A sibling, who will remain nameless, once told me, when I inquired about his drug use, that I needn't worry. It's not like I buy the stuff. Well, I'm not sure that that meant he wasn't a pot head, but I've adopted the approach regarding meat.
When Quinn was born Deanna and I decided to go veg w/ seafood, and it was great. I was hungry at first, constantly, but then I got over it. Then I really got into it. I was cooking really great vegetarian meals. I even lost a few pounds.
Deanna is not a huge fan of meat. I admit I like the taste. But the amount of water and diesel fuel it takes to make a cow, pig, or chicken was really starting to get me down. It also seemed like an area of my life I could tackle in a finite way. Manageable.
Our approach has become more nuanced in the last couple months or so, and I think it's a great development. We still are not buying meat. And we avoid it when appropriate in social settings. However, when it's offered, and not easily avoidable, or when we just want a taste. WE EAT MEAT!! Crazy I know. This does two things. First, and probably less important: we don't lose our ability to digest meat well. Second, and a pretty big hairy deal: we don't have to have some awkward conversation along the lines of,
Audibly: We don't eat meat because of our carbon footprint.
Internally: God I hate this conversation
Oh, really that's interesting, isn't that interesting honey?
Sanctimonious sonofabitch, hey babe get a load of these douche bags!
Well, we figure it's just something we can do--
God I hate this conversation!
Right I get it, we're all doing what we can to be green
Sanctimonious sonofabitch!
Yep doin' what we can.
Accept you, lazy bastard. We are so much better than you!
OK so maybe I can't read minds, but I do hate that conversation.
The reason I see fit expound upon this development is that it seems to be workable, pretty easy, and bear good results. I've cut what was my pretty typical American Meat consumption by at least 85 maybe 90%. American meat consumption is, by most accounts excessive.
So, if we tone it down a bit we'd be in great shape. Look at it as trading heart disease for cleaner air. Win Win!
Monday, December 27, 2010
True Green
I think I've harped on this before, but I'm designing a new house and so it's on my mind. The issues I keep coming back to all revolve around one definition, or sentiment, or concept . . . call it what you want. Energy efficiency seems to be our goal. I think it's a bad one. Sure we want buildings to be more efficient, as part of a larger strategy. But the overall strategy should not be to efficiently use energy. It should be to not use energy. Westerners love luxury. And so, we love, or seem to love gadgetry. Additionally, we seem to be thinking that we will be able to have our cake, and eat it to, as they say.
A Ferrari is efficient. It is a gas drinking car, but it performs better that most other gas drinking cars. So you don't ask who needs a Ferrari when a Corvette will do? Ask who needs a Ferrari when a Chevette will do? Then realize that that is still the wrong question. Who needs a Ferrari when a bicycle will do? Now you are getting somewhere.
I know, I'm full of it. How do I commute to my high paying job forty minutes drive away on a bike? Good question. Move closer to work. Work closer to home, for less, and save the cash you spent on the Ferrari.
I guess what I'm saying is that is seems like we need to be asking questions more fundamental than R-30 or R-19. It starts with 1800 square feet or 800 square feet.
I know I'm a hypocritical sonofabitch because here I am planning a new house while I live in perfectly good one. One that no minions of caulkers or insulators have set upon recently. I have my reasons, perhaps discussed in other entries, or in the comments section, if anyone ever comments . . .
I just don't see us solving our consumption problems by installing super high efficiency hot-tubs. I think we've gotta dig a little deeper than that.
A Ferrari is efficient. It is a gas drinking car, but it performs better that most other gas drinking cars. So you don't ask who needs a Ferrari when a Corvette will do? Ask who needs a Ferrari when a Chevette will do? Then realize that that is still the wrong question. Who needs a Ferrari when a bicycle will do? Now you are getting somewhere.
I know, I'm full of it. How do I commute to my high paying job forty minutes drive away on a bike? Good question. Move closer to work. Work closer to home, for less, and save the cash you spent on the Ferrari.
I guess what I'm saying is that is seems like we need to be asking questions more fundamental than R-30 or R-19. It starts with 1800 square feet or 800 square feet.
I know I'm a hypocritical sonofabitch because here I am planning a new house while I live in perfectly good one. One that no minions of caulkers or insulators have set upon recently. I have my reasons, perhaps discussed in other entries, or in the comments section, if anyone ever comments . . .
I just don't see us solving our consumption problems by installing super high efficiency hot-tubs. I think we've gotta dig a little deeper than that.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Dear Mr. President Et al,
I hope you are well. I've kept reasonable track of what you have to deal with on a day to day basis. It seems tedious, at best, and ridiculous at times.
Generally, I don't feel compelled to write to my politicians. I have the sense, for better or worse, that American Politics are a sort of dilapidated old truck that gets the job done, however inefficiently. Change, good and bad, tends to be incremental. This is frustrating, but predictable.
I'm not an economist, and I'm not sure that economists know more or less than me--or more or less than a palm reader for that matter. I know that their job is hard, but when dealing in probabilities, there's ample room for interpretation. I work in construction. I've been fortunate. I'm still working. And, because of fortune and hard work, I've been kept on to try and find a way to maintain profitability for my company. Working in home building has its advantages. The main one being that you can build your own home. I invest my retirement carefully, and spend with discretion, but building my own homes has proved to be the most efficient way in which I add value to my family's bottom line. I live in a home I built now, and my family and I are about to begin building another home.
We are taking advantage of the current climate. Land is cheap, and interest rates are low. It is a risk, to be sure, but a calculated one. We will build an extremely energy efficient home that will accommodate our family, and create a space where we will be able to take care of our parents, as the need arises. It's good development. We will probably sell our current home.
I'm not writing to complain. The recession has been hard, but recessions are cyclical; a reminder to be prudent. We are trying to do our part to realize our dreams, and as a small part of that, do what we can to improve our community's economy--many of the people we work with will be payed to work on our new home. I'm writing to make the point that incremental economic problems and incremental government solutions are expected. Catastrophic problems are harder to deal with.
If my work continues to dry up, I can make my family's plan work. It will be hard, but not impossible. It's annalogous to my profession. If I make a mistake, and catch it soon enough, I can correct it, at a bearable cost to myself. If I put it off, to the end of a job, the cost is much greater. Please do not put off a plan to reduce our country's debt and budget deficit. I can deal with a slow economy. I cannot deal with interest rates going from 5% to 15% overnight.
I appreciate your maintenance of my tax rate. And I have dear friends that are collecting unemployment. They deserve the extension. Stimulate the economy now. I understand that. However, push for a plan to get our spending under control. I like the deficit commission's proposal of reducing tax rates and eliminating deductions--even the mortgage interest deduction. I can afford a moderate tax increase. I cannot afford an overnight 10% interest rate increase. Please do what it takes to convince our creditors that we are as solid and investment as we've always been. My wife, my parents, and our daughter will continue to try to realize our dream, and in turn do our part to simulate the economy.
Thank You,
Marc
Generally, I don't feel compelled to write to my politicians. I have the sense, for better or worse, that American Politics are a sort of dilapidated old truck that gets the job done, however inefficiently. Change, good and bad, tends to be incremental. This is frustrating, but predictable.
I'm not an economist, and I'm not sure that economists know more or less than me--or more or less than a palm reader for that matter. I know that their job is hard, but when dealing in probabilities, there's ample room for interpretation. I work in construction. I've been fortunate. I'm still working. And, because of fortune and hard work, I've been kept on to try and find a way to maintain profitability for my company. Working in home building has its advantages. The main one being that you can build your own home. I invest my retirement carefully, and spend with discretion, but building my own homes has proved to be the most efficient way in which I add value to my family's bottom line. I live in a home I built now, and my family and I are about to begin building another home.
We are taking advantage of the current climate. Land is cheap, and interest rates are low. It is a risk, to be sure, but a calculated one. We will build an extremely energy efficient home that will accommodate our family, and create a space where we will be able to take care of our parents, as the need arises. It's good development. We will probably sell our current home.
I'm not writing to complain. The recession has been hard, but recessions are cyclical; a reminder to be prudent. We are trying to do our part to realize our dreams, and as a small part of that, do what we can to improve our community's economy--many of the people we work with will be payed to work on our new home. I'm writing to make the point that incremental economic problems and incremental government solutions are expected. Catastrophic problems are harder to deal with.
If my work continues to dry up, I can make my family's plan work. It will be hard, but not impossible. It's annalogous to my profession. If I make a mistake, and catch it soon enough, I can correct it, at a bearable cost to myself. If I put it off, to the end of a job, the cost is much greater. Please do not put off a plan to reduce our country's debt and budget deficit. I can deal with a slow economy. I cannot deal with interest rates going from 5% to 15% overnight.
I appreciate your maintenance of my tax rate. And I have dear friends that are collecting unemployment. They deserve the extension. Stimulate the economy now. I understand that. However, push for a plan to get our spending under control. I like the deficit commission's proposal of reducing tax rates and eliminating deductions--even the mortgage interest deduction. I can afford a moderate tax increase. I cannot afford an overnight 10% interest rate increase. Please do what it takes to convince our creditors that we are as solid and investment as we've always been. My wife, my parents, and our daughter will continue to try to realize our dream, and in turn do our part to simulate the economy.
Thank You,
Marc
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Did I Say That Out Loud?!
I'm left handed, and my mobile phone was clearly designed for a right handed person. Closing my phone with my left hand invariably drags my index finger right over the speaker button on the side of the phone. Thus, when I think I'm hanging up and putting my phone in my pocket, I'm actually closing my phone and turning the microphone on. For normal calls, it's no biggie, because the other person hangs up. No harm no foul. However, if I'm leaving a message, and I inadvertently leave my phone on after closing it. Some of even my more favored associates very clearly get a pleasant call me back when you can message, punctuated by an expletive laden, "never answers the f$$$ing phone," rant.
We all have an inner monologue. We entertain ourselves with it. We use it as a free zone for shaping our opinions of others, and we all do it. Even the nice old ladies, or especially the nice old ladies, at my parent's church that seem to have nothing but adoration for me have an inner monologue. It's probably complete with--oh I don't even want to think about it.
The United States Department of State has been struggling for the last couple weeks to do damage control because it's internal monologue has been published on the Internet. Wikileaks, may be doing something good, or something bad. It's debatable. Though, I tend to error on the side of promoting free speech.
As far as information endangering the lives of individuals named in documents. That's really a different issue in my mind. That seems to be an issue of integrity. If you are the U.S.--if not the popularity powerhouse you once were at the lunch table--you have substantial resources. If intelligence assets are indeed valuable, protect them. If not, don't publish useless comment and names, in Diplomatic Cables.
And in the end integrity is the issue. With my phone on in my pocket, I've made some regrettable comments. True friends and associates have taken it in stride, and, like some in the diplomatic community, quipped that I should hear what they say about me!. Others have been irreparably offended. But I didn't really like them, and they didn't really like may. Of course foreign policy is more complex than social interaction. Or is it . . .
In the end civility, and tact give way to reality. I'm not saying that I don't support civility and tact. Civility keeps us from sounding like jackasses. However, my sense is that, to some degree we are all jackasses. But we live in a global society, with a global economy. And in commerce Jackasses are welcome. Not to belabor the metaphor, but mules are ornery but useful. Most members of the "international community"--a euphemism for countries that bitch to their spouses about how the neighborhood has gone down the tubes--are useful mules. We've got our orneriness, but we are moving forward.
That said, there are genuine bad actors in the metaphorical neighborhood. Iran, North Korea etc. And disparaging comments about bad actors are no surprise. Additionally--that which seems so embarrassing but has been obvious all along,--some of the good mules might go slummin' on the town with bad actors every now and again. But just like neighborhood dynamics: When you live back in the Cul-de-Sac with the classy families (U.S., Europe, Canada) it's easy to castigate the families closer to the highway (Turkey, Saudi Arabia) for making nice with their neighbors (Iran) for a common goal (gettin' that speed bump put in to slow traffic entering the neighborhood...or slowing settlement building in Palestine).
It's not like China doesn't have a Noble Peace Prize winner in prison, and I'm pretty sure 95% of my child's toys came from China.
The metaphors are really getting too complicated for me to keep straight now. It's like I'm about to compare Vladimir Putin to an alpha dog or something . . . So, suffice it to say, when your internal monologue is out there for the world to read, the best you can do is come off like a mule. Hard working, useful, opinionated and ornery. Then all of your friends can look at who you really are, see you have value and move forward.
We all have an inner monologue. We entertain ourselves with it. We use it as a free zone for shaping our opinions of others, and we all do it. Even the nice old ladies, or especially the nice old ladies, at my parent's church that seem to have nothing but adoration for me have an inner monologue. It's probably complete with--oh I don't even want to think about it.
The United States Department of State has been struggling for the last couple weeks to do damage control because it's internal monologue has been published on the Internet. Wikileaks, may be doing something good, or something bad. It's debatable. Though, I tend to error on the side of promoting free speech.
As far as information endangering the lives of individuals named in documents. That's really a different issue in my mind. That seems to be an issue of integrity. If you are the U.S.--if not the popularity powerhouse you once were at the lunch table--you have substantial resources. If intelligence assets are indeed valuable, protect them. If not, don't publish useless comment and names, in Diplomatic Cables.
And in the end integrity is the issue. With my phone on in my pocket, I've made some regrettable comments. True friends and associates have taken it in stride, and, like some in the diplomatic community, quipped that I should hear what they say about me!. Others have been irreparably offended. But I didn't really like them, and they didn't really like may. Of course foreign policy is more complex than social interaction. Or is it . . .
In the end civility, and tact give way to reality. I'm not saying that I don't support civility and tact. Civility keeps us from sounding like jackasses. However, my sense is that, to some degree we are all jackasses. But we live in a global society, with a global economy. And in commerce Jackasses are welcome. Not to belabor the metaphor, but mules are ornery but useful. Most members of the "international community"--a euphemism for countries that bitch to their spouses about how the neighborhood has gone down the tubes--are useful mules. We've got our orneriness, but we are moving forward.
That said, there are genuine bad actors in the metaphorical neighborhood. Iran, North Korea etc. And disparaging comments about bad actors are no surprise. Additionally--that which seems so embarrassing but has been obvious all along,--some of the good mules might go slummin' on the town with bad actors every now and again. But just like neighborhood dynamics: When you live back in the Cul-de-Sac with the classy families (U.S., Europe, Canada) it's easy to castigate the families closer to the highway (Turkey, Saudi Arabia) for making nice with their neighbors (Iran) for a common goal (gettin' that speed bump put in to slow traffic entering the neighborhood...or slowing settlement building in Palestine).
It's not like China doesn't have a Noble Peace Prize winner in prison, and I'm pretty sure 95% of my child's toys came from China.
The metaphors are really getting too complicated for me to keep straight now. It's like I'm about to compare Vladimir Putin to an alpha dog or something . . . So, suffice it to say, when your internal monologue is out there for the world to read, the best you can do is come off like a mule. Hard working, useful, opinionated and ornery. Then all of your friends can look at who you really are, see you have value and move forward.
My Wife's Comment . . .
So, obviously thinking safety and being safe are two different things. This is what my thumb looked like a couple weeks ago after a run-in with a router. Fortunately I only missed about half a day of work, and I will probably grow a replacement fingernail. It will just look like modern art. Retirement plans remain intact! I will say that this is the first work related injury that resulted in an actual splatter of blood, just like the movies. Until that pair of work pants reaches the end of their usable life, I will be reminded of this unpleasant incident.
I guess it's better than playing a little game of, "just the tip, just to see how it feels."
Feel free to disparage my carelessness with your comments.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Retirewhat??!!
One of the great joys of adulthood is planning for retirement. My plan goes something like this: Try not to injure my hands and work until the rest of my body is so tired, all I have the energy left to do is write. . . . Right, then I wake up. Wee babe, wife, dog, and lots of hobbies. Smoking cigars, cruising on my motorcycle, and writing my memoirs seems pretty far off.
As part of a more practical approach, I'm told that a million won't do it anymore. I assume that my sweet daughter will go to college (she seems like she could be talking any day now). I assume that I will live to be eighty (planning means assuming the worst case right). I assume that if one million isn't enough 1.5 will have to do. I mean, I can build a house, and that's a big part of the battle right?
