What to Be When You Grow Up

We have a wonderful pediatrician who is part of our wonderful family practice here in New Paltz. Our little Maeve recently went in for a visit due to her stuffy nose. Dr Saied took time to get to know her, asking her questions not only about her ailments but also about her family and herself. I loved Maeve's response to one of his questions:

Dr S: What are you going to be when you grow up?
Maeve: Bigger!

Cel Phone Jammer

People talk unnecessarily on their mobiles. Usually they only need to speak for 15-30 seconds but end up talking for a minute or two. I'm going to be a cel phone jammer.

I just need to select the ideal flavor. I think that orange marmalade will work best because so few people like it.

Smearing a bit of marmalade on somebody's cel phone would probably keep them from talking on it for at least a few minutes.

I must put orange marmalade jam on the shopping list.

Why I was Running Late

The bus driver announced that we'd be delayed in our trip to Manhattan today. I figured this was on account of Memorial Day traffic, but nope: Rubbernecking. The south side of 87 was moving slowly, but at least we were moving. I noticed that the other side of the road seemed pretty smooth sailing; in fact, there was almost no northbound traffic. Then we found out why: There had been a truck crash, and the firemen and other rescuers had closed off all three lanes of the highway. South of that, the highway was at a virtual standstill. My bus was only 30 minutes late, but the people heading north might have been there for a bit longer.

I Moved a Turtle

As I drove up the road home today, I came across a turtle. Luckily for him I wasn't looking at him in my rearview mirror.

I had a hunch that he was a bit lost; he was walking parallel to the bank of the pond rather than towards it. Worse yet, of course, was that he was heading across a dirt road under the noontime sun.

I stopped the car and got out. I had to decide whether to place him ten feet forward or to move him three feet back, where he was coming from. I decided to move him forward, so I picked him up and moved him into the woods. This was the first time I'd ever held a turtle. But then I reconsidered. My guess is that he would eventually want to come back, and that would double his risk. So I put him back where he'd come from, but as I did so, some water tipped out of his shell. My lack of turtle-holding was showing. Happily for both of us, there was a large puddle nearby, so I poured a bit over the turtle and his new (old) surroundings and sent him on his way. Slowly.

What to Do on a Sunny Day in New Paltz

It's noon in the Noop. Maeve is taking a nap. So is Stanky, for that matter. Maeve will stop taking afternoon naps in a few months, but Stanky will take a few naps everyday for the rest of his life.

When he first moved to the house, he spent a few days getting acclimated to his new digs. He is rather small, even for a cat, and he's always been indoors, so it's not like he's had to defend his territory. In fact, during his 14 years, he's outlived 3 other cats (not including one who lived with us for a disharmonious year), and he's always been the lowest head on the totem pole, so you'd think that when it came to his over-all behavior, he'd be, well, a pussycat. But no. As soon as his surroundings change, he gets very upset. When we take him to the vet, he sometimes has to be sedated. A trip to the vet means bringing, at the very least, a strong cat-carrier, a few towels (one to put over his head when the vet wants to examine the rest of him), and some Band-Aids.

When people come to visit, he's a bit shy but is never mean. He eventually rubs legs and otherwise hangs out with us, unless the strangers have kids of their own. In that case, he'll usually avoid everyone; he'd rather not take chances.

Trashy Information

When we moved here, one of the first things we had to look into was: what to do with our garbage!

It's not that we have more garbage than most people -- we don't, really -- but we had a ton of boxes left over from the move, natch, and the little garbage we did have was threatening to smell. It didn't help that we didn't have garbage bins; animals were scavenging thru the bags we'd left out thru our own naivete.

Well, it turns out that if you live off the main road, you can have your trash picked up by one of the garbage companies, like Waste Management. But where we live, people have to take their refuse to the town dump. I'd never been to a dump before, so I was excited about the prospect. It's always good to be excited about something like that.

The dump, luckily for us, is only a quarter-mile from us, and luckier still is the fact that the smell has never made it to our house. One time just after we'd moved here, I went for a gadabout thru the woods and ended up getting a bit lost. I found some power lines, followed them, and came out at the dump. The smell hadn't given up its position. That's a good thing.

Phil runs the dump and is a wonderful guy. He always has a smile, especially for little Maeve, who loves to see him. Phil explained that townees pay $30 for a ten-ticket booklet; each ticket buys dumping rights for one large garbage bag (32 or 35 gallons).

