In the last few days, I've started having recurrent flashbacks to the shooting. I see the scene again, and it is bad. Worse, however, is the fact that I've started envisioning what might have happened if the bullet had been a few inches up, over, or down. That's the chilling, unsettling vision, and I have very little control over it.
All I need to do is see the scar on my shoulder, or think very briefly about the fact that I was shot. (This happens more recently because the spot where they took the bullet out has been hurting a great deal.) Soon after, I envision the bullet hitting me in the head or the chest or the neck. And I shake. I lose my train of thought. I also lose motivation for the things I want or need to do. Not having Banana around exacerbates the feeling of directionlessness. This happened several times yesterday morning, until I simply decided to meet friends at the Carytown Watermelon Festival (more on that circle of hell later) and began what turned out to be an afternoon and evening of drinking and socialization. Read: avoidance.
I've begun to wonder if this is the beginning of PTSD.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Life-hacking efficiency
This post on Lifehacker made me stop and think about my frustration with feeling productive or efficient enough in my day-to-day life, whether at home or at work. To wit, I never feel like I have enough time to do the things I need to do, taking a couple of days to relax often means all hell breaks loose, and I'm always staring down a list that is longer than I can manage. I have battled this for months now by trying to figure out how I can become efficient enough to manage life at home and at work, while also making time for Banana and time for myself. And it never works.
It seems simple enough to say that I am overextended. Somehow, though, I have seen all the expectations as manageable--if I could only figure out the perfect answer/tool/whatever. But the reality is perfectly encapsulated by this:
End of story. I can't say it any better.
And now, with Banana off to visit mommy's family for the next week or so, I'm going to try to balance some efficiency with some relaxation. At least a little bit.
It seems simple enough to say that I am overextended. Somehow, though, I have seen all the expectations as manageable--if I could only figure out the perfect answer/tool/whatever. But the reality is perfectly encapsulated by this:
My problem wasn't that I was insufficiently efficient. The problem was that I was way too overextended. I had taken on more than even a very efficient person could handle. Efficiency is great, but it can only get you so far.
End of story. I can't say it any better.
And now, with Banana off to visit mommy's family for the next week or so, I'm going to try to balance some efficiency with some relaxation. At least a little bit.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Leapy
So the treefrog has been hanging out with Banana a great deal lately. She seems to like it--the frog, that is. Yesterday, when I came in the room she looked up from her perch on Banana's arm and proceeded to climb towards me. Then she climbed on my arm and hunkered down. It was odd and endearing.
Apparently Leapy has decided that she is part of the family.
Apparently Leapy has decided that she is part of the family.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
vintage listening
This just came up on my iTunes. Took me right back. It seems especially appropriate for all the time I've spent in recent months trying to juggle a ton of stuff and come to terms with a couple decades of weirdness. Enjoy!
growing up
I went to Banana's last ballet class of the summer this afternoon. Because it was the last class and because there were only three little ballerinas, the teacher let us come in to watch. Banana is tall and well-coordinated, but I wasn't prepared for the little girl I saw showing off the moves she'd learned in the last several weeks. I wasn't prepared for the little girl in front of me.
These realizations that she has made another leap--gone from being a toddler to a little girl and now gone from being a little girl to being a big girl, one ready for kindergarten--hit at odd times. And when they hit, I am always amazed by the vision of delight and wonder in front of me. It's surprising and amazing to believe that I was part of creating this person. That she is a person, and that I am part of this person's daily development.
[rhapsody over]
These realizations that she has made another leap--gone from being a toddler to a little girl and now gone from being a little girl to being a big girl, one ready for kindergarten--hit at odd times. And when they hit, I am always amazed by the vision of delight and wonder in front of me. It's surprising and amazing to believe that I was part of creating this person. That she is a person, and that I am part of this person's daily development.
[rhapsody over]
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
all work and no play
One more project almost down, one step closer to the end of our busy season. And then I breathe. For a day.
(fragments, ahoy!)
(fragments, ahoy!)
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Food Technologists?
I picked this up via Consumerist. I really have nothing to add, except that I get tired of our cultural obsession with outdoing nature. The more I read about people like Food Technologists, "scientists" who believe we can out-engineer nature and thrive on processing, the moree resolved I am to continue raising Banana to appreciate real food that is cooked at home and, to whatever extent possible, produced (not processed) by people not machines.
[vintage ad from Plan 59]
tree frogs
This is Leapy. She is a remarkably sociable tree frog.
She is perfectly content to hang out on Banana's arm, climb in the dollhouse, and say hello to visitors. She is not currently allowed in eating areas, but she spent a brief time in the kitchen yesterday watching the final preparations of a late dinner. (Summer seems to be the time for slipping bedtimes and later-than-usual meals.) Leapy likes to sit on or in her log, likes to cling to the tank near the light where she turns a bright shade of green, and spends part of her evenings sitting in the waterfall basin. She is not as voracious as the praying mantis in a nearby cage, but she does take care of crickets pretty handily. I'm sure she would like a tank-mate, but I'm not ready to take that step yet.
She is perfectly content to hang out on Banana's arm, climb in the dollhouse, and say hello to visitors. She is not currently allowed in eating areas, but she spent a brief time in the kitchen yesterday watching the final preparations of a late dinner. (Summer seems to be the time for slipping bedtimes and later-than-usual meals.) Leapy likes to sit on or in her log, likes to cling to the tank near the light where she turns a bright shade of green, and spends part of her evenings sitting in the waterfall basin. She is not as voracious as the praying mantis in a nearby cage, but she does take care of crickets pretty handily. I'm sure she would like a tank-mate, but I'm not ready to take that step yet.
Monday, August 06, 2007
survival and stupidity
People are stupid.
I find it much easier to make it through the day if I remind myself of this fact from time to time. And, yes, I am stupid sometimes too.
Sigh.
Back to editing horrible client copy.
I find it much easier to make it through the day if I remind myself of this fact from time to time. And, yes, I am stupid sometimes too.
Sigh.
Back to editing horrible client copy.
Friday, August 03, 2007
sigh
I've wanted to post several times in the last few days, but it's been a busy time. And even when I haven't been busy per se, the time still seems to slip away from me.
We're off to do a press-check on the beast soon. By hook or crook and with a bit of magic and luck, I think we may actually deliver this thing on time. [knock on wood]
We're off to do a press-check on the beast soon. By hook or crook and with a bit of magic and luck, I think we may actually deliver this thing on time. [knock on wood]
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
thoughts on being a hero
The other night I was walking Reilly and a large man wearing only jeans and with a bloodied face stumbled and weaved past us near my house. He was carrying seat cushions stolen from a porch down the street. After he'd made it down the block, I dialed 911 and gave them a description.
Twelve minutes later, when we came around the block heading towards the alley, I saw him on the street again. I called 911 again, then called again after he pulled something out of a garage and continued his weaving way. On this third call in fifteen minutes, I was advised a unit was on its way. I waited in the alley another couple of minutes as he cleared down to the next street before I went inside. By that point, I'd resigned myself to the fact that the cops were not going to get there in time to stop him.
Was he a real public menace? Probably not. He was more likely drunk on bad booze, but ever since the shooting I still want to draw the line. The incident explains one other fact, however: why I stood up and yelled at a man holding a gun that night.
The first thought when he began grabbing at Lindee and pointing the gun at her was that I needed to call 911. Then I realized that there was no way the police would get there before she was shot or harmed in some other way. I had to do something to distract them. That's what I decided in that split second before I began yelling at him to leave my neighbor alone. Then he shot me.
The police would never have arrived in time. Period. Last night was further proof of that. By the time the operator was done asking questions, the incident would have been (and was) played out.
Twelve minutes later, when we came around the block heading towards the alley, I saw him on the street again. I called 911 again, then called again after he pulled something out of a garage and continued his weaving way. On this third call in fifteen minutes, I was advised a unit was on its way. I waited in the alley another couple of minutes as he cleared down to the next street before I went inside. By that point, I'd resigned myself to the fact that the cops were not going to get there in time to stop him.
Was he a real public menace? Probably not. He was more likely drunk on bad booze, but ever since the shooting I still want to draw the line. The incident explains one other fact, however: why I stood up and yelled at a man holding a gun that night.
The first thought when he began grabbing at Lindee and pointing the gun at her was that I needed to call 911. Then I realized that there was no way the police would get there before she was shot or harmed in some other way. I had to do something to distract them. That's what I decided in that split second before I began yelling at him to leave my neighbor alone. Then he shot me.
The police would never have arrived in time. Period. Last night was further proof of that. By the time the operator was done asking questions, the incident would have been (and was) played out.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Tired kids
put the kibbosh on errands. At least that was the case today. Leapy and Reilly will both have to wait an extra day for the replenishment of their dwindling food supplies.
When I picked Banana up at the Farmer's Market--amazing what you can find amongst the organic vegetables and crafts--it was already clear that we were going to have a rough evening. There were bags under her eyes, and she was already a bit cranky with her mom. As resilient as she is, I think all the late nights in recent weeks and running around are finally catching up with her.
In any case, the market today yielded
When I picked Banana up at the Farmer's Market--amazing what you can find amongst the organic vegetables and crafts--it was already clear that we were going to have a rough evening. There were bags under her eyes, and she was already a bit cranky with her mom. As resilient as she is, I think all the late nights in recent weeks and running around are finally catching up with her.
In any case, the market today yielded
arugula
cantelope
peppers
cucumbers
green beans
Italian sausage
ground beef
eggs
Monday, July 30, 2007
Stupid water
Apparently Aquafina has decided to admit that it is simply packaged tap water. I'd never noticed that the bottles were labeled PWS--Public Water Supply--and neither had many other people.
Thus continues one of the all-time ruses of consumer culture--bottled water. I've commented before on the absurdity of Deer Park's single-use "kid" bottles, but it's really the whole bottled water segment of the drink industry that blows my mind. And the fact that that segment represents $11B is even more mind-blowing.
Bottled water really seems like the snake oil of our contemporary culture. It may never have been marketed as directly better than tap water, but beverage companies have marketed the perception that water from a bottle is healthier. The reality, however, is that most tap water is not only safe, but better for you in some cases. Certainly, it is more economical and can be comfortably transported through faucets or refillable bottles.
What further disturbs me is the environmental impact. With the consumables come the trashables--tons of plastic bottles everywhere.
Thus continues one of the all-time ruses of consumer culture--bottled water. I've commented before on the absurdity of Deer Park's single-use "kid" bottles, but it's really the whole bottled water segment of the drink industry that blows my mind. And the fact that that segment represents $11B is even more mind-blowing.
