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Last week marked the 21st birthday of the website. (And you didn’t get me anything!) I didn’t say anything because I knew, from my handy spreadsheets, that this week we’d break seven million visits to the site. These things should be acknowledged together, and just once.
So let me simply thank you. I appreciate your being here. I don’t know why you keep coming back, but I’m glad you do. Thanks for that, too.
This was written earlier, and more hastily than normal, because we are headed out for an adventure tonight. I’m sure you’ll find out more about that in this space tomorrow.
At any rate, here’s one more clip from Saturday night’s show. Someone in the crowd yelled out for “Mona Lisa” and you got the rare moment of a band either taking a request, or one they were already prepared to do. So, to begin their encore, Guster played a song off their first record, which is now somehow 30 years old.
Entirely unrelated, my delicious Sunday sandwich.
Out back, the crapemyrtle is doing well. It’s offering one of the best views in the yard right now.
And, just behind it, we had to cut back the fig tree to make it a little less unruly. Now it is ruly.
Just kidding. It’s even more unmanageable than it was last fall. Maybe we’ll get some figs this year.
But that’ll be later, in the fall. For now, we must away.
A quick shot from our Saturday afternoon bike ride. Not pictured is my lovely bride, who was way, way ahead of me by this point. It’s not a race, but it is a competition, you know? And, lately, I’ve been getting it handed to me.
Anyway, she’s up there somewhere. That was the first route we discovered when we moved here. It’s a solid 23 or 24 mile loop. And it’s been improved by a red light at a key intersection. This is also the route where the hub on my rear wheel shattered earlier this year. I looked down at the computer when I got to the spot. It was 10 miles into the ride. (I’m sure I knew that then, because I would have looked at the same computer, but who can remember these things in such granular detail?) That would have been a long way to walk home, but my lovely bride came back and picked me up. She was ahead of me that day, too, and don’t think I didn’t put all of that together in my head while I was struggling through a headwind.
There’s a place on that route where you’re going into a cross-headwind one direction, and you take two quick lefts, such that you are going 180 degrees the opposite of the direction from whence you just came. And when you do that, you just get a crosswind.
These breezes aren’t fair, is what I’m saying.
There was a concert, which I totally forgot about.
And a kids birthday party, which we totally forgot about. We put in a small appearance. They had a rope climbing course above us all. I did not get invited to take the climb, but someone did. Looked fun.
There was also a rail system in the ceiling which let you fly around in the air, a perpendicular superhero. Some people would stay up there all day. There were also wall climbing areas, and American Ninja Warrior-inspired leaping set ups. And, of course, video games. Upstairs was where the birthday party room was, and the kids that we went to see had a guy who was working on just his fourth party.
I asked him if he had any horror stories yet. He’s already seen some things.
The kids loved him, and that’s what counts. Except for the No Flipping rule on the trampolines, it seemed everyone had a good time.
Everything else is moving swiftly. I got a brief on a class I’m teaching in the fall. (Two more of those to go.) I have about six days of a second class to flesh out. Meetings start Wednesday. The stress and “Why aren’t syllabi things that magically appear in the middle of the night?” panic will begin soon after.
Saturday night was date night. This was our date. We went out for dinner, barbecue at one of the better places around. Barbecue is one of the only things I’m legally allowed to be a snob about, and I take that seriously. What we had was flavorful, and moist. It was probably slow cooked. It was not over an open flame. If there’s no chimney stack coming out of the building, it isn’t technically barbecue. But, here, and in a pinch, it’ll do.
My lovely bride order the brisket, and there was some modifier on the order, which threw me for a loop. What did that mean? So I just said, Order whatever you usually get for me, because I was struggling to understand the variation in her order. She gave me a look. “You change your order so infrequently, how do you not know what you get? For some reason this amused the young woman running the register. She thought it was undeniably cute, and asked us to please come back often. I did a little joke or two and The Yankee wisely, but slowly, said, “Don’t encourage him.”
Wise because, of course, she knows better. Slowly because, of course, the encouragement had already happened.
I took this as my cue to get the drinks.
I got the drinks. And then there was our food, which we enjoyed.
And then, to cap off date night, we went to Lowe’s.
The store closes at 10, we got there at 9 and picked up the things we needed, filters for the air conditioner, some plumbing supplies, steak seasonings.
We did not get steak seasonings, but they had an entire end cap devoted to some of your finer mid-range shake-on condiments. We were in the market for a weed eater, because ours recently died, and the weeds did not stop growing out of respect for our loss.
So there we stood, trying to figure out the thises and thats. And an employee walked by. Volunteered to help, and was very helpful. (When was the last time either or both of those things happened at a big box store?) Helpful for the most part. Some of the things he said weren’t accurate, it turns out, but that’s OK. He was helpful in the ways that mattered the most. Then he gave us a brief bio on the 1960s-1980s band Badfinger. He was definitely the sort of guy that could do that. And then he gave us his testimony. He also saved us $20 on the list price.
We decided that going late at night is the time. Because the guys might help, and they’re really just trying to get you out of the store, of course.
