Where I've Been

Hi!

So I've been sick. I had the death flu, which doesn't even come with a curly little tail. It was no fun. I missed a week and a half of my normal rotation, a couple of things I really wanted to go to, and my good disposition there for a while. So I'm trying to get caught up (and back on a normal sleeping schedule - at my height of my achy rumbly unbalanced illness, I was sleeping 20 hours a day. Blech! Then I had to make sure I wasn't contagious until I could go out in public. I'm going to use the next couple of posts over the next few days to try and get caught up.

It'll be interesting if the feverish thoughts I had about basketball, the census, Campbell Jones & Co (a 19th Century Pittsburgh glass manufacturer), and how to fix my printing press unevenness problem will end up having legs. My March Madness bracket certainly didn't! I made some horrible picks that I am not technically blaming on the virus that laid me low. You, however, are welcome to blame it on that for me.

Can't Talk. Watching the Olympics

I swear, if I hear one more ignorant buffoon mocking biathlon because they don't know anything about it, I'm going to strap on my skis, find a gun, and make my way to them for a little educatin'. Of course, at the rate at which I cross-country ski and the time it will take to find a friend with a gun who is willing to lend it to me, that ignorant buffoon will have plenty of time to live a long happy life. *

Biathlon is a sport rooted in history, both Olympic (the Winter Olympics needed traction and they needed nordic and northern European countries to get traction at the beginning; sports like Biathlon suckered those nations in) and traditional World History. Like the Marathon, it has its roots in war - in this case a medieval Norwegian civil one - and was a valuable life-preserving country-preserving skill.

It requires skills and patience and focus and athletic ability and accuracy, and I have watched as much of it as I can find. Even curling comes in second (mostly because there's a lot more curling on TV, not that I'm complaining. I'm picking the Swedish women and the Canadian men to win the whole shebang. I will note that the Chinese women are formidable, and the UK men are remarkable.)

Speaking of curling, it is outrageous that the nearest curling clubs are 2+ hours away.

*Note: I wouldn't actually shoot them. I'd probably end up using the gun as part of a tripod seat while I lectured them until they cried uncle and admited that biathon is awesome. Or maybe as a pointer. Or a demonstration tool.

Top Five Winter Olympic Sports

1. Curling
   The greatest of the winter sports, the one that makes you think that you, chock full of cheetos and hot chocolate, having skipped going to the gym for well over a month now, could totally do that with a few lessons and some killer concentration. It's strategy and strength, teamwork and grace, precision and fun.
2. Biathlon
   You ski, you shoot, you ski, you shoot. These are skills that could come in handy -- and did for the Norwegian resistance during WWII. I like the combination of speed and aim -- all done on skiis. It's not a glamor sport, which adds to the appeal.
3. Nordic Combined
   Two great tastes in one sport! You jump and then you ski across the countryside. The skills that make you a great jumper don't necessarily make you a great cross-country skier. They should add a downhill stretch for extra awesome.
4. Speed Skating
   The most graceful of the winter sports and the prettiest to watch, speed skating - with it's endurance qualities, long track, and drafting strategies is completely appealing.
5. Freestle Skiing/Moguls
   All the fun of downhill skiing, but with humps and bumps and twists and turns. This is just a thousand pounds of fun in a snowsuit.

Settling In For the Long Haul

We are at the beginning of a golden season on television. It was kicked off with a Saints win in the Super Bowl (as I predicted in August, she said smugly), and stretches all the way until April. Between 31 Days of Oscar on TCM, the Olympics (which I still love, even though I have to use my mute button with great frequency and pine for Canadian coverage which is by all accounts, deeper, wider, and much less annoying) and most especially constant curling coverage, and March Madness, it is a time of great happiness.

Even if my Cavs (the men; I think the women's team will be definitely in for the Big Dance) don't make it into the NCAA Tournament, they're lifting the spirits of the region with their plucky underdog always-getting-better play. They've already shattered my expectations for the season and done us proud. It's fabulous seeing guys buying into the new system and getting rewarded for hard work, defense, and improving.

