Sunday, October 15, 2006
I currently have two pairs of glasses. I always have two, because I'm so blind I can't chance being without. These two are very similar, same style, just slightly different color.
It's time for new. They're looking a little battered, but I refuse to buy new frames right now. The fashionistas have declared that we must all wear straight-across narrow frames, regardless of our facial shape or visual needs. I HATE the shape! I've visited every shop in the area, and that's ALL they have.
Why do they think we all want the same thing?
That straight narrow shape is not good for my face. They just emphasize the width of my nose. But worse, I like a deep lens because my neck is a bit delicate. With a deep lens (I have bifocals) I can look up (distance) or down (near) without moving my head, just my eyes. With a narrow lens, I am forced to tilt my head to (for example) see the keyboard, or the dinner plate, and that will almost guarantee a krick in my neck.
If you need glasses to see, a narrow lens reduces your visual field. That's never good.
I hate those skinny frames! I think they look stupid. But they've been out long enough now that almost everyone has them, and my deep lenses now look sadly old-fashioned.
On the other hand, they've been out long enough that almost everyone has had to buy them, so we're ripe for the manufacturers to change the style, so all the herd-followers will have to buy new ones. Money, money.
Daughter has new glasses, and she got the "frameless" kind. I hadn't been able to find frameless or half-frame in like 15 years, and I love that style, so maybe (I hope!) that's the direction they're moving. You can have almost any shape lens with frameless. I just hope I can hold out one more year (or however long it takes for a new style to show up in this backward area).
Why do we allow designers to dictate what we wear? Arise! Revolt! Glasses are not a fashion accessory and should not be treated as such. For some of us they are a necessity, and our needs and preferences should be considered.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
928 Nephew
Sunday, October 15, 2006
The nephew isn't better, but he's not worse, either. He has a shunt to release pressure. With the shunt open, the intracranial pressure remains in the low 20s. When they close the shunt, it rapidly shoots over 30. I have to wonder why they'd experiment with closing it. Sheesh. It's sort of like testing whether water is boiling by sticking your finger in it.
He's still described as in a coma, but a nurse asked him to give her a "thumbs up", and he did. The hospital has restricted his visitation, and have asked people to not touch him or talk at all, even to each other, when they are in his room. I sort of do and sort of don't understand that. With the fire department folks sitting vigil, he was getting a lot of visitors, and maybe they were thinking that if he is aware, it's tiring him.
So, we wait.
The nephew isn't better, but he's not worse, either. He has a shunt to release pressure. With the shunt open, the intracranial pressure remains in the low 20s. When they close the shunt, it rapidly shoots over 30. I have to wonder why they'd experiment with closing it. Sheesh. It's sort of like testing whether water is boiling by sticking your finger in it.
He's still described as in a coma, but a nurse asked him to give her a "thumbs up", and he did. The hospital has restricted his visitation, and have asked people to not touch him or talk at all, even to each other, when they are in his room. I sort of do and sort of don't understand that. With the fire department folks sitting vigil, he was getting a lot of visitors, and maybe they were thinking that if he is aware, it's tiring him.
So, we wait.
927 Sunday
Sunday, October 15, 2006
I went to Rakkasah yesterday, mainly to see Willow dance. She was, as usual, terrific. The audience response was extremely positive, especially considering that it was improvisation to a live band, as opposed to a rehearsed routine to recorded music.
I didn't get there until after 6 pm, but it seemed like all the best dancers were from 6 to 11, so even though I was there for such a short time, I was satisfied. Others who were there were staying through today, but when I was about to put my makeup on in the hotel room this morning, I suddenly decided I didn't want to, and I wanted to go home. I don't know why. I just felt tired, drained. My feet hurt because I had worn the wrong shoes Saturday, and I hadn't brought any others.
I almost fell asleep on the 2.5 hour drive home. I wore my bedroom slippers to drive home. And no makeup.
I got home about 1:30, lay across the bed to read a bit, and fell asleep. I didn't wake up until after 5 pm. This is highly unusual for me.
When I got to the hotel room last night, according to the thermostat it was 70 degrees F in the room, and it felt cold to me. I boosted it to 75, and still felt cold all night. When I got home, the thermostat said it was 75 in my house, and I felt cold. I've boosted it to 77, and I still feel cold. I had about convinced myself that there was something wrong with my home thermostat, that it was registering high, but now I wonder. It's not likely that the hotel thermostat was also registering high. I think I'm just feeling cold. My hands, feet, arms, legs, face - sometimes it feels like my nose is about to fall off. I get shivers. I don't think it's a circulation problem, 'cause everything's still pink.
A few days ago I felt like I had a fever, you know, that "loggy" feeling?, so I took my temperature. It was 96.2 oral. I thought maybe there was something wrong with the thermometer, so I tried again with a different one. Same result. I have always run a bit low - 97.7 to 98.2 is normal for me - but this is unusually low.
Thyroid? Insulin? I guess I should do a little research. My internal thermostat might have gotten reset this summer when the A/C was screwed up and it got into the 90s in the house.
Right now I'm too tired to think about it. (Hmmm. That sounds thyroid, too. Could also explain why I haven't been able to lose any more weight.) Funniest thing is that when I kick myself into gear, I'm fine as long as I keep moving. It's only when I stop that I feel so tired.
Whatever.
I went to Rakkasah yesterday, mainly to see Willow dance. She was, as usual, terrific. The audience response was extremely positive, especially considering that it was improvisation to a live band, as opposed to a rehearsed routine to recorded music.
I didn't get there until after 6 pm, but it seemed like all the best dancers were from 6 to 11, so even though I was there for such a short time, I was satisfied. Others who were there were staying through today, but when I was about to put my makeup on in the hotel room this morning, I suddenly decided I didn't want to, and I wanted to go home. I don't know why. I just felt tired, drained. My feet hurt because I had worn the wrong shoes Saturday, and I hadn't brought any others.
I almost fell asleep on the 2.5 hour drive home. I wore my bedroom slippers to drive home. And no makeup.
I got home about 1:30, lay across the bed to read a bit, and fell asleep. I didn't wake up until after 5 pm. This is highly unusual for me.
When I got to the hotel room last night, according to the thermostat it was 70 degrees F in the room, and it felt cold to me. I boosted it to 75, and still felt cold all night. When I got home, the thermostat said it was 75 in my house, and I felt cold. I've boosted it to 77, and I still feel cold. I had about convinced myself that there was something wrong with my home thermostat, that it was registering high, but now I wonder. It's not likely that the hotel thermostat was also registering high. I think I'm just feeling cold. My hands, feet, arms, legs, face - sometimes it feels like my nose is about to fall off. I get shivers. I don't think it's a circulation problem, 'cause everything's still pink.
A few days ago I felt like I had a fever, you know, that "loggy" feeling?, so I took my temperature. It was 96.2 oral. I thought maybe there was something wrong with the thermometer, so I tried again with a different one. Same result. I have always run a bit low - 97.7 to 98.2 is normal for me - but this is unusually low.
Thyroid? Insulin? I guess I should do a little research. My internal thermostat might have gotten reset this summer when the A/C was screwed up and it got into the 90s in the house.
Right now I'm too tired to think about it. (Hmmm. That sounds thyroid, too. Could also explain why I haven't been able to lose any more weight.) Funniest thing is that when I kick myself into gear, I'm fine as long as I keep moving. It's only when I stop that I feel so tired.
Whatever.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
926 Nephew
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Update on my nephew in Orlando: He "popped a wheelie" on his motorcycle (whether it was on purpose or not is unknown), and went over backward, striking the back of his head on the pavement. Then apparently the front of the motorcycle hit his face. His girlfriend was following him in a car, so he got 911 assistance immediately. His skull is fractured, and his brain is swelling. He apparently wasn't moving too fast at the time, so he has no other injuries. The doctors are not encouraging, but that may just be preparing the family for the worst.
Naturally, being me, I asked my sister whether they had opened his skull to relieve pressure, what medications he was on, and so on. Naturally, being her, my sister didn't know.
On a different front, I have changed the comment processing so that I have to approve comments before they are posted, so if you leave a comment, you won't see it for a while. Don't worry - it will eventually appear. I did this because someone from my past has contacted me through a comment on an archived entry, and she's not sure I am who she thinks I am (I am!), so she didn't leave contact information. Naturally, I don't want to leave specifics as to my name or other identifying info in a comment either. So - If I have to approve comments before they are posted, she can give me her email address in a comment, I won't post the comment, and then we can get more specific outside the public eye.
Update on my nephew in Orlando: He "popped a wheelie" on his motorcycle (whether it was on purpose or not is unknown), and went over backward, striking the back of his head on the pavement. Then apparently the front of the motorcycle hit his face. His girlfriend was following him in a car, so he got 911 assistance immediately. His skull is fractured, and his brain is swelling. He apparently wasn't moving too fast at the time, so he has no other injuries. The doctors are not encouraging, but that may just be preparing the family for the worst.
Naturally, being me, I asked my sister whether they had opened his skull to relieve pressure, what medications he was on, and so on. Naturally, being her, my sister didn't know.
On a different front, I have changed the comment processing so that I have to approve comments before they are posted, so if you leave a comment, you won't see it for a while. Don't worry - it will eventually appear. I did this because someone from my past has contacted me through a comment on an archived entry, and she's not sure I am who she thinks I am (I am!), so she didn't leave contact information. Naturally, I don't want to leave specifics as to my name or other identifying info in a comment either. So - If I have to approve comments before they are posted, she can give me her email address in a comment, I won't post the comment, and then we can get more specific outside the public eye.
Friday, October 13, 2006
925 Positive Vibes Requested
Friday, October 13, 2006
Please send positive thoughts in the direction of Orlando, Florida. My brother's son, the fireman, had a motorcycle accident last night and is in a coma. I have no other details at this time.
Please send positive thoughts in the direction of Orlando, Florida. My brother's son, the fireman, had a motorcycle accident last night and is in a coma. I have no other details at this time.
924 Things I've done...
Yeah, these things are silly, but I feel like I have to do them anyway just to "see what I get". Sorta like opening the prize package in the cracker jacks box - you know it's junk, but you have to see it anyway. And then compare it to what your buddy got.
Meme lifted from True. Items in bold are things that I've done. I took it a step farther by "explaining" some.
Meme lifted from True. Items in bold are things that I've done. I took it a step farther by "explaining" some.
- Bought everyone in the bar a drink.
- Swam with wild dolphins
- Climbed a mountain. I think climbing Red Rock before there was a trail should count.
- Took a Ferrari for a test drive
- Rode in an airplane.
- Been inside the Great Pyramid.
- Held a tarantula.
- Took a candlelit bath with someone. I suspect the questions means a romantic episode. But I'm counting the time our electricity was out for almost two weeks, and we had to heat snow on a camp stove to bathe. You bet Jay and I shared a candlelit bath!
- Said “I love you’ and meant it.
- Hugged a tree.
- Bungee jumped.
- Visited Paris.
- Watched a lightning storm at sea.
- Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise.
- Saw the Northern Lights.
- Went to a huge sports game.
- Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa. Nope. But I've been to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and I've climbed to the top of the Washington Monument.
- Grew and ate your own vegetables.
- Touched an iceberg. ...But I've touched a glacier. That's the mother of icebergs....
- Slept under the stars.
- Changed a baby’s diaper.
- Took a trip in a hot air balloon.
- Watched a meteor shower.
- Got drunk on champagne.
- Gave more than you can afford to charity.
- Looked up at the night sky through a telescope.
- Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment.
- Had a food fight.
- Bet on a winning horse.
- Asked out a stranger.
- Had a snowball fight.
- Screamed as loudly as you possibly could.
- Held a lamb.
- Saw a total eclipse.
- Rode a roller coaster.
- Hit a home run.
- Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking.
- Adopted an accent for an entire day.
- Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment.
- Had two hard drives for your computer.
- Visited all 50 states.
- Took care of someone who was drunk.
- Had amazing friends.
- Danced with a stranger in a foreign country.
- Watched wild whales.
- Stole a sign.
- Backpacked in Europe.
- Took a roadtrip.
- Went rock climbing. Not the kind with the ropes and stuff.
- Midnight walk on the beach. ... and the sand fleas ate us alive!
- Went sky diving.
- Visited Ireland. Wales, but not Ireland. Tsk. I guess Ireland just has a better tourist board.
- Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love.
- In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them.
- Had a stranger ask you to dance.
- Visited Japan. This is a sore point. I was promised a trip to Japan if I accepted the last internal transfer. They renegued.
- Milked a cow.
- Alphabetized your CDs.
- Pretended to be a superhero.
- Sang karaoke.
- Lounged around in bed all day.
- Went scuba diving.
- Kissed in the rain.
- Kissed on a first date. Not if I considered it a "first date".
- Played in the mud.
- Played in the rain. When I was teaching high school math my students used to laugh at my sailing paper boats in the gutters during summer showers.
- Went to a drive-in theater.
- Visited the Great Wall of China.
- Started a business.
- Fell in love and not had your heart broken.
- Toured ancient sites.
- Took a martial arts class.
- Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight.
- Got married.
- Been in a movie.
- Crashed a party.
- Got divorced.
- Went without food for 5 days.
- Made cookies from scratch.
- Won first prize in a costume contest.
- Won first prize in a limbo contest.
- Rode a gondola in Venice.
- Got a tattoo.
- Rafted the Snake River.
- Was on television news programs as an “expert”.
- Got flowers for no reason.
- Performed on stage. Amateur.
- Have been to Las Vegas.
- Recorded music.
- Ate alligator.
- Had a one-night stand.
- Bought a house.
- Have been in a combat zone.
- Buried one/both of your parents.
- Looked out onto the Atlantic Ocean.
- Looked out onto the Pacific Ocean.
- Have been on a cruise ship.
- Spoke more than one language fluently.
- Performed in Rocky Horror.
- Raised children.
- Followed your favorite band/singer on tour.
- Picked up and moved to another city to just start over.
- Walked the Golden Gate Bridge.
- Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking. Doesn't everyone sing along with Miss American Pie? People in the next car recognize it even if they can't hear it, and they join in!
- Had plastic surgery. Removal of a wen on my nose, and reduction of hooded eyelids. It must have been plastic surgery, 'cause insurance wouldn't pay for it.
- Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived.
- Thanked God that He got you home safely.
- Lost over 100 pounds. Not all at once. Does it count if I lost the same ten pounds ten times?
- Held someone while they were having a flashback.
- Piloted an airplane.
- Petted a stingray.
- Broke someone’s heart.
- Helped an animal give birth.
- Won money on a T.V. game show.
- Broke a bone. My own, and someone else's.
- Went on an African photo safari.
- Bailed a friend out of jail.
- Had a body part of yours below the neck pierced. They pierced four holes on my belly when they removed my gall bladder. Does that count?
- Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol.
- Ate mushrooms that were gathered in the wild.
- Rode a horse.
- Had major surgery.
- Had a snake as a pet.
- Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours.
- Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states.
- Rode a mechanical bull
- Visited all 7 continents.
- Took a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days.
- Had a specific prayer answered.
- Ate kangaroo meat.
- Ate sushi.
- Had your picture in the newspaper.
- Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about.
- Went back to school.
- Parasailed.
- Ate fried green tomatoes. I missed them this summer, because unless you grow them yourself, it's almost impossible to find green tomatoes.
- Read The Iliad - and the Odyssey.
- Killed and prepared an animal for eating.
- Skipped all your school reunions.
- Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language.
- Was elected to public office.
- Wrote your own computer language. Not quite. I wrote a compiler.
- Had a true spiritual experience.
- Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream.
- Had to put someone you love into hospice care.
- Built your own PC from parts.
- Changed a tire.
- Skinny dipped.
- Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you.
- Have been friends with someone longer than 30 years.
- Dyed your hair.
- Have been a DJ.
- Shaved your head.
- Traveled to a tropical island.
- Caused a car accident.
- Faced a fear.
- Saved someone’s life.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
923 Ah, Youth
Thursday, October 12, 2006
I found this photo today. It's me in 1994. I was 50 years old. I'm surprised at how much I've aged in only twelve years. Now I'm starting to think "facelift" again. (No, that's thinking about again. Not having again. I've never had a facelift, although I did have excess eyelid tissue removed in about 1991 or so.)
I'm annoyed with the Blogger technical folks. There's a "search" field up there in the header. If you put "Daughter" in that field, and click on "Search This Blog", you get only the latest three posts! Even if I use advanced search and specify a wide range of dates, I get only the latest three.
Considering that I use this blog as my external memory, this is a big problem. I want to be able to look for the history of complaints about the van, for example. Or the days I put in volunteer time. Or whatever. (Luckily, I copy entries to a script file, and I can search there, but it's still annoying.)
