I am still going through the various bits and pieces of flotsam my grandfather left behind and today, I opened a small box that held, amongst other items, a bunch of keys on several key rings.
My grandfather owned the family business, the non-ferrous foundry, and because of that, he had a separate key ring with just "foundry-related" keys. I've not been to the foundry building in several years - it's been that long since my dad sold it and I helped him empty the building of eighty-four years of accumulated "stuff."
The keys in the very full key ring are worn and tightly bunched. I thumbed through them, thinking of each lock the key fitted, the front door, deadbolt, alarm box, fire-proof safe, supply closets, the men's lockers (which were never locked anyway, since the cleaning lady would take the dirty towels from them and wash them each week), the third floor roof access door, the side shipping door, the back door, the roll-up door, the lock on the oil tank cap, and so it went... I recognized most of them by their place in the ring.
...and then I hit two keys that put me in the way-back machine along with the bright flash and some magician smoke...
The foundry had a several "company cars and trucks". My grandfather had a copy of each vehicle's keys, and he had a hard time keeping straight which key fit which vehicle. So one day, he came into the office where my Dad and I were discussing rebuilding a furnace, as pleased as punch and he tossed this very key ring onto the big three person "army issue" steel desk and said, "There! I fixed that problem!"
My dad looked up, his feet up on the desk, and said, "What problem was that?"
My grandfather replied, "You know how the key for the Oldsmobile Toronado looks a lot like the one for the orange-brown pick-up truck? Well, I took out the metal letter stamps and stamped a letter on each of those keys so I could tell them apart! After three months of fooling with them...I got a 5 minute fix that will save me hours of time!"
My dad reached over to the keys and thumbed them - much like I was doing in the here and now, and grunted loudly and rolled his eyes when he came to these two keys...
He tossed me the key ring and said, "Well, what do you think?"
I looked at the two keys and saw that my grandfather had stamped one key with a "T" and the other one with an "O" and without thinking about the ramifications of what I was saying, blurted out, "How the heck do I know which is which??!? O for Oldsmobile and T for Truck?"
And my grandfather looked at me with a baleful glare and said, "No! of course not!! its O for orange-brown pick up and T for Toronado! Jeepers! I'm I the only one that can think in this place!??"
He then turned around and stormed out of the office into the backroom.
My dad looked over to me and said, "Betcha he gets them mixed up the very first time he uses them."
To which I said, "No deal," and broke out laughing.
Sure enough, that evening when it was time to head home, my grandfather spent a few extra moments fiddling with his keys at the door to the Oldsmobile Toronado... probably thinking, O? or T???
And I looked at those two keys and thought, "I wonder why he kept them? The Oldsmobile and the orange-brown pickup truck have been long, long gone...."
...but my memories of the keys are still with me.
Showing posts with label Andy Rooney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Andy Rooney. Show all posts
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
Went Away...
...for the weekend - just to get away. I didn't care if it rained, or if it was cold, I justed wanted to be somewhere else. So I went down to the houseboat even though it wasn't nice enough for swim or go boating.
On my way home, I saw this huge chicken in Galena, Maryland. It stands out front of an antique shop and is for sale. I thought about a friend who had chickens that I've not heard from in a while, Marmite Toasty. I pulled over and went inside the store to check out "Super Chicken".
The price? Well, you know that old saying, "If you have to ask...?"
When I downloaded the picture to share with you - I noticed another picture in the small lot that I had taken - and I instantly put the two pictures together and wondered...
...just how big those chicken necks* were!
*Chicken necks are used by the local blue claw crabbers to bait their traps.
On my way home, I saw this huge chicken in Galena, Maryland. It stands out front of an antique shop and is for sale. I thought about a friend who had chickens that I've not heard from in a while, Marmite Toasty. I pulled over and went inside the store to check out "Super Chicken".
The price? Well, you know that old saying, "If you have to ask...?"
When I downloaded the picture to share with you - I noticed another picture in the small lot that I had taken - and I instantly put the two pictures together and wondered...
...just how big those chicken necks* were!
*Chicken necks are used by the local blue claw crabbers to bait their traps.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
A Boy and His Dog
Every now and then, I take a picture that I actually like. I've made this one my computer wallpaper - it will be replaced by another picture eventually but for now, each time I look at my monitor I see this scene:
Unbidden the thought comes to my mind, "A Boy and His Dog". My dad recently had a follow-up check with the Heart Specialist and was told that things looked good, very good, indeed. Hearing that news was the brightest spot the past week... and this picture shows him on the beach with his "puppy" Zoey.
Zoey loves running up and down the beach, free as a bird, and pretending she is a Sandpiper, following the rush of foamy wave lather up and down and nimbly keeping her feet dry. My dad watches her frolic - something she can only do in the winter time as come sometime before Memorial Day, she will be banned from the beach for the summer.
