So today has been a lousy one for the Lockardugan clan. Finn came back from the river with a fever, which has been spiking and falling with alarming frequency and severity, which resulted in a seizure at the vet’s office this afternoon. She was at the vet’s office because Geneva the cat has gotten to the point where she needs to be put to sleep. Poor Mama has been bouncing between caring for Finn and handling Geneva’s final hours, and I can’t imagine it’s been easy.
The river trip itself was great, up until Finn got sick. The water was calm and warm, and we all enjoyed the chance to float and relax. Finn tried on her life jacket and spent almost an hour riding on my back as we floated in the current, and it was almost impossible to get her away from the dock and the water. She even stayed up to roast some marshmallows by the fire before going to sleep.
Sunday morning she got us up early and I took her down to the dock to watch the mist roll out over the water. We laid on the couch inside and watched a little Cat in the Hat on my phone while everyone slowly rose, then had a tasty breakfast Mr. Scout put together. Finn was uncharacteristically low-key after breakfast (whenever she turns down bacon, something is seriously wrong) and her food came up in my hands while she sat on my lap.
The pediatrician says her fever symptoms brought on the seizure, and they’re doing some tests to see what brought the fever on. For now, she’s curled up next to me on the couch while Mama says goodbye to Geneva at the vet’s office.
I will miss that feisty little girl.
I did a 160-mile round trip out to West Virginia in the Scout this weekend, and Peer Pressure ran flawlessly. I’ve never been able to tell what my speed is (larger tires and a speedo with no provenance) but I’ve suspected that it’s indicating slower than actual. I passed several SHA radar signs—the ones that measure your speed and display it to you—and found that 50 mph indicated is somewhere around 60 mph actual. So, there’s that. I also found that I got her up to 60 indicated, which means she’ll do 70-75 mph with no worries. I will say that hitting expansion joints at that speed on Triangle springs is a dicey proposition. Apart from that, and my ladies being in a separate car (one with air conditioning and airbags), the ride was perfect. The outside temperature was warm but not sticky, the sun as at my back, and the roads were mostly clear.
I got one guy who pulled up next to me in an Acura SUV, honked his horn to get my attention, and gave me a huge thumbs-up and a smile. He stuck a camera out the window and shot a picture on the way past.
→ This is a syndicated post from my Scout weblog. More info here.
I still feel a little queasy from the exhaust fumes, but it sure was nice to warm Peer Pressure up and drive her into work. I wonder if a hardtop would cut down on the smell.
I did represent the Scout on my Christmas list; at the top was a new gas tank sender and J-hooks, as well as some inexpensive speakers and a Service manual. Come on Santa!
I chose an absolutely glorious day to drive up into Monkton/White Hall to meet with a nice fellow and buy a spare Thermoquad for Peer Pressure today. Apart from one minor hiccup with lousy battery cabling, the old girl ran like a top, and we ventured out into farm country, blowing up clouds of leaves and passing by cows, horses, and IH farm equipment of all vintages. Erik is a real nice guy with a stable of drool-worthy trucks, and he gave me my pick of two Thermoquads. The one I chose looks like it was recently rebuilt itself, and comes with all the associated hardware I’ll need in case of replacement.
Later in the afternoon, I got a call from Mr. Scout, who was in town and behind the wheel of Chewbacca on her maiden voyage across the Bay Bridge. He stopped in to say hi and we looked her over; the work he did is spotless and the truck is beautiful. We took a short spin up the block and he made me get behind the wheel for the return trip. She feels great; the engine is strong, the brakes are sharp, the wheel is straight, and the truck feels tight, like it just came off the showroom floor. Well done, sir. You’ve made me proud.
flowers at wilderness lodge, orlando, 6.7.03
The weekend was long and tiring, but lots of fun. The Lockard Reunion was a rousing success, and we left Disney the way we found it. Jen’s aunt Jane brought a bin full of old family pictures as well as a current geneaology, and the documents were the source of a lot of conversation and memories. One of the cool things we learned was that at one time her father’s family owned a good portion of the businesses in their hometown. Some of the pictures showed huge advertising signs with the family name that she’d die to have now.
