I don't have much I want to write about on this, I am really trying to keep the blogging light. However, everyone needs to know that this is going on. Please read and then ask your self where are we headed as a country?
The New York Times > New York Region > In F.B.I., Innocent Detainee Found Unlikely Ally
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Sunday, June 27, 2004
The Tank
I am in mourning. I just discovered that Bess Eaton Donuts are no more. Apparently they were bought out by a Canadian company, Tim Horton's. Now for those of you who have never been to a Bess Eaton (I think they are primarily a Rhode Island chain), there are a few things you should know:
1.) Their donuts were only mediocre. They pale in comparison to Dunkin Donuts and Krispy Kreme.
2.) Apparently they were owned by some fundamentalist Christian group who decided to spread "The Word" on every cup, napkin, and bag they handed out. So no matter what you ordered there would be a passage from the bible that you could read while you ate your donut or drank your coffee. To this day I have no idea what the correlation is between donuts and Christ are, but I am very thankful they didn't go the Ben and Jerry's route in naming their donuts. "Body of Christ, glazed" would seem a little disrespectful. But then again I am not a religious man.
So, you are probably wondering why would a New Englander care about this chain going under when you have a Dunkin Donuts every hundred yards or so? Well, Bess Eaton was home to the Tank. The Tank was 32 ounces of iced coffee. In my honest opinion, the best iced coffee available anywhere. There is something special about a chain that would market a quart of beverage that contains enough caffeine to keep you alert for 3 days straight. To keep it in proportion, 32 ounces is the same size as a big gulp at the 7/11 (another quality product, I might add!)
The fact that I can no longer get a french vanilla Tank, (light and sweet) is very sad. I became addicted to this delicacy over the couple of summers during grad school that I worked as an intern with the University of Rhode Island's orientation program. We would have to be up, ready and perky by 7:00 am. Legal stimulants were necessary to accomplish this task, so there would be a long line of orientation leaders lined up at Bess Eaton for their "Tanks" to get them ready for the day of smiles ahead.
My parents moved to Rhode Island a few years ago so my addiction has continued until this summer. I saw that every Bess Eaton had turned into a Tim Horton's. I gave Tim Horton's a chance and ordered the largest iced coffee they served (a mere 16 ounces) and a donut. The donut was even worse than a Bess Eaton donut. And the coffee, the flavor just wasn't the same and the caffeine content didn't even raise my heartbeat to the customary 120 beats per minute that was a signature "The Tank". Oh well, at least I can still go to Del's.
1.) Their donuts were only mediocre. They pale in comparison to Dunkin Donuts and Krispy Kreme.
2.) Apparently they were owned by some fundamentalist Christian group who decided to spread "The Word" on every cup, napkin, and bag they handed out. So no matter what you ordered there would be a passage from the bible that you could read while you ate your donut or drank your coffee. To this day I have no idea what the correlation is between donuts and Christ are, but I am very thankful they didn't go the Ben and Jerry's route in naming their donuts. "Body of Christ, glazed" would seem a little disrespectful. But then again I am not a religious man.
So, you are probably wondering why would a New Englander care about this chain going under when you have a Dunkin Donuts every hundred yards or so? Well, Bess Eaton was home to the Tank. The Tank was 32 ounces of iced coffee. In my honest opinion, the best iced coffee available anywhere. There is something special about a chain that would market a quart of beverage that contains enough caffeine to keep you alert for 3 days straight. To keep it in proportion, 32 ounces is the same size as a big gulp at the 7/11 (another quality product, I might add!)
The fact that I can no longer get a french vanilla Tank, (light and sweet) is very sad. I became addicted to this delicacy over the couple of summers during grad school that I worked as an intern with the University of Rhode Island's orientation program. We would have to be up, ready and perky by 7:00 am. Legal stimulants were necessary to accomplish this task, so there would be a long line of orientation leaders lined up at Bess Eaton for their "Tanks" to get them ready for the day of smiles ahead.
My parents moved to Rhode Island a few years ago so my addiction has continued until this summer. I saw that every Bess Eaton had turned into a Tim Horton's. I gave Tim Horton's a chance and ordered the largest iced coffee they served (a mere 16 ounces) and a donut. The donut was even worse than a Bess Eaton donut. And the coffee, the flavor just wasn't the same and the caffeine content didn't even raise my heartbeat to the customary 120 beats per minute that was a signature "The Tank". Oh well, at least I can still go to Del's.
Friday, June 25, 2004
Yahoo! News - Cheney Utters 'F-Word' in U.S. Senate?
Prison Scandal...no reaction. Dwindling support for the war....nothing. Say something bad about Halliburton....F-Bombs the hell out of everything in site!
Yahoo! News - Cheney Utters 'F-Word' in U.S. Senate?
Yahoo! News - Cheney Utters 'F-Word' in U.S. Senate?
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Netflix Fan: 90,000 DVDs. No shelves.
I am a subscriber to Netflix. If you are like me and wonder how they stock, sort and send out movies, check out netflix fan's site!
Netflix Fan: 90,000 DVDs. No shelves.
Netflix Fan: 90,000 DVDs. No shelves.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Folk you!
My sister and I set out to the Clearwater Festival. Somehow I have missed out on folk festivals. My sister has been going for years. The Newport Folk Festival has been a family tradition for the last 4 or five years thanks to her. I lived in Virginia and North Carolina in the time that this family tradition was starting, so I hadn't attended one until last August's Newport Folk Festival. However, I am fully initiated now.
