Monday « Kenny Smith | A remarkable thing happens …

Monday

cycling / memories / Monday / photo — Comments Off
16
Jun 25

Gummosis is actually the term for it, yes

I set two alarms, 18 minutes apart. There’s no reason for this. At one point I made an alarm in my phone for the top of the hour and at another moment I had cause to make one for 18 minutes after the hour.

If you had to log an explicative for your alarms, they would be as banal as they are amusing. On this, we can all agree.

So I set an alarm in my phone, doing the math, figuring, “That’s a good solid 8 hours of sleep. That’ll help fix me right up.” And then I stayed awake for the next two-plus hours.

But when the alarm went off, I’d been woken twice. Once by the light, because I did not configure the doors for optimal photonic blockage, and once when my lovely bride began her industrious day. And so it was that I was surprised when the top-of-the-hour alarm finally went off. And doubly so when that next one sounded, 18 minutes later. That was a delightfully long 18 minutes.

And so the morning things. And then the afternoon things. We watched the FedEx man sprint across the yard to hurl a small box on the porch. It was our version of those insurance commercials, when homeowners become their parents. What if he slips and falls?

Simple, we bury the body. Of course you have to do something with the truck. That’s a bigger hole to dig. But, you’d of course pull other people’s deliveries out first. Maybe there’s a shovel — or an excavator, or a front-end loader — in there.

Happily, he did not slip. I fetched the box, one the cats will not enjoy, for it has their medicine in it. It is designed to reduce the thing that cats do that you have to clean up. (I don’t want to be too descriptive, because you are perhaps reading this over a snack.) We administer it twice a week, it’s a gel that is rubbed on the foreleg, which they lick off and, despite it’s pleasant-to-cats odor, it is the worst thing that has ever happened to them, ever. Just ask.

So I opened the small box and put away its contents when they weren’t around. The shipping box is now in the recycling stash, ready for tomorrow morning’s run.

I checked the mail. DirecTV wants me back. We haven’t had DirecTV in several years, never at this house and it wasn’t in my name. But they want me back. I do miss the DVR function and the UX they offered. Well, not the last one we had. They’d just rolled out a new guide system and we dropped them before I had time to adjust to it. Still, in these, our modern times of convenience, after navigating apps for six minutes before waiting to find out if the Internet connection is going to work (pretty solid here, actually) I do miss good old fashioned TV.

Several years ago we had a grad student stop by our house for something, this was a woman in her mid-20s, easily. She walked through the living room, did a double take at the TV and said, “Oh, you have one of those.”

Earlier this year I read a study that argued that people that watch streaming things still think of it as TV. And I was gratified by that, until I remembered I saw an interview with an NBC bigwig from last year who said the same thing, and there’s no way they were both correct, right?

Anyway, we’ve lately been streaming West Wing. Just sort of waiting out time until the next big bike race, which we will also stream on our own delayed schedule.

I can’t remember if that race is taking place on the app that showing you a preview as you scrub through the slower parts of the program, or not. The inconsistency of thoughtful little features like that is just one more argument against a la carte streaming.

Which is funny. People argued for a la carte cable. Cable wouldn’t or couldn’t comply, so there’s another industry taking a 3-iron in the teeth. We, meanwhile, have six dozen apps and, bizarrely, a Samsung TV package we don’t acknowledge.

When I was young, I knew two things about peaches. The first was about that sticky bit of gooey ooze that comes out of the fruit on the tree. Hands should not be sticky, and that impression influenced a lot of my young thoughts about peaches. The second thing I knew was that peaches and chocolate cake make for an excellent pairing. And if you didn’t know that, you’ll need to do a little research. Bake yourself a Betty Crocker cake and crack open a can of peaches and become the person you were meant to be. This will also influence your thoughts about peaches.

Now, we have a peach tree and I have learned several things. I know the three-pronged test for determining ripeness (color, squeeze, and smell). I know this tree will be all-encompassing come August. And I know to recruit peach recipients early, which we have been doing.

So I checked on the peaches. They’re coming along. Another banner crop, I’m sure.

They are a small fruit, but they are delicious. And they are plentiful. And that’s how I have learned so much about this particular stone fruit the last two seasons. We still have some from last year. We might still have some from last year. So long as you stay away from the gummosis.

I set out for a haircut today. I have tried this once before, last week, which isn’t unusual. It often takes several attempts. Mostly because everyone needs haircuts, everyone seems to go to the same cheap place I go to, and they all go at the same time I want to. And the only worse than sitting in the big chair is sitting in the waiting area.

