grrgoyl

There's just no getting ahead in this world, lemme tell you.

We finally got all our appliances up to date a little over a year ago. In the words of Edward Norton in Fight Club, "You say to yourself, whatever else happens, I've got that sofa appliance problem handled."

And you do, until the appliances suddenly stop working. Which is what our fridge did two days ago. I went to pull out a lovely Stouffer's Panini for lunch, and noticed the box was a bit...mushy. Not room temperature mushy, but definitely not frozen. (Please note that I am not an employee of Stouffer's or its affiliates.) GodDAMMIT.

Obviously I hoped it was something minor and easily fixed. This fridge has let us down before. I think a few months into owning it we noticed significant ice buildup in the bottom of the freezer. Some internet investigation revealed that the stupid manufacturers (Whirlpool, if you must know) somehow screwed something up in the defrosting coils at the back so heat didn't get down into the drain like it was supposed to, causing it to get backed up with huge chunks of ice. Luckily I found a 13-dollar thingamabob that hooked over a heating coil and hung down into the drain, conducting heat far enough down to keep the ice from forming. Easy. And, might I add, made me feel pretty damn capable for about a week. But WTF, Whirlpool? Did you guys lose the blueprint for building refrigerators?

I tried the internet thing again looking for a source of this problem: it was on and running, keeping things cool but not cold enough. It turned out this constellation of symptoms was far too general to be diagnosed in just one afternoon on Yahoo Answers. I followed my friend Gerry's advice and decided to call a repairman the following day.

I won't bore you with how I chose one, suffice to say he was top rated on a site called "service magic" that claimed to prescreen all their contractors. The guy (Rick) had review after glowing review of people describing how he charged less than they expected, gave them honest advice, and was highly knowledgeable. Having dealt with the man, I'm not arguing with any of that.

He showed up before noon, for which I was immensely grateful. He looked like a wild west prospector, decked out in a plaid shirt and Wrangler jeans, with a long gray beard -- not Gandalf long, but longer than is considered fashionable. He came in and immediately set to work. I hate having service personnel in my house -- I never know if they prefer me to stand and watch or go about my business. In Rick's case I assume it was the former, as he was a chatter, although the majority of his conversation was with himself ("Did you remember to bring the thing from your truck? Oh good, you had your head on straight today.")

Old Rick was eccentric, that's for sure, and I'm not just talking about the voices in his head (read on). After a series of "That's a bad sign," and "Now why aren't you turning on?" and "Drum roll, please" (his favorite phrase upon every dramatic occasion of plugging the fridge back in), he concluded that the compressor was blown, and that a new one would cost $700. GODDAMMIT.

"This fridge is only 6 YEARS OLD" I fumed to him. Which turned out to be a big mistake. I suppose it's only natural that he has an opinion or two on the state of modern appliances, except his views went above and beyond heating coils and condensor fans. Sit back and prepare for an earful, like I endured.

NAFTA ruined this country. He thinks America is headed in the wrong direction. And Obama is the "Antichrist." Naturally I had him pegged as a raging Republican, and my hackles were fully raised (it was right about this point that I sidled up and discreetly removed the BDSM Jesus magnet from the fridge). But it turns out he hates ALL government. It's all owned by big corporations, which is why nothing ever gets done. He hasn't voted since 1980. That's a long time to be disgruntled, my friends.

Normally one would say, "Do you have a better idea, hot shot?" Old Rick does. He's got a whole Five Year Plan to get us back on track (well, Three Year at this point -- he estimates it should all be done by 2012 by the latest). First he wants to do away with income tax and instead have a flat 20% sales tax, which I can't say I like the sound of much. He thinks that will take money (and power) away from big business (except for manufacturers and distributors, I suppose).

He also wants true term limits, no more lifelong office holders (and no more paying presidents after they leave office, which I must say I support). He's also got it all outlined how to get a true candidate of "the people" in office (who this political Messiah is he didn't mention), which seems to me is what Ralph Nader's been trying to do for years, so why does Rick think he's got it all figured out? It all involves donating $1 to his website and swearing to vote for his candidate and get two other people to visit it.