So we bought a battery-powered weed eater. The selling point, to me, seems to be the battery life. Otherwise, dig out machine, machine turn on, machine chop up green things. Store machine. So the little tags at the store said this battery runs for 25 minutes, this one for 70 minutes, and this one works for 45.
I figured that the 45-minute battery is sufficient for our needs. And if it’s not, I could buy another battery. The batteries are expensive, so rationale number two. If I run down the battery, I simply go inside, charge the battery, cool off and live to eat weeds another day.
Sunday afternoon, buzzing after our successful date, I assembled the weed eater, glanced at the manual, and went outside already sweating from building the thing in the garage. I ate about six weeds, and then went inside to charge the battery. (The guy said it was 70 percent charged out of the box. It was not.)
I charged the thing. And then went out later and gave those weeds the what for.
Right away, the battery-powered element of this new tool paid for itself. I didn’t have to collect the extension cords. I didn’t have to run them to an outlet and plan my attack based on cord length and outlet placement. And, when I was done, I didn’t have to roll cords back up. Two or three more rounds, I figure, and this will have paid for itself based on convenience alone. And when has anyone ever been enthused about running a weed eater.
So now I’m rethinking my positions — not strongly held, mind you — about battery-powered power tools.
Today, buzzing after my successful weed eating efforts, I spent the afternoon at one of the local libraries doing school work. Being a public library, it was only somewhat useful. But nevertheless, I got something for my efforts. See if you can guess which one of these books was the most helpful.
The one in the middle. I picked it up as a flier, and eventually decided it will define an entire day’s worth of lecture. Then I bought the book. Not from the library, which would make it a store. But through the powers of the 21st century I found it on e-bay and had it sent directly to the house. Next week, I guess, I’ll start making slides.
As I write this, there’s a back-to-school commercial on, which isn’t bumming out anyone.
Anyway, this class will meet 28 times in the fall term. I think 19 of those meetings are now accounted for, so I have had some productive summer work.
But there is much more to do!
We got invited for a bike ride by our neighbor. The guy that lives behind us is also a big fan of the self-propelled two wheel experience. He’s of the sort that must decide which bicycle he wants to ride today. It’s a problem to which I aspire.
He bought a new computer and the Varia radar, which we have and enjoy. It’s a light that you attach to the seat rails. It sense cars and communicates with the headset and you when cars are coming up from behind. Or, as one Reddit reviewer wrote, it’s “The peace of mind I didn’t know I needed.”
We coached him through it, though he had most of it figured out in the brief ride around the neighborhood to our place. Then my lovely bride found she had a flat, so she had to switch bikes. (It’s a problem to which I aspire. The bikes, not the flats.) Not wanting to hold us up, she didn’t put her Varia on her bike. And, of course, after about half an hour mine died. (So, after all that about battery-powered tools above, I’m now looking for an extension cord version of the bike radar.) That meant our neighbor had the only running radar.
Of course, we put him the front, as you see the shadows pictured here.
It would, of course, make sense for him to be in the rear, so he could call out the cars. But it was in the evening and we were on some mostly abandoned roads and it wasn’t a problem. Plus we can watch out for vehicles the old fashioned way, listening and looking.
There’s not really a good point or resolution to this story, other than we enjoyed a nice ride. As we got back to the neighborhood they turned right and I kept on riding, just to add a few more miles before dinner.
There are always more miles ahead.
OK, that’s 1,220 words, and the best ones were about bikes and a weed eater. I should probably wrap this up.
This week I’ll get back into school work with a gusto! he told himself, until he told himself something else, different, a bit later. It’s really just a question of which day I tell myself that, and the gusto which takes place between now and then.
Let us begin with the site’s most popular weekly feature, checking in with the kitties.
We have a nice picture window in the library, which sits on the front of the house. And there’s a little bench or a shelf there. I thought about putting some cushions down and turning it into a pleasant little reading area. Phoebe beat me to it.
She sits in this box, on a little cat blanket, and enjoys her afternoon naps in the sun. It’s adorable, of course. And reliable. At certain times of day, that’s where she is. (Usually I don’t disturb her as I did for this photo.) And of all of the jealousies between the two cats, this is one place where her brother leaves her alone. And so there will never be a reading nook there, because that is going on.
And here she is looking all cuddly on top of the comforter.
The theme here, then, must be comfort. Here’s Poseidon, who usually tries to eat the plastic, using a resealable bag of trail mix as a pillow.
(Keep that life hack in mind, hikers.)
He came out from his usual afternoon napping spot, wherever that is, to watch a bit of the Tour with me. He likes bike races. Must be the colors and the motion.
So the kitties, you can see, are doing well. We all are just peachy keen. My lovely bride is nursing a calf twinge she got on a run. I am suffering through a bad streak on the bike. Let me tell you about it.
I went out Saturday evening, intending to do about two hours or so. Instead I did 4.3 miles. I got a flat on my back tire. This is the calculus you go through.
