Just for fun and a few years ago, we had a contest in our house to make up our own word for "cool" and all the crazy expressions that have evolved over the years.
It seems we were tired of the usual exclamations of approval including "right on", "cool", "too cool", "way cool", "the coolest", "sweet", "nice", "excellent" and considering the times, an occasional "rad", "bad", "bad-ass", "I hear that", "word" etc.
Not being skaters, surfers, or Valley people, we never used a lot of radical expressions including "gnarly", "bitchin'", "fer sure", and "tubular."
I'll occasionally slip with a "far out!" and "neat-o!" Andy and Aaron use "off the hook", "dabomb" and "sooooo freakin' good" to describe their cooking. They get really, really excited stirring stuff on the stove. I've seen near seizure-like activity in our kitchen. Confidence is good, but don't fall face first into your paella.
Also, I'm lost on today's expressions but imagine most start with a "ph" like "phat", "phabulous" and "phantastic."
Back to the contest... the winning entry (mine) was - drum roll, please - "MEAT!" I don't recall the other entries but I'm fairly sure Aaron's entry was "This is a bunch of b-s."
The new sensation "Meat!" pops up during conversation; mainly when we are sitting down to a large platter of ribs. Now that's "Meat!"
There have been a number of "Meat!" worthy events lately. Amanda graduated with honors from UTA. MEAT! Andy survived his solo motorcycle journey to the far reaches of Eastern Oklahoma. Meat! Aaron is on month two of his vegetarian diet. Meat-o! Rush Limbaugh continues to prove he's the ultimate dolt. Double Meat with Gravy!
Remember. Always praise with "MEAT!"
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
Marshall's Quasi-Proust Questionnaire
Marshall is a perfect specimen of a tabby cat at age 7 - physically striking, mature but youthful, loving though aloof, simple yet complex. Here's what he had to say to Proustian and other important questions (note the questions were asked in random order to allow for the most spontaneous response):
What is your favorite music? Blues
What is your favorite cocktail? Blueberry Martini
What do you like most about your appearance? My spectacular stripes
What do you dislike most about your body? I am not ashamed to say... my shriveled testicles
What languages do you speak? English, Russian, Bahasa Indonesian, Sign, and Cat Slang including purring, hissing and yowling at different pitches and beats, Yo!
What is your favorite entertainment? Pouncing to Zydeco at Poor David's Pub and watching Animal Planet
What is your motto? One Life At A Time
Where would you like to live? Taj Mahal or a temperature controlled barn in Iowa
What is your most treasured possession? My prowess and ability to dart up a tree at record speed and give the Bronx cheer to salivating German Shepherds
What do you value in your owners? Loyalty, plus they open doors for me at any hour
Which actress would you most like to meet? Nastassja Kinski
What subject did you enjoy most in school? Biology; specifically dissecting frogs.
Which historical figure do you most identify with? Sigmund Freud
What is your favorite movie? Breakfast at Tiffany's
Which talent would you most like to have? Ability to woo Nastassja Kinski as a panther
What it the quality you most like in a mate? A good listener
What is your greatest regret? I didn't escape prepubertal castration
Who are your favorite writers? Rudyard Kipling, Lewis Carroll and Dr. Seuss
What can be found in your refrigerator? Mouse on ice, butter, olives and Rock Star
What is your current state of mind? Bored and not at all amused with these questions
What instrument would you like to play? Accordion or double bass
What is your favorite game? Ping Pong
Do you have political aspirations? Yes. Find a way to quash oppressive city ordinances and join in the fight to "remake" America
Which words or phrases do you most overuse? "Feed me" in four different languages
Who is your favorite musician? Brian Setzer
What is your greatest fear? There is nothing to fear but fear itself or maybe an open dryer door
What is your favorite occupation? Day dreaming and writing love letters
What is your favorite flower? One that I can eat and regurgitate without being poisoned
Which magazine do you enjoy? Vogue Knitting. Sorry, Vanity Fair, but yarn fascinates me
End
Monday, December 1, 2008
The Moon, Venus & Jupiter!
Tonight I was able to view a beautiful crescent moon accompanied by a very bright Venus and Jupiter.
An excerpt from Earth & Sky:
"Celestial trio in December 1 twilight
Tonight is Monday, Dec 01 2008
Yesterday, the blazing planets Venus and Jupiter were in conjunction at dusk and early evening. Yet, this evening’s sky show will probably supersede yesterday’s attraction. What is it about these gatherings of objects in the night sky that’s so alluring? Hard to know, but I’ll tell you that Venus and Jupiter will be almost as close together this evening as they were last night. What’s more, this evening, the waxing crescent moon will join the show in earnest, appearing very near the two brightest planets.
The view will be spectacular with the eye alone, although (it must be said) these objects are fairly low in the twilight sky as seen from the northern hemisphere. Oh, to be in the southern hemisphere now, where the trio stands high in the sky after sunset! No matter. People around the world will look up to see and be amazed by these worlds.
As seen from most of North America, the heavenly threesome will fit within a single binocular field of view. If you live in Europe, however, you might not see Venus for a portion of the evening tonight, because the moon will occult – pass in front of – Venus, blocking this world from view. Information on this occultation is available at the International Occultation Timing Association.
