Friday, April 11, 2008
Big nights out
M and B survived the paraphysical intact, and probably did better than expected. I ended up coming in at a feathery 182. M, as usual, sailed through her tests and by 7am we were out the door. All in all, a positive experience. Hopefully we’ll get the results back soon. Once we got to work, the hits kept on coming. M got a great report card from work and a celebration was due. So what do two swingin cats do to really cut loose in G-town on a Wednesday night? There really was only one option – Applebees followed by Barnes & Noble! It appeared this was the preferred feeding time/place for small children and retirees since we were the only young childless people in our section. Maybe they heard we liked to throw food or something. Anyway, we dug into an ‘ultimate trio’ of mini burgers, honey bbq chicken chunks and spinach-artichoke dip. Now this would have been a good time to stop chowing, since I was already feeling full and somewhat dizzy. The multi-week fruit and veggie binge had apparently worked too well, purging my body of unnatural foods and this was a reaction to the megadose of flavor I was giving it. But then I decided to really tempt the furies and go for the ‘Grilled Shrimp Pesto Alfredo Fettuccine by Tyler Florence’. The menu reads: Tender shrimp is tossed with signature spices and served with basil pesto Alfredo fettuccine, grape tomatoes and Italian cheeses. Top it all off with shaved Parmesan and sun-dried tomato focaccia bread. Translation: Shrimp with spices and butter and cheese, served with pasta and 3 more cheeses. That’s 4 cheeses in one meal. Where are the cheeses you ask? Pesto usually includes parmesan, Alfredo is basically cream and cheese, then the top it with ‘Italian Cheeses’ and more shaved parmesan. It wasn’t white tablecloth, but it fit the bill and I ate the whole thing way too fast. M wisely ate two bites of her entrée and saved the rest for a week’s worth of lunches. Then we tried out a restaurant concept called ‘dessert shooters’, which we had seen on a different occasion. It’s basically a shotglass filled with cake and cream, but for $2, it beats scarfing down a whole new plate of desert pleasure when all you want is a few bites. So we each hit up one of those and headed out for the bookstore for self-presents of the long-term variety. While the shrimp/cheese bomb didn’t kill me, I have been extremely thirsty for the last 2 days. Today I decided to see exactly what I had eaten, but Applebees doesn’t publish that type of information, so I had to assemble a list from other sources. Olive Garden Fettucine Alfredo (lunch portion) 850 cal, Anonymous Sauteed Shrimp (unspecified size) 280 cal, Anonymous Focaccia 110 cal. Apple’s does publish the dessert shooter info, albeit generically, as 300 cal per shot. So that’s, at a minimum, 1540 calories in one sitting. Not the worst thing I have eaten, but that’s at least twice what were the largest meals that I had been eating since Thanksgiving. Then last night I wolfed down a delicious and nutritious helping of chicken fingers, spicy fries, coca-cola, salted peanuts and soft serve ice cream - giddyup. What inspired such a louche menu? That’s right, B and M went to the Red Sox. This was something M had wanted to do since before the Sawx broke the curse, but I had really punted on every chance I had to get tickets. M does a great job on vacation planning , but I tend to not be so good at homeland adventures. This was a chance to redeem myself, and we had a sublime night for a ballgame. Gametime temp was 69 and the seats we had were better than they appeared at first, with ready access to the food items listed above. There was also ready access to the beer taps, which the crowd around us attacked with a vigor. By the 7th inning, I don’t think anyone was running for the windows when they closed. The severe dip in temperatures combined with 7 innings of two fisted imbibing had taken it’s toll and the seats around us were filled with heads nodding off. We did have to leave a little before it finished, given our geographic disadvantage and the fact that I do get up rather early to make it to work on time, but we had an excellent time. While I was waiting for M near the St. Mary’s green line stop, I had the chance to witness one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. A chap got off the green line right in front of me and went to get a cup of coffee. Actually it was a blind (and possibly deaf – he had something in his ears and didn’t acknowledge me when I offered to assist him) guy who negotiated some very steep stairs off the trolley, then walked down the platform, crossed busy subway tracks with no “it’s safe” walk signal or sound to the platform on the other side, walked all the way down that, crossed Beacon street at a crosswalk on the signal with no audible “walk” chirp, took a right down the sidewalk and then went into Dunkin’ Donuts! He got his cane caught up a few times with lightposts, bicycle racks and some grills for sale in front of a hardware store, but this was amazing. He wasn’t just someone with extremely bad eyesight – he wasn’t looking anywhere near the objects he was feeling his way around. There was another woman watching this with me and we were mesmerized. It’s up there with seeing a blind guy with a dog negotiating the south station redline stair maze while they were under construction and there were detours and temporary walkways everywhere. I don’t know how the dog knew where to go. Maybe their training has reached a level where German Shepherds can read spray painted arrows? If my description above doesn’t adequately describe the degree of difficulty of what this guy did, see my high tech and detailed map below. And have a sunny weekend, because it’s going to be raining here, again. Another golfless weekend for B (if you don’t count the toonamint in Augusta)
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Can't think of a title
Sorry for the long absence, folks. I don’t really have an excuse. There have been some structural changes at work, some homefront activities and a few travel days mixed in, but that’s no excuse for the lack of quality reading material. So I’m going to let loose with a little ground n pound here – I can’t really predict where this is going to go or where it’s going to end, only that it could be long, so I hope you don’t have anything to do for the next 15 minutes or so.
