Inanity

I attended my niece's high school graduation last night (congratulations again, Dylan!) and encountered a stranger whose motives mystified me.

During the ceremony, there was a loud air horn that sounded repeatedly. It was amusing the first couple of times, but became increasingly obnoxious as it was blown too frequently. After all the diplomas had been handed out, for example, it was appropriate and fun, but after a beautiful, gentle song sung by a group that included several graduating seniors, it just seemed out of place.

As we were leaving and I waited outside the rest rooms for my wife, my attention was caught by a man in a tank top--evidently, he didn't see the graduation as an occasion to dress up at all--walking along a nearby path spouting obscenities as if he were in a private place. Now, I have been known to swear with the best of them, but not in public and not within earshot of strangers who may be offended. I counted at least five uses of the word "f**k" or "f**kin'" in the short time I heard him speaking, and I was far enough away not to hear every word of the few sentences I overheard. Then I noticed the air horn in his hand--this was the same guy.

As luck would have it, we wound up driving out of the parking lot behind a large pickup with dual rear wheels, a string of LED lights along the rear bumper, and a polished sheen that said this was no work truck, but rather an advertisement for how macho the driver was. And yes---I recognized the driver as the same person who'd been shooting off his air gun and his mouth. Then we noticed the license plate: I POLUTE. At the same time, the truck accelerated around a corner, and huge clouds of black exhaust spurted from the long chrome pipes that grew up the rear corners of the cab.

I'd like to think that POLUTE was spelled incorrectly because this guy couldn't spell, which would be consistent with the stereotype I'd already formed in my mind, but I realized that the second L would have been more letters than would fit on the plate. Still, why would you purposely put that on your license plate? Is he proud that he pollutes? Does he not care? I assume he's annoyed by people preaching about the environment and conservation, so perhaps it's just meant as a joke. Still, with everything else I saw this person do in my short experience with him, I tend to believe that he thinks everyone else should shut up and let him do whatever he wants, and/or that he wants to provoke people.

I also noticed some lettering on his rear window. It was hard to read because the letters were white and the sun was reflecting on the glass, but I made out the words "your hybrid", so I'm guessing there was another use of some variation of "f***" and a disparaging comment on vehicles like the Prius we were driving. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if he'd seen us in his rear-view mirror and blasted the black exhaust for our benefit, but my wife correctly said that I was probably being paranoid. Still, I have to wonder why someone would drive a truck that periodically spews big clouds of pollution and then try to draw people's attention to it. What can I compare that to? A person who eats a lot wearing a T-shirt that says I TRY TO EAT SO MUCH FOOD THAT THERE WON'T BE ENOUGH FOR STARVING  CHILDREN? A smoker with one that reads I SMOKE IN THE HOPES THAT YOU'LL GET CANCER FROM SECONDHAND SMOKE? A person (admittedly, like myself) who eats food shipped in from far away advertising that I DON'T EAT LOCAL BECAUSE THAT WOULD ONLY SAVE GAS AND SUPPORT THE LOCAL ECONOMY? (Yes, that last T-shirt would have to be an extra large.)

We are all guilty of doing something that isn't in the best interest of others or ourselves, but how many of us try to draw attention to it, or brag about it? We don't do these things to hurt others, or damage the environment, or waste resources--we do it because it's something we enjoy or covet, and we make the choice, consciously or unconsciously, to indulge ourselves. But to think about it and point it out to others? He even paid extra to have that license plate.

I tired to imagine a situation in which I could carry on a friendly conversation with this guy. Maybe, if I hadn't heard his air horn or breathed his exhaust or seen his license plate, we'd get along fine. But I'm guessing that it's more likely that he would soon say something so offensive that I'd feel compelled to walk away, muttering under my breath that he should go f**k himself.

Sanded in

Our downstairs floors are being sanded as I write this. I am holed up in my upstairs office as the gentle roar of sanders, hammers setting nails that have popped up too high and a powerful vacuum seeps through the floor. The floors will be stained tonight and the fumes will be pretty strong, so we'll retreat to our bedroom and hope it's warm enough to have the windows open through the night. The kitchen cabinets are covered and taped off with sheets of plastic, so there's no access to food or drink. I can reheat the leftovers from last night's takeout dinner on the grill out back--I just hope the clouds outside don't open up at lunchtime.

I enjoying sitting in the parking lot of McDonald's eating my breakfast this morning. I haven't been out to breakfast in about a year. I was disappointed that the sausage patty was so much fattier than I remembered, but I like their pancakes (a "top secret" version of their recipe uses 7-Up, and I suspect that's the secret; I've made them at home and they taste pretty much the same). I usually eat a healthy breakfast, so today I ate the hash browns, biscuit with jelly and the pancakes. I figure it balances out all my healthy breakfasts so far this year.

The guys who'll replace the insulation in the basement and re-sheetrock the garage ceiling will arrive this afternoon, at which time there'll be one crew sanding and staining the first floor (the Clean floor) as another crew sends dust and fiberglass fibers floating through the basement level (the Dirty floor). It's odd to be shut out of my own living space by a Dirty crew and a Clean crew at the same time. Unfortunately, we'll need to pass through the Clean zone to go out to eat and run errands, but that's what door mats and stocking feet are for.

Everything we had on the first floor is in a big storage locker out in the driveway. It blocks the garage, so our cars sit in the driveway, and I have to be sure to move mine up to the street in the mornings before the trucks arrive so I won't be trapped.

