July 2004 Archives

I got back from Rehoboth Beach yesterday. The weather was a very mixed bag. Three of the days it was impossible to sit on the beach. A nor'easter blew the entire first weekend. The 30 knot winds whipped the sand around too much to make beach loafing possible. Wednesday it rained all day. The other days were OK. The weekend nor'easter and Wednesday's rain kept the crowds at bay.

The weather did give me a chance to finish 3 books that I've been reading. I also got to see a couple of movies. (I find there's not much to do in Rehoboth on a rainy day if you don't like to shop.)

I managed to take a few photographs while I was there. I'm including some samples here. Click on the link below to see the thumbnails. If you click on a thumbnail, you get a blow-up of the picture.

Well, it's back to reality. I've got a lawn to mow and other chores. The vacation was fun while it lasted.
K-

I'm taking a few days off from blogging. My sea shore holiday beckons. While I'm there perhaps I'll go on a cycling tour of the North Cornwall area taking in Bude...

Nah, Mr. Pither has already done that and look what happened to him.

And who knows... maybe I'll come back with pictures!
K-

I just went up to the dealership to get my car.

Damn, it's hot. Too damn hot. One of those days where it's so damn hot the sky looks white instead of blue.

The courtesy shuttle had its air conditioning on full blast.

I endured Peachy Peach rather than the heat.
K-

I dropped the Camry off at the shop today for a little maintenance. Because I asked them to check the brakes, I decided to leave the car there for the day and take their courtesy shuttle into work.

The driver had just hung one of those air "fresheners" from the shuttle's rear view mirror. You know, the one shaped like a little tree? Although the tree was shaped more or less like a pine tree, the scent exuded was called Peachy Peach.

Whoa... I don't know what other scent the driver was trying to mask in the courtesy shuttle but it couldn't have been much worse than that peachy peach smell. I had to ask if it was all right for me to open the window.

I breathed through my mouth all the way to work.
K-

I wasn't yet 15, younger than my younger son is now. But it remains one of my most vivid memories. People 40 years old - what some would call middle aged - likely don't remember it. It's ancient history to school kids today. As far removed from their memory as the Great Depression was from mine.

4:18 PM: "Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed."

Why we went to the moon remains debatable. Some say it was Cold War politics. Others say it was the thrill of discovery. A few say it was for all the commercial spin-offs that would spur the economy. Crackpots and loonies say it never happened at all. But whatever the reason, man's first steps on another heavenly body occurred 35 years ago today.

10:56 PM: "That's one small step for a man. One giant leap for mankind."

At the time, my parent's bedroom contained a 19" Zenith portable TV. It sat on a rickety stand between the bed and the wall with just enough room for a 14-year-old boy to sit cross-legged directly in front of it. The picture was in black and white with rabbit ears that seemed to need constant adjustment. But that was OK. The images streaming back from the moon that night weren't in color and every channel on TV, all 3, were showing the same thing. Contrary to my mother's standing order, only the TV illuminated the bedroom that evening.

My father - for reasons still unimaginable and inexplicable - snored on the bed behind me. Granted it was almost 11 PM but men - US men, our men, human beings - were climbing down the few rungs of a ladder to set foot on the moon! History was happening right in front of us.

"Dad! Dad! Wake up! Look at this! We're on the moon!"

I think he eventually roused but it seemed he did so only out of some feeling of duty or obligation. Not out of curiosity. Not out of amazement. It was one of the few times he disappointed me. How could he not find this riveting?

The astronauts left a plaque on the moon. It was strapped to one of the Eagle's legs.

"Here men from the planet Earth first set foot upon the moon. July 1969 A.D. We came in peace for all mankind."

This picture of Buzz Aldrin is one of the most famous 20th Century photographs. It shows him - the second man on the moon - standing amid footprints etched in moon dust. Scientists tell us those footprints will remain unchanged for millions of years, far longer than anything man made here on Earth. Reflected in his visor are the image and shadow of his photographer, companion, and predecessor to the lunar surface, Neil Armstrong. Amazingly, this fuzzy reflection is the only photograph we have of the first man who stood on the moon standing on the moon.

