We kept the snake locked up in an aquarium last night. I just wasn't comfortable with just letting him go. Just letting him go meant he was in my yard somewhere. I like snakes much better when I know exactly where they are, like the zoo. I was afraid if I let him go, he'd sneak up on me or eat one of my chipmunks.
This morning, Steve picked him up and put him in a smaller cage. He took him to work and released him by the water. Yes, he drove over an hour with only a thin sheet of plastic between him and the snake. What if it had gotten loose in the car? He's brave. That's why I love him. Now the snake is over an hour from my backyard. That makes me happy.
After staffing the Enchanted Hunters motel (her boss, the owner, would remind her to call it a "cottage retreat") for time unending, Ethel Dyer had learned a few things.
First was the way that certain pockets of the world slowed down time in summer; it was a proven fact, it was a law of the land, and when she heard mountain hawks crying in late afternoon she felt sure, gazing at the pine boughs out the window of the registration lodge, that really, the clock on the wall had ceased to move.
Little bubbles like these, Ethel realized long ago, tended to draw strange folk, pastiches of life from all across the world, blowing in, blowing through as the little old keys that hung in tidy lines on the wall behind her (an ingenious system involving hooks and sharpies that she herself invented) marched out, were handed away, were returned, it was ritual.
So one of the things Ethel prided herself on was being able to know, just for sure, where everyone came from and what their story was. The Rubins were mainstays; this was practically their summer home, and so she'd come to know that the husband's liver was no good, that the wife had a phobia of spiders, that they'd never, never stopped loving each other even though, with the cellulite and varicose of Mrs. Rubin's trunk-like legs and the pale, wasting white fuzz that had come to coat Mr. Rubin's sunburnt body, they'd long ago ceased to be attractive to one another.
The pair of twenty-somethings that blew in yesterday, those were small-town girls on a budget vacation, with the sort of ill-fitting floral bikinis that told Ethel just for sure that they liked to drink box wine and talk about getting laid without ever actually doing it. That they'd embrace their time here matter-of-factly, lay the whole week by the pool as they would anywhere else, and would return to the office on Monday blankfaced and inwardly pained, nothing but bland photos to bring, feeling the nagging sensation that they'd gone through the motions without really having done anything, while all the while the wild world would continue to call them in a language they could no longer understand.
Ethel could tell this just by looking, by the way guests signed the register, by whether they cupped their palm to receive their room key or plucked it, careful, or let Ethel set it down on the counter in order to pick it up themselves. She could tell by how early they rose, how long they ran the shower (the pipes, you see, she could hear everything), by whether or not they left shoeprints, sandalprints, tire treads in the gravel of the motel rotunda.
Past fifty and a motel ("cottage retreat") attendant, Ethel had few things to be proud of, but this, this was her calling.
Which was why it was so frustrating that she couldn't make out the man that rented Bungalow Nine last night. Oh, he was a handsome one, all right, all dressed in a real nice suit, and kind of tall with elegant shoulders, but he also looked like he didn't sleep much. Ethel would have pegged him for an overworked salaryman, but he seemed too lazy for that, hands in his pockets, and a mouth that made him look like he was about to flip the bird at the entire known world. Too serious to be an actor, and she'd just have figured him for some rich drug addict if his eyes weren't so sharp, and just the weirdest yellow color.
A real unsettling, solitary type. But the strangest part was he signed in himself and his daughter -- really, really he didn't look like the long-suffering single father.
Ethel saw her, the daughter, a little bit later -- my, what a pretty kid, and for the life of her Ethel couldn't pick anything up on her, either. Seventeen, maybe? Younger? Older? Hard to tell, but she had on this dirty sailor dress -- especially standing together, those two were so odd. Fed his daughter out of a vending machine, he really did.
In fact -- and here's the most irritating part -- Ethel wasn't sure if they were really father and child. Surely, they looked like it, that much was obvious, but that crooked little grin that they both had, just gave her the feeling like the two of them were out to play some grand joke on the entire world. Like they were keeping little secrets somewhere in their blood and bones, though from each other or from humanity Ethel just couldn't tell. Whether they were on their way to somewhere important or to nowhere at all, she just couldn't tell, not at all.
She didn't like that feeling, like they were getting one over on her, but for all the time she spent surreptitiously staring at them whenever they (rarely) emerged from the bungalow, she just couldn't figure out who, what, where. She liked the grocery store Daily Star because of its pictures of Loch Ness monsters, which she'd examine closely until she could see, amid the smudged newsprint, where the lines of fakery were subtly introduced by some clever photo editor. These two were smudged newsprint, were doing things to the air and the eyes, and she just couldn't see those lines. And it was disorienting if you looked too long.
