"You're born into this world naked, cold, wet and hungry.
Then it gets worse." --- Unknown
Then it gets worse." --- Unknown
31 July 2009
30 July 2009
31 July 2009
For about the past three weeks, I've been doing a bit of remodeling in the bathroom. Took down some old linoleum from the ceiling (don't ask) that was curling badly, and put up some tileboard comprised of 4x4 gloss white tiling on top of what looks like the same material as regular pegboard. The ad copy says it's optimal for use in bathrooms, over showers, etc. Installed two new bath fans --- a light/fan over the shower and a light/fan/heat over the main bath area --- so we are now moving 180 cubic feet of air per minute ! Had a little trouble with the wiring for these but once I figured out with an AC tester that one of the white wires was being used as a hot wire (it was never marked as such with black electrical tape per code), it was pretty routine. Working up in the cramped attic recesses was a chore, though, and hot.
So yes. Three weeks. Not quite what I imagined, but we've had some delay with the continuing rain (which means you can't cut the tileboard on the table saw outside) and the continuing pattern of having to deal with some of the realities of having had a Dutch carpenter, for measuring and cutting purposes. Other than that, it was small preparation work; small but necessary, doing what I can where/when I can. Spackling some holes in the walls, some larger than others. Took out some bad Sheetrock near the shower head and replaced it with Durock ® cement board. Put up the new shower head and curtain rod. Three trips to Lowe's / Home Depot, which usually turns into half a day in itself. I swear, shopping for materials is more draining than doing the actual work.
Yesterday, I picked out the new toilet and pedestal sink and faucet, wax ring, stainless steel flex tubing... but before any of that comes the white 12"x12" tile that is comprised of a mesh of 2"x2" matte tiles. They were the closest consistency I could find to the tileboard. I want to stick as closely to the vision as I can... you know, the one where you can close your eyes and see how things should be, should look, should function. The idea was to go with something more permanent, more solid than the linoleum or vinyl flooring. Took out the vanity sink tonight. Will take out the toilet tomorrow morning and get going on mapping out the tile. One of the nice things about the 2"x2" grid work is that when you get to the toilet pipe and the sink drain, you can cut out a few squares rather than have to fire up a tile saw, hole saw, or use the tile nippers. The area to be tiled isn't that large --- about 5'x5' but this is my first experience with tile. Seems pretty straightforward, though, and I have done my fair share of masonry work, so I'm not too worried.
So yes. Three weeks. Not quite what I imagined, but we've had some delay with the continuing rain (which means you can't cut the tileboard on the table saw outside) and the continuing pattern of having to deal with some of the realities of having had a Dutch carpenter, for measuring and cutting purposes. Other than that, it was small preparation work; small but necessary, doing what I can where/when I can. Spackling some holes in the walls, some larger than others. Took out some bad Sheetrock near the shower head and replaced it with Durock ® cement board. Put up the new shower head and curtain rod. Three trips to Lowe's / Home Depot, which usually turns into half a day in itself. I swear, shopping for materials is more draining than doing the actual work.
Yesterday, I picked out the new toilet and pedestal sink and faucet, wax ring, stainless steel flex tubing... but before any of that comes the white 12"x12" tile that is comprised of a mesh of 2"x2" matte tiles. They were the closest consistency I could find to the tileboard. I want to stick as closely to the vision as I can... you know, the one where you can close your eyes and see how things should be, should look, should function. The idea was to go with something more permanent, more solid than the linoleum or vinyl flooring. Took out the vanity sink tonight. Will take out the toilet tomorrow morning and get going on mapping out the tile. One of the nice things about the 2"x2" grid work is that when you get to the toilet pipe and the sink drain, you can cut out a few squares rather than have to fire up a tile saw, hole saw, or use the tile nippers. The area to be tiled isn't that large --- about 5'x5' but this is my first experience with tile. Seems pretty straightforward, though, and I have done my fair share of masonry work, so I'm not too worried.
27 July 2009
Nederland
A couple of weeks ago, I ordered this jacket from ESPNshop.com. I've had my eye on it for about a year now, but was waiting for a sale. So when I saw it on clearance for half off combined with a $6 online coupon, I decided to pull the trigger and order. All told, about $40 including shipping. 'Course, that's probably about $38 more than it cost to produce....
It's a nice little something to wear during the Olympics or World Cup to show some support for one of my heritage countries. The orange is not quite as garish as it appears in the above photo, nor is the blue as dark.