The last time I went I just told the woman that cut my hair: I don’t like to be here. She was cool with it. Of course, she was deep into her shift and on her feet that whole time and probably felt the same way. She was very nice. Gave me a good cut. Did not, however, remove all of the silver hair.

It was a different person this time, of course, because more than 15 minutes have elapsed. And she picked up on my pleasant style of chatty silence quickly. She asked if they’d thinned this part the last time. I, a guy, said Maybe? It gets poofy and I probably complained about that, and it didn’t seem to get so poofy. So maybe. She said it felt like her colleague had thinned it.

I wanted to ask why it all grows at different speeds out of my head. Why are some parts of my scalp more exceptional than others? Just look at this discrepancy. I could not help but look as she held it up, appraising the problem, arriving at the solution and sharing my shame with all of the world, or at least the old man behind me and the fidgety little kid to my left.

Anyway, haircut done. The various layers are trimmed and shaped and “My! What thick hair you have!”

I don’t mind that part. I like that part. Everything else, not so much a fan.

Our neighbor invited us for a group ride this evening. The three of us went out with another who was, apparently, on her second road ride — today, she figured out her shifting. She’s training for her first triathlon, a sprint, in August, and tonight we took her on a 17-mile lollipop.

She’s a runner and a swimmer. Her parents did tris. Now our neighbor and the Yankee, both Ironmen, are giving her tips and advice. She’ll be just fine. Best of all, we found another person to ride nearby. This is going to turn into a full-on group ride before long.

Just when I got out of the echelon, they pulled me right back in. Only kidding, I haven’t done a proper group ride since 2019. I’m OK with that. You’re never last when you ride solo.

adventures / cycling / Monday / music / photo / video — Comments Off
9
Jun 25

An entrance to eternal summer slacking

I’d like to share with you this Hemerocallis daylily. Native to parts of Asia, beautiful anywhere in the world. This one is holding down the corner by our garage.

There are always wonders in the yard. I just have to go outside to find them.

Daylillies require almost no care. I wonder why the people that used to live here didn’t have them planted everywhere. But, I suppose, you could ask that of any beautiful thing. And we have quite a few lovely things in the yard — have I noticed this daylily before? — but most of them are quite singular. And most of it takes care of itself pretty well. The rest, well, they’re stuck with us.

There’s a grapevine, and we are trying to rework it over its trellis. Nearby, the honeysuckle seems to be rebounding well from the early springtime work we did on it. Other things are coming along nicely. We had to recently remove a few bushes that had died. I view this as a personal shortcoming, a promise I never made to the sellers of our home, not that I’ve done a lot to help those planted things that struggled and died, even while others have thrived. Everything grows here (weeds best of all!), but some things stopped last year. Maybe it was that drought. Maybe it was something else.

Anyway, the daylily is lovely.

We had a nice bike ride Saturday morning with our neighbor. It’s great. He rides around the loop and right up our driveway. Then he set us out on a course that included a few roads we know, and a few we haven’t been on before. It sprinkled a bit, and the conversation was nice, and the roads were quite empty at that time of the day.

This was soon after I’d done my big turn on a Strava segment, which I felt like I managed quite well if I must say, but did not set a new PR. Our neighbor just sat patiently behind me after the sprint, through the left turn and then the quick right that turned me back up hill. As soon as it pointed up, he went around me.

I was going to sit up, but I had to keep up. And so I tried, and did.

He’s a nice guy, our neighbor, and it’s nice that we have the chance to take the occasional ride with him. You need a few people like that from time-to-time.

When I went out today — a perfectly pleasant solo ride of some of the standard routes ridden backward — I rode alongside a little boy on his BMX bike for a moment. We met at the road that enters-exits the subdivision, but from opposite directions. And that guy was fast. So I had that to think about on my perfectly average pace 27-miler. If he suggests a ride in a few years, when he’s a bit older, I’m probably going to be busy that day.

We went to a concert last night, and I’ll share tiny little clips of that to help fill up our week. Here’s the opening act. You might remember Fastball from the 1990s. A bunch of guys from Texas who scored two Grammy nominations and two or three songs at or neat the top of the charts in 1998. They also went platinum on that record. Later they had trouble because what genre even is this? But musical genres in general, and their style of rock in particular, was struggling at that same time.

I never actually liked this band. They’ve been at it all these years, honing their touring craft, and it shows. I liked their performance. They had a tight 25 minute set and held a crowd like you don’t often see for a warm up. Also, they threw in a bit of Steve Miller, just for fun, as a medley.