She watched them in the morning -- pretty boy had a strange tattoo under an undershirt, and smoked by himself till that girl came out. What kind of father hands his kid a cigarette, anyway? Maybe they were married, Ethel thought, watching them stand on the stoop, but no, that's not right either, not a boy with eyes like that (how the hell old was he, was she, were they, anyway)?
In the end, she was glad to see them go in the morning -- they just weren't right here, or they were too right, and once that black car pulled away from the cottage resort she could be free of the frustration at not knowing which. And with all the little bikinithings that came in and out of this place, she'd steeled herself long ago against missing her youth, but later that afternoon, she'd miss it, a bit, something about that girl's pretty golden eyes and coltish legs, the shape she'd sacrificed decades ago for her own children.
And in the middle of the woods, in a bubble where time stops, Ethel Dyer spent the rest of her day being glad, inexplicably, so glad to be a mother, so glad for her beautiful children, so inspired to love, that she forgot to wonder about the unsettling strangers for a while.
When we redid the kitchen, we put in a tract lighting system. It is pretty cool, well, fiery hot actually - it has seven 50 watt halogen bulbs that you can aim at various work centers in the kitchen. So the stove, sink, fridge and coffee pot all get special attention - like they are in the big show. That's fine until one of them burns out. I'd say we've been through roughly 15 bulbs since last August. 15 at 3 per pack and $14 per pack works out to $70. Another two packs and we will surpass the price of the tract system. I assume that the company that manufactures the fixture ALSO owns stock in the company that makes the bulbs. (If you own a Wii, this is exactly the same synergistic relationship that Nintento has with Eveready.)
I'm still surprised, as I probably should not be at this point, with the number of bulbs we go through and the timing of them burning out. If the light pointing at the sink burns out, I replace it and within a day, the light pointing at the coffee pot goes out. If the light in the living room ceiling fan burns out, I replace it and then the one next to it goes out. Now it doesn't happen all the time - I'm not walking from room to room with my ladder and waiting. It only seems like that. I've switched to the new compact florescent bulbs where possible and they promise 11 years between changes. Ahh - 11 years. I can be blogging or something during all that free time that I'll have - but wait! I put two into the fixture in the living room and within a week, one of them was out. Dang - maybe it was a dud. At closer look, however, I found out it was the fixture itself that had failed. The bulbs will now out live the fixtures.
I had a few strings of those Christmas tree white lights on the bushes in the front yard. Originally, it was a Christmas decoration but then I left them on all year and they looked pretty nice, that is until they started going out. I could have gone through each and every bulb to see which one it was but instead I opted to just throw another complete strand overtop of those. Long story short, when the last one went out I pulled out about 300 feet of old wires from the bushes and I have yet to replace them.
My newest enemy is the photocell switch that is supposed to turn the outside lights on at dusk and off four hours later. I came home for lunch and all the outside lights were on. I can usually tell this because I can hear the electrical meter spinning out of control. I checked the switch and it looks fine - I mean, it looks like a switch, it just doesn't work anymore. I'd turn off the power going to the outside outlet but unfortunately due a twist of fate I used the same outside outlet for the pond pump so I'm going to have to get a new switch.
I think my next investment is a pair of coveralls that says "Maintenance" on the back.
I dig this. Sort of reminds me of what our heroes did in Sean of the Dead in order to reach the Winchester Pub.
That one fish up in front using the spot on his tail to form the eye is pretty cool, but the subtler, more impressive detail is that the shark-shaped school has its own group of pilot fish tagging along.
Oh my Lord, it has been soooooo long since I've done ANYTHING on this blog!!! I've been so busy (with another project, AND with my little 9 month old boy who is now PULLING UP on everything and crawling like the wind!!!). So, I have collected a bunch of funny pictures over time, and thought I'd post them all today.....enjoy the sillyness (and stupidity)
these bunnies know how to party!
this is really cute
God this is funny/horrible
this is just weird/sick.....maybe a little funny too?
Well, the university got my transcripts but it might have been too late for this semester.
I'm waiting for the official "boot to the head".
Why must these things take FOREVER?
Often, when I'm looking for something to read and don't have the time or inclination to hit up the bookstore, I just raid my mother's spare room. It is home to a gazillion books she's collected over the years.
The last time I was there, I came across a hardback copy of Black House, the sequel to Stephen King's/Peter Straub's jointly written novel The Talisman. I finished rereading The Talisman earlier this summer, so I figured this was a good time to start in on the sequel.
Last night, as I was reading, I realized that this book wasn't one of my mother's after all. It was one that had been given to me a few years ago.
You run into some wonderfully interesting people at The Pub. Several years back, I reconnected with a guy I knew vaguely from high school, Wes. He'd become something of a regular on Ye Olde Barstool. It seemed for a while that he was there just about every time I stopped by (which made sense, since he was always there).