College will cost at least a hundred grand by 2027, so 1,000,600,000.00 it is! That give me seventeen years to be most of the way there. We've gone in with the parents on a lot, so that implies that one house will be sold. Best case, that pays for college. So, 1.5 million dollars to be saved in the next seventeen years. Tall order!! If we maintain our current average rate of savings, we wouldn't even touch that goal.
However, without revealing too much about the family finances, if we saved every penny at our current income, we would approach our goal. Problem is Wells Fargo Home Mortgage would like us to pay for our house roughly five times between now and then. What, you thought mortgage lenders were generous?! Even at todays rates, they are makin' a killing. I know, I know what you are thinking. Interest, return on investment, compound interest, the last five years. All of that is true, particularly the last part. The last five years!! You make the most from the advantage of compounded interest in the last five years before you retire.
Right, so we take advantage of the fact the the market may be correctly valued for the first time in 20 years. Buy Buy Buy! Then we get out before it tanks again. Easy for you to say. I can hear the conversation now. . . . Well we just drew a bundle for Quinn's college, we should probably stay in the market and recoup some of our losses. Damn we made a killin' last year honey, and we are both still working, making good money. Besides, the Tea Partiers back in '10 raised the retirement age to 72 to pay for bullshit tax cuts. Lets sock a little more away, and be really sittin' pretty in a couple of years. BOOM bigest recession since the Great Depression and that other Great Recession. Market tanks. All the old farts are runnin' around pointing fingers at each other--judging who was wiser, who got out first.
It's human nature, if you're making money why get out. I'm pretty confident that social security is a pipe dream for the wife and I. So, we'll save, and we will try to have the self control to get out when we have enough. But, enough is never enough. And so we will guess along with everyone else. I hope we don't guess wrong, and I hope that Quinn spends that 100,000 wisely. I also hope that she likes to change diapers. Because I'm still changing hers, and I know there's no way in hell I'm going to save enough to pay someone to change mine.
As part of a more practical approach, I'm told that a million won't do it anymore. I assume that my sweet daughter will go to college (she seems like she could be talking any day now). I assume that I will live to be eighty (planning means assuming the worst case right). I assume that if one million isn't enough 1.5 will have to do. I mean, I can build a house, and that's a big part of the battle right?
College will cost at least a hundred grand by 2027, so 1,000,600,000.00 it is! That give me seventeen years to be most of the way there. We've gone in with the parents on a lot, so that implies that one house will be sold. Best case, that pays for college. So, 1.5 million dollars to be saved in the next seventeen years. Tall order!! If we maintain our current average rate of savings, we wouldn't even touch that goal.
However, without revealing too much about the family finances, if we saved every penny at our current income, we would approach our goal. Problem is Wells Fargo Home Mortgage would like us to pay for our house roughly five times between now and then. What, you thought mortgage lenders were generous?! Even at todays rates, they are makin' a killing. I know, I know what you are thinking. Interest, return on investment, compound interest, the last five years. All of that is true, particularly the last part. The last five years!! You make the most from the advantage of compounded interest in the last five years before you retire.
Right, so we take advantage of the fact the the market may be correctly valued for the first time in 20 years. Buy Buy Buy! Then we get out before it tanks again. Easy for you to say. I can hear the conversation now. . . . Well we just drew a bundle for Quinn's college, we should probably stay in the market and recoup some of our losses. Damn we made a killin' last year honey, and we are both still working, making good money. Besides, the Tea Partiers back in '10 raised the retirement age to 72 to pay for bullshit tax cuts. Lets sock a little more away, and be really sittin' pretty in a couple of years. BOOM bigest recession since the Great Depression and that other Great Recession. Market tanks. All the old farts are runnin' around pointing fingers at each other--judging who was wiser, who got out first.
It's human nature, if you're making money why get out. I'm pretty confident that social security is a pipe dream for the wife and I. So, we'll save, and we will try to have the self control to get out when we have enough. But, enough is never enough. And so we will guess along with everyone else. I hope we don't guess wrong, and I hope that Quinn spends that 100,000 wisely. I also hope that she likes to change diapers. Because I'm still changing hers, and I know there's no way in hell I'm going to save enough to pay someone to change mine.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Andy Irons
Election day. Things are changing, or maybe not. Things are also changing for the Murray family, and I had planned to write about that. However, as soon as I got online tonight, I discovered that Andy Irons has passed away at age 32.
Andy Irons apparently suffered from symptoms consistent with Dengue Fever, a virus spread by mosquitoes. The virus is apparently endemic in Puerto Rico, a U.S. Territory, and certainly not a remote Sub-Saharan African location we might associate with endemic blood borne pathogens.
Irons is survived by a pregnant wife, and by his brother, also a professional surfer (among others). Irons was a surfer, like me (though obviously a much more accomplished one), an expecting father, and new husband, both of which I've been in the last year. He was also only 32. These are all reasons, that I feel like I could relate to him in some way. I certainly didn't know him, or what it was like to be him. I just know what it was like to be some of the things he was: A brother, a husband, and expectant father.
Irons was famous . . . is famous, that's why we've heard about his passing. The point his death illustrates is that life is fleeting, in old age, or youth. Sometimes, that's just a tough truth to accept.
Andy Irons apparently suffered from symptoms consistent with Dengue Fever, a virus spread by mosquitoes. The virus is apparently endemic in Puerto Rico, a U.S. Territory, and certainly not a remote Sub-Saharan African location we might associate with endemic blood borne pathogens.
Irons is survived by a pregnant wife, and by his brother, also a professional surfer (among others). Irons was a surfer, like me (though obviously a much more accomplished one), an expecting father, and new husband, both of which I've been in the last year. He was also only 32. These are all reasons, that I feel like I could relate to him in some way. I certainly didn't know him, or what it was like to be him. I just know what it was like to be some of the things he was: A brother, a husband, and expectant father.
Irons was famous . . . is famous, that's why we've heard about his passing. The point his death illustrates is that life is fleeting, in old age, or youth. Sometimes, that's just a tough truth to accept.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
I Scared The Wrong Kids
My neighborhood is a bit of an anomaly. As the location of the cheapest real estate during the boom years prior to our current economic malaise, it's got a real mix of characters. There are those like me, who wanted to get into the game. Buying the cheap spec houses,or cheap trailers, or building (in my case) modest homes. Then there are the renters of nice small homes built by Realtors looking to make a sustained buck. But, there are still more trailers than homes, occupied by equal parts, air-condition-preserved retirees, and the closest thing America has to slum-dwellers. The former religiously keeping indoors and to themselves, and the latter living life in the street, and often in other people's yards.
I'd say the majority of occupants of the Modge (the affectionate shortening of Colington Harbor's Modular Section) rent. Therefore, they don't exactly oppose the local hood rats, or street toughs, as my wife calls them, wandering through their yards. As long as cars, houses and belongings are spared more than a passing glance, trespassing has been largely ignored.
The problem is that harmless daylight wandering becomes evening and night time vandalism and petty theft. To be clear, most of these kids are under twelve, and fall into the vandal category. The only thing they've ever taken from me is plywood scraps to build skateboard ramps. Granted it was in the dead of night, or while I was at work, and it was without permission, but I may have deserved it. First, I didn't lay out ground rules, the first time I "donated" plywood, and second, the underside of the house was definitely cluttered enough that I didn't notice anything was missing. I just noticed really familiar looking pieces of plywood littering the sides of the road on my way home.
At times, things have gotten serious. Local street toughs have pilfered the beer fridge in the garage, and I'm sure would have nabbed bikes or surfboards, had they not gotten joyfully drunk on my Sam Adams.
So, we are wary, and don't mind giving a toung lashing to the odd vagrant we encounter inside the gates. Today though, I blew it. Deanna tipped me off to some little footsteps coming up the drive while she was occupied feeding Quinn. I heard a band of vagrants rounding the house and jumped out into the side yard and gave them a gruff HEY! What are you doing!!! . . .
. . .Selling raffle tickets was the choral reply of the two young girls, aged seven and nine.
Oooops!! What's worse is Angel, the youngest, I met before. She expressed deep interest in Quinn on one of our walks. She said something along the lines of, "Hey mister, can I say hello to your baby?" I said sure and she gently caressed Quinn's palm. I said, "This is Quinn and I'm Marc, what's your name?"
"I'm Angle, but I'm not allowed to talk to you because you are a stranger, but if you ever come walking by here, I'd like to see Quinn again, I'm here all the time."
I left that first conversation thinking, I hope I have chance to let this girl know that I'm a positive force in the Modge. So, jumping out from behind my house and shouting Hey! was probably not the best course of action.
I did buy raffle tickets, and invited Deanna and Quinn out for a meet and greet. That seemed to relieve some of the tension.
Lesson learned, even in the hood, street toughs must be taken on a case by case basis!
I'd say the majority of occupants of the Modge (the affectionate shortening of Colington Harbor's Modular Section) rent. Therefore, they don't exactly oppose the local hood rats, or street toughs, as my wife calls them, wandering through their yards. As long as cars, houses and belongings are spared more than a passing glance, trespassing has been largely ignored.
The problem is that harmless daylight wandering becomes evening and night time vandalism and petty theft. To be clear, most of these kids are under twelve, and fall into the vandal category. The only thing they've ever taken from me is plywood scraps to build skateboard ramps. Granted it was in the dead of night, or while I was at work, and it was without permission, but I may have deserved it. First, I didn't lay out ground rules, the first time I "donated" plywood, and second, the underside of the house was definitely cluttered enough that I didn't notice anything was missing. I just noticed really familiar looking pieces of plywood littering the sides of the road on my way home.
At times, things have gotten serious. Local street toughs have pilfered the beer fridge in the garage, and I'm sure would have nabbed bikes or surfboards, had they not gotten joyfully drunk on my Sam Adams.
So, we are wary, and don't mind giving a toung lashing to the odd vagrant we encounter inside the gates. Today though, I blew it. Deanna tipped me off to some little footsteps coming up the drive while she was occupied feeding Quinn. I heard a band of vagrants rounding the house and jumped out into the side yard and gave them a gruff HEY! What are you doing!!! . . .
. . .Selling raffle tickets was the choral reply of the two young girls, aged seven and nine.
Oooops!! What's worse is Angel, the youngest, I met before. She expressed deep interest in Quinn on one of our walks. She said something along the lines of, "Hey mister, can I say hello to your baby?" I said sure and she gently caressed Quinn's palm. I said, "This is Quinn and I'm Marc, what's your name?"
"I'm Angle, but I'm not allowed to talk to you because you are a stranger, but if you ever come walking by here, I'd like to see Quinn again, I'm here all the time."
I left that first conversation thinking, I hope I have chance to let this girl know that I'm a positive force in the Modge. So, jumping out from behind my house and shouting Hey! was probably not the best course of action.
I did buy raffle tickets, and invited Deanna and Quinn out for a meet and greet. That seemed to relieve some of the tension.
Lesson learned, even in the hood, street toughs must be taken on a case by case basis!
Friday, September 3, 2010
We All Like to be Listended To, or Jim Cantore is a Jack Ass
I'm not going to waste premium Shy Drunk Real Estate picking on Jim Cantore. He does enough damage himself. But I do think there is a point to be made here. I'm a news junkie.
Living on the Outer Banks is great, but it makes me feel detached from the rest of the world. Sustainability, the Middle East Peace Process, floods, oil spills, disasters, public policy, etc. Sure we have our issues, and we discuss them. But, the news is seldom made here, until the weather gets weird that is.
All my life, my involvement in anything has served to delegitimize it in my mind. My first real job was as a teacher, but I didn't have a teaching certificate, so somehow it seemed that I was taking advantage of some colossal loop hole. My second job was for a YMCA resident camp but seemed too fun to be a legitimate job. Now, I supervise the construction of gigantic vacation homes, but somehow, because I go surfing on my lunch break--often longer--it doesn't feel like a real job. You know the kind your guidance counselor said you should get.
So, I was just involved with a hurricane. Not my first storm. by far. However, it was the first storm I owned property, other than a car, and had a family to consider. Thursday was stressful. Just getting around here during a tourist evacuation can be a chore. Getting houses battened down, and taking care of my own family was a full day's work. In short, a real hurricane came and went last night. I'm looking forward to two days worth of cleaning up downed trees in my yard alone.
But, it wasn't that bad. It was dangerous, it lasted longer than expected, and it kept us up. It threatened our property. But, it wasn't bad.
This afternoon, after watching some surfers towing into (with a jet-ski) smaller waves than we had all been paddling into in the week preceding the storm, I sat in the truck and listened to some financial news show on NPR. Then I thought of Jim Cantore. We all want to be listened to. Maybe my existence is not a delegitimizing force. Maybe life just is what it is. Sometimes it's news worthy, and when it's not, all those guys still gotta earn their keep. Tough business. When there is some news, it only makes sense that they hype it.
So, a news junkie, I'll will probably remain. But even my favorite commentators will be wearing "Jim Cantore Suit," in my mind. Maybe it's not that I crave information. Maybe it's just that everywhere you are do not live seems a little mysterious, and therefore more interesting, than where you do live. So, maybe the coming hurricane, the coming economic double dip, the impending conservative take-over, and yes--even a dirt bag hippie must admit--the environmental destruction, is all coming. It might just not pack as big a punch as we are told.
So, be prepared, tie down your shit, and if it looks like it's really going to hit the fan, get out of town. But just remember. The guy in the "Jim Cantore Suit" has a job, it's to scare the shit out of you. So you'll tune in for the latest update.
Living on the Outer Banks is great, but it makes me feel detached from the rest of the world. Sustainability, the Middle East Peace Process, floods, oil spills, disasters, public policy, etc. Sure we have our issues, and we discuss them. But, the news is seldom made here, until the weather gets weird that is.
All my life, my involvement in anything has served to delegitimize it in my mind. My first real job was as a teacher, but I didn't have a teaching certificate, so somehow it seemed that I was taking advantage of some colossal loop hole. My second job was for a YMCA resident camp but seemed too fun to be a legitimate job. Now, I supervise the construction of gigantic vacation homes, but somehow, because I go surfing on my lunch break--often longer--it doesn't feel like a real job. You know the kind your guidance counselor said you should get.
So, I was just involved with a hurricane. Not my first storm. by far. However, it was the first storm I owned property, other than a car, and had a family to consider. Thursday was stressful. Just getting around here during a tourist evacuation can be a chore. Getting houses battened down, and taking care of my own family was a full day's work. In short, a real hurricane came and went last night. I'm looking forward to two days worth of cleaning up downed trees in my yard alone.
But, it wasn't that bad. It was dangerous, it lasted longer than expected, and it kept us up. It threatened our property. But, it wasn't bad.
This afternoon, after watching some surfers towing into (with a jet-ski) smaller waves than we had all been paddling into in the week preceding the storm, I sat in the truck and listened to some financial news show on NPR. Then I thought of Jim Cantore. We all want to be listened to. Maybe my existence is not a delegitimizing force. Maybe life just is what it is. Sometimes it's news worthy, and when it's not, all those guys still gotta earn their keep. Tough business. When there is some news, it only makes sense that they hype it.
So, a news junkie, I'll will probably remain. But even my favorite commentators will be wearing "Jim Cantore Suit," in my mind. Maybe it's not that I crave information. Maybe it's just that everywhere you are do not live seems a little mysterious, and therefore more interesting, than where you do live. So, maybe the coming hurricane, the coming economic double dip, the impending conservative take-over, and yes--even a dirt bag hippie must admit--the environmental destruction, is all coming. It might just not pack as big a punch as we are told.
So, be prepared, tie down your shit, and if it looks like it's really going to hit the fan, get out of town. But just remember. The guy in the "Jim Cantore Suit" has a job, it's to scare the shit out of you. So you'll tune in for the latest update.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
You Can't Beat The System
I'm not sure where that phrase comes from, though it is the catch phrase for Charlotte Pipe, Valve, and Fitting. Interestingly that is for PVC pipe, a relative newcomer to the building materials industry.
Some systems are explicit, designed for a specific purpose. Others are more organic. The system evolves to meet a need. I spent a workday dealing with some moisture issues in a house today that had to be over one hundred years old. There aren't too many really old buildings here, because the weather, and flood conditions tend to wipe the slate clean every fifty years or so. But some stand the test of time, and because of that, I believe, demand a bit of reverence.
