It was supposed to be a day trip. The idea was, we'd drive out to Lodi (stop me if you've heard this one) try some stuff, get dinner and drive back. Only, the thing was, we were about sixty miles up into the mountains, it was dark, the car was low on gas and neither of us was in very good condition to drive. So the day trip turned into an overnight visit.
For what appears to be a tourist town, Murphys has a surprising shortage of lodging. But, after a certain amount of wandering, we found ourselves at the pleasant if redundantly named Murphys Inn Motel, which has rooms with their own bathrooms and satellite TV, which made it a winner.
There's a certain adventuresomeness and romanticism in having a day trip wander on through the weekend, but there is also a lack of things like toothbrushes and extra clothes. Fortunately, thanks to my alcohol-burnished shopping trip, I had a lovely new blue dress to wear. Which was perhaps a little bit dressy for a day in the foothills, but what the heck. There are people in the world who wear pretty dresses all the time, just like regular clothes; why shouldn't I be one of them?
Nothing doing on the toothbrush front, though. You probably didn't need to know that.
After breakfast we wandered a few more miles up the road (in the car; we're not crazy) and found a town that still had snow on the ground and the presumptive "highest winery in California." (They aren't sure, but they think that 3300 feet is enough for the title.) Then it was back down towards the valley, and through one of the best-named towns in California. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: Copperopolis.
Isn't it fun to say? Copperopolis, Copperopolis, Copperopolis. Everyone together, on three: one. . . two. . . three. . . Copperopolis!
It's a wonder Cameron didn't just leave me at the side of the road.
Ironic postscript about wine and snobbery:
Do you remember what I said at the beginning of this particular saga, about the wine that brought us to the Lodi region in the first place? It was a viognier from a place called Loredona, for which I couldn't find anything in the way of a tasting room, or even a vineyard. But I did find that it was associated with a Clay Station, which was in turn associated with a place in Manteca. Which turned out to be the Delicato Family Vineyards, one of the biggest of the big factory winemakers in the Central Valley.
Yep, that's us. Cutting-edge culinary adventurers. Sigh.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Feminist Humor? Not An Oxymoron!
Haven't had much interest in Current so far, but this is pretty funny. Note: contains some language.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Murphys: The Town, Not the Soap. Also Not Lodi.
After escaping the clutches of the giant winery of scariness, we continued down Six Mile Road which, after a total distance of about six miles, deposited us in the town of Murphys.
The first thing you should know about Murphys is that it is almost impossibly cute, in a very California way (non-coastal division). By which I mean tiny, with extremely historic buildings dating all the way back to the late nineteenth century (including the early home of a Nobel Prize winner) and the generally laid-back air that comes with a population that includes a certain number of residual hippies. The second thing you should know is that there are nineteen tasting rooms on the three blocks that constitute the downtown.
It was at about this time that we decided to stay for dinner. And, since we were staying for dinner, that meant that I wouldn't have to be driving for a while, which meant I could take seriously the business of tasting.
It's a funny thing about tasting wine-- each one they give you is only a little bit, but they keep giving them to you. And, if one hasn't had anything to eat since a half-sandwich at lunchtime, one can get toasted in rather short order.
We didn't try all the wineries, of course. It was already late afternoon, and even we aren't that dedicated. But we did make it to a few, including one that was rather strenuously quirky (directions on their wine club form included: "Dress like a naughty pirate! Send us pictures!) but had some pretty decent wine, a couple of average/unexciting places and one that we liked quite well. Well enough to buy several bottles and join their wine club, anyway.
While C. was settling up with them, I slipped* off to check out a couple of boutiques I had noticed, because that is simply my nature. And, to paraphrase a line from an award-winning story by my close personal friend, Author Cornelia Read: I love shopping drunk. It's so easy.
In the end, I came away with a couple of necklaces and a rather lovely blue dress.
We had gotten a recommendation for a restaurant in town which was not only good, but reportedly did not charge a corkage fee if you brought in a bottle of local wine. Which turned out to be true on both counts.
*Not literally.**
**But I totally would have, if there was anything to slip on.
The first thing you should know about Murphys is that it is almost impossibly cute, in a very California way (non-coastal division). By which I mean tiny, with extremely historic buildings dating all the way back to the late nineteenth century (including the early home of a Nobel Prize winner) and the generally laid-back air that comes with a population that includes a certain number of residual hippies. The second thing you should know is that there are nineteen tasting rooms on the three blocks that constitute the downtown.