My dad is proudly wearing his C-5 Galaxy cap - a rare change from his Captain Bob or Water's Edge caps. He got this cap from my younger brother while at the Air Transport Museum in Dover, Delaware. The trip being completely arranged by my younger brother as a father's day gift. It included a behind the scenes peek at some cargo plane maintenance activities and cockpit visit in a Boeing C-17A Globemaster III as well as a visit to flight simulator where he crashed his "virtual" C-5 Galaxy trying to land it.
This morning, however, I was in an odd place mentally - and I gazed at this scene on my monitor and thought to myself, "Why do I keep half laughing and calling this 'A Boy and His Dog'"? On the way home from work, it finally hit me - there was novella written by Harlan Ellison (a magnificent Science Fiction author) with that title. And furthermore, I not only read it, I had seen it in movie form very late at night while in college - I remember being totally mentally beaten - a 4 hour final exam that day on "The Principles of Heat Transfer" really did a number on me.
The movie was shown in the college union, free popcorn, and reduced prices on Worx burgers (which at the time, I thought was the only edible food the campus cafeteria had). I remember reclining in a beanbag chair and watching this ... horrible, horrible movie... it was made around 1975... and the boy was the very young Don Johnson (of later Miami Vice fame).
In the movie a boy named Vic communicates telepathically with his dog named Blood as they scavenge for food and sex, and they stumble into an underground society where the daughter of one of the leaders of the community seduces Vic. The citizens have become unable to reproduce because of being underground so long. They use him for impregnation purposes, and then plan to be rid of him.
I'll not spoil the ending for you - but the closing scene still cracks me up. Just remembering the movie and where I saw it, fill me with nostalgia and make me look twice when eating barbecue.
Unbidden the thought comes to my mind, "A Boy and His Dog". My dad recently had a follow-up check with the Heart Specialist and was told that things looked good, very good, indeed. Hearing that news was the brightest spot the past week... and this picture shows him on the beach with his "puppy" Zoey.
Zoey loves running up and down the beach, free as a bird, and pretending she is a Sandpiper, following the rush of foamy wave lather up and down and nimbly keeping her feet dry. My dad watches her frolic - something she can only do in the winter time as come sometime before Memorial Day, she will be banned from the beach for the summer.
My dad is proudly wearing his C-5 Galaxy cap - a rare change from his Captain Bob or Water's Edge caps. He got this cap from my younger brother while at the Air Transport Museum in Dover, Delaware. The trip being completely arranged by my younger brother as a father's day gift. It included a behind the scenes peek at some cargo plane maintenance activities and cockpit visit in a Boeing C-17A Globemaster III as well as a visit to flight simulator where he crashed his "virtual" C-5 Galaxy trying to land it.
This morning, however, I was in an odd place mentally - and I gazed at this scene on my monitor and thought to myself, "Why do I keep half laughing and calling this 'A Boy and His Dog'"? On the way home from work, it finally hit me - there was novella written by Harlan Ellison (a magnificent Science Fiction author) with that title. And furthermore, I not only read it, I had seen it in movie form very late at night while in college - I remember being totally mentally beaten - a 4 hour final exam that day on "The Principles of Heat Transfer" really did a number on me.
The movie was shown in the college union, free popcorn, and reduced prices on Worx burgers (which at the time, I thought was the only edible food the campus cafeteria had). I remember reclining in a beanbag chair and watching this ... horrible, horrible movie... it was made around 1975... and the boy was the very young Don Johnson (of later Miami Vice fame).
In the movie a boy named Vic communicates telepathically with his dog named Blood as they scavenge for food and sex, and they stumble into an underground society where the daughter of one of the leaders of the community seduces Vic. The citizens have become unable to reproduce because of being underground so long. They use him for impregnation purposes, and then plan to be rid of him.
I'll not spoil the ending for you - but the closing scene still cracks me up. Just remembering the movie and where I saw it, fill me with nostalgia and make me look twice when eating barbecue.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
On August 11th, 3114 B.C. ...
... the Mayan of Central America started counting.
On December 21st, 2012 A.D., the remnants of the Maya in the highlands of Guatemala, will reach the end of their Great Cycle Long Count, 1,872,000 days after starting.
They didn't count in groups of ten like we do, they preferred to count in groups of 20's. Perhaps they used their toes or the both the front and backs of their fingers?
The Maya Calendar - Note the appearance of cycles within cycles with position-like pointers.
The Maya Calendar isn't really that complicated but the names given to the various "days, weeks, months and years" seem so random they are a daunting hurdle to understanding it.
Much like we do, the Mayan had useful intervals of time laid out in cycles.
Their basic cycle was the Count of Days, called the "Tzolkin" which lasted 260-days and consisted of a repeating 20-day "week".
The days of the week were, loosely translated, Alligator, Wind, House, Lizard, Serpent, Death, Deer, Rabbit, Water, Dog, Monkey, Grass, Reed, Jaguar, Eagle, Owl, Quake, Knife, Rain, and Flower. You will see their glyphs on the outer ring in the next picture.
I guess the Mayan went around saying TGIF! just like we do, except theirs stood for "Thank God It's Flower!"
