June 2007

There were 14 posts published in June 2007 (this is page 1 of 2).

Back to the Future

Although I know you readers like the current format of this blog, it’s just not working for me. The Moveable Type engine behind the scenes is archaic. It’s frustrating to work with. The database is basically dead, drowned beneath a sea of spam. This site is no fun to maintain in its current state.

What am I trying to say? I really am going to move this blog back to WordPress. I made an aborted attempt at this last fall, but this time it’s for real. I’ll see what I can do to maintain the look-and-feel that we’ve all grown to love, but there are certainly going to be some changes. It’s very likely, for example, that the flotch will have to die (sorry, Paul!). I don’t know of any way to replicate the current flotch format in WordPress. (Actually, the new blog may become mostly flotch. Who knows? It’ll probably be a category.)

Also, I’ll be moving to a “multiple posts per page” format. Again, I know you all like to read the comments on the main page without clicking through, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to exercise that mouse finger. I want to be able to have multiple entries on the front page, which is far and away the standard blog format nowadays.

I don’t have a timeline for this change. I want to say “soon”, but in reality it may be the beginning of August before it occurs. Meanwhile, posting around here may be sporadic. I can’t get the damn blog to work half the time, and that frustrates me.

If you have any requests or suggestions as I prepare for this transition, please let me know.

Lost Post

Last night I wrote a long entry about how tired I am, about how I’ve been run ragged the past couple of weeks by nonstop social engagements. I wrote that I wasn’t going to do anything for the next ten days except for two things already scheduled: Writers Guild this Wednesday and book group on Sunday.

I made a list of all the things I’ve had to neglect because I’ve been too busy. I described how I feel like I’m on the edge, not wholly here.

I spent an hour writing this entry, but I did not save it. Obviously, my computer crashed. A hard crash on a Mac is unusual. This is the third time I’ve had one one this machine since I got it six months ago. But they do happen. And they’re never fun.

The computer crashed because while I was writing that lost entry, I was also creating a short video to post on YouTube:

Those are the MNF kids frolicking at our house last night. In the first clip, they’re eating dinner in the library, mere feet from my precious comics. In the second clip, they’re burning off energy. One of the adults suggested they run around the house, so they are. In the next couple clips, they’re descending on our raspberries like a flock of hungry birds. In the penultimate clip, a couple of the kids are digging in the dirt around Kris’ tomatoes with my weedpopper. And in the last clip, Isabel is attempting to climb onto a chair while Jeff and Emily watch.

These clips are from my new camera. It’s probably no surprise that I’m overanalyzing our upcoming trip to Europe. I’m overthinking everything, and I know it. I had grand plans of taking a carry-on suitcase and a backpack, and not checking any luggage, until Rhonda said, “Aren’t you going to shave?” Drat. I’m still going to take just those two bags, but I’ll have to check the suitcase.

I’ve made a list of things to include in the suitcase, and I’ve begun to acquire those that I don’t yet have. I’m going to use my upcoming backpacking trip as a dry run: I want to be sure I’ve learned to pack light.

Anyhow — one of my new purchases for the trip was a digital camera. I decided I don’t want to lug my SLR equipment around England and Ireland, so I researched digital cameras that met my requirements: ultra-compact with wide-angle lens. There were only two cameras from which to choose: Canon Powershot SD800 IS and the Panasonic DMC-FX01.

Both of these get good reviews, but are not without flaws. The Panasonic is well-made and attractive, but its image quality is sub-par. The Canon, on the other hand, has excellent image quality, but feels like a piece of cheap plastic. Ultimately I chose the Canon. I’ve had it for a few days now, and I must say that I’m pleased with the choice. It really does feel poorly made, but it produces great images. Plus, it’s easy to produce short video clips. (I actually think I could take video up to ten minutes in length, but so far I’ve confined myself to short 30-second clips.)

This video ability pleases me more than you know. Look for more YouTube clips in the future!

Allergies

Kris has been complaining about her allergies for the past couple of weeks. “They’re terrible this year,” she says. “It’s the worse they’ve ever been. Aren’t yours bothering you?”

No, they’re not. In fact, I’ve quietly been skeptical that this a bad allergy season. Kris talks about it a lot, though. “All the people at work say their allergies are really bad this year. Mine are really bad, too.” When we get together with people, she talks about it. “My allergies are really bad this year.”

