November 2014
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Shit hot header photos by Paul, w/assistance from "The Thing?"

Copyright

Copyright 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014 by Paul Woodford. All rights reserved.

Open Windows

I haven’t opened Windows since I got my iMac … no, seriously, I meant to write about actual windows, the kind you open to air out the house when the weather is nice. After months of running it full time, day and night, it’s a treat to turn off the air conditioning. We can feel the house breathe. Long may it last, but already we’re pulling the covers up to our chins at night and pretty soon we’ll have to start shutting up the house before we go to bed. But let’s not think about lighting the furnace until we have to, shall we?

We took full advantage of the good weather this weekend, spending most of Sunday outdoors at Tucson’s Udall Park, once the site of a geomagnetic laboratory operated by the US Geological Survey. I set a trail for members of my hiking and running group, starting and ending near the old magnetic lab and this enigmatic survey marker:


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There’s plenty of information about the old magnetic lab on line, but I can’t find anything on the triangular marker. Google, normally so useful, turns up nothing. I guess the marker will join the Railroad Children’s Cemetery on my list of unsolved Tucson mysteries.

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The cemetery is in Vail alongside the east/west railroad tracks running from El Paso to Tucson. I don’t think many people know it’s there. Even if they do it’s hard to find, just a 40′ X 40′ plot hidden in desert scrub. I first saw it on one of our running trails. A small wooden sign on the fence said “Railroad Children,” and that was all the information there was. My guess, looking at the condition of the wooden sign and wooden crosses, is that it dates from the early 1900s, possibly the late 1800s. I contacted an Arizona graveyards historian but never heard back. To this day I don’t know why those children died or what connection they had with the railroad. I suspect it might have had something to do with the influenza epidemic in 1918. Which reminds me, it’s time to get a flu shot. No, I’m not going to speculate on Ebola. Plenty of other people, most of them uninformed, are.

Toward the end of my September motorcycle trip, I downloaded and installed Apple’s new operating system (iOS 8.0) on my iPhone and iPad. The iPhone, a new 5S model I’d bought just months before, swallowed it whole, but the three-year-old iPad 2 gagged. A day later I heard Apple was rushing to get a fix out. Sure enough, later that same day iOS 8.0.2 came out and I installed it, hoping it would fix my iPad.

It didn’t. When I try to open the Facebook or Twitter applications on the iPad, they either don’t open for three or four minutes, or they don’t open at all and dump me back to the home screen. Half the time I can’t even open Safari, Apple’s web browser. Okay, pretty much anything that requires a Wi-Fi connection, including the Gmail app. I thought the problem might be related to the iCloud driver that comes with the new iOS, so I turned that part of it off in settings, but that hasn’t fixed a thing. Online apps like Facebook, Twitter, Safari, and Tumblr are 90% of what I use my iPad for. It’s like Apple disabled the Wi-Fi connection and replaced it with a dialup modem from 1993.

Last night I went on some Apple & Mac forums to see if other iPad 2 users have found ways to work with the new iOS. Chillingly, the factory forums are populated with hardcore Apple defenders who brook no dissent, no waving of dirty laundry. I did glean, reading between the lines, that another iOS iteration is in the works, so I’ll be patient.

You know, I’ve been an Apple enthusiast ever since I replaced my old Dell PC desktop with an iMac, following that purchase up with the iPad and most recently an iPhone. This is the first negative experience I’ve had with any Apple product, and I hope they fix it soon. I have to say, though, the cult-like vibes emanating from the Apple forums are more worrisome than a botched iOS upgrade, and make me wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.

