Bunnies are far cuter in books for children than when they've been accidentally run over on your road. In both cases, they're 2-dimensional, but in children's books, they always have bushy tails and seem to be thinking something clever. On your road, they have tire tracks and seem to be getting devoured by flies. To me, this type of bunny is far less cute.
I was driving back from the Village when I noticed a flat lump on the side of the road in the shape of a bunny in motion. Slowing down, I verified in my rear-view mirror that my first suspicion was correct. Maeve was in the car at the time, so I couldn't just run out and check. We were on our way to the playground and pool, so I packed the car carefully: bathing suits, towels, sunscreen, and a big shovel. Then we headed back to the car.
I couldn't recall exactly where the dead bunny was, but I knew it was between our neighbor and us (meaning that it had been run over by either my wife or me). It didn't take me long to locate it; at the point where the flies were most thickly congregated, I slowed down. I quickly hopped out of the car -- Maeve is too young to require an excuse for such behavior -- and opened the trunk. In one motion, the bunny was swept into the foliage, taking his buzzing entourage with him.
The joys of country life.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Exploding Peaches
I was just thinking back to 2007, when that whole Moriello Pool debacle started. I pass the location all the time -- it's on my way to the Village -- but what triggered my memory was seeing a woman sunbathing on the lawn of the Hasbrouck playground today.
My family had just moved to New Paltz the fall before, so 2007 was our first (and only) summer of the pool. We bought a family membership just a few days before the whole breast-feeding incident that brought about the end of the pool and thrust New Paltz into the national spotlight for the first time since the gay weddings of 2003.
I was at the pool the day the fiasco started, and in fact, I overheard most of the conversation that started it. A camp counselor from the Y rather loudly "asked" a friend of mine -- let's call her Cherry -- to stop breast-feeding in plain view of the camp kids. Stunned, Cherry walked over to her friends at the pool to describe what had just taken place. People were always running into friends at the pool, which was one of the reasons my family joined up; even though we'd been in New Paltz for less than a year, we always ran into at least three families we knew.
At the time, it struck me as ironic that this particular councelor was accosting Cherry about public breastfeeding. Cherry's breasts, at their largest, would be completely obstructed by the head of a child. One would have to use a good deal of imagination to be offended by Cherry's public display. I should also point out that Cherry's infant isn't translucent. Since I wasn't standing on a rooftop at just the right angle, I didn't happen to catch a peek that day, but as Cherry pointed out a moment later, her breasts are only about the size of small peaches. The councelor, on the other hand, had what my high school friends had called bazooms. Nowadays I use the more PC term "melons." And what made this encounter between the women so unexpected was that the peaches were almost invisible beneath a child and a few layers of shirt while the melons were almost completely visible beneath one of those criss-cross bathing suit tops that expose several square feet of melon.
This is not to say that the councelor was wearing anything inappropriate. Her bathing suit was of the current fashion, and no one but a lunatic would have complained about seeing too much of her ample offerings. Had I been a woman with her endowment, I might have chosen something slightly less revealing when my job was to look after gobs of middle-school kids, but she clearly felt that she was within normal standards.
The encounter ended as so many of these do, with the breast-feeder walking away stunned while the offended party huddled among her like-minded friends. Since I had happened to have my towel right in between both groups, I overheard the councelor's friends making comments like "That's disgusting" and "In public?" Meanwhile, Cherry had quickly regained the power of speech, and from her camp I overheard "2007 -- that's crazy" and something about how women are allowed to go topless in New York state. It was as I was walking over to make this last point that I also heard one of the women mention how the La Leche League would not take lightly to this whole situation.
The name of this group has always sounded a bit odd to those of us with any appreciation of a foreign language, since it would translate to "The The Milk League," but I suppose it's no more annoying to most than the redundancy of an "ATM machine." The La Leches are not redundant, however. They're the only group in this country working to protect the rights of babies who want breast milk instead of formula. Doctors worldwide have agreed with these babies about the benefits of breast milk, and even formula-makers have made it clear on their packaging that their products aren't as healthy as the real thing. The only problem the La Leches face is how to deliver their product without offending camp councelors and others who are put off by the sight of the back of a baby's head next to a woman's armpit.
We all know what happened next. I think the La Leches went a bit far this time, but I can understand their point of view. The Sierra Club protects endangered species, and the La Leches protect endangered breasts. They quickly mobilized their troops -- breastfeeding women who needed a vacation -- and brought four nursing mothers to New Paltz for two days of fun, and milk, in the sun. The nursing moms positioned themselves around the Moriello Pool just as several groups from the Y were arriving. Cherry wasn't present -- she'd been warned away from the scene until the nursers had done their work -- but Melons was. Within minutes, the kids were back on the bus and the pool was virtually empty.
Word of mouth travels almost as fast as the speed of sound, so by the next day, most people were talking about the pool. With each set of passers-by, one would pick up talk about breasts and milk, pools and Leches. The impression I got was that most people understood the law and the health issues, so that even if they disagreed on the notion of public breastfeeding, they didn't take sides. That's what I like about New Paltz: It's a live-and-let-live environment.
Of course, even a barrel like New Paltz can be spoiled by a bad apple or two. I'm not sure how this proceess of spoilage works with fruit, but with towns, it mostly comes down to finances, and that was certainly the case here. Another problem, in retrospect, was a lack of communication. I think that the whole mess would have been avoided if the Mayor hadn't been vacationing in India. He probably would have calmed things down enough that the police wouldn't have been called. And those arrests made frontpage news everywhere and didn't help matters at all, especially since the women were protected by several laws. I also appreciated the motivation of the SUNY women who went topless at the pool in support of their sister (their much older sister), but that only served to divide Noopers even further. It was almost as though people who would rather have ignored the whole thing were forced to decide between sides of an issue that, legally speaking, had already been decided.
