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Varmint.

Last night we made a spicy three-bean chili with bison (which is a lot better for you than beef but still has all the delicious wonders of red meat).  As usual, we made a pretty big pot of it, and unless I wanted to divvy it all up into smaller containers, the leftovers weren't going to fit in the fridge.  But we have a deck, and it was snowing, and we used to do put food outside at our old apartment all the time.

The key difference here is that our new deck is connected to the ones beneath it, all the way to the ground -- so animals (and serial killers) have significantly greater access. 

So we wrapped the lid onto the pot with aluminum foil, then put a very heavy cast iron pan (wrapped in a plastic bag) on top of the pot -- and then wrapped the whole thing again in a trash bag.  We figured it was more or less water and vermin proof.  And if anything got past these formidable defenses (seriously, the pan is heavy), well, then it just plain deserves the chili.

This morning, I went to the back to check the goods.  The pan was still in place on top of the lid, but a lot of the plastic was shredded -- and the tell-tale footprints of a Rodent of Unusual Size were all around.  I have a feeling if the weather was nicer, whatever it was would have invested more time and patience into acquiring the meal (and with all that chili pepper, a nasty case of indigestion).

Guess that's the last time we do that.

Westward, ho.

Well, we made it.  And for the first time -- possibly ever -- we got to the frozen tundra that is Iowa without any delays, detours or cancellations. 

Last night, the Girl's best man and his fiancee came over for a New Year's Eve dinner.  We made it through two bottles of ridiculously expensive champagne and approximately 9/10ths of a bottle of Ketel One.  We even mixed up some Black Velvets, which are equal parts Guinness and champagne. (I was dubious at the suggestion, but they actually weren't half bad.)  About an hour before midnight we headed to Grendel's Den in Harvard Square where, much to our pleasant surprise, we were able to walk right in and grab a table in the back -- just in time for party hats, noisemakers and drinks on the house.  Stayed long enough to ring in the New Year with a loud and happy crowd before cabbing back to our apartment and promptly ordering entirely too much pizza before passing out.

Very low key and fun, but morning came quickly.  Fortunately, we were able to hitch a ride to the airport -- which was practically deserted -- and our flight was uncharacteristically on schedule.  Landed in Minneapolis about 30 minutes early, grabbed an okay-ish walleye sandwich and some Caribou Coffee, then boarded our connection to Cedar Rapids, which also landed early.  

My brother and sister-in-law picked us up and got us back to Mom's house, which is slowly warming up but deplorably empty of foodstuffs.  Mom's been in Texas for a week and won't be back 'til Monday.  She is, I hope, feeling an appropriate level of guilt for not having so much as a box of macaroni and cheese in the cupboard.

Assuming we don't succumb to starvation and/or hypothermia (it's 4 degrees out, and probably -20 with windchill), I'm looking forward to a relaxed couple of days.

Nippy.

What's the opposite of awesome?  How about a radiator that's icy cold to the touch?

Our study and back bathroom are approximately 15 degrees cooler than the rest of the apartment.  I guess our downstairs neighbor is having similar issues with the radiators on the same side of her apartment, too.  Unfortunately, our building manager -- who came first thing this morning -- said the plumber is in Vermont and can't get to this until Monday.  Apparently there are no other plumbers in the City of Boston.

Good thing I have a space heater.  And thick socks.  And slippers.

Trimmings.

Festivities.

So we’re gearing up for our 4th Annual Holiday Party next weekend (feel free to swing by...).  It's something I’ve been looking forward to since the day after our 3rd Annual Holiday Party.  Partly because I love hosting a good shit show, but mostly because we get to bring together so many folks we see far too infrequently.  I’m particularly excited this year, as several of our favorite out-of-towners will descend upon Boston for the festivities.

Over the last few years, several items have become staples on the menu: stuffed Italian breads; spiral ham with apricot mustard glaze; Israeli couscous with toasted almonds and craisins; homemade wine and cheeses; holiday cookies and triple chocolate brownies; and, of course, the massive bowl of 90-proof eggnog.  We haven’t quite worked out the new appearances, but with our sparkling new kitchen and horde of post-wedding cookware and appliances, I suspect some culinary breakthroughs are on the horizon.  I'm thinking mini-kebabs might be in order.

This year, we decided to invite our neighbors to the party.  In Brighton, we lived in a three-flat apartment building with something like 20 units, but here we’re in a house.  There are five apartments, only four of which are occupied; counting us, there are five people living at our address.  We’ve met everyone, though not all of them under ideal circumstances.  The girl in the 2nd floor studio beneath us seems nice -- she came up to ask for some tin foil a few days after she moved in.  We’re fairly confident the other two tenants don’t particularly like us (yet).  That may or may not have something to do with the fact that our toilet overflowed and flooded the 1st floor tenant’s bathroom (unlike us, he owns his unit), and the other girl in the 2nd floor 1-bedroom apartment beneath us -- or perhaps the dude we assume is her boyfriend -- has pounded on the ceiling more than once, apparently to communicate I walk too loudly.  (Sorry, lady, but it’s not like I’m stomping around -- that’s what happens when you have someone living above you, and why the Girl and I are always quite happy to live on the top floor.  Though the first time, we were using the power drill to assemble IKEA furniture, completely unaware it was after 10pm on a Sunday, so that one I’ll grant her.)

Anyway, we thought we’d be extra friendly and open the door to the other tenants -- partly to be nice, and partly to put them all on notice that, just this once, it might be kinda loud.  My theory is that it’s a lot harder to bitch about a party you’ve been invited to, or about neighbors who aren’t so anonymous anymore. 

The Girl is baking cookies to go with their invitations, which I think should seal the deal.

#$%!*#@.

So I've been extremely practical with money lately, mostly because it's in scarce supply.  We recently bought a washer and dryer, which was probably the most grown-up thing I've ever done.  (Any idiot can get married -- it takes a real adult to buy a major appliance.)

But I couldn't resist temptation on Black Friday.

I've been eying LCD TVs for the last several months.  There's nothing horrible about our current television, except that the picture cuts off at the top and the sides, not to mention it's hernia-inducingly heavy.  It's not nearly as bad as the Girl's parents' boob-tube behemoth, which cuts the picture so badly that you can't even tell which channel you're on, but it's still annoying.  And just enough of an excuse to replace it.  Plus, don't I deserve a little high-def in my life?  Don't I?

So I splurged.  Just this once.  On a new 46" edge-lit LED LCD.  And it's amazing. 

Okay, okay, I know.  This was totally unnecessary.  But, goddamnit, I'm a GUY and guys need TOYS. And while all of our kitchen gear is great, it's not scratching my tech itch.

Anyway.  I got an email yesterday informing me my order was delayed, so I called up the friendly-ish folks at Dell to confirm I didn't want to cancel and ask if they wouldn't mind upgrading my shipping to, say, 2-day air to make up for the inconvenience, as I could have easily just picked this thing up at Best Buy.

"Sure," said the Hindi-tinged voice over the phone, "in fact we can upgrade you to overnight shipping at no additional charge."

Five transfers and 75 minutes of holding later, I was abruptly informed this was not possible and I'd just have to wait.  Which would have been nice to know, oh, an HOUR AND FIFTEEN MINUTES EARLIER.

I really didn't mind all that much that my delivery date was pushed back, but after wasting that much of my time only to be given completely opposite information, well, enough to know that I really detest having my time wasted. Not that my time is worth all that much. Maybe I just hate holding music.