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.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Monday, June 01, 2009
Controlled Burn
The fire department was up early today: We had a controlled burn at 8am, and we had to be at the station an hour beforehand.
A controlled burn happens when a homeowner volunteers a house to be razed so that we can hone our skills. I'm not sure whether it benefits the homeowner financially, but my impression is that it doesn't. Maybe it's just a relatively inexpensive way to take down a house that was already falling apart so that you can eventually build a new one. My hope is that we can one day offer our house up for the fire department. We love the land our house is situated on, but the house itself is uninteresting and on the small side for a family of 5. When the kids all head off to college, it might be time to move back to the stone cottage down the hill and give the current house up to the elements (specifically: the fire and water elements).
I was stationed at the water hole. It's not normally an exciting designation, but it was important for me to learn how to draft water from a standing water source, like a pond, and now I can handle that duty pretty much on my own. We ended up getting a bit more practice than anticipated -- you never know how much water you're going to need until you need it. Initially we filled the tanker truck twice with water, and as the burn proceeded, we filled it up 3 or 4 more times. The truck we were on (43-14) is used for drafting water from a hydrant or natural water source and flowing that water into a tanker truck that transports 2200 gallons to the scene, where it can be put onto another truck or, as in today's case, flowed into a pool from which the trucks can suck up the water for their own use when needed (as in, right away). Then the tanker comes back to us for more water.
The burn went extremely well. No one was injured, and we kept the burn away from the neighboring trees and homes. Controlled burns can quickly turn into uncontrolled disasters if they aren't handled well, but we have an awesome little fire department, and I'm happy with how it all turned out today. Driving past the charred remains, it was hard to imagine that a cute little blue house had been standing there just a few hours earlier.
A controlled burn happens when a homeowner volunteers a house to be razed so that we can hone our skills. I'm not sure whether it benefits the homeowner financially, but my impression is that it doesn't. Maybe it's just a relatively inexpensive way to take down a house that was already falling apart so that you can eventually build a new one. My hope is that we can one day offer our house up for the fire department. We love the land our house is situated on, but the house itself is uninteresting and on the small side for a family of 5. When the kids all head off to college, it might be time to move back to the stone cottage down the hill and give the current house up to the elements (specifically: the fire and water elements).
I was stationed at the water hole. It's not normally an exciting designation, but it was important for me to learn how to draft water from a standing water source, like a pond, and now I can handle that duty pretty much on my own. We ended up getting a bit more practice than anticipated -- you never know how much water you're going to need until you need it. Initially we filled the tanker truck twice with water, and as the burn proceeded, we filled it up 3 or 4 more times. The truck we were on (43-14) is used for drafting water from a hydrant or natural water source and flowing that water into a tanker truck that transports 2200 gallons to the scene, where it can be put onto another truck or, as in today's case, flowed into a pool from which the trucks can suck up the water for their own use when needed (as in, right away). Then the tanker comes back to us for more water.
The burn went extremely well. No one was injured, and we kept the burn away from the neighboring trees and homes. Controlled burns can quickly turn into uncontrolled disasters if they aren't handled well, but we have an awesome little fire department, and I'm happy with how it all turned out today. Driving past the charred remains, it was hard to imagine that a cute little blue house had been standing there just a few hours earlier.
Monday, May 25, 2009
More Books I've Heard
I've listened to a good number of books since October. I stopped obsessing about writing down each title as well as some of the other information, but I remember some of them.
I tried a few Steven King books. Blaze (written under the nom de plume Richard Bachman) struck me as a modern Of Mice and Men. It was fascinating as a tale, and the reader (Ron McLarty) did a magnificent job. Carrie, read by Sissy Spacek, was much more powerful as a novel than as a movie, and Spacek is a fantastic reader – perhaps my favorite female voice over all. I later had the pleasure of hearing her read To Kill a Mockingbird. I also listened to King’s The Gunslinger, but despite a superb reading, I didn’t find the book to be my cuppa.
Sun Tzu’s Art of War was fascinating. With the wars raging in Iraq and Afghanistan, it's fascinating to listen to a voice from the past tell us exactly why we're doing such a bad job with our military.
Homer’s Iliad has to have been one of the most boring things I've ever been exposed to. I imagine that the Odyssey is much more captivating, but the Iliad is a long laundry list of battles and soldiers interrupted by several different ways to describe evisceration and death. If it were shorter, then it would have at least been ... well, shorter. I made it thru 5 of the 17 discs.
Mary Wollstencraft’s Frankenstein was a great reading, but I found the book quite frustrating. Dr F is basically a jerk, and his 'monster' is truly a hero who should have been spared great suffering. It felt as if the author didn't have empathy for her creation, sympathisizing instead with the man who abandons his baby in a revulsion. I persevered, but it was hard to listen to the whole story.
David Baldacci’s Total Control was very exciting. It's about a conspiracy to bomb a plane and to subvert the economy, and it was written before 9/11, so it must have sounded a bit far-fetched at the time.
A friend of mine, LJ Ganser, was the reader for Nicholas Sparks’s A Bend in the Road. I loved the reading but ended up hating the book. It's a lot like a Mary Higgins Clark novel where a perfectly good plot is destroyed by the intrusion of supernatural elements. As for the Sparks book, even tho the writing was a bit treacly, I was in tears at the end of the book.
