Paris 1951: The First Step

I found an e-mail address for Le Bistrot (it says "Bistro" on the awning out front but, apparently, the name is really "Bistrot") the cafe that currently lives in the space formerly occupied by Au Port d'Attache. In addition to some nice pictures, their web page lists several menus of traditional French cafe fare and if/when I can get to Paris they definitely seem worth checking out.

In the meantime, I sent an e-mail explaining the business card which came into my possession and asking if they knew anything at all about the history of their location. To date, I have heard nothing back. So, they either know nothing but are intrigued by my message and are researching whatever they can and will get back to  me soon--or--they know something but are too busy during the holiday season right now and will get back to me when they can--or--they know something but are unable or unwilling to reveal what it is--or--they can't be bothered to respond to some stranger out of the blue with a sixty+ year old slip of paper that has nothing to do with their business. While the last possibility is the most likely, the third makes for a better story so that's the one I'll go with if they never get back to me.

After the first of the year, I will contact the real estate office that now occupies the former location of Morgan of Oregon. At the very least, they should know how to go about obtaining historical property records if they don't know the history themselves.

Hardly a Creature Stirred

This was the most low-key . . . and enjoyable . . . Christmas ever.

The tree went up the week before along with the large Santa atop the bookcase, two penguins under the tree and a couple of large stockings on the front door, one inside and one outside. That was it. No creche, no exterior lights, no carol-wielding circus train. My brother did scatter some Christmas balloon figures across the lawn but never got around to inflating them.

We limited ourselves on the presents, too. Since my niece was the only one who sent a wish list, and since half her list consisted of books, I was happy to oblige her. My brother and I agreed to limit ourselves to only "stocking stuffers" which meant he gave me three small jars of flavored honey, a bottle of orange flavored syrup and a box of fudge while I gave him a case of beer and a bottle of honey roasted peanuts. We were both happy.

The cats, being natural born heathens and not, as we, lapsed communicants, received nothing. They were content to nest in the boxes and nibble on wrapping paper. Despite occasional manic bursts of running about chasing each other around and under the tree, they were (generally) very careful to avoid touching it and only a couple of the lowest ornaments ended up on the rug.

We had Christmas dinner mid-afternoon and in the evening I made about a gallon of split pea soup with a portion of the leftover ham. The cats turned down ham samples although I did catch one of them later gnawing on a piece of gristle she stole from somewhere. I now have pea soup, bean soup and turkey soup taking up space in the refrigerator and freezer and kind of wish the weather would cool off again. It feels weird eating hot soup when the temperature is pushing 80F.

If we can maintain this same level of concentrated placidity, 2015 could start off well.

Planning Ahead

Well, at least I now know what (some) of the lumber is for.

My brother treated himself to a firepit. He intends to build what he calls a patio by the front door, set up the firepit there, sit back and drink beer and use the wood for fuel. He doesn't want to put it out back because of some obnoxious nearby dogs who are happy to bark at anything they see (or think they see) all night long. He's much happier with it being visible from the road which, in all honesty, is a better view, anyway.

No idea when the construction on this "patio" might begin. No idea, either, on his intentions for the plywood. Or the crutches.

The funny thing is, we already have a couple of woodpiles on the property that have been aging for literally years. Of course, by the time he's ready to start burning, the new sticks could also be well-seasoned despite being pine.

In the meantime, city code enforcement stopped by and left a note on our door. Apparently, the carrotwood tree is visible from the road and so was all the new lumber which is a violation of the city's "No Outdoor Storage" rule. My brother moved a small section of fencing to hide the 4x6 stumpy bits and carefully rearranged the pallets to lie flat behind a decorative wall of railroad ties (still around the carrotwood) and: voila! No more code violation. (At least, nothing that can be seen from the street.)

On the plus side, he did just bring home a large bag of blood oranges from somewhere, so there's that.

More Sh*t My Brother Drags Home

Continuing the kleptomaniacal tale. This past week:

• More industrial size wooden pallets. We now have three complete plus pieces for a couple more. They're stacking up beside the carrotwood tree.
• A pair of wooden crutches with one missing rubberized foot. If he's planning on having a debilitating accident it's going to have to involve ending up with one leg shorter than the other.
• A short (maybe 2.5 feet tall) open metal frame on casters with closely spaced metal flanges facing inward on parallel sides suitable for holding food trays. Except for the inconvenient lack of height, something that might be seen on an airline or in a hospital for delivering meals.

On a slightly saner note: He went and got the Christmas decorations out of storage over the weekend. They were all piled up in cardboard boxes at the top of the driveway until it started to rain last night forcing us to run outside and chuck everything into the garage except the Christmas tree which resides in a waterproof plastic coffin that is now sitting just at the edge of the living room attracting the attention of the cats. My brother has moved his dead bicycle from the corner where the tree is supposed to go so we can probably expect assembly this weekend.

Paris 1951: The Investigation Begins

There are two business cards in the "Paris 1951" envelope my brother brought home. They're both oversize, closer to index cards than modern business cards.

The first one is for "Au Port d'Attache," 79 rue Blanche. The name is printed on a half ship's wheel and includes not only the probably unnecessary explanatory "Bar" on the hub but the invitation to "Venez Chanter." The telephone number is given as : Tri.: 64-89. "Paris 1951" is handwritten across the bottom in ink. The back contains the following note in penciled cursive:

M Presse,

108 Rue du Theatre

Hotel Metropole

chambre 48

Paris 15e

and vertically up the left side: metro Commerce.

The second card is for "Morgan of Oregon, American Bar." The upper left corner brags, "The only yank in Montmartre." The lower left corner touts "Hamburgers, Chile con Carne, Hot Dogs -- Bacon & Eggs." In the lower right corner are the address: 36, rue Pigalle, Paris 9e, the phone: Tel. Tri. 77-78, and the notice: "open all night from 17 hours" under which is handwritten in ink "1951." On the back are two calculations, in pencil, in a different hand from the first card. One is a multiplication, the other an addition (with the wrong answer). There is also the name "georges," and the words "Pont (or Port, the card was folded at one point and the crease runs right through the middle of the word) Royal."

It turns out 79 rue Blanche is still a cafe/restaurant, although now just "le Bistro," and not Au Port d'Attache. It sits in a rather seedy side street right around the corner from the Moulin Rouge which was also there in 1951.

108 rue du Theatre is no longer the Hotel Metropole, although it might have been at one point. It's a standard, anonymous six-story Parisian apartment building with a podiatrist's office on one side and a kitchen supply shop on the other. The Avenue Emile Zola metro stop is actually closer than Commerce but maybe didn't exist in 1951.

36 rue Pigalle is now a real estate agency.

As far as Pont/Port Royal is concerned: Pont Royal is both a bridge (which was obviously there in 1951) and a restaurant/cafe on the rue de Bac just off the bridge (which was probably not there then). Port Royal is a hotel on the boulevard of the same name. The hotel looks as if it could have been there then. At this point, there's no telling which interpretation of Port/Pont is correct.

Time for some historical digging.

Sh*t My Brother Drags Home

Last Week:

• Two random sheets of plywood, a wooden pallet frame and three buckets full of 4 x 6 ends no more than a foot or so long. I have no idea what he intends to use them for and I'm not convinced he has either. The stumps, except for being pine, would be ideal in a fireplace, if we had one, which we don't.
• A sort of scrapbook/portfolio of some random person's experience in the navy right after World War II including newspaper clippings (of various people so we don't know if the owner might have been one of them), photos of warships (aircraft carrier, cruiser and at least one destroyer), airplanes and Guantanamo Bay naval base back when it was just an innocent naval base located in a friendly country.
• An envelope labelled "Paris 1951" and containing hand-tinted postcards including one of the Eiffel Tower taken from almost the same vantage point as the famous picture of Hitler's visit to the City of Light, les Invalides, Napoleon's Tomb, etc.; several aerial photographs obviously taken by the original owner as he flew into the city; and a couple of business cards to cafes apparently owned or run by American expats with notes about meetings.

He was given the portfolio/scrapbook by a customer and thinks one of our nephews (both active-duty Navy) might be interested in it. I have my doubts since neither has ever expressed a great interest in history, especially not the personal histories of complete strangers.

I have no idea where (or why) he acquired the other items. I could probably put together a pretty good spy story with the contents of that envelope, though.

The Naughty Kitties' Reward

So I'm sitting last night with one eye on my laptop trying to get the CS50 shuttle game to work (good news: it does, for the most part. At least, I think, the hardest part is done) and one eye on the football game (I really don't know why this CS50 project is taking me so long) when one of the cats starts repeatedly bumping the toe of my shoe. When I look down I notice the other two right there as well watching her.