Mayanists (people that study the Mayan) speculate that the 260-day cycle was based on the human gestation period which aligned with phases of planet Venus as well as interval between the planting and harvesting of the corn crop.
The 20-days made up one of their 18 months (or 19, if you include the extra month having the 5 extra days needed to get a 365-day year.) The months had names like Kayab, Zec, Sac, Cumhu, Xul, Ceh, and Pop.
The first large cycle "counts" is called the Calendar Round. This is when the 260-day count, the Tzolkin, and the 365-day Solar count (called the "Haab") come back to their begining points together. The Calendar Round is 18,980 days (or 52 years).
Here is where it starts getting a little tricky.
Venus has a 584-day cycle. In other words, it will rise as the morning star every 584 days and was no doubt tracked closely by the early Maya. There is some reason to suspect that the 260-day count arose, in part, to structure the related cycles of the Sun and Venus. The relationship between the solar and Venus cycles is this: 5 Venus cycles equals 8 solar years.
The nature of the Tzolkin, Solar, and Venus cycles are such that they all synchronize every 104 years, which happens to be exactly equal to two Calendar Rounds. The Venus Round is 37,960 days (or 104 years).
Now, remember that Mayans counted in groups of 20. So in addition to keeping track of where they were within each of the cycles mentioned above, they simply counted out time in groups of twenty.
1 day = 1 day
20 days = 1 uinal (month)
18 uinal = 1 tun (year) = 360 days
20 tuns = 1 katun = 7200 days
20 katuns = 1 baktun = 144,000 days
13 baktuns = 1 Great Cycle = 1,872,000 days
This is called the "Long Count" system.
The Long Count and tzolkin/year/Venus systems are theoretically unrelated, yet 37 Venus cycles = 3 katuns. So there is reason to think there is some yet to be re-discovered interweaving between these two systems. It has been noticed that both the Long Count and tzolkin/year/venus counts are used together in many of the archeological inscriptions throughout Central America.
Today's date is 11 Eb 5 Uo or Day 1,728,000:
Source
There is even an iPhone app to show you the Mayan date available (here).
So what happens when the Long Count reaches 1,872,000 days on December 21, 2012? I suspect the Mayans planned to simply turn the calendar over and use the other side.
Informational Source and More Details
On December 21st, 2012 A.D., the remnants of the Maya in the highlands of Guatemala, will reach the end of their Great Cycle Long Count, 1,872,000 days after starting.
They didn't count in groups of ten like we do, they preferred to count in groups of 20's. Perhaps they used their toes or the both the front and backs of their fingers?
The Maya Calendar - Note the appearance of cycles within cycles with position-like pointers.
The Maya Calendar isn't really that complicated but the names given to the various "days, weeks, months and years" seem so random they are a daunting hurdle to understanding it.
Much like we do, the Mayan had useful intervals of time laid out in cycles.
Their basic cycle was the Count of Days, called the "Tzolkin" which lasted 260-days and consisted of a repeating 20-day "week".
The days of the week were, loosely translated, Alligator, Wind, House, Lizard, Serpent, Death, Deer, Rabbit, Water, Dog, Monkey, Grass, Reed, Jaguar, Eagle, Owl, Quake, Knife, Rain, and Flower. You will see their glyphs on the outer ring in the next picture.
I guess the Mayan went around saying TGIF! just like we do, except theirs stood for "Thank God It's Flower!"
Mayanists (people that study the Mayan) speculate that the 260-day cycle was based on the human gestation period which aligned with phases of planet Venus as well as interval between the planting and harvesting of the corn crop.
The 20-days made up one of their 18 months (or 19, if you include the extra month having the 5 extra days needed to get a 365-day year.) The months had names like Kayab, Zec, Sac, Cumhu, Xul, Ceh, and Pop.
The first large cycle "counts" is called the Calendar Round. This is when the 260-day count, the Tzolkin, and the 365-day Solar count (called the "Haab") come back to their begining points together. The Calendar Round is 18,980 days (or 52 years).
Here is where it starts getting a little tricky.
Venus has a 584-day cycle. In other words, it will rise as the morning star every 584 days and was no doubt tracked closely by the early Maya. There is some reason to suspect that the 260-day count arose, in part, to structure the related cycles of the Sun and Venus. The relationship between the solar and Venus cycles is this: 5 Venus cycles equals 8 solar years.
The nature of the Tzolkin, Solar, and Venus cycles are such that they all synchronize every 104 years, which happens to be exactly equal to two Calendar Rounds. The Venus Round is 37,960 days (or 104 years).
Now, remember that Mayans counted in groups of 20. So in addition to keeping track of where they were within each of the cycles mentioned above, they simply counted out time in groups of twenty.
20 days = 1 uinal (month)
18 uinal = 1 tun (year) = 360 days
20 tuns = 1 katun = 7200 days
20 katuns = 1 baktun = 144,000 days
13 baktuns = 1 Great Cycle = 1,872,000 days
This is called the "Long Count" system.
