Aloha

In a couple of days, I’m going to deactivate my social media accounts (again).

Q. Why?

A. I feel fairly guilty about the way in which I use social media.

I wish I could say I sign in to social media to keep in touch with friends and acquaintances, but that’s not really true. I mean, I’d love to know about the truly significant stuff, but the signal to noise ratio is so low that … well, I just don’t care enough to sort through it all. If something important happened in your life and you could have used my sympathy or support and I didn’t provide it, I’m sorry. I probably missed it completely.

Mostly, when you’ve seen me using social media, it’s been me engaging in attention-seeking behavior. And I’m embarrassed as hell to have to acknowledge that. I acknowledge that even the act of posting this is attention-seeking behavior. Why not just vanish, and say nothing? Well, I’m embarrassed as well about the prospect of just having done with it and ghosting the entire planet. I figured I should at least say why my accounts are going to go zot.

I care about y’all, but at the end of the day, the negative consequences of taking part in things like Twitter and Facebook and Instagram are seriously outweighing the positive. I’ll probably keep on posting to my blog at furrs.org — it’s kind of a way I keep track of my own thoughts and feelings… but it’s entirely up to you if you pay attention.

I acknowledge as well that this might be temporary, that I might be back in a month or two. For everyone’s sake, I hope not.

Thanks for everything. Be well.

RIP Russell Baker (1925-1919)

I hardly ever post regarding the death of a celebrity; I reason that sufficient other people will take care of the public fawning over the dear departed’s legacy. (And that, in any event, it bothers me that we seem to care more about the lives of famous people who we have no actual connection with than our actual neighbors.)

Today, I’ll make an exception.

Russell Baker, humor columnist, passed away on Monday at the age of 93. You can read the Washington Post’s write-up here.

Mr. Baker managed the nearly impossible task of being wryly funny in print, every week, for years and years. That’s not easy. I loved his dry sense of humor and his self-deprecation. I didn’t grow up reading his columns because our local newspaper, the Roanoke Times, carried Art Buchwald’s columns instead, but I discovered Baker once I ventured out into the world. His columns are worth looking up and reading.

But that’s not the main reason I’m posting here on the occasion of his death. I’m posting to honor the author of an essay so funny that it’s literally been hanging in my kitchen for decades: “Francs and Beans“. You may disagree, but I think it’s one of the funniest things ever written. And so I choose to honor its author by saying “Mr. Baker, thanks for the laughs. You made the world a better place by being in it.”

“You were immense.”

Snowpocalypse 2019 (January 20th edition)

So there was a big snowstorm overnight, with 18″ or more of snow falling here in Richmond, VT.

Okay, it wasn’t really a “snowpocalypse” in the sense of power going out and roads being impassable … mainly because it just never got windy. A quick check of the Green Mountain Power outage map just now showed everything A-ok.

To get real frustration, you need wind blowing drifts right back over roads that just got plowed, and wind bringing snow-laden branches down on power lines. What makes this latest storm stand out is that it’s below zero Fahrenheit, and anyone who lives in a snowy part of the continent knows that you don’t typically get big snow when it’s that cold. I suppose it must have been warmer higher up in the atmosphere.

It was cold enough out that we skipped the Women’s March in Montpelier on Saturday morning even though a friend of Carole’s was one of the scheduled speakers and we’d wanted to go hear and support her. Neither of us felt brave enough to go stand for a couple of hours in zero degree Fahrenheit weather and have to rely on porta-potties if and when the urge arose. I have visions of being frozen into one of those things, and I want nothing to do with that.

The approach of this storm scared people enough that businesses were posting “we’re closed until Monday” notices on Facebook on Friday night. Ditto for churches — we knew as of Friday afternoon that there wouldn’t be services today. That’s actually kind of rare. Mostly Vermonters just keep on going until the power goes out. But five degrees below zero AND snow falling at a rate of an inch or two an hour for twelve straight hours is enough to deserve at least a bit of notice.

We went around last night and double-checked all the windows and pulled down all the blinds. It was damn cold out and we wanted the warm to stay on the inside.

I went out yesterday afternoon before the snow really got going and raked the accumulated ten inches or so of existing snow off the roof of our new gazebo, then did a second pass today. Truth is, I have no idea how strong our new gazebo’s roof is, but I don’t want to find out the hard way that two feet of accumulated snow is beyond its design load.

Looks like it’s time to break down and go buy a proper snow rake with a long extensible handle.

As of 3 pm or so, the snow’s basically stopped and the main roads are all plowed and passable. The supermarket in Waterbury was open, though most small businesses were closed. We drove up to the Bolton Valley ski area, a couple of miles from our house, and the lifts were open and the parking lots were full. Good snow means good business! Unfortunately, they’d also had a water line breakage and at least one of their restaurants was closed. I’m sure they’ll cope.

Long story short, our house is now in full Santa’s-Workshop mode. Cue the yetis, it’s time for a party.