It was at about this time that we decided to stay for dinner. And, since we were staying for dinner, that meant that I wouldn't have to be driving for a while, which meant I could take seriously the business of tasting.
It's a funny thing about tasting wine-- each one they give you is only a little bit, but they keep giving them to you. And, if one hasn't had anything to eat since a half-sandwich at lunchtime, one can get toasted in rather short order.
We didn't try all the wineries, of course. It was already late afternoon, and even we aren't that dedicated. But we did make it to a few, including one that was rather strenuously quirky (directions on their wine club form included: "Dress like a naughty pirate! Send us pictures!) but had some pretty decent wine, a couple of average/unexciting places and one that we liked quite well. Well enough to buy several bottles and join their wine club, anyway.
While C. was settling up with them, I slipped* off to check out a couple of boutiques I had noticed, because that is simply my nature. And, to paraphrase a line from an award-winning story by my close personal friend, Author Cornelia Read: I love shopping drunk. It's so easy.
In the end, I came away with a couple of necklaces and a rather lovely blue dress.
We had gotten a recommendation for a restaurant in town which was not only good, but reportedly did not charge a corkage fee if you brought in a bottle of local wine. Which turned out to be true on both counts.
*Not literally.**
**But I totally would have, if there was anything to slip on.
Was Sesame Street Always This Hip, And I Just Didn't Notice?
It's possible. I really wasn't that plugged in to the indie music scene when I was four. Anyways, here's Feist performing a version of her hit song/iTunes jingle, and it's kind of awesome:
(But, scandal! Where is The Count?)
(But, scandal! Where is The Count?)
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
What I Have Realized
It really shouldn't take two weeks for me to write up a daylong driving trip. But it does. So, there you go.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Not Lodi, Part Two: The Part Where We Don't Go to Lodi
So, we were driving. And we drove, and then we drove some more. And the scenery was lovely, what I could see of it when I wasn't focusing on the road, but curiously devoid of vineyards. In fact, it was devoid of just about anything, except for the occasional cow and signs advertising well-digging services. We were somewhat concerned, but it was a nice day and heck, we had come this far. So we drove on, past towns so tiny they made Two Rock look like a major metropolis*, through increasingly steep terrain that remained resolutely free of any form of wine grapes, into Calaveras County, a place made famous by a fictional bar bet involving frogs.
We were starting to wonder if Weird Guy had in fact been Humorously Malicious Guy, when Murphys showed up on a road sign, just before the sign that noted that Highway 4 was closed at Ebbet's Pass. So, reassured that this place, whatever it was, did exist, we pressed on, and were rewarded by something we hadn't seen in a while: a sign for a winery. Which was encouraging, since this was originally intended to be a wine-tasting trip.
The sign pointed us down something called Six Mile Road, to a small winery in an absolutely lovely little valley. The wines themselves were slightly less lovely, inasmuch as they seemed to be trying to kill us with tannins. Also, in the interests of randomness, it turned out that the place was owned by a Hollywood producer who had made, among other things, the TV show "The Young Riders," which I had an inexplicable fondness for back in high school.
From there, we continued down Six Mile Road (after briefly mistaking it for a driveway), towards a place that had been mentioned to us a couple of times (Ironwood or Ironstone-- Ironsomthing, anyway), passing some wild turkeys and a barrel-toasting place and giving my little Mazda its first taste of dirt-road driving on the way. Which is partly why we were so taken aback when we got there and discovered the place was a massive complex with a parking lot like an amusement park. We drove in, saw the busloads of elderly tourists, said almost simultaneously, "I don't want to stop here," and drove on.
*This is humorous exaggeration. Nothing could make Two Rock look like a major metropolis.
We were starting to wonder if Weird Guy had in fact been Humorously Malicious Guy, when Murphys showed up on a road sign, just before the sign that noted that Highway 4 was closed at Ebbet's Pass. So, reassured that this place, whatever it was, did exist, we pressed on, and were rewarded by something we hadn't seen in a while: a sign for a winery. Which was encouraging, since this was originally intended to be a wine-tasting trip.