All of this disruption will only last a week. By the weekend, I expect we'll be moving everything back in. The floors will be clean and new; the furniture will probably be rearranged a bit, so there'll definitely be a feeling of renewal. We'll have the rental company take the container away; we'll park our cars in a garage with a new ceiling; and we'll forget in a week or so how intrusive it all was.

Then, in what I hope will only be a couple of weeks, we'll put the house up for sale. If it sells quickly (as the McDonald's ads used to say: hey, it could happen!) we'll go through the whole process of moving out again in a month or so! [When that happens, though, we'll hire movers. My wife, son and I (mostly I) moved everything out this time.] If it takes a long time to sell, at least it'll be clean and finished for our own enjoyment.

I'll probably take some photos before we move everything back in; then people can see what it looks like when it's empty. I guess that counts as an unexpected bonus.

The problem with working at home at a time like this is that I can't really get away from the reality that our home is torn apart. If I want coffee, I have to drive to get it. If I'm working quietly at my desk or drawing table, listening to music, the sound of destruction and repair is still in the background.

Of course, I don't live in Japan, or in the wake of a tornado, so maybe I shouldn't complain. In a week or two, things will be back to normal for us. I guess it's not that bad when I look at it that way.

Musings

I've been thinking about a bunch of sh*t today. I don't mean metaphorically; I've actually been thinking about sewage. It seems appropriate on Earth Day to ponder environmental issues.

Here in the Advanced Countries, we generate human waste in our houses and workplaces,as everyone does--but then we add lots of water and pour it into septic tanks which go to leach fields, or into public sewers which carry it many miles away to be put through a long process which destroys pathogens, cleanses the water we added, and releases it all as harmless stuff.
In the old days, they used outhouses. Not so good either. But there is a better alternative.

Composting toilets really make the most sense. They're not exciting and will probably never catch on for more than a few people, and I'm not suggesting we all install them. But think about it. Sewage is essentially biodegradable matter that really doesn't need to go anywhere. A composting toilet doesn't add extra water. It lets the natural microbes and bacteria break down the toxic components. What ultimately emerges is a moist, odor-free mulch which can be used on lawns, shrubs and other non-food crops. With a little further composting, it can be used to grow food. Even dumping it in the back yard or woods or paying someone to pick it up periodically would make more sense than shipping it far away.

We are supposed to get our furnaces and cars serviced regularly, so it would make sense to have periodic service calls set up, much as dental checkups are, so the work of maintaining the proper moisture content, temperature, etc. wouldn't fall on the homeowner. Right now, if you buy a system, you're responsible for watching over it for the rest of your life. A bit of a burden.

I imagine that, as adequate water resources are harder to come by, our grandchildren may see these systems become more prevalent. In a world where cars run on fuel cells and homes are heated and powered by solar, it doesn't seem far-fetched.

When the Rural Electrification Act of the '30s went into effect, millions of rural Americans were connected to the electrical grid. Prior to that, many farms had on-site generators to provide electricity. The total cost of the electrification of the rural U.S. was higher than setting up generators and/or windmills, with batteries, for all those country-dwellers would have been.

Of course, now the damage is done. We expect someone miles, maybe even thousands of miles away, to take care of us. The big electric, water and sewer companies or municipalities provide their products and services to us, when local service technicians could probably maintain smaller rural systems for a comparable price. Is the possibility of a site-based system failing for a day or two any worse than the four or five times a year I currently lose power because of a downed power line somewhere far away, while my own neighborhood, with its buried cables, is not the problem?

For urban and city dwellers, the larger, centralized grid makes sense, but not for Joe and Betty Corn-Farmer out in East Cow Flop, Tennessee. Ten years ago, I wouldn't have imagined 5% of cars on the road being hybrids, as they are now. So I can imagine a day when many of us stop dispatching our doodoo to a distant destination, and importing our electricity from an offsite entity.

So Happy Earth Day to you future composters!

Minor changes

Funny how a little change can make a big difference. I'd noticed that some of my cartoons were more difficult to draw, in part because my hand simply isn't as steady as it was for many years. It occurred to me that I could start drawing in a larger format, so I increased the size of the original panel(s) from 13" x 4-1/4" to 15" x 4-5/8". This means that details are easier to draw smoothly. There's still a certain roughness to my line work that I accept as part of my style, but now a circle doesn't have to come out like an oval or a cursive "c".

I also bought a set of new pens, thinking that I'd expand from the .7 mil size I've been using to a 1 mil thickness, to account for the larger scale. But I realized as I began the first drawing that I'd bought roller ball pens, not the gel pens I prefer. Rollerballs, like ballpoints, tend to skip upon first touch---not an issue for regular handwriting or note-taking, but critical when one may be drawing a line that's only 1/4" long and the lines are supposed to connect. So I'm sticking with the .7 ones, at least for now. Maybe I'll go with thicker lines later.

I also ordered PhotoShop CS5, an upgrade from the Elements version of PhotoShop I've using. It will enable me to do color separations for the calendar and newspapers. (In the past, I had to send the files to my son, Dan, and have him use his computer program to convert the files to four-color for the calendar.) CS5 will also allow me to resume exploration of an unusual approach I was toying with for the strip, and which I had abandoned as too difficult with Elements.