Look closely at the moon through binoculars and you might see the soft glow of earthshine on the dark side of the moon. The waxing crescent moon is about 16% lit up in sunlight and 84% in darkness. But as seen from the moon, the phase of the Earth is exactly the opposite, with the waning gibbous Earth about 84% illuminated in sunshine and 16% in darkness.
By the way, if you were standing on the night side of the moon tonight, you would see an almost full Earth lighting up your lunar landscape!
Written by BRUCE MCCLURE , 1 December 08"
An excerpt from Earth & Sky:
"Celestial trio in December 1 twilight
Tonight is Monday, Dec 01 2008
Yesterday, the blazing planets Venus and Jupiter were in conjunction at dusk and early evening. Yet, this evening’s sky show will probably supersede yesterday’s attraction. What is it about these gatherings of objects in the night sky that’s so alluring? Hard to know, but I’ll tell you that Venus and Jupiter will be almost as close together this evening as they were last night. What’s more, this evening, the waxing crescent moon will join the show in earnest, appearing very near the two brightest planets.
The view will be spectacular with the eye alone, although (it must be said) these objects are fairly low in the twilight sky as seen from the northern hemisphere. Oh, to be in the southern hemisphere now, where the trio stands high in the sky after sunset! No matter. People around the world will look up to see and be amazed by these worlds.
As seen from most of North America, the heavenly threesome will fit within a single binocular field of view. If you live in Europe, however, you might not see Venus for a portion of the evening tonight, because the moon will occult – pass in front of – Venus, blocking this world from view. Information on this occultation is available at the International Occultation Timing Association.
Look closely at the moon through binoculars and you might see the soft glow of earthshine on the dark side of the moon. The waxing crescent moon is about 16% lit up in sunlight and 84% in darkness. But as seen from the moon, the phase of the Earth is exactly the opposite, with the waning gibbous Earth about 84% illuminated in sunshine and 16% in darkness.
By the way, if you were standing on the night side of the moon tonight, you would see an almost full Earth lighting up your lunar landscape!
Written by BRUCE MCCLURE , 1 December 08"
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Turkey v. Stinky Cheese
Fellow Citizens:
Happy Thanksgiving!
Early this morning, my home-home page (Slate) popped up with a "Turkey Wars" headline and an article "Don't Wet-Brine Your Turkey. Do Stir-Fry Your Sweet Potatoes."
Here's an excerpt:
"The biggest turkey trend this year is a push-back against wet brining, which the gastronomic press corps has promoted enthusiastically for the past decade or so. (Food Network star Alton Brown, for example, is a big fan.) Brining is the process of soaking the raw bird in a bath of salty—and sometimes spicy and/or sweetened—water in order to keep the breast meat moist and counteract the turkey's fundamental engineering flaw: The breast is done cooking long before the legs are. But this method isn't hassle-free. It's hard to find room in an overcrowded refrigerator for a bucketful of brine and bird. More important, as food-science maven Harold McGee pointed out in the New York Times this month, the extra salt in the turkey can botch the gravy. McGee is joined by other brine-resisters, like Thanksgiving guru Rick Rodgers, who, in Bon Appétit, recommends dry-salting the turkey 18-24 hours before cooking (which probably won't affect the gravy quite so much). Inspired by legendary chef and pre-salter Judy Rogers, the Los Angeles Times kvells over a similar technique. Saveur boasts a recipe from New Orleans chef Leah Chase in which the turkey is mostly cooked inside an aluminum foil packet, essentially steaming it en papillote. Others, like the gang at Cook's Illustrated, advise ditching the idea of a whole roast turkey. They advocate cooking it in parts instead. So does Mark Bittman of the New York Times, but he further thumbs his nose at tradition by rejecting the roasting custom altogether and recommending a braise."
The topic "to brine or not to brine" made me think about my encounter with Rachael Ray's TV production team at the Food Hall in Grand Central a while back, and the stupid question I was assigned to look into the camera and ask "Hi, Rachael. I'm B... from Texas and I was wondering how long do you brine a turkey to make it most flavorful?"
You see I knew it was a bad question and tried to convince the producer to allow me to ask a question about cheese, specifically stinky cheese.
This is how it all started.
I was in NYC to provide deposition testimony in an insurance coverage dispute/lawsuit. After the deposition, I was feeling pretty good (I thrive on answering questions + I knew our side was right and justice would be served) and decided to get off the uptown subway at Grand Central Terminal to check out the Food Hall, specifically Murray's Cheese Shop. I was in search of cheese, specifically stinky cheese as a present/souvenir for Andy. I'm good like that.
In the fairly crowded stalls, I found Murray's and the most knowledgeable cheese people on earth. I explained I was looking for a stinky, hard cheese. Of all the cheeses in the universe, the experts told me it was very rare to find a stinky cheese that was also hard. Most cheeses with a high level of smell are soft or blue. Of course, Andy prefers hard cheese that burns the nose. I, too, preferred a hard cheese for transportation purposes although I hadn't really thought about how much it would smell on the airplane home. I spent some time sampling hard, semi-stinky cheeses. My #1 choice cost an outrageous amount (like $40 a pound), so I settled on #2, a pungent mature mountain cheese with a kick ($9.99).
I was then approached by a well-dressed woman (a scout). She asked: "Do you know Rachael Ray of the Food Network?"
Me: "Of course, Ray-Ray and I go way back. I love her. Yummo!" (Okay I made that up.)