You mention folk festivals to me and it used to bring up images of bad campfire music, you know "Kumbaya" and that stuff. Well thankfully it has progressed a long way. It is still very steeped in a progressive mind set, often commentating on the evils of the conservative agenda, but basically it is the music originating with a singer and a guitar and a vision that the world can be a better place. These gatherings of music and like minded people paved the way for the numerous national festivals (Lollapalooza) that have become popular.
So you would think a musical tradition so steeped in hippie love would just be a love fest, wouldn't you? Well let me tell you, it ain't. It is all about space. This was really a foreign concept to me until last year an alarm went off at 5:00 am and my sister, my father, and I headed to the Newport Folk Festival in order to wait in line to be able to be the first ones through the gate to get the best spot in front of the stage for the day. As soon as the perfect spot was located, blankets are set up, coolers strategically placed to mark boundaries. Within 15 minutes not a patch of grass in front of the stage could be seen.
After we staked our claim, the reinforcements showed up. My mother and the rest of our crew arrived as reinforcements to help protect our site. They brought the supplies that would keep us strong through the battle ahead.
We then scouted out our "neighbors". I actually hesitate to call them that. Adversaries are more like it. Like Columbus to the new world, these people are looking to conquer your area and put their claim into it. This is how most wars start; with border skirmishes. And we are supposed to be gathered in the spirit global peace and harmony. That is all well and good, but would you get your damn foot off of my blanket? No you can't put you chair there, I have been here for 10 hours. Screw you for getting here late, this is my spot!
Clearwater (a fundraiser for environmental causes) was worse than this for a couple of reasons. First it was just my sister and I so we were out numbered. But really we had inferior technology. People actually brought expandable, half shell shelters. You know what these are? Picture a nylon structure that is essentially used to create shade. Parents often use them for their kids on the beach, but here they are used in a diabolical manner: To create an unencroachable space. It was out of hand. These "good neighbors" set these things up, virtually blocking 5 rows behind them.
These five rows then form a temporary alliance, appoint an ambassador to be sent forth to negotiate. The ambassador is usually met with "But we have kids with us who will burn in the hot sun, we need it" The ambassador counters with, "Then set it up in the back, where it isn't an obstruction" There isn't really a counter argument to this, but all these people need is the "I am doing it for the kids" excuse to maintain their self-righteous outlook on the situation. It is 50/50 that they will move, but if they don't, they will have to endure a day full of thrown missiles of wrappers, stones, and twigs along with a slew of suggestions on where they can place their tent that are not as feasible (or comfortable) as the original "set it up in the back of the field" idea.
Both of these festivals are two day events so the skirmishes that began day one became all out wars day two. At Clearwater, we decided on a new strategy. The sun was hot and we both got a little burned the day before, so shade was looking good. At the back end of the field was a huge willow. We decided to forgo a prime spot at the front of the stage in order to create a command center from this willow. We then deployed a small blanket closer to the stage that we would migrate to when acts we wanted a good view were performing. Knowing that this small blanket would be left unguarded, my sister forged alliances with the neighboring "blanket states" allowing them access to the area when not in use. There has never been a better diplomatic approach to a war time scenario! People now were guarding our premium space and we were free to roam. We checked in on both spots often, so people knew we hadn't defected to another "blanket state".
The closer at Clearwater was Ani DiFranco. Ani has become a staple at festivals for 2 reasons:
1.) She is truly an awesome songwriter and performer
2.) She is a huge draw.
This means that a lot of Ani fans came just to see her. Now old school Ani fans are awesome. They knew her before she was huge and still love her. My sister is one of these people. However there is a whole generation of fans that have to be the most obnoxious breed of fans ever. These fans arrived late on the day on Sunday, so the whole dynamic changed. After a whole day of border disputes, people had negotiated whatever treaties were necessary and were finally comfortable. Then the teeny bopper Ani fans came in and tried to take over. War escalated between the "folkies" and the "Anites". The Anites felt that no matter who was where, no one had more of a sovereign right to the land than they did. This was a rare opportunity to get close to the goddess herself, and screw your peace loving self if you try to stop me. The folkies were tired at this point and not a real match for the Anites. They made a valiant attempt but were more or less overwhelmed by these newcomers.
The sun was setting over the banks of the Hudson River and, as Ani sang about peace and equality, the Anites took over the precious landscape, pushing the dejected tree hugging folkies into makeshift reservations. My sister and I left Ani's set a few minutes early, and as we walked by what had to be hundreds the Anites gas guzzling SUVs in the parking lot, I came to the conclusion that if there is one common equalizer to the human element, it is that we are all assholes.
Peace.
If you subscribe to the Rhapsody music service, click the link below to sample a playist from artists found at the Clearwater festival:
RHAPSODY Link "Clearwater Artists"
The Willow
View from Blanket
Ms. Frizzle has some more pictures and her own take on the day. Check it out!
You mention folk festivals to me and it used to bring up images of bad campfire music, you know "Kumbaya" and that stuff. Well thankfully it has progressed a long way. It is still very steeped in a progressive mind set, often commentating on the evils of the conservative agenda, but basically it is the music originating with a singer and a guitar and a vision that the world can be a better place. These gatherings of music and like minded people paved the way for the numerous national festivals (Lollapalooza) that have become popular.
So you would think a musical tradition so steeped in hippie love would just be a love fest, wouldn't you? Well let me tell you, it ain't. It is all about space. This was really a foreign concept to me until last year an alarm went off at 5:00 am and my sister, my father, and I headed to the Newport Folk Festival in order to wait in line to be able to be the first ones through the gate to get the best spot in front of the stage for the day. As soon as the perfect spot was located, blankets are set up, coolers strategically placed to mark boundaries. Within 15 minutes not a patch of grass in front of the stage could be seen.