Recycling items are free to drop off and are sorted into 4 different varieties, so there is a lot of recycling going on, which I approve of heartily. It bothers me, however, that lots of people leave their cars running while they drop off their cardboard and newspaper for recycling -- kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it, if you're helping the environment while hurting it?

One of the cool things about the dump is the chance to go rummaging thru the discarded metal stuff. We got these nifty signs there for free! I'm also looking forward to grabbing some cool items for a unicycle trials course.

Happy diving!

Happy but Surprising Update on the Linkerpink

You may have read earlier this month about an injury sustained by my left pinkie (or 'linkerpink,' in Dutch) during a bout of unicycle sumo. Well, the pain had persisted for over a month, and I was beginning to wonder if I should see a hand specialist (known as a 'hand surgeon' among those in the know).

Well, a few days ago, I was packing things up after another uni club (!) when I accidentally smacked my linkerpink against the car. Of course, it hurt initially, but in seconds I realized that this little yank was not like the other. Suddenly, my finger felt better. Hmmm.

By coincidence, I had an appointment yesterday with a foot doctor (or 'podiatrist' -- why isn't a hand surgeon called a manologist?). She confirmed that a swift tug of the same digit could improve the situation: Apparently something called the capsule (the thing you 'crack' when you crack your knuckles) had gotten stuck under part of that pinkie, and the sudden yank of that finger freed what was trapped beneath. Yay.

So if you develop a sore joint, just give me a holler and I'll give it a tug.

I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS

And just the fact that I have a few readers.

But I'm curious about how many I have. Most, I'd guess, are Noopers, but I'm hoping to attract people considering a move to New Paltz. That's why I started the blog -- I didn't see another like it and felt a void. Now I write mainly because it's fun and is also a good way to document intricacies of life in the Paltz.

So...

Hello (hello, hello)
Is there anybody out there?
Just nod (or comment) if you can hear me.
Is there anyone at all?

Local Obits

One of the odd things I noticed in the local papers as soon as we moved here was a difference in their style of obituary-writing.

The New York Times (and also, I think, the Post and the News) have a pretty straight-forward template:

"Joe Schmoe, a frequent contributor to Technology Magazine, died Monday night following a protracted battle with cancer. He was 69." The article then goes on to recount highlights of Schmoe's life and to mention any family members.

Seems pretty simple, right?

Here are a few entries from a recent copy of the Po'town Journal, names and ages changed out of respect for the dead people's lawyers:

Jill Reagle, 71, of LaGrange, NY, died at home on Wednesday, May 16, 2007.

Bobbi Peak, 21, a lifelong resident of Middletown, NY, died unexpectedly on Saturday, May 18, 2007.

In each case, the obit describes accomplishments and affiliations of the deceased, and in almost every way, each write-up appears similar to the kind found in the NYC papers. The glaring difference is that the local papers almost never mention cause of death.

Wanting to know the cause of death in an obituary is a bit like rubbernecking past an accident scene. It's the reader's chance to see what did in some other rat in this neverending maze that always ends too soon. In the case of a 71-year-old, we can guess that the person died of heart disease or cancer. But with a 21-year-old, you really want to slow down and get a better look at that wreck. Your first impulse is to make guesses based on clues in the rest of the obit. Last week I read about the death of a young man who was a parachuting enthusiast. I figured that maybe he'd had a problem with his chute, but I decided to Google him anyway. Nope; he'd been driving without a seatbelt and was thrown from his car after hitting a guard rail. He wasn't drunk, but he wasn't smart enough to wear a seat belt, either. I don't see a problem with adding a phrase about cause of death, do you? It might even serve as a reminder to readers who are lax with a seatbelt or cigaret.

There was one PoJo obit recently that made me laugh:

Flo Rivers, 90, of High Falls, NY, died unexpectedly in her nursing home....

Sorry, but 90-year-olds don't die unexpectedly any more than green lights turn red unexpectedly.

I think it's time to do in the obituary-writer of the Poughkeepsie Journal. I'd kill for that job.

I Honked in Anger

Since moving to New Paltz, Shirra and I have noticed that we rarely encounter aggressive drivers, a marked change from our lives in Manhattan and Brooklyn. This no doubt contributes to our general low level of stress and high level of happiness. Sometimes we find ourselves behind poor drivers like the ones who practically need a written invitation before making a left turn across Main Street, but this type of behavior is understandable: Not everyone is accustomed to having to make split-second decisions in a car. In NYC, you need to do this on a minute-by-minute basis, but in the Noop, it's rare to have to do that more than a few times a day. When I find myself waiting behind a slow turner in the Village, I usually wait patiently, but occasionally I'll deliver a brief toot of the horn as a reminder that I'd like to move, too, and that perhaps the driver should check again for that inviation. Until last week, however, I'd never honked angrily at anyone in New Paltz.