First of all – M and I have a paraphysical coming for our upcoming life insurance underwriting. We were informed that this was a minimally invasive process – someone comes in, takes some fluids and some measurements and we’re done. Then the monks get out the actuary tables and predict if they’re going to lose the monthly “We’ll bet you tons of cash that you’re not going to croak this month, and if you lose that bet, well you owe us $200. Every month. For thirty years. And then all of a sudden they don’t want to make that bet anymore. Check in with me when I’m 60 and ask how I feel about that one. There’s a saying that compulsive gamblers have –“The longer it doesn’t, the sooner it’s gonna”. I think the wisdom is that eventually, if you keep at it, your long odds bets will come home to roost. Based on the terms of this particular wager, I take it insurance companies also adhere to that wisdom. Going hand in hand with the poke and prod is the weigh-in. I haven’t been weighed officially in a few years. I think I was in at about 195 or so when a board certified physician last did one. Since then, I’ve jumped to a high of 208 and hovered in between those numbers, depending on the time of year and amount of physical activity I have been subjected to. At one point in our courtship, M and I were buying clothes and I had a pair of pants that I was ready to buy. M asked what size they were and they were a 38. What can I say? My existing trousers were a little snug and I had an eye towards the future. M didn’t approve of that message, so we cut back on the diner breakfasts and started making better lunches and magically I no longer needed the 38s. Then we were going to get life insurance soon after we got married. M found out that if I weighed 180 or in the area of that, we could save some serious money over the 30 years gentlemen’s agreement. 180 is a hard number (cue fuzzy focus and ‘going back in time’ music), I graduated from high school weighing 185 and I was a competitive lacrosse player and cross country runner who hadn’t had a taste of the outside world yet. By Christmas of my freshman year of college, I was well into the 200s, probably north of 210 and gaining momentum. Everyone around me was swelling like a barbecued bratwurst, so I didn’t really notice. It was a lethal combination of sloth, indulgence and experimentation that put me on this path. I don’t know where I peaked, but I remember only 2 pairs of pants fitting me and one of them was missing a button on the waist. I wore athletic shorts that entire spring because they had the fat man’s helper – the stretchy waist. That spring, someone in my family poked me in the belly like the poppin fresh doughboy I had become. Determined to get myself in beach shape for the fam’s annual Jersey shore adventure, I bought a jumprope and dusted off the old weight bench and got to work. I think most of the excess was malted hops and barley, so as soon as I wasn’t bathing in that, the weight dropped quickly. I had learned my lesson and stayed around the same weight for a while. A few years after that, there was a family feats of strength contest where my younger brother and I got into it about who could do more pushups. I had no idea how many I could do, but I suspect he knew his limits, because I crapped out in the teens somewhere and he powered through until I forced him with gravity and extreme prejudice to stop. I think he was trying to impress his new lady friend (now wife) and he succeeded in humiliating me. I immediately undertook a Rocky IV style regimen of secret pushups and pullups to get myself ready for the next contest, which sadly will probably not happen. I stuck with this unorthodox and irregular program for a few years and I always felt better after I did it. We’re somewhere in 1999-2001 at this point. I have moved away from home to experience ‘real life’ and experience it I did. It was freshman year all over again, except I had money in my pocket and one of my roommates was practicing for his future career as a chef. We never got the deep fryer, but I did need new clothes. My employer at the time was offering a gym membership for a reasonable price and the gym had many locations which were convenient from work and home so I decided to join. I had no idea what I was doing, but I didn’t have a regularly scheduled social life to speak of and it was better (in theory) than sitting home and playing Grand Theft Auto. The funny thing was, it was actually something I started to look forward to. The results were slow at first and I didn’t get on any supplements or shakes, but it was a great way to burn energy and stay somewhat active. Fast forward a bit and I had moved back where my parents live and the gym was at the end of my commute, so what better way to get rid of that work and commuter stress than repetitively lifting heavy iron weights? At this point though, I wasn’t losing any weight. The homemade meals were of the infamous ‘Mom’ portions and I wasn’t doing anything to regulate what I was eating or drinking, so I just started to swell up. My golf swing got all screwed up by the new geometry of my body. Not that it was championship caliber before, but this was an unpleasant symptom. I was teetering on the dangerous ground of no longer just pursuing this as an activity and making it a goal-oriented part of my life. Fortunately, I moved back to Boston to resume my sedentary lifestyle before I started wearing tight black t-shirts and going tanning. Fast forward another 18 months and I’m trying to buy size 38s. Having a serious relationship meant sharing my accumulated knowledge of the local eating establishments and then attempting to duplicate these at home with the requisite butter and cheese ‘improvements’. My better half did reign in our growth with the introduction of smaller plates (genius) and saving portions for lunch and leftovers (a novel idea). The big test was going to be the cruise we were taking. I had read all about the pasty Midwesterners fighting over endless macaroni and cheese and shrimp cocktail and I was worried that when confronted with unlimited food options, I would display my binge consumption abilities, but this was not the case. By now I was a food snob and mostly stuck to what wouldn’t make me ill. There was one huge development, though and that was the ship’s rock climbing wall. M and I went to the wall (really some fiberglass nubs bolted to the ship’s smokestack to hide it) to evaluate it and maybe give it a try. I watch some jabroni who brought all his own gear – seriously, who brings rock climbing gear on a Caribbean cruise? – scamper up the ‘hard’ section, then the rock wall helpers basically dared me to try, so I strapped it on and attempted the 2nd hardest section. I have no idea why this seemed appropriate, but I made it. Barely. Every muscle in my body hurt afterwards in a way that I hadn’t felt in since high school. I didn’t think I was in shape by any means, but this was a big red flag that I was definitely out of it. Time to resume secret workouts. It is a well established fact that M takes a nightly ‘constitutional’ in the shower just about every night. This leaves me with approximately 45 minutes to do whatever I want with. For a while, this became known as ‘Shower Snack time’, when I would raid the kitchen for whatever I could find. M knew this had happened by the chocolate or crumbs on my shirt after a pillaging of the cabinets. Shower Snack has been replaced by ‘Monkey Bars’ after the homemade rig I assembled from steel cable, half-inch steel pipe, athletic tape and a 4” hook screwed into a rafter in the loft. I suppose to the casual observer, it looks like a monkey swinging around, but it was really a super-secret regimen designed to get me into wedding/insurance shape. That and no longer loading up on free chips in the work kitchen. For the most part it’s worked. I had to replace the wedding pants I had originally purchased because they were hanging a little low. I even created a travel set of monkey bars consisting of nylon rope and some old belts. I figured going through the airport with 15 feet of steel cable and taped up pipe was a little suspicious. At least bundled rope can plausibly be described as a ‘personal interest’. I can now turn a small-sized hotel room into a gym in about 5 minutes. So the Monkey Bars phase has been in place for just over a year now and I weighed in this weekend at 188. I have a realistic shot at 185 by Thursday. I’m not going to go out and run 20 miles or anything, but it’s possible to get back to a weight that I haven’t seen in more than 10 years, which is remarkable. My dad was supposedly 155 when he got married. Maybe the cold-war food rationing was in effect or he was a nervous wreck, but 155 is real small. I don’t know what I would look like if I weighed 155. I think my chest hair and big toe nails alone weigh 9 lbs. Another 30 lbs would mean losing a leg or something and I am not ready to commit to that.