"Help" natters about feeds. It will return results only since you've been providing feeds. I do provide an RSS feed (otherwise Bloglines wouldn't find me), and have since the beginning, so that's not the problem. Also, it used to work! It used to return a full list of hits, all the way to the beginning.
I sent an email to blogsearch-support@google.com, and got back canned responses (two, to my one email) advising me to read the "Help". Apparently they didn't even read my email, wherein I said I am doing everything Help says I should, and have since the beginning.
So - anyone reading this who also uses Blogger - does search work for you on your blog? I've tried it on several, and I consistently get only three hits (well, except once when I searched one blog for the word "not", and got four hits. You KNOW there were more than that!) Maybe the magic number is not three entries, but one month? But then if it is a time limit, why do they offer an unlimited time span in the advanced search, and then ignore it?
Any suggestions?
Anyone willing to pick up the gauntlet and fight it out with the Google/Blogger folks?
I found this photo today. It's me in 1994. I was 50 years old. I'm surprised at how much I've aged in only twelve years. Now I'm starting to think "facelift" again. (No, that's thinking about again. Not having again. I've never had a facelift, although I did have excess eyelid tissue removed in about 1991 or so.)
I'm annoyed with the Blogger technical folks. There's a "search" field up there in the header. If you put "Daughter" in that field, and click on "Search This Blog", you get only the latest three posts! Even if I use advanced search and specify a wide range of dates, I get only the latest three.
Considering that I use this blog as my external memory, this is a big problem. I want to be able to look for the history of complaints about the van, for example. Or the days I put in volunteer time. Or whatever. (Luckily, I copy entries to a script file, and I can search there, but it's still annoying.)
"Help" natters about feeds. It will return results only since you've been providing feeds. I do provide an RSS feed (otherwise Bloglines wouldn't find me), and have since the beginning, so that's not the problem. Also, it used to work! It used to return a full list of hits, all the way to the beginning.
I sent an email to blogsearch-support@google.com, and got back canned responses (two, to my one email) advising me to read the "Help". Apparently they didn't even read my email, wherein I said I am doing everything Help says I should, and have since the beginning.
So - anyone reading this who also uses Blogger - does search work for you on your blog? I've tried it on several, and I consistently get only three hits (well, except once when I searched one blog for the word "not", and got four hits. You KNOW there were more than that!) Maybe the magic number is not three entries, but one month? But then if it is a time limit, why do they offer an unlimited time span in the advanced search, and then ignore it?
Any suggestions?
Anyone willing to pick up the gauntlet and fight it out with the Google/Blogger folks?
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
922 Where Are the Snakes?
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
I saw a road-killed snake yesterday, curled up in the center of my lane. It looked like a large blacksnake. That's when I realized that's the first wild snake I've seen in years.
Where are all the snakes?
It occurs to me that I haven't seen a snake in my front yard in three or four years. Used to be that there were always garter snakes around. I'd see them in the flower bed near the front door when I went out to the car, or in the back yard when I went to the basement door. Always slithering away from the mower when I cut the grass. Of course, I haven't done the mowing myself in five years, but I DO still walk around on the grass....
I'd often see a snake in the woods when I walked (having grown up on a mountain with rattlesnakes and copperheads galore, I tend to be very conscious of the places snakes like, movements in the leaves, the smell of them (copperheads smell like cucumbers, a large rattler has a musky tangy smell, possibly the urine, or the musk they lay for marking trails...)). I'd usually see at least one or two snakes, large or small, run over somewhere on the roads every month, spring through fall. In the spring, there'd be shed snakeskins under the bushes, and I'd drape them over tree branches. Birds collected them to weave into their nests.
Not lately.
Turtles are missing, too.
I used to often see turtles crossing the roads in the spring, when they'd be looking for mates and for places to lay eggs. It used to be so common that I carried a snowshovel in my car so I could help big snappers across before they got hit. You'd see a lot of squashed turtles on the road.
One time, a few years ago, right out here where my street meets the highway, I saw a turtle crossing in the middle of my lane. A big female box turtle. I pulled over, and was running back down the road to move her across, when a car came from the other direction, and the S.O.B. actually crossed the center line to hit her. I was furious. When I realized he was trying to hit her on purpose, I actually wished she'd have a very hard shell and flip his car. Then I wished I had a gun. Then I cried. I intensely dislike people like that. Someone should run THEM down.
Anyway, I haven't seen a turtle on the road, live or dead, in a long time. I've been to ponds where painted turtles live, and they're still there, but they seem to be fewer. And smaller.
Where have they all gone?
Secondary question - if the snakes are scarce, why aren't there more crickets and mice? Ten years ago we fought a constant battle in this house against mice and crickets, and in the yard against moles. We appreciated the assistance of the garter snakes and the blacksnakes in our war. (Jay had seriously suggested catching a blacksnake and setting it loose in the basement, but dropped the idea when I pointed out that the snake would knock down all the insulation in the basement ceiling. Otherwise I sorta liked the idea, too.)
We've got fewer mice and crickets. I had only one cricket in the house this year.
So which disappeared first - the prey or the hunter?
I saw a road-killed snake yesterday, curled up in the center of my lane. It looked like a large blacksnake. That's when I realized that's the first wild snake I've seen in years.
Where are all the snakes?
It occurs to me that I haven't seen a snake in my front yard in three or four years. Used to be that there were always garter snakes around. I'd see them in the flower bed near the front door when I went out to the car, or in the back yard when I went to the basement door. Always slithering away from the mower when I cut the grass. Of course, I haven't done the mowing myself in five years, but I DO still walk around on the grass....
I'd often see a snake in the woods when I walked (having grown up on a mountain with rattlesnakes and copperheads galore, I tend to be very conscious of the places snakes like, movements in the leaves, the smell of them (copperheads smell like cucumbers, a large rattler has a musky tangy smell, possibly the urine, or the musk they lay for marking trails...)). I'd usually see at least one or two snakes, large or small, run over somewhere on the roads every month, spring through fall. In the spring, there'd be shed snakeskins under the bushes, and I'd drape them over tree branches. Birds collected them to weave into their nests.
Not lately.
Turtles are missing, too.
I used to often see turtles crossing the roads in the spring, when they'd be looking for mates and for places to lay eggs. It used to be so common that I carried a snowshovel in my car so I could help big snappers across before they got hit. You'd see a lot of squashed turtles on the road.
One time, a few years ago, right out here where my street meets the highway, I saw a turtle crossing in the middle of my lane. A big female box turtle. I pulled over, and was running back down the road to move her across, when a car came from the other direction, and the S.O.B. actually crossed the center line to hit her. I was furious. When I realized he was trying to hit her on purpose, I actually wished she'd have a very hard shell and flip his car. Then I wished I had a gun. Then I cried. I intensely dislike people like that. Someone should run THEM down.
Anyway, I haven't seen a turtle on the road, live or dead, in a long time. I've been to ponds where painted turtles live, and they're still there, but they seem to be fewer. And smaller.
Where have they all gone?
Secondary question - if the snakes are scarce, why aren't there more crickets and mice? Ten years ago we fought a constant battle in this house against mice and crickets, and in the yard against moles. We appreciated the assistance of the garter snakes and the blacksnakes in our war. (Jay had seriously suggested catching a blacksnake and setting it loose in the basement, but dropped the idea when I pointed out that the snake would knock down all the insulation in the basement ceiling. Otherwise I sorta liked the idea, too.)
We've got fewer mice and crickets. I had only one cricket in the house this year.
So which disappeared first - the prey or the hunter?
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
921 First Week
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Every year I am grateful when the first week of October passes with no personal disasters. Jay's back gave out completely in the first week of October. His head-on automobile accident was in the first week of October. Notice that he was being sued for that accident (three million!) came in the first week of the next October. His first seizure. The MRI that showed his first relapse. The first signs of loss of his left side. The start of the final infection. Every year, the first week of October, something awful happened. Yeah, awful things happened other times, too, but there was always something really bad the first week in October.
Since he's been gone, there have been five more Octobers. A few of them have had minor disasters (like last October, the beginning of the end with Roman, I just didn't know it at the time), but nothing I couldn't recover from. No total disasters.
That's good. Sigh of relief.
I don't know how long it will be before I can consider the first week of October as just another week.
Every year I am grateful when the first week of October passes with no personal disasters. Jay's back gave out completely in the first week of October. His head-on automobile accident was in the first week of October. Notice that he was being sued for that accident (three million!) came in the first week of the next October. His first seizure. The MRI that showed his first relapse. The first signs of loss of his left side. The start of the final infection. Every year, the first week of October, something awful happened. Yeah, awful things happened other times, too, but there was always something really bad the first week in October.
Since he's been gone, there have been five more Octobers. A few of them have had minor disasters (like last October, the beginning of the end with Roman, I just didn't know it at the time), but nothing I couldn't recover from. No total disasters.
That's good. Sigh of relief.
I don't know how long it will be before I can consider the first week of October as just another week.
Monday, October 09, 2006
920 Too Many Words
Monday, October 9, 2006
My back was giving me trouble again today, causing some intense stomach cramps, so I didn't do much of anything except read and nap. I've got to stop falling asleep on my stomach at night. If I fall asleep reading in bed, it bends my back the wrong way.
I read a lot of blogs (I use Bloglines.com, so it's easy), and one thing that impresses me is how some people can say so much in so few words. Paint entire pictures in one sentence.
I can't do that. I'm too wordy. Maybe I should cut, weed, trim, before hitting "post".
That's if I want to write well. I'm not sure that's what I want, though.
I write the way I speak, and yeah, I do tend to be a bit wordy when speaking. I don't talk much, I tend to be too quiet, but when I do talk, well, Daughter often rolls her eyes.
So I thought about that a while. Why so wordy?
Because I don't like to be misunderstood.
I want people to fully understand what I'm saying.
Many times in the past I've gotten into big trouble when someone misquoted me, or attributed untrue motives to me.
When other writers paint pictures in one sentence, I bring my own beliefs and prejudices to the interpretation. The picture is generated by my mind, not really by theirs. It may or may not look anything like what they meant to convey.
Artists don't seem to mind this - that people may bring different understandings.
I guess I'm not an artist. I'd rather be boring and understood than exciting and misunderstood.
So there.
My back was giving me trouble again today, causing some intense stomach cramps, so I didn't do much of anything except read and nap. I've got to stop falling asleep on my stomach at night. If I fall asleep reading in bed, it bends my back the wrong way.
------------------------------------------
I read a lot of blogs (I use Bloglines.com, so it's easy), and one thing that impresses me is how some people can say so much in so few words. Paint entire pictures in one sentence.
I can't do that. I'm too wordy. Maybe I should cut, weed, trim, before hitting "post".
That's if I want to write well. I'm not sure that's what I want, though.
I write the way I speak, and yeah, I do tend to be a bit wordy when speaking. I don't talk much, I tend to be too quiet, but when I do talk, well, Daughter often rolls her eyes.
So I thought about that a while. Why so wordy?
Because I don't like to be misunderstood.
I want people to fully understand what I'm saying.
Many times in the past I've gotten into big trouble when someone misquoted me, or attributed untrue motives to me.
When other writers paint pictures in one sentence, I bring my own beliefs and prejudices to the interpretation. The picture is generated by my mind, not really by theirs. It may or may not look anything like what they meant to convey.
Artists don't seem to mind this - that people may bring different understandings.
I guess I'm not an artist. I'd rather be boring and understood than exciting and misunderstood.
So there.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
919 Touring Houses
Sunday, October 8, 2006
Today I toured these buildings:
I discovered that the Coykendall Coach House is the home of the Coach House Players, the local amateur theater group. In 1970, I joined the group, worked on scenery for a play, and then Ex#1 informed me we were moving to St. Louis. I never even got to see that play. I've been thinking about rejoining, so today I did! I mentioned that I wanted to paint scenery, hammer nails, sew costumes, and learn lighting. The guy I talked to was very happy to hear that. Most people who join want to be on stage. I don't.
The one I wanted to see most was the Cordts Mansion. It's a lot bigger than it looks in the photo - it extends quite a bit back from the front. Back in about 1994 or 1995, two young men had purchased it, planning to open a B&B. It was in very bad shape then - peeling wallpaper and paint, dangerous staircase, so on. But they were enthusiastic about its potential, and had made a good start on the ground floor. It had been included on a Victorian house tour Jay and I went on then.
So I was looking forward to see what had been done with it.
I don't know what the young men accomplished. I heard that it had in fact been a B&B for a short time. There are several parlors, and something like ten large bedrooms. The current owner had purchased it in 2001, and has done a lot of interior decorating.
The owner is apparently fabulously wealthy, owns plantations and homes all over, spends only a few weeks a year in this house. He has furnished the house with antiques, mostly Renaissance Revival, a lot of heavy baroque, some Chinese. Many huge pieces. There was even a full-sized copy of David (with fig leaf). Most of it is pretty fantastic, but the overall effect is overwhelmingly excessive. It wasn't one or two spectacular pieces in a room with more subdued supporting pieces - everything was spectacular. Just too much too much. Several of the bedrooms have a color scheme, but a bit overdone. The rose bedroom, for example, is too much pink. Everywhere, everything. The only thing in the room that wasn't some shade of rose was a beige lamp, which stuck out like a sore thumb. The blue bedroom was downright depressing.
A lesson in decorating.
The Griffiths Thompson House was the most beautiful inside. Again it was full of antiques, but more livable pieces, lighter, warmer, cosier.
In most of the houses, the owners were not there. Instead, there were Heritage docents. Two of the houses did have owners present, and I had to giggle. You know Mrs. Bucket of Keeping Up Appearances? Heh heh. Never heard so much syncophantic name-dropping and boot-licking in my life. I think some people went home dreaming of being invited to tea at the manor house.
Today I toured these buildings:
I discovered that the Coykendall Coach House is the home of the Coach House Players, the local amateur theater group. In 1970, I joined the group, worked on scenery for a play, and then Ex#1 informed me we were moving to St. Louis. I never even got to see that play. I've been thinking about rejoining, so today I did! I mentioned that I wanted to paint scenery, hammer nails, sew costumes, and learn lighting. The guy I talked to was very happy to hear that. Most people who join want to be on stage. I don't.
The one I wanted to see most was the Cordts Mansion. It's a lot bigger than it looks in the photo - it extends quite a bit back from the front. Back in about 1994 or 1995, two young men had purchased it, planning to open a B&B. It was in very bad shape then - peeling wallpaper and paint, dangerous staircase, so on. But they were enthusiastic about its potential, and had made a good start on the ground floor. It had been included on a Victorian house tour Jay and I went on then.
So I was looking forward to see what had been done with it.
I don't know what the young men accomplished. I heard that it had in fact been a B&B for a short time. There are several parlors, and something like ten large bedrooms. The current owner had purchased it in 2001, and has done a lot of interior decorating.
The owner is apparently fabulously wealthy, owns plantations and homes all over, spends only a few weeks a year in this house. He has furnished the house with antiques, mostly Renaissance Revival, a lot of heavy baroque, some Chinese. Many huge pieces. There was even a full-sized copy of David (with fig leaf). Most of it is pretty fantastic, but the overall effect is overwhelmingly excessive. It wasn't one or two spectacular pieces in a room with more subdued supporting pieces - everything was spectacular. Just too much too much. Several of the bedrooms have a color scheme, but a bit overdone. The rose bedroom, for example, is too much pink. Everywhere, everything. The only thing in the room that wasn't some shade of rose was a beige lamp, which stuck out like a sore thumb. The blue bedroom was downright depressing.
A lesson in decorating.
The Griffiths Thompson House was the most beautiful inside. Again it was full of antiques, but more livable pieces, lighter, warmer, cosier.
In most of the houses, the owners were not there. Instead, there were Heritage docents. Two of the houses did have owners present, and I had to giggle. You know Mrs. Bucket of Keeping Up Appearances? Heh heh. Never heard so much syncophantic name-dropping and boot-licking in my life. I think some people went home dreaming of being invited to tea at the manor house.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
918 I Feel Blech
Saturday, October 8, 2006
I've been feeling very contented, even happy lately. Getting out and exploring new places with the Pilot Log deliveries has been unexpectedly fun. I'm feeling very positive.
However, my body is not happy. For the past few weeks I've had a lot of joint and muscle pain. It seems to have started high in my neck, moved down my back, and is now all over. My knees complain when I stand from sitting. My shoulders ache. Sometimes my arms feel too heavy to lift. My feet ache, and every once in a while there's a sudden arch cramp. I had pain in my lower back that made it hard to sleep last night and there must have been a pinched nerve in there because I had really bad abdominal cramps all evening and through the night. Moving around today seemed to help it, but there's a residual headache. And I've got that heavy feeling in the sides of my jaw and neck that sometimes means I'm fighting off a virus.
