Author Archives: Carl

My sprained foot

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My sprained foot (not a film starring Daniel Day-Lewis, and in no way related to The Christy Mathewson Story) (perhaps I’ll explain that someday) is driving me crazy. I gave it a rest, not running for a week, and while I didn’t stretch as much as I should have, I gave it ample time to get over itself. Then I had it massaged on Tuesday, and it really should be ready to run. But it’s not. Ran for an hour at lunch and I just can’t get it to loosen up. And the pain there causes tensing up around the knee in my other leg, so I had to stop and stretch several times during my run. But it was beautiful, sunny and warmish out. I could have gone in shorts, but I was in tights and a vest and quite comfy. So, more stretching tonight, then I’ll try to run on it tomorrow during Bekah’s ballet class, and then on Sunday I have the morning to take a bike ride. Planning on running up to Glens Falls and doing the path to Lake George and back, though maybe I’ll bag all the driving and just go down to Columbia County somewhere and do some back roads. I’ll sort it out. But I love that path, especially on blades — it’s extremely scenic, an old rail bed through the Adirondacks, dumping you at the foot of Lake George. But it’s flattish for a bike (and not too bad on blades, though there are some hills to be treated with respect. I once had a woman on bike stop and watch me swizzle my way down a hill, admiring my technique. I almost never use the brake. Brakes are for pussies!), so perhaps I’ll venture down Kinderhook way. I’d do the Harlem Valley rail trail, but it is VERY flat, and not entirely connected yet. Nice for blading, but I would think a little boring on a bike, especially if I have to drive there.
I’ve gotta find a good bike rack for storing all these bikes in the garage, too. They’re taking up too much space, so I may give in and buy an expensive pole that takes up a lot less space. Hanging them from the ceiling is impractical, since then only I can get them down. With two canoes and all the camping gear, I’m OUT of wall space, so that doesn’t help. The price we pay for being sporting enthusiasts!
Gotta get down the snowshoes soon, too, and I’ve gotta get the kids their season ski rentals. Whiteface and Belleayre are open, and I’m jonesing for some serious skiing.

Winona Ryder needs comforting

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Well, it’s not like I’m hopping on a jet to LA or anything. But still, the opportunity . . .
Okay, this post degraded before it had even begun. Time to get my head together and forget how I burned for her in “Heathers.” Forget that my dislike of Ethan Hawke is based entirely on the fact that Winona couldn’t see that HE wasn’t good enough for her, either (“Reality Bites” – I had no time for slackers). Why couldn’t she see that he was just a pose with a soul patch? Or maybe I was just pissed off because I had given up writing and gone to work for The Man. Damn The Man!
Okay, I really need for the coffee to kick in now, before I say something even more stupid…

Winning isn’t everything…

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But it sure puts food on the table. Nice, clean win for the Gov. While I could never quite scrounge up actual doubt that we would win, there was the possibility that it would be much closer than expected. And, of course, Cuomo’s people never saw it coming in ’94. So it was nice to see the policies and the person vindicated, and to see that the people of the state wouldn’t vote for a candidate who seemed to view the job as his logical next step, or one who played the tired old song about running the state like a business. The state ain’t a business. It’s not supposed to be a business. Get off this….
So, now, some level of security for a while and a million more things to do. I’m very thrilled NYC got the Olympic bid for the USA, because I’d really really really like to be involved in that if we get the final bid. We’ve got to rebuild lower Manhattan. We’ve got to clean up construction diesel emissions. And so many other things. How fucking cool is it that I get to be involved in that? (When I start talking about public administration, I start to sound like Wil Wheaton. I can’t help it.)
The girls were actually a little nervous last night, and I was probably more dismissive than I should have been. When I was 6 or 7 my dad changed jobs, and it was a little stressful. I don’t remember if he was out of work when he switched, or going to be laid off, or if he just made a good move, but I remember it as scary for me that he was going to change jobs. When I left the Senate, Hannah wasn’t even 2, and it confused and worried her that I went to “new work”. She thought that the buildings at the plaza (“old work”) would actually disappear some day. We kept having to assure her that everything was fine, that the buildings would stay there (we drove through it every morning on the way to day care, so she may have had concern for its physical state), that other people still worked there but that I didn’t. Then when she was almost 4, and Bekah was a baby, I changed locations again, but then I was Boss of the Beach, which made me way cool. For a while. Then I went back to where I had been, and by the time we moved downtown last year, neither of them was too concerned. Then last week it finally connected that I worked for the Governor, and that if the Governor lost his job, I would lose mine. Then they got a little nervous. But, as I said, not to worry….
I often have people from outside the appointee realm comment on how they just couldn’t live with that uncertainty — many of them are civil servants, safe no matter what. But really, it’s a lot better than being a middle drone or a worker in a sizeable corporation these days, where your fate doesn’t depend on your performance, your boss’s performance, or much of anything else besides your stock price and whether some deal-making asshole has arranged to have your company sucked up into some other company’s over-leveraged maw. THAT’s what would suck. One thing I liked about small business was that you succeeded, or you didn’t, and it mostly depended on what you did. It was affected by the economy, sure, and if you were in a business there wasn’t much call for, or if, as in the case of typesetting, the handwriting was on the wall, then you’d do best to find another line of work. (Which I did.) But you weren’t subject to takeovers, you didn’t have to deliver to shareholders, and you made so little money that going out of business would almost HAVE to improve your fortunes.
So, four more years!

