The day after Christmas, I spent a total of two minutes in the Kinko’s making copies of two illustrations for finishing, and twenty minutes waiting to get out of the parking lot. Somewhere around minute fifteen I swore this was the last time I’d make the trip.
I bought a Canon D320 copier this afternoon with the money from one of my freelance checks. I spent a good deal of time in the two competing office stores comparing feature sets, pricing, and merchandise. Basically, the choices in my price point came down to a Sharp model and this Canon. I was leaning towards the Sharp because of two things: it had a 25-400% zoom range, vs. 50-200% on the Canon. It also looked like the scanning head inside was built a little stronger vs. the Canon—three pulleys instead of one. It also came with a document feeder on the hood, but that’s like buying a house with a tennis court—it’s nice, but how many times are you really gonna use it?
One thing caught my eye on the side of the Canon, though, that changed things: A USB port. Out of the box, it prints to a PC, which is a huge bonus. Plus, it’s $50 cheaper with a rebate and it has an EnergyStar feature which powers it down to sleep after it’s idle for two minutes. I wanted the Canon after my experience with my camera, and I figure the fact that the Canon print engine inside our twelve-year-old printer upstairs is still kicking has to mean something.
So, the next part of the puzzle is in place; I’m on the letter G, with I already done and H in the works. More updates later.
Because I don’t have to hear that fucking “Overst*ck.com” Jingle Bells song anymore.
I have relief from the overwhelming feeling of despair and un-manliness over not having bought my wife a diamond the size of my fist.
There are no More Celine Dion Christmas carols.
The grocery store is calm and peaceful again.
There are plenty of cookies left over in the kitchen.
This Christmas, instead of an electronic gadget or a computer accessory, my wife gave me something I can tinker with for hours without a keyboard or a power strip. I’ve always wanted to learn how to play guitar, and now I have no excuse not to try. Thanks, baby.
This will probably be my (only) post from this week, as it’s been a long and busy one, filled with unexpected shopping, people, and cookies. Anyway, to all my homies out there, have a Merry Christmas, and I’ll talk with you when we get back.
Oh, yeah: Cool after-Christmas gift.
Back in April of 2003, I was lucky enough to be sent to Bimini to dive on the reefs there for work. The fastest way to get to the island is on the small Miami-based Chalk’s Ocean Airways. We flew down to Ft. Lauderdale and traded our shiny new Boeing 737 for a Grumman Turbo Mallard, a seaplane originally manufactured in 1947 for the US Navy. We trundled out onto the runway and took off from land for the 45-minute flight to the island. The plane was noisy, the flight was bumpy, and from my seat in the aisle (next to the landing gear) I could look five feet into the cockpit, where both pilots flew the plane in shirtsleeves with the windows open, allowing the smell of burnt kerosene from the engines to waft through the compartment. On our approach to the island, we were low enough to make out the beginnings of the reef, miles offshore. The pilots lined the plane up, and set it down gently in the harbor—for a brief minute, the window next to me was under the clear, brilliant blue of the water. We taxied up to the seaplane ramp and waddled back onto land, where the pilots turned the little plane around and shut it down. We spent the next seven days underwater in a completely alien world, learning all about fish, marine life, and diving, but I also was looking forward to my next ride on that ugly, beautiful airplane.
I was saddened to hear about the crash yesterday in Miami. The accompanying video footage is even more horrifying; The planes only fly three thousand feet or so above the water, but that’s far enough. Equally sobering is the fact that the wonderful, friendly people of Bimini only have two ways to commute to and from the island—by Chalk’s or by ferry. My guess would be that the plane was filled with residents of the island and not tourists—dive season is still months off. Either way, my heart goes out to those folks on the plane and their families.
Update update: Confirmed.
I helped my Dad set up a slide scanning attachment on his Nikon this weekend, and we did a quick runthrough of the Dugan Family Slide Archives. There are three large boxes of slide trays in the attic, and an unknown number of binders holding the balance of the collection. At some point I want to get rest of the collection scanned, and I’ll probably have to call in some bigger guns, but this was an excellent start.
The rest of the weekend was peaceful, fun, and festive; our Christmas with the family was wonderful. We got to hear my folks sing in the choir of the Presbyterian church across the street from their house, and visit with my namesake, William Dugan Jr., who is nearing 90 years of age and still kicking. Thanks to everyone for a happy holiday!