Although just a few years older than me, his life had taken him down a much rougher road. He had medical issues, addiction issues, and financial issues, all stacked one on top of the other like a haphazard Lego concoction. But in spite of all the crazy crap he'd gotten himself into over the years, he was an avid reader and something of an aspiring writer.
He told me one night that reading was what he liked most about being in jail, a place I think he'd spent way more than his share of time. He said this with the casual offhandedness that I'd describe how I spent a free Saturday morning.
"When I have to go in, I just use the time to hit up the library and clear out my head," he explained. He made his semi-regular jaunts to jail sound like going off to college. But in spite of his strangely skewed version of life and the things he always seemed to get himself into, there was just something kind and hopeful about Wes. I know that sounds strange, but there it was.
It was more than just his view on time in jail that made Wes .... different. Another thing was his aversion to shoes. He just flat-out hated them. He was always coming into the bar barefoot, and it didn't matter whether it was August or January.
"Don't your feet get cold?" I asked him one bitter night, and got a "oh, hell no, honey." So I asked him if he'd ever thought about the fact that he was trekking those bare feet into the men's room every hour or so, and we knew damn well that drunk men don't exactly have the best aim.
"Never thought of that," he said, after a moment's consideration. But he still wouldn't wear shoes.
One night we got to talking about Lord of the Rings, and the next time I stopped by the pub I brought him in my finished copy of the trilogy and gave it to him, joking that now he wouldn't have to go to jail to get something to read anymore.
Shortly after that night, he left town. We'd talked about his plan a bit. He was moving to the Eastern Shore, to try to get away from our city and the people and habits that kept landing him in all sorts of holes. He was hoping to start over in a quiet, rural area and find some peace. Do some reading on a back porch instead of in a jail cell, maybe.
But before he left, he brought his copy of Black House up to the pub, and since I wasn't there he asked my mom to make sure I got it. Mom said he was so excited about giving it to me - I don't think Wes had many "book exchange" types of friends.
My own life turned upside down for a while not too long after that. Nothing like his, but my own version of falling on my face and floundering around for a bit. I wasn't doing a whole lot of reading during that time period. By the time I got back into the swing of my more normal habits, I had forgotten about the book. So it has sat at my parents' house all this time, just waiting for me to remember it and the friend who gave it to me.
I hope he found his back porch, complete with leaves rustling in the trees and crickets chirping in the background. I hope he kept it together and has a lawn to trek through barefoot. And I hope he's still reading.
Thanks, Wes.
Formula for failure: trying to please everyone.
--Anonymous
Republicans Have Handed Democrats a Winning Election Issue
The Republicans keep handing the Democrats a winning election issue. And the Democrats keeping refusing to accept the gift. I hope the beginning of the formal election campaign knocks some sense into them.
The gift is the Republicans' continued opposition to extending renewable energy incentives. Eight times since the fall of 2007, a Republican-threatened filibuster has thwarted a vote on extending these incentives. They will expire at the end of this year -- and with that expiration, many believe the solar and wind industries will come to a grinding halt.
The GOP is holding the renewable energy industry hostage to its demand that Congress not reduce the existing subsidies to oil companies, hedge fund managers and foreign corporations. It is a bizarre linkage, but so far the Republicans are getting away with it.
Indeed, it is the Democrats who are on the defensive on the energy issue. Even a cursory perusal of the media shows that Republicans have succeeded in putting the focus on offshore drilling. Democrats have reacted by arguing that this strategy would supply too little additional oil much too late to have any significant impact. They're right, but their argument doesn't resonate to an American public that wants the government to do something, anything, about oil prices, and for them offshore drilling at least is a concrete supply-side proposal.
Democrats need to shift the focus to renewable energy, a supply-side strategy that holds much greater promise both in the short term and in the long term -- and one that is wildly popular. By most polls, more than 80 percent of Americans support government incentives for renewable energy.
On renewable energy, the Democrats have a clear advantage in this presidential election. John McCain, the GOP's presidential standard-bearer, has consistently opposed government support for renewable energy. Several times he has voted against extending renewable energy incentives. Sometimes he simply fails to show up for a vote. But even then, he is clear on how he would have voted. In one instance, when he failed to show up for a vote, the New York Times reported, "Aides to Mr. McCain said that he would have sided with the Republican leaders and that his vote was not needed."
McCain's justification for opposing renewable energy incentives at times appears to be a philosophical position. As he responded to one reporter's question, "I'm not one who believes that we need to subsidize things. The wind industry is doing fine, the solar industry is doing fine."
Yet his is a philosophy that is applied in an almost bizarrely inconsistent manner. For example, he vigorously supports nuclear energy and oil, two of our most highly subsidized fuels. Indeed, he joined his Republican brethren in fighting Democratic efforts to simply reduce existing subsidies to the wildly profitable oil industry. Can it be that renewable energy is the only type of energy McCain believes does not deserve government support?
