"The Godfather Epic" was on TV last night, and I happened upon it at the point where Michael is visiting his father in the hospital and is then brutally assaulted by the police captain. I watched it until the final scene of the origninal movie, when he lies to his wife straight-faced about killing his sister's husband Carlo.
Until I read about "the epic" version this morning, I hadn't known what was up. If you remember, Godfather II had two stories in it--the early life of Vito and then Michael's life after the move to Vegas. The origninal movie sort of "fit" in between the two story lines of the second movie. I think cutting it all up and presenting it chronologically (as the epic does), makes a lot of sense, and I need to set aside the requisite seven hours someday to take it all in thusly.
What's important though, is that I was able to rope The Kitten into watching the movie with me last night. I don't beleive she's ever watched more than a couple of minutes of it, mostly passing through rooms where I have been watching. It is difficult for me to not watch The Godfather...sort of like "The Shawshank Redemption" in that regard.
But she sat down and watched when I said, "sit down with me and watch this. I promise to answer every single question you may have." I think this appealed to her, as I can on occasion, not be as generous with my time whilst watching the telly.
And so we watched, and she would pipe up now and then to ask a question, which I answered enthusiastically. After all, the prospect of adicting her to The Godfather was offering itself, and I was not going to pass this up.
This morning, we were discussing the movie--a movie I've watched dozens of times; a movie in which I can recite line after line. And The Kitten did something that she has a habit of doing--she caused me to look at something I'd looked at over and over--in an entirely new way.
You see, I spent a good part of the last part of the movie talking to her about how well I thought the filmmakers portrayed Michael's descent into evil, how well Pacino under-acted (for the only time in his career) in a particularly effective way. I've always admired Michael in a perverse sort of way for the focus and method he brought to the elimination of his competition on the day of his nephew's Baptism. What I NEVER realized is the degree to which this meister stroke was cooked up with Vito before Vito's death! All along, I had thought Michael and Michael alone had cooked this up, and waited for his father to die to implement it. Not so--as the Kitten pointed out.
In the scene where Michael and Vito are in the garden, Vito informs Michael that Barzini will try to arrrange a meeting, and that the person who brokers the meeting is a traitor. All along I've believed that the Don was talking matter of factly about a future event that was bound to happen. What I NEVER realized was that they were engaged in transistion planning, that the Don was speaking specifically to WHAT WOULD HAPPEN WHEN HE DIED, when the terms of the "deal" among the five families would be considered null and void. Even as he was failing--the Don was the visionary, the Don was the strategist. Here I was thinking Michael to be a prodigy with an edge that even his father hadn't possessed. But I was wrong.
Later, during the scene when Clemenza and Tessio ask the Don to allow them to start their own families, Michael talks about great events that were in motion. Every previous time I've watched that scene--I assumed he was talking about the move to Vegas. But he wasn't. He was talking about a Shakespearean display of power designed to shock and awe La Cosa Nostra -- planned jointly by him and his father! Vito and Michael realized that when the Don was gone, Michael's position would be perilous. Their plan was so breathtakingly perfect, that it simply could not be discussed with ANYONE else in that room--as we see from Tessio's eventual defection.
Again--I've watched these movies over, and over, and over again--and I simply saw all of this as a sign of Michael's evil virtuosity. But it was not just that. It was Vito's genius.
And I needed a rookie watching it all with intent for the first time to show it to me. There is a lesson here.
Sunday, September 18, 2016
Sunday, September 11, 2016
This Day
Many of you know that the Kitten's husband and the Kittens' father perished today in the second tower to be hit in NY 15 years ago. It is never a wonderful day here, but they muddle through, and I try not to be in the way.
My crappy scheduling/increasingly busy life meant that I needed to be in San Diego early this week, so that means flying on this day in which airplanes figured so prominently.
It is--as was that day--beautiful here. Most September 11's are beautiful on the Eastern Seaboard. I wonder if any inquiry has been made on whether it is one of the most reliably consistent good weather days of the year.
I have been alternating between deadline work necessary to complete before flying today and meandering through social media to see how the savages are dealing with the day. So far, pretty good. Nothing in my various feeds that causes me to shake my head. At least not today.
I do long for the feeling this country had in the days and months following the attack, especially in this particularly polarized time. I am certain that it can be achieved again without a national calamity, but I just don't see leaders on the horizon who seek it as an animating goal--or at least some portion of it. I realize that the degree of unity then was outsized, but then again so is today's disunity. We can do better. I am thinking every day about how to help bring that about.
My crappy scheduling/increasingly busy life meant that I needed to be in San Diego early this week, so that means flying on this day in which airplanes figured so prominently.
It is--as was that day--beautiful here. Most September 11's are beautiful on the Eastern Seaboard. I wonder if any inquiry has been made on whether it is one of the most reliably consistent good weather days of the year.
I have been alternating between deadline work necessary to complete before flying today and meandering through social media to see how the savages are dealing with the day. So far, pretty good. Nothing in my various feeds that causes me to shake my head. At least not today.
I do long for the feeling this country had in the days and months following the attack, especially in this particularly polarized time. I am certain that it can be achieved again without a national calamity, but I just don't see leaders on the horizon who seek it as an animating goal--or at least some portion of it. I realize that the degree of unity then was outsized, but then again so is today's disunity. We can do better. I am thinking every day about how to help bring that about.
Saturday, August 6, 2016
My Women Return
In a couple of hours, I will head to the train station to pick up The Kitten and the Kittens after their having been away for nearly a month.
In that time, my life went on at a new pace and rhythm, indulging my great capacity for selfishness while simultaneously yearning for human contact. This is a big place to occupy by oneself, even though the five occupants (me, two dogs, two cats) seem to occupy the same space most of the time (though the dogs don't get to sleep on the big bed). They simply aren't much for good conversation.
I have spent far too much time on Twitter in The Kittens' absence, but then also worked far too much because I had little to distract me from either. I transported my work area from the ManCave to the kitchen table in order to make use of the better view and also to not feel completely cut off from the world as I sometimes do out there.
My main housekeeping challenge has been animal hair, the one contibutor to messiness over which I had little control. I wouldn't say I'm frighteningly neat, but there is order where I reign, and as I so infrequently reign in the big house, it has been quite orderly. I will have to fight the impulse to try and maintain this state when they return later, as all it ever does is cause discord (they being not quite as fastidious as I).
When I was courting the Kitten, she used to make fun of my refrigerator, which was carefully and selectively stocked with a few condiments, coffee creamer, diet coke, some fresh vegetables, and leftover Chinese food (there was always leftover Chinese food). It was roomy and all of its contents could be surveyed from a quick glance at the door. She lampooned it as a "bachelor" refrigerator, that it looked as if no one lived there (hmph). This is how our family refrigerator looks today--it still has far too many dubious condiments (what in God's name is "Cashew Butter?), but it will not survive the first post-return trip to the market.
What I miss most is laughter. We all like to laugh, but our own laughter simply doesn't provide the same charge as the laughter of others. The Kitten is pretty clever, and while she is not a fan of my sarcasm, can be devlishly sarcastic herself (mine is sometimes a bit much, as some of you know). The older Kitten has a big, deep laugh, which sometimes seems odd coming from someone her size, but when I hear it, it instantly perks me up. I'll be downstairs doing something and I'll hear it from upstairs--and it will shortly be followed by the younger Kitten joining in. I wonder if my parents ever sat around by themselves and just listened to the laughter of their six kids, or smaller subsets thereof? It really is quite renewing.
We have a few weeks as a foursome before school starts, including another attempt on my part at a "staycation" (went into DC/Pentagon for three meetings that week). I have begun informing folks that I'm actually going to make this one stick, but we'll see.
In that time, my life went on at a new pace and rhythm, indulging my great capacity for selfishness while simultaneously yearning for human contact. This is a big place to occupy by oneself, even though the five occupants (me, two dogs, two cats) seem to occupy the same space most of the time (though the dogs don't get to sleep on the big bed). They simply aren't much for good conversation.
I have spent far too much time on Twitter in The Kittens' absence, but then also worked far too much because I had little to distract me from either. I transported my work area from the ManCave to the kitchen table in order to make use of the better view and also to not feel completely cut off from the world as I sometimes do out there.