At home alone I feel like crawling into bed, pulling the covers over my head, and giving up. So tired. But when I get out, I'm fine as long as I keep moving.
Maybe it's that the weather is changing. I hate cold. I hate being cold. I hate drafts.
Maybe it's that the house is closed up tight, and the furnace is slowly poisoning me.
Maybe I am in fact fighting off some horrible virus.
Maybe this is my old fibromyalgia, and this is how I used to feel all the time, and I just felt better the past year because of the Roman-generated hormonal surges, and I had forgotten how I used to feel, and now it's back. Unfortunately, this is perfectly possible. I know I used to complain that I had constant pain all the time, and this past year I really did feel better.
Maybe my body is trying to tell me I need more chocolate.
I don't know, but I wish whatever it is it would go away.
Or explain itself.
I've been feeling very contented, even happy lately. Getting out and exploring new places with the Pilot Log deliveries has been unexpectedly fun. I'm feeling very positive.
However, my body is not happy. For the past few weeks I've had a lot of joint and muscle pain. It seems to have started high in my neck, moved down my back, and is now all over. My knees complain when I stand from sitting. My shoulders ache. Sometimes my arms feel too heavy to lift. My feet ache, and every once in a while there's a sudden arch cramp. I had pain in my lower back that made it hard to sleep last night and there must have been a pinched nerve in there because I had really bad abdominal cramps all evening and through the night. Moving around today seemed to help it, but there's a residual headache. And I've got that heavy feeling in the sides of my jaw and neck that sometimes means I'm fighting off a virus.
At home alone I feel like crawling into bed, pulling the covers over my head, and giving up. So tired. But when I get out, I'm fine as long as I keep moving.
Maybe it's that the weather is changing. I hate cold. I hate being cold. I hate drafts.
Maybe it's that the house is closed up tight, and the furnace is slowly poisoning me.
Maybe I am in fact fighting off some horrible virus.
Maybe this is my old fibromyalgia, and this is how I used to feel all the time, and I just felt better the past year because of the Roman-generated hormonal surges, and I had forgotten how I used to feel, and now it's back. Unfortunately, this is perfectly possible. I know I used to complain that I had constant pain all the time, and this past year I really did feel better.
Maybe my body is trying to tell me I need more chocolate.
I don't know, but I wish whatever it is it would go away.
Or explain itself.
917 Antiques Fair
Saturday, October 8, 2006
Went to the antiques fair today. There were 181 booths, and this year there seemed to be a lot more business conducted than last year - every aisle I went up or down had someone trundling out a huge piece of furniture.
I bought a marquisite ring, sterling silver intertwining leaves, for $15, and a amethyst ring, a large pinkish cabuchon surrounded by darker purple cut stones, for $10. Neither antique, but very pretty. I also bought a 150-year-old round crochet/netting tablecloth with gathered fine linen inserts. Very unusual and very beautiful, and perfect for the big table in my living room. It had only one broken thread, in a spot where it's barely noticeable, and one spot where there are three very small brown stains. Otherwise it looked like it had never been out of the cedar chest.
There was a lot of Triffari jewelry in the cases, with pretty hefty prices. (Triffari is "good" costume jewelry from about the 50s and 60s. Not exactly antique, but apparently collectible.) I have a lot of Triffari. Wow. An accidental investment.
I bought my ticket for the historic house tours tomorrow. The newspaper blurb led me to think that I could visit whatever houses I wanted on either Saturday or Sunday. There were two houses I wanted to visit on this side of the river, and three on the other side. But it turns out that today was the six or eight houses open on this side, and tomorrow is the houses on the other side. Ouch. I guess I'll have to wait until next year to get to the houses on this side. Worse, the tickets were $50 a day! So it would have cost $100 and two days to visit all the houses. I had thought that for my $50 I could pick and choose.
Gotta remember to set the alarm tonight ...
Went to the antiques fair today. There were 181 booths, and this year there seemed to be a lot more business conducted than last year - every aisle I went up or down had someone trundling out a huge piece of furniture.
I bought a marquisite ring, sterling silver intertwining leaves, for $15, and a amethyst ring, a large pinkish cabuchon surrounded by darker purple cut stones, for $10. Neither antique, but very pretty. I also bought a 150-year-old round crochet/netting tablecloth with gathered fine linen inserts. Very unusual and very beautiful, and perfect for the big table in my living room. It had only one broken thread, in a spot where it's barely noticeable, and one spot where there are three very small brown stains. Otherwise it looked like it had never been out of the cedar chest.
There was a lot of Triffari jewelry in the cases, with pretty hefty prices. (Triffari is "good" costume jewelry from about the 50s and 60s. Not exactly antique, but apparently collectible.) I have a lot of Triffari. Wow. An accidental investment.
I bought my ticket for the historic house tours tomorrow. The newspaper blurb led me to think that I could visit whatever houses I wanted on either Saturday or Sunday. There were two houses I wanted to visit on this side of the river, and three on the other side. But it turns out that today was the six or eight houses open on this side, and tomorrow is the houses on the other side. Ouch. I guess I'll have to wait until next year to get to the houses on this side. Worse, the tickets were $50 a day! So it would have cost $100 and two days to visit all the houses. I had thought that for my $50 I could pick and choose.
Gotta remember to set the alarm tonight ...
Friday, October 06, 2006
916 Mansion Museums
Friday, October 6, 2006
I delivered the last of the Pilot Logs and a batch of rack cards to the Mills, Wilderstein, Vanderbilt, and Roosevelt Mansions, the Norrie Point Marina, and the Rhinebeck and Staatsburg libraries today. I enjoyed seeing the mansions again, and it was even easier than I expected to get them to take the brochures because I asked them if they had some of their own brochures that I could take back to the Maritime Museum, and they all leapt at the opportunity to trade.
Wilderstein has had a lot of exterior work. It's looking really good. I also noticed that they now have marked trails, too. I'll have to go back someday and check that out.
This weekend there's an antiques fair at the Rhinebeck Fairgrounds, and a tour of historic private homes in Rhinebeck, Rhinecliff, and the Kingston Rondout. Tickets are limited for the house tours. I didn't reserve by phone ahead of time, so tomorrow morning I'm going to try to get house tour tickets for Sunday, when they go on sale in Rhinebeck, then go to the Antiques Fair. I prefer to hit the fair the first day, before all the best stuff disappears.
I've been searching for side tables for the living room for years. The upholstered furniture is mostly Renaissance Revival (and a 1860's carved cameo sofa). I've been haunting antiques auctions looking for Ren Rev marble-topped tables, but every one I've seen has gone for about three times what I was willing to pay, even when they were in terrible condition.
On my travels yesterday, I saw an Indonesian import store and decided to stop in. They had my tables! They're not antique, but they are exactly what I want. Dark heavy wood, carved beautifully, 4-post-pedestal with a finial in the bottom center, round white marble top. Sturdy and stable. Both tables for about 1/3 of what I'd pay for one antique marble-topped table - assuming I could even find one. I bought them.
Oh, and I forgot - remember the guy who stood me up on Monday? I got an email from him on Wednesday, and he did apologize and had a good excuse. We'll try again next Monday.
I delivered the last of the Pilot Logs and a batch of rack cards to the Mills, Wilderstein, Vanderbilt, and Roosevelt Mansions, the Norrie Point Marina, and the Rhinebeck and Staatsburg libraries today. I enjoyed seeing the mansions again, and it was even easier than I expected to get them to take the brochures because I asked them if they had some of their own brochures that I could take back to the Maritime Museum, and they all leapt at the opportunity to trade.
Wilderstein has had a lot of exterior work. It's looking really good. I also noticed that they now have marked trails, too. I'll have to go back someday and check that out.
This weekend there's an antiques fair at the Rhinebeck Fairgrounds, and a tour of historic private homes in Rhinebeck, Rhinecliff, and the Kingston Rondout. Tickets are limited for the house tours. I didn't reserve by phone ahead of time, so tomorrow morning I'm going to try to get house tour tickets for Sunday, when they go on sale in Rhinebeck, then go to the Antiques Fair. I prefer to hit the fair the first day, before all the best stuff disappears.
I've been searching for side tables for the living room for years. The upholstered furniture is mostly Renaissance Revival (and a 1860's carved cameo sofa). I've been haunting antiques auctions looking for Ren Rev marble-topped tables, but every one I've seen has gone for about three times what I was willing to pay, even when they were in terrible condition.
On my travels yesterday, I saw an Indonesian import store and decided to stop in. They had my tables! They're not antique, but they are exactly what I want. Dark heavy wood, carved beautifully, 4-post-pedestal with a finial in the bottom center, round white marble top. Sturdy and stable. Both tables for about 1/3 of what I'd pay for one antique marble-topped table - assuming I could even find one. I bought them.
Oh, and I forgot - remember the guy who stood me up on Monday? I got an email from him on Wednesday, and he did apologize and had a good excuse. We'll try again next Monday.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
914 Nice Drives
Thursday, October 5, 2006
Today I delivered Pilot Logs to an aerospace company in Woodstock. I was looking forward to that, as I had heard a lot about this company, but didn't know where it was. Woodstock isn't a "corporate" kind of place. Sure enough, the plant was tucked back in the woods on its own road. If you didn't have the address, you'd never know it was there.
It was another beautiful day (although a bit chilly), so I decided to find Cooper Lake, a high lake in the mountains north of Woodstock, very pretty, and then I explored a bit. I got "lost" a few times when I took roads that my map said went through the mountains and met a county road further up, but when I took the roads, they turned to gravel, then dirt, then died. But it was a beautiful scenic drive anyway.
Way back in the late 60s, when I first arrived in this area (before moving away, away, away, and finally coming back in the 80s), every guy I dated took me down a dirt mountain road that was absolutely beautiful, and at the same time absolutely terrifying. On the driver's side was sheer rock. On the passenger side was a steep dropoff into a deep valley. We were high up on the side of a mountain, and there were like three other mountains on the other side of the narrow deep valley, crowding close. No guardrails. Barely wide enough for getting by oncoming cars. The road is closed from November to April.
Yesterday, driving route 9W near Bear Mountain, I was reminded of that mountain road. I never knew exactly where it was. All I could remember about it was that it was a back road out of a small hamlet or village. I mentally flipped through all the villages I could think of that might be candidates, and came up zero.
Today, driving through the mountains, I thought of that road again, and how I'd like to find it.
I eventually found a way through to route 214, that goes to Hunter and Tannersville. I headed for Tannersville, intending to take 23A, another very scenic drive, to Catskill. I thought maybe I'd stop at Kaaterskill Falls. I hadn't been to the falls in years. I had forgotten that 23A east of Tannersville is closed for bridge work.
Checking my map again, I noticed that route 16, Platt Clove Road, out of Tannersville, meets route 33 in West Saugerties, and that'll get me home. So I took it.
That is The Road! I found it, entirely by chance! Absolutely amazing! Tannersville as the village would never have occurred to me.
What's really weird is that I have a friend who lives just off route 33, so I've been up that way several times in the past few years, but never went up past her house far enough to recognize "The" road.
This sort of thing has happened several times in the past three weeks. Finding places I'd thought I'd never find again. I'm loving it.
Now, I have a request for whoever or whatever is guiding me: About forty years ago, I was potting around in the Fleischmanns area, took a road through a wide valley, and found a church. The church was a simple box with a squarish steeple on the front, and a steeply pitched roof. Unpainted varnished golden wood. What was remarkable was that it was dripping with hand-carved gingerbread everywhere. It was beautiful. A few weeks after I first found it, I took a friend to see it, and we couldn't find it. I tried several times back then, marking roads on the map and systematically checking them off, but I was never able to find it again.
I feel encouraged to go look for it now. Like if I just head up there and wander, it will reveal itself.
Today I delivered Pilot Logs to an aerospace company in Woodstock. I was looking forward to that, as I had heard a lot about this company, but didn't know where it was. Woodstock isn't a "corporate" kind of place. Sure enough, the plant was tucked back in the woods on its own road. If you didn't have the address, you'd never know it was there.
It was another beautiful day (although a bit chilly), so I decided to find Cooper Lake, a high lake in the mountains north of Woodstock, very pretty, and then I explored a bit. I got "lost" a few times when I took roads that my map said went through the mountains and met a county road further up, but when I took the roads, they turned to gravel, then dirt, then died. But it was a beautiful scenic drive anyway.
Way back in the late 60s, when I first arrived in this area (before moving away, away, away, and finally coming back in the 80s), every guy I dated took me down a dirt mountain road that was absolutely beautiful, and at the same time absolutely terrifying. On the driver's side was sheer rock. On the passenger side was a steep dropoff into a deep valley. We were high up on the side of a mountain, and there were like three other mountains on the other side of the narrow deep valley, crowding close. No guardrails. Barely wide enough for getting by oncoming cars. The road is closed from November to April.
Yesterday, driving route 9W near Bear Mountain, I was reminded of that mountain road. I never knew exactly where it was. All I could remember about it was that it was a back road out of a small hamlet or village. I mentally flipped through all the villages I could think of that might be candidates, and came up zero.
Today, driving through the mountains, I thought of that road again, and how I'd like to find it.
I eventually found a way through to route 214, that goes to Hunter and Tannersville. I headed for Tannersville, intending to take 23A, another very scenic drive, to Catskill. I thought maybe I'd stop at Kaaterskill Falls. I hadn't been to the falls in years. I had forgotten that 23A east of Tannersville is closed for bridge work.
Checking my map again, I noticed that route 16, Platt Clove Road, out of Tannersville, meets route 33 in West Saugerties, and that'll get me home. So I took it.
That is The Road! I found it, entirely by chance! Absolutely amazing! Tannersville as the village would never have occurred to me.
What's really weird is that I have a friend who lives just off route 33, so I've been up that way several times in the past few years, but never went up past her house far enough to recognize "The" road.
This sort of thing has happened several times in the past three weeks. Finding places I'd thought I'd never find again. I'm loving it.
Now, I have a request for whoever or whatever is guiding me: About forty years ago, I was potting around in the Fleischmanns area, took a road through a wide valley, and found a church. The church was a simple box with a squarish steeple on the front, and a steeply pitched roof. Unpainted varnished golden wood. What was remarkable was that it was dripping with hand-carved gingerbread everywhere. It was beautiful. A few weeks after I first found it, I took a friend to see it, and we couldn't find it. I tried several times back then, marking roads on the map and systematically checking them off, but I was never able to find it again.
I feel encouraged to go look for it now. Like if I just head up there and wander, it will reveal itself.
913 Peeve - Pretext
Current peeve: Every time someone on a news program mentions the HP spying scandal, I get annoyed. The investigators impersonated telephone account owners to get copies of their phone records without their knowledge or permission. They are calling this "pretexting".
Pretext is not a verb! Pretext is a noun! The verb form for "pretext" would be "pretend". The miscreants "pretended" to be the account owners, or, better, "impersonated" the owners. They "employed a pretext" to acquire the information.
It is not ok by me to "verb a noun" when there is a perfectly good verb available.
"Google" is a noun, and I have used it as a verb, "to Google some topic", but the difference is that Google is a very new word, and we are creating ways to use it. The only suitable verb to use instead of "to Google" would be a modified phrase, "to search using Google".
"Pretext" is an old word. Don't mess with my old words!
And don't give me garbage about evolving language. Idiots have evolved "problematic" to the point where it is now useless.
Fowler is spinning in his grave....
Pretext is not a verb! Pretext is a noun! The verb form for "pretext" would be "pretend". The miscreants "pretended" to be the account owners, or, better, "impersonated" the owners. They "employed a pretext" to acquire the information.
It is not ok by me to "verb a noun" when there is a perfectly good verb available.
"Google" is a noun, and I have used it as a verb, "to Google some topic", but the difference is that Google is a very new word, and we are creating ways to use it. The only suitable verb to use instead of "to Google" would be a modified phrase, "to search using Google".
"Pretext" is an old word. Don't mess with my old words!
And don't give me garbage about evolving language. Idiots have evolved "problematic" to the point where it is now useless.
Fowler is spinning in his grave....
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
912 Odd Musings
Wednesday, October 4, 2006
Today I delivered a handful of Pilot's Logs to a marina about 9 miles south of the Bear Mountain bridge. Five and a half hours, a little over 150 miles. It was a beautiful day for the drive (although it would have been much nicer to be out of the car), sunny and high 70s. Route 9W along the section just above and below Bear Mountain is very scenic. I pulled into overlooks several times on the way home, including one that overlooks West Point.
I got into an odd train of thought on the Throughway on the way south, concerning infinity. (I've never heard this argument before, so there must be something wrong with it....)
No even numbers (except 2) are prime,
all prime numbers are odd,
odd numbers can therefore be grouped as prime or not prime,
and all non-prime odd numbers are the product of odd numbers.
