Category Archives: blather

I Remember When I Could Remember Things

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Truly. I once had a great memory. What happened to that? Is it just age, or stress, or just too damn many years and things to remember (which, of course, would be age)? Not clear. But it is true, I once remembered things that had happened not only to me but to those around me. I had a great knack for knowing the events of certain years. Increasingly, I’m finding myself unclear when things happened or if they happened at all.

A case in point came in in a recent somewhat minor family argument over an event from some years ago. Honestly, I’d have struggled to put a year to the event, but I thought I remembered a chunk of the particulars pretty well. Someone else remembered it quite, quite differently, and of course that’s how memory is – faulty, subjective, unreliable. I was pretty clear on my perspective of events, but just the doubt was enough to make me doubt myself. And I carried that doubt around for a week until just now when, through the miracle of my having once been a blogger, I found an account of the event, right here on my very own internet, that told it pretty much the way I remember it. In that case, it turns out, my memory was good (though, again, I could never have said what year it happened).

But while looking for that, I found another entry, one that relayed how I went to, and enjoyed, a movie that, had you asked me twenty minutes ago, I would have sworn I had never seen. With memory now jogged, I can even remember where we went to see it, but without that jog, I’d have denied I ever saw it.

I really think a lot of it has to do with the years, and what was going on during them. There are some pretty big stress-created craters in my timeline, when all I think I was doing was holding it together. The months following 9/11 were a big crater – I remember a huge amount of my work-related activities in those months, but what went on in family life I’m afraid I’ve barely a clue. The years I spent trying to consult independently are also a bit of a blur, in terms of remembering what happened when. I remember the summer of 1989 at a level of detail that I’d probably be able to reconstruct in a calendar – but to remember the years my daughters graduated, I sometimes need to do a little bit of math. Vexing.

Right now, the stress is locked in high, which probably means that in a few years, when I want to remember how it was that these holidays came to be so strange logistically, I’m going to wish I had written it down here. Family obligations have caused some lengthy separation, multiple and concurrent AirBnBs in different cities, car rentals and other goings on that I know I’m going to be confused about in a couple of years. Heck, I’m confused about them now. How did we get to this place? It’s never a straight line.

The Sleep of Reason

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Listen, if you want to have blood drawn by someone who’s never drawn blood before, by all means, have at it. That’s your problem. If you want surgery done by someone who has never done surgery before, that’s also your problem. Go ahead. But if you suggest trucks, buses and planes should be commanded by absolute amateurs, someone else is going to get hurt. And if you want to put the workings of a complex, powerful government in the hands of amateurs, ideologues and worse, a lot of people are going to get hurt.

As someone who tried to faithfully serve the public to the best of my ability for a number of years, who tried to bring reason and logic to my small corner of governing, it has always been painful to watch those who enter government with more personal motives, whether they are ideological or driven toward personal gain. And it has been hard to watch as qualified, dedicated individuals decide to leave public service, or never to enter it, because it has come to be universally disparaged. This will only get worse.

But now, we have decided to put the federal executive branch and the armed services in the charge of an individual who, by any measure, appears to be unstable at best, and who has nothing but contempt for the institutions he is supposed to be in charge of.  We haven’t just put a pilot with zero experience behind the yoke – we’ve put in a pilot who hates planes. And everyone associated with planes.

And he’s staffing up with an array of horribles that, prior to his election, no one would have accused him of considering. None would have accused him of thinking of someone who actually leaked secrets to be Secretary of State, when his whole campaign was that Clinton could have exposed secrets. None would have accused him of considering an education secretary with not only no educational experience of any kind, but an absolute hatred for the very system she’s supposed to be put in charge of. None would have accused him of putting an avowed anti-feminist, racist, white supremacist who believes that only property owners should be able to vote in place as his “chief strategist,” because even he could not possibly be that bold. And yet . . .