Bottled water really seems like the snake oil of our contemporary culture. It may never have been marketed as directly better than tap water, but beverage companies have marketed the perception that water from a bottle is healthier. The reality, however, is that most tap water is not only safe, but better for you in some cases. Certainly, it is more economical and can be comfortably transported through faucets or refillable bottles.
What further disturbs me is the environmental impact. With the consumables come the trashables--tons of plastic bottles everywhere.
cheney's a robot
Dick Cheney had the battery in his built-in defibrillator replaced this weekend. This means his heart will continue to operate. This almost seems comic. Almost.
A Treefrog
Yesterday, I fulfilled my promise of Banana's birthday present--a new pet. Her first ideas were kittens and puppies. Those wouldn't do right now--a kitten because I'm not a cat person, and a puppy because I can't handle adding another mouth and set of vet bills to the mix. Failing that, she settled for a turtle. Then she changed her mind. She wanted a frog. Call it the Hopper Effect. Since frogs seem fairly low maintenance, I was okay with the idea.
The salesperson at PetSmart (the gender-neutral reference is essential, because I'm honestly not sure what this person's story was) gave me the rundown on what we would need to take care of a treefrog:
This made for a rather pricey birthday present, but I'd made the promise. And the thing actually seemed kind of cool.
We are one day in now, and the frog still seems cool. It is named Leapy. Leapy has a voracious appetite for crickets. Leapy also needs a damper base than she (we know the gender) has. These facts mean that we will make another trip to PetSmart tomorrow for more crickets and a mister to dampen the aquarium.
Banana is overjoyed. Pictures will be forthcoming.
The salesperson at PetSmart (the gender-neutral reference is essential, because I'm honestly not sure what this person's story was) gave me the rundown on what we would need to take care of a treefrog:
- 10 gal. aquarium $10
- screen $10
- clip-on light and bulb $10
- sediment for the bottom $10
- hiding place--in the case of a treefrog this also meant a climbing tree $15
- watering dish--opted to solve this with a waterfall $42
- crickets $2
- treefrog $18
This made for a rather pricey birthday present, but I'd made the promise. And the thing actually seemed kind of cool.
We are one day in now, and the frog still seems cool. It is named Leapy. Leapy has a voracious appetite for crickets. Leapy also needs a damper base than she (we know the gender) has. These facts mean that we will make another trip to PetSmart tomorrow for more crickets and a mister to dampen the aquarium.
Banana is overjoyed. Pictures will be forthcoming.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Saturday, July 28, 2007
my aching back
The first real injury I remember to my back came on an ice-slicked 6th Avenue, coming home from The Stoned Crow late one night about ten years ago. I imagine the spill was one of those comic moments when you're suspended mid-air for a moment before crashing to the ground. A cabbie stopped and asked if I was all right. I could barely breathe even the next day when I went to work--sitting all day at a computer in an agency bullpen. I had back issues before that too, but this is the first obvious injury I remember. The next came a year or so later when I hit a parked car while riding my bike. After that injury, I took the time to see a chiropractor who pointed out how messed up my back actually was at that point. Too much stress, too many locked-up muscles.
Sad to say, I never fully dealt with these things. My cavalier, invincible attitude is coming back to haunt me now. It's about time, I guess, as part of this lifehacking I'm doing to begin to take care of my body too.
I'm not getting any younger, right?
Friday, July 27, 2007
Simplify
For three years, I have managed to juggle all of the responsibilities at work with a minimum of failure. Well, things are starting to break, and I'm losing the careful balance and structure I've tried to maintain. Who knew a quarter inch mistake could be such a problem...
Time to go to Hugh Mcleod for a simple explanation:
Time to go to Hugh Mcleod for a simple explanation:
Thursday, July 26, 2007
sporadic
It is my hope, my intention to get back to writing and posting on a regular basis. Now that the monster book is headed off to press at least one huge weight is off my shoulders (and my aching back). Given the time to organize at home (and figure out what to do with the box the dollhouse was shipped in), I really do hope to find time to spew words, pictures and randomness again.
Strange thing about this blogging thing: I miss it when I'm not keeping up with it.
Strange thing about this blogging thing: I miss it when I'm not keeping up with it.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
birthdays, etc.
I'm officially exhausted after this weekend. A neighbor's party Friday night. A trip to the Virginia Living Museum yesterday. Friends and wine in the backyard last night. The pool, birthday time, and good food today.
Banana is now five. It's a great age. The know-it-all-ness, the arguing, the willfulness, the sometimes-hilarious reasoning. It's all great, really. still, all of the fun moments and all of the new developments really do make it all fun.
And now we have a massive dollhouse. And soon we will have frogs. This is my life.
A smart child and a messed-up back.
Banana is now five. It's a great age. The know-it-all-ness, the arguing, the willfulness, the sometimes-hilarious reasoning. It's all great, really. still, all of the fun moments and all of the new developments really do make it all fun.
And now we have a massive dollhouse. And soon we will have frogs. This is my life.
A smart child and a messed-up back.
Friday, July 20, 2007
abstractions and war
According to General Petraeus on NPR this evening, "Our enemy is extremism." Translated, this means we are fighting an abstraction. Except that you can't fight an abstraction. Misunderstanding this reality may in fact be the saddest thing about our nation's misguided leadership.
busy
Sigh... It's been a busy week, but at least Verizon seems--finally--to have gotten my service issues corrected. Who wants to bet that the billing will be a fascinating journey?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Verizon, the saga continues
We are into day 7 of the Verizon comedy of errors now. Miss Green in Maryland has been working hard to get the situation wrapped up. She has involved her managers. A tech in Richmond assured me today that he would get things cleared up.
File this under "Computers are great until they're not" because apparently the only hitch is that the turnover of service has to pass through "the system" before the matter is fully resolved. I envision "The System" as some sadistic robot out of a sci fi novel, laughing at the mounting frustration of his human nemesis.
Meanwhile, I think I'd like an apology from the CSR who started all of this.
File this under "Computers are great until they're not" because apparently the only hitch is that the turnover of service has to pass through "the system" before the matter is fully resolved. I envision "The System" as some sadistic robot out of a sci fi novel, laughing at the mounting frustration of his human nemesis.
Meanwhile, I think I'd like an apology from the CSR who started all of this.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Verizon sucks, pts 5 and beyond
Note: I am still using poached wireless.
Ms. Green, my kindly CSR, assured me on Friday evening that everything was in place except for a final go-ahead on the TV. This would happen Monday morning, she assured me. I wasn't happy about having to go the weekend without service, but since the weekend promised to be busy and Banana would be with mommy, I dealt with it. I also had no choice.
Today--Monday--I left a couple of kind messages for Ms. Green, asking for updates. There was no return call this time. By 6:30 when we returned home from grocery shopping and what-not, I called again since the router still indicated no service. This time, Ms. Green's direct number was busy. Not a good sign.
I got on the phone with FiOS again to try to clear up matters. Or at least get a status update. The first CSR I get listens patiently, finds the account, and puts me on hold. a few minutes later, there is a click and the hold music changes drastically. I wait a few more minutes until I hear a recorded voice asking me to hold for a representative. Amazing that they managed to lose me as I'm trying to clear this up--again. I call back and explain the situation again. The CSR goes into another system and finds no records since the disconnect on 6/12. I rant. I really rant. Then I apologize when I remember it's not his fault.
At the end of the call, it is left that I need to call back in the morning again and speak to one of the account representatives.
And to think: This all started a week ago because I wanted to pay my bill.
Ms. Green, my kindly CSR, assured me on Friday evening that everything was in place except for a final go-ahead on the TV. This would happen Monday morning, she assured me. I wasn't happy about having to go the weekend without service, but since the weekend promised to be busy and Banana would be with mommy, I dealt with it. I also had no choice.
Today--Monday--I left a couple of kind messages for Ms. Green, asking for updates. There was no return call this time. By 6:30 when we returned home from grocery shopping and what-not, I called again since the router still indicated no service. This time, Ms. Green's direct number was busy. Not a good sign.
I got on the phone with FiOS again to try to clear up matters. Or at least get a status update. The first CSR I get listens patiently, finds the account, and puts me on hold. a few minutes later, there is a click and the hold music changes drastically. I wait a few more minutes until I hear a recorded voice asking me to hold for a representative. Amazing that they managed to lose me as I'm trying to clear this up--again. I call back and explain the situation again. The CSR goes into another system and finds no records since the disconnect on 6/12. I rant. I really rant. Then I apologize when I remember it's not his fault.
At the end of the call, it is left that I need to call back in the morning again and speak to one of the account representatives.
And to think: This all started a week ago because I wanted to pay my bill.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Brooklyn days
Before I ever moved to Brooklyn years ago, I had developed a sort of preternatural nostalgia for Brooklyn's history. Videos like this remind me why.
ways to make airline travel even worse...
Horrible story--a mother kicked off a flight (on a stopover, mind you) because her toddler was talking and the flight attendant got annoyed. After an 11-hour delay.
via daddytypes and Consumerist.
via daddytypes and Consumerist.
Verizon, pt. 4
The latest CSR spent 45 minutes on the phone with me this morning trying to resolve the issues. She managed to track down and figure out where all the various orders happened. She also learned that the CSR yesterday understood me to say that I wanted to cancel all of my service--which is hard to believe. As the call ended, she gave me her name and direct line with the assurance that she would get the new account set up. She also agreed with my request that I not be billed for my service between May 29 and yesterday as a courtesy for the trouble. She also said she would call back when it was all resolved. (Where have I heard that before?)
Those were the assurances. Anybody want to place bets on whether this is, in fact, the resolution of it?
UPDATE: She actually called back! The situation isn't thoroughly resolved yet, but at least she called with new information.
Those were the assurances. Anybody want to place bets on whether this is, in fact, the resolution of it?
UPDATE: She actually called back! The situation isn't thoroughly resolved yet, but at least she called with new information.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
identity crisis
navel-gazing moment
I'm still in the process of settling in to the new place. The latest stage involves going through boxes of files I haven't touched since 2004, at least. This includes all of my grad school files, tons of rough drafts of stories--some of which never even got typed up, edits galore, old job-search records, early portfolio stuff, source materials for the Coney book, memories, memories, and more memories.
Strangest finds so far include copies of my paternal grandparents' birth certificates. My Danish-immigrant great grandfather was a "horseshoer."
I'm still in the process of settling in to the new place. The latest stage involves going through boxes of files I haven't touched since 2004, at least. This includes all of my grad school files, tons of rough drafts of stories--some of which never even got typed up, edits galore, old job-search records, early portfolio stuff, source materials for the Coney book, memories, memories, and more memories.
Strangest finds so far include copies of my paternal grandparents' birth certificates. My Danish-immigrant great grandfather was a "horseshoer."
