Pained on Wednesday, drained on Thursday. I couldn't have picked a better time to get sick. I was able to see the doctor, have a blood test, and start a monthlong course of antibiotics all within 3 hours, and since the kids are out of school and I'm not seeing students (who are all on vaca), I could sleep till 9 or 10 every morning. And voila! I'm feeling almost like new. I actually ran when the phone rang yesterday and took the stairs two-at-a-time today. My knee still locks up a bit, but moving it slowly and avoiding weird sitting positions basically keeps me feeling good.
Part of my convalescence has also involved doing normal things. Since Lyme (which I'm assuming this is) has symptoms that include irritability, it's been important to avoid sulking or doing lots of nothing. We put up shelves yesterday (ok, I helped Shirra put them up), I broke up some ice (well, actually that was mostly a total failure, but at least I got out), and I took Fiona to a friend's house and ended up having a lovely chat with the folks. Then today, we took a trip to the village to check out a restaurant in Water Street Market. The food was fine, and we had a good time thanks to a Mad Libs-style app that I downloaded for my iPhone.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Fireman No More
I resigned from the fire department. I was upset about having to do so, but the minuses easily outweighed the pluses.
I joined the department in December of 2006, so I resigned almost exactly 3 years after joining. In the interim, I answered over 550 calls and helped deal with a few house fires, a handful of car accidents, two cats-in-trees, and many many false alarms at the university (and a few elsewhere). Since joining, I also started collecting items related to fire fighting, including patches of local departments as well as many different kinds of antiques (old helmets, extinguishers, pins, and even artwork). All of that's going to eBay now, with the exception of my own badge (#952, on the right side of the photo). I think I have a few hundred dollars worth of stuff - maybe close to $1000.
I loved belonging to our department. I loved helping our community, and my favorite part of it was during Fire Prevention Week, when we visit all of the local schools and day-cares to teach the kids about fire safety and to introduce the little ones to a fire fighter in gear. I also liked being known as a fireman, which carries a certain panache that made me feel proud.
I wish I could have been more helpful to the department. I had trouble remembering where some important items were on the trucks, and only in recent months did I begin to feel like I knew where most of it was. Most likely this was due to my schedule: Because I could almost never be in New Paltz during Monday night training sessions, it took me much longer to learn my way around the trucks. In addition, I didn't get to practice the skills necessary to put out fires or extricate drivers, so most of what I did on a scene was the sort of grunt work that anyone could do. Occasionally I was of some value to the NPFD, but I wish I could have been even more helpful, even more often.
My first full year, I answered about 250 calls. Last year, the number was about 170. The final tally for '09 was 130. A large part of the decline came from my decision not to rush to the calls that came in from SUNY New Paltz. That boy called wolf far too often for my tastes. It didn't help that we live nearly 4 miles (and almost 10 minutes) from our fire house.
I fully support our fire department and hope that they get the funding for the upgraded fire house that's in the works. Maybe if my schedule (and a few other things) change, I can return, but for the next few years, I would count that out.
I joined the department in December of 2006, so I resigned almost exactly 3 years after joining. In the interim, I answered over 550 calls and helped deal with a few house fires, a handful of car accidents, two cats-in-trees, and many many false alarms at the university (and a few elsewhere). Since joining, I also started collecting items related to fire fighting, including patches of local departments as well as many different kinds of antiques (old helmets, extinguishers, pins, and even artwork). All of that's going to eBay now, with the exception of my own badge (#952, on the right side of the photo). I think I have a few hundred dollars worth of stuff - maybe close to $1000.
I loved belonging to our department. I loved helping our community, and my favorite part of it was during Fire Prevention Week, when we visit all of the local schools and day-cares to teach the kids about fire safety and to introduce the little ones to a fire fighter in gear. I also liked being known as a fireman, which carries a certain panache that made me feel proud.
I wish I could have been more helpful to the department. I had trouble remembering where some important items were on the trucks, and only in recent months did I begin to feel like I knew where most of it was. Most likely this was due to my schedule: Because I could almost never be in New Paltz during Monday night training sessions, it took me much longer to learn my way around the trucks. In addition, I didn't get to practice the skills necessary to put out fires or extricate drivers, so most of what I did on a scene was the sort of grunt work that anyone could do. Occasionally I was of some value to the NPFD, but I wish I could have been even more helpful, even more often.
My first full year, I answered about 250 calls. Last year, the number was about 170. The final tally for '09 was 130. A large part of the decline came from my decision not to rush to the calls that came in from SUNY New Paltz. That boy called wolf far too often for my tastes. It didn't help that we live nearly 4 miles (and almost 10 minutes) from our fire house.
I fully support our fire department and hope that they get the funding for the upgraded fire house that's in the works. Maybe if my schedule (and a few other things) change, I can return, but for the next few years, I would count that out.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
LYME?
All of a sudden two days ago, my right knee was swollen and painful to move. Initially I was hopping around, but within one day it went from annoying to almost debilitating. To my delight, my orthopedic surgeon (who'd helped with my left knee some months ago) had time to see me today. He immediately notified me that he would be draining the fluid (and that there was a lot of it) and that I might need a cortisone shot.
The weird thing about the onset of this pain and swelling was that there was no obvious cause: no painful fall, no bad twist, no overexertion. It made no sense. Then the doc mentioned that when kids come in with my symptoms, it's usually Lyme disease. I looked it up on Wikipedia, and sure enough, everything fit. The disease can come on suddenly and produces the painful swelling as well as a few symptoms I could also attest to, namely fatigue and mild irritability. Then I remembered that about six weeks ago, I was bitten by a deer tick.
We decided that the chance that I have Lyme is pretty high. Because of that, and because cortisone and Lyme don't usually mix, the only treatment for today was the fluid drainage. The syringe is huge, as is the needle, but they barely hurt going in, and the swelling and pain were mostly gone by the time they came out.After seeing Maeve at school for a little pre-winter-break party, I went for a blood test and picked up my pills. I'll know the results of the test pretty soon, and in the meantime, just to be on the safe side, I'm on amoxicillin 4 times a day (for a month). Then I came home and took another nap.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Cheewawa is Down, but not for the Full 10-Count
My beloved smart car nearly died last Thursday. I had just dropped Fiona off at the middle school and was on my way back home when the car suddenly lurched. The car behaved normally for a few more turns and then repeated its lurching, shifting between 1st and 2nd gear fairly violently. I turned the car off and on as a possible 'fix' to the problem: no luck; in fact, it got worse. I quickly considered where I could park the car without hindering traffic and where a tow truck could easily pick up the car. Eventually, thanks to the slope of the hill, the car glided into a parking lot and I pushed it into a spot.
Several frustrating phone calls later, I had discovered that my extended warranty company only covers towage up to $300 (better than the $100 that an earlier operator had told me). Still, because the car had to be towed nearly 90 miles, the charge would be over $500, leaving me responsible for the overage. When I called the tow company themselves, the dispatcher suggested Triple-A, since they have a very good policy for towing. Sure enough, the entire trip into and back from NYC was covered, with me responsible only for about $10 in tolls.
More frustrating, tho, was to discover only yesterday that the extended warranty somehow doesn't cover the problem with my car, which resided in something connected to the transmission called the switch plate. This is a piece of metal that was found to be too weak in the 2008 smart cars (like mine) and was, in the 2009 models, replaced. In other words, this is a known problem. It's a rare one, tho, and since I drive like a granny, the problem points not to my driving style but to the defect in the mechanism.
The good news is that the manager of smart center Manhattan is on my side. He was stunned that I was being forced to pay for the repair of a part that should not have broken and which is just a few steps above being recalled. He phoned the company and got them to shoulder a third of the cost, or about $300. I pick up the car later today. I hope it lasts at least another 65,000 miles before any other major repairs.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
The Plowman Cometh
We got a call at 7 am: AJ, our plowman, was experiencing a delay. Apparently there was something wrong with his truck.
Since school had been canceled for the day, this wasn't a big issue. Eventually he'd come to our rescue, and until then, we could hang out at home with some hot chocolate and a dog who loves snow. Emmett and Maeve went sledding and found other fun things to do outside. Fiona got an extra two hours of sleep. On the minus side:
1. Jack doesn't actually like the snow. He's ok with it, but unlike one of his old friends, he doesn't dig himself into a tunnel or galavant about in the fluffy white stuff. He just lies down in it long enough to get wet. Then he comes back in and gets everything else wet. And when he goes for a walk, he'll get everything wetter still.
2. I needed to be in Manhattan by noon. This meant leaving around 9:45 just to leave myself some extra time. By 9:00, we hadn't seen or heard from AJ, so I gave him a call. His truck was back in action (phew) and he'd be by as soon as he could.
Sure enough, he arrived just after I'd dug out my little Cheewawa from its surrounding snow. Shirra and I also spent a half hour cleaning out some of the shed's overhang so that I have my cosy little place to park the tiny car. When AJ arrived, I hopped into the Smart and drove (carefully!) down the road behind him. It was lucky that he had to leave, too, because I got stuck just before our road merges with Rte 32, and he pushed me out of trouble.
I made it to Manhattan with no time to spare, parked in a spot only a Smart can fit into, and called the day a success. Now I just have to hope that the road doesn't freeze over by the time I get home tonight.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Thanksgiving 09
For the 2nd time in our four Novembers in New Paltz, we had Thanksgiving up at our house. Two years ago, we had a less-coordinated effort that still came off pretty well but was nowhere near as much fun as this go-round. It helped that we added "Beatles Rock Band" to the festivities, in keeping with the early settlers and their native American benefactors who, as we all learned in social studies class, played with beetles and rocks and wore (head)bands. Maybe not, but still, I strongly recommend Rock Band for all family situations, funerals included.
Before and after the music, there was a meal. 14 people filled our smallish dining room, requiring us to tilt the table 45 degrees (that is to say, it was diagonal) and to add side tables on either end, trapping window-side guests. Shirra cooked nearly everything we ate for the dinner -- and all of it was delicious -- tho all of the groups of guests contributed comestibles. My brother and his wife favored us with some amazing items from Trader Joe's, and my mom made two tasty sweet potato pies; Shirra's brother and his wife toted along some string beans for the meal as well as some crudite and dips. I ate more in that afternoon than in any three other days of the year.
THE BALLOONS. THOSE FRIGGIN' BALLOONS
And once again, we avoided NYC. Thanks to the circus that the balloon-inflation has turned into, there are sidewalk closures, late-night noise, and a few other hassles that easily outweigh the mild thrill of seeing the huge balloons being blown up just outside my old block. When I was a kid, it was bad enough that John and I would hear marching bands warming up at 6am outside our window (14 floors below), but in recent years, people have come out in droves much as they do for the lighting of the huge Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. The difference is that at least with the tree, what little thrill there is, it's quickly over -- basically as soon as the tree is lit up for the first time. But with the balloons, people mill past all day as if they're excited about watching helium slowly fill up a large piece of fabric. In fact, seeing Dora the Explorer with only her head and limbs inflated might be quite distressing to a little kid and is certainly pretty boring to anyone else.
I guess that people think it's cool to see the balloons in their pre-parade state as if they're catching a dress rehearsal of a big musical, but as I know from personal experience, there is quite a difference between seeing Sweeny Todd before opening night and glimpsing a flaccid Pillsbury Doughboy.
Before and after the music, there was a meal. 14 people filled our smallish dining room, requiring us to tilt the table 45 degrees (that is to say, it was diagonal) and to add side tables on either end, trapping window-side guests. Shirra cooked nearly everything we ate for the dinner -- and all of it was delicious -- tho all of the groups of guests contributed comestibles. My brother and his wife favored us with some amazing items from Trader Joe's, and my mom made two tasty sweet potato pies; Shirra's brother and his wife toted along some string beans for the meal as well as some crudite and dips. I ate more in that afternoon than in any three other days of the year.
THE BALLOONS. THOSE FRIGGIN' BALLOONS
And once again, we avoided NYC. Thanks to the circus that the balloon-inflation has turned into, there are sidewalk closures, late-night noise, and a few other hassles that easily outweigh the mild thrill of seeing the huge balloons being blown up just outside my old block. When I was a kid, it was bad enough that John and I would hear marching bands warming up at 6am outside our window (14 floors below), but in recent years, people have come out in droves much as they do for the lighting of the huge Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. The difference is that at least with the tree, what little thrill there is, it's quickly over -- basically as soon as the tree is lit up for the first time. But with the balloons, people mill past all day as if they're excited about watching helium slowly fill up a large piece of fabric. In fact, seeing Dora the Explorer with only her head and limbs inflated might be quite distressing to a little kid and is certainly pretty boring to anyone else.
I guess that people think it's cool to see the balloons in their pre-parade state as if they're catching a dress rehearsal of a big musical, but as I know from personal experience, there is quite a difference between seeing Sweeny Todd before opening night and glimpsing a flaccid Pillsbury Doughboy.
Monday, November 02, 2009
Halloween: NYC vs NP
This past weekend was Halloween, and for our third year, we joined in the Halloween parade down Main Street. This year, Maeve was dressed as a Devil Fairy; Emmett went as Percy Jackson, and Fiona was a Shadow Hunter from the Mortal Instruments series. For the 2nd year, I dressed as a headless giant holding his own head. The weather mostly cooperated, tho there were a few moments of drizzle.
About 5,000 people were in attendance as usual; people come from other towns just to strut their stuff down the strip and to marvel at the ingenuity of others. I particularly enjoyed seeing the people who went as home-made Tetris pieces and the man who dressed as Super Mario.
