The last day of a three-day weekend is a double-edged sword. On one side, it’s a day off from work, which is always good. On the other side, the I-have-to-go-back-to-work Sunday blues (which start at any early age as the I-have-to-go-back-to-school Sunday blues) are intensified, because they have been building up within you for an extra day. Also, you usually have more on your plate when you return to work, because you took an extra day off.
Speaking of double-edged swords, it’s nice that S’s visa was delay, because we get to spend more time together, but it’s not nice because she (i.e., we) lose a day of pay everyday she’s here, and she starts to get antsy and bored when she’s here with nothing to do.
Our thing lately has been battling over the thermostat. S likes the extremes so during the summer she always wants the air conditioner on full-blast and during the winter she always wants the heat on full-blast.
The thing that drives me crazy with this is that I’ll come home and the apartment will be at 75 degrees and S will be walking around in short sleeves without socks. Infurating. Not because it’s costing us money (it is, but we can afford to turn the heat on, for now, at least), but because it just doesn’t make any sense to me. She’s completely skipping a step in the temperature moderation process. First you put on warmer clothing, then you turn on the heater.
Now, S’s version of this is that I’m anti-heat and a thermostat nazi, but I’m not. I don’t mind having the heat on when it’s cold, I like having the heat on. I turn on the heat when I’m home alone. I just don’t walk around with bare feet and bare arms during the winter, that’s all.
And don’t even get me started on the air conditioner during the summer time. Does it make sense to anybody to turn on the AC at full-blast before bed, so that you can curl up and go to sleep under a giant duvet? Didn’t think so.
OK, enough about that. I shouldn’t complain too much. Lord knows S puts up with a lot of nonsense from me, the only difference being, I’m the one with the blog.
Plus, S and I are a great team when the chips are down. Just last night, we banded together to avert disaster in the form of a giant red wine stain on our beige carpet. (We have a very anal landlady and put down a very large deposit on this place, so any damage could cost us a lot of money.)
We were enjoying a fine Cabernet Sauvignon, and S had just asked me to be careful because her glass was on a table near where I was resting my feet. A few minutes later, just like in a bad sitcom, S stands up and *crash* she knocks over her glass. It shatters on the table, and a massive puddle of red wine forms instantly on our carpet.
We sopped up what we could will an old shirt, and then I started scrubbing with whatever cleaner I could find. S googled how to remove wine stains and it said club soda and salt (the same combination Larry David uses in a hilarious episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm). I ran to the store to buy some club soda, and S dumped salt all over the laky puddle. When I got back, we scrubbed and scrubbed some more. We left it to dry overnight and today, I must say, it’s looking pretty damn good. It’s still wet, so we can’t tell for sure, but I think we did it.
[I couldn't find the salt and club soda scene, but this one is similar.]
In other news, we watched Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans last night (not to be confused with Bad Lieutenant). I thought it was awesome – a great performance by Nic Cage. It’s really weird, and won’t be everybody’s cup of tea, but I couldn’t have liked it more. It has a little bit of a David Lynch feel to it, but you can actually follow the narrative in a literal sense. It was directed by a German man name Werner Herzog, who I know best from the documentary Grizzly Man (he was the director and narrator) another great film.
[My favorite scene in Bad Lieutenant.]
In other other news, I’ve been having a lot of bizarre and unsettling dreams lately. They aren’t really nightmares, because they aren’t scary. They are just unnerving and frustrating. The classic example is when you are in a bad situation and need to run, but you can’t move. I’m not having this dream specifically, but the mood is the same. The weirdest thing about these dreams is that I’ll often wake up in a state of confusion and anxiety, but I have wood. What? A creepy dream about my friend being hit by a train conducted by my old PE teacher arouses me?
I’m not sure why I’m having these dreams. I mostly chalk it up to randomness, but maybe there is something deeper to it. I do have a lot of unsettled things going on in my life right now: wrapping things up here in Australia, preparing for the wedding in India, finding a job, moving back to the States, etc. It’s a lot to have going on at one time. It’s not like I’m constantly stressed out about these things, but I do get anxious from time to time. I guess it’s not out of the question this could be affecting my dreams, but who really knows?
The last thing I want to mention is that there is some sort of street fair going on outside our apartment -- vendors, music, dancing, etc. Unfortunately, the noise from the preparations woke me up at 9:30, about an hour earlier than I wanted to get up. I’ve been trying to shift my day back a little bit, because I have to do some interviews with a company in the States soon, and due to the time difference, I have to do them really late at night (11pm-1am ish), so I want to get used to being awake and functioning at that time.
Well, since I’m up now, I may as well go check out the fair.
[A few shots of the street fair.]
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