Brushless Shave Cream

Prologue
I have a bad habit of putting off my haircuts. I’m not sure why I do this since I love having my hair cut — it’s a very sensual experience — but I often go six weeks or longer between haircuts.

I prefer old-fashioned barber shops, the kinds with gossipy old men standing around telling stories about hunting and fishing and the kid who burned down the old barn last Saturday.

Choose from a selection of shaving cream and shaving sets for your hair care needs. We can remove hair too

Story
I’ve been going to the same barber shop in Canby all my life. This shop added a new barber recently. Before Christmas, when he cut my hair for the first time, I was pleased that he wasn’t too talkative. I may enjoy the shop conversation, but I don’t necessarily want to participate in it.

Toward the end of the cut, the new barber raised my chin and examined my neck. “You have trouble shaving, don’t you?” he said. I nodded. “I thought so. Ingrown hairs. I have the same trouble. You know, what you need is the brushless shave cream that I use. It’s great stuff. Gives you the smoothest, closest shave and no ingrown hairs. We don’t have any here — I used to get it in at my old place — but I’ll have some for you next time.”

I left the shop and promptly forgot about the conversation. In mid-January, I had my hair cut at the place in Oak Grove. (It’s an old-fashioned shop, too, with three gruff old guys cutting hair while they watch Perry Mason and ESPN — they flip channels during commercials. On the day I had my hair cut, Perry was exposing a man who had driven his car backward to take miles off the odometer, and ESPN was showing a cross-country bike race.)

Last week, I went back to Canby to have my hair cut. I drew the new guy again. (At these types of shops, you take whichever barber comes up, or you can defer your place in line to have a specific fellow cut your hair.) He didn’t ask me how I wanted my hair cut, so I started to tell him: “Clipper cut on the side with a four, but longer on top, just—”

“I know,” he said. “I remember. I cut it last time, didn’t I?”

“Er, yeah,” I said. No barber ever remembers how to cut my hair, even after they’ve done it a zillion times. I figure they have far too many clients to remember how some anonymous guy likes his hair done.

The old guy cut my hair, and I listened to the talk about Dr. Kevorkian, recent land annexations in town, and the Iditarod. (One of the barbers, Howard, is a big fan of the Iditarod.) My mind entered a Happy Place.

Eventually, my barber started talking. “So, I got some of that brushless shave cream in,” he said.

“What?” I said.

He explained. “Last time you were in here, I told you about this brushless shave cream. You have trouble shaving.” He gently ran his finger under my chin. “Your skin gets irritated. You’re shaving too close, and you cut the whiskers off below the skin. I ordered this brushless shave cream for you.”

“Oh. Since the last time I was in, I’ve been trying to use an electric shaver,” I said. “But it doesn’t really work.”

My barber stopped cutting my hair. He was horrified. “You don’t want to use one of those. They’re awful. They chew your skin up. No, you need this stuff.”

He walked to the back room and came back with a big pink tub. He unscrewed the cap and held the tub for me to sniff. It smelled medicinal, almost like Icy-Hot.

“This stuff is great,” he said. He took a dab of it and rubbed it on my neck. “You don’t need a lot. Just a thin film. You don’t want to lather it up. If you need a lather, use a bar of soap. You apply a thin film of this and it makes your skin extra smooth. Feel it.”

I felt it.

“Now stand up,” he said, removing the hair cloak (what are those things called, anyhow?). I stood and followed him to a mirror. He lifted my chin and pointed. “Look at those hairs. See how they’re standing on end? You want to leave this stuff on for ten seconds, thirty seconds, even longer. The longer you leave it on, the more your hairs will stand up, the closer shave you’ll get.”

He motioned for me to sit back down so that he could finish the haircut.

“You don’t have to buy this,” he said. “And if you do buy it, and you don’t like it, just bring it back. I’ll give you your money back.”

I was dumbfounded by the whole exchange.

I left the man a large tip. I would have tipped him even more but (a) he didn’t trim my ear-hair and (b) the blade with which he shaved the back of my neck was rough, so that it felt like he was scraping it with sandpaper.

Epilogue
“I’ll see you next month,” my barber said as I put on my jacket.

“Yeah,” I said, but then I caught myself. “Actually, I guess not. Every April, I spend a weekend in Bend with some guys. I get my hair cut there every year.”

The other barbers perked up. I was the only customer in the shop by now. “Where do you get your hair cut?” asked Howard. He and I have had this conversation before, but apparently he’d forgotten.

“At the Metropolitan,” I said. “I love that place. Also, the guy who used to own this place — Jerry — he works there.”

Howard beamed. He went to his drawer and dug out a newspaper clipping from the Bend Bulletin. It was an article about Jerry and another guy. They’d left The Metropolitan and opened their own barber shop one street over. Their trick is that they serve you beer while they cut your hair.

“That’s going to be rough,” I said. “Now I’ll have to choose. I love the Metropolitan, but Jerry’s been cutting my hair since I was a boy. My family once traded a parrot to him for a hundred haircuts.”

“No shit!” said Howard. “That was you? Jerry loved that bird.” I’d already told him this at least once, possibly twice, and yet it was as if it were new information. Still, I don’t hold it against him. I know how my memory is.

I’ll bet the new barber will remember every detail of the conversation, though…

Comments

On 21 March 2005 (09:13 AM),
Rich R said:

I use a Kiehl’s product. It is also a brushless cream. I started using it over a year ago (along with sereral other Kiehl’s products) and it has changed my face. I get great close results with almost no irritation.

On 22 March 2005 (07:55 AM),
mac said:

So, does the stuff work j.d.? If it does, i’m going to the barber in Canby on Monday after school!