Luxury apartment buildings have their perks, but there are unexpected down sides. My mother's building, for example, was a great place to celebrate Halloween when my brother and I were kids. Back then, there were many children in the building, and it could take ages to get to all of the apartments even after the building instituted the sign-up sheets in the elevators. The sheets meant that trick-or-treaters could quickly decide which floors to hit and in what order, but there was still the delay caused by the glut of costumed kids patrolling for candy. But as apartment prices began escalating, the building underwent a change in its occupants. Once it was a place for young upper middle class families, but as the prices for apartments shot past a million dollars back in the '90s, the new buyers needed more money than a typical young doctor, lawyer, or pair of teachers could afford. Many of the dwellers stayed in their apartments, as my mother has done, and those who moved out were replaced by ultra-wealthy folks whose children, for the most part, were already teenagers or had already grown up. When I was young, the A/B elevator used to have at least a dozen kids living in 5 or 6 apartments. The sign-up sheet usually boasted at least as many apartments giving away candy. These days, of the 29 apartments in that line, there is currently only one apartment housing any children; it happens to have three, tho one or two of them might be too old for dressing up and seeking candy. In a few years, the kids in this apartment will grow up, and unless some new kids move in on that side of the building, there will be no children on the A/B line. The sign-up sheet this year was all but blank -- only two apartments were taking trick-or-treaters. I guess there was little harm in that: the entire building doesn't have enough school-age inhabitants to fill a small school bus.
Halloween is yet another reason to move to New Paltz. And don't even get me started on how the Macy*s Day parade has ruined Thanksgiving for me. That's a story for another blog.
About 5,000 people were in attendance as usual; people come from other towns just to strut their stuff down the strip and to marvel at the ingenuity of others. I particularly enjoyed seeing the people who went as home-made Tetris pieces and the man who dressed as Super Mario.
Luxury apartment buildings have their perks, but there are unexpected down sides. My mother's building, for example, was a great place to celebrate Halloween when my brother and I were kids. Back then, there were many children in the building, and it could take ages to get to all of the apartments even after the building instituted the sign-up sheets in the elevators. The sheets meant that trick-or-treaters could quickly decide which floors to hit and in what order, but there was still the delay caused by the glut of costumed kids patrolling for candy. But as apartment prices began escalating, the building underwent a change in its occupants. Once it was a place for young upper middle class families, but as the prices for apartments shot past a million dollars back in the '90s, the new buyers needed more money than a typical young doctor, lawyer, or pair of teachers could afford. Many of the dwellers stayed in their apartments, as my mother has done, and those who moved out were replaced by ultra-wealthy folks whose children, for the most part, were already teenagers or had already grown up. When I was young, the A/B elevator used to have at least a dozen kids living in 5 or 6 apartments. The sign-up sheet usually boasted at least as many apartments giving away candy. These days, of the 29 apartments in that line, there is currently only one apartment housing any children; it happens to have three, tho one or two of them might be too old for dressing up and seeking candy. In a few years, the kids in this apartment will grow up, and unless some new kids move in on that side of the building, there will be no children on the A/B line. The sign-up sheet this year was all but blank -- only two apartments were taking trick-or-treaters. I guess there was little harm in that: the entire building doesn't have enough school-age inhabitants to fill a small school bus.
Halloween is yet another reason to move to New Paltz. And don't even get me started on how the Macy*s Day parade has ruined Thanksgiving for me. That's a story for another blog.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
How NOT to Tow a Car
We packed up the soccer kids into Shirra's minivan and started down the driveway. The car felt odd; I got out to inspect, but I knew what it was before I'd looked: The car had a massively flat tire. It wasn't just a big soggy. By the time we noticed it, the tire was practically off the rim.
Luckily we've always belonged to AAA. I sent Shirra off in my Aztek and phoned for roadside assistance. Within an hour (ok, exactly 59 minutes later), the tow truck had arrived. The driver phoned me from the bottom of the hill. We decided that he'd drive past the car, turn around, drive past again (this time facing the right way), and then put the minivan onto his flatbed so that he could tow it into town. Then his truck got stuck in the muck.
He tried to rescue himself, to no avail.
So he called for backup. As I write this, another truck is en route from Beacon. It's going to reverse itself in our neighbor's driveway (nearly a quarter mile away), back up thru the curve, and pull my guy out. From that point, it should all go as planned.
Luckily we've always belonged to AAA. I sent Shirra off in my Aztek and phoned for roadside assistance. Within an hour (ok, exactly 59 minutes later), the tow truck had arrived. The driver phoned me from the bottom of the hill. We decided that he'd drive past the car, turn around, drive past again (this time facing the right way), and then put the minivan onto his flatbed so that he could tow it into town. Then his truck got stuck in the muck.
He tried to rescue himself, to no avail.
So he called for backup. As I write this, another truck is en route from Beacon. It's going to reverse itself in our neighbor's driveway (nearly a quarter mile away), back up thru the curve, and pull my guy out. From that point, it should all go as planned.
Monday, October 19, 2009
I Tooted in Anger
Maeve asked me to drive her to school today as a little treat. She seems to enjoy the bus, but we always have fun singing on our way to school, and she loves sitting beside me in the little Smart Car. When we got to the school, I decided to drive in the equivalent of the supermarket fast lane. This is an area around the right side of the building with a lollipop turn: You drop off your kid and, seconds later, drive off. It's only one lane wide and is closed off with a curb on both sides.
The woman in the minivan in front of me let her kid out of the door. Then another kid got out. Then a third. I was beginning to expect some clowns to step out of the car next. The clown who exited the car turned out to be the mom. She left the vehicle, chatted with a teacher, and then noticed something one of the kids had left in the car. She went back to the car, retrieved the item, and went into the building to give it to the kid. On her way back to the car, she talked some more to one of her kids and made a quick appointment with a passing teacher. Meanwhile, since we were kept from leaving, the queue was getting so long that cars were starting to have difficulty entering in order to drop off other kids.
Finally, Clown Mom started walking back around her car to get in. Just to make sure that she didn't get any ideas about going back to run a few more errands, I gave my car a little toot. As she started to get into her car, I hear her tell the teacher, "I think he must have bumped his horn by accident." Nope. And you're lucky this wasn't happening in Manhattan, Clown. I would have been sitting on that horn, and I wouldn't have waited quite so long.
The woman in the minivan in front of me let her kid out of the door. Then another kid got out. Then a third. I was beginning to expect some clowns to step out of the car next. The clown who exited the car turned out to be the mom. She left the vehicle, chatted with a teacher, and then noticed something one of the kids had left in the car. She went back to the car, retrieved the item, and went into the building to give it to the kid. On her way back to the car, she talked some more to one of her kids and made a quick appointment with a passing teacher. Meanwhile, since we were kept from leaving, the queue was getting so long that cars were starting to have difficulty entering in order to drop off other kids.
Finally, Clown Mom started walking back around her car to get in. Just to make sure that she didn't get any ideas about going back to run a few more errands, I gave my car a little toot. As she started to get into her car, I hear her tell the teacher, "I think he must have bumped his horn by accident." Nope. And you're lucky this wasn't happening in Manhattan, Clown. I would have been sitting on that horn, and I wouldn't have waited quite so long.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Food Review: The Bakery
Just off Main Street, down North Front St and next to one of the two bike shops in New Paltz, sits a free-standing building aptly named The Bakery. It's grown to a pretty large building these days; apparently it used to be quite cosy. According to one reviewer, there was a time when it could only seat 5 patrons. These days there is a fairly spacious downstairs area for placing orders and grabbing the local and state newspapers. Thru the rear door is a lovely little outside eating area. Upstairs are tables for several dozen customers as well as a play area for toddlers. It's a wonderful location, and in many ways it's the heart of New Paltz. The only things not working for The Bakery, it's sad to report, are the coffee and the food.
Minor quibbles, I know. A bakery used to be known as a place to get a tasty croissant, some pain au chocolat, or a cookie or cake. And this place has them all. There are also soups, salads, sandwiches, and other comestibles, as well as quite a few drink choices such as tea and chai. But lately the quality, which seems always to have been suspiciously low, has gone down. Call it a victim of the current economic trend, but when times get tough, some bakeries tough it out by raising prices or by purchasing less expensive ingredients. The Bakery seems to have opted for choice 2.
When we moved to New Paltz just over three years ago, we were thrilled to find a convenient local bakery, and when Shirra opened her store across the street from it, we thought that the gods were smiling upon us. Shirra lamented early on that the coffee was substandard, so she trekked a few yards up the hill to *$$ rather than saving money with The Bakery's weak and off-putting version. Shortly after that, however, we got a surprise in one of our toilets that put the kibosh on The Bakery for food, too.
One fall morning, one of the kids called Shirra to the bathroom. The material in the toilet was inhumanly green. We'd seen this once before and chalked it up to someone eating lots of veggies, but this time it was like something that had come out of a tube of green paint. And that's when Shirra remembered that the kids had been eating one of their favorite glazed yummies at The Bakery the day before. The green-hued poop earned its colors from a witch cupcake. If you're using so much dye in your food that a person shits grass-green, it's time to alter your formula. Since that wasn't happening, we did the next best thing: We altered our formula. Now, if the kids want baked goods, Shirra makes them herself or buys them at Muddy Cup. Now that's a great place for an afternoon snack!
Minor quibbles, I know. A bakery used to be known as a place to get a tasty croissant, some pain au chocolat, or a cookie or cake. And this place has them all. There are also soups, salads, sandwiches, and other comestibles, as well as quite a few drink choices such as tea and chai. But lately the quality, which seems always to have been suspiciously low, has gone down. Call it a victim of the current economic trend, but when times get tough, some bakeries tough it out by raising prices or by purchasing less expensive ingredients. The Bakery seems to have opted for choice 2.
When we moved to New Paltz just over three years ago, we were thrilled to find a convenient local bakery, and when Shirra opened her store across the street from it, we thought that the gods were smiling upon us. Shirra lamented early on that the coffee was substandard, so she trekked a few yards up the hill to *$$ rather than saving money with The Bakery's weak and off-putting version. Shortly after that, however, we got a surprise in one of our toilets that put the kibosh on The Bakery for food, too.
One fall morning, one of the kids called Shirra to the bathroom. The material in the toilet was inhumanly green. We'd seen this once before and chalked it up to someone eating lots of veggies, but this time it was like something that had come out of a tube of green paint. And that's when Shirra remembered that the kids had been eating one of their favorite glazed yummies at The Bakery the day before. The green-hued poop earned its colors from a witch cupcake. If you're using so much dye in your food that a person shits grass-green, it's time to alter your formula. Since that wasn't happening, we did the next best thing: We altered our formula. Now, if the kids want baked goods, Shirra makes them herself or buys them at Muddy Cup. Now that's a great place for an afternoon snack!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Very Impressed with the Pigeons of NYC
On Sunday, I arrived back at my car, parked for 24 hours on 81st St and Columbus, across from the Planetarium. The car had been hit by 5 pigeons. 4 managed to score on the glass top of the car, but one enterprising pigeon got extra points for landing some guano right on the driver's side door handle. Wow. What really amazed me is that the nearest tree branch is at least 50 feet above. Given the size of the car, these birds pulled off the NASA equivalent of landing an unmanned rocket on the moon.
I planned to wash the car the next morning but forgot and then ran out of time. Good thing: The next day, the car had been hit a few more times. Kudos to the birds that hit the rear part of the car -- that thing is almost perfectly perpendicular to their location. The winning strike goes to the bird that managed to land a poop right on my rear window decal. This made it extra tricky to clean, since the decal can't withstand much scrubbing.
Hats off to the pigeons of New York City. On second thought, keep your hat on, just in case.
I planned to wash the car the next morning but forgot and then ran out of time. Good thing: The next day, the car had been hit a few more times. Kudos to the birds that hit the rear part of the car -- that thing is almost perfectly perpendicular to their location. The winning strike goes to the bird that managed to land a poop right on my rear window decal. This made it extra tricky to clean, since the decal can't withstand much scrubbing.
Hats off to the pigeons of New York City. On second thought, keep your hat on, just in case.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
80 Miles on a Unicycle
This post isn't about New Paltz... except that the distance I rode is almost exactly the same as my daily (one-way) commute to Manhattan. So theoretically I could ride to work. Not gonna happen.
I set out this past Sunday to ride my 2nd full Century. I made it 80% of the way.
I rode my only complete Century in 2003. Last year, I had 89 miles under my belt when I had to stop due to a really bad case of saddle soreness. Basically my cheeks looked like Kris Kringle's. I was determined not to let that happen again.
This ride starts at 6 am at the northern end of Central Park, but I took off earlier than that in order to avoid the rush and mainly to give myself a better chance of finishing by 6 pm, when the ride comes to an official end.
AVOIDING DIAPER RASH
I donned two pairs of padded cycle shorts and slathered on enough chamois butter for three people. I reapplied the butter thruout the day, and as a result, I suffered no friction pain during or after the ride. I do, however, have a better understanding of the term 'numbnuts.'
AVOIDING SUNBURN
It was a lovely sunny day -- too lovely, in fact, which is how I found myself terribly dehydrated midway thru -- so I was glad that I'd remembered sun block and that the stuff still worked. I applied some when the sun finally showed up at about 7:30 and then again a few hours later. I am not sure how much sunlight can filter thru the slats of my helmet, but I didn't want to end up looking like a zebra-head.
30 MILES in 3 HOURS
That's not a quick pace, but including breaks, and given how little training and general riding I'd done in the previous 12 months, I was happy with how things started for me. My breaks totaled about 40 minutes by mile 30, but while I was on the unicycle, I had been maintaining a 13.1-mph pace, which is quite fast given the frequent slow-downs and stops along this ride. I mainly stayed in high gear this time since last year's ride produced a catastrophic fall when the unicycle didn't shift gears properly, pretty much ending my ride (along with the raw bum cheeks).