The Long Count and tzolkin/year/Venus systems are theoretically unrelated, yet 37 Venus cycles = 3 katuns. So there is reason to think there is some yet to be re-discovered interweaving between these two systems. It has been noticed that both the Long Count and tzolkin/year/venus counts are used together in many of the archeological inscriptions throughout Central America.
Today's date is 11 Eb 5 Uo or Day 1,728,000:
Source
There is even an iPhone app to show you the Mayan date available (here).
So what happens when the Long Count reaches 1,872,000 days on December 21, 2012? I suspect the Mayans planned to simply turn the calendar over and use the other side.
Informational Source and More Details
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Social Consciousness
I've really been struggling with writing lately. I've a bunch of new pictures in Flickr which you can access via the side bar - showing a half dozen trips I've taken lately but I just can't find the words to describe or explain them.
I've started to write - and assembled pictures at least on five separate occasions and then ... threw what little I had away in exasperation or disgust with how uninteresting I found the topic at hand after I had started with them. I would never make a good deadline writer. I find doing things, just about anything, on a regular basis to be difficult.
Well - I'm going to publish this ... messy hodgepodge ... and call it Long-Before-Friday Fragments or maybe I'm just way late and its Long-After-Friday, anywhooooooo.
The first unblogged trip was to the Philadelphia Art Museum on a perfect sunny day to take pictures of the newly renovated facade. I also saw the tail end of the Philadelphia Marathon and admired the determination of those crossing the finish line literally hours after the winners. You can see the pictures (here) - there was some nudity involved.
Two pigeons on the 30th Street Train Station Platform
The second unblogged trip was some Thanksgiving Day shots of the family and the pets. You can see the pictures (here).
A third unblogged trip to Burlington, New Jersey (the home of the world famous coat factory and the little known Rickshaw Manufacturing Company that actually sold rickshaws to China. Pictures from this trip are mixed in with the Thanksgiving day ones above.
Last weekend, I went to Massey, Maryland on the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay to attend an Open Hanger Party at a small grass airstrip and museum. It was cold but sunny and lots and lots of airplanes were seen taking off, landing and doing stunts. There was also a lot of wonderful food. You can see the pictures (here).
I apologize for not being able to completely describe all the pictures.
I saw the statute below at the West entrance to the Philadelphia Art Museum. It stuck me with its ... somewhat hideous but evocative presence.
Statue of Social Consciousness - sculpted by Jacob Epstein, 1954
A grand sane towering seated mother Chair'd in the adamant of Time. -Walt Whitman
Since the current exhibit at the museum is titled "Arshile Gorky in Context" and runs from October 16, 2009 to January 10, 2010, one has to assume these orange coneheads have rather eclectic taste in art. I went in to check Mr. Gorky out - based on the orange conehead's recommendations, of course.
Arshile Gorky was an expatriate Russian artist that lived in New York City. Born in Turkish Armenia, Gorky (c. 1902– 1948) emigrated to America in 1920.
At the risk of insulting school age children everywhere, I call this "tape to the front of the refrigerator" art.
I've started to write - and assembled pictures at least on five separate occasions and then ... threw what little I had away in exasperation or disgust with how uninteresting I found the topic at hand after I had started with them. I would never make a good deadline writer. I find doing things, just about anything, on a regular basis to be difficult.
Well - I'm going to publish this ... messy hodgepodge ... and call it Long-Before-Friday Fragments or maybe I'm just way late and its Long-After-Friday, anywhooooooo.
The first unblogged trip was to the Philadelphia Art Museum on a perfect sunny day to take pictures of the newly renovated facade. I also saw the tail end of the Philadelphia Marathon and admired the determination of those crossing the finish line literally hours after the winners. You can see the pictures (here) - there was some nudity involved.
The second unblogged trip was some Thanksgiving Day shots of the family and the pets. You can see the pictures (here).
A third unblogged trip to Burlington, New Jersey (the home of the world famous coat factory and the little known Rickshaw Manufacturing Company that actually sold rickshaws to China. Pictures from this trip are mixed in with the Thanksgiving day ones above.
Last weekend, I went to Massey, Maryland on the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay to attend an Open Hanger Party at a small grass airstrip and museum. It was cold but sunny and lots and lots of airplanes were seen taking off, landing and doing stunts. There was also a lot of wonderful food. You can see the pictures (here).
I apologize for not being able to completely describe all the pictures.
I saw the statute below at the West entrance to the Philadelphia Art Museum. It stuck me with its ... somewhat hideous but evocative presence.
Statue of Social Consciousness - sculpted by Jacob Epstein, 1954
A grand sane towering seated mother Chair'd in the adamant of Time. -Walt Whitman
Since the current exhibit at the museum is titled "Arshile Gorky in Context" and runs from October 16, 2009 to January 10, 2010, one has to assume these orange coneheads have rather eclectic taste in art. I went in to check Mr. Gorky out - based on the orange conehead's recommendations, of course.
Arshile Gorky was an expatriate Russian artist that lived in New York City. Born in Turkish Armenia, Gorky (c. 1902– 1948) emigrated to America in 1920.