So all numbers greater than 2 are
Today I delivered a handful of Pilot's Logs to a marina about 9 miles south of the Bear Mountain bridge. Five and a half hours, a little over 150 miles. It was a beautiful day for the drive (although it would have been much nicer to be out of the car), sunny and high 70s. Route 9W along the section just above and below Bear Mountain is very scenic. I pulled into overlooks several times on the way home, including one that overlooks West Point.
I got into an odd train of thought on the Throughway on the way south, concerning infinity. (I've never heard this argument before, so there must be something wrong with it....)
No even numbers (except 2) are prime,
all prime numbers are odd,
odd numbers can therefore be grouped as prime or not prime,
and all non-prime odd numbers are the product of odd numbers.
So all numbers greater than 2 are
- Even, factors are even x even;
- Even, factors are even x odd;
- Odd, factors are odd x odd; or
- Odd and prime
- Therefore there are three times as many even products as there are odd non-prime products.
- Since there are as many odd numbers as even, and only 1/3 of odd numbers are non-prime products, then two thirds of all odd numbers must be prime.
- Therefore the average difference between prime numbers should be less than 4.
- But if you look at a list of the first 1,000 prime numbers, the 1000th prime number is 7919.
- That's an average difference of almost 8.
- There are 105,097,565 prime numbers between 2 and 2,147,483,647 (ref. here).
- That's an average difference of about 20.
- It's reasonable to assume that the difference increases as the numbers go up (primes get more scarce because non-prime multipliers get more common).
- Therefore, there's a huge (impossible) clump of prime numbers up there somewhere taking up the slack,
- or there's a fallacy in the argument - can you spot it?
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
911 Hotel Reservations
[Update 10/04/06 - I just tried again, and I got a non-smoking room.]
I just reserved a room for Saturday night of Rakkasah East. The Rakkasah web site says they negotiated "a very special rate of $82 per night for 1-4 people in the room". I used the AAA discount, and got a room for 1-5 people (two double beds and a couch, I guess) for $79. The only problem was that they didn't have any non-smoking rooms at that rate. I may try again tomorrow. If I can get a non-smoking room I will cancel this one.
What makes me think I might be able to get a non-smoking room tomorrow? Because of my experiences last night.
Last night I went to the hotel website, and requested a room etc. The ONLY things they had available for the AAA discount were a honeymoon package (champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, breakfast for two), for $119, or a deluxe room for somewhere over $230. So I thought well, maybe they don't consider all rooms when you want a discount. So I backed up and tried without the AAA discount. Same result, and the difference in price was small. Ok, I guess I'll take the honeymoon package, with the AAA discount. Only this time, the search results were "no rooms available on that date". They were both taken while I futzed around?
Hmmmmm.
So I tried tonight, and suddenly there are a multitude of rooms available, but all are smoking. I wonder if they had cancellations, or what?
Yes, I smoke. No, I don't want a smoking room. Why? Because I don't care to smoke indoors. And I've stayed at this hotel before, and there is NO ventilation to the outside. The hall where the smoking rooms are smells bad, and the smokers' rooms are so bad that when I get home I have to launder all the clothes I took, even if I didn't wear them.
I just reserved a room for Saturday night of Rakkasah East. The Rakkasah web site says they negotiated "a very special rate of $82 per night for 1-4 people in the room". I used the AAA discount, and got a room for 1-5 people (two double beds and a couch, I guess) for $79. The only problem was that they didn't have any non-smoking rooms at that rate. I may try again tomorrow. If I can get a non-smoking room I will cancel this one.
What makes me think I might be able to get a non-smoking room tomorrow? Because of my experiences last night.
Last night I went to the hotel website, and requested a room etc. The ONLY things they had available for the AAA discount were a honeymoon package (champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, breakfast for two), for $119, or a deluxe room for somewhere over $230. So I thought well, maybe they don't consider all rooms when you want a discount. So I backed up and tried without the AAA discount. Same result, and the difference in price was small. Ok, I guess I'll take the honeymoon package, with the AAA discount. Only this time, the search results were "no rooms available on that date". They were both taken while I futzed around?
Hmmmmm.
So I tried tonight, and suddenly there are a multitude of rooms available, but all are smoking. I wonder if they had cancellations, or what?
Yes, I smoke. No, I don't want a smoking room. Why? Because I don't care to smoke indoors. And I've stayed at this hotel before, and there is NO ventilation to the outside. The hall where the smoking rooms are smells bad, and the smokers' rooms are so bad that when I get home I have to launder all the clothes I took, even if I didn't wear them.
910 Got the Van Back
Quoting directly from the report:
"Cust. states vehicle stalls out instermittenly, check engine light comes on intermittenly.
Roadtested vehicle, confirmed vehicle stalls intermittenly, using computer diagnosis found code for no cam signal at pcm [Silk - powertrain control module - the onboard "computer" I guess] and 1/2 oxygen sensor stays at center, using wiring diagram tested wiring from cam sensor to pcm, tightened pins in pcm connector for cam sensor and oxygen sensor wiring, cleaned pcm connectors and installed diaelectric grease, removed cam sensor, installed sim card to set correct spacing between cam sensor and cam gear tone wheel, test drove six miles, no stalling, codes, or trip failures present, technician test drove vehicle home for two days and experienced stalling. [Silk- !!!!!!! Italics mine.] Tested, called star and ordered new pcm and wiring connectors (clips broken)"
So, we'll see how long the fix lasts. I think I will avoid long trips or crossing the river with it for a while yet.
"Cust. states vehicle stalls out instermittenly, check engine light comes on intermittenly.
Roadtested vehicle, confirmed vehicle stalls intermittenly, using computer diagnosis found code for no cam signal at pcm [Silk - powertrain control module - the onboard "computer" I guess] and 1/2 oxygen sensor stays at center, using wiring diagram tested wiring from cam sensor to pcm, tightened pins in pcm connector for cam sensor and oxygen sensor wiring, cleaned pcm connectors and installed diaelectric grease, removed cam sensor, installed sim card to set correct spacing between cam sensor and cam gear tone wheel, test drove six miles, no stalling, codes, or trip failures present, technician test drove vehicle home for two days and experienced stalling. [Silk- !!!!!!! Italics mine.] Tested, called star and ordered new pcm and wiring connectors (clips broken)"
So, we'll see how long the fix lasts. I think I will avoid long trips or crossing the river with it for a while yet.
909 Free AOL
Well, I decided to change my AOL account to a free account, since what I'm paying for is a dial-up number I never use (I have a separate service), and technical assistance I never call.
I hesitated at first because I didn't know what else I might lose. I use AOL for my main email accounts because it's pretty usable and has good spam controls, but I almost never surf the internet through AOL because it was so horribly slow.
Surprise. With the free AOL, the spam controls appear to be less effective - I'm getting three or four spam emails a day now, as opposed to the prior zero. That's still pretty good!
Bigger surprise - internet loading is MUCH faster now - almost as fast as Firefox and Netscape.
Biggest surprise - no new advertising. No new pop-ups. Nice and quiet. Looks the same as it always has.
Cool.
I hesitated at first because I didn't know what else I might lose. I use AOL for my main email accounts because it's pretty usable and has good spam controls, but I almost never surf the internet through AOL because it was so horribly slow.
Surprise. With the free AOL, the spam controls appear to be less effective - I'm getting three or four spam emails a day now, as opposed to the prior zero. That's still pretty good!
Bigger surprise - internet loading is MUCH faster now - almost as fast as Firefox and Netscape.
Biggest surprise - no new advertising. No new pop-ups. Nice and quiet. Looks the same as it always has.
Cool.
908 Comfort Zone
Thinking about books that kick you out of your comfort zone. The book that did it for me was Norman Mailer's The Executioner's Song (1979), about the life of Gary Gilmore.
Gilmore is the guy who wouldn't defend himself against a murder-during-robbery charge, insisted that he be executed immediately with no appeals, and, against the preferences of Utah, insisted that he be executed by firing squad.
The Wikipedia entry for him implies that he never attempted to reform after getting out of prison (a robbery conviction), but Mailer's book describes his attempts to "do it right". He wanted to have all the good things that right living brought others. However, things never seemed to work out for him.
I read the book in 1979 or 1980. I was 35 or 36 then, and I was not particularly naive, not sheltered. But the book was a revelation to me. I found it very disturbing. It shook me. Maybe I was more sheltered than I thought. I never knew that there were people who think like Gary Gilmore thought. To know that there were people out there who think like him, whose thinking is so foreign to me, frightened me more than any horror movie could have.
I guess my father being an Air Force officer, and being raised in a military family, I was raised among intelligent middle-class people. My high school classmates weren't for the most part middle class, but they were old-style central European stock mountain folk, with old-fashioned values. In college, and later working for The Company, again it was all intelligent middle-class people. Yeah, some of them weren't nice, and some were downright crazy, but at least they all knew the rules, and "how things work". We all had pretty much the same understanding.
Maybe today, with exposure to courtroom shows, Jerry Springer and his ilk, we see more of "the other side", and maybe if I were 35 and reading the book now, maybe I wouldn't be so shocked.
Gary Gilmore never understood why he couldn't succeed in "regular" life. He looked around at other people, friends, relatives, and saw that they had homes, TVs, cars, jobs they liked, all the things he wanted but couldn't have. His conclusion was that other people had luck that he didn't have. That other people gave each other "breaks", but that no one would give him a break. It angered him that he was (in his mind) treated differently.
It was very long ago, so I can't think of any specifics to him, so I'll give some made up "fer'zamples". He gets a job, and one day he doesn't feel like going in. He doesn't have a phone, so he doesn't call in either. He gets fired. In his mind, the boss didn't give him a break. Others had been working there for years, and obviously they must feel like not going in sometimes, but they don't get fired. And his not calling in isn't his fault because, hey!, he doesn't have a phone! What do people want from him?
He gets a good deal on a car. He runs out of money (having lost another job, maybe?), and so misses some payments. The car gets repossessed. He gets angry because how could anyone expect him to make the payments when he has no money? Again, they didn't give him a break. Got turned down for a loan because of rotten credit? Again, they won't give him a break.
When he looked at the success of other people, he didn't see commitment or responsibility - he saw luck and breaks. He didn't understand commitment and responsibility, the relationship between actions and consequences. He felt entitled to the same things everyone else had, and felt that "the man" was denying him those things for some reason he couldn't figure out. He felt that he was being singled out for unfair treatment.
Actually, I guess the book wouldn't have the same effect on me now. Roman teaches morning GED classes, older kids and young adults required by the county to attend, and those kids all seem to think like Gilmore. It frustrates Roman to no end, because there doesn't seem to be any way to get through to them. I listen to his frustrations, and sympathize with him, but I don't know how to fix it, either.
Gilmore is the guy who wouldn't defend himself against a murder-during-robbery charge, insisted that he be executed immediately with no appeals, and, against the preferences of Utah, insisted that he be executed by firing squad.
The Wikipedia entry for him implies that he never attempted to reform after getting out of prison (a robbery conviction), but Mailer's book describes his attempts to "do it right". He wanted to have all the good things that right living brought others. However, things never seemed to work out for him.
I read the book in 1979 or 1980. I was 35 or 36 then, and I was not particularly naive, not sheltered. But the book was a revelation to me. I found it very disturbing. It shook me. Maybe I was more sheltered than I thought. I never knew that there were people who think like Gary Gilmore thought. To know that there were people out there who think like him, whose thinking is so foreign to me, frightened me more than any horror movie could have.
I guess my father being an Air Force officer, and being raised in a military family, I was raised among intelligent middle-class people. My high school classmates weren't for the most part middle class, but they were old-style central European stock mountain folk, with old-fashioned values. In college, and later working for The Company, again it was all intelligent middle-class people. Yeah, some of them weren't nice, and some were downright crazy, but at least they all knew the rules, and "how things work". We all had pretty much the same understanding.
Maybe today, with exposure to courtroom shows, Jerry Springer and his ilk, we see more of "the other side", and maybe if I were 35 and reading the book now, maybe I wouldn't be so shocked.
Gary Gilmore never understood why he couldn't succeed in "regular" life. He looked around at other people, friends, relatives, and saw that they had homes, TVs, cars, jobs they liked, all the things he wanted but couldn't have. His conclusion was that other people had luck that he didn't have. That other people gave each other "breaks", but that no one would give him a break. It angered him that he was (in his mind) treated differently.
It was very long ago, so I can't think of any specifics to him, so I'll give some made up "fer'zamples". He gets a job, and one day he doesn't feel like going in. He doesn't have a phone, so he doesn't call in either. He gets fired. In his mind, the boss didn't give him a break. Others had been working there for years, and obviously they must feel like not going in sometimes, but they don't get fired. And his not calling in isn't his fault because, hey!, he doesn't have a phone! What do people want from him?
He gets a good deal on a car. He runs out of money (having lost another job, maybe?), and so misses some payments. The car gets repossessed. He gets angry because how could anyone expect him to make the payments when he has no money? Again, they didn't give him a break. Got turned down for a loan because of rotten credit? Again, they won't give him a break.
When he looked at the success of other people, he didn't see commitment or responsibility - he saw luck and breaks. He didn't understand commitment and responsibility, the relationship between actions and consequences. He felt entitled to the same things everyone else had, and felt that "the man" was denying him those things for some reason he couldn't figure out. He felt that he was being singled out for unfair treatment.
Actually, I guess the book wouldn't have the same effect on me now. Roman teaches morning GED classes, older kids and young adults required by the county to attend, and those kids all seem to think like Gilmore. It frustrates Roman to no end, because there doesn't seem to be any way to get through to them. I listen to his frustrations, and sympathize with him, but I don't know how to fix it, either.
907 Feeding Cats
I've had cats all my life: Snowball, Smokey, Suzie, Peggy, Tigger, Obsidian (Siddy Kitty), Scruffy, and the current Miss Thunderfoot (Thunder). That doesn't look like 50 years worth, but most of my non-leukemia kitties lived 18 to 22 years.
Several people lately in bloggerland and real life have been having tooth problems with their cats. This seems to be the season for it.
One thing I've painfully learned is that their diet, kidneys, heart, and teeth/gums are closely related, in a delicate circle. A problem in one area will cascade to everything else. Tartar on the teeth can cause gum problems which can cause heart or kidney failure. Kidney problems can cause bleeding receding gums which will lead to more infection, which can cause heart failure or exacerbate the kidney problems. Heart problems can cause kidney problems, which cause gum problems, which ... and on and on, 'round and 'round.
Dry cat food helps to keep their teeth clean, but the less expensive dry foods are high in ash (whatever THAT is) and other things that can lead to kidney failure, which ... etc. The more expensive dry foods are better, but I haven't had a cat yet who would eat them. If you are going to feed mostly canned food, to avoid the ash, vets say you should brush the cat's teeth. Yeah, sure. Cats aren't as eager to please as dogs. They'll love you, but they won't compromise their own integrity. If you insist on brushing a cat's teeth, she'll start plotting to kill you in your sleep. And cats won't happily chew on bones or nylon chew toys to clean their teeth, like dogs will.
The healthiest way to feed a house cat, I conclude, is to throw them a live mouse or wounded bird a few times a day. Gives them a perfectly balanced diet (they get the partially digested vegetable matter they need from the prey's intestines), bones to keep their teeth clean, and some exercise.
Ick.
I have a friend who dearly loves her multiple cats, and when one dies, which they do with distressing frequency, usually of heart disease, occasionally of kidney or thyroid disease, she and her husband both are cast into months-long depressions. I was visiting one day when she fed the cats. She opened those little cans, the ones with the pull tops, Fancy Feast?, and then just set the cans on the floor. I was shocked. I dump the food out onto a flat dish, and Miss Thunderfoot additionally insists that I break it up for her, and shape it into a pointed mound (reshaping is required as she eats it down).
My friend's cats licked like mad to get the food out of those tiny cans, and licked all around the (sharp!) edges to get the last bits. I couldn't believe it. This woman is a Mensan. Has it not occurred to her that her cats probably cut their tongues regularly? I have several times cut my fingers on those cans washing them for recycling. I didn't say anything, I know that she would not have reacted well, but I felt so sorry for those cats. My only consolation is that her cats are rescues, so it's still better than what might have been.
Miss Thunderfoot gets a Mommy-recipe dry mix of weight, age, and hairball formulations, and once a day she gets a small can of moist (formed into a pointed mound) of which she eats about half . About twice a day she demands (by sitting in front of the refrigerator and calling) an ounce of skim or 2% milk (she refuses 4%). Not only is she unusual in that she tolerates milk, but it seems to help her move hair through, so that she passes it rather than throwing up hairballs. I think she's about 11 now. At her last annual checkup in July, the vet said she does have some deposits on her teeth, but not much, and no more than she's had the past several years.