In a completely unrelated and different track, a lot of people I know are makin’ babies. I have been enjoying the post-wedding pre-kids phase very much so far. These people jumped past that and into advanced marriage right away. M is going to be a cousin once removed in a few months. One of my roommates from college just told me he’s having a little one in October, there’s my manager, next door neighbor, 2 friends I used to work with and at least 6 more here at work. I know I’m getting to that age, and this is what people do, but it is all a little strange for me. I have friends who already have kids, and they seem to be the same guys. But their kids will never know that daddy once (censored) or mommy used to (censored). I am thinking about starting a pool where M and I bet various household chores on who can guess the next announcement. I know a few people have us in their own pools, but once again, the wagon is for utility and it’s good in the snow! Not for hauling little B’s or M’s around… yet.
In Bandmeltun news, out in the exurbs – you know, the reason for the blog - we have created a list of household projects for the spring. We’re going to improve the herb garden from last year and even attempt some more aggressive vegetable growing. We’ve done the annual living room re-org and included the guest bedroom in a little furniture swap. There was a headboard project completed and there are signage and clock projects in the works. There will be some painting and possibly some acquisitions, but nothing from the G-town flea market. M and I went there last weekend, looking for some treasures like I see on Antiques Roadshow and we got a bunch of carnies and gas huffers selling Nintendo games (not even the n-64, but the old school 8-bit ones), moldy belts, ninja swords and scary cat-themed arts and crafts. Sometimes I forget how out there we have chosen to live. I joke about driving the Subaru on the towns’ existing dirt roads (there are a few here), and I enjoy driving on the back roads to see the cows and horses. I haven’t fully embraced that in areas where it is acceptable to raise livestock, the lower edges of the townie economy are going to be populated by some unusual characters. Needless to say, our treasure hunting days in town are limited. We’ve also got some trips planned – Italy and Greece in the fall and Germany around Christmastime. You’ll be sure to hear about and see some scenes from those adventures, hopefully in a somewhat shorter chapter. So if you’re still there, thank you for tuning in and see you again sometime soon…
First of all – M and I have a paraphysical coming for our upcoming life insurance underwriting. We were informed that this was a minimally invasive process – someone comes in, takes some fluids and some measurements and we’re done. Then the monks get out the actuary tables and predict if they’re going to lose the monthly “We’ll bet you tons of cash that you’re not going to croak this month, and if you lose that bet, well you owe us $200. Every month. For thirty years. And then all of a sudden they don’t want to make that bet anymore. Check in with me when I’m 60 and ask how I feel about that one. There’s a saying that compulsive gamblers have –“The longer it doesn’t, the sooner it’s gonna”. I think the wisdom is that eventually, if you keep at it, your long odds bets will come home to roost. Based on the terms of this particular wager, I take it insurance companies also adhere to that wisdom. Going hand in hand with the poke and prod is the weigh-in. I haven’t been weighed officially in a few years. I think I was in at about 195 or so when a board certified physician last did one. Since then, I’ve jumped to a high of 208 and hovered in between those numbers, depending on the time of year and amount of physical activity I have been subjected to. At one point in our courtship, M and I were buying clothes and I had a pair of pants that I was ready to buy. M asked what size they were and they were a 38. What can I say? My existing trousers were a little snug and I had an eye towards the future. M didn’t approve of that message, so we cut back on the diner breakfasts and started making better lunches and magically I no longer needed the 38s. Then we were going to get life insurance soon after we got married. M found out that if I weighed 180 or in the area of that, we could save some serious money over the 30 years gentlemen’s agreement. 180 is a hard number (cue fuzzy focus and ‘going back in time’ music), I graduated from high school weighing 185 and I was a competitive lacrosse player and cross country runner who hadn’t had a taste of the outside world yet. By Christmas of my freshman year of college, I was well into the 200s, probably north of 210 and gaining momentum. Everyone around me was swelling like a barbecued bratwurst, so I didn’t really notice. It was a lethal combination of sloth, indulgence and experimentation that put me on this path. I don’t know where I peaked, but I remember only 2 pairs of pants fitting me and one of them was missing a button on the waist. I wore athletic shorts that entire spring because they had the fat man’s helper – the stretchy waist. That spring, someone in my family poked me in the belly like the poppin fresh doughboy I had become. Determined to get myself in beach shape for the fam’s annual Jersey shore adventure, I bought a jumprope and dusted off the old weight bench and got to work. I think most of the excess was malted hops and barley, so as soon as I wasn’t bathing in that, the weight dropped quickly. I had learned my lesson and stayed around the same weight for a while. A few years after that, there was a family feats of strength contest where my younger brother and I got into it about who could do more pushups. I had no idea how many I could do, but I suspect he knew his limits, because I crapped out in the teens somewhere and he powered through until I forced him with gravity and extreme prejudice to stop. I think he was trying to impress his new lady friend (now wife) and he succeeded in humiliating me. I immediately undertook a Rocky IV style regimen of secret pushups and pullups to get myself ready for the next contest, which sadly will probably not happen. I stuck with this unorthodox and irregular program for a few years and I always felt better after I did it. We’re somewhere in 1999-2001 at this point. I have moved away from home to experience ‘real life’ and experience it I did. It was freshman year all over again, except I had money in my pocket and one of my roommates was practicing for his future career as a chef. We never got the deep fryer, but I did need new clothes. My employer at the time was offering a gym membership for a reasonable price and the gym had many locations which were convenient from work and home so I decided to join. I had no idea what I was doing, but I didn’t have a regularly scheduled social life to speak of and it was better (in theory) than sitting home and playing Grand Theft Auto. The funny thing was, it was actually something I started to look forward to. The results were slow at first and I didn’t get on any supplements or shakes, but it was a great way to burn energy and stay somewhat active. Fast forward a bit and I had moved back where my parents live and the gym was at the end of my commute, so what better way to get rid of that work and commuter stress than repetitively lifting heavy iron weights? At this point though, I wasn’t losing any weight. The homemade meals were of the infamous ‘Mom’ portions and I wasn’t doing anything to regulate what I was eating or drinking, so I just started to swell up. My golf swing got all screwed up by the new geometry of my body. Not that it was championship caliber before, but this was an unpleasant symptom. I was teetering on the dangerous