What's New?

I wrote this at the end of 2005 and not much has changed, except I spellchecked it this time:

Another New Year. I guess we all share a universal sense of optimism when a new year rolls around. Even those jaded cynics among us who (perhaps like me) who have begun so many New Years with a list of resolutions and the hope of peace and prosperity, and then witnessed the dissolution of those hopes in the fire hose of reality.
It  was another one of those years when the idea of World Peace seems like a childish aspiration. Threats - real and imagined - abound. China and Russia are drifting back to totalitarianism.

None of our old friends likes us anymore. Perhaps Randy Newman (Let's drop the big one and see what happens) should be the next president. We need someone with a sense of humor.

We don't even like each other! The Dems are calling the Republicans liars and corrupt. The Neocons seem to have patented a new definition for patriotism which sounds to me too much like nationalism. I recall that the Nazi's came to power by focusing the people's attention on the internal and external threats and then ruthlessly punished eliminated any form of dissent or opposition. As a country, we have polarized to the extremes. There is no middle. The bell curve is now a statistical pucker when it comes to politics. Each side says "Either you are with us (and shut-up). or you are helping the enemy." Good old-fashioned compromise is out of the question. How can you find common ground with traitors, socialists, Nazis?

Amazingly, after centuries of barbaric warfare (much of it over differences in religious beliefs), we have learned nothing. Some of us have distilled (or should I say, "dumbed-down") our political philosophy down to a few defining issues.  Unfortunately it will take another national tragedy for the sides to come together.

But, despite the gloomy assessment for the prospects of peace, I look ahead to a new year with a sense of renewal and optimism, just like the rest of the naive children.

More Humbug Notes

Electronic Season's Greetings
Oh yeah, Don't let me forget to mention how annoying those electronic E-vites and E-Greeting Cards are.  (If you have sent me one, I probably deleted it instead of reading it.)

Do you people think the rest of us are just sitting around grumbling in our porridge, wondering why our lives aren't more cutesy -- so you think you can warm our spirits with an animated cartoon of a dog wearing a Santa hat?  Cripes, why don't you just send us an email that says:

"Hi, this is probably an afterthought or perhaps I am too lazy or cheap to actually put any effort into this greeting, I only send real cards with holiday themed postage stamps to my A-list people, and well, you know..."

Humbug!


Giving toCharity

Oh, and could that annoying person ringing the Salvation Army bell just give it a rest for a few minutes? Better yet, Go away!  I hate having to walk around you to get through the door at the supermarket every time I go there.  Stop making eye contact like I was some kind of cheapskate, trying to make me feel guilty while you are ever so smug standing there freezing your ass off for a noble cause.  The bell is just annoying! Stop it!   

Anyway, I already gave.  I sent a check when I got the solicitation in the mail just before Thanksgiving. Not a huge amount, I admit, but did that make them happy? 
No, since I sent the check I have received no fewer than 4 more solicitations in the mail.
But no acknowledgement for my donation.  

Mailing isn't free.  Why are they wasting contributed cash on marketing?  I conclude that it is unlikely that any of my donated money will make a difference in any needy person's life.  The Salvation Army has become another one of those charity machines that use small donations to fund an ever-expanding marketing campaign.  This is rewarding, I'm sure,  for list-processors, mailing companies and executives, but I do not feel that my contributions are being well spent.

A news item the other day, repored that some "charities" are spend more than 50 cents of every dollar received to pay off the marketing firm that made the calls and sent out the solicitations.  Such schemes and scams go on all the time.

For the record,  the only charity I am giving to in future us The Boston Globe Santa which uses 100% of the donated funds to buy necessities for the poor kids in Boston Area.  You go Globe!

There are more things that annoy me at this time of year, but that's enough for now.

Christmas Shopping notes: Humbug

Like most executives, ship captains and other sensible adults, I don't like surprises.   Most people would agree that unforeseen circumstances are the bane of good plans, the downfall of the mighty, and the spoiler of sleep. 

Yet when it comes to gift giving, the consensus is that the recipient must be surprised by the gift -- As if the sudden delight of seeing a matching pen and pencil set somehow makes the mundane thing more magical.    Well,  I don't like surprise gifts.

To people who don't understand this point of view, it seems like a challenge.  They will go out of their way to prove to me that I was not sufficiently surprised in the past, because as everyone knows, "everybody loves surprises".  

I really don't like giving gifts or getting them.  I am too picky to let other people choose things for me.  It just creates stress.  Relatives yell at me, "You are so hard to buy for, you are so fussy!"  Hey, don't get me a gift; it's OK.  If I want something that I can afford, I just go and buy it anyway.   I don't need gloves, ties or screwdriver sets made in Korea.   
Bah!

Some people think its fun to do Secret Santa.  I always receive some useless $10 gift card to some place I never go.  What can you buy for $10 anyway?  No wonder 40% of all gift cards are never fully used by the recipient.  This amounts to a $1.8 billion rebate to retailers.


 Needless to say, I hold the idea of a Yankee Swap to be a naked exercise in greed and disapointment.  Who decided that it would be fun to steal someone elses gift?  One person gets what they want and everyone else gets crap.

OH, and let us not forget the "Gift of Disapointment" the Lottery scratch ticket.  99% of the time You end up with nothing but green wax under your fingernails.
So in my book Christmas gifts and surprises are fine for the kiddies, but once you realize that Christmas is just another excuse for retailers to embrace large portions of your net worth, the wow factor is kinda fading after the first fruitcake you get in the mail from Aunt Matilda.

I hate to pile reindeer poop on your oatmeal, Virginia, but there is very little chance for peace on earth, much less goodwill towards your fellow man.  No matter how many cards you send or receive. 

Hey, enjoy your holidays in your own way.  You may get a big kick from the mystery of a wrapped gift under your holiday tree waiting for the big morning.  I don't -- Unless the package looks like a bottle of 18 year old single malt scotch.  

 Then I'm all Ho-Ho-Ho! 

No Excuses

Now, faithful fans, you all know that I am not one of those whiner bloggers who make excuses for not writing more often.  I have no excuses. I prefer to spin my excuses as "priorities". Sometimes it happens that there are so many more interesting things to do than logging on the computer and imparting sage thoughts and observations to a largely anonymous audience, for free.



Well, the other day one of the neighborhood mothers accosts me as I am innocently returning from my daily 5 mile walk. She is standing, gabbing with the other doting moms who are waiting for the 3 O'clock school bus to disgorged their pampered kids who can't be trusted to to walk home without getting into trouble.  She practically grabs me by the shirt and demands to know why I don't update the Blog more often.  

I wonder if this so called working mom really understands what being "busy" means.

Heck, she has probably has  nothing to do all day while the kids are in school.  How hard is it to do the laundry and clean house when you have HD TV's in every room?   And, when the kids come home from school you can get them to do all the work you couldn't finish because you were on the sofa watching The View and Dr Oz. 