On Why I'm Staying Inside Today

Take three steps back, and breathe.

I'm reading a -- well, it calls itself a biography -- about a set of famous American entertainers from the last century. It's driving me nuts. The authors are essentially fangirls, which is fine, if they would quit gushing, writing in circles, and focusing on things that affected their childhood to the extent of ignoring the things I was hoping I'd find out more about. I mean, of course, I'd like to know more about the people in question - their life, their relationship (and not as an idealized improvement over their peers), their professional careers before the portion of the career these fangirls are obsessing over, their lives as individuals...

I am more interested in their philosophy of their work than I am in 6-line snippets from their performances. I'd like to hear from them on the subject of their careers instead of 3 or 5 contemporary reviews trying to convince me that they're great. That's wasted effort. I bought the dang book because I thought they were great. Even if I didn't, I'd rather take
that deduction not from what some Joe Schmoe said 50 years ago, but from their own thought and action and word.

I'm clearly going to have to find a better biography, because I feel like I'm learning nothing.

More Handy Auction Tips

Check It Out Fully Before You Bid

It has happened to us all. You bid on something fabulous, you get a deal, and then... then you do something basic like ... trying to lift it. Oof. It's helpful to know if things weigh 125 pounds before you bid, or that it is 8'9'' tall and is not going to be able to make the turn of your stairs. In general, I recommend bringing a tape measure, gloves, and a magnifying glass or jeweler's loupe to auctions, but I also highly recommend trying to get a sense of how easy or hard it will be to move.

When the Auctioneer Says "Move Back" he doesn't mean "Move Down"

If you attend a floor auction, where you cluster around the dealer as he sells items from row after row of merchandise layed out before you, the auctioneer will likely ask the crowd - over and over and over again - to move back so the helpers have room to get to the goods. This means you step back, perpendicular to the row, not to the side, parallel to the row. He's not asking you to "move out of the way" in whatever way you decide is convenient. He's trying to make his job more orderly and managed.

Sometimes a Deal Is Not a Deal

Auction Fever can sneak up on you. One minute, you are perfectly sane, running your budget in your head, contemplating upcoming lots, and in the next moment, there is no way that doofus up front is outbidding you on this thing! Not this time! Or there's a perfectly good whatchamacallit up there, and no one is bidding! That's a deal, right there.

And then the fever breaks, and your head clears, and you look down at the perfectly nice thing you just paid boutique prices for, or at the eight potato mashers you have suddenly acquired, and your face suddenly flushes. What were you thinking?

It happens to everyone; it's a rite of passage for newbies, but it happens to old hands, too. It helps if you have an auction buddy who can grab your arm and mutter, "What are you doing!?!" but you can pull yourself out of the craziness if you become aware that you are letting the adrenaline of the moment overrule common sense.

Nero: Burning while I Fiddle (around).

I had written up the long tale of Nero, our semi-domesticated/semi-feral kittenager who came in one day (after months of feeding, cat toys, and attempted luring) and refused to leave while it was so darn cold outside, but most of it will be old news to folks on Facebook where I chronicle the animal activities in a 1000 foot diameter circle around my home. After all, what is Facebook for, but for obsessive detailing of toad power dynamics and updating neighborhood cat top-of-the-heap standings?

Long story short: I had to take her to the vet this morning, and there is no frustration quite like that of begging a cat to do something. Oh, she was easy to catch... the first time. There's a moment when the desperate, unbalanced scurrying in the cat carrier becomes a sudden smooth swing back because your charge has just burst through the cat door to land on the ground five feet away; all you can do is curse - and then beg. We tricked her to come inside, and then we had to corner and capture her, which is fraught with uncertainty when you are dealing with 5.4 lbs of muscled adrenaline.