I figured that I had 9 hours to complete the next 70 miles, an easy enough task. I'd felt good riding the 13 miles from my mom's apartment building (81st St off Central Park, Manhattan) to rest stop #1 (Prospect Park, Brooklyn). I felt pretty good riding from there to rest stop #2, 17 miles later. Unfortunately, the ride organizers had shortened the space between stops #2 and #3 without adding an addition stop between #3 and #4. This meant that riders had a 30-mile gap before the next big stop (Kissena Park, Queens). And after another hour of riding, I didn't think I'd ever make it that far.
WINDED and DEHYDRATED
It didn't help that we had a strong breeze blowing in our faces for most of the Queens segment of the ride. The bikers complained about it, too, but they acknowledged that I probably had it worse because my sitting position (on a unicycle) makes me much less aerodynamic than they are. There were plenty of times where, because of the wind and my exhaustion, I rode in low gear at about 6-8 miles an hour.
At some point I finally realized that my muscles were screaming for more water and more electrolytes, but at the time I just felt like I had lost all of my energy. When it dawned on me that I was dehydrated, I started drinking a lot more from my backpack hydration system, nearly emptying its recently-replenished 70-oz bladder. This meant that from that point on, I frequently had to stop in order to empty my own (less-than-70 oz) bladder, and since the organizers had forgotten to include even one portable toilet between rest stops, I invented quite a few of my own. Sorry, Queens.
I stopped frequently between mile 40 and mile 50, and pretty soon I had most of the gas back in my proverbial tank. During my recovery period of about two hours, I wasn't able to maintain more than 12 mph and at some points had to put the uni into low gear, but after about two hours, I was back to about 80% strength, able to keep up with some of the slower-paced bikers for long stretches.
LOST
At this point, it actually helped that I got lost. I had been riding with a pack of about 20 bikers. Whenever we came to a busy intersection, I managed to weave thru the traffic before the rest of my pack; I've been good at reading traffic ever since I began serious uni commuting 10 years ago. The peloton would pass me between stop lights, and then I'd catch up to them, zig and zag thru the cars, and get ahead once more. At about mile 50, I was feeling strong, and as I approached the group waiting for the light, I jokingly announced, "I'm making my move!" as I crossed against the light once again. By the time I looked back, I realized that I'd missed a turn (probably at that light). I was either going to have to find my way back to the course (impossible, since I didn't have a map), return to the spot where I'd gone off course (perhaps adding an additional mile to my ride), or I could ride straight to Kissena Park (rest stop #3), which I discovered was just two miles away. I opted to shorten this part of my ride, and I arrived at the 60-mile rest stop after riding just 53 miles. It was about 11:30 am.
I was more than halfway thru the 100-mile mark in under half the time, but I began to admit to other riders that it was very unlikely that I'd complete the full Century. Pathetically, I managed only 27 more miles in the remaining 4.5 hours.
FINAL REST STOP and the SILLY BRIDGE
After Kissena Park, I set out for the Astoria Park rest stop about 20 miles away. I was feeling better thanks to all the water and electrolytes I was consuming, but I still needed to take breaks just to get some blood flow back into my groin. Because of the long pauses I'd had to take earlier on, I arrived at the final stop -- mile 81 or so for everyone else, mile 74 for me -- too late to have a good shot at finishing 100 miles by 6 pm. I chatted with two guys who were riding a tandem (same ratio of rider to wheel as me, I pointed out, but apparently they still had an easier time), and eventually we all headed off.
This last little stretch (of about 5 miles) stupidly involves a bridge that has an incomplete biking section which forces riders to carry their cycles up and down several series of steps. I have no idea why Transportation Alternatives continues to use this bridge on the route, but it was the final nail in the coffin for my Century chances since it slowed us all down as, like little ants carrying grasshoppers to the anthill, we all made our way across the span. Last year it happened to be worse -- there were more of us trying to cross at the time -- but it still took over 10 minutes to get across about a mile of space. I arrived at the finish line, having ridden 78 miles, at 5 pm. I briefly considered pedaling around the park at least once more, to add 5 miles to my trip, but I decided to call it a day and head back to my car, 2+ miles away. It wasn't 100 miles, but I was happy with the ride, especially considering my lack of preparation, the heavy wind for about 20 miles, and my ability to fight back after that dehydration.
AFTERMATH
I took a strong hot shower (my mom's apartment building has firehouse-power water pipes thanks to old plumbing) and remembered that same experience last year when I could barely tolerate even the coolest mild drip on my ruby-red cheeks. Soon I was driving back to New Paltz, feeling fine. Later that night, I awoke with a weird pain in my wonky left knee, but it went away by the following morning. I have only one muscle that's even slightly sore: my left bicep (!) from holding the extention on my uni. For the first time after a ride over 80 miles, I was able to ride a unicycle the next day.
I set out this past Sunday to ride my 2nd full Century. I made it 80% of the way.
I rode my only complete Century in 2003. Last year, I had 89 miles under my belt when I had to stop due to a really bad case of saddle soreness. Basically my cheeks looked like Kris Kringle's. I was determined not to let that happen again.
This ride starts at 6 am at the northern end of Central Park, but I took off earlier than that in order to avoid the rush and mainly to give myself a better chance of finishing by 6 pm, when the ride comes to an official end.
AVOIDING DIAPER RASH
I donned two pairs of padded cycle shorts and slathered on enough chamois butter for three people. I reapplied the butter thruout the day, and as a result, I suffered no friction pain during or after the ride. I do, however, have a better understanding of the term 'numbnuts.'
AVOIDING SUNBURN
It was a lovely sunny day -- too lovely, in fact, which is how I found myself terribly dehydrated midway thru -- so I was glad that I'd remembered sun block and that the stuff still worked. I applied some when the sun finally showed up at about 7:30 and then again a few hours later. I am not sure how much sunlight can filter thru the slats of my helmet, but I didn't want to end up looking like a zebra-head.
30 MILES in 3 HOURS
That's not a quick pace, but including breaks, and given how little training and general riding I'd done in the previous 12 months, I was happy with how things started for me. My breaks totaled about 40 minutes by mile 30, but while I was on the unicycle, I had been maintaining a 13.1-mph pace, which is quite fast given the frequent slow-downs and stops along this ride. I mainly stayed in high gear this time since last year's ride produced a catastrophic fall when the unicycle didn't shift gears properly, pretty much ending my ride (along with the raw bum cheeks).
I figured that I had 9 hours to complete the next 70 miles, an easy enough task. I'd felt good riding the 13 miles from my mom's apartment building (81st St off Central Park, Manhattan) to rest stop #1 (Prospect Park, Brooklyn). I felt pretty good riding from there to rest stop #2, 17 miles later. Unfortunately, the ride organizers had shortened the space between stops #2 and #3 without adding an addition stop between #3 and #4. This meant that riders had a 30-mile gap before the next big stop (Kissena Park, Queens). And after another hour of riding, I didn't think I'd ever make it that far.
WINDED and DEHYDRATED
It didn't help that we had a strong breeze blowing in our faces for most of the Queens segment of the ride. The bikers complained about it, too, but they acknowledged that I probably had it worse because my sitting position (on a unicycle) makes me much less aerodynamic than they are. There were plenty of times where, because of the wind and my exhaustion, I rode in low gear at about 6-8 miles an hour.
At some point I finally realized that my muscles were screaming for more water and more electrolytes, but at the time I just felt like I had lost all of my energy. When it dawned on me that I was dehydrated, I started drinking a lot more from my backpack hydration system, nearly emptying its recently-replenished 70-oz bladder. This meant that from that point on, I frequently had to stop in order to empty my own (less-than-70 oz) bladder, and since the organizers had forgotten to include even one portable toilet between rest stops, I invented quite a few of my own. Sorry, Queens.
I stopped frequently between mile 40 and mile 50, and pretty soon I had most of the gas back in my proverbial tank. During my recovery period of about two hours, I wasn't able to maintain more than 12 mph and at some points had to put the uni into low gear, but after about two hours, I was back to about 80% strength, able to keep up with some of the slower-paced bikers for long stretches.
LOST
At this point, it actually helped that I got lost. I had been riding with a pack of about 20 bikers. Whenever we came to a busy intersection, I managed to weave thru the traffic before the rest of my pack; I've been good at reading traffic ever since I began serious uni commuting 10 years ago. The peloton would pass me between stop lights, and then I'd catch up to them, zig and zag thru the cars, and get ahead once more. At about mile 50, I was feeling strong, and as I approached the group waiting for the light, I jokingly announced, "I'm making my move!" as I crossed against the light once again. By the time I looked back, I realized that I'd missed a turn (probably at that light). I was either going to have to find my way back to the course (impossible, since I didn't have a map), return to the spot where I'd gone off course (perhaps adding an additional mile to my ride), or I could ride straight to Kissena Park (rest stop #3), which I discovered was just two miles away. I opted to shorten this part of my ride, and I arrived at the 60-mile rest stop after riding just 53 miles. It was about 11:30 am.
I was more than halfway thru the 100-mile mark in under half the time, but I began to admit to other riders that it was very unlikely that I'd complete the full Century. Pathetically, I managed only 27 more miles in the remaining 4.5 hours.
FINAL REST STOP and the SILLY BRIDGE
After Kissena Park, I set out for the Astoria Park rest stop about 20 miles away. I was feeling better thanks to all the water and electrolytes I was consuming, but I still needed to take breaks just to get some blood flow back into my groin. Because of the long pauses I'd had to take earlier on, I arrived at the final stop -- mile 81 or so for everyone else, mile 74 for me -- too late to have a good shot at finishing 100 miles by 6 pm. I chatted with two guys who were riding a tandem (same ratio of rider to wheel as me, I pointed out, but apparently they still had an easier time), and eventually we all headed off.
This last little stretch (of about 5 miles) stupidly involves a bridge that has an incomplete biking section which forces riders to carry their cycles up and down several series of steps. I have no idea why Transportation Alternatives continues to use this bridge on the route, but it was the final nail in the coffin for my Century chances since it slowed us all down as, like little ants carrying grasshoppers to the anthill, we all made our way across the span. Last year it happened to be worse -- there were more of us trying to cross at the time -- but it still took over 10 minutes to get across about a mile of space. I arrived at the finish line, having ridden 78 miles, at 5 pm. I briefly considered pedaling around the park at least once more, to add 5 miles to my trip, but I decided to call it a day and head back to my car, 2+ miles away. It wasn't 100 miles, but I was happy with the ride, especially considering my lack of preparation, the heavy wind for about 20 miles, and my ability to fight back after that dehydration.
AFTERMATH
I took a strong hot shower (my mom's apartment building has firehouse-power water pipes thanks to old plumbing) and remembered that same experience last year when I could barely tolerate even the coolest mild drip on my ruby-red cheeks. Soon I was driving back to New Paltz, feeling fine. Later that night, I awoke with a weird pain in my wonky left knee, but it went away by the following morning. I have only one muscle that's even slightly sore: my left bicep (!) from holding the extention on my uni. For the first time after a ride over 80 miles, I was able to ride a unicycle the next day.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Truck Fire
As I drove home yesterday, I saw a police car racing south on I-87. I figured the officer was chasing down a speeder, tho I hadn't noticed anyone driving fast on the other side of the highway. Then a second police cruiser zoomed past. This was curious. Where were they headed. It occurred to me that maybe they were rushing to the scene of an accident.
Up ahead, I spotted more flashing lights and initially figured that the accident must be just up ahead of me. I was partly right, but the lights I saw weren't rotating blue and red; they were blazing orange and yellow. Soon enough I noticed the flames and the truck they were attached to. The driver of the truck had pulled off the road and was about 200 feet ahead of the blaze. Presumably he'd noticed a problem, pulled onto the shoulder, and gotten out to alert authorities.
As I drove past, I could feel the intense heat radiating off the truck. It must have been over 1000 degrees.
Within a few minutes, the road was closed off behind the truck; it isn't really safe to drive past fully engulfed trucks, as they do have a wee tendency to explode. The police shut down the highway for a few minutes, and after three more drivers had passed me, I had the eerie experience of being the only driver on the road for miles and miles.
Up ahead, I spotted more flashing lights and initially figured that the accident must be just up ahead of me. I was partly right, but the lights I saw weren't rotating blue and red; they were blazing orange and yellow. Soon enough I noticed the flames and the truck they were attached to. The driver of the truck had pulled off the road and was about 200 feet ahead of the blaze. Presumably he'd noticed a problem, pulled onto the shoulder, and gotten out to alert authorities.
As I drove past, I could feel the intense heat radiating off the truck. It must have been over 1000 degrees.
Within a few minutes, the road was closed off behind the truck; it isn't really safe to drive past fully engulfed trucks, as they do have a wee tendency to explode. The police shut down the highway for a few minutes, and after three more drivers had passed me, I had the eerie experience of being the only driver on the road for miles and miles.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Last First Day of School
Maeve is 5 and is off to kindergarten. She had fun in pre-school at the Huguenot St. cooperative, but that program only went 9-11:30 or 9-12 (depending on kids' ages), so Shirra and I were thrilled whenever summer came and her camp took her for the full day. She's a confident kid who enjoys wherever she is and whoever she's there with, so the longer she can have fun outside of home, the better. After all, we get plenty of her on the weekends, during our fabulous summers, and before and after the school day. We're thrilled that she's the kind of kid who enjoys school and isn't afraid to grow up.
We're not afraid for her to grow up, either. We've always believed in shepherding our kids into the world so that they can be strong, independent, and happy people. I can understand how other parents get weepy at the thought of their children leaving the nest in one way or another, but really, isn't that the point of raising children? To my way of thinking, there's something unrealistic or almost selfish about crying when your little one goes off to school for the first time. Don't be sad to see them onto that bus; be thrilled that they're about to begin that big adventure! It's an exciting day.