By definition, old houses are falling apart. All houses are falling apart. Old ones are just better at it--lots of practice. However, I've developed a theory: If all houses are falling apart, and there aren't that many really old houses around, the oldest ones left are better, and therefore have something to teach us. Or, have something to teach me, as someone who purports to build high quality new houses.
I learned something from the old building I worked on today. I was sent to deal with buckling tongue and groove wall coverings. In modern houses, these finishes are just that, finishes. In this building, they are framing members. There is no plywood, no sheathing pine, in fact. The exterior walls are lap-siding on studs, cedar siding on lathe, and the interior walls are all covered with 1/2" t&g.
The compromised t&g was only part of the story. The building sported a new, gigantic Maytag AC, cooling the hell out of an uninsulated building. Clearly the result of a conversation with a HVAC guy that went something like, "It's hot in here, what can you do?"
"Well you don't have any insulation."
"Spare me the details, it's hot in here."
"I can cool the place, but it's gonna take a big unit."
"OK, whatever, cool the place."
etc etc.
The place was cool. I'll give you that. It was also wet as hell. There was absolutely no insulation in the attic. None in the walls, and this completely sealed spray-foam under the floor. No fans, no ridge vents, no avenue for moisture to escape.
After removing two badly buckled pieces of t&g from the stairwell, I was shocked to find the back of each piece wet to the touch. Mold growing inside the walls seemed like some sort of insulation, but dissolved in my hands. As I planed the boards, and prepared to replace them, I realized I was putting a band-aid on a cancer.
Here is this perfect building, cheated out of its due consideration. It was designed to breath, or it breathed by design. It's tough to know which came first. Closing off one circulation route (the floor), and pumping in refrigerated air is destroying it. Literally, the moisture produced by that AC is a crushing force.
A building is a system, like the Pakistani river delta that is flooded right now, the environment as a whole, or each problem we face, really. They are all systems. To tweak one aspect is to miss the point. I've got to fix this building, and removing the AC is not an option. Somehow, I've got to create an environment where one-hundred-year-old boards, and five Real Estate agents (the building is an office now) can be comfortable. That may not seem like the tallest order, but it is.
The building is worth saving though. On any given remodel, I'm amazed when I see a building framed with hand-drive nails. In this building, I've got more than that. I've got hand driven nails and hand sawn boards. A colossal amount of human effort went into this building. Because of that, it is spare, concise, and beautiful. It is also not suited to modern solutions. Technological band-aids will not work. Surgery is necessary.
Some systems are explicit, designed for a specific purpose. Others are more organic. The system evolves to meet a need. I spent a workday dealing with some moisture issues in a house today that had to be over one hundred years old. There aren't too many really old buildings here, because the weather, and flood conditions tend to wipe the slate clean every fifty years or so. But some stand the test of time, and because of that, I believe, demand a bit of reverence.
By definition, old houses are falling apart. All houses are falling apart. Old ones are just better at it--lots of practice. However, I've developed a theory: If all houses are falling apart, and there aren't that many really old houses around, the oldest ones left are better, and therefore have something to teach us. Or, have something to teach me, as someone who purports to build high quality new houses.
I learned something from the old building I worked on today. I was sent to deal with buckling tongue and groove wall coverings. In modern houses, these finishes are just that, finishes. In this building, they are framing members. There is no plywood, no sheathing pine, in fact. The exterior walls are lap-siding on studs, cedar siding on lathe, and the interior walls are all covered with 1/2" t&g.
The compromised t&g was only part of the story. The building sported a new, gigantic Maytag AC, cooling the hell out of an uninsulated building. Clearly the result of a conversation with a HVAC guy that went something like, "It's hot in here, what can you do?"
"Well you don't have any insulation."
"Spare me the details, it's hot in here."
"I can cool the place, but it's gonna take a big unit."
"OK, whatever, cool the place."
etc etc.
The place was cool. I'll give you that. It was also wet as hell. There was absolutely no insulation in the attic. None in the walls, and this completely sealed spray-foam under the floor. No fans, no ridge vents, no avenue for moisture to escape.
After removing two badly buckled pieces of t&g from the stairwell, I was shocked to find the back of each piece wet to the touch. Mold growing inside the walls seemed like some sort of insulation, but dissolved in my hands. As I planed the boards, and prepared to replace them, I realized I was putting a band-aid on a cancer.
Here is this perfect building, cheated out of its due consideration. It was designed to breath, or it breathed by design. It's tough to know which came first. Closing off one circulation route (the floor), and pumping in refrigerated air is destroying it. Literally, the moisture produced by that AC is a crushing force.
A building is a system, like the Pakistani river delta that is flooded right now, the environment as a whole, or each problem we face, really. They are all systems. To tweak one aspect is to miss the point. I've got to fix this building, and removing the AC is not an option. Somehow, I've got to create an environment where one-hundred-year-old boards, and five Real Estate agents (the building is an office now) can be comfortable. That may not seem like the tallest order, but it is.
The building is worth saving though. On any given remodel, I'm amazed when I see a building framed with hand-drive nails. In this building, I've got more than that. I've got hand driven nails and hand sawn boards. A colossal amount of human effort went into this building. Because of that, it is spare, concise, and beautiful. It is also not suited to modern solutions. Technological band-aids will not work. Surgery is necessary.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
A Deal Was Made . . .
. . . Just not with us. As is common in the Real Estate business, a deal was made on the side, in spite of the fact that we had an offer in the hands of the owner. I could go into the details of the Murray family getting the shaft, but it's complicated and not that interesting, really.
The shocking and interesting thing to me, is that by making an offer an a property, you are really putting your fate in the hands of others. This property was well suited to our needs and would have been a good investment. However, besides the obligation of a thirty year mortgage, we were committing a great deal of work. Deal sealed, I'd have been fully committed to two to four years of actual house building, on nights and weekends. Someone else, three someone elses actually, of questionable character, decided that I would not be doing that. Not yet anyway.
All of this is really shocking to me for some reason. Sure the spot wasn't perfect, we can pick that apart. Maybe we are heading for a double-dip recession. I could have gotten injured building the houses. Anything could have happened. But, none of it will now. The path of my family's life is headed in a completely different direction that is no longer inextricably tied to a home-site that I will create with my own hands.
Now, if you read this blog with any regularity. You've gotta be wondering, what the hell is wrong with me. I want to live on a boat, build a small one, build two houses, move to Duck, maybe move inland and farm etc etc. Imagine being my wife! The thing is, I do want to do all of those things. And, I believe I will. It's just so odd when the impetus to do any or all of these things is taken from me.
So, yeah, I'm pretty irritated. I'm angry, dissapointed etc. But I'm really just shocked. And I'm shocked because I've been reminded of the scarriest aspect of our existence. As we grow and gain skills and become more and more capable, we feel more and more autonomous. But it's really just a myth. Our lives are a combination of factors. Skill, knowledge, dedication, and energy are part of the equation. However, luck plays a frigheteningly important role. Maybe this experience has been a good reminder for me. A reminder of my values. If you really get to know people, you might have sense of their Skills, knowledge, dedication and energy. But, to understand the luck alloted to any given individual is much more difficult.
So, with a lot of hard work and dedication, I believe I will get to give each of my wildest dreams a shot. And if not,maybe there wasn't the correct amount of luck involved. That's comforting really. Because I don't have to wonder about my skill, knowledge, dedication, or energy level. Maybe this failed deal is the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Probably not.
The shocking and interesting thing to me, is that by making an offer an a property, you are really putting your fate in the hands of others. This property was well suited to our needs and would have been a good investment. However, besides the obligation of a thirty year mortgage, we were committing a great deal of work. Deal sealed, I'd have been fully committed to two to four years of actual house building, on nights and weekends. Someone else, three someone elses actually, of questionable character, decided that I would not be doing that. Not yet anyway.
All of this is really shocking to me for some reason. Sure the spot wasn't perfect, we can pick that apart. Maybe we are heading for a double-dip recession. I could have gotten injured building the houses. Anything could have happened. But, none of it will now. The path of my family's life is headed in a completely different direction that is no longer inextricably tied to a home-site that I will create with my own hands.
Now, if you read this blog with any regularity. You've gotta be wondering, what the hell is wrong with me. I want to live on a boat, build a small one, build two houses, move to Duck, maybe move inland and farm etc etc. Imagine being my wife! The thing is, I do want to do all of those things. And, I believe I will. It's just so odd when the impetus to do any or all of these things is taken from me.
So, yeah, I'm pretty irritated. I'm angry, dissapointed etc. But I'm really just shocked. And I'm shocked because I've been reminded of the scarriest aspect of our existence. As we grow and gain skills and become more and more capable, we feel more and more autonomous. But it's really just a myth. Our lives are a combination of factors. Skill, knowledge, dedication, and energy are part of the equation. However, luck plays a frigheteningly important role. Maybe this experience has been a good reminder for me. A reminder of my values. If you really get to know people, you might have sense of their Skills, knowledge, dedication and energy. But, to understand the luck alloted to any given individual is much more difficult.
So, with a lot of hard work and dedication, I believe I will get to give each of my wildest dreams a shot. And if not,maybe there wasn't the correct amount of luck involved. That's comforting really. Because I don't have to wonder about my skill, knowledge, dedication, or energy level. Maybe this failed deal is the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Probably not.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Have I Got a Deal For You!
We, the family, and this time it's the extended family, have made an offer on a piece of property. We looked at the listing price, the qualities of the property, and thought hey, let's make an offer.
The goal is a place that the family can enjoy. Deanna, Quinn and I will eventually live ther full-time, and there will be a classy small garage apartment, that will never be called that out of respect for the governing municipality, for the grandparents. And that leads me to the interesting point about real estate dealings. Essentially this. They are all about bullshit!
The spot is a dream. Walking distance to Sound and Ocean. Potential views of both considering that the structures will be raised to be out of flood-harm's way. But this is not about hopes and dreams. It's about making offers.
So we want to make an offer. Obviously we want the property, or we would have spent our evening watching a movie. But, we have to act like we could care less, all the while promising to pony up a hundreds of thousands of dollars. So, after a nerver wracking few days of phone calls to mortgage lenders, all of the family members involved, and several waking moments in the night. I email the agent, and act disinterested. Like it would be a favor to the owner if I took the property off of his hands.
Then the owner, who's had the property listed for five years with as many realtors acts like he doesn't need to sell the thing. Like he couldn't care less. And the charade continues. The problem here is that no one pays full price. So the price isn't actually a price, and the offers aren't actually offers. Sometimes, it's a war of atrician. We banter about, until someone breaks down. Other times, it's more like the war on terror. We all think we are getting somewhere, and then some jack-ass from Jersey rolls up and pays full price.
The bottom line is that the negotiation creates more negotiation. No one has a number because the age old question of What can your afford? has no real answer. Hell, ask the government. We're all, accept for devout Quakers, playing a game of hot potatoe. Debt gets thrown around like the hot potatoe, and when the music stops, who's holding the bag. Who knows, but I can tell you this seller and I could care less! Shit, it's just money. We don't let bullshit like money bother us. Right !?
The goal is a place that the family can enjoy. Deanna, Quinn and I will eventually live ther full-time, and there will be a classy small garage apartment, that will never be called that out of respect for the governing municipality, for the grandparents. And that leads me to the interesting point about real estate dealings. Essentially this. They are all about bullshit!
The spot is a dream. Walking distance to Sound and Ocean. Potential views of both considering that the structures will be raised to be out of flood-harm's way. But this is not about hopes and dreams. It's about making offers.
So we want to make an offer. Obviously we want the property, or we would have spent our evening watching a movie. But, we have to act like we could care less, all the while promising to pony up a hundreds of thousands of dollars. So, after a nerver wracking few days of phone calls to mortgage lenders, all of the family members involved, and several waking moments in the night. I email the agent, and act disinterested. Like it would be a favor to the owner if I took the property off of his hands.
Then the owner, who's had the property listed for five years with as many realtors acts like he doesn't need to sell the thing. Like he couldn't care less. And the charade continues. The problem here is that no one pays full price. So the price isn't actually a price, and the offers aren't actually offers. Sometimes, it's a war of atrician. We banter about, until someone breaks down. Other times, it's more like the war on terror. We all think we are getting somewhere, and then some jack-ass from Jersey rolls up and pays full price.
The bottom line is that the negotiation creates more negotiation. No one has a number because the age old question of What can your afford? has no real answer. Hell, ask the government. We're all, accept for devout Quakers, playing a game of hot potatoe. Debt gets thrown around like the hot potatoe, and when the music stops, who's holding the bag. Who knows, but I can tell you this seller and I could care less! Shit, it's just money. We don't let bullshit like money bother us. Right !?
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Of Canda Geese and People
Every Fall the Outerbanks becomes host to flocks of migratory birds. Like other moderately temperate Mid-Atlantic locales, our estuary is overrun by variouse species of waterfowl. It's pretty impressive, and a substaintial, yet gentle, reminder of the natural course of things.
Why might you ask am I remided of such a definitively winter occurrence? Not all of the geese return to their summer breeding grounds. Some stay, year-round. They seldom breed, but sometimes do. There has to be a pair, and they mate for life, I'm told. Chicks born to these staggling pairs are up against substantial odds. Food is pletiful, but so are predators. Most of them are singles. Maybe they are older, or injured, or just lazy. They create impromptu flocks, and pretty much just hang out. They aren't out of place, because this is their home away from home.
They are however, not inspiring. They do not fly in majestic formation, flaunting their endurance and single mindedness. They are in a sense counterfeit geese. Yet, by all technical parameters, they are geese. Through and through.
People migrate to the Outerbanks too. Some for weeks at a time, some for years. People are different from geese, in that they do not all operate on the same biological clock. Entry and exit to and from this humble beach region is not set in stone. However, on the same day that I spotted the motley flock of subgeese. I noticed a hitchhiking aquaintance of mine, that is in many ways subhuman.
I'm not sure that he always was. I know from several trips down Colington road, and an odd visit to my yard from time to time, that the indivudual in question has some kids roaming around the beach, by several mothers roaming around the beach. He is a carpenter by trade, but lots of us are. I'm not sure that is significant. The fact is, he has gone to work before, and at times there was enough money flying around a job-site to make him feel like he was getting ahead. Really establishing a foothold. Maybe not, maybe there was just enough cash to get some beer and coke and have a great couple of nights.
I've seen him in better shape, and worse shape. Sometimes he looks completely fine, but he's not. He's got issues with booze and poor planning. If you asked him, I'm sure he can't tell you where it all went wrong. Even as an observer, if his whole life were layed out before you. I doubt you could pick out a moment.
Likewise, the geese. They either get out of here on time, or they don't get out of here. Is it the moment that their flock takes off, and they are left behind. Or, is it earlier in the season, when their partner is lost or hit by a car. Or is it when they decide to go out for tacos the night before they know they are suppose to leave. People are similar when it comes to living a the beach. Some are made for the place, and are never home until they get here. Some don't stay longe enough. Some come and go as the mood suits them, and live richer lives for it. Some stay too long. And when they do, you can spot them. You may not know what exactly is amiss, but you know something is.
I say all of this to coin a phrase. Nobody wants to be rude or judgmental. And so, I'll try to keep it scientific. I've not named my associate, and I don't have to. He's a stray goose. Others like him are stray geese. No value judgement neede, just a statement of the facts.
Why might you ask am I remided of such a definitively winter occurrence? Not all of the geese return to their summer breeding grounds. Some stay, year-round. They seldom breed, but sometimes do. There has to be a pair, and they mate for life, I'm told. Chicks born to these staggling pairs are up against substantial odds. Food is pletiful, but so are predators. Most of them are singles. Maybe they are older, or injured, or just lazy. They create impromptu flocks, and pretty much just hang out. They aren't out of place, because this is their home away from home.
They are however, not inspiring. They do not fly in majestic formation, flaunting their endurance and single mindedness. They are in a sense counterfeit geese. Yet, by all technical parameters, they are geese. Through and through.
People migrate to the Outerbanks too. Some for weeks at a time, some for years. People are different from geese, in that they do not all operate on the same biological clock. Entry and exit to and from this humble beach region is not set in stone. However, on the same day that I spotted the motley flock of subgeese. I noticed a hitchhiking aquaintance of mine, that is in many ways subhuman.
