PBW: Jonesin'

This is the time of year when numerous Catholics remember their faith, and show up at church. Today was the lighting of the first candle on the Advent wreath in counting down to Christmas, and the church was packed. I'm not judging these people, because I know spirituality is more than spending an hour or so in a certain building each week. They may be more charitable, and have a greater place for God in their everyday lives than I do. Certainly, though I'm in church consistently every week, I'm not always “there”. Many times my mind wanders to what I have to do in the week ahead, or a movie I watched, or the composition of a blog entry. I only raise this point because the church was crowded, and I don't like crowds. It's just one more thing I don't like about the holidays.

Last night I promised my father I'd take care of clearing the leaves out of the gutters around the house. The ladder is heavy and getting it out of the basement is task enough, but a 75 year-old man shouldn't be climbing either. When my mother and I pulled in the driveway upon returning from mass, the ladder was already in place and he was raking leaves nearby, waiting for me. Growing up, I didn't have the best track record when it came to keeping promises in a timely fashion, and respecting my responsibilities. Seeing that ladder out already bothered me, and I took it as a sign that he didn't trust my word, or thought I'd forget. I'd like to think I've changed, or that I've been working very hard to change, and I keep my word when I say I'm going to do something. I felt like I'd always be judged by my past. After clearing the leaves, my dad asked what time it was, and I soon learned he was trying to get all the outdoor chores done in time to watch a football game. Seems I was a bit hasty in mistaking his impatience in getting the ladder out before I got home for mistrust that I'd do as I said. Everything isn't about MCF.

With church and chores behind me, and a warm day before me, it was time at last to have an adventure. A miscalculation involving distance and early sunset led to a situation from which I wasn't certain I'd ever return. As always, such a tale will be saved for another day as I delve into this week's PHANTASMIC LINKS:

This was never a Seinfeld episode, but it could have been. Link courtesy of Rey.

Here's Reason #816 why I won't be purchasing an XBox 360.

Travel from the farthest reaches of space back to Earth. I found this relaxing and mesmerizing.

Armada Assault doesn't look like much at first, but quickly becomes an addictive and fast-paced shooter with weapon and plane upgrades to be purchased between each of the 8 challenging levels. Hat tip to Dosetaker.

Waking up in the middle of his toe surgery inspires Ben to write a poem. Don't worry; ”Tiny Tim” is fine.

Now that I know how one of these works, I can finally crush those rebel scum! Thanks, Sean!

Because no one asked, here are bloopers from a direct-to-video American Pie movie featuring Stifler's kid brother. Once again, thanks goes to Sean for the link.

Belter is better than Asteroids. It's also more challenging. There are 99 levels, but I haven't gotten past the early 20s....yet.

Finally, some questionable characters teach your children the proper words for body parts. 1984? For once my overprotected childhood seems to pay off in that I was spared this video growing up.

Ten Tuesday Tidbits

1) I took a vacation day yesterday. Before the holiday, the office let us out early last Wednesday. I haven't set foot in the building in nearly a week, and for all intents and purposes today should have been a Monday for me. Yet I awoke in an anticipation similar to the first day of class after being off all Summer in college, and enjoyed being at work. I have noticed my mind is clearer now that my desk is organized in the wake of the cleanup required for the new carpet installation, so I intend to keep it that way for as long as possible. Sometimes I have so much to do, I don't know what to do first. Right now I feel like no matter what I do, I'll always know what to do first. I expect that to wear off sometime around Thursday when I have two meetings on the same day for the two catalogs I design. By then I'll be looking forward to the weekend. I think it all comes down to excess. Five days off led to boredom and stagnation. Four or Five days of work leads to exhaustion and apathy. I think instead of weekends off, the standard work structure should include Wednesday as a regular day off. Work two days, take a break, work two more days, then have a weekend. That seems like a good balance.

2) Before I woke up this morning, I was running. My friends from work and I were in a race through the woods. At one point we stopped and my friend sent me back to delay the other runners while he set up a trap, digging a pit and covering it with branches. I ran back and met the other runners, one of whom was a former illustrator colleague I've not seen since he move out of state. We ran along the path which led out of the woods into a room in a modern art museum. The friend who'd sent me back showed up, and we all chatted for a few minutes about paintings before I remembered I was in a race. Without a word, I ran out of the room and back on to the dirt path through the forest. I passed a few of the women from work, ran down the escalator that was suddenly in my office, and leapt the last few steps almost landing in a shopping mall. Across from me I could see people through glass in a gym, and noticed a girl on an elliptical machine watching me. I also noticed my wallet had fallen on the ground. I was still in midair at this point and after making sure she was still watching me, put my hand out against the wall and suspended myself for a moment, before dropping back to the ground like a superhero and scooping up my wallet. Without missing a beat I continued running, past the gym and through a department store leading to the parking lot outside the mall. There was a table and people counting who ran through, but when the woman asked to see my plate I noticed I only had string around my neck. Other runners had paper plates with numbers written on them. I assured her I was part of the company and that I was number “33”. She checked a list, found my name, and when I presented my driver's license from my wallet, marked me complete. I came in 36th in the race, and then I woke up. Too bad this didn't happen before I answered my test.

3) For the first time since joining Netflix, I rented a movie I'd seen already. It's not that Passenger 57 isn't a memorable film, but I wasn't completely sure. I've taken out many movies I thought I'd watched already, at least in part, only to find large portions wholly new. Maybe this one had slipped by me too. Maybe I was confusing it with Drop Zone. But as the story unfolded, I realized I'd viewed it before, albeit on broadcast television. When I was in high school, Wesley Snipes' “Always bet on black!” line seemed ridiculously cool. Tonight, there was an extra dramatic pause after the villain admits to the hero that he has, in fact, played roulette on occasion. There's a wide shot of Wesley holding the phone before the camera zooms in for the signature phrase and he hangs up on the bad guy. Ridiculously cool was now simply ridiculous. What a ridiculous movie, and great because of it. Hollywood doesn't turn out these guilty pleasure formulaic action pieces as much as it did in the ‘80s and early ‘90s. Other observations from tonight's repeat viewing: Elizabeth Hurley has always looked flawless, and Tom Sizemore REALLY let himself go in less than a decade. Aside from his voice, the young Italian guy in this movie was virtually unrecognizable.

4) The new Barnes & Noble near my job is amazing. It has two levels, two escalators, and it's immense. I could fly a small plane through that store there's so much head room. Walking through the grand columns, I didn't feel like I was on Long Island at all. It almost felt Manhattan, and then it didn't feel New York at all. I liked it.

5) While in the bookstore, I snatched up the long-anticipated Ultimates Volume 2 trade paperback. I may not collect comics anymore, but some merit picking up in trade form, especially a continually fresh new take on one of my favorite teams.

6) Speaking of good comics, I read the first three Preacher collections nearly back-to-back this weekend. The series started in the late ‘90s so I'm a little late in discovering it, but I can honestly say I've never read or seen anything quite like it, and the term “comic” can only be used in the loosest sense to describe the medium. It really feels like reading a movie, or a really tight television series complete with seasons, story-arcs, cliffhangers and full character development. I'd caution Christians that it does get blasphemous in its portrayal of the character of “God”, but approached as a fictional reality it's telling a really compelling tale about flawed people, where good and evil are abstracts and the only constant is humanity. If you liked The Prophecy movies, or the potential Spawn once had, this might be something to check out. Thanks Jerry, for getting married and getting rid of stacks of old books like these!

7) No sooner do new episodes air then a third volume of Family Guy DVDs are released. As I watched this new purchase this afternoon, I realized the episodes were very fresh in my memory, since I just saw them this past Summer. The great thing is noticing all the scenes FOX cut from the original airing seamlessly reinserted. I bought the set at lunch, and had eight episodes finished before I left work for the gym.

8) My right leg works again. After the agony that woke me in the middle of the night on Sunday, and the difficulty I had yesterday, it was good to be almost back to normal today. The elliptical in the gym was the true test.

9) Pepperoni Pizza, especially from the right pizzeria, is AWESOME.

10) I chose ten for alliteration, but I really didn't have ten things to share tonight. Discuss my duplicity in the comments.