See, he had all these ideas, just no way to get them into the right hands. I doubt preaching to bored housewives was getting him very far either. It all sounded very grassroots and radical, and made me more than a little uncomfortable. As he got increasingly passionate and wild-eyed, I just kept thinking, "Please, I just want my milk to be cold again."

It wasn't just the government that was corrupt. According to Old Rick, the whole Energy Star thing was a huge scam. "Our stoves used to run on 1200 watts (don't quote me, I don't remember the number), now they run on 24. BUT the only way to run on so much less is to have a computer chip in there managing it. So where's the savings??" he demanded to know. I didn't follow his logic exactly, since 24 IS considerably less than 1200. However, if the appliances end up in a landfill every 6 years anyway, it seems that might counteract any good accomplished by Energy Star.

FINALLY he made to leave. I was really afraid he was going to induct me into his cult, but he seemed content to slap a sticker inside one of our cabinets, not entirely with my consent -- I would have been happy with just a business card that I would have written across in red Sharpie "FREAKING NUTJOB. NEVER CALL AGAIN," but he was adamant (I took it out the second he was gone). The funny thing was on neither his card nor the sticker was there any sign of a website, so I think his plan needs a bit more work to get up and running.

I just wanted my fridge fixed, not a goddamn manifesto that would change the free world.

Anyhoo. I broke the news to Tery, who promised to be home early so we could go shopping. Of course I was still stuck working in a 90-degree flat, and without the promise of so much as an ice cube to suck on, YOU try thinking about ANYTHING ELSE.

The good of it is we got to visit my boyfriend, Ken in Major Appliances, who remembered us, thanks mostly in part to the embarrassingly loving feedback I had left on the website for him. He hooked us up again, this time with a Frigidaire that will match our range and microwave (he commented, "Not to try to change your mind, but Whirlpool has the lowest repair rate on the market." I'll bet they do, because they go in such a big way that it's cheaper to buy a new one).

Unfortunately delivery couldn't be arranged until tomorrow morning (Friday), so we've been living like cavemen out of a styrofoam cooler on the counter. We bought a bag of ice and I had a glass of water that was better than Dom Perignon. Thank god we could bring all our Omaha steaks over to stow in our nice neighbors' freezer. Amazing how much not having a fridge can disrupt your life -- when we had it, I probably opened it twice a day (breakfast, lunch). Without one, I feel like I have zero food options and I just sit and starve.

Another thing's for sure -- when Ken offered us the extended warranty on the Frigidaire we jumped at it. "Six years ago I would have said no way. But today...." Today in the face of a 6-year-old unit dying neatly just outside the manufacturer's warranty (as planned, according to Old Rick; believe me, this is one point we see eye-to-eye on), you bet your sweet bippy I want the extended.

ADDENDUM: Yesterday morning I happened to glance at the TV as Brad Pitt was being interviewed on "The Today Show." Imagine my surprise when I saw our fridge in the kitchen behind him? (It has very distinctive curved handles that we in fact paid extra for). I got all excited -- "Brad Pitt has our refrigerator!" Then I realized he was actually sitting in a New Orleans house he had helped rebuild. I told Tery and she snorted. "Yeah, Brad Pitt would use our fridge in his basement for his beer buddies, maybe!"

Conversations from the Kennels

Tery called me on Friday from the hospital, telling me what kinds of changes had been going on behind my back. "I almost don't want to tell you this..." she began.

"What?" I asked nervously, trying to envision what new imposition I would be forced to endure.

"They've put a bookcase downstairs in the hall. Right outside the kitchen."

"So what?

"Well it's kind of big, and I don't want you running into it. I told Tabby 'the first time Elaine bangs her shoulder on this, it's outta here.'"

A) She's confusing me with herself, who is far more resistant to change than I. B) Working only two nights a week, I feel the least entitled to dictate how things gets arranged. C) Most importantly, I don't know what kind of dynamic whirlwind of activity she imagines me engaging in, but apart from the night of my first seizure dog, everything else I do with the supremely unhurried pace of the truly unsupervised. I amble. I saunter. I occasionally trot, but very, very rarely. The chances of me barreling smack into a large, stationary object are extremely slim.