Speaking of cult-like vibes, check out this guy. I can be an asshole like anyone else, selfish and self-centered. There are times when I think of my faults and marvel that I have any friends at all, let alone a loving wife and children. And then I read about someone who is truly awful, a monster of Jim Jones proportions, and feel better about myself. So if you need a self-esteem boost, read about the Reverend Ernest Angley, leader of a devoted congregation who let him get away with the most despicable behavior … and this is just one thing among many: forcing vasectomies and abortions on the men and women in his church lest they keep some of the money they’d normally put in the collection tray to raise children instead, oh, and being a pedophile who preys on the boys in his congregation good lord what the fuck is wrong with people and why hasn’t anyone hastened this man’s long-overdue rendezvous with Jesus in heaven?

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: God save me from all these good Christians!

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Local Color

Donna and I wake up around six. Our bed is situated so that the first thing we see is the sun coming up through the sliding glass patio door in our bedroom wall.

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I jumped out of bed a few mornings ago, put on a bathrobe, and went out through the patio door to take photos. One of the dogs, meanwhile, went out through the doggie door at the other end of the house and was startled to find a man in her back yard. She started barking, which set off the other dog, who came out to join her. Even after they figured out it was me, they kept barking to make sure I knew I was somewhere I didn’t belong.

I’ve been out taking photos nearly every morning since, and the dogs have become used to seeing me on their turf. Sometimes I wake up and grab the iPhone, sometimes the small point & shoot digital camera, sometimes the big DSLR we treated ourselves to last Christmas. The top photo is from earlier this week, and was taken with the tiny iPhone camera. The next one is from this morning, showing the sun reflecting off the tops of the mountains to our north, taken with the big camera.

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The iPhone has an HDR (high dynamic range) mode, and I believe I had it selected when I took the first photo. The Canon Rebel doesn’t have an HDR mode, but you can take HDR photos with it … I just haven’t learned how to do it yet, so the second photo is more true to life.

I love these beautiful sunrises. Sunsets are even prettier. I’ve been taking photos at the other end of the day as well. Here’s an iPhone sunset:

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As I was writing, not ten minutes ago, the neighborhood bobcat walked past the window. It’s a big one, about the size of a German Shepherd, and looks healthy (we haven’t seen it often enough to determine its sex). I’m sorry I didn’t manage to get a photo, but it was staring at me through the office window and I was afraid reaching for the camera would spook it. Maybe next time.

Yesterday I took the dachshunds to the feed store, their favorite destination. This time of year there’s a galvanized livestock trough full of baby chicks in the middle of the store. The dogs aren’t tall enough to see in, of course, but they can hear and smell the chicks, and how they wish I’d buy them one, oh pretty please! I would if I thought the chick would survive their natural curiosity. No, no I wouldn’t, not really. Anyway, in addition to picking up a bag of dog food, I got them both new collars, big thick butch numbers. They were beside themselves to have me put them on, and after I did they pranced around the house all afternoon. Here they are with their colorful new outfits:


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Schatzi is red

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Maxie is purple


I hear that the anchor spot on one of the major Sunday morning TV political talk shows, Meet the Press, was offered to comedian Jon Stewart. He rebuffed the offer, and I’m glad he did. I don’t know what actual impact Stewart has as host of The Daily Show, but he’s good at expressing our frustration with the idiots who run the country and the world … at least when he’s sitting alone at his desk, facing a friendly studio audience and an unhostile camera. I’ve noticed, and I’m sure you have too, that when he’s face to face with a powerful guest in the interview segment, he pussies out. He doesn’t ask the hard questions. He goes into “both sides do it” mode, just like any political pundit. I’ve seen him back down over and over again, and I’ve concluded that at heart he’s just another villager, anxious to preserve his position of privilege and access to power. Well, I’d probably be the same way if the money was good enough.

That’s not much of a rant, but it’s all I’ve got today. Yes, everything is still horrible: this stupid directionless war, the fear-mongering and lies fed to us as news, the stupidity, the racism, the religious intolerance, the whatever. But ranting about it won’t make a bit of difference or have the slightest impact. All I can do is try to live up to Kurt Vonnegut’s exhortation from God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater: “There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.” Would that we all could live up to that.