It happened as I drove down Rte 32 N heading towards the Village. A woman in a minivan suddenly pulled into my lane heading in the same direction. She forced me to slow down precipitously, and had I been distracted before she made her move, there is a good chance I would have smashed into her rear bumper. Most annoying of all was the fact that there was no car behind me for a mile. She should have just waited for me to pass. This sort of thing bothers me not only because she nearly caused an accident but because she forced me to slow down and then speed up again, a waste of gas. I'm really hyper about saving gas these days, tree-hugger that I am, and anytime I have to use the brake and then accelerate again, I know that I've wasted gas. That woman is bad for the environment. HONK!

Off to the Movies

One of the boasting points about New Paltz is that it has its own movie theater featuring four screens. For a town of our size, a movie theater is a big plus, and it's great to have four movies to choose from (unless Spiderman 3 is showing on two screens at once). There is a theater in nearby Rosendale that seems to specialize in funkier films, but we haven't made it there yet. Rhinebeck's theater (Upstate) specializes in offbeat or indie films as well as foreign pictures. And there's always the South Hills Mall or the Galleria if you need to spend twice as much on a movie.

NEW PALTZ CINEMA
General Info
Ample parking day or night. The 4 screening rooms are medium in size, and there are at least 2 showings of each film per day (usually around 7 and 9 pm, with more showings on the weekend). Buying in bulk enables you to see movies for $4 a person. The downside to this theater is also its upside: Because it's in town, it's easy to get to, but that also means that an overabundance of tweens and teens can easily ruin your experience. This was the case a few months ago when I took the kids to "Happy Feet" and a popcorn fight erupted among rival groups of middle schoolers. It's always nice, on the other hand, to run into friends there. On the whole, I'd rate the audience factor a solid 6 out of 10.

Films
They generally show popular films and seem to make a good attempt to balance the ratings so that there is usually a G or PG film on at least one screen. According to some locals we spoke to, there was a recent brouhaha when the homophobic owners refused to show "Brokeback Mountain." I can't vouch for this, and it seems strange behavior in such a liberal-minded locale, but I heard this from more than one person. I'd rate the films another 6.

Fare
Their food (too strong a word, really) is the usual crap found at mall theaters and other large venues. There is nothing New Paltz about the overpriced grub on hand (Raisinettes, etc), but the good news is that they're a minute's walk from a large health food store. Of course, you're not supposed to bring in outside food, but that doesn't stop those of us who try to avoid high fructose corn syrup. For less than the price of those Jujubees, I can sneak in some chocolate covered ginger pieces. This theater could easily spruce up its image by selling homemade cookies and lemonade. The garbage they sell would earn them a 0 for health, but a 5 for variety; however, I'd factor in a 10 for proximity to decent alternatives (ie, the health food store down the block) for an overall 5.

Final score: 5.67 out of 10


RHINEBECK's UPSTATE FILMS
General Info
For Noopers, the place is a bit of a hike, but it's worth it. It can be hard to find a nearby parking spot in a hurry, and it helps to get to the theater early to avoid missing out on the show you want to see (as happened to us once), but membership ($60 a year) has its privileges, and one of them is reduced-price admission ($4 or $5 per film -- I can't recall). The theater has a lovely old feeling to it, like you're stepping into a library mixed with an off-Broadway play. The screening rooms have ample seats, but because the films are offbeat, each showing tends to be near-capacity if not sold out. The audience is quite refined, largely due to the nature of films shown; how many 12-year-olds want to see a movie about the Dixie Chicks being shunned by country-western fans after making anti-Bush statements a few years ago? The audience factor has to be an 8. I'd have rated it higher, but both times we've gone, there has been some chatty Cathy within earshot, usually just a seat away.

Films
Well, they're not everybody's cuppa, but if you're into the indie scene, they do a great job of staying current. The only complaint is that films don't tend to stay there more than 2 or 3 weeks. On the whole, a 9.

Fare
They sell healthful chocolate bars made by local artisans. They're not even that expensive, and they're not so large that you'll comsume three days' calories in one sitting. The choices aren't numerous, but they're quite tasty. I'd give them another 9.

Final Score: 8.67 out of 10.