Recently I finished listening to all three biographical or autobiographical books by Rick Bragg:
Ava's Man is an awesome tale about the author's grandfather, a carpenter who makes moonshine on the side and who fathers 7 children. Bragg does an amazing job bringing to life the world of the rural South in the 1900s-1930s.
All Over but the Shoutin'is an account of Bragg's grandmother, Ava. It runs from about the 1920s to the 90s and includes a good deal of information about many of Bragg's other relatives.
The Prince of Frogtown is my favorite Bragg book. This one focuses mainly on Bragg's father, a soldier and alcoholic who once saved baby Rick's life during a croup incident by shoving enough salt down his throat to induce vomiting. The book alters between reminiscences of Bragg's father as well as a fond examination of the boy who becomes Bragg's stepson. I plan to listen to this book again when Emmett and I drive to Minnesota this summer.
I've continued to devour anything by Alexander McCall Smith. He writes the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency books as well as the Sunday Philosophy Club series and a few free-standing books like 44 Scotland Street. They're all wonderful, and there is something about his writing that is so deliberate that it makes it feel like you have to exhale, slow down, and smell a few flowers.
One advantage audiobooks have over their paper equivalents is that occasinally you get an amazing reader. No one holds a candle to Oliver Wyman. His readings of the Tim Dorsey series are truly hysterical, perhaps as much fun as the material itself. Wyman’s gifts are so amazing that I had to re-check the cover of one of the books to make sure that there wasn’t actually a female reader handling some of the voices. Wow! As for the actual novels: Dorsey, a former newspaper writer in Florida, writes about his home state with reverence that you wouldn't expect to find in books that follow the life of a serial killer.
I tried a few Steven King books. Blaze (written under the nom de plume Richard Bachman) struck me as a modern Of Mice and Men. It was fascinating as a tale, and the reader (Ron McLarty) did a magnificent job. Carrie, read by Sissy Spacek, was much more powerful as a novel than as a movie, and Spacek is a fantastic reader – perhaps my favorite female voice over all. I later had the pleasure of hearing her read To Kill a Mockingbird. I also listened to King’s The Gunslinger, but despite a superb reading, I didn’t find the book to be my cuppa.
Sun Tzu’s Art of War was fascinating. With the wars raging in Iraq and Afghanistan, it's fascinating to listen to a voice from the past tell us exactly why we're doing such a bad job with our military.
Homer’s Iliad has to have been one of the most boring things I've ever been exposed to. I imagine that the Odyssey is much more captivating, but the Iliad is a long laundry list of battles and soldiers interrupted by several different ways to describe evisceration and death. If it were shorter, then it would have at least been ... well, shorter. I made it thru 5 of the 17 discs.
Mary Wollstencraft’s Frankenstein was a great reading, but I found the book quite frustrating. Dr F is basically a jerk, and his 'monster' is truly a hero who should have been spared great suffering. It felt as if the author didn't have empathy for her creation, sympathisizing instead with the man who abandons his baby in a revulsion. I persevered, but it was hard to listen to the whole story.
David Baldacci’s Total Control was very exciting. It's about a conspiracy to bomb a plane and to subvert the economy, and it was written before 9/11, so it must have sounded a bit far-fetched at the time.
A friend of mine, LJ Ganser, was the reader for Nicholas Sparks’s A Bend in the Road. I loved the reading but ended up hating the book. It's a lot like a Mary Higgins Clark novel where a perfectly good plot is destroyed by the intrusion of supernatural elements. As for the Sparks book, even tho the writing was a bit treacly, I was in tears at the end of the book.
Recently I finished listening to all three biographical or autobiographical books by Rick Bragg:
Ava's Man is an awesome tale about the author's grandfather, a carpenter who makes moonshine on the side and who fathers 7 children. Bragg does an amazing job bringing to life the world of the rural South in the 1900s-1930s.
All Over but the Shoutin'is an account of Bragg's grandmother, Ava. It runs from about the 1920s to the 90s and includes a good deal of information about many of Bragg's other relatives.
The Prince of Frogtown is my favorite Bragg book. This one focuses mainly on Bragg's father, a soldier and alcoholic who once saved baby Rick's life during a croup incident by shoving enough salt down his throat to induce vomiting. The book alters between reminiscences of Bragg's father as well as a fond examination of the boy who becomes Bragg's stepson. I plan to listen to this book again when Emmett and I drive to Minnesota this summer.
I've continued to devour anything by Alexander McCall Smith. He writes the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency books as well as the Sunday Philosophy Club series and a few free-standing books like 44 Scotland Street. They're all wonderful, and there is something about his writing that is so deliberate that it makes it feel like you have to exhale, slow down, and smell a few flowers.
One advantage audiobooks have over their paper equivalents is that occasinally you get an amazing reader. No one holds a candle to Oliver Wyman. His readings of the Tim Dorsey series are truly hysterical, perhaps as much fun as the material itself. Wyman’s gifts are so amazing that I had to re-check the cover of one of the books to make sure that there wasn’t actually a female reader handling some of the voices. Wow! As for the actual novels: Dorsey, a former newspaper writer in Florida, writes about his home state with reverence that you wouldn't expect to find in books that follow the life of a serial killer.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Excuse Me, Is This Row Taken?
