When our friend Michelle (one of three people we know outside of work) came over to visit, we decided to order pizza. Michelle, who has actually lived here, picked a place and it was great.
A coupla weeks ago, we wanted pizza again but couldn’t remember the name of the place. I took a stab that it was Chanello’s Pizza. We ordered an extra large pie — always good to have leftovers.
Well, if the thing they brought was an "extra large," someone’s been lying to his girlfriend. (Waiting a moment for that comment to sink in.)
This thing was like 14 inches. We confirmed with the delivery guy — this was Chanello’s idea of "extra large."
This thing was the size of a medium pie in New York … at best. (It was also pretty grim pizza.) This got me worried that 14 inches was considered large for pizza around here. So let me be clear: A large pizza is at least 18 inches in diameter. Got it? It’s really not that hard.
So a note to anyone dating or married to a guy working for Chanello’s: What he calls "large," the rest of us call "medium."
Next time we ordered from Cozzoli’s. We asked for a large pie — not extra large, just large. Lo and behold, what arrived was a proper 18-inch pie. And it was good. There’s hope.
It’s New Year’s and all — and I haven’t kept up. But that’s about to change as The Boy goes back to school. I’m also gonna add a photoblog. I’m sure the four people who read this will be impressed. :)
Just because.
Imagine you see a guy in a park painting the scene in front of him. Maybe he has a few more paintings propped up nearby.
You don’t think he’s doing a particularly good job. But can you imagine going up to him and saying, "You know, your paintings aren’t very good."
What would you think of a person who went up to strangers, unrequested, and told them that she didn’t think much of whatever they were doing?
And yet, the first comment to this blog from someone I don’t know does exactly that. "This blog reminds me of your new neighborhood, Short Pump," writes ‘Flop Sweat Sally’."They’re both mundane, clichéd, and a little depressing."
My first thought was to quote James Bond from Casino Royale, when asked if he wanted his martini shaken or stirred: "Do I look like a man who gives a damn?"
My second thought was that there are always people who like to insult other people just because they were raised that way. It never worked for me, but to each her own. Thanks for the welcome, Sally. Good to see there’s class everywhere.
All right, so used bookstores are off the list. How about photography shops? I have no desire to shop at Best Buy — stores that try to pull fast ones on their customers don’t appeal to me — and I always prefer to support the local businesses.
So Richmond Camera it is, a local shop. Good news: It’s local and it’s close by. Better news: A very friendly staff who also seem to know what they’re doing. (Contrast any big-box shop where all the sales drones know how to do is recommend something pricier.)
Bad news: Limited selection, at least in the West End branch. There’s a whole wall dedicated to darkroom stuff, but only three or four tripods (and no monopods, which is what I was looking for). I asked about the darkroom stuff — does anyone buy it? Yep, but almost all of it’s sold to photography students and their teachers these days, where "darkroom" means "Photoshop."
Which begs the question: Why are they still teaching darkroom techniques? The basics in photography are in the exposure — learning how shutter speed and aperture affect things, how to make a good composition, working with light and color, etc. Darkroom work is strictly chemistry; you don’t really learn anything about photography by doing it. (Well, you do learn why Photoshop uses certain terms, like "dodge" and "burn.")
I’d've loved to see a whole wall dedicated to light meters, studio equipment, reflectors, bounce boxes, and so on — stuff that aspiring photogs can actually use and that teaches them the science behind the images. Maybe another time.
Mundanely yours,
Andrew
There’s something satisfying about talking to your family in New York and Boston about the weather — that is, when it’s 65 degrees (or even 55) in late December, while they’re under a blanket of snow and ice.
Of course it’s a bit odd to be able to take The Boy for a ride in his new wagon on Christmas day without more than a light sweater. Someday I’ll be telling him about how we used to get snow….
Apparently there isn’t a used book store anywhere around here. Sheesh, Roanoke had two that I knew of. A sad thing.
I realized it was time to check out who my congresscritter is. In Roanoke it was Bob "How can I kiss your ass today, Mr. President" Goodlatte.
Here it’s Eric "My last name is spelled wrong" Cantor. He’s neither very bright nor very nice.
First of all, the latest news on his site is from Feb. 2007, where he praises the President’s budget, saying it "will help contain Washington [sic] runaway spending." Perhaps he missed the line on the budget funding the war in Iraq.
And writing in January about "End of the Democrat’s ‘100 Hours’," he shows an incredible lack of intelligence and decorum.
What was Cantor’s most important note about the 100 Hours?
“The 100 hours was not a productive time for America as evidenced by Pelosi exempting her hometown company, Starkist Tuna, from the minimum wage increase.
First of all, Eric, it’s not "Pelosi." Out of general respect for your fellow representatives it’s "Ms. Pelosi," "Rep. Pelosi," or "Speaker of the House Pelosi." Be a grownup.
And don’t you feel just a tad hypocritical complaining about Starkist Tuna? (Starkist Tuna?) Billions to Halliburton? No problem. Millions for a bridge to nowhere for a repub in Alaska? No problem.
But give health insurance to poor kids? No way.
[sigh] I hoped to have a congressman with at least a shred of intelligence, but instead I got Eric Cantor.
We got our PODS pod delivered today (that’s Portable On-Demand Storage). Let’s just say that although nothing appears to be damaged, it wasn’t exactly the best service around.
Read the story on my main blog.
More things I’m learning: Every road has a speed limit of 45 MPH. That includes roads that should clearly be 30 or 35, as well as those that should clearly be 55 (and on which most people drive that fast anyway).
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