Thar She Blows!

“Call me Ishmael. Some years ago--never mind how long precisely --having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.”

So begins Moby Dick, Melville’s classic novel about a deranged captain’s search for an elusive white whale. And while I consider myself more an Ishmael than an Ahab, I have spent the past twenty years hunting a white whale of my own. Only my hunting grounds were the woods. And my prey was a ghost train…

I’ve been hiking the same trail my entire adult life, through all seasons and every type of weather, usually alone. There have been times where I’ve walked it daily for several weeks in a row, and others where it might be once every other month. On average, I’d say I’m out there about once a week. But the exact number isn’t important, so let's just say I’ve tramped that path at least 1000 times.

It’s a 5-mile loop through a heavily wooded area that features valleys, cliffs, nice views of the Housatonic River, lots of rock features, and a ½ mile section that follows some old abandoned train tracks near the Stevenson Dam. Or at least I thought they were abandoned…until the first time I heard the whistle of the ghost train.

I call it this because, while I've heard it many times, I’ve never actually seen it. I’ve spotted dozens of deer, tons of turkeys, a few fox, and even the occasional fellow hiker – but what I longed to see was the ghost train.

Many times I’ve been halfway up the mountain when I’d hear the mournful whistle, but by the time I scrambled to the top, within sight of the tracks, it would be gone.

Other times I’d be deeper in the woods, too far from the tracks to make a real run at it, but the whistle would ride the wind, haunting (and taunting) me from a mile away.

Some times I’d be past the train tracks when I heard it, too far to turn back. But most infuriating were the times when I was right there – a couple hundred yards or so away– close enough to send me sprinting through the woods, heedless of the branches whipping at my face and rocks threatening to twist my ankles, only to arrive panting at the train tracks with not a train in sight.

Which brings me to the weird part: other than the whistle, the train left no proof of its passing. In the winter, the snow-covered tracks would still be snow covered after it had gone by. Come fall, sticks and branches strewn across the tracks would still be there, unbroken, even though they were directly in the path of the train.

It was kind of creepy.

And until now, I've kept it to myself. For twenty long years, I silently sought the mysterious train. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t really a ghost. And I figured there was probably a logical explanation for its seemingly strange existence. But rather than ask around or research train schedules, I kept my solitary watch in hopes of a real sighting. Unlike Ahab, I wasn’t obsessed with my search. Just moderately preoccupied. But, as it turns out, I was like him in that I didn’t have a leg to stand on…

The mystery was solved just the other day, when I was actually walking on the tracks when I heard the whistle blow. Finally, I thought, as I calmly stepped off to the side and peered down the tracks for my long-awaited first look at the passing train. Let’s get a look at this sucker.

But there was nothing there.

Holy crap, I thought. For a fleeting second thinking it really was a ghost! But then I heard the whistle again. And that’s when I realized what it was.

Directly across the river from the train tracks is the Stevenson Dam. A large dam that holds back Lake Zoar. A large dam with floodgates that are routinely opened. The opening of which is signaled with a loud siren to alert those down river of the wall of water that will soon to be rushing their way. A loud siren that sounds sort of like a train whistle to an idiot in the woods.

So call me Ishmael. It’s better than Dumbass

Stolen Moments

Other than the time the janitor threw my bike in the dumpster*, I’ve been leaving it unlocked and unattended in the school parking lot without incident for the past ten years. And during that same time, I’ve also been leaving my iPod (or the latest incarnation of it) out in plain sight of my staff and students as well.  Again, without incident. And while it would be a large financial loss, and major inconvenience, should either of them ever get stolen, I really don’t worry about such things.

But it seems like every other week I have to justify my seemingly carefree attitude to others, who stop me to question how I could not lock up my bike, hide my iPod, etc. And I always tell them the same thing: I’m too lazy. They usually shake their heads and offer a smug smile, seeming almost happy with the thought that someday, someone will steal my bike and teach me a lesson. But the truth is, I’m really just too lazy to explain the real reason to them. In fact, I’M the one with the lesson to teach.

You see, I believe this whole notion of security, be it a bike lock, home alarm system, handgun, or guard dog, only serves to make us feel more insecure. I know an ounce of prevention is supposed to be worth a pound of cure, but a cure isn’t worth much if you’re not sick. And living in fear that there are thieves and murderers lurking around every corner is, well, sort of sick to me. 

Do you know how much time I spend worrying about my stuff getting stolen? Absolutely none. But I bet many of you who DO make the effort to lock up your bikes or type in a pass codes to your alarm system then go on to worry about all the ways people could bypass your security measures to get at your stuff. Am I right? I don’t want to get too philosophical, but when you chain things up like that, you’re chaining yourself to them. As for me, I’m carefree and confident that my things will still be there when I get back (unless that damn janitor is around!)