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Wednesday Bag o’ Damp

water bagWhen I leapt out of bed at six this morning, I had two plans: first, to take the good DSLR camera outside for some colorful sunrise photos; second, to ride the motorcycle to the air museum for my weekly guided tours. I was stymied by the weather: the only color seeping through the overcast was gray and the bathroom radio announced a 100% probability of rain. No photos, no motorcycle. Well, I still had my museum tours to look forward to.

Five hours later, halfway through my walking tour of WWII aircraft, the industrial evaporative coolers outside the hangar kicked on. They were unusually loud. In fact they were roaring, and I had to turn up the volume on my amplifier to be heard over the din. It didn’t occur to me the noise was rain beating on the hangar roof until I tried to lead my group of visitors to the next hangar on the tour. And why? Because in three years volunteering at the museum, I’d never heard that noise before.

I braved the downpour to get to the next hangar and got thoroughly soaked in the process. Two visitors ran with me but the other eight stayed behind and I don’t blame them. By the time I finished up in the next hangar the torrent was less biblical, so, frustrated because I hadn’t been able to take any photos earlier in the morning, I decided to document this rare Tucson rainstorm.


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In the first photo, if you look behind where I’m standing you’ll see running water. That water is about six feet deep, and it’s running hard. The second photo is of the same instant river, taken from a small foot bridge between the hangars. Going back to the first photo: it may not be immediately obvious, but my pants are soaked from my shoes up to about mid-thigh, and the little voice amplifier hanging from my neck is dead, shorted out by water that seeped into it during my earlier dash between the hangars.

On my drive home I took another photo, this one of the normally dry wash just down the hill from our subdivision. The water you see running over the road is more than three feet deep, and local drivers are wisely sitting it out. Fortunately for Donna and I, we don’t have to cross this low spot driving to and from our home, but there are pockets of homes in our part of town that become temporarily cut off during these rare heavy rains.

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Well, there … I’ve gone and written a blog post about the damn weather. Why anyone reads this stuff is beyond me. So what else is there to write about?

Well, for one thing, this was my first museum tour in over a month. It felt good to get back in the saddle. I even prepped for it, skipping TV last night to study my aircraft talking points. I went in early this morning to turn the team leader files over to my replacement and start getting him up to speed; I hope that in a month or so he’ll have completely taken over and I can return to being a regular docent.

I have book reviews to write, so I’ll put this post to bed now. If you live in a regular part of the world, one where rain is a regular occurrence, I hope you’ll forgive me for having so much fun with it. I can’t help it. No one from southern Arizona can. It’s a big deal to us.

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You Can’t Read That!

You Can’t Read That! is a periodic post featuring banned book reviews and news roundups.

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YCRT! Rant

Another school year has begun and we’re in for a fresh round of book challenges and bannings. This essay provides an excellent overview of educational censorship, and discusses the idea of providing parental advisory ratings for books on school reading lists and library shelves. Here’s another essay on the topic of ratings.

In reviewing news of book challenges and bans, I read article after article about parents and watchdog groups showing up at school board meetings to demand the removal of books containing “violence,” “adult language,” “inappropriate material,” “anti-capitalist themes,” “anti-Christian values,” or just plain “darkness.” These sound like categories from a TV parental advisory screen, don’t they?

aa4299013Change “the following program” to “this book” and you could stick this label on the cover of half the young adult and mainstream literary novels … even some nonfiction textbooks … commonly assigned in middle and high school classrooms.

I’m afraid this is exactly what a growing number of parents and conservative watchdog groups want: simple, easy-to-understand rating placards for every book in every school, even books in the children’s section of public libraries and bookstores.

Parents want book ratings for what they believe to be good reasons. Religious and conservative watchdog groups want them for a more sinister reason: to facilitate wholesale banning.