Whereas, on the other hand,  I have a day of challenges.  On a typical day, I am rousted out of bed shortly after 9am.  I go downstairs, have my breakfast and coffee, read two papers and by then it is 11am.  If I have lunch scheduled, I need to get ready - often this involves a search for relatively unwrinkled clothes and possibly a shower.  If there is no lunch scheduled  then I go through all the take-out menus to see what I feel like and then send out for lunch.  After lunch, I generally spend some time working around the yard  or calling friends and chatting or shopping for dinner.  Perhaps I will have time for an afternoon walk or a nap.  I also cook on the days when my wife is working.  

On the days when the cleaners come, I have to straighten up everything. This includes:

•  Putting old magazines and newspapers away. 
•  Discarding all the junk mail that has been collecting for the past two weeks on the kitchen counter,  
•  Picking up scattered socks and other clothing items that have been tossed on the closet floor and putting them in the laundry hamper.
• Taking empty beer bottles out to the garage.
• Putting music CD's back in their cases and in storage.
• etc.

  I usually go over to the nearest Irish pub when the cleaners arrive - to give them room to work.
 When I get back home, the place looks great, but I am more in the mood for a nap than blogging.


So, you see I have lots of priorities that trump blogging, so get off my case.  OK?

"Turn Out the Lights, The Party's Over''

Any football fan who is over 55 can probably idenitify the source of the quote "Turn Out the Lights, The Party's Over.''  It probably wasn't from the Willie Nelson tune.  You most likely heard it from "Dandy" Don Meredith on Monday Night Football back in the good ol days.

Meredith ventured into that dark night last Sunday at the age of 72.  

Good Santa

I bumped into this guy yesterday.  He was all "Ho ho ho." 

I asked him to bring me a case of single malt scotch for Christmas. 

He said, "No problem."

Should I believe him?

My new software

Well I thought I would report on the status of the Dragon speech to text software.
Yesterday, I purchased a 1 GB upgrade memory stick for $45 at Staples,  and installed it
Finally,  I was able to install Dragon software and I'm using it to dictate this blog entry.

 It's pretty freaking good if you asked me. It's amazing that  even after a few minutes of training I can speak into the microphone and have the text printed out on the screen as if I was a very fast typist.

Okay, I did need to do a little editing. But not as much as I would've thought.

I don't think I will ever type again.
===============================

Fixed Income and Unfixed costs

For the past several years I have dutifully scanned the various job listings Internet for a good part time job.  I think I have wasted enough of your time griping about the seemingly nonexistent demand for skilled professionals who are only willing to work 20-24 hours per week. 

So it is that I remain on a fixed income (SS) plus the few occasional shekels I receive from oddball projects and selling my original works of sheer genius, humor and pathos as fillers for mass media.  The additional income barely covers my Starbucks and bar bills, so I am relegated to funding the bulk of living expenses against the SS pension.  I call myself a FFIY  (Frugal Fixed Income Yankee).

"What about your nest egg?"  you are probably asking.  You assume that I have stashed away a couple of mil against the future.  Or maybe you think I have a hidden trust fund like Paris Hilton. Well, dear reader, we are Irish, so instead of inheriting a trust fund, we had to chip in to bury my widowed mother a decade ago.

As for the nest egg, well some [expletive deleted] is probably living in Rio de Janeiro sitting on a beach surrounded by semi-naked young women, with an ice chest full of Sierra Nevada, puffing on a Cuban Presidente on the money we had invested in AIG before the big crash.   I am not jealous. 
I am confident that the Almighty has a plan for me too.  That's why I dutifully buy Powerball tickets, every week.

=========
Unfixed Prices.
Americans are not accustomed to haggling over prices.  Somehow we have been instilled with the idea that it is insulting to the seller for us to offer a drastically low price for a product or service.  We tend to think all prices are fixed.  Well, honey, they aren't!

At the Mall a few weeks ago, I happened upon a kiosk that was selling Dragon Software.  For those who aren't familiar, this software lets you talk into a mike, and the computer types out the text into a document that you can store and save. Pretty cool stuff for a writer, eh?  Especially one who types with two fingers, who has twenty years' worth of handwritten journals to transcribe...  

Well, I decided I needed this software.  The list price for the basic home edition is normally $99, but they were selling it on a holiday special for $75 (plus 6% state sales tax).  I resisted the urge to buy it n the spot, mainly because I am a frugal fixed-income Yankee who needs to check out all the details before I buy something.  There were questions:  will it play on my operating system? how much training is needed, yadda yadda.  Can I run it on more than one computer? What if I want to write in french?
I checked out a few of the usual internet sales outfits, and found various prices for the same item.
 Last week I ordered a copy of the software online at Amazon for $39 free shipping, no tax.  It was delivered three days later. (I haven't loaded the disk yet. Stay tuned for my product review.)
The point is that the price of things is so relative as to be shockingly disparate.  I checked today, and Amazon has raised their price to $49 plus $4.99 for shipping. 

I wonder what the price will be tomorrow.
*******
UPDATE:
I attempted to load the software, but the disk could not be read.  My DVD plays music disks so I think it still works for data.  I called the help desk, and did not have to wait.  The Tech Support guy (Rod) gave me a link to download the installation files via internet.  This failed, the error message says I do not have enough RAM to run the software.  Fine tiime to tell me.

Humph!  Now I will have to spend hundreds to use my new $40 software package.  Time for a new Laptop? 
******

The Big Head Problem

You probably don't have a big head. This is not to suggest that you aren't full of yourself to an unwarranted degree (because you probably are).


I mean big head in the physical size sense. You know: girth. Circumference.  Hat size.


I just mention it because it seems that most people have diminutive heads that actually do fit into the "One Size Fits All" hats. Clearly these caps are designed by and tested on tiny-headed workers.  My theory is that these are the same people who design commercial jet plane and stadium seats. 

People with big heads look goofy wearing an ordinary baseball cap. They are not designed to fit comfortably on Mensa-sized skulls like mine. So, I have to buy my size 7 3/4 hats at an online site called Big Head Hats. They cater to the "cranially endowed" market. The hats and caps are made in China and tested on offensive Football linemen. Then, shipped from Tennessee, USA.


I read somewhere that there is a correlation between head size and brain size - ergo higher intelligence. I personally do not claim this intellectual power, because I cannot understand why a fat guy with a small head can easily buy a 4X size Hawaiian shirt, but I with my big face, cannot find a pair of sunglasses that won’t slide off my nose into my chili.


Everything seems to be designed for you - the average sized humanoid. I can assume that you are average because – according to statistics - it is most likely that you are ensconced in the bulge of your cohort’s bell curve. Oh, you probably want to be a nonconformist (just like everyone else), but chances are, you are one of the one-size-fits-all masses.


At least that seems to be what the political machinery of this country thinks. That is why the major political parties do not even pretend to nominate the best and/or the brightest. They identify the characteristics and values that they think will appeal to the most voters and then shape their candidates to fit that profile. I think that if you check the hat size of most ideologues you will find that they are on the low end of average cranial girth.