Verizon, pts 2 & 3
Note: I am writing this from poached wireless access.
Pt. 2
So, I called Verizon after I got to work this morning to resolve the matters. After several minutes of explaining the problem to a FiOS CSR, he contacted billing and transferred me to them.
The CSR in billing asked me to explain the situation again. I did so, at which point she told me that I had never ended my service at the old address. We went around on that issue for a few minutes until she understood what had happened. At that point, she assured me she would issue the cancellation for my old service. I carefully asked her whether that would mean the billing issues would be resolved and my current service at the new house would remain intact.
She assured me it would.
Pt. 3
Banana and I arrive home, and Banana wants to watch Angelina Ballerina. (She has just come from her first ballet lesson.) I flip on the TV, and realize that there is no service.
I get on the phone with FiOS, go through the story again, and the CSR finds my account easily this time. Unfortunately, both accounts had disconnect orders issued. At this point, I am just as amused as I am irritated. He puts me on hold for several minutes, comes back and confirms the service I should have (data and TV) and where I should have that service. He tells me he is going to resolve it, and that he will call me back.
fast forward two hours
I call back to find out the status of the issue. I go through the story with the latest CSR, and he is very sympathetic. He goes through the various accounts and orders that now exist, but can find no record of this afternoon's phone call. Great. Just fucking great.
This phone call, the latest phone call, ends with him telling me to call in the morning when the billing office is open.
Stay tuned...
Pt. 2
So, I called Verizon after I got to work this morning to resolve the matters. After several minutes of explaining the problem to a FiOS CSR, he contacted billing and transferred me to them.
The CSR in billing asked me to explain the situation again. I did so, at which point she told me that I had never ended my service at the old address. We went around on that issue for a few minutes until she understood what had happened. At that point, she assured me she would issue the cancellation for my old service. I carefully asked her whether that would mean the billing issues would be resolved and my current service at the new house would remain intact.
She assured me it would.
Pt. 3
Banana and I arrive home, and Banana wants to watch Angelina Ballerina. (She has just come from her first ballet lesson.) I flip on the TV, and realize that there is no service.
I get on the phone with FiOS, go through the story again, and the CSR finds my account easily this time. Unfortunately, both accounts had disconnect orders issued. At this point, I am just as amused as I am irritated. He puts me on hold for several minutes, comes back and confirms the service I should have (data and TV) and where I should have that service. He tells me he is going to resolve it, and that he will call me back.
fast forward two hours
I call back to find out the status of the issue. I go through the story with the latest CSR, and he is very sympathetic. He goes through the various accounts and orders that now exist, but can find no record of this afternoon's phone call. Great. Just fucking great.
This phone call, the latest phone call, ends with him telling me to call in the morning when the billing office is open.
Stay tuned...
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
customer service, verizon, billing... and fun
When we moved, the FiOS moved cleanly and the install was relatively painless. Six weeks in, however, there are some fascinating billing issues coming up.
First off, they are billing me for phone service I no longer have. Second, they are billing me for a wireless router, except that the tech used my old wireless router. So I am being billed for a service I am not using and a wireless router that I already received for free. Brilliant!
I called into FiOS customer service this evening, even though I knew the billing office was closed, to find out what they showed for services and accounts. Apparently, there are two accounts still open for me. Stay tuned whether the billing people can actually get this wrapped up in the morning and remove close to $250 in erroneous billings.
First off, they are billing me for phone service I no longer have. Second, they are billing me for a wireless router, except that the tech used my old wireless router. So I am being billed for a service I am not using and a wireless router that I already received for free. Brilliant!
I called into FiOS customer service this evening, even though I knew the billing office was closed, to find out what they showed for services and accounts. Apparently, there are two accounts still open for me. Stay tuned whether the billing people can actually get this wrapped up in the morning and remove close to $250 in erroneous billings.
the world
is too much with us here and now late and soon. There is so much to worry about, from food to toys to war-mongering to so many other things. I'd rather just think about this:
Monday, July 09, 2007
organic food is healthier--who knew?
Picked this up off of Consumerist... Apparently organic tomatoes are healthier than "conventional" tomatoes. This should surprise no one; the real surprise should be that we even need to investigate such things. It's like investigating whether machine cut "baby" carrots have as many nutrients as carrots pulled fresh from the soil. It's like investigating the nose on our collective face. Sheesh.
I'll probably dive into writing heavily about Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma when I get closer to finishing it, but suffice it to say that this really isn't a surprise.
I'll probably dive into writing heavily about Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma when I get closer to finishing it, but suffice it to say that this really isn't a surprise.
hype and craving, pt. 2
I played with an iPhone today, finally. One of my part-time staff has one. I shouldn't have done it. Now I want one. They really are that cool.
NPR madness and Iraq
This afternoon on All Things Considered, an Army Reserve Lieutenant Colonel was interviewed. He talked about how grateful the Iraqis were--in spite of the difficulties of getting them to finish their police training consistently. He explained his rosy view of things by putting it in historical perspective... historical perspective as long as you only believe that Iraqi history begins with Saddam Hussein's regime. Sadly, as long as our government and the supposed watchdogs of the media continue to foment this myopic view of a complicated regional history (The amalgamation of fractious regions into a manufactured "country," eh? The problematic British occupation in the early twentieth century, eh?), we will continue down the path of lies, half-truths, and fatal inanities.
Quote of the Day
I just stumbled across a note I made in Maine a week and a half ago:
"Do starfish sleep a little later than people?"
This was Banana's question when she discovered that the starfish we had brought back from Edgewater seemed, um, not to be very responsive despite our efforts to put together a nice little tidal ecosystem on the shore. It was at that point that I realized I had used a basin that probably had decades of bleach residue imbued in the plastic. Oops.
The comment is closely rivaled by tonight's at Sticky Rice, after she had decorated Piko with a tutu and fuschia shoes: "She's so stylish."
"Do starfish sleep a little later than people?"
This was Banana's question when she discovered that the starfish we had brought back from Edgewater seemed, um, not to be very responsive despite our efforts to put together a nice little tidal ecosystem on the shore. It was at that point that I realized I had used a basin that probably had decades of bleach residue imbued in the plastic. Oops.
The comment is closely rivaled by tonight's at Sticky Rice, after she had decorated Piko with a tutu and fuschia shoes: "She's so stylish."
back in rva
We landed last night after an extended trip back--full day's drive on Friday, built a treehouse while Banana played with her cousins in Jersey on Saturday, finished the drive yesterday. Needless to say, I'm a little tired and wish I'd taken an additional day off to get grounded and get the house cleaned up... Meh. Exciting stuff.
Know what's really exciting? Returning from 70F in Maine to 97F+ in Richmond.
Know what's really exciting? Returning from 70F in Maine to 97F+ in Richmond.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Foodblogging - Isleboro Dock
During our foray out to the Cranberries, the first stop was a late lunch at the only restaurant on the islands-- the Isleboro Dock. It's an informal place with a short menu: a couple of salads, chowder (out of it), a mezze platter; the obligatory burger, crab roll, lobster roll, and two bbq sandwiches; and a third section that offered lobster at market price and "Something Steamed." The steamed something turned out to be mussels, and I ordered them, along with a Bar Harbor Real Ale. It was the first I'd had either on this trip...
The beer, I know. It was good, as always--especially because it was on tap. The mussels? Oy. Double oy.
I've never had mussels this good. The broth was butter and white wine over a perfect stock. There were cloves of roasted garlic that had simmered for so long they melted in your mouth. Carmelized onions added an unexpected smokiness to the dish, and the fresh oregano--from the garden across the road--lent a pungent punch to the whole thing. The bread came from a bakery in Northeast Harbor, and it was crusty and airy. Perfect to soak up the brodo.
I worried about being hungry afterward, but there was no chance of that. (Of course, snacking off Banana's perfectly crisp french fries helped too.)
And when the power went out mid-meal for a few minutes, that didn't throw anyone for a loop. Life is slower on an island, and if I could eat like this for the rest of my life... oy. I'd live a happy man.
The beer, I know. It was good, as always--especially because it was on tap. The mussels? Oy. Double oy.
I've never had mussels this good. The broth was butter and white wine over a perfect stock. There were cloves of roasted garlic that had simmered for so long they melted in your mouth. Carmelized onions added an unexpected smokiness to the dish, and the fresh oregano--from the garden across the road--lent a pungent punch to the whole thing. The bread came from a bakery in Northeast Harbor, and it was crusty and airy. Perfect to soak up the brodo.
I worried about being hungry afterward, but there was no chance of that. (Of course, snacking off Banana's perfectly crisp french fries helped too.)
And when the power went out mid-meal for a few minutes, that didn't throw anyone for a loop. Life is slower on an island, and if I could eat like this for the rest of my life... oy. I'd live a happy man.
A trip to the islands...
Grandma, Banana, and I decided to take the ferry to the Cranberry Islands this afternoon. The weather was awful all morning and kept plans in the air until Banana decided that she would rather take a boat ride than see Flash in the Pan. I was torn so I gave her the choice. Flash is a wonderful, amazing, community-driven show that is full of energy; I love it, but this is what we ended up with:
The ride out during the fog proved to be even more interesting than Grandma and I expected. The seas were fairly calm, and the air was crystalline.
What is truly remarkable is the singular feeling of being on an island. Nothing compares. Whether it is an island off the Brazilian coast (Ilha Bela) or the Irish coast (Inish Moor or Inish Boffin) or Little Cranberry Island, there is a common feeling to island culture--a combination of friendliness and suspicion, and a quiet awareness of isolation. It's remarkable, really.
Anyway, I've now marked Little Cranberry as a point for further exploration. I like the feel of the place, the remoteness punctuated by the honest friendliness of the people we met. There isn't more to write, sadly, about the place because we didn't have enough time there. The next post will explain why...
The ride out during the fog proved to be even more interesting than Grandma and I expected. The seas were fairly calm, and the air was crystalline.
What is truly remarkable is the singular feeling of being on an island. Nothing compares. Whether it is an island off the Brazilian coast (Ilha Bela) or the Irish coast (Inish Moor or Inish Boffin) or Little Cranberry Island, there is a common feeling to island culture--a combination of friendliness and suspicion, and a quiet awareness of isolation. It's remarkable, really.
Anyway, I've now marked Little Cranberry as a point for further exploration. I like the feel of the place, the remoteness punctuated by the honest friendliness of the people we met. There isn't more to write, sadly, about the place because we didn't have enough time there. The next post will explain why...
Schoodic oddness
Check out these satellite topographic projections:
Stunning, right?