We got her in the carrier, and after I assertained that the door was completely and correctly closed, I tightened a bungie cord across the front to further ensure that she was trapped inside. Then we went to the Place of Cat Legend: the Human Institute of Meanness to Cats Center, a.k.a., the Vet

By the time I showed up at the (beautiful offices of the) Vet in the afternoon, she was sulking, and was mewling louder than I've ever heard her mewl (she's normally a very quiet, squeaky cat). When I picked her up after her spaying and battery of tests, she was still complaining vociferously; by the time I let her loose in the living room, she was having nothing to do with me. Wet cat food, and her favorite toy have slightly mellowed her, but I'm still figuring out how I'm going to get her sedative (syringe squirt into the mouth) into her tonight when she is still pretty ticked off and distrustful of me.

Mmmm. Salmon Neck.

I headed up today to pick up my absentee bids at a local auction house, but they were closed! D'oh! That'll teach me not to call ahead.

I had to sop up my disappointment with delicious Japanese food. Local folk, pay attention: this is the best Japanese food I've had in the area. I took my mom to Akita Sushi over in Waynesboro (in one of those strip shopping centers between the Walmart and the Martin's). They have a regular menu, but they'll suggest you order from their All You Can Eat menu. You should do it. Even if you don't like sushi, it offers up tapas-sized plates of everything from Udon to Donburi to Sesame Chicken.

It works like this: You pick items off the menu, and they prepare them for you right then and bring them out to you at your table in a staggered series of little plates. We started with some lightly fried tempura, and moved onto handrolls (salmon for me, tuna for her), a rainbow roll and a salmon skin roll, a flying fish salad (cabbage shredded with that Japanese-style mayonaise-based sauce and flying fish roe), and a shrimp tempura roll. We also ordered several Teriyaki dishes (they come out on tapas-sized plates so you can try lots of things), including salmon neck and salmon belly.

We were too full for dessert, but I really like their red bean ice cream in general. It's about 13 bucks for the All-You-Can-Eat Lunch option, which is less than I've paid for a sushi lunch elsewhere in town, so go try it out.

Odd Things I Experienced Today

• 70+ year old men calling each other "Dude." Repeatedly.
• A woman driving while smoking, talking on her cell phone, and applying make-up.
• A store clerk who was out of fives and ones, and offered to give me change in quarters or nickels, my choice.
• A Volkswagon with a giant picture of the driver's face over his hood.
• An idiot in the grocery store proclaiming that everyone knows that clementines went bad the day after Christmas. "No one knows why, but on December 26, zzzzzzzzzt!" he announced. He also opined that Brussels Sprouts are only good in July, and that his companion ate too many onions.

Tips for Being A Better Auction Attendee

I go to a lot of auctions, as do many of you. Over the course of the past few years, I've come up with a few handy rules that more people should be following.

Treat everything with care.

Just because you aren't interested, it doesn't mean that others aren't. It may have a value not obvious to you. Don't drop china back in the box; make sure the pile of paper you are tossing back in the box doesn't end up folded up on itself. Don't pull on a piece of metal sticking out the side just to see what happens if you really yank it hard.

Pay attention to where other people are.

....and not for the purpose of usurping their spot. If I'm standing there, having staked out my spot, you can stand next to me. Or behind me. If you say, "Excuse me," or want to look at what is in the area in front of me, great. But don't worm right in front of me by invading my personal space in a thousand small increments so that you can try and dominate the auction and move me out of the way. If you do this once, don't take the fact that I'm not punching you to try and do it again to my new spot. And to the spot after that.

Don't swap items from one box to another.

This is a jerk move, one that cheats the consignor and auctioneer and misleads everyone else bidding. That may be your point, but it's wrong, and if the auctioneer catches you, you will be tossed out. It's also an ineffective move, because a good portion of dealers at the auction will put it back where they originally saw it.

Get the Auctioneer's attention

If you are raising your hand or bid card, and you don't think the auctioneer sees you, try something differently flashy - stand up, whistle, yell out "Yes, here!", wave your arms... He will acknowledge you. Bear in mind, some auctioneers only deal with two bidders at once (even if ten people are raising their hands), and will look for another bidder when one drops out; if he's dealing with two competitive bidders, look to jump in when one is done.