Children today carry no memory that compares. Nowadays NASA endeavors seem to be of only secondary interest to both children and adults. Pictures from Mars? Pfft. Landing a satellite on an asteroid? Ho hum. The President promises we're going back. He tells us there are new priorities, plans in the making, a vision. But more earthly affairs intrude.

I hope he keeps his promise.
K-

Thanks once again to Critter's Mom for pointing me to a fun self-evaluation quiz. This time to measure my elitism quotient.

You speak eloquently and have seemingly read every book ever published. You are a fountain of endless (sometimes useless) knowledge, and never fail to impress at a party.
What people love: You can answer almost any question people ask, and have thus been nicknamed Jeeves.
What people hate: You constantly correct their grammar and insult their paperbacks.

What Kind of Elitist Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

And just to be clear... unless you're my offspring, I won't constantly correct your grammar. Only occasionally. But I will insult your paperbacks.
K-

Conversation with my younger son coming home from Scout Camp Saturday. He spent the week working as a Counselor-in-Training.

"So did you use that Gold Bond powder I gave you?"
"No, I didn't need it."
"Didn't need it? Weren't you afraid you'd get a rash?"
"Scratching was working."

K-

I've finally gotten the courage to admit it: I'm a menace to society. I've been told that in so many words by family members and friends alike. I've got to improve my act, become a better human being, stop my slacking. Why?

I don't use my car's turn signal.

Well, at least not much. I mean what's the point? Say I'm driving down I-95 and I need to switch lanes. Of course I don't switch to the new lane right in front of a car. That would be dangerous. I wait until I can see the car clearly and fully in my rearview mirror before changing lanes. But by that time, I'm way ahead of the guy and he's not going to adjust what he's doing no matter what I do. So I don't signal.

Or say I'm sitting at a traffic light waiting to turn left. Around here nearly all our traffic lights have left-turn lanes. See that's the lane you get in when you want to turn left. Hence the name. But for me, the signal to other drivers that I'm about to turn left is the fact that I'm in the left turn lane. So, again, I don't signal.

Or say I'm driving down my short, little street. At the end of the street is a stop sign. Turn left and 100 ft. later I'm at a dead end. Turn right and I pick up the main street. Why bother to signal? No one would seriously think I'd drive to the end of that cul-de-sac from my house. It would be quicker to walk. Anyone behind me - and that almost never happens - would be foolish to think I'd be doing anything but turning right. So I don't signal.

I also don't use my turn signal if I'm making a turn and there is no one approaching or reasonably close behind me. What for? Who am I signaling to? If a man signals in the wilderness and there's no one there to see it...

While I do use my turn indicator if by my actions someone would be caught unaware, must brake, or alter their course. But from the comments I receive, particularly from my older son, you'd think I'm this close to being the mad rapist of Hamburg by not using my turn signal.

I should just move to Rhode Island. Turn signals are prohibited by law.
K-

I just performed my annual stupidity ritual. This has to be among the most stupid things I do every year but I do it nonetheless:

"Hello, Baltimore Sun circulation."
"Hi. I'd like to suspend delivery of my newspaper while I'm away on vacation."
"Certainly, sir. Could I have your home address, please?"
"And the day you will be leaving?"
"And what day will you be returning?"
"Thank you, sir, for calling the Baltimore Sun. I hope you enjoy your vacation."

So here I am telling a total stranger the exact dates when no one will be in my house. And she passes that information along to the guy who actually delivers my newspaper. Could I be more explicit? "You do understand that the reason I need to suspend delivery of my paper is because no one will be in the house at all to get the paper? Not one person? The house is empty? At the address I just gave you? You do get that right? So if you wanted to break-in you have my assurance that the house is unoccupied? You understand all that?"