ground of no longer just pursuing this as an activity and making it a goal-oriented part of my life. Fortunately, I moved back to Boston to resume my sedentary lifestyle before I started wearing tight black t-shirts and going tanning. Fast forward another 18 months and I’m trying to buy size 38s. Having a serious relationship meant sharing my accumulated knowledge of the local eating establishments and then attempting to duplicate these at home with the requisite butter and cheese ‘improvements’. My better half did reign in our growth with the introduction of smaller plates (genius) and saving portions for lunch and leftovers (a novel idea). The big test was going to be the cruise we were taking. I had read all about the pasty Midwesterners fighting over endless macaroni and cheese and shrimp cocktail and I was worried that when confronted with unlimited food options, I would display my binge consumption abilities, but this was not the case. By now I was a food snob and mostly stuck to what wouldn’t make me ill. There was one huge development, though and that was the ship’s rock climbing wall. M and I went to the wall (really some fiberglass nubs bolted to the ship’s smokestack to hide it) to evaluate it and maybe give it a try. I watch some jabroni who brought all his own gear – seriously, who brings rock climbing gear on a Caribbean cruise? – scamper up the ‘hard’ section, then the rock wall helpers basically dared me to try, so I strapped it on and attempted the 2nd hardest section. I have no idea why this seemed appropriate, but I made it. Barely. Every muscle in my body hurt afterwards in a way that I hadn’t felt in since high school. I didn’t think I was in shape by any means, but this was a big red flag that I was definitely out of it. Time to resume secret workouts. It is a well established fact that M takes a nightly ‘constitutional’ in the shower just about every night. This leaves me with approximately 45 minutes to do whatever I want with. For a while, this became known as ‘Shower Snack time’, when I would raid the kitchen for whatever I could find. M knew this had happened by the chocolate or crumbs on my shirt after a pillaging of the cabinets. Shower Snack has been replaced by ‘Monkey Bars’ after the homemade rig I assembled from steel cable, half-inch steel pipe, athletic tape and a 4” hook screwed into a rafter in the loft. I suppose to the casual observer, it looks like a monkey swinging around, but it was really a super-secret regimen designed to get me into wedding/insurance shape. That and no longer loading up on free chips in the work kitchen. For the most part it’s worked. I had to replace the wedding pants I had originally purchased because they were hanging a little low. I even created a travel set of monkey bars consisting of nylon rope and some old belts. I figured going through the airport with 15 feet of steel cable and taped up pipe was a little suspicious. At least bundled rope can plausibly be described as a ‘personal interest’. I can now turn a small-sized hotel room into a gym in about 5 minutes. So the Monkey Bars phase has been in place for just over a year now and I weighed in this weekend at 188. I have a realistic shot at 185 by Thursday. I’m not going to go out and run 20 miles or anything, but it’s possible to get back to a weight that I haven’t seen in more than 10 years, which is remarkable. My dad was supposedly 155 when he got married. Maybe the cold-war food rationing was in effect or he was a nervous wreck, but 155 is real small. I don’t know what I would look like if I weighed 155. I think my chest hair and big toe nails alone weigh 9 lbs. Another 30 lbs would mean losing a leg or something and I am not ready to commit to that.
In a completely unrelated and different track, a lot of people I know are makin’ babies. I have been enjoying the post-wedding pre-kids phase very much so far. These people jumped past that and into advanced marriage right away. M is going to be a cousin once removed in a few months. One of my roommates from college just told me he’s having a little one in October, there’s my manager, next door neighbor, 2 friends I used to work with and at least 6 more here at work. I know I’m getting to that age, and this is what people do, but it is all a little strange for me. I have friends who already have kids, and they seem to be the same guys. But their kids will never know that daddy once (censored) or mommy used to (censored). I am thinking about starting a pool where M and I bet various household chores on who can guess the next announcement. I know a few people have us in their own pools, but once again, the wagon is for utility and it’s good in the snow! Not for hauling little B’s or M’s around… yet.
In Bandmeltun news, out in the exurbs – you know, the reason for the blog - we have created a list of household projects for the spring. We’re going to improve the herb garden from last year and even attempt some more aggressive vegetable growing. We’ve done the annual living room re-org and included the guest bedroom in a little furniture swap. There was a headboard project completed and there are signage and clock projects in the works. There will be some painting and possibly some acquisitions, but nothing from the G-town flea market. M and I went there last weekend, looking for some treasures like I see on Antiques Roadshow and we got a bunch of carnies and gas huffers selling Nintendo games (not even the n-64, but the old school 8-bit ones), moldy belts, ninja swords and scary cat-themed arts and crafts. Sometimes I forget how out there we have chosen to live. I joke about driving the Subaru on the towns’ existing dirt roads (there are a few here), and I enjoy driving on the back roads to see the cows and horses. I haven’t fully embraced that in areas where it is acceptable to raise livestock, the lower edges of the townie economy are going to be populated by some unusual characters. Needless to say, our treasure hunting days in town are limited. We’ve also got some trips planned – Italy and Greece in the fall and Germany around Christmastime. You’ll be sure to hear about and see some scenes from those adventures, hopefully in a somewhat shorter chapter. So if you’re still there, thank you for tuning in and see you again sometime soon…
Monday, March 24, 2008
The best laid plans of mice and men
When I was a little kid, I liked to have a plan. I have been told that if I woke up on a day when I didn't have school and thought I did, there would be tears. I find this odd, since for a great period from the time I was really conscious of who I was (or sort of was) until a few years ago, I liked not having a ‘true’ plan. Sure I kept a job and a car, saved a little money for the future but I only sort of had an idea of what I was going to be doing next weekend. My single life was good for ‘Ben’ plans, which was to say, no plans. It was a life of id, although it wasn’t nearly as hedonistic as that sounds, It kept me free to say yes to just about anything that came up. I did this and saw it was good. I didn’t have a plan when I met M. Any formal plan would have been clumsily executed and taken away from my natural quick-wittedness and charm. I needed a plan to be able to get a real house and get married, but anything beyond knowing what was going in and what was going out would have been a stretch. I have since learned to embrace the plan. There have since been a few iterations of various budgets and long term projections and so far, so good. M and I even have Life Insurance. Well sort of. We have it temporarily until we get fully underwritten. It’s even a little liberating knowing what you have to do. I know that’s almost contradictory, but it’s true. And if we want to blow it all up and open a bait shop in Belize, well then como esta?