The trick is that these are actually pools of concentrated sea salt on Schoodic Point. Never seen this sort of thing before. Tidal pools that were neglected and dried up into salt supplies.
Stunning, right?
The trick is that these are actually pools of concentrated sea salt on Schoodic Point. Never seen this sort of thing before. Tidal pools that were neglected and dried up into salt supplies.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Respect for the Holiday
In the interest of national security, faith, and all that is good, I have decided not to post or write today.
********************
Aw, Hell, the real problem is that I'm tired. The news has been crazy--from bizarre car accidents downstate to the insanity of national and international events--and exhausting. Keeping up with Banana and the rest of the family demands has been exhausting. (Add to that firing a cannon at the annual Third of July Party.) Really, from the pain of downloading today's pictures on a D50 I was playing with to saturation of everything else, I'm just in the mood to sit. And read. Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma. More--much more--about that later.
Be well, and raise a glass to the country. And to the hope that we can win it back one of these days.
********************
Aw, Hell, the real problem is that I'm tired. The news has been crazy--from bizarre car accidents downstate to the insanity of national and international events--and exhausting. Keeping up with Banana and the rest of the family demands has been exhausting. (Add to that firing a cannon at the annual Third of July Party.) Really, from the pain of downloading today's pictures on a D50 I was playing with to saturation of everything else, I'm just in the mood to sit. And read. Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma. More--much more--about that later.
Be well, and raise a glass to the country. And to the hope that we can win it back one of these days.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
frogs and more frogs
This is the most recent incarnation of Hopper. Hopper 7, the sequel you might call him.
He (?) was one of the smaller bullfrogs Banana caught at Little Tunk, and one of two this afternoon. He (?) was quite an amiable little bullfrog, and Banana insisted that he liked her. Even as he tried to hop away a few times. After a while, I insisted that he needed to be returned to his home in the reeds. She was slow about it, and I got a little more frustrated than I wanted to be.
This age is a lot of fun--and one can only hope that the various creatures see their experiences as adventures. Banana seems much more aware of the world around her, asking lots of questions about things around the house and suddenly saying "whee" as we go over little hills in the car. But for all those fun moments, there are all the little pains in the neck like when she repeatedly tried to negotiate for more time with the frog.
So this is the battle: No versus But.
He (?) was one of the smaller bullfrogs Banana caught at Little Tunk, and one of two this afternoon. He (?) was quite an amiable little bullfrog, and Banana insisted that he liked her. Even as he tried to hop away a few times. After a while, I insisted that he needed to be returned to his home in the reeds. She was slow about it, and I got a little more frustrated than I wanted to be.
This age is a lot of fun--and one can only hope that the various creatures see their experiences as adventures. Banana seems much more aware of the world around her, asking lots of questions about things around the house and suddenly saying "whee" as we go over little hills in the car. But for all those fun moments, there are all the little pains in the neck like when she repeatedly tried to negotiate for more time with the frog.
So this is the battle: No versus But.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Scuttling Scooter
I raised the question the other day, "How much more damage can these guys do in the next eighteen months?" The answer came back, "A lot."
Of course, it is semantically better that Bush commuted Libby's sentence rather than just pardoning him outright. A nice little rhetorical trick, actually. Doing so, however, is just another maddening reminder of how ethically bankrupt the administration really is. The U.S. Court of Appeals unanimously rejected his request for an appeal, but Bush certainly found his way around those "activist judges," didn't he?
Then again, since Cheney is really the one who is running things, why should I even be surprised. Kagro X on Daily Kos takes us back to where all of the ills of this administration seem to start: the end of the Nixon administration. Hell, just keep reading the rest of Daily Kos for coverage. It's good. And sad.
Of course, it is semantically better that Bush commuted Libby's sentence rather than just pardoning him outright. A nice little rhetorical trick, actually. Doing so, however, is just another maddening reminder of how ethically bankrupt the administration really is. The U.S. Court of Appeals unanimously rejected his request for an appeal, but Bush certainly found his way around those "activist judges," didn't he?
Then again, since Cheney is really the one who is running things, why should I even be surprised. Kagro X on Daily Kos takes us back to where all of the ills of this administration seem to start: the end of the Nixon administration. Hell, just keep reading the rest of Daily Kos for coverage. It's good. And sad.
starfish
For generations, kids have pulled starfish and other things like urchins, crabs, sea dollars, sea cucumbers, and moon snails from the tumbled down granite blocks on the point below Edgewater Cabins.
This jumble of granite blocks was a steamer dock in the early part of the century when Sullivan was a prosperous little burg on the coast. Much of the granite used to build Washington DC among other places came out of local quarries and passed down this landing onto steamer ships. Sullivan also had a thriving silver mine industry.
When things went into decline after the twenties, the dock went into disrepair and eventually became an unrecognizable pile of heavy granite blocks.
For the generations since, it has been a boon. Kids whose families owned houses on the road mingled with kids whose families rented cabins or houses by the week as we scrambled over these blocks. We scraped our knees on rough edges, cut the soles of our feet on barnacles, and risked what must have seemed like life and limb in pursuit of the perfect starfish. Why? Because there are few places I've ever been where you can so easily reach into the water and find this:
In recent years, they've put in the new dock and float off the point, and shored up parts of the pile. To those of us who've been here for years, the changes are obvious but understated enough to be "acceptable." Regardless, the starfish have survived well, though there seem to be fewer big ones now. Other changes in the ecosystem are evident, though. Sanddollars seem to be entirely gone; sea cucumbers are rare, though a few anemones still survive; urchins and crabs are around, but there is no sign of moon snails.
Still, the starfish remain. Banana and future generations can still pluck starfish from the rocks and leave them out to dry. I hear it's possible, though I never managed to get anything but a stinking mess out of my efforts to dry one. But being a kid is--and should be--all about optimism.
This jumble of granite blocks was a steamer dock in the early part of the century when Sullivan was a prosperous little burg on the coast. Much of the granite used to build Washington DC among other places came out of local quarries and passed down this landing onto steamer ships. Sullivan also had a thriving silver mine industry.
When things went into decline after the twenties, the dock went into disrepair and eventually became an unrecognizable pile of heavy granite blocks.For the generations since, it has been a boon. Kids whose families owned houses on the road mingled with kids whose families rented cabins or houses by the week as we scrambled over these blocks. We scraped our knees on rough edges, cut the soles of our feet on barnacles, and risked what must have seemed like life and limb in pursuit of the perfect starfish. Why? Because there are few places I've ever been where you can so easily reach into the water and find this:
In recent years, they've put in the new dock and float off the point, and shored up parts of the pile. To those of us who've been here for years, the changes are obvious but understated enough to be "acceptable." Regardless, the starfish have survived well, though there seem to be fewer big ones now. Other changes in the ecosystem are evident, though. Sanddollars seem to be entirely gone; sea cucumbers are rare, though a few anemones still survive; urchins and crabs are around, but there is no sign of moon snails.
Still, the starfish remain. Banana and future generations can still pluck starfish from the rocks and leave them out to dry. I hear it's possible, though I never managed to get anything but a stinking mess out of my efforts to dry one. But being a kid is--and should be--all about optimism.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Little Long Pond and the Rockefellers
Acadia National Park exists because of the Rockefellers. Much of Mount Desert Island exists because of the Rockefellers, the Astors, and other obscenely wealthy families over the last century and a half.
In the thirties when John D. donated his land Mount Desert to the National Park system, he created a wonderland of nature available to the public. The family did, however, keep some significant chunks of land around their houses and the "secret" garden John D. built for his mother. Part of this land is included in the Little Long Pond carriage road loop.
As an aside: the Carriage Roads were the centerpiece of Rockefeller's holdings on Mt. Desert. They are a beautifully graded and engineered system of roads for horses and carriages. They have become an essential connective tissue of Acadia, an important way for people to get from trail to trail and to ride bikes and horses.
Little Long Pond is better kept, however, than the rest of the network. The private Rockefeller crews keep the property beautifully, and there are no bikes allowed. The only horses allowed are those owned by the various parts of the family. The loop is kept open for the public, as well, and one benefit the family offers is that dogs are allowed off-leash. Unlike the rest of the park system, this allows for people to take a three to four mile hike with their dog roaming and saying hello to other dogs. It's brilliant and rare.
Add to this the stunning natural beauty of the woods and the wide-open fields, the pond with its fish and tadpoles, the beaver huts, the occasional moose, and you have the recipe for an Eden-like setting. Never forget, however, that you are a guest. This is not a warning; just an acknowledgment that we are lucky to have people who still do this.
In the thirties when John D. donated his land Mount Desert to the National Park system, he created a wonderland of nature available to the public. The family did, however, keep some significant chunks of land around their houses and the "secret" garden John D. built for his mother. Part of this land is included in the Little Long Pond carriage road loop.
As an aside: the Carriage Roads were the centerpiece of Rockefeller's holdings on Mt. Desert. They are a beautifully graded and engineered system of roads for horses and carriages. They have become an essential connective tissue of Acadia, an important way for people to get from trail to trail and to ride bikes and horses.
Little Long Pond is better kept, however, than the rest of the network. The private Rockefeller crews keep the property beautifully, and there are no bikes allowed. The only horses allowed are those owned by the various parts of the family. The loop is kept open for the public, as well, and one benefit the family offers is that dogs are allowed off-leash. Unlike the rest of the park system, this allows for people to take a three to four mile hike with their dog roaming and saying hello to other dogs. It's brilliant and rare.
Add to this the stunning natural beauty of the woods and the wide-open fields, the pond with its fish and tadpoles, the beaver huts, the occasional moose, and you have the recipe for an Eden-like setting. Never forget, however, that you are a guest. This is not a warning; just an acknowledgment that we are lucky to have people who still do this.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Blue Hill Farmers Market
We started coming to this market in 2003, the summer we spent up here, and got to know some of the farmers. It's a small crew of local, exclusively organic farmers and the obligatory artisans. The produce is of a generally excellent quality--though it's still just greens season here--and more reasonably priced than at the markets in Richmond--$3 for a bag of mesclun instead of $5. It is still early in the season, however, so we only picked up mesclun, spinach, and chevre.
One of these days I'll have to be more adventuresome and buy things like beets and turnip greens.
One of these days I'll have to be more adventuresome and buy things like beets and turnip greens.
Stink at Little Tunk
As a protected body of water, pollution should be minimal to non-existent at Little Tunk. That's why it was an unpleasant surprise to find foam and a yellow residue on the shore on our most recent excursion.
Most of it had accumulated near the reedy area where Banana and the other kids had been catching bullfrogs on Wednesday. Not knowing the source of the scum and yellow residue, I vetoed frog hunting. Banana was disappointed, though she soon found other ways to occupy her time.