The eventual bankruptcy and closing of the pool made the news eighteen months later. By then, the incident only rated mention on page 20 of a Wednesday copy of the Times. No one was surprised that the Post, which had dubbed Cherry the Boob Queen, did not even offer a follow-up, though this may have been a result of Cherry's lawsuit against them.
So when I saw the topless sunbather outside the Hasbrouck playground today, my first though was for Cherry and her explosive peaches. My second thought was that I'd better head to the playground with the kids before it gets closed down, too.
My family had just moved to New Paltz the fall before, so 2007 was our first (and only) summer of the pool. We bought a family membership just a few days before the whole breast-feeding incident that brought about the end of the pool and thrust New Paltz into the national spotlight for the first time since the gay weddings of 2003.
I was at the pool the day the fiasco started, and in fact, I overheard most of the conversation that started it. A camp counselor from the Y rather loudly "asked" a friend of mine -- let's call her Cherry -- to stop breast-feeding in plain view of the camp kids. Stunned, Cherry walked over to her friends at the pool to describe what had just taken place. People were always running into friends at the pool, which was one of the reasons my family joined up; even though we'd been in New Paltz for less than a year, we always ran into at least three families we knew.
At the time, it struck me as ironic that this particular councelor was accosting Cherry about public breastfeeding. Cherry's breasts, at their largest, would be completely obstructed by the head of a child. One would have to use a good deal of imagination to be offended by Cherry's public display. I should also point out that Cherry's infant isn't translucent. Since I wasn't standing on a rooftop at just the right angle, I didn't happen to catch a peek that day, but as Cherry pointed out a moment later, her breasts are only about the size of small peaches. The councelor, on the other hand, had what my high school friends had called bazooms. Nowadays I use the more PC term "melons." And what made this encounter between the women so unexpected was that the peaches were almost invisible beneath a child and a few layers of shirt while the melons were almost completely visible beneath one of those criss-cross bathing suit tops that expose several square feet of melon.
This is not to say that the councelor was wearing anything inappropriate. Her bathing suit was of the current fashion, and no one but a lunatic would have complained about seeing too much of her ample offerings. Had I been a woman with her endowment, I might have chosen something slightly less revealing when my job was to look after gobs of middle-school kids, but she clearly felt that she was within normal standards.
The encounter ended as so many of these do, with the breast-feeder walking away stunned while the offended party huddled among her like-minded friends. Since I had happened to have my towel right in between both groups, I overheard the councelor's friends making comments like "That's disgusting" and "In public?" Meanwhile, Cherry had quickly regained the power of speech, and from her camp I overheard "2007 -- that's crazy" and something about how women are allowed to go topless in New York state. It was as I was walking over to make this last point that I also heard one of the women mention how the La Leche League would not take lightly to this whole situation.
The name of this group has always sounded a bit odd to those of us with any appreciation of a foreign language, since it would translate to "The The Milk League," but I suppose it's no more annoying to most than the redundancy of an "ATM machine." The La Leches are not redundant, however. They're the only group in this country working to protect the rights of babies who want breast milk instead of formula. Doctors worldwide have agreed with these babies about the benefits of breast milk, and even formula-makers have made it clear on their packaging that their products aren't as healthy as the real thing. The only problem the La Leches face is how to deliver their product without offending camp councelors and others who are put off by the sight of the back of a baby's head next to a woman's armpit.
We all know what happened next. I think the La Leches went a bit far this time, but I can understand their point of view. The Sierra Club protects endangered species, and the La Leches protect endangered breasts. They quickly mobilized their troops -- breastfeeding women who needed a vacation -- and brought four nursing mothers to New Paltz for two days of fun, and milk, in the sun. The nursing moms positioned themselves around the Moriello Pool just as several groups from the Y were arriving. Cherry wasn't present -- she'd been warned away from the scene until the nursers had done their work -- but Melons was. Within minutes, the kids were back on the bus and the pool was virtually empty.
Word of mouth travels almost as fast as the speed of sound, so by the next day, most people were talking about the pool. With each set of passers-by, one would pick up talk about breasts and milk, pools and Leches. The impression I got was that most people understood the law and the health issues, so that even if they disagreed on the notion of public breastfeeding, they didn't take sides. That's what I like about New Paltz: It's a live-and-let-live environment.
Of course, even a barrel like New Paltz can be spoiled by a bad apple or two. I'm not sure how this proceess of spoilage works with fruit, but with towns, it mostly comes down to finances, and that was certainly the case here. Another problem, in retrospect, was a lack of communication. I think that the whole mess would have been avoided if the Mayor hadn't been vacationing in India. He probably would have calmed things down enough that the police wouldn't have been called. And those arrests made frontpage news everywhere and didn't help matters at all, especially since the women were protected by several laws. I also appreciated the motivation of the SUNY women who went topless at the pool in support of their sister (their much older sister), but that only served to divide Noopers even further. It was almost as though people who would rather have ignored the whole thing were forced to decide between sides of an issue that, legally speaking, had already been decided.
The eventual bankruptcy and closing of the pool made the news eighteen months later. By then, the incident only rated mention on page 20 of a Wednesday copy of the Times. No one was surprised that the Post, which had dubbed Cherry the Boob Queen, did not even offer a follow-up, though this may have been a result of Cherry's lawsuit against them.
So when I saw the topless sunbather outside the Hasbrouck playground today, my first though was for Cherry and her explosive peaches. My second thought was that I'd better head to the playground with the kids before it gets closed down, too.
Fire Camp, First-Half Report
Montour Falls Fire Academy
Week One of my intensive Fire Camp (Firefighter 1 course) is over. It was definitely intense. The 78-hour course, normally offered over many weeks of Mondays as well as some full-day classes on Saturdays, usually takes 6 to 9 months to complete. We do it in 12 days.