I attended a showing of a film at the Lincoln Plaza Cinema in manhattan. The house mainly shows art films or indies, so its 4 theaters are rarely overcrowded. The 10 pm showings are especially lacking in patrons. In New Paltz you'd at least be more likely to run into a friend if you decided to take in a late flick, but in NYC, I knew that I'd be sitting by myself. What I didn't realize is that I'd have my own row.
As I arrived, I counted no more than a dozen filmgoers in a long theater that could have seated all of us in the front row. A couple had taken two seats in row F. A woman sat behind them and to the right. Two rows behind her was another woman. I sat in the row between them but a few seats over. I would have liked to sit a wee bit closer, but I didn't want to be the weirdo who squishes into a row when there's a perfectly good one a little further back. What's 3 feet, after all?
Behind us, patrons maintained the pattern. As more New Yorkers arrived to take in this French film, the decent rows ran out, and people had to make decisions. They typically sat on or near the aisle, far from the other person already in the row. Shortly, the couple in row F was joined by three chatty young foreign exchange students. They greeted eachother amiably, and the exchange girls took their seats right in front of my nearest neighbor. To my amazement, the woman in row G didn't move or act huffy. It was as if she didn't mind sacrificing a little of her space as well as he sight-lines. Perhaps she even wanted to pretend that she wasn't attending a film by herself.
I didn't go to a movie on my own till I was in my 30s. It felt weird, like the moment in "The Lonely Guy" where Steve Martin's character enters a restaurant and has a spotlight placed on him as soon as he requests a table for one. I've seen a few movies solo recently, and each time, I've been tempted to ask another singleton, "Excuse me, but would you like to sit together so that we could pretend that we're not alone?" It's not that there's anything wrong with being alone -- sometimes it's lovely -- but I've always thought of movies (and restaurants) as places where people go as part of a couple or a larger group. It's a bit like sex. See a movie with a friend, and no one gives it a second thought. See a movie by yourself, and it's like you're masturbating. And that's just something I'd rather not do in public.
As I arrived, I counted no more than a dozen filmgoers in a long theater that could have seated all of us in the front row. A couple had taken two seats in row F. A woman sat behind them and to the right. Two rows behind her was another woman. I sat in the row between them but a few seats over. I would have liked to sit a wee bit closer, but I didn't want to be the weirdo who squishes into a row when there's a perfectly good one a little further back. What's 3 feet, after all?
Behind us, patrons maintained the pattern. As more New Yorkers arrived to take in this French film, the decent rows ran out, and people had to make decisions. They typically sat on or near the aisle, far from the other person already in the row. Shortly, the couple in row F was joined by three chatty young foreign exchange students. They greeted eachother amiably, and the exchange girls took their seats right in front of my nearest neighbor. To my amazement, the woman in row G didn't move or act huffy. It was as if she didn't mind sacrificing a little of her space as well as he sight-lines. Perhaps she even wanted to pretend that she wasn't attending a film by herself.
I didn't go to a movie on my own till I was in my 30s. It felt weird, like the moment in "The Lonely Guy" where Steve Martin's character enters a restaurant and has a spotlight placed on him as soon as he requests a table for one. I've seen a few movies solo recently, and each time, I've been tempted to ask another singleton, "Excuse me, but would you like to sit together so that we could pretend that we're not alone?" It's not that there's anything wrong with being alone -- sometimes it's lovely -- but I've always thought of movies (and restaurants) as places where people go as part of a couple or a larger group. It's a bit like sex. See a movie with a friend, and no one gives it a second thought. See a movie by yourself, and it's like you're masturbating. And that's just something I'd rather not do in public.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
He's Still Fightin' Them Fires!
Coincidentally, Dillon and I had lunch today. I was in Manhattan early and decided to treat myself to lunch at my favorite restaurant, Blossom. It's a vegan place across from Zingone's, the market we've shopped at for the past 43 years, near 82nd and Columbus. As I was entering, I spotted Dillon finishing his repast at the bar. The server motioned for me to sit at the next seat. After I finished eating, I headed to my office.
And then, as it happens, I saw his car again... only this time, it wasn't the blue sedan from last week. It was a maroon Sable, parked in front of the same hydrant right outside his apartment building. This time I was parked just up the block. He could easily have snagged a legal spot: the street cleaning sign requires people to keep cars off that side of the block till 12:30, or a few minutes before I saw him.
Maybe next time I'll sit with him in his car and have take-out while we wait till 12:30 so we can leave the car in a legal spot. Yeah, that'll happen.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Matt Dillon, Fire Fighter
Did you know that Matt Dillon is a fire fighter? Apparently the 45-year-old New York native and thespian heartthrob is also one of New York's Finest. Well, at least according to the placard I've seen twice in his car when he parks his blue sedan in front of a hydrant on the block where he lives.