Last night she erupted into a prolonged sneezing fit. I feel for her — I’ve had bad allergies in the past — but still, I wasn’t sure this seasons was especially noxious.

Then I woke up this morning.

As sometimes happens, my allergies came on overnight. I always expect them to hit around July 1st, but their onset is actually variable. One year they didn’t hit til August. Apparently the date this year is June 21st. Ugh.

This may be a bad year for allergies.

Splat Action!

It’s Monday morning, and I’m exhausted. I haven’t been sleeping well, though I can’t put my finger on why this might be the case. My allergies aren’t bothering me. My diet’s fine. I’m getting plenty of exercise. Regardless, I’ve been waking exhausted. I had hoped to get up at 4am today, as I’ve been trying to do most mornings, but opted for 5:30 instead.

As I mentioned, exercise hasn’t been a problem for me lately. In fact, for the first time in a long time I’m sore.

On Saturday, we joined Celeste and Nikki and ten other people in the woods outside Molalla for some paintball action. It’s been five years (!!!) since we last played with Joel and Aimee and Mac and Pam. I’d forgotten how much fun I had last time, and how harrowing the experience can be. It gives me some small understanding of what combat must be like.

Though it seems odd even to me, I’m actually fairly aggressive as a paintball player. I know I’d do better working with my teammates, but I usually play the maverick, striking out on my own, boldly stabbing deep into the heart of enemy territory. Sometimes this yields great success — as in the game that I mowed down four of the other team’s six players — but other times I die a foolish death, pinned behind a narrow tree, unable to retreat.

Nikki was my nemesis. I took her out in the second game with a nice shot to the gut. In the third game we came to a point-blank face-off draw, John Woo style. In game four, Dan and I teamed up to pin her behind a barrier until he could pick her off. But in every game thereafter, she pegged the hell out of me. I shall have my revenge!

Four hours of charging back and forth is plenty of exercise, especially when cloaked in heavy clothes. But what really made me sore was the diving and rolling. My knees are sore, but from scrapes, not from strain. My quads, on the other hand, are sore from strain.

To make matters worse, I went biking yesterday. Matt and I took a casual ride from Rosings Park into Portland along the Springwater Trail. We didn’t really push ourselves (it wasn’t the intent), but even so: with quads that already hurt from paintball, the result is a stiff and sore J.D. on Monday morning.

Not to mention a J.D. that is so tired that he just wants to crawl back into bed!

Jarhead

This entry was written by Kris.

I’ll admit it: I’m obsessed with jars. I’m not a collector or anything, but I have a strange attraction to smooth glass objects, especially those I can fill with pickles or salsa, jams, tomato soup or summer fruit. Of course, canning jars are reusable, and J.D. and I have emptied many during our winter and spring meals, but I also gave about a hundred away last Christmas for various gifts and I wanted to replace them — cheap.

When our street had its annual garage sale last Thursday though Sunday, that was my quest: canning jars. I found a couple nice ones for $1 apiece up the road but they were “for pretty”, too old and irregular for actual use. I was still in need of jars for canning this year’s batches of goods when Amy Jo forwarded a Craiglist posting for jars for sale. I glanced through the ad — very detailed, lots of jars, decent prices — but it was farther than I wanted to drive. After deliberating, I decided to call anyway and see what was up.

“Hi,” I say “I’m calling about the jars you’re selling through Craiglist. I’m interested in buying some and wondered if I could come out today.”

“What kind of jars do you want?” asks a powerful male voice.

I explain that I want wide-mouth pints and half-pints.

“Fat chance,” he laughs, I’ve only got about nine cases of those — you better come today or there won’t be any left. How many do you want?”

Well, I want four or five cases, so it seems like there is plenty for me, but it makes me wonder: Are people thronging to this jar sale? Am I going to be left out?

Then he proceeds to quiz me on what I’m going to use the jars for. My answers (pickles, jams, salsas) meet only halfway approval. He is skeptical. I try to laugh it off and explain I also am interested in seeing some of his more decorative vintage jars. Again, I get the third degree.

“I won’t sell ’em to you if you’re using them for wedding candles or something and are just going to throw them away. You’ve got to understand, these are jars of quality.”

I reassure him. I get long and very detailed directions to his house.