The first day was relatively light, but even that set the tone. We met some of our classmates as everyone arrived and unpacked, and by 1 we were in a large classroom. There were 36 students, and we were divided up into 8 units by virtue of where we sat, so each 'company' had 4 or 5 cadets. I ended up in a group with Roger, the other New Paltzer taking the course, as well as three boys who were all 16 or 17. One of them ended up quitting after the first day due, I guess, to exhaustion.
After class, which featured a video presentation about avoidable firefighter deaths, we headed to a large room that had once been a chapel. The room had a few obstacles for us to walk over or crawl thru during what is called the 'air consumption' test. In this exercise, all of us don our full gear (boots, pants, coats, hoods, and helmets) as well as our face pieces and air packs, which weigh an additional 20-30 pounds. The point of the exercise is to determine how long we can get our air tanks to last during strenuous exercise. Altho rated for 30 minutes, most packs will last between 15 and 20 minutes under heavy exercise or stress; I got about 20 minutes out of my tank. I just wish I'd thought to wear my knee pads because my fire pants ('bunkers') aren't padded, so my knees got bruised and cut, which affected all of my exercises for the rest of the week. Some people managed to bruise up their elbows. I think people must have pretty different ways to crawl.
The second day was really stenuous, featuring a maze that we had to crawl thru, fully geared and with our air tanks on, in the dark. The maze had stairs, a slide (not sure what house feature that was meant to represent), and some small crawl spaces that we had to squeeze thru. In order to make things really tricky, we had put tin foil in our face pieces so that we couldn't see anything; it turns out that when the smoke gets really hot, it fills up most of the room so that fire fighters have to crawl around with little or no visibility.
The maze took most of us over ten minutes, and it was near the end of his tour of it that our firefighting brother, Brian, realized he wasn't going to make it. He took off his face piece, announced "I'm going down," and passed out. A couple liters of IV fluids later, he was ok, and by dinner time, he was back with his company. He managed to finish the week in great shape both physically and academically. He's an EMT and nurse, so he knew what was happening with his body. Later he told me that he'd had to sit on the side, waiting for his turn, for nearly 25 minutes before going into the maze. On a hot day, that was more than enough to knock out anyone. So when it was my turn to wait for the maze, I kept cool and didn't don my face piece or gloves till the last second.
Academics claimed two students, tho they have a chance to redeem themselves in the next few days. At the end of the week was a 50-question test with a passing grade of 70. Two of the teens, one of whom was in my company, scored in the 60s, but luckily they'll get a 2nd chance to pass the test before the class resumes on Sunday. At the end of the 2nd week is a 100-question test with the same passing score of 70. Of course, that test covers more material, but I imagine it will actually be easier because I'm so used to the type of questions asked and because my test-prep book for the test seems to focus more on the work we covered during week 1.
My favorite hands-on activities were ladders and search-and-rescue. I wasn't especially good at the searching, and crawling around in full gear and on air is fairly tough all around, but it was pretty cool and was definitely excellent practice. The ladder exercise was fun. We had to hoist and erect ladders, one of which could extend to 35 feet, and climb up and down the side of a building; we even learned to carry someone sideways down a ladder, a great trust exercise. Operating various hoselines was fun, too, and it was also neat to learn how to break into different kinds of doors. We worked on our ropes all the time. Opening hydrants was fun, too. I also liked learning how to use a monster chain saw in order to cut into a metal door.
The hardest thing for me was the 2-minute donning. According to some regulations, we have to get fully geared up (with our air on) within 2 minutes. Because I'd never even put on a regulator before, this was harder for me than for those with more experience. Compounding things was the fact that my coat has both snaps and these latchy knobby things that I just couldn't get done quickly. I should have been able to don in about 90 seconds, but I also tended to panic, so I'd forget basic things like pulling my hood over the outside of my facepiece. I think that when we return in a week, I'll have no trouble with donning. It also helps that my lieutenant (in NP) lent me a coat with a zipper and Velcro, just in case.
The instructors are fantastic, averaging about 25 years of fire fighting a piece. Their styles varied -- some were avuncular, others militaristic, Most of them could get quite blue, but I never heard any of them yell at someone in a mean way, and in fact they were generally quite enthusiastic and encouraging. I look forward to returning there in a week, but I still have a lot of reading and studying to do before the big final exam.
Week One of my intensive Fire Camp (Firefighter 1 course) is over. It was definitely intense. The 78-hour course, normally offered over many weeks of Mondays as well as some full-day classes on Saturdays, usually takes 6 to 9 months to complete. We do it in 12 days.
The first day was relatively light, but even that set the tone. We met some of our classmates as everyone arrived and unpacked, and by 1 we were in a large classroom. There were 36 students, and we were divided up into 8 units by virtue of where we sat, so each 'company' had 4 or 5 cadets. I ended up in a group with Roger, the other New Paltzer taking the course, as well as three boys who were all 16 or 17. One of them ended up quitting after the first day due, I guess, to exhaustion.
After class, which featured a video presentation about avoidable firefighter deaths, we headed to a large room that had once been a chapel. The room had a few obstacles for us to walk over or crawl thru during what is called the 'air consumption' test. In this exercise, all of us don our full gear (boots, pants, coats, hoods, and helmets) as well as our face pieces and air packs, which weigh an additional 20-30 pounds. The point of the exercise is to determine how long we can get our air tanks to last during strenuous exercise. Altho rated for 30 minutes, most packs will last between 15 and 20 minutes under heavy exercise or stress; I got about 20 minutes out of my tank. I just wish I'd thought to wear my knee pads because my fire pants ('bunkers') aren't padded, so my knees got bruised and cut, which affected all of my exercises for the rest of the week. Some people managed to bruise up their elbows. I think people must have pretty different ways to crawl.