Ty and Lorie are doing very well, and Bonny was just as cute as a button. They have a beautiful house set back by a lake and old trees (a rarity in most of Orando, I’m told.) I think I took more pictures of their baby than of the Lockards, because she was just so photogenic. And to keep the streak alive, Ty showed us Heavy Metal Parking Lot (our last visit in Houston, we screened The Dancing Outlaw) which I’ve heard of but never had the privilege of seeing. And it was as funny as I thought it would be—it brought me right back to high school, and I could laugh at these people without getting the crap kicked out of me (the folks in this video made up about 70% of my high school population, no lie.)
Jen and I spent our Saturday afternoon at MGM Studios, which was not the showcase of gay pride we were expecting, but still fun. We got our pictures taken with Buzz, Woody, and Jesse the Cowgirl from Toy Story; we rode the Aerosmith roller coaster (good ride) and the Tower of Terror (merely alright). We got rained on twice, and ate plenty of fried American foods. In the evening we met up with the fambly at the Wilderness Lodge, then boarded a bus for Epcot, where they had arranged an ice cream social for us after the fireworks at the lake. The family mingled and told stories until 11, when they took us back home. Sunday was spent in one of the side lounges at the lodge, where we looked through pictures and had barbecue.
I’m currently about 30,000 feet above Georgia on my way to Orlando for the Great Gathering of Lockards, where Jen’s father’s people are reuniting together for the first time in years. I volunteered as the Dutiful Boyfriend to accompany her for moral support (and to prevent her from killing any of her family while she’s there.) The occasion is made all the more interesting by the fact that this is indeed Gay Day at Disneyland, so the arch-conservative Waltons from backwoods Pennsylvania will be surrounded by thousands of happily queer folk. I am bringing camera with fully-charged batteries to document the looks of disgust, incredulity, and finally, resigned acceptance from her father, Captain, USN (Retired.) Oh, kids, this is gonna be great.
I’m also coming up with righteous reasons why I shouldn’t have to wear the Lockard T-Shirt, only rumors of which I have heard. (I have mental images of an ultraviolet XXL shirt with a muddy photo surrounded by some huge bubble lettering.) The occasion is also made great by the fact that we are not staying with The Mouse, but with Jen’s good friends Ty and Lorie, who recently added little Bonnie Rose to the world.
Interesting phenomena: I did a Google search this week on french striped grunts and the sixth or seventh hit was from my own site. Sweet!
Observations on flying three times in the past two months:
- USAir gives you pretzels. I hate pretzels. Southwest gives you Air Crisps and peanuts.
- USAir’s seats are more cramped. But their planes are cleaner. (and not as ugly as Southwest’s.)
- The cattle-call method of seating sucks, unless you’re on a 2/3 full flight.
- You can’t have baggage with all kinds of straps hanging off it or they make you sign a waiver that makes it OK to lose the bag.
- I’ve gotten better at the preflight security check. I can have the laptop out of the bag and in the tray in five seconds flat.
- iTunes is a lifesaver. If I didn’t already have enough reason to buy an iPod, I have a good one now.
- Next flight: more DVD’s.
- Southwest’s customer service rocks. The phone did not ring once when I called to switch flights; when I was immediately connected, I started to stammer like I got caught passing notes in Chemistry class and the CSR had to wait for me to remember why I called.
- USAir’s ticketless baggage system is awesome. I’m hooked.
Media check.
The May issue of Scientific American has a very fascinating article on “scale-free” networks. Researchers have done numerous studies on the Internet and found just how similar it works to things like single-celled microorganisms and viruses. Great writing in this article, by the way. Lots of good information.
(Disclaimer: it was sitting on the toilet in the men’s room at work as bathroom reading. I don’t currently subscribe.)
atom heart mother, 5.25.03
Jen and I drove north to my folks’ place to spring the surprise on them this past weekend. We got in at about 10:30 Friday night, and when we told them my Mom freaked out and smothered us in a huge hug while my Dad laughed and grabbed a bottle of champagne to celebrate. Luckily my sister stopped by not too long after that and joined in the celebration. It was a great way to start off the weekend.