After we staked our claim, the reinforcements showed up. My mother and the rest of our crew arrived as reinforcements to help protect our site. They brought the supplies that would keep us strong through the battle ahead.
We then scouted out our "neighbors". I actually hesitate to call them that. Adversaries are more like it. Like Columbus to the new world, these people are looking to conquer your area and put their claim into it. This is how most wars start; with border skirmishes. And we are supposed to be gathered in the spirit global peace and harmony. That is all well and good, but would you get your damn foot off of my blanket? No you can't put you chair there, I have been here for 10 hours. Screw you for getting here late, this is my spot!
Clearwater (a fundraiser for environmental causes) was worse than this for a couple of reasons. First it was just my sister and I so we were out numbered. But really we had inferior technology. People actually brought expandable, half shell shelters. You know what these are? Picture a nylon structure that is essentially used to create shade. Parents often use them for their kids on the beach, but here they are used in a diabolical manner: To create an unencroachable space. It was out of hand. These "good neighbors" set these things up, virtually blocking 5 rows behind them.
These five rows then form a temporary alliance, appoint an ambassador to be sent forth to negotiate. The ambassador is usually met with "But we have kids with us who will burn in the hot sun, we need it" The ambassador counters with, "Then set it up in the back, where it isn't an obstruction" There isn't really a counter argument to this, but all these people need is the "I am doing it for the kids" excuse to maintain their self-righteous outlook on the situation. It is 50/50 that they will move, but if they don't, they will have to endure a day full of thrown missiles of wrappers, stones, and twigs along with a slew of suggestions on where they can place their tent that are not as feasible (or comfortable) as the original "set it up in the back of the field" idea.
Both of these festivals are two day events so the skirmishes that began day one became all out wars day two. At Clearwater, we decided on a new strategy. The sun was hot and we both got a little burned the day before, so shade was looking good. At the back end of the field was a huge willow. We decided to forgo a prime spot at the front of the stage in order to create a command center from this willow. We then deployed a small blanket closer to the stage that we would migrate to when acts we wanted a good view were performing. Knowing that this small blanket would be left unguarded, my sister forged alliances with the neighboring "blanket states" allowing them access to the area when not in use. There has never been a better diplomatic approach to a war time scenario! People now were guarding our premium space and we were free to roam. We checked in on both spots often, so people knew we hadn't defected to another "blanket state".
The closer at Clearwater was Ani DiFranco. Ani has become a staple at festivals for 2 reasons:
1.) She is truly an awesome songwriter and performer
2.) She is a huge draw.
This means that a lot of Ani fans came just to see her. Now old school Ani fans are awesome. They knew her before she was huge and still love her. My sister is one of these people. However there is a whole generation of fans that have to be the most obnoxious breed of fans ever. These fans arrived late on the day on Sunday, so the whole dynamic changed. After a whole day of border disputes, people had negotiated whatever treaties were necessary and were finally comfortable. Then the teeny bopper Ani fans came in and tried to take over. War escalated between the "folkies" and the "Anites". The Anites felt that no matter who was where, no one had more of a sovereign right to the land than they did. This was a rare opportunity to get close to the goddess herself, and screw your peace loving self if you try to stop me. The folkies were tired at this point and not a real match for the Anites. They made a valiant attempt but were more or less overwhelmed by these newcomers.
The sun was setting over the banks of the Hudson River and, as Ani sang about peace and equality, the Anites took over the precious landscape, pushing the dejected tree hugging folkies into makeshift reservations. My sister and I left Ani's set a few minutes early, and as we walked by what had to be hundreds the Anites gas guzzling SUVs in the parking lot, I came to the conclusion that if there is one common equalizer to the human element, it is that we are all assholes.
Peace.
If you subscribe to the Rhapsody music service, click the link below to sample a playist from artists found at the Clearwater festival:
RHAPSODY Link "Clearwater Artists"
The Willow
View from Blanket
Ms. Frizzle has some more pictures and her own take on the day. Check it out!
Monday, June 21, 2004
Yahoo! News - NY Promoter Wants Springsteen to Upstage Bush
I was checking ot the headlines today and this seems like a worthwhile petition to sign. Check it out if you are so inclined.
Yahoo! News - NY Promoter Wants Springsteen to Upstage Bush
Yahoo! News - NY Promoter Wants Springsteen to Upstage Bush
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
The geeks come out at night
I have a geeky side, I admit it. I majored in computers in college but ending up with a Master's in education, so technology only plays a supporting role in my work day. However, get me in front of the computer at home and I can geek out. Right now I am fascinated with the concept of open source applications. This is when a company or group decide to create an application and instead of putting locks on the "code" they distribute it and encourage others to take it apart and use it as they wish. For the most part this means that there are a lot of free applications out there. Here are some of the coolest:
Thunderbird (email) Firefox (browser) - These two application are a good replacement for IE and Netscape. The email client works so well with multiple accounts and has a lot of fun features. The browser supports tabbed browsing. I won't go into it here, but this is an awesome feature.
Gaim - Basically it is one application for all your IM sessions. Only one program needs to be running instead of 2 or 3. It is good, but it doesn't support all the features of the original IM apps.
OpenOffice - This application has all the features of Microsoft Office (the whole package) but is free! I haven't used it much but it looks strong.