I hate election day

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My choices for election day are always either to go out and do all the volunteer work, such as rousting senior citizens (who, believe me, already voted by the time you call them, and who have been annoyed by 14 other phone calls from other phone banks reminding them it’s election day, as if they need to be told), or doing poll watching in some dank precinct of a city (when they call for volunteers, it’s not because they’re short on people to pollwatch in the nice neighborhoods); OR, hold down the fort by showing up for work when everyone else is out doing the rousting. I picked fort-holding this year. With Lee unable to drive, I need to be available for child emergencies. So, here I am. The fort is doing pretty well. Can’t see anybody coming down from the horizon line. Nope. Nobody. Not a soul. Phone’s not ringing either. And I can’t get Tony Hawk to run on this computer today. So, reading and more reading, and avoiding one simple task I was supposed to have delivered yesterday, just because I’m totally unmotivated to do it.
Well, next week the fun starts right back up with my first trip to NYC since August. I haven’t even been through our new Taj MaTrain station, which is hard to believe. I’m usually on the train at least once a week, sometimes twice. I’ll actually be GLAD to get on the Amtrak. That’s how desperate I am to leave town.
Worked some more last night on posting old pictures to a webpage. Photoshop gives you a nice basic template, but then it’s tweak-tweak-tweak in GoLive, and the next thing you know it’s midnight. Maybe I’ll get to finish it tonight. Just want to get them up so I can share them with friends and family easily. Gotta upload a bunch of stuff to Ofoto, too, and that’s good for hours.
Jesus, somebody just brought in fresh coffee and I can smell it from a mile away. Gotta get me some of that….

Actual music videos!

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Continuing the joy of digital cable, I can actually see music videos again. And what I saw didn’t suck. Watched Foo Fighters on Friday night on MTV2’s $2 Bill. They were fine. I had just gotten MP3s of a couple of acoustic performances Dave Grohl did on Howard Stern, including an incredibly sweet version of Everlong (“Only thing I’ll ever ask of you / You gotta promise not to stop when I say when”), so it was a bit of an FF weekend. Then caught videos by The Distillers and The Hives, and all I can say is, Where the hell have I been? Grabbed a few more of their tunes and loved The Hives especially. Seriously demented high speed fun. And yes, if I like the MP3s, I DO buy the CDs. It’s a demographic thing, you kids wouldn’t understand. Also got turned on to The Donnas again; I had started collecting some of their stuff when my drive crashed on Labor Day, and now I’ve remembered they exist. Very much fun.

