…and now, the weather. Over to you, Bob.

March 3, 2009 by

It is very fashionable to freak out about the weather in DC.  An inch or two of snow never fails to make the local news people completely lose their bananas, and school is often canceled the night before a prospective storm, without ever seeing so much as a flake (other than the aforementioned news people, that is).

However, it is unwise to ignore the peril that is the DC local driving in snow.  Rich lobbyists from Georgia in massive SUVs seem to think that four-wheel drive and ABS cancel out the effect of snow and ice.  Other people in more plebian vehicles drive in a manner that would be considered dangerously stupid on dry roads, rendering them criminally insane when there is ice present.

And don’t get me started on the “plowing” that is done around here.  On some roads, you will see three giant snowplows in a single-file line, the first doing some work, the other two… I don’t know what they are for.  Backup, in the event of possible gang warfare?  On other roads, the plow may trundle through, with the blade held delicately aloft – about an inch or two from the road’s surface, thus ensuring that passing traffic creates a nicely packed layer of ice all the more rapidly.  Or they may never come at all, leaving your local street a lunar landscape of icy potholes.

John and I saw all of this yesterday as we went in for a half day.  We had somewhere in the neighborhood of eight inches fall on our house (we have learned that we live in a funny pocket weather-wise: there were probably only three inches just a few miles to the southeast of us), and we decided to wait out the morning snow and see what happened rather than hurling our bodies into the scrum.  He gave me a ride to the Metro in his four-wheel-drive wagon, and what fun we had.  Who needs a gym when you can have the adrenaline rush of someone in an Infiniti sedan diving in front of you at 40 mph with a half-carlength to spare?  And why go to the ballet, when you can watch four enormous snowplows weaving complicated patterns in front of you on a local multi-lane road?

And people think that politics are our great amusement around here.

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Adorable

February 24, 2009 by

My friend Lianne introduced me to this artist:

(Shall we all gang up on Lianne to get her blogging again?)

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Overheard at our house, evening edition

February 24, 2009 by

“I shall go upstairs and change, and then I shall be returned.”

“You will be returned?  Do I get a refund?”

“Minus a 15% restocking fee.”

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Political action

February 20, 2009 by

Sorry for the lack of postage lately.   And today’s update isn’t terribly exciting, but I thought some of my readers might want to jump on this particular bandwagon.

I sent this e-mail to my state reps and senator today:

Dear Sirs and Madam:

Citizens are turning to public libraries in record numbers. Library usage data across the state is rising steeply — libraries and their services (job search training, new skills and education services, Internet and computer access, safe and free place for families) are helping citizens survive the economic crisis.

That being the case, please consider the potential impact of the following:

  • Maryland public libraries are currently threatened with a 10% cut in state funds for FY 2010.
  • Funding for the county libraries and the Enoch Pratt Free Library would be cut over three million dollars.
  • The State Library Resource Center would have an additional devastating one million dollar cut —- a cut back to a funding level below FY 2003 that would force reductions in services to every county library in the state.
  • A 10% cut will undermine the ability of public libraries to help citizens survive this crisis.

Strong support of the state’s excellent public library system will have a powerful impact on Maryland’s ability to survive and rebound from the economic crisis.  I ask that you please support increased funding — or at least a rollback of the proposed cuts to help our libraries serve their communities.

I signed off with my name and contact details (a thing one should generally do when sending a letter to representatives, FYI — it both reassures them that you are a real constituent and enables them to get back to you easily if they need/want to follow up).

If you live in Maryland, you can find out who your legislators are and how to contact them here.

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Dear Comics.com

February 13, 2009 by

I realized a while back that my daily dose of  “Get Fuzzy” wasn’t arriving in my RSS feed every day any more.  Figuring that some dope had meddled a bit and broken the thing, I went to your site today to re-subscribe to the feed.

Now, before I go on, nice job on the new site.  It’s still a little cluttered (understandable – you’re running a comics site), but the colors are lighter and the design is a lot cleaner and less intrusive.  So, well done to you.

Now here’s the rub: when you click on “RSS,” here’s the message that appears:

Login or register now to personalize your RSS feed with all your favorite strips and editorial cartoons!

Um… no.  Someone has a shaky grasp of the acronym.  Let me explain: “RSS” stands for “Really Simple Syndication.”  As in, “click to sign up, and have Bucky, Satchel, and Rob arrive automatically in your Google reader until you say nay.”

What you have here is, “click to create an ID and password, type the password twice to make sure your valuable comics-reading data is secure, enter a bunch of personal information, type a captcha,* log in, click to ‘add to my comics page,’ click….”

Are you starting to get the idea?  This is starting to look not so “really simple” anymore.  If you want to collect information about your readers, fine.  But you might consider that you’re getting fewer of them as a result.

*I’m assuming based on standard protocols, I didn’t actually sign up.