On 22 March 2005 (07:59 AM),
jenefer said:

I’ll be waiting for a review of the shaving before I get some for Bob and Adam. Don’t forget.

On 22 March 2005 (08:02 AM),
J.D. said:

I’m still testing it, Mackenzie.

I’ve shaved with it twice now. The first time, I had a thick ten-day’s beard that I thinned first with the beard trimmer. I shaved after showering. I applied the brushless shave cream in a thin layer, and it made my face tingle just a little. I let it rest for half a minute, then shaved. It worked very well on the firmer parts of my face, but less well on my neck. My neck still felt raw during and just after shaving. When I’d finished, I applied a second thin coat of the stuff as an after-shave.

The neck irritation faded with time and seemed to leave no lasting blemish. The shave was smooth. Very smooth.

I shaved again after 36 hours, which is very quick for me. (Because shaving bothers my skin, I often shave only once a week. Twice a week is a quick turnaround.) This time, I suffered more irritation, especially on the neck. I would have suffered more irritation with any other cream, though.

Tomorrow morning will be 48 hours since my last shave, and I’ll try the stuff again. Based on its performance so far, it may actually do the trick. I like it. I’m not completely sold yet, but I could be after a few more uses.

On 23 March 2005 (03:07 AM),
molliwogg said:

Does anyone know if this product is appropriate for a lady’s more delicate areas?

The Decemberists (Live in Concert, 2005 Edition)

Update: the Decemberists have released a BitTorrent of their latest video, 16 Military Wives. It’s a great song!

My favorite Portland band, The Decemberists, play a show at the Crystal Ballroom tonight. I won’t be able to catch the concert, but I did see them on last night in Eugene, the first stop on their new tour.

The Decemberists have a new album due out Tuesday, which means you can be sure of one more entry on them before the end of the month. Previous entries on The Decemberists include: The Decemberists, The Decemberists (Live in Concert), Red Right Ankle, and The Decemberists (recorded live from KEXP).

I drove to Eugene on a cold and blustery afternoon which featured the first rain the valley has received in nearly a month. I had a warm and hearty meal with Paul and Susan (about which more tomorrow), and then we headed to the show.

As we walked into the Woodworkers of the World meeting hall, I was startled to hear somebody say “hey” to me. There stood Tom Denton, whom I mentioned yesterday as the supplier of one of the songs for my latest mix. He’s the only other person I know in Eugene besides Paul and Susan; what are the odds that I’d run into him at this concert?

The Woodworkers of the World meeting hall (or Wowhall) is a smallish, boxish sort of room, perfect for a mid-week concert aimed at college kids. The space held a few hundred people, most of whom were dressed in what must pass for the latest in fashion: dirty clothes and pierced lips. (I hadn’t realized that piercings were still so popular. It seemed that everyone present was required to have some part of their head pierced, and preferably multiple parts. I saw one guy with two studs in his upper lip; it looked like he had fangs. I felt naked.)

By design, we missed the opening act. In fact, we arrived just as The Decemberists were taking the stage. The crowd cheered. Toward the front, some bozo with a digital SLR took photo after photo after photo. Flash flash flash. (This went on for the entire show.)

Colin Meloy, the band’s lead singer, has an easy, jocular repartee with an audience. He’s chatty. “Ah, Eugene,” he said. “I went to school here.” And, of course, the crowd loved it. “Isn’t it finals week?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be back at the dorm studying?”

The group began the show with the ever-bouncy “Billy Liar”:

Billy Liar’s got his hands in his pockets
Staring over at the neighbor’s, knickers down.
He’s got his knickers down.

They played old favorites, of course, but also featured a fine sampling of stuff from the new album. I’ll admit that I didn’t care for all of it, but some of the songs — “Mariner’s Revenge Song”, “Sixteen Military Wives” — were classic Decemberists. (Which means precious clever lyrics, bouncy strings, a smattering of accordion, and lots of songs with nautical themes.)

Midway through the show, Colin made an announcement. “We’re going to do a cover song,” he said. “We’ve never done this live before. Ladies and gentlemen, Ms. Petra Haden.” (The group made some lineup changes recently, adding Petra as vocalist and violinist. This was her first show with the group.

Paul leaned over to me: “Hounds of Love,” he said, referring to a twenty-three-year-old Kate Bush song.

“Ha ha,” we laughed at Paul’s silly joke.

Our laughing faded quickly as we were shocked to hear the tinkling piano that marks the beginning “Wuthering Heights”. It wasn’t “Hounds of Love”, but it was a Kate Bush song. How strange is that? Stranger still was that Petra did a marvelous job with the song. “Wuthering Heights” is difficult, yet she nailed it. The crowd roared, giving the biggest applause they’d give all night. (I wanted to shout “Petra rocks!” — about as clever a pun as I’ll ever devise on my own — but the crowd was too loud, we were too far back from the stage, and I was too shy.)

It was a great show. The Decemberists shine in live performance, especially in a small venue like the Wowhall. For a time, I hoped to catch them again the following night at the Crystal Ballroom in Portland, but it just didn’t work out.

Will the band ever become truly popular? I doubt it. They’re too smart. But they’re certainly worth a listen if you’ve never heard them before. Amazon has all their albums for sale, including the newest, Picaresque; their last album, Her Majesty, which is loaded with great songs; and their first album, Castaways and Cutouts, which is perhaps less mannered and more easily accessible.