So in the course of the past few weeks, I have been reading about email security. The Thunderbird email client has an add on called Enigmail that works based off another program called GnuGP. I won't go into the details here, because I am still not sure how it works, but basically it ensures that your email is only read by the intended recipient and that recipient can be sure it is you who sent it. The best reference to why we should encrypt our email was an analogy to unencrypted email being that of a postcard that anyone can read enroute.
So I get it in my head that I need security and attempt to install what has to be the most user unfriendly piece of software known to man. I had to edit my Windows registry, create config files. It was very difficult and I was constantly afraid I was doing irreparable damage to my system.
I get it working, but it is only then that I realize that both sender and recipient nees to be using the protocol. So since no one is using this stuff, it is useless. Oh well...
Some good info. on email security:
Email security privacy digital certificates
Thunderbird (email) Firefox (browser) - These two application are a good replacement for IE and Netscape. The email client works so well with multiple accounts and has a lot of fun features. The browser supports tabbed browsing. I won't go into it here, but this is an awesome feature.
Gaim - Basically it is one application for all your IM sessions. Only one program needs to be running instead of 2 or 3. It is good, but it doesn't support all the features of the original IM apps.
OpenOffice - This application has all the features of Microsoft Office (the whole package) but is free! I haven't used it much but it looks strong.
So in the course of the past few weeks, I have been reading about email security. The Thunderbird email client has an add on called Enigmail that works based off another program called GnuGP. I won't go into the details here, because I am still not sure how it works, but basically it ensures that your email is only read by the intended recipient and that recipient can be sure it is you who sent it. The best reference to why we should encrypt our email was an analogy to unencrypted email being that of a postcard that anyone can read enroute.
So I get it in my head that I need security and attempt to install what has to be the most user unfriendly piece of software known to man. I had to edit my Windows registry, create config files. It was very difficult and I was constantly afraid I was doing irreparable damage to my system.
I get it working, but it is only then that I realize that both sender and recipient nees to be using the protocol. So since no one is using this stuff, it is useless. Oh well...
Some good info. on email security:
Email security privacy digital certificates
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
Jon Stewart's ('84) Commencement Address
Jon Stewart's ('84) Commencement Address | News
Here is a copy of Jon Stewart's Address to the College of William and Mary class of '04. I should have taken longer earning my degree....I don't even remember who spoke to the class of '99.
Ian (W&M M.Ed. '99)
Here is a copy of Jon Stewart's Address to the College of William and Mary class of '04. I should have taken longer earning my degree....I don't even remember who spoke to the class of '99.
Ian (W&M M.Ed. '99)
Monday, June 14, 2004
The magic of the media
***Rant On***
Every morning I get my headline news from My Yahoo. If you are not familiar with this section of yahoo, it is what is known as a portal. With a portal, the content that is displayed on your screen can be customized. I like my news to be tempered by pop culture happenings, so I have a lot of news/politics and entertainment. This allows for you to see two or three headlines from what I would say are the top 5 or 6 major media (The AP, Reuters, MSNBC, CNN, etc.) all in one glance.
With the headlines from different sources diplayed like this, it has been easy for me to see the inconsistency of what is being reported. While I know that there is going to be two sides to every story, you would think that the media sources could at least agree on if a movie did well over the course of a weekend. Where is the confusion in that?
Yahoo! News - 'Harry Potter' Loses Potency Atop U.S. Box Office
Yahoo! News - "Potter" Magic Holds Up
How can I figure out what exactly is going on in the world, if the media can't even figure out if Harry Potter did well at the weekend boxoffice? Just a friendly reminder that you have to do more than site an article to understand what is really going on.
***Rant Off***
Every morning I get my headline news from My Yahoo. If you are not familiar with this section of yahoo, it is what is known as a portal. With a portal, the content that is displayed on your screen can be customized. I like my news to be tempered by pop culture happenings, so I have a lot of news/politics and entertainment. This allows for you to see two or three headlines from what I would say are the top 5 or 6 major media (The AP, Reuters, MSNBC, CNN, etc.) all in one glance.
With the headlines from different sources diplayed like this, it has been easy for me to see the inconsistency of what is being reported. While I know that there is going to be two sides to every story, you would think that the media sources could at least agree on if a movie did well over the course of a weekend. Where is the confusion in that?
Yahoo! News - 'Harry Potter' Loses Potency Atop U.S. Box Office
Yahoo! News - "Potter" Magic Holds Up
How can I figure out what exactly is going on in the world, if the media can't even figure out if Harry Potter did well at the weekend boxoffice? Just a friendly reminder that you have to do more than site an article to understand what is really going on.
***Rant Off***
Friday, June 11, 2004
Two thirds of the research triangle.
Don't male cat owners carry with them the stigma of "dangerous" or "mysterious"? Not the good kind, like what the women of "Sex and the City" are searching for. This is the creepy kind of dangerous we teach our kids about strangers. In fact, when I have kids and we are talking about "stranger danger", the male cat owner will be number one on my child's "creep radar".
We all know a "SCP" (Scary Cat Person). This is the little old lady who lives at the end of a cul-de-sac, whose only purpose on this earth is to care for the constant stream of cats entering and exiting her dilapidated shack. But there are other SCPs who are much more subversive in hiding their obsession. I have, on multiple occasions, been surprised by a seemingly sane coworker suddenly shows the symptoms of "cat scratch fever". You don't realize their ailment until you are alone in their office. It is only there that you see that every personal item contains a reference to a feline. The "Cat-A-Day" calendar, the handmade tissue box cozy in the shape of a cat (you know who you are!), and of course the personal pictures! It is in these pictures that you really see the glint of madness. I have seen co-worker's cats dressed up for Halloween, or opening gifts at the holidays. I feel bad for these animals because there is no dignity in a life where you are in danger of being dressed up in a bumble bee costume at any given time. I don't claim to know the laws of the universe, but this behavior must break a few.