Unhappy about the pollution, I was still happy there wouldn't be a debate over whether a frog could come home with us.
Most of it had accumulated near the reedy area where Banana and the other kids had been catching bullfrogs on Wednesday. Not knowing the source of the scum and yellow residue, I vetoed frog hunting. Banana was disappointed, though she soon found other ways to occupy her time.
Unhappy about the pollution, I was still happy there wouldn't be a debate over whether a frog could come home with us.
Friday, June 29, 2007
foodblogging - the lobster edition
Banana and I headed over to Tidal Falls tonight for our dinner out for the week. She loves lobster, and it seemed fair to split a lobster. Little did I know I would really only end up with the tail. Nonetheless, that's not the point, right?
Tidal Falls has been around in one way or another for a number of years. It was originally one of the best working pounds in Hancock, and as any good pound did, it served basic shore dinners. Most of these old pounds are gone now. The Cardinal at the bridge has become a wholesale outfit. Gordon's and others along the Route 1 corridor have closed up over the years, as did Tidal Falls for several years.
It reopened in the early eighties, owned and operated by a French woman I only remember as Madame. Her lobsters and moules were impeccable, and as a good French chef, she never skimped on the side items she offered, and the bread was always fresh. She also always kept a stash of wine even though the restaurant was technically BYOB; the deal was you replaced the bottle the next time you came. When she retired, the Frenchman Bay Conservancy raised the money to buy the point to keep it from being developed and to use the restaurant to fund their efforts. So how has it gone?
The menu now includes a thorough selection of fried options. When I tried the scallops last year, I was impressed. The breading was light, and the scallops themselves were excellent quality. The new operator has added barbecue to the offerings.
He clearly is quite serious about the 'que, based on the set-up he has going. He also talked about how depressing it was to have to store and reheat food since he hadn't figured out the pace yet. (Apparently, the Conservancy is also against him advertising anything other than the lobster and fried seafood. Go figure.)
Anyway, the initial impression is actually a bit of sticker shock. Prices on lobster have climbed precipitously this year, with hard shells coming off the boat at close to nine dollars. Market price at the restaurant then becomes a painful fourteen bucks a pound. (Note to self: we'll have to check Beal's in Southwest Harbor to see what prices at a working retail operation are running.) In keeping with what I'm seeing everywhere right now, however, other prices are rising too--the most criminal example being Anna's four-dollar lemonade. But the real test comes in the food, right? So here it is:
The lobster was perfect and succulent. It seemed dirtier than it should have been, but then the days of Madame tightly controlling her supply are gone. In any case, Anna tore into the small claws and had some of the meat from the bigger claws before retreating to the garlic bread. I shared the big claws with her and had the tail, and it was very good. The corn was also good, though not as tasty as the corn I put on the grill earlier in the week. Even the cole slaw was good. The main downside was the garlic bread which was basically a hero role slathered with butter and garlic powder, not even much of a trace of minced garlic as it should have had.
Overall, the food was good, not great. (Yes, my veggie friends will crow that we shouldn't even be going through this.) But the thing about Tidal Falls is that half of the experience is the location--a tidal falls (runs in and out with the tide) between Frenchman Bay and Taunton Bay, across the narrows from our house:
In the dead-calm water between the tides, you can watch seals fish, herons and ospreys fly over. It's a stunning spot, and back in the cove are the remnants of its days as a working pound.
The water isn't as clean as it used to be, but then that's nothing new. Unfortunately.
Tidal Falls has been around in one way or another for a number of years. It was originally one of the best working pounds in Hancock, and as any good pound did, it served basic shore dinners. Most of these old pounds are gone now. The Cardinal at the bridge has become a wholesale outfit. Gordon's and others along the Route 1 corridor have closed up over the years, as did Tidal Falls for several years.
It reopened in the early eighties, owned and operated by a French woman I only remember as Madame. Her lobsters and moules were impeccable, and as a good French chef, she never skimped on the side items she offered, and the bread was always fresh. She also always kept a stash of wine even though the restaurant was technically BYOB; the deal was you replaced the bottle the next time you came. When she retired, the Frenchman Bay Conservancy raised the money to buy the point to keep it from being developed and to use the restaurant to fund their efforts. So how has it gone?
The menu now includes a thorough selection of fried options. When I tried the scallops last year, I was impressed. The breading was light, and the scallops themselves were excellent quality. The new operator has added barbecue to the offerings.
He clearly is quite serious about the 'que, based on the set-up he has going. He also talked about how depressing it was to have to store and reheat food since he hadn't figured out the pace yet. (Apparently, the Conservancy is also against him advertising anything other than the lobster and fried seafood. Go figure.) Anyway, the initial impression is actually a bit of sticker shock. Prices on lobster have climbed precipitously this year, with hard shells coming off the boat at close to nine dollars. Market price at the restaurant then becomes a painful fourteen bucks a pound. (Note to self: we'll have to check Beal's in Southwest Harbor to see what prices at a working retail operation are running.) In keeping with what I'm seeing everywhere right now, however, other prices are rising too--the most criminal example being Anna's four-dollar lemonade. But the real test comes in the food, right? So here it is:
The lobster was perfect and succulent. It seemed dirtier than it should have been, but then the days of Madame tightly controlling her supply are gone. In any case, Anna tore into the small claws and had some of the meat from the bigger claws before retreating to the garlic bread. I shared the big claws with her and had the tail, and it was very good. The corn was also good, though not as tasty as the corn I put on the grill earlier in the week. Even the cole slaw was good. The main downside was the garlic bread which was basically a hero role slathered with butter and garlic powder, not even much of a trace of minced garlic as it should have had.
Overall, the food was good, not great. (Yes, my veggie friends will crow that we shouldn't even be going through this.) But the thing about Tidal Falls is that half of the experience is the location--a tidal falls (runs in and out with the tide) between Frenchman Bay and Taunton Bay, across the narrows from our house:
In the dead-calm water between the tides, you can watch seals fish, herons and ospreys fly over. It's a stunning spot, and back in the cove are the remnants of its days as a working pound.
The water isn't as clean as it used to be, but then that's nothing new. Unfortunately.
the meaning of summer
For the moment, impoliticeye appears to be turning into a photo-narrative essay blog. That's not such a bad thing. Neither is this perfect justification for a vacation afternoon at Little Tunk:
Thursday, June 28, 2007
on the coast
Today, we packed lunches--a lesson well-learned from yesterday's extended excursion to Little Tunk--and headed farther Down East to Schoodic Point. For those who do not know, Schoodic is a mainland extension of Acadia National Park. It's near Winter Harbor, and is a good spot for scrambling around some really cool granite coastal formations. It's also a favorite spot for kids who grow up spending their summers around here:
Even Reilly looked a little more spry after acting like a mountain goat:
You're facing out to the North Atlantic, the territory of rafts of gulls and serious fishermen. In fact, watching boats like this after all the politics I've been dealing with lately makes me wonder if I'd rather cash in my chips, and do something where there are no chess-like mindgames to play:
The surf might be no more predictable, but at least it doesn't smile at you while finding ways to screw you...
And it's a lot more fun to watch.
But I forgot the point. The point is what we can find. Or what Banana can find. Thankfully, nothing came home with us today.
Banana then found twins from New Jersey to follow her to tidal pools. These girls were a few years older, but they were great at exploring with her. A few minutes after this shot was taken, however, one twin's protectiveness proved even more valuable when Banana took what could have been a painful plunge off the rock face. The girl caught her arm, and Banana emerged wet but mostly unharmed.
A short time later, I snapped this as we headed off Schoodic toward Darthia Farm. This little shed is on the edge of Wonsqueak Harbor, and has had these signs painted on the side for as long as I can remember. Never shot it until now...
Even Reilly looked a little more spry after acting like a mountain goat:
You're facing out to the North Atlantic, the territory of rafts of gulls and serious fishermen. In fact, watching boats like this after all the politics I've been dealing with lately makes me wonder if I'd rather cash in my chips, and do something where there are no chess-like mindgames to play:
The surf might be no more predictable, but at least it doesn't smile at you while finding ways to screw you...
And it's a lot more fun to watch.But I forgot the point. The point is what we can find. Or what Banana can find. Thankfully, nothing came home with us today.
Banana then found twins from New Jersey to follow her to tidal pools. These girls were a few years older, but they were great at exploring with her. A few minutes after this shot was taken, however, one twin's protectiveness proved even more valuable when Banana took what could have been a painful plunge off the rock face. The girl caught her arm, and Banana emerged wet but mostly unharmed.
A short time later, I snapped this as we headed off Schoodic toward Darthia Farm. This little shed is on the edge of Wonsqueak Harbor, and has had these signs painted on the side for as long as I can remember. Never shot it until now...
food, good food
A note to all my vegan and committed-vegetarian friends: this post may offend.
I neglected to take a picture of the crabcakes last night. Too bad, too, because they were perfect. Local crab tossed with a light mixture of egg (also local and organic), mayonnaise (I'm not up to making my own yet), cumin, hot paprika, celery seed, lemon juice, worcestishire, and a dash of breadcrumbs to bind them. Rather than pan-cooking them, I opted for the broiler. The old stove is electric, but they came out perfectly. We had them with rice and a salad of local lettuces, feta (not local), and yellow pepper (as local as the Netherlands). Good stuff.
Tonight's dinner selection was a little more mundane, and unfortunately involved fewer locally-sourced ingredients. Nonetheless, a hearty meal of spaghetti after a day of running around on the rocks and playing in the water... well, it's good too.
I neglected to take a picture of the crabcakes last night. Too bad, too, because they were perfect. Local crab tossed with a light mixture of egg (also local and organic), mayonnaise (I'm not up to making my own yet), cumin, hot paprika, celery seed, lemon juice, worcestishire, and a dash of breadcrumbs to bind them. Rather than pan-cooking them, I opted for the broiler. The old stove is electric, but they came out perfectly. We had them with rice and a salad of local lettuces, feta (not local), and yellow pepper (as local as the Netherlands). Good stuff.
Tonight's dinner selection was a little more mundane, and unfortunately involved fewer locally-sourced ingredients. Nonetheless, a hearty meal of spaghetti after a day of running around on the rocks and playing in the water... well, it's good too.
SCOTUS madness
The GOP couldn't hold their majority in the Senate and Congress, and Bush is at historic lows in the approval ratings. We as a country--and the world at large--are stuck with the bad choices that have been made in our names. But it seems clear that the longest lasting and potentially most damaging legacy is also the one that cannot be undone: the Supreme Court.