Then he tells me to bring boxes. And he tells me exactly what kind of boxes to bring: whiskey bottle boxes and chardonnay boxes — with dividers. “Stop at the liquor store on your way,” he orders. “I won’t sell you any jars if you don’t have the right kind of boxes. And if your boxes are dirty, you’re not getting any jars.” Wow. Okay, now I want more than ever to meet this guy with the jars. I tell him I’ll be there around noon. J.D.’s up for the adventure and we pick up Rhonda, who actually knows a lot about jars and has a varied collection of her own, and head east. [J.D.’s note: Rhonda actually has a book about jars, a price guide. She’s the one who is obsessed.]

Upon arrival, I ring the doorbell. The three of us look up at a voice coming from the upstairs window and see a bearded face peering down. “I’m Kris,” I say, “I called about the jars.”

“Oh! You’re early! Let me put some pants on!” The time is exactly 11:53. We are seven minutes early.

Once he meets us at the garage, the jar-man’s first words are, “Let me see your boxes.” I cringe.

We have two boxes with dividers from my basement, but the boxes from the liquor store (which we were amazed was even open on a Sunday) are divider-less. For a moment, all hangs in the balance, and I fear he will turn us away. I hold my breath. But hurray, the boxes are at least clean and he permits us to stay and buy his jars.

For the next two hours, we hear more than we ever wanted to know about jars, lids to jars, boxes for jars, where to find old jars, how to clean jars, how to protect jars, what to use certain types of jars for, and so on. The jar-man knows jars. He is seemingly torn between the necessity of selling the jars (this appears to be his livelihood) and the overwhelming desire to keep every jar currently in his garage (which he numbers at 4000). We learn that Oregon is a much better source of old jars than his previous state of residence, California. And we learn why.

Boxes of jars and loose jars fill the garage. To show us the contents of any particular box involves moving the loose jars stacked on top of the boxes. When Rhonda and I try to help, he takes the jars from our hands. Wisely, J.D. (who is not clumsy), gets out of the way and assumes the task of carefully packing our purchased jars into our boxes according to the jar-man’s instructions (involving newspaper, strips of corrugated and brown paper sacks). We are not allowed to take the jar-man’s boxes, which are of a type that is not longer produced. I don’t really blame him, but it makes the purchasing and packing process very long.

Rhonda and I both choose some modern jars for canning and take a look at various types of run-of-the-mill vintage jars. The jar-man keeps a handwritten tally of our purchases.

After a while, the jar-man decides we are okay. He takes us inside to see the “good jars”. This is what Rhonda was hoping for. It appears he does actually have some rare collectible jars, but as he proudly shows them to us, one by one, he seems to decide they cannot be sold. Each jar is special and precious, and cannot be parted with. In the end, he does sell Rhonda two nice jars, not especially rare, but for a good price.

Time drags on and now I have seen enough to know which jars I want, but getting them is another story. It takes me almost another hour to wheedle and cajole him into releasing the jars. It is while he is tallying my purchases that I notice he is wearing two different shoes, both repaired. I can barely keep from laughing. Also, I keep noticing that for such an odd man, he appears to have surprisingly good teeth. I think at this point I am delirious for lack of lunch.

We make our way to the car but the jar-man follows, telling the tale of an old woman who has a monster load of jars, but she won’t sell them to him. “She thinks they’re worth way too much,” he sneers, “but wait till she drops dead. Her people will sell me the jars for cheap.” J.D. starts the engine, but the jar-man is still clinging to my open door. I make a move for the handle and he gets the message. I shout, “Thanks! Thanks for the great jars.” And I’m not kidding.

I am very happy with my jars; they are just what I was looking for, at a reasonable price, clean and in good shape. And although jar-man was odd, I sort of admire him. What a passion for jars! I imagine his frugal lifestyle, completely supported by jar commerce. Not a bad way to live. Now I really know what it’s like to be obsessed with jars.

[J.D.’s note: Two hours at the jar-man’s house was far too long for me, especially since I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I zoned out by taking in my surroundings. He had amazing tomato plants. And peppers. And nine eggplants. His home was sparesely furnished. The living room had red shag carpet, a seldom-used sectional, a stack of vinyl records, and boxes filled with rare jars. On the side of his fridge he kept a calendar on which he recorded the temperature three times each day, as well as the overall weather conditions and the amount of rainfall. The jar-man apparently did a lot of canning himself; his shelves were full of jams and jellies and pickles. His lawn needed to be mowed.]

What Do Teachers Really Make?

