All About that Base

I'm all about that bass… 

I take my lunch to work quite a bit of the time. It’s not for health sake, although I’m sure it might help. It’s not even for economics. Mainly it’s for mileage. I will go with someone if asked but I really don’t want to drive.

Every morning I drive approximately 45 miles to work. It’s not a bad drive, at least compared to most, and my usual time is between 45 and 53 minutes. That’s according to a message on my phone every morning. It’s a lightly populated area except for a small stretch around 10 miles, or eternity, depending on the day. That area is stressful if not deadly. Apparently traffic signs and common sense don’t apply to the south edge of the city. People completely ignore stop signs, pulling out into oncoming traffic at 75+ mph, going a mere 10 mph. One would think that having a semi-truck or other automobile descend upon the bumper of their vehicle would warrant pressing the gas pedal just a little harder. Not usually. The oncoming traffic is forced to brake, switch lanes, curse, yell and gesture at the offender only to have them zoom past a few minutes later. Surely there’s a physics lesson in there somewhere that wasn’t included in their driver education.

At work I have the luxury of having a little fridge at the corner of my desk. It’s mainly for snacks and drinks. Occasionally you’ll find a couple dozen eggs when the chickens are laying. Sometimes it’s like my home refrigerator. There was a bottle of out of date salad dressing once and some molded cheese another time that got stuck behind something else and out of view. Mostly, though, it’s for short time items, like lunch.

The ritual at meal time is to get my lunch, grab my bowl and spoon and trudge down the hall to the break room. There, I wait in line for a stinky microwave. There are three of them and depending on the day, it can take up to ten minutes, just to warm up the cuisine de jour. Then I’ll go back down the hall to my office-closet and eat at my desk. I know you aren’t supposed to but I prefer it to the odors and cacophony of the ‘coffee cup.’ Nothing is worse, however, than to get to the middle of the previously cold or frozen entrée to find it’s still in that state, either ice cold or frozen. Yuck. I don’t want to journey back down to the malodorous cooking machines so I’ll either stir it around to make it warm enough to finish or lose my appetite.

After Christmas one of the ladies I work with brought a ‘lunch’ crock-pot to work she had received as a gift. It was great! She brought her food in the little pot, plugged it in when she got to work and by lunch time it was nice and hot. She can either eat it straight out of the little container or she can put it in another bowl. It’s amazing!

My friend and I decided that was what we needed and each got one very similar to hers. We bring food, plug it in and have a piping hot meal without using the putrid public microwave. Rinse (or not) when finished, take home then repeat for the next day! The only drawback we have found is that our lunch crocks have the cord attached to the outside bowl. The other lady has one that fits on a base so she can leave that part at work and just bring the crock container every day. That would be a lot more convenient than hauling around a bowl with a cord hanging down the side. It actually winds around the bottom nicely but when you unplug then have hot food there’s not a way to manipulate without the possibility of a frightful burn; so the cord hangs.

But I have a solution! I have ordered us both a new lunch crock with the base. We are excited and can’t wait to get our new machines! After all, it’s all about the base, the base, no trouble…with cords and such. Right? Enjoy your lunch!

You know, I'm all about that bass…

I saw a February project the other day that was interesting. I told my knitting friends, Miya and Kerri and we decided we’d try it. It’s quite a bit like my knit-a-year project I did a few years back but this one is a scarf. You pick your colors, one for each mood you might encounter, and then knit about 2.5 inches each night. You use the color of your mood that day.

I picked some very unlikely colors. All are sock yarn, variegated. I kept it simple, with only four skeins. There is a black/gray one that I can use as sad or angry, frustrated or disgusted, or basically a bad mood. I have a purple/blue one that will be for happy and energized. There’s an orange/blue one I’ll use for a calm, serene, or a content mood and finally, a green/brown one as tired or blah. I cast on 40 stitches on a size 9 needle. I chose the linen stitch for the scarf. It’s working up nicely but it’s taking quite a long time to knit the section each night because the yarn is so thin. I’ll finish it but I’ll think twice and use a thicker yarn next time!

All about that bass.