Either she and I have very good luck (since I know what I should do, but don't do it), or she's secretly catching and munching mice.
Ick.
Several people lately in bloggerland and real life have been having tooth problems with their cats. This seems to be the season for it.
One thing I've painfully learned is that their diet, kidneys, heart, and teeth/gums are closely related, in a delicate circle. A problem in one area will cascade to everything else. Tartar on the teeth can cause gum problems which can cause heart or kidney failure. Kidney problems can cause bleeding receding gums which will lead to more infection, which can cause heart failure or exacerbate the kidney problems. Heart problems can cause kidney problems, which cause gum problems, which ... and on and on, 'round and 'round.
Dry cat food helps to keep their teeth clean, but the less expensive dry foods are high in ash (whatever THAT is) and other things that can lead to kidney failure, which ... etc. The more expensive dry foods are better, but I haven't had a cat yet who would eat them. If you are going to feed mostly canned food, to avoid the ash, vets say you should brush the cat's teeth. Yeah, sure. Cats aren't as eager to please as dogs. They'll love you, but they won't compromise their own integrity. If you insist on brushing a cat's teeth, she'll start plotting to kill you in your sleep. And cats won't happily chew on bones or nylon chew toys to clean their teeth, like dogs will.
The healthiest way to feed a house cat, I conclude, is to throw them a live mouse or wounded bird a few times a day. Gives them a perfectly balanced diet (they get the partially digested vegetable matter they need from the prey's intestines), bones to keep their teeth clean, and some exercise.
Ick.
I have a friend who dearly loves her multiple cats, and when one dies, which they do with distressing frequency, usually of heart disease, occasionally of kidney or thyroid disease, she and her husband both are cast into months-long depressions. I was visiting one day when she fed the cats. She opened those little cans, the ones with the pull tops, Fancy Feast?, and then just set the cans on the floor. I was shocked. I dump the food out onto a flat dish, and Miss Thunderfoot additionally insists that I break it up for her, and shape it into a pointed mound (reshaping is required as she eats it down).
My friend's cats licked like mad to get the food out of those tiny cans, and licked all around the (sharp!) edges to get the last bits. I couldn't believe it. This woman is a Mensan. Has it not occurred to her that her cats probably cut their tongues regularly? I have several times cut my fingers on those cans washing them for recycling. I didn't say anything, I know that she would not have reacted well, but I felt so sorry for those cats. My only consolation is that her cats are rescues, so it's still better than what might have been.
Miss Thunderfoot gets a Mommy-recipe dry mix of weight, age, and hairball formulations, and once a day she gets a small can of moist (formed into a pointed mound) of which she eats about half . About twice a day she demands (by sitting in front of the refrigerator and calling) an ounce of skim or 2% milk (she refuses 4%). Not only is she unusual in that she tolerates milk, but it seems to help her move hair through, so that she passes it rather than throwing up hairballs. I think she's about 11 now. At her last annual checkup in July, the vet said she does have some deposits on her teeth, but not much, and no more than she's had the past several years.
Either she and I have very good luck (since I know what I should do, but don't do it), or she's secretly catching and munching mice.
Ick.
Monday, October 02, 2006
906 Stood Up!
Monday, October 2, 2006
I was supposed to meet a guy from an oline dating service today, at 4 pm, on the patio of a restaurant in Rhinebeck. I went, got there about 3:55, and waited (reading my book) until 4:20. No show.
This may be the first time in my entire life that I've been stood up (except times when Roman said he'd call me and then didn't, which FELT like being stood up). Actually, with the online dating stuff, I'm surprised it hasn't happened before, since you never know what's really on the other end of those emails. So far everyone has been pretty ok (except for the usual weight, age, and health deceptions).
So at 4:20 I decided to leave. I thought I might stop by Piper's office on my way home, since I hadn't seen him in over a week, so I called him to make sure he'd be there. When I told him where I was (one of his favorite restaurants), and laughed that I'd been stood up, he said "Stay there! I'll be there in 10 minutes!", and he was.
So we went in and had some soup and an hour's good conversation. It was probably more fun than if Mystery Man had shown up.
(And no, there wasn't a single person there who even remotely could have been the culprit, and there were no teenagers giggling about the lady who fell for their fake profile and showed up to be humiliated (which I wasn't anyway), and there was no email or phone message when I got home (and I won't email him to ask, if there was an honest error, he'll have to contact me) - so 'tis a mystery. I do have a phone number he sent me, but I never call these guys or give them my phone number until AFTER I've met them, because with my phone number (even if cell or unlisted) they can get my full name and home address (yeah, I'm sure, 'cause I've done it myself), and, for a few dollars, even more details. One must be careful....)
--------------------------
Just saw some photos of Anna Nichol taken in the hospital just after the birth of her baby. She's actually very pretty without makeup, and with her hair pulled back (instead of those tortured hairstyles she usually has).
Which reminds me - Piper says I should cut my hair to mid-neck length. I told him to go to hell.
I was supposed to meet a guy from an oline dating service today, at 4 pm, on the patio of a restaurant in Rhinebeck. I went, got there about 3:55, and waited (reading my book) until 4:20. No show.
This may be the first time in my entire life that I've been stood up (except times when Roman said he'd call me and then didn't, which FELT like being stood up). Actually, with the online dating stuff, I'm surprised it hasn't happened before, since you never know what's really on the other end of those emails. So far everyone has been pretty ok (except for the usual weight, age, and health deceptions).
So at 4:20 I decided to leave. I thought I might stop by Piper's office on my way home, since I hadn't seen him in over a week, so I called him to make sure he'd be there. When I told him where I was (one of his favorite restaurants), and laughed that I'd been stood up, he said "Stay there! I'll be there in 10 minutes!", and he was.
So we went in and had some soup and an hour's good conversation. It was probably more fun than if Mystery Man had shown up.
(And no, there wasn't a single person there who even remotely could have been the culprit, and there were no teenagers giggling about the lady who fell for their fake profile and showed up to be humiliated (which I wasn't anyway), and there was no email or phone message when I got home (and I won't email him to ask, if there was an honest error, he'll have to contact me) - so 'tis a mystery. I do have a phone number he sent me, but I never call these guys or give them my phone number until AFTER I've met them, because with my phone number (even if cell or unlisted) they can get my full name and home address (yeah, I'm sure, 'cause I've done it myself), and, for a few dollars, even more details. One must be careful....)
--------------------------
Just saw some photos of Anna Nichol taken in the hospital just after the birth of her baby. She's actually very pretty without makeup, and with her hair pulled back (instead of those tortured hairstyles she usually has).
Which reminds me - Piper says I should cut my hair to mid-neck length. I told him to go to hell.
905 Messy
Monday, October 2, 2006
Roba, of "And Far Away", in this post shows a photo of a relatively neat bookcase, complaining of the mess and that she can't find anything. She has decided to start a contest for the messiest living space. Man, that girl don't KNOW from messy!!!
Here's my entry:
This is my den/computer room. In my defense, you can't reorganize and store unless you first pull everything out so you can see and sort it. Right now pretty much my entire house looks like this. Under that pile in the background there's a beautiful little Victorian settee. Someday I'll find it again.
Roba, of "And Far Away", in this post shows a photo of a relatively neat bookcase, complaining of the mess and that she can't find anything. She has decided to start a contest for the messiest living space. Man, that girl don't KNOW from messy!!!
Here's my entry:
This is my den/computer room. In my defense, you can't reorganize and store unless you first pull everything out so you can see and sort it. Right now pretty much my entire house looks like this. Under that pile in the background there's a beautiful little Victorian settee. Someday I'll find it again.
904 Deadly Beauty
I'm reading Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye, and came across a comment that physical beauty is probably one of "the most destructive ideas in the history of human thought."
That stopped me cold.
I think it may be true. And not just for beauty of the body, but beauty in general - of scenery, possessions, ideas.
Appearance of beauty. Possession of beauty. Search for beauty. It sounds virtuous, but I think perhaps it's not.
It may be an evil trap.
That stopped me cold.
I think it may be true. And not just for beauty of the body, but beauty in general - of scenery, possessions, ideas.
Appearance of beauty. Possession of beauty. Search for beauty. It sounds virtuous, but I think perhaps it's not.
It may be an evil trap.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
903 Rainy Days and Sundays
Sunday, October 1, 2006
Rainy yesterday, rainy today. About mid-60s out there. One of the big craft fairs was in Rhinebeck this weekend (we ain't talking pipe cleaners here, folks), there was an antiques auction last night, and I was supposed to deliver some more Pilot Logs to the mansion museums this weekend. But rain puts me to sleep. I didn't do anything except write a bunch of emails, read a bunch of blogs, and do a little online flirting.
I ran a few errands this evening, and met Daughter in the village for a quick nibble. She was on her way home after a weekend visit to an old friend upstate.
I've boosted the heat up to 75 in the house, and I'm still cold. I guess I'm going to have to give up and put shoes on. The weather man said "extra blanket" weather coming, so I guess I get to put the down featherbed and comforter back on the bed - the only good thing about winter as far as I'm concerned. They are unbelievably thick and fluffy, and it's like snuggling deep into a warm cloud. (If you don't know what a featherbed is, it's a comforter-like down mattress topper. It goes under the bottom sheet and you sorta sink into it.)
Autumn is coming fast this year. Leaf peak is usually mid-October. We don't have a lot of color this year, but the leaves are already falling pretty heavily. I wonder if there will be any leaves left on the trees by mid-October.
What's with the "turn of the month" and the guys on the dating sites? All of a sudden I'm getting all kinds of nibbles again. It happens near the end of every month. Payday? Does the end of the month remind them time is passing? There's a 49-year-old attorney 50 miles away, a 58-year-old moustache 15 miles away, a 53-year-old "Sagatarius" [sic] 23 miles away, a 46-year-old 15 miles away who is interested in "a meaningful overnight relationship", a 48-year-old plumber 26 miles away. And several others more divergent in age or farther away.
I'm meeting the moustache tomorrow.
Rainy yesterday, rainy today. About mid-60s out there. One of the big craft fairs was in Rhinebeck this weekend (we ain't talking pipe cleaners here, folks), there was an antiques auction last night, and I was supposed to deliver some more Pilot Logs to the mansion museums this weekend. But rain puts me to sleep. I didn't do anything except write a bunch of emails, read a bunch of blogs, and do a little online flirting.
I ran a few errands this evening, and met Daughter in the village for a quick nibble. She was on her way home after a weekend visit to an old friend upstate.
I've boosted the heat up to 75 in the house, and I'm still cold. I guess I'm going to have to give up and put shoes on. The weather man said "extra blanket" weather coming, so I guess I get to put the down featherbed and comforter back on the bed - the only good thing about winter as far as I'm concerned. They are unbelievably thick and fluffy, and it's like snuggling deep into a warm cloud. (If you don't know what a featherbed is, it's a comforter-like down mattress topper. It goes under the bottom sheet and you sorta sink into it.)
Autumn is coming fast this year. Leaf peak is usually mid-October. We don't have a lot of color this year, but the leaves are already falling pretty heavily. I wonder if there will be any leaves left on the trees by mid-October.
What's with the "turn of the month" and the guys on the dating sites? All of a sudden I'm getting all kinds of nibbles again. It happens near the end of every month. Payday? Does the end of the month remind them time is passing? There's a 49-year-old attorney 50 miles away, a 58-year-old moustache 15 miles away, a 53-year-old "Sagatarius" [sic] 23 miles away, a 46-year-old 15 miles away who is interested in "a meaningful overnight relationship", a 48-year-old plumber 26 miles away. And several others more divergent in age or farther away.
I'm meeting the moustache tomorrow.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
902 Skunks
After the previous post, I was compelled to go read up on skunks. Now I want one as a pet.
When I was in high school and living on the air force base on the mountain, there was a wild skunk living under one of the barracks. The airmen made friends with it, and it had pretty much free run of the base.
One day the APs at the gate called our house to warn me that they had seen the skunk chasing my cat Smokey down the road. Before the call was over, though, they reported that "now Smokey is chasing the skunk". Whoops, now the skunk is chasing Smokey again. The two of them chased each other back and forth, playing. They got to be good friends. They even invited each other into their homes. My mother didn't much care for that.
Skunk smell close up might be pretty bad, I guess. I don't know because I've never smelled it close up. With all the animals I've had, and all the living in skunk-owned woods, all the skunks trekking across my lawn, and petting the "wild" skunk on the base, I've never had anything sprayed.
I love the far-off smell of skunk-spray on the breeze. Not as in "it's not so bad" - I actually like it. I take little slow sniffs and it makes a good feeling in my brain, a tingly feeling in my chest.
The skunks around here are prettier than the pictures of striped skunks to be found online. Ordinary striped skunks have the white cap and then a stripe down either side of their body, and a little white on the tail. Most of the skunks I've seen around here, the space between the stripes is filled in white so that they are solid white on their backs, and the tops of their tails are completely white. Their black is just on their underneath parts. Their fur is long and fluffy. Very pretty.
They waddle, and poke their noses into everything.
I'll bet a skunk in the house (even a descented one) could be as much of a burglar-deterrent as a dog. Probably harder to travel with or board, though.
When I was in high school and living on the air force base on the mountain, there was a wild skunk living under one of the barracks. The airmen made friends with it, and it had pretty much free run of the base.
One day the APs at the gate called our house to warn me that they had seen the skunk chasing my cat Smokey down the road. Before the call was over, though, they reported that "now Smokey is chasing the skunk". Whoops, now the skunk is chasing Smokey again. The two of them chased each other back and forth, playing. They got to be good friends. They even invited each other into their homes. My mother didn't much care for that.
Skunk smell close up might be pretty bad, I guess. I don't know because I've never smelled it close up. With all the animals I've had, and all the living in skunk-owned woods, all the skunks trekking across my lawn, and petting the "wild" skunk on the base, I've never had anything sprayed.
I love the far-off smell of skunk-spray on the breeze. Not as in "it's not so bad" - I actually like it. I take little slow sniffs and it makes a good feeling in my brain, a tingly feeling in my chest.
The skunks around here are prettier than the pictures of striped skunks to be found online. Ordinary striped skunks have the white cap and then a stripe down either side of their body, and a little white on the tail. Most of the skunks I've seen around here, the space between the stripes is filled in white so that they are solid white on their backs, and the tops of their tails are completely white. Their black is just on their underneath parts. Their fur is long and fluffy. Very pretty.
They waddle, and poke their noses into everything.
I'll bet a skunk in the house (even a descented one) could be as much of a burglar-deterrent as a dog. Probably harder to travel with or board, though.
901 Skunk Hair
Saturday, September 30, 2006
I've got skunk hair! And I love it!
Being female, I naturally got bored with my hair. It's not exactly blonde and not exactly white. It's pretty much the same color all through, except for the palm-sized dark patch smack at the top of my forehead, which I bleach to match the rest.
I've been thinking about coloring it - a temporary 8-10 shampoo deal - but I can't use temporary color on the bleached part, because it might turn a strange color and might not wash out. I can use a permanent color, but that's - uh - permanent. I just wanted to experiment a bit.
I've heard that no one in (on?) Long Island has gray or white hair. You see it around here a bit - little old ladies with black, brown, or red hair. Not only does it look sadly fake, but dark hair with white roots looks terrible, make that TERRIBLE, much worse than light hair with dark roots. So I'm afraid of that, too. My hair grows too fast for chancing pathetic white roots.
Idea! Light bulb goeth on.
I gathered up a 3"x5" patch on the top and crown of my head and pinned it out of the way, and then used an ash-brown temporary color on the rest. It came out very light brown or medium ash blonde. It looks really great with the white-blonde top hair (kinda like a skunk's topknot) spilling over and blending into it. I've even got streaks, without that ugly broad striped look so popular with young women lately.
I love it! I love it so much that after all the temporary color has washed out, I'll do it with a permanent dye.
The darker underneath makes the top part look lighter, and I don't have to worry about roots - there are none showing. Bored no more.
This opens a whole new world - I can play with lots of colors if get bored again, just so I stick with relatively light colors.
I've got skunk hair! And I love it!
Being female, I naturally got bored with my hair. It's not exactly blonde and not exactly white. It's pretty much the same color all through, except for the palm-sized dark patch smack at the top of my forehead, which I bleach to match the rest.
I've been thinking about coloring it - a temporary 8-10 shampoo deal - but I can't use temporary color on the bleached part, because it might turn a strange color and might not wash out. I can use a permanent color, but that's - uh - permanent. I just wanted to experiment a bit.
I've heard that no one in (on?) Long Island has gray or white hair. You see it around here a bit - little old ladies with black, brown, or red hair. Not only does it look sadly fake, but dark hair with white roots looks terrible, make that TERRIBLE, much worse than light hair with dark roots. So I'm afraid of that, too. My hair grows too fast for chancing pathetic white roots.