Feels a little weird adding some sports-related clothing to my wardrobe after a long time of swearing off of wearing jerseys, but this seems like a tasteful enough addition. Not enthusiastic about the Nike Swooshes everywhere, but I guess that comes with the sport.
21 July 2009
20 July 2009
Redemption Center
By James Dufresne
A bright yellow condom lies unrolled and watery
at the bottom of the clear plastic bag of empties
propped up in the shopping cart in Sturbridge, Massachusetts.
The hand with a purple latex glove purposely avoids it.
The aluminum cans, plastic soda containers and glass beer bottles
of collegiate provenance were dropped in the first-floor communal bin
and forgotten --- not worth the weighty, shameful process of cashiering
at the U’s co-op. They were transported 20 miles to be redeemed.
It is late winter and the cans that were discarded with residual liquids are heavy
with frozen soda or beer. The machinery crushes or crashes all that is sent down
its conveyor, so long as serial numbers are recognizable amid its spinning frenzy.
The nickels accrue on the small screens, 229 x .05 = $11.45.
Walking out the door toward the main building, with head rolled back on shoulders
in hockey-goalie swift motion left to right, one two three soft cracks unleash
the tension built from a day doing nothing that will not have to be done again tomorrow.
Like the cans, we await whatever the machinery of this world will bring us to next,
dependent on so much happenstance outside of our singular grasp in how we got here
In this place, waiting to be pummeled, melted down and made anew.
The Boston-NYC vapor trails against the dull blue sky disappear quickly from the parched air.
The clerk who aims and shoots the barcodes checks the driver’s license suspiciously, says
You look like you're about 19, then relents in defeat and notes in parting that it’s a good day
when redemption brings in enough so you only have to pay a dollar fourteen for a thirty pack of Pabst.
A bright yellow condom lies unrolled and watery
at the bottom of the clear plastic bag of empties
propped up in the shopping cart in Sturbridge, Massachusetts.
The hand with a purple latex glove purposely avoids it.
The aluminum cans, plastic soda containers and glass beer bottles
of collegiate provenance were dropped in the first-floor communal bin
and forgotten --- not worth the weighty, shameful process of cashiering
at the U’s co-op. They were transported 20 miles to be redeemed.
It is late winter and the cans that were discarded with residual liquids are heavy
with frozen soda or beer. The machinery crushes or crashes all that is sent down
its conveyor, so long as serial numbers are recognizable amid its spinning frenzy.
The nickels accrue on the small screens, 229 x .05 = $11.45.
Walking out the door toward the main building, with head rolled back on shoulders
in hockey-goalie swift motion left to right, one two three soft cracks unleash
the tension built from a day doing nothing that will not have to be done again tomorrow.
Like the cans, we await whatever the machinery of this world will bring us to next,
dependent on so much happenstance outside of our singular grasp in how we got here
In this place, waiting to be pummeled, melted down and made anew.
The Boston-NYC vapor trails against the dull blue sky disappear quickly from the parched air.
The clerk who aims and shoots the barcodes checks the driver’s license suspiciously, says
You look like you're about 19, then relents in defeat and notes in parting that it’s a good day
when redemption brings in enough so you only have to pay a dollar fourteen for a thirty pack of Pabst.
18 July 2009
Uncle Duff
My Uncle Duff (this is a nickname that stuck) served on the USS Midway, during the waning days of WWII and into the Korean Conflict. He is full of great stories of that time, when, since he spoke French nearly fluently, he would serve as the ship captain's translator in many of the ports in the Mediterranean Sea.
This capacity would also spill into, shall we say, unofficial communications. In a bar in port, the commanding officer would point to a woman he was interested in, blonde, brunette or redhead, and my uncle would go over and speak to her. A number of the crew jokingly called him "the captain's pimp."
He also had a story when we were up there last about a Navy training base near San Diego where some Marine drill instructors, during morning calisthenics, would make the recruits yell out, over and over, at the top of their lungs, “I AM A SHITHEAD!”
Then one day, it woke up the base admiral at 5 a.m. And then the sergeants found out exactly who the real shitheads were.
He is full of little pearls like that. He also has a strong affinity to standard poodles, and has had one or more for most of his adult life. The ones that I have known are full of vim and vigor, they are real characters. Uncle Duff has a great philosophy of training them that I tried to emulate with, I think, very good results. Effective training requires the right attitude, establishing an alpha-beta relationship, proper care, and to a certain degree letting the dog be who he is during play.