Photo Follies

I travel a lot for work. I have a smartphone. It has a camera. I’m often pretty bored.

The end result of all that is that I take and upload a lot of photos from my travels to the Google Maps photo repository. Google then uses them in location listings.

No one has to upload their vacation snaps and other photos to Google Maps. But once you choose to, Google tends to assume you want to keep on doing so and will send your phone suggestions to upload your most recent shots. As I said, I’m often pretty bored, so I’ve uploaded a lot of photos. I’m a Google Maps “Local Guide” Level 10 user, as a result.

And because I’ve uploaded so many photos and because I’m a Level 10 user, my photos often wind up being the cover photo of many locations on Google Maps (if the business or location owner hasn’t uploaded their own, that is). And that means that occasionally a shot I took in a moment of frivolity winds up being the public face of a theoretically reputable business or tourist attraction or whatever.

The most egregious example of this is the entry for the Friendly’s restaurant in Williston, VT.  Take a look. That photo at the top of some ranch dressing with rainbow sprinkles on top? That’s one of mine. I don’t know why, out of the dozens of photos I’ve taken at that Friendly’s that one wound up being the profile photo. But it did. And it’s been viewed (as of just now) 210,434 times.

And that’s not even my most popular photo. My top two are:

  • My all-time champion, with 508,723 views: A photo of a half pepperoni-and-black-olive/half sauerkraut-and-ham pizza Carole and I shared one night at the Marion’s Piazza in Oakwood, Ohio. Zillions of pizza photos have been uploaded to their Google Maps entry… but which one wound up as the profile photo? Mine. (In my defense, the ham-and-sauerkraut pizza was amazingly tasty.)

It’s a strange world we live in, my friends.

The Wienermobile

There are people in this country who do not own a large stuffed Wienermobile.

I am not one of those people.

(For what it’s worth, I’ve had this thing for years and years. Bought it off eBay. It came with strings attached to hang it from the ceiling of a store or business, but mostly I’ve just left it on the top bunk of the bunk bed we pointlessly use as a spare sofa down in the living room. I saw a post on Fark.com today about the wonderful life Wienermobile drivers experience and decided to post a photo of my own little Wienermobile in the comments.)

Thought For The Day: Cat Upchuck Edition

There are few experiences in life that provide the same je ne sais quoi as hearing one of your cats slowly and methodically working up to a full-bore upchuck on the carpet twenty feet behind you while you’re taking part in a work-related conference call.

You know how it goes. At first there’s a soft gulping sound or two, the sort of thing that you could easily attribute to any number of ordinary causes. But then the sounds get louder and more urgent… whulp whulp whulp whulp. And then the climax: a nice loud gagging noise followed by small wet lumps of something hitting the carpet from four to six inches above floor level.

Ick.

And the whole time you’re sitting there on the conference call, cheerfully interacting with your co-workers and customers, thinking “oh, jeez, this sounds like it’s going to be a big one” and trying to remember where you left the roll of paper towels and the scrub brush and the spray bottle.

The denoument, of course, is the cat in question showing up a few minutes later, all perky and full of lively enthusiasm, wearing a look that says “Hi there! What’s for lunch?”

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year, y’all.

Why the above picture?

When I was a kid, Mom was a dedicated subscriber to the New Yorker. As far as I know, she subscribed right up until the day she died, and for that matter, quite some time after. Dad never got around to cancelling subscriptions to Mom’s magazines; when I visited him over a year after her death, new issues were piled up in stacks in the living room. Probably hurt him too much to think of doing anything about it.

I don’t know when she started her subscription; when I was a little kid, the New Yorker was already there. I can’t visualize our house in Blacksburg without there being a few issues in the dining room, living room, den, bathrooms … awaiting the eventual cull when Mom decided she’d read everything worth reading.

As a kid, of course, I was primarily interested in the cartoons. I didn’t understand a lot of ’em at first, naturally. Richard Nixon and Watergate were a thing, and newspaper editorial cartoons were always going over my head with references to bugs and plumbers. The New Yorker cartoons, aimed as they were at the self-identified intellectuals among us, were even more cryptic to little me. (Except for the cartoons of the legendary George Booth. Man was a goddamned genius.)

And then came the December 30, 1974 issue. That’s its cover, above.

I would have been, oh, seven years and three months old when that issue showed up in our house, and for some reason, it really left a mark on me. I stared and stared at the cover, trying to decipher its meaning — other than the obvious, that is, that the ‘4’ in ‘1974’ had been replaced in the circus act by a shiny new star, a ‘5’. I guess I wasn’t very up to date on surrealism or whatever genre of art it would fall under.

(Coincidentally, it was just three weeks later that the greatest New Yorker cartoon of all time, “Ip Gissa Gul“, was published. And yes, that was a Booth effort.)

Even though that one issue was just one of hundreds and hundreds of New Yorkers that passed through our house, that’s the one that stands out in my memory. And every year, when the old year dies and the new year takes the stage, it always comes unbidden to my mind’s eye.