But I'll be damned if I let a neighbor get my paper for free.
K-

I'm moving.

After 22 years in the same office building - though not the same office - I'm moving into a brand new building. That's it on the left. They've been building it for the last 2 years. I expect to be in my new digs mid-August.

I went into the new building for the first time today to see my new office. You can't see it on this photo. It's in the back on the very bottom floor overlooking the loading dock area. (I'm sure none of you appreciate the irony in that. I've never had an office with a window. Now that I do, it's on the ground floor with a glorious view of the trash dumpster.) But I get more net office space increasing from 100 sq-ft up to 150 sq-ft.

The whole place has a new smell. My new place is really close to the new company gymnasium. But I'll also be miles away from any convenient parking, the mail room, and the credit union.

What can you say... the yin and yang.
K-

I just went down to the company cafeteria for a cup of bad coffee. (That's all they serve.) When I got there I noticed a big rack of bottled Dasani Water right in the middle of the serving area. They had a sign taped to the rack:

Ambient Dasani Water

Ambient water is the fastest growing trend in the beverage industry. Research proves that customers really enjoy the ambient water option.

I'm sorry... but there's a growing trend... a high demand... for room temperature Dasani Water?!? I don't think so.

"I'm sorry, sir, but all we have is cool, refrigerated Dasani. Nothing at room temperature, I'm afraid."
"Well, then forget it! I can't wait all day and do you think I'm risking a coronary by drinking water that is colder than the air in this room?"

I couldn't find the cafeteria manager to ask him but I have to believe the Coke people really suckered him or else he's trying to put one over on all us stupid engineers.

We'll see how long the sign lasts. My guess is it'll be down before the end of the week.
K-

D- is now up at Broad Creek Scout Reservation for the week. He is what they call a CIT or counselor-in-training. He'll spend the week learning the ropes (and the map and compass and the leatherwork and the canoeing) so that next year he has some idea which program area he would like to work in for real money. He'll return on Saturday for one day whereupon he returns to Broad Creek till the following Thursday.

D- is a worrywart. Whenever something new or unfamiliar comes along in his life, he'll fret about every aspect of it, much to the irritation of his parents who get pummeled with thousands of questions about every facet and nuance of the new or unfamiliar event.

But this time he seemed less nervous and more excited about going. There were questions and concerns but not all that many. He really likes summer camp, he's familiar with Broad Creek, he basically knows the situation, and I think he's really going to like being on staff line during formation.

Even though he's 15, D- has never exactly been away from us for this long so this week and next will be a new experience for all of us, kid and parents alike. You see there's a twice-a-day medication issue he has to deal with, and this is an issue he has never taken complete ownership of. We've always been there to remind him and he's always been very happy to have us remind him. But this summer he's been bored out of his mind and there are dozens of other good reasons why being a CIT is such a good idea - maturity growth, hanging with kids his own age, responsibility, fun, constructive activity, not sitting on his butt playing video games - that everyone decided that now is the time for him to take responsibility and be away from us.

Yesterday staff was to report exactly at noon. So I had him in the Camp Spencer pavilion exactly at noon. I figured there would be some orientation or introduction for the new kid. Nope. They took all the staff, D- included, and marched them off to some campsite to move tents around. By the time I caught up with him, he seemed right at home among the other staff members.

I noted the slight touch of exasperation in his voice as I rattled of the last fatherly instructions:

"Check for ticks."
"Yeah, OK.
"Drink plenty of water."
"Fine."
"Have fun."
"I will."
"And don't forget your meds."
"I won't."

I'll let you know how things went on Saturday.
K-

Bloggers are an obnoxious lot. We tell the world about all the humdrum events in our lives with the smug self-righteousness of a Hollywood gossip columnist. We casually write about Penny Singleton, Leon Askin, and Meat Loaf as if we know everything there is to know about them.