Scout: "Would you like to be on TV? We are filming the 'question of the day' for Rachael's show.
Me: "Can I ask about cheese, specifically stinky cheese?"
Scout: "Let's ask the producer. I think your outfit and dark hair will look good on TV." (white jacket, teal top and I was actually wearing a necklace that day!)
We walked toward a group of people, most standing around holding clipboards trying to look busy. There was a cameraman and a boom operator. I was introduced to the producer, his assistant and her assistant. The assistant's assistant asked me to sign a waiver. I asked the first assistant if I could ask a cheese-related question and explained that considering Rachael Ray is all about simple "30 minute meals" it would be great to get her feedback on a cheese plate as a meal. She smiled and said "Oh, that's a great idea, but let's chose something off the list."
The first assistant handed me a list of questions involving various cooking questions. I studied them and there was nothing remotely cheesy. Not being a real actor I said "I really can't relate to any of these because I don't cook." (I have to admit that once the cheese question was quashed my heart wasn't really in it.) She then pointed to the list and said "How about this one? How long do you brine a turkey to make it the most flavorful?"
Me: "Okay, I can do that one if I can substitute 'chicken' for 'turkey'. I have experience with brining chicken (once)."
We looked at the producer and he nodded with a go ahead. If the assistant producer wanted to kill me, she did so with a smile.
There were four takes and the very best one was botched because the boom operator was too short and the microphone dropped in to camera view. We had to go with #2 (just like my cheese selection).
I hung around for the next question. It came from a handsomish Italian guy working behind the counter at the fish market. He resembled Joey from "Friends" and he was very gregarious with his question and a natural in front of the camera. I said "You should be an actor" and he replied "Oh, I am an actor. I just work here to pay the rent." (Maybe he was Joey from Friends.) And no wonder he was so good, he was an actor that knew something about food. He also had a big fish for a prop. I had no idea what to do with my hands except clutch my cheese.
I'm not sure my question ever aired and I really don't care. It was a fun experience and better than the time I spotted Mario Batali (in goofy shorts and orange clogs) at La Guardia. Of course, like all "celebrities" he's much shorter in person.
CitizenB
Happy Thanksgiving!
Early this morning, my home-home page (Slate) popped up with a "Turkey Wars" headline and an article "Don't Wet-Brine Your Turkey. Do Stir-Fry Your Sweet Potatoes."
Here's an excerpt:
"The biggest turkey trend this year is a push-back against wet brining, which the gastronomic press corps has promoted enthusiastically for the past decade or so. (Food Network star Alton Brown, for example, is a big fan.) Brining is the process of soaking the raw bird in a bath of salty—and sometimes spicy and/or sweetened—water in order to keep the breast meat moist and counteract the turkey's fundamental engineering flaw: The breast is done cooking long before the legs are. But this method isn't hassle-free. It's hard to find room in an overcrowded refrigerator for a bucketful of brine and bird. More important, as food-science maven Harold McGee pointed out in the New York Times this month, the extra salt in the turkey can botch the gravy. McGee is joined by other brine-resisters, like Thanksgiving guru Rick Rodgers, who, in Bon Appétit, recommends dry-salting the turkey 18-24 hours before cooking (which probably won't affect the gravy quite so much). Inspired by legendary chef and pre-salter Judy Rogers, the Los Angeles Times kvells over a similar technique. Saveur boasts a recipe from New Orleans chef Leah Chase in which the turkey is mostly cooked inside an aluminum foil packet, essentially steaming it en papillote. Others, like the gang at Cook's Illustrated, advise ditching the idea of a whole roast turkey. They advocate cooking it in parts instead. So does Mark Bittman of the New York Times, but he further thumbs his nose at tradition by rejecting the roasting custom altogether and recommending a braise."
The topic "to brine or not to brine" made me think about my encounter with Rachael Ray's TV production team at the Food Hall in Grand Central a while back, and the stupid question I was assigned to look into the camera and ask "Hi, Rachael. I'm B... from Texas and I was wondering how long do you brine a turkey to make it most flavorful?"
You see I knew it was a bad question and tried to convince the producer to allow me to ask a question about cheese, specifically stinky cheese.
This is how it all started.
I was in NYC to provide deposition testimony in an insurance coverage dispute/lawsuit. After the deposition, I was feeling pretty good (I thrive on answering questions + I knew our side was right and justice would be served) and decided to get off the uptown subway at Grand Central Terminal to check out the Food Hall, specifically Murray's Cheese Shop. I was in search of cheese, specifically stinky cheese as a present/souvenir for Andy. I'm good like that.
In the fairly crowded stalls, I found Murray's and the most knowledgeable cheese people on earth. I explained I was looking for a stinky, hard cheese. Of all the cheeses in the universe, the experts told me it was very rare to find a stinky cheese that was also hard. Most cheeses with a high level of smell are soft or blue. Of course, Andy prefers hard cheese that burns the nose. I, too, preferred a hard cheese for transportation purposes although I hadn't really thought about how much it would smell on the airplane home. I spent some time sampling hard, semi-stinky cheeses. My #1 choice cost an outrageous amount (like $40 a pound), so I settled on #2, a pungent mature mountain cheese with a kick ($9.99).
I was then approached by a well-dressed woman (a scout). She asked: "Do you know Rachael Ray of the Food Network?"
Me: "Of course, Ray-Ray and I go way back. I love her. Yummo!" (Okay I made that up.)
