Last night I was cruising through the internet, because I was really bored. I was bored because I had the channel locked into "Storage Wars". I like Storage Wars, but I don't like the fact that they never seem to make any new episodes. So, on Tuesday and Wednesday night, I turn the channel to A&E and watch "SW". But, just like the last Tuesday and Wednesday for what must be 8 weeks now, it was just a bunch or reruns. They tried to spice it up a bit this week by featuring "Barry", but it was a sham. Barry is in almost all of the episodes, so they just ran their regular shitty reruns.
Storage Wars is so popular, that A&E decided months ago to saturate and kill the idea by making a spin-off named "Storage Wars -Texas". This is a much worse show. There are two obese guys, one guy named "Moe", one named "Victor" and an odd team of a trailer trash middle-aged woman who is accompanied by a huge black guy who she bosses around. I can't figure out the relationship. He's either her employee at her junk shop; her husband; her slave, or all three. Like I said, I can't figure it out, but he calls her "Miz Daisy" or something and whines whenever she spends a dollar or he figures he's going to have to pick up a box.
My cable bill with Xfinity, or Comcast ... or whatever these robber barons call themselves is almost a hundred dollars a month for the television cable alone. So, I figure I'm paying a pretty penny for an hour of news and 3 hours of Storage Wars an evening. But, that's my problem I suppose.
Anyway, last night I was half-watching Storage Wars and tooling around the internet when I ran across one of those sites that make the intertubes so cool.
The site was called "Walk Score". And it rates all parts of the country for walkability.
I live in a small suburban neighborhood many moons north of Chicago. And, when I get a chance, I walk. I find it pleasant and quiet, with a few parks to meander through that have birds and streams and just once in while ... Canadian Geese with homicidal tendencies. But I like it.
Walk Score rates neighborhoods from zero to one hundred for their walkability, so I figured my neighborhood would score high. I plugged in my address and zip code and waited for the Walk Score computer thingy to pass it's judgement. And my neighborhood received a ...
22.
And New York City ... that place of crime and grime and God knows what?
87.
Turns out, to be a big shot on Walk Score, there have to be restaurants, bars, grocery stores and strip joints (kidding) within reasonable walking distance to make the grade. 22 in my neighborhood means I have to "Drive" to get places.
Okay, fair enough. But I'll take this quiet little area any day over anyplace in New York City. If you'd like to see the score/rate in your area, just click here.
And remember, there are other things in life besides commercial establishments within walking distance to make your place special.
Next Post: Are Snowflakes Raining From Your Cursor A Good Thing, Or Should I Just Surgically Remove The Code?
April 12, 2012
April 10, 2012
Favorite Photo Of The Month
Once in a while, I run across a photo on the intertubes that brings back some memories of my younger days.
In 1965, the NASA Gemini program was well underway. Designed as a stepping stone to the Apollo moon program, it tested the astronauts ability to endure a trip to the lunar surface. There were some pretty wild missions, which by standards now, took a lot of risks, but there was one mission in particular that was really wild, wild west.
Gemini 6 with astronauts Stafford and Schirra was supposed to be the first attempt to dock with an unmanned Agena target vehicle, which would be launched a short time before the Titan/Gemini craft. Things didn't work out too great and the Agena vehicle blew into five big piece over the Atlantic. Gemini 6 sat on the ground.
Then, the NASA gunslinger mentality kicked in. Gemini 7 was already assembled and sitting on another launching pad. Eight days after the Agena vehicle blew into pieces, Gemini 6-A (as it was called) was successfully launched with Gemini 7, manned by astronauts Borman and Lovell, launched soon after. The goal was the two Gemini capsules to rendevoux with each other, thereby closely mimicking the originally planned Gemini 6-A/Agena docking.
It worked. The two ships maneuvered within one foot of each other. There were a lot of pictures taken, but this one is my favorite. I believe it's Gemini 6-A taken from the cabin of Gemini 7 ...
In 1965, the NASA Gemini program was well underway. Designed as a stepping stone to the Apollo moon program, it tested the astronauts ability to endure a trip to the lunar surface. There were some pretty wild missions, which by standards now, took a lot of risks, but there was one mission in particular that was really wild, wild west.
Gemini 6 with astronauts Stafford and Schirra was supposed to be the first attempt to dock with an unmanned Agena target vehicle, which would be launched a short time before the Titan/Gemini craft. Things didn't work out too great and the Agena vehicle blew into five big piece over the Atlantic. Gemini 6 sat on the ground.