None of this affects how you see or receive the cartoons--that'll come later--but it makes me feel that, like spring, there's a reawakening in this process of creating QlownTown. All hail Spring, bigger paper and CS5!

 

Statistics and questionnaires

I just received an email full of fun facts, such as "A comet's tail always faces away from the sun". I was reading them in hopes of finding inspiration for cartoons. One item really caught my eye: "The Swine Flu vaccine in 1976 caused more death and illness than the disease it was intended to prevent." As I tried to grasp the meaning of this so I could turn it into a cartoon, I realized that it was a prime example of how statistics can be used to mislead us and twist our perceptions. My first reaction was, that must have been a misguided vaccination campaign...until I realized that it was still to the good. Fewer people died from the flu itself because fewer people came down with it, having been protected by the vaccine. Let's say 100,000 people avoid coming down with the flu because they were vaccinated; another 100 die from the vaccine and another 100 get sick from it. Ten die from contracting the flu. So the vaccine killed or sickened 200 people, while the flu only killed 10. But what if those 100,000 hadn't been vaccinated, and 20,000 of them got the flu, and 5,000 of them died from it? Then there would have been 5,000 flu-caused deaths and only 200 deaths due to the vaccine. I don't know the exact numbers, but I'm pretty sure this was a case of statistics implying a result that is the opposite of the truth.

I had a guy working for me years ago, and he bragged that he and his wife had never had their child vaccinated, and she'd never come down with any of the diseases the vaccines were intended to prevent. Well duh, I thought to myself---there's no polio to catch because everyone else got it taken care of. If everyone stopped getting their children vaccinated, these diseases would come back.

Now, I'm not campaigning for universal vaccination; everyone must weigh the risks and proceed accordingly. But to say that vaccines haven't helped or should never be administered is a bit unrealistic, don'tcha think?

It brings to mind the questionnaires I get in the mail occasionally, or phone polls I sometimes get sucked into because I forgot to check Caller ID first. The questions are generally phrased to make the "logical" answer the one which favors the inquiring party's position. Democrats, Republicans, Tea Partiers, Right-to-Lifers...they all do it. Instead of asking "Do you think people should use crosswalks?", for example, the wording might be, "Would you rather be forced by the government to use crosswalks or have the freedom to make your own choices about safety as a thinking adult?" What gets me is when the organization doing the asking then touts the inevitable results as supporting their own position.

Maybe misleading statistics and leading questionnaires aren't really the same, but that's how my mind goes about its business sometimes. Hey, I was just looking for a joke, and I managed to come up with a topic for a new blog, which I know I should do more often. It's Friday. It's cloudy. So is my head. Did you know that most people who write a blog on an overcast day tend to be less coherent in their writing? No? Well, I'm putting together a questionnaire that will prove it...

Comic Con

I sent in my bio and photo today for the New England Comic Con, to be held at the Hynes auditorium in Boston on September 17th & 18th, 2011.

For those who may not know, a comic con is a convention at which artists, cartoonists, Star Trek cast members and other celebrities appear. I'll have a table, at which will be T shirts, prints of cartoons, original artwork from the strips, and whatever else I can come in with to make a buck and amuse passersby. This is new to me--I've been to one convention for a couple of hours, but hosting a table and coming up with a display is uncharted territory for me. Still, I'm looking forward to it. It'll get me out of my office, and I'll get to meet a lot of other artists.

My inner geek is looking forward to maybe meeting Walter Koenig (Star Trek),
and my inner pig is looking forward to meeting Gena Lee Nolin (Baywatch). I must admit, however, that I've seen all the Star Trek episodes, but only one or two Baywatches. I may do a cartoon about each of them so I can have them sign the artwork. I've done a couple based on Star Trek already; clowns and Baywatch could make an unlikely but amusing combo. My first thought is to do something with slow motion, but what that will involve is still up in the air--so to speak.

I wound up committing to this because I'm in the cast of a production of Guys and Dolls, and another cast member, Don Higgins, set it up. [He draws a web comic called Dark Magic and Donuts. I have great respect for his work because it's a creative, entertaining series and because he, like myself, is not above stooping to the occasional flatulence joke.] So this particular production features two cast members named Don who both do online comic strips and who both drive VWs. I was hoping he would be wealthy, because then I, by extension, would also probably be wealthy---but alas, neither of us is. 

In other news: I just checked the stats on the QlownTown website and was happy to see that visitorship (my own new word) is up. That's good to see. I'm hoping that the exposure on the ComicCon site will help bring even more people to the site. QlownTown recently passed the two-year mark, meaning I've done...well, I don't know how many. If I were still doing seven days a week, I'd know it was 730--365 a year--but since I cut back to just weekdays last June, the number is lower. Let's see: two days off per week; say, fifty Saturdays and Sundays in 2010, another twenty or so this year. So: 730 - 70 = 660. That's still a lot of clowns.

I've planned every strip through May and partway into June, and every week I schedule a Saturday and a Sunday cartoon, but then decide towards the end of the week to save them for later. I make no promises, but at some point in the future, we'll return to seven days a week. I hope that by the time I do the convention in Boston, there'll be a new QlownTown every day and they'll be appearing in at least a few newspapers.

By that time, I also expect to be living in a new house and looking out at a verdant landscape. However, looking out the window at the snow falling heavily today, I feel more confident that the new house will happen; I'm not so sure about the verdant part.
But, clear roads or snowy, I'll be trekking down to Boston in September to ply my wares. Should be fun.  
(I just realized the "trek" pun I made after I'd typed it. Sorry. But I'm leaving it in.)