Idea! Light bulb goeth on.
I gathered up a 3"x5" patch on the top and crown of my head and pinned it out of the way, and then used an ash-brown temporary color on the rest. It came out very light brown or medium ash blonde. It looks really great with the white-blonde top hair (kinda like a skunk's topknot) spilling over and blending into it. I've even got streaks, without that ugly broad striped look so popular with young women lately.
I love it! I love it so much that after all the temporary color has washed out, I'll do it with a permanent dye.
The darker underneath makes the top part look lighter, and I don't have to worry about roots - there are none showing. Bored no more.
This opens a whole new world - I can play with lots of colors if get bored again, just so I stick with relatively light colors.
900 Oooo - I'm So Naughty!
Borrowed from True, who borrowed it from Dirty Blonde.
You have to answer yes or no to each thing to see what your sins are worth.
Smoked pot-- $10
Got drunk, passed out and don't remember the night before-- $20
Went skinny dipping-- $5
Had sex in a pool-- $20
Kissed someone of the same sex-- $10
Had sex with someone of the same sex $20
Cheated on your g/f or b/f -- $10
Cheated on your g/f or b/f with their relative or close friend--$20
Done oral-- $5
Got oral-- $5
Done / Got oral in a car while it was moving --$25
Prank called the cops-- $5
Stole something-- $10
Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars--$20
Had sex with someone 10 years older-- $20
Had sex with someone under 21 and you are over 27--$25
Cried yourself to sleep-- $5
Cried during sex--$20
Been in love-- $25
Been in love with two people or more at the same time --$50
Said you love someone but didn't mean it-- $25
Went streaking-- $5
Went streaking in broad daylight --$15
Been arrested-- $5
Spent time in jail --$15
Peed in the pool-- $0.50
Played spin the bottle-- $5
Done something you regret-- $20
Had a crush on your best friend--$5
Had sex with your best friend --$20
Had a crush on someone at work --$5
Had sex with someone you work with at work --$25
Lied to your mate --$5
Lied to your mate about the sex being good --$25
My total = $310.00. True's total was something like $70, poor child. Dirty Blonde got $325.50. I guess I'm a naughty blonde. (No, I never peed in a pool. Ocean, lake, river, yes. Woods, yes. Even a front yard once, but a pool? Never.)
P.S. - Being in love is a $25 "sin"? Whoa! I counted only one $25 for that (I assume that no matter how many times you've done something, you count it only once), but I've apparently "sinned" many many times that way. I've loved many men. Some truer than others, but truer only because I knew them better.
You have to answer yes or no to each thing to see what your sins are worth.
Smoked pot-- $10
Got drunk, passed out and don't remember the night before-- $20
Went skinny dipping-- $5
Had sex in a pool-- $20
Kissed someone of the same sex-- $10
Had sex with someone of the same sex $20
Cheated on your g/f or b/f -- $10
Cheated on your g/f or b/f with their relative or close friend--$20
Done oral-- $5
Got oral-- $5
Done / Got oral in a car while it was moving --$25
Prank called the cops-- $5
Stole something-- $10
Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars--$20
Had sex with someone 10 years older-- $20
Had sex with someone under 21 and you are over 27--$25
Cried yourself to sleep-- $5
Cried during sex--$20
Been in love-- $25
Been in love with two people or more at the same time --$50
Said you love someone but didn't mean it-- $25
Went streaking-- $5
Went streaking in broad daylight --$15
Been arrested-- $5
Spent time in jail --$15
Peed in the pool-- $0.50
Played spin the bottle-- $5
Done something you regret-- $20
Had a crush on your best friend--$5
Had sex with your best friend --$20
Had a crush on someone at work --$5
Had sex with someone you work with at work --$25
Lied to your mate --$5
Lied to your mate about the sex being good --$25
My total = $310.00. True's total was something like $70, poor child. Dirty Blonde got $325.50. I guess I'm a naughty blonde. (No, I never peed in a pool. Ocean, lake, river, yes. Woods, yes. Even a front yard once, but a pool? Never.)
P.S. - Being in love is a $25 "sin"? Whoa! I counted only one $25 for that (I assume that no matter how many times you've done something, you count it only once), but I've apparently "sinned" many many times that way. I've loved many men. Some truer than others, but truer only because I knew them better.
Friday, September 29, 2006
899 Tiring Day
Friday, September 29, 2006
[Later edit: Changed reference to Ex#1 to Ex#2. Oops. It's not like I really mix them up....]
After stopping in to visit the mini-van, I headed for Poughkeepsie (pronounced p'KIP-see, for you outlanders. (Valatie, up the road, is pronounced val-LAY-sha. We gots us some weird names 'round here)), to deliver some more Pilot Logs. Naturally, I had to make three trips up and down each road to find the businesses. No numbers. And in one case, no sign.
Then I headed for New Paltz, where I had to deliver to an insurance business in a big old Victorian house. There was a number, and a big sign --- but there were two doors on the front porch, a sidewalk around the side to another door, and a fourth door at the back where there was a parking lot (I had parked on the street). No sign that said "office", or "use this door". I rang all four doorbells in turn, got no response, and ended up leaving the Logs on the porch in front of the most likely-looking door. Of ninety-some delivered, that's the first batch I didn't actually hand to a person. But there was no way I was going to make another trip to New Paltz.
Then to Tivoli. I rarely get to Tivoli, and when I do, it's just to pass by on Route 32. So today I had the map, and was looking for the back/side street to deliver my Logs to a bus company.
A story: In 1969, when I was dating Ex#2, one of his best friends, Frank, lived back in on a side street in Tivoli. I had been to Frank's house once with Ex#2, but hadn't paid any attention to where it was. Frank's house was a big 2 1/2 story farmhouse. They had a bit of land, with a barn and several sheds. They kept some ponies, and Frank's collection of old Subarus.
Frank's wife decided she wanted a large window in the dining room, instead of the existing blank wall. Frank promised her he'd do it. A few years passed, and Frank hadn't got around to it. Nagging didn't work. One day, the wife decided she'd about had it. She took a chain saw and cut a huge hole in the wall. No supports, no braces, no nothing. Just a big hole through the plaster, studs, and siding. When Frank got home from work that evening, he was greeted by a huge hole in the wall. Breeze blowing in. Within a week, the wife had her window.
My visit was the day after she had cut the hole. (Frank had to show it off.) We moved to St. Louis shortly after, and I'd never seen the new window.
So, I'm driving down this street, looking for the bus company, and remembering the story of Frank's wife and the chain saw, and wondering where the house might be. I'm thinking there had to be enough space for the out buildings, and the houses are too close together on this street ... and wham! There were the barn and sheds! The very ones. I'd have expected them to have been torn down by now. As I passed, I glanced in the side mirror, and sure enough, there was a huge window in the house, right where the hole had been. Amazing. I found a needle in a haystack!
Anyway, I was so excited about that, that I passed right by a big fenced-in yard full of big yellow school buses without even noticing. And then got lost. Took me a long time to find that bus company.
Then to the Kingston Wal-Mart to buy another house telephone. (They've all decided to die at once.) Then back to the village to an auction preview, then home. I got home about 7:30ish, and for some reason I was very tired. About 65 miles today, and 5.0 hours for the museum.
The state legislature (I think it's them, anyway) is looking at allowing a deduction on taxes for volunteer hours, similar to the deduction for volunteer miles. That would be nice, and I'm sure it would encourage volunteerism. The federal government should look into it.
[Later edit: Changed reference to Ex#1 to Ex#2. Oops. It's not like I really mix them up....]
After stopping in to visit the mini-van, I headed for Poughkeepsie (pronounced p'KIP-see, for you outlanders. (Valatie, up the road, is pronounced val-LAY-sha. We gots us some weird names 'round here)), to deliver some more Pilot Logs. Naturally, I had to make three trips up and down each road to find the businesses. No numbers. And in one case, no sign.
Then I headed for New Paltz, where I had to deliver to an insurance business in a big old Victorian house. There was a number, and a big sign --- but there were two doors on the front porch, a sidewalk around the side to another door, and a fourth door at the back where there was a parking lot (I had parked on the street). No sign that said "office", or "use this door". I rang all four doorbells in turn, got no response, and ended up leaving the Logs on the porch in front of the most likely-looking door. Of ninety-some delivered, that's the first batch I didn't actually hand to a person. But there was no way I was going to make another trip to New Paltz.
Then to Tivoli. I rarely get to Tivoli, and when I do, it's just to pass by on Route 32. So today I had the map, and was looking for the back/side street to deliver my Logs to a bus company.
A story: In 1969, when I was dating Ex#2, one of his best friends, Frank, lived back in on a side street in Tivoli. I had been to Frank's house once with Ex#2, but hadn't paid any attention to where it was. Frank's house was a big 2 1/2 story farmhouse. They had a bit of land, with a barn and several sheds. They kept some ponies, and Frank's collection of old Subarus.
Frank's wife decided she wanted a large window in the dining room, instead of the existing blank wall. Frank promised her he'd do it. A few years passed, and Frank hadn't got around to it. Nagging didn't work. One day, the wife decided she'd about had it. She took a chain saw and cut a huge hole in the wall. No supports, no braces, no nothing. Just a big hole through the plaster, studs, and siding. When Frank got home from work that evening, he was greeted by a huge hole in the wall. Breeze blowing in. Within a week, the wife had her window.
My visit was the day after she had cut the hole. (Frank had to show it off.) We moved to St. Louis shortly after, and I'd never seen the new window.
So, I'm driving down this street, looking for the bus company, and remembering the story of Frank's wife and the chain saw, and wondering where the house might be. I'm thinking there had to be enough space for the out buildings, and the houses are too close together on this street ... and wham! There were the barn and sheds! The very ones. I'd have expected them to have been torn down by now. As I passed, I glanced in the side mirror, and sure enough, there was a huge window in the house, right where the hole had been. Amazing. I found a needle in a haystack!
Anyway, I was so excited about that, that I passed right by a big fenced-in yard full of big yellow school buses without even noticing. And then got lost. Took me a long time to find that bus company.
Then to the Kingston Wal-Mart to buy another house telephone. (They've all decided to die at once.) Then back to the village to an auction preview, then home. I got home about 7:30ish, and for some reason I was very tired. About 65 miles today, and 5.0 hours for the museum.
The state legislature (I think it's them, anyway) is looking at allowing a deduction on taxes for volunteer hours, similar to the deduction for volunteer miles. That would be nice, and I'm sure it would encourage volunteerism. The federal government should look into it.
898 The Van Is Back!
Friday, September 29, 2006
I've got the mini-van back! After how many weeks? Five? Well, I almost have it back. I stopped by the Chrysler place today, and paid for the work, but I had to leave the van there because I was on my way to Poughkeepsie. But I did sit in it, and try starting it, and it started, and the check engine light didn't go on. I'll call them Monday, and they'll send someone here to take me in to get it.
The service manager said it was the hardest job they'd ever had - trying to figure out what was causing the stalls and the sensor failures. It turned out to be a combination of things.
Apparently, it all started with a rubber cover over the computer. It had a "slit" in it, which allowed moisture into the computer. This caused intermittent false sensor readings. When the sensors (oxygen and cam position) were replaced (several times), whoever replaced them screwed it up a little bit more each time - bent connections, out of alignment, incorrect gaps, etc. So then the sensors started reporting both bogus and real failures, while the computer was also intermittently failing. That caused some fuel mixtures, air mixtures, timing, whatever, to be off. Which caused stalling even when the sensors said everything was ok.
So fixing any one thing wouldn't have fixed the system.
They replaced the computer and the wire harness (and I HOPE they replaced that rubber cover), reseated the sensors, and a bunch of other stuff. They must have test driven it at least 350 miles, because I gave it to them with a full tank of gas, and it's on empty now.
We'll see how long it behaves.
Oh, and it didn't cost much at all because the computer and harness was still under warranty.
I've got the mini-van back! After how many weeks? Five? Well, I almost have it back. I stopped by the Chrysler place today, and paid for the work, but I had to leave the van there because I was on my way to Poughkeepsie. But I did sit in it, and try starting it, and it started, and the check engine light didn't go on. I'll call them Monday, and they'll send someone here to take me in to get it.
The service manager said it was the hardest job they'd ever had - trying to figure out what was causing the stalls and the sensor failures. It turned out to be a combination of things.
Apparently, it all started with a rubber cover over the computer. It had a "slit" in it, which allowed moisture into the computer. This caused intermittent false sensor readings. When the sensors (oxygen and cam position) were replaced (several times), whoever replaced them screwed it up a little bit more each time - bent connections, out of alignment, incorrect gaps, etc. So then the sensors started reporting both bogus and real failures, while the computer was also intermittently failing. That caused some fuel mixtures, air mixtures, timing, whatever, to be off. Which caused stalling even when the sensors said everything was ok.
So fixing any one thing wouldn't have fixed the system.
They replaced the computer and the wire harness (and I HOPE they replaced that rubber cover), reseated the sensors, and a bunch of other stuff. They must have test driven it at least 350 miles, because I gave it to them with a full tank of gas, and it's on empty now.
We'll see how long it behaves.
Oh, and it didn't cost much at all because the computer and harness was still under warranty.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
897 Memories in Boxes
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Daughter has several boxes in my basement. I'd kinda like her to take a look at the stuff, but I've decided now is not the time. I know her well enough to know that if she thought I'd like to clear it out, she'd tell me to throw away everything without even looking at it - her theory being that if she hasn't needed it in the past eight years, she won't need it ever. I think I'll wait a few more years. Need is not the same as want.
That got me thinking about a box I had left in Ex#1's parents' attic when I left him. He didn't want me to retrieve it because he didn't believe I was really leaving, and he didn't want his parents to know anything. He promised he'd send it to me after I found someplace to live. But within a week of my leaving, his father left his mother (a complete surprise). Naturally, she blamed me, everybody blamed me for showing that it could be done, and she threw my box out.
It contained all my old diaries. Letters from friends and first drafts of my letters to them (we were big letter writers in those days). High school and college essays and term papers, of which I was very proud. Art projects from college. Photographs from high school and college. Dried corsages. Mementos. All gone.
Forty years later I still think about that box. This morning I sat down and sifted through the box in my mind.
------------------------------------
When I went to college, in that time and place, the goal was to turn out "well-rounded" citizens. You didn't graduate until you could swim, hit a tennis ball and a golf ball, shoot an arrow, bowl, turn a back somersault, speak before a large audience, paint with oils, sculpt, and recognize the styles of the major classical composers. (Unfortunately, they didn't include guns, which was the one thing I was already very good at.) Those classes were not fluff classes, either. You really didn't graduate without passing them.
Also, back then, the average grade was a "C". At my college, in every class, there were no more than two "A"s (if that many) given in any class, and there were always two "F"s. It didn't matter if your average in a class was 95%. If everyone else's average was above 95%, you failed the course and had to repeat it. If three or more people tied for top scores, then they all got "B"s, since nobody was "the best". It wasn't like a curve. It was possible for everyone in the class (except the bottom two) to get "B"s, if it was an outstanding group. One more thorn - no matter what your average was going into the final exam, if you failed the final (that one was based on %), you failed the course. Period.
I needed to graduate in three years, and I had two majors and a minor, so I was carrying a very heavy load. It's funny, but the classes I remember as the hardest were the "rounding" classes. I wasn't very good in any of them. I think I got through on charm.
My golf instructor said I had a perfect textbook stance and swing - but I couldn't hit the ball for love nor money. I'd haul off with this perfect swing, and everybody would look off into the distance, then back in confusion, and there'd be the ball still sitting on the tee. I don't think I ever hit the danged thing.
Bowling was just the opposite. I got decent scores, but every time I released the ball, I'd fall down. Splat right on my doupa. Terrible form.
I was good enough at archery that the instructor insisted that I try out for the team, but it turned out I couldn't pull the heavier bows used in competition without losing control of the arrow. You know, one of those fly two feet plops.
Swimming was horrible. The instructor took one look at my kick on the first day, and decided that I was lying when I said I didn't know how to swim. Hey, I've got strong legs! He threw me into the deep end and let me drown. I threw up after every class.
In tumbling, I could do everything on the final exam except one thing. To demonstrate flexibility, you had to sit on the floor, lean forward so that your shoulders were between your knees, put your arms out under your knees and around to the front of your calves, and then interlace your fingers down to the base. I couldn't do it. I couldn't even get my fingertips to touch.
The day of the final I took a tape measure to class. The length of my arms from underarm to the base of my fingers was 19.5 inches. My legs are short and powerful. The length of the distance my arms would have to traverse, from mid-thigh, under the knee, around the calves, to the mid-point between my calves, was 23.0 inches. And that's assuming no bones in my arms and with the calves close together. The calves would have to be separated because my shoulders would be between my thighs, so it's even longer. Therefore it is physically and mathematically impossible! for me to do this, no matter how flexible I am.