M.C.F.A.T. II: I Got Answers

I know you. I know the type. Sitting there, staring at the screen, waiting for some answers. You want answers? YOU WANT ANSWERS?! No sooner did I ask for some answers, then answers appeared in droves:

Neil

Darrell

J-No

Wendy

Lorna

*NAME HIDDEN*

Kev

Kelly

Sean

Neolithic

I'm going to stop typing “answers” now and instead share some of my own:

1) Here in the U.S., Thanksgiving is nearly upon us. Name any one thing in your life that you were ungrateful for, and how you feel about it now.
Up until last Thursday, I'd planned to name being sent to an all-male Catholic high school with a dress code for four years as the thing I was ungrateful for. But I think I'm going to change my answer to my mom's cooking, specifically Thanksgiving dinner, because after mincing onions and celery and slicing carrots and potatoes and washing a turkey with water and scrubbing it with salt and removing its organs and baking a pie and everything else, I now understand why she usually started cooking the night before and why her responses were so terse whenever my dad or I would pop our head in and say, “How's it going?” It's really something I took for granted, although maybe I was never ungrateful per se, since that term implies intent. I definitely didn't appreciate wearing a suit everyday, three hours of homework every night, and being separated from my friends in public school and, more importantly, the opposite sex. Of course, reading accounts of sub par students being pushed through public school, and hearing stories of gangs, drugs, and teen pregnancies, as an adult I can see how a parent might choose an option their child would hate them for, knowing they'd be better off as a result of it.

2) What kind of superhero would you be? An inspirational icon like Captain America or Superman, or someone dark and tortured like Wolverine or the Batman?
This is a tough question. Who comes up with these? If I allowed more options, in reality, I'd probably be a put-upon sidekick like Arthur. Working with the options I presented though, I'd have to say someone who tries to be an icon, fails, and ends up dark and tortured as a result. This question evolved from a discussion I had with a friend who was underwhelmed by Superman Returns, which in turn led to a discussion about “corny” iconic heroes versus the grittier modern ones. Sometimes I like to be inspired, need to hear a positive fanfare and see a flag waving in the background. The darker vigilantes are a closer reflection of reality, but that's why we need to escape sometimes with shinier role models. ”The World Still Needs Heroes.”

3) What's the weirdest or freakiest dream you've ever had? Have you ever had a recurring dream?
I have not had a recurring dream, as far as I'm aware. I often have weird dreams that blend geography and reality. Once I dreamt I was walking through my high school, went down stairs and emerged directly into the lobby of a train station. Fun stuff. The dream that freaked me out the MOST as a kid was relatively simple. I saw nothing but black, then these white characters started slowly scrolling like movie credits. They were weird hieroglyphs with no meaning to me, but the part that terrified me was the mumbling chanting monotone I heard. A little nine-year-old MCF sat up in bed and couldn't get back to sleep for hours, finally thinking about Laverne & Shirley, something benign and innocent to comfort myself. Another weird dream from childhood would be the time I found myself playing in my dad's old repair shop. As I ran through the garage, some boxes tumbled from shelving suspended near the ceiling. I threw my arms up to shield myself AND IN REAL LIFE FELT TWO THINGS HIT THE BED SO HARD IT WOKE ME UP. Shaking, I finally got up and ran to the light switch. There was nothing there. Nothing fell on me, and there were no signs of any cats. To this day, my best theory is that my legs had been up in the air and dropped to the bed, waking me up. Who knows?

4) If you were chosen to be among the first pioneers to settle in a space station orbiting the Earth, would you accept and if so, what role would you play in the community?
It'd be an exciting proposition, but a huge change in my routine. I think I'd initially consider declining, until some good friends called me an idiot for never taking chances to improve my life and pointed out that it'd be a rare opportunity and more important than my current job. I'd miss my family and friends, but in Earth orbit I'm sure I could catch a shuttle home on holidays. I'd probably design brochures, labels, posters and anything else that had to be printed on the station. In true improbable fashion, I'd be careless with my food and leave crumbs in an airlock that would later propel into my suit in some freak accident, rupture it, and cause depressurization. My body would explode, but somehow they'd save the head, attach a robot arm, and send me back to my old job, where my friends would call me an idiot for taking such a risk in the first place.

5) No! Not here! Anywhere but here! You swore you'd never come back, and now suddenly here you are! Where are you?
This is a no-brainer. In hindsight I may realize the wisdom in my parents' decision to send me to a private school, but that doesn't mean I want to ever go back. A potential alternate answer could be my ordeal in the hospital a few years ago, but it's inevitable that I'll need to be in a hospital again someday, and everything that was done the last time resulted in me continuing and resuming my life. High school, traumatic for anyone, is a one-time trial-by-fire that no one should have to go through twice. College is great because you choose a major of interest, learn what you want to learn, and find yourself surrounded by like-minded individuals with similar tastes. For me high school was prison, and while my mom thought ”Heaven Help Us” was a cute rental for family movie night during the course of my sentence, it hit too close to home and she didn't understand why I wasn't as eager to come home from school and watch a movie about a similar school. I enjoyed a visit to my old college since graduation, but I'm never setting foot in my high school again. That might change if I ever decide to send any of my kids to the same place, but I'll deal with that when the time comes. The important thing is I don't have to deal with homework, harsh gym classes, or running through a park filled with attacking kids from a nearby public school to get to the train station at the end of each day. Never again will I have three minutes to lug a stack of thick textbooks from one end of a building to another, or worry about someone reversing the lock on my locker during such a three-minute interval. More importantly, aside from weddings, I never have to worry about getting food stains out of a tie ever again.

Phantasmic Links 11.27.05

This is the time of year when numerous Catholics remember their faith, and show up at church. Today was the lighting of the first candle on the Advent wreath in counting down to Christmas, and the church was packed. I'm not judging these people, because I know spirituality is more than spending an hour or so in a certain building each week. They may be more charitable, and have a greater place for God in their everyday lives than I do. Certainly, though I'm in church consistently every week, I'm not always “there”. Many times my mind wanders to what I have to do in the week ahead, or a movie I watched, or the composition of a blog entry. I only raise this point because the church was crowded, and I don't like crowds. It's just one more thing I don't like about the holidays.

Last night I promised my father I'd take care of clearing the leaves out of the gutters around the house. The ladder is heavy and getting it out of the basement is task enough, but a 75 year-old man shouldn't be climbing either. When my mother and I pulled in the driveway upon returning from mass, the ladder was already in place and he was raking leaves nearby, waiting for me. Growing up, I didn't have the best track record when it came to keeping promises in a timely fashion, and respecting my responsibilities. Seeing that ladder out already bothered me, and I took it as a sign that he didn't trust my word, or thought I'd forget. I'd like to think I've changed, or that I've been working very hard to change, and I keep my word when I say I'm going to do something. I felt like I'd always be judged by my past. After clearing the leaves, my dad asked what time it was, and I soon learned he was trying to get all the outdoor chores done in time to watch a football game. Seems I was a bit hasty in mistaking his impatience in getting the ladder out before I got home for mistrust that I'd do as I said. Everything isn't about MCF.

With church and chores behind me, and a warm day before me, it was time at last to have an adventure. A miscalculation involving distance and early sunset led to a situation from which I wasn't certain I'd ever return. As always, such a tale will be saved for another day as I delve into this week's PHANTASMIC LINKS:

This was never a Seinfeld episode, but it could have been. Link courtesy of Rey.

Here's Reason #816 why I won't be purchasing an XBox 360.

Travel from the farthest reaches of space back to Earth. I found this relaxing and mesmerizing.

Armada Assault doesn't look like much at first, but quickly becomes an addictive and fast-paced shooter with weapon and plane upgrades to be purchased between each of the 8 challenging levels. Hat tip to Dosetaker.

Waking up in the middle of his toe surgery inspires Ben to write a poem. Don't worry; ”Tiny Tim” is fine.

Now that I know how one of these works, I can finally crush those rebel scum! Thanks, Sean!

Because no one asked, here are bloopers from a direct-to-video American Pie movie featuring Stifler's kid brother. Once again, thanks goes to Sean for the link.