A few words in defense of meteorologists

If you live, oh, say, anywhere, you've probably experienced some crappy weather lately. Here in New England, we've had tons of snow through the last month. We had an "open" Christmas (no snow), but a day or two later it was truly a winter wonderland.

Through all this, I haven't heard anyone say how well the weather forecasters have done. They've predicted almost everything very accurately. They make projections a whole week ahead, and it seems that if it changes, they catch it when there are still a few days to go. For example, they were predicting last Thursday that we'd get a snowstorm this Thursday. Yesterday--still three days ahead of the expected storm--they corrected their prediction. That's pretty good forecasting, all things considered.

I read a few years ago that they're generally right about 85% of the time. For something as changeable as the weather (especially around here), I think that's a damn good average. They don't control the weather, you know...at least I hope you do. (If you didn't know that, then here's some more news: if you send me $1,000, you'll have good luck for a year. Really.) People make their plans, their schedules; build their lives around what the weather folks say will happen; then blame them when something different occurs. I guess it's natural to want to fault someone else when your plans get messed up, but remember that 85% average the next time you're mad about shoveling your driveway or getting wet in the rain.

So there's my defense of meteor-ologists. Next time, I'll defend doctors, lawyers, insurance agents and car salespeople.  Of course, when they--or most of us--screw up, it's our own fault.

Muh

I just found a great new site. It's a store, actually. It's called muh stuff, and features clothing and merchandise with the "muh" label on it. It's a parody of designer clothing, and a joke in itself. If someone asks "What's that?" when they see the logo, you're supposed to say "It's muh shirt" or "It's muh mug" or whatever you're wearing/holding/displaying with the logo on it. There are even stickers so you can label other stuff as your own: "muh house", "muh motorcycle", maybe "muh dish" if you bring a casserole to a party or potluck. There are even "muh" underpants and "muh" boxers.

You can also buy stuff through the main Marketplace at CafePress, but you'll pay higher prices there.

I think this is a great opportunity to start a craze and lampoon overpriced logo merchandise. The word is Muh. Spread the word!

Random thoughts

...I mean even more random than usual.

I deleted the items in my "Trash" folder in my e-mail program. There were about twenty--not a lot--and I know they take up very little space on the hard drive. It's just nice to be rid of them completely, to not even see them if I decide to check the folder. It's sort of like taking out the trash, only it doesn't contribute to pollution or climate change and I don't need to put on snow pants and boots to do it.

Speaking of climate change, why do people take all the snow we're having as proof that there's no global warming, when in fact the correct term is climate change? Global warming occurs some of the time and is only part of the overall change; sometimes it's heavier snow or wind than in the past. Or more hurricanes. Or mosquitoes.

Speaking of snow, we just had the third or fourth or fifth major snowstorm this month, and I still marvel at how beautiful it is. Maybe it's because I work from home, and after I've cleared the driveway for my wife with my easy-to-use snow blower, I can go inside and avoid dealing with slippery roads, traffic and the cold.

Dilbert did a joke today with the punchline "sewer side mission", but then defused the potential groan about the pun by adding another punchline. This is an effective device to dilute a pun (even though I believe a good pun is a clever thing and should be respected; embraced, even). I probably should have done this one my Abominable Snowman cartoon, although I already had a lot of words in there.

 Why is it that when I look through the bunches of coupons that come in the paper, I hardly ever see anything that is of any use to me? I read about these coupon clippers who save hundreds of dollars a week, but I have to believe most of them are saving, say, a buck on a major name brand when the store brand is just as good and already costs two bucks less. Or they're buying ultra-processed Pillsbury Corn Syrup and Guar Gum biscuits when I can make better ones at home for a lot less. I suppose if you already cook with a lot of processed food, there are real savings, but when I can save a quarter or so each on a big box of some product, but only if I buy three, and it will take me a year to use them up, it doesn't seem worth it. My idea of a coupon is 50% off flour or sugar or milk. Unfortunately, we use coupons so seldom that when I do send a coupon along to the grocery store with my wife (she usually does the shopping; she claims I'm an impulse buyer) it tends to get forgotten. Now that's like throwing a dollar away. Too bad the manufacturers don't just lower the price for everyone...but of course they couldn't afford to: it's the extra effort that earns some people the discount.

Rebates are even worse. I bought a new cell phone, and to get the $50 back, I had to send the original receipt, the side panel from the box, a filled-out form, and ten of my favorite shirts to get the rebate. God forbid it gets lost in the mail. Then four months later I get a generic-looking check and wonder what it's for. If I buy a phone at a Verizon store and it's a rebate from Verizon, why can't they just give it to me at the Verizon checkout counter when I pay Verizon? Once, the store clerk explained it to me incorrectly, and by the time I realized what I had to do to get the rebate, they told me it was too late and they were sorry. And Verizon is the top-rated wireless provider!

Why is it more fun to come up with cartoon ideas than it is to draw them? Actually, I enjoy the drawing, too, but coming up with the initial concept is the best part. Maybe it's because I can see it in my mind, and making the image available to everyone else is just work. The penciling is a lot of fun; the inking, scanning and cleaning up are less so. Then the coloring is fun again. I guess it's the same as when I was a kid: it's fun to make up stuff and color in pictures.