I've spotted Dillon a few times on the block where I grew up, and I've also seen that blue car with the fire fighter decal parked by the hydrant on several occasions. But I had no reason to put the two together until last week when I saw Dillon after the two of us had bought candies at the newsstand on the corner of 81st St and Columbus Ave. I hadn't recognized him yet, but I noticed that the two of us had parked up the block and that he was getting into the car just back of mine. It turns out that I had parked my car directly in front of Dillon's when I arrived to tutor several hours earlier. Mine was in the legal spot just east of the hydrant, and his was parked behind my car (and next to the hydrant).
Cars rarely park by the hydrant, of course, so I took notice of this automobile, and I spotted the "Active Fire Fighter" placard on the dashboard. I'm not sure if it could prevent him from getting a ticket, but I can tell you that it's the real-deal placard, one which he has to have gotten from a fireman buddy of his. I'm pretty sure that's illegal, but what do I know; maybe there is a provision in the law that allows for actors to display FDNY placards in their cars in case they have to make an emergency shoot on some nearby set.
As we started to get into our cars, I smiled and pointed to the New Paltz Fire Department sticker on the back of my car. I knocked on his window and when he rolled it down, I asked which department he's with. That's when I realized that this was Matt Dillon. He smiled awkwardly, nodded but didn't speak, and rolled his window back up.
I guess he's with the Movie Shoots and Ladders department.
(Dillon's actual placard)
Sunday, May 10, 2009
This is My 200th Post. Now I've Added Labels
Shirra taught me how to label posts. Yes, it only took me two years and two hundred posts to learn this.
Most of the posts are about general New Paltzy things, of course, but there are repeat items mentioned thruout, like the fire department, my Smart Car, and shopping.
Looking ahead, it's hard to conjure up what the next 10 posts are going to be about, let alone the next 200, but here's one guess: taxes. That's because the way things are going, taxes are going to go up everywhere, but to make matters worse, fire departments everywhere are losing members. Perhaps this is due in part to many of the newer (and younger) members having to work extra jobs, which takes them away from their volunteer work. Whatever the case, if New Paltz's fire department goes pro, every resident of the town and village will see their taxes shoot up several hundred dollars on average as the department costs would rise from about $600,000 to about ten times that amount.
Start saving those pennies.
Most of the posts are about general New Paltzy things, of course, but there are repeat items mentioned thruout, like the fire department, my Smart Car, and shopping.
Looking ahead, it's hard to conjure up what the next 10 posts are going to be about, let alone the next 200, but here's one guess: taxes. That's because the way things are going, taxes are going to go up everywhere, but to make matters worse, fire departments everywhere are losing members. Perhaps this is due in part to many of the newer (and younger) members having to work extra jobs, which takes them away from their volunteer work. Whatever the case, if New Paltz's fire department goes pro, every resident of the town and village will see their taxes shoot up several hundred dollars on average as the department costs would rise from about $600,000 to about ten times that amount.
Start saving those pennies.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Getting Hitched
I don't often pick up hitchhikers. For one thing, you don't see them too often around here -- at least not when I'm traveling. Every once in awhile, tho, the timing is right, and today was one of those times.
The owner of the thumb was named Ben. I guess some would characterize him as a hippie. Some might even call him a "Dead head" because he has spent a lot of the past two years hitchhiking around the US (crossing it twice) while catching a lot of Grateful Dead concerts. He explained that he spends a lot of time camping, sometimes around New Paltz, often spending a month in the woods on a self-imposed retreat. I didn't get the impression that he is a stoner or someone who is avoiding life. Rather, he struck me as a younger version of a good friend of mine who spent many years figuring out what he wanted to do before finding steady work, getting married, and having two kids. I mentioned this to my new friend with the undertone that perhaps he, too, would satisfy his wanderlust and find a way to conform... just a bit... to society at large.
During our conversation, I realized that no one in my family has ever taken permanent work in a business office. I used to teach, and now I tutor, so the closest I've come to office life is when I met with colleagues at my old school. Shirra owns a shop, and before that, she spent most of her time chasing after three kids. My brother is a composer and pianist who has, of late, been touring with the Paper Bag Players. I can no more imagine him working in an office than I can imagine him growing a second head. Shirra's brother is a teacher. My parents are psychiatrists. Shirra's parents worked as teachers and actors. Going back to earlier generations, we find rabbis, business owners, musicians, doctors, salesmen... but no office workers.
Somehow I don't think that this is a coincidence. For one thing, our family is fairly eclectic. Office work seems to require a certain level of conformity that I don't possess. Teaching requires it, too, but to a lesser extent, and even that was difficult for me at times.
The closest I came to working in an office was when I had to dress up nicely in order to work a few weeks in a doctor's office for a summer job in college. It was a sweltering summer and the office was only mildly cooled, so I arrived sweating from my bus rides and stayed warm throughout the day. It was around this time that I decided to avoid any job that mandated tie-wearing or mass transit. This was in 1986.
I once tried my hand as a telemarketer when I was looking for summer work back in my college days. I lasted two days at that job. I have worked as a waiter, house painter, busboy, Barbie Knit-Magic displayer, flier distributer, tanning booth operator, research assistant, and probably a few other jobs that I've forgotten. My teaching posts allowed me to express myself somewhat in my clothing choices (as long as I wore long pants rather than shorts), and I biked or unicycled to work for over a decade. I guess that some people would characterize me as a hippie. Right on, man.