You might get a chuckle out of the label's Washing Instructions: "Buy another Hat." 

Thanksgiving thoughts

Hope no one minds if I reprise one of my favorite works of holiday-themed flash fiction from a few years ago.

I suppose I need to repeat that it is a work of fiction. 

Over The River & Across the Tracks



It was chilly outside as we headed to Granny Gert's house for the annual Thanksgiving Feast. Uncle Gelbert was driving the old pink and white Nash Rambler wagon. Pap sat in the shotgun seat with the window open. Pap was pretty hung-over and every few miles he would yell for Gelbert to pull over so he could puke out the window. We - Maw, Throckmorton, and me sat in back, bundled-up. We were used to Pap's hangovers, and the lingering smell of his vomit on everything.

We were, of course, late. We were late for everything, except the time back in Montana when me and Throck were born. That was the one time we were early for anything. Still, Ma always said that we could've made it to the hospital except Pap was at the roadhouse when the first contractions came and she had to wait two hours for him to come home to take her to the docs.

When we arrived at Granny Gert's trailer, we piled-out of the car. Granny's dogs greeted us in the usual fashion - barking raucously, jumping on us, glad to have visitors.
"Git back you lot!" Granny shouted coming down the steps waving a cattle prod.
Me and Throck looked at each other wondering if she meant us or the dogs. The dogs thought it was them and they instantly fell into a heap near the trailer steps. Then she went over to where Pap and uncle Gelbert were standing.
"Georgie! Gelbert! You two boys!" They eyed her suspiciously.
"Give us a hug." She bellowed. They complied meekly.
"I see you haven't changed your naughty ways, Georgie." she said to Pap, nodding to the flecks of puke dripping from the side and rear panel of the Rambler. He shrugged.


We all went inside to warm-up.
Ma had brought a package of frozen peas and another of frozen squash. Pap produced a 5th of Gallo Creme Sherry from a brown bag and waved it over his head like it was the US open winners trophy. We all applauded approvingly, except Gramps who hadn't even noticed us arrive. He sat in a ratty old chair facing the small black and white TV screen watching a football game.

Granny, who was returning from the cupboard with a tray of half-filled jelly glasses, nodded towards Gramps with her head, "Somebody go and shake him. His hearing aid batteries went dead last month and he hasn't been much for conversation."
Pap went over and stood in front of the TV, blocking the view.
"Hi dad," he grinned toothlessly.
The old man looked at him, not recognizing him for a moment. Then a big smile. "Georgie, hey, sit down. Watch the game. Did you bring anything to drink?"

Dinner was predictable. Granny heated the turkey loaf in the microwave and poured a can of beef gravy over it. She had mixed up a batch of instant whipped potatoes, and had fried the green peas in a pan. Each little pea had a burn mark, which she instantly renamed 'black-eyed green peas". She proudly announced that she had bought new plastic utensils for the occasion and Chinette plates and cups.

Even though we were 20 years old, me and Throckmorton had to take our plates to a card
table in the living room while "the adults" - Granny, Gramps, Gelbert, Pap and Maw crowded around the breakfast nook. There was a hair in my gravy. But I wasn't hungry anyway.


Halfway through the meal Granny remembered the Squash, which was still thawing on the counter.
"Save your plates everybody, we can have this for desert. And don't nobody throw away them new plastic cutlery!"
After all the remnants of the meal had been cleared and piled in the sink, we sat watching the end of the football game, cleaning our teeth with individually wrapped mint-flavored toothpicks, like the ones you get at the Chinese restaurant. It had gotten dark, so Granny turned on a few more lamps.

We heard a truck pull up outside. Young Billy came through the door, red-faced from the cold, but beaming.
"Hi everybody, sorry I'm late. There was a wreck on the highway. Look what I got!"
He held up a bloody wallet that looked thick with a wad of bills, and a severed finger with a large diamond ring still on it.

Gramps stared at the swag and then asked hopefully, "Didn't you bring anything to drink?"
####

I lost my Glasses

Hmmn, I've looked everywhere but they're gone.  Not on the car, not in the closet, not in the pockets of my coat, not hidden under the jumble of newspaper.  Gone.

I know what you are thinking:  All old people "lose" their reading glasses at least once a day.
You think I have just misplaced them, and that they will turn up shortly, when I remember where I left them. 
But no, this time they are really lost. 

I had them yesterday morning when I went out.  I discovered them missing at Home Depot whern I was trying to read the small print on the package I was looking at.  I checked every pocket.  Gone.

The worst thing about it, they were the expensive bifocals that I never take with me if I leave the house.
 The only reason I took them with me is I have lost all of my traveling glasses too.
Where do they end-up, all those glasses??

Last Chance

Lets all go over to Newton and park tonight! Last chance!

Selections from The E-Mailbag

Dear Former Co-worker,

I just received your email, asking if I knew anyone who could help you in your annual (or is it semi-annual) job search.  How nice of you to think of me, even if I am just one of dozens of addresses on your email blast, I realize that personal notes are just too time-consuming for the anticipated payback.  Woefully inefficiant. 

If I was working myself, I might have contacts, but alas I too am unemployed.  I guess the big difference is that I chose to be unemployed, whereas you became unemployed because of someone else's choice.

Hard to figure why any organization would let you get way,  given the invaluable qualities that you demonstrate - that highly-developed sense of entitlement, relentess assertiveness, and that mono-maniacal energy that narcissists possess to accomplish their self-promoting goals.   These characteristics should be much valued by the hamster-brained sociopaths that populate the management ranks at most companies.

Well, it was great to hear from you again.  You can be sure that I will be spending literally minutes thinking of ways to help you, so you needn't follow-up with calls or more mass e-mails. I have always felt honored to be among the first hundred or so people that you contact each time you are looking for a new job. 

I do have a tip.  I just heard the UPS needs more package handlers at holiday time and they are staffing up to beat the band. I think you could do well there.  Don't bother to thank me.  Best of luck in your new job... and Happy Holidays.

Your Networking Contact

Robocalls

I really hate it when some computer calls me with a recorded message telling me to vote for someone.

Really, does anyone really think that a dumb-ass recorded message is going to change my mind in favor of the candidate?  This seems to be one of the expensive delusions that candidates and campaign managers agree on.  They all do it.   It should be banned. 

I think that robocalling must be one of the biggest methods to waste campaign dollars, annoy potential voters and put more bling and jingle into the pockets of  technophile marketing consultants and script writers. 

The recipient of a robocall might well end-up wanting to cast a vote against the caller. If he could talk to the automated message he might say something like, "Gee thanks for calling during dinner. My porridge was probably too hot to eat anyway.  I know you are too busy to personally call me and ask me what my interests are so you just target your message to an age or economic demographic and read the platitudes that some script writer has made thousands of dollars composing. ...  Well why don't you go get a zucchini and[expletive deleted] yourself!"