It’s been a long time now since Kris taught high school. Back then I used to joke that her students muttered behind her back, “Ms. Gates is such a bitch.” The truth is I was proud of her. She did a damn fine job, and I could tell.

A few months ago I took a phone call at Custom Box Service form a young man in Chicago. We got to talking, and it turns out he grew up in Canby, and graduated from high school during the late 1990s. “Oh,” I said. “Did you have Ms. Gates for chemistry or physics?”

“Yes,” he said.

“She’s my wife,” I said. “I’m her husband.”

He went from business-like to gushing in the space of a breath. “Omigosh,” he said. “Ms. Gates was awesome. She was the best teacher I ever had.” He raved about her, as do all of her students when I encounter them in real-life.

This video reminds me of Kris and her years as a teacher:

It also reminds me of a certain band teacher I know.

Unrelaxing Weekend

What a long, unrestful weekend! I’m not saying it was bad — there just wasn’t any time to read, write, or relax.

A large part of this was due to our annual neighborhood garage sale. This year our guest sellers were Will, Marla, and Tiffany. Day one went very well — we sold $290 of stuff (compared to $153.25 on the same day in 2006, and $123.50 in 2005). Friday we collected $172.75 (compared to $206 in 2005). But Saturday was a bomb.

Saturday dawned cold and wet. We couldn’t set up in the driveway, so we held our sale in the dungeon-like garage. Few people drove by, and even fewer stopped. We only sold $11.25 before we closed up shop at 2 p.m. My total wasn’t bad — $295, thanks to heavier-than-normal book sales — but nobody else broke $100. After talking with neighbors, we think that the rain and the Rose Festival combined to put a damper on things. Nobody on the street did well this year.

When we weren’t selling our old junk, we were busy being social. On Friday night, Kris had the WITCHes over for dinner. WITCHes == Women in Teaching at Canby High School — Sue, Linda, and Coleen were three of Kris’ closest friends when she was teaching, and the group still gets together several times a year. (Tiffany joined us Friday, too.)

After we packed up, Andrew and Joann stopped by for a chat. They were up from San Francisco to spend a long weekend taking in the Rose Festival. We had hoped to join them for dinner with Dave and Karen, but scheduling conflicts prevented such a happy feast. Instead we shared a pot of hot Thai tea and talked about travel. (Andrew travels a lot for work, and was able to impart some good tips for our upcoming trip to Europe.)

On Saturday evening, we gathered at Vildana’s house in Aloha to discuss this month’s book group pick, Three Cups of Tea. Opinion was divided. Most of us thought the book was okay, but some (Courtney) loved it and others hated it. I thought the story was okay, but that it was needlessly padded, and that the writing style was gratuitously descriptive. (“This guy has never met an adjective he didn’t like,” I said.) I felt that this might have made a strong essay in Harper’s or The New Yorker, but that as a book it was rather weak.

We were supposed to host the garage sale on Sunday, too, but Kris and I didn’t feel like fighting the intermittent showers. Besides, we hadn’t had any time to ourselves.

We got a slow start on our day, but it took a turn into the twilight zone when Amy Jo forwarded a Craigslist ad for canning jars. Our day was sidetracked by an excursion (with Rhonda) to the home of Jim, the jar fanatic. Kris has promised to write the story of our experience, so I won’t elaborate here. When we arrived home, we had an hour to unwind before heading down to Hubbard for the MNF movie night.

Ron and Kara did a great job of turning their hay loft into a movie theater. They hung a sheet on the wall, set out movie popcorn and candy, and used a video projector to show Charlotte’s Web for the kids. Actually, it was only the adults who watched the movie. The kids watched a part of it, but most of them spent the evening climbing and leaping over the hay mound. (Maren, Daphne, and Diego all sat through the entire film, though.)

“You know,” I said on our drive home. “I didn’t write a single thing all weekend.”

“I know,” said Kris.

“That means most of my week is going to be spent writing,” I said.

“I know,” said Kris.

Writing has become real work! But I love it.

My Comic Book Conundrum

I’m facing a dilemma. I want to collect the Marvel Comics I knew and loved as a kid, but I’ve turned into a tightwad. (Actually, I’m not a tightwad — I’ve just become more sensible about the way I use my money.) There are several ways I could go about maintaining this collection, each with its own distinct advantages and disadvantages.