A few parents and watchdog groups, the conscientious ones, actually read the books they target. When they show up at school board meetings, they’re prepared to cite specific passages from the books they want to ban. Granted, most of those who complain merely read out-of-context excerpts handed them by someone else, and haven’t read the books in question, but somewhere along the line someone has.

What would happen if books had parental advisory ratings? Parents, school administrators, and bluenoses in general wouldn’t bother to read them. They’d go with ratings alone, and the number of challenges and bannings would balloon. In no time at all, it would be nearly impossible to find a book with an AC (adult content) rating on a school reading list or library shelf. No understanding-the-book-in-context required. No reading required. No thinking required. AC=burn the witch!

Who would review books and come up with parental advisory ratings? Would it be committees of teachers, authors, and literary critics? Are you kidding? It would be the very religious and conservative watchdog groups who want to control what your children read. A book might get a “Graphic Language” rating for a single “damn.” One mention of masturbation would doom a book, never mind a sympathetic homosexual character. History texts not promoting American exceptionalism would be branded unbalanced. And who would know what the books really contain?

I try not to overreact to school book bannings. Young folks find out about great books by word of mouth, and if they hear of a book they want to read they will read it, whether it’s banned at their school or not. What will be missing is classroom discussion guided by teachers who know the material, because teachers won’t be allowed to assign or discuss anything not on their school’s approved reading list.

Parental advisory ratings for books? I can’t think of a more destructive exercise in “dumbing down.”

YCRT! News

Students and community members are protesting conservative attempts to sugar-coat American history textbooks in Jefferson County, Colorado. And talk about sugar-coating: one school board member wants students to be taught that America voluntarily ended slavery. The College Board opposes the teaching of false history, but the protests have so far been to no avail: the Jefferson County school board plans to go ahead with the proposed history curriculum review.

“’Hello, there, little one,’ the man greeted amicably. ‘I am the Reverend Albus Dumbledore, and this is my wife, Minerva. Welcome to Hogwarts School of Prayer and Miracles!’” It’s probably a joke, but maybe not: Grace Ann, concerned mother, is writing a fundamentalist Christian version of Harry Potter, with Barack Obama replacing Voldemort. The first link, and this one, contain screamingly funny excerpts. Please, please, be for real, Grace Ann!

A Drake University student newspaper has been pulled from circulation, but it’s not the usual story of top-down campus censorship. University students protested a front-page ad for a local pregnancy crisis center by confiscating copies of the paper and destroying them. The pregnancy crisis center in question is not a medical facility: its purpose is to prevent women from obtaining abortions. The university, and the newspaper’s student staff, calls the protest an act of vandalism and vows to continue running ads for the bogus pregnancy crisis center.

A school district in a Dallas, Texas suburb suspended seven books after parental complaints. Students in one high school class were midway through reading Garth Stein’s novel The Art of Racing in the Rain when school officials took their copies away. Parents, in challenging the seven books, objected to sex scenes, references to homosexuality, a description of a girl’s abduction, and a passage that criticized capitalism. After a backlash from alumni and other parents, six of the seven books were reinstated, but The Art of Racing in the Rain remains on the banned list. The incident prompted a New Yorker contributor to write one of the better short essays I’ve read, What Kind of Town Bans Books?

In Rochester, Minnesota, a parent complained about Louise Erdritch’s novel The Painted Drum, which had been assigned to English students at a local high school. The complaint centered on sexual content the parent judged unsuitable for 10th graders. In a bit of good news, a review committee read the book and elected to keep it on the reading list.

Another good essay: Chocolate Wars, Mr. Pucker, and Being a Banned Books Test Subject. Since the subject of this essay is Robert Cormier’s novel The Chocolate War, here’s a link to my review, which includes commentary on why it continues to be a target of book banners.

YGBSM. John Green’s mega-hit YA novel The Fault in Our Stars has been banned from Riverside, California middle schools. A single parent, apparently, complained about profanity and references to sex. John Green’s reaction is blockquote-worthy:

I guess I am both happy and sad.