Now it's time to go work out in the gym. We'll see how I like the weather after that.

Furniture

I've been stripping an old commode the last couple of days. No, not a toilet--a cabinet with a lift-up lid that used to be used to store a water pitcher, a chamber pot, etc.) I found a non-caustic stripper, Smart Strip, that works well. I covered it with plastic wrap, even though it says you don't need to. This kept it wet for almost a day, at which point I peeled it off and scraped off the loosened paint. I'm letting the goop dry up, after which I'll bag it and dispose of it as trash in a sealed bag. I don't think there's any toxic material in it--if any of the paint was lead, the bagging up will take care of environmental concerns.

After the first coat had softened the top layers of paint, a layer of graining was revealed: the pine had been given an oak-look faux woodgrain, with some decorative swirls applied over that. I considered carefully stripping the remainder of the top layers--which, by the way, included bright turquoise and an even brighter orange under the most recent off-white layer!--and preserving the graining. If it were a more valuable, historically-significant piece, I probably would have, but these are pretty common, and I prefer the charm of the pine to the more formal oak look. So I reapplied the stripper, waited overnight, and scraped off the faux finish. But it reminded me of some Shaker chairs we have.

My great-aunt and -uncle lived in Alfred, Maine, right down the street from an old Shaker community, and had purchased three chairs from there when the community was sold off due to declining membership. The chairs had the original woven cotton tape, but had been painted white at some point. My father had removed the paint for them using a scraper rather than a liquid stripper...a wise decision, since they're much more valuable now with their original finish. I've known for years he'd used the scraper, but never asked why. He could have removed the cotton tape, used a liquid stripper, and re-woven the seats using the original material, if they wanted to preserve the weaving. Of course, that would've removed the original stain as well. Did they know the original finish made them more valuable? Did they just want to preserve it for the sake of historical accuracy? Was the scraping easier than removing and reweaving the tape to chemically strip the wood? Did they just like the look of it?

Suddenly, I wanted to ask my dad about this. I've always felt pretty settled regarding my father's passing. We had no unresolved issues when he died, and in the ensuing years, I've had only fond memories with no lingering questions. But suddenly, twenty-odd years later, I just wanted to talk to him. It wasn't a big thing, and I didn't suffer pangs of regret or longing. I just wanted to ask Dad about something he did that was similar to what I was doing. He had made a decision, as I had, on how to refinish something. We never did any projects like this together, and now I wanted to trade thoughts. All this time had passed, and yet for a moment I forgot that he isn't here anymore.

Once we lose people, we lose the opportunity to learn from them directly. We can no longer ask questions when we wonder what it was like to live through a World War or the depression, or how our parents fell in love. Or why they refinished furniture the way they did.

We once gave my mother a book in which a series of questions were asked about her youth, what it was like growing up, the circumstances of her marriage, her children's births, and on and on. She was supposed to write in her answers, and we'd ultimately have a book that chronicled experiences in her life we might not otherwise know. It was a gift for her--we figured she'd enjoy hours recalling the highlights and day-to-day goings-on in her life--but it was to be just as much a gift for us. When she died last year, never having filled in anything, we thought of giving it to my father-in-law. We mentioned it, but he didn't seem interested. Now I'm thinking I should keep it and start writing in answers about my life. If someone gives me a book like this when I'm old, I may not be interested then, either--and eventually my kids and their descendants may have questions that the book could have answered. Not on how or why to refinish furniture, of course, but a little more insight into who preceded them on the family tree.

A journal would accomplish the same thing, but at least this "memories" book provides a structured start. I think I'll try to dig out that book this weekend.  Maybe it'll ask me to describe workshop projects.

Hiding stains

I saw a cartoon today ("Tiger") in which a boy tells his brother that their mother can get the stain out of his tie, which he concedes is better than his idea of dipping his whole tie in sauce to make the stain less noticeable. This was funny, but I've joked about this for years, and finally decided one day last summer that it wasn't all that bad an idea. If you wanted your most comfortable red shirt with a black stain on it to look good, mightn't it make sense to consider dyeing it black?


We had a lamp with a pink shade that had gotten stained by splashes of oil at some point. I wanted to sell it and knew that the shade would be a problem, but it wasn't worth enough to buy a new shade. So I sprayed the shade lightly with some WD40 oil. After an hour or so, it had soaked in evenly and the shade was once again all one color. It may have been a little darker than it was originally, but that didn't matter. It looked fine.

I had a tie that have been stained over time, and tried staining it with a little oil, but the silk didn't take as kindly to the oil as the shade did, and I just threw it out. This method doesn't always work. But if the item is worth saving, keep it in mind.

This gives me an idea for another item repair; well, upgrade, actually. I have a Santa tie that I received many Christmases ago that used to play carols if you squeezed the bottom end. (Unfortunately, it played them for a minute or two, long enough for the novelty to wear off...but for the first few seconds, it was a source of great amusement for everyone for whom I played it.) The battery wore out several years ago, and I still wear it, but I'm always reminded that it used to play music, and I've wanted to restore it.

Well, I have a set of tiny LED lights that flash when you squeeze an attached button. They came in a card I received several years ago, and I saved them, figuring they'd be good for something some day. We went to a contest last month in which a bunch of couples each decorated a gingerbread house. We were invited to bring whatever we wanted to add to dress up our houses, and I thought of those lights. I stuck them behind the gingerbread tree that sat in the "yard" of the little house, and it looked pretty cool.

