Man the Barricades!

So I'm feeling increasingly foolish about my attempts to gather a mob and march on the presumptive McDonald's with pitchforks and burning torches. I fired off a couple of emails and worked myself into a rather foolish lather.

And apparently these particular signs have been kicking around the valley for about ten years. Every so often someone will hang them up with the intention of riling up all the foolish Chicken Littles like myself.

It could have been worse, I suppose. I could have sent a long, rambling letter to the local paper. Which they would have printed, no doubt.

Bah

You should save that kind of joke for April Fools. Apparently, the guy went out and got some McDonald's signs and hung them on his brick, vaguely McDonald's looking house as a joke.

McDonalds?

A long-time guest said to me at breakfast, "Gee, if they're putting in a McDonald's, I'm going to have to find somewhere else to visit because it won't be Vermont anymore."

Huh? What?

He insisted that a place down the road had a sign that indicated that a McDonald's is coming to the valley.

I thought he was joking, or misread the sign, but I drove south this morning past the welcome kiosk and there it is: "Coming Soon, McDonald's Drive-in. I'm Lovin' It. "

Does not appear to be a joke, although I most certainly am not loving it. It goes against everything the valley stands for: sustainable living, eating locally produced food, avoiding the development and chains that infest the rest of the country, livable wages, etc.

People don't come here for the services, and they most certainly don't come into the valley to see chain stores strung out along the main road, little brick/stucco and parking lot monstrosities that pockmark the farms, forests, and meadows. If you have to allow something like this (and I'm not convinced you have to), why couldn't it be in a place with existing development instead of thrusting aggressively into an otherwise green and rural location?

There's a Buzzing in My Ear

I heard the little guy squawking last night about an hour after bed time and went upstairs to find him sitting up in bed with his hands clamped over his ears. "What's the matter? Why aren't you asleep?"

"Something keeps buzzing in my ear. Bzzz..."

I can sympathize. The summer has been quite wet and there have been more mosquitoes than I can remember. It's nice to leave the doors and windows open on a warm night, and more than once I've been drifting off to sleep only to hear the high-pitched whine of one of the little vermin circling around my ear.

I tucked him in and he promptly lifted the blanket over his head. "I'll be safe down here, Daddy."

Cable Problems

Our cable company decided that now, leading into Labor Day Weekend, would be a good time to switch to all digital format. That would be fine, if they had been able to do it right, but they weren't.

We spent half the day yesterday either trying to program new remotes and boxes or on the phone or sending unanswered emails to the cable company. As of this morning, the only TV that's working is ours. Guests are up in arms.

One problem is that the instructions were poor. The cable box needed to be on in order to get the programming downloaded. This seems obvious in retrospect, but I had no idea it was an operation that would take an hour or two, or that someone needed to manually connect with each property individually and if you missed your time slot because your cable box wasn't on at the time, too bad for you.

And the company was completely overwhelmed by the process. There was no way to get to a technician without sitting on the phone for hours, waiting for someone to pick up.

We called again first thing this morning and they say they'll either get it working remotely or send someone out...eventually.

Not to Mention the Odd Usage Error

I was at rehearsal last night where we were blocking for the bar scene at the Three Cripples and the song "Oom Pah Pah." There's a line in the song that goes, "Mr. Percy Snodgrass would often have the odd glass, but never when he thought anybody could see."

I was alarmed to hear the director and the choreographer discussing how the said Mr. Snodgrass would have a strangely shaped mug on his table for reference in the song. The "odd" glass, as it were.

I may be obnoxious about this sort of thing, but not so much that I brought it up in front of the group. The choreographer teaches French at one of the local elementary schools and we'd chatted a bit in French so I couldn't resist bringing up a usage question during the break.

"The language nerd in me couldn't help notice but...well, I don't think that's what the song means about 'the odd glass.' I think it means, like an occasional drink."

"But it says he often has an odd glass," she said.

"I think that's supposed to be ironic," I said. "He tells himself it's just an odd glass, but it happens all the time."

"Oh, okay." She got a thoughtful expression for a moment, then added brightly, "Well, that's an interesting way to look at it."

And then the break ended, and someone produced an "odd" glass to use as a prop. I promised myself to never mention it again.