Belter is better than Asteroids. It's also more challenging. There are 99 levels, but I haven't gotten past the early 20s....yet.

Finally, some questionable characters teach your children the proper words for body parts. 1984? For once my overprotected childhood seems to pay off in that I was spared this video growing up.

Reluctant Spirit

Wendy is crazy. So is Kelly. I can't believe how early they got up to do their Christmas shopping yesterday. 3 AM? 4 AM? The real madness is that there were lines in each instance, and these weren't remote occurrences. All across the nation, people either completely mad or truly dedicated to their families embraced Black Friday, waking up insanely early to battle crowds and catch bargains a month before Christmas, and a good three weeks before I'll probably be shopping.

I suppose their actions are commendable, but I personally dislike crowds at any time, especially during hours I reserve for sleeping and dreaming of a better life. Every year, my holiday spirit seems to decline a little bit more. Earlier and earlier, commercials skew toward the holiday season. If movies only have a few holiday scenes, the trailers magically focus on them. Garland and lights begin to insidiously creep over houses and street signs. When I walked into work last Wednesday, I entered a perfectly ordinary office lobby. When I left for the long weekend, there was a wreath and a tree set up already. Radio stations are cluttered with holiday music, and people in the halls may belt into song without warning.

I'm not sure when I soured on the magic of the holidays. I used to look forward to getting presents every year, and playing in the snow. Now buying presents is a chore, and snow is nothing more than an impediment to driving. Maybe this is a natural phase between being a kid, and being an adult with kids. One good thing this year is that there were several family members I didn't get to see last year, whose presents are still wrapped. The workload will be less. At some point, gift giving loses its meaning and becomes more about “trading” than an actual gesture of generosity. Why do I have to get a gift for So-and-so? Because So-and-so always gets me something. I wonder if somewhere relatives aren't having the same exchange about me. It'd be nice to restrict gift giving outside my immediate family to children, and just buy things for my cousins' kids.

I realize how horrible this all sounds. It's not about money. I have a decent job and I live at home. I can afford to buy presents. It's about sheer unadulterated laziness. Every year I have to go to stores, battle crowds, accumulate about 50 items for my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and their children, and subsequently wrap, label and sort them. Every year at this time I'm still in serious denial over the end of Summer and the falling thermometer. Holiday decorations hammer the point home that it's now Winter. Sometime in my life, “I can't wait for Christmas!” became “I can't wait until the holidays are over!” At some point, I became the Grinch.

Of course, I'm just letting off steam. Eventually every year I brace myself, set foot in stores, and get the job done. Last year I made my life easier and bought gift cards for all the adults in my extended family, and personal specific items only for children and my parents. More importantly, no matter how much I fight the holiday spirit in November, it still creeps under my skin and grows more powerful each week. Now I'm complaining; in a few weeks I'll be merrily wrapping and whistling carols. There are some who'd say marching in a parade at night this time of year is as mad as shopping, yet tonight I found myself way out in Patchogue surrounded by people in Santa hats and elves and various radio stations. The sidewalks were packed with families, and children huddled under blankets cheered as we played songs very much out-of-tune due to the cold metal of our instruments. It wasn't as cold as last year's parade, but it was cold enough. I still feel it in my bones. But I also liked seeing all the colored lights, brightly wrapped presents, and cheesy light-up plastic candy canes.

Holiday spirit. I fight it every year, and every year I lose, darn it.

Boredom and Remakes

Is it Monday yet? I can't believe it, but I actually find myself missing work. Last year at this time I wrote an aptly named entry titled ”Dull”, musing that I don't enjoy “nothing” days as much as I did when I was a kid. Today I have the same sense of disorientation, of being in a void and not having the “feel” of the day. Is today Sunday? Saturday? Only Friday? Every year I look forward to having a chunk of time away from the stress of work, and every year I realize that I like being busy; I NEED to be busy. I can play video games, watch DVDs, read, and surf the net, and get bored with it ALL. It's interesting that last year I was playing X-men Legends, and now I'm playing the sequel. Actually, I beat the sequel over a week ago and now I'm just going through it again with the characters I unlocked, and increased powers. I find I lose interest very quickly in a game I've already played, no matter how good it is.

There was no way I was venturing out anywhere near malls or shopping centers on the busiest day of the year. When I woke up, the sun looked promising, and I considered places to hike and take pictures. That was before I checked and noticed that it was only 26 degrees today. One glance at a planter full of frozen water near my driveway was enough to convince me that today was a day best spent indoors. I did some cleaning, and even some electrical work, installing a new outlet in my parent's bedroom. That task proved interesting, considering my dad cannot hear very well. He'd throw switches downstairs to cut the power, I'd call down that the light went out and he found the right one, and a second later the light would come back on because, not hearing me, he flipped the switch back on. I suggested turning everything off but he said we couldn't do that “because” and gave no further explanation since he figured it would be over my head. As it is, though the lights went out I plugged in my folks’ clock radio and discovered the outlets still had power, and ran on another line. Experience had taught me that electricity is not my friend, and my dad sometimes does things in a hurry. I'm glad I checked before I took a screwdriver to the outlet.

Mail delivery was a little late today on account of the holiday, but Netflix came through with two movies for me. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was really good, and Johnny Depp was wonderfully weird and creepy. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is still a classic and the better of the two movies, but the new one by no means disappoints and even fleshes out Wonka's backstory a bit more than the original. Some movies should never be remade, and I was apprehensive given the history of wrongful remakes. 2001's Planet of the Apes, also directed by Tim Burton, springs to mind. Burton doesn't deviate as much from the original story here, and gives a quality update. The latest King Kong remake also looks very promising. Still, I sometimes wonder about the necessity of remakes. Why not re-release digitally remastered originals to theaters? It worked for George Lucas...

After the first movie, I couldn't keep my eyes open. I rested them for what seemed like a moment, and then it was time for dinner. Looking back on the day, it feels long, wasted and nonexistent. I feel unmotivated, and as busy as my job can get, I miss having a list of tasks to accomplish. Earlier I anticipated Monday, but I've taken that day off so Tuesday will be my return to life. A few days ago, extending the weekend seemed like a great idea. After being cooped up in the house for two days straight now, the next three days seem like an eternity. Maybe that's part of the problem though. I haven't gone outside since coming home from work early on Wednesday. I woke up yesterday, had breakfast, and immediately started cooking. Tomorrow I'll get to go to a holiday parade which, checking my archives, I looked forward to last year as a welcome break from doing nothing. Subsequently, I froze, and was glad to get back home. I'm a little stir crazy right now, but history will probably repeat itself.

I think this is enough ramblings from my self-imposed prison for one evening. I'm going to return to the second movie I got today, The Siege, and finish up the day. I'll have to brainstorm ideas for places to go on Sunday and Monday though, because I definitely need to get OUT of here.

AVSPBT: What I learned today...

A Very Special Photo Blog Thursday:




- You can tell an Italian woman of any age to stay out of the kitchen, that you can handle things, and she'll still hover even if she's just had surgery.

- There's more to stuffing than bread and eggs. Apparently I've been eating onions and celery all these years, and never knew it. There's also about seven different minute traces of spices that have to be added, including parsley and thyme, as well as bouillon cubes.

- Not five minutes after announcing to my mom like the smart guy I am that it's an urban legend that onions make you cry, my face was red, my nose was congested, and my eyes were stinging like I'd been maced. Onions really DO have that effect.

- Giblets sound cute, but then you unwrap the paper and have flashbacks to dissecting a fetal pig in high school. Turkey organs are JIGGLY!

- The long neck-like thing I took out of the turkey was in fact a neck, and not impressive genitalia.

- There's a lot of blood in a turkey. Before you cook, you have to rinse it thoroughly, then give it a salt massage to clean it further, then coat it with butter so it will cook. This bird got better treatment as a corpse than it likely got while living.

- Our kitchen is REALLY small, and when two people hover over a third, tempers can flare.

- My mom rocks. I can't believe how much work she does every year.

- My dad is a great help when it comes to cleaning the house but when he's hungry and asking every ten minutes “what's wrong?” and “are we going to eat today?”, it's not so helpful.

