Monday


27
Jun 11

Doe, John Doe

Pay

The out-in-the-country wall post. Saw that on our bike ride this morning, an easy 23 miles out and back. Interesting how hills that once seemed daunting you can work through with comparative ease.

The last time we were out this way there were three names on that sign, but two of them must have settled up. And so I looked up Trey Gunter … and I’m thinking that might be a masterful alias.

What alias would you use? I think I’d cobble together a name from literature, or go with an obscure president.

My name? Cal Coolidge.

Might work.

Visited Walmart because there wasn’t much keeping me from going there. Picked up Miracle Gro. It seems the things that we wish to keep small in the yard grow prolifically. The things we’d like to accentuate need some steroids from Scotts.

Picked up Gorilla tape, which is as strong as sticky duct tape, looks like electrical tape but most certainly is not. I’m going to wrap it on my handlebars, because another over-gripping primate needs to grab hold of my handlebars.

Snacks, more snacks and not any waterproof silicon, which was the actual purpose of the visit. All of the directions instructed you to not apply below the waterline. It is waterproof with conditions. This is not the sort of relationship I wish to begin with sealants.

Links: Your tax dollars, lowest common denominator, governmental humiliator at work in the form of the TSA:

A 95-year-old Barry County woman’s ordeal with airport screening — where a relative says security agents required her adult diaper be removed — has become the latest in a string of national stories on frustrations with TSA procedures.

Lena Reppert, a native of Barry County, was flying from Florida to move home to the Hastings area, where she’s living with relatives who are caring for her, said her daughter, Jean Weber of Destin, Fla.

Instead of a getting a special goodbye moment with her cancer-stricken mother, Weber said the June 18 security check turned in a tearful ordeal because of the lengthy pat down by Transportation Security Administration agents.

“She was subjected to 45 minutes of searching, and I didn’t think that should happen,” Weber said this morning from her home in Destin.

There’s now an update to that story, but the response is thin gruel, but I feel safer already knowing a nonagenarian with leukemia has been ruled out as a threat.

North Korea is starving, perhaps even more than foreign policy guesstimates. Secret footage paints a grim picture:

“This footage is important because it shows that Kim Jong-il’s regime is growing weak,” he said.

“It used to put the military first, but now it can’t even supply food to its soldiers. Rice is being sold in markets but they are starving. This is the most significant thing in this video.”

This sort of thing is not what China and the South Koreans want to hear. When the government falls, or the serfs finally have had enough, those are the two borders and economies that will be directly stressed.

Maybe they should send in these ladies to assess the situation. World War II spy ladies from the OSS have been reunited in their neighborhood:

It was the early 1940s when Bohrer and McIntosh fell into jobs at the Office of Strategic Services, the nation’s first intelligence agency, created by President Franklin D. Roosevelt and led by William “Wild Bill” Donovan, a Wall Street lawyer and World War I veteran. They were among the rarest of operatives, women working overseas during World War II.

In China, McIntosh, a “black propaganda” specialist, whipped up fake news stories to undermine the morale of the enemy — including an effort to convince the Japanese emperor’s soldiers that their wives were procreating with other men back home. Stationed in Italy, Bohrer analyzed aerial photographs of Germany, helping select sites to air drop and rescue OSS officers behind enemy lines.

Great story.


20
Jun 11

Happily Ever After

Smooch

Today is our second anniversary. What a wonderful adventure.


13
Jun 11

So this is what my home looks like

You can forget these things. It has been 17 days, a multitude of states, three beds and two countries since we’ve been here last. Someone wrote asking about my day. Just fine, can you tell me where my restroom is?

Brian stopped in for a visit with his daughter this afternoon. They were passing through town and we guilted them into a visit. We could not guilt them into corn nuggets. There will be repercussions.

Corn

A new thing they are doing at Publix, identifying the local growers. “Hi, my name is Bo and I grow corn because it keeps me one with the earth, and also justifies the vast stores of butter I keep on the family property.”

At the grocery store we were asked six times — six! — if we needed help. How great it is to be home. We must looked exhausted or confused or they’ve forgotten who we are.

We had an interesting conversation about this in New York, actually. The North is fine. Good folks, same as anywhere, really. (In fact each one I’ve met on a personal level in six years of visiting has been kind, welcoming and hospitable.) But their attention is a bit different. There’s the pace, sure, but most importantly there is the distraction of self. Our friend John, who grew up in the Bronx, kept trying to say that people aren’t rude, they are just far, far more concerned about their own little world than they ever will be with you. That’s fine, as far as it goes. They’re in the hustle, the bustle and are completely focused on themselves.