As the decisions roll in, it is clear that the Bush&Co have succeeded in establishing a court that will protect neocon interests in the near and long terms. From civil rights to environmental protections to the rights of consumers to hold corporations accountable to many, many other issues, the five justices most beholden to the Bush dynasty--Scalia, Alito, Roberts, Kennedy, and Thomas--threaten to hold progressive interests hostage for generations.
This, I suppose is the sad and sick irony of Bush's original appointment by the SCOTUS. And it's going to haunt us for a long, long time.
As the decisions roll in, it is clear that the Bush&Co have succeeded in establishing a court that will protect neocon interests in the near and long terms. From civil rights to environmental protections to the rights of consumers to hold corporations accountable to many, many other issues, the five justices most beholden to the Bush dynasty--Scalia, Alito, Roberts, Kennedy, and Thomas--threaten to hold progressive interests hostage for generations.
This, I suppose is the sad and sick irony of Bush's original appointment by the SCOTUS. And it's going to haunt us for a long, long time.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
GSW victim
Just some further thoughts on the topic of getting shot...
1. I was extraordinarily lucky. Every time I look in the mirror and see the scar at the crux of my neck and shoulder, I realize how lucky I was. Any minor deviation in the act of shooting the gun or in the trajectory through the railing and I would be dead--or at the very least, badly maimed. In so many ways, I shouldn't be here now, but I am.
2. There may be nothing stranger in my 36 years so far than saying the words "When I was shot." Every time any variation of this comes out of my mouth, I stop for a brief moment. There is nothing right about saying it. And nothing I can do but marvel at the strangeness of the words.
3. I prevented a robbery from taking place. Perhaps something much worse. I don't know why I have to remind myself of this, but it's not the easiest thing to process.
4. It still hurts. Physically and mentally.
5. On my earlier post, I was vague about how much deeper the bullet was than expected. My attending surgeon expected it to be close to the surface--not more than a quarter of an inch. Instead, it was more than an inch under the skin and had cosseted itself just on the edge of the deltoid, kindly avoiding the ribs, clavicle, lung and other vitals. I was lucky.
So ends this moment of navel-gazing. Thanks for tuning in.
1. I was extraordinarily lucky. Every time I look in the mirror and see the scar at the crux of my neck and shoulder, I realize how lucky I was. Any minor deviation in the act of shooting the gun or in the trajectory through the railing and I would be dead--or at the very least, badly maimed. In so many ways, I shouldn't be here now, but I am.
2. There may be nothing stranger in my 36 years so far than saying the words "When I was shot." Every time any variation of this comes out of my mouth, I stop for a brief moment. There is nothing right about saying it. And nothing I can do but marvel at the strangeness of the words.
3. I prevented a robbery from taking place. Perhaps something much worse. I don't know why I have to remind myself of this, but it's not the easiest thing to process.
4. It still hurts. Physically and mentally.
5. On my earlier post, I was vague about how much deeper the bullet was than expected. My attending surgeon expected it to be close to the surface--not more than a quarter of an inch. Instead, it was more than an inch under the skin and had cosseted itself just on the edge of the deltoid, kindly avoiding the ribs, clavicle, lung and other vitals. I was lucky.
So ends this moment of navel-gazing. Thanks for tuning in.
the meaning of vacation
Late this morning, after a breakfast of cinnamon raisin french toast, berries, and applewood-smoked bacon, we headed for Little Tunk Pond.
Like a number of areas in Sullivan, Little Tunk has come under the protection of the Frenchman Bay Conservancy. This group has worked to protect some beautiful spots from the developers' knives in recent years. While this goes against the moneyed vogue, it ensures that others have access to some truly beautiful spots--and that those spots will remain truly beautiful.
Anyway...
The trip started out as a short jaunt with a plan to pick starfish at the old dock at Edgewater at low tide. Banana connected with a few kids--Miranda 13, Nick 9, and Luke 4--and I sat with their parents for a bit. Our dogs got along worse, but it was summer vacation and beer-thirty so we burned off the rest of the day. By the time we left with a bullfrog in tow, it was after five, and we were all tired. The bullfrog returned to a stream near the house. Despite Banana's pleas for it to remain, I insisted that there was no way the frog would make it back to Richmond.
I am a mean dad sometimes.
Like a number of areas in Sullivan, Little Tunk has come under the protection of the Frenchman Bay Conservancy. This group has worked to protect some beautiful spots from the developers' knives in recent years. While this goes against the moneyed vogue, it ensures that others have access to some truly beautiful spots--and that those spots will remain truly beautiful.
Anyway...
The trip started out as a short jaunt with a plan to pick starfish at the old dock at Edgewater at low tide. Banana connected with a few kids--Miranda 13, Nick 9, and Luke 4--and I sat with their parents for a bit. Our dogs got along worse, but it was summer vacation and beer-thirty so we burned off the rest of the day. By the time we left with a bullfrog in tow, it was after five, and we were all tired. The bullfrog returned to a stream near the house. Despite Banana's pleas for it to remain, I insisted that there was no way the frog would make it back to Richmond.
I am a mean dad sometimes.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
hype and craving
It's taken me a few years to come back to being a technophile. I'm not entirely there yet, but my Core 2 Duo iMac and 30gb video iPod are becoming more central to my organization, communication, and entertainment. I am also keeping up more with the latest techno news, especially as it relates to Macs.
This is to say that I am paying attention to the iPhone. Hell, even David Pogue likes it, and that's saying a lot. He usually hates most things Apple.
This is to say that I am paying attention to the iPhone. Hell, even David Pogue likes it, and that's saying a lot. He usually hates most things Apple.
trashing the coast
This is Sullivan Harbor at nearly low tide. The harbor was not recognized as a working harbor until less than twenty years ago. Unitl then, the water was only broken by a few private moorings and lobster pots. Then old zoning regulations were uncovered and the town fathers decided to make it a working harbor. Since then, we've seen an interesting run of boats anchor here. This increase in activity has coincided with a general increase in fishing and dragging in Frenchman's Bay.
Generally, coastal laws prohibit dragging, trapping or fishing in working harbors. These laws are also fairly specific about how and where fishing can be done. Unfortunately, Mainers have a stubbornly libertarian streak and there is very little direct enforcement of some regulations in rural areas. To that end, boats work to fulfill demand for scallops, mussels, crabs, and lobsters and various kinds of fish without much regard for the law.
To wit, the picture. Below what we have always referred to as the Big Rock is a tidal mussel flat. This means that it is covered by eleven feet of water at high tide and bare at low tide. Twenty years ago and beyond, it was a pure run of mussels. Now it is gutted and pockmarked by illegal dragging.
This is an object lesson in my frustration with contemporary Green vogue. Global warming gets a lot of attention, but the whole question of sustainability and other damage to our natural resources seems to get lost in the noise about organic products. The real discussion of how to deal with our environment ends up obscured in an absurd debate between corporate interests, societal interests, and the view that "real" environmentalism is somehow a freakish, patchouli-soaked abomination.
vacation notes
I'll probably post a run of these to Flickr, but here's a quick taste...
There was a run of jellyfish that had been beached today. This was one:
Reilly loves it up here, but he's definitely getting older. Pictures like this remind me of that fact:
Let's see the inventory in this one: Coffee cup (I had to go up to Dunbar's Store to grind the Whole Foods beans this morning since I forgot no one has put a coffee grinder in the house yet. And apparently I don't plan to either.), pint container for shells and rocks, Hanna Andersson dress, new L.L. Bean shoes, ledge on the Maine coast. What price a stereotype?
It's a stone, just a stone. The simple pleasure of finding a treasure like this meets that wonderful texture of the beach below her feet, however, and it's also a reminder of why I love this place.
There was a run of jellyfish that had been beached today. This was one:
Reilly loves it up here, but he's definitely getting older. Pictures like this remind me of that fact:
Let's see the inventory in this one: Coffee cup (I had to go up to Dunbar's Store to grind the Whole Foods beans this morning since I forgot no one has put a coffee grinder in the house yet. And apparently I don't plan to either.), pint container for shells and rocks, Hanna Andersson dress, new L.L. Bean shoes, ledge on the Maine coast. What price a stereotype?
It's a stone, just a stone. The simple pleasure of finding a treasure like this meets that wonderful texture of the beach below her feet, however, and it's also a reminder of why I love this place.
Maine
This is what I woke up to this morning:
We left Montclair yesterday before noon, and I opted to cut up the Garden State to the Tappan Zee rather than going to the GWB the way I usually do. We made killer time up through the parkway system and past Hartford. It was easy enough that we were able to make it to Freeport for dinner at Gritty's. (Yes, I prefer the original Gritty's in Portland, but the Freeport one is so easy with kids because of the back lawn and play area.)
Anyway, we got in late last night. And woke up to the mountains this morning. Stay tuned for more blogging from Sullivan.
We left Montclair yesterday before noon, and I opted to cut up the Garden State to the Tappan Zee rather than going to the GWB the way I usually do. We made killer time up through the parkway system and past Hartford. It was easy enough that we were able to make it to Freeport for dinner at Gritty's. (Yes, I prefer the original Gritty's in Portland, but the Freeport one is so easy with kids because of the back lawn and play area.)
Anyway, we got in late last night. And woke up to the mountains this morning. Stay tuned for more blogging from Sullivan.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
"This could easily have been fatal."
That's what my attending physician said today after he took the sutures out. Apparently, the bullet was deeper than expected, and closer to "real" damage than shown on the scans. He was also kind to add the comment that it was a big bullet, and that it was mostly intact.
Again, I must say: I got lucky.
Again, I must say: I got lucky.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Byrd House Market, Week 5
This week's market haul:
Asparagus
Blueberries
Zucchini
Broccoli
Strawberries
Mesclun mix (complete with pea shoots)
small bouquet of wildflowers and lilies
The only disappointment was the strawberries. I should have known better, though, than to buy strawberries after the real heat came on. The berries looked on the edge at the market, and within a couple of hours, they were in sad shape. Out of a quart, I got a small bowl of cut-up berries with a bit of sugar tossed in to keep them from retarding further.
Asparagus
Blueberries
Zucchini
Broccoli
Strawberries
Mesclun mix (complete with pea shoots)
small bouquet of wildflowers and lilies
The only disappointment was the strawberries. I should have known better, though, than to buy strawberries after the real heat came on. The berries looked on the edge at the market, and within a couple of hours, they were in sad shape. Out of a quart, I got a small bowl of cut-up berries with a bit of sugar tossed in to keep them from retarding further.
Lifehacking, a side note
The financial part of the growing up agenda is going to be hell, I think. Digging myself out of the hole I've dug over the years is complicated. Staying out of the hole may be even harder.