The sign pointed us down something called Six Mile Road, to a small winery in an absolutely lovely little valley. The wines themselves were slightly less lovely, inasmuch as they seemed to be trying to kill us with tannins. Also, in the interests of randomness, it turned out that the place was owned by a Hollywood producer who had made, among other things, the TV show "The Young Riders," which I had an inexplicable fondness for back in high school.
From there, we continued down Six Mile Road (after briefly mistaking it for a driveway), towards a place that had been mentioned to us a couple of times (Ironwood or Ironstone-- Ironsomthing, anyway), passing some wild turkeys and a barrel-toasting place and giving my little Mazda its first taste of dirt-road driving on the way. Which is partly why we were so taken aback when we got there and discovered the place was a massive complex with a parking lot like an amusement park. We drove in, saw the busloads of elderly tourists, said almost simultaneously, "I don't want to stop here," and drove on.
*This is humorous exaggeration. Nothing could make Two Rock look like a major metropolis.
Am I Dreaming?
Or is this Neil Patrick Harris on Sesame Street, dancing and singing about shoes?
I'm dreaming, aren't I?
I'm dreaming, aren't I?
Monday, April 06, 2009
The Lodi That Wasn't
Well, it was supposed to be Lodi.
Last Saturday we went to go wine tasting in Lodi, inspired by a tasty yet affordable viognier from the area that has become kind of our house (okay, apartment) white. I scoped out their tourism website, wrote down the directions (because my printer is out of color ink and I am dammed if I can figure out how to tell it to print in grayscale), and headed east. We stopped first at the visitor center, which had the unfortunate characteristic of being the only place we stopped where they charged us for a tasting, even though we bought something, but did provide fully printed maps. Then, because all of the vineyards we could see around us appeared to be of the vast, corporate variety*, we made for the hills.
The first place we stopped was at a crossroads, options east and north, where an enthusiastic but somewhat weird winemaker sold both his wines and those of a business partner of some sort. This was the first place we came across what would become a theme: Spanish and Portuguese variatals like grenache and tempranillo and graciano (have they become fashionable? why does no one tell me these things?). We enjoyed the wines, so we bought some (this would become another theme), but the guy was off-putting enough that we skipped joining his wine club.
As we were getting ready to leave, we asked about what sort of luck we would have looking for wineries further up the road. Weird guy said, indeed, there were a lot of wineries up there, especially around a town called Murphys. The fact that for a while he could not remember the name of said town should probably have provided us with something like a clue. But it didn't.
So, clueless, we backtracked a bit to a place we had passed that advertised barbecue (excuse me, I mean "BBQ") and had that icon of California cuisine, the tri-tip sandwich. (Which was very good, but not a patch on Lombardi's.)
The plan for the afternoon was to head up the road, try out a few places and then come back to the places in town. That wasn't exactly how the day went.
[To be continued. . .]
*The irony of this will be addressed later.
Last Saturday we went to go wine tasting in Lodi, inspired by a tasty yet affordable viognier from the area that has become kind of our house (okay, apartment) white. I scoped out their tourism website, wrote down the directions (because my printer is out of color ink and I am dammed if I can figure out how to tell it to print in grayscale), and headed east. We stopped first at the visitor center, which had the unfortunate characteristic of being the only place we stopped where they charged us for a tasting, even though we bought something, but did provide fully printed maps. Then, because all of the vineyards we could see around us appeared to be of the vast, corporate variety*, we made for the hills.
The first place we stopped was at a crossroads, options east and north, where an enthusiastic but somewhat weird winemaker sold both his wines and those of a business partner of some sort. This was the first place we came across what would become a theme: Spanish and Portuguese variatals like grenache and tempranillo and graciano (have they become fashionable? why does no one tell me these things?). We enjoyed the wines, so we bought some (this would become another theme), but the guy was off-putting enough that we skipped joining his wine club.
As we were getting ready to leave, we asked about what sort of luck we would have looking for wineries further up the road. Weird guy said, indeed, there were a lot of wineries up there, especially around a town called Murphys. The fact that for a while he could not remember the name of said town should probably have provided us with something like a clue. But it didn't.
So, clueless, we backtracked a bit to a place we had passed that advertised barbecue (excuse me, I mean "BBQ") and had that icon of California cuisine, the tri-tip sandwich. (Which was very good, but not a patch on Lombardi's.)
The plan for the afternoon was to head up the road, try out a few places and then come back to the places in town. That wasn't exactly how the day went.