The owner of the thumb was named Ben. I guess some would characterize him as a hippie. Some might even call him a "Dead head" because he has spent a lot of the past two years hitchhiking around the US (crossing it twice) while catching a lot of Grateful Dead concerts. He explained that he spends a lot of time camping, sometimes around New Paltz, often spending a month in the woods on a self-imposed retreat. I didn't get the impression that he is a stoner or someone who is avoiding life. Rather, he struck me as a younger version of a good friend of mine who spent many years figuring out what he wanted to do before finding steady work, getting married, and having two kids. I mentioned this to my new friend with the undertone that perhaps he, too, would satisfy his wanderlust and find a way to conform... just a bit... to society at large.
During our conversation, I realized that no one in my family has ever taken permanent work in a business office. I used to teach, and now I tutor, so the closest I've come to office life is when I met with colleagues at my old school. Shirra owns a shop, and before that, she spent most of her time chasing after three kids. My brother is a composer and pianist who has, of late, been touring with the Paper Bag Players. I can no more imagine him working in an office than I can imagine him growing a second head. Shirra's brother is a teacher. My parents are psychiatrists. Shirra's parents worked as teachers and actors. Going back to earlier generations, we find rabbis, business owners, musicians, doctors, salesmen... but no office workers.
Somehow I don't think that this is a coincidence. For one thing, our family is fairly eclectic. Office work seems to require a certain level of conformity that I don't possess. Teaching requires it, too, but to a lesser extent, and even that was difficult for me at times.
The closest I came to working in an office was when I had to dress up nicely in order to work a few weeks in a doctor's office for a summer job in college. It was a sweltering summer and the office was only mildly cooled, so I arrived sweating from my bus rides and stayed warm throughout the day. It was around this time that I decided to avoid any job that mandated tie-wearing or mass transit. This was in 1986.
I once tried my hand as a telemarketer when I was looking for summer work back in my college days. I lasted two days at that job. I have worked as a waiter, house painter, busboy, Barbie Knit-Magic displayer, flier distributer, tanning booth operator, research assistant, and probably a few other jobs that I've forgotten. My teaching posts allowed me to express myself somewhat in my clothing choices (as long as I wore long pants rather than shorts), and I biked or unicycled to work for over a decade. I guess that some people would characterize me as a hippie. Right on, man.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Friendship in Its Many Forms
People used to believe that the Inuit had many words for snow. They don't, really. But I thought it might be handy to have a list of the many types of friendships out there.
MATES
At the top of the list is what Australians call mateship. Basically, mates are like brothers -- such good friends that they'd put up with practically anything from each other. Sometimes mateships form naturally among like-minded people, and sometimes they occur as a result of belonging to a tight group, like a gang. I think that they're even more closely tied than BFFs. Mates are extremely protective of each other. If your wife kicked you out, a mate might take you in almost indefinitely. Most people are lucky if they have even one mate. Mates don't share secrets even under pain of death or jail time.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: Indefintely
Will attend your funeral? Yes
Actually care for you: Probably
BEST FRIENDS
There's no clear distinction between 'mate' and 'best friend.' Maybe they're identical, tho with 'mates' I get the impression that going out for a pint now and then is a requirement, whereas best friends seem a bit more sedate. You could tell a secret to a best friend, but if death or jail time became involved, you might find your friendship changing to something else.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: A week, give or take, owing to normal circumstances
Will attend your funeral? Yes
Actually care for you: Definitely
GOOD FRIENDS
This is to make the distinction for that grey area between BEST FRIEND and FRIEND. To me, the GOOD FRIEND is one of a small group of people whom you could depend on for a variety of things, from a spare bed when necessary to a last-minute movie date that involves postponing a few errands or finding a babysitter. Good friends are the ones who laugh at your bad jokes and would be happy to drop everything to help you. You can depend on seeing each other pretty often, too.
FRIENDS
This term is pretty loose these days. I guess that in its highest form, a friend is someone you can confide in pretty confidently and who will be happy to hang out with you or to chat on the phone. There is no expectation that you 'should' get together at certain holidays or religious events, but it would be nice if you did. Friends are last level where you'd expect them to attend your funeral.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: Three nights, max. After that, you're either out, or your relationship is even stronger than you thought. Like the saying about fish (after three days, they start smelling bad).
Will attend your funeral? Yes, unless something really important intervenes.
Actually care for you: Yes, and would probably cry at that funeral
BUDDIES
These are people you hang out with well, but you're not about to make plans to see each other often.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: One night, max
Will attend your funeral? If convenient.
Actually care for you: Probably, but no tears at the funeral.
ACQUAINTANCES
In the Venn diagram of social circles, an acquaintance is a narrow pointy oval. Your lives barely overlap, and you certainly don't yet know each other enough to be friends. As for the funeral: They'll find out about it and remark, "Oh, he's dead? I knew that guy. We were friends."
One thing they don't tell you before you plan a move from City A to City B is that your friendships will be tested. Some will dissolve, others will change to a different level.