Never underestimate the stupidity of an instructor. She insisted that I had to do it or I would fail the class. I couldn't fail because on my schedule I couldn't afford to repeat any class, besides which no matter how many times I retook it, I was NEVER, EVER, going to be able to do that one thing.
So I did my best. My knees were behind my shoulders, and as close to my neck as possible - the only way I could get the calves close enough - and I was finally able to interlace the tips of my fingers. The instructor was impressed. She acted like she was doing me a favor passing me even though I "didn't meet requirements".
That night, and for the next two days, I was in the hospital. I had really messed up the muscles, ligaments, and tendons in my upper back. It was so bad that nobody realized that I had also dislocated my left hip. I walked around with that undiagnosed dislocation for the next ten years. There might have been some satisfaction that maybe the instructor might have felt bad, except that I had another problem. The day after the flexibility thing was my speech final.
Everybody in the speech class had to give an x-minute talk before the class on some subject chosen by the instructor. Your time was assigned, and with so many speakers and so little time, if you missed your time slot, you failed. Period. No excuses. No recourse. During my slot, I was lying in a hospital bed zonked on pain killers. My speech was ready (and it was a really good one), I was ready, but I missed my slot. The instructor informed me I had failed the class. I fought that one all the way up the chain, and finally gave the speech at a faculty meeting, and got an "A" on it.
The hardcopy of that speech was in that box. I wish I had it.
What kicked this all off was thinking about the little figurine in the box. We had been handed a lump of clay and told to make something. I fashioned a little girl, with braids and a full skirt, and chubby legs. She was very detailed, very pretty, and quite well done. But the instructor turned his nose up at it, "You made a Hummel!" I got a low grade for her, but I really liked her, and I wish I had her now.
I know now what I should have said to that instructor. My little girl really was well done. She wasn't very original, but the craftmanship was superb. Forty years later I know that I should have said to him, "Yes. A Hummel. I admit I have no talent. But you can't teach talent. You teach craftsmanship. So are you going to grade this project on talent, or craftsmanship? On what I brought to the class or what I'm taking away?"
Colleges today don't try to produce "well rounded" graduates. It's just the facts, ma'am. But throughout my life, it's the "rounding" classes that have stuck with me and influenced me the most. I don't remember much of history, or literature, or languages, or mathematics, but I have an appreciation for the arts that seems to be missing among today's youth. They don't seem to be able to differentiate between something produced by talent and hard work, and something that's only quality is uniqueness.
Which reminds me - when you hear "music", and you find that when it stops your shoulders relax and you think "Thank God it stopped", that's not music. That's noise.
Daughter has several boxes in my basement. I'd kinda like her to take a look at the stuff, but I've decided now is not the time. I know her well enough to know that if she thought I'd like to clear it out, she'd tell me to throw away everything without even looking at it - her theory being that if she hasn't needed it in the past eight years, she won't need it ever. I think I'll wait a few more years. Need is not the same as want.
That got me thinking about a box I had left in Ex#1's parents' attic when I left him. He didn't want me to retrieve it because he didn't believe I was really leaving, and he didn't want his parents to know anything. He promised he'd send it to me after I found someplace to live. But within a week of my leaving, his father left his mother (a complete surprise). Naturally, she blamed me, everybody blamed me for showing that it could be done, and she threw my box out.
It contained all my old diaries. Letters from friends and first drafts of my letters to them (we were big letter writers in those days). High school and college essays and term papers, of which I was very proud. Art projects from college. Photographs from high school and college. Dried corsages. Mementos. All gone.
Forty years later I still think about that box. This morning I sat down and sifted through the box in my mind.
------------------------------------
When I went to college, in that time and place, the goal was to turn out "well-rounded" citizens. You didn't graduate until you could swim, hit a tennis ball and a golf ball, shoot an arrow, bowl, turn a back somersault, speak before a large audience, paint with oils, sculpt, and recognize the styles of the major classical composers. (Unfortunately, they didn't include guns, which was the one thing I was already very good at.) Those classes were not fluff classes, either. You really didn't graduate without passing them.
Also, back then, the average grade was a "C". At my college, in every class, there were no more than two "A"s (if that many) given in any class, and there were always two "F"s. It didn't matter if your average in a class was 95%. If everyone else's average was above 95%, you failed the course and had to repeat it. If three or more people tied for top scores, then they all got "B"s, since nobody was "the best". It wasn't like a curve. It was possible for everyone in the class (except the bottom two) to get "B"s, if it was an outstanding group. One more thorn - no matter what your average was going into the final exam, if you failed the final (that one was based on %), you failed the course. Period.
I needed to graduate in three years, and I had two majors and a minor, so I was carrying a very heavy load. It's funny, but the classes I remember as the hardest were the "rounding" classes. I wasn't very good in any of them. I think I got through on charm.
My golf instructor said I had a perfect textbook stance and swing - but I couldn't hit the ball for love nor money. I'd haul off with this perfect swing, and everybody would look off into the distance, then back in confusion, and there'd be the ball still sitting on the tee. I don't think I ever hit the danged thing.
Bowling was just the opposite. I got decent scores, but every time I released the ball, I'd fall down. Splat right on my doupa. Terrible form.
I was good enough at archery that the instructor insisted that I try out for the team, but it turned out I couldn't pull the heavier bows used in competition without losing control of the arrow. You know, one of those fly two feet plops.
Swimming was horrible. The instructor took one look at my kick on the first day, and decided that I was lying when I said I didn't know how to swim. Hey, I've got strong legs! He threw me into the deep end and let me drown. I threw up after every class.
In tumbling, I could do everything on the final exam except one thing. To demonstrate flexibility, you had to sit on the floor, lean forward so that your shoulders were between your knees, put your arms out under your knees and around to the front of your calves, and then interlace your fingers down to the base. I couldn't do it. I couldn't even get my fingertips to touch.
The day of the final I took a tape measure to class. The length of my arms from underarm to the base of my fingers was 19.5 inches. My legs are short and powerful. The length of the distance my arms would have to traverse, from mid-thigh, under the knee, around the calves, to the mid-point between my calves, was 23.0 inches. And that's assuming no bones in my arms and with the calves close together. The calves would have to be separated because my shoulders would be between my thighs, so it's even longer. Therefore it is physically and mathematically impossible! for me to do this, no matter how flexible I am.
Never underestimate the stupidity of an instructor. She insisted that I had to do it or I would fail the class. I couldn't fail because on my schedule I couldn't afford to repeat any class, besides which no matter how many times I retook it, I was NEVER, EVER, going to be able to do that one thing.
So I did my best. My knees were behind my shoulders, and as close to my neck as possible - the only way I could get the calves close enough - and I was finally able to interlace the tips of my fingers. The instructor was impressed. She acted like she was doing me a favor passing me even though I "didn't meet requirements".
That night, and for the next two days, I was in the hospital. I had really messed up the muscles, ligaments, and tendons in my upper back. It was so bad that nobody realized that I had also dislocated my left hip. I walked around with that undiagnosed dislocation for the next ten years. There might have been some satisfaction that maybe the instructor might have felt bad, except that I had another problem. The day after the flexibility thing was my speech final.
Everybody in the speech class had to give an x-minute talk before the class on some subject chosen by the instructor. Your time was assigned, and with so many speakers and so little time, if you missed your time slot, you failed. Period. No excuses. No recourse. During my slot, I was lying in a hospital bed zonked on pain killers. My speech was ready (and it was a really good one), I was ready, but I missed my slot. The instructor informed me I had failed the class. I fought that one all the way up the chain, and finally gave the speech at a faculty meeting, and got an "A" on it.
The hardcopy of that speech was in that box. I wish I had it.
What kicked this all off was thinking about the little figurine in the box. We had been handed a lump of clay and told to make something. I fashioned a little girl, with braids and a full skirt, and chubby legs. She was very detailed, very pretty, and quite well done. But the instructor turned his nose up at it, "You made a Hummel!" I got a low grade for her, but I really liked her, and I wish I had her now.
I know now what I should have said to that instructor. My little girl really was well done. She wasn't very original, but the craftmanship was superb. Forty years later I know that I should have said to him, "Yes. A Hummel. I admit I have no talent. But you can't teach talent. You teach craftsmanship. So are you going to grade this project on talent, or craftsmanship? On what I brought to the class or what I'm taking away?"
Colleges today don't try to produce "well rounded" graduates. It's just the facts, ma'am. But throughout my life, it's the "rounding" classes that have stuck with me and influenced me the most. I don't remember much of history, or literature, or languages, or mathematics, but I have an appreciation for the arts that seems to be missing among today's youth. They don't seem to be able to differentiate between something produced by talent and hard work, and something that's only quality is uniqueness.
Which reminds me - when you hear "music", and you find that when it stops your shoulders relax and you think "Thank God it stopped", that's not music. That's noise.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
896 How to Get Found
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
I delivered more Pilot Logs today. Five hours and 53 miles. All I have left to do now are the far-away ones (Saugerties, Woodstock, Bear Mountain, Poughkeepsie, New Paltz). Unfortunately, I got talked into distributing rack cards to libraries and mansion museums on this side of the river.
"No. NO. I can't. No! I don't want to. No no no! I have a life!" Practice saying that. Damn. The weather is finally good for outside work, and here I am delivering this stuff instead. The same thing happened to me in St. Louis - I volunteered at the veterans' hospital, intending to put in no more than 4-6 hours a week, and when it grew to 35 I thought "Sheesh, if I'm going to work this hard, I may as well get paid for it!", and that's how I ended up rehiring with The Company.
The city of Kingston has some strange streets. Hasbrouck Avenue used to run straight up parallel to Broadway, I guess. But it's been "cut" in two places, and the maps don't show it. Like, for example, when they put in the bypass, it cut Hasbrouck. My first attempt to find the business I was looking for, I found myself on a 1-block piece of Hasbrouck, with four houses, no exit, and no place to turn around. I had to back out. When I found the other piece of Hasbrouck on the other side of the bypass, I was driving up the street, and wham! there's a fence across the street with a parking lot behind it. The city decided to put in a highway department something-or-other, and it was going to take up most of two (small) blocks, so they just plunked down the buildings and lot right across the street. And of course, the "blocks" aren't rectangular, and the area is laced with one-way streets. I got pretty tangled up a couple of times trying to find my way back to Hasbrouck.
Another oddity is "Boulevard". That's it. That's the name of the street - Boulevard.
I was looking for (say) 123 Boulevard, a large electrical business. Naturally, most of the houses and businesses didn't have numbers. I found 89, and a half mile up the road was 178, but no numbers in between, and I didn't see any sign for the business. Finally I pulled into a restaurant parking lot at about where I figured 123 should be, and I called them. They were right next door. It looked like a private residence set back from the road, and the woman told me to go down the driveway to the back, and the office was "in the back".
So I drove to the next driveway. No business sign, but the number 123 was on the FRONT of the mailbox. Hey folks - when someone is driving past and looking for the number, they can't see it when it's on the front of the mailbox! A driver can't be driving safely on a winding busy road with their heads turned to the side. Put the flippin' number on the SIDE! so it can be seen before we actually get to it!
I went to the back, and found another (huge and beautiful) private residence, with a high wooden wall with no gate blocking the parking lot from the house in front. Is this 123 also? Is it the business? Still no identifying sign. There was a small upper parking lot and a small lower lot. There was a fancy front door at the upper lot, and a simpler door and a garage under the house at the lower lot. No signs anywhere.
I went to the front door and rang the bell. I didn't know what else to do. When a woman (the woman I had talked to on the phone) came to the door, she said that I didn't need to ring the bell, I should have just walked in. I said I wasn't sure if this was the office, and she laughed and said "Oh, everybody says that. They all think it's a private residence."
Duh? So, uh, why don't you maybe put up a sign? Even just "Office" on the door would help. As a representative of the museum I had to hold my tongue, but really, folks, aren't some things obvious?
Well, sometimes things aren't very obvious. This building was huge, fancy, a fantastic view, a glass room, wings with huge windows, beautiful landscaping. If the setting is any sign, this is a hugely successful business, even if no one can find it. Maybe they don't want "drop in" customers. Maybe all their business is from building contractors who need to know only the phone number. That's still no reason to make it so hard on delivery folks - of which there must be a few, since she said "everybody says that".
Or maybe they're a front, or a money-laundry. There used to be a fancy horse farm down the road that was a Mafia front, until the owner was convicted of something-or-other, and it was sold. But if they're a front, it's unlikely they'd advertise in the Pilot Log. A tax dodge would, though. We've got a lot of them around here, too. But tax dodges don't usually look so successful. Nah. Don't know what their story is.
I delivered more Pilot Logs today. Five hours and 53 miles. All I have left to do now are the far-away ones (Saugerties, Woodstock, Bear Mountain, Poughkeepsie, New Paltz). Unfortunately, I got talked into distributing rack cards to libraries and mansion museums on this side of the river.
"No. NO. I can't. No! I don't want to. No no no! I have a life!" Practice saying that. Damn. The weather is finally good for outside work, and here I am delivering this stuff instead. The same thing happened to me in St. Louis - I volunteered at the veterans' hospital, intending to put in no more than 4-6 hours a week, and when it grew to 35 I thought "Sheesh, if I'm going to work this hard, I may as well get paid for it!", and that's how I ended up rehiring with The Company.
The city of Kingston has some strange streets. Hasbrouck Avenue used to run straight up parallel to Broadway, I guess. But it's been "cut" in two places, and the maps don't show it. Like, for example, when they put in the bypass, it cut Hasbrouck. My first attempt to find the business I was looking for, I found myself on a 1-block piece of Hasbrouck, with four houses, no exit, and no place to turn around. I had to back out. When I found the other piece of Hasbrouck on the other side of the bypass, I was driving up the street, and wham! there's a fence across the street with a parking lot behind it. The city decided to put in a highway department something-or-other, and it was going to take up most of two (small) blocks, so they just plunked down the buildings and lot right across the street. And of course, the "blocks" aren't rectangular, and the area is laced with one-way streets. I got pretty tangled up a couple of times trying to find my way back to Hasbrouck.
Another oddity is "Boulevard". That's it. That's the name of the street - Boulevard.
I was looking for (say) 123 Boulevard, a large electrical business. Naturally, most of the houses and businesses didn't have numbers. I found 89, and a half mile up the road was 178, but no numbers in between, and I didn't see any sign for the business. Finally I pulled into a restaurant parking lot at about where I figured 123 should be, and I called them. They were right next door. It looked like a private residence set back from the road, and the woman told me to go down the driveway to the back, and the office was "in the back".
So I drove to the next driveway. No business sign, but the number 123 was on the FRONT of the mailbox. Hey folks - when someone is driving past and looking for the number, they can't see it when it's on the front of the mailbox! A driver can't be driving safely on a winding busy road with their heads turned to the side. Put the flippin' number on the SIDE! so it can be seen before we actually get to it!
I went to the back, and found another (huge and beautiful) private residence, with a high wooden wall with no gate blocking the parking lot from the house in front. Is this 123 also? Is it the business? Still no identifying sign. There was a small upper parking lot and a small lower lot. There was a fancy front door at the upper lot, and a simpler door and a garage under the house at the lower lot. No signs anywhere.
I went to the front door and rang the bell. I didn't know what else to do. When a woman (the woman I had talked to on the phone) came to the door, she said that I didn't need to ring the bell, I should have just walked in. I said I wasn't sure if this was the office, and she laughed and said "Oh, everybody says that. They all think it's a private residence."
Duh? So, uh, why don't you maybe put up a sign? Even just "Office" on the door would help. As a representative of the museum I had to hold my tongue, but really, folks, aren't some things obvious?
Well, sometimes things aren't very obvious. This building was huge, fancy, a fantastic view, a glass room, wings with huge windows, beautiful landscaping. If the setting is any sign, this is a hugely successful business, even if no one can find it. Maybe they don't want "drop in" customers. Maybe all their business is from building contractors who need to know only the phone number. That's still no reason to make it so hard on delivery folks - of which there must be a few, since she said "everybody says that".
Or maybe they're a front, or a money-laundry. There used to be a fancy horse farm down the road that was a Mafia front, until the owner was convicted of something-or-other, and it was sold. But if they're a front, it's unlikely they'd advertise in the Pilot Log. A tax dodge would, though. We've got a lot of them around here, too. But tax dodges don't usually look so successful. Nah. Don't know what their story is.
895 Rakkasah Schedule
The performance schedule is up for Rakkasah East, October 13 through 15, in Somerset, NJ. That's 132 performances over the three days. Willow is dancing at Rakkasah for the first time on Saturday night, at 8:26 pm. (Video clips of Willow: Floor work, and finger cymbals.)