[To be continued. . .]
*The irony of this will be addressed later.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
You Kids Get Back In Here and Play Your Video Games!
Medical studies show first person shooters improve vision. Millions of guys suddenly claim they need treatment for "lazy eye."
Monday, March 30, 2009
Vote for Mom!
Not long ago I posted this link on my Twitter feed, along with the request that all and sundry visit it and vote "yes" in the poll they find there (lower right-hand part of the page, you may have to scroll down). I was going to post a full explanation here, but the fact of the matter is that would require an intricate knowledge of the management of sewage treatment systems and the operation thereof, and you really don't care. So instead I will just point out that "yes" is, in fact, the correct answer, and it is also the answer that is in support of my Mom, who is a very good Mom and can use all the yes votes you can spare.
And, as an added incentive/threat, as soon as we get it to 200, I will post a new installment of The Cute Streets, as soon as I write it.
Also: Bonus! If you visit the site you will be treated to this police blotter item, possibly the most Marinish police blotter item in the history of Marin. Or police blotters.:
A mother on Waterbury Lane called police after she got into an argument with her son during which he broke a crystal candleholder with a tennis racket in anger.
And, as an added incentive/threat, as soon as we get it to 200, I will post a new installment of The Cute Streets, as soon as I write it.
Also: Bonus! If you visit the site you will be treated to this police blotter item, possibly the most Marinish police blotter item in the history of Marin. Or police blotters.:
A mother on Waterbury Lane called police after she got into an argument with her son during which he broke a crystal candleholder with a tennis racket in anger.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
The Cute Streets: Tales of a Roomba Kitten
It's an adorable city. A cute, fuzzy, adorable city. But sometimes, sometimes things happen that are just a little too adorable. That's where I come in
My name is Mipsy, and I'm a kitten. I ride a Roomba.
It was another perfect Tuesday, and I was sitting in the office, shooting the breeze with my partner Nipsy (no relation) when the call came in. It came from the Chief's office, so we went over to see what the shouting was about.
Our Chief, Mr. Flufferwinkles, looked up at us from his ball of string.
"Mipsy, Nipsy, glad you're here. We've had a case just come in." He batted a folder full of papers around on the floor. "Cokes have been exploding and going flat all over the city. We think the Diver Boys may be involved. I want you two to look into it."
"Sure thing, Chief," I said. "Where do we start?"
"Try under the big tree. There's always something shady going on there. And take the new recruit with you. he needs some time in the field."
"If you say so, Chief."
"And, kittens, be careful. It's sticky out there."
The new recruit, M'Lady's Duke of Wigglesworth (we called him Fred) was so fresh his eyes had barely opened. While Nipsy tried to get him to stop romping around for long enough to explain the case, I snuck a few laps from the dish of cream I kept under my desk. It was shaping up to be another one of those days.
We headed out to our ride, a silver original-model Roomba with extra brushes, backup batteries and stealth mode. Not the prettiest girl on the lot, but she corners like a dream, and never falls down the stairs.
We started off towards the field, and immediately Fred was a problem.
"I wanna sit in front! I wanna see! Can I drive? Can I?"
He didn't understand about riding a Roomba, about how the sides slope down and how it turns whenever it meets an obstacle. Which is why he was bouncing around like a fool, which is why he slipped and fell off, and rolled down into a pile of leaves.
"No!" Nipsy cried. "We lost him!"
"Oh no we didn't," I said, turning the Roomba around by batting at the sensor. "We're going back."
"But he's gone!"
"Dammit, Nipsy, no kitten left behind! Not this time!"
To Be Continued. . .
My name is Mipsy, and I'm a kitten. I ride a Roomba.
It was another perfect Tuesday, and I was sitting in the office, shooting the breeze with my partner Nipsy (no relation) when the call came in. It came from the Chief's office, so we went over to see what the shouting was about.
Our Chief, Mr. Flufferwinkles, looked up at us from his ball of string.
"Mipsy, Nipsy, glad you're here. We've had a case just come in." He batted a folder full of papers around on the floor. "Cokes have been exploding and going flat all over the city. We think the Diver Boys may be involved. I want you two to look into it."
"Sure thing, Chief," I said. "Where do we start?"
"Try under the big tree. There's always something shady going on there. And take the new recruit with you. he needs some time in the field."
"If you say so, Chief."