Peter Drucker said that the most useless thing in business is doing efficiently that which should not be done at all.  I think this applies to automating the process of inadvertently alienating voters.

Halloween Greetings



Trick-or-treat THIS!

 This is how I feel about Halloween.                             ======>



I just heard on the radio that there has never been a documented  case in the USA of anyone poisoning candy or putting sharp objects in apples at Halloween.   The chief hazard to children on Halloween is getting run over by a car as they dart across streets in frenzied search of stale candy.

Yet these urban myths about dangerous dispensers of tainted treats remain lodged in our memories causing parents to spread fear and distrust to yet another generation of whiny, weenie kids.

Maybe every costume should come with a helmet, just to be safe. 

On Halloween, we don't give out stale candy anymore. We shut off the outside lights and go to a nice restaurant.  It is the one night of the year when you can dine in peace without some kid at the next table banging his spoon on his plate (usually while the seemingly deaf parents separately check their individual IPhone or blackberry hoping for some interesting message that might save them from the tedium of polite conversation.)

This year the best venue will be the local sports bar, where we can watch the Patriots massacre the Vikings.
==================
Update on Oct 28th.  In WSJ today, an article by Lenore Skenazy titled "Stranger Danger and the decline of Halloween" discusses the topic of parental over caution.  I think Ms Skenarzy was the person being interviewed on NPR.  She has wtitten a book called "Free Range Kids."  (I guess her point is that they taste better than the children who are kept in confined pens and fed growth hormones and kibble :-)

Holy Crap

Talk about your Holy Crap! moments.  Last week, we learned that while President Bill Clinton was very attuned planning his Lewinsky moments in the Oval Office  he effing lost the effing nuclear codes needed to launch a response to an enemy's attack on the US.     Holy crap! 

More Notes From the Lagging Edge

Notes from the lagging edge -2


I'm not a Luddite. In fact, am a fan of the practical application of technology (e.g., Bar coding, Fast Lane/EZPass transponder, ID chips for pets), but I do not get the love affair that so many of you have with your iPhone, blackberry and other expensive, battery-powered gizmos.

If you ask me, the miniaturization concept has gone way past reasonable.  These little "keypads" are too tiny to operate  for anyone who is over age 30.  And the screens are just a blur without reading glasses.

Moreover, the sound quality on mobile devices is pathetic.  Ringtones are annoyingly tinny and distorted.  Voice quality is choppy and uneven.

Next time you go to the mall or a restaurant look around and watch people and their gadgets.  If two people are dining one or both of them will have a mobile device on the table between them -  a subtle but strong signal to the other of his priorities.

If the person is alone, they try to appear busy by constantly checking their mobile device.  I don't know why other people feel awkward when they are alone;  I don't feel that way at all.  I usually pull out my notebook and scribble some nonsense to make anyone watching me think I am writing something important.

Sent From My Dingleberry

Odds and Ends

Equal Access
A Pittsfield, MA woman is trying to get an initiative on the ballot to allow "equal access to sunshine."  She is collecting signatures from supporters to rewrite the legal definition of nudity.  She doesn't like the term "topless" because it apparently conjures up images of more prurient nipple exposers.  She just wants the right to swim and sunbathe without a shirt, to feel the warmth of the sun on her chest. If I was Joe Biden, I might respond,  "I have just three words for you, young lady: where do I sign?"


Tea Party Madness
You must admit, American politics is a lot more interesting with a third party shaking things up for both Dems and Repubs with their NO taxes! NO big government! mottoes.
I was amused to read a letter in the Globe today, where the writer suggests that the historical origin of the Tea Party as a symbolic reference is more apt if you consider the Lewis Carroll vision.  Some purists object to the hijacking of the patriotic event known as the Boston Tea Party.  If you do not agree that the inspiration of the current Tea Party is rooted in the noble acts of disobedience of the original no-taxation-without-representation crowd, you might reframe the allusion.  Remember Alice in Wonderland? The writer suggest that the current tea party participants evoke similarities to characters in Alice's world - jabberwocky, mad hatters, crazed queens and such. 

Everyone Needs a Little Inspiration Now and Then

I recommend the article "Slumping at Work? What would Jack Do"  by Sue Shellenbarger  in WSJ Personal Journal section today.  It's about working executives who overcame personal performance shortcomings at their workplace by using the experiences of professional sports figures as guides to break out of their perceived "slump."

Jack of course refers to golfer Jack Nicklaus who visualizes himself making great shots as a tactic to overcome slump inducing anxiety.

Slumps are mainly caused by fear.  Fear can often be a mighty motivator but also can be a powerful paralyzer.  Fear of repeating mistakes can lead to a loss of confidence which leads to over thinking the next move which, well, just keeps building on doubt and fear,  leading your performance down a rat hole.

Good news: the execs in this article used sports legends and their techniques for breaking-out of acknowledged slumps as their inspiration.  These techniques also work for bloggers and other writers/artists who may be experiencing a creative block.

The most powerful techniques for overcoming self doubt are actually quite simple: Remind yourself of past successes, engage in positive self-talk, visualize your success, keep the company of encouraging people, focus on your original purpose and your key personal strengths.

========================

I suspect there may also be a wider general application of these techniques to inspire greatness from those of us who are unwittingly forced by lethargy and gluttony to attain a state of  XXL obesity. Some experimentation would seem to be in order. 

1. Visualize your Success.  I decided to visualize myself as a thin person. I looked in the imaginary mirror and saw an L, with sagging neck skin and deep wrinkles, sad eyes and the haunted look of starvation.  I flicked imaginary flies from my drawn lips.   Ok....That didn't quite work....I decided to try something else.

2.  Surround yourself with encouraging people.  I went to the local pub where everyone knows my name.  They seemed glad to see me.  I declined the proffered dish of popcorn.  "No thanks, I'm cutting back on between meal snacks,"  I declared.  "Good for you, " the barmaid murmured with her Irishly ironic lilt.  Was she rolling her eyes as she poured my IPA?  No! banish that thought of self doubt!   As I sipped my pint, my gaze fell upon the mirror behind the bar.  Peering back was an aging XXL pink faced white haired guy.  That guy needs to work-out more, I thought.

3. Positive Self Talk.  After a few pints, I paid the tab, waved goodbye to my fans, lurched off the bar stool. On the way out, I ducked into the Gents for a quick pre-traffic whiz.  After washing my hands, I stood in front of the mirror, smoothed my hair and smiled warmly.  "You look fabulous." I said loudly pointing to the mirror.  Someone in one of the stalls called back "Thanks Mate, doing me best." I beat it out of there before someone recognized me.

On the way home, I tried to remember what my original purpose was and whether I could focus on my  personal strengths.  The thinking made me hungry, so I stopped at Mickee Dee's for a quick double cheeseburger and fries.  "You want large or small fries?" said the muffled voice in the drive-thru
speaker.  "Make it small," I replied, "I'm cutting back on..um..calories." 