Of course, much of the complication is to be found in the current facts of my life: moderate income, all of the expenses of single parenthood, little-to-no savings to cover random bills. If I had my debts paid and a few thousand dollars in savings, my income would be enough to cover day-to-day expenses. But with the rising costs of daily living and little things here and there, it feels like I am constantly climbing a sand dune.
I can't really count this as the next step in the process, because I haven't found any good lessons yet.
Of course, much of the complication is to be found in the current facts of my life: moderate income, all of the expenses of single parenthood, little-to-no savings to cover random bills. If I had my debts paid and a few thousand dollars in savings, my income would be enough to cover day-to-day expenses. But with the rising costs of daily living and little things here and there, it feels like I am constantly climbing a sand dune.
I can't really count this as the next step in the process, because I haven't found any good lessons yet.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Life-hacking 2
The second example: Throw things away.
I am willing to blame my parents for at least part of my pack-rat habit. My parents both have a remarkable talent for holding on to things. This can be good sometimes, but it can also become a frustrating, irritating tendency.
During the recent move, a couple of friends forced me to throw some stuff away, things that had little intrinsic. Without their help, I would probably have packed and put away these things--egg poachers, inexpensive vases, extra sets of poker chips, and more--without thinking about it. In a few years, when Banana and I moved into a new house, these things would have traveled again.
The lessons were good ones, though, and I have continued to purge. With each box, I have decided what really needed to stay and what should go. With Anna's stuff, I have taken as hard a line as I can on getting rid of toys that she no longer plays with, and quietly stripping out the weird little detritus that children collect.
More and more, I think that part of growing up is realizing what should stay and what should go.
HERE ENDETH THIS LESSON.
I am willing to blame my parents for at least part of my pack-rat habit. My parents both have a remarkable talent for holding on to things. This can be good sometimes, but it can also become a frustrating, irritating tendency.
During the recent move, a couple of friends forced me to throw some stuff away, things that had little intrinsic. Without their help, I would probably have packed and put away these things--egg poachers, inexpensive vases, extra sets of poker chips, and more--without thinking about it. In a few years, when Banana and I moved into a new house, these things would have traveled again.
The lessons were good ones, though, and I have continued to purge. With each box, I have decided what really needed to stay and what should go. With Anna's stuff, I have taken as hard a line as I can on getting rid of toys that she no longer plays with, and quietly stripping out the weird little detritus that children collect.
More and more, I think that part of growing up is realizing what should stay and what should go.
HERE ENDETH THIS LESSON.
Trader Joe's Hack
One of Banana's favorite foods--perhaps her favorite food--is Trader Joe's Pizza Formaggio Di Capra. She calls it the "Circle Cheese Pizza." Anyway, it's a nearly perfect thing, surprisingly so for a frozen pizza. The crust is thin and crisp, coated with a mild tomato sauce and cheese, punctuated by four olives--calamata or nicoise--and four discs of chevre.
On a whim tonight, I drizzled the pie with good olive oil and added some fresh basil. Banana pulled the basil off--she's at that irritating age when reliable flavors are no longer reliable--but we finished it off quickly.
Good stuff.
On a whim tonight, I drizzled the pie with good olive oil and added some fresh basil. Banana pulled the basil off--she's at that irritating age when reliable flavors are no longer reliable--but we finished it off quickly.
Good stuff.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Sad reflections on the Eighties
Mountain Stage tonight has an interesting line-up: Martin Sexton, Ryan Adams, Cowboy Junkies, and... The Hooters. I can take or leave Sexton and Adams--both are competent and have done a few good things. The Junkies, I love.
And then there's The Hooters. I had a fair dose of nostalgia for them from the era when I actually owned their tape--the only one that mattered. Their first few songs on the show were good, and then they closed with "And We Danced." It was their hit. It was good, right? But there are certain songs that should never be played acoustically with a mandolin, piano, and the vocorder-thing that was the "hooter." Never. Never play songs like this in that way. "And We Danced" only belongs in the rock-concert-fun nostalgia of the Eighties--through amplifiers, with people cheering, and very little spotlight on the actual song. Stripped down, it loses even the nostalgic fun.
And then there's The Hooters. I had a fair dose of nostalgia for them from the era when I actually owned their tape--the only one that mattered. Their first few songs on the show were good, and then they closed with "And We Danced." It was their hit. It was good, right? But there are certain songs that should never be played acoustically with a mandolin, piano, and the vocorder-thing that was the "hooter." Never. Never play songs like this in that way. "And We Danced" only belongs in the rock-concert-fun nostalgia of the Eighties--through amplifiers, with people cheering, and very little spotlight on the actual song. Stripped down, it loses even the nostalgic fun.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Son Volt @ Ginter Garden
I am a bit of a johnny-come-lately to Son Volt. After Uncle Tupelo broke up, both Wilco and Son Volt stayed on the periphery of my music. It took seven years for my Wilco interest to pick up and another six years for Son Volt to really hit my radar. The album Okemah brought them onto the radar and regular play on Radio Paradise fully brought them into my CD collection.
That said, I have only seen the various incarnations of what started years ago once-apiece. Tupelo touring with Michelle Shocked and Taj Mahal in 1992. Wilco last year. And tonight, Son Volt.
The show started off on low notes with a couple of tracks from the most recent album. The sound was muddy and awful. Farrar's vocals and all of the instruments were at the same level and lost in the outdoor venue. By the third song, however, the sound man had begun to clear things up.
They played a very clean set, mixing things up from the last two albums for the first half, and then bringing a good selection from the early albums. The band is tight, so tight that there was often little to distinguish the live performance from the recorded tracks. Farrar's reputation for staying aloof from the audience held true, and there was very little banter between songs. While this can make for a tight set, it can also take away from the live experience.
Basically, it was a good show, but except for one killer set of riffs during the encore, nothing really made it great.
That said, I have only seen the various incarnations of what started years ago once-apiece. Tupelo touring with Michelle Shocked and Taj Mahal in 1992. Wilco last year. And tonight, Son Volt.
The show started off on low notes with a couple of tracks from the most recent album. The sound was muddy and awful. Farrar's vocals and all of the instruments were at the same level and lost in the outdoor venue. By the third song, however, the sound man had begun to clear things up.
They played a very clean set, mixing things up from the last two albums for the first half, and then bringing a good selection from the early albums. The band is tight, so tight that there was often little to distinguish the live performance from the recorded tracks. Farrar's reputation for staying aloof from the audience held true, and there was very little banter between songs. While this can make for a tight set, it can also take away from the live experience.
Basically, it was a good show, but except for one killer set of riffs during the encore, nothing really made it great.
sigh
There are days when there's something to say, and then there are days like today. Everything that seemed important evaporated.
Then there's this: management stinks. Even if the people you have working for you are great most of the time, circumstances arise. Things go wrong. Simple things. And then, you have to figure out how to keep stupid slip-ups from happening again. If only so you can reassure your clients that "it" won't happen again.
Then there's this: management stinks. Even if the people you have working for you are great most of the time, circumstances arise. Things go wrong. Simple things. And then, you have to figure out how to keep stupid slip-ups from happening again. If only so you can reassure your clients that "it" won't happen again.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Byrd House Market, Week 4
Starting at the beginning of May, we had a new farmers market open in Richmond. Opened in Oregon Hill (made semi-famous by the Cowboy Junkies), the market runs on Tuesday afternoons. Unlike the other marketin Richmond, this one actually seems focused on growers and is scheduled at a more convenient time for people who work. It also has the benefit of being in a neighborhood that defies easy description. Having a good, accessible farmers market has been important to me since the days I used to make special trips to farm stands outside Boston.
That said, this week's haul included
• Strawberries
• Blueberries
• Baby lettuces
• A chicken
• Green beans
• Cucumbers
• Asparagus
From last week, I still have
• Shiitakes
• Goat Cheese
• Italian sausage
Good stuff, though my one complaint would be that some of the prices are significantly higher than what I used to pay at the markets in New York and Fayetteville.
That said, this week's haul included
• Strawberries
• Blueberries
• Baby lettuces
• A chicken
• Green beans
• Cucumbers
• Asparagus
From last week, I still have
• Shiitakes
• Goat Cheese
• Italian sausage
Good stuff, though my one complaint would be that some of the prices are significantly higher than what I used to pay at the markets in New York and Fayetteville.
Life-hacking
I've been working on growing up, becoming an adult. Finally. Sometimes I almost feel like there was some kind of basic lifeskills class I missed along the way. You know, the one that teaches you how to be fiscally responsible, how to keep up with organization around the house, basic patterns of daily life that reduce stress... I could go on in pretty much every facet of life.
Regardless, the skills and habits I'm trying to keep are so basic that it feels like I should have been doing them all along. But I haven't.
The First Example: Dishes
There is no good excuse for dishes to build up. I have known this for years, and in fits and starts, I have been successful at keeping up with daily dishwashing. Then something happens. It doesn't matter what the excuse is, but there is some day when it just doesn't seem convenient to do the dishes. Then, like randy rabbits in another day or so, they multiply. Before long, the kitchen is barely usable, and the dish coup is fully established.
My new resolution after moving into the new house is to make sure that the sink is empty every night. After a couple of weeks, I have been mostly successful.
The brilliant part of this is that life feels much calmer and more settled when the pieces are in place. That's the little pay-off I always forgot before--just how much easier it is to function in the mornings when I don't wake up to a mess.
There are, of course, small important details to this. For instance:
Mind you, I know this is all common sense. Some of us just take a little longer to put skills like this in practice.
SO ENDETH THE EVENING LESSON...
Regardless, the skills and habits I'm trying to keep are so basic that it feels like I should have been doing them all along. But I haven't.
The First Example: Dishes
There is no good excuse for dishes to build up. I have known this for years, and in fits and starts, I have been successful at keeping up with daily dishwashing. Then something happens. It doesn't matter what the excuse is, but there is some day when it just doesn't seem convenient to do the dishes. Then, like randy rabbits in another day or so, they multiply. Before long, the kitchen is barely usable, and the dish coup is fully established.
My new resolution after moving into the new house is to make sure that the sink is empty every night. After a couple of weeks, I have been mostly successful.
The brilliant part of this is that life feels much calmer and more settled when the pieces are in place. That's the little pay-off I always forgot before--just how much easier it is to function in the mornings when I don't wake up to a mess.
There are, of course, small important details to this. For instance:
1. It is essential to use fewer items to cook. Done well, this does not inhibit my creativity or capability while cooking.
2. Wash or rinse dishes as used.
3. Clean and organize all dishes and cooking utensils as soon after the meal as possible. The inertia of a mess is quick.
Mind you, I know this is all common sense. Some of us just take a little longer to put skills like this in practice.
SO ENDETH THE EVENING LESSON...