The second day was really stenuous, featuring a maze that we had to crawl thru, fully geared and with our air tanks on, in the dark. The maze had stairs, a slide (not sure what house feature that was meant to represent), and some small crawl spaces that we had to squeeze thru. In order to make things really tricky, we had put tin foil in our face pieces so that we couldn't see anything; it turns out that when the smoke gets really hot, it fills up most of the room so that fire fighters have to crawl around with little or no visibility.
The maze took most of us over ten minutes, and it was near the end of his tour of it that our firefighting brother, Brian, realized he wasn't going to make it. He took off his face piece, announced "I'm going down," and passed out. A couple liters of IV fluids later, he was ok, and by dinner time, he was back with his company. He managed to finish the week in great shape both physically and academically. He's an EMT and nurse, so he knew what was happening with his body. Later he told me that he'd had to sit on the side, waiting for his turn, for nearly 25 minutes before going into the maze. On a hot day, that was more than enough to knock out anyone. So when it was my turn to wait for the maze, I kept cool and didn't don my face piece or gloves till the last second.
Academics claimed two students, tho they have a chance to redeem themselves in the next few days. At the end of the week was a 50-question test with a passing grade of 70. Two of the teens, one of whom was in my company, scored in the 60s, but luckily they'll get a 2nd chance to pass the test before the class resumes on Sunday. At the end of the 2nd week is a 100-question test with the same passing score of 70. Of course, that test covers more material, but I imagine it will actually be easier because I'm so used to the type of questions asked and because my test-prep book for the test seems to focus more on the work we covered during week 1.
My favorite hands-on activities were ladders and search-and-rescue. I wasn't especially good at the searching, and crawling around in full gear and on air is fairly tough all around, but it was pretty cool and was definitely excellent practice. The ladder exercise was fun. We had to hoist and erect ladders, one of which could extend to 35 feet, and climb up and down the side of a building; we even learned to carry someone sideways down a ladder, a great trust exercise. Operating various hoselines was fun, too, and it was also neat to learn how to break into different kinds of doors. We worked on our ropes all the time. Opening hydrants was fun, too. I also liked learning how to use a monster chain saw in order to cut into a metal door.
The hardest thing for me was the 2-minute donning. According to some regulations, we have to get fully geared up (with our air on) within 2 minutes. Because I'd never even put on a regulator before, this was harder for me than for those with more experience. Compounding things was the fact that my coat has both snaps and these latchy knobby things that I just couldn't get done quickly. I should have been able to don in about 90 seconds, but I also tended to panic, so I'd forget basic things like pulling my hood over the outside of my facepiece. I think that when we return in a week, I'll have no trouble with donning. It also helps that my lieutenant (in NP) lent me a coat with a zipper and Velcro, just in case.
The instructors are fantastic, averaging about 25 years of fire fighting a piece. Their styles varied -- some were avuncular, others militaristic, Most of them could get quite blue, but I never heard any of them yell at someone in a mean way, and in fact they were generally quite enthusiastic and encouraging. I look forward to returning there in a week, but I still have a lot of reading and studying to do before the big final exam.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Running on Empty...and then NOT Running
Driving to Manhattan from New Paltz affords us the opportunity to benefit from the cheaper (no wait -- "less expensive") gasoline in New Jersey. Even tho Joisey is one of only two states that doesn't allow customers to pump their own gas (which amounts to about 6 extra cents per gallon), it's still about 20-30 cents cheaper per gallon than anything in NY State. So on our trips back from the City, I always fill up the tank, saving about $4 or $5 each time.
Apparently my thrift has boundaries. And these boundaries seem to be located just short of 88th Street and Amsterdam Avenue. That's where our car suddenly came to a stop as I was driving Emmett and Fiona to the unicycle club. And I'd forgotten since the last time my car ran out of gas (college, 1986), that when a car runs out of gas, the power steering stops working. With Fiona pushing the brake when necessary, I steered and pushed the car into a parking space that happened to be right next to us. A passing Samaritan helped out, too, and within minutes, the car was safely parked in a legal spot. [Chances of having a car run out of gas exactly next to a legal spot in NYC: one in a thousand].
Counting my atheist blessings -- this could have happened on the highway, this could have happened on the George Washington Bridge -- I quickly realized that I had two options. The obvious one was to call Triple-A. They would send a towtruck operator with a gallon of gas, but it was already 12:45, and I didn't want to be late for the 1 pm unicycle club. Triple-A usually arrives within an hour, but Single-U is much faster. Single-U is me on a unicycle, riding to the nearby garage. I figured they'd have a gas can, and I was right. It cost more than I expected ($11), and the gas was $3.50 a gallon rather than the $2.80 it would have been in New Jersey, so that one gallon ended up costing about $12 more than it should have and nearly caused an accident.
I put another gallon in the tank before we headed home, just in case we got stuck in some traffic jelly, but it was smooth sailing the rest of the way.
Apparently my thrift has boundaries. And these boundaries seem to be located just short of 88th Street and Amsterdam Avenue. That's where our car suddenly came to a stop as I was driving Emmett and Fiona to the unicycle club. And I'd forgotten since the last time my car ran out of gas (college, 1986), that when a car runs out of gas, the power steering stops working. With Fiona pushing the brake when necessary, I steered and pushed the car into a parking space that happened to be right next to us. A passing Samaritan helped out, too, and within minutes, the car was safely parked in a legal spot. [Chances of having a car run out of gas exactly next to a legal spot in NYC: one in a thousand].