Scout: "Would you like to be on TV? We are filming the 'question of the day' for Rachael's show.
Me: "Can I ask about cheese, specifically stinky cheese?"
Scout: "Let's ask the producer. I think your outfit and dark hair will look good on TV." (white jacket, teal top and I was actually wearing a necklace that day!)
We walked toward a group of people, most standing around holding clipboards trying to look busy. There was a cameraman and a boom operator. I was introduced to the producer, his assistant and her assistant. The assistant's assistant asked me to sign a waiver. I asked the first assistant if I could ask a cheese-related question and explained that considering Rachael Ray is all about simple "30 minute meals" it would be great to get her feedback on a cheese plate as a meal. She smiled and said "Oh, that's a great idea, but let's chose something off the list."
The first assistant handed me a list of questions involving various cooking questions. I studied them and there was nothing remotely cheesy. Not being a real actor I said "I really can't relate to any of these because I don't cook." (I have to admit that once the cheese question was quashed my heart wasn't really in it.) She then pointed to the list and said "How about this one? How long do you brine a turkey to make it the most flavorful?"
Me: "Okay, I can do that one if I can substitute 'chicken' for 'turkey'. I have experience with brining chicken (once)."
We looked at the producer and he nodded with a go ahead. If the assistant producer wanted to kill me, she did so with a smile.
There were four takes and the very best one was botched because the boom operator was too short and the microphone dropped in to camera view. We had to go with #2 (just like my cheese selection).
I hung around for the next question. It came from a handsomish Italian guy working behind the counter at the fish market. He resembled Joey from "Friends" and he was very gregarious with his question and a natural in front of the camera. I said "You should be an actor" and he replied "Oh, I am an actor. I just work here to pay the rent." (Maybe he was Joey from Friends.) And no wonder he was so good, he was an actor that knew something about food. He also had a big fish for a prop. I had no idea what to do with my hands except clutch my cheese.
I'm not sure my question ever aired and I really don't care. It was a fun experience and better than the time I spotted Mario Batali (in goofy shorts and orange clogs) at La Guardia. Of course, like all "celebrities" he's much shorter in person.
CitizenB
Sunday, November 23, 2008
A Visit to the DMV & the Neighbor Connection
Fellow Citizens:
Good morning! I hope you’ve had your Wheaties, as this one requires some energy to read. Have a great Thanksgiving, and to make things interesting consider inviting a neighbor or someone from the DMV over for dinner.
While waiting for our table this morning at breakfast, I happened to read my horoscope or Today's Birthday: "Get involved with your community this year; it can use your help. Be more directive than usual." In general, I find horoscopes to be a bunch of hooey, but found this very fitting considering the blog from yesterday. It seems that I was already thinking in this direction...
A Visit to the DMV & the Neighbor Connection
Since the "Gynecology and Yard of the Month" story, I've been thinking about neighbors; and thankfully, not much about the other topic. I'm fairly in denial in that area, and as evidenced yesterday at the DMV, I'm not very in touch with my physical self. My driver's license was set to expire this weekend on my 48th birthday, so I marched in to the DMV to renew it. I was so obsessed with covering up the gray hair for the photo that you have to live with forever (or at least 8 years) that I totally forgot about the vision test and the fact that I my eyes may have grayed as well. I was still in denial when I was instructed to look through the view finder. On line 5, I saw three columns with a series of numbers in the second and third column. The first column was blank - or so I thought.
The clerk, a mix of reggae and gangsta (she was wearing a knitted beret over dreadlocks and a huge gold pinky ring): "Read from all three columns."
Me, confused: "But there are no numbers in the first column."
Reggae Clerk: "Do you wear glasses?"
Me, pondering the question: "Oh, come to think of it, I have glasses, but I never wear them."
Reggae Clerk: "Well maybe you should. Where are they?"
Me, babbling: "At home. Do I have to go and get them? Oh, I really like your giant ring! Please let me try again."
This time Reggae Clerk was gracious enough to close the lens on the left eye and allow my strong and dominate right eye to do all the work. I practically willed fuzzy numbers to appear in the first column. I then read off numbers that could have been 6s or 8s. I pulled it off, somehow.
Me: "Gosh, I didn't know my left eye wasn't pulling its weight. Fortunately I haven't had any accidents. Knock on wood."
And then I realized this was a total LIE when suddenly remembering that I backed into a fire hydrant earlier this year. Of course, that was attributed to hysterical blindness, not real blindness. I wanted to confess to Reggae Clerk, but managed to refrain. Under the circumstances, it wouldn't have been helpful and I really hoped when I drove away she wouldn't notice the imprint of the fire hydrant that still exists in my bumper. Anyway, I promised Reggae Clerk that I would be a good and lawful citizen and wear my eyeglasses while driving... if only I could see to find them.
Beyond that, there was a slight confusion over my eye color.
Reggae Clerk: Are they green, grey, blue, hazel? She actually handed me a mirror decorated with fake jewels.
Me: "Green, most of the time.”
I totally knew that, but after not seeing numbers in the first column and then being forced on the spot to blurt out a current weight (okay, I lied a little there too – what’s wrong with me?), I wasn't feeling too sure about anything.
