Kitchen: What I like best

Looking north (towards bathroom and neighbor's house),
before framing had been installed on the window and door.
I didn't take any photos of the floor direct, but you get the warm effect here.

I walked into the kitchen on Sunday afternoon (two weekends ago) to discover HD spreadeagled on the  floor, just lying there.  I gave him a skeptical eye, but he said, "Come and try it!  It feels great!  This is so comfortable." (He had been installing baseboard -- requiring stretching out on the floor to get the right angle on the woodwork.)  I joined him and experienced the surprising cushiness of our new cork floor.

What I like best about the kitchen is perhaps this cork floor. Cork is a new old-fashioned fad, which, because it is eco-friendly (I believe the cork is harvested from trees without killing them, so it is a renewable resource that encourages rain forest growth -- or something like that) is tremendously popular in the Portland housing market.  (Marmoleum, equally eco-friendly requiring less maintenance, would have been more popular, but we couldn't decide on a color -- and it seemed too stark and bright for what we had in mind for the kitchen anyway.)

To save having to level out (or remove) the existing fir subflooring, we bought a floating floor -- that is, planks of cork on a light frame, which snap together to form a seamless whole. (You can see how they fit together here, in the photo right above the word "linoleum".) We bought the floor in 2007, during the first, aborted, attempt to renovate the kitchen, because it was on sale.  We bought the Ikea cabinetry almost three full years later, and they are almost exactly the same color.  (Which is good, but we didn't realize they were the same until we brought home a sample cupboard door.)  The cork is warm, and springy, and pleasant to walk on.  It will be great for Cordon Bleu dinners, when the cook is standing in the kitchen for hours on end.

Looking northwest, towards the basement stairs and the foyer on the left.
The new door to the basement, installed. The fridge is now
where the ladder is in this photo, taken in June.

Then again, perhaps the thing I really like the most about the kitchen is a totally cool phenomenon, entirely fortuitous. It needs a bit of explaining.

The stainless steel refrigerator is positioned, offset by three feet, across from the door to the basement.  On the landing, partway down the basement stairs, in line with the basement door, is another door, which opens onto the side yard and the flower garden outside. Both doors have windows in the top panel (they are north-facing, at the 45th parallel, so it is dark in the winter, and we wanted every particle of light we could get).  (I wrote about the new basement door here.)

Looking southwest, from the bathroom doorway. The fridge, now. 

We discovered when I was washing dishes in the new sink, and HD was doing some work in the side yard, that when the outside door is open fully, and the basement door is partially open, the prism bevel around the window in the  basement door forms a camera obscura, directing the image of the outside onto the surface of the fridge door.

See the green picket fence and the petunias?

Now do you see them?

This is not a simple reflection: the garden is at least 6 feet below the "garden" in the image, not to mention being offset horizontally from the fridge as well.  And, the basement door has to be ajar -- not fully open, nor fully closed -- in order for the image to appear.

Standing about three feet in front of the outside door, looking
across into the kitchen "hallway".  Notice the edge of the fridge on
the left. The camera is about 6 feet above "petunia" level here.
By the way, straight ahead is two fabulous Ikea 88" pullout pantries.

This phenomena will only get noticed in the summer, when the outer door is open, but its ephemerality makes it even more fun.  And how fitting for the house of an artist!

Note about the fridge, for those who want to know: It is simply the Ikea standard two-door stainless steel fridge with ice and water in the door.  Which means, it's a Whirlpool. I should say, it's the Ikea standard in the USA.

Lost Finale Tonight

I have been an on-and-off-again fan of Lost, the television series. I watched one early season (not the first) somewhat regularly, and then it all got too suspenseful for me so I stopped. The last two seasons, though, I've been a regular and eager fan, without the obsessive side that many have for Lost or that I have exhibited for other shows (Farscape, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, et al.). That lack of obsession has meant have been able to sit back and uncritically enjoy anything Lost has thrown at me. I think I've liked it as a Hawaiian island travelogue as much as anything.

But tonight it all ends, with an evening of Lost-devoted television (interviews with stars, alternate endings, reviews of everything that has gone before, -- and the two hour series finale, which promises not to answer all the questions the show has raised). After this two-plus week period of series and season finales, I'll be relieved, mostly, to have no more weekly shows to feel I have to keep up with -- but I wonder if I'll miss Lost's particular flavor of mystery, pop-philosophy, mysticism and gorgeous Hawaiian landscapes next fall.