I read a note a couple of weeks ago from his daughter on a social networking site that his health is declining, even from the last time she visited. Over the past couple-few decades he has had two bouts with skin cancer and prostate cancer --- the only one on either side my family as of this reckoning --- a serious fall, and Parkinson's disease that, as is its nature, is progressively getting worse. He isn't shy about sharing this and dropping little suggestions, e.g. make cranberry juice a regular part of your diet for prostate health. He insists on living in the house that he built for as long as he can, with which I wholeheartedly empathize.
We'll have to make an effort to sneak in a visit, which will include a game of cribbage, soon (it is about a 4-5 hour trip by car). To any family that may read this, I don't think anyone will take offense when I say that Uncle Duff is my favorite uncle. Because, hell, he's probably your favorite, too.
This capacity would also spill into, shall we say, unofficial communications. In a bar in port, the commanding officer would point to a woman he was interested in, blonde, brunette or redhead, and my uncle would go over and speak to her. A number of the crew jokingly called him "the captain's pimp."
He also had a story when we were up there last about a Navy training base near San Diego where some Marine drill instructors, during morning calisthenics, would make the recruits yell out, over and over, at the top of their lungs, “I AM A SHITHEAD!”
Then one day, it woke up the base admiral at 5 a.m. And then the sergeants found out exactly who the real shitheads were.
He is full of little pearls like that. He also has a strong affinity to standard poodles, and has had one or more for most of his adult life. The ones that I have known are full of vim and vigor, they are real characters. Uncle Duff has a great philosophy of training them that I tried to emulate with, I think, very good results. Effective training requires the right attitude, establishing an alpha-beta relationship, proper care, and to a certain degree letting the dog be who he is during play.
I read a note a couple of weeks ago from his daughter on a social networking site that his health is declining, even from the last time she visited. Over the past couple-few decades he has had two bouts with skin cancer and prostate cancer --- the only one on either side my family as of this reckoning --- a serious fall, and Parkinson's disease that, as is its nature, is progressively getting worse. He isn't shy about sharing this and dropping little suggestions, e.g. make cranberry juice a regular part of your diet for prostate health. He insists on living in the house that he built for as long as he can, with which I wholeheartedly empathize.
We'll have to make an effort to sneak in a visit, which will include a game of cribbage, soon (it is about a 4-5 hour trip by car). To any family that may read this, I don't think anyone will take offense when I say that Uncle Duff is my favorite uncle. Because, hell, he's probably your favorite, too.
14 July 2009
Bastille Day, S'il Vous Plait
Today is Bastille Day (Le quatorze juillet), celebrated in France and elsewhere around the world, on the anniversary of the storming of the Bastille prison that effectively started the French Revolution. It is the French equivalent of the American Fourth of July, ultimately breaking down the 'divine right / l'etat, c'est moi' of a king or queen's rule and establishing parliaments and a modicum of democracy.
Of course, the "Reign of Terror" (using the newly-invented guillotine) that soon followed wasn't so nice, to say the least.... As the course of history has shown, bloodbaths often follow dramatic reformation as polarized groups vie to fill the political vaccuum (often paired with a religious "justification" / cop-out). The situation is not entirely unlike the one that former President G.W. Bush's "Coalition of the Willing" introduced upon Iraq.
Having taken four years of French in high school, and drawing half of my lineage from France (firstly filtered through Canada), you'd think I might know exactly what manner of celebration to hold. You'd think that, but you'd be wrong. I still remember how to set a table in the French style. I still retain a good deal of the language even though I would need to do a little dusting in that corner of my brain. I admit, however, that I am much better at written French than my powers of speaking it off the cuff --- but that's true of my English as well.
This Pan Bagnat recipe looks appealing, I have a lot of the ingredients (or suitable substitutes) and it doesn't look like it'll take very much prep time, and a side of some Laughing Cow® French cheese. Add in a "Liberté, égalité, fraternité" ephemera, and I think we're set.
Of course, the "Reign of Terror" (using the newly-invented guillotine) that soon followed wasn't so nice, to say the least.... As the course of history has shown, bloodbaths often follow dramatic reformation as polarized groups vie to fill the political vaccuum (often paired with a religious "justification" / cop-out). The situation is not entirely unlike the one that former President G.W. Bush's "Coalition of the Willing" introduced upon Iraq.