Last Christmas my mother gave me an autographed baseball signed by the 1952 Brooklyn Dodgers. Of course I blogged about it. It was a cool present she found while cleaning out my father's dresser. One of the signatures on the ball was that of George Pfister. I made light of the fact that his name wasn't even on the 1952 Dodger team roster. After a little digging on the web, I discovered that George Pfister played in exactly one major league game in 1941. What business did he have signing my ball?

After a call to the Dodger organization, I came to find out that George Pfister was the bullpen coach for the 1952 Brooklyn Dodgers. Not a particularly glamorous job today and probably not a glamorous job back then. But there was his name on my ball, plain as day, along with the signatures of such baseball luminaries as Jackie Robinson, Gil Hodges, Roy Campanella, Duke Snider, and Pee Wee Reese. "Guess he just happened to be around when the ball was being signed," speculated Mark Langell, the Dodger team historian.

Turns out there is more to George Pfister's baseball career than I ever would have thought. And for one Tyler, Texas man, George Pfister made a life-long impression.

Tom Connally is a dentist in Tyler, Texas. We recently shared some blog comments and a little email. Evidently Mr. Connally was surfing the web not long ago when he stumbled across my blog post on George Pfister. Mr. Connally knew George. He met George for the first time back in 1942. He met him again in 1946 when George was a catcher for the Fort Worth Cats, the Dodger AA Texas League farm team. After that they lost touch, until Mr. Connally decided to look him up again in 1994.

George Pfister had a life-long career in baseball, his 1-game stint as a player in the majors notwithstanding. Here is what Mr. Connally told me about George Pfister's baseball career:

Aug-Sept '41 - Brooklyn Dodgers, Catcher
'42 - '45 - Army Air Corps/Army Air Force
'46 - Ft. Worth Cats, Catcher. He broke a leg that summer, and, for all practical purposes, that finished his playing career.
'47 - Managed Pulaskie, a Dodger farm club in the class D Allegheny League
'48 - '51 - Managed or coached teams in the Dodger farm system up to AAA. He was moved back up to the major leagues in the summer of '51 or '52. My understanding of his designation as "player/coach" was purely a roster move for the '52 series "in case Roy went down."
For the remainder of his career, he was in the front office for the Dodgers, Yankees, and, finally, the commissioner's office.

I don't know why George Pfister was such a positive influence in Mr. Connally's life. They met at Fort Logan, Colorado. At the time, the Army Air Corps used Fort Logan for training clerks, and later activated the medical facilities there as a convalescent hospital. A portion of the grounds also served as a War Department Processing Center, for induction into and separation from military service. Perhaps George was training to be a clerk. Perhaps George worked in the convalescent hospital. Or perhaps George was a 24-year-old Brooklyn Dodger who knew a little something of the world and could reassure scared boys before they were shipped overseas. But whatever it was, George Pfister had an important role in Mr. Connally's life there in Fort Logan, and the friendship and gratitude were never forgotten.

George Pfister passed away in 1997 when he was 79. He devoted his life to baseball, he didn't cuss, he was a devout Catholic, and he was a "super influence on one little kid". The numbers in George Pfister's major league record don't add up to much. The numbers in George Pfister's personal record add up to much, much more.

Thanks, George, for signing my ball.
K-

I had The Today Show on this AM while stretching after my run. Katie and Ann were talking with some of the USA beach volleyball Olympians.

Let me repeat that slowly for you... beach volleyball Olympians.

Beach volleyball is an Olympic sport? How did I miss that? How can anyone take beach volleyball seriously? What really made me laugh is that Katie asked one of the players how she stays in such great shape (and make no mistake... she was in great shape). She said "Well, it's our job. So we work out 6 hours a day, 4 days a week. We have to wear bikinis so we train pretty hard."

What a gig. Only in America can you make a living playing on the beach.

I suppose I'll have to keep an eye out for the Olympic kite-flying team.
K-

Those of us using email have experienced it. Spam. Everyone knows what it is and everyone hates it. Bloggers have a double whammy. We get spam email and we get spam comments in our blogs.