I'm not sure that he always was. I know from several trips down Colington road, and an odd visit to my yard from time to time, that the indivudual in question has some kids roaming around the beach, by several mothers roaming around the beach. He is a carpenter by trade, but lots of us are. I'm not sure that is significant. The fact is, he has gone to work before, and at times there was enough money flying around a job-site to make him feel like he was getting ahead. Really establishing a foothold. Maybe not, maybe there was just enough cash to get some beer and coke and have a great couple of nights.
I've seen him in better shape, and worse shape. Sometimes he looks completely fine, but he's not. He's got issues with booze and poor planning. If you asked him, I'm sure he can't tell you where it all went wrong. Even as an observer, if his whole life were layed out before you. I doubt you could pick out a moment.
Likewise, the geese. They either get out of here on time, or they don't get out of here. Is it the moment that their flock takes off, and they are left behind. Or, is it earlier in the season, when their partner is lost or hit by a car. Or is it when they decide to go out for tacos the night before they know they are suppose to leave. People are similar when it comes to living a the beach. Some are made for the place, and are never home until they get here. Some don't stay longe enough. Some come and go as the mood suits them, and live richer lives for it. Some stay too long. And when they do, you can spot them. You may not know what exactly is amiss, but you know something is.
I say all of this to coin a phrase. Nobody wants to be rude or judgmental. And so, I'll try to keep it scientific. I've not named my associate, and I don't have to. He's a stray goose. Others like him are stray geese. No value judgement neede, just a statement of the facts.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Major Personal Victory
I'm proud to report that my speacial lady friend's car now has a variable speed AC fan. Until tonight, it had been malfunctioning, and only operating on low.
After pouring over Volvo forums, and hemming and hawing with parts guys, I took a deep breath, and took the plunge. I bought a part, sight unseen, had it UPSed and got under way with no hope of a software rescue.
Success. The Volvo is not a mystery, it's a car, a complicated car, but a car. Say the Volvo is like one of those movies where everyone is afraid of some bad-ass warrior villian (car), and they are all starting to think he's superhuman. Then along comes the dynamic brave savior of the village (me!), and wounds the bad-ass warrior and says, "see I made him bleed, he's only human." Then the village (Wife and maybe six month old daughter, though I'm not sure she's seen any of those movies)regains hope that perhaps the monster can be bested, by the hero(me, again).
Well, we are at that point. I've drawn blood. I've replaced the plugs, cleaverly hidden behind armor--ok it was just a plastic cover plate. I've fixed the fan motor resistor, a bona-fide electronic component. I've not slayed the dragon yet, but we are becomeing friends, or at least equal nemesees.
I'm going to take a stab at the sun-roof tracks next!
After pouring over Volvo forums, and hemming and hawing with parts guys, I took a deep breath, and took the plunge. I bought a part, sight unseen, had it UPSed and got under way with no hope of a software rescue.
Success. The Volvo is not a mystery, it's a car, a complicated car, but a car. Say the Volvo is like one of those movies where everyone is afraid of some bad-ass warrior villian (car), and they are all starting to think he's superhuman. Then along comes the dynamic brave savior of the village (me!), and wounds the bad-ass warrior and says, "see I made him bleed, he's only human." Then the village (Wife and maybe six month old daughter, though I'm not sure she's seen any of those movies)regains hope that perhaps the monster can be bested, by the hero(me, again).
Well, we are at that point. I've drawn blood. I've replaced the plugs, cleaverly hidden behind armor--ok it was just a plastic cover plate. I've fixed the fan motor resistor, a bona-fide electronic component. I've not slayed the dragon yet, but we are becomeing friends, or at least equal nemesees.
I'm going to take a stab at the sun-roof tracks next!
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Shifting Gears
I can barely type because my hands are so cramped. The economic downturn has fostered some new developments at work. I could go into to it, but in short, and insensitively, lots of people have been layed off, there are less projects, and less people to do them. So I spend less time on the phone, and more time with a hammer. I cannot complain, I prefer actually doing things, to spending time on the phone trying to convince other people to do them for money. However, as resident jack-of-all-trades, I can get into a pretty precarious position.
Today for example. I demoed a bathroom, and framed an outside shower. Satisfying, quantifiable work. Enjoyed it. I also, placed a couple warranty orders, and checked on a defective door. Then I picked up some material and headed home. At home, I was greeted by a smiling UPS box filled with auto parts for my special lady friend's car, a volvo, in case you haven't heard.
I'm not one to walk away from a challenge, and to tell you the truth, I'm terrified of this software basted vehicle. Every repair requires a software update. New wiper blades . . . software update! Anyway, I got right into it. I love working on cars, and I love building stuff, but today, I was faced with a serious problem. I'd been stripping a bathroom most of the day. Pounding on a crowbar, extensive use of a reciprocating saw, I think there might have even been a sledge hammer in there. All of the sudden I had to wedge myself into the passenger's floor boards and remove six tiny hard-to-reach screws (torx drive, of course). The last one was a real bitch, and the crux of it was, I just couldn't get my thumb and forefinger to do what I wanted.
There was this massive cramp in the pad of my hand. Not the debilitating, I can't move it cramp, but he debilitating I look like a loser that's never held a tool before cramp.
I'm not sure why I've said all of this. Do I wonder if it's ok to shift gears like this. I obviously vote yes. Am I looking for pity? I don't think so. I guess I'm just looking for tips. There is a phrase jack-of-all-trades and master-of-none. I don't believe in that. I work in the trades. They are difficult, honorable, and interesting. But, they are not impossible, or all that mysterious. To be a jack-of-all-trades, and master of them all is possible, it just requires being comfortable with shifting gears. . . . and maybe a hand massage.
Today for example. I demoed a bathroom, and framed an outside shower. Satisfying, quantifiable work. Enjoyed it. I also, placed a couple warranty orders, and checked on a defective door. Then I picked up some material and headed home. At home, I was greeted by a smiling UPS box filled with auto parts for my special lady friend's car, a volvo, in case you haven't heard.
I'm not one to walk away from a challenge, and to tell you the truth, I'm terrified of this software basted vehicle. Every repair requires a software update. New wiper blades . . . software update! Anyway, I got right into it. I love working on cars, and I love building stuff, but today, I was faced with a serious problem. I'd been stripping a bathroom most of the day. Pounding on a crowbar, extensive use of a reciprocating saw, I think there might have even been a sledge hammer in there. All of the sudden I had to wedge myself into the passenger's floor boards and remove six tiny hard-to-reach screws (torx drive, of course). The last one was a real bitch, and the crux of it was, I just couldn't get my thumb and forefinger to do what I wanted.
There was this massive cramp in the pad of my hand. Not the debilitating, I can't move it cramp, but he debilitating I look like a loser that's never held a tool before cramp.
I'm not sure why I've said all of this. Do I wonder if it's ok to shift gears like this. I obviously vote yes. Am I looking for pity? I don't think so. I guess I'm just looking for tips. There is a phrase jack-of-all-trades and master-of-none. I don't believe in that. I work in the trades. They are difficult, honorable, and interesting. But, they are not impossible, or all that mysterious. To be a jack-of-all-trades, and master of them all is possible, it just requires being comfortable with shifting gears. . . . and maybe a hand massage.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Should We All Buy Ford Explorers?
Is it possible that we, as concerned consumers, must act when we see a corporate citizen do something right.
Ford's built a seven pasenger, reasonably capable, safe sounding sport utility. Best of all, it's upgrade engine is smaller than standard, and gets better fuel economy. They are comparing the fuel economy to a Toyota Camry. I don't know, I fear debt, but I am impressed.
Ford's built a seven pasenger, reasonably capable, safe sounding sport utility. Best of all, it's upgrade engine is smaller than standard, and gets better fuel economy. They are comparing the fuel economy to a Toyota Camry. I don't know, I fear debt, but I am impressed.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Why Build a Sail Boat Anyway?
This is an important question, and one with an obvious answer: Don't build one, buy a cheap used boat. I do however have a rousing internal argument on this subject that seems never ending. So, I'll hit the high points, and accept criticism as it comes.
The first reason to build, or excessively remodel a boat rather than buy a usable one is understanding. To truly understand a machine, you must be familiar with its systems and structure. As boats become larger, and more complex, this becomes more necessary, and more difficult. The rig of a sail boat is, by definition, exposed. You can see it; where each line begins, travels and terminates. The shape of the sail; changing through points of sail and wind conditions. However, this is only half of the equation. Hull design is critical to performance. Once you take into account the fact that minor alterations in either the hull or the rig can dramatically increase of decrease performance, the possibilities of performance achieved through different combinations increase exponentially.
My head is spinning, and we've not even breached the subject of auxiliary propulsion. I'm actually going to ignore it accept to say; purist or not, a boat is about getting somewhere. I must have at least one additional mode of propulsion, rowing is acceptable.
The second reason to build a boat is the boat's purpose. With some exceptions production sail boats a made for cruising (charter cruising), or some variation of that, racing or some variation, or day sailing or some variation. Boats of yore were built to fulfil a specific need. In our splendid modern time you can by a replica of a boat of yore. You can expect it to be lighter, stronger and safer than it's historical counterpart. But, you cannot expect your needs to coincide with a Gloucester Dory fisherman, or a Chesapeake Bay Oyster man. To build a boat is to create something to meet a need. The shame of boat ownership is that most of us don't need to or want to or have the cash to live a chartered lifestyle for months at a time. Living aboard is a lifestyle to aspire to, but those boats, like people's dogs, begin to morph into the design of their owners. This failure of purpose in boats leads directly to the common sentiment that boats are a waste of money and time.
So, I want to build a boat that does the following. It needs to be safe and stable. I have a wife and a child and I cannot compromise on this. (Oh, right, I shouldn't have to compromise, I'm going custom). I would like to avoid reefing and reasonable discomfort up to 18 knots and three foot chop. It needs to have a self bailing cockpit, and any enclosure must be watertight. Bilge pumps are unacceptable(ok maybe solar). The only drawback to my current craft is that she cannot set in a slip, rain will sink her. The boat must be trailerable. It needs to have the option to be single handed. There must be a shelter from the sun for the wee babe, and perhaps afford enough privacy for any co-ed restroom requirements, in a bucket of course. She must look and be built to last, as I'd like the security of knowing that I could recover at least half of my investment. The cockpit should comfortable seat six. Draft cannot exceed twelve inches. Center boards or dagger boards are fine.
Oh yeah, and I'd like to knock out the whole shootin' match for under ten grand.
Has anyone seen this boat, or must I accept my fate? Build, probably over-run my budget, spend more time than I want grinding glass to try, unsuccessfully, to stay in budget, and have to work so much to pay the damn thing off that I don't spend any time sailing her.
The first reason to build, or excessively remodel a boat rather than buy a usable one is understanding. To truly understand a machine, you must be familiar with its systems and structure. As boats become larger, and more complex, this becomes more necessary, and more difficult. The rig of a sail boat is, by definition, exposed. You can see it; where each line begins, travels and terminates. The shape of the sail; changing through points of sail and wind conditions. However, this is only half of the equation. Hull design is critical to performance. Once you take into account the fact that minor alterations in either the hull or the rig can dramatically increase of decrease performance, the possibilities of performance achieved through different combinations increase exponentially.
My head is spinning, and we've not even breached the subject of auxiliary propulsion. I'm actually going to ignore it accept to say; purist or not, a boat is about getting somewhere. I must have at least one additional mode of propulsion, rowing is acceptable.
The second reason to build a boat is the boat's purpose. With some exceptions production sail boats a made for cruising (charter cruising), or some variation of that, racing or some variation, or day sailing or some variation. Boats of yore were built to fulfil a specific need. In our splendid modern time you can by a replica of a boat of yore. You can expect it to be lighter, stronger and safer than it's historical counterpart. But, you cannot expect your needs to coincide with a Gloucester Dory fisherman, or a Chesapeake Bay Oyster man. To build a boat is to create something to meet a need. The shame of boat ownership is that most of us don't need to or want to or have the cash to live a chartered lifestyle for months at a time. Living aboard is a lifestyle to aspire to, but those boats, like people's dogs, begin to morph into the design of their owners. This failure of purpose in boats leads directly to the common sentiment that boats are a waste of money and time.
So, I want to build a boat that does the following. It needs to be safe and stable. I have a wife and a child and I cannot compromise on this. (Oh, right, I shouldn't have to compromise, I'm going custom). I would like to avoid reefing and reasonable discomfort up to 18 knots and three foot chop. It needs to have a self bailing cockpit, and any enclosure must be watertight. Bilge pumps are unacceptable(ok maybe solar). The only drawback to my current craft is that she cannot set in a slip, rain will sink her. The boat must be trailerable. It needs to have the option to be single handed. There must be a shelter from the sun for the wee babe, and perhaps afford enough privacy for any co-ed restroom requirements, in a bucket of course. She must look and be built to last, as I'd like the security of knowing that I could recover at least half of my investment. The cockpit should comfortable seat six. Draft cannot exceed twelve inches. Center boards or dagger boards are fine.
Oh yeah, and I'd like to knock out the whole shootin' match for under ten grand.
Has anyone seen this boat, or must I accept my fate? Build, probably over-run my budget, spend more time than I want grinding glass to try, unsuccessfully, to stay in budget, and have to work so much to pay the damn thing off that I don't spend any time sailing her.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Daniel Schorr Has Passed
I imagine when noting the passing of a ninety three year old man, it's hard to register shock, or really sadness, for his sake anyway. As far as shock goes, it's relatively shocking because I heard him just last Saturday on Weekend Edition,and I was looking forward to hearing him tomorrow, as Quinn and I lounged on the couch. I won't hear him tomorrow, and that is shocking, and disappointing, if not sad.
He reported the news well; admirable but not particularly note worthy. The thing that fascinated me about his commentary was not his wit, though it was sharp, or his opinions, with which I sometimes disagreed. He was simply thoughtful, and very astute. He was interesting, insightful, and responsible. He was wise, and humorous. Also, he was very old.
I will never be a famous news analyst. No one is looking forward to hearing what I have to say this weekend. I have however admired Dan Schorr for quite a while. His composure, mind, and delivery were an inspiration. Who knows how long I will live? So rather than muse that at ninety three I'd like to be as well put together as Dan Schorr. Whether or not there is ever a microphone present, I'll just continue working towards that goal now.
He reported the news well; admirable but not particularly note worthy. The thing that fascinated me about his commentary was not his wit, though it was sharp, or his opinions, with which I sometimes disagreed. He was simply thoughtful, and very astute. He was interesting, insightful, and responsible. He was wise, and humorous. Also, he was very old.
I will never be a famous news analyst. No one is looking forward to hearing what I have to say this weekend. I have however admired Dan Schorr for quite a while. His composure, mind, and delivery were an inspiration. Who knows how long I will live? So rather than muse that at ninety three I'd like to be as well put together as Dan Schorr. Whether or not there is ever a microphone present, I'll just continue working towards that goal now.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Let's pump the brakes Mel . . .
... Or maybe you should just park the car and walk home.
Alright Alright, I know it's not ok to make light of domestic violence. Mel Gibson's behavior is inexcusable; repulsive. I'm gonna poke a little fun anyway.
It's hard sometimes. Sharing in the raising of an infant, trying to make ends meet, just waking up each day can be a little exhausting.
Then I, all men really, get a huge break. William Wallace himself makes us look good. Thanks Mel! You've proven all of our wives' and girlfriends' suspicions. Men are like parking spaces. All the good ones are taken and the only ones left are BATSHIT INSANE. We saw you in the Patriot Mel. We know what you are capable of.
So ladies, know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to run like hell if you're with Mel!
I know I know, a trite cheap shot. But damn, this guy is a total lunatic.
Alright Alright, I know it's not ok to make light of domestic violence. Mel Gibson's behavior is inexcusable; repulsive. I'm gonna poke a little fun anyway.
It's hard sometimes. Sharing in the raising of an infant, trying to make ends meet, just waking up each day can be a little exhausting.
Then I, all men really, get a huge break. William Wallace himself makes us look good. Thanks Mel! You've proven all of our wives' and girlfriends' suspicions. Men are like parking spaces. All the good ones are taken and the only ones left are BATSHIT INSANE. We saw you in the Patriot Mel. We know what you are capable of.