"And, kittens, be careful. It's sticky out there."
The new recruit, M'Lady's Duke of Wigglesworth (we called him Fred) was so fresh his eyes had barely opened. While Nipsy tried to get him to stop romping around for long enough to explain the case, I snuck a few laps from the dish of cream I kept under my desk. It was shaping up to be another one of those days.
We headed out to our ride, a silver original-model Roomba with extra brushes, backup batteries and stealth mode. Not the prettiest girl on the lot, but she corners like a dream, and never falls down the stairs.
We started off towards the field, and immediately Fred was a problem.
"I wanna sit in front! I wanna see! Can I drive? Can I?"
He didn't understand about riding a Roomba, about how the sides slope down and how it turns whenever it meets an obstacle. Which is why he was bouncing around like a fool, which is why he slipped and fell off, and rolled down into a pile of leaves.
"No!" Nipsy cried. "We lost him!"
"Oh no we didn't," I said, turning the Roomba around by batting at the sensor. "We're going back."
"But he's gone!"
"Dammit, Nipsy, no kitten left behind! Not this time!"
To Be Continued. . .
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Bummer!
It seems that the much anticipated (by me, anyway) puppet show version of The Trouble With Death Traps is not to be, at least this year. According to the convention organizer, they didn't have enough time to sufficiently prepare for the awesomeness. My apologies to all of you who already booked your travel for the premier; I'm afraid it was not to be. Perhaps next year?
Thursday, March 19, 2009
I Can't Tell You Why This Picture Exists
I can tell you that the person on the left is my boss, and I get kind of squinty when I smile*. I may need to work on that.
Also: Really should stop tucking my hair behind my ears.
*On further reflection, I may have been laughing.
This Has Probably Been Going Around the Internet Forever
But hey, I always get to these things late.
Question: if you blog something someone posted on Twitter, do you still need to put "RT" in front of it to give credit? Just in case: RT @ColleenLindsay to RT @bsandusky: this post.
Which really just consists of this list, but what I want to know is, how did the name of my own dear departed cat end up on item #9? Is Japan watching me?
Question: if you blog something someone posted on Twitter, do you still need to put "RT" in front of it to give credit? Just in case: RT @ColleenLindsay to RT @bsandusky: this post.
Which really just consists of this list, but what I want to know is, how did the name of my own dear departed cat end up on item #9? Is Japan watching me?
The Lure of Cheese
There is no shortage of cheese in my local environment. There is Draeger's within walking distance of home and Whole Foodses springing up everywhere I look, both with large, if pricey cheeseries. When I go back to the East Bay I can visit either or both locations of the much more reasonable Country Cheese, and C. and I recently discovered a new favorite blue, Humbolt Fog, which is produced a mere 315 miles from here*. So why do I have this urge to order two pounds of unknown Utah cheddar from Wine Woot?
Such is the mysterious draw of the cheese.
*Okay, that's really not that close. But it's still in California.
Such is the mysterious draw of the cheese.
*Okay, that's really not that close. But it's still in California.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Physics Question
They resupplied the free Cokes at work today, which was good. No complaints there. But they weren't cold, so I put one in the freezer for a while. When I took it out of the freezer and opened it, I found that it had partially frozen, so I left it on my desk while I went into lab. When I got back, I found a pool of Coke on my desk, and what was left in the can largely flat.
Question 1:
What happened?
Question 2:
Why does this sort of thing always happen to me?
Question 1:
What happened?
Question 2:
Why does this sort of thing always happen to me?
Monday, February 09, 2009
Attn: SciFi channel
I have found the plot of your next TV movie.
I'm thinking Josh Duhamel and Jamie Pressly as the maverick scientist and hot park ranger, respectively, and Ray Wise for the evil government flunky. With David Arquette on comic relief and Coolio playing some kind of military guy, of course. And, playing the snake, some really cheap CGI.
Actual quote from the article which would make a good line in the movie: "We've taken the snake and turned it into a giant thermometer."
I'm thinking Josh Duhamel and Jamie Pressly as the maverick scientist and hot park ranger, respectively, and Ray Wise for the evil government flunky. With David Arquette on comic relief and Coolio playing some kind of military guy, of course. And, playing the snake, some really cheap CGI.
Actual quote from the article which would make a good line in the movie: "We've taken the snake and turned it into a giant thermometer."
Friday, January 30, 2009
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