Saturday, my Mom had scheduled a tour through the Wells College Book Arts Center, a small program run by the school to teach letterpress printing and bookbinding. Jen and I geeked out completely on the boxes of letterpress slugs, the old turn of the century crank presses and the piles of beautiful broadsheets they showed us. There’s something wonderful about the tactile feel of a letterpress print job and a handmade bound book; Terry and Sarah were kind enough to give us a pair of books and a pile of broadsheets from their portfolio for an engagement present, so I have lots of frames to make. Thanks guys!
Saturday evening we got a pile of Dugans in one place (my parents’) with food and booze and had ourselves a real celebration. When you get a roomful (or a porchful, as the case may be) of my extended family together, you have to come with your A-list material, and be quick, because the thing goes down like a celebrity roast. Unfortunately Grampy was feeling ill so he stayed in bed, but the official good time was had by all. My Uncle Brian, a judge in the county of Cayuga, offered to marry us on the spot, then kept offering helpful suggestions (parasailing marriage, nudist marriage, etc.) to sweeten the deal. Wisely, we declined, but thanked him for the offers. I think both Jen and I went to sleep with our sides hurting from laughing so hard.
Sunday was rainy again, so we did some driving through the county to antique stores and walking by the lake. And some getting yelled at for taking pictures of old farmhouses by crazy-ass neighbors in trailer homes. (Yeah, that one was fun. Jen was about to leave my ass by the side of the road for Captain Angry to come shoot at will. Admittedly, I was choosing to ignore the seven posted NO TRESPASSING signs, but I was going under the assumption that they were optional.) Renie’s friends Dee and Tom were in town for the weekend, and Tom had expressed interest in driving a tractor while in farm country. Always one to oblige, Brian offered one of his to us for the afternoon, and we drove to the farm to get the tractor tutorial. After a five-minute crash course (no pun intended), Tom drove a John Deere down into the pasture past the dairy herd and did circles. Jen and I hopped up on the sideboards of another tractor and rode down with Brian to spread manure (yeah, I can show a girl a good time, can’t I?)
Tom showed me the controls of the tractor and I took a turn; Renie followed and got down from the cab with a huge grin on her face. Jen then jumped on board and took it out and over the hill out of sight—the smile on her face as she came back was huge. Dee followed Jen and took it across the rows, bouncing Tom into the cab roof as she opened up the throttle. Did you know that most modern tractors have air-conditioning, automatic transmissions (there is a clutch, but once you get her in gear, it’s not unlike the Tiptronic shifter in high-end Audis) and four-speaker stereos? That Deere had a better sound system than my house.
The evening was topped off by a trip to Pete’s Treats, an outside ice-cream stand up in Union Springs, for homemade hot-fudge sundaes on outdoor picnic benches. I don’t think anybody could dream up a more small-town American weekend.
I got the first prints back from the Apple/Kodak service bundled in iPhoto yesterday; they look fantastic, and the process was simple. I highly recommend it, and I’m probably never going to pay for 35mm negatives again. Can I just say again that I love my camera?
ring, 5.21.03
Update: Here is a link to some pictures from our trip.
It’s Official. Last Sunday (the 18th), I took Jen to the airport, where we boarded a plane bound for Charlotte. Originally, the destination was a secret, but after the dipshit ticketing lady asked Jen three times if she was going to Savannah, I broke down and gave her a copy of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil for the plane ride. Switching planes, We landed that afternoon in a light rain and took a taxi to our bed and breakfast, the Eliza Thompson House, which sits squarely in the middle of the city’s historic district. Exhausted from our travelling (and the bum-rush through the Charlotte terminal to our second plane), we were content to turn on cable and lay in bed. Until the thunderstorm came and began knocking out the power. (at one point, during the Simpsons, the power went out for a minute, then came back up as Krusty the Clown said, “Ugggghh… that’s better,” and then went out for good.) We walked down to the parlor where candles had been lit and enjoyed our after-dinner coffee and dessert with the other guests.