I lift my foot and there's a poor little tailless lizard trying desperately not to be seen. It was in such shock it didn't even try to avoid me as I scooped it up and carried it outside.

This is what happens when the weather suddenly warms right back up to the 80s (27C) and we throw open the doors and windows again.

The cats spent the next twenty minutes or so prowling around my feet and chair looking for their prey even though they all saw me pick it up. It doesn't make any sense to them that someone would just throw away a perfectly good lizard.

My brother spread a couple handsful of catnip on the living room rug. Jasmine and Mittens both got high as kites first eating and then rolling in the stuff. Paribanour ate more than the other two but just said "Meh," and walked away.

The MOOC and Me: Destroyer of Time

I have been remiss in posting to the blog, and much else besides, thanks to the latest homework assignment from my on-line programming course.

The last problem set was relatively easy and a great deal of fun: designing a financial services web page. This set, building a shuttle bus "game" is making me crazy. I just know the solution is much, much simpler than I am able to come up with and my Rube Goldberg construction is an ugly mess. And doesn't work. Right now, it insists on picking up only the passenger at the alphabetical end of the list of possible passengers. Which, admittedly, is an improvement on refusing to pick up anyone at all.

The problem is, the course deadline is the end of the year, and includes a final project which I haven't even begun to seriously think about, and I've already skipped over one problem set that was taking way too long and throwing the schedule into impossibility. The syllabus is not clear on the consequences if I can't submit at least a partial final project in time. I have no idea how the kids manage to do this in a 12 week course (with other classes!). I'd be living in the TA's office.

My consolation is that this is my favorite time of the year for food so when I start to get all cross-eyed at the screen I can just sit back with a large mug of tea, a plate of crackers with a wedge of brie and a pear and another plate of dried figs, dates, pistachios and a section of pomegranate. In a previous incarnation or two I was either French or Persian (or both).

The weather has been cold enough lately that the cats have discovered I can provide other services beyond provisioner of food and water and have started climbing into bed with me to absorb the warmth which is fine except that it's impossible to turn over with a cat wedged behind one's knees.

I just bought four pounds of butter and a new jar of cinnamon. Baking time! One batch of chocolate chip cookies is done. Oatmeal raisin is next on the list and, by then, we'll be well into Thanksgiving week cooking.

Over 200 Served, Not Counting the Cops

Last night began with my brother cursing (one of his favorite pastimes) and vowing never to honor this holiday again (totally not to be taken seriously) because the wind kept threatening to blow over the balloons and even the zombies, and the blower motors inflating the balloons were worn out and there were no viable batteries to power the zombies' eyes and moans, pretty much all of which was true but irrelevant since the real problem was that, as usual, he left everything to the last minute, didn't do any pre-installation checking (re: batteries and motors) and, even on the morning of the day, wasted an hour or two (I wasn't home at the time) chopping down a bougainvillea that was encroaching on the lanai--and had been for several years so why it had to come down right then who knows.

There's no point engaging him when he gets like this so I just let him run his course and assumed the wind would die down once the sun set (it did) and the motors would be more effective when the air cooled (they were). The battery problem was solved when he ran off to the store as the first kids were arriving and bought a jumbo pack of AAs. 

Meanwhile the pillaging hordes started to trickle in about 4:30. Our first visitor, a teenage female pirate, was followed by a five-year-old female doctor. I was kind of disappointed that a lot of kids really didn't seem to put much effort into their "costumes" although the first pirate was very good and there were a number of passable ghouls, super heroes (both male and female) and even a couple of classic Ghostbusters. A couple of kids had corrugated cartons on their heads and I assumed they were Box Trolls but, when I said that to one she sounded very disappointed and sighed, "No, I'm a robot," and turned on the flashing rotating lights in her eye and mouth spaces. I think I might have gotten that correct if they'd been on to start with. The most original was a five- or six-year-old orange Crayola crayon. Second place went to a perfect little Beetlejuice being wheeled around in his stroller.

There were three distinct waves of foragers, the first starting just after sunset, the last coming through just as the police arrive around 9:10.

Did I mention that the police shut us down?

One patrol car went by very slowly on the main street early on in the evening but didn't stop. A second one came onto our street and parked just up from the main activity about 8:30 or so but that's way too early to enforce any sort of noise ordinance and we weren't that loud anyway so he left.

We can't be sure a complaint was filed since people were parking in the main road's median strip as well as on the shoulders in order to get into our street and the police may have been responding to the congestion. Comparing the ethnic diversity of our visitors with the homogeneity Neighbor Dan (who, it must be admitted had partaken of a number of shots) was not taking any chances and attempted preemptive revenge on the mean old man down the street who always complains about everything to the point of calling the police and filing reports about car horns, lawn mowing and unregistered vehicles, by taking a visiting German shepherd named Diesel for a walk and encouraging him to poop on said neighbor's lawn. Diesel was uncooperative.

Finally, three patrol cars came back around 9:20 and stayed until everything completely wound down about forty minutes later which it totally would have done anyway since we were running out of candy and the third wave was thinning out. They didn't say anything to anyone as far as I could tell but their presence was a big hint. Plus, the night was crystal clear and the temperature had dropped into the mid-60s which is a little cool for short-sleeves around here. We put the zombies safely away in the garage, my brother deflated the balloons and I went in to make a cup of hot tea.

My brother's mood had been steadily improving throughout the evening (as I knew it would) and now, operating on the theory that any party shut down by the police is by definition a success, he was delighted. By my calculations we served just north of 220 trick-or-treaters. I managed to salvage three 100 Grand bars for myself and my brother gave me two Almond Joys he acquired somewhere.

This morning is bright and sunny but the wind is howling again.

Resistance Is Futile

There were sixteen bags of candy, mostly bite-size chocolate bars of various types and some Skittles, sitting on our dining room table for the past three days.

Last night I came home to find one opened.

There are fifteen and a half bags of candy sitting on our dining room table with three days to go until Hallowe'en.

We're gonna need more candy.

Balloons Are Up. Dead To Follow

Our Hallowe'en decorations are finally up.

Almost.

The balloons are emplaced and, except for the ones over on the far side of the driveway (which include the headless horseman and the hearse), inflated. We have a couple of new ones including a large orange and black spider with glowing swirly lights in its abdomen. Neighbor Dan has a similar one but its abdomen is white and the swirly lights are multi-colored. I like ours better.

Neighbor Dan has had his decorations up since the first week of October. My brother intended to put ours up shortly after he saw Neighbor Dan's yard but his truck broke (again) that weekend so he couldn't retrieve anything from storage and then his truck was stolen so he mowed the lawn instead which was necessary but insufficient as this is the time of year when the grass shoots up about a foot over night and sets its seeds. Its all getting a bit raggedy already. He finally got around to placing balloons a few days ago.

Our yard still looks sparse compared to Neighbor Dan's but that's mostly because a lot of our decorations are not inflatables: the zombie wedding party, tombstones, dancing skeletons, etc. that really shouldn't be put out too far in advance although there's hardly any chance of rain anymore. Even the TV weather people have officially announced the end of Rainy Season. The days have been glorious, warm and sunny; the nights clear, cool and dry.

We have a couple new zombies, too. Actually, three, I think, plus the dog skeleton. They're the top-half-of-the-body-bursting-through-the-ground type zombies and will go well with the tombstones. One of them arrived broken and when my brother called the company they said they'd received a number of complaints about that one and they would refund his money and he could just go ahead and keep it anyway. That's the way to ensure customer loyalty. The skeleton dog is poseable and is currently leashed to the picket fence along the walkway to our front door. I don't understand how a skeleton can have ears and a nose, but otherwise he's kinda cute.

People have been driving by to check out the neighborhood prior to the pillaging spree this Friday. They seem to be impressed, if they are new to the area, or, if not, satisfied the tradition continues.

Oh, and I voted for the fourth time this year, not that it'll do any good in this district. Maybe in the statewide races.

Steal From My Brother Once, Shame On You. Steal From My Brother Twice . . .

My brother has the learning curve of a lizard.

The police rang our doorbell at 4:00 this morning to let him know they had found his truck. (He was already up having been called by them a few minutes earlier to announce their imminent arrival. I woke up at the sound of the bell.) When they saw who was at the door, the cats all took off like the Angel of the Lord was come to take them to their just reward. We didn't see Paribanour or Mittens again for about six hours.

At first, this particular service--waking people in the middle of the night to notify them of the location of their property--seemed a bit, I don't know, superfluous, since the truck was in the driveway when I went to bed. (Apparently, I don't process too well upon first waking unexpectedly.)