- Adding extra water to the turkey after putting potatoes around it won't make it tender and juicy like the turkey I sometimes get at a Dominican restaurant near my job. It will make it take longer to cook, and when the time comes to carve it, while the top is golden brown the bottom will still be pale. The water will have to be drained and the turkey will have to go back in the oven for another hour while my dad and my uncle call in from the living room asking if there's anything they can do to help and wondering if we're going to eat today.

- Carving a turkey with an electric carver is fun and easy, and I don't know why my dad's never done it. When the time came I called him, he didn't hear me, and then my mom asked, “Where have you been the last 31 years?” The answer was, of course, watching tv, playing video games, or surfing the net, so when I was called to the table I didn't know who put the food there.

- If I let the water run while I'm washing dishes, my dad will get annoyed that I'm wasting water, and eventually take over and edge me out of the kitchen completely. That's not something I learned today so much as realized that subconsciously I always leave the water running on purpose.

- Cannoli is the best dessert ever, something I learn every time my uncle visits with a parcel from the Italian bakery.

- Odds are, if I run down my blogroll at the end of the day to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving, the one site that will give me trouble, and not allow me to show the posting form, will belong to my oldest friend in the list. Happy Thanksgiving, clan Rey! I didn't omit you from my rounds; improbability did.

- I can cook. I needed my mom to tell me each step, sometimes getting more detailed than I wanted and elaborating on which direction to peel a carrot and with what kind of motion, but ultimately I did it. It was after 4 when we finally ate, but the food was actually good, from corn to potatoes to stuffing to carrots to salad to bread to the turkey itself. My uncle joked that I should become a chef, my dad joked that I should get a chef's hat, and my mom half-joked that I should do all the cooking from now on. At least, I hope she was joking...

PBW: Every Goodbye is Inevitable.

As usual, I almost died today.

Like most things, my flair for the melodramatic comes from my parents. As far back as I can remember, my father would always conclude resigned statements with, “I'll be dead by then, anyway.” Not to be outdone, my mom would always preface mundane statements with “In case I die...”. While it's wise to be prepared, she would do so to a fault. “In case I die, the salt shaker is in this cabinet.” “In case I die, the measuring spoons are on the third shelf down on the left side.” Part of it was her attempt to crack through a perceived shell of not paying attention, to see if we were really listening. But she had a true sense of her mortality, as much as my tired father would anticipate his after a hard day at work. “My shoulder hurts and I can't even bend my fingers anymore with this arthritis. Oh well, I guess I'll be dead soon, anyway.”

When I tell people tales of my brushes with death, those who've not witnessed the incidents firsthand are often skeptical. Surely, I'm exaggerating. No one is THAT unlucky. When I think about my parents, I wonder if my words aren't a reflection of what I heard growing up. Perhaps I don't have many brushes with death. Today was an ordinary day at work, and I went for a perfectly ordinary walk into town with TheWriteJerry at lunch. It was perfectly normal when the light turned green and we proceeded Westbound across an intersection. There's nothing surprising or life-threatening about the Southbound car I noticed going awfully fast. I noted its speed, slowed down instead of running as I sometimes do when I cross a street, and finally stopped and jumped back a bit as she finally slammed on the brakes. The resounding squeal was as deafening as it was ineffective, and she sailed clear into the middle of the intersection. Fortunately, an Eastbound car proceeding into the intersection stopped as soon as the noise erupted, the cars avoiding a head-on collision by literal inches. There was no collision, and no flying glass, plastic, or other shrapnel to additionally threaten us. The woman who ran the light only sat in the middle of the intersection for a second, before stepping on it again and continuing on her way at the same dangerous speeds. In retrospect, I guess I was dishing out my trademark brand of hyperbole by saying, “I almost died”, yes?

Nothing and no one lasts forever. All matter exists through endurance and a series of near-misses, until it wears out or finally gets hit. For example, in 2004, on the way to a July 4th parade, a van struck the back of my dad's 1986 Monte Carlo and spun us around as we were crossing an intersection. I realized that they weren't stopping seconds before impact, loudly brought it to my dad's attention, and he sped up enough to avoid impact with the passenger side, but not enough to fully avoid a collision. Our insurance regarded the car as totaled, and my dad got a new car. The old one, which my mom found a sudden sentimental attachment for, sat in our yard. The battery died, the tires lost air, and it began to look really dirty. My dad wanted to bring it to a junkyard, or donate it to charity, or SOMETHING, but she wanted to “find a good home for it” and thought maybe someone could fix it up. Today's Photo Blog Wednesday is the story of this car:








It was the subject of many an argument for over a year. Recently, my mom finally got a diagnosis from a doctor regarding a painful affliction she'd endured for years, and learned she had an ulcer on her bladder. Ambulatory surgery was scheduled to remove it but in the interim, she's been making final preparations. The house began to look cleaner as various bills and other paperwork were sorted out, unnecessary papers finally discarded. Files were organized and more than ever my father and I learned the whereabouts of important things in the event of her untimely demise. And so last Monday, she consented to say goodbye to an old friend and allowed my dad to call a junkyard to come take it away.



My dad quickly made the call, and set about recharging the battery and cleaning the car out in preparation for the arrival of a tow truck. At times my mom peered out the window and, since I had taken a vacation day, urged me to take pictures. Occasionally she'd wonder aloud if she was doing the right thing, and console herself with the “fact” that she'd be dead in just over a week anyway. Soon my parents were signing away our old car, which they'd had since I was in high school, and which had some of my school stickers on it adding to her attachment.



Even my dad looked uncharacteristically wistful as the car was towed away. My mom watched in silence, until the broken support from the rear bumper made a horrible scraping sound, leaving a long white gash in our driveway which my dad just painted with sealant this past Summer. Perhaps luck is hereditary.




After a few adjustments to the angle, the driver was soon on his way. In the distance, the protruding metal would still occasionally contact the street. And then, she was gone forever.



As for my mom, her operation yesterday seems to have gone fine and she’s home, alive and well if a bit tired and sore. She’ll need to rest and stay off her feet for a few days, so she was unable to travel with my dad today to New Jersey for his monthly heart treatments. I was concerned about his voyaging alone, but his journey was without incident either way. It was not unlike a taste of what they must have gone through when I was in my mid-twenties spending Saturday nights at karaoke bars. The son becomes the parent? Even more frightening though is the fact that, since she really should stay off her feet for a few days, the task of cooking for my parents and my uncle tomorrow has fallen on the shoulders of an unconventional volunteer. I told her I’d take care of everything, and she’d just need to be there to instruct me. For some reason right now though, I’m remembering the time when I was 8 or 9 and decided to make pancakes on Mother’s Day. It was years later that she confessed I’d left some eggshell bits leading to an unexpected crunch at times. If the news tomorrow reports that an Italian family on Long Island suffered a fatal meal, think of me.

I guess we all have to say goodbye sometime. In case I die tomorrow, have a Happy Thanksgiving! If it’s just my usual brush with death though, I’ll have an update tomorrow night.

Cube Cubed

I've always like solving puzzles, especially three dimensional ones. My favorite was Rubik's Magic, in which you could fold flat panels held together by intricate wirework and link or unlink various images of rings, as well as make three dimensional shapes. I just finished watching Cube Zero, the prequel to Cube-- I mean the MOVIE Cube. I'm not sure how I'd fare if put in a life-or-death giant puzzle, but it's sure fun to watch.

The original Cube, arguably the best of the three movies in the series, did a great job of disorienting the viewer along with the cast. A diverse group of people wake up inside a windowless square room, with portals on each of the six surfaces leading to other squares. They're inside a giant maze of cubes forming one giant cube, and some of the rooms are rigged with deadly traps. Not for the faint-hearted, some suffer truly gruesome demises, and the party soon realize entering the next section has to be done carefully. Will they find the exit before they starve to death or succumb to the built-in perils? Who put them there? And what's on the outside? Not every question is answered by the film's end...

Cube was followed by Hypercube. Again, the concept is the same. A group of strangers must navigate the inside of a Cube, this time one with decidedly more science fiction-oriented threats, such as a room with accelerated time. Like the original, it makes use of the fact that the entire thing could be shot in one room lit differently to make it seem like other rooms in different scenes, but it also had more of a budget. Somehow, it didn't quite have the heart of the first movie, and while it also leaves us with some questions, there are answers we may or may not like.