My main housekeeping challenge has been animal hair, the one contibutor to messiness over which I had little control. I wouldn't say I'm frighteningly neat, but there is order where I reign, and as I so infrequently reign in the big house, it has been quite orderly. I will have to fight the impulse to try and maintain this state when they return later, as all it ever does is cause discord (they being not quite as fastidious as I).
When I was courting the Kitten, she used to make fun of my refrigerator, which was carefully and selectively stocked with a few condiments, coffee creamer, diet coke, some fresh vegetables, and leftover Chinese food (there was always leftover Chinese food). It was roomy and all of its contents could be surveyed from a quick glance at the door. She lampooned it as a "bachelor" refrigerator, that it looked as if no one lived there (hmph). This is how our family refrigerator looks today--it still has far too many dubious condiments (what in God's name is "Cashew Butter?), but it will not survive the first post-return trip to the market.
What I miss most is laughter. We all like to laugh, but our own laughter simply doesn't provide the same charge as the laughter of others. The Kitten is pretty clever, and while she is not a fan of my sarcasm, can be devlishly sarcastic herself (mine is sometimes a bit much, as some of you know). The older Kitten has a big, deep laugh, which sometimes seems odd coming from someone her size, but when I hear it, it instantly perks me up. I'll be downstairs doing something and I'll hear it from upstairs--and it will shortly be followed by the younger Kitten joining in. I wonder if my parents ever sat around by themselves and just listened to the laughter of their six kids, or smaller subsets thereof? It really is quite renewing.
We have a few weeks as a foursome before school starts, including another attempt on my part at a "staycation" (went into DC/Pentagon for three meetings that week). I have begun informing folks that I'm actually going to make this one stick, but we'll see.
Friday, July 22, 2016
Solitude
My women have abandoned me for their summer travels, and so I sit here at my kitchen table writing this blog post for the few people who will read it. The ManCave being too dark, I've moved myself here to enjoye the view and the light, although it puts me in the position of being keeper of the dogs, who feel that coming in and out of the house at oddly spaced intervals is their canine right. Another thing, I have dogs who know how to tell time, or at least close to it. The practice around this house is to feed them when we wake in the morning and then again at 5PM. Damn if these dogs don't start getting squirrly at 4:45PM.
I have a colossal amount of work to do, so much that I'll be working tonight, Saturday and Sunday here at my little desk view of paradise. This is is because of two things: 1) I am overextended, as I generally am in the summer for some reason and 2) I am unable to not nip onto Twitter at regular intervals and snark a bit to the masses. Please avail yourelf of the Twitter tool I have at the bottom of my main page if you'd like to see some of my offerings.
This is a big empty house when there are no girlies giggling or sounds coming from the various things the Kitten has playing on her computer while she works. A full week into this tomorrow morning (I was in SD for the first few days of their travels), with 2.5 weeks more to go.
This is my "Staycation" week. It was supposed to be my "Go to Cleveland for the RNC" week, but then, well, you know what happened there. So then I put my foot down and said that while the girls were gone, I'd have a no joke week off here to do as I please. Well, I've had to carry my ass into DC three times this week, and it hasn't made me a happy camper. I have another Staycation on the books for the week ending in Labor Day, and I damn well mean to be ruthless about observing it.
My annual war with the poolside crepe myrtle has begun, a little later this year. I have begged and begged the Kitten to trim it back, but she is a bit of a tree-whisperer and will hear nothing of it. Now I know some of you out there are thinking "hey, she's gone, go ahead and trim it back", but those sort of tactics do not serve me well here. As my friend Fred says, "while initially amusing, ultimately self-destructive".
One of the benefits of my being by myself is eating, although I eat pretty damn well when the crew is here. But I've taken to trying to eat some of the things that have accumulated in our freezer that seem never to make it onto the dinner menu. For some odd reason, I found two lobster tails in there this afternoon (of undetermined age), and so I cooked them up and warmed the bit of ribeye I put aside last night for an ersatz "surf and turf". Whilst rummaging, I also came across a number of bags of frozen scallops, which could prove tasty. I just need not be too picky on the expiration dates.
It has been a beautiful summer week here, and by the looks of the weather report, we have another week of hot and sunny ahead of us. Of concern looming on the horizon is some rain late in the week. I'm having a few folks over for a cookout a week from now, and would dearly like it to be a nice day.
Ok---I'm rambling--have a great Friday night.
I have a colossal amount of work to do, so much that I'll be working tonight, Saturday and Sunday here at my little desk view of paradise. This is is because of two things: 1) I am overextended, as I generally am in the summer for some reason and 2) I am unable to not nip onto Twitter at regular intervals and snark a bit to the masses. Please avail yourelf of the Twitter tool I have at the bottom of my main page if you'd like to see some of my offerings.
This is a big empty house when there are no girlies giggling or sounds coming from the various things the Kitten has playing on her computer while she works. A full week into this tomorrow morning (I was in SD for the first few days of their travels), with 2.5 weeks more to go.
This is my "Staycation" week. It was supposed to be my "Go to Cleveland for the RNC" week, but then, well, you know what happened there. So then I put my foot down and said that while the girls were gone, I'd have a no joke week off here to do as I please. Well, I've had to carry my ass into DC three times this week, and it hasn't made me a happy camper. I have another Staycation on the books for the week ending in Labor Day, and I damn well mean to be ruthless about observing it.
My annual war with the poolside crepe myrtle has begun, a little later this year. I have begged and begged the Kitten to trim it back, but she is a bit of a tree-whisperer and will hear nothing of it. Now I know some of you out there are thinking "hey, she's gone, go ahead and trim it back", but those sort of tactics do not serve me well here. As my friend Fred says, "while initially amusing, ultimately self-destructive".
One of the benefits of my being by myself is eating, although I eat pretty damn well when the crew is here. But I've taken to trying to eat some of the things that have accumulated in our freezer that seem never to make it onto the dinner menu. For some odd reason, I found two lobster tails in there this afternoon (of undetermined age), and so I cooked them up and warmed the bit of ribeye I put aside last night for an ersatz "surf and turf". Whilst rummaging, I also came across a number of bags of frozen scallops, which could prove tasty. I just need not be too picky on the expiration dates.
It has been a beautiful summer week here, and by the looks of the weather report, we have another week of hot and sunny ahead of us. Of concern looming on the horizon is some rain late in the week. I'm having a few folks over for a cookout a week from now, and would dearly like it to be a nice day.
Ok---I'm rambling--have a great Friday night.
Sunday, July 17, 2016
In a Rational World...
In a rational world, there would be no beer-can chicken cooking in my oven right now.
In a rational world, I would not be sitting here at my kitchen table typing the blog on Sunday, 17 July.
In a rational world, I would likely be in Cleveland, OH for the Republican National Convention.
In a rational world, I would attend a convention that would be unified, uplifting, and confident in beathing the most beatable Democratic nominee since Mondale.
In a rational world, I would arrive back in my hotel room over the course of the next few nights, exhilirated at hearing the very best of the Republican Party lay out a vision for the future.
In a rational world, I would pay close attention to the up and comers, those whose speeches don't get covered on Television but who electrify the place nonetheless.
In a rational world, former Presidents, and cabinet officers, and conservative thinkers would take to the stage one after another to sing the praises of the Republican nominee.
In a rational world, I would have spent my days this week going from lecture, to panel, to speech, to gathering, rubbing elbows with the right of center illuminati and learning more about the world around me.
In a rational world, I would have been neck deep in helping craft the platform planks calling for a stronger U.S. military, and shouldering the sacrifices necessary to get it.
In a rational world, the nominee's speech to end the convention would be a rousing celebration heralding three and a half months of all our work to close the deal that results in a Republican President, Senate, and House of Representatives.
In a rational world, the nominee would lift the party's chances downballot.
In a rational world, the right would have spent the last two months pointing out Hillary Clinton's flaws, rather than the presumptive GOP nominee's.
In a rational world, the GOP convention would conclude with the nomination of a person who promotes individual freedom, free markets, limited government, private enterprise, and a strong military capable of sustaining and advancing our interests in the world.