The truck was not in the driveway.

It had been stolen.

It had been stolen and used as a getaway vehicle on a crime spree lasting several hours before being left in a ditch behind the town high school a couple of miles away. Several vehicles in our neighborhood (including, it turned out, Neighbor Dan's truck but not my car) had been entered and pilfered but it was my brother's truck they stole.

Because he left the keys in it.

He left the keys in it! After having his wallet stolen out of the truck only a couple of months ago, he left the keys in it!

So we stood in the driveway, under the eaves of the garage, in the dark and intermittent pouring rain with lightning crashing nearby and the tip of one of Neighbor Dan's palm trees rubbing against an electrical wire in the wind, arcing and sending sparks flying, filling the air with the scent of ozone and burning wood while my brother filled out a criminal complaint form and answered the same questions to each of the three officers who eventually showed up one by one.

They warned him that, although they would try to get the truck back to him as soon as possible, it might take a while if the forensics crew decided they wanted to look for DNA or fingerprints. Also, at the moment they were using the truck as bait, having staked out the area in hopes the perp(s) came back.

As it was, they called at seven to let us know we could come and retrieve it. It was stuck in the ditch, bogged down because of the rain. Neighbor Dan ended up coming by and pulling it out.

The truck works fine and, at first, my brother thought he hadn't lost anything, himself, but on further inspection a diamond ring that belonged to our uncle, of mostly sentimental value, and a check he had out to pay the utility bill, necessitating a visit to the bank to change account numbers, were missing. He added those items to the complaint form. Neighbor Dan may have lost a (full) cash deposit bag from his business. The problem with living in an area as safe as ours is that people get careless.

Let's hope, for my brother's sake, that third time's the charm.

The Wheel of Justice Begins Its Slow Turning

My brother spent the morning in court.

Today was the first scheduled trial date for the guy accused of breaking into my brother's truck and stealing his wallet. In the end, my brother never saw the guy and, apparently, the trial was continued to another day.

The alleged perp remains in jail due to the fact the court won't consider bail because he has a long list of prior convictions and was already out on parole when he was arrested for using my brother's card to buy some cigarettes. He's nineteen years old and looking at two more felony charges now. If he's convicted it's going to be a long time before he's out walking around again.

He apparently had an accomplice, as well, that my brother just found out about and who may have been the one to physically remove the wallet. That one is only fifteen years old and, unlike the first guy, will be charged as a minor, not that it makes much difference since he's been in juvie detention in the next county over for the last 21 days on other charges, already.

I hope I'm wrong but neither one of these winners seems capable of learning from experience.

Nicely Done, Javert. Nicely Done.

The police have arrested a suspect in the theft of my brother's wallet.

My brother just received some documents from the court detailing the name of the suspect (might could be a good ol' boy from the sound of it, if he is the one), the charges (two: theft from an unoccupied vehicle and use of stolen cards over $100) and his bail ($5000). The $5000 amount is listed next to each charge so I'm not clear on whether that's the total amount or per charge. It might be a moot point since the court has already judged him indigent and assigned a public defender which means he might not have even the 10% cash necessary to post bond.

The alleged thief has also been enjoined by the court to stay away from the scene of the crime (assuming he makes bail) and to have no contact of any kind with my brother.

There are several more pages to the document requesting details on my brother's loss (minimal), any insurance reimbursements (none), psychological trauma (also minimal/none), funeral expenses (its a really generic form), etc., including an essay section on "How I Feel About Being a Crime Victim."

First court appearance is set for October 10.

An Exception to the Exception?

I have a  policy of not harming spiders, even when they build webs in the house, because of the good they do, provided the webs are kept out of sight, i.e., down by the floor under the cabinet overhangs, behind immovable objects such as sofas, etc.

Overnight, someone broke the rule and this morning I found a small web with small occupant strung in my bathroom between the sink faucet and the mirror behind it. I was about to remove it when I noticed the corpse of a mosquito lying beneath it. It was one of those small, silent mosquitoes we have down here that are very difficult to see and give no warning, going for knuckles and other joints and raising extremely painful (and long lasting) welts.

So now I'm torn.

There Is a Fine Line Between Innocence and Irresponsibility

And my brother crossed it.

Apparently, he's been across it for some time now but it's just this weekend that it finally caught up with him.

It's not just that he leaves his truck unlocked. We live in a very safe area of a very safe town. I also leave my car unlocked and, when it's not Rainy Season (or even when it is and the weatherperson is convincing enough about an upcoming temporary dry spell), will leave the windows down* as well. We seldom lock the house, either, even when both of us are away. No, that's the allowable innocence which comes with living here.

It seems my brother, however, has been in the habit of leaving his wallet in his truck. With his driver's license and insurance card in it. And his credit cards.

He could (and did) get away with that here, at home. But, this weekend he went to visit his girlfriend at her place down by the beach. The thieves didn't break anything (didn't have to) and didn't take anything except the wallet. The police took a report although there's not much they can do about it since the bad guy(s) probably had a few hours head start. My brother spent some time on the phone cancelling the cards so he's not out any money (which is the one thing he never keeps in his wallet, anyway) and the insurance company will issue a new card so his only expense should be replacing the driver's license.

And the inconvenience of having to pay for things with checks until his replacement cards arrive.

Will he learn his lesson, change his behavior, or will he figure, considering how long he's been lucky, he's got another twenty years before it happens again?

*Windows up on a clear, sunny day will heat the interior to the point where getting in will suck the air right out of your lungs.

Civic Duty x 3 . . . and Counting

Today is officially the third of the four elections we are scheduled to hold this year although, thanks to early voting, I got my opinion in last Saturday.

The first was the primary to choose the candidates to replace our brand-new coke-head family-values congressman who had to resign after being busted only months after taking office.

The second was the special election between the winners of the aforementioned primary. To fill the office between special election and the next general election. This November.

Today, two months later, is the primary election to choose the candidates who will run in the general election this November except for the races where the winning candidate today would be otherwise unopposed in which case this is the regular election for all intents and purposes. The primary races where there will be opposition in November are closed, meaning only registered party members may vote to choose the party candidate. Races where there will be no other opposition are open and any registered voter may vote in those. Some races, even though they will be contested in November, are officially non-partisan and, again, anyone can vote in those. In addition, some elections are for offices in special districts which do not match the boundaries of the congressional or state legislative districts (i.e., fire districts, county commission, board of education, etc.) either encompassing only part of a larger district or overlapping with another district. Only some voters are eligible to vote in those depending on residence.

And people wonder why no one can tabulate a Florida election accurately.

Actually, I was impressed with the technology when I went in to vote. I presented my driver's license as ID which the woman at the first station scanned and, since it lists my address, the computer knew exactly which races I was eligible to vote in. It then printed out a neat one-page ballot tailored specifically for me (and anyone else living in my same neighborhood). I didn't have to worry about missing a vote or, worse, marring (and maybe voiding) the ballot by voting in a contest I should not have. In previous elections, I recall ballots where all the contests were presented and different races had different warnings attached as to who could and could not vote in them. In two languages. That's a lot of wasted trees.

Unfortunately, despite the fact that early voting uses consolidated polling stations and any registered voter can use any polling place, I was the only voter in mine for the entire (admittedly short) time it took me to cast my ballot. The turnout for off-year, primary elections, despite the fact that most of the government people actually deal with, and gripe about, on a day-to-day basis is local, is pathetic.

And thus, we get the government we deserve.

Consequences and Repercussions II: Anemic Boogaloo

Failed my iron count for the platelet donation . . . again. They tested me as soon as I walked in instead of setting up the machine (which would mean throwing away all the tubing and bags and stuff if I failed) or letting me fill out all the paperwork.

Missed it be that much.

I'm not sure what the scale is, parts per million, per cent of hemoglobin, whatever, but I missed it. Came in at 11.8. 12.5 is the minimum required and I usually rate up in the 13s somewhere. I don't know why it's taking so long to recover from the whole blood donation. It's now been eight weeks.

We rescheduled for two weeks from now, and the phlebotomist gave me a list of iron-rich foods (which doesn't look any different from what I eat regularly anyway) and recommended taking an iron supplement.

I know she's a little embarrassed and feels responsible since she's the one who accidentally took the whole blood last time. That's part of the reason we set the new appointment for two weeks out: she wants to get a successful donation from me this month, before the regular nurse gets back from vacation.

No cookies this time.

How I Came to Stand Beside Connie Chung While Nixon Resigned

Short answer: She was last in line.

Forty years ago today I was wandering around D.C. with too much time on my hands having just recently resigned as director of development for the National Student Lobby due to massive burnout. It was an intense time to be in Washington.