Cube Zero takes us outside the Cube for the first time which made me apprehensive when I first heard about it. Ultimately, it's not a mistake, and by watching the watchers(who are also watched), it brings a fresh perspective to the story. Learning some of the mysteries does detract from the marvelous factor of the unknown in the original, but it's not a bad backstory and by the end, it ties in REALLY well with the original and brings things full circle. I should have seen it coming sooner than I did, but it's been a few years since I saw the original. Finding the elusive exit, especially when the rooms shift at intervals, doesn't necessarily guarantee survival. If one doesn't mind learning why these people were thrown into this situation like guinea pigs, this film's only real weakness is an over-the-top cliché comic book style villain with a robot eye and a cane. This guy was BAD, but the good news is that John Glover can sleep at night knowing his career is safe.(And I just noticed he'll be playing Skeletor...interesting....)

If you like suspense, and character-driven ensemble pieces, this is a fun sf trilogy to unfold.

M.C.F.A.T. Volume II

It's back! Exactly two weeks after the last one, here comes yet another edition of the Mysterious Cloaked Figure's Astonishing Test! Does anyone else see a pattern forming? On to the questions:

1) Here in the U.S., Thanksgiving is nearly upon us. Name any one thing in your life that you were ungrateful for, and how you feel about it now.

2) What kind of superhero would you be? An inspirational icon like Captain America or Superman, or someone dark and tortured like Wolverine or the Batman?

3) What's the weirdest or freakiest dream you've ever had? Have you ever had a recurring dream?

4) If you were chosen to be among the first pioneers to settle in a space station orbiting the Earth, would you accept and if so, what role would you play in the community?

5) No! Not here! Anywhere but here! You swore you'd never come back, and now suddenly here you are! Where are you?

Phantasmic Links 11.20.05

For most people, waking up and catching a matinee is as simple as waking up, and catching a matinee. Most people are not MCF, the Nexus of Improbability.

Waking up at 9AM on a Sunday is a feat enough in itself. Showering, eating breakfast, and making it to the nearest stadium theater 10 miles away by 10 AM was even more impressive. I wasn't expecting any problems since, after all, it was early on a Sunday morning. Those who weren't attending their respective religious services would be sleeping in after a late Saturday night. Imagine my surprise to find the line extending out of the lobby and into the parking lot! Undaunted, I waited since it moved relatively quickly, and I knew this particular theater showed at least twenty minutes of trailers. Yet when I was close enough to hear someone told that the show had been sold out, my plans truly unraveled. Faced with the choice of hanging around 2 hours for the next show or catching an earlier showing at a smaller theater in my home town, I opted for the latter. It wasn't a stadium, but it was apt to have a smaller crowd and less children, a fair trade. Upon arrival I discovered the first showing wasn't until 12:30.

I used the time to return home and sort through some boxes I'd brought home during the carpeting of my office. An hour or so later, I was back and buying a ticket. Soon I was sitting in a theater and though there were a few families, the kids were relatively well behaved. The standard cheesy slide show played on the screen. “Was this movie first a book, play, or comic strip?” “Can you unscramble these refrigerator magnet letters and find the celebrity's name?” Between songs a voice that clearly wasn't a professional DJ, but rather the theater manager, advised people to buy popcorn, silence cellphones, and enjoy the next song from Sheryl Crow. As ”If it Makes you Happy” played, I checked my watch and wondered when the movie would start. It was at least five minutes late. Then, in true improbable fashion, one of the theater workers ran in the back door and announced, “FOLKS! THE MOVIE IS IN THEATER THREE! NOT ONE. sorry.” Being in the back row and saddled with neither spouse nor brood gave me a decent head start on the stampeding mob, and I entered the other (empty) theater in time for the second half of the Superman Returns teaser trailer, which I had been looking forward to seeing on the big screen. I couldn't believe the place would allow one room to fill up, and start playing the movie in another room completely devoid of an audience. The good news is that the screen was a lot bigger than the one in the first room I was in. Obligatory improbability behind me, I was now free to immerse myself in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, every bit as dark and amazing as the book, and certainly earning its PG-13 rating.

That was this morning(and afternoon). Now it is this evening, and time once again for this week's PHANTASMIC LINKS:

At last! Now you too can find maps to celebrities! Hat tip to Rey, who interviewed a young local celebrity on the eve of his fourth birthday.

Megadeth in the Twenty Fourth and One Half Century! Courtesy of Sarcasmo, who also has classical painting superheroes and villains for us this week.

Ubersleep involves taking several naps rather than sleeping in one block of hours every night. Didn't Kramer try this once?

It's scary to think that school textbooks are riddled with glaring errors. I used to catch things all the time, and there were plenty of good teachers who taught us current facts, and not the outdated ones in the sometimes five or more year-old books.

Can you diffuse this bomb in less than fifteen minutes? It's great how many different problems are involved in solving this one.

Now you can generate graffiti on the internet! That's going to save a LOT of spraypaint, walls, and overpasses....

This is the longest list of the longest stuff at the longest domain name at long last!

Need background music for your next RPG gettogether? Radio Rivendell can help(get you even less dates). This one comes from Kev Bayer's new links feature.

Say, I wonder whatever happened to the cast of Goonies....?

Out of the Cold

I came home from church tonight, ate dinner, and promptly fell asleep for nearly three hours.

I hate the cold. I hate this time of year, with the dropping thermometer and short days. On the way to mass tonight my mom said as much, and declared that next week she'd be going on Sunday mornings for the duration of Winter. I've always liked the 5:00 mass on Saturday because it meant I could sleep late on a Sunday. There were plenty of times in my early 20s when I'd be out all day and pretty late on a Saturday, and have to drag myself out of bed on Sunday sometimes with less than 2 or 3 hours' worth of sleep. It was never a pleasant feeling. I don't know how my dad consistently goes to mass at 7AM every week. It probably helps to go to bed at nine, but I've never liked going to bed early any more than getting up early. I always have the feeling that I'm “missing” something, even if I have no plans for the evening anyway. So I was certain that I'd continue going on my own on Saturdays, since my mom would have no trouble driving herself during the daytime on Sunday.

When we got out of church it was cold, that bitter sudden cold that embraces you like a virus, finds its way through multiple layers of clothing and flesh to wrap itself around your bones and set up camp, the kind that stays with you even with the heat on full blast in the car. When we got home, my coat stayed on for a long time and though I was warmer by the time I finished eating, I just couldn't keep my eyes open. I lay in bed fighting it for a long time, and apparently I lost. I had plenty of sleep the night before, and slept almost until noon. Something about this time of year instills an uncontrollable urge to hibernate. I don't want to wake up until the days are longer and the weather is warmer. Most days that's just not a realistic option.

It was nice and sunny today, the perfect day to get out a ladder and clean the last leaves from the gutters around the house. The trees are nearly bare and soon there won't be much more raking to do. Soon it will be time to shovel snow. I'm not sure what will happen with my Photo Blog Wednesday as the seasons change. I have a few weeks' worth of archived images that I haven't gotten to yet, from various places I went in October that I haven't gotten to share yet. Earlier this week I documented a family milestone that will appear in a few days. When the snow is on the ground, I'll certainly capture a few winter scenes. Beyond that, I'm not sure. The feature doesn't get many comments, and I sometimes wonder if people are getting bored with the subject matter. “Oh look, MCF shot more trees. There's a beach. Hey, the birds are alive in this one.” Et cetera. At some point I'd still like to shoot some architecture and landmarks in Manhattan, and switch up from the potential nature overload. I might get a better camera before doing so, and will be researching that very soon. The city can get cold this time of year though, and I'm not sure how much time I'm willing to spend outside. Next Saturday night I have to play in an annual holiday parade, and I know I'm going to freeze no matter how I dress. I'm just glad the Baroque quartet I used to play tree lightings with broke up a few years ago. Late December is an even worse time for outdoor gigs.