Counting my atheist blessings -- this could have happened on the highway, this could have happened on the George Washington Bridge -- I quickly realized that I had two options. The obvious one was to call Triple-A. They would send a towtruck operator with a gallon of gas, but it was already 12:45, and I didn't want to be late for the 1 pm unicycle club. Triple-A usually arrives within an hour, but Single-U is much faster. Single-U is me on a unicycle, riding to the nearby garage. I figured they'd have a gas can, and I was right. It cost more than I expected ($11), and the gas was $3.50 a gallon rather than the $2.80 it would have been in New Jersey, so that one gallon ended up costing about $12 more than it should have and nearly caused an accident.
I put another gallon in the tank before we headed home, just in case we got stuck in some traffic jelly, but it was smooth sailing the rest of the way.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Top Co-Op Shop...Entering the SPENDOSPHERE!
We still belong to the Park Slope Food Co-Op. A monthly work shift there entitles a person to shop for awesome food at amazing prices. Because the Co-Op only raises prices by 22% above wholesale (compared with 100% for most retail outlets), customers save nearly 40% on most items. So how did we end up spending $560 this past Saturday?
Well, for one thing, we were shopping for three months because of our upcoming leave-of-absense. We can't make our next two work-shift dates, so we told the office folks to put our memberships on hold till September. The other thing to consider was that Shirra is planning to bake up a pasta dish for the monthly meeting of the New Paltz Fire Department tomorrow night. So a small portion of that huge bill is going to be reimbursed.
No one at the Co-Op had ever seen a shopping spree of this magnitude. We'd all seen some in the $300 range and even a few over $400, but this was a whole new spendosphere. I made the suggestion that every time someone spends over $500, a bell go should go off -- sort of like a bit of Las Vegas -- but everyone knew I was kidding.
So what does $560 get you? Well, according to my math, about $1000 worth of groceries. We got 61 fruit strips. The rest is a blur. Peanuts, pumpkin seeds, pistachios. Some laundry items.
Well, for one thing, we were shopping for three months because of our upcoming leave-of-absense. We can't make our next two work-shift dates, so we told the office folks to put our memberships on hold till September. The other thing to consider was that Shirra is planning to bake up a pasta dish for the monthly meeting of the New Paltz Fire Department tomorrow night. So a small portion of that huge bill is going to be reimbursed.
No one at the Co-Op had ever seen a shopping spree of this magnitude. We'd all seen some in the $300 range and even a few over $400, but this was a whole new spendosphere. I made the suggestion that every time someone spends over $500, a bell go should go off -- sort of like a bit of Las Vegas -- but everyone knew I was kidding.
So what does $560 get you? Well, according to my math, about $1000 worth of groceries. We got 61 fruit strips. The rest is a blur. Peanuts, pumpkin seeds, pistachios. Some laundry items.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Side Car, aka Diddle-Diddle-Dumpling
I wish I had a photo for this one, but it's not cool when a responding firefighter snaps a photo of the accident he's supposed to be assisting with.
My pager went off just before midnight last night, right as Shirra and I were finishing up "Groundhog Day," one of our favorite movies. There was a one-car accident on Highway 87, just outside of New Paltz. There hadn't been any calls for days, it seemed, and I'm always (morbidly) fascinated by car wrecks, so I raced out of the house in hopes of catching up with the fire truck at the highway entrance.
Because we live so far from the fire house, it's rare for me to make it onto a fire truck except for these sorts of calls, and then only if I get to the highway really fast. Fellow firefighter Steve, who also lives a few miles from the center of the Village, had arrived just seconds before me. He was already in his gear, but I didn't have time to change so I simply grabbed my things. We could hear the fire truck heading towards us, but as it got close, it didn't slow down; we heard someone yell, "Full" as it headed thru the toll plaza. Luckily for us, the Ass't Chief's car was close behind and he picked us up. I changed in the backseat as we sped nearly 6 miles to the scene, getting there in just under 4 minutes. We passed our fire truck on the way.
There were already a lot of firemen at the scene of the accident. This was odd, since there was no fire truck on hand. It turns out that by coincidence, the accident happened just as a group of Plattekill firemen were driving home after a parade in Albany. They helped out for awhile before continuing on their way. NP Rescue was already there, too, as were lots of police. They told us that the driver was mostly fine (his lacerated wrist was wrapped up, and he was ambulatory), but his passenger probably had a broken hip. The car had slid off the road (reason unknown), driven along the grass, and then gone up the embankment before smashing into a big tree and falling onto its side. The passenger was still being tended to when we got there, and there were plenty of people to help him, so Steve and I worked on the car. It was on its side, but the keys were in the ignition and it was still running. I held back the hood and Steve cut the battery cables so that the car couldn't suddenly burst into flame. Later we put out the roadside flares that were no longer necessary. That was the extent of our work at the scene.
That's not to say that this wasn't an interesting call. It's always fun to hang out with state troopers and watch tow-truck operators in action. And there was a strange moment involving the driver's sneaker. It was found in the car, and then the trooper remembered that he'd been walking around with one shoe after the accident. We used this other sneaker to collect some belongings that didn't make it onto the ambulance with him: a Blackberry, both wallets, and a few knickknacks. The trooper was hoping to hand this sneaker to the EMTs, but the ambulance had already left. He would have to transport the sneaker to the hospital himself, making his night even longer. As we drove away, we saw the trooper changing direction by crossing to the other side of the highway. Perhaps he forgot about the shoe or decided to mail the items from the police station.
My pager went off just before midnight last night, right as Shirra and I were finishing up "Groundhog Day," one of our favorite movies. There was a one-car accident on Highway 87, just outside of New Paltz. There hadn't been any calls for days, it seemed, and I'm always (morbidly) fascinated by car wrecks, so I raced out of the house in hopes of catching up with the fire truck at the highway entrance.