I'd been to some of the Capitol Hill hearings and a co-worker whose parents lived around the corner from the Watergate prosecutors snagged her a couple of tickets to the trial so we got to sit in on a session. The high points, aside from seeing Maureen "Mo" Dean, came while we were standing in line waiting to get into the courtroom. We were right next to a small branching hallway that led to the judges' chambers and "Maximum" John Sirica, himself, stopped on his way in and said "Hello," to us. Then Art Buchwald wandered by and autographed our copy of the Washington Post which we had used as a sign-up sheet while we were still out in the plaza waiting for the courthouse to open up and which everyone getting into line signed in order of arrival and then honored even though the guard announced that he could not and would not enforce it.

The radio said the president intended to make an announcement this evening and the rumors started flying. He was going to resign. He was going to declare martial law. He was going to throw Haldeman and Erlichman under the bus. Tanks and APCs were seen across the bridge in Arlington. He was going to dismiss Congress. The national guard was over by Union Station.

I decided to go to Lafayette Park which was, at that time, still separated from the north lawn of the White House by Pennsylvania Avenue. It turned out not to be an original idea.

There were thousands of people there. Some were protesting, yelling, chanting and carrying homemade signs. Many more were partying and some sections of the park became enveloped in pungent clouds which the police monitored with some amusement and an attitude of "as long as they stay peaceful, we stay out of it," although that didn't prevent a certain amount of paranoia from floating around with the smoke. This is where I heard most of the more outlandish rumors. I seem to recall a few small fireworks, too.

At the south end of the park, right up against Pennsylvania Avenue, and with an unobstructed view of the White House, the TV news crews were setting up. They parked their trucks at the corners and ran cables out to their crews. Each network and major station had its own crew: cameraman, sound man, lighting tech, make-up, talking head. As the sun went down, they set up in a line along the avenue, shoulder to shoulder. That way they each got almost identical background shots of the White House without indicating there was anyone else also standing there broadcasting the exact same thing. Nowadays, there are so many news outlets I doubt they could all fit in that space but back then there were only the three networks (ABC, CBS, NBC), the local channels (both network and independent) and a couple of major channels with ambitions (mostly out of New York) which. although they were network affiliates, felt the need to have their own people there in addition.

One of those people was Connie Chung.

She was still with WCBS out of New York and not yet with the network. And she was just as hot in person as on air even with all the pancake make-up on. She was the last reporter in line on the east end, right next to Dan Rather who was with CBS network and therefor directly competing for the same eyeballs. The klieg lights all in a row made the rest of the evening that much darker. I stood at the end of the line, about three feet away and watched Nixon resign on the same monitor her producer was using.

I wandered away when the resignation was over and the "analysis" began. I'd be surprised if folks in the White House couldn't hear all the cheering and yelling that went up from the park that night. The party continued on for quite a while.

Eventually I went home and, a few months later, with all the adrenaline gone from an exhausted city, moved back to Connecticut.

The MOOC and Me: Game On!

I submitted another homework assignment to the Harvard CS50 intro programming on-line class yesterday. They're becoming more fun and, seemingly at least, getting easier as we go along although that impression may be because I might actually be learning something.

This last assignment was to complete building a version of the game "Breakout." This was our introduction to graphical objects and it seemed much more intuitive and commonsensical. Maybe it's because I'm getting used to C programming but the grammar and syntax of the Stanford Portable Library just makes perfect sense to me. With one exception, I didn't have any of the screeching-halt, head-against-the-wall, days-long roadblocks I've encountered with the other assignments. (The minor exception was a simple case of a stray return command that prevented the game from restarting with the next life after losing one. Delete line. Fixed. Two days.)

So far I've received perfect scores on all my submissions. Now, we're getting into forensics (manipulating bitmaps and restoring jpegs). I'm beginning to feel the time pressure of the end of year deadline as the assignments become more technical and complex since I also have to leave enough time for an original end-of-class final project.

At least I know, whenever I get frustrated, now I can break out the old "Breakout" and waste a few minutes. It's like building your own therapy.

(And a Couple More of) The Many Ways to Die in Paradise

Earlier in the week it was all about being struck by lightning while strolling on the beach.

(Surfing with Death)

(Death)

But you can also go down to the beach and get infected by flesh eating bacteria. At least ten people have died so far this year from flesh eating bacteria. They (the bacteria, that is) live in the warm water and enter the body through open sores or wounds. Or you can eat tainted shellfish. And if your immune system isn't perfect, the death rate can be up to 50%.

Or you could stay out of the water, watch what you eat, and only go to the beach on sunny, cloudless days. In which case, an airplane will land on you. They do it all the time.

(One of) The Many Ways To Die in Paradise

We're not quite Australia when it comes to killing off our residents and visitors, but we're not bad at it either.

One way we do it is with free-range electricity. While we don't get a lot of people that way in absolute numbers, we are the best in the nation when it comes to surprise, unsolicited (non-judicial) electrocutions.

Last week, three people were struck by one bolt of lightning on one of our barrier islands. An older guy, his teenage niece and her teenage boyfriend. The uncle apparently took the bolt directly to his head and, rather unsurprisingly, died instantly. The same bolt then jumped to the young man burning a hole in his chest and temporarily killing him, too. (Rescue workers, and his girlfriend were eventually able to revive him but he'd been out for almost an hour and, although he is now in the hospital and expected to live, the doctors are pretty much hinting that brain damage is a given.) The young woman escaped physical damage but, even with counseling, the psychological scars and probable PTSD may never go away.

They'd gone out strolling on the beach when it was clear but the clouds rolled in fast and they were heading back to shelter when they were struck.

Further Blurring the Distinction Between Here and There

It was a slightly less humid than normal evening last night, so when my brother went out to the bar to watch his Red Sox play (the local TV only carries their games regularly during Spring Training when they play right across the river, besides it's a good excuse to get out for a while) he let the cats out onto the foyer. Mittens wasn't interested but Jasmine and Paribanour took up the invitation.

An hour or so later, having put food in their dishes, I opened the door to collect them only to find both cats hyper-intensely poking at the base of the wall. I thought at first I might have to take another lizard away from them (all three of them had found one in my room a few days ago, sans tail (no idea if that was their doing), causing me to lock them out when it disappeared under the desk where I couldn't find it until I caught Jasmine with a tailless lizard corpse after I suspect it tried to get out of my room on its own) but I was wrong.

They had cornered a baby snake.

It couldn't have been more than a foot long and looked more like a really energetic worm. How it got inside? The same way the lizards do, I'm sure, probably even easier without legs sticking out. Why it came in FSM only knows. I confess to dancing out of the way when it wriggled too close; my excuse is I was barefoot.

I had to physically toss the cats back in the house (Jasmine twice) to get them to leave the poor thing alone and by the time I succeeded it had managed to hide itself off in some nook or cranny and I couldn't find it again. If it's smart it will figure out how to get back out in the garden where it belongs.

Consequences and Repercussions

I failed to qualify to donate blood/platelets for the first time, ever, yesterday. My red blood cell count was too low. We tested it twice to be sure.

And then we all suddenly remembered that last time they took a unit of red cells (by accident) along with the platelets and, of course, it takes time for the red cells to be replaced which is why whole blood donors are limited to once every eight weeks and platelet donors can give as often as every other week. So they got the unit of whole blood but now they've lost the unit of platelets.

And I was disqualified. They had to dismantle all the tubing and bags and stuff from the machine (since no one else was scheduled for platelets after me). I hung around for a few minutes and we discussed cats and mango recipes and then I took a cookie for my troubles and went home again.

My next scheduled appointment is right at the eight-week window so I should be good to go by then.

Let's All Get on the Same Page, Shall We?

The local deadtree news had an article the other day noting this year's mango harvest was due to be much smaller than usual thanks to a very wet winter out on the barrier islands that produce most of our commercial mangoes. Some farmers have basically closed up shop and not even bothered to harvest this year.

Of course, the article came out just days before the mango festival and now the organizers are busy reassuring everyone that, no, in fact, there will be plenty of mangoes for the festival, please come on down and don't stay home with your money.

All I know is yesterday's breakfast was yogurt loaded up with an equal volume of mangoes. Lunch included a helping of mango bread pudding. Dinner was a chicken breast over rice smothered in mango salsa. A couple slices of mango bread (with cranberries and walnuts) made for a late snack. Breakfast today was corn flakes covered with chunks of mango. Lunch included another slice of mango bread.  Dinner tonight will be lamb vindaloo with a side of mango chutney and a dish of ice cream topped with chopped mangoes for dessert. The kitchen counter is covered in a layer of mangoes waiting to be peeled and chopped. There are another half dozen+ whole fruits in the refrigerator along with seven containers of prepared fruits (although, in all honesty, some of them are smaller "single serving" size cups).