So why, Ian, if you are so put off by these people did you join their ranks? A good question, and I have a story. You see, I wanted a dog. I lived in North Carolina for a time. While I was there I rented the downstairs of a duplex. This was the first time in my adult life I had lived in a house and not an apartment. My good friends lived upstairs and were cat owners. We had a big back yard that would have been perfect for a dog. I had the best dog ever growing up and I have always intended to be a dog owner.
Being intoxicated by living in a house, I deluded myself to thinking I would always be in a house and that it was time for a dog. I began rationalizing why I needed a dog. They are great companions! Security for the home! (The biggie) Women love dogs and their owners! So I began the hunt. However, the responsibility associated with a dog began to hit me: I had every intention of moving back to New England where I would most likely be renting an apartment. Every chance I got, I flew home to visit my family and boarding a dog would be costly. I worked long hours so it would be alone a lot. So I ultimately made the right decision: No mortgage, no dog.
However, as you get to know me you realize, I can't turn off the rationalizations; Once I set my mind that I want something, I usually get it. My upstairs neighbors (cat people) knew this about me and started replacing the dog in the scenario with a cat. I was genuinely resistant at first.
"I don't like cats", I explained.
They countered with, "No you like dogs better, but that ain't happenin'". Valid point.
"My sister is allergic," I pointed out.
"She is 900 miles away." Damn them!
This went on for a while until one Saturday they asked if I was up to a trip to Target. I accepted and the next thing I know we are parked in front of Petco.
"Do you need supplies for your cats?" I asked.
"No, this trip is for you." Sure enough, set up outside the store was the Cat Adoption Team (a non-profit organization whose membership contained hundreds of specially trained SCP who will stop at nothing to get these cats into a home and spread their obsession!)
I steeled myself and headed toward the cages. My mantra was, "I want a dog". I began to begrudgingly look in the cages. To be honest, the resistance was easy at first. Sure they were cute and your heart went out to the condition of their lives, but there weren't dogs, you know. I remember "picking" out my dog when I was five or six. Winnie (her name) picked me. These cats could care less.
I had just started to feel that I had successfully foiled their attempt, when my neighbor handed me this little ball of fur. I held it close to my chest and it looked at me and started to purr. It then climbed towards my chin and nuzzled it. I held it for a long time and I was sold.
This is where I was railroaded. I barely had said, I'll take it when the female half of my neighbor's household (a SCP in training) and the C.A.T. rep. said I have to have two. I swear it was rehearsed.
"With your long work days, he needs company", my neighbor said.
"He is part of a litter, he has a brother and two sisters. You should take one of them", the C.A.T. lady added.
So I looked into the cage and saw his brother cowering in the corner. Apparently the two sisters beat on the brothers relentlessly. They had to be double his size and although they told me all cats came neutered by a vet, I had a feeling these two had something to do with the operation. So once I had slipped down the slope, agreeing to two was easy.
Once I made the verbal commitment, the C.A.T. lady whole demeanor changed. "You do realize that cats live an average of sixteen years?"
"Um, ok," I said, confused.
"Are you up to that kind of commitment?"
At this point every woman who appeared to be single, turned to hear my response. I swear now I know the pressure a surgeon feels.
"Yes," I squeaked out, timidly.
"Then sign this form and know that we will be checking in on you," indicating the half dozen volunteers dressed in T-shirts with pictures of what I assume are their individual cats ironed-on. To this day, 800 miles away in Ma., I swear I see that women or one of her cohorts out of the corner of my eye. It is chilling.
So I have cats, begrudgingly. They are cool and thrive on affection, very dog like. Most importantly they are mine and that is cool, you know? There names are Raleigh and Durham, in honor of my five year "tour de South". And I swear that other than they live in my apartment, there is no cat paraphernalia that would categorize me as a SCP (As far as you know ;) )
Some interesting cat links:
Ask Jeeves Answer - what do you call a group of cats?: "A group of cats is called a pounce ."
I wrote this story after reading about "The Bear"
We all know a "SCP" (Scary Cat Person). This is the little old lady who lives at the end of a cul-de-sac, whose only purpose on this earth is to care for the constant stream of cats entering and exiting her dilapidated shack. But there are other SCPs who are much more subversive in hiding their obsession. I have, on multiple occasions, been surprised by a seemingly sane coworker suddenly shows the symptoms of "cat scratch fever". You don't realize their ailment until you are alone in their office. It is only there that you see that every personal item contains a reference to a feline. The "Cat-A-Day" calendar, the handmade tissue box cozy in the shape of a cat (you know who you are!), and of course the personal pictures! It is in these pictures that you really see the glint of madness. I have seen co-worker's cats dressed up for Halloween, or opening gifts at the holidays. I feel bad for these animals because there is no dignity in a life where you are in danger of being dressed up in a bumble bee costume at any given time. I don't claim to know the laws of the universe, but this behavior must break a few.
So why, Ian, if you are so put off by these people did you join their ranks? A good question, and I have a story. You see, I wanted a dog. I lived in North Carolina for a time. While I was there I rented the downstairs of a duplex. This was the first time in my adult life I had lived in a house and not an apartment. My good friends lived upstairs and were cat owners. We had a big back yard that would have been perfect for a dog. I had the best dog ever growing up and I have always intended to be a dog owner.