Now, I think I'm going to stick these lights into the lining of the Santa tie. They're pretty bright, and I think they'll shine through the silk. Actually, I have a tie with a Christmas tree on it, and maybe I'll set them in behind the tree on that tie instead. That'd look really flashy (forgive the pun).

Of course, the batteries may die on the flashing lights by next Christmas, so I guess I'll just tape them to the back of that tie, and if they're still functioning next November, I'll install them then. Or, if I think of it, maybe I can get a fireworks tie for the Fourth of July and put them in that one.

I love when I come up with an idea like this, because my wife thinks I hang onto much too much stuff "just in case I need it someday", and this is one case of that habit actually paying off. Now if I could just find a use for all the random sized pieces of plywood, pine, maple, MDF and other building leftovers that are in my workshop. I saw a lamp made of 3/4" x 3/4" strips of miscellaneous materials glued into panels that looked really interesting, but that's a lot of cutting and gluing. Maybe I'll use the pieces to build a set of shelves to hold all the other "just in case" stuff.

Pastor

Someone sent me a link to the youTube video of the pastor of the infamous Westboro Baptist Church ranting that the Arizona shootings were God's way of punishing us for our "sins". I won't put the link here; you can find it easily enough yourself. My point is that I decided to watch it, much the way one looks at a horrible accident even though one wants to look away.

I used a technique I learned years ago, at mime school, of all places. I don't recall why we got around to discussing watching TV commercials, but Tony Montaro, the brilliant teacher and mime, told us that when he watched commercials, he would just let himself "zone out", and struck a blank--and very funny--facial expression. The idea, he said, was that you could let all the frantic and/or subversive messages of the ad wash over you and just ignore them. (This, I should point out, was in the days before remotes and DVR's, when one could only avoid a commercial by getting up, going over to the TV, and turning the sound or TV off--or by leaving the room.)

So I turned on the reverend's video and watched blankly. As I felt the anger begin to rise, I told myself that he was beneath contempt and not worth the effort...and, lo and behold, I felt myself relax. I watched the whole thing, heard all the words, marveled at the utter lack of compassion, awareness and Biblical understanding of this man, but I was able to avoid the overwhelming outrage that I might normally feel.

People on all sides of the issues generally seem to feel that political dialogue in America has become largely impolite and impolitic. Perhaps if many of our elected officials employed what I'm calling the Montaro Zone-Out Technique when they see or hear opposing views, they might tender their responses more rationally. I can picture a representative or senator listening to a fellow member of Congress whose views are directly opposite his or her own, and letting a blank expression wash over his or her face. It could make for great TV, although the Technique might occasionally be mistaken for dozing off or daydreaming. Then, as the life returned to the eyes, the measured response would be based on a sifting of the essence of the opponent's statements, not having allowed oneself to get sucked into the emotional reaction that might normally muddy the debate.

Interesting how tragedies beget waves of civility. In the aftermath of 9/11, football commentators consciously stopped using terms like "slaughter," "killing" and "decimation." Crime dropped sharply in NYC, and other places as well, at least for a while. Regardless of what did or didn't cause the shooter to do this, we can use it as a reminder to back off. Someone can disagree with you without being a liar; someone can interpret information differently without being a villain.

Part Two

...So I get back home from the emergency room and finish tying down the load on the trailer. The same bungee actually slipped again--but this time I was being careful to keep my face out of the way! I realized that with three plastic hooks placed under the fender, one of them was slipping over the other two and coming loose, so I hooked it elsewhere. The rest of the tying down proceeded without incident.

I pulled the trailer out of the garage (I had decided to do the loading in the relative warmth inside) and hooked it onto the car. I made sure the chains and wiring were connected: the day was not going to get worse, I swore.

The whole fifteen-minute trip to the transfer station, I kept checking the rear-view mirror to make sure nothing shifted. At the station, I unloaded the recyclables, then drove around to the dumping area and threw in the trash. So far, so good. I checked all the bungees, and everything seemed firmly attached. I headed off to the storage area, still planning to cartoon when I got home. (As it would turn out, there would be no cartooning till Monday.)

Ten minutes later, I was two thirds of the way there, when I looked in the rear-view and saw that some of the tire were missing! I immediately pulled over, and a man in a van pulled up behind me. "You lost two of your tires," he said. They're both over there," he said, pointing to some apartment buildings nearby. They almost hit me, but we were both lucky!" I apologized and thanked him, and went over to get the tire I could see. The other one was nowhere in sight, so I turned around to go back and try to find the two tires that were still missing--and the two crates of Christmas stuff that I thought had also fallen off. I pulled over to get the big aluminum tray we put under our Christmas tree stand in case of leaks, which was sitting in the middle of the four lane road, only slightly banged up from the fall. By now it was about 3:30 PM, so it was dark enough that some people had their lights on and others didn't. I grabbed the tray and was about to run back across the road to my car because the car that was approaching in the lane I'd have to cross was signaling that he was going to turn before he got to me. Nope! He had one light out and was using his parking lights instead of headlights, but proceeded full speed ahead in my direction. Luckily, I realized this in time and stopped to let him drive by. As I got in the car, I thought, This is another reason you should never use your parking lights as headlights! If it's dark enough to have your lights on, use your damn headlights! You're not parking when you're driving forty miles an hour, so don't use your parking lights when driving. This has been taught in driving school for at least forty years, so everyone should know it by now! But I digress.