This change-of-pace is especially thrilling when it's your first kid or your last kid. With Fiona, we assumed the best, and our expectations were exceeded. She had a great time in kindergarten. It helped that I was a teacher in her school; I got to see her all the time, even visiting her classroom once a week for a special activity. We sent Emmett to the same school when he turned 3, and even before that, he'd already had a great time in his 2s program at the Brooklyn Montessori; he didn't even look back at us when he ran into that classroom for the first time. Maeve has already had a few good days and has made some friends; she likes her teacher and the assistant teacher. We're excited for her. It's only a matter of time until she's bigger than her backpack.
We're not afraid for her to grow up, either. We've always believed in shepherding our kids into the world so that they can be strong, independent, and happy people. I can understand how other parents get weepy at the thought of their children leaving the nest in one way or another, but really, isn't that the point of raising children? To my way of thinking, there's something unrealistic or almost selfish about crying when your little one goes off to school for the first time. Don't be sad to see them onto that bus; be thrilled that they're about to begin that big adventure! It's an exciting day.
This change-of-pace is especially thrilling when it's your first kid or your last kid. With Fiona, we assumed the best, and our expectations were exceeded. She had a great time in kindergarten. It helped that I was a teacher in her school; I got to see her all the time, even visiting her classroom once a week for a special activity. We sent Emmett to the same school when he turned 3, and even before that, he'd already had a great time in his 2s program at the Brooklyn Montessori; he didn't even look back at us when he ran into that classroom for the first time. Maeve has already had a few good days and has made some friends; she likes her teacher and the assistant teacher. We're excited for her. It's only a matter of time until she's bigger than her backpack.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Bad Store Manners
While waiting to buy something at Dedricks (off Main St -- doesn't everyone know Dedricks?), I noticed a woman who appeared to be in front of me but who was talking on her cell phone. She wasn't talking loudly, but she was in the middle of a conversation. When the counterwoman asked to help whoever was next, I glanced at Ms Cell Phone expectantly but figured she would have stepped up to the cash register if it was really her turn. So I handed the cashier my items. Ms Cell Phone took her mouth away from the phone long enough to tell the cashier that she was next. The cashier told Ms Cell Phone that she couldn't help a customer who was talking on the phone.
No, there isn't a sign posted to this effect. Ms Cell Phone was right about that. But she was wrong to be piqued. After all, she was talking on the phone while waiting to be helped in a store and while standing in front of other people in line. How many things can she do at once? The cashier was right (and brave enough) to point this out to Ms Cell Phone, who got annoyed and threatened to take her business elsewhere.
I nearly said something. My alter ego, Voice of Society Man, has rested quietly for three years since we moved to New Paltz. I've always reckoned that the person you give the finger to one day could be sitting beside you at at PTA meeting the next. Ever since we've been in New Paltz, I've been extremely careful to keep VoS Man from donning his superhero uniform in order to put people in their place. But it nearly killed me to hold my tongue. Here's what I almost said:
"You're right. They should have a sign posted about not talking on a cell phone while waiting to be helped. They should also have a sign telling you to say please and thank you. And another sign to ask you not to slam the door on the way out. And another sign reminding customers not to let their kids knock all the shit off the shelves. If only there were more signs telling us how to behave. How are we to know?"
No, there isn't a sign posted to this effect. Ms Cell Phone was right about that. But she was wrong to be piqued. After all, she was talking on the phone while waiting to be helped in a store and while standing in front of other people in line. How many things can she do at once? The cashier was right (and brave enough) to point this out to Ms Cell Phone, who got annoyed and threatened to take her business elsewhere.
I nearly said something. My alter ego, Voice of Society Man, has rested quietly for three years since we moved to New Paltz. I've always reckoned that the person you give the finger to one day could be sitting beside you at at PTA meeting the next. Ever since we've been in New Paltz, I've been extremely careful to keep VoS Man from donning his superhero uniform in order to put people in their place. But it nearly killed me to hold my tongue. Here's what I almost said:
"You're right. They should have a sign posted about not talking on a cell phone while waiting to be helped. They should also have a sign telling you to say please and thank you. And another sign to ask you not to slam the door on the way out. And another sign reminding customers not to let their kids knock all the shit off the shelves. If only there were more signs telling us how to behave. How are we to know?"
Monday, August 31, 2009
Two (Better) Weeks in Martha's Vineyard
We just got back from our tenth annual mecca to Martha's Vineyard, and this time, I think we got it right.
This particular vaca requires a lot more driving than most. Of course there are trips where the whole purpose is to see America as you tootle around in your mobile home, and I'd love to plan one of those some day when the kids are grown up. Maybe Shirra and I can forgo the mobile home and take a smaller, greener car instead. But our two weeks on the Vineyard are supposed to be relaxing. Last year, I set the car's odo at 0 when we arrived and discovered to my disgust that we'd put on more than 500 miles. The year before, it was over 700! So I'd just about had it with MV when we arrived this time. After all, I drive 1000 miles a week as it is.
LESS FUDGE and ICE CREAM...
As soon as we arrived off the ferry into Vineyard Haven, we shopped at our favorite spot, Murdick's Fudge. Only there had been a sad transformation. Beverly, the lovely woman we'd seen for the previous 8 years, was no longer there. Her coworker, a lovely young woman we'd seen for years and had assumed (incorrectly) was her daughter, was still on hand, but in Beverly's place was a gangly teenage boy who, while helpful, lacked the charm of our old friend. Things worsened when we checked out the Murdick's in Edgartown a week later. At that location, all of the people we'd come to know over the years had been replaced by young Slavic women, repeating a bizarre trend seen at several other stores across the island. This was a real downer, but the good news is that after the E'town experience, I'm no longer a slave to fudge. And while I still have to lose the 5 or 6 pounds I put on this year, I'll have an easier time in years to come.
Similarly, we are no longer beholden to the wonderful flavors of Mad Martha's Ice Cream. It used to be that any trip to Vineyard Haven, Oak Bluffs, or E'town meant stops at both Murdicks (to replenish the eaten fudge) and Mad Martha's, where each of us would buy some huge amount of home-made ice cream. But a few years ago, the small island chain sold its stores, and the new owner seems to have done away with the 'home made' part. We haven't been back since. And of course, every Mad Martha's store is now almost completely run by young Slavic women. I have nothing against the Slavs; they're always helpful and do a fine job, but it was nicer when we had a stronger connection to people who actually lived year-round on the island.
...MORE BEACH!
Another reason we took in fewer fatty calories this time is that we made far fewer trips to the big towns. Most days we spent at least a few hours on Squibnocket Beach or, twice, Lucy Vincent Beach. Since the kids are older, we have less to worry about, so while we still kept an eye on them (especially at the windy and wavy Lucy V), Shirra and I got in a lot of reading and relaxing. So did Fiona, for that matter. She was more interested in reading than in swimming, and she worked hard to avoid getting tan, which she pulled off quite well, returning home even lighter than when we left, if that's possible. Hats, long sleeves, and 50 SPF will do that for you.
Another reason we enjoyed this trip more was that we had a lot of friends to hang out with. Early on, we connected with our friends Holly and Sandy and their two kids, whose sexes and ages matched our big two. We got together with them on three occasions: once at their rental home just a few lazy miles from our cottage, once at the cottage for Emmett's birthday party, and finally a few hours at Squibby. Emmett has celebrated all ten of his birthdays on MV, but this one was by far his favorite since he had a good buddy to spend it with. The two boys (and the girls) ran around the Inn's grounds with the kite that Emmett had just gotten as a b'day prezzy. Meanwhile the parents, as well as my brother, his wife, and my mom, all hung around chatting for hours.
A few days later, we reconnected with a couple we'd met a few years ago at the Inn. Like us, they both graduated from Vassar, so we had that in common, and they also live in NYC. Their son is 3, but he's as physical and verbal as many 4-year-olds, so Maeve and he were able to have a great time together. Soon after that, we all made more friends with other couples with children, as it often happens.
OLD FAVORITES
* Shirra had fun visiting her friend Susan, who runs the country's first (and only?) fiber CSA out of her home near Edgartown (she's sort of in "Edgarvillage" on the outskirts of the main town). After visiting her, we got to walk around E'town and visit some of its shops.
* No trip to Martha's Vineyard would be complete without a visit to the Flying Horses carousel in Oak Bluffs. We went on the Emmett's birthday since we were already planning to be in OB for some jetskiing. Emmett's birthday got off to a great start: Jetskiing (during which time the president's helicopter, Marine One, flew right over our heads as we waved) followed by the carousel (where Emmett got the brass ring twice, entitling him to two free rides). Shirra couldn't ride a jetski this time since she'd recently broken one of her pinky bones, so I took Maeve and Emmett. We had a great time, hitting 45 miles an hour and scaring ourselves to shrieks.
* We also had fun getting dinners to go (or to stay) at the Galley, a little take-out joint down the hill from our inn in Menemsha. The kids fell in love with their veggie burgers, and my mom usually had a tasty grilled cheese sandwich.
NEW FAVORITES
Thanks to our Vassar buddies, we learned about a few quiet spots to buy wonderful tomatoes or blueberries, but better still was our trip to the weekly make-your-own-pizza party down in nearby Aquinnah. This party has been going on for years. We went with the Vassar folks and ended up running into Susan and her hiree, Erin, also there for the first time.
So now we have more reasons to return than ever: our friends. And we managed to drive fewer than 350 miles this time. And we even left a few things for next year that we just didn't manage to get to this time (like a visit to the Chilmark graveyard). For once, I can't wait to go back.
This particular vaca requires a lot more driving than most. Of course there are trips where the whole purpose is to see America as you tootle around in your mobile home, and I'd love to plan one of those some day when the kids are grown up. Maybe Shirra and I can forgo the mobile home and take a smaller, greener car instead. But our two weeks on the Vineyard are supposed to be relaxing. Last year, I set the car's odo at 0 when we arrived and discovered to my disgust that we'd put on more than 500 miles. The year before, it was over 700! So I'd just about had it with MV when we arrived this time. After all, I drive 1000 miles a week as it is.
LESS FUDGE and ICE CREAM...
As soon as we arrived off the ferry into Vineyard Haven, we shopped at our favorite spot, Murdick's Fudge. Only there had been a sad transformation. Beverly, the lovely woman we'd seen for the previous 8 years, was no longer there. Her coworker, a lovely young woman we'd seen for years and had assumed (incorrectly) was her daughter, was still on hand, but in Beverly's place was a gangly teenage boy who, while helpful, lacked the charm of our old friend. Things worsened when we checked out the Murdick's in Edgartown a week later. At that location, all of the people we'd come to know over the years had been replaced by young Slavic women, repeating a bizarre trend seen at several other stores across the island. This was a real downer, but the good news is that after the E'town experience, I'm no longer a slave to fudge. And while I still have to lose the 5 or 6 pounds I put on this year, I'll have an easier time in years to come.
Similarly, we are no longer beholden to the wonderful flavors of Mad Martha's Ice Cream. It used to be that any trip to Vineyard Haven, Oak Bluffs, or E'town meant stops at both Murdicks (to replenish the eaten fudge) and Mad Martha's, where each of us would buy some huge amount of home-made ice cream. But a few years ago, the small island chain sold its stores, and the new owner seems to have done away with the 'home made' part. We haven't been back since. And of course, every Mad Martha's store is now almost completely run by young Slavic women. I have nothing against the Slavs; they're always helpful and do a fine job, but it was nicer when we had a stronger connection to people who actually lived year-round on the island.
...MORE BEACH!
Another reason we took in fewer fatty calories this time is that we made far fewer trips to the big towns. Most days we spent at least a few hours on Squibnocket Beach or, twice, Lucy Vincent Beach. Since the kids are older, we have less to worry about, so while we still kept an eye on them (especially at the windy and wavy Lucy V), Shirra and I got in a lot of reading and relaxing. So did Fiona, for that matter. She was more interested in reading than in swimming, and she worked hard to avoid getting tan, which she pulled off quite well, returning home even lighter than when we left, if that's possible. Hats, long sleeves, and 50 SPF will do that for you.
Another reason we enjoyed this trip more was that we had a lot of friends to hang out with. Early on, we connected with our friends Holly and Sandy and their two kids, whose sexes and ages matched our big two. We got together with them on three occasions: once at their rental home just a few lazy miles from our cottage, once at the cottage for Emmett's birthday party, and finally a few hours at Squibby. Emmett has celebrated all ten of his birthdays on MV, but this one was by far his favorite since he had a good buddy to spend it with. The two boys (and the girls) ran around the Inn's grounds with the kite that Emmett had just gotten as a b'day prezzy. Meanwhile the parents, as well as my brother, his wife, and my mom, all hung around chatting for hours.
A few days later, we reconnected with a couple we'd met a few years ago at the Inn. Like us, they both graduated from Vassar, so we had that in common, and they also live in NYC. Their son is 3, but he's as physical and verbal as many 4-year-olds, so Maeve and he were able to have a great time together. Soon after that, we all made more friends with other couples with children, as it often happens.
OLD FAVORITES
* Shirra had fun visiting her friend Susan, who runs the country's first (and only?) fiber CSA out of her home near Edgartown (she's sort of in "Edgarvillage" on the outskirts of the main town). After visiting her, we got to walk around E'town and visit some of its shops.
* No trip to Martha's Vineyard would be complete without a visit to the Flying Horses carousel in Oak Bluffs. We went on the Emmett's birthday since we were already planning to be in OB for some jetskiing. Emmett's birthday got off to a great start: Jetskiing (during which time the president's helicopter, Marine One, flew right over our heads as we waved) followed by the carousel (where Emmett got the brass ring twice, entitling him to two free rides). Shirra couldn't ride a jetski this time since she'd recently broken one of her pinky bones, so I took Maeve and Emmett. We had a great time, hitting 45 miles an hour and scaring ourselves to shrieks.
* We also had fun getting dinners to go (or to stay) at the Galley, a little take-out joint down the hill from our inn in Menemsha. The kids fell in love with their veggie burgers, and my mom usually had a tasty grilled cheese sandwich.