Technical Advice From the Valley of the Technically Challenged

I spent at least six hours trying to get my new all-in-one printer  to recognize the FIOS wireless router.

My New All-in-one-Device

If you have this problem I can save you 5 and one half hours:  Reset your Router which will disable mac (Media Access Control) filtering. 

I bought the printer on a whim when I saw an on-line ad from Staples.  I bought it because my wife complained that our old deskjet printer took too long and besides she needed to fax stuff. 
She uses a laptop which connects to the wireless router which comes with FIOS.  But, when she wanted to print something, she was always kicking me off MY desktop PC which was connected to the old 640C printer.
It cost about $275 including free shipping.  "All-in-one" seems a bit of a misnomer.  It does not have a coffee maker or popcorn popper.  It says it will scan, copy, fax, and oh yeah, print.
As soon as I got the new printer working, my wife said,"Good.  Now put it in the basement.  It's too big to have up here." 

If this was Facebook or Twitter I might post: Holy Crap I have a scanner!

Anyway,  I thought I would test the scanning feature of the new printer:  
 I found this photo taken "a few" years ago, back in the pre-digital world of 35mm.  This is my favorite original oil painting, done by my formerly bohemian artist sister, Chris (which she asked me to destroy after she found Jesus.  The devil in me could not comply. So I keep it hidden in my basement "office.")

Blogger Poses With  Muse.

Pretty cool! Eh?

Soft Landings

In today's Boston Globe there was a nicely done essay by Susan Trausch.  You can read it if you click here.  She took a buyout from the Globe five years ago at age 59.  After 32 years at the same company, her transition from work to retirement was "complicated."    She has written a book* about her personal period of adjustment, (which I plan to read if I ever have any free time.)

The op-ed piece titled "Retirement's Soft Landings" offers a bit of tongue-in-cheek advice to celebrities who have publicly announced their imminent retirement (Oprah, Joe Torre, Richard Daly).

Trausch nails it when she talks about the  bitter-sweet transition after waving goodbye to your career and workmates,

" Oh the tyranny of time managed poorly. The tyranny of time at work was so different, mainly because time was in charge and knew what it was doing. There were bosses, assignments, schedules, deadlines, and a gross domestic product to consider. At home there is complete freedom and an easily distracted human being can spend days drifting from leaky garden hose to unread New Yorkers to hunting for the grocery list that must have blown off the counter to e-mail to the daily crossword puzzle that is supposed to keep the mind focused"

As faithful readers of this blog well know, your humble scribe has been wrestling with retirement issues since he escaped from the hellhole several years ago.  As one who has never been bored, I found retirement to be exceedingly liberating.  Suddenly, no one is telling you what to do, where to be, what time to show-up, and how to get there.  You think: This is how life should be!  

I changed the name of the blog from "Hellhole Update" to "Escape from the Hellhole" to celebrate the new found feeling of having emerged from a cage.  I was happy, delighted and at peace.  Now I was free to do anything I wanted to do.  Fishing, traveling, reading, meeting friends for lunch, catching up on the lengthy to-do list... And I did enjoy doing those things.

But having all that freedom is not without it's drawbacks.  When people ask me, "How do you like retirement?" my answer is: "Overall I am delighted to be at leisure.  However, every few months, I get this vague feeling that I am missing something, that I am not doing anything important.  I start to worry (again) that the missus and me will outlive our nest egg." 
I have probably bored my loyal readers with the recurrent observation that most normal adults  do not experience unqualified happiness for very long (and this is well explained by Maslow's theory, The Hierarchy of Needs).     Our brains are creative goal-seeking mechanisms, so we cannot be satisfied with the status quo, because new goals keep forming as long as the brain is functioning.  (Hmmn, maybe this last condition explains why some people are deliriously happy in retirement. )

Fortunately, this "uncertain phase" does not last for very long**.  I usually respond to the vague noodgy feelings of insignificance by looking at part time job ads for high paying opportunities within walking distance of home.  There are virtually no part time jobs, unless you want to become a replaceable part, working for an indecent hourly wage, on the worst shift.  So, I usually get over this phase pretty quickly.  Then, I make some lunch plans or go fishing. 
And, for a time,  all is right with the world.

---------------------------------------------

*Trausch's newly published book: "Groping Toward Whatever Or How I Learned To Retire, Sort Of.’’

** My wife attributes this "uncertainty" to mild seasonal depression. She was an English major in college but feels that she is  fully qualified to diagnose my mental state.

I Deactivated my Facebook Account

Dear Loyal Facebook "Friend,"

No, I did not de-friend you.  I de-activated my account. 
I did not single you out to punish you because you cluttered up my home page with your endless "likes" and links to your favorite cause, or your bored twittering mindfarts, or the barrage of  pictures of your cute kids, or your tedious political views. 

Admittedly, some of these annoyances did play a part in my decision to deactivate my FB account, but the principal reason for my departure is that I am not female.  FB is clearly a medium for chicks and mindless chick-chat.

I am starting a new social networking site for men called "Guybook."
You can't just sign up for it, you have to apply and then be selected by the elite group of alpha guys.
If you survive the rigorous hazing ritual, you get to post your thoughts on Guybook.
Actually, "thoughts" is a fancy way of saying "dirty jokes and pictures of naked girls."

On Guybook you don't have friends.  Everyone is in competition.  You get into fights by launching insults at other members. Cartoon avatars duke-it-out in simulated matches so you don't get hurt.   We post football, golf, bowling scores, reviews of guy films, and competitive beer keg prices in your area.  We talk about cars, boats and gadgets and guns.  We like to shoot things - especially things that explode - like empty beer bottles. 

We post favorite video clips from 3 Stooges movies, and you can download ringtones that sound like a fart.
We almost pee our pants laughing when someone says the word "boobs," "wiener" or "sphincter."

Guybook. It will be aimed at males with an emotional maturity age of about 8 or 9 - which covers pretty much most of the American male population who are not on Facebook.

Guybook.   It's the next big thing.

I read the news today oh boy

Breaking news! La recession est mort.  RIP

It must be true; it was reported yesterday in both  the Boston Globe and the WSJ. 
Not surprisingly, the subheading of most fin-du-recession articles is something like "How come we aren't celebrating yet?" 
Perhaps the public excitement about the announcement is tempered by the huge numbers of people still looking for work and the dismal outlook that predicts sluggish economic growth. Looming deficits, and lackluster housing demand.  War. Supergerms. Fear of Bedbugs. 

Does anyone else think it is odd that the group that tracks recessions took 14 months to figure out that the 18month  recession technically began in December 2007 ended June of 2009 - last year! 
In any line of work other than Economics,  people would fire at you if you handed in your weekly status report fourteen months late.  

The procrastinating Economic researchers defend the lag time by pointing out that it takes a lot of time and data to compile the report. 
I would respond by saying, "You're fired!"
The report is obviously meaningless, useless and irrelevent. ( Just like the financial reports you get in the mail from your IRA mutual funds.  In April you get a report on the period ended in January.  How is that useful?)