Then, the NASA gunslinger mentality kicked in. Gemini 7 was already assembled and sitting on another launching pad. Eight days after the Agena vehicle blew into pieces, Gemini 6-A (as it was called) was successfully launched with Gemini 7, manned by astronauts Borman and Lovell, launched soon after. The goal was the two Gemini capsules to rendevoux with each other, thereby closely mimicking the originally planned Gemini 6-A/Agena docking.
It worked. The two ships maneuvered within one foot of each other. There were a lot of pictures taken, but this one is my favorite. I believe it's Gemini 6-A taken from the cabin of Gemini 7 ...
As a kid, the Mercury/Gemini/Apollo programs were fascinating. They didn't shape my future, but they were just the most interesting things to get involved in.
On a different note ... the last two months have been a all-out-balls whirlwind. I can't find time to take a relaxing shit, little alone write, which kind of pisses me off. But, there have been a lot of things that I've been saving up to write about. And ... I hope to do so soon.
April 05, 2012
Restaurant Recommendation
I may live in the greater Chicagoland area, but the aura of the city is weak here in the Northern Suburbs. And that's why when the local police chief gets arrested for drunken driving/auto accident/concealing a firearm ... and then tries to make it all disappear by flashing his badge at a Wisconsin deputy sheriff, well it's a real hoot.
But I didn't really give a shit about that. Happens all the time. What did catch my eye was where the police chief and his wife had left prior to his little incident. The Twin Oaks Country Inn in Wilmot, Wisconsin.
If you live here, you quickly become aware of the lack of new or even decent restaurants ... that is unless you really enjoy Applebee's and TGIF Friday. So, the big news in the police chief story, as far as I was concerned, was A NEW PLACE TO EAT! And I've made my reservations for Saturday night already. After all, if the police chief and his wife had THAT MUCH fun, it's going to be a blast.
Oh ... and the police chief. Well, he's in a bit of hot water and he's going to have to face the Mayor and other village bigwigs tonight to see if he keeps his job or not. And ... I happen to work with the mayor of this village. I say "know", but I just sat with him in a meeting once and all the women at the table fawned over him because he was a mayor. Plus, he looks like that guy in high school who was always successful and you hated. Plus his name is "Rhett". If my parents had named me Rhett, I would have changed it to D'Shawn when I was 18.
How someone can work full time for a giant pharmaceutical house and still have time to be a mayor is beyond me, but I guess his manly good looks get him through it.
Anyway, Mayor Manly Goodlooks will probably be too wimpy to fire the police chief ... and the citizens of the village will rise against him and run him out of office in disgrace.
That would be awesome.
Next Post: I Review The Twin Oaks Country Inn While Not Driving While Intoxicated.
But I didn't really give a shit about that. Happens all the time. What did catch my eye was where the police chief and his wife had left prior to his little incident. The Twin Oaks Country Inn in Wilmot, Wisconsin.
If you live here, you quickly become aware of the lack of new or even decent restaurants ... that is unless you really enjoy Applebee's and TGIF Friday. So, the big news in the police chief story, as far as I was concerned, was A NEW PLACE TO EAT! And I've made my reservations for Saturday night already. After all, if the police chief and his wife had THAT MUCH fun, it's going to be a blast.
Oh ... and the police chief. Well, he's in a bit of hot water and he's going to have to face the Mayor and other village bigwigs tonight to see if he keeps his job or not. And ... I happen to work with the mayor of this village. I say "know", but I just sat with him in a meeting once and all the women at the table fawned over him because he was a mayor. Plus, he looks like that guy in high school who was always successful and you hated. Plus his name is "Rhett". If my parents had named me Rhett, I would have changed it to D'Shawn when I was 18.
How someone can work full time for a giant pharmaceutical house and still have time to be a mayor is beyond me, but I guess his manly good looks get him through it.
Anyway, Mayor Manly Goodlooks will probably be too wimpy to fire the police chief ... and the citizens of the village will rise against him and run him out of office in disgrace.
That would be awesome.
Next Post: I Review The Twin Oaks Country Inn While Not Driving While Intoxicated.
March 14, 2012
The Year Of Looking Out The Window
Priviledged are the few.
That's what I think during the weekdays as I stare at the walls of my cubicle. Just feet away from me, a number of individuals look up from their desks and gaze out their windows on the golf course across the highway; the parking lot; the next building; or the cafeteria garbage area (okay, that last one doesn't sound that great).
When the "window" thought entered my mind, I started thinking about each of the offices I've had since I left college and what kind of view they afforded. At first, I had no windows. But then, I got to look at, in order of responsibility; a parking lot, a dog kennel, the side of a Kohl's Department store, a tree ... and then the Chicago River from 20 floors up.