In the long period of silence since my last post, I have been doing more of the same traveling and work in New York. There was a random flight to Chicago for a day trip, but aside from that, business as usual. On a few of my flights, I have been graced with some finer reading materials left behind by previous flyers. First, US Weekly - Good for a short flight only. I’ve always wanted to get some ‘paparazzi’ photos of M and me taken. Maybe a telephoto shot of me pumping gas with some sweatpants on and 3 days of scruff and one of M with huge sunglasses and a enormous starbucks iced coffee cup walking around with some shopping bags. They could be taken to more extremes and be sort of funny to hang on the walls. This is to be continued, but the magazine is tolerable only in short doses. Next, IP = the journal of intellectual property law http://www.alm.com/almPublication.asp?profile=40. Holy crap was this unreadable. I consider myself to me a semismart and intellectually curious individual and I barely flipped through the entire magazine. It took me 15 minutes to even figure out what the focus of the magazine was. The cover only said ‘IP’, like I was supposed to infer that this was for intellectual property lawyers. I would venture to guess that IP is generally understood by the public to mean ‘Internet Protocol’, but I will bet if you started printing ‘IP’ hats or something, these jackals would come-a-calling. I am sure there’s some irony there that I am not adequately illustrating. The fact that this appears to be very big business has inspired me to develop an arcane and abstract body of knowledge that only I possess knowledge of and therefore can charge exorbitant fees to interpret for the common man. Third on the list is IEEE (Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers) Now this is good reading! My hidden engineer ripped through this one, filled with articles about the next generation of LI-ion batteries and fly-sized flying robots. Even if I understood 4% of what was on the page, at least I was getting something valuable. Lastly is Auto Aficionado – This is another quality magazine, although it’s target audience is clearly not the family man in a 1500 sq/f home. AA detailed the evolution of Porsche’s ferocious 6 cylinder boxer engine, took me though the new Ferrari museum in Maranello, Italy and even mixed in a few advertisements for custom-made garages and limited edition supercars. Conceptually, I knew what was going on, but I don’t think I will ever understand running 800 hp wide open on a private racetrack, so this goes into the same pile as IEEE.
In other news, I heard Spring was here. We switched the clocks and everything, but I had to crank the heated seats this morning. This is not quite grilling weather yet, but that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it. I’ve already got my eye on a hardwood smoker attachment and I’ve located a source for some primal cuts of beef. Now all I have to do is convince M that we need 18 lbs of slow cooked beef brisket...
Monday, March 3, 2008
New snowshoes
The rustic New Englander transformation is almost complete. This weekend M and I traded my Boston-yuppie Saab for a New England-hippie Subaru.
The Saab, while sharp looking and fun to drive, had outlived its time. The miles were low and the car was almost paid off, but like a currency trader watching greenbacks plummet, frequent research saw his long term reliability ratings continue to decline. His warranty was up in April, and the fear of an unplanned and expensive repair loomed large. M was unfamiliar with the drivetrain, and the overall utility of the vehicle was lacking (A Saab that couldn't hold a set of golf clubs in the boot? how is the possible?).
Thus, the search for a new vehicle began last summer. Pending nuptials kept large expenditures to a minimum, but the fair weather did allow for a few dealership visits and research, research, research. There were many requirements, in no meaningful order:
1. Dual Zone climate control. The Saab did introduce us to the days when M would have 80 degree heat blasting and I would have 60 degree air conditioning doing battle. Driving a car that was lacking was a guaranteed failed compromise. Long term happiness in a vehicle lacking this feature was dubious at best.
2. Storage capacity. While the chance to drive my parents' 2nd-hand wagon 'the eggplant' has always been intruiging, L-town is a bit far to go to borrow a vehicle, especially one I have mocked. M's Corrolla has more lateral space than the Saab, and mine was the 'big' vehicle. Unacceptable. Should we procure or procreate another creature, a larger capacity vehicle would also be needed. Getting one now seemed the obvious choice.
3. Automatic transmission. The only way M is learning to drive a stick is if we move to France and they don't make automatics.
4. Safety. The Saab has the highest crash safety ratings of any vehicle in its class. Our future vehicle would have to have the same.
5. Foul Weather Capabilities. In addition to front wheel drive and a manual transmission, the Saab has heft and traction control for getting through the snow and foul weather. The future automobile would need both ground clearance and 4 wheel drive.
6. Economy. With long commutes and frequent road trips, 4 cylinders (maybe 6) was the choice.
7. Reliability. The car would need to be almost maintenance free. It was nice to have on-call mechanics, but the G-town Foreign Motors guy who specializes in Saabs ALWAYS has a full parking lot. He probably drives a Bentley. Consumer Reports agreed with my analysis.
8 Cost. The payment had to be less than the swinging-bachelor payment I had agreed to on the Saab.
Since reliability was the biggest hurdle, we sought out Consumer Reports for their famous no-holds-barred analysis of vehicle reliability. To vet their process, we compared their ratings with our own experiences and those of people we knew and saw that the ratings were uncannily accurate. This was to be our guide. Based on CR's overall ratings, 4 makes of vehicles made the cut; Honda, Toyota, Hyundai and Subaru.
With that sorted, we set out finding models that met our other criteria and came up with a few options: Toyota rav4, Honda Cr-V, Hyundai Santa Fe and the Subaru Forester.
