As noted earlier, we took advantage of mostly decent weather on Saturday to trim all of the branches off each of the shrubs flanking our front door. I spent about two hours digging out as much of the root structure as possible, but due to hard-packed clay 3″ below surface, I couldn’t get the first one to budge. I took some breaks to haul two loads of brush off to the dump and got a third load into the back of the Scout before calling it a day, but we still have ugly stumps to deal with. The plan is to rent a jackhammer next weekend and try to dig them out with brute force.
Sunday was cold, wet, and gray, so we made ourselves a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, packed ourselves into the car, and drove to IKEA. There we found a shelving unit the perfect size for tucking into the wall between the back door and chimney, and bought eight wicker bins to go inside. The afternoon and evening were spent moving furniture to make way for a new arrangement; there’s a big shelf in the living room filled with toys and some long-hibernating books (stuff I’d forgotten I even had) across from the couch. The library table is now up against a wall with the carpenter’s chest tucked underneath. The den has a big empty wall waiting for some kind of decoration, and the new shelf holds a good portion of Finn’s toys with all the A/V equipment on top.
A conversation with my neighbor confirmed my suspicion that we’ll need a new head unit that will accept multiple inputs and upconvert all of them over one HDMI cable to the TV. I’m also going to have to bite the bullet and replace my speakers, a pair of Baby Advents that I bought before shipping off to college; the foam of the woofers has dried and degraded to dust in places. Either way, I’d like to get some unobtrusive surround speakers with a subwoofer and hide as much as possible instead of staring at two big cabinets on the floor.
Unpacking, I uncovered two dogeared books from my past that made me smile. The first is Building Speaker Enclosures, published by Radio Shack sometime in the middle 80’s. I bought this before college, and sourced all of the speaker components in the days before the internet, which dictated several trips to Canal Street in NYC to visit car audio outlets for 8ohm woofers, crossovers, and other electronic components. (Lugging two 15″ woofers through the subway and home on the Metro North was quite an experience.) Much of my current tool collection was started when I brought the materials down to my apartment and assembled the boxes on the dining room table. The speakers are still sitting in the basement, water-stained and yellowing, waiting for me to buy new birch plywood and cut clean new boxes to transplant the electronics into. Tucked into the pages are the handwritten notes and calculations I used to design and build the boxes, scrawled on the backs of scrap paper and envelopes.
The second book was stored in the carpenter’s chest under all our A/V equipment. It’s a blue sketchbook with a picture of Elvis duct-taped to the cover, and it’s a record of a trip to Graceland my buddy Pat and I took in March of 1992. We made it to Elvis’ house, then continued westward as far as Paris, Texas before swinging north and heading for home, for a total of 3,346 miles. It’s a rambling diary written by two guys stuck in a compact pickup truck for seven days, and as any diary should, my writing makes me cringe. Pat’s writing is funny and direct. The pictures we took are taped in and annotated as best we could, including stops at Manassas, the Waffle House, the St. Louis Arch, a land-locked submarine, and the Flying Tigers Museum. It contains some of the only documentation I have of that pickup and time period. I’m going to put it up on my shelf in a place of honor.
However, for all the damage being a drug addict, smack-head and alcoholic has done to Doughty, he saves his real ire not for the drugs, or his various addictions, but for the other members of his former band (who all remain nameless to the bitter end).
Wow, what a sad state of affairs. I suppose I’ll have to read the book to find out exactly why he’s so bitter about his old band, which I love so much.
Finn and I slept about half the night on the guest bed after she woke from a nightmare. Waking this morning was made more difficult by the timechange and the fact that I’d stayed up reading the second book in the Hunger Games trilogy. My two-second review: Not as good as the first one. This one had to do some catching up and then settled into a second act of boy A-vs-boy B angst. I stopped at the beginning of the third act, which is setting up for some ass-kicking. Bring on the ass-kicking.