But sadly, this is not that world. And so, I must go carve the chicken and think about a better future.
In a rational world, I would not be sitting here at my kitchen table typing the blog on Sunday, 17 July.
In a rational world, I would likely be in Cleveland, OH for the Republican National Convention.
In a rational world, I would attend a convention that would be unified, uplifting, and confident in beathing the most beatable Democratic nominee since Mondale.
In a rational world, I would arrive back in my hotel room over the course of the next few nights, exhilirated at hearing the very best of the Republican Party lay out a vision for the future.
In a rational world, I would pay close attention to the up and comers, those whose speeches don't get covered on Television but who electrify the place nonetheless.
In a rational world, former Presidents, and cabinet officers, and conservative thinkers would take to the stage one after another to sing the praises of the Republican nominee.
In a rational world, I would have spent my days this week going from lecture, to panel, to speech, to gathering, rubbing elbows with the right of center illuminati and learning more about the world around me.
In a rational world, I would have been neck deep in helping craft the platform planks calling for a stronger U.S. military, and shouldering the sacrifices necessary to get it.
In a rational world, the nominee's speech to end the convention would be a rousing celebration heralding three and a half months of all our work to close the deal that results in a Republican President, Senate, and House of Representatives.
In a rational world, the nominee would lift the party's chances downballot.
In a rational world, the right would have spent the last two months pointing out Hillary Clinton's flaws, rather than the presumptive GOP nominee's.
In a rational world, the GOP convention would conclude with the nomination of a person who promotes individual freedom, free markets, limited government, private enterprise, and a strong military capable of sustaining and advancing our interests in the world.
But sadly, this is not that world. And so, I must go carve the chicken and think about a better future.
Friday, July 15, 2016
Heading Home
It is warm here in the San Diego United Lounge, largely because heat rises and it is on the second floor of an atrium-like food court below. I have come here to kill a little time before taking on the odyssey that will result in my return tomorrow morning to the farm.
It has been a beautiful few days here, good work during the day, good dinners with great people at night, and a lunch today with a truly special man, CAPT Joe Corsi, my second CO on USS PRINCETION (CG 59) where I was XO. The CO/XO relationship is a crticial one in the good workings of a ship, and I was fortunate to have two great CO's there, Joe coming second. The crew loved him, I loved him, and it was a happy, well-run, ship. I left a little piece of me there when I left in February of 2001...I imagine it is still there.
It is odd to follow a coup d'etat on Twitter, as I am doing this afternoon. I have several good follows in Ankara Tweeting in English. Sorta like listening to old tapes of radio broadcasts from the Blitz.
I have pre-scoped the dinner offerings at SFO, where I'll spend three hours later this afternoon, and found them wanting. There simply aren't enough good steak joints in airports. Newark has one that I quite like. Will likely eat sushi or some other low carb choice.
Sorry, I'm a little distracted--keep hopping over to Twitter to look in on the coup...I'll end this now and come back when you have my full attention.
It has been a beautiful few days here, good work during the day, good dinners with great people at night, and a lunch today with a truly special man, CAPT Joe Corsi, my second CO on USS PRINCETION (CG 59) where I was XO. The CO/XO relationship is a crticial one in the good workings of a ship, and I was fortunate to have two great CO's there, Joe coming second. The crew loved him, I loved him, and it was a happy, well-run, ship. I left a little piece of me there when I left in February of 2001...I imagine it is still there.
 |
| Joe Corsi--a truly great Cruiser Captain |
It is odd to follow a coup d'etat on Twitter, as I am doing this afternoon. I have several good follows in Ankara Tweeting in English. Sorta like listening to old tapes of radio broadcasts from the Blitz.
I have pre-scoped the dinner offerings at SFO, where I'll spend three hours later this afternoon, and found them wanting. There simply aren't enough good steak joints in airports. Newark has one that I quite like. Will likely eat sushi or some other low carb choice.
Sorry, I'm a little distracted--keep hopping over to Twitter to look in on the coup...I'll end this now and come back when you have my full attention.
Monday, July 4, 2016
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Game of Thrones Spoilers
It is no secret that I consider "Game of Thrones" to be the most entertaining television ever created. Sunday night's season 6 finale was amazing, and the fact that I must wait ten months for the season 7 premier is akin to waterboarding.
My nephew Kevin and I have tended to have a GOT chat during the week this season. I've enjoyed the conversations, and during today's he told me that he believed that there was about a season and a half's worth of material left. This got me thinking....about how things will wrap up when we sadly bid the show farewell. And so I decided to make a few predictions (you should consider them spoilers) about some of the show's major plot lines. Please excuse the spelling errors.
Jon Snow--Jon Snow is alive at the show's end, and he is the King of the Seven Kingdoms with Dany his queen. It will be shown that his father had indeed secretly married Lyanna Stark, and so HE (and not Dany) is the true heir to the throne.
Dany--After taking King's Landing, she will eventually move north with her armies. She will fight alongside Jon Snow. They will fall in love. He will get the same deal that the Iron Island Queen got from Dany (essentially self rule) at Winterfell. This seems fine--until word arrives of Jon's claim to the throne. They decide to rule together, like the Targareyans of old.
Circe--dies a horrible death by dragon at the battle of King's Landing.
Jamie Lanister--is redeemed completely. He (eventually) rallies the Lannister armies to join with Dany and Jon Snow to defeat the White Walkers. In fact, he saves Jon Snow's life during the battle. But he is killed in battle, dying honorably, pardoned by Dany and Jon.
Sansa Stark--Is left at the end alone (likely not for long), but the Lady of Winterfell. She will commit a murder before the show ends.
Littlefinger--Dies at the hands of Sansa Stark
Tyrion--leaves Dany's service to take his seat as Lord of Casterly Rock
Varys--takes over from Tyrion as Jon and Dany's Hand.
Arya--Meets back up with Gendry, bastard of Robert Barratheon. They will marry
Jorah Mormont---arrives at a key battle just in the nick of time to save Dany from nearly certain death. Jon Snow--who has by this time fallen in love with Dany--gives Mormont his sword of Valarian Steel, which belonged to Mormont's father and rightfully is Jorah's. Jorah is then killed in battle.
Bran: renounces his claim to Winterfell to assume full time Three Eyed Raven status, after he has told Jon that he is the son of the Crown Prince of the seven kingdoms and Lyanna Stark.
Sam Tarley--Sam is the key to all of this--which HAS to be the case since his story line is such a bore. While at the Citadel, he discovers a document that appears to be the wedding certificate of Rhaegar Targaryen & Lyanna Stark. If true, this proves that Snow is NOT a bastard, but the true her of Rhaegar and therefore, the true king of Westeros.
There you have it.
My nephew Kevin and I have tended to have a GOT chat during the week this season. I've enjoyed the conversations, and during today's he told me that he believed that there was about a season and a half's worth of material left. This got me thinking....about how things will wrap up when we sadly bid the show farewell. And so I decided to make a few predictions (you should consider them spoilers) about some of the show's major plot lines. Please excuse the spelling errors.
Jon Snow--Jon Snow is alive at the show's end, and he is the King of the Seven Kingdoms with Dany his queen. It will be shown that his father had indeed secretly married Lyanna Stark, and so HE (and not Dany) is the true heir to the throne.
Dany--After taking King's Landing, she will eventually move north with her armies. She will fight alongside Jon Snow. They will fall in love. He will get the same deal that the Iron Island Queen got from Dany (essentially self rule) at Winterfell. This seems fine--until word arrives of Jon's claim to the throne. They decide to rule together, like the Targareyans of old.
Circe--dies a horrible death by dragon at the battle of King's Landing.
Jamie Lanister--is redeemed completely. He (eventually) rallies the Lannister armies to join with Dany and Jon Snow to defeat the White Walkers. In fact, he saves Jon Snow's life during the battle. But he is killed in battle, dying honorably, pardoned by Dany and Jon.
Sansa Stark--Is left at the end alone (likely not for long), but the Lady of Winterfell. She will commit a murder before the show ends.
Littlefinger--Dies at the hands of Sansa Stark
Tyrion--leaves Dany's service to take his seat as Lord of Casterly Rock
Varys--takes over from Tyrion as Jon and Dany's Hand.