MATES
At the top of the list is what Australians call mateship. Basically, mates are like brothers -- such good friends that they'd put up with practically anything from each other. Sometimes mateships form naturally among like-minded people, and sometimes they occur as a result of belonging to a tight group, like a gang. I think that they're even more closely tied than BFFs. Mates are extremely protective of each other. If your wife kicked you out, a mate might take you in almost indefinitely. Most people are lucky if they have even one mate. Mates don't share secrets even under pain of death or jail time.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: Indefintely
Will attend your funeral? Yes
Actually care for you: Probably
BEST FRIENDS
There's no clear distinction between 'mate' and 'best friend.' Maybe they're identical, tho with 'mates' I get the impression that going out for a pint now and then is a requirement, whereas best friends seem a bit more sedate. You could tell a secret to a best friend, but if death or jail time became involved, you might find your friendship changing to something else.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: A week, give or take, owing to normal circumstances
Will attend your funeral? Yes
Actually care for you: Definitely
GOOD FRIENDS
This is to make the distinction for that grey area between BEST FRIEND and FRIEND. To me, the GOOD FRIEND is one of a small group of people whom you could depend on for a variety of things, from a spare bed when necessary to a last-minute movie date that involves postponing a few errands or finding a babysitter. Good friends are the ones who laugh at your bad jokes and would be happy to drop everything to help you. You can depend on seeing each other pretty often, too.
FRIENDS
This term is pretty loose these days. I guess that in its highest form, a friend is someone you can confide in pretty confidently and who will be happy to hang out with you or to chat on the phone. There is no expectation that you 'should' get together at certain holidays or religious events, but it would be nice if you did. Friends are last level where you'd expect them to attend your funeral.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: Three nights, max. After that, you're either out, or your relationship is even stronger than you thought. Like the saying about fish (after three days, they start smelling bad).
Will attend your funeral? Yes, unless something really important intervenes.
Actually care for you: Yes, and would probably cry at that funeral
BUDDIES
These are people you hang out with well, but you're not about to make plans to see each other often.
Checklist
Would put you up in their home: One night, max
Will attend your funeral? If convenient.
Actually care for you: Probably, but no tears at the funeral.
ACQUAINTANCES
In the Venn diagram of social circles, an acquaintance is a narrow pointy oval. Your lives barely overlap, and you certainly don't yet know each other enough to be friends. As for the funeral: They'll find out about it and remark, "Oh, he's dead? I knew that guy. We were friends."
One thing they don't tell you before you plan a move from City A to City B is that your friendships will be tested. Some will dissolve, others will change to a different level.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Stop & Shop Scanners
Last month, Stop and Shop introduced scanners in 100 of its stores, including the one in our very own New Paltz. I was surprised to find how easy they are to operate. I'm no slouch when it comes to electronics, but I still defer to Shirra when it comes to hooking up the DVD player or getting the computer to interface with our external hard-drive. So if I can get a scanner to work, anyone can.
Scanners save you time because you don't have to wait in line for a cashier. You simply scan an item and put in in your bag. Oh yeah -- make sure to have some shopping bags with you, or else you're just a doofus who likes to waste time and plastic.
Anyway, once you've finished shopping, you simply scan a barcode reader at the self-check-out lane and pay. Voila! You're done. And so far, I've had almost no trouble with the scanners, and everyone I've spoken with has praised them to the sky.
Some people have a complaint about them, however: the cashiers. I spoke last week with one of the more experienced associates, and she told me that she's afraid that scanners are going to take jobs away. She lamented the fate of high school seniors, moms with empty nests, and other people who need an entry-level job. It might only pay a smidge over the minimum wage, but a job at S&S still gives a person health benefits, work experience, and a few bucks towards the rent.
Some shoppers refuse to use the scanners out of a sense of loyalty to their fellow workers. I'm hoping that the company finds an alternate use for its employees. Maybe they could use workers to increase the paltry number of floor walkers, resulting in a better shopping experience that would enrich S&S over its cross-street rival, Shoprite.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
53rd Biggest Loser on the Planet
As of this afternoon, I am now the 53rd biggest loser alive. I owe it all to online Boggle for the iPhone.
My brother's great friend Dave showed me a fun app on his iTouch called Wurdle, but after a few weeks, I got tired of it. The funny thing is, it's a much better application than the one I play these days. Wurdle's interface is huge, it uses the up-to-date Scrabble dictionary that I'm familiar with, and it has other niceties that make the game more fun, including better sound effects. Most of all, it doesn't always give you great sets of letters, so sometimes you have to struggle to score a few points.
Shake & Spell, on the other hand, has a tiny interface (I try to come up for air now and then so that I don't damage my surgically enhanced eyes). It uses the most-recent-but-one dictionary, so there are plenty of 'words' that I know from the new Scrabble update, like ZAS, that aren't allowed. But worst of all, it constantly creates blocks of the same common letters: E A T. This means that in about 8 games out of 10, you have to type the same tiny, annoying words. How many times have made these words? ETA EAT TAE TEA ATE ....
The only thing in S&S's favor, really, is that it hooks you up with other live players. Games generally take place with people playing the same board a few minutes apart (if not a few hours or days apart). If you keep enough games going at once, you can almost always turn on your machine to see a few games waiting for you. And with the most recent update, you can add friends and request games with a small group of people that you've come to trust.