Update: Sheesh. Not what I was hoping for. The main character goes from a motivated protagonist to an ineffectual, reactive observer. This book moved things along and set up the third book, but not in a logical, emotional, Empire Strikes Back way. Maybe the third book will wrap things up with more skill.
The weekend was filled with the completion of long-deferred home maintenance projects. Jen and I made a list and I knocked a bunch of them out after a trip to the Lowe’s and a minimal outlay of cash. Saturday evening we watched the original Let The Right One In, which was equal parts creepy and plodding.
Sunday we walked across the street to take in mass, and then continued working around the house. In the early afternoon I cut some access holes out of the TV mount and then pulled the top off the Scout for a ride over to look at a house with the in-laws. The verdict there was that it showed much better in the pictures than it did in person, and suffered from a lot of homeowner butchering. After some dinner and drinks we put the girl to bed and I transferred my latest batch of Chinook IPA into the secondary fermenter. The Dead Ringer keg is almost kicked, so there should be plenty of room to move it when it’s finished (another 3-4 weeks). The next beer in line is a saison, which is a pale French summer ale.
I absolutely loved everything about this book as a kid: The New Yorker reviews Norton Juster’s “The Phantom Tollbooth” at 50. I have the hardback set aside downstairs in my boxes, waiting to be read to my children. I especially related to this:
The other shaping experience was listening to the radio. As both artists stress, having a pure stream of sound as your major source of entertainment meant that your mind was already working imaginatively, without your necessarily realizing it.
As if working until 2AM each night this week wasn’t bad enough, I had to start The Deathly Hallows on the plane ride home from Orlando last weekend. Which means I was up until 4AM last night, unable to put the book down.
Overall impressions, from page 350 or so: It’s good. Not having read any of the other books in the series besides the first (but having seen almost all the movies in the theater), I can follow most of the story arcs sucessfully. I’m enjoying the character development and the plot is beginning to pick up steam, although it dragged on a bit through the first third of the book.
Usually I’ll power through a book I like in one sitting (even books this big), but I made a conscious decision to slow down and savor this one as much as possible—it’s been a while since I had some good escapist fiction to read, and it’s a welcome alternative to sitting in front of an LCD for 3/4 of the day.
From the introduction of Imperial Grunts, by Robert D. Kaplan:
Imperialism is but a form of isolationism, in which the demand for absolute, undefiled security at home leads one to conquer the world, and in the process to become subject to all the world’s anxieties. …By the time an imperial reality becomes truly manifest, it is a sign that the apex of empire is at hand, with a gradual retreat more likely than fresh conquests.
(The first sentence is attributed to Erich Gruen, from The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome. )
There is a lot to learn from this book, both from the civilian noncombatant side and from the political realist’s side. I’m attempting to do some illustrations for this book as a self-commissioned project, and I find the conflicting messages it contains hard to boil down into digestible images. One one hand, the special teams we place in foreign countries (and there are a lot more than you think there are, in places you never imagined) are training indigenous armies, helping the local populations with health and sanitation projects, and providing security for government officials. On the other hand, they are severely limited by the Rules of Engagement to certain numbers of advisors, specific locations of operation, methods of training, and ability to engage in combat, which limits their abilities to influence real change. While these limitations are debatable on a case-by-case basis, the idea that narcotrafficking in places like Columbia could be severely curtailed by a 6-month field operation by one Alpha team (suggested by an SF operative in the book) is a tempting one.