Before I pulled out, another guy stopped and said, "I saw your other tire fall off back by CVS." I thanked him and thought, Okay, if no one stops and steals that tire, I'll just be down one tire. Which would mean in the spring, I'd still have to pay for one wheel (probably at least $150 used, if I could find one used) and two tires--you know they're going to say I should buy two matching tires, not just replace one and have the other be a year older than the new one; they wouldn't wear or ride evenly!

I found the tire where he'd said it was. I climbed the fence between the road and the parking lot where I pulled in and retrieved it, tying it and everything else down VERY securely, then drove all the way back to the transfer station, checking the sides of the road as I drove.

The gate was closed. I asked the two men there, about to close up for the night, if they'd seen a tire or plastic crate in the lot. No, they said, and no one had turned anything in. So I headed back to where I'd found the first tire, checking both sides of the road again for tires and crates--or, worse, a splash of beloved Christmas heirlooms scattered across the landscape.

I tried to remember what might have been in the missing crates. The Hallmark house ornaments that my mother had given me each Christmas, one a year, for twenty-five years? The "NOEL" ceramic candle holders that belonged to my wife's grandmother?  The little clay versions of our dogs and cat (all now deceased) that I made when the kids were little for them to hang on the tree?

It then occurred to me that maybe the load had shifted forward on the trailer. It had all been on the rear half of the bed, but in my panic, I hadn't counted how many plastic crates were still on the trailer; I just saw the missing tires and assumed the two crates that had been at the back of the trailer under them were gone, too. But maybe there were still six.

This was a small consolation, although by this point I assumed that, the way things had been going, they were probably all gone. And by now it was getting late, and darker, and I needed to get to the storage area. No time to pull over and check. Depressed over the loss of whatever was lost, I pulled into the apartment complex to take one last look...and there it was on the side of one of the streets: the fourth tire! I pulled over and counted the crates: six! No Christmas items had been harmed in the making of this disaster. I scooped up the tire and rim (I would've hugged it, but someone might've seen me), tied it down with lots of extra, caaarrrefully placed bungees, and drove to the storage unit. Everything was quickly unloaded without incident. I looked for the long brush/scrapers we keep in our cars to dust off snow--they'd been missing and I thought I probably put them in storage--but by then it was too dark to see into the recesses of the stuff, so I resolved to look for the scrapers again at home.

I'd been on a diet all week, with the plan that I was allowed to go off the diet, if I so chose, on the weekend. Having lost several pounds already and feeling more like my pre-holidays self, weight-wise,  I had decided earlier in the day that maybe I'd ease up a bit but not pig out over the weekend. But as I headed home with an empty trailer, a sore cheek and dusty clothes, I decided that The Diet Was Off.

We went out to dinner that night, and I had a martini; hot bread dipped in herbed olive oil; fried rice balls stuffed with sausage, cheese and other good stuff and served with a thick tomato sauce; veal with butternut squash ravioli in a cream sauce*; and a dessert of gelato with baklava crumbled into it.

And I didn't regret it at all.**

*I would usually have eaten half of the entree and taken the other half home for later...but not this time. This time I ate the whole thing.
**Except the guilt about eating veal.

Cockeyed optimism

What a Friday I had last week! I had finished my cartoons for the week, and they were forecasting that a Nor'easter would blow in later in the day, so I decided to do a few errands before coming back home and getting ahead on next week's QlownTown. I loaded the rear half of my trailer with six plastic crates full of Christmas paraphernalia and four wheel-mounted summer tires for one of our cars, to be dropped off at the off-site storage area we're renting. The front half held the accumulated trash and recyclables from around Christmas and New Year's.

I tied down the Christmas crates and tires with a big bungee "net" and was securing the load on the front half when it happened. A bungee hook which I thought was firmly locked under the fender of the trailer popped loose, whapping me in the cheek. I immediately tasted blood, realized what had happened, and imagined the hook may have caught my cheek and ripped it open. I touched my cheek and saw blood all over my hand, which only added to my concern. Holding my cheek to stay the flow of blood, I ran upstairs to check things out in the mirror.

I confess here that I hit myself in the eye with a bungee years ago, which resulted in my having to stay indoors in the dark for two weeks with my pupils dilated. Fortunately, there was no lasting damage, and I had since assumed that I was therefore safe from bungee injuries, because what are the chances of anyone who's careful and seldom uses bungees being hit by one twice in a lifetime?  Now we know: in my case, 100 percent.

Trying not to panic, I looked in the bathroom mirror and saw a small split under the end of my mustache. The first sign of my cockeyed optimism appeared then: at least the scar wouldn't show very much, I thought. I felt around as much as I could without really hurting myself, and decided that the cut on the outside was separate from the one inside my mouth. Again, good news, I reasoned. Two shallow cuts seemed less disgusting than a puncture through the side of my face.

I called the doctor's office, and was told that for facial stitches, they preferred I go to the emergency room. Great, I thought. A higher co-pay than an office visit.

I waited at the emergency room for about a half hour to 45 minutes, I'd guess. I'd brought an ice pack, so there was no real swelling, and if I held it gingerly, the coolness provided more relief than the slight pressure of the pack caused pain. I was finally ushered in and informed by the doctor that indeed I would need three stitches on the outside--but none inside. She warned me that the Novocaine would burn, and I thought of telling her that my dentist told me years ago that the pain of a Novocaine shot is from the pressure of injecting it too quickly, and that in fact shots never hurt at my dentist's; but I figured, here's a woman who's about to sew up my face: do not do anything that might annoy her. So the shot burned, and it tasted terrible, but then my face went numb and everything was better.