NEW FAVORITES
Thanks to our Vassar buddies, we learned about a few quiet spots to buy wonderful tomatoes or blueberries, but better still was our trip to the weekly make-your-own-pizza party down in nearby Aquinnah. This party has been going on for years. We went with the Vassar folks and ended up running into Susan and her hiree, Erin, also there for the first time.
So now we have more reasons to return than ever: our friends. And we managed to drive fewer than 350 miles this time. And we even left a few things for next year that we just didn't manage to get to this time (like a visit to the Chilmark graveyard). For once, I can't wait to go back.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Berkshire Fire Department Woes
I got a note on facebook from a friend who took the Firefighter One (FF1) class with me in the summer of 2007. She reported that half of the Berkshire Fire Department had resigned, presumably in protest of the hamlet's vote yesterday against the building of a new fire station. Apparently the current station is hopelessly outdated and is cramped and unsafe.
This is interesting in light of what's going on in New Paltz. Because of the recession (and maybe some other fiduciary reasons), our mayor froze all of the budgets under his power. This even meant that our department has to put in a special request to him whenever we want to buy drinking water, for example, or soap to wash the trucks.
In response to this, a local named Butch Dener put together a rally to raise money for (and bring cases of water to) our fire department. I think about 500 people came out, and we received about 250 cases of water and several thousand dollars. It was a great event, and I'm sure it was the start of a new tradition.
My friend tells me (via facebook) that the chiefs and most of the Berkshire FD resigned, including everyone I knew from FF1. She said that in addition to the station being in shambles, there is a piece of apparatus that's out of service pending necessary repairs and that there were other problems with the department (notwithstanding the terrible morale of the fire fighters).
The resignations could have some serious implications down the line. It will put a great strain on the surrounding fire departments and means trouble for anyone in Berkshire who is foolish enough to start a house fire or drive a car into a tree. I'm hoping that the problem is resolved quickly -- maybe some emergency funds will turn up, or the town will re-vote. My fear is that it could cause a trickle effect as FDs around the state decide that they have to follow suit in order to make a case for their needs.
Here is the article from yesterday's Berkshire online news (from a local station there):
BERKSHIRE VOTES DOWN NEW FIRE STATION
By WBNG News
Story Created: Jun 30, 2009 at 10:36 PM EDT
Story Updated: Jun 30, 2009 at 10:37 PM EDT
The Berkshire Fire Department will not get a new fire station..
By a vote of 220 to 171, taxpayers rejected a proposal to build a new facility. The price tag was about 1.5 million dollars. Village tax rates would have risen to about a 1.70 dollars per thousand of accessed value. Lines to vote were out of the door here at the current station which is 53 years old.
"I voted no because the taxes in New York state are terrible and we don't need no more addition. Can't afford it," said Berkshire resident, Robert Price.
Those in favor of the project said the current station is too cramped and doesn't properly hold all the department's vehicles. The department will now examine the possibility of renovating the current station.
This is interesting in light of what's going on in New Paltz. Because of the recession (and maybe some other fiduciary reasons), our mayor froze all of the budgets under his power. This even meant that our department has to put in a special request to him whenever we want to buy drinking water, for example, or soap to wash the trucks.
In response to this, a local named Butch Dener put together a rally to raise money for (and bring cases of water to) our fire department. I think about 500 people came out, and we received about 250 cases of water and several thousand dollars. It was a great event, and I'm sure it was the start of a new tradition.
My friend tells me (via facebook) that the chiefs and most of the Berkshire FD resigned, including everyone I knew from FF1. She said that in addition to the station being in shambles, there is a piece of apparatus that's out of service pending necessary repairs and that there were other problems with the department (notwithstanding the terrible morale of the fire fighters).
The resignations could have some serious implications down the line. It will put a great strain on the surrounding fire departments and means trouble for anyone in Berkshire who is foolish enough to start a house fire or drive a car into a tree. I'm hoping that the problem is resolved quickly -- maybe some emergency funds will turn up, or the town will re-vote. My fear is that it could cause a trickle effect as FDs around the state decide that they have to follow suit in order to make a case for their needs.
Here is the article from yesterday's Berkshire online news (from a local station there):
BERKSHIRE VOTES DOWN NEW FIRE STATION
By WBNG News
Story Created: Jun 30, 2009 at 10:36 PM EDT
Story Updated: Jun 30, 2009 at 10:37 PM EDT
The Berkshire Fire Department will not get a new fire station..
By a vote of 220 to 171, taxpayers rejected a proposal to build a new facility. The price tag was about 1.5 million dollars. Village tax rates would have risen to about a 1.70 dollars per thousand of accessed value. Lines to vote were out of the door here at the current station which is 53 years old.
"I voted no because the taxes in New York state are terrible and we don't need no more addition. Can't afford it," said Berkshire resident, Robert Price.
Those in favor of the project said the current station is too cramped and doesn't properly hold all the department's vehicles. The department will now examine the possibility of renovating the current station.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Deer and Rabbits and Bears, Oh My
There have been lots of woodland critters around our property lately. When driving around New Paltz, I'm always careful to stay on the lookout for a deer that might suddenly dart in front of my car. My little Smart Car would probably take a huge hit if I struck a deer, and my windshield is relatively close to the front of the car and quite 'flat,' so a deer strike would be bad for me, too.
Less dangerous but far more numerous are the rabbits. They dart in front of the car all the time as they run away from their nibbles. You'd think they'd have ravaged our garden, but happily they seem quite content with the plants that we consider weeds. I once came across a flattened rabbit on our road, but I'm pretty sure that it was accidentally mowed down by our neighbor's truck, and thus far, I'm unaware of having killed any wildlife larger than one unfortunate toad.
Yesterday while driving into Manhattan, a police car zoomed by me, and then a few minutes later, I came around a turn and found the cop car protecting drivers from crashing into the carcass of an adolescent black bear that had obviously wandered onto the roadway and been hit by some passing auto. I'd heard about them in the area, and bears have occasionally been spotted in New Paltz, so we're careful not to leave food (and garbage) out for the bears, but this was the first time I'd ever seen a bear, live or dead. Poor thing.
Less dangerous but far more numerous are the rabbits. They dart in front of the car all the time as they run away from their nibbles. You'd think they'd have ravaged our garden, but happily they seem quite content with the plants that we consider weeds. I once came across a flattened rabbit on our road, but I'm pretty sure that it was accidentally mowed down by our neighbor's truck, and thus far, I'm unaware of having killed any wildlife larger than one unfortunate toad.
Yesterday while driving into Manhattan, a police car zoomed by me, and then a few minutes later, I came around a turn and found the cop car protecting drivers from crashing into the carcass of an adolescent black bear that had obviously wandered onto the roadway and been hit by some passing auto. I'd heard about them in the area, and bears have occasionally been spotted in New Paltz, so we're careful not to leave food (and garbage) out for the bears, but this was the first time I'd ever seen a bear, live or dead. Poor thing.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Controlled Burn
The fire department was up early today: We had a controlled burn at 8am, and we had to be at the station an hour beforehand.
A controlled burn happens when a homeowner volunteers a house to be razed so that we can hone our skills. I'm not sure whether it benefits the homeowner financially, but my impression is that it doesn't. Maybe it's just a relatively inexpensive way to take down a house that was already falling apart so that you can eventually build a new one. My hope is that we can one day offer our house up for the fire department. We love the land our house is situated on, but the house itself is uninteresting and on the small side for a family of 5. When the kids all head off to college, it might be time to move back to the stone cottage down the hill and give the current house up to the elements (specifically: the fire and water elements).
I was stationed at the water hole. It's not normally an exciting designation, but it was important for me to learn how to draft water from a standing water source, like a pond, and now I can handle that duty pretty much on my own. We ended up getting a bit more practice than anticipated -- you never know how much water you're going to need until you need it. Initially we filled the tanker truck twice with water, and as the burn proceeded, we filled it up 3 or 4 more times. The truck we were on (43-14) is used for drafting water from a hydrant or natural water source and flowing that water into a tanker truck that transports 2200 gallons to the scene, where it can be put onto another truck or, as in today's case, flowed into a pool from which the trucks can suck up the water for their own use when needed (as in, right away). Then the tanker comes back to us for more water.
The burn went extremely well. No one was injured, and we kept the burn away from the neighboring trees and homes. Controlled burns can quickly turn into uncontrolled disasters if they aren't handled well, but we have an awesome little fire department, and I'm happy with how it all turned out today. Driving past the charred remains, it was hard to imagine that a cute little blue house had been standing there just a few hours earlier.
A controlled burn happens when a homeowner volunteers a house to be razed so that we can hone our skills. I'm not sure whether it benefits the homeowner financially, but my impression is that it doesn't. Maybe it's just a relatively inexpensive way to take down a house that was already falling apart so that you can eventually build a new one. My hope is that we can one day offer our house up for the fire department. We love the land our house is situated on, but the house itself is uninteresting and on the small side for a family of 5. When the kids all head off to college, it might be time to move back to the stone cottage down the hill and give the current house up to the elements (specifically: the fire and water elements).
I was stationed at the water hole. It's not normally an exciting designation, but it was important for me to learn how to draft water from a standing water source, like a pond, and now I can handle that duty pretty much on my own. We ended up getting a bit more practice than anticipated -- you never know how much water you're going to need until you need it. Initially we filled the tanker truck twice with water, and as the burn proceeded, we filled it up 3 or 4 more times. The truck we were on (43-14) is used for drafting water from a hydrant or natural water source and flowing that water into a tanker truck that transports 2200 gallons to the scene, where it can be put onto another truck or, as in today's case, flowed into a pool from which the trucks can suck up the water for their own use when needed (as in, right away). Then the tanker comes back to us for more water.
The burn went extremely well. No one was injured, and we kept the burn away from the neighboring trees and homes. Controlled burns can quickly turn into uncontrolled disasters if they aren't handled well, but we have an awesome little fire department, and I'm happy with how it all turned out today. Driving past the charred remains, it was hard to imagine that a cute little blue house had been standing there just a few hours earlier.
Monday, May 25, 2009
More Books I've Heard
I've listened to a good number of books since October. I stopped obsessing about writing down each title as well as some of the other information, but I remember some of them.
I tried a few Steven King books. Blaze (written under the nom de plume Richard Bachman) struck me as a modern Of Mice and Men. It was fascinating as a tale, and the reader (Ron McLarty) did a magnificent job. Carrie, read by Sissy Spacek, was much more powerful as a novel than as a movie, and Spacek is a fantastic reader – perhaps my favorite female voice over all. I later had the pleasure of hearing her read To Kill a Mockingbird. I also listened to King’s The Gunslinger, but despite a superb reading, I didn’t find the book to be my cuppa.
Sun Tzu’s Art of War was fascinating. With the wars raging in Iraq and Afghanistan, it's fascinating to listen to a voice from the past tell us exactly why we're doing such a bad job with our military.
Homer’s Iliad has to have been one of the most boring things I've ever been exposed to. I imagine that the Odyssey is much more captivating, but the Iliad is a long laundry list of battles and soldiers interrupted by several different ways to describe evisceration and death. If it were shorter, then it would have at least been ... well, shorter. I made it thru 5 of the 17 discs.
Mary Wollstencraft’s Frankenstein was a great reading, but I found the book quite frustrating. Dr F is basically a jerk, and his 'monster' is truly a hero who should have been spared great suffering. It felt as if the author didn't have empathy for her creation, sympathisizing instead with the man who abandons his baby in a revulsion. I persevered, but it was hard to listen to the whole story.
David Baldacci’s Total Control was very exciting. It's about a conspiracy to bomb a plane and to subvert the economy, and it was written before 9/11, so it must have sounded a bit far-fetched at the time.
A friend of mine, LJ Ganser, was the reader for Nicholas Sparks’s A Bend in the Road. I loved the reading but ended up hating the book. It's a lot like a Mary Higgins Clark novel where a perfectly good plot is destroyed by the intrusion of supernatural elements. As for the Sparks book, even tho the writing was a bit treacly, I was in tears at the end of the book.
Recently I finished listening to all three biographical or autobiographical books by Rick Bragg:
Ava's Man is an awesome tale about the author's grandfather, a carpenter who makes moonshine on the side and who fathers 7 children. Bragg does an amazing job bringing to life the world of the rural South in the 1900s-1930s.
All Over but the Shoutin'is an account of Bragg's grandmother, Ava. It runs from about the 1920s to the 90s and includes a good deal of information about many of Bragg's other relatives.
The Prince of Frogtown is my favorite Bragg book. This one focuses mainly on Bragg's father, a soldier and alcoholic who once saved baby Rick's life during a croup incident by shoving enough salt down his throat to induce vomiting. The book alters between reminiscences of Bragg's father as well as a fond examination of the boy who becomes Bragg's stepson. I plan to listen to this book again when Emmett and I drive to Minnesota this summer.
I've continued to devour anything by Alexander McCall Smith. He writes the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency books as well as the Sunday Philosophy Club series and a few free-standing books like 44 Scotland Street. They're all wonderful, and there is something about his writing that is so deliberate that it makes it feel like you have to exhale, slow down, and smell a few flowers.
One advantage audiobooks have over their paper equivalents is that occasinally you get an amazing reader. No one holds a candle to Oliver Wyman. His readings of the Tim Dorsey series are truly hysterical, perhaps as much fun as the material itself. Wyman’s gifts are so amazing that I had to re-check the cover of one of the books to make sure that there wasn’t actually a female reader handling some of the voices. Wow! As for the actual novels: Dorsey, a former newspaper writer in Florida, writes about his home state with reverence that you wouldn't expect to find in books that follow the life of a serial killer.