Blogiversary

It’s this weblog’s fourth blogiversary! In celebration, I’m sharing my latest CD mix. I’ve made a couple hundred mixes over the past two decades; few are as good as this one. I’ve been fine-tuning it for two weeks, but its final form only crystalized this morning before I left for work.

Without further ado, here’s Say Something New:

Take Your Mama Out – Scissor Sisters: via Paul Carlile This song is fun. Kris and I think it sounds like “Crocodile Rock”-era Elton John. “Gonna take your mama out all night / Yeah we’ll show her what it’s all about / We’ll get her jacked up on some cheap champagne / We’ll let the good times all roll out”
How Soon is Now? – t.A.T.u.: Of the songs on this mix, this is the one I’ve been listening to longest. It’s been in steady rotation for a couple of years now. “I am the son / and the heir / of a shyness / that is criminally vulgar”
Starving in the Belly of a Whale – Tom Waits: via Tom Denton I’m not a huge Tom Waits fan — his gravelly voice can grate — but Kris and I like this song. A lot. “When the day breaks, and the earth quakes / Life’s a mistake all day long / Tell me, who gives a good gooddamn / You’ll never get out alive”
Dakota – Stereophonics: I don’t know where I found this song, but I love it. In fact, it’s my favorite song on this mix. It’s got a sort of eighties power rock thing going on. I wonder if the Stereophonics are always this good. “Thinking back, thinking of you / Summertime, think it was June / Yeah, think it was June / Laying back, head on the grass / Chewing gum, having some laughs / Yeah, having some laughs”
Night on Fire – VHS or Beta: Here’s a group — or a song, anyhow — that sounds eerily like a blend of Duran Duran and The Cure. Seriously. “Put your hands together and we’ll light this night / Light this night on fire”
Kate – Ben Folds Five: According to audioscrobbler, this is my third-most listened-to song since October. I don’t doubt it. “And you can see the daisies in her footsteps / Dandelions / Butterflies / I wanna be Kate!”
Say Something New – Concretes: via Paul Carlile Paul told me about this band almost a year ago, but I didn’t pay attention. Then I heard this song in a television commercial, and developed a fleeting obsession with the band.
The Book of Right-On – Joanna Newsom: via Craig Briscoe “I’ve got a CD for you,” Craig told me recently. “But you have to listen to track three several times before you listen to the rest of it.” Why? Because Joanna Newsom is an acquired taste. She sounds like Iris Dement. Rapping. With a harp. “Do you want to sit at my table? / My fighting fame is fabled / And fortune finds me fit and able”
Dance Music – The Mountain Goats: I have no idea where this song came from, but I found it on my hard drive recently and thought it quite good. It reminds me of acoustic Neutral Milk Hotel (thus the next track). “I’m in the living room watching the Watergate hearings / while my stepfather yealls at my mother / launches a glass across the room straight at her head / and I dash upstairs to take cover / lean in close to my little record player on the floor / so this is what the volume knob’s for / I listen to dance music”
The King of Carrot Flowers – Neutral Milk Hotel: via Joel Miron Neutral Milk Hotel songs were made to be sung at the top of your lungs. “When you were young you were the king of carrot flowers / and how you built a tower tumbling thru the trees / in holy rattlesnakes that fell all around your feet”
Letter From an Occupant – The New Pornographers: via Jeremy Gingerich For some reason, I cannot listen to an entire New Pornographers album. When I listen to them one song a time, though, I think each song is great. I think this song is great. “I cried five rivers on the way here / which one will you skate away on?”
C’mon – Go Betty Go: Another song that I can’t explain how it found its way to my hard drive. Go Betty Go sounds very much like The Go-Gos. Do you think that’s intentional? “Today I’ve come to choose my ways / I’ve seen it all before”
Since U Been Gone – Kelly Clarkson: This song is the internet song du jour, currently #2 on the iTunes Music Store. It’s so pop it hurts. Whatever. I like it. “Here’s the thing / We started out friends / It was cool, but it was all pretend”
All My Little Words – The Magnetic Fields: via Craig Briscoe Last year, Craig loaned me this group’s multi-CD set entitled 69 Love Songs which contains, as you might have guessed, sixty-nine love songs. This is one of my favorites. “You are a splendid butterfly / It is your wings that make you beautiful”
Bullet and a Target – Citizen Cope: via Paul Carlile “I predict that this will be the song of summer 2004,” Paul told me last year. It wasn’t. But it is pretty damn catchy. “You can blame it on Zeus and Apollo and Adonis / But what you’ve done here / Is put yourself between a bullet and a target”
If It Were Up To Me – Cheryl Wheeler: via Betsy Betsy recently sent us a CD of songs she thought we’d like. I was listen to it casually one Sunday afternoon, and was simply floored by this song. YMMV. “Maybe it’s the high schools, maybe it’s the teachers / Maybe it’s the tattooed children in the bleachers / Maybe it’s the Bible, maybe it’s the lack / Maybe it’s the music, maybe it’s the crack”
Apply Some Pressure – Maximo Park: via Todd DomineyPerhaps the least accessible song on the mix, this is a gem nonetheless. Another song with an eighties thing going on (but this time a little edgier — like New Order or Echo and the Bunnymen?). “What’s my view / well how am I supposed to know / write to review / well how objective can I be?”
Dirty Girl – Fisher: One of the internet’s best-kept secrets. This group hasn’t made a big splash in the real world yet, but they should. Instead we get to hear them in all sorts of tire commercials… “I had your name in my head / with Mrs. on it”
Are You Gonna Be My Girl – Jet: We’ve been listening to Jet for almost a year now, and we still love them. Kris says they sound like Guns’n’Roses with a touch of Pink Floyd. I say they’re old school hard rock done right. “Now you dont need that money / when you look like that, do ya honey.”
Nowhere Again – Secret Machines: via Scott Scott loves the Secret Machines. I’ve only heard this song, but I agree that it’s good. “maybe the rain will stop following me / with millions of colors reflected in daylight”
A Shot in the Arm – Wilco: “The ashtray says you were up all night / When you went to bed with your darkest mind / Your pillow wept and covered your eyes / And you finally slept while the sun caught fire / You’ve changed”
I’ll Build a Stairway to Paradise – Rufus Wainwright: I loved the music in The Aviator. This song was the best of the bunch. “I’ll build a Stairway to Paradise, / With a new Step ev’ry day. / I’m going to get there at any price; / Stand aside, I’m on my way!”