One way bloggers control spam comments is using MT-Blacklist. It does pretty good but it's not perfect. Spam comments still get through.

One of the more perplexing things about spam comments is the blog entries the spammers choose to comment on. How do they choose which comments to spam and why do they always pick the same few blog entries?

There are about 6 or 7 entries of mine that routinely get spammed. They include:

Penny Singleton Saves The Day
Dads Know All The Answers
King of Prussia
Bustle in Your Hedgerow
Scary Stuff

Very few, if any, of my other entries attracts spam comments. Anyone have any idea?
K-

Left my office today to dispose of a Coke can in the recycling bin out in the hallway. The recycling bin sits next to a gang of vending machines down the hallway from our offices. There on the floor in front of the snack machine sat a $5 bill. Not a soul was in sight. Finders keepers.

Gotta love that.
K-

While mowing the lawn today, I noticed that at least one of the chicks in my second brood of bluebirds was still in the nest box. I saw it sitting there in the box peering out at me through the small opening as I walked around the yard with this loud, smelly contraption. It seemed to be watching me but was otherwise unperturbed by my presence. Whether there were more chicks still in the box I couldn't tell.

Late this evening I went to see how many chicks were left in the box only to discover that all of them had flown the coop as it were. They had departed without so much as a peep.

I guess they decided the neighbors were just to noisy.
K-

My youngest son, D-, had a great time at Boy Scout summer camp. A love of scout camp together with a desire to be a camp counselor next year caused him to explore the possibility of being a CIT or Counselor-In-Training. And he's decided to become one starting next Sunday.

CITs are low men on the totem pole. They are at camp to learn about all the merit badges and activities that go on at Boy Scout summer camp, get some training, and hang out in the woods, but they also have to perform some amount of menial work. They don't have to pay for this indoctrination but they don't get paid either. The job of CIT is a true labor of love.

Actually I'm very proud of him. D- sometimes has "issues" with self-motivation. He can be maddeningly content to just sit around on his butt. There'll be none of that as a CIT. What's great is that I know he'll make a great Boy Scout Summer Camp Counselor. He's patient, kind, and just about the nicest person I've ever met. Being a CIT for two weeks will keep him busy during an otherwise boring summer. He'll be away from us and on his own. I have no doubt that both he and Broad Creek will be the better for it.
K-

Well, I'm back. Being scoutmaster at Boy Scout summer camp is a vacation but a vacation of a different sort. Nineteen scouts from our troop attended Broad Creek and I didn't lose a one. Most were first-year scouts fresh out of fifth grade. We had a little bit of homesickness, which one of the other adult leaders was able to defuse nicely. We had a little bit of sniping but nothing worth mentioning. And we had some medical problems - including one dehydrated scout who vomited magnificently after the closing campfire - but nothing serious. For the most part, we had a great time.

Things got off to a slightly rocky start our first night in camp when I awoke at 4 AM to several loud BANGs! of the latrine doors. I went over to investigate and discovered not one, not two, but five first-year scouts in one of the stalls. I shooed them back to their bunks. The last one out explained to me that he needed to go to the bathroom but that he had heard a wolf sometime earlier that night and was reluctant to go by himself. There probably hasn't been a wolf in Maryland in hundreds of years.

I got some rest and relaxation. I managed to swim a mile during the Thursday night Mile Swim at the pool. I was one of two adults who succeeded out of more than a hundred adults in camp. (Scout leaders as a group tend toward the more rotund side. My stock joke is that one way you can tell a Boy Scout from a Boy Scout leader is that a Boy Scout's belt buckle points out whereas a Boy Scout leader's belt buckle points down.) I managed to loaf a fair amount. But there was always something to make sure got done, or advancement to take care of.

I'm back for most of July till we head on down to Rehoboth Beach for our family vacation.

I hope you all have a great Fourth of July.
K-