So ladies, know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to run like hell if you're with Mel!
I know I know, a trite cheap shot. But damn, this guy is a total lunatic.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Greatest Father's Day Gift
Two times in the last week my wife has uttered three sacred words in reference to sailing, "I had fun." Once out with baby Quinn, and out today on our own. The grandparents tended Quinn while Deanna and I took out The Quinn Anne's Revenge, for a little afternoon spin.
Light winds, which Deanna likes, gave way to no wind, which are hard for anyone to like when it's 88 degrees. Undaunted, we motored out of the harbor, anchored up, and floated astern, beers in hand. Deanna offered, "sailing can be fun." As if it were a huge surprise. Maybe it is a surprise.
Sailing... In teaching others, I'm forced to think of what it means. We did sail today, after floating. The wind came up, leading a line of thunder storms that failed to truly materialize. We sailed back into the harbor under unsteady winds that couldn't quite decide where they wanted to originate. Dead down wind--of course.
Deanna was unruffled. We jibed pretty cleanly cruising into the harbor, headed up, dropped the sails, and motored in. It could have gone one hundred different ways though; more floating and pleasantries, or more violent and punctual thunder storms. How does one decide that either way it's worth the effort?
I wonder why that is for me. I've had as many pleasant, as unpleasant experiences in boats. I don't think it's an equation thing--more good times than bad. I think there is something more. Either the water grabs you, as something bigger than you and worth understanding, or as something unpredictable, and better left alone. Maybe it's like any relationship. Sometimes it works out, and other times it doesn't, and nobody really knows why.
Light winds, which Deanna likes, gave way to no wind, which are hard for anyone to like when it's 88 degrees. Undaunted, we motored out of the harbor, anchored up, and floated astern, beers in hand. Deanna offered, "sailing can be fun." As if it were a huge surprise. Maybe it is a surprise.
Sailing... In teaching others, I'm forced to think of what it means. We did sail today, after floating. The wind came up, leading a line of thunder storms that failed to truly materialize. We sailed back into the harbor under unsteady winds that couldn't quite decide where they wanted to originate. Dead down wind--of course.
Deanna was unruffled. We jibed pretty cleanly cruising into the harbor, headed up, dropped the sails, and motored in. It could have gone one hundred different ways though; more floating and pleasantries, or more violent and punctual thunder storms. How does one decide that either way it's worth the effort?
I wonder why that is for me. I've had as many pleasant, as unpleasant experiences in boats. I don't think it's an equation thing--more good times than bad. I think there is something more. Either the water grabs you, as something bigger than you and worth understanding, or as something unpredictable, and better left alone. Maybe it's like any relationship. Sometimes it works out, and other times it doesn't, and nobody really knows why.
Monday, June 7, 2010
A Shad Boat
I had a meeting this weekend that has solidified an idea in my mind. That idea is of a boat. And it is keeping me up.
The basic problems which Creef tried to cope with were the extent of shallow water, which necessitated a shallow draft boat, and the extreme and rapid changes in wind velocity in the sounds, which called for the use of a large amount of sail during calm periods and of practically none when squalls came up. Creef designed a round-bottom boat with a square stern, a sharply pointed bow, and a shallow keel. He fitted it with a large sprit mainsail and a jib, not an unusual rig in those days-and then added a topsail which could be raised and lowered independently of the others. (From The Outer Banks of North Carolina , David Stick 1958)
I've been contemplating building a boat for months now - ever since I started sailing the Quinn Anne's Revenge . Sailing created a relationship with the water not too distant from human interaction on land. The boat is the vehicle that shapes that relationship. And the capability of the vessel determines the tone. The Quinn Anne's Revenge is a home made pocket cruiser. A toy, and a whimsically born one. She is well suited for warm summer days, and pleasant breezes, and for heading in when these are in short supply. Diversion.
The shad boat can be something completely different. It's a traditional boat, and it could open up an opportunity for a more traditional relationship to my local waters.
The shad boat seems to me a tool that I could use to pull a living from the sounds and rivers around my home - and not a living that reduces the local fishes to a commodity of protein. A boat like this could open up a new way to see the area. A way that might be worth sharing in print.
My meeting Sunday could have been held in 1910 as easily a 2010. The scene may have been slightly different, but the discussion might have sounded similar. There's a replica of a shad boat in the Manteo Harbor, but that won't do exactly. Boats are testaments and engines of innovation. Cold molding - by no means an innovative technology today - is like the shad boat, tried and tested. And plans of shad boats are available, but they are approximations. The boats were built in backyards, to specifications of necessity. I have my own, and the discussion of these elements with a craftsman that can realize, and guide, them marks the birth of the boat. The actual craft may not see water until next summer, but the boat already exists.
In two minds, two images of the same boat are taking shape. One mind sees the design elements in terms of structure, aesthetics, and form. The other sees function, shape and purpose. The craft taking shape will not be a replica. It will be a purpose driven boat, taking cues from a classic design. Improving safety, performance and longevity through the use of modern materials, and modifications aimed at specific performance goals. A cabin or canvas canopy will be necessary to protect Quinn from the sun and facilitate camping. The cockpit will be self-bailing. The sprit main sail will be replaced with a gaff-rigged main. Weight saved by cold molding will be replaced lower to stabilize and increase performance to windward. The centerboard is still up in the air, or rather up in the minds.
Maybe I'll be able to write about the experience and help pay for the boat. Maybe not. Maybe I'll simply learn how to build a boat, and show my daughter her home from a different angle. Either option or a combination the the two seems worthwhile.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
I'm Missing Something
I hate to get back to the oil spill, but, as a coast dweller and a new father, I can't think about much else. I take my daughter sailing, because I believe there is something sacred on the water that cannot be explained, and must be experienced. I find it morally reprehensible that BP is ruining oceans, lives, and futures, and bumbling to find a solution.
But I don't want complain in hyperbole, or appeal to emotion. BP's third quarter earnings for 2009 were around 4.67 billion dollars.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/28/business/global/28bp.html
I've heard varying accounts, mostly from BP, about how they are spending som 20 million a day on clean-up.
Sources are saying that the spill clean-up and associated liability could top 53 billion.
http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSN0216823020100602
And, shockingly, that BP could survive this.
I hope they don't.
Simple math: aprox 4.5 billion per quarter is aprox 18 billion a year.
35 billion divided by 18 billion puts the recovery time at about 1.9 years.
Great, by the time my daughter is three. BP will have completely recovered from losses associated with this unnecessary manmade disaster. If gas prices continue to rise, it will probably take less time. I'll wager this though. Louisiana's wetlands and Mississippi's beaches probably won't be worth visiting in two years, accept as an object lesson. The bills will be payed, BP's CEO will have, "his life back," as he so eloquently put it, and life will go on.
I read that BP's stock slipped 2.something percent yesterday, and then rebounded. Shame on us for betting with our wallets. They will survive, and so, it's probably wise to hold onto their stock. I'm sure the mutual funds in my retirement account own some BP. Shame on us. If a 35 billion dollar clean-up doesn't put them out of business, our consciences should.
My dad is pretty damn conservative. Not an activist by any means. But, he reads National Geographic from cover to cover every month. He hasn't bought a drop of Exxon gas since 1989, and he will shame anyone who does. If the cost of this clean-up doesn't put BP out of business, we should.
But I don't want complain in hyperbole, or appeal to emotion. BP's third quarter earnings for 2009 were around 4.67 billion dollars.
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/28/business/global/28bp.html
I've heard varying accounts, mostly from BP, about how they are spending som 20 million a day on clean-up.
Sources are saying that the spill clean-up and associated liability could top 53 billion.
http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSN0216823020100602
And, shockingly, that BP could survive this.
I hope they don't.
Simple math: aprox 4.5 billion per quarter is aprox 18 billion a year.
35 billion divided by 18 billion puts the recovery time at about 1.9 years.
Great, by the time my daughter is three. BP will have completely recovered from losses associated with this unnecessary manmade disaster. If gas prices continue to rise, it will probably take less time. I'll wager this though. Louisiana's wetlands and Mississippi's beaches probably won't be worth visiting in two years, accept as an object lesson. The bills will be payed, BP's CEO will have, "his life back," as he so eloquently put it, and life will go on.
I read that BP's stock slipped 2.something percent yesterday, and then rebounded. Shame on us for betting with our wallets. They will survive, and so, it's probably wise to hold onto their stock. I'm sure the mutual funds in my retirement account own some BP. Shame on us. If a 35 billion dollar clean-up doesn't put them out of business, our consciences should.
My dad is pretty damn conservative. Not an activist by any means. But, he reads National Geographic from cover to cover every month. He hasn't bought a drop of Exxon gas since 1989, and he will shame anyone who does. If the cost of this clean-up doesn't put BP out of business, we should.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Satisfaction in a House
I'm lucky this year. Two of the houses I'm working on are actually going to be occupied by the clients I'm working for. I live in a resort area, so most of my work goes into rental programs. It's work, but that's all, it pays the bills.
This year, I'm doing one remodel for a guy who actually live in the place full time. We've transformed his pretty ridiculous, bullshit contemporary man cave into a passable living space. The fact that it is ocean front doesn't hurt. But, he's failed to recognize that the client is a player in the build, been slow to make decisions, when he made them at all, and is not too happy with the project.
The other project is a summer residence for the family of a successful couple. They seem like typical upper-middle-class Americans. But, they are really nice, polite, engaged, and excited. Their deadline is a little tight, ok, it's completely unreasonable. But, I like them, and I want to make their dreams come true. And, in fact, that is what we are doing. They bought a neglected house. They want it to be transformed into a summer getaway that they can really enjoy.
I turned the corner today. I've been let down by my flooring contractor, they've complicated a schedule that didn't need to be complicate, but this is life. The tile showers are not finished. They won't be finished in time for the cleaners to do their work. But, on Friday, I will be there, I will tie up the loose ends, and the clients will arrive. Hopefully, I'll be home with my family when they arrive. IF I'm not, they will tell me to go home, because they have kids, and respect that I have a wife and child.
Today, though, as I was sweeping, I realized something. I love that moment. When, the pandemonium of meeting a deadline is all around me, but I can sweep a floor, or wipe down a bathroom. Or, have the appliaces running, for the first time. It may not be perfect, but it will be done. It will be painted, the materials will have been placed, by talented craftsmen. The clients will have questions, concerns, requests, and I will gladly accomidate, because they will be content. They will be impressed. They will be proud of the decision to rennovate.
Remodeling is a huge pain in the ass, but. . . There is something magical about that swept but not yet mopped wood floor. The immaculate kitchen hiding under the thin veil of contractor detritus. As much as I hate to admit it. There is even something magical about the last time I move that pile of personal belongings that was not important enough to remove, and will probably be discarded, for the last time. I'll stack it neatly in the corner of a bedroom, and be glad to be rid of it, but be so happy to have the house organized.
At the end, I can see some value in what I do. Bringing something to a conclusion. So much of what we value today occupies the realm of ideas, or services. At the end of a job, I'm happy to have created something. It's not art, but it is craft, and I find that satisfying.
Fortunately, while scrambling to finish this job, I've been starting another. Today was little hectic as rain threatened all day while I tried to will an addition's shingles to completion. I lucked out, it's dried in, and the rest is details, and soon, I'll be sweeping those floors. It's another summer home. A hard won summer home, after decades of rentals, hard work, and hard won retirement. These clients are intense, but would really like to have their house ready for their daughters wedding. I'd really like to make that happen.
This year, I'm doing one remodel for a guy who actually live in the place full time. We've transformed his pretty ridiculous, bullshit contemporary man cave into a passable living space. The fact that it is ocean front doesn't hurt. But, he's failed to recognize that the client is a player in the build, been slow to make decisions, when he made them at all, and is not too happy with the project.
The other project is a summer residence for the family of a successful couple. They seem like typical upper-middle-class Americans. But, they are really nice, polite, engaged, and excited. Their deadline is a little tight, ok, it's completely unreasonable. But, I like them, and I want to make their dreams come true. And, in fact, that is what we are doing. They bought a neglected house. They want it to be transformed into a summer getaway that they can really enjoy.
I turned the corner today. I've been let down by my flooring contractor, they've complicated a schedule that didn't need to be complicate, but this is life. The tile showers are not finished. They won't be finished in time for the cleaners to do their work. But, on Friday, I will be there, I will tie up the loose ends, and the clients will arrive. Hopefully, I'll be home with my family when they arrive. IF I'm not, they will tell me to go home, because they have kids, and respect that I have a wife and child.
Today, though, as I was sweeping, I realized something. I love that moment. When, the pandemonium of meeting a deadline is all around me, but I can sweep a floor, or wipe down a bathroom. Or, have the appliaces running, for the first time. It may not be perfect, but it will be done. It will be painted, the materials will have been placed, by talented craftsmen. The clients will have questions, concerns, requests, and I will gladly accomidate, because they will be content. They will be impressed. They will be proud of the decision to rennovate.
Remodeling is a huge pain in the ass, but. . . There is something magical about that swept but not yet mopped wood floor. The immaculate kitchen hiding under the thin veil of contractor detritus. As much as I hate to admit it. There is even something magical about the last time I move that pile of personal belongings that was not important enough to remove, and will probably be discarded, for the last time. I'll stack it neatly in the corner of a bedroom, and be glad to be rid of it, but be so happy to have the house organized.
At the end, I can see some value in what I do. Bringing something to a conclusion. So much of what we value today occupies the realm of ideas, or services. At the end of a job, I'm happy to have created something. It's not art, but it is craft, and I find that satisfying.
Fortunately, while scrambling to finish this job, I've been starting another. Today was little hectic as rain threatened all day while I tried to will an addition's shingles to completion. I lucked out, it's dried in, and the rest is details, and soon, I'll be sweeping those floors. It's another summer home. A hard won summer home, after decades of rentals, hard work, and hard won retirement. These clients are intense, but would really like to have their house ready for their daughters wedding. I'd really like to make that happen.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Opinion Interlude
I don't pretend to know any key details about Elana Kagan's jurisprudence. I do know one thing though. The bleeding heart Liberals (among who's company I count myself), and the Elitist Conservatives are both bitching about her. Right on. confirm her.
I am two levels of commitment short of a radical environmentalism. I support gays and pretty much everyone else doing exactly what they want, as long as it doesn't infringe on others. And I'm not talking about others' feelings. I mean their Rights. I think Republicans are pussies because they don't have the stones to become Libertarians (a group that really might be able to check the Left). I think Democrats are pussies, just because they are.
However, the judiciary has to be moderate. No matter what. The Supreme Court should be made up of nine moderates. The fastest way to affect that is nominating moderates. You cannot balance a court of nine with an equation of extremists. I'm no mathematician, but I cannot divide nine evenly. Obama has done the right thing. If the talking heads are right about Kagen, she's perfect. Sign her up.
Changing the subject....
The only thing good about the loss of a deep sea drilling rig, and the lives of eleven human beings, and the tragedy of millions of gallons of oil wrecking the Gulf Coast, is that the sacrifice might give us pause. We must stop drilling!! And we must reduce our dependence on any oil, not just foreign oil. BP will pay big money for this spill. But they will never be accountable for all of the damage, because even if we drove them out of business, they can't pay the tab! The fact is we owe the tab, because we drive cars. We've created the demand that makes this kind of drilling feasible. So, if the Senate wants BP, Trans Ocean, and Haliberton to take a bath, we've gotta jump in with them. We probably won't, and they probably won't, and we'll prolong the inevitable, like the Greeks. Ask them how that's going.
We have got to change our lifestyle. A few Priuses and some rain barrels are not going to do it. Not only are we soiling our nest. People are dying. People are dying!! Miners in West Virginia, drillers in the Gulf. The pelicans, marshes, beaches, and seafood are a tragedy. The loss of life is unacceptable, even by Conservative standards.
The Greek Prime Minister stands no chance of being reelected after demanding that his people pull their heads out of the sand, or their asses. No American politician will be reelected either, if they do what any sensible person knows is right. If we keep demanding that everyone else make the sacrifices but us, we will make no progress. And slowly, suffocating in figurative spilled oil, or quickly in a figurative explosion, we will be gone.