Item 1: I am close to home. Given the hour of the day, and the PSI limitations of my small handheld pump, I can’t change the tube and complete the ride I’d intended.
Item 2: Given the hour of the day, and how close I am to home, there’s no need to change this tube here, in this little neighborhood. I’ll just re-inflate the tube and nurse it home. And stop and reinflate as necessary. (Never let me talk myself into that again. — editor.)
So I pumped the tube to about 50 PSI, owing to the limitation of my pump, and set out for home. A quarter of a mile later, I’m doing it again. And in another quarter of a mile, again. Now we know the rate of air seepage. It’ll be every quarter of a mile. The direct route is 3.5 miles home. OK then.
Some kind soul stops their car asking if I’m OK. I’m OK. Another cyclist comes from behind and checks in. He patiently waits to see me on the road again and I take off, knowing he’ll be catching me again in a quarter of a mile. And what do you know!? There I am and there he is. This time he uses his pump, which is better. More air. Maybe I can go a bit longer. Another car stops. Still great! Anyway, my new cycling friend, a pleasant fellow named Mike who rides with a speaker lashed to his handlebars, helps me inflate the tire and off I go again. Now we both know the score. I am just trying to ride this flat to the top of the hill to stop in the shade once more. Because, after that, it’s a downhill and an uphill and, anyway, I stop and he catches me for the third time. He is very kind and if I’d known he’d been back there I would have just changed the stupid tube three miles ago because this has gotten awkward. One more inflation, one more round of sincere thanks and my encouraging him to not stop for me next time because I’m almost home and, anyway, he’s trying to go somewhere too. And so I mystify him with the parlance of my people …
“Ppreciate it.”
… and we each pedal on.
So my 30-some mile ride Saturday turned into a 4.3-mile ride and a 3.5-mile return farce.
This set up nicely for a Sunday afternoon ride. The Yankee has decided that she can try riding again with her calf and so off we go. She’s fine. I know this because she passed me at one point and I said What happened to taking it easy? She looked down at her computer and said “I’m only doing 130 watts.” I looked down at mine and said, I ask because I’m doing 21 miles per hour and getting dropped, so …
And about 10 miles later she did drop me, and I started feeling the heat.
Or, put another way, it was hot outside. I went through three water bottles in an hour, which is a really high rate for me. And I eased up a bit on the way back home because I didn’t like how it all felt and I know better. And I still had a (relatively, for me) good speed.
This evening we were supposed to go for a ride with a neighbor, but then the lightning and the rain showed up.
So, then, the highlight of the day was heading over to the medical laboratory this afternoon. They have the right sort of name to be a thinly veiled, not-very-well-thought-out evil henchman front in a movie. It’d be cooler if they had a few Tesla coils with surging electricity zipping through the place. Instead, it’s an old brick building, sharing space with a tanning salon and a kids dance studio. It’s a five-star dance studio, though, and that somehow offsets the two stars that the blood lab receives online.
Does anyone take online reviews seriously? I don’t. I would say something like “Is that really a four-star pizza place, or is that a Martinsville four-star pizza place?” Meaning, all of this is relative. That’s usually a good joke and a wry observation, but in this case, a woman is going to stick a needle into my arm …
Anyway, standard issue blood draw. Checking the numbers. Prove I’m healthy and blessed, well, not beyond measure because every one of these tests is measuring something or other, and all on different scales — including a Martinsville scale! — to throw you off as a patient and consumer.
I had the paperwork. The website for the testing place said I needed an appointment. My lovely bride, who has been there before for similar basic tests, said that’s not necessary. So I fasted the requested amount of testing time and then went in. The woman at the desk finally got around to me. I said, I have these orders, but otherwise no idea what I need to do. She pointed me to a little tablet kiosk. So, on the one hand, I don’t have to hand over my documents, and on still another hand, she did not give me a clipboard. On a third hand, the check-in process was done at my speed, which is reasonably fast. But, on a third, another place to scan your insurance card and type in more emails and phone numbers and … look, last year some place scanned my palm to establish my identity in the system and, off putting as that was, maybe it was better.
Anyway, a young man was called back for whatever was required of him there. When they built this office they did dry wall about 80 percent up to the ceiling, so you can hear everything, both over the lid and through the thinnest gypsum board on the market. He was having a tough time. The woman said, “Stay with me. Stay upright. I’m here by myself and don’t want to pick you up.” She kept his attention. He kept complaining. Which, I guess, gave him something to focus on. But it was pitiful when he said “Can we just pause?” and she the technician said “You can’t stop blood.”
And he was just doing a simple blood draw. I know this because the technician, who was also working the desk, was the woman who drew my blood. And don’t you know I wanted to cause a scene so as to cover for that young man. I did not, though. This poor woman, working solo while her trainee was actually out to lunch, was dealing with enough.
Instead, when I exited through the lobby I looked to the old man in a neck brace awaiting his turn and said, It’s brutal back there!
He just smiled and pointed to his walker.
After which I raced home to have lunch because my food fast was about 15 hours old.
He wrote, just before dinnertime.