Cigars and reading material

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Back when I lived in Syracuse (The Salt City; The City Where The Sun Don’t Shine; So Much City They Named It Once; etc.) I used to make a weekly trek to a newsstand that carried papers from all over the country and just about every magazine imaginable. I never understood how they made money doing this, but it was fun once in a while to pick up the Sunday Boston Globe or the Philadelphia Inquirer, or even just another upstate New York paper. And I bought a lot of magazines back then, too, just about anything that struck my fancy. I think I had a little more time on my hands than I do now. Nowadays, my magazine selection is pretty much specific to activities that I partake in, although I can sometimes go for an Entertainment Weekly just for its infoporn value. And I mostly get to read them on the train back from NYC. But back then, I’d think nothing of picking up a couple of Sunday papers and a couple of magazines just for the hell of it, and I’d read ’em, too. The place where I got the papers was Durston Cigar Store, which at some point in its history had been on Durston Street, hence the name, but had moved to a near west side location and then moved again to a spot on Erie Boulevard across from the Niagara Mohawk building. In addition to about an acre of magazines, the store had a sizeable (though by no means fashionable — this was before cigars became high chic in the ’90s) humidor. And despite the fact that the papers and magazines were nowhere near the cigars, and didn’t stay in the store for all that long, every single thing I brought home from that store had a stale tobacco smell woven into its fibers.
Which brings us to the copy of “Sick Puppy” I borrowed from the library. I noticed that something in the bedroom didn’t smell right the other night, which was odd since the window, as usual, was open. I was sniffing around and Lee said, “Oh, yeah, doesn’t that book stink?” I already knew she didn’t care for Hiaasen, but I didn’t think he quite deserved that level of disdain, until I realized that she meant the phantom odor was in fact coming from the book. I picked it up and sure enough . . . cigars. It’s like the book was soaked in tobacco juice. So now I’m trying to whip through it so I can send it back whence it came.
When we moved to Albany, we rented an apartment on Bertha Street that would have been lovely . . . new (ugly) building, spacious apartment, decent neighborhood, I could walk to work. But the previous renters must have had special cigarette smoking machines designed to go through several dozen packs a day, more than any normal human beings could manage. The windows were literally yellow when we moved in (ALWAYS LOOK AT APARTMENTS IN THE DAYLIGHT!!!). It took hours just to get them clean, washing off this nasty tobacco juice. We scrubbed the walls, to little avail. The carpet, forget about. We spent about 9 months there, leaving the windows open a lot and trying every sachet, potpourri, baking soda concoction possible. Nothing even dented the constant, low level smell.
Stats: I’m mostly getting hits on my genealogy site. Still getting hits for glycerol ester of you know what. My pages of college photos get hit fairly often . . . some poor person looking for Bennington College photos yesterday. Well, I have pictures of college, and pictures of Bennington, but that’s as close as he’ll get.

Bring on the election

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The life of an appointee. A while back, I traded being nervous every two years for being nervous every four. Seems like an improvement, but still, it’s unsettling to have your job depend entirely on factors that are totally beyond your control, and knowing that that will be decided on a given day. I expect this will be my last go-round through an election cycle; time to do something else. Figuring out what that is is another prospect entirely. I’ve already been in this job much longer than most; it’s not a position with a particularly high survival rate. I love it and think I’ve done a lot of good. My kids almost understand what I do, and I’d like to think they’ll be proud of it someday. Any other job seems like less. Any other job probably IS less. No desire to move to Washington. Or even New York — I just can’t see how to raise a family there in the way I want to do it. And I don’t see myself as a corporate asshole whose job is to screw another corporation’s assholes out of money, so I’m a little self-limiting. And lobbying is unattractive. Consulting? Well, if I have to.
Anyway, can’t wait until it’s over with, we’re secure and can do the work of the people for another four years.

Better plan all week, better plan all month, better plan all year!

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‘Cause it’s Halloween. That’s Dead Kennedys. Once a year I am absolutely obliged to listen to Plastic Surgery Disasters, but it has to be when wife and kids aren’t around because a) it needs to be played LOUD, and b) I don’t think they like the noise. “Why not every day? Are you so afraid? What would people say?” Paradoxically, I haven’t had any interest in dressing up for Halloween for years. In college years, we dressed up every chance we got, constantly having theme parties and excuses for crazy costumes. I first got noticed by a group of people I wanted to be in with by going to a ’60s party as Ted Kennedy. The drunk part was easy, the hard part was that every few minutes I had to jump in the shower to keep my suit jacket wet, as if fresh from a dip at Chappaquiddick. Big hit. Of course, it was fall in Syracuse, and I nearly froze to death on the trudge home.
But now it’s been years since I could even think of a costume. I’m just not interested in it. The girls are a pirate and a scuba diver, using things we had around the house. When you’ve got kids, you’ve probably got swords and Jolly Rogers lying around, plus wetsuits and flippers. It’s a wacky life. It looks as if we’re not going to be trick-or-treating tonight, because they each have a party to go to, one in the neighborhood and one over in Albany, so Dad will be doing Halloween as a Chauffeur. We’ve got a little bat-on-a-hairband, maybe I’ll wear that around. And play the Dead Kennedys when the kids aren’t in the car. LOUD.