Because we live so far from the fire house, it's rare for me to make it onto a fire truck except for these sorts of calls, and then only if I get to the highway really fast. Fellow firefighter Steve, who also lives a few miles from the center of the Village, had arrived just seconds before me. He was already in his gear, but I didn't have time to change so I simply grabbed my things. We could hear the fire truck heading towards us, but as it got close, it didn't slow down; we heard someone yell, "Full" as it headed thru the toll plaza. Luckily for us, the Ass't Chief's car was close behind and he picked us up. I changed in the backseat as we sped nearly 6 miles to the scene, getting there in just under 4 minutes. We passed our fire truck on the way.
There were already a lot of firemen at the scene of the accident. This was odd, since there was no fire truck on hand. It turns out that by coincidence, the accident happened just as a group of Plattekill firemen were driving home after a parade in Albany. They helped out for awhile before continuing on their way. NP Rescue was already there, too, as were lots of police. They told us that the driver was mostly fine (his lacerated wrist was wrapped up, and he was ambulatory), but his passenger probably had a broken hip. The car had slid off the road (reason unknown), driven along the grass, and then gone up the embankment before smashing into a big tree and falling onto its side. The passenger was still being tended to when we got there, and there were plenty of people to help him, so Steve and I worked on the car. It was on its side, but the keys were in the ignition and it was still running. I held back the hood and Steve cut the battery cables so that the car couldn't suddenly burst into flame. Later we put out the roadside flares that were no longer necessary. That was the extent of our work at the scene.
That's not to say that this wasn't an interesting call. It's always fun to hang out with state troopers and watch tow-truck operators in action. And there was a strange moment involving the driver's sneaker. It was found in the car, and then the trooper remembered that he'd been walking around with one shoe after the accident. We used this other sneaker to collect some belongings that didn't make it onto the ambulance with him: a Blackberry, both wallets, and a few knickknacks. The trooper was hoping to hand this sneaker to the EMTs, but the ambulance had already left. He would have to transport the sneaker to the hospital himself, making his night even longer. As we drove away, we saw the trooper changing direction by crossing to the other side of the highway. Perhaps he forgot about the shoe or decided to mail the items from the police station.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Garbage Fires and Hidden Ponds
I reluctantly responded to a fire call today. It's not that I didn't want to attend, but I afraid that I'd run out of time since I had to drive to Manhattan by 10:30, less than 90 minutes later, and I didn't want to take the risk that this fire would be a lengthy job. But when the 2nd call came in, requesting more manpower, I decided I had to risk it. And when I listened to the address, I realized that this garbage fire was at the Clearwater Recycling Center, less than a quarter mile from me. I was there before the firetrucks.
The fire had apparently started in a large building that houses some huge Dumpsters filled with refuse. Some of this garbage comes off of private trucks, the detritus of farms, construction jobs, and businesses. It seems that something had been smoldering, and when it got dumped into this partially open building, it must have had a chance to ignite and to spread. Luckily it didn't spread far by our arrival.
Putting out a trash fire is dangerous because of fumes. You never know what's going to turn up in the mix. Firefighters need to wear protective masks connected to oxygen tanks; they're called SCBAs. [SCBA is like SCUBA, except it's not Underwater.] I discovered a few months ago that while most men need a medium or large mask, I need a small one because I lost 25 pounds recently, which affects the way a mask fits. There aren't any small-size masks handy on the trucks that responded, so I wasn't going to be allowed to hose down this fire. Instead, I went with another fireman to the tanker truck, and we drove to a nearby pond.
Clearwater has a pond that everyone sees as they drive to the dump, but that pond is a bit hard for us to reach with our hard suction tubes. The driver of the tanker, an expert on everything New Paltz, explained that we were instead driving to a little-known pond behind near the baseball fields. We hung out for awhile, trying to decide the best way to orient the truck, and eventually we dropped the suction tools into the pond. Later we filled up another truck using the pond water, and within a surprisingly short time, we were done.
I attended a garbage fire and learned how to help out with the tanker truck, and I wasn't even late for my drive to Manhattan.
The fire had apparently started in a large building that houses some huge Dumpsters filled with refuse. Some of this garbage comes off of private trucks, the detritus of farms, construction jobs, and businesses. It seems that something had been smoldering, and when it got dumped into this partially open building, it must have had a chance to ignite and to spread. Luckily it didn't spread far by our arrival.
Putting out a trash fire is dangerous because of fumes. You never know what's going to turn up in the mix. Firefighters need to wear protective masks connected to oxygen tanks; they're called SCBAs. [SCBA is like SCUBA, except it's not Underwater.] I discovered a few months ago that while most men need a medium or large mask, I need a small one because I lost 25 pounds recently, which affects the way a mask fits. There aren't any small-size masks handy on the trucks that responded, so I wasn't going to be allowed to hose down this fire. Instead, I went with another fireman to the tanker truck, and we drove to a nearby pond.
Clearwater has a pond that everyone sees as they drive to the dump, but that pond is a bit hard for us to reach with our hard suction tubes. The driver of the tanker, an expert on everything New Paltz, explained that we were instead driving to a little-known pond behind near the baseball fields. We hung out for awhile, trying to decide the best way to orient the truck, and eventually we dropped the suction tools into the pond. Later we filled up another truck using the pond water, and within a surprisingly short time, we were done.
I attended a garbage fire and learned how to help out with the tanker truck, and I wasn't even late for my drive to Manhattan.
1 Fire Department, 2 Cat Stories
I joined the NPFD in December but hadn't heard about a cat story till this week, when we had two. One was about a cat that had gone up in tree. The other was about a cat going up, near a bunch of trees.