Test drives would tell us the rest. The Cr-V was up first. We had a pleasant expericene with Matt from Herb Chambers Honda Westborough. The Cr-V had been newly redesigned and was flying off the lots. It was nice enough, although it was much bigger than either of our existing cars and the model in our range didn't come with some of the nicer options. The Rav4 was similar. Although it did come with a more stylish body, the interior was a little too much like a spaceship. The next trip was to Patrick Subaru in Shrewsbury, where we drove the Forester. Our salesman was rude and not knowledgeable. While we enjoyed the car very much, no business was going to be transacted there. Bad experience aside, we were more comfortable with the car-like handling and visibility of the Forester than the mini-truck attributes of the Rav4 and Cr-V. Based on that we took a pass on the Hyundai.
By now the wedding was upon us and we were going to have to take a break from car shopping.
Fast forward to February. My Saab needed new tires and had even developed a rust spot on the roof. The heat was balky and the looming April warranty expiry put things into motion. The intervening months had given us some insight to the Forester demographic, which was about 30 years older than we were. It's an old lady car. With lots of pets. By this time, a business trip allowed me to drive another Subaru, an Outback, and I reported a positive experience. An outback fit the reliability and storage categories, so this was selected as the proposed solution.
M's research and word of mouth brought us to Planet Subaru of Hanover. We had seen their online inventory and they had a couple of candidates in their posession. Bob was our helper (they didn't hire car salesman at Planet and had a funny name for them). Our foreknowledge eliminated the 'so what can I get you into' phase and brought us immediately to test drive. The outback was sporty, stable and had lots of visibility. The base model does not come with dual zone climate control, so we had opted for a higher trim package that came with heated seats, which M had by now discovered and was enjoying. We had decided to go the used route because buying new was a known and unecessary money suck and with the documented reliability of the car, a year of driving (hopefully) wasn't going to cost us too much down the road. We also decided to buy outright rather than lease. We plan on driving this car until the wheels fall off.
There was one other big factor in buying this particular car. It's a station wagon. I have secretly loved the sport wagon since it appeared on the scene. Even little wagons always get a point and a shout when we are on the road. I attribute it to my parents, who raised me on a steady diet of wagons. Except I'm not calling it a wagon. It's an 'estate'...
The Saab, while sharp looking and fun to drive, had outlived its time. The miles were low and the car was almost paid off, but like a currency trader watching greenbacks plummet, frequent research saw his long term reliability ratings continue to decline. His warranty was up in April, and the fear of an unplanned and expensive repair loomed large. M was unfamiliar with the drivetrain, and the overall utility of the vehicle was lacking (A Saab that couldn't hold a set of golf clubs in the boot? how is the possible?).
Thus, the search for a new vehicle began last summer. Pending nuptials kept large expenditures to a minimum, but the fair weather did allow for a few dealership visits and research, research, research. There were many requirements, in no meaningful order:
1. Dual Zone climate control. The Saab did introduce us to the days when M would have 80 degree heat blasting and I would have 60 degree air conditioning doing battle. Driving a car that was lacking was a guaranteed failed compromise. Long term happiness in a vehicle lacking this feature was dubious at best.
2. Storage capacity. While the chance to drive my parents' 2nd-hand wagon 'the eggplant' has always been intruiging, L-town is a bit far to go to borrow a vehicle, especially one I have mocked. M's Corrolla has more lateral space than the Saab, and mine was the 'big' vehicle. Unacceptable. Should we procure or procreate another creature, a larger capacity vehicle would also be needed. Getting one now seemed the obvious choice.
3. Automatic transmission. The only way M is learning to drive a stick is if we move to France and they don't make automatics.
4. Safety. The Saab has the highest crash safety ratings of any vehicle in its class. Our future vehicle would have to have the same.
5. Foul Weather Capabilities. In addition to front wheel drive and a manual transmission, the Saab has heft and traction control for getting through the snow and foul weather. The future automobile would need both ground clearance and 4 wheel drive.
6. Economy. With long commutes and frequent road trips, 4 cylinders (maybe 6) was the choice.
7. Reliability. The car would need to be almost maintenance free. It was nice to have on-call mechanics, but the G-town Foreign Motors guy who specializes in Saabs ALWAYS has a full parking lot. He probably drives a Bentley. Consumer Reports agreed with my analysis.
8 Cost. The payment had to be less than the swinging-bachelor payment I had agreed to on the Saab.
Since reliability was the biggest hurdle, we sought out Consumer Reports for their famous no-holds-barred analysis of vehicle reliability. To vet their process, we compared their ratings with our own experiences and those of people we knew and saw that the ratings were uncannily accurate. This was to be our guide. Based on CR's overall ratings, 4 makes of vehicles made the cut; Honda, Toyota, Hyundai and Subaru.
With that sorted, we set out finding models that met our other criteria and came up with a few options: Toyota rav4, Honda Cr-V, Hyundai Santa Fe and the Subaru Forester.
Test drives would tell us the rest. The Cr-V was up first. We had a pleasant expericene with Matt from Herb Chambers Honda Westborough. The Cr-V had been newly redesigned and was flying off the lots. It was nice enough, although it was much bigger than either of our existing cars and the model in our range didn't come with some of the nicer options. The Rav4 was similar. Although it did come with a more stylish body, the interior was a little too much like a spaceship. The next trip was to Patrick Subaru in Shrewsbury, where we drove the Forester. Our salesman was rude and not knowledgeable. While we enjoyed the car very much, no business was going to be transacted there. Bad experience aside, we were more comfortable with the car-like handling and visibility of the Forester than the mini-truck attributes of the Rav4 and Cr-V. Based on that we took a pass on the Hyundai.
By now the wedding was upon us and we were going to have to take a break from car shopping.
Fast forward to February. My Saab needed new tires and had even developed a rust spot on the roof. The heat was balky and the looming April warranty expiry put things into motion. The intervening months had given us some insight to the Forester demographic, which was about 30 years older than we were. It's an old lady car. With lots of pets. By this time, a business trip allowed me to drive another Subaru, an Outback, and I reported a positive experience. An outback fit the reliability and storage categories, so this was selected as the proposed solution.