I’m hearing a lot of “wait and see.” There was an amount of that in 1930s Germany, too, and a lot of accommodation because of the thought that Hitler couldn’t possibly be as bad as his words would indicate. History showed that he meant everything he said, and then some.  The thing is, we don’t need to wait to see. It’s happening right now. Racist, anti-immigrant, anti-LGBT acts are being committed day after day by an emboldened minority unleashing hate. These are not just far-off events or abstractions; these are things that have happened to people I know. We don’t need to stand by while we Make America Germany Again. Let’s not.

Why Am I Not Posting?

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Take your pick:

  1. Tigers ate my homework.
  2. I’ve become fabulously well-to-do.
  3. The molasses flood.
  4. I’m really dedicated to plowing through the entire works of Shakespeare.
  5. Finally learning piano.
  6. Life, man. Life.

Yeah, it’s that last one. No worries (well, a few here and there). Mostly took the summer off from doing things to my house (which is usually how I spend my summers) to have a dedicated summer of fun, and for the most part, that’s what happened. We went places we’d been meaning to go since moving to this idyllic little corner of the Keystone state. We bought more kayaks than are strictly called for. We ran the living hell out of our air conditioning. We built a garden in the back that is freaking adorable, and kept most of the flowers alive through a dry summer. We visited people, people visited us. We ran screaming from a theater for Blobfest. Art was made, and the frames to put it in. I found some great new cycling routes and got better at riding in heat than I’ve ever been, but still had to beg off most of August for other things and now most of September for work.

And so this, which goes back a long way in terms of sort of chronicling my musings and family life, has taken a serious back burner position, and even my daily dalliance with history has suffered from less frequent attention. It’s just how it is. If I’ve got something pithy to say, I generally say it on the Twitter. That’s all about the pith.

A Moment of Perfect Wind

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The wind has been howling around here lately, just howling, which has made for some trying bike rides. Last week happened to be a week when I had to bike commute all week, and so while the breeze was pleasant for its sweat-wicking qualities, it was a beast to fight on some of the rides home. And then I had a charity ride through the hills of beautiful northern Chester County, mostly in the same hills I normally ride anyway, but I went out on Friday just to get a few more hilly miles in the legs before Sunday’s event, and the wind was just a whirling beast that never seemed to give me a push. Thought for sure it would have settled down some by yesterday morning, but when we lined up for the 32-mile route, there was blazing sun, increasing heat, and a strong wind that seemed to be a headwind in every direction. At one point late in the ride, I was making a long, clear descent to a bridge, and as I sailed down the hill the landscape opened up and I could see that there was an amazing wind tunnel going across my path. I had to brake back my descent and barely kept upright as the wind swept across the road and showed me who was boss; if I hadn’t pulled back I’d have gone down. The rest of the ride, it was just a constant presence, particularly in the ears, as it was hard to hear anything and after a while I wondered if the noise would ever stop.

And then . . . coming down West Seven Stars Road, in a little stretch where the farm fields are banked up just a couple of feet above the road, I achieved something I don’t know that I’ve ever experienced before: a moment of perfect wind. That is to say, no wind, because I was entirely within the wind. As I flew down that little tunneled section of road, tucked in just low enough that there were no cross-currents, I must have been going along at exactly the same speed, in exactly the same direction, as the wind. All the grasses to my sides were flailing wildly. Birds were being pushed back as they tried to come up the road. And yet, I could feel nothing. And I could hear nothing. It was absolutely silent, still, perfect, all visual evidence to the contrary. It went on for what felt like an oddly long time though it could only have been 20 seconds, 25 seconds at most, long enough for me to realize I was experiencing a singularity. I could see the effect of the wind, yet I couldn’t feel it, couldn’t hear it. I sailed through the covered bridge and on the other side the world was back to normal and the wind was back to howling.  But for just a few moments, I was part of the wind.