I tried a few Steven King books. Blaze (written under the nom de plume Richard Bachman) struck me as a modern Of Mice and Men. It was fascinating as a tale, and the reader (Ron McLarty) did a magnificent job. Carrie, read by Sissy Spacek, was much more powerful as a novel than as a movie, and Spacek is a fantastic reader – perhaps my favorite female voice over all. I later had the pleasure of hearing her read To Kill a Mockingbird. I also listened to King’s The Gunslinger, but despite a superb reading, I didn’t find the book to be my cuppa.
Sun Tzu’s Art of War was fascinating. With the wars raging in Iraq and Afghanistan, it's fascinating to listen to a voice from the past tell us exactly why we're doing such a bad job with our military.
Homer’s Iliad has to have been one of the most boring things I've ever been exposed to. I imagine that the Odyssey is much more captivating, but the Iliad is a long laundry list of battles and soldiers interrupted by several different ways to describe evisceration and death. If it were shorter, then it would have at least been ... well, shorter. I made it thru 5 of the 17 discs.
Mary Wollstencraft’s Frankenstein was a great reading, but I found the book quite frustrating. Dr F is basically a jerk, and his 'monster' is truly a hero who should have been spared great suffering. It felt as if the author didn't have empathy for her creation, sympathisizing instead with the man who abandons his baby in a revulsion. I persevered, but it was hard to listen to the whole story.
David Baldacci’s Total Control was very exciting. It's about a conspiracy to bomb a plane and to subvert the economy, and it was written before 9/11, so it must have sounded a bit far-fetched at the time.
A friend of mine, LJ Ganser, was the reader for Nicholas Sparks’s A Bend in the Road. I loved the reading but ended up hating the book. It's a lot like a Mary Higgins Clark novel where a perfectly good plot is destroyed by the intrusion of supernatural elements. As for the Sparks book, even tho the writing was a bit treacly, I was in tears at the end of the book.
Recently I finished listening to all three biographical or autobiographical books by Rick Bragg:
Ava's Man is an awesome tale about the author's grandfather, a carpenter who makes moonshine on the side and who fathers 7 children. Bragg does an amazing job bringing to life the world of the rural South in the 1900s-1930s.
All Over but the Shoutin'is an account of Bragg's grandmother, Ava. It runs from about the 1920s to the 90s and includes a good deal of information about many of Bragg's other relatives.
The Prince of Frogtown is my favorite Bragg book. This one focuses mainly on Bragg's father, a soldier and alcoholic who once saved baby Rick's life during a croup incident by shoving enough salt down his throat to induce vomiting. The book alters between reminiscences of Bragg's father as well as a fond examination of the boy who becomes Bragg's stepson. I plan to listen to this book again when Emmett and I drive to Minnesota this summer.
I've continued to devour anything by Alexander McCall Smith. He writes the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency books as well as the Sunday Philosophy Club series and a few free-standing books like 44 Scotland Street. They're all wonderful, and there is something about his writing that is so deliberate that it makes it feel like you have to exhale, slow down, and smell a few flowers.
One advantage audiobooks have over their paper equivalents is that occasinally you get an amazing reader. No one holds a candle to Oliver Wyman. His readings of the Tim Dorsey series are truly hysterical, perhaps as much fun as the material itself. Wyman’s gifts are so amazing that I had to re-check the cover of one of the books to make sure that there wasn’t actually a female reader handling some of the voices. Wow! As for the actual novels: Dorsey, a former newspaper writer in Florida, writes about his home state with reverence that you wouldn't expect to find in books that follow the life of a serial killer.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Excuse Me, Is This Row Taken?
I attended a showing of a film at the Lincoln Plaza Cinema in manhattan. The house mainly shows art films or indies, so its 4 theaters are rarely overcrowded. The 10 pm showings are especially lacking in patrons. In New Paltz you'd at least be more likely to run into a friend if you decided to take in a late flick, but in NYC, I knew that I'd be sitting by myself. What I didn't realize is that I'd have my own row.
As I arrived, I counted no more than a dozen filmgoers in a long theater that could have seated all of us in the front row. A couple had taken two seats in row F. A woman sat behind them and to the right. Two rows behind her was another woman. I sat in the row between them but a few seats over. I would have liked to sit a wee bit closer, but I didn't want to be the weirdo who squishes into a row when there's a perfectly good one a little further back. What's 3 feet, after all?
Behind us, patrons maintained the pattern. As more New Yorkers arrived to take in this French film, the decent rows ran out, and people had to make decisions. They typically sat on or near the aisle, far from the other person already in the row. Shortly, the couple in row F was joined by three chatty young foreign exchange students. They greeted eachother amiably, and the exchange girls took their seats right in front of my nearest neighbor. To my amazement, the woman in row G didn't move or act huffy. It was as if she didn't mind sacrificing a little of her space as well as he sight-lines. Perhaps she even wanted to pretend that she wasn't attending a film by herself.
I didn't go to a movie on my own till I was in my 30s. It felt weird, like the moment in "The Lonely Guy" where Steve Martin's character enters a restaurant and has a spotlight placed on him as soon as he requests a table for one. I've seen a few movies solo recently, and each time, I've been tempted to ask another singleton, "Excuse me, but would you like to sit together so that we could pretend that we're not alone?" It's not that there's anything wrong with being alone -- sometimes it's lovely -- but I've always thought of movies (and restaurants) as places where people go as part of a couple or a larger group. It's a bit like sex. See a movie with a friend, and no one gives it a second thought. See a movie by yourself, and it's like you're masturbating. And that's just something I'd rather not do in public.
As I arrived, I counted no more than a dozen filmgoers in a long theater that could have seated all of us in the front row. A couple had taken two seats in row F. A woman sat behind them and to the right. Two rows behind her was another woman. I sat in the row between them but a few seats over. I would have liked to sit a wee bit closer, but I didn't want to be the weirdo who squishes into a row when there's a perfectly good one a little further back. What's 3 feet, after all?
Behind us, patrons maintained the pattern. As more New Yorkers arrived to take in this French film, the decent rows ran out, and people had to make decisions. They typically sat on or near the aisle, far from the other person already in the row. Shortly, the couple in row F was joined by three chatty young foreign exchange students. They greeted eachother amiably, and the exchange girls took their seats right in front of my nearest neighbor. To my amazement, the woman in row G didn't move or act huffy. It was as if she didn't mind sacrificing a little of her space as well as he sight-lines. Perhaps she even wanted to pretend that she wasn't attending a film by herself.
I didn't go to a movie on my own till I was in my 30s. It felt weird, like the moment in "The Lonely Guy" where Steve Martin's character enters a restaurant and has a spotlight placed on him as soon as he requests a table for one. I've seen a few movies solo recently, and each time, I've been tempted to ask another singleton, "Excuse me, but would you like to sit together so that we could pretend that we're not alone?" It's not that there's anything wrong with being alone -- sometimes it's lovely -- but I've always thought of movies (and restaurants) as places where people go as part of a couple or a larger group. It's a bit like sex. See a movie with a friend, and no one gives it a second thought. See a movie by yourself, and it's like you're masturbating. And that's just something I'd rather not do in public.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
He's Still Fightin' Them Fires!
Coincidentally, Dillon and I had lunch today. I was in Manhattan early and decided to treat myself to lunch at my favorite restaurant, Blossom. It's a vegan place across from Zingone's, the market we've shopped at for the past 43 years, near 82nd and Columbus. As I was entering, I spotted Dillon finishing his repast at the bar. The server motioned for me to sit at the next seat. After I finished eating, I headed to my office.
And then, as it happens, I saw his car again... only this time, it wasn't the blue sedan from last week. It was a maroon Sable, parked in front of the same hydrant right outside his apartment building. This time I was parked just up the block. He could easily have snagged a legal spot: the street cleaning sign requires people to keep cars off that side of the block till 12:30, or a few minutes before I saw him.
Maybe next time I'll sit with him in his car and have take-out while we wait till 12:30 so we can leave the car in a legal spot. Yeah, that'll happen.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Matt Dillon, Fire Fighter
Did you know that Matt Dillon is a fire fighter? Apparently the 45-year-old New York native and thespian heartthrob is also one of New York's Finest. Well, at least according to the placard I've seen twice in his car when he parks his blue sedan in front of a hydrant on the block where he lives.
I've spotted Dillon a few times on the block where I grew up, and I've also seen that blue car with the fire fighter decal parked by the hydrant on several occasions. But I had no reason to put the two together until last week when I saw Dillon after the two of us had bought candies at the newsstand on the corner of 81st St and Columbus Ave. I hadn't recognized him yet, but I noticed that the two of us had parked up the block and that he was getting into the car just back of mine. It turns out that I had parked my car directly in front of Dillon's when I arrived to tutor several hours earlier. Mine was in the legal spot just east of the hydrant, and his was parked behind my car (and next to the hydrant).
Cars rarely park by the hydrant, of course, so I took notice of this automobile, and I spotted the "Active Fire Fighter" placard on the dashboard. I'm not sure if it could prevent him from getting a ticket, but I can tell you that it's the real-deal placard, one which he has to have gotten from a fireman buddy of his. I'm pretty sure that's illegal, but what do I know; maybe there is a provision in the law that allows for actors to display FDNY placards in their cars in case they have to make an emergency shoot on some nearby set.
As we started to get into our cars, I smiled and pointed to the New Paltz Fire Department sticker on the back of my car. I knocked on his window and when he rolled it down, I asked which department he's with. That's when I realized that this was Matt Dillon. He smiled awkwardly, nodded but didn't speak, and rolled his window back up.
I guess he's with the Movie Shoots and Ladders department.
(Dillon's actual placard)
Sunday, May 10, 2009
This is My 200th Post. Now I've Added Labels
Shirra taught me how to label posts. Yes, it only took me two years and two hundred posts to learn this.
Most of the posts are about general New Paltzy things, of course, but there are repeat items mentioned thruout, like the fire department, my Smart Car, and shopping.
Looking ahead, it's hard to conjure up what the next 10 posts are going to be about, let alone the next 200, but here's one guess: taxes. That's because the way things are going, taxes are going to go up everywhere, but to make matters worse, fire departments everywhere are losing members. Perhaps this is due in part to many of the newer (and younger) members having to work extra jobs, which takes them away from their volunteer work. Whatever the case, if New Paltz's fire department goes pro, every resident of the town and village will see their taxes shoot up several hundred dollars on average as the department costs would rise from about $600,000 to about ten times that amount.
Start saving those pennies.
Most of the posts are about general New Paltzy things, of course, but there are repeat items mentioned thruout, like the fire department, my Smart Car, and shopping.
Looking ahead, it's hard to conjure up what the next 10 posts are going to be about, let alone the next 200, but here's one guess: taxes. That's because the way things are going, taxes are going to go up everywhere, but to make matters worse, fire departments everywhere are losing members. Perhaps this is due in part to many of the newer (and younger) members having to work extra jobs, which takes them away from their volunteer work. Whatever the case, if New Paltz's fire department goes pro, every resident of the town and village will see their taxes shoot up several hundred dollars on average as the department costs would rise from about $600,000 to about ten times that amount.
Start saving those pennies.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Getting Hitched
I don't often pick up hitchhikers. For one thing, you don't see them too often around here -- at least not when I'm traveling. Every once in awhile, tho, the timing is right, and today was one of those times.
The owner of the thumb was named Ben. I guess some would characterize him as a hippie. Some might even call him a "Dead head" because he has spent a lot of the past two years hitchhiking around the US (crossing it twice) while catching a lot of Grateful Dead concerts. He explained that he spends a lot of time camping, sometimes around New Paltz, often spending a month in the woods on a self-imposed retreat. I didn't get the impression that he is a stoner or someone who is avoiding life. Rather, he struck me as a younger version of a good friend of mine who spent many years figuring out what he wanted to do before finding steady work, getting married, and having two kids. I mentioned this to my new friend with the undertone that perhaps he, too, would satisfy his wanderlust and find a way to conform... just a bit... to society at large.
During our conversation, I realized that no one in my family has ever taken permanent work in a business office. I used to teach, and now I tutor, so the closest I've come to office life is when I met with colleagues at my old school. Shirra owns a shop, and before that, she spent most of her time chasing after three kids. My brother is a composer and pianist who has, of late, been touring with the Paper Bag Players. I can no more imagine him working in an office than I can imagine him growing a second head. Shirra's brother is a teacher. My parents are psychiatrists. Shirra's parents worked as teachers and actors. Going back to earlier generations, we find rabbis, business owners, musicians, doctors, salesmen... but no office workers.
Somehow I don't think that this is a coincidence. For one thing, our family is fairly eclectic. Office work seems to require a certain level of conformity that I don't possess. Teaching requires it, too, but to a lesser extent, and even that was difficult for me at times.
The closest I came to working in an office was when I had to dress up nicely in order to work a few weeks in a doctor's office for a summer job in college. It was a sweltering summer and the office was only mildly cooled, so I arrived sweating from my bus rides and stayed warm throughout the day. It was around this time that I decided to avoid any job that mandated tie-wearing or mass transit. This was in 1986.
I once tried my hand as a telemarketer when I was looking for summer work back in my college days. I lasted two days at that job. I have worked as a waiter, house painter, busboy, Barbie Knit-Magic displayer, flier distributer, tanning booth operator, research assistant, and probably a few other jobs that I've forgotten. My teaching posts allowed me to express myself somewhat in my clothing choices (as long as I wore long pants rather than shorts), and I biked or unicycled to work for over a decade. I guess that some people would characterize me as a hippie. Right on, man.
The owner of the thumb was named Ben. I guess some would characterize him as a hippie. Some might even call him a "Dead head" because he has spent a lot of the past two years hitchhiking around the US (crossing it twice) while catching a lot of Grateful Dead concerts. He explained that he spends a lot of time camping, sometimes around New Paltz, often spending a month in the woods on a self-imposed retreat. I didn't get the impression that he is a stoner or someone who is avoiding life. Rather, he struck me as a younger version of a good friend of mine who spent many years figuring out what he wanted to do before finding steady work, getting married, and having two kids. I mentioned this to my new friend with the undertone that perhaps he, too, would satisfy his wanderlust and find a way to conform... just a bit... to society at large.