The next morning, we put on our walking shoes and had a light breakfast in the courtyard of the hotel. Then, we set out into the city to explore the sights. Savannah’s historic district is laid out in a grid, with picturesque squares in repeating patterns throughout. We wandered through the damp streets, stopping in the cemetery to shoot pictures of the Revolutionary War-era headstones. In the downtown district, we stopped and took pictures of lots of architectural and typographical subjects (the geek designers in us coming out. Who else has a whole series of digital pictures of the old Woolworth’s tiled floor entrance, “Because we liked the typeface?” That would be us.) as well as the riverfront and cotton exchange. After lunch we met up with a tour guide to look at the gardens in the city, and then changed for dinner.
The 17 Hundred and 90 is a ground-level restaurant in the foot of another inn, and it is furnished in early-american style with captain’s chairs on a hard stone floor. (caution: the number for this restaurant is misprinted in the Fodor’s guide and will ring at Il Pasticcio.) We were seated in front of the piano player, who cheesed the appetizer up with a dual piano-synthesizer attack. Dinner was started with oysters Rockefeller and a bottle of Cabernet and got better from there. After the main course was served, the piano player calmed down and moved into standards, playing a selection of Porter and Gerswhin (we requested Someone To Watch Over Me) and the room got fuller and quieter.
After dessert, we strolled back towards the hotel through the foggy city, enjoying the quiet cozy atmosphere. As we got to the center of Madison square, I stopped Jen and asked her if she loved me. After telling me she did, she asked me what I was asking her. I got down on my knee and pulled the ring from my pocket, and asked her to be my wife. Giggling, she said yes, and we held each other long and tight. As I slipped the ring on her finger, the church bells struck ten, and we just about skipped back to the hotel.
The next day we awoke to sunny skies, in spite of the weather channel, which was claiming it would rain all week. A delicious pecan waffle at Clary’s was followed by a second day of exploring, where we stopped to take pictures of Madison square and collect four-leaf clover from the garden under the statue to press in the book. (Good luck charms never hurt.) We then realized the guy on the statue was being depicted in the midst of his heroic death attempting to rescue the regimental flag during the Revolutionary War. Romantic choice, Bill. Continuing southward, we followed the Fodor’s guide through a tour of the sites from the novel, and strolled through Forsyth park to the fountain.
That evening, we made reservations at the Pink House, and arrived early for a drink in the tavern in the basement, where a sweating Tony Siragusa lookalike twinkled another piano. Upstairs in the mansion, we were seated next to a magnificent fireplace in the southern room, where we dined on grouper stuffed with crab and a twin lobster tail in a sherry wine and cream sauce. We sat for a half hour and reviewed the day, reminding ourselves that we were engaged. Following dinner was a slice of Jack Daniels pecan pie and a flourless chocolate torte with coffee.
Early for our ghost tour, we returned to the tavern for a glass of Bailey’s over ice and enjoyed the fire in the corner. Gathering in Reynolds Square with four other couples, we followed the guide, an excitable lad named Sam, on a half-baked tour through the northeast section of town. Sam fancied himself a paranormal investigator and decided to orate on the different classes of hauntings, which was dull and boring, but he did have a bizarre lecture style which involved holding his right hand in front of him like a claw (and making Jen and I laugh.) Because we ended the tour right back in front of the Pink House (which was one of the haunted sites on the tour), we stopped in the tavern for another drink before returning home. There we met a really nice guy named Mike, agreeing that Omar Sharif in Doctor Zhivago was a tall drink of water, and talking about the city. He also got to be the first person we told about our engagement. Thanks for the good wishes, Mike.
