friends


14
May 12

A gunpowder tale

And now, a story from Saturday.

As mentioned here previously we met a very nice guy at his barbecue joint for lunch. The owner, who was busy cooking in the back, came out to talk to everyone to check on our meals. Somehow we got on the subject of being from out of town. These folks are from Birmingham. He’s from Savannah. We’re from Auburn. There’s a wedding, and so on.

Somehow we got on the subject of The Yankee being from Connecticut.

I think he even called her a Yankee.

He then reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a .45. She jumped. We laughed. It was a great joke.

She was genuinely afraid, but he was just making a joke, of course. She tried to hide behind me. Someone pointed out she’d need to get more cover than that.

Sometime later he went back out to his truck and brought back his AR-15.

Yankee

Not to worry. He cleared it. Someone else at the table cleared it. I cleared it. And then we gave it to her.

Several years ago someone let her hold a 9 mm and she felt nauseated. Two years ago she shot her first gun, a .22 rifle. Look at her now. (You should see the picture where she shows off her war face.)

The best part: Talking about it later she was recounting how truly scared she was when Big Will pulled out his pistol. The rest of us, all four from the South, agreed that there was nothing to this at all. He was, of course, wearing overalls.

But, yes, he was a very nice guy, with plenty of ammunition.


12
May 12

The big day

The deed is done. Wendy walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, in the same church where her parents were married 37 years ago. Her groom was down there, standing next to his sweating, gum-chewing best man, one of his brothers. Across from them was the maid of honor, of course, and between them all the old preacher, the man who married Wendy’s parents 37 years ago.

I didn’t take any pictures of the wedding. What I tried to shoot of the reception didn’t turn out very well. There is low lighting in the reception area of the 202-year-old country church. (I heard differing stories, but I’m going with this being the original location, but a slightly more modern building. I’m thinking post-1930s based on the architecture.)

This is the groom’s cake, a traditional thing I’ve come to loathe. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one that looked nice. I’ve seen great feats of cakemanship, don’t get me wrong. I’ve seen Millennium Falcons, turtles and football stadiums all brought to life in amazing detail. At the end of the day, though, they were spaceships, reptiles and football stadiums.

And then there was this one. The groom is a Georgia fan.

cake

But the bride is an Auburn alumnae. She secretly had the cake done up in orange and blue. The mother of the bride stood by me as they started to cut it.

“Watch this,” she said.

We thought she’d stab that dog in the eye, but it was a simple cut that brought about the desired reaction.

One of the groom’s brothers began to bark, because that’s what people from Georgia do. Someone started with the War Eagle reply, which turned into a loud cheer into on drowning out the offending canines.

One of the family’s guests took part, but he’s an Alabama fan. His golf cart, they say, is decked out in the script A and various other crimson clan signage. He found himself screaming War Eagle. Couldn’t help himself, he said. (Sometimes this college identity thing gets carried far, far overboard.)

The bride had a beautiful dress. Everyone looked lovely and happy.

It rained, which wasn’t ironic at all.

We met Big Will today. Brian, Elizabeth, Ashley, The Yankee and I stopped in his barbecue joint on the strength of reviews on Urban Spoon.

cake

He walked over to our table to check on our lunch.

Big Will is a retired millwright, who walked away from the machining business after 23 years to open this restaurant last year. He started barbecuing, he said, after his son got in a car accident. He’d felt a need to come up with something his family could do together.

His future daughter-in-law waited on us. His daughter played a guitar and sang. She was great. She’d even appeared on American Idol, they said.

He’s working 17-hour days, making the most lean brisket you’ve ever seen. He’s got a great pork plate — the standard by which you judge any barbecue joint. It just got better as you went on.

His menu boasted the best potato salad in Jackson. I can confidently say it is the best potato salad I’ve ever had in that fine town. The baked beans were just about the best thing ever. It’s the toughest job he’s ever had, he said, and has brought his whole family together.

Just a super nice guy. Everyone there was great, genuine, earnest, good folks. You meet them and you realize how badly you want them to succeed. I’d eat there all the time if we were local.

So the next time you’re in Jackson, stop by for a bite. Tell Big Will hello.


11
May 12

A tale on travel day

Rode my bike yesterday. The Yankee and I set out to ride together, which is rare. Usually our schedules or her regimented training or my desire for long, meandering rides don’t allow us to venture out at the same time and going the same way.

She had trouble with her CatEye, the little computer that measures her speed and distance and time. There is a sensor attached to the bike’s fork and a little magnet attached to a spoke and the revolutions are beamed to the computer on the handlebars which do the math and, there you go, you’re cruising at an admirable speed. But she had problems. And then she fell over. She didn’t crash. She just fell. Still not sure how.