But then, that's just our one tree. And it's pretty much done for the season, now.

Well, I Guess That Answers That Question

It turns out unripe mangoes that have been knocked off the tree too soon by a violent storm will ripen up just fine, thank you very much, on the kitchen counter if left alone and the cats don't decide to play with them.

And now some of the ripe ones are falling and suddenly there are dozens of mangoes to chop up. Or give away.

My brother has taken a couple dozen whole mangoes off to work to bestow on his co-workers. I have spent three days cutting up the rest. Not counting the bowls full we have already eaten (my brother takes one to work almost every day for his lunch), there are five or six full containers now in the refrigerator waiting to be made into salsa or chutney or just spooned onto ice cream or eaten with other fruit or just plain. But, at least there are no more on the counter for now and I am completely caught up.

Until tomorrow.

One Close Call

Holy Shit!!

I never want to be that close to a lightning strike ever again!

We're back in the cycle of afternoon thunderstorms and some of them have been pretty intense. Yesterday, I was coming out of the library as a storm approached (actually I was just stepping out long enough to make sure I had my car windows rolled up). The sun was still out although there were massive clouds gathering all around, including right over head. I looked up just in time to see the flash.

It forked into two main branches with a number of smaller ones splitting off even further. One branch arced over the library and the other came pretty much straight down. The crash of thunder shook the building and everything around about while the after-image was still burning into my retina. I could feel the concussive effect of the collapsing air pocket, much like standing close in to a fireworks display.

The crew of Mexican gardeners working on the lawn and the plantings at the base of the palm trees didn't react at all, but then they were all wearing industrial strength earphones to deaden the roar of their own equipment. I'd say that's a testimonial to the headgear's effectiveness.

We had another storm last night, after I got home, which moved directly overhead and was intense enough to freak out the cats. And another one is rolling in as I type. Still, I can't imagine I'll ever get that up close and personal with a lightning bolt again.

Oopsie!

Went in for my platelet donation today. The "new" phlebotomist (the same one I had last time, new to this location, not to the hospital system or the profession) had me again and, again, she did an excellent job picking a vein and maintaining the draw without me making the machine beep all over the place. But . . ..

She pressed the wrong button.

She pressed the wrong button when she started my session and, instead of donating the usual unit of platelets, I ended up giving two units of platelets and one of whole blood.

It's not a problem per se (my platelet count was up and my iron is good) it's just that it wasn't the plan and nobody noticed until I was almost finished when I looked at the screen on the apheresis machine and noticed the column indicating platelets processed was maxed out (as it should be when done) yet she was telling me I had ten more minutes to go. Then I noticed another column, which had never been active during any other session of mine, rapidly counting up milliliters of . . . something.

The bags were obscured by the screen itself so I didn't notice them until staff realized what had happened but, yes, there were indeed three of them and they were full. Two white and one red, all from the same vineyard.

The good news is: I didn't beep even once, a record for me. The bad news is: I'm tired and my fingertips are wrinkly as if I just got out of a long bath.

I think I deserved the T-shirt this time.

I'm going to take a nap, now.

Chutney, Anyone?

We haven't had a storm like this weekend's one in over a year. I could tell by the way the cats freaked out.

It was a pretty good one, too. Came up out of the Gulf with howling winds, lashing rains whipping horizontally off the roof, lightning flashing all around and thunder rattling the windows. The kids didn't know what to make of it. They'd never experienced anything close to it in their short lives and sat in the middle of the living room shivering and crying softly. I tried to cuddle them but it didn't seem to help. They couldn't make up their minds if they wanted to be held or left alone.

Their mom, on the other hand, new exactly how she wanted to deal with it, although I didn't figure that out until after the storm was pretty well over. When it had died down to a mere downpour, I went into the kitchen and, while I was chopping tomatoes, the pantry door opened. There was Jasmine. When the storm started she'd managed to open the door, climb inside the pantry and close it behind her. She rode it out in the dark, but at least she was in a confined, dry place which made her happy. If we ever do get flooded out and have to evacuate, at least I'll know where to look for her.

Our low spot out back flooded as per usual but drained away again almost immediately. The only real down side to the storm (aside from a few broken branches in the street) was that it knocked down over two dozen mangoes--none of them anywhere near ripe, yet.

I collected them all once the rain tapered off to a drizzle and they're on the kitchen counter but I doubt more than half a dozen will ripen enough to be salvaged. Fortunately, there are still about twice as many still on the tree.

In the meantime, I'm off to find recipes for unripe Alice mangoes.

A Midsummer Night's Light Show

When I returned home yesterday evening the sky was overcast (we're back in a cycle of clear, bright mornings and rainy afternoons/evenings) so I settled in to watch the Rays lose another baseball game and didn't think about the night sky until I went to take the trash out before going to bed (about 1:30 a.m.).

The clouds near us had all gone away and the nearly full Moon was so bright it turned the sky a dark pale blue. Despite the glare, Mars was still visible just to the west and Saturn just to the east of the Moon. It was too bright to use the telescope on them, though.

However, the best part was much closer to home. Although the sky overhead was clear there was a huge arc of cumulus clouds along the horizon from south to west, all illuminated by moonglow. In addition, both ends of the arc were lit up by lightning. I couldn't really see the detail off to the west, only occasional flashes, but the thunder cell to the south was continuously active with streaks and bursts of light chasing across and around the clouds, often behind but sometimes with lightning bolts in front arcing across the sky and looking like nothing so much as an animation of nerve impulses racing through a brain.

There was no breeze and the clouds were far enough away (about 50 miles, or just south of Marco Island. I checked the weather radar later) that no thunder could be heard. Just a silent, unending, living light show under the Moon and planets and motionless palms.

I stood there for a good half hour just enjoying this awesome world.

But, Then Again, It's Not the Last Minute, Yet

Well, Hurricane Season has officially started as of the beginning of the month and, although the daily rain cycle of last week has broken and the skies are clear again, already the local weather reports have added a special warning-imminent crisis segment just for hurricanes, of which there are none around and only one potential one way over the horizon on the Pacific coast of Mexico.

But, y'know, that named tropical storm could cross over Mexico losing most of its energy on the way and depositing the remnants into the Gulf where they might survive as some sort of disturbance that has a theoretical chance of affecting us. Someday. Maybe. It could happen.

It's never too early to start panicking.

On the other hand, it's been almost a decade since our last real hurricane and an awful lot of people have moved in since then and don't know--or just plain forgot--what a true cyclonic storm can be like. I know we've let our own food stocks slip a bit, and we haven't tested any of our batteries, lights, etc., recently.

My brother got a quote on replacing our roof but that's not something he intends to do immediately so, if we do get hit, we will be under a 25 year old roof.

And somebody official (not sure who) just released a new flood map of the county that puts us under threat for 3 feet of water from storm surge although it's not clear what size storm they're referencing, or its likelihood, or where exactly they measured the three feet from. If it's from the main road we could still be mostly O.K. since the house is built on a small rise (coincidentally, about three feet) above street level.

And now, of course, if we do have to evacuate, we'll need something to carry the cats in.

So maybe a little panic-mongering from the local weather folk is what we need to start prepping after all.

Transitions

Well, we broke down and turned on the air conditioning. Mostly for the dehumidifying effect although it did get up to 90F (32C) in the house the other day (which was only about three degrees less than outside).

The cats don't like it, which is a little surprising since when it is off they lie around like furry little rag dolls and when it's on they wake up, move around, play, eat, etc. Their disapproval stems mostly, I think, because we have to run around and close all the windows and doors before cranking up the system and that deprives them of their favorite hobby, clawing through the screens.

We set the thermostat at 83 because, like I said, it's mostly about the humidity. We're not officially in Rainy Season yet, but we've gotten into a cyclic pattern of bright, clear mornings and afternoon/evening thunderstorms. Once the storm passes with the resulting humidity drop, night time is wonderful with soft, cool breezes and we turn everything off and open all the windows and doors again. By noon the next day it's time to close up and repeat. Eventually, as we get into summer we'll have to just seal it all up completely until fall.

The MOOC and Me: Validation

I received my certificate from the Catholic University of Louvain for "successfully" completing the course Paradigms of Computer Programming.

"Successfully" is in quotes because it turned out I was in over my head and, while I did learn a great deal on the philosophical/abstract side, the practical work was mostly beyond my current skill level and the certificate represents what we used to call, back when college was for wastrel scions (aka "Legacies") who needed a little polishing before entering the family business, a "Gentleman's C."* It certainly doesn't qualify me to do anything other than, maybe, discuss tail-recursion and nod knowingly when others speak of explicit state, data abstraction and object oriented programming.