Second, our cat Alsatia needed some (more) dental work done. Older animals do fall apart at a frightening speed. She was doing well, though, and the plan was for her to stay on IV fluids overnight and I could take her home in the morning. Dr. L asked Tery, "Will Elaine be able to remove the catheter?" This is funny, because the last 10 times animals have been left on IV fluids with me, something has always happened by morning necessitating me taking out their catheter -- usually it will "blow" (meaning it's slipped out of the vein and is just pumping the fluid under the skin), or the animal will chew it out; both things that technically aren't my fault, but I still feel mighty incompetent all the same. So it seems for me the challenge is keeping the catheter IN, not taking it out. I'm a pro at taking it out. I could join the Olympic catheter removal team, I'm so good at it.

Therefore it broke my heart a little come morning when Alsatia's IV was still running perfectly, and I had to remove it anyway. But she was certainly happy to leave.

Then I came home Sunday morning to discover we have ANOTHER neighbor with Christmas lights on inside. Are they dead too? What was it about this past Christmas that's making it so damn hard for everyone to let go? It's MARCH, people. Time to MOVE ON.

~*~

Toys for Grown-Ups

Tery, to my surprise, suggested we apply our considerable tax refunds towards a new stove. Nothing wrong with our old one, it's just the last almond-colored hold-over from the original set circa 1980. Normally I would insist on waiting until it actually died, but she reminded me that she cooks all my dinners so it was in my best interest that she was happy.

It's "silver mist" rather than stainless steel -- the look of steel, but without the easy scratch- and fingerprintability. The matching over-the-range microwave will be installed later this week -- Tery wasn't so sure about this purchase, but ever since realizing it was an option suddenly our current microwave takes up too much counterspace, and causes random obscene outbursts of rage from her while she's cooking. For me it's worth every penny if it cuts back on the side helping of stress and bitterness our meals are sometimes prepared with.

I couldn't have been happier with our salesman, Ken. He approached us immediately, making it clear that he wasn't going to disappear without warning. He looked like a poor man's Kevin Murphy. He joked with us and always stayed within range, a far cry from our usual treatment. Usually salespeople take one look at two women wandering through major appliances and assume we're just daydreaming or something (I'm sure Tery's two days' worth of hair grease doesn't help matters either). He gave us respect and attention, however, and we spent $1200 in his department (the most I've ever spent in one go and walked out the door emptyhanded -- "Where's my instant gratification?!" I lamented to Tery).

He was just too cute. Down-to-earth and dorky, he talked to us like we were old friends. I used the word "fortuitous" for some reason, and his eyes misted over. "Say that word again," he asked me. "Fortuitous?" I smiled. "That's a great word. I need to use that word more often," he said.

I wrote up an almost embarrassingly glowing piece of feedback for him on Lowes.com; I figure I never hesitate to complain about bad employees, it wouldn't hurt to spread some sunshine as well. I read it to Tery. She rolled her eyes over the phone and asked me when our wedding was. She'll never understand my love for geeky, awkward men.

It was delivered by two enormous guys. I'm sure between the two of them the strain of lifting it was equal to what I feel carrying a 40-pound bag of cat litter alone, but I still felt a ridiculous compulsion to apologize for them having to haul the old one back down the stairs. I don't know why, in situations like this I always feel like I'm inconveniencing people when really all they're doing is their job. Silly.

~*~

Malcolm Reynolds: Our Weirdest Ferret Yet

Here's another video, blessedly free of my look-how-cute voice:



Malcolm is our ninth ferret. We know a thing or two about ferret behavior. In all those years of ferret ownership, never once have we observed this. When you give him a fresh bowl of water, before drinking out of it he scratches around the rim, then plants both front paws in and paddles in it, scooping large amounts of water out. He doesn't do it if the water's been standing, and he doesn't do it if Gideon is with him. I asked him, "Little Man, do you think your brother and sisters want to drink that water after you've stuck your grubby paws in it?" Like most babies, he hadn't given it much thought.

Finally, two gay boys. Again I say that people can learn something about getting along with each other from ferrets.