M's research and word of mouth brought us to Planet Subaru of Hanover. We had seen their online inventory and they had a couple of candidates in their posession. Bob was our helper (they didn't hire car salesman at Planet and had a funny name for them). Our foreknowledge eliminated the 'so what can I get you into' phase and brought us immediately to test drive. The outback was sporty, stable and had lots of visibility. The base model does not come with dual zone climate control, so we had opted for a higher trim package that came with heated seats, which M had by now discovered and was enjoying. We had decided to go the used route because buying new was a known and unecessary money suck and with the documented reliability of the car, a year of driving (hopefully) wasn't going to cost us too much down the road. We also decided to buy outright rather than lease. We plan on driving this car until the wheels fall off.
There was one other big factor in buying this particular car. It's a station wagon. I have secretly loved the sport wagon since it appeared on the scene. Even little wagons always get a point and a shout when we are on the road. I attribute it to my parents, who raised me on a steady diet of wagons. Except I'm not calling it a wagon. It's an 'estate'...
Friday, February 22, 2008
B the Builder
I like to think of myself as a moderately handy man. I‘ve fixed the few mechanical and structural issues that popped up at Bandmeltun (as I have dubbed our country estate here in New England. Or Mandbentun, I think they both sound pretty good…) Fortunately, our relatively new condo has only needed minor repairs. I managed to unclog our plunger tub style drain without losing the plunger. I adjusted our hot water heater temperature without a call to the plumber. I even managed to disassemble and hotpatch the water control assembly in the men’s bathroom toilet when it started making a lot of noise. I’ve had epic failures too, like the ’07 molding mitre cut battle and the great potato peeling garbage disposal explosions. Home ownership has been a work in progress.
M and I knew my limitations early on and we decided that buying fixer-upper was in no one’s long term best interests. Good thing, too - we barely survived the first room painting adventure.
Recently though, I have been feeling less Norm Abrams and more Ming Tsai. My creative forays tend towards finding a place to get primal cuts of heirloom beef rather than choosing a table saw over a radial arm saw. Bandmeltun is geared more towards comfortable living than manufacturing, and we don’t have a space for ongoing projects. When the weather is warmer, our neighbor turns his back porch into a workshop, while M and I prefer our deck to be more BBQ pit / alfresco dining area. I really don’t know what he’s doing to his condo – M and I almost bought that place and we didn’t see anything really wrong with it.
I grew up in houses that had lots of room for improvement and participated in more than a few projects. Some of them were even enjoyable and satisfying. This Old House is one of my favorite shows – I’m always filing their advice away in the bin – but aside from putting in a 3 floor fireman’s pole or turning the guest room into a 150 sq/ft shower-steam room, I don’t know when I’ll be able to use their wisdom. We know we’re going to buy a bigger house someday. Deep in my mind I know we’re going to want to expand the kitchen or have a media room. But I also know that I don’t want that to be my first project. I don’t like the idea of ‘practicing’ on an investment. The TOH guys are a little frustrating because it looks a little too easy. Sure they’re highly paid professionals, but they format their advice in a way that’s digestible for the average homeowner. I have some peers who have taken on major projects. Some people like to stay up into the wee hours and get the project done as fast as possible so as to not impact their lives too much. Others take an artisanal approach and leave portions of their homes covered in tarps and sawdust for months while they handcraft everything. I think my style will fall somewhere in between. We just have to get M her own grout trowel and pink hammer first…
M and I knew my limitations early on and we decided that buying fixer-upper was in no one’s long term best interests. Good thing, too - we barely survived the first room painting adventure.
Recently though, I have been feeling less Norm Abrams and more Ming Tsai. My creative forays tend towards finding a place to get primal cuts of heirloom beef rather than choosing a table saw over a radial arm saw. Bandmeltun is geared more towards comfortable living than manufacturing, and we don’t have a space for ongoing projects. When the weather is warmer, our neighbor turns his back porch into a workshop, while M and I prefer our deck to be more BBQ pit / alfresco dining area. I really don’t know what he’s doing to his condo – M and I almost bought that place and we didn’t see anything really wrong with it.
I grew up in houses that had lots of room for improvement and participated in more than a few projects. Some of them were even enjoyable and satisfying. This Old House is one of my favorite shows – I’m always filing their advice away in the bin – but aside from putting in a 3 floor fireman’s pole or turning the guest room into a 150 sq/ft shower-steam room, I don’t know when I’ll be able to use their wisdom. We know we’re going to buy a bigger house someday. Deep in my mind I know we’re going to want to expand the kitchen or have a media room. But I also know that I don’t want that to be my first project. I don’t like the idea of ‘practicing’ on an investment. The TOH guys are a little frustrating because it looks a little too easy. Sure they’re highly paid professionals, but they format their advice in a way that’s digestible for the average homeowner. I have some peers who have taken on major projects. Some people like to stay up into the wee hours and get the project done as fast as possible so as to not impact their lives too much. Others take an artisanal approach and leave portions of their homes covered in tarps and sawdust for months while they handcraft everything. I think my style will fall somewhere in between. We just have to get M her own grout trowel and pink hammer first…
Monday, February 18, 2008
Things you don’t do when you’re 23 and sharing a 3 bedroom in Allston…
When M and I decided to get our condo, I laid down the law: No furniture purchases for at least 3 months. This wasn’t because I really liked the stuff we already had, but a precautionary measure. I had heard too many tales of new homeowners running off to (insert furniture megastore here), buying 6 rooms worth of furniture on the 60 days no interest plan, and then paying a second mortgage on that ‘Cochrane 10 piece dining set in light espresso finish’ for 10 years. I didn’t want to be that guy, so for 3 months we sat on the furniture the F’s left behind for us. M has been feathering the nest here and there since that 90 day window closed. I can’t say it’s been unpleasant. I haven’t completely sold out and started wearing pleated dockers with tube socks and New Balances. My Friday work conversations don’t go like this:
“I told my wife I wouldn't drink tonight. Besides, I got a big day tomorrow. You guys have a great time.
A big day? Doing what?
Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we're going to go to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don't know, I don't know if we'll have enough time.”