Moving on to the topic of neighbors and the purpose of this blog. I've been thinking that maybe I should make an effort and connect/re-connect with my neighbors... for the sake of community and all that jazz. You know, to honor the themes "Love Thy Neighbor", "Like a Good Neighbor", "It Takes a Village" etc. I’ll throw out the occasional wave and smile, but not much more.
Actually, our neighbors Mr. and Mrs. N connected with me when they knocked on the door a few days ago, and handed over a note (not an invite) about a reunion at their house directly behind ours and the possibility of loud noise from 6:00 - 8:00 p.m. It included Mr. N's cell number in case of a problem. Always a good move to be proactive.
Me: "No worries. Have a great time. How's Edward?"
It seems that their son keeps Edward, a large bulldog, on a part-time basis. (I want to find out more about how to keep a dog part-time...maybe I can use this in selling Andy on getting one.) The Ns smiled when I mentioned Edward and the fact that no amount of persuasion (or Cesar Millan) can move that dog when he decides to sit in the middle of a walk. I refrained from mentioning their gray tomcat. You see, as part of my loving thy neighbor, I wanted to focus on the nice and not the bad. I'm not even sure that diabolical gray cat belongs to the Ns. He happens to sit on their deck while keeping an intimidating watch on our backyard. It's obvious that he's carefully plotting ways to seize Marshall's territory. I don't know his name, but I call him "Go away, you horrible, mean, yellow-eyed, bully of a cat" and "Don't you dare pin Marshall and chew on his ears, you horrible, mean, yellow-eyed, trespassing bully of a cat." He's a tough cat to love.
I've made efforts to get to know my neighbors over the years. There was my connection with Mr. and Mrs. American Airlines. They lived next door to the right and I remember their home was fully accessorized from the Sky Mall catalogue, including a 4' high resin sommelier statue welcoming you with a bottle of wine. That actually impressed me at the time, but fortunately I never got around to shopping for home decor on airplanes. When they moved away (or flew off to a better destination) Olaf and Gerda moved in. They were European physicians and their decor was the opposite of Sky Mall. They were minimalists and with the exception of the wooden shoe door-knocker, there was little decoration. They had a small boy, Flor, and then Gerda, ever the minimalist, popped out a girl when I didn't even know she was pregnant. At some point, they decided education for their children in the Netherlands would be better than in Dallas, TX where the kids at day care made fun of Flor's name and his clogs. Of course, that was before crocs were invented and celebrities named their kids "Bronx" and the like.
There was also Leonard and Marie, the elderly couple next door to the left. Their large house was too much for them and really falling apart. Leonard fixed that by burning it down. Not intentionally. He fell asleep and/or passed out while cooking chicken. His pug kicked into Lassie mode and woke him by wildly licking his face because he was too deaf to hear the smoke alarm. I always thought that Marie would have been the one to burn it down (or blow it up). At night, I could see her sneaking a cigarette in the garage - even though she had a bad case of emphysema (as did the pug from second hand smoke) and lugged around a portable oxygen tank. Alas, she was at the beauty shop when the fire occurred and off the hook. After the fire, L & M and the pug moved into a more manageable apartment, but that didn't keep Leonard from meeting me in the driveway everyday after work for months with insurance questions. He was convinced the "Like a Good Neighbor" company was ripping him off. After they moved away and the house was being rebuilt, we clipped a piece of their rose bush and planted it next to our oak tree. We call it the "Marie" rose and it’s very thorny. We really liked them even though they frequently told us that we were too young and really didn't know anything about anything.
We've had a couple of bad experiences, including an ongoing one with the neighbor who insists on doing yard work in the dark and/or specifically during our only window of opportunity for relaxation - usually around 6:00 p.m. on Sundays. Just as we are settling in for a nice evening, his monster lawn equipment belts out at least 200 decibels. Why? I think it's a macho thing. He likes to take out his aggression on tiny, innocent blades of grass. Plus his wife is probably sick of him by then and kicks him out of the house. We all know that Sunday afternoons can be trying. Too much togetherness can make you do crazy things. In addition to noise pollution and the other environmental destruction issues presented, night time weed-whacking and leaf-blowing should be considered an ultra-hazardous activity (like logging). While I worry about injury to our neighbor (for some reason) and others, Andy fumes over the relentless, obsessive compulsive trimming of anything green over 1". He actually tried to solve the problem with a man-to-extreme garden tool talk. Mr. Whacker was highly defensive, as expected. Fortunately, there was no wrestling for the leaf blower.
The other bad experience involved a German shepherd owned by a neighbor across the street. One day, as I was walking our elderly beagle (R.I.P.) and being followed by my black cat (he was under the mistaken impression that he was also a dog), "Killer" appeared out of the fence, and from the edge of the yard began to focus on us, clearly in attack mode. The beagle, Scout, with her nose to the ground, was oblivious, but the cat, Boo, looked at me like "Please don't let him eat me." I froze for a minute, but then decided to walk normally with a firm "come, children, come" and managed to get into the garage before Killer took a step off the curb. I called animal control and Killer was put back behind the fence. A few weeks later, a man knocked on the door and advised he was an investigator for a law firm. One of his clients, a neighbor out on a run, had lost a finger to Killer. The client was reportedly a surgeon and really needed that finger, and the lawyer really, really needed his contingency fee, so they were out canvassing the neighborhood in an effort to show notice of Killer's vicious propensities. On that day I officially renamed Killer "Mr. Finger-Eater".