Being intoxicated by living in a house, I deluded myself to thinking I would always be in a house and that it was time for a dog. I began rationalizing why I needed a dog. They are great companions! Security for the home! (The biggie) Women love dogs and their owners! So I began the hunt. However, the responsibility associated with a dog began to hit me: I had every intention of moving back to New England where I would most likely be renting an apartment. Every chance I got, I flew home to visit my family and boarding a dog would be costly. I worked long hours so it would be alone a lot. So I ultimately made the right decision: No mortgage, no dog.
However, as you get to know me you realize, I can't turn off the rationalizations; Once I set my mind that I want something, I usually get it. My upstairs neighbors (cat people) knew this about me and started replacing the dog in the scenario with a cat. I was genuinely resistant at first.
"I don't like cats", I explained.
They countered with, "No you like dogs better, but that ain't happenin'". Valid point.
"My sister is allergic," I pointed out.
"She is 900 miles away." Damn them!
This went on for a while until one Saturday they asked if I was up to a trip to Target. I accepted and the next thing I know we are parked in front of Petco.
"Do you need supplies for your cats?" I asked.
"No, this trip is for you." Sure enough, set up outside the store was the Cat Adoption Team (a non-profit organization whose membership contained hundreds of specially trained SCP who will stop at nothing to get these cats into a home and spread their obsession!)
I steeled myself and headed toward the cages. My mantra was, "I want a dog". I began to begrudgingly look in the cages. To be honest, the resistance was easy at first. Sure they were cute and your heart went out to the condition of their lives, but there weren't dogs, you know. I remember "picking" out my dog when I was five or six. Winnie (her name) picked me. These cats could care less.
I had just started to feel that I had successfully foiled their attempt, when my neighbor handed me this little ball of fur. I held it close to my chest and it looked at me and started to purr. It then climbed towards my chin and nuzzled it. I held it for a long time and I was sold.
This is where I was railroaded. I barely had said, I'll take it when the female half of my neighbor's household (a SCP in training) and the C.A.T. rep. said I have to have two. I swear it was rehearsed.
"With your long work days, he needs company", my neighbor said.
"He is part of a litter, he has a brother and two sisters. You should take one of them", the C.A.T. lady added.
So I looked into the cage and saw his brother cowering in the corner. Apparently the two sisters beat on the brothers relentlessly. They had to be double his size and although they told me all cats came neutered by a vet, I had a feeling these two had something to do with the operation. So once I had slipped down the slope, agreeing to two was easy.
Once I made the verbal commitment, the C.A.T. lady whole demeanor changed. "You do realize that cats live an average of sixteen years?"
"Um, ok," I said, confused.
"Are you up to that kind of commitment?"
At this point every woman who appeared to be single, turned to hear my response. I swear now I know the pressure a surgeon feels.
"Yes," I squeaked out, timidly.
"Then sign this form and know that we will be checking in on you," indicating the half dozen volunteers dressed in T-shirts with pictures of what I assume are their individual cats ironed-on. To this day, 800 miles away in Ma., I swear I see that women or one of her cohorts out of the corner of my eye. It is chilling.
So I have cats, begrudgingly. They are cool and thrive on affection, very dog like. Most importantly they are mine and that is cool, you know? There names are Raleigh and Durham, in honor of my five year "tour de South". And I swear that other than they live in my apartment, there is no cat paraphernalia that would categorize me as a SCP (As far as you know ;) )
Some interesting cat links:
Ask Jeeves Answer - what do you call a group of cats?: "A group of cats is called a pounce ."
I wrote this story after reading about "The Bear"
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Like lemmings over a cliff...
My family has never been one to jump on board the popular way of thinking. When it comes to politics, I am convinced that my dad will always disagree with whatever he is being reported by the mainstream media, no matter how undeniable the source is. Unless it is coming from the BBC. The same story that was broadcast on network news will have no validity to my father, but if he hears it told with a English dialect, that same story couldn't be more fact than if he had witnessed the events of the story in person. The whole scenario is odd considering that although you can trace our lineage back to Ireland, but I don't know if my father has met anyone from the British Isles in person.
My sister and I, being of his direct gene pool have inherited this blatant distrust of anything of popular opinion. In school we were both associated with the outsiders, finding solace in drama and music, with all the other lost souls who, for reasons all their own, resist fitting in with the herd. As we have both reached adulthood, we wear our non-conforming traits like a badge of honor. In this world of SUVs, we drive our Ford Escorts with pride, justified that we are using less resources. As people watch American Idol, we foam at the mouth for the next installment of the House reality series on PBS (Frontier House, Colonial House). We voted for Nader, for God's sake. We do not conform!
Or at least I thought so. A few months back, my sister and I hopped on the train for a day in New York City. She lives in New Haven and has friends there allowing her to visit enough to be familiar with the city. On this particular day, we were going to explore Greenwich Village. My sister, armed with her copy of "A Radical's Guide to New York City", and I set out on the first warm day of spring. We set out to follow the trail of other self described non-conformists. We ate at Chumly's a very cool (but cramped) pub that has no markings on the outside to indicate it is a place of business. You have to know the address and pray, as you shove open the door, that you are not walking into someone's private residence.
We were feeling very radical until we happened upon a line that wrapped around a building that appeared to house a bakery. Now a true free spirit, would have paused, saw the line, and continued on their way knowing that nothing good can come out of that many people standing in a queue for something. Not us, we got in line, not even knowing what it was that people were waiting for. The excitement of a good desert outweighed our contempt for the populist mentality.