I am happy because apparently young people in Riverside, California will never witness or experience mortality since they won’t be reading my book, which is great for them.

But I am also sad because I was really hoping I would be able to introduce the idea that human beings die to the children of Riverside, California and thereby crush their dreams of immortality.

The graphic novel Persepolis once again came under attack, this time at a high school in Chatham, Illinois, after a single parent demanded it be removed from a 12th grade English class reading list. The school’s first reaction was to take copies from students who were reading it as an assignment, but the school board overruled administrators and Persepolis was reinstated.

Distantly related to graphic novels, cartoons continue to enrage fanatical Muslim fundamentalists mild-mannered midwestern college lecturers: Michigan Lecturer Alerts Campus Police to Drawing of Beheading, Claims He’s ‘Against Censorship, But…’

Keep on keepin’ on, librarians, our real civil libertarians!

And now, for something completely different …

Lose "I fart in your general direction."

Click to read the full story

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Doggie Drive-Thru

But first, another visit to the dermatologist: seven new freeze blisters on my face plus a bloody spot below my eye where he cut out a divot to send for a biopsy. It’ll likely turn out to be a basal cell skin cancer and have to be cut out. More stitches, another scar. This will be number six. So far they’ve all been on my face or scalp, never anywhere else on my body, and we always check. So there’s that.

My father had several skin cancers removed during his life, and now my younger sisters are beginning to experience the same thing. Donna, like us, is fair-skinned, and she just got a call from her dermatologist: a sample they cut off the tip of her nose last week turned out to be skin cancer and she has to go in to have it cut out. Her dermatologist is sending her to a plastic surgeon, though, so she probably won’t be showing a scar. Meanwhile, I’m walking around looking like some seatbelt scofflaw who’s been through the windshield once or twice.

All this panic over Ebola. I hope my previous post didn’t sound panicky; I wasn’t so much concerned about the disease as with the human propensity to ignore or actively sabotage preventive procedures meant to keep such diseases out of the USA. Or maybe there weren’t any preventive procedures. It’s beginning to look that way, isn’t it?

Anyway, have we forgotten about AIDS? For the first few decades, AIDS had a 100% mortality rate. Compared to that, Ebola is weak tea. And how about TB? The only cure for TB, back in my mother’s day, was to go to a sanitorium and hope you got better. And contagious? I’m 67 years old and they still test me for TB every year just because my mother had it when I was four years old. There are lots of things more panic-worthy than Ebola.

Nevertheless, there’s a racist ooga-booga element to the Ebola scare, and I don’t expect the panic to die down anytime soon.

On to happier things: suddenly it’s nice outside and we can open the windows and turn off the air conditioner. Last night I actually had to close the sliding glass doors in our bedroom and living room because the air coming in was too cold. Luxury!

And here is possibly the happiest thing of all: doggie drive-thru!

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Click on the images to see ‘em full sized on Flickr. And don’t say that didn’t cheer you up!

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Loud Beeping Noise Is Distracting

One of the things that strikes me in so many news stories about preventable disasters is that the decision-makers not only had all the information they needed to take correct and timely preventive action, they were specifically warned when red flags started to wave.

George W. Bush and 9/11 is often cited as the modern-day example, but it keeps happening. Like right up to today.

Ebola guy, for example. When this man first visited the hospital in Dallas, two days after he became ill, a nurse asked if he’d been in West Africa and he said yeah, he’d just come from there. The nurse reported his response, but no one above her heard the warning siren and he was sent home. He came back two days later, even sicker, and was finally diagnosed and quarantined. For a four-day period, then, he was suffering Ebola symptoms and was, according to the CDC, actively contagious. During those four days, he came in contact with twelve to eighteen people, including five children (each of whom subsequently went to school).