At the risk of insulting school age children everywhere, I call this "tape to the front of the refrigerator" art.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Why "My" Government(s) Disgust Me (R/WP)
(Part 1 of what could be 1,000s)
Yes, I wrote governments plural. During my normal work day, I am affected by Lower Providence Township, Whitpain Township, Upper Gwynedd Township, The Methacton School Board, the Borough of Lansdale, Montgomery County, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and the Federal governments. I'm convinced we can survive without at least half of these...
Thank gosh I don't commute to New Jersey or Delaware like many of the residents in my area do, to further compound the ... disgust.
Today, after spending the entire day dealing with various (I counted 14) business taxes, permits, and other "required" items necessary to try to run a business in this state - and not actually getting around to doing anything productive in terms of our economy, I decided to get some fresh air and try to clear my head of the gov-babble-speak by taking a walk.
Not having even driven into the parking lot, I encounter a "Speed Limit - 10 MPH" sign that was never enforced and people ignored it.
The fix?
A couple speed bumps which people now drive in the grass to get around instead of slowing down. Enforcement of the speed limit? Still nil or at least never witnessed in hundreds of hours of walking there. The reason this is even noteworthy is that the Township Police are headquartered in the building adjacent to this parking lot.
I start to walk around the park, noticing the usual amounts of trash, that I pick up along the way, when I encounter this gem denoting the "Ball Park Rules":
Let see now, this is a township sign listing "rules". I see a couple things that are not rules at all, a couple of these so-called "rules" actually contradict each other - and some more unenforced (but refreshingly polite) "rules" which are actually unenforced laws and one is ambiguous to the point of causing headache.
Let's give it a run down. "Ball Park Permit Holders Have Priority" contradicts "Share Field with Others."
I'm sorry but "Players must supply their own bases" and "Sliding into bases may cause injury" are not "rules" at all.
Unenforced are "No spectators in playing area"; I'm not even sure this is a "rule" or if it is really just a suggestion, and the same with "No climbing on backstop or fence". As an aside, there are no fences to be found here.
"Please put trash in receptacles" is an unenforced law.
I've called the Township to no avail to get clarification on "Fields open from dawn to dusk"; my troubles with this are two-fold. When is "dawn" and "dusk"? Did you know there were at least 4 legal definitions of dusk? And more importantly to me, does this mean the entire park is closed, or just the ball field?
No one that actually answers the phone at the Township seems to know - and there is no mention of it at all on the township's "for the public information" website. The only information that seems to be available on-line is how to pay (and how much) to get a largely unnecessary ball field permit.
I have to wonder how these people actually graduated from High School.
Shaking my head, trying unsuccessfully to get the governmental crappola out of it, I continue my walk. A while later I encounter a woman walking the other way in the far field (so named because they are the farthest away from the parking lot) and she is pulling leaves off the trees. I raise an eyebrow, and she laughs and smiles and says, "My little boy needs these for a school project!"
So much for "preserving the green spaces" and the little boy actually maybe even learning something about (I presume) leaves. I won't even go into the fact that 'harming the plants in the park' is against the law. Fifteen minutes later I walk up to the end of the soccer field and see this:
Yes, "No Parking", and four cars very much parked there. While I pause to take this picture, a man in one of the cars in this picture, presumably watching his child learn to play soccer, sees me taking this picture and what does he do?
If you guessed "turn on the parking blinkers", you guessed right! Yes! Those wonderful blinkers make it legal to park anywhere you durn well feel like! Don't they?
Uh...no, I'm sorry I have to be the first to tell you that they don't.
I take a picture of all four "scofflaws" and would call this the "Hall of Shame" except they don't have any shame.
I then head back down the trail to return to my car when the lady with the leaves, remember her? is on her cell phone talking to (I found out a short moment later) the man in one of the illegally parked car. She runs over and yells, "Did you just take a picture of MY car?!?"
I replied, "Yes, I did".
She demands to know why. I begin to tell her, "It is a no parking zone, clearly marked with a sign. I'm going to e-mail it to the Township Police..." I didn't get to finish with "in order to ask why they aren't enforcing a law being broken no more than hundred yards away, right outside their window. And to ask that they remove the signs if they aren't going to bother with enforcing things. I'm especially concerned because it's a situation where 'young impressionable' children are witnessing the blatant disrespect for the law."
No I didn't get anything but "It is a no parking zone, clearly marked with a sign. I'm going to e-mail it to the Township Police..." before I was told:
1) "My husband is sitting in that car!"
To which I said, "And that makes no difference. The car is PARKED."
(Obviously so, since she was wandering around in the woods a half mile away at the time.)
2) "You are an asshole! I'm calling the Police!"
To which I said, "Oh, alright. I'll wait. I won't mind sitting around in the unsupervised Roper Room that calls itself a Traffic Court all day waiting for the case to be heard if you won't mind either."
She (mercifully) was so livid and tongue-tied at this point she stopped calling me an asshole.
I turned my back and walked off. Twenty minutes later I drove out the parking lot and the woman's car was still in the no parking zone.