So while you are lying in bed at night feeling “safe” that should a robber attempt to break in, your alarm will sound and scare them off, I’ll be in my bed sleeping soundly, since I’m not even thinking about robbers. Unlike my poor father-in-law, who will be up all night worrying about the robbers who are going to read this and then come rob me!

Point is, security is supposed to give you peace of mind, but I find more peace in not expecting the worst from people. Not that I think people are so wonderful and trustworthy, just that the jerks among us seem to take more interest in the things we protect rather than the things we let be. Think about “Wet Paint” signs. If people really wanted that freshly painted bench to go untouched until it dries, they’d be better off hanging a sign that says, “Touch Me!” And rather than posting that “NO TRESPASSING” sign, put one up that says, “Hey Kids, Skateboard Here!” and see what happens. So by locking up you’re stuff, what you’re really saying is, “I have stuff worth stealing.”

What it really comes down to is, I just don’t see the sense in worrying about all the things that could go wrong or might happen. I’d rather spend my time enjoying the things that are happening. Screw those people who say shit like, “If you gave up your daily trip to Dunkin Donuts, and saved the money instead, you’d have $1000 at the end of the year.” To me, if a two-dollar cup of coffee makes your day a little better, good for you! Enjoy it! Which is why, as much as I enjoy the freedom I feel while riding my bike, and as pissed as I’d be if someone stole it, I’m willing to take that chance rather than give up the real freedom of feeling truly secure.

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*Every morning, I hop off my bike and let it fall into the tall grass that borders the school’s property. I am such a creature of habit, it usually winds up in the same spot in the same position every day. Which is why a few years ago, a new custodian at our school assumed the bike was abandoned. Every morning he’d drive in and see it laying in the grass, and after a few weeks, decided to do something about it. Namely, toss it in the dumpster! Luckily I retrieved it before the garbage truck did.

A Dirty Job

The call went out, and when someone like Ralph asks for help, the call gets answered. Ralph is the sort of guy who busts his ass 24/7 maintaining a beautiful home and thriving business, yet he is never too busy to help someone else. Whether it’s helping you have a good time at a party or helping you move a pool table, he is always there to lend a hand. So when the call came that he needed help consolidating his two buildings, Valley Electric Supply and Valley Lighting, under one roof, we all wanted to pitch in.

Problem is, none of us had a fucking clue what to do!

When we arrived, we found ourselves in one of those situations where there was SO much work to do, there was almost nothing to do. And with only a handful of people with an actual clue as to where things went, what they were, etc, the rest of us were left fighting over the one or two jobs that we could handle without screwing up too badly.

I successfully stole Robin’s job of shelving the “Arlington” products and spent the next two hours scouring the incoming pallets for the distinctive A logo. Once that was done, I enviously eyed Geof as he put up the drill bit display while trying to look busy breaking down whatever empty boxes I could find and dragging pallets back to the loading dock.

During one such trip, I was given a “real” job: organizing and stocking the warehouse’s light bulb and outdoor electrical supply section, and, regrettably, the ballast area - which, for the uninitiated, is some gravity defying heavy stuff. Imagine something the size of a box of Pop Tarts that weighs close to forty pounds. And that was the light stuff! No pun intended.

But, with MUCH assistance from Rusty, I somehow managed to do a halfway decent job, all while learning a thing or two about electrical equipment. I hadn’t asked so many “what’s this?” and “where’s this go?” questions since Father/Son Night in elementary school.

Speaking of sex, a large portion of the day was dedicated to goofing on all the sexually explicit names given to the mundane materials. We giggled like schoolgirls over things like butt splices and tool lube. We found hot dipped nipples and two-hole rigid straps incredibly amusing. There was a giant bulb that promised” high energy discharge” and a multi-gang box that sounded downright slutty.

Chances are, none of the items ended up in the proper spot, but we did manage to empty the old warehouse and fill the new one, so that’s a start. Right? I can only hope that what we accomplished was at least of some assistance to Ralph, for he greatly deserves it. But if not, he knows where to find me (unlike, say, the boxes of lugs that I stocked!)

I'll Wait, Because You Really DON'T Got Me!

I was a pretty big Van Halen fan back in the day. I spent hours listening to their albums while trying to draw the perfect VH symbol on my notebooks and book covers - but never on my jean jacket (though I’m not sure if it was because I was too cool, or just too afraid I’d mess it up!)

Speaking of messing things up, I even stuck with them through “5150,” when Sammy Hagar showed up and pussified their sound.  That is until I found Tesla’s “Mechanical Resonance” and realized I didn’t need Van Hagar anymore. Besides, to me, the real Van Halen will always be the David Lee Roth led version. 