During our meeting this past Monday, I learned that one of the chiefs and one of the firemen had been out on a call to rescue a cat. It's nice to know that fire departments still handle those kinds of calls, but really, who else could a person rely on in that situation? I didn't hear many details other than the fact that the presence of the owner at the rescue meant that certain proven techniques could not be employed (something about a hose, a jet-stream of water, and the whole thing being finished in minutes), but eventually the tree was defelinated.
A day before, I'd responded to my pager at 11:30 at night. There was a fire of unknown origin burning outside of a residence in the Village. I made it in time to hop onto a truck, and minutes later was hosing down a fire in a sloped backyard. It appeared that the owner of the nearby house had had a bonfire that went awry. It turns out that he was cremating his cat when things got out of hand. Apparently he'd used too much gasoline to ignite the material under the cat, which included roofing tiles, railroad ties, and copper plumbing (which may have been part of the cat-holding contraption; we never did find out). I got to experience some of what it's like to put out a fire. My gloves still smell like smoke.
As for my advice: Don't let your cats out in the backyard, alive or dead.
During our meeting this past Monday, I learned that one of the chiefs and one of the firemen had been out on a call to rescue a cat. It's nice to know that fire departments still handle those kinds of calls, but really, who else could a person rely on in that situation? I didn't hear many details other than the fact that the presence of the owner at the rescue meant that certain proven techniques could not be employed (something about a hose, a jet-stream of water, and the whole thing being finished in minutes), but eventually the tree was defelinated.
A day before, I'd responded to my pager at 11:30 at night. There was a fire of unknown origin burning outside of a residence in the Village. I made it in time to hop onto a truck, and minutes later was hosing down a fire in a sloped backyard. It appeared that the owner of the nearby house had had a bonfire that went awry. It turns out that he was cremating his cat when things got out of hand. Apparently he'd used too much gasoline to ignite the material under the cat, which included roofing tiles, railroad ties, and copper plumbing (which may have been part of the cat-holding contraption; we never did find out). I got to experience some of what it's like to put out a fire. My gloves still smell like smoke.
As for my advice: Don't let your cats out in the backyard, alive or dead.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Graduation
Shirra and I attended a graduation this morning. Aware of the circumstance but not of the pomp, we were just about the only parents in shorts and tee shirts. Siblings missed school to attend. Well-dressed parents and grandparents leafed thru glossy programs. The affair began with a rendition of Pomp and Circumstance played by a professional violinist. Then the 5-year-olds marched to the stage. The Huguenot Preschool Graduation ceremony had begun.
Teachers and Board members spoke briefly and movingly about how much the class meant to them. A class mom played guitar and sang an original song about love. My old best friend Ben, whose son was graduating, showed a snazzy slide montage to the tune of a slightly inappropriate Johnny Cash song about a love more carnal than anything these kids have experienced since their own births. Suddenly it was time for cake. Like the graduates, the ceremony was short and sweet. There was even a local reporter on hand, tho I suspect that this had to do more with the fact that her son was graduating than with the newsworthiness of the event.
Unfortunately the valedictorian's talk was garbled and altogether lost due to her inability to hold cookies in one hand and the microphone in the other. The class president more than made up for it with a rousing speech entitled, "From Diapers to Depends: Let's Make a Difference Now that We Can Wear Spiderman Underpants."
I was kicked out of preschool at age 3 and then changed schools two more times by 2nd Grade, so I didn't have anything to graduate from until I was 13. By that age, my little one will be wearing a cap and gown for the fourth time. And yes, the kids wore little caps today as they marched in. Then they flipped them over and used them as bowls for their grapes and pretzels at the party. If anything the school teaches about love,kindness, and recycling.
Teachers and Board members spoke briefly and movingly about how much the class meant to them. A class mom played guitar and sang an original song about love. My old best friend Ben, whose son was graduating, showed a snazzy slide montage to the tune of a slightly inappropriate Johnny Cash song about a love more carnal than anything these kids have experienced since their own births. Suddenly it was time for cake. Like the graduates, the ceremony was short and sweet. There was even a local reporter on hand, tho I suspect that this had to do more with the fact that her son was graduating than with the newsworthiness of the event.
Unfortunately the valedictorian's talk was garbled and altogether lost due to her inability to hold cookies in one hand and the microphone in the other. The class president more than made up for it with a rousing speech entitled, "From Diapers to Depends: Let's Make a Difference Now that We Can Wear Spiderman Underpants."
I was kicked out of preschool at age 3 and then changed schools two more times by 2nd Grade, so I didn't have anything to graduate from until I was 13. By that age, my little one will be wearing a cap and gown for the fourth time. And yes, the kids wore little caps today as they marched in. Then they flipped them over and used them as bowls for their grapes and pretzels at the party. If anything the school teaches about love,kindness, and recycling.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Check Out My New Blog: Unicycling Anthropologist
It's all about funny observations I've made as a unicyclist for the past 27 years.
It's the unicyclinganthropologist.blogspot.com, but you can just click on my top link on the right.
Enjoy!
It's the unicyclinganthropologist.blogspot.com, but you can just click on my top link on the right.
Enjoy!
Monday, June 04, 2007
The High Cost of Guinea Pigs
Anyone contemplating the purchase of guinea pigs, hamsters, mice, rats, or (in our case) a hedgehog should consider the surprising costs associated with keeping a happy and healthy caged rodent in a house or apartment that does not smell like the monkey cage in a bad zoo.
We first caved in to our daughter's request for a guinea pig. But guinea pigs are communal, so we agreed to buy two. Later, our son wanted one, but guinea pigs are communal, so we had to buy two more, only he really wanted a female one, so we ended up with five. During this period, we also found ourselves with a hamster and two mice, but because of their small size, they don't account for too much of the expense except for a few vet visits and the initial costs of their cages. No, the main
expense associated with guinea pigs is their bedding.