That fundamental reality, in contrast to the wild west atmosphere of Mongolia experienced by the Alpha teams stationed there, is a jarring one. What I’m attempting to convey is a sense of ability and professionalism—I don’t think any of these soldiers is bloodthirsty or evil, even if I might not agree with the policy that put them where they are—with the underlying sense of frustration I feel from the stories they tell. These are guys who live in a storage container inside barbed-wire fences in 105° heat for months at a time, in constant danger of assassination, who then immunize the local population and help dig wells for their crops. It’s also fascinating to read about the newer generation of non Vietnam-veteran soldiers complain about the hangovers still lingering from that war—and realize that those lessons are important. I’d like to believe that the initial U.S. involvement in Vietnam (a handful of Special Forces advisors to the democratic government in the early ’60’s) was not begun with the eventual ramp-up in mind, but I also see increased combatant-level involvement in foreign countries as the slippery slope it is. Finally, it’s refreshing and humbling to read about the individual soldiers, who are handpicked because of their abilities, intelligence, and maturity—a far cry from the Rambo/loose cannon propaganda we Americans are fed daily. As mass-market entertainment, the solutions on the current TV show “The Unit” are tidy 45-minute happy endings, but they reflect a childish, immature view of real world problems.
I’m only halfway through the book now, but I’d recommend it for anyone who is interested in the way America is attempting to fight smaller wars on multiple fronts in the 21st century, based on the idea that a few men with the right ideas can force a major turn of events:
The notion that vast historical forces could be tipped by the right individuals exerting pressure in the right spot has always offered an attractive antidote to fatalism.
* * *
I’ve also been working on self-commissioned illustrations for an article that ran in the New Yorker a month or so back, about the Administration’s ignorance and subjugation of science for its own purposes. The New York Times magazine ran an article a few months ago on the same subject, and it’s something that resonated with me.
This is my first tentative set of steps back into the conceptual pool, and it’s going slowly and painfully. My brain was wired pretty well when I was in college to think editorially, but those muscles are weak and puny now. I’ve been hitting up against this wall for a week now, and while I have some things resolved I still can’t make the whole thing work correctly.
But now I’ve spent enough time writing and not enough time thinking. Back to work.
Mrs. Lockard is worsening. The nurse administering the meds gives her a couple of days at most. Jen is exhausted from dealing with both the family and her mother, and fighting off a cold.
All By Myself. Whenever Jen is away, I seem to revert back to my bachelor ways, which means I eat whatever is left around the house. Last night my feast consisted of a PB&J sandwich, the rest of the Doritos from Thanksgiving (our house is so dry, they were not even close to stale) and a glass of grapefruit juice. Now, before anybody gets upset, this is not a cry for help: usually when I’m alone, I try to fill up my time with projects that wouldn’t normally fly while Jen is around. (Would you want your husband sanding drywall outside your bedroom door at 11:30pm?) Thus, there’s not a whole lot of time to fuss with food. Unfortunately, the hallway repair project is drawing out longer than hoped—the walls have been abused so much that it’s taking longer than expected to smooth out the craters. By the end of this week, though, we should have new outlets on both sides of the hall and on the stair landing, as well as primer on most of the walls.
Because of an inexplicable lapse in New Yorker deliveries, I started reading The Lovely Bones last night before going to sleep—it looks to be good so far. I was joined by three very lonely cats, who proceeded to hootch up on me so tightly that I was effectively stapled to the bed. We all miss Jen.
OK, and now for some humor. This blog is one I’ve been following for about a year now, and it never ceases to make me laugh. Check the archives, too- you’ll snort your Quik through your nose, I promise.
Quick links. Protect your privacy. | Tsunami | Bye, Jerry. | Finally, another creative use for the iPod.
Jen drove to the LP City last night after work to see her Mom, and got about ten minutes in with her before they threw her on a medevac chopper to Georgetown University Hospital. Mrs. Lockard is resting now, but things continue to seesaw between Bad and Nearly As Bad.
I bought the Eric Meyer book at Border’s this morning, paying the extra $15 just to have it now (quite a penalty, when Amazon is throwing in free shipping), but so far it’s pretty decent. I’d recommend having a good grasp of CSS before you start, as there’s stuff in the first chapter he’s hitting you with that you may or may not be familiar with. (The book assumes you have a working grasp of CSS and its properties, but haven’t really made the leap to CSS layout.) I’m halfway through the first chapter, and it’s a good study so far.