The good news is I'll have more time for writing and reading on weekends, so there's that at least. After my escape to a veritable beachfront paradise last week during unseasonably high temperatures, the cold is a rude awakening or, in my case, rude sudden uncontrollable napping.

Betterville

Some people catch up on shows on DVD years after they begin. In the last few months I've been doing so with The Sopranos, and I'm three episodes away from finishing the fifth season and catching up with the rest of the planet. I haven't spoken too much about it to people who've seen it already, because while after awhile I discerned a pattern in death, I still didn't want anyone to spoil who gets wacked when and by whom. No matter when a person sees a show, if he or she wants to avoid spoilers, it's important that people respect that. Following this code of honor, and knowing for certain that Jerry waits a season to watch Smallville with his son on DVD and that other readers may do the same, I'm writing this paragraph to allow SPOILER SPACE. Now, on to a key redeeming note in last night's episode.

The show has alternately wowed and disappointed me over the last four seasons. Sometimes the hints of things to come, nods to Clark Kent's future as a superhero, thrill the comic geek in me. Other times the show goes on a tangent in which his girlfriend's Kryptonian tattoo allows her witch ancestor to possess, or townspeople accept the fact that anyone who touches a green rock in conjunction with some other event will end up with powers. Last season especially had a promising beginning and an even more exciting ending, but the middle part was a schizophrenic disjointed ride through irrelevant subplots and undefined character relationships. From week to week the way the cast interacted seemed to fluctuate with different writers. This is a show about the early years of SUPERMAN. We know the destination; the journey is supposed to be the hook. Instead, knowing where it must eventually lead is the only thread holding my attention.

One of my biggest problems with the show has been the fact that, somewhere around the second season, Clark's adoptive parents reveal the spaceship they found him in and he finds a message from his biological father Jor-El telling him to rule the humans. Clark believes that he was sent to conquer the Earth, and wonders what kind of race he came from. At first, this seemed an obvious misconception to anyone familiar with the character, knowing that his father in fact was a great scientist, who sent him from their exploding planet to save his only son's life. Yet, as the show went on every time he encountered his father, a disembodied voice in Kryptonian artifacts and a cavern beneath Kansas, Jor-El seemed more and more evil. He abducts Clark to train him. He nearly kills Clark's adoptive father. And this season, when Clark nearly dies himself, Jor-El revives him but tells him someone he loves will die as a result. The one theory I've held on to through all this is, because Terrence Stamp supplied the voice of Jor-El, perhaps it wasn't Clark's father behaving out of character at all. Perhaps Stamp was reprising his role as the evil General Zod from Superman II. Of course he's not the only actor from the original films to appear on Smallville, since both Margot Kidder and the late Christopher Reeve have been on, and Annette O'Toole is a series regular. My theory would salvage of lot of the problems I had with the show, but it didn't have much weight.

This brings me to last night's episode. James Marsters has been playing Clark's college professor this season, secretly from Krypton himself. Last week he revealed himself to Clark, demonstrating the same super abilities. Last night, when Clark's mother fell ill to a mysterious ailment, he begged Marsters' character to tell him more about Jor-El, believing his biological father to be responsible. As Marsters spun his tale, I could sense a plan to the entire SERIES, even if in reality it was an afterthought or nod to the fans. He told Clark that Jor-El was a vicious conqueror, that he destroyed Krypton and banished the hero of the people, the one man who could stop him, General Zod. Before he was imprisoned, Zod devised a black crystal that could destroy Jor-El's creations, in this case the Fortress of Solitude up north where his memories reside. Not knowing that Marsters was in fact the evil machine Brainiac, he takes him to the Fortress and plunges the black crystal into the heart of it. As the place crumbles around them, Brainiac whips out some Kryptonite as Clark staggers and realizes, too late, he'd been lied to. Jor-El wasn't the evil despot on Krypton; everything Brainiac told him about his father was in fact about Zod. As Clark lay weak, Brainiac stepped forth as a portal opened and a familiar square carrying General Zod flew at them.

Of course, I'm not going to spoil the WHOLE episode on the off chance anyone who didn't want to know foolishly read beyond the first paragraph. As it is, I've revealed quite a bit. This plot turn, the possibility that Jor-El is NOT evil but that Zod is entering the picture, redeems a LOT for me. As I said, the show has alternately wowed and disappointed me over the last four seasons. Now in the fifth season, it's wowing me again. It's too bad there are so many disappointing subplots and disconnected episodes going off on tangents from a really good story, but I guess if they only showed the great episodes there would only be two seasons. Still, it was very exciting last night.

Even MORE exciting was that on one of the commercial breaks, they debuted the teaser trailer for Superman Returns. Jerry, who doesn't know the definition of “teaser trailer”, complained to us earlier today that, “it didn't show ANYTHING. It was just a montage with a voiceover.” Watch and decide for yourselves. I for one am greatly anticipating this movie now. It's easily going to be better than the better episodes of Smallville.

Got Me Good.

This has been a fairly disruptive week at work. Last week we were notified that we were getting new carpeting, a welcome improvement. The task would be accomplished over five weeks, with the installation taking place every night into the early morning. Each day a section would be handled by “carpet elves”, and we’d arrive to find a new pattern spreading ever outward from the elevators at the center of our floor. In order to facilitate this process, workers were given boxes in which to place the entire contents of their cubicles. Every shelf and every drawer had to be packed, so workers could easily move them out of the way, jack up the desks and cubicle walls, and replace the carpet underneath. There was a plan of attack, and employees would know at least 48 hours in advance before their area needed to be packed up. Fortunately, our area was to be done relatively early in the process, and I was happy that we’d get it out of the way. I took the time to bring home personal items such as CDs and action figures, and along the way I got rid of a lot of old things I didn’t need anymore. It was a great opportunity to clean a perpetually cluttered workspace. My schedule and lack of organizational skills don’t allow me much time to clean up, but now I was forced to make time, even if it meant being more efficient with my core workload during the day to free up some time after work for packing. I finished most of my task on Tuesday night, leaving out only the things on my desk I’d presently need. Last night, when the rugs were due to come in, I finished packing the last of my things. Ten boxes sat in an empty cubicle when I left, and I wondered if I’d find a new carpet this morning, or if my luck would kick in.

Those who know of my ability to twist probability will be no more surprised than I was when I walked across new carpeting that stopped just shy of the quadrant of cubicles where I sat. My neighbors didn’t seem too happy about it, and one of my friends pointed out that notes had been left on our desks apologizing and explaining. I picked up a sheet of paper from my pristine desk, and read the following:

Due to the large amount
of boxes in this area, we
were unable to capret your
area. Please reduce the
box count to four boxes.

Thank you and sorry for the
inconvenience—

your carpet crew

Everyone had the same ridiculous note, complete with the “capret” misspelling. My mind raced as I wondered how I could possibly get rid of or consolidate half my things, when I’d already thrown quite a bit out. A woman walked by and commented that in her thirteen years with the company she didn’t have as much stuff as I’d accumulated in six, and that I really didn’t need it all. Some of the boxes were packed solid with books, and the weight of three would be too much for my car let alone six. I checked to see if my writer was in yet since her area was done. Perhaps at the end of the day when she left I could move some boxes there. My friend wasn’t happy either, and though he had brought a handcart today, he had no idea where to move his boxes either. All four of us had no less than 8 boxes. Worse, our neighbors’ area had been covered, and they exceeded the ludicrous limit of four boxes, though not by much. It was insane. I ranted. I complained. I apologized profusely that my luck had affected those around me. When I questioned this fact aloud, had I been more composed, I might have recognized the vital clue. My bad luck NEVER affects other people, save to provide amusement and interesting anecdotes. I just wasn’t thinking.