The four methods I could use to build my collection are:

  1. Collect the actual comics. I could buy the old comic books I remember reading as a kid. Most of these are available at a reasonable price — a couple bucks each — but some would cost $40 or $50 of dollars, even for reading copies. By collecting individual comics, I could pick up just the issues I read and loved as a kid. This method would provide the best tactile experience — there’s nothing like holding (and smelling) and old comic — but it would also take the most space. My collection of actual comics is pretty weak at the moment.
  2. Collect the hardbound color editions. Marvel publishes a series of hardback books called Marvel Masterworks. Each book collects roughly ten issues in a restored format. These are beautiful books, but they retail for $50 each. (They can be acquired for $25-$35 each with careful shopping.) I already own about fifty of these volumes (about 80 have been published, with another one coming every month), and have paid about $28/each for them. I’m wary of damaging these books: I don’t want to read them in the bathub. I don’t want to read them while eating. They take a lot of space. Some are highly collectible right now, going for big bucks on eBay. (Though with a reprint program about to begin, these prices are going to drop quickly.) The Masterworks only reprint a very limited part of the Marvel library, primarily material from before I was reading comics.
  3. Collect paperback black-and-white reprints. Marvel also publishes a series of reprints called The Essentials. A volume of Essential Spider-Man might reprint 25 issues of old comics in black-and-white. Each of these volumes retails for about $17, though they can be purchased for about $12 online. I have several dozen of these, but there are dozens more I haven’t purchased. Nearly anything that has been published as a Masterwork has also been published as an Essential. These are great books to read in the tub or over a bowl of breakfast cereal. They’re fun to read. There’s a wider range of material available, too, including a lot of minor titles, and a lot of material from the late 1970s when I was actively reading comics.
  4. Buy comics on DVD. Marvel has begun producing DVDs that collect their core titles. Each $40 DVD holds every comic ever printed for a particular title. For example, the Fantastic Four DVD holds 40 years of the comic book. These are actual scans of the comics, so aside from reading them on your computer, it’s as close to the real thing as a person can get. There are two huge advantages to this method: cost and completeness. But let’s not forget the space advantage, too. There’s no shelf space required for comics ripped to a hard drive. There are some big disadvantages to DVDs, too: only core titles are being collected so far (with Ghost Rider being the sole exception). Also, these discs must be viewed on a computer.

I honestly have no idea which way to take my collection. The only option I know I’m not going to choose is to purchase the original comics. I have no interest in that. So which of the other three options should I choose?

I could sell my Masterworks for a modest amount of money ($1250?), but it would take time and effort. The proceeds would easily fund DVDs as replacements. I could also sell my essentials, but they’re unlikely to fetch much money at all.

If I decide to continue collecting Masterworks — I haven’t purchased a new one in almost a year — then I’m committing to spent about $35 a month on them. Essentials would only run about $24 a month. DVDs would be one-time expenses of about $40 each time a new title was released, which is apparently every three months or so. I only expect a small number of titles to be released on DVD.

Video Killed the Radio Star

“Video Killed the Radio Star” by The Buggles was one of my favorite songs when I was in high school. I loved it because of its sweet poignancy, not because I think it’s kitschy. Browsing YouTube, I found a zillion video clips of the song. Here are some of the best.

First, the original:

Here, 25 years later after the original, a liver version from The Buggles (in which the opening sounds very Spandau Ballet-esque!). This version is actually very good. Uptempo!:

Here’s the version by The Presidents of the United States of America, used in the film The Wedding Singer:

I like this live cover by a band called The Feeling:

Here’s a remixed dance version:

This guy calls himself Duke Special. Apparently he has a little following. He sounds promising. (Here’s Duke singing “Tainted Love”.

“Video Killed The Radio Star” played on the theremin by Jon Bernhardt at the Ethermusic 2005 festival in Asheville, NC, August, 2005. Video shot by Jason Barile of thereminworld.com:

Finally, here’s my favorite version of the bunch. I’ll quote smileypen, who posted it to YouTube:

I was roaming Balboa Park before a wedding and this three piece band caught my attention. A small boy with an upright bass, a bespectacled giant with a mandolin, and an unassuming girl with a harp. They call themselves The Wrong Trousers. Talk about odd choices in musical instruments. But they have tremendous talent. Their style won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but there’s no denying they know their instruments and are comppletely unique. These kids are still in high school! A good size crowd had formed and they were getting lots of cash donations.

I agree. I love these kids.