Did you know she was an All-American gymnast and a diver? She’s very graceful.

And so we pointed our wheels down the road chasing one another around the city’s bypass, through the subdivisions that dot the landscape, across the big intersection with the road that slices through the heart of town. After that we hit a new construction zone which covers about six miles of that bypass. Just under halfway around it we turned back in toward the campus.

And then when we hit the bypass on that side of things I called an audible and pointed to home. I did 10 miserable miles. This being the first time I’ve really been on my bike since April 9th. So while my neck and back finally feel better — I’ve tried to change my sleeping posture, which has been a big help — I’ve lost whatever little sliver of fitness I had built up.

Back to square one, then. And if you think that’s frustrating, well, you’re right.

Today is also a travel day. We spent most of the afternoon in the car, headed to Jackson, Ala., a tiny you-can’t get-there-from-here town to the southwest. Our friend Wendy is getting married tomorrow.

Tonight they had a little family get together at the bride’s parents’ home. There was also a shower, which I didn’t have to go to, fortunately. Instead I caught up with friends from Birmingham and Savannah and right there in Jackson.

This is the first time I’ve ever been to Wendy’s hometown. She has, for the entire decade-plus that I’ve known her, complained about how small it is. But they have 3G AND a Walmart. What else could they possibly need?

Tomorrow is the big day, though. We once counted up our friends and thought Wendy’s wedding would be the last one we’d go to for a long time. Never say this. This will be the second wedding we’ve attended in less than a month. We have another in three weeks.

And we’re running out of present ideas.


26
Jan 12

When ex- isn’t necessary

Twitter is set to censor content to their service in some countries when necessary:

The company announced Thursday that it could start censoring certain content in certain countries, a sort of micro-censorship widget that would pop up up in a grey box on the Twitter feed.

“Tweet withheld,” it would read “This tweet from @username has been withheld in: Country.”

Twitter explained the change in a blog post on Thursday: “We haven’t yet used this ability, but if and when we are required to withhold a Tweet in a specific country, we will attempt to let the user know, and we will clearly mark when the content has been withheld.”

Twitter is growing up. There’s some censorship angst among the commentariat, but people have to remember: Twitter is a business. They’re not in the business of changing laws that we’d find unpalatable here at home.

When you look into the details there is a degree of transparency to the process Twitter is putting in place.

Information wants to be free. People need to speak with other people. This move by Twitter might limit this particular tool in times of domestic turmoil in hotspots, something else will always emerge. Or work arounds will be found. (Indeed, it seems that took just a few hours.)

In short, Twitter could have done far more here, which would have been far less.

This is reckless and frightening:

Hawaii’s legislature is weighing an unprecedented proposal to curb the privacy of Aloha State residents: requiring Internet providers to keep track of every Web site their customers visit.

The bill was introduced last week and a legislative committee met this morning to discuss the bill, which is even more far-reaching than the federal analog.

The legislation was abandoned by its author sometime around that committee meeting:

Rep. Kymberly Pine, an Oahu Republican and the House minority floor leader, told CNET this evening that her intention was to protect “victims of crime,” not compile virtual dossiers on every resident of–or visitor to–the Aloha State who uses the Internet.

“We do not want to know where everyone goes on the Internet,” Pine said. “That’s not our interest. We just want the ability for law enforcement to be able to capture the activities of crime.”

Pine acknowledged that civil libertarians and industry representatives have leveled severe criticism of the unprecedented legislation, which even the U.S. Justice Department did not propose when calling for new data retention laws last year. A Hawaii House of Representatives committee met this morning to consider the bill, which was tabled.

What will they think of next? Brain erasing? Oh yeah …

For decades scientists believed that long-term memories were immutable—unstable for a few hours and then etched into the brain for good. Research now suggests that recalling a memory causes it to revert temporarily to an insecure state, in which the recollection can be added to, modified, even erased. “Memory is more dynamic, more fluid and malleable than we thought,” says neuroscientist Daniela Schiller of Mount Sinai School of Medicine.

That idea, brought to the fore about a decade ago, has opened up a new controversial research area exploring the possibility of deleting, or at least muting, parts of human memory with drugs or targeted therapies. Some experts have found that a drug used to treat high blood pressure works to unseat recollections; others are testing novel biochemical means or behavioral interventions to interfere with unwanted remembrances

The application is still limited in trials, but the implications are fascinating.

Unemployment numbers: This came from Todd Stacy, an aide to Alabama House Speaker Mike Hubbard. The speaker presented numbers showing Alabama’s unemployment percentage diving below regional and national averages. One hopes the good news continues.