SOUTH HILLS MALL / GALLERIA
Essentially cookie-cutter versions of the American megamovie complex, these "movie houses" are overpriced and, for Noopers, pretty far away. The only positive is that, because they show so many movies and because they have more screening times, there is a chance that you'll find something you like at a decent hour. Oh, and if you need to combine your shopping pleasure with a movie and you don't like walking, you can't do better. The audience tends to be a bit rougher than in the smaller, local joints -- sort of like the tween and teen crowd, but older. Over all, I'd rate the audience as a 7; at least they don't throw popcorn.

Films
Pretty much the samo samo, with a wide variety both in terms of options and quality. I guess they'd rate a 5.

Fare
You can always bring your own edibles, but these places are easily the worst because altho they serve the same garbage as the New Paltz Cinema, there is no nearby health food store to help out. I'd give them a 3 on food because I'm in a generous mood.

Final score: 5 out of 10

Toin Cosses and other Spoonerisms

Since I was a teenager, I've caught myself transposing the sounds of certain word pairs. People who are dyslexic do this all the time, but I've been reading since I was three, so it's more likely that my linguistic glitches are due to climbing out of my crib and landing on my head when I was 1. No, I take that back. My mom does the same thing, so it's a good bet that this is a genetic trait carried on the X chromosome.

The phrase that gives me the hardest time is Coin Toss. For some reason, those words have been twisted in my brain ever since I learned them. If I don't think ahead of time, I always say Toin Coss instead. Weirder still are my continual mixup of the words umbrella and elevator. I've noticed since childhood that I often say, "I'll go get the umbrella" when I meant that I was going to press the call button for the lift. Apparently these words got filed near each other in my brain: Both go up and down, both are long and thin (sort of), and both are found by opening the front door of my mom's apartment.

My mother has linguistic goofs that she is unable to fix, owing surely to a relative drop in neural plasticity over time; layfolk would comment on the connection between old dogs and new tricks. Some of her idiosyncracies include "counseltation" for consultation and "foo TAHn" for futon. I've mentioned these to her before but to no effect. She's quick as a whip, but language mixups can be really hard to undo.

If you don't think that's so, try talking normally without using a word that has an E. It's not too hard, but it can trip up many folks and is mighty difficulty to do out loud.

But it's not impossible: Note that in the above paragraph, I didn't use the letter in any of the words.

Crap in the Mail

Thanks to a comment from my pal Jolene, I was taken back to the time after we'd just moved to New Paltz... a dark time when our innocent mailbox would be crammed with unsolicited offerings or items for Mr. and Mrs. Previous Owner.

A part-time mailman was responsible for most of the erroneously delivered mail. We could tell when Postman Steve was off duty by the large volume of mail not meant for us. Another problem was the unsolicited stuff. It wasn't addressed only to Mr. and Mrs. Previous. Instead, it had their names on one line and "Or Current Resident" on the next, so there was no way to forward it. Most of this junk mail was seed or clothing catalogs, so a few phone calls to the offending companies put that to rest.

There was still one source of unwanted mail: Welcome packages. For some reason, we received dozens of fat envelopes full of coupons for items we'd never want from shops we'd never visit. I guess mortgage companies sell their lists to Wal-Marts. But new home-owners, despair not: The mailings eventually die down.

Get Out and Vote

Or rather, Got Out and Voted

There was a town election today. Because we live outside of the heart of New Paltz, we can't vote in Village elections. That's a shame, really, since fewer than 25% of the 4,000 Village residents bothered to vote for their own mayor last week. I try not to miss a chance to vote. In college, I sent in absentee ballots, and after college, I voted in all of the elections except maybe one. For the record, I voted for all of the right people, tho they didn't always win. Example: I voted against Bush both times (all three, if you include his dad). I also voted for Bloomberg (a republican) and even for Giulianni (his incumbent opponent was a poor leader). In fact, my chosen candidate has always won except for the last two presidential elections, the first of which Bush stole by manipulating the votes, the second of which he won by manipulating the voters. To save time, I offer my services as professional voter. When an election comes up, just let me pick the winner. Think of the savings to tax payers (most of whom already don't vote in the first place).

Voting in New Paltz was a minified version of voting in Manhattan. In both cases, the election is held in a school gymnasium with voting machines that have levers, curtains, and handles. But in New Paltz, there is a good chance you'll find yourself next in line behind one of the candidates. That happened to me today when I realized that I was standing next to Edgar Rodriguez, who was running for the school board. His chances are good, since there were only two candidates for the three positions. Mathematically, then, I know I voted for at least one of the two winners.