"News" is supposed to be timely.  Technical pronouncements about the state of the economy are not worthy of headlines, but may be of interest to those who enjoy semantic squabbles.

This set of definitions works for me:
Recession: when your neighbor is out of work
Depression: When you are out of work.

=============
More useful news:

Texting while driving is illegal in Massachusetts starting next month.  Everyone should get busy texting and driving before it becomes a crime.  I am updating this blog from my Blackberry driving 75 miles an hours,
eating a hot dog and not wearing my seatbelt.   I don't see what the big pro__________________
{signal interrupted}

The Multitasking Myth

We hear it all the time. People on their Iphones apologizing for this or that thing they overlooked or forgot to do.  They excuse the lapse, blaming their "crazy-busy"  life styles as though the hectic craziness was inflicted on them, instead of a choice they have made voluntarily.

These same people frequently talk about how good they are at multitasking.  But, if they could get out of their muddled heads for just a few minutes, they might realize that, in fact, they are not so good at multitasking. In reality, they just do a lot of things marginally well. 

Granted, most of my own research on human behavior is done waiting in line at Starbucks, but some people who actually get paid to study human behavior, have concluded that so-called multi-taskers are not as efficient as they think they are.   Chances are you are just skimming at this very moment, but if you are interested enough you might check-out what real journalists and researchers are saying.

Dr. Edward Hallowell, a Massachusetts-based psychiatrist who specializes in the treatment of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder and has written a book with the self-explanatory title CrazyBusy, has been offering therapies to combat extreme multitasking for years; in his book he calls multitasking a “mythical activity in which people believe they can perform two or more tasks simultaneously.” In a 2005 article, he described a new condition, “Attention Deficit Trait,” which he claims is rampant in the business world.

What we call “multitasking” is really the ability to switch between a number of tasks quickly. The term was first applied to computer processors, which operate sequentially at such a high speed that designers invented a method of switching tasks (they called it multiplexing in the early days) to give the impression of multiple simultaneous actions.

If you understand bandwidth then you can easily see how the concept works. Your cable or FIOS router manages all the signals that are traveling down the same wire and converts them into video pixels, sound and text. Bandwidth is really a function of speed. In the old days, modems could only handle slow speeds. Nowadays they are touting 4G networks, meaning that more crap gets rammed through the same wire only incredibly faster.

Most of us are born with only one processor. In some of us, that processor is capable of faster speeds. This explains Mensa types. They are great at chess and crossword puzzles , but maybe not so good at doing a job that requires sociability, contextual cognition or persuasive skills. IQ is really a measure of how fast the processor is, not how much fun it is to be around.

So, multitasking is really the ability to switch focus from one thing to another very quickly. The problem is that - unlike the digital computer - the human brain needs time to refocus at the same level it was concentrating before the interruption.

You see examples of this all the time when you are in a conversation with someone.  Let’s say you on a phone conversation discussing a book. The other person says:

“John Irving is a fine writer, but he is so manipulative.
“What do you mean?
“Well he gets you to fall in love with his characters and then… oops wait a sec I need to take this call…
While waiting you absently go through your e-mail and see that you have a new message, so you click on it..
“Sorry about that. Where was I?”

“Ah, Let’s see, we were talking about books I think..”
“Yes... books.  Who has time for books anymore?  I am swamped here so I need to get back to work. it’s been fun talking with you.”
“Ok, so long”

Because of the interruptions, you did not find out what the other person was going to say about John Irving’s penchant for murdering or maiming his best characters.  Then, you got distracted by your own incoming e-mail.  Because the human brain is slow to re-focus on the book topic,  the conversation ended before the information was communicated.


Studies have shown something we intuitively know: as we age, the recovery time to re-focus is even longer, especially in males. 

Ah, the football game has started, time for me to interrupt myself and do some experimental multi-tasking.  By which I mean watching the Game while simultaneously sipping a frosty Sierra Nevada.

The Case for Procrastination

For several years now, I have been working on an essay titled “The Case for Procrastination.” It takes issue with our over planned and goal oriented society. It examines the deleterious effects of the crazy-busy lives of people – especially those who are working at a career and raising families – who never have time to “Stop and smell the roses”.

I have a few paragraphs completed, but I doubt that I’ll get to it in the foreseeable future. Lots of other stuff to do that seems more interesting right now.

The unfinished essay examines procrastination as a personal style rather than a chronic illness that some people seem to inherit.  (I have no scientific evidence that procrastination is inherited. I just believe it to be so after years of observing my siblings and myself. We are inveterate and practiced procrastinators.)

Successful procrastinators tend to work exceedingly well under the pressure of an imminent deadline.
They may put things off until the last minute but they tend to work quite efficiently during that last minute.  This is why I can start working on my tax returns on April 14 and finish under the deadline.  I'm sure there are other positive things to say about procrastinators, and when I think of them I will finish the essay, I promise....

There are certain luxuries appertaining to being a retired, life-long procrastinator. One can choose to adopt an un-hurried approach to goals. (Some people who know me may be saying to themselves Hey Mr. No-sense-of-urgency, what’s new?   What’s new is that now I don’t hurry on my own time. I don’t feel the same pressure as I would if I had to report my activities to a boss. )
 
I believe that the ability to remain calm in the face of zipping time is actually a sign of wisdom. Who needs to rush around getting-things-done when there will always be more things to be done? Young people do not have the acquired wisdom to recognize this fact of life. They imagine that if they rush and get stuff done, they will have earned the chill-time to take an afternoon off to play golf or sit on the deck with a trashy novel.

But seldom do working people actually realize those imagined rewards because work will not let up on you. Getting things done begets more things, The boss – seeing that you have a capacity for getting lots of things done, sends more things to your inbox. In a business there is no respite. Sure there are rewards. You get more pay, and you inevitably get promoted to a position of increased responsibility – which results in even more demands on your available time.  If you do get to the golf course or weekend getaway, you must be Blackberried-up and always "on-call."

There is always a price tag on anything you get in an organization: usually, the price of perks and rewards is the increasing trade-off of your personal time. Successful people recognize this trade-off as a Faustian deal with the devil, and they assure themselves that they will repair the damaged relationships and health if they can survive long enough to get that well-earned retirement. Sadly for them, this strategy does not work. The halls of retirement are filled with once successful executives who are perplexed to find themselves estranged from the home and family they always believed they were working to support.

Looking back, I am not sorry that I took the less stressful road - not that I had a choice, mind you.  When I was born, three weeks past the forecasted due date, weighing-in at nearly 11 pounds, the doctor gravely pointed-out to my mother,  "He was born without a sense of urgency."

Naming Names: My NO VOTE List

Why is it against the law to stalk an attractive woman, make unwanted phone calls and send unwanted pictures of yourself to her in the mail, but it is OK for political candidates to invade your privacy, phone and mailbox?  I've decided not to vote for the following candidates on the grounds of harassment.