Having taken four years of French in high school, and drawing half of my lineage from France (firstly filtered through Canada), you'd think I might know exactly what manner of celebration to hold. You'd think that, but you'd be wrong. I still remember how to set a table in the French style. I still retain a good deal of the language even though I would need to do a little dusting in that corner of my brain. I admit, however, that I am much better at written French than my powers of speaking it off the cuff --- but that's true of my English as well.
This Pan Bagnat recipe looks appealing, I have a lot of the ingredients (or suitable substitutes) and it doesn't look like it'll take very much prep time, and a side of some Laughing Cow® French cheese. Add in a "Liberté, égalité, fraternité" ephemera, and I think we're set.
11 July 2009
Painting the Past
© "Landscapes Through Time with David Dunlop" (Link)When you think of the phrase 'got a new television' you instantly imagine a well-conformed derriere print on the couch. Since we got the HDTV, however, I've noticed a sharp decline in my viewing habits. Part of this may be the picture --- when you've gotten a taste of high definition, it's a real downer to have to watch programs in standard definition that often look hazy or washed out in comparision. Another part would probably be the state of programming these days. As a matter of record in this blog, we are an over-the-air-only house, so we get what passes for network television these days --- much of it being garbage/"ashes in the mouth." Much of the time when the television is on, it's tuned to PBS.
One of my favorite shows on PBS, though it isn't receiving airtime currently, is "Landscapes Through Time with David Dunlop." Now, I've enjoyed landscape painting shows for quite a while, with the late Bob Ross and some various others that have popped up on the PBS Create channel (in standard definition), usually in the 6:30 p.m. hour. Seeing a few episodes with Mr. Dunlop on the main PBS channels in high-definition was enough for me to see that he's working on a higher level. While he's painting at the same sites that famous artists created their works, (and when he meets with other artists/students nearby and makes some touches of his own on their work) he talks about the artist of the episode, gives a bit of history and focuses on their individual techniques. This is a relatively new series on PBS, originating out of our little state of Connecticut's PBS stations (CPTV), and so far has filmed 13 episodes in locations in this state, France, etc. Here's hoping that this series gets some run-time scheduled and produces more episodes.
08 July 2009
07 July 2009
7 July 2009
Had a pretty good Fourth of July weekend. The Wimbledon ladies' final between Venus and Serena Williams left something to be desired in terms of competitiveness and crowd appeal. It was weird how how quiet it was in the stands, and when Serena broke Venus midway through the second set, you could see the match was over. The men's final on Sunday, though, gave last year's "best tennis match ever" a run for the money. It was a slug fest between Roger Federer and Andy Roddick. Roddick showed up on the court with more force in the first three sets, even though he dropped the second and third in a tie-break. Federer did not break Roddick's serve until the very end in the fifth-set bonus. It really must have been a heartbreaker for Roddick to have such a great match end that way. Federer is now the owner of the most Open-era Slam titles ever, with 15. It was good to see the match end without an incident like the French Open final fan who was able to run right up to Federer and try to put a hat on him. Watching that live brought back flashes of Monica Seles being stabbed in Germany. The Wimbledon officials put together a very nice tournament, the weather there was freakishly dry (even as we've been uncharacteristically deluged here in the northeast) and the Centre Court retractable roof will wait until next year.
On Sunday afternoon, I ended up preparing some fare for our nuclear family --- rib eye steak and hot dogs on the grill, along with pasta salad and green beans. Later on as the fireworks started at about 9 p.m., we sat on some folding canvas chairs down by the lakefront. Bundled up my niece, M----, in a few blankets to ward off the night chill and help muffle the sounds.
This community has always had decent displays of fireworks for the Fourth. There is no public entity behind it, it has always been from a few to several people around the lake who buy privately and, with our Puritan Connecticut laws, probably illegally. Nonetheless, we are just observers. This year there were about seven camps sprinkled around the lake that were setting off a full display, and we have a very good vantage point... probably one of the the best views on the lake. I managed to take the above photo in my camera's 'Fireworks' mode, and it didn't come out too badly even though it was not steadied on a tripod as suggested.
About midway through, M---- was asleep even with the bangs, whistles, booms and pops, her little hand resting on her cheek. For the last 15 years or more, the Fourth was not exactly my favorite holiday. The fireworks would make the dogs severely agitated, and at every blast they would try to hide under furniture or skittishly hang around the humans. The Fourth was something more to be drowned out by turning the television's sound way up and trying to calm the wanton canine fears with cheap palliative words. Well, we don't have that situation anymore, and the Fourth is a stark reminder of that with memories and the anniversary of their departing. But we try to come up with some new rituals and move forward step after step.
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