(Disclosure: Years ago Hubbard was my employer. Nice gentleman, too.)

I did not ride today. The Yankee pronounced it yucky, and I had no desire to ride in such a condition. (She did though.) Truthfully, the conditions didn’t bother me much, but I noticed my legs were sore before I even put my feet on the floor this morning.

Better to take the day off, I figured. Clearly I have a lot of work to do towards realizing my larger cycling goals. Tomorrow, though, I’ll have a big day in the saddle.

So I worked instead. Emails, syllabi, networking, reading. I do so much reading that someone should write a book about it. No one would read the thing, though. Except me.

The fun reading is fun, at least. Last night I finished Mark Beaumont’s The Man Who Cycled the World. Eyeing a plan of about 100 miles a day, Beaumont started in Paris, rode through Europe, the Middle East, across India and part of Asia. He suffered through the barren portions of Australia, raced through New Zealand and then crossed the U.S. (He got mugged in the States, perhaps making Louisiana as memorable as his experience in Pakistan.) Finally he made it to Portugal, Spain and back to Paris. He shaved two months off the world record.

It is an interesting premise, and a Herculean feat of speed and endurance. The read becomes a bit repetitive. That’s hardly a fault, though. The guy is writing about the most repetitive thing one can conceive: “I pushed my feet around in circles for six months. And, also, saddle sores!” So the intriguing part is the mental grind, and that’s probably one of the hardest things to write about. By the time he reaches the southeastern U.S. his point is made.

There are a few inaccuracies in his recounting, and it feels like he was still writing the thing while trying to overcome the bicycle burnout. The thing that amazes me is how much of his trip he managed to not research, because you think you would devote a great deal of time to that.

I was hoping for more people and vivid descriptions, but he’s an adventurer who wrote a book rather than an author who developed great calves and cardio. If you aren’t intrigued by cycling or ultra-endurance sport this book probably isn’t for you.

Had dinner with Shane and Brian tonight. We visited Logan’s, where they have a new menu. You can gorge on peanuts and rolls and get the marrow of a steak bone along side a sodium supplemented potato, all for $7.99.

I told a joke.

Shane: “Country people don’t say ‘extension’ they say ‘stension’.”

Me: They don’t need ‘straneous letters.

The waitress thought the joke killed. Of course, she was new. Maybe she didn’t know any better.


9
Jan 12

Steamy January Monday

Went downtown to take pictures of a building today. It was a darkly overcast and muggy 69 degrees.

There was a rumor that the name of a restaurant was changing. It would have been one of those generational, epochal turning moments. One crowd would understand the now 40-year-old reference, but it didn’t stick with the younger set in quiet the same way. Institutions can only be institutions until the paying crowd asks for an explanation. And that’s a chilling moment for a merchant. If you have a clever spelling but it is misinterpreted, people may start going across the street.

Or that would have been the thinking. And thinking like that in a college town is important, especially when you’re dealing with timely cultural references. But this particular restaurant was not changing their name. They were just painting their facade. And, also, they’d hung a new sign referencing another, newer cultural touchstone. But they were not renaming the place.

You could see the confusion, however. New paint, new temporary sign, updated context.

“We may,” the guy said “name the porch that though.”

No you won’t, because that makes even less sense.

So there was that.

Got to play with a friend’s two daughters. The youngest is just a smile machine. She also likes her jumper contraption, the lowest setting of which she has outgrown as of today. His oldest daughter is in elementary school and is a budding entrepreneur. She planned out a lemonade standing, a hot chocolate stand and a petting sitting service all in on conversation. Meanwhile her younger sister was chattering and banging plastic things together and always bouncing. The older girl never missed a beat. It was remarkable, and just a little bit exhausting.

Otherwise just computer things and housework, which interrupted the computer things. Did some laundry. Discovered a hazard.

It seems the vent from the dryer had come disconnected. It was a little too hot and dryer-like standing in the laundry room. Look behind the thing and, yep, there’s a great big silver hose going nowhere while the dryer is happily spinning away.

So I turn it off. Pull out the washer and dryer. Unplug it. The outlet is covered in condensation.

If there’s one place you don’t want condensation it is on your fine wood furniture. But if there are two places you don’t want condensation it is on your fine wood furniture and glass tabletops. And if there are three places you don’t want condensation it your fine wood furniture, glass tabletops and electrical outlets.

Dry that off, clean the floor, connect the vent and count my blessings. Only thing could I get back to the laundry.

And the rest of the day was tinkering on the computer, Chinese food and the big game, which was only slightly riveting. But, hey, that’s a Monday for ya.