I'm a little disappointed because the ATS troupes I want to see don't seem to be on the schedule.
I think this year I'll go down on Saturday morning, and stay over Saturday night at the hotel across the street. Join me. You'll love it!
I'm a little disappointed because the ATS troupes I want to see don't seem to be on the schedule.
I think this year I'll go down on Saturday morning, and stay over Saturday night at the hotel across the street. Join me. You'll love it!
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
894 Hairless Hunks
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
I mention my groundskeeper, the Hairless Hunk, every so often. He was working out there again today.
I just walked out to the kitchen, and caught the last pair of contestants on Dancing with the Stars. Joey Lawrence and his pro partner.
If you happened to see it, take that Joey, make him a little shorter and tighter, with blue eyes that smile nicely, and that's the Hairless Hunk. If you didn't happen to see it, the photos I can find don't do him justice. (Unfortunately, I can't find an online photo with an open shirt.)
Well, even if I can't find the perfect man for inside the house, I sure can pick them for outside....
I mention my groundskeeper, the Hairless Hunk, every so often. He was working out there again today.
I just walked out to the kitchen, and caught the last pair of contestants on Dancing with the Stars. Joey Lawrence and his pro partner.
If you happened to see it, take that Joey, make him a little shorter and tighter, with blue eyes that smile nicely, and that's the Hairless Hunk. If you didn't happen to see it, the photos I can find don't do him justice. (Unfortunately, I can't find an online photo with an open shirt.)
Well, even if I can't find the perfect man for inside the house, I sure can pick them for outside....
893 Virtual Romance
A store that sells husbands has just opened in New York City, where a woman may go to choose a husband. Among the instructions at the entrance is a description of how the store operates. You may visit the store ONLY ONCE !
There are six floors and the attributes of the men increase as the shopper ascends the flights. There is, however, a catch. You may choose any man from a particular floor, or you may choose to go up a floor, but you cannot go back down except to exit the building! So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband....
On the first floor the sign on the door says:
Floor 1 - These men have jobs.
The second floor sign says:
Floor 2 - These men have jobs and love kids.
The third floor sign says:
Floor 3 - These men have jobs, love kids, and are extremely good looking.
"Wow," she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going. She goes to the fourth floor and the sign says:
Floor 4 - These men have jobs, love kids, are drop-dead good looking and help with the housework.
"Oh, mercy me!" she exclaims, "I can hardly stand it!" Still, she goes to the fifth floor and the sign says:
Floor 5 - These men have jobs, love kids, are drop-dead gorgeous, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak.
She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor and the sign says:
Floor 6 - You are visitor 4,363,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please.
Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store. Watch your step as you exit the building, and have a nice day!
-------------------------------
That's beginning to look like my online man search. Maybe my requirements are too tight. I reject everyone who isn't obviously fairly smart or who doesn't live close enough for casual get-togethers. I want a shorter man, because I like being able to see his face when we walk together. I want a man who doesn't have a very large belly or wide hips, because - well, never mind, but I assure you it's important. I want a man who's retired or close to it, because I want a companion who can get away whenever we want to. I want him physically active. I want a man with values close to mine.
I have to keep reminding myself what Jay's profile might have looked like if he'd ever written one. Under my current criteria, I'd have found him much too tall, too broad, too much belly, too inarticulate (and he couldn't spell worth a damn), too shy, too religious, too conservative, not healthy enough, and before we got involved he lived too far away. Also, until he met my dogs and cats, he thought he was allergic to beasties. He probably would have listed square dancing and skiing as major activities. All he'd have had going for him is good looks, intelligence, and nerdish sweetness, but those attributes would have taken a lot of time to discover.
I'd probably have rejected him offhand. "Nice guy, but too big, too far, a little slow, and rather dull."
(By the way, in actual fact, I fell in love with him the first time I saw him, a 3/4 view from behind, before I ever saw his face.)
So, if there's someone out there for me, will I find him? Or will I brush him off without even meeting him? Should I meet every man who "e-glances" my way, regardless of criteria, just in case? Isn't that dangerous?
There are six floors and the attributes of the men increase as the shopper ascends the flights. There is, however, a catch. You may choose any man from a particular floor, or you may choose to go up a floor, but you cannot go back down except to exit the building! So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband....
On the first floor the sign on the door says:
Floor 1 - These men have jobs.
The second floor sign says:
Floor 2 - These men have jobs and love kids.
The third floor sign says:
Floor 3 - These men have jobs, love kids, and are extremely good looking.
"Wow," she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going. She goes to the fourth floor and the sign says:
Floor 4 - These men have jobs, love kids, are drop-dead good looking and help with the housework.
"Oh, mercy me!" she exclaims, "I can hardly stand it!" Still, she goes to the fifth floor and the sign says:
Floor 5 - These men have jobs, love kids, are drop-dead gorgeous, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak.
She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor and the sign says:
Floor 6 - You are visitor 4,363,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please.
Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store. Watch your step as you exit the building, and have a nice day!
-------------------------------
That's beginning to look like my online man search. Maybe my requirements are too tight. I reject everyone who isn't obviously fairly smart or who doesn't live close enough for casual get-togethers. I want a shorter man, because I like being able to see his face when we walk together. I want a man who doesn't have a very large belly or wide hips, because - well, never mind, but I assure you it's important. I want a man who's retired or close to it, because I want a companion who can get away whenever we want to. I want him physically active. I want a man with values close to mine.
I have to keep reminding myself what Jay's profile might have looked like if he'd ever written one. Under my current criteria, I'd have found him much too tall, too broad, too much belly, too inarticulate (and he couldn't spell worth a damn), too shy, too religious, too conservative, not healthy enough, and before we got involved he lived too far away. Also, until he met my dogs and cats, he thought he was allergic to beasties. He probably would have listed square dancing and skiing as major activities. All he'd have had going for him is good looks, intelligence, and nerdish sweetness, but those attributes would have taken a lot of time to discover.
I'd probably have rejected him offhand. "Nice guy, but too big, too far, a little slow, and rather dull."
(By the way, in actual fact, I fell in love with him the first time I saw him, a 3/4 view from behind, before I ever saw his face.)
So, if there's someone out there for me, will I find him? Or will I brush him off without even meeting him? Should I meet every man who "e-glances" my way, regardless of criteria, just in case? Isn't that dangerous?
Monday, September 25, 2006
892 Booker
Well, I finally came to a conclusion regarding Booker (the latest online date). He's handsome, remarkable eyes, gentle, intelligent, in touch with his feelings and able to express them, and all that. I didn't feel a physical thrill, but I can get past that, I guess, depending, and the 100 miles is a problem. But what tipped the scale was that I tried to imagine him with me in the places I like to go and the things I like to do, and I couldn't see him there. It just didn't fit.
Thud.
So I wrote the "wanna just be friends?" note. I almost hope he says yes.
Thud.
So I wrote the "wanna just be friends?" note. I almost hope he says yes.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
890 Of Horses and Men
Sunday, September 24, 2006
I love watching equestrian events. Steeplechase, jumping, gymkhana, harness racing, calf roping, whatever. I accidentally stumbled into the middle of the World Equestrian Games this afternoon. The jumping events. I love watching the horses, but half the time I really have no idea what I'm seeing. I just like watching the horses, because it's so obvious they know what they're doing and love it.
Today, I was surprised when the announcer said something about the riders and horses being unfamiliar with each other. And another time he commented that one sector of the audience wasn't sure how to react, since they would be for the horse, but against the rider. And he said that the horses compete in a set rotation, but the riders switch around.
Hmmm. Seems to me that other jumping events I've watched, the horse and rider are a long-term pair. I guess today not so. However, I did notice that the riders always got the medals, not the horses, which always seemed like a cheat to me.
I noticed that the horses didn't look like what I was used to in jumping events. Most of the horses were very slender and streamlined, more like racers than the hunters I'm used to seeing. The announcer even remarked that "the riders aren't used to these lighter-weight hotter-framed horses". There was one big heavy gray, who kicked his hind legs out behind him instead of tucking them up under like the lighter horses, and I thought "Yeah, that's more like it."
Three riders were tied at the end, so they had a run-off, and for the run-off they were allowed to ride "their own horses". The winner was the guy who owned the gray, on the gray. Yeah! The gray seemed to know he'd done a good job, too, because as they circled after the last bar, he kicked out behind him several times, midrun. He looked happy and excited.
----------------------------------------
I have done nothing today. I haven't even gotten washed or dressed. I got hungry a bit ago and cooked some pasta/chicken/asparagus stuff (chosen from the freezer because I wanted pasta and some vegetable), but now that it's done, I don't want it. It's sitting here getting cold. I guess I'm depressed because Booker has been waiting to hear from me for a week, his emails are getting plaintive, but I just don't know what to do. He's so nice, and so intelligent, and has such a pretty face, and I'd love to keep him as a friend, but I really don't see us in "that kind" of intimate relationship, and I don't want to waste his time. Or, to be frank, mine. Not to mention the 100 miles. I'm really going to have to think of something to say tonight. I can't keep putting it off.
There's another guy who "winked" at me a while ago (20 miles away!). His profile photos were "private", and the text emphasized the importance of religion in his life. So I emailed him back thanking him for the flattering wink, but saying that the religious issue would probably not bode well for us as a match, that he should keep looking. I also pointed out that many women wouldn't even consider a profile without photos, "why are yours private?" So he gave me permission (a link) to see his, and I wrote back that he's actually quite nice looking, he should make them public, and he did, and sent an email thanking me for my kindness.
So, a few weeks pass, and then on 9/16 I get another email from him. His text: "Would you be against a meaningful overnight relationship?.......Just thought I 'd throw that out there.....you never know until you ask...."
I laughed. Every time I read it I laugh again. The poor guy. I haven't replied to him yet, either, but maybe I should rethink that religion problem.
There's something a lot of men don't understand about women. Women understand something about men, but I think most women don't understand the strength of it. (Now, what I say next doesn't apply to all. And it applies more to the younger than the older of us. But it applies a lot more than we want to admit. These are my observations, and I do have a lot of experience in the subject.)
Sex is important to women (in general) when they are in love. If they don't have a man around to focus on, to torque up the hormones, most women don't really miss sex all that very much. The longer without, the less it bothers them.
Sex is always important to men, even when there are no women around. The longer without, the more it bothers them. It's like it backs up into the brain or something.
A man will usually not leave even an unsatisfactory relationship (even if there's no sex left in the relationship, there may still be the possibility) until he has another strong possibility or actuality lined up. Women will leave a bad relationship just because it's bad. She doesn't need another man to leave "for". When I was young, every single man I broke up with asked "WHO IS HE?" and wouldn't believe me when I said there was no one else. They wouldn't believe there was no one else because they would not have left unless there was someone else.
So, now I'm meeting men. Only maybe about two a month or less, but hey, pickings are slim out here in the sticks, especially in my age range, where single women outnumber the men by a factor of two. (I read something recently that is beginning to seem true: "The good ones are taken, and what's left are damaged." Or something like that.) Anyway, the guys I'm meeting are divorced or widowed, and they want sex. Soon. Like right now, if possible. They are very anxious about it.
I want it too, and suitability for such is one of my criteria, but "soon" is not. I don't intend to get into that until after a mutual admiration develops, and there are strong signs of a future. There's no way I will fall into bed with just anyone, and THEN see if it works out. Besides which I am monogamous, so I have to be sure before I restrict myself. (I've already had two very likely candidates tell me that they already have too many "female friends" and didn't need another - so there was no third date.)
This causes a disconnect. Most of these guys want to get right to it, and, unfortunately, much of my "competition" is so anxious to hook a man that they will use sex as the hook. After all, if they get along at all, as long as he's getting some, he's likely to stay with her (especially at our age - he's not going to chance going back to nothing).
Sigh.
I hate these games, and I don't know how to play them. Or maybe I do know how, but I refuse.
I love watching equestrian events. Steeplechase, jumping, gymkhana, harness racing, calf roping, whatever. I accidentally stumbled into the middle of the World Equestrian Games this afternoon. The jumping events. I love watching the horses, but half the time I really have no idea what I'm seeing. I just like watching the horses, because it's so obvious they know what they're doing and love it.
Today, I was surprised when the announcer said something about the riders and horses being unfamiliar with each other. And another time he commented that one sector of the audience wasn't sure how to react, since they would be for the horse, but against the rider. And he said that the horses compete in a set rotation, but the riders switch around.
Hmmm. Seems to me that other jumping events I've watched, the horse and rider are a long-term pair. I guess today not so. However, I did notice that the riders always got the medals, not the horses, which always seemed like a cheat to me.
I noticed that the horses didn't look like what I was used to in jumping events. Most of the horses were very slender and streamlined, more like racers than the hunters I'm used to seeing. The announcer even remarked that "the riders aren't used to these lighter-weight hotter-framed horses". There was one big heavy gray, who kicked his hind legs out behind him instead of tucking them up under like the lighter horses, and I thought "Yeah, that's more like it."
Three riders were tied at the end, so they had a run-off, and for the run-off they were allowed to ride "their own horses". The winner was the guy who owned the gray, on the gray. Yeah! The gray seemed to know he'd done a good job, too, because as they circled after the last bar, he kicked out behind him several times, midrun. He looked happy and excited.
----------------------------------------
I have done nothing today. I haven't even gotten washed or dressed. I got hungry a bit ago and cooked some pasta/chicken/asparagus stuff (chosen from the freezer because I wanted pasta and some vegetable), but now that it's done, I don't want it. It's sitting here getting cold. I guess I'm depressed because Booker has been waiting to hear from me for a week, his emails are getting plaintive, but I just don't know what to do. He's so nice, and so intelligent, and has such a pretty face, and I'd love to keep him as a friend, but I really don't see us in "that kind" of intimate relationship, and I don't want to waste his time. Or, to be frank, mine. Not to mention the 100 miles. I'm really going to have to think of something to say tonight. I can't keep putting it off.
There's another guy who "winked" at me a while ago (20 miles away!). His profile photos were "private", and the text emphasized the importance of religion in his life. So I emailed him back thanking him for the flattering wink, but saying that the religious issue would probably not bode well for us as a match, that he should keep looking. I also pointed out that many women wouldn't even consider a profile without photos, "why are yours private?" So he gave me permission (a link) to see his, and I wrote back that he's actually quite nice looking, he should make them public, and he did, and sent an email thanking me for my kindness.
So, a few weeks pass, and then on 9/16 I get another email from him. His text: "Would you be against a meaningful overnight relationship?.......Just thought I 'd throw that out there.....you never know until you ask...."
I laughed. Every time I read it I laugh again. The poor guy. I haven't replied to him yet, either, but maybe I should rethink that religion problem.
There's something a lot of men don't understand about women. Women understand something about men, but I think most women don't understand the strength of it. (Now, what I say next doesn't apply to all. And it applies more to the younger than the older of us. But it applies a lot more than we want to admit. These are my observations, and I do have a lot of experience in the subject.)
Sex is important to women (in general) when they are in love. If they don't have a man around to focus on, to torque up the hormones, most women don't really miss sex all that very much. The longer without, the less it bothers them.
Sex is always important to men, even when there are no women around. The longer without, the more it bothers them. It's like it backs up into the brain or something.
A man will usually not leave even an unsatisfactory relationship (even if there's no sex left in the relationship, there may still be the possibility) until he has another strong possibility or actuality lined up. Women will leave a bad relationship just because it's bad. She doesn't need another man to leave "for". When I was young, every single man I broke up with asked "WHO IS HE?" and wouldn't believe me when I said there was no one else. They wouldn't believe there was no one else because they would not have left unless there was someone else.
So, now I'm meeting men. Only maybe about two a month or less, but hey, pickings are slim out here in the sticks, especially in my age range, where single women outnumber the men by a factor of two. (I read something recently that is beginning to seem true: "The good ones are taken, and what's left are damaged." Or something like that.) Anyway, the guys I'm meeting are divorced or widowed, and they want sex. Soon. Like right now, if possible. They are very anxious about it.
I want it too, and suitability for such is one of my criteria, but "soon" is not. I don't intend to get into that until after a mutual admiration develops, and there are strong signs of a future. There's no way I will fall into bed with just anyone, and THEN see if it works out. Besides which I am monogamous, so I have to be sure before I restrict myself. (I've already had two very likely candidates tell me that they already have too many "female friends" and didn't need another - so there was no third date.)
This causes a disconnect. Most of these guys want to get right to it, and, unfortunately, much of my "competition" is so anxious to hook a man that they will use sex as the hook. After all, if they get along at all, as long as he's getting some, he's likely to stay with her (especially at our age - he's not going to chance going back to nothing).
Sigh.
I hate these games, and I don't know how to play them. Or maybe I do know how, but I refuse.
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