In the past, I’ve been awful about sharing my CD mixes with those of you who request them. I vow that, at least with this mix, I’ll not be so forgetful. Anyone who wants a copy may have one!

As for this weblog: will it be around for another four years? I’m not sure. Sometimes I don’t think it’ll be around for another four days, but mostly it’s a lot of fun.

Comments

On 16 March 2005 (12:54 PM),
Denise said:

I think Jet is AC/DC reinvented and a bit more metrosexual.

On 16 March 2005 (01:59 PM),
Amanda said:

Oh me me me!!!

On 16 March 2005 (02:29 PM),
Kris said:

Part of the reason I love the second song (“How Soon is Now?”) is the alternate interpretation of those lyrics as “I am the sun / and the air”. It always strikes me as clever.

And I must admit that the Joanna Newsom song is catchy. Maybe too catchy– you might find yourself humming it on the way to the loonybin.

On 16 March 2005 (06:52 PM),
al said:

Me please. Shall I send an address?

On 16 March 2005 (07:53 PM),
Courtney said:

Me too, please. Thanks!

On 16 March 2005 (09:11 PM),
Scott D said:

I highly recommend Stereophonic’s CD -The Word Gets Out. There’s a song on there called “Traffic” that is amazing.

Lest you get tired of your mix, I do have some fodder for your next one:

Beck – Ghettochip Malfunction (Hell Yes remix)
Death Cab for Cutie – The Sound of Settling
The Arcade Fire – Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)
Anything by Snow Patrol
Blue Merle – Burning in the Sun
Modest Mouse – Ocean Breathes Salty [Actually the video is excellent] or Bury Me with It
Caedmon’s Call – Center Aisle

On 17 March 2005 (05:42 AM),
Betsy said:

Me, please!

You should definitely check out The Killers. A colleague at work has it in his network folder; I’ve been listening to it non-stop…

On 17 March 2005 (09:41 AM),
Rich R said:

I feel happy that I played a small part in this mix…I gave Jeremy the New Pornographers!

Would you make a mix for me and give it to Mr. Gingerich?

On 17 March 2005 (04:35 PM),
Craig said:

I’d like a copy too, please.

The lyric you quote from “Sixty Nine Love Songs” is my favorite on the three CDs, potentially my favorite opening lyric ever. The heartbreak of the whole song is summed up in that one line.

About “Stairway to Pradise,” does anyone realize that this song was in “An American in Paris?” Gene Kelly’s tres Frenchy rival for the love of Leslie Caron sings it in his nightclub act. He has such a delightfully over-the-top (and potentially fake)accent that I’m not sure I can listen to anyone else sign it.

And, in re Joanna Newsom: She can sing me off to any looney bin she so chooses.

Craig

On 17 March 2005 (08:43 PM),
Denise said:

I forgot to add I want a copy as well! Happy Blogiversary!

Unfunny

I’ve been chronically unfunny lately. I don’t mean just here, in the virtual world, but also in real life. It’s as if I’ve lost my sense of humor.

I used to write about swearing in front of my nephews, and the bizarre encounters I have on my walks to the library, and the stupid things I do in front of my customers, but I rarely do that anymore. Has all the color drained from my life? Have I become completely grey?

Why, no! (Though I am tired a lot. )

What happened to my sense of humor? Where did it go? When did I stop laughing at things? When did I stop observing all the amusing things in every day life?

Funny things happen to me all the time. I’ll try to write about them more often.

For example:

Did I mention that on the last night the Mirons spent in our home, Joel and I walked to Safeway to buy ingredients for dinner? Well, we did. But because I’m on a self-imposed budget, I had only the $14 in my pocket to spend, and I refused to spend more. This forced us to slink around the store searching for Great Deals.

Kris wanted tomatoes, a vegetable (or fruit, if you want to get technical about the whole thing) about which I know very little. I certainly can’t tell a good tomato from a bad tomato, unless the bad tomato is Very Very Bad. So I put Joel in charge. He sniffed them first, looking for those with the most tomatoey smell. I know this method works well for pineapple and watermelon, so it made sense that it also worked for tomatoes. Considering our financial restraints, he very carefully weighed out three or four Roma tomatoes for use in our American tacos.

(Kris loves American tacos, the only dish she remembers fondly from childhood. (She loves her mother, but she did not love her cooking.) What are American tacos? In Kris’ world, American tacos require those gnarly U-shaped crispy shells, lettuce, tomatoes, ground beef, cheddar cheese, and — the coup de grace — ketchup. No, salsa will not do. Nor will tomato sauce. For Kris to be content with her tacos, she must have ketchup. And she says I have food problems…)

So, Joel gathered the tomatoes, I grabbed some strawberries, and we headed for the juice. Joel chose some miscellaneous juice, but I pointed out that the Safeway-brand cranberry juices were on sale: buy-one-get-one-free and the first one was only $3. What a Great Deal! We picked up a couple more items (gnarly U-shaped crispy shells and real tortillas), then headed to the register. My total was only about $13. I had a dollar bill left over after all that shopping.