What a Weekend Looks Like These Days

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  • Drive 250 miles back to the old hometown, hopefully in record time.
  • Get there in time for lunch with old friends.
  • Spend time at father-in-law’s, take him out to dinner.
  • Race to the Egg for a concert.
  • Get out too late for ice cream.
  • Drive to daughter’s apartment and crash there.
  • Get up for the Troy Farmer’s Market.
  • Cry because the pasta-maker is out sick this week.
  • Run back up to daughter’s, assemble a kayak rack.
  • Meet up with mother, take her down to the market and coax her to pick out her own birthday gifts, because I’m classy like that.
  • Her Mother’s Day gift was a new wheel for her wheelbarrow.
  • Late lunch with mother and daughter.
  • Nap of the damned.
  • Go to roller derby double-header, strategically parking near the new Ben & Jerry’s location.
  • At the bout, daughter informs us they haven’t opened yet, and there will be no ice cream.
  • Crash at daughter’s.
  • Sunday bagels and not nearly enough coffee at Psychedelicatessen.
  • Farewell to daughter, take father-in-law to lunch.
  • Drive home in Sunday downstream traffic (not awful, yet), anxious to get home before the ice cream store closes.
  • Work for three hours to get ready for the week because I had the audacity to take a weekend “off.”
  • But at least there was ice cream. In a waffle cone, which I fully deserved.

Top 10 of 2016 (so far)

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Remember that thing a little while back where I was posting regularly again? Yeah, that stopped. If you like it short-form and forgettable, I tweet much more often. If you like it historic, Hoxsie is still getting updated most days. Other than that, I haven’t even had the commitment to paste a banner over the name of this blog to represent the fact that my life is now quite urban indeed.

So in place of cohesive, coherent writing, let’s do a Top 10 again:

  1. Mariachi Flor de Toloache. I’m not even kidding. Just accept it.
  2. Bloody Mohawk. Following up on Hinderaker’s “The Two Hendricks,” because it’s hard to get enough of the extremely complicated relationships between the Dutch, English, French, Iroquois, Mohawks specifically, and other native Americans generally. First time in I just couldn’t get into it; second time in it turns out to be crisply written and informative, and has a better explanation of Conrad Weiser than I have seen anywhere else. Everybody loves William Johnson, and nobody gives Weiser his due. And they were both right to distrust the New England evangelicals.
  3. Actually training for cycling. After years of doing what I do on the bike, poorly and without much focus, I decided that in order to get through the winter (when we thought there was going to be one), I signed up at my favorite new local cycling shop for a series of training classes taught by an Olympic athlete. A bunch of serious, experienced racers and me, but the beauty of the computerized trainers is they conform to your output and abilities, and over the past few weeks I have been able to actually work on technique and endurance in ways I never did before. My previous technique has always been to go as far as I can go and still get back, which is fun but doesn’t actually train your body. And the upside is that I have been diligent about getting on the bike during the week (usually outside, it’s been so warm), because if I don’t I will actually die on Monday night.
  4. The holidays. Those were a thing. The second year of not having a home base for Christmas, though this year elder daughter was able to host part of the family festivities. But it feels very weird to not have Christmas in your own house, and even weirder to be one of those people who has to clutter up the highways on the appointed travel days.
  5. In my ongoing tradition of watching TV shows 10 years or more after they’re a thing, we just binge-watched “Alias,” which mostly led to me screaming at the television each night, “Why are you trusting Arvin Sloane??!” We then upset tradition by watching “Jessica Jones,” which was excellent, but now I think it’s time for a little less obvious blood-letting and something more along the lines of psychological damage, like “Gilmore Girls.”
  6. Similarly, I have to work up to Tarantino movies. I always love them, but I always need to know what level of gore or worse I’m in for. (Though if we could have seen “The Hateful 8” in 70mm, I’d have jumped right in.) So we finally got around to watching “Django Unchained,” and immediately regretted having waited so long. Christoph Waltz is a delightful revelation in it.
  7. While we’re on movies, “Carol” was surprisingly lovely and real (and so gorgeous to look at; it captured the period perfectly). It was weird to see it at the Formerly The Spectrum, as, having moved away, I sorta assumed I’d never go there again. But there we were. “Brooklyn” was also a much better, more interesting, less sentimental film than I’d expected it to be. (Sometimes these things just go a certain way. This one didn’t, quite.)
  8. The photographs of Dave Heath, still on exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Incredible street/life photography from the ’50s and ’60s, the kind of work that I used to want to do.
  9. There is a serious ice cream shortage going on around here. Our neighborhood shop is seasonal, and this is not the season. There are some others around, but not quite of that quality, and the good one over in Royersford requires getting in the car, which is something we tend not to do. The jones hit me so hard that I was thrilled to find some form of a premium chain store near where I had to take a computer for repair, but in the end I put on my McKayla Maroney unimpressed face. So either spring’s gotta come or I’ve gotta drive somewhere for good ice cream.
  10. My first experiment with little adhesive LED lighting strips turned out a 94% success. Which is pretty good. (I’d be happier had I gotten them to line up very straight, but that proved tricky). We needed a light source in the living room that wouldn’t bounce off the TV screen at night, and nothing commercial seemed to be working out, so I pretty much built my own sconce and integrated it into the window trim . . . up high, dimmable, provides more than adequate evening light and doesn’t reflect at all. But those little strips are just a touch more finicky when it comes to connections than they lead you to believe.