What I expect will happen with the Township?
Absolutely nothing at all, or perhaps a pile of b*llsh*t that boils down to, "We won't (but phrased "can't") do anything" but it will take them at least 400 words and about 45 minutes of their (taxpayer paid for) time in order to so.
What I expect at least one child will grow up to do?
Park illegally and think that the no parking signs are either meaningless, a foreign language, and/or only apply to someone else, and that putting the parking blinkers means it's okay to park anywhere you want. Not to mention that it's okay, when you get called on it, to call that person an asshole.
Yes, both my school district and local government disgust me.
Yes, I wrote governments plural. During my normal work day, I am affected by Lower Providence Township, Whitpain Township, Upper Gwynedd Township, The Methacton School Board, the Borough of Lansdale, Montgomery County, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and the Federal governments. I'm convinced we can survive without at least half of these...
Thank gosh I don't commute to New Jersey or Delaware like many of the residents in my area do, to further compound the ... disgust.
Today, after spending the entire day dealing with various (I counted 14) business taxes, permits, and other "required" items necessary to try to run a business in this state - and not actually getting around to doing anything productive in terms of our economy, I decided to get some fresh air and try to clear my head of the gov-babble-speak by taking a walk.
Not having even driven into the parking lot, I encounter a "Speed Limit - 10 MPH" sign that was never enforced and people ignored it.
The fix?
A couple speed bumps which people now drive in the grass to get around instead of slowing down. Enforcement of the speed limit? Still nil or at least never witnessed in hundreds of hours of walking there. The reason this is even noteworthy is that the Township Police are headquartered in the building adjacent to this parking lot.
I start to walk around the park, noticing the usual amounts of trash, that I pick up along the way, when I encounter this gem denoting the "Ball Park Rules":
Let see now, this is a township sign listing "rules". I see a couple things that are not rules at all, a couple of these so-called "rules" actually contradict each other - and some more unenforced (but refreshingly polite) "rules" which are actually unenforced laws and one is ambiguous to the point of causing headache.
Let's give it a run down. "Ball Park Permit Holders Have Priority" contradicts "Share Field with Others."
I'm sorry but "Players must supply their own bases" and "Sliding into bases may cause injury" are not "rules" at all.
Unenforced are "No spectators in playing area"; I'm not even sure this is a "rule" or if it is really just a suggestion, and the same with "No climbing on backstop or fence". As an aside, there are no fences to be found here.
"Please put trash in receptacles" is an unenforced law.
I've called the Township to no avail to get clarification on "Fields open from dawn to dusk"; my troubles with this are two-fold. When is "dawn" and "dusk"? Did you know there were at least 4 legal definitions of dusk? And more importantly to me, does this mean the entire park is closed, or just the ball field?
No one that actually answers the phone at the Township seems to know - and there is no mention of it at all on the township's "for the public information" website. The only information that seems to be available on-line is how to pay (and how much) to get a largely unnecessary ball field permit.
I have to wonder how these people actually graduated from High School.
Shaking my head, trying unsuccessfully to get the governmental crappola out of it, I continue my walk. A while later I encounter a woman walking the other way in the far field (so named because they are the farthest away from the parking lot) and she is pulling leaves off the trees. I raise an eyebrow, and she laughs and smiles and says, "My little boy needs these for a school project!"
So much for "preserving the green spaces" and the little boy actually maybe even learning something about (I presume) leaves. I won't even go into the fact that 'harming the plants in the park' is against the law. Fifteen minutes later I walk up to the end of the soccer field and see this:
Yes, "No Parking", and four cars very much parked there. While I pause to take this picture, a man in one of the cars in this picture, presumably watching his child learn to play soccer, sees me taking this picture and what does he do?
If you guessed "turn on the parking blinkers", you guessed right! Yes! Those wonderful blinkers make it legal to park anywhere you durn well feel like! Don't they?
Uh...no, I'm sorry I have to be the first to tell you that they don't.
I take a picture of all four "scofflaws" and would call this the "Hall of Shame" except they don't have any shame.
I then head back down the trail to return to my car when the lady with the leaves, remember her? is on her cell phone talking to (I found out a short moment later) the man in one of the illegally parked car. She runs over and yells, "Did you just take a picture of MY car?!?"
I replied, "Yes, I did".
She demands to know why. I begin to tell her, "It is a no parking zone, clearly marked with a sign. I'm going to e-mail it to the Township Police..." I didn't get to finish with "in order to ask why they aren't enforcing a law being broken no more than hundred yards away, right outside their window. And to ask that they remove the signs if they aren't going to bother with enforcing things. I'm especially concerned because it's a situation where 'young impressionable' children are witnessing the blatant disrespect for the law."
No I didn't get anything but "It is a no parking zone, clearly marked with a sign. I'm going to e-mail it to the Township Police..." before I was told:
1) "My husband is sitting in that car!"
To which I said, "And that makes no difference. The car is PARKED."
(Obviously so, since she was wandering around in the woods a half mile away at the time.)
2) "You are an asshole! I'm calling the Police!"