Another friend came by now, looking about in surprise. He had a genuine expression of concern when he saw the note, since he was already up to seven boxes himself and Friday night was his deadline. I walked over to my other friend’s cubicle, still ranting, and started counting his boxes to see if he in fact had more due to a bookcase we share between the cubicles. As I did so, he handed me another piece of paper. At first I thought it was the same note, since the handwriting was very similar. I read it, and it said something to the effect of, “We apologize but we ran out of time. Your area will be taken care of tonight, 11/17. Sorry for the inconvenience, Your carpet crew.” Amazingly, I STILL wasn’t getting it. “Why did you get two notes?” I asked my friend who was now grinning. The other notorious prankster, who had moments ago feigned concern for his seven boxes, now released a laugh he’d been stifling with great effort. “There’s NOT a second note.” said the first friend, even as I fell to the floor in embarrassed realization covering my face in my hands. They were both in on it, and had provided a plausible alternate note underscoring the daunting task of getting everything into four boxes while distracting me with a typo they knew I’d focus on and include in my rant. The two girls who share our quadrant were in on it. The woman who’d been with the company thirteen years was in on it. One of our neighbors questioned my gullibility, and explained to her how my luck had preconditioned me to expect to find the old carpet this morning. I was sure they wouldn’t get to us, but the box limit really threw me into a state of crisis. They’d gotten me, and gotten me good.

PBW: So Far and yet So Close.

It's raining outside right now, just a light drizzle, but it's also 30 degrees. Winter is creeping up and soon it will be December. I often feel powerless in the face of time and disruptive changes, swept away upon the current of existence around me, helpless to do more than tread water any way I know how. Good or bad, change is inevitable, but I really long to slow things down, enjoy being here on this Earth. The human race is one I can never win, and people and moments keep leaving me in the dust.

With the weather being as beautiful as it was this past weekend, coupled with the fact that I'd taken Monday off, it didn't feel right to stay indoors. I had a few destinations in mind, especially after last week's unplanned journey. Gas prices be damned, I set out East letting the car take me where it would. Sunday, back roads and winding hills along the shore brought me to Caumsett Park, a 1,750 acre marvel of nature that I'd NEVER been to, even though it's not all that far out East from where I live. As I took my trusty camera to gather images for yet another Photo Blog Wednesday, I was amazed at the variety of wildlife and terrain that I encountered.



I was undaunted by this first sign. 2 miles? I run more than that on a daily basis in the gym. How long or difficult could it be to stroll to the beach on a warm autumn day? I'd soon find out.




A dirt path leading across an open field invited me into the colorful woods beyond. Before entering, I paused to capture a richly textured tree stump.




Soon I was well into the woods, surrounded by fall colors and the outstretched limbs of barren trees.



At one point the long dirt road emerged into a clearing, where horseback riders could be seen galloping by. The trails for horses were rougher, and cut across the foot path at times, and I came upon many intersections.



After the clearing, it was back into the woods, where the trail curved even as the road down became steeper. I thought I heard water, but I still had another mile ahead of me.



Beyond a railing, I could soon see marshlands, with the Long Island Sound far in the background. The air was changing now, and the entire journey felt outside of time itself. Far from the sounds of automobiles and the shadows of buildings, I thought of these lands where I walked, where people walked hundreds of years before, and how the sights weren't all that different. It was as though I'd traveled back in time, and it was wonderful.




At last, after 45 minutes of walking, my goal was in sight. The water was an amazing shade of blue, the sky clear and the beach pristine. I could hardly believe I was on the North shore of Long Island and not some tropical destination instead. If I was feeling tired by this point, I soon forgot all about it.




I had to walk over an amazing natural arrangement of rocks to reach the finer sands, but soon I was heading out to the edge of this wondrous peninsula.



Water around here is NEVER this clear. I was certain now that I was in the past. Of course there were a few present-day families, fishermen, and couples scattered about the beach, so I headed away from them to maintain the illusion.



Here I turned back to snap the trees and cliffs I'd come down from. Later on I'd get a closer shot on my return trip.




The peninsula actually curved and jutted to the left, and this wasn't the terminus I thought it would be. I did encounter plenty of seagulls, and while the adults scurried, these two young ones waited. I approached slowly, not wanting to scare the little guys into the currents that I was certain would overwhelm them. They hadn't learned to swim or fly yet, but they could run. I kept my distance so as not to corner them, and eventually they ran toward the adults astoundingly fast. I sat for a while to rest, enjoying the sound of the waves and absorbing my surroundings before I continued to follow the shoreline.




The driftwood photo doesn't do justice to the scale of this full size tree I initially thought was GROWING out of the sand. I did find some interesting cacti growing on the beach, though.



Likely, there was once a dock or a landing when the park was a private estate.



As I walked along the shore with the Sound to my right, a lake to the left separated the beach from the marshes I'd seen from up in the trails. The lake I would eventually learn was fed by the Sound.



A large sign warning boaters seemed explanation enough for the clear waters. Most of the beaches I've been to on the North Shore have been near enough to yacht clubs, factories and plants to keep the water murky shades of green and black. Here were waters predominantly undisturbed by the byproducts of man's constructs.



This is where the peninsula ended, and the connection to the lake. I now began walking back on the other side, following the lake.



I was soon in the marsh, with a questionable wooden bridge before me. The wood was old, damp, rotting, and patched in many places. I took the photo, and began walking. Carefully...



The sun was setting by the time I got to the other end of the beach with the cliffs, and I didn't get any other photos. Just to the left of this photo a young couple sat on a rock gazing out, and I allowed myself a brief pang of regret for not having a young lady to share the experience with that day. I comforted myself in the thought that the day's exploration provided valuable research for future dates, and I could always come back when I did have a girlfriend again. Looking at the wooden staircase alongside those cliffs, I realized I had more immediate concerns. I was exhausted, the sun was setting, and my car was two miles away uphill.




I took the same trail back, so I didn't take any pictures of the return journey. Basically, imagine the first few photos in tonight's post a lot darker and scarier, and that will convey the experience. Had I more time and daylight, I would have explored a different trail, but the place is huge and impossible to cover in one day on foot. The people with the horses and bicycles may have had the right idea. When I did eventually reach my car, I noticed some parents telling a little boy he could see the hawks. Inside a fenced enclosure were several red-tailed hawks, and the sun was still pretty bright back in the open field, so I managed a few more shots that day after all.

By Monday afternoon when feeling had returned to my legs, I just took a book to sit and read on a local beach before it got too cold. But remarkably, in the span of four or five hours on a Sunday afternoon a day prior, I'd gone hiking through the woods, walked along a tropical beach, encountered various species of birds, and seen many horses, all within a few miles of where I live. Sometimes you just have to expand your horizons a little bit to discover a wholly different world. In doing so, it becomes just a bit easier to navigate the more difficult currents of ordinary everyday life.

Toying with J-No

The WriteJerry posted a toy meme, and while Jerry is at times overwhelmingly obnoxious, I do like toys.

Here's how it works. Taking the list from the recently updated National Toy Hall of Fame, bold and color the items you own or have owned in your lifetime, adding comments if you like. You can also list any items you think should be on the list, and nominate toys as well.

Alphabet Blocks: I used to build elaborate walls, marvel at my work, and then kick them over. I'm sure somewhere in there is a metaphor for my adult life.

Barbie®

Bicycle

Candy Land®

Cardboard Box: I'll never forget the year of my parent's new refrigerator. I was the most popular kid on the block with my giant-box-for-rolling-down-the-hil-into-my-driveway. I played with it all Summer, and well into the Winter in the snow where it went from a sled to a support for a fort/igloo in the aftermath of a blizzard. In the thaw, I learned the harsh life lesson that paper and paper-based products like cardboard don't like to be wet.

Checkers

Crayola® Crayons: I loved crayons, loved my Crayola® Caddy, and often sharpened crayons down to nubs because the shavings looked cool and were great for creating abstract pieces. I also had a cookie tin full of crayons as well as the official Caddy holder. I suspect both are in the back of some drawer somewhere, possibly in my room. I couldn't find any images online except for the blue one in Australia; mine was yellow, and available in the United States. Could it be worth something now?

Duncan® Yo-Yo

Erector® Set: I came very close to building a working robot with mine when I was about 11 or 12 years old. I built the frame around a walky talky, so I could talk through it, but couldn't work out the mobility factor. My set came with an engine and I managed to rig it so the arms moved, but I couldn't get the legs to work or control direction. Ultimately I screwed wheels onto the thing and hitched it to my remote control truck. I sent it into the kitchen where I asked my mom through the walky talky to bring me cookies. I did not get cookies. I did not see that robot for a long time after that.