As we got closer to the shop (there had to be 50 people ahead of us) we could see the window display filled with cupcakes. People were exiting the shop in complete ecstasy. "Have you ever tasted anything so good?" we over heard. With that any chance of us leaving this line and maintaining our sense of individuality went out the window.
We rounded the final corner and the door to the shop. We could now see that there was an organized system implemented to create maximum efficiency in distribution of cupcakes. As we got even closer, a store employee (who could have passed as a twenty-five year old version of the outsiders of our youth) gave us instructions. The gist was take the appropriate sized box, select your cupcakes using a sheet of wax paper, proceed to the register. I soon discovered that the wax was unnecessary as there was no way to avoid being covered in frosting. The impatience of the "line people" grew exponentially as they entered the store, making the window of opportunity to get your cupcakes about 1/8th of a second. My sister did a great job of holding the tide of people cramming forward with her body while simultaneously telling me which cupcakes to pick. Interestingly, the cupcakes that she wanted were about as far away from me as the could get, causing me to balance precariously over the dozens of cupcake landmines to reach those she desired.
We sealed the box and paid for what was sure to be the best cupcake ever created.
We were able to find a seat on a bench across from the bakery. I opened the box and we each gingerly took a cake out of the box. At this 4 people with English accents asked why people were queued up.
"For the cupcakes", I responded.
The presumable leader of the group, asked "Are they any good?"
What a useless question, It made me question why my father trusts anything that the Brits have to say! "Of course they are, can't you see the line?" , I responded, my annoyance growing. The group moved on, ignoring the line an walking into the distance.
Now, with all the distractions gone, an hour after encountering the line, we took a bite in into what had to be the worst cupcake ever created. Then the shame set in. We had been tested and we had failed miserably.
This is the bakery.
These are the cupcakes.
My sister and I, being of his direct gene pool have inherited this blatant distrust of anything of popular opinion. In school we were both associated with the outsiders, finding solace in drama and music, with all the other lost souls who, for reasons all their own, resist fitting in with the herd. As we have both reached adulthood, we wear our non-conforming traits like a badge of honor. In this world of SUVs, we drive our Ford Escorts with pride, justified that we are using less resources. As people watch American Idol, we foam at the mouth for the next installment of the House reality series on PBS (Frontier House, Colonial House). We voted for Nader, for God's sake. We do not conform!
Or at least I thought so. A few months back, my sister and I hopped on the train for a day in New York City. She lives in New Haven and has friends there allowing her to visit enough to be familiar with the city. On this particular day, we were going to explore Greenwich Village. My sister, armed with her copy of "A Radical's Guide to New York City", and I set out on the first warm day of spring. We set out to follow the trail of other self described non-conformists. We ate at Chumly's a very cool (but cramped) pub that has no markings on the outside to indicate it is a place of business. You have to know the address and pray, as you shove open the door, that you are not walking into someone's private residence.
We were feeling very radical until we happened upon a line that wrapped around a building that appeared to house a bakery. Now a true free spirit, would have paused, saw the line, and continued on their way knowing that nothing good can come out of that many people standing in a queue for something. Not us, we got in line, not even knowing what it was that people were waiting for. The excitement of a good desert outweighed our contempt for the populist mentality.
As we got closer to the shop (there had to be 50 people ahead of us) we could see the window display filled with cupcakes. People were exiting the shop in complete ecstasy. "Have you ever tasted anything so good?" we over heard. With that any chance of us leaving this line and maintaining our sense of individuality went out the window.
We rounded the final corner and the door to the shop. We could now see that there was an organized system implemented to create maximum efficiency in distribution of cupcakes. As we got even closer, a store employee (who could have passed as a twenty-five year old version of the outsiders of our youth) gave us instructions. The gist was take the appropriate sized box, select your cupcakes using a sheet of wax paper, proceed to the register. I soon discovered that the wax was unnecessary as there was no way to avoid being covered in frosting. The impatience of the "line people" grew exponentially as they entered the store, making the window of opportunity to get your cupcakes about 1/8th of a second. My sister did a great job of holding the tide of people cramming forward with her body while simultaneously telling me which cupcakes to pick. Interestingly, the cupcakes that she wanted were about as far away from me as the could get, causing me to balance precariously over the dozens of cupcake landmines to reach those she desired.
We sealed the box and paid for what was sure to be the best cupcake ever created.
We were able to find a seat on a bench across from the bakery. I opened the box and we each gingerly took a cake out of the box. At this 4 people with English accents asked why people were queued up.
"For the cupcakes", I responded.
The presumable leader of the group, asked "Are they any good?"
What a useless question, It made me question why my father trusts anything that the Brits have to say! "Of course they are, can't you see the line?" , I responded, my annoyance growing. The group moved on, ignoring the line an walking into the distance.
Now, with all the distractions gone, an hour after encountering the line, we took a bite in into what had to be the worst cupcake ever created. Then the shame set in. We had been tested and we had failed miserably.
This is the bakery.
These are the cupcakes.
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
Paradigm Shift
Here is a story that makes no sense to me. A 47 year old guy drops dead of a heart attack at his daughter's high school graduation party. He was moderately fit (recently dropping extra weight, although, prior to slimming down, I would not describe him as obese). He appeared to have a healthy lifestyle and owned a construction company, so was pretty active.
I knew this man by name and face, but never had the opportunity to interact with him other than in a few common meetings we attended in the course of my job. I do know from his colleagues and mine that he was a genuinely nice guy.