There were also two referenda, both of which had to do with school issues. As a parent of three kids under 12, it wasn't hard to make up my mind there. I voted yes on the one that asked if kids should have less homework so that they can spend more time cultivating their imaginations and no on the one that asked if the Pledge of Allegiance should be followed up with a recitation of Joyce Kilmer's poem, "Trees." I've always hated that poem. I remember writing a viscious revenge poem about it when I was 11. It started, "I think that I shall never see/A poem worse than Kilmer's 'Trees,'" and it went on to expound on several of the problems I had with that short bit of frilly 19th century twaddle. Honestly, I loathe that poem.

Mother's Day in New Paltz

Our first Mother's Day in New Paltz, and we spent it all in neighboring towns.

We started at the Red Rooster in Gardiner. For Manhattanites, that's the equivalent of Sarabeth's Kitchen: not too fancy or expensive (Popover's), not ethnic (Barney Greengrass), not too big (Artie's). Best of all, there is rarely a wait, and if the weather is nice, you can eat outside. We had our usuals and then headed to venue #2.

The Mohonk Preserve is in Gardiner, too, but on the other end. We drove there for a little tour of the trails near the Visitor Center. Maeve loved one of the walks because it had ten marked posts. She liked putting her finger in the numerals at each post, a game I started her on in order to help her learn the shapes of the numbers (teachers always find those 'teachable moments'). She had a great time running from post to post, shouting, "Look, another one! It's a seven!" After this short trail, we drove to a nearby one that we'd visited last year while getting to know New Paltz. By the time we got there, Maeve was asleep, so Shirra took the bigguns in while I stayed back in the car with Maeve.

Shirra had her heart set on getting some plants, and who can deny a mama on Mother's Day (or any other day)? We next drove to Kerhonkshen to a plant nursery where Shirra and the big kids picked out some berry bushes and other plants for our gardens. Maeve and I continued our naps.

On the way home, we stopped in an antique store in Accord. I found an old Coca Cola sign and a tiny fireman-themed tiepin. A few minutes after we got back to New Paltz, I was on the scene of a fire in a home in Gardiner (see below); meanwhile, Shirra and the kids played in the playground and looked for places to plant their purchases.

Hot Mama ('s Day)

Fire on Mother's Day

It's rare for me to get on a fire truck heading to a fire. For one thing, there are few structure fires in the area. Moreover, I live nearly 4 miles from the fire house, so by the time I've gotten into my car and driven to the station, most likely I've missed the truck or trucks. Of 140 calls answered, I've probably been on a truck 25 times.

When the call came in today for a structure fire in the neighboring town of Gardiner (assistance requested from our department), I figured I'd end up waiting back at the fire house. I was mentally preparing to find ways to keep busy. But this time, because we sent out our ladder truck late in the game, I got to go along to the fire.

When we got there, companies from Gardiner, some of the other local fire houses, and the firemen from the earlier New Paltz truck, had already extinguished most of the fire. After the ladder truck got there, the group I was with assisted with the last stages, searching for hot spots with the use of thermal imaging cameras. We lifted a tall ladder so that firefighters could check out one roof, and we sent two firemen onto the highest roof using the ladder that's attached to the firetruck.

Since I haven't completed this summer's Firefighter 1 class (or fire camp, as Shirra calls it), I couldn't go up a ladder, so I tried to help as much as I could without getting in the way. I helped get the fan so that we could blow the last of the air from the house, and I helped roll hose at the end.

Happily, no one was hurt in the fire. I think that the house can be repaired, and more importantly, all of the occupants, including a dog, two cats, and many birds, escaped. One of the cats was the last one to leave the house, carried out in the arms of our chief and put into the EMS truck for oxygen. That was the best moment of the day....

Except for the fact that it's Mother's Day. But that's a separate post.

Foreigner in My Old Hometown

I had to stay overnight in Manhattan yesterday. My brother (the composer) was having 4 of his pieces performed at Merkin Hall, near Lincoln Center, so I decided to spend the night at my mom's. Shirra had the brilliant idea of combining this overnight with a trip to the nether-reaches of Brooklyn in order to get the DVD player fixed at the dealership where we bought our new car.

