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?"

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.