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I think we have one of these around somewhere…

February 11, 2009 by

Yet again, The Onion nails it (NSFW due to language, but deeply hilarious):

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Okay, it’s official

February 9, 2009 by

Yeah, I want one of these.

I would want it even more if my textbooks were available on it, but since a lot of my school-reading is comprised of journal articles in pdf form, this would still make my life easier.

::SIGH::  I’m such an easy mark for good gadgets.

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Cleanup in aisle 5…

February 8, 2009 by

Weekends around here aren’t complete without a typical, American-style visit to the grocery store to stock up on the things we need for the week.  This morning, after a breakfast at a Cajun joint in Bethesda, we stopped at a grocery store outside our usual orbit to do a quick shop.

John was at the deli counter and I was sort of spacing out when I suddenly recognized the body language of a woman who was saying something to John: she was pretty clearly in the early stages of trying to chat him up.  At about the moment I realized this, she happened to look over at me.  Since I have one of those faces that when at rest communicates something akin to severe disapproval, she was a bit taken aback.

I wandered over about 30 seconds later, since I was intrigued.  The woman had a small daughter.  What’s going on here?  Ah – no wedding ring.  John, by the way, wears one.

However, this didn’t stop her from continually throwing herself in John’s way as we continued around the store.  Had I had the foresight, I would have visited the snack aisle for popcorn, because her efforts and John’s obliviousness was grand guignol.  When we finally reached the checkout and I mentioned the woman’s determined efforts in John’s direction, he said, “Oh – is that why she kept getting in my way?”

What a man I have. I could have told this woman what it took to get John to realize I was interested in him all those years ago. It took more than some flirtatious body language, I can tell you.

The episode also reminded me of the last time I wrote about John’s babe-magnetude. The original version of the following ran on November 8, 2004:
————————–
I live in a house full of male creatures. My husband: John Smith, International Terrorist, MacIntosh (aka Mac, Toshie, Dogface, Fuzzy, etc.), Simon, and Dash. Simon and Dash are stay-at-home types, enjoying (we hope) the lazy, safe existence we have foisted upon them. The rest of us venture out into the world to suffer its slings and arrows. Or, in the case of MacIntosh, to enjoy the love and adulation that is your rightful due when you are fuzzy and cute and have fur that a guitarist in an 80’s hair band would give his eye teeth for.

When John and I first moved to Maryland, we lived in a temporary apartment and got Mac after we had lived there a scant few weeks. Mac was a babe magnet from the beginning, all lollopy paws, big brown eyes, and snubnose curiosity. Walks around our temporary apartment tended to be extended enterprises, with Mac’s fan club stopping us to chat, pet, and play. John and I have spent the last two and a half years knowing our place: we are the roadies, there to serve. Mac takes all the attention with a blasé attitude – he has always been a babe magnet and he knows no other way to be.

My husband is also a babe magnet of a specific variety. For those of you who like your men flashy and trendy, John is not for you (well, he’s not for you anyway – he’s for me, but that’s getting ahead of ourselves). For those of us who like quiet capability, thoughtful intelligence and good sense, and a certain wild-card sense of humor (not to mention, as I lapse into the New England vernacular, wicked cute big brown eyes), John is terribly appealing.

But we have been together for a long time – about five years in total, and while our familiarity does not breed contempt, it does breed comfort. So I was surprised and amused yesterday as we made a stop into Hudson Trail Outfitters and I suddenly found myself to be invisible.

Being on the brink of leaving the store because we couldn’t find a mechanic in the bike section, a young female employee offered to help us find someone.

I should rephrase: this Siren of the Bohemian Outdoors offered to help John find someone. Depositing some clothing on a rack, she deplored her clumsiness – veering precipitously close to a giggle, and flashing John a sideways glance.

I stood behind him, realization of my sudden invisibility starting to dawn, amusement starting to spread. John replied with a somewhat sharp joke, and she flashed him another glance, saying in an admiring voice (and I kid not), “You are direct, aren’t you?” It was all I could do not to start giggling myself.

The best part of the joke is that when I batted my eyes at John later and teased him for being such a babe magnet, he had no idea what I was talking about. Either that, or he’s even smarter than I thought he was.

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What passes for amusement at our house

February 1, 2009 by

Yeah.  We’re easily amused.

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Megeve

January 27, 2009 by

Though written in the present tense, the description below is my memory of a trip that was taken 27 years ago. Adjust your expectations of reality accordingly (the dog was real though – a fixture in the town).

The mountains are high and craggy – without any of the many-layered safety gates and warning signs of US ski areas. Chamonix is a stately cone in the distance. The air is clear and the sun is warm when you stop in a hollow for a bite of chocolate. The snow is a thick layer of powder, making skiing effortless.

Down in the village, a dog follows his master, helping with the daily errands and looking like something out of a hokey French film: there is even a baguette poking out of the basket he carries.

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