Blog

One of my hostel roommates got arrested for importing machetes.

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Made you look, didn’t I?

Seriously: One of the six people in my “pod bed shared room” brought some machetes back from the Congo. The situation is too convoluted to explain because I’m on free wifi at McDonalds and I’m getting glared at for sitting here so long.

Short form: He spent several hours in a jail cell when his souvenirs were discovered.

“They took my pocketknife, too,” he said, sounding dispirited. “They told me any blade that locks is illegal, and any blade longer than three inches is illegal.”

“Most machete blades are longer than three inches,” I agreed.

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Floss-less in Houston.

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The good news: Despite the fact that there were at least a dozen kids and babies on the first flight, there was no wailing or weeping. Not even from the grownups.

The bad news: They made me gate-check my bag after all, saying it was a little too tall to fit into the overhead compartment. That’ll teach me to over-pack an “expandable” suiter.

I’m in Houston for a four-hour layover, preparatory to a nine-hour flight. I had a swell plate of barbecue (beef and pork — why limit myself?) on the theory that a big meal should come in the middle of the day rather than right before I get on the plane.

They will feed us for free on the Houston-to-Heathrow flight, but it won’t be a huge meal. I pre-ordered the kosher meal on the theory that it won’t be overly heavy or greasy. Or what mystery author Sue Grafton memorably described as a “fist of chicken, covered with rubber cement.”

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Frugal sniffles.

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Last summer I did a guest post over at Bargaineering called “Sick happens: How to prepare for an illness or injury.” For the past week I’ve been in the grip of la grippe and practicing what I preached.

It’s not actually la grippe, but rather some other kind of virus: sore throat, headache, malaise and a cough that snaps me forward like a willow tree in a high wind. I’m acutely aware that my Aunt Elna was alleged to have broken ribs while coughing.

At least I was ready for it.

 

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I have “Frugal Fatigue” fatigue.

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Earlier this month the National Foundation for Credit Counseling shared the results of a new study. Apparently a whole bunch of U.S. residents are tired of budgeting.

“Majority of Americans have frugal fatigue,” the press release trumpeted. “Significant minority found lifestyle changes to be positive.”

That’s my new favorite oxymoron – “significant minority.” I know what it’s supposed to mean: That 21% rather than 2% of the respondents found frugal lifestyle changes to be a good thing. That is significant. But I still think it sounds funny.

About that significant majority: Sixty-six percent of those surveyed are feeling the strain of having to watch their dollars. Wait…Americans are unhappy that they can no longer spend like sailors on shore leave? There’s news.

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Cache some cash.

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Yesterday I used a Groupon voucher to get myself a discounted massage. The practitioner didn’t take credit cards. Time to raid the cash cache.

For the past six years I’ve kept a stash of ones, fives, tens and twenties hidden in my apartment. I believe in having legal tender on hand for emergencies.

Call it pin money, bail money or get-outta-town money. If you’re a numismatist, call it a collection of state quarters. Having a little ready cash means you’re, well, ready.

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Giveaway: $20 in Amazon scrip.

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Even as I tossed out three possible prizes and asked you to vote I realized what the answer would be. Of course most people were going to want the $20 Amazon.com gift card.

After all, not everyone lives near an AMC movie theater and not everyone has a tween-ager in his life to whom to give Jean Chatzky’s “Not Your Parents’ Money Book.”

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Blog roundup: Stupid virus edition.

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That’s me who’s sick, not the computer. I’m pretty sure it’s viral: Sore throat, slight cough, aches and malaise but no fever. Blech. This is one of those times when it’s not good to be single. If someone else were here I could ask him to please go get me a box of Popsicles.

I wanted to write something staggeringly clever and original but after a day of research/interviews for my day job, I’m feeling somewhat battered. Also acutely aware that I leave in, um, 13 days and have to turn in a lot more work unless I want to be writing from the Piccadilly Backpackers Hostel. (Hint: I don’t.)

I’m going to bed early. The rest of you can read.

The price of everything at I Pick Up Pennies

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Garbage in, supper out.

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My apartment smelled delicious last night after I threw the following into a pot: chicken stock from the freezer, organic chicken stock from a carton, a bunch of spices, a little balsamic vinegar and half a can of tomatoes.

While it simmered, I diced carrots and cooked them along with frozen corn and peas. I added some pasta to the stockpot; after it was tender, I added about a third of a cup of leftover quinoa and the strained vegetables.

And wished it weren’t hours past suppertime. I wanted soup. But I had to wait until the next day, except for the few spoons that I tasted in order to, um, adjust the seasonings.

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