Wednesday’s flight was scheduled for the early afternoon, so we packed our things and walked down Jones street to Mrs. Wilkes’ for lunch, where the good people of Savannah line up outside to wait for a table to open up. The food is served boarding house style, with twelve people at a table passing bowls of low-country Southern food around to each other. Jen was in a blissful state, reliving childhood with each bite of fried chicken, black-eyed peas, collard greens, macaroni and cheese, butter beans, biscuits (with sorghum), and sweet iced tea. I’m not listing everything here, but I couldn’t find enough room on my plate to fit everything, and it was all so good I filled up quickly. For dessert, they brought a choice of either peaches and cream or banana cream pie, and we found room to fit it.
On our way out, we bought the cookbook and grudgingly made our way back to the hotel to wait for our cab. As we dorve out of the city, we held hands in the back seat and reflected on our stay in the city, one of the best vacations I’ve ever had, and one of the most romantic places I can think of.
Note: This account was delayed a week to preserve the element of surprise for our families, who we told this weekend. Many thanks go to the good people of Savannah, the ladies at Heirloom Jewelry, and all our friends who kept the secret quiet (“I can tell you when we’re leaving, but not where or what we’re doing.”) Pictures will be posted directly.
- Bring cash. Lots and lots of cash.
- There are two types of tourists in the Bahamas: twenty-something single folk with stripper boobs, perma-tan and shoes more expensive than your car, accompanied by sketchy-looking guys who fit the “mini-truck” owning demographic, and
fifty-something folks who just brought the 45-foot ketch in from Grand Bahama. - The good folks who live year-round on the islands, while surrounded by some of the lushest, most pristine ecology in the world, treat it like toilet paper in a public restroom.
- Kalik beer is weaker than Corona with less taste.
- Be prepared for Key Lime Pie. The other dessert selections will not be available.
- Embrace your love of butter and deep-fried food. Or bring lots of Balance Bars.
- No amount of Kalik will make me like Jimmy Buffet.
- Reggae sounds good when it’s performed live by the guy who stumbles around Main Street talking to himself.
- One hundred foot visibility at fifty feet underwater is breathtaking.
- Putting on a wet wetsuit after lunch in five-foot swells is breathtaking in a different sense of the word.
- Landing your plane in the water every day has got to be one of the coolest jobs ever.
- Conch fritters are suspiciously close to the consistency of beef jerky.
My first dive was in 25 feet of water at a shallow area called Rainbow Reef, which is swarming with schools of juvenile fish. I made a leap of faith into the water with 50+ pounds of gear strapped to my back, and followed the group down underwater. All worries vanished as I got closer to the reef and took in the sight of hundreds of fish swaying gently in the current, dappled with light through the wave patterns above. Swimming up the reef, we found a barracuda nestled in a low spot, his belly full; a sleeping nurse shark who did not like flash bulbs; a green moray eel sitting idly in his hole, tasting the water around him like a man puffing on a pipe; and an agitated soldierfish who did not appreciate my proximity to his algae farm.
Lake, NY state 9.1
Well, after another beautiful vacation stay at my parents’ place on the lake, a small disaster befell us on our trip home. The Tortoise decided that it was upset at me for neglecting to fill the oil and coolant, and the thermostat blew up on us. Luckily we were only 30 minutes away from my parents’ place, so we were able to get it towed back to a good garage and be on the porch sipping vodka tonics four hours after the first sign of steam. Yesterday, after a morning of freelance work and worry over getting Jen to Rochester, we found out that it was only the thermostat and a hose, and I had not in fact fried a piston. $173.88 lighter, we packed it up for the second time in two days and made our way homeward to a house of worried, hungry cats.
I’ll probably write some about the trip in a day or two, but for right now I’ll just mention one of the first things that I think of: Crossing the street in front of my parents’ house to try to take a picture of the stained glass window at the church in bare feet, at 10pm, realizing that there were no cars in either direction on Main Street, and that the Big Dipper was huge, clear and hanging over the village.
Thinking about catastrope this weekend got me jump-started today into ordering the drive and enclosure that I was thinking about; after some figuring I felt this was the best bet. (I was considering making an old 8500 a server, but decided not to support any more legacy equipment.) It will be good to have a definite backup solution in place.