During our conversation, I realized that no one in my family has ever taken permanent work in a business office. I used to teach, and now I tutor, so the closest I've come to office life is when I met with colleagues at my old school. Shirra owns a shop, and before that, she spent most of her time chasing after three kids. My brother is a composer and pianist who has, of late, been touring with the Paper Bag Players. I can no more imagine him working in an office than I can imagine him growing a second head. Shirra's brother is a teacher. My parents are psychiatrists. Shirra's parents worked as teachers and actors. Going back to earlier generations, we find rabbis, business owners, musicians, doctors, salesmen... but no office workers.
Somehow I don't think that this is a coincidence. For one thing, our family is fairly eclectic. Office work seems to require a certain level of conformity that I don't possess. Teaching requires it, too, but to a lesser extent, and even that was difficult for me at times.
The closest I came to working in an office was when I had to dress up nicely in order to work a few weeks in a doctor's office for a summer job in college. It was a sweltering summer and the office was only mildly cooled, so I arrived sweating from my bus rides and stayed warm throughout the day. It was around this time that I decided to avoid any job that mandated tie-wearing or mass transit. This was in 1986.
I once tried my hand as a telemarketer when I was looking for summer work back in my college days. I lasted two days at that job. I have worked as a waiter, house painter, busboy, Barbie Knit-Magic displayer, flier distributer, tanning booth operator, research assistant, and probably a few other jobs that I've forgotten. My teaching posts allowed me to express myself somewhat in my clothing choices (as long as I wore long pants rather than shorts), and I biked or unicycled to work for over a decade. I guess that some people would characterize me as a hippie. Right on, man.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Friendship in Its Many Forms
People used to believe that the Inuit had many words for snow. They don't, really. But I thought it might be handy to have a list of the many types of friendships out there.
MATES
At the top of the list is what Australians call mateship. Basically, mates are like brothers -- such good friends that they'd put up with practically anything from each other. Sometimes mateships form naturally among like-minded people, and sometimes they occur as a result of belonging to a tight group, like a gang. I think that they're even more closely tied than BFFs. Mates are extremely protective of each other. If your wife kicked you out, a mate might take you in almost indefinitely. Most people are lucky if they have even one mate. Mates don't share secrets even under pain of death or jail time.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: Indefintely
Will attend your funeral? Yes
Actually care for you: Probably
BEST FRIENDS
There's no clear distinction between 'mate' and 'best friend.' Maybe they're identical, tho with 'mates' I get the impression that going out for a pint now and then is a requirement, whereas best friends seem a bit more sedate. You could tell a secret to a best friend, but if death or jail time became involved, you might find your friendship changing to something else.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: A week, give or take, owing to normal circumstances
Will attend your funeral? Yes
Actually care for you: Definitely
GOOD FRIENDS
This is to make the distinction for that grey area between BEST FRIEND and FRIEND. To me, the GOOD FRIEND is one of a small group of people whom you could depend on for a variety of things, from a spare bed when necessary to a last-minute movie date that involves postponing a few errands or finding a babysitter. Good friends are the ones who laugh at your bad jokes and would be happy to drop everything to help you. You can depend on seeing each other pretty often, too.
FRIENDS
This term is pretty loose these days. I guess that in its highest form, a friend is someone you can confide in pretty confidently and who will be happy to hang out with you or to chat on the phone. There is no expectation that you 'should' get together at certain holidays or religious events, but it would be nice if you did. Friends are last level where you'd expect them to attend your funeral.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: Three nights, max. After that, you're either out, or your relationship is even stronger than you thought. Like the saying about fish (after three days, they start smelling bad).
Will attend your funeral? Yes, unless something really important intervenes.
Actually care for you: Yes, and would probably cry at that funeral
BUDDIES
These are people you hang out with well, but you're not about to make plans to see each other often.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: One night, max
Will attend your funeral? If convenient.
Actually care for you: Probably, but no tears at the funeral.
ACQUAINTANCES
In the Venn diagram of social circles, an acquaintance is a narrow pointy oval. Your lives barely overlap, and you certainly don't yet know each other enough to be friends. As for the funeral: They'll find out about it and remark, "Oh, he's dead? I knew that guy. We were friends."
One thing they don't tell you before you plan a move from City A to City B is that your friendships will be tested. Some will dissolve, others will change to a different level.
MATES
At the top of the list is what Australians call mateship. Basically, mates are like brothers -- such good friends that they'd put up with practically anything from each other. Sometimes mateships form naturally among like-minded people, and sometimes they occur as a result of belonging to a tight group, like a gang. I think that they're even more closely tied than BFFs. Mates are extremely protective of each other. If your wife kicked you out, a mate might take you in almost indefinitely. Most people are lucky if they have even one mate. Mates don't share secrets even under pain of death or jail time.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: Indefintely
Will attend your funeral? Yes
Actually care for you: Probably
BEST FRIENDS
There's no clear distinction between 'mate' and 'best friend.' Maybe they're identical, tho with 'mates' I get the impression that going out for a pint now and then is a requirement, whereas best friends seem a bit more sedate. You could tell a secret to a best friend, but if death or jail time became involved, you might find your friendship changing to something else.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: A week, give or take, owing to normal circumstances
Will attend your funeral? Yes
Actually care for you: Definitely
GOOD FRIENDS
This is to make the distinction for that grey area between BEST FRIEND and FRIEND. To me, the GOOD FRIEND is one of a small group of people whom you could depend on for a variety of things, from a spare bed when necessary to a last-minute movie date that involves postponing a few errands or finding a babysitter. Good friends are the ones who laugh at your bad jokes and would be happy to drop everything to help you. You can depend on seeing each other pretty often, too.
FRIENDS
This term is pretty loose these days. I guess that in its highest form, a friend is someone you can confide in pretty confidently and who will be happy to hang out with you or to chat on the phone. There is no expectation that you 'should' get together at certain holidays or religious events, but it would be nice if you did. Friends are last level where you'd expect them to attend your funeral.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: Three nights, max. After that, you're either out, or your relationship is even stronger than you thought. Like the saying about fish (after three days, they start smelling bad).
Will attend your funeral? Yes, unless something really important intervenes.
Actually care for you: Yes, and would probably cry at that funeral
BUDDIES
These are people you hang out with well, but you're not about to make plans to see each other often.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: One night, max
Will attend your funeral? If convenient.
Actually care for you: Probably, but no tears at the funeral.
ACQUAINTANCES
In the Venn diagram of social circles, an acquaintance is a narrow pointy oval. Your lives barely overlap, and you certainly don't yet know each other enough to be friends. As for the funeral: They'll find out about it and remark, "Oh, he's dead? I knew that guy. We were friends."
One thing they don't tell you before you plan a move from City A to City B is that your friendships will be tested. Some will dissolve, others will change to a different level.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Stop & Shop Scanners
Last month, Stop and Shop introduced scanners in 100 of its stores, including the one in our very own New Paltz. I was surprised to find how easy they are to operate. I'm no slouch when it comes to electronics, but I still defer to Shirra when it comes to hooking up the DVD player or getting the computer to interface with our external hard-drive. So if I can get a scanner to work, anyone can.
Scanners save you time because you don't have to wait in line for a cashier. You simply scan an item and put in in your bag. Oh yeah -- make sure to have some shopping bags with you, or else you're just a doofus who likes to waste time and plastic.
Anyway, once you've finished shopping, you simply scan a barcode reader at the self-check-out lane and pay. Voila! You're done. And so far, I've had almost no trouble with the scanners, and everyone I've spoken with has praised them to the sky.
Some people have a complaint about them, however: the cashiers. I spoke last week with one of the more experienced associates, and she told me that she's afraid that scanners are going to take jobs away. She lamented the fate of high school seniors, moms with empty nests, and other people who need an entry-level job. It might only pay a smidge over the minimum wage, but a job at S&S still gives a person health benefits, work experience, and a few bucks towards the rent.
Some shoppers refuse to use the scanners out of a sense of loyalty to their fellow workers. I'm hoping that the company finds an alternate use for its employees. Maybe they could use workers to increase the paltry number of floor walkers, resulting in a better shopping experience that would enrich S&S over its cross-street rival, Shoprite.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
53rd Biggest Loser on the Planet
As of this afternoon, I am now the 53rd biggest loser alive. I owe it all to online Boggle for the iPhone.
My brother's great friend Dave showed me a fun app on his iTouch called Wurdle, but after a few weeks, I got tired of it. The funny thing is, it's a much better application than the one I play these days. Wurdle's interface is huge, it uses the up-to-date Scrabble dictionary that I'm familiar with, and it has other niceties that make the game more fun, including better sound effects. Most of all, it doesn't always give you great sets of letters, so sometimes you have to struggle to score a few points.
Shake & Spell, on the other hand, has a tiny interface (I try to come up for air now and then so that I don't damage my surgically enhanced eyes). It uses the most-recent-but-one dictionary, so there are plenty of 'words' that I know from the new Scrabble update, like ZAS, that aren't allowed. But worst of all, it constantly creates blocks of the same common letters: E A T. This means that in about 8 games out of 10, you have to type the same tiny, annoying words. How many times have made these words? ETA EAT TAE TEA ATE ....
The only thing in S&S's favor, really, is that it hooks you up with other live players. Games generally take place with people playing the same board a few minutes apart (if not a few hours or days apart). If you keep enough games going at once, you can almost always turn on your machine to see a few games waiting for you. And with the most recent update, you can add friends and request games with a small group of people that you've come to trust.
Cheating abounds. Until they fix a few things, the game makes it easy for people to generate high scores using online Boggle solvers. But it's easy to recognize the cheaters and to avoid them.
When I first joined S&S, I noticed that there are thousands of players. You immediately get a ranking based on the points you score, and you mainly score by accruing points gained over opponents. If you win 200-199, you get a point. So after a few days, I found that I was ranked about 2500th overall. A few weeks later, I broke into the top 1000. I began to wonder about those people with really high scores. Do they have a life? Since most games are 3 rounds, if they have a win-loss total of 600-400, their winning percentage isn't too high (60%), but they've played 1000 games averaging about 3 minutes; they've spent 50 hours playing Boggle! That's over two full days!
At some point, you cross a line. It's one thing to play a few games now and then. It's another to play really well. But it's entirely different if you play all the time. And it's not like you can do a lot of other things while playing Boggle on a two inch interface. I think I'd rather see a drunk driver than encounter someone driving under the influence of Boggle. You can't brush your teeth while boggling. You can't read. You can't chat on the phone. You can't really do anything except ignore your favorite TV shows.
When I broke into the top 100, I started paying close attention to the time I'd spent on the game. It's getting out of control. And now I'm rated number 53 and gaining fast. My winning percentage is 82.4%. And I'm the 53rd biggest loser on the planet.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Bad Smells
Even I knew that living in the country meant living with a septic tank. Ours is buried in the ground several hundred feet from the house, creating a plateau that might one day allow for a small ice skating rink.
What I didn't know is that having a septic tank involves taking care of a septic tank. In the same way that elementary-schoolers think that hamburgers come from, uh, the supermarket, I sort of assumed that septic tanks took care of themselves and didn't involve participation on my part. Luckily, having a water-treatment facility in the country is a lot easier than having to slaughter your own food, but there is some work involved. OK, it only involves flushing some powder down your toilet twice a year, but still... What I now know and will never forget is the smell of that powder.
It comes in a happy box that seems to radiate health and the great outdoors. Shirra remembered last night that we'd missed our moment to take care of the tank back in January. It was that time of year again. It's easy to remember, since we only have to take care of it on July 1 and then on the first of the year. It's just that we'd never stayed home afterwards.
The directions on the box are pretty simple:
1. Pour contents into toilet.
2. Flush.
There should be two other steps:
3. Hold nose.
4. Stay out of house for 4 hours.
So last night we went to bed with the entire house smelling like a latrine. Happy New Year.
What I didn't know is that having a septic tank involves taking care of a septic tank. In the same way that elementary-schoolers think that hamburgers come from, uh, the supermarket, I sort of assumed that septic tanks took care of themselves and didn't involve participation on my part. Luckily, having a water-treatment facility in the country is a lot easier than having to slaughter your own food, but there is some work involved. OK, it only involves flushing some powder down your toilet twice a year, but still... What I now know and will never forget is the smell of that powder.
It comes in a happy box that seems to radiate health and the great outdoors. Shirra remembered last night that we'd missed our moment to take care of the tank back in January. It was that time of year again. It's easy to remember, since we only have to take care of it on July 1 and then on the first of the year. It's just that we'd never stayed home afterwards.
The directions on the box are pretty simple:
1. Pour contents into toilet.
2. Flush.
There should be two other steps:
3. Hold nose.
4. Stay out of house for 4 hours.
So last night we went to bed with the entire house smelling like a latrine. Happy New Year.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Crunching Sane Hash: Church Shenanigans
How could a person resist?
Before .................................................................................................. After
Before .................................................................................................. After
Monday, March 30, 2009
Juggling Three Cars
Our first car was the Pontiac Aztek. We saw it advertised on "Survivor" and decided it looked cool and had features we liked, such as the tent you can add onto the hatch. We bought that tent, and it's still in its box 8 years and $190 later.
Shortly after we moved to Brooklyn, we needed a bigger car. The Aztek seats 5, but we often found ourselves taking friends with us, and after Maeve was born, we didn't have room in the car for even one passenger. We bought a 2004 Honda Odyssey, and two years later we traded up to the 2006 model. Those cars helped us in the move to New Paltz -- they both had fold-down (or removable) seats and could handle at least 30 small boxes each! And when I started driving to Manhattan at the beginning of this school year, the Aztek served my purposes pretty well. I'd had to repair various things over the years, and the repairs were getting pricey, but I thought I was going to run that car into the ground before getting a new one.