One man asked me three times today if he could help me at the grocery store. One man. Three times! Three of his co-workers also tried to help. We visited a grocery store in Boston and the people were helpful if you asked. Everyone you meet in Boston is very nice. You meet plenty of nice people in New York. A random man walked up and gave us directions as we consulted our iPhone directions in Manhattan. “Go down to 72nd and over one block … I promise.” The pause was such that he knew we were skeptical. But he had no reason to lie about it. We turned that way and he told us to enjoy our afternoon. (He gave us the right directions.)

Conversely you’ll get ran over for even considering reading a sign. And chivalry is right out. They aren’t merely self-centered in their own daily dramas.

Personally I think many they’re miserable and afraid to admit it as a sign of weakness. I like New York, that’s a great town — and the pace doesn’t bother me, I can do fast — but there are too many people and nothing feels your own. Here I have my grocery store. There people have a store that they go to. Here I can be a regular at various establishments. There you’re just one more order and for heaven’s sake don’t stutter. It all feels like the psychological equivalent of hot cotting. That has to grate on the psyche. I suspect I’d have that impression in Tokyo or Beijing or any megaplex. The older I get the more a small town appeals to me.

Sure, Wikipedia says New York City has 88 theatres, and Boston has — well, the Bruins and Patriots, I guess — but I can park a car most anywhere I go. It is a tradeoff.

Nice to see my car again today, too. It cranked and everything! Which is good, because I’ll need it tomorrow.


6
Jun 11

Sea Day

Atlantic

We’re just taking our time out here in the Atlantic. We’re cruising at a pace that makes Bermuda on the third day of the cruise. I don’t mind. I love the sea days. If you don’t know how to relax a few sea days will teach you. We’re on the Celebrity line — which is the line of choice, my cruise veteran folks insist — and they do a great job with pretty much everything, including giving you entertainment and distractions on the ship. But to just sit back in the shade, read, watch the waves go by, that’s glorious.

So we left yesterday, turned off the phones after we crossed under the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge in New York and started exploring the ship. We had the lifeboat drill, required by international law, but streamlined to 94 seconds by the efficient people of this vessel, the Summit. Essentially, go to your muster station, bring your life jacket. Put it on, velcro, snap, whistle and light.

I feel safer already.

As if anyone is going to be finding their way to the theater if the dreaded seven horn blasts are heard.

So we did that, saw a bit of the ship, got cleaned up for dinner and had a fine time.

This is my second cruise, our honeymoon last year and this week, both on Celebrity where you get top-notch service. And the food. My heavens, the food. Last night I had a lamb shank that could have fed an American family of six. Amazing. Tonight there was the barbecue glazed black salmon, which was nothing like you’ve pictured just now, but better in every conceivable way. In between there are restaurants, grills, cafes and all sorts of other places to embarrass you with their options.

Today, though we started in the gym. I rode 35 miles, had a piece of grilled and pressed chicken for lunch and then went to my massage. See? Celebrity. My masseuse was from Romania, where they train people with sharp elbows and brick-like knuckles in the finer arts of sublime muscle torture.

Then we hit the therapy pool, which is to say a warm salt water pool with random spouts swirling water at various angles splooshing you. After that I read the day away.

There is nothing in the world wrong with a sea day.

Folks

The Yankee and her parents, at dinner tonight.


30
May 11

Happy Memorial Day

Many of the men and women in my family have bravely fought for this country of ours, but we’ve been lucky enough that they’ve all come home. A few were wounded in action, but in so far as I know, they all made it back home dating back at least to World War II.

I remember once, as a child, when my great-grandmother told me that I had uncles who fought in the Civil War. This was big news, impressed as I was at that age by the Civil War. My mother rightfully pointed out that lots of people had family members in that particular war. But my great-grandmother might have watched the Battle of Bull Run as an onlooker. (To a little kid she was very, very old.)

So, while I can’t say today I’m thinking of friends or family members who’ve paid with their lives, I thought often of my trip to Gettysburg with friends a few years back on a very warm Memorial Day. (Here’s a slideshow I made of the day.) Everyone that is able should make that trip at least once.

Today we caught the train from Boston, which required a cab, Dunkin Donuts and then a quick ride in the quiet car to southwestern Connecticut. At the train station yet another person asked Wendy for help with directions or details. I’m making her a sign that says “I’m new here.”

On the way you see this, in New London:

Sign

This is the Bank Street Roadhouse, according to Flickr, which yields to reviews on Trip Advisor and Yelp that the place is so, so, with average this, average that and attractive bartenders. A picture of the front of the place I found makes it look far more reputable.

The Yankee’s dad picked us up at the train station. We headed home and then out for Pepe’s pizza. Ordinarily I don’t take, let alone publish pictures of food, but Pepe’s is the stuff angels eat:

Pepe

Seven of us were there, we made short work of three pies.

Hope you’ve had a lovely Memorial Day, and I hope you’ll check out my slideshow.

Tomorrow: New York City!