CDC officials are trying to contain panic by saying they’ve got a handle on it, but you and I know they must privately feel like the fictional CDC Doctor Goodweather on TV’s The Strain, watching vampires breed like rabbits. If they can round up those who came in contact with the Ebola patient after he developed symptoms and became contagious, and isolate them before they themselves begin to exhibit symptoms and expose others, good. If, that is, the CDC’s assurances that someone with Ebola can’t give it to others until he or she exhibits symptoms are true.

The lack of internal communication at the Dallas hospital is bad enough. What about the lack of coordination between the CDC and US Customs and Immigration? People can freely enter the USA after stepping off flights from Liberia? With all the information at our disposal about the spread of Ebola in Liberia and West Africa, it’s not as if we didn’t know there was a risk Ebola would hop a flight to the USA. Couldn’t we have put some controls in place before it got here?

The guy who jumped the White House fence and made it all the way to the East Room? We’re now told he had run-ins with law enforcement and the Secret Service before the fence-jumping incident. Virginia police arrested him this summer, finding in his car “a mini-arsenal of semiautomatic weapons, a sniper rifle and a map clearly marking the White House’s location.” They let him go, but did alert the Secret Service. Then, just last month, Secret Service agents detained him in front of the White House. At the time he had a hatchet. They let him go, seemingly unaware of the earlier incident with Virginia police.

And now we learn that the intruder alert system inside the White House was on mute!

I was going to go on to cite other examples, but really, that’s enough, especially the detail about the intruder alert alarm being set to mute. You know what all this reminds me of? The classic story about the pilot who landed gear-up because he got distracted trying to silence the gear warning alarm.

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Figure 1

When I studied safety engineering, we learned there are three basic ways to keep pilots from screwing up:

  • Write checklist procedures that, if properly followed, will prevent operator error
  • Add warning bells & buzzers to let pilots know when they are approaching or pushing beyond safe limits
  • Design airplanes so that they will take over and save the pilot’s ass when he or she screws up.

Not surprisingly, the easiest and cheapest way is the first one. It’s also the most ineffective. The second costs more but is often just as ineffective (see Figure 1, above). The third is expensive but in many cases technologically possible. It is also the most effective, because it removes the human from the works … when humans are involved, checklists and red flags are too easy to ignore.

I’ll close with two personal observations:

  • Those folks at the CDC had better be right about how Ebola is passed on from human to human
  • It’s good to know there are still public servants like Julia Pierson who will step down when their agencies fail
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Monday Bag o’ Fried Chicken

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Monday Bag o’ Fried Chicken

Donna asked me to take charge of dinner tonight because she has embroidery orders to finish and pack for mailing. I don’t feel like cooking, so I rode down to Safeway and bought fried chicken, mashed potatoes & gravy, and spinach. I got enough for two dinners in case I have to “cook” again this week.

I’m making myself sound like someone who dreads having to make dinner, and that’s not true at all. I have a cooking blog, and when I’m inspired I do very well in the kitchen or on the grill. I just don’t feel like cooking today.

Speaking of embroidery, I made over Donna’s Embroidery Dreams website using a WordPress blog format. It’s now much nicer than it was before, and I added a gallery of photos as well.

It occurred to me this morning that bombing Syria may be as much about poking Putin in the eye as it is about going after Islamic State. I don’t hear much about it in the news these days, but remember when Putin vetoed our attempts to get the UN to censure Assad? Surely it rankles Obama to be helpless in the face of Putin’s adventurism in Crimea and Ukraine. Perhaps the calculation is that Putin will be similarly helpless in the face of our actions in Syria. Oh, yeah, Islamic State is evil and all … but when it comes to great affairs of state, never rule out simple spite.

As for renewed war in the Middle East, ain’t nothing to be done about it. We thirst for war. By “we” I mean mankind, not just the USA. But just speaking of the USA, we’ve been at war with one nation or another, in one region or another, against one terrorist group or another, almost the entirety of my life, and I’ve been around since 1946. Of course I’m counting the Cold War, which was real as hell for those of us who fought it, and if in fact hitting back at Putin is one of our reasons for bombing Syria, a war that isn’t over after all.