Arya--Meets back up with Gendry, bastard of Robert Barratheon. They will marry
Jorah Mormont---arrives at a key battle just in the nick of time to save Dany from nearly certain death. Jon Snow--who has by this time fallen in love with Dany--gives Mormont his sword of Valarian Steel, which belonged to Mormont's father and rightfully is Jorah's. Jorah is then killed in battle.
Bran: renounces his claim to Winterfell to assume full time Three Eyed Raven status, after he has told Jon that he is the son of the Crown Prince of the seven kingdoms and Lyanna Stark.
Sam Tarley--Sam is the key to all of this--which HAS to be the case since his story line is such a bore. While at the Citadel, he discovers a document that appears to be the wedding certificate of Rhaegar Targaryen & Lyanna Stark. If true, this proves that Snow is NOT a bastard, but the true her of Rhaegar and therefore, the true king of Westeros.
There you have it.
Sunday, June 26, 2016
Up Early
There is a bit of a snore coming from the bed as I write this. Not a snore, really; more of a wheeze. The Kitten is sound asleep, as is normal for a Sunday morning at 0525, but I am not. I awoke 90 minutes ago, wide awake, and decided to enjoy the beauty and calm of the sunrise.
We are in the midst of an epic stretch of weather here on the Eastern Shore. Low 80's, low humidity, lots of sunshine. The house is wide open, and I'm enjoying the sounds of the morning with a small tankard of coffee, made without sufficiently waking up Zuzu (black lab, 3, rambunctious) to the point where she demanded her morning meal. Kitten #2 (Hannah, 15) must wake in 30 minutes, as she has yet another horse show to attend (Champion yesterday in two classes, natch) and I must get her to the barn. The Kitten (Catherine, age undetermined) will take Kitten #1 (Hope, 17) across the bridge a little later on to begin a week at camp with a good friend whose folks have a vacation house on our little peninsula.
Preparations are beginning for a long stretch of solitude here on the Farm, as my women will all abandon me on or about 11 July. Kitten #2 is heading to Cambodia/Thailand on a school trip, and the Kitten and Kitten #1 are headed to South America. I will be solo here for about a month, and while I will miss my girls, I am looking forward to the time of quiet contemplation, early bedtimes, Game of Thrones and Lord of the Rings marathons, cigars, steaks, crabs, the driving range, and general puttering about. The Kitten began my socialization for the time apart last night by walking me around the bits of greenery that will require my watering attention while she nation hops. I once was cast into the floral doghouse for failing to water a group of pointsettias while The Kitten traveled, and I do not wish this to happen again. That it was a Spring Break trip, and the plants were from the previous Christmas did not seem to matter, nor were my protestations of "I thought we buy these plants with the knowledge that they will die" much appreciated.
Watering the plants will be an after dinner pursuit, and I will need to stock up on cigars (Macanudo Portofino) "to keep away the bugs". If anyone has suggestions for how to handle a cup of coffee, a cigar, and a hose---all at the same time, please pass them along.
You may be asking "why are they traveling without you?" Several reasons apply. First, if you've ever traveled with me, you might have some insight into why they are eschewing the pleasure now. Secondly, The Kitten has a habit of putting off the planning of her trips to a point with which I am uncomfortable, and I invariably have already scheduled a number of important events. Thirdly, and most importantly, I've managed to once again box myself in work-wise with a monstrously busy summer. For some reason, my business (Consultant, Defense) gets busy in the summer, and it has since I've been doing it. I do have two, week-long "staycations" planned (one of which will occur whilst the Kittens travel), but the problem with them is that I generally just work at 3/4 speed rather than putting it aside.
My morning bliss has been interrupted by a group of noisy birds just outside the bedroom window. I suppose they are blackbirds or crows, but I really don't know as all I can do is hear them. They are making quite a ruckus, and I'm surprised they haven't awakened The Kitten. It's the kind of cacophony one hears when a group of birds in a tree are approached by one of my cats, but both cats are inside the house, so the source of their disquiet is known only to them.
The sun is up and from the sound of a shockingly loud alarm from the upper reaches of the house, so should Kitten #2 be. I am surrounded by women for whom an alarm is considered a suggestion, rather than an order, and so it sometimes falls to me to ensure they are up and about. Though this one (#2) is the best of the lot in getting up, especially when there is the prospect of a horse show on a beautiful day ahead of her.
We are in the midst of an epic stretch of weather here on the Eastern Shore. Low 80's, low humidity, lots of sunshine. The house is wide open, and I'm enjoying the sounds of the morning with a small tankard of coffee, made without sufficiently waking up Zuzu (black lab, 3, rambunctious) to the point where she demanded her morning meal. Kitten #2 (Hannah, 15) must wake in 30 minutes, as she has yet another horse show to attend (Champion yesterday in two classes, natch) and I must get her to the barn. The Kitten (Catherine, age undetermined) will take Kitten #1 (Hope, 17) across the bridge a little later on to begin a week at camp with a good friend whose folks have a vacation house on our little peninsula.
Preparations are beginning for a long stretch of solitude here on the Farm, as my women will all abandon me on or about 11 July. Kitten #2 is heading to Cambodia/Thailand on a school trip, and the Kitten and Kitten #1 are headed to South America. I will be solo here for about a month, and while I will miss my girls, I am looking forward to the time of quiet contemplation, early bedtimes, Game of Thrones and Lord of the Rings marathons, cigars, steaks, crabs, the driving range, and general puttering about. The Kitten began my socialization for the time apart last night by walking me around the bits of greenery that will require my watering attention while she nation hops. I once was cast into the floral doghouse for failing to water a group of pointsettias while The Kitten traveled, and I do not wish this to happen again. That it was a Spring Break trip, and the plants were from the previous Christmas did not seem to matter, nor were my protestations of "I thought we buy these plants with the knowledge that they will die" much appreciated.
Watering the plants will be an after dinner pursuit, and I will need to stock up on cigars (Macanudo Portofino) "to keep away the bugs". If anyone has suggestions for how to handle a cup of coffee, a cigar, and a hose---all at the same time, please pass them along.
You may be asking "why are they traveling without you?" Several reasons apply. First, if you've ever traveled with me, you might have some insight into why they are eschewing the pleasure now. Secondly, The Kitten has a habit of putting off the planning of her trips to a point with which I am uncomfortable, and I invariably have already scheduled a number of important events. Thirdly, and most importantly, I've managed to once again box myself in work-wise with a monstrously busy summer. For some reason, my business (Consultant, Defense) gets busy in the summer, and it has since I've been doing it. I do have two, week-long "staycations" planned (one of which will occur whilst the Kittens travel), but the problem with them is that I generally just work at 3/4 speed rather than putting it aside.
My morning bliss has been interrupted by a group of noisy birds just outside the bedroom window. I suppose they are blackbirds or crows, but I really don't know as all I can do is hear them. They are making quite a ruckus, and I'm surprised they haven't awakened The Kitten. It's the kind of cacophony one hears when a group of birds in a tree are approached by one of my cats, but both cats are inside the house, so the source of their disquiet is known only to them.
The sun is up and from the sound of a shockingly loud alarm from the upper reaches of the house, so should Kitten #2 be. I am surrounded by women for whom an alarm is considered a suggestion, rather than an order, and so it sometimes falls to me to ensure they are up and about. Though this one (#2) is the best of the lot in getting up, especially when there is the prospect of a horse show on a beautiful day ahead of her.
Friday, June 24, 2016
On the UK/EU Divorce
It is a sad thing indeed, when a man as addicted to American politics as I am is forced to watch ITV Britain's coverage of the Brexit question last night. It seems I've become so bored with our own situation that I turned to our Mother Country for some political thrills. And boy, did we get them.
Simply put, I do not know enough about the issue of whether the UK should have remained in the EU or not to have a coherent opinion. And while this seems to be no impediment for what passes for insight and analysis on the interwebs, I don't feel like I ought to make bold pronouncements based on scanty information. I'm funny like that.