I am two levels of commitment short of a radical environmentalism. I support gays and pretty much everyone else doing exactly what they want, as long as it doesn't infringe on others. And I'm not talking about others' feelings. I mean their Rights. I think Republicans are pussies because they don't have the stones to become Libertarians (a group that really might be able to check the Left). I think Democrats are pussies, just because they are.
However, the judiciary has to be moderate. No matter what. The Supreme Court should be made up of nine moderates. The fastest way to affect that is nominating moderates. You cannot balance a court of nine with an equation of extremists. I'm no mathematician, but I cannot divide nine evenly. Obama has done the right thing. If the talking heads are right about Kagen, she's perfect. Sign her up.
Changing the subject....
The only thing good about the loss of a deep sea drilling rig, and the lives of eleven human beings, and the tragedy of millions of gallons of oil wrecking the Gulf Coast, is that the sacrifice might give us pause. We must stop drilling!! And we must reduce our dependence on any oil, not just foreign oil. BP will pay big money for this spill. But they will never be accountable for all of the damage, because even if we drove them out of business, they can't pay the tab! The fact is we owe the tab, because we drive cars. We've created the demand that makes this kind of drilling feasible. So, if the Senate wants BP, Trans Ocean, and Haliberton to take a bath, we've gotta jump in with them. We probably won't, and they probably won't, and we'll prolong the inevitable, like the Greeks. Ask them how that's going.
We have got to change our lifestyle. A few Priuses and some rain barrels are not going to do it. Not only are we soiling our nest. People are dying. People are dying!! Miners in West Virginia, drillers in the Gulf. The pelicans, marshes, beaches, and seafood are a tragedy. The loss of life is unacceptable, even by Conservative standards.
The Greek Prime Minister stands no chance of being reelected after demanding that his people pull their heads out of the sand, or their asses. No American politician will be reelected either, if they do what any sensible person knows is right. If we keep demanding that everyone else make the sacrifices but us, we will make no progress. And slowly, suffocating in figurative spilled oil, or quickly in a figurative explosion, we will be gone.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Sailing Builds Character. . .
. . . which means, inevitably, that sometimes, it's not exactly fun.
This past weekend's voyage fell into the less fun category. During the week we made a lovely evening sortie to watch the Colington fleet go out for their weekly Wednesday night regatta. There was a slight wind chop, but Grandma Cindy was down from NY and the weather was absolutely great, so it turned out to be a nice little outing. Riding high on this success, I wanted to take Cindy and the regular crew (Quinn and Deanna)out for a Saturday afternoon sail.
I shouldn't have pushed my luck! Sunday was breezy, so I elected to move the outing to a sheltered area between Colington Island, and Kill Devil Hills. There's a sweet little dive called the Blue Crab Tavern on Colington Road. They've got a great little deck, and cheap canned beer, and a sweet dock. It took about thirty minutes (never mind the passing squall cruising over the boat ramp we'd just left)to beam reach to the Blue Crab from Avalon Beach's ramp. That is, we were in the vicinity of the Blue Crab. To access the Blue Crab's dock we needed to head dead down wind.
The Quinn Anne's Revenge is a capable boat, but no Sparkman and Stephens. Grandma Cindy and Quinn were in the cabin keeping out of the building wind. Deanna was forward in the cockpit, and as we began to sail wing-on-wing down the narrow slot to dock at the Crab, I realized that the combination of stiff breeze, forward mast, forward passenger configuration, and bad luck dictated that I had about zero steerage. Right as Deanna was asking what you call it when the jib and the main are on opposite sides of the boat, we began careening towards a makeshift pvc channel mark. Somehow, before the boom came crashing to across the QAR, the rudder caught, the boom slammed back into original position, and the careening started anew.
Keep in mind, my primary motivation is this: to go sailing again. Gone are the days of, adolescent boy scaring adolescent girlfriend. This is my wife, daughter, and mother-in-law. Continuing to sail dictates that these trips must be pleasant! In a flurry of activity, I decided that dead down wind with not steerage, in building unstable air was not going to help me reach my goal. The sails had to come down. This meant loosing two halyards, furling a jib, and acting like everything was totally cool about me dropping the tiller and less than gracefully executing these maneuvers, as we drifted aground.
Dear wife asked some questions as I bounded around the cockpit. I'm not sure I would say I handled them delicately, but I'm sure my gasping helped me to sound sincere. All the while Quinn dozed in her hammock, and I'm not sure Cindy was aware that potential disaster was upon us, until after it had been averted. We motored gracefully along side the Blue Crab's deck, disembarked and ordered beers.
Quinn was still in an outstanding mood, and Deanna and her mom seemed really happy the worst was over. As I sipped my Busch Light, I tried to hide the fact that I feared the worst was just beginning. Ironically, leaving the Blue Crab meant going further from our actual home to return to the trailer and truck. I'm sure Deanna knew that something was up when I suggested that one beer was probably plenty and we should head back.
The squall had long passed, leaving behind dropping temps and rapidly increasing North Westerly breezes. Actually, by the time we motored out of the small creek and into open water, it wasn't a breeze, it was wind. I didn't want to press my luck. The wind was dead on the nose. I knew tacking off the wind would be more comfortable than beating into it with our little 4.5 horse outboard, but I also knew we'd heal pretty hard. Now, in a hard chined day sailor, healing means headway. My hunch is that the Revenge's Dagger boards are pretty useless compared to a sixteen foot hull side of essentially vertical plywood. Especially when you can bury a third of the gunwale in the drink. But, testing this theory would have usurped my ultimate goal . . . sailing again.
So, I stared into uncertain adult faces, and one pretty happy infant, and motored into rising chop for what seemed like an eternity. It probably only took thirty minutes, but it seemed like forever. I'm sure my fear that the engine would crap out at any moment was hidden from mother-in-law by my "aw shucks grin" and casual conversation. But Deanna saw right through it. She told me so. Once we got in of course.
We made it in, and there is not permanent damage to crew or craft. As soon as we got Quinn in her car seat, she began to howl. That's my girl!
Once home Deanna offered a conciliatory hug or six, and began peppering me with questions about sailboat design, and what exactly these old boats are capable of.
I was once hiking with some kids on a Summer Camp trip. We were all miserable, hot, and I think it was raining, and they whined about why I was putting them through this punishment. "Because it builds character," I said. They knew I was right. Because, they knew how to walk. Trudging through the woods with kids that know how to walk, carrying a familiar heavy bag, full of stuff they packed builds character. Sailing in tiny creeks in unstable air, and crossing huge oceans in gales builds character too. It builds character in those who have learned to sail; those who know their craft, and are testing themselves.
For those who've been dragged into it by their partners and friends, and who aren't exactly sure how all of the forces acting on them are working in concert. It may build trust, if everything turns out alright. But, it can destroy it just as fast.
I take my greatest lesson from my new daughter this week. Things can be on the verge of going terribly wrong, but until they do, they are still going right. And that is something to smile about! This is what my compatriot looks like while sailing:
Sunday, May 2, 2010
First Family Voyage
The winds were 15 to 20 mph out of the south southwest. Baby Quinn is the proud new owner of an infant pfd. Coastguard approved, mind you. I sort of view that as a tacit acceptance of what I'm doing.
We spent the weekend in Gloucester with the parents, looking at another boat that we shouldn't buy for a year or so. In fact, it was the perfect boat. Manageable, but seaworthy, roomy, but compact. Well built and well maintained. Oddly, the usual mental conflict associated with boat shopping all melted away on the water this afternoon. The Quinn Anne's Revenge is enough for now.
As we left breakfast this morning with friends, it was 85 degrees and windy in Newport News. It seemed like a great day to go sailing. Or, at least what I used to consider a great day to go sailing. My neck was sore, Quinn was mildly fussy, and Deanna had a lot of billing to get done before any fun could be had. I had a pretty desperate bathroom that needed to be cleaned as soon as we got home too.
Billing was done, bathroom was clean and Quinn was even more unhappy. We were an hour and a half behind our target departure time, and still we pressed on. It was worth it. By six Quinn was on the boat in her new hammock, Deanna and Tiza ( the dog ) sat somewhat apprehensively in the cockpit as I backed the boat into the water. The outboard stared right up. I parked the truck and we were off.
This was our first true family cruise. No extra crew. Family and boat performed well in spite being short-handed. We sailed around the harbor and watched the larger boats come in from what had to be a nice afternoon cruise on the Sound. In the parking lot we stepped the mast, packaged her up, and enjoyed sandwiches and beers as the sun set. Quinn was in great mood on the boat. She snoozed in the hammock for the first half of the cruise and sat in Deanna's lap looking around for the second half. The Quinn Anne's Revenge truly is plenty of boat for right now.
We spent the weekend in Gloucester with the parents, looking at another boat that we shouldn't buy for a year or so. In fact, it was the perfect boat. Manageable, but seaworthy, roomy, but compact. Well built and well maintained. Oddly, the usual mental conflict associated with boat shopping all melted away on the water this afternoon. The Quinn Anne's Revenge is enough for now.
As we left breakfast this morning with friends, it was 85 degrees and windy in Newport News. It seemed like a great day to go sailing. Or, at least what I used to consider a great day to go sailing. My neck was sore, Quinn was mildly fussy, and Deanna had a lot of billing to get done before any fun could be had. I had a pretty desperate bathroom that needed to be cleaned as soon as we got home too.
Billing was done, bathroom was clean and Quinn was even more unhappy. We were an hour and a half behind our target departure time, and still we pressed on. It was worth it. By six Quinn was on the boat in her new hammock, Deanna and Tiza ( the dog ) sat somewhat apprehensively in the cockpit as I backed the boat into the water. The outboard stared right up. I parked the truck and we were off.
This was our first true family cruise. No extra crew. Family and boat performed well in spite being short-handed. We sailed around the harbor and watched the larger boats come in from what had to be a nice afternoon cruise on the Sound. In the parking lot we stepped the mast, packaged her up, and enjoyed sandwiches and beers as the sun set. Quinn was in great mood on the boat. She snoozed in the hammock for the first half of the cruise and sat in Deanna's lap looking around for the second half. The Quinn Anne's Revenge truly is plenty of boat for right now.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Staying on Task...
...can be pretty damn hard. The dream is to 'check out' to some degree. Sail away, drive away, some combination of the two. The used boat market is such that shopping can take years. And, you really need to see what the space feels like. Particularly if you are going to live on the thing full time.
We've seen several boats. Each time, the emotions are similar. Today though, I was ready to double down, and I don't mean eat one of those KFC heart destroyers either.
Our price range, under 50,000, limits our boat selection, but not as much as you might think. This afternoon, we took a leisurely drive to Edenton, NC to check out a Gulfstar center cockpit ketch. This is ten feet longer than boats we have been seeing, well within the price range, and damn was it roomy. When you are spending less than 50,000 on a boat, you are accepting that it will need work. Since I'm comfortable with the work, I tend to look for things that cannot be altered later. So, if the boat has space, and is well built, I can polish the rest later.
These plans are long term, so while baby Quinn is a compact little peanut right now, I'm not naive enough to think that she will remain that way. The center cockpit design dictates the presence of a spacious aft cabin. A master suite with a head, and get this--a door!! Isolation! yes that is right, on a small boat, in the middle of the ocean with your loved ones, I'm told isolation becomes important. Twenty five or so square feet dedicated to serenity. Sign me up.
Also, there was a cockpit dodger, so, that would be nice in the rain.
The boat needed cosmetic work, and certainly I'd get a survey. But standing there looking at those empty lockers, my wife, and that cabin. I could see it. I could see leaving. Leaving it all behind.
The problem with being a grown-up is that you can actually make your wildest dreams come true. I could walk into the bank with a smile on my face tomorrow, and walk out with enough dollar bills to buy that boat. No questions asked. I've got a good credit rating, I've lived a responsible adult life, until now!!!
This isn't the first time this has happened. It happens every time we see a boat. Well, almost every time. Also, there is wisdom in the position that a careful man could wait forever. When will the time be just right? Who knows. Sell the damn house. Top of the market, bottom, who knows? More importantly, who cares. My comfortable life, building houses, eating out, spewing carbon in every direction. It's a sin, no matter what the dirty money provides. Wake up, get gone!
Daughter, health insurance, education, retirement. . . Dirty money or not, it buys the freedom from burdening others. Combine the two? Live on the boat with a tiny footprint; accept the evil of the job? Don't know, can I make that dream come true. That one would actually take effort, not just cash.
We've seen several boats. Each time, the emotions are similar. Today though, I was ready to double down, and I don't mean eat one of those KFC heart destroyers either.
Our price range, under 50,000, limits our boat selection, but not as much as you might think. This afternoon, we took a leisurely drive to Edenton, NC to check out a Gulfstar center cockpit ketch. This is ten feet longer than boats we have been seeing, well within the price range, and damn was it roomy. When you are spending less than 50,000 on a boat, you are accepting that it will need work. Since I'm comfortable with the work, I tend to look for things that cannot be altered later. So, if the boat has space, and is well built, I can polish the rest later.
These plans are long term, so while baby Quinn is a compact little peanut right now, I'm not naive enough to think that she will remain that way. The center cockpit design dictates the presence of a spacious aft cabin. A master suite with a head, and get this--a door!! Isolation! yes that is right, on a small boat, in the middle of the ocean with your loved ones, I'm told isolation becomes important. Twenty five or so square feet dedicated to serenity. Sign me up.
Also, there was a cockpit dodger, so, that would be nice in the rain.
The boat needed cosmetic work, and certainly I'd get a survey. But standing there looking at those empty lockers, my wife, and that cabin. I could see it. I could see leaving. Leaving it all behind.
The problem with being a grown-up is that you can actually make your wildest dreams come true. I could walk into the bank with a smile on my face tomorrow, and walk out with enough dollar bills to buy that boat. No questions asked. I've got a good credit rating, I've lived a responsible adult life, until now!!!
This isn't the first time this has happened. It happens every time we see a boat. Well, almost every time. Also, there is wisdom in the position that a careful man could wait forever. When will the time be just right? Who knows. Sell the damn house. Top of the market, bottom, who knows? More importantly, who cares. My comfortable life, building houses, eating out, spewing carbon in every direction. It's a sin, no matter what the dirty money provides. Wake up, get gone!
Daughter, health insurance, education, retirement. . . Dirty money or not, it buys the freedom from burdening others. Combine the two? Live on the boat with a tiny footprint; accept the evil of the job? Don't know, can I make that dream come true. That one would actually take effort, not just cash.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
A Little Structure . . . Maybe
Lately I've been blogging, or rather ranting, about a myriad of things that are on my mind. Unfortunately, they've been neither particularly interesting, or compelling. I'm onto something new. Something that I hope will become a sort of occasional series.
The birth of my daughter Quinn has really gotten me thinking hard about the type of life I want to live. A life with purpose, that reflects my values, and that might be, at least interesting, maybe even inspiring to my child. The most appealing approach seems to involve boats. I'm thinking living aboard a sail boat, but I'm not sure a trailer sailor behind a camper is out. Boats (the ones I can afford anyway) have always represented a critical requirement that I think is characteristic of any examined life. They are a finite space. To live on one, or even simply voyage for any period of time, you have to decide exactly what you need and leave the rest behind. This seems like a great rule by which to live. Also, you can be a total dirt bag on a boat, and no one thumbs their nose at you. In fact they think you are rich. So, unlike living out of a van, the boat option will probably not get me turned over to child protective services.
Not knowing exactly what the goal is, Deanna and I have decided that an incremental approach will be best. Our goal is to make a leap of some sort when Quinn is three. So, we are saving, planning, and practicing. The occasional series on 'Shy Drunk' will focus mainly the planning and the practicing.
Quinn is nine weeks old, and she took her first trip on the high seas in week eight. She was born 2/10/2010, and by 4/11/2010, she was on the water. She pretty much hated it. Well she slept and cried. The fact that she slept some of the time tells me she was loving that portion of the voyage. Also, she cries at the doctor's office, but that's necessary so, I'm going with that line of reasoning.
Deanna and I purchased a pretty sweet little plywood boat in January--we'd been discussing these issues for some time. I spent the spring repairing, and modifying things to make them more infant friendly. I've still got a couple more items to paint, build, and adjust, but the Quinn Anne's Revenge is sailing on weekends. She has a new suit of sails, I'm working on a cabin and cockpit sole, and fine tuning the rigging.
