It’s super fucking windy today. Weather app says 23 mph with gusts to 49 mph. I can hear my house move, and a couple places whistle. I know it’s solid, almost all oak, and most if it has been here over 100 years, but it’s disconcerting to listen to. Cats are not super thrilled either.
But, we’re not in the way of that monster storm that I see on the map from South Dakota, to Virginia, and down into Texas.
We’re supposed to get >50 mph gusts tomorrow. 
Lots of rain, some thunder and lightning.
Train pulled out of the Twin Cities on time. That’s surprising. Sitting next to a hippie chick from Portland with a ukulele in her bag. Her name is “Shell,” short for Michelle.
Did she threaten to play it?
Sadly, no.
There was a Twilight Zone-like ad for Zima where two guys walk into a bar and ask the bartender for beer. He matter-of-factly replies “Sorry, guys, I never heard of it.”
I had a moment like that today when I walked into a coffee shop and asked for decaffeinated coffee. She had no idea what I was talking about. With a big smile on her face the high school student suggested all sorts of other drinks I must have meant.
I have ordered it there in the past, so I know it is an option. I’m happy to say I didn’t get indignant or rude. I was more confused: Did I mumble? Was I remembering the correct word?
I repeated myself twice more. With a big smile she continued to suggest more obscure coffee permutations I have never heard of. I tried to think of a way of explaining what “decaffeinated” means. I couldn’t. I tried to find the word written down in the shop somewhere. Fortunately someone stepped in to help and she understood what I was saying.
Judging by her unending cheerfulness while not understanding something simple, I imagine she lives on the west side of Bay Ridge and her parents voted for Nicole Malliotakis.
I found it.
It doesn’t get more 90s than this.
Last night the Primaloft filling of my pillow would shift making a subtle boom sound every time I inhaled. Sometimes it wouldn’t happen. Then other times it would be double — boom…boom.
The universe was trying to keep me awake for some reason.
I’ve been doing my own pillow experiment. I’ve had sleep problems all my life (at least since 2nd grade, I can’t remember much specifically about sleep before then).
A couple months ago, someone on reddit recommended Japanese buckwheat pillows. I’ve always had mostly soft pillows, but I figured why not give it a try?
So I ordered one from this place, and yes that does look like an authentic early-90s Geocities site. I’m not sure what to make of that except that they’re still in business and their customer service is excellent (I ordered a pillow with a cover they no longer have and they immediately messaged late in the evening to show me their current fabric options and shipped my choice the next day.)
Anyway, it’s totally different than anything I’ve used before. Basically a cool beanbag for your head. And my sleep has never been better. My schedule’s still chaotic, but when my head hits that pillow, I’m not tossing and turning and waiting potentially for hours to fall asleep anymore. I’m just out. That’s new to me.
My wife has sleep problems too (but different, mostly opposite ones). She decided she wanted to try one, so I ordered one for her too. So far, she says she falls asleep on it just fine, but wakes up on her old fluffy stuffing-filled pillow. So maybe it’s not right for her.
I will say it’s a noisy pillow. You have all these grains in there that crunch around when you move.
But that’s a non-issue for me. Once I get to sleep, if I can get to sleep, then you could have a mariachi band and a zydeco band doing a battle of the bands contest over my bed and I don’t know if I’d wake up even if Rammstein busted into the room to battle the winner. I’m just not listening when I’m asleep. And if I did wake up, I’d just roll over and go right back to sleep.
My wife on the other hand, can go to sleep instantly with no problem every time, but she’ll wake up from the noise every time a mouse farts in the far corner of our neighbor’s yard. And then have trouble getting back to sleep.
It’s weird how vastly different people can be about stuff like that. How you can get advice and suggestions from people that work wonders for them but is totally nonapplicable to you.
And that’s why a full and complex review like yours really makes all the difference!
Just to give an update on my steam pipe.
About a year has gone by and the alkyd primer has worked perfectly. No rust, no cracks, no nothing. It’s just there, unchanged.
As you may recall, I recently had my bathroom redone, and the two coats of primer resisted all attempts by the workmen to damage it. And believe me, they tried. It took me two weeks to correct all the damage they did to my steel door frame. I had primed the door frame two years earlier with an acrylic primer, and that sits on the metal but doesn’t really hold on.
The alkyd primer is as toxic as you can imagine and it’s like painting with gum, but if you want something that sticks to an iron steam pipe in the extreme environment of a bathroom and prevents rust, this is your baby.
And apparently it has been discontinued. I guess it really is toxic if they are replacing it with a polyurethane enamel.
Rust-A-Void does not have the level of confidence as Rust Scat.
Today I found out Guantanamera was sung by the Sandpipers, not the Kingston Trio.
I felt a cool breeze for the first time in a week.
I think I saw Cher today.
Update:
I’ve just looked up some recent pictures of her and found out she is 77 years old and 5’7". And now I am pretty sure that it was she.
The streets were quite empty due to heavy rains from Tropical Storm Ophelia. She had no entourage surrounding her. She was turning off Lexington onto 58th Street and I was turning off of 58th Street onto Lexington. I came around the corner of the building and there she was. She was looking off into the distance as if she was looking for something.
And that was it. I passed within arm’s-length of Cher.
I’m pretty sure it was, anyway.