Unable to join Jen for what was planned as an overnight stay, I accepted the invitation of a couple guys at work to mountain bike last night, which meant I had to dust off Andre The Giant and try to locate all of my biking gear. We rode a reasonably easy trail up at Loch Raven, which predictably kicked my out-of-shape butt three ways to Sunday. (not to mention it feels like I’ve been kicked by a horse back there.) But it did feel good to get outside and ride again.
dugan discount liquors, reisterstown, md, 7.16.04 (thanks baby)
Saturday Jen and I put a day of work into the crumbling pile of wood we call a house; I got 90% of the back side of the house painted while Jen waded into the gardens to wrestle the weeds into submission. I will now sing the praises of the Wagner Power Painter to the heavens, build it an altar in the living room, and raise our children to leave it offerings of tobacco and corn. What took me all day to roll by hand in front took about four hours with the sprayer, and I’d estimate that two of those hours were pure ladderwork. (The back of the house features all three main wires to the house: cable, phone, and electrical, which makes moving an aluminum ladder a sphincter-tightening proposition.) Finding the correct mixture of thinning additive to the paint took a few tries, but once I figured it out, the paint went on like butter—and evenly, too.
Saturday I experienced my first book club meeting, which was a pretty harmless good time with a new bunch of folks. Slaughterhouse-Five turned out to be a quick but interesting read, and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance is the next book on the list. Thankfully, the game of Risk never made it to the floor after the discussion was over, and we left in good cheer.
From four online form requests for a roofing estimate, I’ve gotten a grand total of one reply.
(Today I sent this letter to the Baltimore City Mayor, Martin O’Malley, who rode a float in the Catonsville 4th of July parade.)
Mr. Mayor:
As a new transplant from Baltimore City to the town of Catonsville, I was pretty embarrassed by the treatment your family got during the parade a few weeks ago. My wife and I recently bought a house on Frederick Road and hosted a party with bunch of other city-dwelling folks, the majority of whom I’d call O’Malley supporters. We cheered as you passed by (and, I have to admit, my wife has a crush on you. I’m glad you didn’t stop long in front of our house, for the sake of my marriage) but I’m afraid we were in the minority.
It took a lot of guts to take part in that parade, considering the pronounced Republican slant of the town, and I have to take my hat off to you, and offer an apology for the boorish behavior of the rest of the town.
I hope, at least, you and your family had fun on the rest of the day. Thanks for coming out.
-Bill Dugan
Not that I’m that kind of person, but I took about four hours last night scanning and sharpening forty more wedding photos to post for our scattered family members. Because there are so many of them, ( 82 at last count, 5.8MB worth, and I ain’t done yet) I can’t post them here for fear of the server getting hammered, so if you’re dying to see some, leave me a comment below and I’ll email you the link offline.
New Music. I’ve recently become aware of, and addicted to, a number of audioblogs—sites dedicated to semi-obscure music not given lots of mainstream attention; there are a few favorites so far. I also found the audio secion of the Internet Archive, which has a pile of good live recordings by favorite bands such as Soul Coughing and Lake Trout. Check it out.
Random Car Junk. This morning there was a beautiful wine and gold colored Citro‘n 2CV parked in our neighborhood; I didn’t have my camera with me, unfortunately. There was also a blue MGB parked further down the road with a “For Sale” sign in the window—not that we could afford one, but it’s sure nice to dream. Also, our neighbor gave me his folder of records for the Jeep, and something even more valuable: the Haynes repair guide for the Cherokee. Where the Chilton’s books are Cliff’s Notes, the Haynes books are the Expanded Annotated Illustrated King James Bible of repair books (unless you shell out the big bucks for the Chilton’s shop manual.) I read through the first chapter of the Jeep book last night and learned more in five minutes than a week of puzzling over the alternative.
On the list for purchasing this payday: Web Standards Solutions. I’ve been looking for a good book to dive into for getting further into CSS page design (this site will be redesigned soon), and it looks like this might be the one. (via dominey)