Urp

I've got a funny feeling in my tummy. It's s'mores night to celebrate the end of summer for the kids and lets just say I got a little carried away.

*&#! Guests

Crazy Things Guests Say and Do: Part 76 of a 737 part series

The one-night Quebecois guests appear to have made off with two of my exterior rugs for wiping dirt from shoes. I have no idea why; maybe they thought they would keep the floor of their car clean after hiking on muddy ground.

And there's a small chance it was someone else. I definitely saw them the day before, but there was only one other check-out that morning, people who had been here awhile and just did not strike me as the type. Or, I suppose it could have been someone off the street, although if you've seen my property you'll know why this is highly unlikely.

The upshot is that I can't find that pattern anywhere, so I'm looking at either something mismatched for about $100 or replacing the whole set for about $500. Argh.

Not Everyone Here Likes Him Either

Crazy Things Guests Say and Do: Part 75 of a 737 part series

I'm not too fond of being lectured about American politics by a Canadian who is ignorant enough about the world that she's surprised to discover that Canada is actually bigger than the United States.

We started speaking in French, but she asked if she could practice her English. No problem. Except that sometimes her English was not good enough to say anything but, "Bush is very, very bad. I think many people, they not like Americans."

I understand this, having participated in more sophisticated conversations than this with various foreigners here and abroad. They really don't like Bush or his politics. I get it.

Nevertheless, these particular Quebecois had just crossed the border today. Insulting your hosts, regardless of their political views, seems like the wrong place to start.

Earlier, she had asked if we had any maps of other states, or of the whole country, "Like New York or Californie." They wanted to see if they were close enough to drive. I assured her that we were not.

Hello From the Great White North

I'm currently at my annual writing retreat and am having a very productive week. The critiques of the first ten chapters of the novel came back with lots of good stuff and the wounds have mostly healed from the criticism I received.

Tomorrow is my favorite day of the week, when we go into the city for our excursion. We'll be changing the schedule to critique earlier in the day instead. The only problem is that the writers on the hook have not yet turned in their manuscripts, so I don't know how much I have to read yet or how much time I'll need to devote to giving a well thought out critique. I've been very good this year about writing out all of my thoughts, which I believe makes for a higher quality critique.

This is Why They Are Criminals

It's the inability to plan more than five minutes in the future, in large part.

PORTLAND, Ore. - A New York man who pleaded guilty to murder in Oregon in exchange for buckets of fried chicken will get calzones and pizza to go with his life sentence.
...
Durham agreed to plead guilty to murder — but only if he could get a break from jail food. The judge agreed and granted Durham a feast of KFC chicken, Popeye's chicken, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, carrot cake and ice cream.

LINK

And what does it say about the women who are inexorably drawn to marry inmate losers?

Durham also got married Wednesday in a civil ceremony at the Portland courthouse. The wedding to Vanessa Davis, 48, also of New York City, was not part of the plea deal that will give Durham a chance for parole after 30 years.

Arousing Suspicions

I was going to go down to the waterfalls with my parents and the kids yesterday evening. They're very impressive with the rains we've had. But someone had to stay at the inn to keep an eye on things and I suddenly started to feel like it would be safer not to leave M here by herself with this creepy guy who obviously had a thing for her, so I ended up staying and she went with them instead.

Thankfully, I never saw the creepy guest again. He left early without getting any breakfast.

After a Long, Hard Day on the Bike...

Crazy Things Guests Say and Do: Part 74 of a 737 part series

A somewhat obnoxious guest M had been dealing with just came in to ask her some other small favor. I went out to help--this being the first time I'd ever seen or spoken with the guy--and he was clearly expecting to see her, and not me.

He was wearing a pair of very short bike shorts with a very visible erection.

Shudder.

I'll make sure all the doors are locked tonight.

Lick, Slurp

Crazy Things Guests Say and Do: Part 73 of a 737 part series

The woman from another set of guests called last night to complain that the remote didn't work. I went down to show her how to use it. "Well, it wasn't doing that a minute ago," she said, almost as if I'd secretly switched out remotes while she wasn't looking.

Then she asked for air freshener, saying that the room smelled stuffy. It smelled like her dogs, is what it smelled like. Her husband (rolling his eyes at his wife every time she opened her mouth), said, "We'll just put the AC on."