Maurice, by the way, means “Gangster of Love.” That was mixed in with their minor 2013 hit, which is peppy.

These days, Fastball says they “combined a fondness for melodic, Beatles-inspired pop with the alternative aesthetic of late-’90s mainstream rock,” in which case everyone should love them, right? But I just never got into them. I did enjoy this mini-set, though.

And, tomorrow, we’ll see a clip for the feature act.

On the way to the show, we passed this U-Haul truck. We passed it, it passed us back, like this photograph was meant to be. Of all of those little bits of Americana that they could share …

I just saw a television reference to that fungi. And, as I look at it now, I find I can learn more about fungi on the website, but U-Haul is of … questionable credibility on this issue.

Probably no one who’s rented that truck has thought about it, or tried to look that up on the site. When you’re trying to move, you’re on a mission: minimize the effort and aggravation of the move.

And you hope there are daylilies where you are going.

cycling / Monday / photo / woodworking, sorta — Comments Off
2
Jun 25

To the joys of June

Happy Monday, where the temperatures are mild, the sun is bright and the whole week is stretched out before us. The first week of June is always a magical one. Historically, seasonally, optimistically, all of it. And why should this one, this first week of June, be anything less?

It’s always like this, though. Every first week has it’s celebrants, and every week holds its importance for some person or people. In truth, if you held a complete memory of your life’s moments there would be something in every week to give the old hip-hip-hooray to.

But it’s warm, it’s June, the days are long, the birds are birding, the bees are buzzing, everything is green and it’s easy to slip into a frame of mind that allows you to enjoy the moment.

If you can turn off the outside world for a few minutes — which is simultaneously a danger and a challenge — which we should all do, for a little bit, every now and then.

I do that on weekends now, which makes it weird to talk about on a Monday. But then, already on a Monday I, a news junkie, sometimes find myself thinking, I can turn off the news machine early, right?

Anyway.

Last week, I sawed some lumber into french cleats. Saturday, I picked up the appropriate sized wood screws to attach the cleats to the shelves. And since it rained during the evening, I went ahead and finished the project.

This is what I did first. I attached the brace lumber to the bottom of the shelves, using a clever series of clamps to keep things level. And then I did the same for the cleats. These had to actually be level and even with one another, because these are corner cabinets. They were level, according to the bubble on my phone. They were even according to the tape measure. But they were not even to the eye. (The back of the left-side cleat was a little high.)

Then I took the wall cleats and started working through the multi-layered strategy necessary to mount these suckers to the walls. There are two of them. And they are in a corner. Also, the studs in our garage are either 14 inches or 3 hectares apart. Plus, now I have this uneven cleat thing on the back of the shelves.

Also, it was during this moment that I was obliged to be in a text message conversation that I didn’t need to be in. So a job that required four hands had one. But at least dinner was decided.

This is how I solved those problems: I clamped the wall cleats to the shelves, under their cleats. Then I drilled the two wall cleats together as a simple butt joint. Now, at least, the cleats were in the proper relationship. Then, I mounted them to the walls. This took a little creativity, given to the studs, but I made it work. Then I hung the shelves, which are a light bit of MDF. The good news is all of this is going to hold a light load, anyway. The best news, is that the bike shoes, helmets and assorted accessories now have their own out of the way space.

Because the studs are so odd, I just ran the cleats out beyond the shelves. This was a happy accident, really, but it worked perfectly for the current needs. And there’s extra cleat space should I ever need to expand or upgrade those shelves.

So that’s a project completed, and from that one builds momentum.

The view Saturday evening.

This was at the local custard shop, which traces its roots back to a 1950s creamery. Times change, but our appreciation of treats stays the same.

Also on Saturday I got my new wheel from the local bike shop. By the time I was ready to go out and give it a try the storms blew in. Wet roads didn’t seem to be the way to try a brand new wheel holding a may-as-well-be-new tire. So I waited until yesterday evening, when the roads were dry and the breeze was dying down.

Here’s the newly mounted wheel. Look at that shiny new cassette!

When I took in the old wheel last week the bike shop was surprised when I showed him the busted hub, he found a small crack in the wheel, and we discussed the cassette. I’m pushing 20,000 miles on the thing, and I bought this bike used. As far as I know, these are all still the factory stock.

“This wheel,” he said, “owes you nothing.”

He told me a cassette should last about 3,000 miles, making it sound like a fragile piece of equipment. It seemed like a good way to make me feel good about buying a new wheel.