Because they are not easily litter trained, they basically pee and poop where they eat, only with some discretion. That is, they usually leave one corner of the cage as their designated toilet, but they're not perfect, so turds end up pretty much all over. This is especially true of younger guinea pigs on account of their skittishness. As Johnny Cochrane might have said, if you say boo, they will poo.
Cage-lining material comes in a variety of colors and styles. Why anyone would want green-dyed fluff in a guinea pig cage is beyond me. It's not only ugly but is also dangerous for the pets on account of the chemicals. So we stick with the untreated stuff. Purchased at the local Agway, it's about $25 for a large bag. Thankfully, they only had the dyed versions, so I drove to a PetSmart in Kingston, and it was well worth the trip. They charge less than $20 for a large bag and also have a discount card. Nonetheless, it turns out that we're spending about $100 a month to keep the piggies in fresh cages, which comes to about
$240 per guinea pig per year.
Food is less pricy by far. I'd guess we spend no more than $200 a year for our brood, or about $40 a year per pig. And they love your leftover carrots and celery, so that healthy part of their diet is practically free.
Vet visits are not essential, and even when they are, some owners will neglect their responsibilities. We try to do right by our pets, and I'd guess $20 a year would seem a good guess, on average.
Here is the breakdown:
Startup costs: $75 (piggy, cage, toys)
Food, annual: $40-80
Vet: $20
Bedding: $240
Total = $300-340 per year. PER GUINEA PIG!
We first caved in to our daughter's request for a guinea pig. But guinea pigs are communal, so we agreed to buy two. Later, our son wanted one, but guinea pigs are communal, so we had to buy two more, only he really wanted a female one, so we ended up with five. During this period, we also found ourselves with a hamster and two mice, but because of their small size, they don't account for too much of the expense except for a few vet visits and the initial costs of their cages. No, the main
expense associated with guinea pigs is their bedding.
Because they are not easily litter trained, they basically pee and poop where they eat, only with some discretion. That is, they usually leave one corner of the cage as their designated toilet, but they're not perfect, so turds end up pretty much all over. This is especially true of younger guinea pigs on account of their skittishness. As Johnny Cochrane might have said, if you say boo, they will poo.
Cage-lining material comes in a variety of colors and styles. Why anyone would want green-dyed fluff in a guinea pig cage is beyond me. It's not only ugly but is also dangerous for the pets on account of the chemicals. So we stick with the untreated stuff. Purchased at the local Agway, it's about $25 for a large bag. Thankfully, they only had the dyed versions, so I drove to a PetSmart in Kingston, and it was well worth the trip. They charge less than $20 for a large bag and also have a discount card. Nonetheless, it turns out that we're spending about $100 a month to keep the piggies in fresh cages, which comes to about
$240 per guinea pig per year.
Food is less pricy by far. I'd guess we spend no more than $200 a year for our brood, or about $40 a year per pig. And they love your leftover carrots and celery, so that healthy part of their diet is practically free.
Vet visits are not essential, and even when they are, some owners will neglect their responsibilities. We try to do right by our pets, and I'd guess $20 a year would seem a good guess, on average.
Here is the breakdown:
Startup costs: $75 (piggy, cage, toys)
Food, annual: $40-80
Vet: $20
Bedding: $240
Total = $300-340 per year. PER GUINEA PIG!
Thursday, May 31, 2007
What to Be When You Grow Up
We have a wonderful pediatrician who is part of our wonderful family practice here in New Paltz. Our little Maeve recently went in for a visit due to her stuffy nose. Dr Saied took time to get to know her, asking her questions not only about her ailments but also about her family and herself. I loved Maeve's response to one of his questions:
Dr S: What are you going to be when you grow up?
Maeve: Bigger!
Dr S: What are you going to be when you grow up?
Maeve: Bigger!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Cel Phone Jammer
People talk unnecessarily on their mobiles. Usually they only need to speak for 15-30 seconds but end up talking for a minute or two. I'm going to be a cel phone jammer.
I just need to select the ideal flavor. I think that orange marmalade will work best because so few people like it.
Smearing a bit of marmalade on somebody's cel phone would probably keep them from talking on it for at least a few minutes.
I must put orange marmalade jam on the shopping list.
I just need to select the ideal flavor. I think that orange marmalade will work best because so few people like it.
Smearing a bit of marmalade on somebody's cel phone would probably keep them from talking on it for at least a few minutes.
I must put orange marmalade jam on the shopping list.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Why I was Running Late
The bus driver announced that we'd be delayed in our trip to Manhattan today. I figured this was on account of Memorial Day traffic, but nope: Rubbernecking. The south side of 87 was moving slowly, but at least we were moving. I noticed that the other side of the road seemed pretty smooth sailing; in fact, there was almost no northbound traffic. Then we found out why: There had been a truck crash, and the firemen and other rescuers had closed off all three lanes of the highway. South of that, the highway was at a virtual standstill. My bus was only 30 minutes late, but the people heading north might have been there for a bit longer.
I Moved a Turtle
As I drove up the road home today, I came across a turtle. Luckily for him I wasn't looking at him in my rearview mirror.
I had a hunch that he was a bit lost; he was walking parallel to the bank of the pond rather than towards it. Worse yet, of course, was that he was heading across a dirt road under the noontime sun.
I stopped the car and got out. I had to decide whether to place him ten feet forward or to move him three feet back, where he was coming from. I decided to move him forward, so I picked him up and moved him into the woods. This was the first time I'd ever held a turtle. But then I reconsidered. My guess is that he would eventually want to come back, and that would double his risk. So I put him back where he'd come from, but as I did so, some water tipped out of his shell. My lack of turtle-holding was showing. Happily for both of us, there was a large puddle nearby, so I poured a bit over the turtle and his new (old) surroundings and sent him on his way. Slowly.
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