Walking home, we passed two teenage girls loitering on the sidewalk. One of girls, clad in a tight blue tube top, smiled at us and held out some cash. While it would have been flattering to believe she were propositioning us — and we may not have declined — she actually wanted us to participate in a different sort of illegal activity. “If I give you some money, will you buy us some cigarettes?” she asked.

Joel began to speak, but I was quicker: “Nah, we’ve got to get home to make tacos for dinner.” Joel stifled a snicker, and we walked on. (I never did ask him what caused the stifled snicker — which sounded sort of like a pig-snort — though I can imagine any number of possible sources of amusement in the situation.)

At home, Kris was disappointed in our shopping skills. “These tomatoes suck,” she said. “They’re not ripe. They’re way too firm.”

I adopted the only possible defense. “I don’t know anything about tomatoes;Joel picked them out,” I said piously. “He even sniffed them!”

“Well, I guess I can salvage one,” she said.

“What does it matter?” I asked. “You’re just going to smother your taco in ketchup.” Kris glared at me, and I left the kitchen.

We had a grand meal of American tacos, but nobody drank the bargain cranberry juice which had been such a Great Deal.

The next day, Kris and I walked to the bank. On our way, I was telling her about the teenage girl in the blue tube top that had offered us money for cigarettes. “Is that her?” she asked, pointing up the street to a teenage girl in a blue tube top down. It was! It was the same girl, and she was still wearing the blue tube top. She must love that thing. She must also have found somebody to buy her cigarettes, because she and her friend were smoking. Oh so cool.

Meanwhile, I still had the dollar bill in my wallet.

In fact, that dollar bill stayed in my wallet, unspent, until this afternoon. (It was finally put to rest in order to procure a Costco weenie for my dining pleasure.) I’d like to be able to claim that this is evidence of my parsimony, but that would be, well, untrue.

It is true that I’ve been quite frugal with my personal money, and have, in fact, spent almost nothing since that grocery trip a week ago; however, I’ve been spending Computer Resources money like it’s going out of style: a digital camera here, new software there, and heck! let’s get a book or two while we’re at it!

But I’ve got two unopened bottles of cranberry juice in my fridge. They were a Great Deal.

Comments

On 15 March 2005 (03:14 PM),
Jethro said:

American tacos with ketchup on them aren’t even tacos anymore — Crispy Corn Shelled Hamburgers would be a more appropriate name.

Now, take some fresh homemade tortillas, some carne asada, maybe a little cabbage and cilantro, a few shakes of Tapatio and couple slices of chile peppers and you’ve got a real taco! I think I hear Luis’ Taqueria calling my name…

PS- If you must have American tacos, you could at least make the Cooks Illustrated version — they really aren’t any more authentic than any other hard-shelled tacos, but oh are they tasty.

On 15 March 2005 (06:06 PM),
mac said:

what software did you buy? Photoshop CS? or maybe version 7.0? Or something else?

On 16 March 2005 (08:09 AM),
J.D. said:

Look! A bonus mini-weblog entry:

Tonight for dinner I had a Banquet Salisbury Steak Meal. This frozen food was once called a TV dinner, but now it’s simply a meal. Why the distinction?

Growing up, I thought TV dinners were a treat, the pinnacle of food science. They came in foil trays with foil lining. They baked in the oven for nearly an hour, and when they were finished one had a delicious meal of fried chicken, turkey loaf, or, my favorite, salisbury steak. When we had a baby-sitter, we always hoped we’d have TV dinners for supper.

Time has passed, as it will do, and now these TV dinners come in plastic trays with a thing film of plastic lining. They’re nuked in the microwave for just five or six minutes before they’re ready to eat. Ostensibly, the varieties available are the same as they ever were, but it seems to me corners are being cut somewhere.

Tonight, my little section of corn had maybe eighty rubbery kernels (probably reject from chicken feed). My “mashed potatoes” were a watery, reconstituted mush, similar to the paste the tards used to eat in grade school. And the salisbury steak? Well, calling this mystery meat a “steak” is a wonderful leap of the imagination.

Still, I ate the sad little “meal” with great relish. (Only 340 calories!) Sadder still, when I had finished, I put my face to the plastic tray and I licked up every last remnant of the fatty, salty “gravy”.

I have no shame.

“I’m a half pound off my dietary goals,” I told Kris this morning. I weigh 194-1/2 when I want to weight 194.

“It’s probably because of all the marshmallows you’ve been eating,” she said. She’s probably right.

I’ve been steering clear of candies and cake cookies, which is good. However, I’ve replaced these evil foods with marshmallows. I love marshmallows. Kris bought a bag of jumbo marshmallows when Joel and Aimee arrived, but it’s gone now. Last night I was so that I cracked into the miniature marshmallows. They’re not nearly as good.

On 16 March 2005 (08:17 AM),
Tammy said:

I was raised on the crunchy shells too. I never remember having the soft tortillas growing up. Greg and I have hit on a favorite that I learned from Dave Stegmeir, the teacher there in the Canby schools. (my pastor at the time) I used to hang out at his house all the time. In fact all of the teens hung out there. Millie would make us fried corn tortillas with all the fixins. That one summer we ate more corn tortillas than I ever ate in my entire previous life- which was none! Dave stretched long tables out under the trees and people came and went and ate all evening all summer long!

For some reason I’ve always preferred the white flour tortillas until a few months ago when I recalled thsoe fried corn ones! Now my family is as hooked on them as I am.