Cheating abounds. Until they fix a few things, the game makes it easy for people to generate high scores using online Boggle solvers. But it's easy to recognize the cheaters and to avoid them.
When I first joined S&S, I noticed that there are thousands of players. You immediately get a ranking based on the points you score, and you mainly score by accruing points gained over opponents. If you win 200-199, you get a point. So after a few days, I found that I was ranked about 2500th overall. A few weeks later, I broke into the top 1000. I began to wonder about those people with really high scores. Do they have a life? Since most games are 3 rounds, if they have a win-loss total of 600-400, their winning percentage isn't too high (60%), but they've played 1000 games averaging about 3 minutes; they've spent 50 hours playing Boggle! That's over two full days!
At some point, you cross a line. It's one thing to play a few games now and then. It's another to play really well. But it's entirely different if you play all the time. And it's not like you can do a lot of other things while playing Boggle on a two inch interface. I think I'd rather see a drunk driver than encounter someone driving under the influence of Boggle. You can't brush your teeth while boggling. You can't read. You can't chat on the phone. You can't really do anything except ignore your favorite TV shows.
When I broke into the top 100, I started paying close attention to the time I'd spent on the game. It's getting out of control. And now I'm rated number 53 and gaining fast. My winning percentage is 82.4%. And I'm the 53rd biggest loser on the planet.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Bad Smells
Even I knew that living in the country meant living with a septic tank. Ours is buried in the ground several hundred feet from the house, creating a plateau that might one day allow for a small ice skating rink.
What I didn't know is that having a septic tank involves taking care of a septic tank. In the same way that elementary-schoolers think that hamburgers come from, uh, the supermarket, I sort of assumed that septic tanks took care of themselves and didn't involve participation on my part. Luckily, having a water-treatment facility in the country is a lot easier than having to slaughter your own food, but there is some work involved. OK, it only involves flushing some powder down your toilet twice a year, but still... What I now know and will never forget is the smell of that powder.
It comes in a happy box that seems to radiate health and the great outdoors. Shirra remembered last night that we'd missed our moment to take care of the tank back in January. It was that time of year again. It's easy to remember, since we only have to take care of it on July 1 and then on the first of the year. It's just that we'd never stayed home afterwards.
The directions on the box are pretty simple:
1. Pour contents into toilet.
2. Flush.
There should be two other steps:
3. Hold nose.
4. Stay out of house for 4 hours.
So last night we went to bed with the entire house smelling like a latrine. Happy New Year.
What I didn't know is that having a septic tank involves taking care of a septic tank. In the same way that elementary-schoolers think that hamburgers come from, uh, the supermarket, I sort of assumed that septic tanks took care of themselves and didn't involve participation on my part. Luckily, having a water-treatment facility in the country is a lot easier than having to slaughter your own food, but there is some work involved. OK, it only involves flushing some powder down your toilet twice a year, but still... What I now know and will never forget is the smell of that powder.
It comes in a happy box that seems to radiate health and the great outdoors. Shirra remembered last night that we'd missed our moment to take care of the tank back in January. It was that time of year again. It's easy to remember, since we only have to take care of it on July 1 and then on the first of the year. It's just that we'd never stayed home afterwards.
The directions on the box are pretty simple:
1. Pour contents into toilet.
2. Flush.
There should be two other steps:
3. Hold nose.
4. Stay out of house for 4 hours.
So last night we went to bed with the entire house smelling like a latrine. Happy New Year.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Crunching Sane Hash: Church Shenanigans
How could a person resist?
Before .................................................................................................. After
Before .................................................................................................. After
Monday, March 30, 2009
Juggling Three Cars
Our first car was the Pontiac Aztek. We saw it advertised on "Survivor" and decided it looked cool and had features we liked, such as the tent you can add onto the hatch. We bought that tent, and it's still in its box 8 years and $190 later.
Shortly after we moved to Brooklyn, we needed a bigger car. The Aztek seats 5, but we often found ourselves taking friends with us, and after Maeve was born, we didn't have room in the car for even one passenger. We bought a 2004 Honda Odyssey, and two years later we traded up to the 2006 model. Those cars helped us in the move to New Paltz -- they both had fold-down (or removable) seats and could handle at least 30 small boxes each! And when I started driving to Manhattan at the beginning of this school year, the Aztek served my purposes pretty well. I'd had to repair various things over the years, and the repairs were getting pricey, but I thought I was going to run that car into the ground before getting a new one.
Then I saw my first Smart, back in late April of 2008. Suddenly I realized that I had an answer to a problem I hadn't even realized I had. The Smart is less than 9 feet long, just over half the size of the average car. I bought an 'orphan' (a car someone had ordered but had then forsaken) a week later at a time when the economy seemed strong and the wait for Smarts was over 18 months. Looking for parking in Manhattan would never be the same. I used to park the Aztek in the first available spot I saw, then unicycle from wherever that happened to be. Often, that was a mile away. Another time I was late for an important meeting because I spent over 40 minutes parking and ended up on my old block (114th Street) -- nearly two miles from my office.