But any thoughts I might have had about checking out the recent reunion efforts were quickly quelled when I saw who they would be touring with for their big comeback….

Kool & The Gang

Yes, you heard me right. The mighty Van Halen will have Kool & The Gang as their opening act.  And while I have nothing against the band and their music, and in fact , really like “Jungle Boogie” and “Get Down on It,” they are not a rock band by any means.  For one thing, they have an ampersand in their name! Umlauts are cool. Ampersands, not so much.  And then there's this...

Point is, after seeing such a double bill, I didn’t even have to listen to the “new” VH album to know it was going to suck. So rather than waste my money and taint my fond memories, I’m just going to go back to 1978 (and “1984”) and enjoy some real music.  Seems like everything was cooler back then. Even Kool & the Gang!

I Really AM Color Blind!

About three years ago, I discovered “The Office” (much in the same way Christopher Columbus “discovered” America, meaning after it was already in syndication.) But even though I was late to the party, thanks to constant reruns and DVR marathons, I managed to get through the first six seasons in time to "attend" Jim and Pam’s wedding along with the rest of the world. 

And during those many viewing hours, I came to know each character like a real friend, while developing crushes on both of Jim's love interests on the show, Pam and Karen. And, let's face it, maybe even a little mancrush on Jim himself!

But, getting back to the ladies...from the show's intro, it was clear that Jenna Fischer played Pam Beesley, but since Karen didn't show up until the third season, she was only pictured, not named in the opening credits,  so I didn't know the actress who played her. I did spot the name Rashida Jones in the credits, but never associated her with Karen, although I was curious as to who she was as well, since for years I had been reading about how funny and talented this Rashida Jones was. But I never saw her in anything. Or so I’d thought.

I remember watching  “I Love You, Man” – a decent movie featuring the guy who plays Marshall on “How I Met Your Mother” (another show I didn’t discover until recently) and coincidentally, the girl who played  Karen from “The Office” as the main character’s fiancé. Thinking what a cool (and cute) chick she was, I carefully watched the credits in hopes of finally learning her name, but I couldn’t find it. But I DID see Rashida Jone’s name go scrolling by.  WTF? I thought. How did I miss her again? Who did she play? Who WAS this person? It was driving me crazy!

So crazy I even checked out a few episode of the god-awful “Parks and Recreation” to try and find her after reading that she was in it, but again, no luck. Though, once again, there was Karen from “The Office” this time playing a cool (and cute) nurse.

By now, you all have probably put two and two together enough times to fill an ark, but it took me a little longer to figure it out. In fact, it wasn’t until a few months ago, when I saw “The Social Network”  and spotted Karen from “The Office” as a cool (and cute) lawyer, that I finally put it all together. I waited for the credits, and lo and behold, there was Rashida Jones, and since there was not a single black person in the entire movie, I realized my mistake.

You see, I was assuming an actress named Rashida Jones would be black, which she is, sort of (more on that in a minute) so I was looking for someone that looked more like Wanda Sykes than a classier version of Leah Remini from “King of Queens,”  so I never made the connection. Turns out, Karen, from “The Office” – and all the other movies mentioned here, was Rashida Jones. She was hiding in plain sight!

Duh, right? Well, the funny thing is, Rashida’s dad IS black. And famous. He’s the incomparable producer, Quincy Jones, who “produced” Rashida, and an equally hot sister, with actress Peggy Lipton, from “The Mod Squad” (insert your own Link joke here) So I was right. Though this may be the first time in history where two rights make a wrong.

Which makes me wonder what other well-known things I’ve yet to “discover.”  Based on this, and the fact that I was 30 when I first learned that “The Outsiders” author, S.E. Hinton, was a girl, I’m guessing quite a few!

I Never "Got" VD

Today is Valentine’s Day. Or, as I like to call it, Tuesday. And no, I'm not making some lame pun about it being "Two's Day."  I just mean I tend to treat it like any other day. So if you came here looking for a romantic blog post to celebrate the "holiday," you might want to try somewhere else.  You see, I'm the guy who once gave his girlfriend a loaf of bread as a Valentine’s gift.  Yes, I said a loaf of bread. And I’m not talking about homemade bread baked with love or some expensive artisanal bread brought back from Brooklyn. I’m talking store-bought, shrink-wrapped Pepperidge Farm French Toast Swirl that you can get for $3.29 (with coupon) at any Stop and Shop.

On the surface, I may not appear be the best source regarding matters of the heart, since, as any of my friends will surely tell you, I am the least romantic person they know. Just ask and they’ll be more than happy to cite numerous examples of my supposed cheap and insensitive behaviors, like how I have never bought a girl flowers, perfume, or even a single piece of jewelry (unless they count the engagement ring - which they will, but only so they can then tell you how small it was and how I ridiculousy presented it to my wife-to-be in that most romantic of settings…a nursing home parking lot!)