On 16 March 2005 (09:13 AM),
Joel said:

Kris was very correct about those tomatoes being miserable. One was so under-ripe it was bright white in the middle! Anyone read the young-adult book “Bunnicula”? It’s about a vampire rabbit that would suck the essence out of vegetables (hilarious). It was like Bunnicula had attacke the Safeway produce.

On 16 March 2005 (09:32 AM),
Rich R said:

“As training, tonight I’ll go through the Netflix queue and add a half dozen Very Funny movies.”

Uhhh…is that even possible???

On 16 March 2005 (09:38 AM),
J.D. said:

No, Rich. No, it’s not.

Somewhere I have a copy of Spinal Tap, but I’ve lost it. Or somebody borrowed it and never returned it. I wonder where it is. Anyone? Anyone?

The following is quote from the comments section of Denise’s weblog:

Kris and I watched Pretty in Pink on TV last night, the first time I’ve seen it in nearly twenty years. (For all I know, I once saw it with Denise. It wouldn’t surprise me.)

It was better than I had remembered, and worse than Kris had remembered. Duckie was pretty lame, but I still totally identify with him.

The amazing thing was that Molly Ringwald uses the word ‘fuck’ at one point, and because it’s the only time in the film the word is used, it has a lot of force. It was shocking. Also, it was shocking to hear the word ‘fuck’ on TV. It’s not something you hear everyday. (We were watching Turner Classic Movies.)

On 16 March 2005 (09:46 AM),
J.D. said:

From my e-mail exchange with Rich:

Rich: Yeah, I have a hell of a time finding movies that are really good and funny movies.

J.D.: Agreed. Now, if I actually owned Election or Rushmore on DVD, I’d be in good shape.

Can any of you think of any funny movies that are actually good?

On 16 March 2005 (09:53 AM),
Jethro said:

O Brother Where Art Thou

On 16 March 2005 (11:07 AM),
jeremy said:

Spinal Tap is currently residing at my house. I was wondering who onwned it.

On 16 March 2005 (11:12 AM),
Rich R said:

Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Princess Bride, Harvey…

I’m always lousy at remembering favorites, but there’s a few of them.

On 16 March 2005 (11:13 AM),
jenefer said:

When I read you giving Kris a hard time about the American Tacos with hard sheels and catsup, I couldn’t believe you followed up with your Banquet Salisbury steak meal. Ugh!!. Anything home-made or home conpiled is better than anything frozen and nuked. I think she is right giving you a hard time about food preferences.

Since we are currently without a kitchen due to our remodel, we have been eating a lot of frozen dinners. The Banquet ones are terrible. Bob even said: “You don’t have to buy that again.” about the Salisbury steak.

Swanson is a little better, but the best seems to be the Lean Cuisine. Liz likes it better than either Banquet or Swanson and I really think some of the Lean Cuisine are GOOD. A lot of the entrees are chicken, but there are some beef and pork. Very few calories. Try the Chicken with angel hair pasta and basil cream sauce.

On 16 March 2005 (03:14 PM),
Joel said:

The Three Amigos

Neighbors and Dreamtime

I took my River Forest Road walk this afternoon, enjoying the warm sun and a chapter of The Far Side of the World. At one point, I rounded a corner and was brought up short. Before me stood the most gorgeous blossoming tree. (A cherry?) I wished I had taken my camera.

A sunny Sunday in March means yard work, and that’s just what Kris and I did yesterday. Kris did lots of little things, many of which escape me; she was busy all day long. In the mid-afternoon, she planted the asparagus. She dug a foot-deep trench one-foot wide, and buried nine asparagus crowns. They’ll live for eight to ten years, producing their first edible stalks a couple of years from now.

Yum.

While Kris worked on the asparagus, I edged the entire length of the garden, ripping out sod and hauling it back to the compost heap. Back next to the rotting eggshells and coffee grounds, I met another neighbor.

Harvey is the first black man I’ve met in Oak Grove. He and his wife moved into the house behind ours nearly thirty years ago. They’ve been married for thirty-three years and have eleven children, one of whom (Joshua, approximately eight years old) sat and listened to us as we talked.

Harvey’s a good guy. When he moved to Oregon from North Carolina, Harvey worked as a chef. Since then he’s gone into business for himself, installing refrigeration units for restaurants. His wife Becky is actually the daughter of Tom’s first wife. (Tom being the neighbor we know best, the friendly guy next door who, at nearly eighty years old, is building his dream home.) When the former owners of our house installed their high fence with barbed wire, they placed a gate between Harvey’s yard and our yard. When the former owners died, Harvey chained it off. Yesterday, he got out his bold cutters and he cut it the chain off. He installed a new lock and gave us a key, re-establishing open communication between the two yards. I think this was primarily a symbolic act, but I liked it.

We’ve now established contact with nearly all of the neighbors. (We still haven’t met the other backyard neighbors, the ones wholly hidden from us by the laurel hedge.) We know Tom and Roberta best, and are grateful for the kindness they’ve shown us since we moved in. (They’re the source of our grapes and blueberries, for example.)

John from across the road is a character: gruff and frank, but generous. (He invited us to glean his Concord grapes, and he donated lumber for us to construct our own grape trellises.) John spends most of his time in Alaska and New Zealand, so mostly his house is occupied by a series of housesitters.

Kurt and Tammy next door are friendly, too; they greeted us on our first day in the house. They’re closest to our age, and easiest to talk to. They live across from Cyril and Helen, an older couple who moved into their house in 1948. Cyril’s great: he has an opinion on everything and is not afraid to share it. He reminds me of Jeremy.