So I was thinking, why are neighbor relationships always a bit difficult or at least uncomfortable? From my job, I know that neighbor disputes and claims are the absolute worst. John's Great Dane impregnates Mary's AKC-registered poodle. Bob's retaining wall falls into Carol's swimming pool. Ted's tree limb scrapes Alice's parked car with its custom paint job. It's the end of the freaking world! Expect protracted litigation and three or four attempts at mediation. Give me a crane falling on a stagehand's head during a ridiculous underwater music video shoot or a window washer falling nine stories any day.
I did some research and found that when it comes to neighbors, most people have complaints, not compliments. Here's a sample of how people often describe their neighbors: "annoying, creepy, weird, crazy, lazy, awful, rude, crabby, psycho nut case, flasher, two-faced, pervert, grumpy, nosey, inconsiderate, phony, dangerous, smelly, they're jerks!, and I hate them!! Surveys say common complaints are barking and howling dogs, accumulation of junk and trash, high weeds (not in my neighborhood when Mr. Whacker is on the loose!), drunks, driving too fast, constant yelling, illegal parking, loud crap music, out of control children, roosters crowing, illegal fireworks, convicted felons, and intrusion of massage parlors and liquor stores. Gosh, people, where's the love?
We've managed to get along with a variety of neighbors over the years, including the ultra-religious square dancers across the street always feuding with their elderly next door neighbor's 40 year-old alcoholic son washing his car wearing nothing but a Texas-flag Speedo (not a good look for him), and the a tow-truck company owner and his dysfunction offspring, including unemployed/unemployable daughter B and her nogoodnik "husband", S, and children C and Little S or "Bubba". Poor C, the spitting image of her mother, talked non-stop and as a result Bubba never learned to speak. He could only grunt. Except when he got excited he would grunt, point, and jump up and down. I'm sure he learned language skills once he entered kindergarten. At least I hope so. Anyway, the tow truck kids used to drive Aaron crazy. They loved Andy (probably because they thought he was a kid that got to drive a car) and therefore, called/grunted our son Aaron "Andy-Boy". Aaron would cry, "It's Aaron!" and C would reply "I know, Andy-Boy."
There were lots of interesting events with the square dancers (we politely declined their invitation to do-se-do and switch partners... they eventually divorced, and it got ugly with restraining orders, guns drawn and such...in total contradiction to their Christian views) and their poor teenaged daughter with her hideous skin disorder (no doubt an allergy to her parents). Also, having a tow truck driver as a neighbor came in handy when I backed my VW into a ditch during the City's installation of a new sewer line and when my Jeep stalled on the Woodall-Rogers overpass during morning rush hour. (Do you know how rude people are when you break down on one of Dallas's busiest freeway ramps? Excessively rude! And to the point where I was forced to yell at one awful man in a pick up truck; "What the ---- do you expect me to do?" Please know that I never cuss out loud - so that was big deal - and strangely therapeutic.) As far as neighbors, things wouldn't have been too bad with the tow truckers if only B would have divorced S, gone to community college and had an extreme makeover.
Now that I'm thinking about it, my old neighbors were much more "out there" with their personal issues. For the most part, our current neighbors keep things under wraps. I guess because a security patrol comes with the home owner association package and odd behavior is not really tolerated out in the open. We also have an e-mail system where a designated person alerts us of neighborhood goings on like coyote sightings, missing pets, magazine sales/conmen, identity thieves rummaging through the garbage, wayward ducks, and generally suspicious men having no business walking along the green belt. With that warning, I suggested to "Andy-Boy" that he stay off the green belt and always carry his ID to prove that he actually lives in the neighborhood.
I must say this exercise has made me re-think the neighbor connection. I really don't want to get to know them all that well. I'll stick with Robert Frost and his "Good fences make good neighbors." Now, if we could just build a fence.
CitizenB
Good morning! I hope you’ve had your Wheaties, as this one requires some energy to read. Have a great Thanksgiving, and to make things interesting consider inviting a neighbor or someone from the DMV over for dinner.
While waiting for our table this morning at breakfast, I happened to read my horoscope or Today's Birthday: "Get involved with your community this year; it can use your help. Be more directive than usual." In general, I find horoscopes to be a bunch of hooey, but found this very fitting considering the blog from yesterday. It seems that I was already thinking in this direction...
A Visit to the DMV & the Neighbor Connection
Since the "Gynecology and Yard of the Month" story, I've been thinking about neighbors; and thankfully, not much about the other topic. I'm fairly in denial in that area, and as evidenced yesterday at the DMV, I'm not very in touch with my physical self. My driver's license was set to expire this weekend on my 48th birthday, so I marched in to the DMV to renew it. I was so obsessed with covering up the gray hair for the photo that you have to live with forever (or at least 8 years) that I totally forgot about the vision test and the fact that I my eyes may have grayed as well. I was still in denial when I was instructed to look through the view finder. On line 5, I saw three columns with a series of numbers in the second and third column. The first column was blank - or so I thought.
The clerk, a mix of reggae and gangsta (she was wearing a knitted beret over dreadlocks and a huge gold pinky ring): "Read from all three columns."
Me, confused: "But there are no numbers in the first column."
Reggae Clerk: "Do you wear glasses?"
Me, pondering the question: "Oh, come to think of it, I have glasses, but I never wear them."
Reggae Clerk: "Well maybe you should. Where are they?"