Anyway, I had a little 28-mile shakeout ride yesterday. You know how when you are riding along in your car, or sitting in your home, and you hear a noise you don’t recognize? Suddenly you’re on heightened alert to identify every noise, bump, rattle, shudder and sigh?

It felt like that.

It wasn’t a fast ride because of that, but also because I haven’t been on my bike in a week and my legs felt like it. And because I was told to ride in the middle of the cassette until I get the chain replaced next week. All of which meant I was going slow enough to see this, react, pull my phone from my back pocket and get an almost-shot.

Exactly one sheep was looking up as I went by. That tracks.

Before I went out this evening I checked the air pressure, and just as I thought, I rode yesterday at a lower PSI than that to which I am accustomed, explaining a lot of the physical sensations.

It didn’t explain the slowness! I pumped more air into the thing and didn’t move around much faster today.

But, tomorrow, World Bicycle Day, I’ll get a new chain slapped onto the thing. Then I’ll go at a very average speed, indeed!

cycling / Monday / photo — Comments Off
26
May 25

There’s still something in the dryer

Just a perfectly peaceful weekend around here. I read a lot. I washed, I think, every item of clothing and other fabric we own. At least it feels that way. My normal two loads of laundry turned into six. Some of those were towels, which the cats have since commandeered for their coziness, and sheets. I started all this Saturday and finally finished it today. The whole of the weekend will be remembered as being in the laundry room or reading in the backyard.

Also this. I had a short bike ride on Saturday. Short because I broke my bicycle. More specifically, I messed up my wheel. Most accurately, I destroyed the hub on my rear wheel. Here is the hub. You can see what exploded.

This is what happened: we set out for a ride and I was instantly left behind by my flying wife. She broke out her tri-bike, plus the wind was gusting to 29 miles per hour and my legs felt dead all day. None of those things are recipes for success. Then I sat at a red light for a good solid five minutes. (I have the data to prove this is not hyperbole.

Finally, I got out of the wind and was riding basically OK, and then I heard a great solid POP! The rear end of my bike immediately went wobbly.

It wasn’t a flat. Not quite a spoke. In fact, two or three spokes that belong in that area.

Without spokes your wheel is not in round. And that meant it was rubbing the frame and that’s why it got wobbly. My ride was done.

I was nine miles from the house.

So I summoned my flying wife, who, after setting an incredible record on a Strava segment near the house, came to get me.

Tomorrow, I’ll take my wheel to the bike shop. Maybe I’ll get it repaired quickly, and it won’t cost a million dollars. But it is a bike shop thing, and you never know about bike shop things.

What we do know is I can’t ride that bike until it is fixed.

Other than that, and the laundry, we spent a beautiful weekend sitting in lounge chairs under an umbrella, reading. I got through a book-and-a-half, which will give me something to write about a bit later in the week. But, for now, just look at this view.

That plane is going to Naples, by the way. And in the original, when I zoomed in, it looked like there was a low light/shutter speed problem. The plan had four blurry wings instead of two. Maybe that’s how it gets all the way to Italy.

I was sent to the grocery store last night before dinner to get cupcake wrappers. We were making muffins, and ran out of them. Did you know there are two different sizes? And did you also know that the scale of everything in the grocery is disorienting enough to make you think that the small ones are too small? And so you must need the JUMBO ones. Plus, the brand for the JUMBO wrappers shared the name of our blueberry muffin-maker’s hometown. So I got those.

As I was making this decision, a woman came down the aisle with a smile big enough to light up the right side of the store. From a great distance she looked like a colleague. So I smiled back. As she got closer, her eyes moved away from me, in the center of the aisle, to something over my shoulder, or beyond me. And at the same moment, all of this happened quickly, I realized she was not one of our colleagues, or anyone I knew from elsewhere, and she started talking. On her phone.

That smile was for someone else, which is great, but really.

Those headphone mics are no better than Bluetooth headsets for creating awkward interactions.

There’s a small fireworks display in the grocery store’s foyer. (Sure, this is awfully early for the Fourth, but somewhere nearby some … overzealous person … is lighting fireworks on Memorial Day.) I didn’t notice this at the time, because I was trying to hurry back for dinner, but is there a fireworks sword on the market now? And what does it do?

I’ll have to go back and check that out to be sure.

Anyway, I got the wrong cupcake wrappers and felt awfully bad about that. But the blueberry muffins are good, nevertheless. Also, the laundry is done.

adventures / Monday / photo / Rowan / video — Comments Off
19
May 25

Whose Monday is it anyway?

