know.”
“Don’t just delete everything in the ‘My Music’ file because the iTunes are in there, too.”
“I heard you.”
[Time passes.]
“Fuck.”
Edited to add: He didn’t actually manage to delete all the iTunes. I can’t want to tell him when he gets home.
The Butcher accidentally bought Diet Dr Pepper without caffeine. I’ve been refusing to drink it just out of general principal, but I had some last night and it’s delicious!
Please don’t tell him.
Hmm. I should add this to the FAQ as well.
I have just fished two of Elizabeth’s comments out of the spam pond. If you post a comment and it doesn’t immediately appear, drop me a note (appropriateaunt at yahoo dot com) and I will try to find it and set it free for you.
Usually, if it has a lot of links in it, that might get it tossed in the spam pond. Elizabeth’s seem very short; that might be what’s getting her tossed as well.
Either way, there’s no shame in it. Just let me know.
For real! Could he be any cuter? He’s all, “I’m about to head off for an adventure!”
If this is not cute enough for you, check out this pitbull mothering on some chicks.
So, yes, I should have bothered to learn the name of this ice cream place, but I’m just going to tell you to go there anyway. Right next to Beyond the Edge over in East Nashville.
They have this ice cream called “Some Like It Hot” which is Mexican chocolate, cinnamon, and hot peppers. You put it in your mouth and you first taste the chocolate and then you taste the cinnamon, but it takes a second for your brain to register that that’s what it is, and just when you’re all, “Oh, cinnamon!” the heat from the peppers spreads out all over your mouth.
It’s delicious.
I do love to go look at open houses, but I wonder if I’m too picky. We looked at this place about five blocks (if that) from 5-points on Fatherland and the condos were about a quarter of a million dollars and the doors on the utility closet didn’t close tightly.
And the counter tops were a beautiful blue-gray stone (with flecks of pink), but the place itself was painted a green-gray, which made the counter tops look way too pink, so you’d have to repaint. I’d have to repaint.
And your view was of the parking lot.
So, then we went out to Rolling Mill Hills… Rolling Hill Mills… Whatever they’re calling the stuff they’re putting up there across from the Hermitage Cafe.
These things are going to run between $300,000 and $500,000. Very little construction has started and the Professor overheard one of the sales people telling another person that they don’t have all the permits they need yet because there are some environmental issues they have to get cleared up.
And they want to charge you $2,100 for a parking spot!
And they’re talking like they’re 3/4 sold out. Who can do that? Who can afford to pay a mortgage on a place that doesn’t even exist yet and won’t until Fall 2008, presuming they get the environmental clearances?
I know I’m a dumbass when it comes to money but Tennessee is a dirt poor state. Half of us are functionally illiterate. About a quarter of us have graduated from college. There are only nine states poorer than us.
Our median income is $38,550 and, adjusted for inflation, from 1999-2005 our income has decreased by 8.7%.
Who the hell are all these people who can afford these places?
I should not think about it. It’s only going to depress me.
But really, who’s going to live in all these places? And how do they afford it?
Tiny Cat Pants 