KK On My Mind

Because "wine connoiseur" is not on my resume

Charles and I had a lovely dinner at Village Bistro and Wine Bar in Santana Row tonight. The impetus for this excursion, was, of course, the cheese plate inspiration I had on my last night in Denmark last week.  The Danes, I must say, know how to do a cheese plate. With fruit. And nuts.  And wine. 

So, of course, we had a cheese plate. With wine.  And nuts.  No fruit (they only had dried, and I don't do dried fruit).  When the waiter realized we were just planning to have appetizers and wine, he suggested a rose as a wine choice that would go well with what we had ordered.

"I like the Rioja," he said.  "I wouldn't recommend the Mendoza."

"What don't you like about the Mendoza?" I asked.

"Personally, I find it falls apart between the palate," he said.

I nodded, pretending to understand. When he left, I turned to Charles.

"Falls apart between the palate? Is that possible?" I asked.  "I mean, isn't the palate a singular thing? How does something fall apart BETWEEN the palate?"

"I'm not sure," he said. 

"I'd probably need to finish the bottle before I could answer that one."

"That sounds destructive."

"Let's get the chardonnay instead.  My palate might get out in one piece."

Go Figure

My sister in law needs a kidney transplant, and Charles is checking to see if he might be a match. The first step in that process is finding out what his blood type is.  He went to have the blood test done yesterday. 

This morning, we got an email from my brother, on the other side of the country, telling us what Charles's blood type is.  Charles was musing over this when I went home for lunch today.

"So, the lab can fax the test results to D's doctor in Rhode Island.  The doctor can call D and tell her the result.  D can call your brother and tell him.  Your brother can email the results to us.  But the lab can't  tell me my own test results over the phone."

"Amazing, isn't it?"

"Yeah, go HIPAA."

Resolution

For two years we have had crappy internet service at our house.  Which means we have also had crappy phone service at our house.  Because the brainchild who built our building? He decided not to bring phone lines to our house.  Just install internet! That's all they need! 

And while I'm at it, he thought, I'll set up the company I own to provide internet to this building!  And I will prevent other companies from providing service to this building by declaring that I own the lines!  So if anyone wants to provide internet to this building, they will have to lease the lines from me first!  I can't lose money on this deal!

Then, I will charge exorbitant prices for internet!  More than twice the going rate elsewhere!  But they will pay it because it's their only choice, and because without it, they can't have a phone! 

This worked brilliantly.  Until people started complaining about the downtime.  Downtime is a little annoying when you can't access your email.  It's a little more annoying when you can't watch a video on YouTube without it skipping. But it's REALLY annoying when you can't call 911 because the phone doesn't work.  Or when the fire department isn't notified of a fire because the system meant to take care of that runs on the internet that isn't working.

So, needless to say, the builder got sued.  It took a year of negotiations to get the right to bring in Comcast and AT&T to provide service to the building.  Last month they installed all the necessary lines.  The contract set up with the original provider said they had the right to turn on service June 15 and give us a choice. 

We have all been waiting anxiously for June 15.

Then, last Wednesday, while I was in Sweden, Charles woke up to find the internet dead.  Which, you know, isn't so unusual.  What was unusual was the note on the door stating that our provider had gone bankrupt and was no longer providing service.  Comcast quite happily turned on service early, which meant by Friday Charles was up and running with really speedy (and reliable) internet and phone.  And cable TV!

The kicker? All of that costs just $5 more than the original provider had been charging for internet alone.

I honestly don't know what we're going to talk about at the Homeowner's Association meetings anymore.   I have no issues, people. 

Let's go home and watch TV.

Saved From Terminal 3 Purgatory

Before I got on my crack of dawn flight from Copenhagen to London yesterday morning, I decided to stop at the 7-11 at the airport and see if they had anything decent for breakfast.  They had these things called Mini-Meals in the refrigerator - individual serving tubs of yogurt with a small packet of granola on top.  I grabbed one - orange flavored.  Even this was better than any yogurt I can usually find in the US.  I had probably eaten my body weight in yogurt on this trip.  I lamented the beginning of my trip home to crappy yogurt-ville, but consoled myself with the fact that I would have ample opportunity to eat my fill during my FIVE HOUR layover at Heathrow.

God, I thought...What does one do for five hours in Heathrow? My mind had fixated on yogurt as my consolation prize.

After I landed at Heathrow, and went through security AGAIN, I found myself standing in front of the United check in counter. I already had my boarding pass for my next flight, but I got in line anyway. Just, you know, on the off chance they might have an earlier flight to....oh, ANYWHERE...that I could get on instead.

No sooner did I park myself in line when one of the women at the counter stood up and said, "We are now giving priority to people in line for the 10 AM flight to San Francisco!"

My ears perked up. 

No one in front of me was going to San Francisco, so they stepped aside and let me advance to the counter. You know, civil-like.  It never ceases to amaze me that there are places in the world where this type of thing happens without complaint.

"Is there any chance I might be able to get on that flight at 10 AM?" I asked, handing the woman my boarding pass. A flurry of typing ensued.

"Go directly to Gate 16," she said.  "It is boarding now."

Now, huh?  I looked at my watch.  This may well be my shortest layover ever.

I rushed to gate 16, and was immediately ushered onto the plane. Where I then sat. For an hour.  The cabin attendant finally came on and made an announcement.

"You may have noticed that we are running a bit late," she said.

Um, yeah. I'm quite sure those of us sitting like sardines here in row 56 are fairly aware, I thought.  It takes a considerable amount of mind preparation to ready oneself for an 11 hour trip in economy.  In a MIDDLE SEAT.  When that trip then becomes 12 hours, it's not an easy adjustment.

"We have had a mechanical difficulty, but I understand it's all straightened out, and we will shortly be on our way!" she chirped.

Even that phrase, which normally strikes fear into my heart, couldn't dull the joy of not having to spend five hours at Heathrow.

I did miss out on yogurt, but that's ok.   I'll live, I'm sure.

Payoff

I was in the middle of writing a report this afternoon, and decided to call room service for lunch rather than break my train of thought.  When it arrived, the guy who brought it handed me a slip to sign.  It had a line for tip, and it suddenly occurred to me I didn`t remember how tips were handled in Denmark.  I had paid a tip recently, in the past couple of days, but had it been in Sweden or Denmark? I couldn`t remember.

"I know this is going to sound odd, but could you explain to me how tipping works in Denmark?  I can`t remember." 

He laughed uncomfortably.

"No, I`m serious. Please.  I truly have no idea."

"OK, honestly?  Danes don`t tip.  Americans do.  With people from the UK, it`s usually about 50/50," he said.

"OK," I said.  "In the US, we usually tip between 15-20%. Does that sound about right?"

He looked horrified.  "Oh, no," he said. "Never.  Ten is the most I have ever received, in my life."

I gave him 15% for telling it straight.