I downloaded everything I could from the course, mostly lectures and slides and such which I can now review at my leisure, but the problem sets, which were where I fell down, could not be saved.

In the meantime, I can now get back to the Harvard CS50 Introduction to Programing course which I had to suspend because Louvain had a tight deadline for completion. (Turns out it was too tight and they had to extend it by two weeks or risk losing a number of students but I still couldn't do both at the same time. Also didn't help that my laptop crashed right at the deadline for completing the final exam.) CS50 is geared much more to someone of my noobiness and is practically open-ended requiring only that I complete it by the end of the year. Plus the upcoming problem sets look to be much more fun, and less academically mathematical, than the Louvain ones.

Of course, none of the above is hinted at in the Louvain certificate, which will look good on the wall.

*The concept is not entirely obsolete. Cf: W at Yale.

Detailing: If It's Worth Doing, It's Worth Doing Eventually

As I was getting ready to leave the house for my platelet donation this morning a couple of city trucks pulled up on our main street (the one with the recent sidewalk installation). A couple of workers got out with chain saws and I thought, "Uh oh, here we go again," but, fortunately, I went out to take a look at what they were up to before waking my brother.

They did trim a little underbrush from around the power pole at the north corner of our property but just so they could get in and uproot the duplicate pole leftover from whenever they had replaced them all last. Quite a few poles along that street have these residual "stumps." They've been cut down to remove the crossbars and be lower than the wires attached to the active poles but they're still a good 12 - 15 feet tall.

I have no idea when the switchover was done. It was well before I moved down here so, at the very least, it's been years that the old poles have stood adjacent to the new ones. I guess someone finally noticed.

One of the trucks had a large log grabber on an extendible articulated arm. Once the space was cleared it gently reached over, grabbed the redundant pole and yanked it out. Neighbor Dan also had doubles on his property and apparently his was dug in pretty deep because the grabber had to twist it back and forth to loosen it up enough for the pull. It was kind of like watching an old-time dentist pull teeth.

At least now someone at city works can finally close the book on that little project.

And my donation, managed by a new tech, went super well.

A Man's Got To Know His Limitations

My laptop seized up a few days ago and I could not figure out how to unfreeze it. It went into hibernation mode for some reason, although the battery was not run down. I dozed off while holding it on my lap and apparently randomly passed my hand(s) over just the right key combinations to make it go catatonic.

I tried fixing it myself, Googling "laptop frozen keyboard." It's dismaying how many sites there are and how full and active they seem to be. I tried the various recommended key combinations, pressing the power button for extended time, with and without the power cord, etc. All to no avail. The consensus seemed to be either a bad keyboard or a bad hard drive and suggested pulling the battery to reset the machine. I got as far as pulling the back off before chickening out when I realized I didn't see any obvious way to reconnect the keyboard and screen cables I'd have to detach to have room to access the battery.

Yesterday, I took it to a local computer repair shop. If you totalled the ages of all the employees there they might equal mine. Fortunately, the young gentleman who repaired my machine in 30 seconds with three keystrokes also had excellent social and diplomatic skills and did not make me feel any more stupid or incompetent than I did (or am) already.

Today I brought them my ancient desktop PC for them to transfer files which I can no longer access because the CRT monitor had blown up. (And the operating system is too ancient to sync up without some intermediate steps.)

Also, the keyboard on the laptop still (again) didn't work (but only not within Windows) which I was pretty, but not entirely, sure wasn't my fault this time. For once, I was right. When he disabled the hibernate function yesterday, my repair guy accidentally disabled the keyboard as well. A couple more keystrokes and everything is back to normal. They even showed me what they did so as to ensure I never touch that part of the OS again.

Now I'm waiting to hear back from them about the transferred files. The whole episode should cost me $35.

For anyone reading this who happens to be in the neighborhood: PC Support Group. I recommend them.

The Best Laid Schemes . . .

My niece was tentatively scheduled to go home last Monday. I am astonished by the speed at which people can recuperate from major surgery these days mostly as a result of improvements in surgical practice that minimize trauma to the body. When I was a kid, people stayed in hospital longer recovering from tonsillectomies (surgery like she had wasn't even possible).

As it was, those plans went agley when she suddenly developed a level three (whatever that means, but it was serious) heart block and they rushed her back into the OR and installed a pacemaker. I'd like to think her heart, after struggling for years and years just to keep her alive, suddenly reacted to the lack of stress due to all the new replacement parts and upgrading and sort of "overclocked." Or kind of like pushing and pushing on a stuck door when someone finally removes the doorstop on the other side (not that that's ever happened to anyone I know).

So now not only does she have bionic bits, she's battery powered as well.

At least she got a nice visit from a cute service dog. And will stay in the hospital for another week or so. Just to be sure.

Thank You, One and All

After a long day and night I think this Facebook post from my niece's Mom says it all:

"Caitlin's father spent the night with Caitlin in the ICU. She
looks good and had a good night. Dr. Baird did some pretty
extensive work on her yesterday. He reworked her tricuspid valve
and tightened it with a ring, put in a titanium mitral valve,
replaced a patch covering the hole in the septum, trimmed off some...
scar tissue, adjusted a small group of heart muscles, and performed
an ablation to the right side of her heart. In ICU now and they are
keeping her asleep for a little while longer."

That's a hell of a lot for a fourteen-year-old to go through (and not for the first time) but her Dad reports that the oxygen tubes are out and she's breathing on her own although still drowsy from the sedatives. The use of an artificial valve this time means she should not have to ever do this again.

In a previous century she never would have made it this far, and I am extremely grateful to not just the superb surgeons who have the skill and talent to perform such work, but also to all the people over the years who developed the techniques and trained the doctors, who invented and manufactured the tools and replacement parts and those who built and maintain the organizations that could bring them all together to accomplish something so extraordinary. And to my fellow citizens, who help to pay for it all through your taxes and insurance premiums. This is the definition of civilization and, today, my niece and her/my family are the beneficiaries.

Thank you. May it all be there for you when you need it.

Nothing To Do But Wait

So today is the culmination of weeks and months of growing anxiety as my sweet, beautiful niece goes into surgery, yet again. She's fourteen and this is her fourth open heart operation. It was originally scheduled for last month but she came down with the flu a week before that date and had to reschedule.


I think at least part of the anxiety (our own, that is) comes from knowing that she is now old enough to be aware of the risks herself. The first two operations occurred when she was an infant and the last one a couple of years ago, but fourteen is a good age to have a real grip on your own mortality.


She's pretty good, although not perfect, at hiding her nervousness and spent yesterday evening swimming in the hotel pool in Boston before going in for pre-op.


The first three operations involved stitching together her heart valves and repairing leaks but they just wouldn't hold up permanently, so this one will install an artificial valve that should last.


One of her big brothers, the middle one who was just sent by the Navy on an extended tour of the Eastern Mediterranean and Black Seas (Romania, Israel and Greece, so far), made a video for her wishing her well because he couldn't be there this time. His political consciousness was formed almost entirely by 9/11 and tends to be somewhere to the right of John McCain but he is a sweet, caring, loving human being and the best big brother anyone could ask for and I'm quite proud of him.


I just received a report from her Dad that the operation is proceeding satisfactorily. They have finished replacing one valve and are working on the second one now. She went under around 8:30 this morning and the expect to be done in another couple of hours.


So we continue to wait.

This Is How the Kids Learn Bad Habits

My brother spent yesterday afternoon repairing the screens on three different windows after two of the cats busted out of the joint over the weekend.

We're at that golden time of the year when it's warm enough not to need to keep heat in the house and cool enough not to need the air conditioning and so virtually every window is open 24/7. The cats like to sit on the sills and fiddle with the screens (or, sometimes, claw at them if they see, or imagine, something is out there).

Over the weekend, Jasmine and daughter, Mittens, managed to shred (very quietly, while no one was looking) the screen in one of the windows of the breakfast nook. They chose the window with the barbecue grill parked underneath so they didn't have a high jump down onto the ground but could take it in steps. I don't know how long they were out before I noticed how quiet it was and went looking, in vain, through all the rooms for them. It was a good ten minutes of searching before I noticed Jasmine under the mango.