To which I said, "Oh, alright. I'll wait. I won't mind sitting around in the unsupervised Roper Room that calls itself a Traffic Court all day waiting for the case to be heard if you won't mind either."
She (mercifully) was so livid and tongue-tied at this point she stopped calling me an asshole.
I turned my back and walked off. Twenty minutes later I drove out the parking lot and the woman's car was still in the no parking zone.
What I expect will happen with the Township?
Absolutely nothing at all, or perhaps a pile of b*llsh*t that boils down to, "We won't (but phrased "can't") do anything" but it will take them at least 400 words and about 45 minutes of their (taxpayer paid for) time in order to so.
What I expect at least one child will grow up to do?
Park illegally and think that the no parking signs are either meaningless, a foreign language, and/or only apply to someone else, and that putting the parking blinkers means it's okay to park anywhere you want. Not to mention that it's okay, when you get called on it, to call that person an asshole.
Yes, both my school district and local government disgust me.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
My Hands
Tonight, I put myself in the figurative "timeout chair" and took a long walk to re-think about something that had transpired earlier in the day.
After a while - I got hot and sweaty - I saw some deer - and really didn't look at them much - being lost in thought - I was nearly run over by some people on bikes - but I really didn't look at them much either.
I ended up looking at my hands. They have been with me for a while now and they have been to many places and through a lot.
They have been mistreated - forced to hold a credit card and scrape ice from a windshield until they bled - been burned by spilled battery acid - have oozed from poison ivy rash - been seared by a soldering iron - stapled to a roof by a power shingle gun - and hacked by a wood shop power saw.
They, somehow through all that - remember textures - the soft pillow case at night - the rough permanence of a rocky wall - the smooth gloss of a polished piece of wood - the pleasant soak of warm water while washing dishes - the cooling touches of falling rain drops - and the silky softness of a dog's ear being rubbed.
They often wave - sometimes hello - sometimes goodbye - and sometimes with only one finger - be it the "we are number one" finger or the other finger that says something else entirely.
They sometimes shake - be it from nervous excitement - the cold - or clasped in a handshake.
They are often swollen and vacillate between numbness and sharp stabbing pain - they have no great skill or exceptional ability - the piano mocks them - painting even with a roller challenges them - sign language leaves them "tongue tied" - tying knots at the dock frequently baffles them - and sometimes just holding up a box or a drinking glass takes a bit of effort.
Each Monday morning, after a weekend away from a keyboard, they always need to be retaught where each of the letters are - and they insist on spelling the word "the" as "teh" no matter what day of the week.
They haven't done a lot of things - they haven't rocked a baby to sleep in a crib - or changed a diaper - or wiped a driblet of drool away from a face just learning where its mouth is - or lifted a car seat in or out of a car - or pushed a stroller through the mall.
They haven't held someone else's hands - or caressed a cheek - or rubbed someones shoulders - in a decade or more - they might as well be retired or put away in the back of a closet.
They do, after a fashion, hammer out words at the computer - sometimes slower than my mind wants to go - sometimes faster than my mind thinks things through - and sometimes they hammer them out without my mind...paying much mind to the words that they are forming.
Words that...can have unbelievable power - the power to lift someone from a dark place - the power to bring about a smile or a laugh or warm and happy tear - words of encouragement - words of sympathy and empathy - words of cheer - and congratulations - words of prayer - and shared hopefulness - and sometimes shared sadness.
They can also cause hurt. They have thrown rocks and sticks and held baseball bats, golf clubs, and hammers that collided with unprotected places causing pain and disfigurement.
Most recently they formed words that were thoughtless and hurtful. My hands could point - they have a finger that does that - to someone else or something else - but...
...they are my hands.
And the thoughtless words were mine. So now I force my hands to hammer out a few more words - words that they are familiar with - since they frequently make mistakes - words like "I am sorry" and "Please forgive me".
My hands are often clumsy - and don't go or do what I want them to do - but they can't run off without me - and I won't let them shirk being responsible for having caused someone to be hurt.
I can't promise they won't slip up again - but I'll try to do my best with them - they are the only hands I've got.
I am sorry.
After a while - I got hot and sweaty - I saw some deer - and really didn't look at them much - being lost in thought - I was nearly run over by some people on bikes - but I really didn't look at them much either.
I ended up looking at my hands. They have been with me for a while now and they have been to many places and through a lot.
They have been mistreated - forced to hold a credit card and scrape ice from a windshield until they bled - been burned by spilled battery acid - have oozed from poison ivy rash - been seared by a soldering iron - stapled to a roof by a power shingle gun - and hacked by a wood shop power saw.
They, somehow through all that - remember textures - the soft pillow case at night - the rough permanence of a rocky wall - the smooth gloss of a polished piece of wood - the pleasant soak of warm water while washing dishes - the cooling touches of falling rain drops - and the silky softness of a dog's ear being rubbed.
They often wave - sometimes hello - sometimes goodbye - and sometimes with only one finger - be it the "we are number one" finger or the other finger that says something else entirely.