The little I do know does not add to my clarity on the issue, nor will it lead to yours. Clearly, an element of the British population had come to see EU membership as onerous. Some of them believed this as a result of the UK's having to abide by immigration rules not under control of their own Parliament. Some of them believed this as a result of the UK's having to abide by an increasing number of economic and environmental regulations, as well as judicial decrees, not under their own sovereignty. Some saw the EU as a mechanism for the transfer of wealth from rich, Northern European countries to poor, profligate Southern European countries. Some of them I think, simply saw it as a matter of national pride, pride that was being swallowed up by a new "European" identity. There is merit in all of these views, and they are not inclusive.
The case to stay in the EU fell generally to those in what some here in the US (not me) would call "The Establishment". They pointed to economic benefits of European integration, and the greater opportunity for folks striking out on their own to work in fields of their choosing in other countries, freed from individual national employment regulation. They pointed to the political power on the world stage that 350 million Europeans could wield rather than divided polities. They pointed to the case of a divided Europe being just what Vlad Putin wants. There is merit in all of these views, too, and they are not inclusive.
There was a good bit of fear-mongering in the run up to the vote, with the "Remain" side generally predicting all manner of doom should the UK leave. I am not qualified to say whether the doom is warranted--to include economic privation, loss of influence, and isolation. I can imagine how these would come about and that they are possible. I can also imagine that they aren't inevitable.
And while I am unqualified to opine on the wisdom of their vote, I find myself generally well-qualified to offer a few policy suggestions about how we--the US--should proceed.
1. Don't be churlish about this. This is an adult nation making an adult decision. No collusion with Germany and France to teach those Limeys a lesson. Chive on.
2. Remember the special relationship. It is special.
3. Make a grand gesture of friendship and support. What do I suggest? Well, I'd start with forward stationing three destroyers in the UK. With the decline of the Royal Navy, there's a ton of open pier space, and we eventually have to start re-arming in the North Atlantic anyway.
4. Look into some kind of UK/US/Canada free trade agreement. I realize this goes upstream of the isolationist, protectionist winds that are blowing in the US these days, but there is goodness in a union of English-speaking peoples.
Simply put, I do not know enough about the issue of whether the UK should have remained in the EU or not to have a coherent opinion. And while this seems to be no impediment for what passes for insight and analysis on the interwebs, I don't feel like I ought to make bold pronouncements based on scanty information. I'm funny like that.
The little I do know does not add to my clarity on the issue, nor will it lead to yours. Clearly, an element of the British population had come to see EU membership as onerous. Some of them believed this as a result of the UK's having to abide by immigration rules not under control of their own Parliament. Some of them believed this as a result of the UK's having to abide by an increasing number of economic and environmental regulations, as well as judicial decrees, not under their own sovereignty. Some saw the EU as a mechanism for the transfer of wealth from rich, Northern European countries to poor, profligate Southern European countries. Some of them I think, simply saw it as a matter of national pride, pride that was being swallowed up by a new "European" identity. There is merit in all of these views, and they are not inclusive.
The case to stay in the EU fell generally to those in what some here in the US (not me) would call "The Establishment". They pointed to economic benefits of European integration, and the greater opportunity for folks striking out on their own to work in fields of their choosing in other countries, freed from individual national employment regulation. They pointed to the political power on the world stage that 350 million Europeans could wield rather than divided polities. They pointed to the case of a divided Europe being just what Vlad Putin wants. There is merit in all of these views, too, and they are not inclusive.
There was a good bit of fear-mongering in the run up to the vote, with the "Remain" side generally predicting all manner of doom should the UK leave. I am not qualified to say whether the doom is warranted--to include economic privation, loss of influence, and isolation. I can imagine how these would come about and that they are possible. I can also imagine that they aren't inevitable.
And while I am unqualified to opine on the wisdom of their vote, I find myself generally well-qualified to offer a few policy suggestions about how we--the US--should proceed.
1. Don't be churlish about this. This is an adult nation making an adult decision. No collusion with Germany and France to teach those Limeys a lesson. Chive on.
2. Remember the special relationship. It is special.
3. Make a grand gesture of friendship and support. What do I suggest? Well, I'd start with forward stationing three destroyers in the UK. With the decline of the Royal Navy, there's a ton of open pier space, and we eventually have to start re-arming in the North Atlantic anyway.
4. Look into some kind of UK/US/Canada free trade agreement. I realize this goes upstream of the isolationist, protectionist winds that are blowing in the US these days, but there is goodness in a union of English-speaking peoples.
Monday, May 30, 2016
Random Musings on Memorial Day
It has become fashionable to criticize people who mix up Veterans Day and Memorial Day. I know I've done it before...maybe you have too. I think part of the problem is the timing of these days. As a Northern Hemisphere country, we get our better weather in the middle six months of the calendar year, and the last Monday in May quite rightly dawns for much of the country as sunny and warm--perfect for BBQ's, traveling to see friends, being outside, whooping it up. This is when we ought to celebrate Veterans Day. Thank Vets, celebrate great military victories that helped put us where we are, talk about the greats, etc.
November 11 solemnifies the end of WWI, and that is when we choose to thank Vets. Wouldn't it make sense to move Memorial Day to the 11th of November, when the chilly winds are beginning to blow? Wouldn't there be less of the "holier than thou" criticism we get at the end of May when folks fire up the grill and whip around on an innertube behind an Evinrude 85? I don't know. Just seems to make sense to me. But what do I know.
This particular Memorial Day, the weather has cooperated here in Easton and given us a somber, dreary, wet day. No one is out on the river, and I predict very few cookouts.
Brother Jim continues his volunteer work in the wilds of Canada. The local news up there got wind of it, and now more of the US and Canada know why "WWJD" has always meant "What Would Jim Do?" to me.
Are you a Game of Thrones fan? I am. I consider it to be the most entertaining television ever produced. I've watched every episode made twice (at least--except last night's which I have yet to watch a second time), and I've started again at the beginning as a way of passing the time on the treadmill in the ManCave. That said, last night's episode was pretty--meh. Too much time on Arya and Sam-neither of whom move the story along very much for me. Also, I'm growing a bit weary of the elevation of Dany to this level of mystical uber-leader. I think there's a bit of the megalomaniac in her. Hopefully things will pick up this coming week.
I'm beginning to get a little "car" itchy. Not that I want to replace the wonderful car I'm driving now, but more that I want to get what the Hammer once called a "fishin'" vehicle. I'm looking at two cars with passing interest these days, both would be used. The first is a 2005-2008 or so Porsche 911 Cabriolet. The second is a 2009-2012 BMW Z4. Both of these cars give me a thrill when I see them on the road, and having once owned a BMZ Z3, I remember how much I loved it. Looking at used and it won't happen any time soon--but I'm looking. I really feel it this time of year as I drive west on 50 on the way home from DC....I see guys in their convertibles, baseball hat and sunglasses....and I think I'd like to rejoin that club. Of course, this would reduce the amount of time I could spend on the phone with clients--but I'm willing to make the sacrifice...
Speaking of which....for the longest time, I figured that I'd have a pretty big change coming my way in the Fall. I really believed Hillary was quite beatable, and that the Republicans would return to power in the Executive Branch. Had that happened, I figured I would have a fighting chance of going back into public service, something that I've greatly desired for a few years now. Then things went sour in the GOP and the Party turned to someone I cannot support--so, the whole "put the consulting thing aside and go into a full-time gubmint job in DC" is going to have to be put on ice for a while. I've got to admit that it is a downer. Mitt's loss in 12 was downright depressing, but things seemed to be moving in the direction I had hoped. I've told a lot of people that I'm thinking of quitting the consulting business and becoming a high school history teacher. No one believes me when I say it, but the thought is never far from my mind....
November 11 solemnifies the end of WWI, and that is when we choose to thank Vets. Wouldn't it make sense to move Memorial Day to the 11th of November, when the chilly winds are beginning to blow? Wouldn't there be less of the "holier than thou" criticism we get at the end of May when folks fire up the grill and whip around on an innertube behind an Evinrude 85? I don't know. Just seems to make sense to me. But what do I know.
This particular Memorial Day, the weather has cooperated here in Easton and given us a somber, dreary, wet day. No one is out on the river, and I predict very few cookouts.