So who knows, maybe living better means something as simple as spending more time with my wife and daughter doing something we can all enjoy together. Or maybe, by age three, we will head out, with the Quinn Anne's Revenge behind my truck, or on something thirty plus feet with no trailer involved.
In any case, it feels nice to have a goal, even if it's still taking shape.
The birth of my daughter Quinn has really gotten me thinking hard about the type of life I want to live. A life with purpose, that reflects my values, and that might be, at least interesting, maybe even inspiring to my child. The most appealing approach seems to involve boats. I'm thinking living aboard a sail boat, but I'm not sure a trailer sailor behind a camper is out. Boats (the ones I can afford anyway) have always represented a critical requirement that I think is characteristic of any examined life. They are a finite space. To live on one, or even simply voyage for any period of time, you have to decide exactly what you need and leave the rest behind. This seems like a great rule by which to live. Also, you can be a total dirt bag on a boat, and no one thumbs their nose at you. In fact they think you are rich. So, unlike living out of a van, the boat option will probably not get me turned over to child protective services.
Not knowing exactly what the goal is, Deanna and I have decided that an incremental approach will be best. Our goal is to make a leap of some sort when Quinn is three. So, we are saving, planning, and practicing. The occasional series on 'Shy Drunk' will focus mainly the planning and the practicing.
Quinn is nine weeks old, and she took her first trip on the high seas in week eight. She was born 2/10/2010, and by 4/11/2010, she was on the water. She pretty much hated it. Well she slept and cried. The fact that she slept some of the time tells me she was loving that portion of the voyage. Also, she cries at the doctor's office, but that's necessary so, I'm going with that line of reasoning.
Deanna and I purchased a pretty sweet little plywood boat in January--we'd been discussing these issues for some time. I spent the spring repairing, and modifying things to make them more infant friendly. I've still got a couple more items to paint, build, and adjust, but the Quinn Anne's Revenge is sailing on weekends. She has a new suit of sails, I'm working on a cabin and cockpit sole, and fine tuning the rigging.
So who knows, maybe living better means something as simple as spending more time with my wife and daughter doing something we can all enjoy together. Or maybe, by age three, we will head out, with the Quinn Anne's Revenge behind my truck, or on something thirty plus feet with no trailer involved.
In any case, it feels nice to have a goal, even if it's still taking shape.
Friday, March 19, 2010
I Saw a Stockbroker/Friend in 2001 . . . .
. . . that drove a 1984 Honda Accord. Definitely part of the rat race. A referre perhaps, a sponsor, I don't know. But, some stock brokers drive german cars, and new ones at that. This guy wasn't a dumb shit either. On the contrary he had something on the ball. And two years prior, when I'd joined this stock-broker, then a plumbing supply salesman, at a yacht club to crew his boat for a reagatta, he had been driving a new Land Rover.
As I sat in his office in '01 he explained that the life in sales had taken its toll. He'd grown tired of not being home with his wife and daughter. The Land Rover had been less than stellar. He'd bought a shit house in his hometown, put out his shingle, and started helping people plan for retirement. He's made a chunk, and needed more time to research the market, to know what to do with it. Why not use other's people's commisions to finance his studies. Win win.
I'm the kind of guy who is lazy with my retirement funds. I've actually resumed reading the statements, after a two year hiatus. It was just too painful. But, I stayed the course. Put away for a rainy day; think long-term. Hell, I was lazy, and scared. But maybe, just maybe, reversing this trend, and employing the austerity measures of my aquaintance is the answer.
First, learn more. I'm not too dumb. Maybe every other book, no every third, should be a financially insightful tome. Pull my head out of my ass, and put my nose to the investment grindstone.
Second, or maybe first. Tighten up. I'm worried about raising a self sufficient daughter. Bring on the Austerity. Noting like going without to teach you that you can go without. Simple pleasures!
Delayed gratification, signified in a mid-eighties Honda, may be the ticket. And, In fact, delayed gratification is the truest check-out from consumerism. I've got good dishes, good appliances, a decent work truck and enough surfboards to start a school. Stop buyings SHIT!! Start buying stocks? Bonds? Mutal Fund Shares? Treasury Bills? Real Estate? Naked Short Sales? I'll get back to you on the details. Or, as my highschool English teacher used to say. That's a really interesting question. Why don't you research it and get back to the class with a one page report!
As I sat in his office in '01 he explained that the life in sales had taken its toll. He'd grown tired of not being home with his wife and daughter. The Land Rover had been less than stellar. He'd bought a shit house in his hometown, put out his shingle, and started helping people plan for retirement. He's made a chunk, and needed more time to research the market, to know what to do with it. Why not use other's people's commisions to finance his studies. Win win.
I'm the kind of guy who is lazy with my retirement funds. I've actually resumed reading the statements, after a two year hiatus. It was just too painful. But, I stayed the course. Put away for a rainy day; think long-term. Hell, I was lazy, and scared. But maybe, just maybe, reversing this trend, and employing the austerity measures of my aquaintance is the answer.
First, learn more. I'm not too dumb. Maybe every other book, no every third, should be a financially insightful tome. Pull my head out of my ass, and put my nose to the investment grindstone.
Second, or maybe first. Tighten up. I'm worried about raising a self sufficient daughter. Bring on the Austerity. Noting like going without to teach you that you can go without. Simple pleasures!
Delayed gratification, signified in a mid-eighties Honda, may be the ticket. And, In fact, delayed gratification is the truest check-out from consumerism. I've got good dishes, good appliances, a decent work truck and enough surfboards to start a school. Stop buyings SHIT!! Start buying stocks? Bonds? Mutal Fund Shares? Treasury Bills? Real Estate? Naked Short Sales? I'll get back to you on the details. Or, as my highschool English teacher used to say. That's a really interesting question. Why don't you research it and get back to the class with a one page report!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Fundamental Change, or Band-Aids on Brain Tumors
I read an interesting article in Fine Home Building this month. It was actually more of a four page add, like most trade magazine articles are. The item for sale was a software program that aids in the design of "passive houses."
See: www.passivehouse.us
While the idea of building a house that uses very little energy is great. You have to ask yourself at what cost. Hay Bail houses are one thing. But when you are designing a 2500 square foot house with 16" thick walls, what is the cost. There is enough framing material in there for at least three and a half 1200 square foot houses. Granted, the houses perform well, but they use excessive amounts of insulation, special windows and doors, and literally tons of wood to reach this performance level. They also cost an arm and a leg. The featured house was on Martha's Vinyard.
Is any technology that helps us feel better about opulent living really all that helpful? Just because it is possible to build a mansion that doesn't need a furnace, is that a good reason to do so? When will we accept that our lifestyle, not our tools are the problem. If I understand even the most conservative climate scientists right now, we are living a Cadillac existence on a planet with a Yugo carrying capacity.
In other news, health insurance reform is about to pass. You would think that we were socializing medicine, by the way the opposition characterizes things. But, the fact that some liberals are dissatisfied confirms my suspicions that this legislation will probably be more of a political victory, that a revolution in health care. It is not changing the way medical malpractice is handled. It's not changing the way medical care and medicines are payed for. It's going to make insuring everyone more manageable. That is certainly good, but will it solve the long-term problems.
I was listening to The Story, on WUNC.
http://thestory.org/archive/the_story_994_Ted_Marmor.mp3/view
In this segment Ted Marmor, who is basically a health care policy wonk (a really good one), framed the issue perfectly in his opening statements. Basically, paraphrased he said something like, "We have still failed to answer the fundamental question of weather we wanted to treat health care like a commodity on the free market, or a service everyone deserves. Should health care be like public education, or like corn and hot-dogs."
That blew me away. Now, I know what you are all thinking. That opens a whole other can of worms. It does. One worth opening I think. Sure public education has its issues, but overall, it does ok. And there are still private schools for the well off. I'm a pretty healthy guy. Give me public medicine. If Dick Cheney needs a high dollar cardiologist, I'll give him a tax credit. I don't want to belabor the point discussing health care. I want to see what this could mean for all of us personally.
The arrival of our daughter has Deanna and me thinking hard about how to live the right life. Of course we don't want Quinn to want for anything, but we want her to be hungry too. We both love working hard, but hate being consumed by work. We want Quinn to be healthy, and we feel like it's more important for us to be healthy now too. So we are more conscious of our food selection. Organic, natural etc etc. Now I'll stop speaking for my family, and go out on my own.
I keep telling myself, we will live outside the box. My brain is constantly fighting to define the path. Reduce debt, save money, stay well, learn invaluable skills. And in the back of my mind, I think if I pay off the house through radical saving, or squirrel away enough cash, or make the right investments, I might just be able to reduce my workload to spend more time with my family. Live some true adventures. Make a positive difference. Live a life that might inspire my daughter to reject the framework of the wasteful entitled American lifestyle. Live a truly happy and meaningful life.
But, I'm off track at my first step. I'm thinking of ways to poke my head above the ocean of consumerism, when what I need to do is leave it completely. But how? And what about the responsibilities to those I love who are still swimming in it. My mother and father's willingness to go to work everyday to provide a comfortable childhood for my brother and I can't be disregarded. And rejecting my current life in favor of a book-filled grass shack or a salvaged sailboat, seems a little irresponsible.
How can we make fundamental changes, instead of course adjustments on a doomed path? I'm not sure, but I'm not doing any cartwheels because the richest people in our country can build houses that do not require furnaces. And, I've heard the detractors saying that socialized medicine will stifle innovation. So be it, if the availability of cutting edge health care depends on the absence of decent basic medical care for this country's poor, I'll make the trade, and I'll sleep at night.
As for what to do with my own life, that's more complicated. Maybe all of this change needs to be incrimental. Maybe passive house technology will trickle down. Maybe once a couple of seniors have a positive experience with their death panel, everyone will relax. I just really feel like I'm running out of time to make huge changes. Maybe I know what I have to do, and can't stomach it. I'm reminded of a scene in Platoon, if I remember correctly, when one of the charactes decides the war is bull shit and he's going to stab himself in the leg, and go home. Maybe I've got the knife in my hand, and I'm just really worried it's gonna hurt like hell.
See: www.passivehouse.us
While the idea of building a house that uses very little energy is great. You have to ask yourself at what cost. Hay Bail houses are one thing. But when you are designing a 2500 square foot house with 16" thick walls, what is the cost. There is enough framing material in there for at least three and a half 1200 square foot houses. Granted, the houses perform well, but they use excessive amounts of insulation, special windows and doors, and literally tons of wood to reach this performance level. They also cost an arm and a leg. The featured house was on Martha's Vinyard.
Is any technology that helps us feel better about opulent living really all that helpful? Just because it is possible to build a mansion that doesn't need a furnace, is that a good reason to do so? When will we accept that our lifestyle, not our tools are the problem. If I understand even the most conservative climate scientists right now, we are living a Cadillac existence on a planet with a Yugo carrying capacity.
In other news, health insurance reform is about to pass. You would think that we were socializing medicine, by the way the opposition characterizes things. But, the fact that some liberals are dissatisfied confirms my suspicions that this legislation will probably be more of a political victory, that a revolution in health care. It is not changing the way medical malpractice is handled. It's not changing the way medical care and medicines are payed for. It's going to make insuring everyone more manageable. That is certainly good, but will it solve the long-term problems.
I was listening to The Story, on WUNC.
http://thestory.org/archive/the_story_994_Ted_Marmor.mp3/view
In this segment Ted Marmor, who is basically a health care policy wonk (a really good one), framed the issue perfectly in his opening statements. Basically, paraphrased he said something like, "We have still failed to answer the fundamental question of weather we wanted to treat health care like a commodity on the free market, or a service everyone deserves. Should health care be like public education, or like corn and hot-dogs."
That blew me away. Now, I know what you are all thinking. That opens a whole other can of worms. It does. One worth opening I think. Sure public education has its issues, but overall, it does ok. And there are still private schools for the well off. I'm a pretty healthy guy. Give me public medicine. If Dick Cheney needs a high dollar cardiologist, I'll give him a tax credit. I don't want to belabor the point discussing health care. I want to see what this could mean for all of us personally.
The arrival of our daughter has Deanna and me thinking hard about how to live the right life. Of course we don't want Quinn to want for anything, but we want her to be hungry too. We both love working hard, but hate being consumed by work. We want Quinn to be healthy, and we feel like it's more important for us to be healthy now too. So we are more conscious of our food selection. Organic, natural etc etc. Now I'll stop speaking for my family, and go out on my own.
I keep telling myself, we will live outside the box. My brain is constantly fighting to define the path. Reduce debt, save money, stay well, learn invaluable skills. And in the back of my mind, I think if I pay off the house through radical saving, or squirrel away enough cash, or make the right investments, I might just be able to reduce my workload to spend more time with my family. Live some true adventures. Make a positive difference. Live a life that might inspire my daughter to reject the framework of the wasteful entitled American lifestyle. Live a truly happy and meaningful life.
But, I'm off track at my first step. I'm thinking of ways to poke my head above the ocean of consumerism, when what I need to do is leave it completely. But how? And what about the responsibilities to those I love who are still swimming in it. My mother and father's willingness to go to work everyday to provide a comfortable childhood for my brother and I can't be disregarded. And rejecting my current life in favor of a book-filled grass shack or a salvaged sailboat, seems a little irresponsible.
How can we make fundamental changes, instead of course adjustments on a doomed path? I'm not sure, but I'm not doing any cartwheels because the richest people in our country can build houses that do not require furnaces. And, I've heard the detractors saying that socialized medicine will stifle innovation. So be it, if the availability of cutting edge health care depends on the absence of decent basic medical care for this country's poor, I'll make the trade, and I'll sleep at night.
As for what to do with my own life, that's more complicated. Maybe all of this change needs to be incrimental. Maybe passive house technology will trickle down. Maybe once a couple of seniors have a positive experience with their death panel, everyone will relax. I just really feel like I'm running out of time to make huge changes. Maybe I know what I have to do, and can't stomach it. I'm reminded of a scene in Platoon, if I remember correctly, when one of the charactes decides the war is bull shit and he's going to stab himself in the leg, and go home. Maybe I've got the knife in my hand, and I'm just really worried it's gonna hurt like hell.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Spirituality as a house
I've been reading two pretty interesting books. "Cathedral of The World", By Myron Arms, and "The Language of God", by Francis Collins. They address spirituality through the metaphor/method of sailing and science respectively. I admit, I've always dreamed of being a non-fiction writer that might somehow relate my life experience into some sort of compelling greater truth. I wish I related to these writers.
In contrast, my life revolves around the process of building houses, not the cosmospiritualpolitical principles I wish it did.
However, as I ponder the process, or rather the "critical path" of home construction, I see a valuable metaphor for the spiritual journey.
How could the steps involved in the creation of a house relate to humanity's efforts to understand itself through the construction/realization of a deity? My contention is that spiritual seeking and house construction share two key characteristics. Both require hard work, plain and simple. And, both are aided by, but not subject to a process--a critical path.
For home building, you select a plan. In religion a church, a tradition, or the rejection of these. In a town you build a house, subject to building codes, and architectural review. In a faith you choose a church/tradition, or you forge out on your own. In building you trust tried and true design; the Cape Cod, the ranch. In faith, the Christian, Muslim, Jewish or Hindu tradition. Or not.
Then the home must be constructed. There are steps that relate to and depend on one another, but they are not hard and fast. Adjustments can be made. The only certainty is that there must be discipline. Dispatch is important. The process must progress reasonably, but allowances may be made for failure.
As in faith. We can follow a route well trod, or forge out alone in search of something new. To make it a valuable project we must apply reason, discipline, thought, and most importantly, hard work to the project.
Why are we drawn to see a metaphorical connection between life's large and small questions? Can an understanding of the development of the modern construction of shelter, aid in the understanding of the timeless construct of meaning. I hope so. And I wonder what one tells us about the other. . .
In contrast, my life revolves around the process of building houses, not the cosmospiritualpolitical principles I wish it did.
However, as I ponder the process, or rather the "critical path" of home construction, I see a valuable metaphor for the spiritual journey.