Mike Lake - today I got a robocall from his MOTHER! Jesus H Christ! If I had a taser I'd have given her 20,000 volts, I  swear.

Charles Rudnick - I have received between a dozen and twenty pieces in the mail (all of which went IMMEDIATELY into the recycle pile); also his campaign has called the house between 5 and 7 times.  At first I was polite, then I demanded to be removed from the call list.  If he is wasting all this money in an inefficient attempt to get elected, how can he be trusted when he's spending my money?
  If I hear one more word from him, I will get a lawn sign supporting Cynthia Creem, the incumbent.  

We need to discourage this annoying and intrusive campaigning.  Anyone else who robocalls me between now and election day gets added to the NO VOTE list.  Join me in throwing the rascals out of...our voicemail boxes.

Misunderstandings

The other day there was a small blurb in the newspaper, and virtually no mention on the evening news: Castro: Cuba's communism 'doesn't even work for us anymore'
I thought to myself: That's something you don't read everyday.

After 50 years since the revolution in Cuba, Fidel Castro seemed to concede that totalitarianism is a failure.   He calls it the "Cuban model," referring to the government controlling every aspect of the economic system.   Hey Fidel, I thought, welcome to reality; most of the world economies have known all along that Communism doesn't work.   And what is this "anymore" crap.  It never did work for Cuba.  They always depended on economic aid from other totalitarian regimes. 

 But not so fast Mr Blog Guy, reality, it seems is in the mind of the beholder.

Yesterday, Castro, 84 years old (and, apparently, back on his meds) stated that his words had been misunderstood.
Castro claims that his recent comment that Cuba’s economic model did not work was badly understood and that what he really meant was that "capitalism did not work."

Aha!

The lesson here is that an Ideologue cannot be trusted to see the truth, because they will disregard facts that do not support their belief.  I think it is called "cognitive dissonance."
The lyrics of the song say "Don't fall in love with a dreamer..." Perhaps it would have been better said to advise, "Don't fall in love with your dream. Period".

The General is Shooting Blanks

When I first heard that some redneck preacher in Florida has announced his plan to burn a copy of the Quran on 9-11  as a protest against Islamic fundamentalists attack in 2001 against the World Trade Center Towers and the Pentagon, I thought, "What a douche-bag!"

I didn't think much of it, since we have a tradition of free speech in this country.  Everyone is permitted to make a perfect asshole out of himself.   They can ignite books, pictures, flags whatever to make a point.  Even if it pisses-off someone else. 

I do not approve of burning books and that includes religious books.  It would arouse less of an outcry from fellow citizens (and make more sense to me) if he could capture a terrorist commiting an act of terror and burn him instead of a book.

But the book is a symbol, and predictably, the reaction from Muslims in Kabul is "Death To America."
Now we even have General Petraeus calling for a cancellation of the book burning saying that it puts American military at risk.  (Like, what? they are not at risk 24X7 ?)

"I am very concerned by the potential repercussions of the possible (Quran) burning. Even the rumor that it might take place has sparked demonstrations such as the one that took place in Kabul yesterday," Petraeus said in his message. "Were the actual burning to take place, the safety of our soldiers and civilians would be put in jeopardy and accomplishment of the mission would be made more difficult

I think we should consider what is wrong with a religion when just the expectation of a dumbass act of one individual causes thousands to riot and rampage.  Islamists blow stuff up all the time, including religious symbols that they find displeasing. How is that fair or just?

We cannot stifle the right of that dumbass to engage in lawful symbolic protest.  The rights of free speech were paid for by the blood of patriots.  We cannot allow ourselves to be extorted or blackmailed because of the fear of reaction from an ignorant mob.  In fact, such reaction actually supports the contentions of those who would paint all Muslims with a single brush.

To retreat from our tradition of free speech because we fear the consequences of ignorance is to toss our traditions into the dustbin of history.  And,  we will discover the steep slope to subjugation by the ministers of fear, well-lubricated.

Labored Thoughts

Some of the newcomers to this blog may have been misled by the use of the term "afterlife" in the blog description.  If you thought I was talking about some spiritual or cosmic afterlife, I apologize (- - for your poor reading skills.  Really, you must learn to read more carefully.)

No, afterlife, in this context, refers to that phase of life between the time you surrender the responsibilities and commitment to The Job, The Career, the Kids, the Unfinished Novel and your untimely death.   Unlike the promised heaven or hell that your preachers have guaranteed to be the reward for your behavior in this life, this blog uses the term to allude to the shadowy existence of people (such as I)  who have retired from the hustle and bustle of everyday commerce, the classroom or even  the mind-shredding boredom of a career spend nuzzling the teat of the government.

Retirement and Heaven may seem to be synonymous for many working stiffs, as they fantasize about the Rewards that surely must await those who have patiently endured the slings and arrows of the average job. The gauzy image of that much anticipated state of Nirvana may populate the daydreams of countless oppressed and misused worker bees as they toil under the debt-fueled fear of losing this crappy job ( -- undoubtedly made even crappier by some micromanaging nitpicker.)
In the work-a-day world, time is money; you are typically paid commensurate with the amount of time you spend in the office.  You get accustomed to the idea that someone values your time.  However, as you settle into the afterlife, you gradually realize that your time has zero value to others.  No one pays you for reading the newspapers while dawdling over a leisurely breakfast.  There is no bonus for biggest fish.  Your below- par performance at the links may actually require you to buy the beers for the other duffers.  No one calls from the office disturbing you at inconvenient moments with career threatening emergencies. 

Work is largely regarded by American society as a no-fault excuse to avoid social and familial obligations.  ("Gee I'd love to go over and see the 300 photos of your niece's baby shower, but, well I am just slammed here at the office.  Maybe another time...")  But, now that you do not have work as a refuge, you are assailed by family and friends who need a favor or a spouse who demands that you accompany them on errands.

So, young retiree wanabees, I am afraid I must give it to you straight on this Labor Day.  You load sixteen tons, and what do you get?  Another day older and deeper in debt. Then you retire and spend most of the time checking your retirement nest egg, wondering when the shitty economy is going to start being over.  And, hoping that the government can stay solvent and keep sending you that anticipated SS check.

Instead of  enjoying your free time with  travel, fishing and playing golf, you spend a third of your week at the doctors office getting looked at, prodded and listened to.  The exams become ever so much more intimate each year.  Or if it is not your ass that the doc has his finger up, you are driving someone else to his-or-her appointment.  (No one hesitates to ask you for a ride, since you are retired and probably have nothing better to do.)

Striving for Balance

Why is it that Nature cannot arrange a nice balance of moisture and sun?  20 million Pakistanis are up to their elbows in flood water from too much rain.  Russia is literally burning-up with drought.  We got inundated in March and the front lawn was parched and brown through most of  August.