Brother Jim continues his volunteer work in the wilds of Canada. The local news up there got wind of it, and now more of the US and Canada know why "WWJD" has always meant "What Would Jim Do?" to me.
Are you a Game of Thrones fan? I am. I consider it to be the most entertaining television ever produced. I've watched every episode made twice (at least--except last night's which I have yet to watch a second time), and I've started again at the beginning as a way of passing the time on the treadmill in the ManCave. That said, last night's episode was pretty--meh. Too much time on Arya and Sam-neither of whom move the story along very much for me. Also, I'm growing a bit weary of the elevation of Dany to this level of mystical uber-leader. I think there's a bit of the megalomaniac in her. Hopefully things will pick up this coming week.
I'm beginning to get a little "car" itchy. Not that I want to replace the wonderful car I'm driving now, but more that I want to get what the Hammer once called a "fishin'" vehicle. I'm looking at two cars with passing interest these days, both would be used. The first is a 2005-2008 or so Porsche 911 Cabriolet. The second is a 2009-2012 BMW Z4. Both of these cars give me a thrill when I see them on the road, and having once owned a BMZ Z3, I remember how much I loved it. Looking at used and it won't happen any time soon--but I'm looking. I really feel it this time of year as I drive west on 50 on the way home from DC....I see guys in their convertibles, baseball hat and sunglasses....and I think I'd like to rejoin that club. Of course, this would reduce the amount of time I could spend on the phone with clients--but I'm willing to make the sacrifice...
Speaking of which....for the longest time, I figured that I'd have a pretty big change coming my way in the Fall. I really believed Hillary was quite beatable, and that the Republicans would return to power in the Executive Branch. Had that happened, I figured I would have a fighting chance of going back into public service, something that I've greatly desired for a few years now. Then things went sour in the GOP and the Party turned to someone I cannot support--so, the whole "put the consulting thing aside and go into a full-time gubmint job in DC" is going to have to be put on ice for a while. I've got to admit that it is a downer. Mitt's loss in 12 was downright depressing, but things seemed to be moving in the direction I had hoped. I've told a lot of people that I'm thinking of quitting the consulting business and becoming a high school history teacher. No one believes me when I say it, but the thought is never far from my mind....
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Some Time in the Garden
The Kitten is a wonderful gardener of flowers, shrubs, and vegetables. She is keen to have me join her in this pursuit, but I have lo these last nine years managed to find something else to do, and my excuses are never really that good to begin with. Yesterday, I was cornered. It being her birthday, She was She Who Must Be Obeyed, and her wish was to spend the day in her garden with me as her helpmate. Complicating this was the fact that several years ago, I had given her as a birthday present a "Three Hours in the Garden" certificate as one of her presents. She has mentioned the certificate a few times over the years, but I always pointed to the codicil contained therein that it was to be "...executed on a mutually agreeable timetable..." and to this point, we had not reached such agreement. But it was a gorgeous day, and it seemed my luck had simply run out.
I had only a few simple things to do. I dug up two bushes and then replaced them with two other bushes (I don't ask questions, I just do). And then I mostly moved dirt around in a wheelbarrow. I'd go to this wonderful, loamy pile of compost/soil, shovel a load full, and then move it to where it was needed. Then I'd unload it before repeating the process.
I've written here before of my envy of the dudes on the Zero Turning Radius mowers, men of action and result. The thought of having a job with such instantaneous results has always fascinated me, and I have to this day, never seen a man on a Zero Turning Radius mower look unhappy. Not only do they get instant or near instant gratification, but they don't appear to have to think a whole lot in order to get that work done. In fact, my guess is that there is a TON of thinking going on, but little of it is about politics, or force structure, or weapons systems. This was the essence of the joy I beheld yesterday as I filled and dumped from the wheelbarrow. For hours (in excess of the promised Three), I just moved dirt. It was blissful.
I've discovered after nearly a decade of domestic bliss that when it comes to "chores", there is an art to my happy participation. Bottom line--give me a job that will keep me busy for a few hours, let me know what success conditions are, and then leave me be. Or, if there are a ton of little things to be done, give me a list and then allow me to plan and execute in the manner and order I wish. Where I find myself sometimes a bit...unhelpful...is when the tasking involves a lot of stick and rudder applied to an endless array of small bite tasks. I find it hard not to ask "why?" or "why this way?", which invariably is not a question that brings cooperative energy.
I think The Kitten has figured these things out. I have her right where she wants me.
Oh, and by the way. I told her when the day's labor was done that making her spend her Three Hour Present on her birthday was ungenerous, and so she still has it for a mutually agreeable time.
I had only a few simple things to do. I dug up two bushes and then replaced them with two other bushes (I don't ask questions, I just do). And then I mostly moved dirt around in a wheelbarrow. I'd go to this wonderful, loamy pile of compost/soil, shovel a load full, and then move it to where it was needed. Then I'd unload it before repeating the process.
 |
| The Kitten's Vegetable Garden |
I've written here before of my envy of the dudes on the Zero Turning Radius mowers, men of action and result. The thought of having a job with such instantaneous results has always fascinated me, and I have to this day, never seen a man on a Zero Turning Radius mower look unhappy. Not only do they get instant or near instant gratification, but they don't appear to have to think a whole lot in order to get that work done. In fact, my guess is that there is a TON of thinking going on, but little of it is about politics, or force structure, or weapons systems. This was the essence of the joy I beheld yesterday as I filled and dumped from the wheelbarrow. For hours (in excess of the promised Three), I just moved dirt. It was blissful.
I've discovered after nearly a decade of domestic bliss that when it comes to "chores", there is an art to my happy participation. Bottom line--give me a job that will keep me busy for a few hours, let me know what success conditions are, and then leave me be. Or, if there are a ton of little things to be done, give me a list and then allow me to plan and execute in the manner and order I wish. Where I find myself sometimes a bit...unhelpful...is when the tasking involves a lot of stick and rudder applied to an endless array of small bite tasks. I find it hard not to ask "why?" or "why this way?", which invariably is not a question that brings cooperative energy.
I think The Kitten has figured these things out. I have her right where she wants me.
Oh, and by the way. I told her when the day's labor was done that making her spend her Three Hour Present on her birthday was ungenerous, and so she still has it for a mutually agreeable time.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
On the Road Again
Or, almost on the road again, as I am in the ManCave typing this little ditty before hopping in the car for the airport. Today's travels take me back to San Diego, via Denver. Since I last wrote about my travels west, United has jacked up the non-stop from Dulles to San Diego, and so I now take the BWI-DEN-SAN route out there, and SAN-SFO-BWI home. I've got a conference through Thursday afternoon, and then will he redeyeing it Thursday night.
For those who follow such things, I am in standard travel rig: green long-sleeved T-shirt, Adidas track pants, white socks, trainers and blue blazer. My rig is specifically designed for comfort, convenience, and passing quickly through security. The blazer has pockets that I can jam phones, keys, change, pens, etc into and by wearing it, keep it nice--the track pants have no belt so I don't have to remove one. The sneakers kick on and off without tying and untying. It's all about efficiency folks. But there is no question I cut a fine, chic-ly shabby figure as I traverse our nations airports.
Which is of course, NOT what our government is all about these days, apparently, as our friends at TSA are not achieving ace results in moving us through security lines with dispatch. Ah...government.
It is raining outside, but then again, if you live on the East Coast, you know that, as apparently it has rained for much of the past month. The forecast is calling for a dramatic improvement this week, but I will of course be in San Diego where the outlook is--as is customary for May and June--sorta blah.
The big news in the McGrath Family is that we have another blogger to claim. That's right, big brother Jim has begun a blog/travelogue/diary of his journey to and from Alberta, Canada, where he has gone to aid folks suffering from a series of wildfires. This is quite a journey from North Carolina--but when I read about it, I thought two things: 1) that I was proud of Jim for being a man of action and 2) it sounds like a trip that I would love to take. Drive across the wilds of Canada, eh? I'm in!