Third World Problem: I now use the Aztek so seldom that its battery is constantly dying. This started happening when we lived in Brookyln. There, I'd unicycle everywhere, and the 'Tek often languished in the garage for weeks. I killed that battery so bad, I even needed to have it replaced. And since buying the Smart, I've had to charge the Aztek almost once a week, which is about as often as I use it.
Rather than calling Triple-A or having to put two cars together with jumper cables, I wised up years ago and bought a small portable car charger. It's the same kind that AAA uses when they arrive on the scene to give you a boost, and it's only about $100 for the unit, which lasts a long time. But since it's only good for one or two charges at best before recharging, it's a good idea to have a 2nd unit. I now have one charger in the basement at all times, plugged in and ready to go, while the other is in the Smart in case I run into a problem ... or in case I decide to help out some stranded motorist. I've done that three times so far.
Selling the Aztek might have been a decent idea a few years ago, when we discovered that its trade-in value was about $7,000, but at this point, it's probably worth under a grand, so we might as well get out of it as much as we possibly can. I do have to take it into the shop soon, however. I need to update its registration, and it needs a new brake light and a few other minor repairs. One of these days we'll have to break out that tent -- maybe when the weather gets warm. That's what we say every spring.
Shortly after we moved to Brooklyn, we needed a bigger car. The Aztek seats 5, but we often found ourselves taking friends with us, and after Maeve was born, we didn't have room in the car for even one passenger. We bought a 2004 Honda Odyssey, and two years later we traded up to the 2006 model. Those cars helped us in the move to New Paltz -- they both had fold-down (or removable) seats and could handle at least 30 small boxes each! And when I started driving to Manhattan at the beginning of this school year, the Aztek served my purposes pretty well. I'd had to repair various things over the years, and the repairs were getting pricey, but I thought I was going to run that car into the ground before getting a new one.
Then I saw my first Smart, back in late April of 2008. Suddenly I realized that I had an answer to a problem I hadn't even realized I had. The Smart is less than 9 feet long, just over half the size of the average car. I bought an 'orphan' (a car someone had ordered but had then forsaken) a week later at a time when the economy seemed strong and the wait for Smarts was over 18 months. Looking for parking in Manhattan would never be the same. I used to park the Aztek in the first available spot I saw, then unicycle from wherever that happened to be. Often, that was a mile away. Another time I was late for an important meeting because I spent over 40 minutes parking and ended up on my old block (114th Street) -- nearly two miles from my office.
Third World Problem: I now use the Aztek so seldom that its battery is constantly dying. This started happening when we lived in Brookyln. There, I'd unicycle everywhere, and the 'Tek often languished in the garage for weeks. I killed that battery so bad, I even needed to have it replaced. And since buying the Smart, I've had to charge the Aztek almost once a week, which is about as often as I use it.
Rather than calling Triple-A or having to put two cars together with jumper cables, I wised up years ago and bought a small portable car charger. It's the same kind that AAA uses when they arrive on the scene to give you a boost, and it's only about $100 for the unit, which lasts a long time. But since it's only good for one or two charges at best before recharging, it's a good idea to have a 2nd unit. I now have one charger in the basement at all times, plugged in and ready to go, while the other is in the Smart in case I run into a problem ... or in case I decide to help out some stranded motorist. I've done that three times so far.
Selling the Aztek might have been a decent idea a few years ago, when we discovered that its trade-in value was about $7,000, but at this point, it's probably worth under a grand, so we might as well get out of it as much as we possibly can. I do have to take it into the shop soon, however. I need to update its registration, and it needs a new brake light and a few other minor repairs. One of these days we'll have to break out that tent -- maybe when the weather gets warm. That's what we say every spring.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
New Highs in Hypermiling: 50 mpg!
I'm now driving slower than ever. Remember that I travel at a time of day when fewer cars and trucks are on the road -- I couldn't drive 50-60 mph during rush hour, but at 1 in the afternoon or 8 at night, it's not a big deal. I just have to keep an eye out for trucks bearing down on me, and when I see them, I speed up a bit and let them pass without having to slow down.
So over the past month, I've worked at maintaining an average speed of 55 mph. Using the pulse & glide technique (where I speed up to 60 and then coast back to 50, repeating ad nauseam), I've been able to achieve incredible success in stretching my gas pennies further than usual. Over the first 100 fill-ups, I averaged about 44 mpg. But over the last four tankfuls, I've managed almost 50 mpg! I keep track of my mileage at fuelly.com
This means that my average trip takes a few minutes longer each day, but that gives me a few extra minutes to listen to my audio books or to play some music. My P&G'ing keeps me more awake than when I'd drive using cruise control, and I love the car and arrive at my destination in a great mood.
So over the past month, I've worked at maintaining an average speed of 55 mph. Using the pulse & glide technique (where I speed up to 60 and then coast back to 50, repeating ad nauseam), I've been able to achieve incredible success in stretching my gas pennies further than usual. Over the first 100 fill-ups, I averaged about 44 mpg. But over the last four tankfuls, I've managed almost 50 mpg! I keep track of my mileage at fuelly.com
This means that my average trip takes a few minutes longer each day, but that gives me a few extra minutes to listen to my audio books or to play some music. My P&G'ing keeps me more awake than when I'd drive using cruise control, and I love the car and arrive at my destination in a great mood.
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