How could the steps involved in the creation of a house relate to humanity's efforts to understand itself through the construction/realization of a deity? My contention is that spiritual seeking and house construction share two key characteristics. Both require hard work, plain and simple. And, both are aided by, but not subject to a process--a critical path.
For home building, you select a plan. In religion a church, a tradition, or the rejection of these. In a town you build a house, subject to building codes, and architectural review. In a faith you choose a church/tradition, or you forge out on your own. In building you trust tried and true design; the Cape Cod, the ranch. In faith, the Christian, Muslim, Jewish or Hindu tradition. Or not.
Then the home must be constructed. There are steps that relate to and depend on one another, but they are not hard and fast. Adjustments can be made. The only certainty is that there must be discipline. Dispatch is important. The process must progress reasonably, but allowances may be made for failure.
As in faith. We can follow a route well trod, or forge out alone in search of something new. To make it a valuable project we must apply reason, discipline, thought, and most importantly, hard work to the project.
Why are we drawn to see a metaphorical connection between life's large and small questions? Can an understanding of the development of the modern construction of shelter, aid in the understanding of the timeless construct of meaning. I hope so. And I wonder what one tells us about the other. . .
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Beach Closure Update
So much moving on to less regional issues...
The struggle continues over beach access. The Audubon Society drafted a letter with over 80 signatures, addressed to the National Park Service.
http://islandfreepress.org/2010Archives/02.05.2010-AudubonLetterToN0PS.pdf
(link provided from Island Free Press)
The Outer Banks Sentinel exposes a "scandal" over one of the signatures, and characterizes the letter as a request to close all Park Service beaches.
http://www.womacknewspapers.com/obsentinel/
(link to O.B. Sentinel)
In addition to calling one of the signatures into question, the article characterizes the Audubon's position as a demand for complete closure of the beaches. That was not what I gleaned from the letter, but I can see the cause for concern.
Interestingly, the Park service actually owns all of the beaches from Pea Island south through Ocracoke Island. Even areas where ocean-front houses are located, have property pins that delineate the beginning of park service land. So, at the peak of the market, individuals purchased ocean-front homes, that in fact are Park Service front.
The ocean-front homes are sources of intense foot traffic, lighting, and noise. They are also the backbone of the tourist industry. I'm sure the Audubon Society would love to close those beaches. However, it seems if those property owners were notified, in any sort of organized way, they may be the only group capable of raising more money for legal fees than the conservationist.
Let me be clear. I do not think that all ocean-front home owners are rich. I've helped to build some of those houses, and I know that the lion's share of those individuals are hard workers, investing money they can't afford to waste. Therefore, they really can't afford not to resist closure of the beaches in front of their vacation homes. That said, they aren't looking to waste money defending people's right to drive on the beaches out of the town limits.
Beach driving needs to be responsibly managed. Science needs to determine what exactly responsible management looks like. Hatteras Island's economy needs to be preserved, and/or efforts need to be made to mitigate negative effects of Park Service's land management.
It seems to me, that the Audubon society needs to accept that preservation of endangered species does not mean complete closure of recreational areas. At the same time, Hatteras locals, and everyone on the Northern Outer Banks, for that matter, need to focus on the true struggle at hand. The Audubon society is simply the latest adversary. The real issue here is that we need to work to develop a sustainable economy here that takes advantage of without exploiting the unique environment we are fortunate enough to inhabit.
Beach driving is the issue at hand, because that seems to be the one at stake right now. Beach nourishment, affordable housing, water quality, storm water management, fisheries depletion, and a host of other issues are waiting in the wings.
The struggle continues over beach access. The Audubon Society drafted a letter with over 80 signatures, addressed to the National Park Service.
http://islandfreepress.org/2010Archives/02.05.2010-AudubonLetterToN0PS.pdf
(link provided from Island Free Press)
The Outer Banks Sentinel exposes a "scandal" over one of the signatures, and characterizes the letter as a request to close all Park Service beaches.
http://www.womacknewspapers.com/obsentinel/
(link to O.B. Sentinel)
In addition to calling one of the signatures into question, the article characterizes the Audubon's position as a demand for complete closure of the beaches. That was not what I gleaned from the letter, but I can see the cause for concern.
Interestingly, the Park service actually owns all of the beaches from Pea Island south through Ocracoke Island. Even areas where ocean-front houses are located, have property pins that delineate the beginning of park service land. So, at the peak of the market, individuals purchased ocean-front homes, that in fact are Park Service front.
The ocean-front homes are sources of intense foot traffic, lighting, and noise. They are also the backbone of the tourist industry. I'm sure the Audubon Society would love to close those beaches. However, it seems if those property owners were notified, in any sort of organized way, they may be the only group capable of raising more money for legal fees than the conservationist.
Let me be clear. I do not think that all ocean-front home owners are rich. I've helped to build some of those houses, and I know that the lion's share of those individuals are hard workers, investing money they can't afford to waste. Therefore, they really can't afford not to resist closure of the beaches in front of their vacation homes. That said, they aren't looking to waste money defending people's right to drive on the beaches out of the town limits.
Beach driving needs to be responsibly managed. Science needs to determine what exactly responsible management looks like. Hatteras Island's economy needs to be preserved, and/or efforts need to be made to mitigate negative effects of Park Service's land management.
It seems to me, that the Audubon society needs to accept that preservation of endangered species does not mean complete closure of recreational areas. At the same time, Hatteras locals, and everyone on the Northern Outer Banks, for that matter, need to focus on the true struggle at hand. The Audubon society is simply the latest adversary. The real issue here is that we need to work to develop a sustainable economy here that takes advantage of without exploiting the unique environment we are fortunate enough to inhabit.
Beach driving is the issue at hand, because that seems to be the one at stake right now. Beach nourishment, affordable housing, water quality, storm water management, fisheries depletion, and a host of other issues are waiting in the wings.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
More corrections
I'm told in regards to Piping Plovers that they are in fact a native species. The denial of this status by Hatteras locals may have something to do with the fact that they have begun breeding here in response to destruction of their traditional breeding ground in New England. So, they've always been around the Outer Banks, just more now than previously.
Also, my spelling has been called into question. Apparently Audubon is different than Autobahn. One being a society named after a naturalist, the second a highway. I'm gonna blame that one on the spell checker.
It looks like this debate is drawing to a close soon anyway. I'll try to report the outcome. And I will also be trying to move on to less regional issues.
Marc
Also, my spelling has been called into question. Apparently Audubon is different than Autobahn. One being a society named after a naturalist, the second a highway. I'm gonna blame that one on the spell checker.
It looks like this debate is drawing to a close soon anyway. I'll try to report the outcome. And I will also be trying to move on to less regional issues.
Marc
Sunday, February 14, 2010
The Most Important Things
There is an addition to the family. Quinn Nicole Murray arrived 2/10/2010. Almost seven pounds, 21" long, with a full head of hair.
Deanna labored for seventeen hours without any pain medication, or other medical interventions. Aside from a sterile environment, she got the job done much as it had been getting done 100 years ago. It was the most inspiring and humbling experience of my life. Come to think of it, 100 years ago, the men paced the hall and waited. Now, they are more likely to be in the delivery room. Maybe the pain killers are really for the men. Knowing that you spend every night sleeping next to someone so enduring, powerful, resolved, and generous is pretty humbling. Her inate capability and strength make the presence of a new life so fragile and mysterious a little less daunting.
Quinn is doing well. She is healthy and getting into the swing of babyness, which involves heavy concentration on the basics of existence. She is lovely, with dark baby eyes, a pretty head of hair, and real people skills. I mean it, folks just love her.
And there have been folks. Deanna and I are overwhelmed at our friends willingness to spend time with us and the baby. There is nothing that cushions the blow of a drastic life change like friends acting like it's the most normal thing in the world.
It is the most normal thing in the world. It's just also one of the most important normal things in the world. I'm grateful to be a part of it.
More later and pictures once we get a breather.
Deanna labored for seventeen hours without any pain medication, or other medical interventions. Aside from a sterile environment, she got the job done much as it had been getting done 100 years ago. It was the most inspiring and humbling experience of my life. Come to think of it, 100 years ago, the men paced the hall and waited. Now, they are more likely to be in the delivery room. Maybe the pain killers are really for the men. Knowing that you spend every night sleeping next to someone so enduring, powerful, resolved, and generous is pretty humbling. Her inate capability and strength make the presence of a new life so fragile and mysterious a little less daunting.
Quinn is doing well. She is healthy and getting into the swing of babyness, which involves heavy concentration on the basics of existence. She is lovely, with dark baby eyes, a pretty head of hair, and real people skills. I mean it, folks just love her.
And there have been folks. Deanna and I are overwhelmed at our friends willingness to spend time with us and the baby. There is nothing that cushions the blow of a drastic life change like friends acting like it's the most normal thing in the world.
It is the most normal thing in the world. It's just also one of the most important normal things in the world. I'm grateful to be a part of it.
More later and pictures once we get a breather.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Retraction,or putting a finer point on it. . .
More on Hatteras Island. I read a disturbing article today concerning renewed efforts of the Autobahn Society to increase restrictions on Hatteras Island. They may be taking things a little too far. I need to do some more research. But, to keep the conversation going in the mean time. . .
My gripe with Hatteras locals' protest signs is not that it is wrong to protest when you feel you are getting screwed. I just want to encourage protest that will get you somewhere. Implying that you'd love to make a meal out of the animal a preservation society is trying to protect. Not helpful.
I'm going to do a little research to see what exactly the Autobahn and SELC are up to. But I'll inject my opinion here. National parks are important. They are part of the public trust. However, untrammeled wilderness and regulated land are two different things. I don't hold Hatteras Island and its beaches in some special regard, just because lots of people love to use them. The fact is there is a huge highway bisecting them. This is not irreplaceable Siberian Tundra. This is a special and delicate environment, but a changing environment. The plovers are just as likely to have their habitat destroyed by weather as humans. Perhaps, why they are not truly a native species. So give them a fighting chance take away the trucks. I get it.
What I don't get is complete disregard for one half of the Park Service's mission. If you want to develop respect for nature, allow the public to experience it. Also, on a socially scientific note: Users of park service land are self-selecting. Someone willing to walk several hundred yards over hot sand to enjoy a pristine beach is not your run-of-the-mill trash leaver. SUV users,who throw their beer cans out their windows have been eliminated when you eliminate the trucks. No one is going to walk half a mile to litter. It's just not in the litterers nature. Littering is lazy. You've taken the lazy out of the beach when you make me walk.
Now, if I walk to the beach, and it's just little old me and my special lady friend out there, and no one is around. I might have the urge to run around naked for a little while. But that's what solitude is all about. And that's what National Parks are all about. Solitude, not nudism. But you get my drift.
So, a little research, and I'll be back to you with more info.
Marc
My gripe with Hatteras locals' protest signs is not that it is wrong to protest when you feel you are getting screwed. I just want to encourage protest that will get you somewhere. Implying that you'd love to make a meal out of the animal a preservation society is trying to protect. Not helpful.
I'm going to do a little research to see what exactly the Autobahn and SELC are up to. But I'll inject my opinion here. National parks are important. They are part of the public trust. However, untrammeled wilderness and regulated land are two different things. I don't hold Hatteras Island and its beaches in some special regard, just because lots of people love to use them. The fact is there is a huge highway bisecting them. This is not irreplaceable Siberian Tundra. This is a special and delicate environment, but a changing environment. The plovers are just as likely to have their habitat destroyed by weather as humans. Perhaps, why they are not truly a native species. So give them a fighting chance take away the trucks. I get it.
What I don't get is complete disregard for one half of the Park Service's mission. If you want to develop respect for nature, allow the public to experience it. Also, on a socially scientific note: Users of park service land are self-selecting. Someone willing to walk several hundred yards over hot sand to enjoy a pristine beach is not your run-of-the-mill trash leaver. SUV users,who throw their beer cans out their windows have been eliminated when you eliminate the trucks. No one is going to walk half a mile to litter. It's just not in the litterers nature. Littering is lazy. You've taken the lazy out of the beach when you make me walk.
Now, if I walk to the beach, and it's just little old me and my special lady friend out there, and no one is around. I might have the urge to run around naked for a little while. But that's what solitude is all about. And that's what National Parks are all about. Solitude, not nudism. But you get my drift.
So, a little research, and I'll be back to you with more info.
Marc
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
This One's Gonna Be A Rambler . . .
Today's addition of The Story, with Dick Gordon, on WUNC our local NPR station www.wunc.org , got me to thinking. He did a spot about a kid that was going to grad-school at Duke, living in a van to try to avoid debt. Now, the kid is getting a masters in Liberal Studies. So, I question his value of the dollars he's not trying to owe. Don't get me wrong, a Liberal Arts Education adds value to your life. But that implies that you already have some value. Matt Damon put it pretty well in Good Will Hunting, about the late fees at the library and all. Anyway, gotta stay away from that. The real issue I got to thinking about is debt.
An acquaintance of mine, that I'm pretty sure is a total jackass, says that "Debt makes the world go round." Actually he's an idiot, for other reasons. But, I think he's wrong on the debt thing too. Credit makes the world go round, debt just makes you go to work whether you want to or not.
That's the real issue for me. I love to work. Love it. Do it all weekend long. Haulin' my Sanford and Son load to the recyclers, planting and working the garden, fixin' the car, motorctcle, boat, adding on to all three when nothing is wrong with them. Then there's the writing which I wish payed even .00000000001 cents a word. I could probably even stand my day job for about three days a week. Fact is I miss it when I'm on vacation. But. I go every day!! because I have a mortgage. As much as I would love gardening, recycling, and various other sundry activities to pay the bills, they don't. So, I diligently and efficiently build, and or remodel gigantic vacation homes, for a great living. The work is interesting, the pay is great. But, it loses something, because I have to do it.
Does credit, and the resultant debt make the world go round? I live pretty simply, by American standards anyway. Once the baby gets here, I believe I will even be going vegetarian. But I dream, and I dream big. The Outer Banks is on sale right now, big time, and it is everything I can do to keep myself from mortgaging the rest of my soul to buy whatever of it I can. Not because I want to sell it for a ton of money later either. I love it here, and I want to be a part of it and preserve it, but that takes money-someone else's money-for the promise that I will keep going to work. Doing something that is interesting, but that I really cannot get into with all of my heart.
So, I'm torn. Borrow and realize one dream: The family spot with a place for my parents to retire, and for me to grow all kinds of stuff. Build the dream sustainable shack etc etc. Or dream two: Admit that housing, in the Western sense, cannot be greened, no matter how hard you try. Sell the house, buy the boat, and check out. What do you think?
An acquaintance of mine, that I'm pretty sure is a total jackass, says that "Debt makes the world go round." Actually he's an idiot, for other reasons. But, I think he's wrong on the debt thing too. Credit makes the world go round, debt just makes you go to work whether you want to or not.
That's the real issue for me. I love to work. Love it. Do it all weekend long. Haulin' my Sanford and Son load to the recyclers, planting and working the garden, fixin' the car, motorctcle, boat, adding on to all three when nothing is wrong with them. Then there's the writing which I wish payed even .00000000001 cents a word. I could probably even stand my day job for about three days a week. Fact is I miss it when I'm on vacation. But. I go every day!! because I have a mortgage. As much as I would love gardening, recycling, and various other sundry activities to pay the bills, they don't. So, I diligently and efficiently build, and or remodel gigantic vacation homes, for a great living. The work is interesting, the pay is great. But, it loses something, because I have to do it.
Does credit, and the resultant debt make the world go round? I live pretty simply, by American standards anyway. Once the baby gets here, I believe I will even be going vegetarian. But I dream, and I dream big. The Outer Banks is on sale right now, big time, and it is everything I can do to keep myself from mortgaging the rest of my soul to buy whatever of it I can. Not because I want to sell it for a ton of money later either. I love it here, and I want to be a part of it and preserve it, but that takes money-someone else's money-for the promise that I will keep going to work. Doing something that is interesting, but that I really cannot get into with all of my heart.
So, I'm torn. Borrow and realize one dream: The family spot with a place for my parents to retire, and for me to grow all kinds of stuff. Build the dream sustainable shack etc etc. Or dream two: Admit that housing, in the Western sense, cannot be greened, no matter how hard you try. Sell the house, buy the boat, and check out. What do you think?
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