Movin' on up

I've found it difficult to write while we're in the process of moving to a new apartment. My brain, body, and whatever evil little bit somewhere inside me that compels me to spill out what's going on in my life in this increasingly-archaic fashion haven't been in a state that allows me to sit down and write about it. I'm trying to steal little bits here and there when I can jot things down, but I've found that I'm seldom able to make sense of my notes, so here it is in one go. 


It turns out that I don't enjoy moving. It's a cataclysmic event that feeds me nothing but stress before, during, and...well, ok, not so much after, but you get the idea. It wrecks me physically and mentally and I may not be the dynamo of energy I used to be. I've heard about people who will pack and move your stuff for you, but that seems like an unthinkable luxury reserved for people who have made much better life decisions than I have.

That said, the new place is awfully nice. We're at the top of the not-especially-tall-but-still-the-tallest-building-in-the-area, so we get a great view, especially since the living room offers nearly 180 degrees of windows. It doesn't quite feel like home yet, but it's getting there. I think I'm gonna like it.

  The view from my desk ain't bad.

The view from my desk ain't bad.


I've just finished reading Henning Mankell's Sidetracked, which was an absolutely delightful read about a serial killer and the policeman (Kurt Wallender) who is trying to stop him. The plot is fine, I suppose. I don't really read that much crime fiction and that which I do, I don't read for the plot. The writing, and most especially the characterizations, are what make Sidetracked such a page turned. 

I've determined that what I really enjoy about crime fiction is the writing. It tends towards sparseness, but not in the "I'm going to be an ass about it" way that Hemingway and, sometimes, Cormac McCarthy write. There's not much else that tie Hammett, Chandler, and Mankell together: Hammett is the more playful of the three, Chandler starts out obviously influenced by Hammett but finding his own, more philosophical voice, later on. Mankell is several generations removed, but his style is recognizably similar to his predecessors, but it's more...human? Wallender is grumpy and makes mistakes.  Anyway, the lot of them are great fun to read even when I struggle to care about the crimes they're solving.


I'm late to the party on this, but Google Cloud Print is pretty magical, isn't it? I needed to figure out a way for Nicole to print to an old Brother printer from her iPad and it took something like 15 seconds to set up. That seems wrong; the central tenet of IT support is that printers are awful and difficult to share. This particular bit of functionality seems like it should be getting a lot more attention than it has.


I have a lot more, but it's not bubbling up to the surface right now, so I'll leave you with this. Lasagna is amazingly fun to make when you stop worrying about what a lasagna is supposed to be. We made a sorta-lasagna last night that I'm reasonably sure would earn me a failing grade from any Italian chef worth their while, but ya know what? It tasted great. Don't like ricotta (and I don't)? Don't use it! You want to make it with green chiles, chicken, and Alfredo sauce? Go for it! There's probably a metaphor in there somewhere, but I'm not about it. I mean this literally. Don't let any bossy people tell you what a lasagna is supposed to be because, if you make it the way you like it, it'll be awesome.