But ask my wife (the recipient of said bread and ring) and you’ll get an entirely different story. For her, that parking lot was the perfect place to pop the question, as it forever connected us to her beloved grandmother, who passed away a month before our wedding. And she thought that bread was a very romantic gesture – seriously, she loved it!  And the thing is, I knew she would, and that’s what makes me a romantic.

I may not be your “traditional” romantic, but I know enough about love to know that it’s the little things that count.  If your significant other needs expensive things to make them feel loved and appreciated, it’s only because they aren’t getting enough of your actual love and appreciation. My wife may not be adorned with jewels, but not a day goes by that she isn’t adored by me! And I don’t wait until February 14^th to show and share how much I care, I greet her with a heart on every day!

Sure, every so often I’ll succumb to the pressure and do something “special” on the day. One inspired year, I cut out about 100 paper hearts and wrote little love messages on them. Valentine’s morning, I secretly placed them on the blades of the ceiling fan above our bed while my wife was in the shower. I turned the fan “on” but only after making sure the light switch that controlled it was off, and then went to work. Later, when my wife came into the room and switched the light on, she was showered with dozens of little hearts. Cute, right? And the best part is, it cost me less than a buck!

The point is, The Beatles were right all along. Money can’t buy you love.  But on the other hand, if you’re lucky enough to have love, you can’t afford not to show it. 360 days a year (hey, everyone’s entitled to an off-day every now and then.) As for how you do that, it’s entirely up to you. So long as you don’t wait just for the holidays.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with the Grand Gesture (and in all honesty, if I had a couple extra grand, I’d be all about hiring airplanes and elephants to carry my messages of love.) But at the moment, I’m broke, so Honey, if you’re reading this, I Love You!  And Happy Tuesday!

           

About face

Last year I was surprised at how much resistance and outright resentment I received for my annual “Facebook Free in February” campaign. Traditionally, these little stunts of mine had been were met with some good-natured ribbing and questions of doubt from my friends and family. But last year, some people seemed actually mad.

I couldn’t figure it out at first. I thought they’d be happy to be free of my constant self-promotions and sarcastic comments for a month. And they probably were. But there was also an almost angry undercurrent to some of their responses. I wasn’t sure what to make of it and wound up (wrongly) deciding that they must have been feeling defensive, as if I were claiming to be somehow superior to them for not “needing” facebook. 

But once March rolled around, and I had a chance to “talk” to several of them again, I realized that my silly posts and comments were serving as sort of a hub for others. I don’t know how so say this without sounding like an arrogant jerk, but apparently some people had come to rely on me to act as their ice-breaker. It seems my ridiculous status updates (commonly jokes at my own expense) and snarky comments were just enough to get the party started, and then others would pick up and take it from there.  I’m not saying there was anything so amazing or amusing about what I was saying, only that for whatever reason, it got the ball rolling, much in the same way a yawn is contagious.

And while we're only one week in, so far, this year has been a little different. For one thing, I’m no longer the only jester in the king’s court, so my absence is not leaving as much of a void. Plus, I’ve not been as active on facebook this year as in years past, so most people probably don’t even notice I’m gone.  Then there’s the whole “Timeline” thing, which has apparently pushed some people right over the edge.  But whatever the reason, I’m not picking up as much flak as last year. Except for the accusations of cheating!

This year, an unprecedented number of people have been calling me and confronting me about catching me on facebook, using this very blog as their “proof.” You see, whenever I post a new topic, I hit the share to facebook button, and a box pops up allowing me to type a message and post the link on my wall. Which I do. But I do so without ever going on facebook! Go ahead, try it for yourself if you don’t believe me. Scroll down and click on the little “f” (though you might want to pick a more interesting entry than this one!) and see what happens. 

See? You never left the page, right? So stop harassing me and just accept the fact that I am NOT on facebook.  But if I were, here's what I would have posted the past few days:

1. It's 50 degrees on February 2nd, does the groundhog even need to bother?

2. Is it wrong that I'm more entertained by the men on "New Girl" rather than my one-time crush, Zoey Deschanel?

3. Isn't it sadly ironic that people died during a protest over the people that died during the soccer riot in Egypt? 

4. I drive a Ford F-150, but that Chevy commercial was hilarious. Between the Barry Manilow song, the dog in the backseat, and the Twinkie reference, it was spot on and deserves a Clio


5. Deja Blue! Congrats to the Giants! All's Welker that ends Welker!




See you in March. Or, you know, here!