Me, babbling: "At home. Do I have to go and get them? Oh, I really like your giant ring! Please let me try again."
This time Reggae Clerk was gracious enough to close the lens on the left eye and allow my strong and dominate right eye to do all the work. I practically willed fuzzy numbers to appear in the first column. I then read off numbers that could have been 6s or 8s. I pulled it off, somehow.
Me: "Gosh, I didn't know my left eye wasn't pulling its weight. Fortunately I haven't had any accidents. Knock on wood."
And then I realized this was a total LIE when suddenly remembering that I backed into a fire hydrant earlier this year. Of course, that was attributed to hysterical blindness, not real blindness. I wanted to confess to Reggae Clerk, but managed to refrain. Under the circumstances, it wouldn't have been helpful and I really hoped when I drove away she wouldn't notice the imprint of the fire hydrant that still exists in my bumper. Anyway, I promised Reggae Clerk that I would be a good and lawful citizen and wear my eyeglasses while driving... if only I could see to find them.
Beyond that, there was a slight confusion over my eye color.
Reggae Clerk: Are they green, grey, blue, hazel? She actually handed me a mirror decorated with fake jewels.
Me: "Green, most of the time.”
I totally knew that, but after not seeing numbers in the first column and then being forced on the spot to blurt out a current weight (okay, I lied a little there too – what’s wrong with me?), I wasn't feeling too sure about anything.
Moving on to the topic of neighbors and the purpose of this blog. I've been thinking that maybe I should make an effort and connect/re-connect with my neighbors... for the sake of community and all that jazz. You know, to honor the themes "Love Thy Neighbor", "Like a Good Neighbor", "It Takes a Village" etc. I’ll throw out the occasional wave and smile, but not much more.
Actually, our neighbors Mr. and Mrs. N connected with me when they knocked on the door a few days ago, and handed over a note (not an invite) about a reunion at their house directly behind ours and the possibility of loud noise from 6:00 - 8:00 p.m. It included Mr. N's cell number in case of a problem. Always a good move to be proactive.
Me: "No worries. Have a great time. How's Edward?"
It seems that their son keeps Edward, a large bulldog, on a part-time basis. (I want to find out more about how to keep a dog part-time...maybe I can use this in selling Andy on getting one.) The Ns smiled when I mentioned Edward and the fact that no amount of persuasion (or Cesar Millan) can move that dog when he decides to sit in the middle of a walk. I refrained from mentioning their gray tomcat. You see, as part of my loving thy neighbor, I wanted to focus on the nice and not the bad. I'm not even sure that diabolical gray cat belongs to the Ns. He happens to sit on their deck while keeping an intimidating watch on our backyard. It's obvious that he's carefully plotting ways to seize Marshall's territory. I don't know his name, but I call him "Go away, you horrible, mean, yellow-eyed, bully of a cat" and "Don't you dare pin Marshall and chew on his ears, you horrible, mean, yellow-eyed, trespassing bully of a cat." He's a tough cat to love.
I've made efforts to get to know my neighbors over the years. There was my connection with Mr. and Mrs. American Airlines. They lived next door to the right and I remember their home was fully accessorized from the Sky Mall catalogue, including a 4' high resin sommelier statue welcoming you with a bottle of wine. That actually impressed me at the time, but fortunately I never got around to shopping for home decor on airplanes. When they moved away (or flew off to a better destination) Olaf and Gerda moved in. They were European physicians and their decor was the opposite of Sky Mall. They were minimalists and with the exception of the wooden shoe door-knocker, there was little decoration. They had a small boy, Flor, and then Gerda, ever the minimalist, popped out a girl when I didn't even know she was pregnant. At some point, they decided education for their children in the Netherlands would be better than in Dallas, TX where the kids at day care made fun of Flor's name and his clogs. Of course, that was before crocs were invented and celebrities named their kids "Bronx" and the like.
There was also Leonard and Marie, the elderly couple next door to the left. Their large house was too much for them and really falling apart. Leonard fixed that by burning it down. Not intentionally. He fell asleep and/or passed out while cooking chicken. His pug kicked into Lassie mode and woke him by wildly licking his face because he was too deaf to hear the smoke alarm. I always thought that Marie would have been the one to burn it down (or blow it up). At night, I could see her sneaking a cigarette in the garage - even though she had a bad case of emphysema (as did the pug from second hand smoke) and lugged around a portable oxygen tank. Alas, she was at the beauty shop when the fire occurred and off the hook. After the fire, L & M and the pug moved into a more manageable apartment, but that didn't keep Leonard from meeting me in the driveway everyday after work for months with insurance questions. He was convinced the "Like a Good Neighbor" company was ripping him off. After they moved away and the house was being rebuilt, we clipped a piece of their rose bush and planted it next to our oak tree. We call it the "Marie" rose and it’s very thorny. We really liked them even though they frequently told us that we were too young and really didn't know anything about anything.