Shut up and Drive

I've been looking for a driver who's qualified,
So if you think that you're the one…

traf•fic (tr f k) noun 

a. The passage of people or vehicles along routes of transportation.
b. Vehicles or pedestrians in transit: heavy traffic on the turnpike; stopped oncoming traffic to let the children cross. 

For the most part, traffic, out here where I live meant waiting for three vehicles to pass before attempting a left turn. But that was before the ‘boom’. Now, travel is a living nightmare.

The usual traffic out my bug splattered windshield. In the good old days!

According to the United States Census, between July 1, 2011 and July 1, 2012, Midland and Odessa placed first and fifth respectively on the Census’ list of fastest growing metro areas in the country by percent increase. The oil fields (source of the boom) offer generous pay, leaving other businesses scrambling for workers because they aren’t able to match the wages and/or benefits. Housing as expensive as New York City’s has become the norm in the area. That is, if one can find housing. And traffic has increased and placed a strain on roads and highways. Statistics show vehicle crashes are up 40%, with fatalities up 58 %. All the while the growth continues.

Another view. Not much traffic now but it gets hairy.

I’m fortunate that I don’t live in either of these cities. I live in a small town south of Odessa. However, like many, I commute to the city for work. My office is located between the two municipalities, which are rapidly becoming joined, at the airport complex. There are approximately four ways to get there from my house, and all but one includes a stretch on a road heavily traveled by trucks. There are two routes I would take to reach the interstate or other highway to get to that road. One is a narrow, two lane oilfield road and the other is a four lane highway. I choose the four lane. It’s fairly decent until I reach the…Abyss.

The Abyss, as I’ve callously termed this hellish stretch of highway, is a daily challenge at its best. In this Abyss, traffic signs have no meaning. Residents of the area regard them as decorations, disregarding any significance they may have. The octagonal red sign embellishes most intersections to the highway. In some places the ornament lays on the ground instead of standing upright.

Besides the customary white lines most highways are adorned with, this stretch has the added attraction of dark skid marks sideways to both shoulders. Guardrails or posts with heavy wire strung between indicating no crossing are broken and mangled.
Residents in this area have no idea of physics. I never took physics in school but I do have a concept of force. Whenever two things interact, a pair of forces is always involved. Therefore, pulling an almost inanimate object (resident’s car) into the path of a vehicle moving at the least, 75 miles per hour, could create a problem. Like death. Similarly, coming upon a vehicle, such as an 18-wheeler, who did pull out at an appropriate time but hasn’t made it up to highway speed, and not changing lanes or decelerating causes the same trauma.

Math story problems were also overlooked in this region. Nobody had the privilege of experiencing such annoyances as: If you drive 40 mph instead of 30 mph, you save 30 seconds per mile, but if you make the same 10 mph increase from 70 mph to 80 mph, you only save 5.6 seconds per mile. Why? Moral, that number on the speed limit sign actually means something.

I often wish law enforcement had a more definite presence on this section of the daily route. However it would take a policeman at each intersection and there’s not enough man power. Besides, I don’t know if they’ve developed a fine structure for ignorance.
In the meantime I’ve adjusted my route, trying to avoid the most heinous areas. I’m on alert, braking, slowing, avoiding, every mile of the way. To say it’s stressful is a misnomer. But it looks like, if anything, it’s going to become worse before it becomes better. So I’ll don my crash helmet, have my new car customized with roll bars and count down until I no longer have to make the trip during the peak hours. Someday.

Now shut up and drive.
Drive, drive, drive.

It was my lucky week! Actually these came during the spring break week but I was gone so got to celebrate them this week. First is a lovely Scentsy pot I won. It came with two kinds of scent bars to go inside. It’s smelling better here by the minute!

My new Scentsy pot and bars!

Next is a cute little girl I named Pinelope.

Pinelope.

She’s created by my knitting friend, Pat! Her note said she didn’t know if she (Pinelope) would hold my double points but her main duty was to make me smile! Pinelope did her duty! Thank you Pat!

Pinelope with double points. Reminds me of a voodoo baby!

Shut up and drive.
Drive, drive, drive.