My quest for the perfect place to stay in San Diego brings me to a return engagement with a spot in Mission Valley that has a gym, free wifi, and breakfast included in the "gubmint" rate. It must have been a happening spot in 1978, but now it just is sorta out of place and a bit dark. Don't get me wrong--it is clean and well run, the bed is very comfy, and the customer service is top-notch. They could just use a bit of a spruce up.
I intend to -- as is my custom -- remain on East Coast Time whilst on the West Coast, though this could be tested this evening as I attempt to stay up long enough to watch it on its "West Coast HBO feed" time of 9PM.
I'll post again on the trip if something interesting pops up, or if the muse moves me.
For those who follow such things, I am in standard travel rig: green long-sleeved T-shirt, Adidas track pants, white socks, trainers and blue blazer. My rig is specifically designed for comfort, convenience, and passing quickly through security. The blazer has pockets that I can jam phones, keys, change, pens, etc into and by wearing it, keep it nice--the track pants have no belt so I don't have to remove one. The sneakers kick on and off without tying and untying. It's all about efficiency folks. But there is no question I cut a fine, chic-ly shabby figure as I traverse our nations airports.
Which is of course, NOT what our government is all about these days, apparently, as our friends at TSA are not achieving ace results in moving us through security lines with dispatch. Ah...government.
It is raining outside, but then again, if you live on the East Coast, you know that, as apparently it has rained for much of the past month. The forecast is calling for a dramatic improvement this week, but I will of course be in San Diego where the outlook is--as is customary for May and June--sorta blah.
The big news in the McGrath Family is that we have another blogger to claim. That's right, big brother Jim has begun a blog/travelogue/diary of his journey to and from Alberta, Canada, where he has gone to aid folks suffering from a series of wildfires. This is quite a journey from North Carolina--but when I read about it, I thought two things: 1) that I was proud of Jim for being a man of action and 2) it sounds like a trip that I would love to take. Drive across the wilds of Canada, eh? I'm in!
My quest for the perfect place to stay in San Diego brings me to a return engagement with a spot in Mission Valley that has a gym, free wifi, and breakfast included in the "gubmint" rate. It must have been a happening spot in 1978, but now it just is sorta out of place and a bit dark. Don't get me wrong--it is clean and well run, the bed is very comfy, and the customer service is top-notch. They could just use a bit of a spruce up.
I intend to -- as is my custom -- remain on East Coast Time whilst on the West Coast, though this could be tested this evening as I attempt to stay up long enough to watch it on its "West Coast HBO feed" time of 9PM.
I'll post again on the trip if something interesting pops up, or if the muse moves me.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
Old Dogs and New Tricks
I began drinking coffee when I was nine, a move to dramatically raise my game when it came to the quest to disavow childhood in favor of assuming my rightful place among the adults. My parents used an electric percolator, a green-handled number with a glass carafe into which the percolating stem and top-mounted vat of coffee was placed. My mother would assemble and prepare it each night, and then turn it on first thing the next morning, as time-activated pots were yet in the future. After what now seems like an ungodly amount of time, a full pot would be brewed for the two people who drank from it--Mom and Dad. Always, there would be at least an inch worth of the mysterious brown liquid in the pot which would be poured down the sink, or (heavens) consumed by my father some ten hours later after dinner.
One day, I asked my mother if I might have that last bit in the pot, and for whatever reason, she agreed. In retrospect, feeding caffeine to a slightly hyper little punk may not have been her wisest decision, but who are we to judge lo these many years later. I was hooked. Soon, I was granted privileges to drink from the pot BEFORE it had sat and burned itself down to the dregs upon which I started out, and my love of coffee continued.
In high school, Mr. Kunz was my senior history teacher. Smilin' Jack. He had a little storeroom in the back of his classroom where he kept a Mr. Coffee Machine (it now being eight years later) to feed his own habit. One day early in the year, I walked into the storeroom as my fellow classmates were filing in, and I grabbed an extra cup he had there and poured myself a stiff brew. Then I sat down at my desk. Remember people, this is 1982...long before it became de rigueur to enter every meeting or class with a venti frappacino in one's hand. Smilin' Jack came marching over (he had an identifiable stride) and upbraided me for taking the coffee. I asked if he wanted me to return it. He said no. And then I basically did the same thing most days for the rest of the year.
It is now 2016, and I am not only addicted to coffee, I enjoy it immensely. To that end, I--like many of you--have owned a series of Keurig coffee machines into which you place an individual little pod of coffee and seconds later, you are gifted with a perfectly brewed cup of (in my house) Tiger People, dark coffee. The Kitten has always asked me to hold onto the used pods so that she can add the grounds to her compost, but she very seldom does so and they begin to pile up. And so I throw them out. Over the years I must have consumed and thrown away thousands of these pods. Until today.
You see, I'm not the world's greatest environmentalist, but I really have begun to worry about the amount of plastic that I am consuming just to have a cup of joe. And so, I have--for the moment at least--put aside the accumulation of little white pods in our nation's landfills and turned to instant coffee. That's right. Instant coffee. Brother Tom will tell you of my great love of instant coffee, something he observed during our trip to South Africa a few years ago. When we went for breakfast the first morning, I was positively beside myself with joy at the prospect of a cup of Nescafe Gold instant, and I raved about it for the remainder of the trip. Frequent readers of the this blog may even recall other posts extolling the virtues of a good instant.
What put me over the edge on this momentous decision was a little excursion this weekend. The Kitten's boarding school chum's mother passed away recently, and so we drove out to the wilds of Virginia on Saturday for her memorial service. We decided to make a night of it and chose to bed down in Old Town Alexandria. Before leaving town on Sunday morning, we made our way up and down King Street and poked our snoots into a few stores, including a kitchen store. There, we espied a little electric tea kettle like the one to the right. When I awoke this morning, there one was, sitting next to my Keurig machine, shaming me. Had I any instant coffee on hand, I would have made a cup, but this lack was addressed later in the day. Three cups into things, I am happy with my decision, though I am not sure if it will be permanent. We'll see.
One day, I asked my mother if I might have that last bit in the pot, and for whatever reason, she agreed. In retrospect, feeding caffeine to a slightly hyper little punk may not have been her wisest decision, but who are we to judge lo these many years later. I was hooked. Soon, I was granted privileges to drink from the pot BEFORE it had sat and burned itself down to the dregs upon which I started out, and my love of coffee continued.
In high school, Mr. Kunz was my senior history teacher. Smilin' Jack. He had a little storeroom in the back of his classroom where he kept a Mr. Coffee Machine (it now being eight years later) to feed his own habit. One day early in the year, I walked into the storeroom as my fellow classmates were filing in, and I grabbed an extra cup he had there and poured myself a stiff brew. Then I sat down at my desk. Remember people, this is 1982...long before it became de rigueur to enter every meeting or class with a venti frappacino in one's hand. Smilin' Jack came marching over (he had an identifiable stride) and upbraided me for taking the coffee. I asked if he wanted me to return it. He said no. And then I basically did the same thing most days for the rest of the year.
It is now 2016, and I am not only addicted to coffee, I enjoy it immensely. To that end, I--like many of you--have owned a series of Keurig coffee machines into which you place an individual little pod of coffee and seconds later, you are gifted with a perfectly brewed cup of (in my house) Tiger People, dark coffee. The Kitten has always asked me to hold onto the used pods so that she can add the grounds to her compost, but she very seldom does so and they begin to pile up. And so I throw them out. Over the years I must have consumed and thrown away thousands of these pods. Until today.
You see, I'm not the world's greatest environmentalist, but I really have begun to worry about the amount of plastic that I am consuming just to have a cup of joe. And so, I have--for the moment at least--put aside the accumulation of little white pods in our nation's landfills and turned to instant coffee. That's right. Instant coffee. Brother Tom will tell you of my great love of instant coffee, something he observed during our trip to South Africa a few years ago. When we went for breakfast the first morning, I was positively beside myself with joy at the prospect of a cup of Nescafe Gold instant, and I raved about it for the remainder of the trip. Frequent readers of the this blog may even recall other posts extolling the virtues of a good instant.