Changing the Debate
How can Democrats shift the spotlight to renewable energy? By forcing Republicans to actually filibuster votes on the issue. This comment deserves a brief digression into Politics 101, for I'm certain that when Americans read in the news that the Democrats could not muster enough votes to stop a Republican filibuster, they believe the Republicans actually did filibuster. They didn't. They simply threatened to filibuster. As one blogger describes such a threat, "It's nothing more than a finger in a pocket pretending to be a gun."
Emboldened by the reticence of the Democratic Party to call their bluff, Republicans have increased the use of the threatened filibuster to unprecedented levels. In this Congressional term, the GOP is on pace to obstruct three times more legislation with this technique than the average for the last decade.
Step one to winning this election is to force the Republicans to really filibuster if they want to delay a legislative vote. A real filibuster is when minority members have to stand on their feet for hours or days, even weeks, talking nonstop with no breaks. Picture a hoarse, disheveled Jimmy Stewart on the floor of Congress talking in the wee hours of the morning in the marvelous 1939 movie, "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington." That's a filibuster. The Senate has not had a real drawn-out filibuster in more than 40 years.
If Republicans were forced to actually filibuster, the nation would witness the first 24/7 filibuster in an age of 24/7 news coverage. Within hours, renewable energy, and the Republicans' feeble explanations of why they are willing to cut off its life support system, would move onto center stage of this campaign.
When it comes to renewable energy, the Democrats have another advantage. On this issue it is Republicans, not Democrats, who will have to explain their anti-business position. Renewable energy is no longer a cottage industry; it is one of the most rapidly growing sectors in American and global economies. This year in the United States alone, perhaps $10 billion will be invested in wind energy and more than $3 billion in solar energy.
The business community has expressed its dissatisfaction over the GOP's strategy. Earlier this year, several hundred corporate heads signed a petition to the Republicans to stop their obstructionism on this issue.
With the spotlight on renewable energy, the Democrats then must explain to the American people how an expansion in renewable electricity with a reduction in oil consumption would come about, as I've explained previously. The key is to electrify the transportation system. Since less than 2 percent of our electricity is generated with oil, a mile driven on electricity is virtually an oil-free mile. The technological foundation for this transition is already in place. More than a million hybrid electric vehicles are on the road today. Hybrids are best-sellers. Add a few more batteries and a socket to the hybrid, and one has a car (or truck) that can run primarily on electricity.
Democrats could justify an electrified transportation system on the basis of national security or job creation, but I believe their strongest argument would be to appeal to our pocketbooks. Driving a mile on electricity costs only 3 cents, while driving a mile on gasoline can cost 15 cents.
Although Toyota and Honda have led the way with their hybrids, Democrats can and should ask the American car companies, Ford and GM, to give them their prototype plug-in hybrids for the Denver convention. Ford's Escape plug-in hybrid comes with a flexible fueled engine, which means that while the car can be powered primarily by oil-free electricity, its backup engine can be powered by ethanol, itself a fuel that requires very little oil in the growing of the crop or the manufacture of the biofuel.
On electrified vehicles, as with renewables, Democrats and especially Barack Obama have a decided advantage. Obama has been a leading supporter of electrified vehicles, sponsoring nurturing legislation before most of his colleagues. Meanwhile, McCain has voted against incentives for electrified vehicles.
The energy bill stuck in Congress today contains a tax credit for electrified vehicles based on the distance the vehicle can travel solely on electricity. If enacted, the tax credit could make electrified vehicles competitive overnight.
Coming out firmly in favor of an electrified vehicle fleet also gives Democrats the opportunity to offer Americans a much more sound and enduring strategy for getting off oil.
Consider Obama's declared intention to have 1 million plug-in hybrid electric vehicles on the road by 2015. The media dutifully reported his announcement but regrettably didn't compare it to the Republicans' proposal for offshore drilling. The comparison is instructive.
If we reach Obama's target, a goal I firmly believe we could actually exceed by almost tenfold with an accelerated effort, we would displace more oil than would be supplied by offshore drilling by 2025, according to the Energy Information Administration. And if we produce only 2 million plug-in hybrids or all-electric vehicles by 2015, we would displace more oil than the EIA estimates new offshore wells would supply at peak production in 2030.
With their continued obstructionism to renewable energy incentives, the Republicans have primed the pump. When Congress returns from recess, the Democrats' first order of business should be to step on the gas and call the Republicans' bluff. When the Republicans threaten to filibuster, force them to filibuster. Force them to explain to the American people, for days on end, why they are embracing a strategy that could stall the growth of the U.S. renewable energy industry and condemn us to an ever-growing addiction to oil.
See more stories tagged with: energy, election08, renewable energy, clean energy, mccain, obama
David Morris is vice president of the Institute for Local Self-Reliance. His report on the future of transportation, "Driving Our Way to Energy Independence," was published in April.
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