Weird things about new places

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  • First, spring comes earlier down here. After 54 years in upstate New York, it’s hard to grasp the idea that you can safely put plants in the ground prior to Mother’s Day (and even that wasn’t always safe). Given that we really haven’t had the time to get our tiny tiny back yard garden plotted out (as that will involve finding a new home for canoes), we’re signed up for a community garden plot up on the north side, and already have to think about getting it cleaned up and ready for planting. In March. (Although official early planting begins in April. April.)
  • Despite that, we had some late snow that really pounded the bike trails so I had to wait for that to thaw before I could really get out. Traditionally, St. Patrick’s Day is my signal that the new riding season has begun, and traditionally, that means going out in some pretty raw weather and climbing up to Albany Rural Cemetery or around local neighborhoods in order to get some strength back into my legs. Today it meant almost 60 degrees (but with a wicked wind) and a need to search out some of those hills. Roads around here are tough (Pennsylvania’s motto should be “The Shoulderless State), and in case I had any illusions that roads are better maintained down here than in the Empire State, those illusions have been shattered. So spring riding is even more of a challenge than it used to be.
  • The light. The light is weird, or at least takes getting used to. After 23 years in one house, with windows everywhere, I could tell the time just by how the light looked in the house. I got to know places the sun only reached on certain days of the year, odd reflections that only happened now and again. Now we’re in a place with limited light (the lack of a basking room may be a problem) and it seems to show up in the oddest places.
  • “Jeopardy,” the only thing we watch that isn’t on the internet, is on at 7 o’clock down here, before “Wheel of Fortune.” Somehow that feels like it’s just messing with the natural order of the universe.
  • In addition, the only ads we see are during “Jeopardy,” and most of them are for the Pennsylvania Lottery. Unlike the NYS Lottery, where we swindled people in the name of education, the Keystone State swindles people in the name of helping old people. As such, instead of Yolanda Vega, each night there is a different designated old person who watches numbered ping pong balls pop up in a tube. Somehow this makes me sad.

Many Spammy Returns

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I moved six months ago, but my previous internet provider, Ever-Growing Monopoly of Suck®, still continues to faithfully deliver all the spam that comes to my old account. So if you don’t mind, let me just get some of my responses to my spam out of the way right here.

From: NBC SPORTS
Subject: NASCAR is coming to NBC and NBCSN.
Thanks. You’ve made a serious mistake. The thought that even one electron had to move in order to bring me this incredibly useless information is a tragedy in my view.