What put me over the edge on this momentous decision was a little excursion this weekend. The Kitten's boarding school chum's mother passed away recently, and so we drove out to the wilds of Virginia on Saturday for her memorial service. We decided to make a night of it and chose to bed down in Old Town Alexandria. Before leaving town on Sunday morning, we made our way up and down King Street and poked our snoots into a few stores, including a kitchen store. There, we espied a little electric tea kettle like the one to the right. When I awoke this morning, there one was, sitting next to my Keurig machine, shaming me. Had I any instant coffee on hand, I would have made a cup, but this lack was addressed later in the day. Three cups into things, I am happy with my decision, though I am not sure if it will be permanent. We'll see.
Monday, May 16, 2016
On the Bus
I live 75 miles from the Pentagon and 72 miles from the center of Washington DC. I know this because I make these drives several times a week. In January of 2010, I purchased a brand new car upon which as of today I have put approximately 190,000 miles. That's a lot of driving.
One way to mitigate the miles and the driving has been to use the Metro system. If I drive (63 miles) to the most remote station on the Orange Line (New Carrollton), I can park ($4.00) and then ride Metro the rest of the way. This has been an acceptable alternative, and also somewhat enjoyable, as the last ten miles of the drive is always the worst. When Metro works, it works well. But Metro isn't working all that well these days; there are a lot of unscheduled outages and recently, management put forward a one year plan of rolling service reductions meant to provide time to perform critical repairs and maintenance.
I recently took the repair schedule and wove it into my calendar for the next year, in order to ensure that I avoided Metro routes that would cause problems. In the course of these preparations, I remembered that the Maryland Transportation Authority has a bus service into downtown DC from the Park and Ride on Kent Island, a mere 27 miles from my house. There are two routes with multiple departures before 0700 (the last bus), and then a number returning in the afternoon. At $6.00 each way, the cost seems better than that of either the drive option or the drive and metro option--both of which also involve an afternoon $4.00 toll over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. So, I ordered a ten trip ticket online and decided to give it a test. This blog post has been written and will be transmitted while in transit.
The bus (posh motor coach, comfy seat) arrived right on time and left on time. I aimed at the 0700 bus, waking at 0450, coffee, 30 minutes of treadmill, shower, dress, depart. All the while, I knew that I would be ahead of schedule, but my efficiency provided the opportunity to hop on the 0630 departure--which I did. Will likely not move as fast in subsequent trips....maybe stay in bed another 10 minutes.
This is a commuter bus, and the patrons are professional and well-turned out, not the kind you sit next to on a Trailways bus who pulls out a can of Colt 45 at 0930. People are quiet, and cell phone conversations are kept very brief and quiet, if at all. There appears to be a well-understood system of etiquette, which I applaud.
Fortunately for me, were I in my automobile right now, I would be somewhat perplexed, as there was an accident on the westbound span of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge which has traffic snarled for miles. I however, am sitting comfortably on a bust talking (typing) with you. The actual bus portion of the commute is scheduled for 97 minutes each way, and the drop off/afternoon pickup point is a block from where I have a project for the next couple of months. The prospect of gaining three hours of productivity each day that I commute thusly has me joyous. I make phone calls while I drive, and that helps with business, but in general, my extended commutes have been a net loss. I see goodness coming from this. Will keep you posted.
One way to mitigate the miles and the driving has been to use the Metro system. If I drive (63 miles) to the most remote station on the Orange Line (New Carrollton), I can park ($4.00) and then ride Metro the rest of the way. This has been an acceptable alternative, and also somewhat enjoyable, as the last ten miles of the drive is always the worst. When Metro works, it works well. But Metro isn't working all that well these days; there are a lot of unscheduled outages and recently, management put forward a one year plan of rolling service reductions meant to provide time to perform critical repairs and maintenance.
I recently took the repair schedule and wove it into my calendar for the next year, in order to ensure that I avoided Metro routes that would cause problems. In the course of these preparations, I remembered that the Maryland Transportation Authority has a bus service into downtown DC from the Park and Ride on Kent Island, a mere 27 miles from my house. There are two routes with multiple departures before 0700 (the last bus), and then a number returning in the afternoon. At $6.00 each way, the cost seems better than that of either the drive option or the drive and metro option--both of which also involve an afternoon $4.00 toll over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. So, I ordered a ten trip ticket online and decided to give it a test. This blog post has been written and will be transmitted while in transit.
The bus (posh motor coach, comfy seat) arrived right on time and left on time. I aimed at the 0700 bus, waking at 0450, coffee, 30 minutes of treadmill, shower, dress, depart. All the while, I knew that I would be ahead of schedule, but my efficiency provided the opportunity to hop on the 0630 departure--which I did. Will likely not move as fast in subsequent trips....maybe stay in bed another 10 minutes.
This is a commuter bus, and the patrons are professional and well-turned out, not the kind you sit next to on a Trailways bus who pulls out a can of Colt 45 at 0930. People are quiet, and cell phone conversations are kept very brief and quiet, if at all. There appears to be a well-understood system of etiquette, which I applaud.
Fortunately for me, were I in my automobile right now, I would be somewhat perplexed, as there was an accident on the westbound span of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge which has traffic snarled for miles. I however, am sitting comfortably on a bust talking (typing) with you. The actual bus portion of the commute is scheduled for 97 minutes each way, and the drop off/afternoon pickup point is a block from where I have a project for the next couple of months. The prospect of gaining three hours of productivity each day that I commute thusly has me joyous. I make phone calls while I drive, and that helps with business, but in general, my extended commutes have been a net loss. I see goodness coming from this. Will keep you posted.
Thursday, May 12, 2016
Note to Readers on Comments
One of the things that drove me over the edge with the blog a few months ago was that I had an automatic forwarder of comments to my email account, wherein I could very easily accept or reject them. Not only did it drive me to my smartphone on a much greater basis, but the content of the comments often just pissed me off.
So now, I only occasionally go to the comment adjudication page. Keeps me from spending as much time on my phone and from being pissed off. But it does mean a little gap between when you comment and how long it takes to go up.
So now, I only occasionally go to the comment adjudication page. Keeps me from spending as much time on my phone and from being pissed off. But it does mean a little gap between when you comment and how long it takes to go up.
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
West Point Cadets Should Know Better
There's a bit of a kerfuffle on the interwebs these days, as this photo has become something of a litmus test for liberals and conservatives:In it, a group of female, African-American Cadets pose (as many groups of students do) to recreate iconic old style photos. Except, in this one, the most iconic aspect of the photo is the raised fist, which most believe to represent "black power" or more recently, the Black Lives Matter movement.
You can read about the issue from the perspective David French at NRO, most of which I agree with. Or for a more sympathetic view, try this from the Wall Street Journal.
Bottom line: this is an overt, political statement made while in uniform, and so it is thoroughly inappropriate, irrespective of how many other photos were taken, how "young" these women are (soon to be 2nd LT's, in the Army and THEY KNOW BETTER), or your sense that it shows "strong, proud women".
Ask yourself--what would be the reaction if pictured were a bunch of white, male, cadets, but with a Confederate Flag hoisted on the two swords in the middle? Would you try to explain it away as a sign of their strength and pride?
Friday, May 6, 2016
Good Piece Here from Iowahawk
Thought provoking. But I think he gives voters more credit than they deserve.
Sunday, March 6, 2016
Bernie logic
Two tweets, both from Bernie Sanders, today:
It really is frightening when you have a party controlling the House and Senate saying, "You know what? We reject science."
— Bernie Sanders (@SenSanders) March 7, 2016
It's unacceptable that Monsanto is more concerned about their own profits than about a consumer's right to know what they are eating.
— Bernie Sanders (@SenSanders) March 6, 2016
Uh...
A Note on Comments
Readers,
This is a political blog (primarily) and there is a good bit of back and forth. I moderate the comments and let 90% of them through. But one thing is sure to get your comment deleted--and that is if I write something--or one of the other bloggers writes something--that is decidedly NOT political, and you use that comment space to advance your agenda--it's gone.
This happened twice in the last day.
This is a political blog (primarily) and there is a good bit of back and forth. I moderate the comments and let 90% of them through. But one thing is sure to get your comment deleted--and that is if I write something--or one of the other bloggers writes something--that is decidedly NOT political, and you use that comment space to advance your agenda--it's gone.
This happened twice in the last day.
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