The trip on Wednesday was uneventful. I made it from the Noop to Manhattan in excellent time, dropped off a few things at Mom's, and then headed to Plaza Auto Mall. I could have had the DVD player replaced elsewhere, but Plaza did it for free, and it's hard to beat that price. After dropping the car off there, I decided to unicycle from Nostrand and Avenue M in Brooklyn to 89th and Broadway in Manhattan, breaking the trip with a stop just before the Brooklyn Bridge in order to take care of an errand and also to see some old friends at my previous school, Packer. In all, I unicycled about 20 miles.

After tutoring, I dressed and headed to see John's show. Because I was running a bit late, I took the crosstown bus over to Broadway. I realized during the ride that I hadn't taken a NYC bus in over 5 years. In that time, I didn't forget how to ride a bike, but I did forget how the Metrocard fits into the machine on the bus, but luckily no one mistook me for a tourist just yet. Then I hopped onto the subway for a couple stops down to Lincoln Center. I'm a bit more familiar with subways, and that trip went fine, tho a later one didn't.

After the show, I decided to take the bus back uptown with my in-laws, who were kind enough to attend the performance, too. The bus didn't arrive for 15 minutes, so when it finally showed, it was crowded and hot. This seems to explain why I hadn't taken a city bus in so many years, but actually the explanation is that buses served me no purpose. I could take a subway for long rides when I was in a rush, and I could unicycle any other time. And now that I've taken my first and second buses since Fiona was in diapers, I feel that I can wait at least another ten years before bothering with that again.

Today I had to retrieve my car at Plaza. Because I loved riding over the Bridge, I decided to uni down the West Side Bike Path (always a joy) and head over the Bridge before hopping onto the subway from there. This plan worked great until I took the wrong subway in the wrong direction. I hopped off after only one stop, tho, and eventually made it to Plaza just as the mechanic was finishing up the work.

The GPS had me driving up the West Side Highway, tho I normally head up the FDR Drive across town. I figured, how bad could the WS H'way be. Answer: I almost missed my first student. Traffic crawled, and there was no hope of switching to a better route because, as I remembered, there is none.

I thought I was a City boy at heart, but it turns out that I'm just a bumpkin after all.

Buggy Days are Here Again

...and it's not even summer.

When we were looking at the house last summer, we noticed a lot of bugs and knew that we'd be dealing with the same thing a year later, but we kinda imagined it wouldn't happen till July or August. Nope. Bug Day 2007 was May 10.

When I was at sleepaway camp 20 -- oops, 30 -- years ago, back when the earth was cooler, there used to be a crazy day like this when the insect population increased a hundredfold overnight. It seemed to depend on the weather and some switches that activate bugs' eggs and cocoons. Since camp was up in Maine, the temperature was a bit chillier than it is here in New Paltz, so Bug Day up there was consistently much later, like mid-July. I remember that after Bug Day, it was easy to tell which kids had more severe reactions to mosquitos, like my brother. Looking at his arms and legs, you'd assume that he was an 8-year-old heroin addict. Mosquitos hated me, however, and my bites produced only tiny welts that barely itched. So I'd come home with single-digit blemishes, but John would be covered head to toe with what appeared to be about 200 new nipples. He actually counted one year, and 200 was the number he came up with.

So it's Bug Day all over again here in the Noop, but we still have about 4 warm months left. Oh, joy. And wouldn't ya know it, but I married someone with my brother's type of blood, the kind that the mozzies love. As it happens, our eldest inherited her mom's bad luck with bugs. Of the younger two, one of them is like me, but the other is a total mosquito magnet. I can't remember which one of them it is, but I think we'll know soon enough!

First Fire Followup

I had no idea it was so late when we got back to the fire house after finishing our work at the sorority. I would have guessed we'd been there for 90 minutes, but really it was more like twice that. Lucky for me, my day starts late, so I could sleep late and then take it fairly easy till 3pm. In fact, I'll have a chance to snooze a bit on the ride to Manhattan, so by the time I have my first student, I won't be too tired. I really feel bad for the fire fighters who had to be up and at work just a few hours later. Today will be tough on them, which makes them that much more heroic in my mind.

Perhaps because of this knowledge, I felt guilty about having a chance to sleep late. I had a dream where the rest of the fire fighters were back at the station, cleaning trucks, cleaning hose, and so on, and I wasn't around to help. When I woke up, I briefly remembered that we'd been dismissed and that everyone had left, so I went back to sleep, only to have the same dream. I think what I'll do is head to the firehouse soon so that I can clean off the trucks or help in some other way.