Then I saw my first Smart, back in late April of 2008. Suddenly I realized that I had an answer to a problem I hadn't even realized I had. The Smart is less than 9 feet long, just over half the size of the average car. I bought an 'orphan' (a car someone had ordered but had then forsaken) a week later at a time when the economy seemed strong and the wait for Smarts was over 18 months. Looking for parking in Manhattan would never be the same. I used to park the Aztek in the first available spot I saw, then unicycle from wherever that happened to be. Often, that was a mile away. Another time I was late for an important meeting because I spent over 40 minutes parking and ended up on my old block (114th Street) -- nearly two miles from my office.
Third World Problem: I now use the Aztek so seldom that its battery is constantly dying. This started happening when we lived in Brookyln. There, I'd unicycle everywhere, and the 'Tek often languished in the garage for weeks. I killed that battery so bad, I even needed to have it replaced. And since buying the Smart, I've had to charge the Aztek almost once a week, which is about as often as I use it.
Rather than calling Triple-A or having to put two cars together with jumper cables, I wised up years ago and bought a small portable car charger. It's the same kind that AAA uses when they arrive on the scene to give you a boost, and it's only about $100 for the unit, which lasts a long time. But since it's only good for one or two charges at best before recharging, it's a good idea to have a 2nd unit. I now have one charger in the basement at all times, plugged in and ready to go, while the other is in the Smart in case I run into a problem ... or in case I decide to help out some stranded motorist. I've done that three times so far.
Selling the Aztek might have been a decent idea a few years ago, when we discovered that its trade-in value was about $7,000, but at this point, it's probably worth under a grand, so we might as well get out of it as much as we possibly can. I do have to take it into the shop soon, however. I need to update its registration, and it needs a new brake light and a few other minor repairs. One of these days we'll have to break out that tent -- maybe when the weather gets warm. That's what we say every spring.
Shortly after we moved to Brooklyn, we needed a bigger car. The Aztek seats 5, but we often found ourselves taking friends with us, and after Maeve was born, we didn't have room in the car for even one passenger. We bought a 2004 Honda Odyssey, and two years later we traded up to the 2006 model. Those cars helped us in the move to New Paltz -- they both had fold-down (or removable) seats and could handle at least 30 small boxes each! And when I started driving to Manhattan at the beginning of this school year, the Aztek served my purposes pretty well. I'd had to repair various things over the years, and the repairs were getting pricey, but I thought I was going to run that car into the ground before getting a new one.
Then I saw my first Smart, back in late April of 2008. Suddenly I realized that I had an answer to a problem I hadn't even realized I had. The Smart is less than 9 feet long, just over half the size of the average car. I bought an 'orphan' (a car someone had ordered but had then forsaken) a week later at a time when the economy seemed strong and the wait for Smarts was over 18 months. Looking for parking in Manhattan would never be the same. I used to park the Aztek in the first available spot I saw, then unicycle from wherever that happened to be. Often, that was a mile away. Another time I was late for an important meeting because I spent over 40 minutes parking and ended up on my old block (114th Street) -- nearly two miles from my office.
Third World Problem: I now use the Aztek so seldom that its battery is constantly dying. This started happening when we lived in Brookyln. There, I'd unicycle everywhere, and the 'Tek often languished in the garage for weeks. I killed that battery so bad, I even needed to have it replaced. And since buying the Smart, I've had to charge the Aztek almost once a week, which is about as often as I use it.
Rather than calling Triple-A or having to put two cars together with jumper cables, I wised up years ago and bought a small portable car charger. It's the same kind that AAA uses when they arrive on the scene to give you a boost, and it's only about $100 for the unit, which lasts a long time. But since it's only good for one or two charges at best before recharging, it's a good idea to have a 2nd unit. I now have one charger in the basement at all times, plugged in and ready to go, while the other is in the Smart in case I run into a problem ... or in case I decide to help out some stranded motorist. I've done that three times so far.
Selling the Aztek might have been a decent idea a few years ago, when we discovered that its trade-in value was about $7,000, but at this point, it's probably worth under a grand, so we might as well get out of it as much as we possibly can. I do have to take it into the shop soon, however. I need to update its registration, and it needs a new brake light and a few other minor repairs. One of these days we'll have to break out that tent -- maybe when the weather gets warm. That's what we say every spring.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
New Highs in Hypermiling: 50 mpg!
I'm now driving slower than ever. Remember that I travel at a time of day when fewer cars and trucks are on the road -- I couldn't drive 50-60 mph during rush hour, but at 1 in the afternoon or 8 at night, it's not a big deal. I just have to keep an eye out for trucks bearing down on me, and when I see them, I speed up a bit and let them pass without having to slow down.
So over the past month, I've worked at maintaining an average speed of 55 mph. Using the pulse & glide technique (where I speed up to 60 and then coast back to 50, repeating ad nauseam), I've been able to achieve incredible success in stretching my gas pennies further than usual. Over the first 100 fill-ups, I averaged about 44 mpg. But over the last four tankfuls, I've managed almost 50 mpg! I keep track of my mileage at fuelly.com
This means that my average trip takes a few minutes longer each day, but that gives me a few extra minutes to listen to my audio books or to play some music. My P&G'ing keeps me more awake than when I'd drive using cruise control, and I love the car and arrive at my destination in a great mood.
So over the past month, I've worked at maintaining an average speed of 55 mph. Using the pulse & glide technique (where I speed up to 60 and then coast back to 50, repeating ad nauseam), I've been able to achieve incredible success in stretching my gas pennies further than usual. Over the first 100 fill-ups, I averaged about 44 mpg. But over the last four tankfuls, I've managed almost 50 mpg! I keep track of my mileage at fuelly.com
This means that my average trip takes a few minutes longer each day, but that gives me a few extra minutes to listen to my audio books or to play some music. My P&G'ing keeps me more awake than when I'd drive using cruise control, and I love the car and arrive at my destination in a great mood.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Church Anagrams
I couldn't resist. As an inveterate wordsmith and someone who's played Scrabble in tournaments for the past 15 years, I couldn't resist the chance to put a twist on the huge sign outside the mega-church.
Each week, the church changes its sign, always proclaiming something uplifting in 2-foot-tall letters. But two weeks ago, the church came up with something that I instantly anagrammed to something hilarious, and I just had to make the change.
But then, being the nice guy that I am, I put the letters back.
Each week, the church changes its sign, always proclaiming something uplifting in 2-foot-tall letters. But two weeks ago, the church came up with something that I instantly anagrammed to something hilarious, and I just had to make the change.
But then, being the nice guy that I am, I put the letters back.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The Weirdest Playlist in the World
When I arrived home last night, I realized I'd just played what might have been the weirdest playlist in the history of humanity.
Many linguists have noted that it doesn't take a lot of words for a person to put together a sentence that has never been uttered before. Here's one: Rational cows wrangle parking boogers.
My tunes started out fairly normal. I listened to a few songs from Erran Baron Cohen's "Songs in the Key of Hanukkah." My favorite is the opening track, but I couldn't find a link to it, so here is a link to the 2nd song, "Dreidel." It's a combination of holiday klezmer and rap, with some other styles thrown in, and it's so boppy that it's definitely not just for Hanukkah.
Next I went to some microtonal music by Easley Blackwood, Jr. The scale we're all used to playing has 12 tones, but he has written music with many more notes per octave. The result is music that sounds like it came from another planet, but some of his pieces are hauntingly beautiful, and I find myself drawn to them. My favorite is Opus 28 #3 (Suite in Four Movements).
Then it was on to some solid rap music: "Lookin' Fly," by Murs (featuring will.i.am). My other favorite of Murs is "The Science," an impressive song about the history and struggles of African Americans.
Now, there are probably a lot of people who have listened back-to-back to some Murs and then some Notorious B.I.G, and I'm one of them. I put on a few songs including "Gimme the Loot." Notorious B.I.G.'s murder remains unsolved, but it's safe to say that he came on strong and went out just as fiercely.
It's possible that this playlist wasn't weird enough, so just for fun, I ended with a show tune: "http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3HeasqkO1Ko&feature=related," from Showboat. The version I've linked to features Helen Morgan, but I much prefer the most recent Broadway production's version by Lonette McKee. The song was written by P.G. Wodehouse (who wrote the famous series of "Jeeves and Wooster" books).
Challenge: Can you put together an even weirder playlist in under 6 songs?
Many linguists have noted that it doesn't take a lot of words for a person to put together a sentence that has never been uttered before. Here's one: Rational cows wrangle parking boogers.
My tunes started out fairly normal. I listened to a few songs from Erran Baron Cohen's "Songs in the Key of Hanukkah." My favorite is the opening track, but I couldn't find a link to it, so here is a link to the 2nd song, "Dreidel." It's a combination of holiday klezmer and rap, with some other styles thrown in, and it's so boppy that it's definitely not just for Hanukkah.
Next I went to some microtonal music by Easley Blackwood, Jr. The scale we're all used to playing has 12 tones, but he has written music with many more notes per octave. The result is music that sounds like it came from another planet, but some of his pieces are hauntingly beautiful, and I find myself drawn to them. My favorite is Opus 28 #3 (Suite in Four Movements).
Then it was on to some solid rap music: "Lookin' Fly," by Murs (featuring will.i.am). My other favorite of Murs is "The Science," an impressive song about the history and struggles of African Americans.
Now, there are probably a lot of people who have listened back-to-back to some Murs and then some Notorious B.I.G, and I'm one of them. I put on a few songs including "Gimme the Loot." Notorious B.I.G.'s murder remains unsolved, but it's safe to say that he came on strong and went out just as fiercely.
It's possible that this playlist wasn't weird enough, so just for fun, I ended with a show tune: "http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3HeasqkO1Ko&feature=related," from Showboat. The version I've linked to features Helen Morgan, but I much prefer the most recent Broadway production's version by Lonette McKee. The song was written by P.G. Wodehouse (who wrote the famous series of "Jeeves and Wooster" books).
Challenge: Can you put together an even weirder playlist in under 6 songs?
Saturday, January 10, 2009
How Many New Paltzers Does It Take to Screw in a Lightbulb?
Actually, the question should be: How Many Steps Does It Take...
Our house came with sconces outside of each door. We rarely use them. The front door sconce is easy to open, so when the bulbs blew last summer, it was a matter of minutes before they were replaced. The side door sconce is another story. In fact, it might as well be on another story, because changing the bulbs required a ladder. Strangely, it also required a vacuum cleaner.
I had been meaning to change these bulbs for some time, but last week I realized that it was going to be an involved process and that the process would involve daylight. I would have preferred a warm, sunny day, but I settled for 21 degrees and clouds.
It was only when I'd unscrewed the two screws atop the sconce that I noticed that there was bug detritus -- dead flies, eggs, wings -- all around the base of the bulbs. Simply replacing the bulbs might have led to a short circuit or other problems, so the situation called for a vacuum cleaner, meaning that I'd have to operate a vacuum from the top of a ladder that was resting on several inches of snow.
Normally, the changing of a lightbulb requires these steps:
1. Remove old bulb
2. Replace with new bulb
My operation was a bit more complex:
1. Acquire ladder from our nearby shed; place beside door
2. Grab screwdriver from kitchen shelf; place in pocket
3. Ascend ladder
4. Remove 2 screws from sconce
5. Place sconce on handrail of stairs
6. Remove bulbs
7. Descend ladder; discard old bulbs
8. Grab vacuum cleaner; reascend ladder
9. Remove doo-hickey around light fixture; vacuum. Repeat two more times
10. Descend ladder again; put down vacuum cleaner
11. Grab new bulbs; reascend ladder
12. Screw in new bulbs
13. Replace sconce top
14. Replace sconce screws
15. Replace ladder in shed
16. Replace vacuum cleaner in house.
Of course, because I couldn't even remember using this light, I had to check that it was working as soon as I'd replaced the first bulb, meaning that there were at least two more steps in this process. The above list is just a shorthand for my next bulb-changing.
Our house came with sconces outside of each door. We rarely use them. The front door sconce is easy to open, so when the bulbs blew last summer, it was a matter of minutes before they were replaced. The side door sconce is another story. In fact, it might as well be on another story, because changing the bulbs required a ladder. Strangely, it also required a vacuum cleaner.
I had been meaning to change these bulbs for some time, but last week I realized that it was going to be an involved process and that the process would involve daylight. I would have preferred a warm, sunny day, but I settled for 21 degrees and clouds.
It was only when I'd unscrewed the two screws atop the sconce that I noticed that there was bug detritus -- dead flies, eggs, wings -- all around the base of the bulbs. Simply replacing the bulbs might have led to a short circuit or other problems, so the situation called for a vacuum cleaner, meaning that I'd have to operate a vacuum from the top of a ladder that was resting on several inches of snow.
Normally, the changing of a lightbulb requires these steps:
1. Remove old bulb
2. Replace with new bulb
My operation was a bit more complex:
1. Acquire ladder from our nearby shed; place beside door
2. Grab screwdriver from kitchen shelf; place in pocket
3. Ascend ladder
4. Remove 2 screws from sconce
5. Place sconce on handrail of stairs
6. Remove bulbs
7. Descend ladder; discard old bulbs
8. Grab vacuum cleaner; reascend ladder
9. Remove doo-hickey around light fixture; vacuum. Repeat two more times
10. Descend ladder again; put down vacuum cleaner
11. Grab new bulbs; reascend ladder
12. Screw in new bulbs
13. Replace sconce top
14. Replace sconce screws
15. Replace ladder in shed
16. Replace vacuum cleaner in house.
Of course, because I couldn't even remember using this light, I had to check that it was working as soon as I'd replaced the first bulb, meaning that there were at least two more steps in this process. The above list is just a shorthand for my next bulb-changing.
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