It doesn't hurt to ask

If there was one thing you really wanted out of a lot that you were bidding on and lost, it's always worth a shot to ask the person who won if they'd be willing to sell you one of the items in the box. Ask them how much they want for that item. Negotiate a little. You might end up getting a fantastic deal! Of course, they might have wanted the same thing you did.

Get the Pie

Auctions can take up the better part of a day or evening. Scope out the food providers. 90% of the auctions I've been to have good or great food on site. Some of the best pie I've ever had and the best Chocolate cake in the world has come from an auction food stand.

Look at the Items for sale before they come up for sale

Don't be the person who blocks the view of everyone else so that you can inspect the item next up, or even worse, currently for sale. The auction house is open for preview and pre-auction viewing. Use that time. Look at the upcoming rows while the current one is being auctioned. Any of these are reasonable alternatives to trying to hold things up while you eye the goods.

A Note For Newbies

People who have never been to an auction are often leary of the experience. Unlike on TV or the movies, you won't accidentally win an expensive item you can't afford when you go to scratch your nose at the wrong time. Auctioneers are really good at telling who is bidding and who isn't, and they'll ask you directly if its unclear.

on the Silliness of my GPS

I got a GPS of my very own for Christmas, which is a remarkably thoughtful gift; I drive around a lot looking for obscure auctions and yard sales. Plus, it can find me the nearest Culvers or Antique Mall when I'm out gallivanting. All usefulness aside, it cracks me up regularly.

You see, it has some phonetic rules for how it pronounces place names, and those rules have been ... changed, and not for the better, since they released my parent's GPS. Many of the place names around here are still mispronounced; the GPS eschews French words, Englishifies some names, and and assumes some names are still pronounced like they're Spanish words. It's a little bit of fun. But now, there are some new and interesting pronunciations. If I use my parent's GPS (same maker, 1 year older), I get on I-64E heading for CharLOTTESville. If I use my new GPS, I'm going to CHARlottESville.

It cracks me up every time.

On the plus side, the user interface has been dramatically improved for this new version; easier to navigate and it has more and better options. On the negative side, I don't think it is as loud as my parent's GPS, and it's even more wrong about where my home address is located than ever.

No AI Recaps This Year

Let's face it: the American Idol producers aren't willing to put any effort into masking their ham-fisted tired rerunning attempts to manipulate every aspect of the show. Combined with the return of the worst director on TV, the increasing savviness of the wannabes and the phoned-in performances of the judges, and the fact the producers are resting in the preformed grooves of last year, this collection of crappiness would result in the recaps being reruns with new names substituted in. In other words, no fun.

Plus, I expect the show to be far less interesting without Paula, and of course, the unsung hero of seasons past, her pillboy. Paula was more open to different genres than the others, and she saw the wannabes as human beings. I thought she was ridiculous frequently, and I am thrilled the love/hate thing she and Simon squeezed dry will be off the TV until 2012, but she brought a reckless streak of humanity to the whole thing.

Happy New Year!

It's a new year, and a new site. It'll take me a while to iron out the kinks and get things set up right; I'm also trying to balance my art and my antiques businesses, domesticate the feral kitten who used to live in the garden shed, and I'm writing a novel. I'm flirting with the idea of buying a kiln, dealing with the clutter that is my office (I moved everything in there for the holidays, and now I have to deal with them), and muttering about the ruination of the whole parade idea.

Since I last wrote, I opened a third booth over in Scottsville (vintage toys and glass and ceramics and more!), finished a bunch of commissions, and took off time for the holidays. Oh, and there was that two feet of snow that fell like an anvil from the sky. We haven't had a snow that good around here since I was a kid. It's still here, lingering on.

I also took my mom to Wisconsin for a weekend. We drove there. As we drove past Shelbyville, the sky looked exactly like it does on The Simpsons. It was notable in its exactness. We checked out antiques shops in West Virginia and in Wisconsin, among other boondoggles, and it's interesting to me how different the inventories were from back east. It was hard to come home; I was introduced to the glory that is fried cheese curds while in the Midwest.

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