"But it's cold," she whined.

"Well, then we can open the window." He looked at me. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

"I don't want the window open," she said. "It's too cold."

I was wearing shorts and as this whole conversation is going on, one of her little dogs is standing behind me, furiously licking the back of my legs.

In unrelated guest news that follows the general trend, M took an annoying reservation from some guy at 11:30 last night who started complaining before he'd even book the room. That one should be fun when he shows up. This morning, there were two emails in the box. One was an incoherent request for information and the other was a guy whose reservation we took yesterday, freaking out because he hadn't yet received his confirmation.

Like I said, it comes in waves.

Bozo Alert

Crazy Things Guests Say and Do: Part 72 of a 737 part series

It comes and goes in waves. We've had a run of good luck with non-annoying guests that I suppose we're due for a fresh crop of the other kind.

We've had an elderly couple here who speak to us in the servant tone of voice. When he checked in, he said, "You look awfully young to be running this place." I'm only a few years short of forty. How old does one have to be before people start treating you like an adult?

At breakfast yesterday he complained about the music, asking if the CD was just the same song over and over. No, it's not.

Last night, he came in, banged on the door and held up the hot water carafe. "This water is ice cold!" Well sure, it's 9:30 PM and we close the office in half an hour. I don't keep hot water continually on hand just in case someone might come in. I'm happy to make some more, but would you mind a polite tone?

Is This Really French?

Well, I thought I spoke French. We had a couple of Quebecois in for breakfast this morning. The conversation started easily enough and then, as they picked up speed, their accents became very hard to follow. I felt like I was just a step or two behind at all times and doing the blinking incomprehensibly thing more than once or twice.

They came from near Quebec City and let me tell you, that accent is a lot tougher than the Montreal accent, which in turn, is always more difficult for me than French from France. My teachers have both been vrai French and I took that short course in France a few years ago, so that's the accent I'm most comfortable with.

I still find myself struggling to word things properly in French even though (this morning notwithstanding), I can usually understand perfectly well almost everything that's being said to me.

It was different when I was learning Spanish. I had done a lot of studying on my own and could say most of what I wanted, but native Spanish can be spoken so incredibly fast that I just couldn't keep up mentally. Eventually, of course, I spent enough time around native speakers that this problem went away, but it took awhile.

This morning reminded me a bit of those days in the near but not quite comprehension of a conversation.

One More Question

Crazy Things Guests Say and Do: Part 71 of a 737 part series

I just got done taking a reservation from a rather slow-witted prospective guest. He was about to hang up after we'd arranged all the details when he said, "One more question. I understand that guests at the inn can use the health club?"

I said, "Well, the Big Resort has a health club where you can buy a day membership for a small fee."

"Oh, but I thought guests at the Big Resort Inn could use it for free."

"Yes, they can," I said, "but this is not the Big Resort Inn, it's My Small Place Inn*."

"Oh, well I wanted to stay at the Big Resort Inn."

In that case, maybe you should have called their phone number instead.

*Soon to be known as the Please Only Stay if You Have a Triple Digit IQ Inn.

Implant

My friend Jeff Anderson and I have finished a reasonable second draft of our novel Implant, which is a medical/military thriller of a little longer than 100,000 words. I'm feeling pretty good about how things have turned out so far, but we still need some feedback from our beta readers, which should hopefully give us an idea of where we're on target and where we need a little more work.

After that, it's off to our agent. Hopefully, she will like it.

Wood

We got two cords of wood delivered yesterday and this morning in three small shipments from a couple of guys who get the wood from the 100 acres that used to be their grandparents' farm but has now gone to woodlands. It was a bit difficult to get it all stacked and arranged in the far basement and off the back porch, but we managed.

And then, a couple of hours after the kids and I finished stacking, the guy I'd called last week, but never heard from, showed up with his larger truck and two more cords of wood. We now have several huge wood piles, given that we already had 3-4 cords on hand from earlier deliveries plus cutting/hauling/splitting/stacking on my part.

That gives us roughly 7-8 cords of the approximately 12-14 we'll need for the winter. I'd take a picture of the impressive stacks, but my arms are too tired to lift a camera.