This weekend we even managed to hang out with real hipsters and pretend to be urban. We visited the new ICA near the world trade center in South Boston, loaded with conceptual art loaded with metaphors about angst and dystopian ennui. M and I were sorely out of place. As we were walking out, I saw all these groups of guys walking around with… golf clubs??! There’s no golf course near the seaport?? I had somehow missed out on a wicked sweet golf expo. Unfortunately I already have just about everything I need golf-wise, so I couldn’t argue for a detour. We did end up at a mall (in a much fancier suburb, which I enjoy driving through and pretending we live there), where M had found a few new items for the digs. We got a few new lamps which have completed the recycling of the old furniture in the bedroom. Now if those GD craigslisters would just come and take our old stuff away…..
“I told my wife I wouldn't drink tonight. Besides, I got a big day tomorrow. You guys have a great time.
A big day? Doing what?
Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we're going to go to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don't know, I don't know if we'll have enough time.”
This weekend we even managed to hang out with real hipsters and pretend to be urban. We visited the new ICA near the world trade center in South Boston, loaded with conceptual art loaded with metaphors about angst and dystopian ennui. M and I were sorely out of place. As we were walking out, I saw all these groups of guys walking around with… golf clubs??! There’s no golf course near the seaport?? I had somehow missed out on a wicked sweet golf expo. Unfortunately I already have just about everything I need golf-wise, so I couldn’t argue for a detour. We did end up at a mall (in a much fancier suburb, which I enjoy driving through and pretending we live there), where M had found a few new items for the digs. We got a few new lamps which have completed the recycling of the old furniture in the bedroom. Now if those GD craigslisters would just come and take our old stuff away…..
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Great Expectations
This is not going to be about Pip and Ms. Havisham, but it is about the power of expecations, high or low.
#1 with a bullet - The Patriots. It took me a week to come to terms with it, but that was a most unexpected result. The Giants just wanted it more and had a much younger, athletic defense. I know Genius Bill likes his linebackers experienced, but there's something to be said for freak athletic ability compensating for the occasional mental blunder. Down the stretch the old Patriots vets didn't make the plays and the younger Giants D made a pro-bowl line look bad. Real bad. Coulda woulda shoulda.
#2. Taxes. M and I did our taxes this weekend. Another unexpected result. We managed to get through them relatively painlessly. In our first year of joint filing, we survived the exam with no injuries and a little more jingle in our pockets. I always expect the tax software to reveal some grave error from 1998, so I speed through the questions, hoping if I finish fast enough I can sneak out unscathed. M just plain doesn't like doing them. She did volunteer to do them for the both of us, and I anticipated a somewhat grinding day. I think we got through them to everyone's satisfaction. I'm on deck for next year though. Giddyup.
#3 Craigslist. Does not meet expectations. We're not trying to get 95% back on the overpriced custom made couch I got 5 years ago and my dog soiled. I'm just trying to get rid of some stuff and avoid the loonies who show for the 'free goods' ads. My faith in the online shoppers is not high at the moment. If I was available in the middle of the week to sell you my crappy wall lamp for $3, maybe I should get a job so I wouldn't have to sell you my lamp for $3. C'mon people...
#4 Cream of Chicken soup - exceeds expectations. M and I rehashed this recipe from something we brought my parents on Thanksgiving. All you really need is a bird carcass, some wild rice, celery, carrots, chicken stock and heavy cream. And a big ol' cleaver. There aren't too many opportunities you get to use the kitchen-axe, so sieze them. Too bad I had to hit the road again, because M got to reap the rewards all week long.
#5 Juno - exceeded expectations. I didn't know where they were going to go with the 'teen pregnancy is funny' thing, but it was well done. Highly recommended.
#6 Grape Nuts cereal - far exeeeds expectations. I am on the fast track to old man town. I'm not waving my cane at kids on my lawn yet, but I can see it happening. I still love a bowl of fruity pebbles, but this stuff is strangely awesome.
So that's 6 things that have either impressed or disppointed me. Check them out (or not). I'll have a better post at some point later on. It's been a hellacious couple of weeks at work and I haven't had a great deal of time to mine the gold out there.
#1 with a bullet - The Patriots. It took me a week to come to terms with it, but that was a most unexpected result. The Giants just wanted it more and had a much younger, athletic defense. I know Genius Bill likes his linebackers experienced, but there's something to be said for freak athletic ability compensating for the occasional mental blunder. Down the stretch the old Patriots vets didn't make the plays and the younger Giants D made a pro-bowl line look bad. Real bad. Coulda woulda shoulda.
#2. Taxes. M and I did our taxes this weekend. Another unexpected result. We managed to get through them relatively painlessly. In our first year of joint filing, we survived the exam with no injuries and a little more jingle in our pockets. I always expect the tax software to reveal some grave error from 1998, so I speed through the questions, hoping if I finish fast enough I can sneak out unscathed. M just plain doesn't like doing them. She did volunteer to do them for the both of us, and I anticipated a somewhat grinding day. I think we got through them to everyone's satisfaction. I'm on deck for next year though. Giddyup.
#3 Craigslist. Does not meet expectations. We're not trying to get 95% back on the overpriced custom made couch I got 5 years ago and my dog soiled. I'm just trying to get rid of some stuff and avoid the loonies who show for the 'free goods' ads. My faith in the online shoppers is not high at the moment. If I was available in the middle of the week to sell you my crappy wall lamp for $3, maybe I should get a job so I wouldn't have to sell you my lamp for $3. C'mon people...
#4 Cream of Chicken soup - exceeds expectations. M and I rehashed this recipe from something we brought my parents on Thanksgiving. All you really need is a bird carcass, some wild rice, celery, carrots, chicken stock and heavy cream. And a big ol' cleaver. There aren't too many opportunities you get to use the kitchen-axe, so sieze them. Too bad I had to hit the road again, because M got to reap the rewards all week long.
#5 Juno - exceeded expectations. I didn't know where they were going to go with the 'teen pregnancy is funny' thing, but it was well done. Highly recommended.
#6 Grape Nuts cereal - far exeeeds expectations. I am on the fast track to old man town. I'm not waving my cane at kids on my lawn yet, but I can see it happening. I still love a bowl of fruity pebbles, but this stuff is strangely awesome.
So that's 6 things that have either impressed or disppointed me. Check them out (or not). I'll have a better post at some point later on. It's been a hellacious couple of weeks at work and I haven't had a great deal of time to mine the gold out there.
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