From: SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR
Subject: Webmail Quta Exceeded.
Dear User, due to the recent upgrade of our database. You are required to update your webmail details.
Thanks! I’ll get right on that!

From: James Williams
Subject: I tried to reach you several times, please reply
I write, asking for your indulgence in re-profiling to tune of Fourteen Million, Five Hundred Thousand United States Dollars (US$14.5m) which we want kept safely overseas under your supervision.
James, Mr. Raymond Wilson of the Emirates Finance Security Company has made me a much, much sweeter deal. He has already paid for the delivery charges and the insurance fee. You’re going to have to up your game if you want me to be your overseas money mule.

From: Smith Wilson
Subject: Information
How are you today and your family it has been a long time you may not remember me again I contacted you last time for you to assist me regarding an inheritance fund which I told you that it is not a scam and I promised you that you should not worry that when I receive the fund I will compensate you, finally I have receive the fund I am now doing multi million investment in caman island I have instructed my secretary to issue ATM what of $700,000 dollars for compensation for your assistance in the past, so the ATM card now is ready for you to receive it is with my secretary contact him now on this information below.
Smith, my apologies. When I first read your note, I missed the part where you explained that it is not a scam. Silly of me and I hope you can see your way to forgive me and still issue my $700,000 dollars of compensation.

From: Kenneth Lou Clark
Subject: Hi How are you? Breaking news from Oprah:
Kenneth, Kenneth, Kenneth. You’re not even trying.

From: Branden Otto
Subject: Want new girls every day? OOOOHHHH YEEE!!!
There is no need to threaten me.

From: Addiction Detox Centers
Reply-To: offers@realestatenow.com
Subject: Check in to drug rehab and get clean.
I’m confused. Is this one of those places where you go into rehab but you can’t get out until you’ve bought a time-share?

From: MopinaJohnson@UnitedNation.Org
Subject: Schedule Delivery Your Family Inheritance
I am  Diplomat Mopina Johnson  from   Hong Kong I am  now in  Bellingham International Airport Washington.This is to inform you that I have been advised to deliver your consignment to you as the content was declared as diputed but now resolved Acesstral Family valuables. Valued  five million five hundred United State dollars only. And you are urgently advised to send me your Address, Contact Phone Numbers Next of Kin and Personal Identification  for delivery of your consignment to you. Get back to me immediately you receive my email.
You know, asking about my “next of kin” almost seems like a red flag. You’re not going to murder me, are you?

Blobfest

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rebekah_blobfest_BsWu3HbIEAASHLs.jpgSo, here’s the thing about our pending new hometown of Phoenixville, PA: the movie “The Blob” was largely filmed there and in the surrounding areas. Doc Hallen’s house is still there. So is the Colonial Theater, from which the teens run screaming from a monster feature when the blob consumes the projectionist and oozes through the louvers and into the theater. Let’s face it, “The Blob” would probably be forgotten had it not starred a youngish (27, playing 17) Steve McQueen. It is not one of the finest movies of all time. And the fact that it featured Phoenixville could have remained nothing more than an interesting bit of local trivia, just as with the filming of scenes around Albany and Schenectady in recent years.

But instead, there is Blobfest, an enthusiastic celebration of this and other B movies. It commences with “The Run Out” — costumed participants pay for the privilege of running screaming from the theater in advance of the blob. There is a Tin Foil Hat parade, a costume contest (which Mothra and his companions, shown above, won this year), and a Fire Extinguisher Drill Team Parade. There are vendors, antique cars, and double features of “The Blob” and other movies like “Mothra” or “King Kong Vs. Godzilla.” There is a lot of fun.

So we spent the weekend at Blobfest, and visiting the farmer’s market, checking out where to put in our canoes, finding the best coffee places, and chatting with local residents. There were dozens of cyclists out on the roads and paths, there were flotillas of kayaks, there were all kinds of people just out enjoying almost perfect days.