Etch A Sketch®: I used it so much, the screen became permanently gray in some spots with ghosted images in others. I think my happiest memory of this item was the day I accidentally turned both knobs at the same time and discovered diagonal lines.

Frisbee®: This is the simplest toy that saw the most youth through my childhood and young adulthood. My friends and I played a tennis-like game beyond simply throwing it back and forth. If I missed a catch, the other player scored a point. If it went out-of-bounds, that is over the curb and out of the street where we were playing, he didn't score but if I caught it out-of-bounds, then I would score. We also used to play tag on bikes and the person who was “it” got other people by hitting them with a frisbee. My frisbee came to college with me and even my job. The first year at my current company, my friends and I were often out on the lawn. For years it languished at the bottom of a drawer then I found it again when I changed cubicles, and it was given a place of honor on display upon a top shelf. This week they're putting in new carpets in my office and we've had to box up all our belongings. I brought my personal items home for safety since I don't know how careful the carpet guys would be with my stuff, and my frisbee is home again for the first time in years.

G.I. Joe: These figures were long overdue in making the Hall of Fame, but it was years before I was even aware that there were 12” versions predating the plastic ones I had as a kid, the ones whose torso and legs were held together by a circle of black rubber that eventually wore out and snapped, leading to emergency “surgery” with a rubber-band and a screwdriver. The only glaring exception on this list to me, incidentally, are Transformers. By the Hall of Fame criteria, they haven't been around long enough to merit entry since they really emerged just over 20 years ago, declined and almost went away completely, and then returned with new lines a few years later. I think the newest line is pretty popular again with kids, although the plastic figures are a pale shade of the die cast metal of my youth. I think in time they'll make the list too, though.

Hula Hoop®

Jack-in-the-Box

Jacks: An aunt or an uncle gave me a bag of plastic ones for a Christmas or birthday present. I had no idea what they were or how to play with them, and I think I used to pretend they were little robot assistants and pilots for my larger Transformers.

Jigsaw Puzzle: It started small, with a 50-piece puzzle here and a 100-piece puzzle there. I used to do the same ones over and over as a kid, and eventually put them back in the boxes in 4-6 large segments. I don't really have as much time for puzzles as an adult unfortunately, what with DVDs and video games and my ::cough:: active social life. My parents enjoy them so I'll sometimes get them a 1,000-piece puzzle as a present on various holidays, and occasionally help with a few pieces.

Jump Rope

LEGO®: Before I had my first real Transformers, I was making them out of LEGO®s. I never did have any M.A.S.K. toys, but I designed a slew of vehicles that turned into other vehicles by moving a few pieces around, and most of those remain intact today. LEGO®s are easily my second favorite toy of all time.

Lincoln Logs®

Marbles

Monopoly®: Who didn't have Monopoly®? I think I have 90% of every popular board game, with one or two major exceptions. I am somewhat surprised that Mousetrap doesn't make this list.

Mr. Potato Head®

Play-Doh®

Radio Flyer® Wagon: I'm actually not positive that mine was a Radio Flyer® since the years have worn off the logo, but I definitely had my little red wagon which my mom now uses to move plants around in the yard.

Raggedy Ann

Rocking Horse

Roller Skates: I had old school skates, solid metal ones that clamped on to sneakers and hurt. I loved my skates.

SCRABBLE®

Silly Putty®

Slinky®: I have two, actually. I have the original metal one, slightly warped now, and a technicolor sub par plastic one, just for completism.

Teddy Bear

Tinkertoy®: With all the building toys I had as a kid, it's too bad I didn't become a carpenter or an architect. Somehow, I just didn't become a handy adult but when I was a kid, I built everything.

Tonka® Trucks: I loved my construction vehicles, moreso when my dad came home from work and made the truck sound effects for me. I wonder if something is lost nowadays with electronic chips making the sounds in a lot of toys.

View-Master®

M.C.F.A.T. I: Some Answers

Last week I hit you with a test, and you hit back with some answers:

Wendy

Hidden Blogger

Kelly

Neil

Kev

Lorna

Darrell

Dave

Neolithic

Sean

That about wraps it up. Goodnight, everybody!









What?











Oh yeah...MY answers:

1) There's good news and there's bad news. The good news is that, for a few brief moments, you've experienced a taste of a super power, a one-time only psychic flash of a future event. The bad news is that you're now the only person on the planet who knows that an asteroid is going to collide with the Earth in three days. People are going to have a hard time believing your story--what do you do?
See answer #5

2) If you could be marooned on a desert island with any three sitcom stars, past or present, who would they be and why?
The first one would definitely be Estelle Getty, because I'd expect some good home-cooked Italian meals. Sadly, I would be confusing her with a role she played. My second choice would be Matthew Perry because his sarcasm and quick wit would surely lighten the mood in a bad situation. Too late it would occur to me that Tom Hanks was once on a sitcom and with his island experience, would have been a better choice than Perry. Fortunately, we'd be able to use my third companion, Pamela Anderson, as a flotation device and escape.

3) Who and what was your first pet? Alternately, if you've never had a pet, feel free to explain why.
There have always been, and always will be, cats in my parents’ house. The first ones I remember are Muffin and Dudley, a pair of orange brothers. Dudley died when I was very young and I have vague recollections of him. Muffin I have better memories of, especially the time I knocked over a box of cereal and my mom came in the kitchen to find us both on the table munching away at what I spilled. Muffin eventually developed a tumor on his neck and passed away. Then there was Cindy, a calico and our first female. My mom named her “Cinderella” after she climbed into our chimney and emerged covered in soot. After that we boarded up the fireplace. Cindy was soon joined by Munchkin, a timid female we started feeding by the back door who eventually became an indoor cat, and who I dedicated my “first book” to in third grade with a picture at the back of a school project saying as much. We soon inherited Peter, a very tame and well-mannered cat when my mom's friend's elderly parents passed on. Peter used to sit at the table and eat with them and had his own place. He didn't have that privilege here, but he lived out a good life with us. After Peter passed away a large black cat started hanging around, who we eventually took in and named Samson. When Cindy passed away my mom didn't want any more cats, but that changed when she rescued a small gray and white kitten from a well and named him Cubby. It was a cute name for the hamster sized creature, but he quickly grew and became the largest cat we've ever owned, rivaling Samson. Samson and Munchkin both left this world in the same year, but a year prior we took in the inimitable mister Chirp, possibly the smartest little cat in our family.

So I guess my answer to the question would have to be “Muffin, an orange cat.”

4) What's the worst thing you've ever tasted, intentionally or otherwise?
To this day she denies doing it, but I swear my mom once disguised cauliflower as mashed potatoes in an attempt to get me to eat healthier. It may have just been a bad batch of potatoes, but it definitely tasted wrong. I've not had good experiences trying Indian food either. I think the worst thing though was in Middle School, when a pair of bullies pinned my arms and forced Yew berries into my mouth. It was horrid and indescribable, but I remember spitting and constantly wiping my tongue with a handkerchief for the next hour. We were lined up heading in from recess when it happened, and one of the moderators in my computer class seemed quite alarmed when I explained why I kept wiping my tongue. Apparently they're poisonous. Too bad I didn't know the bastards who tried to kill me.

5) After months of research, you finally perfect a cybernetic helmet that will allow its wearer to operate any vehicle with quick reflexes and unparalleled expertise. Such a device would have to be tested first, and you wouldn't risk anyone else's life but your own, noble scientist that you are. What do you drive/fly/sail first and where?
Since this is my hypothetical scenario and such a helmet exists, I can declare that Transformers exist in this reality as well. I would choose to operate Jetfire, a heroic robot/jet with the capability of flying in to space. Unlike the Macross(Robotech) fighters his toy was based upon, Jetfire's character was sentient so we could work as a team. If something should knock me out during our mission he could take over. As for our destination, if it's not obvious by now, we'd be heading in to space to destroy the asteroid in question #1. He wouldn't believe me any more than anyone else, but the helmet would allow me to take control long enough to get him into space where he'd see the threat was real, and cooperate. Once more the world would be safe, thanks to the Mysterious Cloaked Figure and his robot friends.

Will there be an M.C.F.A.T. II? Tune in next week to find out...