They sometimes shake - be it from nervous excitement - the cold - or clasped in a handshake.
They are often swollen and vacillate between numbness and sharp stabbing pain - they have no great skill or exceptional ability - the piano mocks them - painting even with a roller challenges them - sign language leaves them "tongue tied" - tying knots at the dock frequently baffles them - and sometimes just holding up a box or a drinking glass takes a bit of effort.
Each Monday morning, after a weekend away from a keyboard, they always need to be retaught where each of the letters are - and they insist on spelling the word "the" as "teh" no matter what day of the week.
They haven't done a lot of things - they haven't rocked a baby to sleep in a crib - or changed a diaper - or wiped a driblet of drool away from a face just learning where its mouth is - or lifted a car seat in or out of a car - or pushed a stroller through the mall.
They haven't held someone else's hands - or caressed a cheek - or rubbed someones shoulders - in a decade or more - they might as well be retired or put away in the back of a closet.
They do, after a fashion, hammer out words at the computer - sometimes slower than my mind wants to go - sometimes faster than my mind thinks things through - and sometimes they hammer them out without my mind...paying much mind to the words that they are forming.
Words that...can have unbelievable power - the power to lift someone from a dark place - the power to bring about a smile or a laugh or warm and happy tear - words of encouragement - words of sympathy and empathy - words of cheer - and congratulations - words of prayer - and shared hopefulness - and sometimes shared sadness.
They can also cause hurt. They have thrown rocks and sticks and held baseball bats, golf clubs, and hammers that collided with unprotected places causing pain and disfigurement.
Most recently they formed words that were thoughtless and hurtful. My hands could point - they have a finger that does that - to someone else or something else - but...
...they are my hands.
And the thoughtless words were mine. So now I force my hands to hammer out a few more words - words that they are familiar with - since they frequently make mistakes - words like "I am sorry" and "Please forgive me".
My hands are often clumsy - and don't go or do what I want them to do - but they can't run off without me - and I won't let them shirk being responsible for having caused someone to be hurt.
I can't promise they won't slip up again - but I'll try to do my best with them - they are the only hands I've got.
I am sorry.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Oddly Thought Provoking
I saw this scene while walking around the neighborhood a couple days ago.
I'm not exactly sure what the power lawn maintenance machine is, I think its a sidewalk edger but am not sure, it might be a cement saw. In any event, this homeowner pulled his Christmas ornaments in from the lawn, but obvious got tired from this unplanned strenuous exercise, and has not put them away yet, on this first day of May.
In some odd way though, the placement is fitting - it reflects on the American Way and its obsession with gas-powered labor saving devices of every possible conceivable use. Part of the reason our economy is the way it is today is due to the fact so many Americans wouldn't dream of picking up a shovel or pushing a reel mower.
I'm questioning why we "need" to have gas-powered lawn mowers, trimmers, leaf blowers, mulchers, shredders, snow blowers, and rototillers for properties barely big enough to store them all on. The annual mindless Spring search for the "perfect" lawn is officially underway when the Saturday morning stillness is shattered by the racket of a labor-saving device.
Its hard to imagine the days past in this country when thousands of miles of highways and mile after mile of railroad tracks were graded and laid with nothing more than thousands of laborers with a shovel, a pick axe, a wheelbarrow, and perhaps a mule and wagon. Throw in the uncounted buildings and bridges built before the mid-1800's that stand today - proud and tall - and showing little evidence of disrepair and perhaps you too find it amazing how our "ancestors" did it by "hand".
They sure don't build things like they used to - I don't even think we could anymore. If it doesn't unlock and start with a keyless remote - it must be broken.
I'm not exactly sure what the power lawn maintenance machine is, I think its a sidewalk edger but am not sure, it might be a cement saw. In any event, this homeowner pulled his Christmas ornaments in from the lawn, but obvious got tired from this unplanned strenuous exercise, and has not put them away yet, on this first day of May.
In some odd way though, the placement is fitting - it reflects on the American Way and its obsession with gas-powered labor saving devices of every possible conceivable use. Part of the reason our economy is the way it is today is due to the fact so many Americans wouldn't dream of picking up a shovel or pushing a reel mower.
I'm questioning why we "need" to have gas-powered lawn mowers, trimmers, leaf blowers, mulchers, shredders, snow blowers, and rototillers for properties barely big enough to store them all on. The annual mindless Spring search for the "perfect" lawn is officially underway when the Saturday morning stillness is shattered by the racket of a labor-saving device.
Its hard to imagine the days past in this country when thousands of miles of highways and mile after mile of railroad tracks were graded and laid with nothing more than thousands of laborers with a shovel, a pick axe, a wheelbarrow, and perhaps a mule and wagon. Throw in the uncounted buildings and bridges built before the mid-1800's that stand today - proud and tall - and showing little evidence of disrepair and perhaps you too find it amazing how our "ancestors" did it by "hand".
They sure don't build things like they used to - I don't even think we could anymore. If it doesn't unlock and start with a keyless remote - it must be broken.
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