This was Mittens' first time out and she seemed a little spooked by it all. She was still by the grill and tried jumping back in the window that way when I came for her, but I had already closed it. She was easy to catch and, I think, a little relieved to be returned to safety.  Jasmine, on the other hand, had made a career of living rough before she came to us all knocked up and she was enjoying herself out there. I couldn't get within ten feet of her. I put a dish of kibble in the lanai and tried to block off all but one access route but she didn't fall for it. I consoled myself with the realization that she's grown so fat she poses no threat to the birds, or the squirrel or any but the stupidest lizard.

Three hours later, after sunset, she came to the front door in the pitch dark and begged to come in.

I mentioned up top that my brother repaired three windows. That's because this wasn't Jasmine's first breakout. She went through the bottom of the screen in his bathroom window a couple weeks ago and I noticed her wandering through the lanai and snagged her then (which may be why she stayed out of it this time). She also damaged the window over his tub.

Meanwhile, Paribanour lay comfortably atop her DVR set top box the whole time. She got out, accidentally, once before for all of two minutes and less than a foot from the front door and did not like it at all, no thank you. She much prefers her TV/DVR/my laptop and other tech to adventuring in the wild.

Immortality (Such as It Is). Achievement: Unlocked



Six or so years ago, when I was still in Salt Lake City and GM of a large independent bookstore, we were approached by a site scout for the director, Jared Hess, and asked if we would be willing to be the setting for several scenes of the movie he was then shooting, Gentlemen Broncos. I did some calculations and came up with a price that would cover our lost sales, rent and salaries/wages. They were amenable, we signed a contract and in due course everyone got two days surprise paid vacation. A couple of my booksellers tried out to be extras in the book signing scene and one of them is in the line of fans but it's difficult to spot her because a) they put everyone in some sort of fanish costume and b) she's not that tall and is blocked out by the people at the front of the line.

Looking toward the front entrance. Jennifer is back there, somewhere.

I was asked to be the onsite representative of the company to make sure there was no damage done to our property and that everything was put back where it belonged when they were done. The crew came in, took photos of everything and then completely redid the main floor of the store. They had mock-up books, both hardcover and paperback, posters, banners (for which our store was uniquely suited) and PoP displays. They built, dismantled and rebuilt a set of mini railroad tracks for the camera. The camera crew arrived as did the actors. The make-up artists began work in the cafe. There were probably forty-odd members of the cast and crew present, not counting the extras.

Michael Angarano and Jermaine Clement on set at our front info desk.
My office is on the balcony all the way in the back upstairs.

There was a tense moment when, just as shooting was about to start, Jared Hess noticed a distinct humming sound that turned out to be from our fluorescent lights. Disaster was averted when the sound guy announced he could digitally remove the buzz later. After that, everything went smoothly and they paid me a ridiculous amount of money to stand around and do nothing for two days.


And thus to the point of the story:  They were basically done shooting having just wrapped the scene where Ronald Chevalier's plagiarized book is unceremoniously swept from the shelves when Jared Hess (I don't really know him well enough to call him Jared but he's such a friendly, pleasant person that it feels just as weird to call him Mr. Hess) asked me if I wanted to be in a movie.

Well, duh!

So they shot an unscripted scene of me pushing a cartload of books down the main aisle. They said they couldn't shoot my face for SAG reasons (which was just as well because I was wearing a frayed old blue and white striped shirt as I wasn't planning to be "in public" that day). I pushed the cart down the aisle twice, tracked by the camera dolly. Then they broke set, put (almost) everything back in its proper place, and left.

And that was that. They paid me for my "acting." (About 3/4 of 1% of what they paid me to stand around.) I figured the offer to do a scene was just an ego boost and I'd end up either in the closing credits, if I was lucky, or, more likely, on the cutting room floor. I moved out of Salt Lake before the movie came out. It didn't do well, unfortunately, and I forgot all about it.

Until last night when it appeared on TV. I watched it. I admit to having a strange sense of humor, but I enjoyed it.

And there I was! My entire take! In the middle of the film (or at least in the middle of the resolution). You can't see my face; there is nothing identifiable about the person pushing the cart. There's no credit line. But it's me! Immortalized on film.

And I have the blue-striped shirt to prove it!

Jumping the Gun

It's three days before the special Republican primary election to select one of the candidates (and, given, the hard conservatism of this district, the likely winner) to replace our disgraced coke-headed Tea Party congressman and the local newspaper has done something I don't recall ever seeing before.

Their dead-tree edition has a front page story, covering the top two-thirds, effectively calling the race for one of the candidates based on a poll conducted earlier in the week. The headline reads, "ALL CLAWSON," with a picture of the candidate about twice as large as the others. (I think the size of the photo is equivalent to the per centage of favorable responses in the poll.) Clawson is an "outsider," a Tea Party darling and something of a carpetbagger, just like the last few congressmen from this district everyone is so embarrassed about.

The poll was conducted over three days and limited to registered Republicans (it's a closed primary) who claimed they were "certain" or "likely" to vote. There were 669 respondents. Further breakdown reveals that 91% were white, and 50% are over 65 years old. Another 36% are between 45 and 65. There's no telling how many of the remaining 14% are real close to 45 but as the Tea Partiers and other far right conservatives die off around the country, this will probably be their last stronghold.

Meanwhile, the actual election is still in progress. Early voting has been going on all week. Absentee ballots have reportedly been received at the county clerk's office in near record numbers. And the official election day isn't until Tuesday.

The cynic in me wonders if this is not a ploy by the newspaper (which is actually fairly moderate on political issues) to make Clawson supporters believe the election is in the bag, thereby lowering their turnout on election day and getting the followers of one of the also-rans fired up to go vote. Politics is dirty enough around here that it's possible.

A Very Long Day's Night

I had forgotten that the lunar eclipse was last night until just before it started so I hadn't taken a nap or otherwise prepared and was pretty well wiped out by show time.

Nevertheless, my brother and I took my telescopic Christmas present outside and spent some time alternating between the Moon and Mars. Mars, although much smaller, was brighter and a lighter, cleaner, friendlier red. The Moon was angrier, mottled by the intrinsic difference in brightness between the maria and the highlands. As the Moon darkened, Spica, which is currently just south of it and invisible in the glare of fullness, became temporarily prominent.

And then, once more, just as with every other astronomical event I try to watch, the clouds slid in. Thin, high cirrus, not thoroughly blocking naked eye viewing but destroying any chance of seeing through the telescope. Just before totality the Moon was obscured and Mars followed shortly. My brother went inside. I stayed out for a while and there were, indeed, moments where gaps allowed me to see a beautiful deep red eclipse but they were few and fleeting.

I packed up, finally, about 4 a.m. and went in. My brother had fallen asleep. I went out a couple more times without the 'scope but, although there was clear viewing off to the west, the clouds were coming up from the south and continued to hide the Moon and Mars.

I turned on NASA TV and tried to watch there but their music was awful and, in any event, clouds (perhaps the same high cirrus. Does NASA film from Kennedy Space Center?) soon swept across their shots, too.

Eternally optimistic, I now await the Leonids on Thursday. They should be coming right out of Mars. Unless there are clouds.

UPDATE:
Rain all afternoon and into the evening, frequently heavy. Clouds all night and today. Rain forecast for this afternoon and evening.

No Leonids meteor shower for us.

At the Sisyphus Garage

I've mentioned before my redneck brother's tendency to shop by price alone, hence his willingness to patronize WalMart for the slightly lower price without noticing the slightly smaller package size and slightly lower quality, but this series of truck repairs can not be blamed entirely on his choice of barely competent mechanics just because they charge less than his old one.

His truck was in and out (mostly in) the shop last week for headlight problems. Specifically, he didn't have any high beams. So he took it in for what should have been a simple replacement.

Tuesday: They put in new lamps and managed to disconnect the low beams. He brought it back.

Wednesday: They reconnected the low beams and managed to disconnect one of the new high beams. He brought it back.

Thursday: They broke the grill. He left it there overnight.

Friday: They installed a new grill. They double-checked all the connections and the alignments and guaranteed everything was in working order, which it was. My brother took it to work where one of his co-workers backed into him denting the grill and breaking one of the lamps.

The bozos at his garage got a big laugh out of that because, hey, at least it wasn't their fault.

This time.

Telling Time by the Pint

It's hard to believe I've been down here in Florida this long. The blood center at the hospital just sent me my seven gallon certificate.

At 8 pints per gallon, figuring in a donation every four weeks (next one is coming up on Thursday), allowing for maybe not starting right on the first month I got here and missing a few scheduled sessions because of either forgetting to stop my aspirin in time or complications (infiltrations, a collapsed vein, etc.), I'm still coming up on five years down here.

And the worst part is, I'm getting used to it, too. A lot of the redneck behavior is starting to seem more-or-less normal. I'm beginning to understand (although, thankfully, not yet sympathize with) the local politics. The endless procession of identical sunny days. 65F seems downright chilly, now, when the sun is behind clouds.