(from Joy of Tech)

I am Rat.

(The comic is wider than the blog, apparently. Click on it to jump to a full size image. And then click again if you'd like it to look larger.)



(Thanks to Stephan Pastis, of Pearls Before Swine, for sharing my life to the world.)

What goes around, comes around

This is an old video -- it made the rounds in the early part of the decade and again a couple of years ago.  It's still funny.  When I saw it in previous years, it didn't have the ring of truth that it has now -- I feel much this way about Facebook. You have this thing called a Wall?  And when I type something there -- who sees it??  Huh?  I am feeling old -- I just don't get Facebook.

This skit originally aired on a Norwegian comedy television show in 2001, which provides me with a segue: Apparently when the Monty Python movie "The Life of Brian" (a religious satire about a man born in the stall next to Jesus, who has amusingly parallel -- if less godhooded -- experiences) was released in 1979, it was banned in a number of countries, including Norway.  In Sweden, however, the movie was marketed with the tag line, "So funny, it was banned in Norway!".  (Read about more banned films here.)

Mapping the Cat Brain

FrenchKate recently posted carefully mapped drawings of the anatomy of male and female (human) brains, and one of dogs.  I can't post an image into her comments (or rather, I don't know how to), so here is a response -- the anatomy of a cat brain.

Clearly there needs to be more research using up-to-date technologies, because this early work shows no Bringing Home Dead Things Sulcus (which lies close to the Swatting and Tossing Near-Dead Things Lobe) , nor the vast areas of cerebellum devoted to Ear Angling and Tail Twitching, which have direct connections with the emotional centers in the amygdala and is on the Sleep Neurotransmitter System.  Also, have they not found the Loyalty Particle or the Memory of Litter Box Location Molecule?  And where is the Godhood Cortex?

Fun with Cats Can Still Be Had

From Youtube.com, an excellent interpretation of a cat's thoughts.

The Triplets of Belleville

In case you haven't seen this movie, here's the official trailer. It's a pretty amazing animated film -- almost no dialogue, about family love and devotion, and fame and poverty, ugliness and beauty. With a great soundtrack, too.

Mystery Reader The Pirate

Girl-Child's class, every Friday just before Circle Time at the end of the school-day, hosts a Mystery Reader. This is a parent or friend of the school, who reads a book of his or her choice to the children, each week a different person. Two or three years ago, so the legend goes, one Reader remained entirely mysterious by wearing a gorilla suit. The only other parent to have achieved similar legendary status was a Cordon Bleu-trained chef, (mom of a student) who arrived with a copy of The Velveteen Rabbit and a tray of individually-wrapped decorated Devil's Food Cake cupcakes.

HomoDommi took it upon himself to ascend to legend as well. So yesterday he, myself and The Texan (who took the day off from work) went to Helen's Pacific Costumers (Fulfilling Fantasies for Over 100 Years) and selected a pirate costume for him. It was a wonderful place, a huge warehouse stacked floor to ceiling with costumes - hats, breeches, belts, masks, coats, shirts, dresses (we didn't go through the section of animal costumes, the next aisle over). Helen herself was there (although she looked nowhere near 100 years old, so maybe her magic works on more than just fabric). She let us dig and play and try things on -- making comments like, "Those over there are all from a production of Amadeus that I did a couple of years ago. All the actors were 38s." and "That pile is from 1776 -- in that one, all the actors were 6'3" and over 200 pounds." "So, the costumes were period-appropriate," said I, "but the size of the people weren't." "Nah," she responded, agreeing. "That was in Texas. They were all Texan."






We tried on several wonderful combinations -- a personal favorite being a Jack-Sparrow-like brocaded 18th Century frock coat with a mis-matched but equally splended waistcoat under, ("Remember," Helen said, "Pirates didn't order clothes to be tailored -- they just killed a man and took his clothes"). But, even with the dreadlock wig, it looked a little too put-together, a little too subtle for our 2nd-grade audience. In the end, we went with all black with a handkerchief around his head (the wig was so huge that we couldn't find any hats to stay on it).

Perhaps we should have gone with the wig after all -- Girl-Child said she instantly recognized her father from "the little gray hairs curling out from under his head wrap" (and more convincingly, from the wriststrong bracelet that he always wears and forgot to take off). Even so, the boy sent to the Office to pick up the Mystery Reader was more than a little shocked, leading the pirate back to the school room from a safe distance of 10 or 15 feet, eyes wide and wary.