I haven’t done much exercising over the last three weeks, so it felt great to get out on my bicycle Sunday morning and scout trail for two upcoming hashes. One trail will be for hashers on foot and the other will be for hashers on bicycles, but I scouted both on two wheels in order to finish my explorations in one morning. Tomorrow morning I’ll get back in the swing with Anytime Fitness, which I like to hit on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It’s cool enough in the evenings now to start doing our Monday walks in downtown Tucson again, but so far the rest of my walking group doesn’t seem interested. Nor do they seem interested in resuming our Saturday morning bicycle rides. I think it has fallen to me to motivate them. I know, everyone is busy, but we need to carve out time for exercise.

Fried chicken. I’ve got dibs on the breast and both wings!

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Saturday Bag o’ Catch-Up

ketchup bagHome from my travels, trying to get back in the blogging swing. Which sounds like a piece of recreational sex equipment. Come join me on the blogging swing, baby.

I’m outraged at so many things, but nothing I say … nothing twenty thousand equally outraged bloggers might say … will stay human idiocy from its appointed rounds. Oh, never fear, something will come along to supercharge my outrage. When it does I’ll post another moral/political rant. Until then, I’ll continue to offer personal updates and random observations.

So, what’s up? Me, and early. I rolled out of bed at a quarter after six and went out back to clean up dog poop and adjust the chemicals in the spa. As I was finishing I realized the sprinklers would be going off any second; almost literally the second I finished they did. I took that as a good omen for the day. Next I wheeled the motorcycle out of the garage and washed the accumulated dirt of four western states off it, then wheeled it back in the garage and dried it. I then sat down at the computer to post some Donkey Hote tweets and check in on Facebook. While there I learned of a new social media entity called Ello and applied for membership (it’s still in beta and you can’t join without an invitation, but there’s a waiting list and I’m on it). Then I took a shower.

Are you an NPR listener? If so, you will appreciate how quickly I got all these chores done: as I toweled off after my shower, I realized NPR was still recycling the morning news on our bathroom radio. If you are not an NPR listener, you’re probably saying meh.

And THEN Donna made breakfast, which I’ve just finished. It’s only half past ten! I love getting up early and getting things done!

What’s on for the rest of the day? Book club at one, that’s what. We’ll be talking about banned graphic novels. Sadly, the one my fellow members selected as our monthly read (Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman) was little more than a comic book and I didn’t think much of it, but I’ll do my best to bite my tongue, or at least confine my comments to why some people want to ban it.

I told an old friend I was in a book club and she said she’d tried one once but the people in it only wanted to read trash and she never went back. To be sure, my book club gravitates toward the lowest common denominator as well, but there are a couple of us who push for more rewarding monthly selections, and we prevail often enough that I’m willing to stay. Besides, I’m not just in it for the reading; I’m trying to expand my social circle. I like the other members; I think they like me … book club’s as much a social event as a literary one, and I think my friend deprived herself of something important by pulling back to her lone-wolf reading ways.

I mentioned earlier that our nine-year-old dachshund Schatzi seemed to be having problems with her near vision. While I was away on my motorcycle trip Donna took Schatzi to the vet, who found no problems: retinas look good, no cataracts or glaucoma. It’s just age. Our girl still has okay distance vision, and it’s not like she’s bumping her head into walls or anything like that. The vet gave us some drops to administer in the morning and evening to soothe her eyes; otherwise there’s nothing to be done. I guess dogs get myopic with age, just like you and me.

The first thing I did when I got home was to shave off my beard. I hated having to groom it every couple of days. The second thing I did was to get a short haircut. Here’s to a grooming-free lifestyle. Behold, before & after:


before_2 Screen Shot 2014-09-27 at 11.07.36 AM


Yeah, I wouldn’t get in a blogging swing with that guy either!

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