I may have to move back to someplace with seasons.

One of the Inmates May Be Making A Break For It

Neighbor Mike may be serious about moving.

First he had someone come in and officially delineate the property line between him and us. Shortly after that a family with a young daughter was wandering through his back yard. Last week a fat old beagle, answering to the name "Jersey," came snuffling around our lanai and two gentlemen I have never seen before came from behind Mike's house, apologized, and guided him back to their side. I suspect the parties in both instances may have been potential marks casing the joint.

This weekend there were a number of vehicles parked in Mike's driveway and along the side of the road in front of his place. Either they were friends/relatives there for an impromptu (and very quiet) daytime party, or he was holding some sort of garage sale to unload stuff he has no intention of packing when he goes.

He's being very discreet. There is no Sale sign in front of his place. So, no gawkers. Interested parties only, and through an agent.

I have noticed a number of new For Sale signs popping up around town in front of houses that are obviously occupied and well-tended so, apparently, the market is finally coming back up pretty near the lip of the crater that was the aftermath of the 2008 crash.

Who wants to be our neighbor? Can we get you to mow our side of the line, like Mike did? (Bonus: He tended to use our mower which he often borrowed without asking. We took his ladders. We're all kind of a commune that way.)

Otherwise, Yeah, It's Been Pretty Boring Around Here Lately

I find it hard to believe the geography on the other side of the road is that much different from our side but, apparently, it is because the sidewalk construction crew is improvising on the fly as they work their way back north.

Our side proceeded in a strict linear progression. I took a look at the other side as it moves closer and they're all over the place. There's about fifteen feet completed at the beginning of the project followed by a section where the forms have been placed but nothing poured, followed by another completed section, followed by a long scraped area interrupted by several driveways (at least one of which they have already rebuilt), followed by another completed section and ending up close to our place in a long patch with the forms installed.

It would seem there are some significant but otherwise not very noticeable low places that require filling in for which they were not prepared. There are a number of semi-buried drainage pipes along that side of the road. Perhaps they are afraid of altering the water flow. In any case, the work zone looks extremely haphazard and not nearly the model of managerial co-ordination that swept past us last month.

Large dump trucks keep dropping of mounds of dirt in the empty field across the way and the front loader shuttles back and forth carting the stuff away again but I see no more finished sidewalk than I did two weeks ago.

Miscellanea

We're still officially in the middle of Dry Season. (We are also in the middle of The Season, and High Season, both involving tourists from up north and the money they bring with. We have lots of overlapping "Seasons.") So, of course, tthe first big thunderstorm of the year arrived at noon, exactly as predicted, and my brother announced that his truck was dead. Fortunately, just the battery, so we spent a few minutes in the pouring rain using my new battery to jump his.

The sidewalk construction is over (directly in front of us, anyway). Tuesday morning a gang of six or seven came by with the front loader. It was carrying a stacked cube of lawn turves, each like a large flooring tile about two feet on a side. When the scraper went through at the start of construction, the path it made was more a suggestion of where the sidewalk could go rather than the exact line it would take and so the scraped area was a couple times wider than the ultimate installation. This bunch was filling in the divots, as it were, walking along beside the front loader as it crawled down the street, pulling turves from the stack and plopping them in place on both sides of the sidewalk. It was absolutely the largest crew I've seen working on any aspect of this project. When they were gone, the guy with the leaf blower came down the street again al by himself, pushing their dirt and droppings off the road, cleaning up after the parade. Today the cones came down and we are officially out of the construction zone.

The mango tree is covered, engulfed, smothered in blossoms. If even one per cent of them survive to become fruit we are going to be buried this summer. We gave away half our crop last year, ate mangoes every day for six months (mango ice cream, bowls of mango and mixed fruit, pancakes and French toast topped with mangoes, chilled mango salad, sweet potatoes with mango glaze, mango salsa, mango lassi, mango chutney, . . .), and we still have stocks in the freezer.

Progress Passes By

And we have a sidewalk.

On Friday, the workers came by and poured a slab about half the distance along our property. Unlike the old days where they would pour each small (maybe four foot long) section individually, they made one big long pour. Maybe they still do it the old way up north where there is danger of expansion and contraction while the concrete is curing but down here that doesn't seem to be an issue. Yesterday morning they came back and poured the rest in an equally long section.

While they were laying down the second pour, a guy with a stone cutter saw worked on the first, now mostly dry, section and carved little fake section lines crosswise at regular intervals so it looks like a traditional sidewalk. When they were done pouring, one guy came back with a squeegee broom and carefully brushed the concrete level texturing it (also crosswise) while two other went down to the end at the intersection between the sidewalk road and our little street and laid down a bright yellow, knobbly textured plastic mat to mark the end of the walk for the vision-impaired and tamped it down to road level eliminate and curb effect. They stood on it for a moment and then placed custom designed weights on it and left them while the concrete set.

Today, they were back one last time. The stonecutter sliced his lines into the second pour, which was already dry enough to walk on, They pulled the metal guide rails out of the entire strip and a guy with a leaf blower went up and down the bike lane blowing all the dust and debris back off the road. Now they're all across our street, working away along Neighbor Dan's place. They're almost to the end of the road and might have the west-side sidewalk completely in before St. Patrick's Day.

Then we get to watch the rest of the summer while they move back north working on the east side of the road.

Fer Mowin' or Fer Ownin'?

Which is the punchline to an Old New England Farmer joke: A guy moves up from the big city and buys a smallish farm next door to a native New Englander. While inspecting his purchase he notices that there are no boundary markers and the fields just sort of merge into each other. He approaches the old farmer and asks, "Say, neighbor, can you tell me where my property ends and yours begins?" The farmer thinks on it for a moment and responds, asking, "Depends. . . . (see headline, above).

It's one of the reasons Robert Frost thought good walls made good neighbors. There is no wall between our place and Neighbor Mike's.

Which is not any kind of issue, except that Neighbor Mike has apparently thought recently of selling and, as part of the plan, called in someone to examine his place and his title to it and that person discovered that Mike has been mowing a strip of our property almost from the very beginning. As a matter of fact, at least one of Mike's irrigation sprinkler heads is buried a couple of feet over on our side of the line.

My brother discovered this a few days ago when he went looking for a place to plant the pecan tree (potentially awesome present) he received for Christmas. (Actually,what he got for Christmas was a picture of a pecan tree, but the actual stick finally showed up courtesy of UPS.) He noticed a string running parallel to what he thought was our property line and followed it to little flags staked out to the front and back of the territory. Mike confirmed that the survey says everything to the east of the string is actually ours.

It's not much. A few hundred square feet at most. Despite nobody knowing where the real line was, and despite Mike mowing it, he has not, by his actions, claimed it and we have not alienated it.  And now we all know, so it stays ours.

Although we have to admit: Mike did a good job caring for it.

Infills, Outtakes and a Successful Tantrum

They laid in the metal guide rails for the sidewalk concrete this morning.

They started to do it yesterday but my brother chased them away (I was out at the time) when they called in a private tree trimming service (which contracts to the city) to butcher the live oak. Despite being able to run the loader/grader last week without any interference from the tree, somebody decided it was suddenly in the way and ordered it cut back. The ASPLUNDH clowns managed to take one major branch down before my brother knew they were there. They cut it off a good 20 feet back from the path of the proposed sidewalk and were getting ready to hack off another, higher, one (and therefore less in the way, even theoretically) when he stopped them.

They claimed they had to cut it back to the power pole line but had no answer when my brother demanded to know why they hadn't, therefor, touched the palm tree that fairly abuts the sidewalk right-of-way. He told them they were full of shit and that he was going to file a complaint. All of them, tree butchers and sidewalk layers alike, were packed up and gone in the time it took him to go into the house, get his phone and come back outside.

This morning, 7 a.m., the sidewalk guys were back, laying out the guide rails, snapping them together end-to-end, spiking them into place and leveling them. And very carefully not stepping off the right-of-way onto our property.

When they were done, a guy with a mini-front loader came down and began hauling dirt from a pile they had deposited in the vacant field across the street. The rigid and straightened rails didn't always touch the ground and there were gaps and low points all along the way that needed to be topped up or else the concrete would (slowly) flow all over the place. It took about ten trips and, for the record, the loader never left the street pavement, except for one pass, after all the dirt was deposited, in order to level out the fill inside the rails. It looks nice.

We sincerely hope this bunch passes on the warning to the crew that comes next to pour the concrete.

Meanwhile, they've moved across our road and started to scrape Neighbor Mike's place.