We've had a couple of bad experiences, including an ongoing one with the neighbor who insists on doing yard work in the dark and/or specifically during our only window of opportunity for relaxation - usually around 6:00 p.m. on Sundays. Just as we are settling in for a nice evening, his monster lawn equipment belts out at least 200 decibels. Why? I think it's a macho thing. He likes to take out his aggression on tiny, innocent blades of grass. Plus his wife is probably sick of him by then and kicks him out of the house. We all know that Sunday afternoons can be trying. Too much togetherness can make you do crazy things. In addition to noise pollution and the other environmental destruction issues presented, night time weed-whacking and leaf-blowing should be considered an ultra-hazardous activity (like logging). While I worry about injury to our neighbor (for some reason) and others, Andy fumes over the relentless, obsessive compulsive trimming of anything green over 1". He actually tried to solve the problem with a man-to-extreme garden tool talk. Mr. Whacker was highly defensive, as expected. Fortunately, there was no wrestling for the leaf blower.
The other bad experience involved a German shepherd owned by a neighbor across the street. One day, as I was walking our elderly beagle (R.I.P.) and being followed by my black cat (he was under the mistaken impression that he was also a dog), "Killer" appeared out of the fence, and from the edge of the yard began to focus on us, clearly in attack mode. The beagle, Scout, with her nose to the ground, was oblivious, but the cat, Boo, looked at me like "Please don't let him eat me." I froze for a minute, but then decided to walk normally with a firm "come, children, come" and managed to get into the garage before Killer took a step off the curb. I called animal control and Killer was put back behind the fence. A few weeks later, a man knocked on the door and advised he was an investigator for a law firm. One of his clients, a neighbor out on a run, had lost a finger to Killer. The client was reportedly a surgeon and really needed that finger, and the lawyer really, really needed his contingency fee, so they were out canvassing the neighborhood in an effort to show notice of Killer's vicious propensities. On that day I officially renamed Killer "Mr. Finger-Eater".
So I was thinking, why are neighbor relationships always a bit difficult or at least uncomfortable? From my job, I know that neighbor disputes and claims are the absolute worst. John's Great Dane impregnates Mary's AKC-registered poodle. Bob's retaining wall falls into Carol's swimming pool. Ted's tree limb scrapes Alice's parked car with its custom paint job. It's the end of the freaking world! Expect protracted litigation and three or four attempts at mediation. Give me a crane falling on a stagehand's head during a ridiculous underwater music video shoot or a window washer falling nine stories any day.
I did some research and found that when it comes to neighbors, most people have complaints, not compliments. Here's a sample of how people often describe their neighbors: "annoying, creepy, weird, crazy, lazy, awful, rude, crabby, psycho nut case, flasher, two-faced, pervert, grumpy, nosey, inconsiderate, phony, dangerous, smelly, they're jerks!, and I hate them!! Surveys say common complaints are barking and howling dogs, accumulation of junk and trash, high weeds (not in my neighborhood when Mr. Whacker is on the loose!), drunks, driving too fast, constant yelling, illegal parking, loud crap music, out of control children, roosters crowing, illegal fireworks, convicted felons, and intrusion of massage parlors and liquor stores. Gosh, people, where's the love?
We've managed to get along with a variety of neighbors over the years, including the ultra-religious square dancers across the street always feuding with their elderly next door neighbor's 40 year-old alcoholic son washing his car wearing nothing but a Texas-flag Speedo (not a good look for him), and the a tow-truck company owner and his dysfunction offspring, including unemployed/unemployable daughter B and her nogoodnik "husband", S, and children C and Little S or "Bubba". Poor C, the spitting image of her mother, talked non-stop and as a result Bubba never learned to speak. He could only grunt. Except when he got excited he would grunt, point, and jump up and down. I'm sure he learned language skills once he entered kindergarten. At least I hope so. Anyway, the tow truck kids used to drive Aaron crazy. They loved Andy (probably because they thought he was a kid that got to drive a car) and therefore, called/grunted our son Aaron "Andy-Boy". Aaron would cry, "It's Aaron!" and C would reply "I know, Andy-Boy."
There were lots of interesting events with the square dancers (we politely declined their invitation to do-se-do and switch partners... they eventually divorced, and it got ugly with restraining orders, guns drawn and such...in total contradiction to their Christian views) and their poor teenaged daughter with her hideous skin disorder (no doubt an allergy to her parents). Also, having a tow truck driver as a neighbor came in handy when I backed my VW into a ditch during the City's installation of a new sewer line and when my Jeep stalled on the Woodall-Rogers overpass during morning rush hour. (Do you know how rude people are when you break down on one of Dallas's busiest freeway ramps? Excessively rude! And to the point where I was forced to yell at one awful man in a pick up truck; "What the ---- do you expect me to do?" Please know that I never cuss out loud - so that was big deal - and strangely therapeutic.) As far as neighbors, things wouldn't have been too bad with the tow truckers if only B would have divorced S, gone to community college and had an extreme makeover.
Now that I'm thinking about it, my old neighbors were much more "out there" with their personal issues. For the most part, our current neighbors keep things under wraps. I guess because a security patrol comes with the home owner association package and odd behavior is not really tolerated out in the open. We also have an e-mail system where a designated person alerts us of neighborhood goings on like coyote sightings, missing pets, magazine sales/conmen, identity thieves rummaging through the garbage, wayward ducks, and generally suspicious men having no business walking along the green belt. With that warning, I suggested to "Andy-Boy" that he stay off the green belt and always carry his ID to prove that he actually lives in the neighborhood.
I must say this exercise has made me re-think the neighbor connection. I really don't want to get to know them all that well. I'll stick with Robert Frost and his "Good fences make good neighbors." Now, if we could just build a fence.
CitizenB
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