All the grades got in on Friday, and the semester is at an end, but there are still meetings. Today was a full day of it, so it wasn’t a meeting. The normal faculty thing runs 90 minutes or so, and that’s a meeting. But somewhere after two hours they aren’t meetings anymore. Apparently that’s a rule. Today’s events, which ran for six hours and included a taco lunch, was called a retreat.

After this we had a retirement party. One of our colleagues is winding down her career this summer and looking forward to more time with grandchildren. There was a little party with a big turnout, testament to a career well spent.

I’ve seen a few faculty retirements like this. Some of them have nice little events, some just go quietly into their next chapter. It’s a shame that there isn’t an easy way to get former students involved. Then it could be a happy window into how a career is spent, a testament to the labors.

We had a moment in our retreat today where we discussed what we were proud of this year. I’ve been on the same kick for two or three years now, I guess. Previously, I was always happy to see my students and former students successes in the class, in their student media and their professional work. But, in the last several years, I’ve watched people grow into their real lives and realized that, of all of the things I enjoy — watching people find their passions, seeing light bulb moments in class, that’s the best. One of my first students is a chief marketing officer and founder of a company, but she’s also created an incredible family. Two of my students are professors, one of those guys is now a father of three. Earlier this year two of my students got married. Just this weekend a former student had his son dedicated at his church. Another just had her baby right before Mother’s Day. And another just posted a video where he and his wife learned they were having a boy.

We get young people in a critical moment of their lives. When we’re lucky, we have interactions with them through several years of their college lives. You watch them start to become the adults they want to be. And then, in those years after that without parents or schools dictating their lives, they begin to find themselves, for themselves. At some level, standing in the front of a classroom is a statement of hope and faith in the future of people. Those are the widgets we help make. You’re lucky if you see any of it; you’d like to see more.

Which is probably a little too woo-woo for a Monday evening.

Anyway, we went to a high school softball game this evening. My god-niece-in-law (just go with it) was playing first base in the playoffs. It was the Jaguars, who everyone loves, visiting the Raiders, a team nobody likes very much. The Jags got down early, but then a solo home run turned into a late rally. It was a pitchers duel that turned into a runaway, but got awfully dramatic in the sixth and seventh innings. The Raiders, who nobody likes very much, held on to win 8-6. You could look up to their press box and see all of their big regional and state wins hanging on the side of the building. I don’t know anything about the local softball history, but they looked like a good team tonight. And thus endeth the Jaguars season. Enjoy it now, Raiders. Our god-niece-in-law will surely see them again in her senior season.

I saw something on Saturday I’ve never seen before, a fire truck, of some sort, with a roll cage.

I wondered what the local three-street volunteer fire department figures they’ll need that for. Then I did the thing that I do, and I looked it up. Apparently it’s an effective tool for watering fields from multiple vectors. So perhaps preventing or fighting brush fires. It’s also great in parades. And let us hope that this is the only cause they have to use the thing.

Saturday night was a perfect spring night. I sat outside for a long while and admired the stars.

While I was doing that we got last-minute tickets to see Whose Live for Sunday night. Apparently the show was supposed to be elsewhere, but they had to change venues for whatever reason. That meant that a friend couldn’t go, and so there we were, right next to the stage.

A few years ago we saw a version of the show, and last month we saw a two-man version with Colin Mochrie and Brand Sherwood. So I guess we’re regulars now?

Anyhow, they played games you might recall from Whose Line Is It Anyway, and there’s another thing or two mixed in, as well. It’s all audience driven, either in the starting material, or with audience-as-players. The hit of the night was a couple who’d been married for 37 years. They pumped them for information about their early lives together, and then “recreated” their first date. The gag was that the man and the woman had to indicate when they got the facts right or wrong. They looked very much like the comfortably settled teachers and pillars of their church community that they were, and the whole bit was about trying to get the two of them to disagree with some aspect of what was playing out before them, to comedic effect.

It sounds dry, but imagine getting the high points of anyone’s lives in a two or three-minute interview and then playing that for laughs. It worked. Also, the proud Episcopalians like their beverages. A lot, it seems. So that figures in.

Anyway, at the end of the show they did a bonus hoedown. And the second guy, Joel Murray, stole the obvious “Fly Eagles Fly” pandering go-home line. Jeff B. Davis threw his hands into the air and had just seconds to work up something useful, and he remembered the man and woman.

They’re touring for most of the rest of the year, and each show is a bit different. Catch them if you can. Come October, we might see them once again!