It's worth noting, too, that 4 or 5 firemen from Gardiner were on call until we got back to the station. It didn't occur to me until we returned there that 'on call' means they were actually waiting at the firehouse in case of an emergency elsewhere, but of course it wouldn't be too helpful to have them standing by 6 or 7 miles away. So these guys stayed up till past 3am and had nothing to show for it. Good on ya, Gardiner!

As for the NPFD, we had 20 firefighters at the scene along with 5 trucks. From what I understand, everyone did a great job. No one was hurt, property damage from the fire was minimized, and the entire operation ran smoothly. Considering how few actual structure fires occur in New Paltz, that's pretty impressive. Good on ya, New Paltz!

First Fire (For Real)!

The call came in at 11:48pm...structure fire on N. Manheim. As I headed to the car, I tried to remember just where that is, and realized that it's right off Main, across the street from SUNY. I drove right to the scene. I had a feeling this wasn't just a false alarm, and that was confirmed when I realized that all of our trucks were at the scene.

The building housed a sorority. The fire seems to have started in a 2nd-floor ceiling fan, and luckily it didn't spread too quickly. No one was hurt, and I don't think there was much damage to the personal property of the women in the house. None of the firefighters were hurt, either, tho some of the people who went into the smoky house needed some water to slake their thirst: The chief estimated that the temperature near the fire and smoke was about 400-500 degrees!

Interesting note: Just before we left, the firefighters used a thermal imaging camera to check for hotspots, and my partner found one. We opened a small hole in the ceiling of one of the rooms, and to our surprise, there was a bird's nest inside, along with a dead bird. When she came by to collect some of her things, the woman occupying that room told us that she had heard bird noises for a long time and that the bird's name was Bob. I guess that would be Shishka Bob now.

We were back at the firehouse by 2:45 am, and after a little cleanup, we left about a half hour later; I was home by 3:20. My clothes are a little whiffy but not too bad.

Driving Under the Influence (of Testosterone)

While driving back from Manhattan this evening, I didn't concede to an aggressive driver; later, he swerved in front of me and decelerated suddenly before switching back to the right lane and taking the exit. I reflected on how relaxed I've become while seated behind the wheel. Where once I might have gotten angry at that doofus, I merely reminded myself that I'll be outliving him by decades. He who laughs last, etc.

In my 20s and early 30s, I was more aggressive on the road. My proudest achievement was being honked at by Israeli taxi drivers. For the most part, when I was behind the wheel, I drove fast. Occasionally I pulled ahead of slowpokes in the fast lane and then let my car slow down until they switched to the lane they belonged in. It was more about righting a wrong than driving dangerously, but I don't do that anymore. I am totally blase these days. If I'm in a rush, I'll drive speed limit + 9 mph. If not, I'll stick to the limit or, if no one is behind me, I'll go slower. I usually drive the highway at 55-60 mph. I no longer drive under the influence of testosterone.

I was thinking about when this started, and it seems to have coincided (not coincidentally) with our move to New Paltz. Life is a lot calmer up here for us, and drivers are generally much more considerate. Yet another reason to leave life in the big city.

April Showers

In mid-April, New Paltz was hit by a nor'easter. I took a few photos to help you understand some of the worst flooding New Paltz has seen in at least 30 years.

Springtown Road gets flooded every year or so, but 2007's flooding was the worst since the 1950s, according to one woman whose basement we un-flooded. The water was so high that the firetrucks hadn't been able to make it there for three days. Normally we would have taken the Wallkill Bridge to get to this area, but the bridge was closed because the area on the other side of it was under 10 inches of water. [Notice in the photo how the road just disappears on the other side of the bridge into a wide lake.]

Most basements in this area have sump pumps that can deal with some flooding, but occasionally the pumps get overwhelmed by the volume of incoming water. One man came home from a trip to Arizona to find two feet of water in his concrete basement even tho the surrounding area was pretty dry. Sometimes, people with dirt-floor basements have water seep up thru the ground as high as the water level outside their homes. We visited a home where water had reached nearly up to the front door even tho the house sat about two feet above the ground. Helpful hint when buying a home: Avoid street names like Springtown Road, Water Street, or Sump-Pump Alley.

My Amazing Musical Brother

My brother, John, is an amazing pianist and composer. He's currently the composer for all new music for the children's group The Paper Bag Players, and he's also their pianist. He goes on the road with them for about 250 shows a year! John has also composed music for ballets and other performance pieces, and on May 9 (his b'day!), he's having 4 of his pieces performed at Merkin Hall in NYC, which is an awesome way to spend your birthday.