She covered my face with towels, which short-circuited my plan to count dots in the ceiling tiles or read the posters on the walls to distract me from what was happening. There was still a lot to do that day, and I knew it would include dealing with bungee cords when I got home; but I decided to try to relax and try to use this as time to rest. She probed the site a little more and informed me that the hook had gone through the cheek, so I would need a stitch on the inside as well, but I had already been repulsed at that thought when it first happened, so the news that there was indeed a Hole in My Cheek wasn't a big deal. The inside stitch would dissolve on its own, so I didn't need to look forward to someone dragging a thread out of the sensitive inside of my cheek later. Again, a little more cockeyed optimism.

As it turned out, she didn't even trim my mustache. She used blue thread, so she can see what are whiskers and what are stitches when she removes them later this week, but they are pretty much hidden in my 'stache, so I don't need to recap the whole story for anyone unless I choose to. You can see from the length of this blog why I would be happy that I don't have to repeat the tale over and over.

As I left the hospital, I remembered that my sister-in-law Gaila had told me just a couple of weeks ago that if you pay directly, you may pay less than if you wait to be billed the standard co-pay by your insurance company. I turned around, went back in and asked about this, and was told that if I paid now, my co-pay would be $200, versus $250 as the standard co-pay. I charged it, which also gave me points on my credit card: a twenty-cent bonus, and another chance for optimism in the face (hee hee) of a lousy situation.

Walking out to my car, I thought how great it was that I saved $50 by asking. Then I thought, that's what a true cockeyed optimist would think. And then I laughed at what an optimist I am to be amused at how optimistic I was being.

Fortunately, there's been no swelling, and, as long as I remember to take a pain reliever regularly, no real pain. I haven't flossed for a few days--don't tell my dental hygienist!--but the only real inconvenience has been trying to remember not to get too close to the cut when I'm shaving.

And--ever the optimist--I did get an interesting story out of the whole fiasco.

Tomorrow, I'll tell you about the trip to the transfer station and storage building. Oh yeah--the day's woes weren't over yet.

Recipe

I've had several requests to print the Spiced Pork Tenderloin recipe I mentioned on my Facebook page, so I'm running it here. I've been more or less following Phase 1 of the South Beach diet this week, which allows lean meats but does not allow many carbs. (I hate that word; it's such a cliche, but it's less unwieldy than "carbohydrates".) There's no prohibition on seasoning, however, so I dug out this very flavorful recipe. I usually marinate pork loin, because it can be pretty bland if the seasoning just sits on the surface, but this seemed to infuse the whole cut, despite being rubbed on just before cooking.

This, by the way, is a great way to diet, in my opinion: use plenty of seasoning if the food you're limited to will be bland. Herbs and spices add few if any calories, and, unless you prefer mild or unadorned food, a lot of character and flavor. We had a low-cal arugula salad last night that I'll do again, even when I'm back to eating in my usual, somewhat undisciplined way. It was seasoned with capers and vinegar. It called for anchovies, but we were out, so I figured some capers would provide a similar savory punch. I notice that as I've been dieting, I put more effort into making the food interesting and exciting. It's sort of a reward for the sacrifice.

Anyway, here is the recipe for Spiced Pork Tenderloin with Balsamic Pearl Onions:

1 T. minced fresh rosemary (or about 2 tsp. dried)
2 tsp. ground fennel seed
2 tsp. brown sugar (I used half the amounts of Splenda and it tasted fine.)
1-1/2 tsp. dried thyme
1-1/2 tsp. ground cumin
1-1/2 tsp.  salt
1/2 tsp. pepper
 pinch of ground cloves
 2 pork tenderloins, 1-1/4 to 1-1/2 lbs. each

Combine dry above ingredients in a small bowl. Rub each tenderloin all over with 1 T. oil and half of the rosemary spice mixture.

Heat oven to 450F with rack in center. Heat 2 tsp. oil on medium-high heat till shimmering (or, in my kitchen, before it burns!). Add the loins, reduce heat to medium, and cook about 6 minutes till well-browned, turning 3 or 4 times. Transfer to roasting pan and roast till thickest part measures 135 to 138F, 12 to 17 minutes. Take out, cover with foil, and let sit till temp is 145-150F.

2 tsp. oil
1-2 large red onions, sliced
1 T. fresh rosemary
2 T. brown sugar
1/3 C. low sodium chicken broth
3 T. balsamic vinegar
1 T. unsalted butter (optional)


While pork roasts, return skillet to medium heat, add 2 tsp. oil, and add onions. Cook till dry (frozen) or soft (fresh) and browned, about 8 minutes, stirring to break up slices. Add 1 T. rosemary, 2 T. brown sugar, chicken broth and vinegar, stir, increase heat to high. Cook, stirring occasionally until onions are tender and liquid has reduced to a glaze, about 5 minutes. Add butter (if using--I didn't) and stir to coat onions; season to taste with salt and pepper (again, optional; I didn't add salt). Slice pork thinly; serve with the onions.

I must give credit for this recipe to the Boston Globe magazine. I made a couple of small changes, but this is basically their recipe. Enjoy.