It’s strange that after nine months we already know most of our neighbors. In Canby, we barely knew the people around us, and we rarely had any interaction with them. It’s not like we spend all our time with our new neighbors, but at least we’ve met them, and we carry on conversations with them when we see them. With Tom and Roberta, especially, I’ve had a lot of talks.

It’s nice.

Last night I woke from a truly terrifying dream:

I am standing in a bus shelter with Mac and Andrew. Outside it is stormy in a wintry kind of way. Looking through a window into a coffee shop, I see Joel, all wild arms and crazy faces, telling a story to some stranger. I keep meaning to tell Mac and Andrew that Joel’s here, but they’re engrossed in conversation, and I do not want to interrupt. Eventually, Joel sees us and comes outside and plants a great big juicy kiss on Mac’s lips. “You gonna give me a ride home?” he asks Mac. Mac is hesitant because he’s promised to drive me home, but Joel goads him until he agrees to go. Andrew goes with them.

I take off by myself, in a car, driving to our new house, which is apparently now located on a hillside, up a winding, narrow road. The road is more icy than slushy, but I’m managing.

And here’s a strange part. For a short time, the dream changes scenes and I am no longer in the action. I cannot recall this ever happening before. Instead, Joel and Mac have arrived at their destination, and Joel is all wild arms and crazy faces, telling a story, but Mac is morose. “I should have taken J.D. home,” he says. “He hates to drive in this stuff. He’s no good at it.”

Indeed, I’m not (at least in the dream). I’m driving up the winding, narrow roads, only no longer in a car but in my pajamas. (WTF?) I take great long runs and then skid on my stomach. And this all seems perfectly natural in Misty Dreamland.

At one point, I accidentally turn onto a logging road. I can’t tell at first because it, too, is a winding, narrow road. Eventually, however, I realize that it is too winding and too narrow. In fact, the trees and shrubs have squeezed in all around so that I am only crawling now. I am very scared. Very scared.

I think of wolves. I think of bears. “This isn’t right,” I think to myself. “My house is on a big road.” And so I turn around and begin to retrace my path, but this time I’m panicked, believing I will be eaten by snowsharks. (WTF?)

My dream ends when I wake, in a fair state of terror, to go to the bathroom at 11:16.

At least there’s this: if I was dreaming — which I did all night long — I was not snoring!

Comments

On 14 March 2005 (09:53 PM),
Kris said:

While Jd was on his walk, I made a feeble attempt to give the camellias their semi-annual feeding. We think we have twenty-three beautiful camellia bushes here at Rosings Park, but it’s hard to be sure, since some of them blend together into one long hedge and others are so tall (15 feet?) they may be several intertwined. Anyway, the fertilizer instructions read: “drench soil around bush’s dripline. In general, 1 gallon (of dilute fertilizer solution) will be sufficient for 1 plant.” Somehow, I do not think they had our camellias in mind when they wrote those. In the end, I filled the two-gallon bucket up 16 times before I ran out of fertilizer granules, and I’m sure I’ve just whetted their appetites.

On 14 March 2005 (11:16 PM),
tammy said:

Hmm, Kris, maybe I need to fertilize my camelia. I hadn’t even thought of it. That’s exactly what I’ll do tomorrow. Greg bought a new mower. It’s self propelled. I’ve never had a self propelled mower. I’ve always had to strong arm my mower through thick stands of clover in our spare lot. I’m not sure how a self propelled mower will do in that sort of situation but we shall see. I’m looking forward to working outside tomorrow.

By the way is there anything we’re suppose to be doing to those roses this time of year? Pruning? fertilizer? Anything? Mine have all leafed out beautifully! I can’t wait to see them blooming!

On 15 March 2005 (06:44 AM),
Joel said:

I think Mac did the right thing in that dream. Between the two of us, I’d probably be more of a danger to the public if I had to drive on those icy roads. Attaboy, Mac, you’re a great kisser!

On 15 March 2005 (08:02 AM),
Steve said:

JD:
We must be neighbors. One of our favorite bike rides is down Oak Grove Blvd. and down River Forest Road. (We’re on Laurie Ave.)
If we can ever scrape together enough money, we’d love to live on the river. I grew up on a river in NH, and I miss being that close to the water. I think in the meantime I will just have to buy a boat so I can take advantage of my proximity to the boat launch at the end of Oak Grove Blvd.
There is a 5 acre lot w/ river front for sale right now at the end of Laurie Ave. (I posted some pictures on my Blog.) It used to be some kind of greenhouse/nursery, but everything is in ruins now. I think the property is listed with Windemere, but I haven’t seen how much they want.
Well, I’ve babbled on for long enough; time to chase the children off to school.
Steve

On 15 March 2005 (11:55 AM),
Courtney said:

I had a bad dream the other night. To make a long story short, I witnessed a murder and ended up in some sort of warehouse. Joel was there, too, and we hid in a dumpster full of cardboard. Why does Joel show up in these weird dreams I wonder?

Gadgets

I found time to play with two new gadgets this morning: the inexpensive iMic and the not-so-inexpensive Nikon D70 digital SLR.

I woke early. The sun had just risen. I could hear the birds outside. (In the summer, we sleep with the french doors open in the bedroom, and we cannot help but be awakened by bird song; this time of year I have to strain to hear it through the doors.)

Grabbing my iBook, I headed outside to sit in my pajamas and slippers, listening to the jays and the crows and the little songbirds greeting the morning. A woodpecker peck peck peck peck pecked somewhere up the hill. I tried to record some of what I heard with my new iMic and a cheap microphone (actually a remnant from my very first Mac fifteen years ago). I need a better microphone. I was able to record some birdsong, but only faintly.