Check out his blog -- I've linked it to mine. He's got many of his short pieces attached to the blog, so you can listen to some of his best music there.

Attention Surplus Disorder

How can someone drive a coach for a living? I can understand how people can drive NYC buses; they have lots of stopping and starting, and while that's stressful, it certainly keeps you awake!

Those drives from New Paltz to Manhattan are only 80 miles of smooth sailing, yet they take a lot out of me. I often arrive home exhausted. It's hard for me to concentrate that long. My mind tends to drift. I find myself looking around to see how the leaves look or to notice for the first time some derelict building that's rotting away, just off the road. But the Trailways drivers who take me to and from Manhattan four days a week... They're amazing. They never take their eyes off the road, and they (almost) never have side conversations. They just drive. And if I had to do that day after day, it would just drive me crazy.

Some people have difficulty paying attention to one thing. If this is serious enough, it can get labeled as Attention Deficit Disorder. But these coach drivers must be tested. The company has to look for people who can focus on one thing for hours on end. They need people who suffer from Attention Surplus Disorder.

You heard it here first!

5/8/07 update: OK, maybe you didn't hear it here first. I googled 'attention surplus disorder' and got 676 hits. The phrase has been along for at least five years. You heard it here 677th!

Uni Sumo and the Linkerpink

Two Sundays ago, I sprained a pinky during a bout of unicycle sumo wrestling.

Uni sumo is a pretty unusual sport, but my injury was fairly pedestrian. While tousling with an excellent rider from Austria, I felt a twinge as we tried to push each other out of the ring. I might have stopped then, but instead we had one or two more skirmishes because the adrenaline rush in my brain overpowered the pain in my hand. That ache kicked in later, right at the base of my left pinky knuckle.

It can't have hurt as much as the Dutch guy who had his left pinky amputated by his kidnappers in late 1989. That poor guy's 'linkerpink' was sent to his family as proof that he was still alive. I've always loved the word linkerpink.

My linkerpink hurt for a few days before I took action. I did take inaction right away, however: I stopped using the hand as much as I could and avoided anything that required a left pinky; thankfully the only things that need this particular digit are the letters q, a, and z. A few days later, however, the pain hadn't abated, so I buddy-wrapped my linkerpink to my ring finger. That helped, but since I didn't think to get gauze and special tape, I just used Band-Aids, and those took a toll
on the underlying skin.

Today I called my doctor at 8:30, and by 9:15, I was in his office. Tho he guessed it was simply a sprained ligament, he sent me for x-rays just in case. By 10:40, he was telling me that the x-rays had exonerated my sumo partner: There was no broken bone.

I love that I can get this level of care so quickly and cheaply. I was done in 90 minutes after seeing a radiologist once and my doctor twice, all for a $5 copay. Go New Paltz Family Practice.

Frog Spotted on Main St

New Paltz is a small version of some of the cooler nabes of NYC. We have coffee bars, tattoo parlors, tchotchke vendors, antique stores, and head shops (3 of 'em!). Main St is a combination of Columbus Ave and Greenwich Village. But one thing is conspicuously absent: conspicuous consumption.

Yes, New Paltz has its share of Beamers, Benzes and Jags, but those mostly return to their Upper West and -East Side garages by Sunday night when the second-homers return to Manhattan. People don't walk the narrow sidewalks of New Paltz decked out in the latest designer duds; we're more likely to see students on streetcorners sporting sweatpants and sneakers. So it came as a shock to me when I spotted a young man pushing an $800 stroller past the bus station today. That Frog

When we lived in Manhattan, we began to see Frogs and Geckos as soon as they came to this country. We first spotted them when stores just had prototypes and were taking orders months in advance. I was surprised how popular these strollers became, given their price and impracticality: they don't fold up small enough to fit on a bus or subway, so basically they're only meant to allow rich people's babysitters to take Dakota or Max for a stroll to Barnes & Noble.

Now, I don't have anything against rich people. It's the impracticality of these strollers that kills me. Maybe it's because I used to go thru strollers quickly, but if you added all of the strollers we had over the past 11 years, they still wouldn't add up to $800. Weirder still is that New Paltz doesn't have stroller-friendly sidewalks. The main shopping and walking areas tend to be narrow and hilly. In our 8 months in New Paltz, I've only seen a kid in a stroller two or three other times. But spring is upon us and summer isn't far away. Maybe we'll be seeing more of these schmancy parambulators in the months to come.