Monday, June 11, 2007
marketing through mad-libs
Our new place is at an odd edge of the Fan. The area mostly gentrified years ago, but walk over a block and you're on the ever-funky blocks on Broad. That said, we have some decent restaurants nearby, as well as one of the best diners in Richmond. Unfortunately, they had just closed when Banana and I went to get our post-painting lunch. Arby's, however, was open.
I'm not a big fan of any of the big fast food chains... but the Beef and Cheddar sandwich I had brought me back to life. Banana wasn't thrilled with her chicken, but the fries and Tropicana juice were favorites.
As unhealthy a lunch as this was, I wasn't prepared for how unhealthy the "prize" would be. A Mad-Libs book is what it was, and at first glance, it seemed far better than the movie-branded toys that come with most kids' meals.
Until we did our first "story."
It was a neat little fitness story about a figure-skating girl who wins the gold medal and jumps in her coach's arms. Hello, Bela Karolyi. Anyway, the story ended with the sentence "Plus, she's looking forward to ___verb ending in "ing"___ tonight at Arby's!"
For fuck's sake, how's that for trying to create subtle brand identification? It's not enough that parents end up taking their kids to these "restaurants," is it. No. We have to create life-long consumers. I've given up thinking that I'm being too cynical in seeing these efforts for what they are; I've been in the business too long. No, these companies want to create fat children addicted to food high in fat, sweeteners, and salt, and addicted to their brands.
And it's not new. Remember candy cigarettes?
I'm not a big fan of any of the big fast food chains... but the Beef and Cheddar sandwich I had brought me back to life. Banana wasn't thrilled with her chicken, but the fries and Tropicana juice were favorites.
As unhealthy a lunch as this was, I wasn't prepared for how unhealthy the "prize" would be. A Mad-Libs book is what it was, and at first glance, it seemed far better than the movie-branded toys that come with most kids' meals.
Until we did our first "story."
It was a neat little fitness story about a figure-skating girl who wins the gold medal and jumps in her coach's arms. Hello, Bela Karolyi. Anyway, the story ended with the sentence "Plus, she's looking forward to ___verb ending in "ing"___ tonight at Arby's!"
For fuck's sake, how's that for trying to create subtle brand identification? It's not enough that parents end up taking their kids to these "restaurants," is it. No. We have to create life-long consumers. I've given up thinking that I'm being too cynical in seeing these efforts for what they are; I've been in the business too long. No, these companies want to create fat children addicted to food high in fat, sweeteners, and salt, and addicted to their brands.
And it's not new. Remember candy cigarettes?
The pink won.
Banana's room is now pink. Very pink. PMS 236.
I taped out the doors, windows, and faceplates, primed over the painted samples, and laid the dropcloth on Saturday before meeting friends for a dads night out. Good thing I did too, because I had to force myself out of bed in the morning.
Anyway, I had a few hours to do it before Banana mere was to drop Banana off.
The first wall went well, except for a one bump of the roller against the untaped ceiling. I also realized that I should have gone for the better brushes rather than the low-end brushes I had chosen. Getting a decent line along the ceiling was more of a task than it should have been. The walls went fairly quickly along the drywall surfaces. When I got to the nubbly plaster, door, and windows things slowed some. Nevertheless, there was just enough left when Banana got there for her to help on the last few surfaces--her room is a funky shape.
The payoff came that night when I pulled the tape off and moved everything back into the room during her bath. She went into her room to get her nightgown, and I found her there standing in the middle of the room, grinning broadly and giggling.
It's good to be Daddy.
I taped out the doors, windows, and faceplates, primed over the painted samples, and laid the dropcloth on Saturday before meeting friends for a dads night out. Good thing I did too, because I had to force myself out of bed in the morning.
Anyway, I had a few hours to do it before Banana mere was to drop Banana off.
The first wall went well, except for a one bump of the roller against the untaped ceiling. I also realized that I should have gone for the better brushes rather than the low-end brushes I had chosen. Getting a decent line along the ceiling was more of a task than it should have been. The walls went fairly quickly along the drywall surfaces. When I got to the nubbly plaster, door, and windows things slowed some. Nevertheless, there was just enough left when Banana got there for her to help on the last few surfaces--her room is a funky shape.
The payoff came that night when I pulled the tape off and moved everything back into the room during her bath. She went into her room to get her nightgown, and I found her there standing in the middle of the room, grinning broadly and giggling.
It's good to be Daddy.
Friday, June 08, 2007
"Her" weekends suck
When we were getting ready this morning, Banana excitedly put on the dress Mommy had just bought for her. Because it has spaghetti straps, however, she had to put a t-shirt on under it for school. The t-shirt she happened to choose is one of the Hannas I bought for her recently, and it bummed me out that she was going to wear it. I didn't say anything about it, though, and swallowed the feelings instead. See, the real issue is that the shirt I bought for her is now going over to Mommy's and may or may not come back to my house any time soon... Except that the real issue is that this was the start of Mommy's weekend.
She'll go over there this afternoon and come back on Sunday afternoon. That's the arrangement at this point. She lives with me and spends every other weekend (or at least most of every other weekend with Mommy). This means I get adult time (unless I get a babysitter) every other weekend. I should be happy about this, right? Happy about the chance to catch up with friends or go out or get things done without worrying about what to do with an almost-five year-old every minute. Happy about it, right? Except that I'm not.
The reality is that I miss being Daddy when Banana isn't around. There's a certain emptiness. I can fill it, as I will this weekend, with some bar time with friends and painting her room--finally. But the reality of being a divorced, single parent is that I still feel incomplete when it is "her" weekend.
She'll go over there this afternoon and come back on Sunday afternoon. That's the arrangement at this point. She lives with me and spends every other weekend (or at least most of every other weekend with Mommy). This means I get adult time (unless I get a babysitter) every other weekend. I should be happy about this, right? Happy about the chance to catch up with friends or go out or get things done without worrying about what to do with an almost-five year-old every minute. Happy about it, right? Except that I'm not.
The reality is that I miss being Daddy when Banana isn't around. There's a certain emptiness. I can fill it, as I will this weekend, with some bar time with friends and painting her room--finally. But the reality of being a divorced, single parent is that I still feel incomplete when it is "her" weekend.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
blech
navel-gazing moment
I like working, I really do. That's why I do so much of it. Really. I just don't like working so hard that I'm braindead the rest of the time.
I like working, I really do. That's why I do so much of it. Really. I just don't like working so hard that I'm braindead the rest of the time.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
more richmond
Venture Richmond is trumpeting the recent NYT article. (Venture Richmond is the current incarnation of the various groups trying to "brand" Richmond.)
This is exactly the sort of excitement that keeps making Richmond seem like an underdog among metro areas. It's almost as if they're just excited that the NYT noticed the city--Yay, we're big-time now! I'm going to term this the Dayton Syndrome--rather than really working at making the urban area a great place to be, you keep re-branding the place and hoping people in other cities with believe how great it is to be there.
This said, I think Richmond has a hell of a lot more going for it than a city like Dayton--or many others I could mention. Unfortunately, like Dayton and other cities, overcoming the legacy of white flight, incipient racism, hermetic classism and the lack of decent, widely-used public transportation is very difficult to overcome.
This is exactly the sort of excitement that keeps making Richmond seem like an underdog among metro areas. It's almost as if they're just excited that the NYT noticed the city--Yay, we're big-time now! I'm going to term this the Dayton Syndrome--rather than really working at making the urban area a great place to be, you keep re-branding the place and hoping people in other cities with believe how great it is to be there.
This said, I think Richmond has a hell of a lot more going for it than a city like Dayton--or many others I could mention. Unfortunately, like Dayton and other cities, overcoming the legacy of white flight, incipient racism, hermetic classism and the lack of decent, widely-used public transportation is very difficult to overcome.
Monday, June 04, 2007
post-surgery
The actual surgery took 15 minutes, the pre- and post-op time two hours each. I spent the rest of the day and evening feeling woozy and a little lost from all the sedatives and morphine they had pumped in my system. The next day I woke up for a bit, and then realized that being up and moving around was not what I needed to do. By the afternoon, though, I found a few bursts of energy to organize things around the house. Meanwhile, my mother was tackling the kitchen. Later that evening, the pain crept in again. The next morning I was feeling good enough to do a little more around the house. After we took the bandage off, however, there was a whole new set of sensations. Taking a shower was phenomenal, but having shirts rubbing against the sutures hurt. By this morning, then, I moved off the percocet altogether.
The remarkable part is that my body already feels better. I feel looser without having the bullet back there. And stronger. This is good.
In other news, Tyrone Singleton has been released from custody. The detectives claim to have other leads, and they now have the bullet to use for forensic evidence. I want to move on from this, but I also want the fucker to be caught.
The remarkable part is that my body already feels better. I feel looser without having the bullet back there. And stronger. This is good.
In other news, Tyrone Singleton has been released from custody. The detectives claim to have other leads, and they now have the bullet to use for forensic evidence. I want to move on from this, but I also want the fucker to be caught.
Is Target killing bargain options?
I have become a bargain shopper. As a single parent on a modest income, I have to pay attention to price details; I also have to take advantage of store-brands for items where there does not seem to be an appreciable difference in quality, such as basic household goods and toiletries like mouthwash and pain relievers. Sometimes even a slight break in quality is worth the cost-savings. By a loose accounting, I save hundreds of dollars a year this way, and I do it without ever stepping foot in the ultimate hell--Walmart. This is why it was with some distress earlier that I discovered that Target has apparently trimmed its stocks of store-brand items such as ibuprofen.
While I could have purchased any size of Advil, there were only two sizes of liqui-gels and one size of the basic tablets available. And there were no shelf cards indicating tat the other sizes they had previously stocked were missing. I noticed the same thing on a stop through the mouthwash aisle. To all appearances, the store was no longer stocking options of in-house items.
This would not be so distressing until you compare actual prices. Advil 50 ct. bottle = $6.44. Target-brand 50 ct. ibuprofen = $1.77. Extrapolated across the broad spectrum of items, this is the kind of price difference that could become very painful very quickly. Anybody know the real story behind this?
While I could have purchased any size of Advil, there were only two sizes of liqui-gels and one size of the basic tablets available. And there were no shelf cards indicating tat the other sizes they had previously stocked were missing. I noticed the same thing on a stop through the mouthwash aisle. To all appearances, the store was no longer stocking options of in-house items.
This would not be so distressing until you compare actual prices. Advil 50 ct. bottle = $6.44. Target-brand 50 ct. ibuprofen = $1.77. Extrapolated across the broad spectrum of items, this is the kind of price difference that could become very painful very quickly. Anybody know the real story behind this?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