Too much rain in a short time
makes skins crack

Only assiduous hand-watering saved the tomatoes - which were coming in ripe and delicious, until the rains of last week.  Now after 4 unrelenting days of rain just last week (5 inches), followed by 90 degree days,  the tomatoes are engorged and cracking their skins.   They are ugly.... but, still delicious.

My New Friend
At least I am not losing them to the squirrels this year.  This is probably because the  red squirrel that has moved in to the neighborhood.  Aggressive little critter, he has driven away all the gray squirrels  - which in past seasons have raided my vegetable garden. He is small but very territorial.

My Friend, the Red squirrel
taking an acorn break

When it comes to fruits of the garden I am a Social Democrat - willing to share a little with the bugs and fellow creatures of nature.  But these gray squirrel  bastards just took a small bite out of any tomato that was starting to ripen, ruining the whole crop.   I blame them for forcing me to become a BB gun toting Nazi. 

Now my little auburn furry friend patrols the trees in my back yard chattering and scolding any other rodent that shows their little rat faces in the yard. 


My friend, Murphy thinks I ought to get my BB gun and shoot him as well.
"He'll get into your attic," he warns me, "then he'll chew your wires and all hell will break loose.  Shoot him. That's what I would do."

But I don't think I will shoot the enemy of my enemies.

Someone should really council the red squirrel about his obvious bigotry against rodents with a different fur color.  I wonder if his mama told him not to play with gray squirrels as a kit.  Nature does not enforce egalitarian sentiment among wild creatures.  Hostility towards other species seems to be the norm.
I guess we humans have not evolved all that much, eh?

Thinking About Big Houses

No more silence and peace around here. At least not until they finish tearing-down old, perfectly servicable houses and replacing them with huge un-necessary mansions with more bathrooms than bedrooms.

I am conflicted by my desire for personal peace and quiet and my belief that others have the right to improve their property. After all, doesn't the neighborhood benefit from nicer homes? All boats rise with the tide, isn't that what they say? The answer is not always yes.

For those of us who live in the older, perfectly serviceable homes that are getting torn down, the property values do not necessarily reflect the inflated value of the mansionized neighborhood. If the potential buyer is only interested in your lot, not your house, then clearly no one will care about your bathroom tile or kitchen counters. A tear-down house is only worth the price of the dirt, as one real estate guy told me.

As retirees, we are acutely aware that we are approaching the time when we will be wanting to migrate to a more accommodating living space. By that I mean all the rooms on the same level.  Low maintenance yard. Near ammenities and medical services that we will unfortunately need as entropy and gravity work their evil powers.  Some day, someone will knock on the door and make an offer we cannot refuse.  They will demolish my beloved screen porch, dig out my hostas and replace them with expensive ornamentals, replace our dilapitated cedar fence with a taller one made of plastic.  Maybe they will chop down the trees and replace them with a swimming pool, like the new one down the street.

These noisy mansion builders are clearly non-union. They start banging and sawing at 7am, and shouting in a foreign tongue. (Hey, I am not xenophobic: they are obviously doing jobs that English speaking natives do not want.) American construction workers typically quit at around 4pm. But these guys keep sawing and banging and shouting all day until dark - which these days is 7pm.  I'll bet Mr. Trebbiani (the builder who put up most of the houses in neighborhood back in the 50's) would be shocked and amazed to see his modest 2200 sq ft homes demolished and replaced with 4,000 sq foot behemoths to house a family of 5 - with a bedroom and bathroom for each person.  He probably would have thought, "You need a bigger lot."

In the old days, 12 of us would be living in a three bedroom flat with one bathroom and a ten gallon waterheater.  We huddled together for warmth.  We had to walk 8 miles in a snowstorm to get to school wearing worn out sneakers, even in Summer!  Ok,  it wasn't really that bad.  But I wonder what kind of spoiled little princesses and wusses are being raised in houses where no one needs to wait to get into the bathroom.  Those moments spent waiting for a sibling to emerge were important lessons about balancing stress and patience. (Never let them know you are in a state of urgency, or they will take much longer.) These were character building preparations for an adult life of challenge and competition for scarce resources.

When I was growing-up, vacant lots still existed. We loved to go into empty half-built homes and play hide and seek. We ask for a few scrap boards and the carpenters would give us some nails and we would go off and build a tree house in someone's yard. The mother of the house would eye us with our tools and wood and demand, "What are you kids up to?"
"We are gonna build a tree house."
"Ok, be careful. Don't poke your eye out"

Today the mom would be so worried that one of us might hurt ourselves (and possibly sue) that she would forbid the project on the grounds of safety. "You'll fall and put your eye out!  Why don't you kids play down in the rec room?  We have a new 150 inch screen! Wear your helmets"

Candidate Fatigue

I'm not like the others, honest!

It's election time around here again. I can tell by the number of harassing phone calls that we are getting from the candidates, now several times a day and we are still 3 weeks from the primary. 

One candidate says in his robocall "I really hate robocalls, but..."  I didn't hear the rest of his message because I hate robocalls even more than he does.  This same guy (who is running against an incumbent for state senate)  has come knocking on the door, sent at least 4 flyers in the US mail, and his minions have called here at least half a dozen times.  They have asked us to put a sign on our lawn and send money.  We have of course declined to fund our own harassment. 

No doubt, the candidate's advisers are telling him that he needs name recognition*.  And I admit that I was impressed last month when he spent the afternoon walking my neighborhood, knocking on doors to tell people about his candidacy.  I am inclined to vote against incumbents on general principles, so I assured him that I would seriously consider voting for him.  But, after the 6th phone call the other night, I find myself in the steely grip of anti-incumbent candidate fatigue. I am having serious doubts that this guy would behave any differently compared to the incumbent.  Maybe we don't need to waste more tax money breaking-in another novice pol and his advisers.

*Name withheld intentionally

Low Pressure

I have H2O sickness.  This is the 4th consecutive day of rain.  We have been in the clutches of a summer Northeaster - which is our description for a low pressure center that gets stuck in the eddies of the jet stream and hangs like a gigantic dripping wet noodle off the new england coast. When this happens in the summer, we get lots of  rain; when it happens in the Winter, we get 4 feet of snow. 

The weather guys say it will be bumped off by a shift in the jet stream tomorrow.  Good riddence.  This is the kind of weather gardeners hate: drought followed by flood.  The tomato skins will be cracking and the greens will be rotting in the trenches.  The barrel out on the patio has 3 1/2 inches of rainwater in it.  I am nervously checking to make sure the pump is working - just in case.

Poor Obamas - their Martha's Vineyard vacation was ruined just like any ordinary tourist.  (Well, they can take some consolation in the fact that taxpayers will be covering the cost of their rooms, unlike the average tourist who spent the week playing umbrella minigolf and hanging-out at the Mall instead of on the beach.)

I notice there are a series of hurricanes developing off the coast of East Africa and heading in our direction.   

Is it just me, or does it seem like Summer is coming to an end?