It is stories like these that make me want to throw in the towel, find a deserted island to call my own, and get down to the business of living on my own terms. Stop living for possession, live simply. No matter how you live your life, how important you are to a community, how well you take care of yourself, this could be the last day for your sorry ass. If you are looking to work hard until you can retire at 65 ( or 68 or whatever the hell ripe old age you need to be before the lawmakers deem it your time to rest on the pittance of a fixed income you have achieved working 40 hours a week since you teens/early twenties). And if you really win the longevity game, hello state run assisted living!
It is also times like these that I get very close to feeling that there is a sadistic puppeteer who finds it funny to cut the strings on a father who wants nothing more to celebrate the achievements of his daughter. Instead this party turns into a wake in a split second. No rhyme or reason.
I am lucky, I love my job and would be doing it even if I didn't need the money (probably part rime, but hey!) I feel I am giving of myself and my talents to help society at large. I try really hard to not be too opportunistic and not achieve my successes at others failure.
It really easy for me to picture the last day on earth scenario and look back and realize I have not lived to the fullest. I am not one to buy into that "live every day as if it were your last" bullshit. That is way too unrealistic for me. However, it is more tragic to me to have this be your last day allocated to you, when you had budgeted thousands more rather that to be halfway expecting your allotment could be closer to the hundreds range.
So maybe my shift in thinking should be to assume I will get to 47, and after that it is borrowed time? That is a depressing thought. Society sure doesn't set you up for that. 65 is the golden age, when you have so few active years left in you. It is not hard to see why as a society we expect to reach this and beyond. If we looked at it from the 47 standpoint, IRAs would drop in popularity. Sadly, luxury items would probably explode as midlife crises would now be at the 25 year old range. Not me, who needs possessions when we have so little time? I would start traveling. Screw saving every extra cent. Time is now my currency. I would find a job that would only require 30 hours a week. Family and friends would become a new priority as would my own growth as a person. Maybe looking at it as "living every year as it was your last" is more realistic.
Who knows? I will try to figure it out while watching TiVo....
I knew this man by name and face, but never had the opportunity to interact with him other than in a few common meetings we attended in the course of my job. I do know from his colleagues and mine that he was a genuinely nice guy.
It is stories like these that make me want to throw in the towel, find a deserted island to call my own, and get down to the business of living on my own terms. Stop living for possession, live simply. No matter how you live your life, how important you are to a community, how well you take care of yourself, this could be the last day for your sorry ass. If you are looking to work hard until you can retire at 65 ( or 68 or whatever the hell ripe old age you need to be before the lawmakers deem it your time to rest on the pittance of a fixed income you have achieved working 40 hours a week since you teens/early twenties). And if you really win the longevity game, hello state run assisted living!
It is also times like these that I get very close to feeling that there is a sadistic puppeteer who finds it funny to cut the strings on a father who wants nothing more to celebrate the achievements of his daughter. Instead this party turns into a wake in a split second. No rhyme or reason.
I am lucky, I love my job and would be doing it even if I didn't need the money (probably part rime, but hey!) I feel I am giving of myself and my talents to help society at large. I try really hard to not be too opportunistic and not achieve my successes at others failure.
It really easy for me to picture the last day on earth scenario and look back and realize I have not lived to the fullest. I am not one to buy into that "live every day as if it were your last" bullshit. That is way too unrealistic for me. However, it is more tragic to me to have this be your last day allocated to you, when you had budgeted thousands more rather that to be halfway expecting your allotment could be closer to the hundreds range.
So maybe my shift in thinking should be to assume I will get to 47, and after that it is borrowed time? That is a depressing thought. Society sure doesn't set you up for that. 65 is the golden age, when you have so few active years left in you. It is not hard to see why as a society we expect to reach this and beyond. If we looked at it from the 47 standpoint, IRAs would drop in popularity. Sadly, luxury items would probably explode as midlife crises would now be at the 25 year old range. Not me, who needs possessions when we have so little time? I would start traveling. Screw saving every extra cent. Time is now my currency. I would find a job that would only require 30 hours a week. Family and friends would become a new priority as would my own growth as a person. Maybe looking at it as "living every year as it was your last" is more realistic.
Who knows? I will try to figure it out while watching TiVo....
Here it begins...
The pressure of this is overwhelming. I really want to create a place to share observations, commentary, deep thoughts, humorous tales, etc. I thought, "Hey this will be easy and fun. I'll give it a shot. I am creative and love telling stories"
Then it took me two days to decide on a name for this Blog. Two days! Here I am trying to create a space where I can be creative and it takes me two days to settle on a title. Even worse, it isn't even original. I "borrowed" it from David Sedaris! I am truly off to a great start.
"My only comfort was the knowledge that I was not alone. Huddled in the hallways and making the most of our pathetic French, my fellow students and I engaged in the sort of conversation commonly overheard in refugee camps.
'Sometimes me cry alone at night.'
'That be common for I, also, but be more strong, you. Much work and someday you talk pretty. People start love you soon. Maybe tomorrow, okay.'"
- david sedaris - Me talk Pretty One Day
Then it took me two days to decide on a name for this Blog. Two days! Here I am trying to create a space where I can be creative and it takes me two days to settle on a title. Even worse, it isn't even original. I "borrowed" it from David Sedaris! I am truly off to a great start.
"My only comfort was the knowledge that I was not alone. Huddled in the hallways and making the most of our pathetic French, my fellow students and I engaged in the sort of conversation commonly overheard in refugee camps.
'Sometimes me cry alone at night.'
'That be common for I, also, but be more strong, you. Much work and someday you talk pretty. People start love you soon. Maybe tomorrow, okay.'"
- david sedaris - Me talk Pretty One Day
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