The female flicker provided the best sounds:

flicker call one (994kb mp3)
flicker call two (240kb mp3)

At one point, Nemo sauntered by to see what was up:

Nemo squeaking (84kb mp3)

It was yet another beautiful day. We spent most of it outside, working in the garden. The cats helped. Sort of.

Nemo showed his might:

Simon played mind games with Flash:

Later in the evening, Simon sat outside the library window, politely asking to be let inside:

I admit there are sections in the above photos that are pixelated. This is not a result of the camera. I’ve saved each of the above as heavily compressed JPGs. In fact, they’re set at 10% quality in Photoshop Elements.

The D70 produces digital images of astounding quality.

Expect a full review of the D70 after I become accustomed to all its features and functions. It’s an overwhelming device, and it’s going to take me several weeks (at least) to learn.

For now, here’s an example of what six megapixels can do when coupled with a large CCD. (The CCD is the charge coupled device, the actual component of the digital camera that records the image. It’s far, far more important to image quality than the nominal size of the photo produced.)

Here’s a full-size detail of the above image. (Meaning: this is the actual size at which the image was recorded. The above photo was reduced drastically to fit the confines of this weblog.)

And here’s a detail of the above, magnified four times.

This final image is a detail of the above detail of a detail. It has been magnified another four times, or sixteen times the actual recorded image size.

Given that the topmost image in this series, the one that shows Simon in the window, was reduced to a little less than one ~~quarter~~ sixteenth of its original size, this final detail has been magnified over ~~sixty-four~~ 256 times! (Or, put another way, Simon’s nose in the final photo is sixteen times as wide and sixteen times as tall as it is in the first photo. In theory.)

Not bad.

Not bad at all.

Comments

On 13 March 2005 (09:06 PM),
dowingba said:

That is impressive. Up until a little while ago, I thought 4 megapixels was the max, and I had heard people claim nobody would ever need more than 4. But earlier today I saw an ad or something for a 16 megapixel camera. Imagine how much you could zoom with that.

On 13 March 2005 (09:49 PM),
J.D. said:

The number of megapixels in the final image is only one part of the equation. It’s not much good to have a 16megapixel image if the CCD is small. The CCD is what is used to actually “grab” the light in the first place. The larger the CCD, the more light grabbed, and the higher resolution the image, regardless of the number of megapixels. What’s ideal is to have a large CCD *and* lots of megapixels. :)

Your earlier point remains essentially correct, however: film does have better resolution right now, and probably will for the forseeable future. Still, quality prints can be achieved from digital photographs, especially at 4×6 and 5×7 sizes. In theory, the D70 ought to be able to provide crisp, clean images up to 12×16 or even larger. That’s certainly good enough for me.

On 14 March 2005 (08:06 AM),
Tiffany said:

You know how much I love your cats, but I never need to see cat snot that large. :)

On 14 March 2005 (08:32 AM),
Lane said:

In my office, I have a 10×15 print from my D70, printed at 300 dpi at (www.whcc.com). I did some basic interpolation during post-processing in Photoshop. My photography-centric friends at work, upon first viewing, can not tell if it is from film or digital. If you have any questions, let me know.

Cat Pictures

Today this space features photos of my cats. Isn’t that what weblogs are all about?

I think the cats loved this unseasonable February even more than Kris and I did. Simon, especially. He took every opportunity to lounge about the yard, to hide in the bushes, to chase birds and squirrels, and to climb his tree.

I think that, left to his own devices, Simon could perch in this tree for hours. There’s so much to see. Like the woman walking her dog down the street.

Dogs are scary.

Of course, Nemo likes attention, too. Unfortunately, I still haven’t got the hang of the new digital camera, so when I’m trying to capture action in low light with an unfamiliar camera I get blurry shots.

Although Nemo craves affection, he’s a lot more fidgety than Simon. He won’t sit still. This makes him difficult to photoraph.

Simon likes to sit in the tree, but he loves my workshop more. When I’m out there, he often scratches on the door until I let him in. He then lounges around the shop, exploring the dark corners, until he decides that he needs attention, at which point he becomes Mr. Super Affectionate (which is strange, because he’s not all that affectionate otherwise).

On Sunday, I left the workshop door open while I carried things to-and-fro. Simon decided that, despite the sunny day, and despite the attractive tree limbs, he’d rather spend his time inside the workshop, sitting on Joel’s old desk, watching the birds through the window.

Goofy cat.

Nick, giving tremendously practical advice: “Cats are worthless! Get a dog — you could train it to hunt pythons.”

Comments

On 01 March 2005 (08:35 PM),
Jethro said:

Good old Gordo. He’s still the best cat ever, even with a goofy name like Simon. :-)

On 02 March 2005 (05:25 PM),
jenefer said:

Am I losing my mind? Or were there more pictures yesterday?

On 02 March 2005 (08:03 PM),
tammy said:

Nope there were more pictures yesterday. He had more of the cat in the window.

On 02 March 2005 (08:05 PM),
J.D. said:

I’m practicing my editing techniques, particularly my photo editing techniques, as suggested by the link in the flotchbar…

On 02 March 2005 (08:31 PM),
Joel said:

Ooooh, Oregon looks so warm and green… hold on warm snap! We’re a-comin’!

On 03 March 2005 (11:57 AM),
Amanda said:

Yay! More kitty posts!!!

On 03 March 2005 (12:30 PM),
Tiffany said:

What, no photos of Toto?