Then things changed. A men's room door, a small warehouse ... and then a series of cubicle walls.
But the ability to stare out a window at something usually comes with a price. And that price is responsibility. I don't mind personal responsibility. That's fine. But I'm through with professional responsibility. That probably happens to almost everyone.
Actually, the best window view I ever had was over 50 years ago, when I was in 4th grade. Yes, I guess there is supposed to be some professional responsibility in going to school. But grade school is different. They make you go. Even though you know you'd be just fine if you didn't, you have to anyway.
In 4th grade, Mrs. Cassidy decided she would sit us in alphabetical order. This didn't go down well with me when she announced it on the first day, because I have a "low" alphabetical name, which would have put me in the first row ... right by the wall and the coat closet. But, unknownst to me, Mrs. Cassidy must have been dyslexic in addition to being ancient and a bitch ... because she started to seat us from her right, instead of her left like a normal American would.
This put me in the row just along the windows. And the windows were seated perfectly. They were low enough so that you could look out without stretching your neck like a giraffe. Just a casual gaze once in a whiile, or a slack-jawed stare if you were so inclined.
And there was so MUCH to look at. The landscaped front lawn of the school. Moderately traveled Cherry Street beyond that ... and the brand new apartments just on the other side of Cherry Street.
It was great. Sure, Mrs. Cassidy yelled at me a lot ... and when she got tired of yelling at me, she would sneak up from behind and bust me in the arm with that goddamned ruler of hers ... but it was worth it. I watched the trees shed their leaves in the Fall, the first snows of Winter, and the incoming birds of Spring. Oh, and a couple of cool car wrecks on Cherry Street, but nothing where anyone was hurt; unlike the little girl that I barely knew who was hit in the crosswalk on the other side of the school and died; and everyone said that the car hit her so hard it knocked her eyeballs out; and when I told my Mom that, she hit me up at the side of the head so hard that MY eyeballs almost came out. But Mom was pretty mean back then and I didn't help anything.
Little did I guess back there in 1960-something that I'd already experienced the zenith of my work window gazing. But my life still isn't over yet.
Is being in an old-folks home work?
That's what I think during the weekdays as I stare at the walls of my cubicle. Just feet away from me, a number of individuals look up from their desks and gaze out their windows on the golf course across the highway; the parking lot; the next building; or the cafeteria garbage area (okay, that last one doesn't sound that great).
When the "window" thought entered my mind, I started thinking about each of the offices I've had since I left college and what kind of view they afforded. At first, I had no windows. But then, I got to look at, in order of responsibility; a parking lot, a dog kennel, the side of a Kohl's Department store, a tree ... and then the Chicago River from 20 floors up.
Then things changed. A men's room door, a small warehouse ... and then a series of cubicle walls.
But the ability to stare out a window at something usually comes with a price. And that price is responsibility. I don't mind personal responsibility. That's fine. But I'm through with professional responsibility. That probably happens to almost everyone.
Actually, the best window view I ever had was over 50 years ago, when I was in 4th grade. Yes, I guess there is supposed to be some professional responsibility in going to school. But grade school is different. They make you go. Even though you know you'd be just fine if you didn't, you have to anyway.
In 4th grade, Mrs. Cassidy decided she would sit us in alphabetical order. This didn't go down well with me when she announced it on the first day, because I have a "low" alphabetical name, which would have put me in the first row ... right by the wall and the coat closet. But, unknownst to me, Mrs. Cassidy must have been dyslexic in addition to being ancient and a bitch ... because she started to seat us from her right, instead of her left like a normal American would.
This put me in the row just along the windows. And the windows were seated perfectly. They were low enough so that you could look out without stretching your neck like a giraffe. Just a casual gaze once in a whiile, or a slack-jawed stare if you were so inclined.
And there was so MUCH to look at. The landscaped front lawn of the school. Moderately traveled Cherry Street beyond that ... and the brand new apartments just on the other side of Cherry Street.
It was great. Sure, Mrs. Cassidy yelled at me a lot ... and when she got tired of yelling at me, she would sneak up from behind and bust me in the arm with that goddamned ruler of hers ... but it was worth it. I watched the trees shed their leaves in the Fall, the first snows of Winter, and the incoming birds of Spring. Oh, and a couple of cool car wrecks on Cherry Street, but nothing where anyone was hurt; unlike the little girl that I barely knew who was hit in the crosswalk on the other side of the school and died; and everyone said that the car hit her so hard it knocked her eyeballs out; and when I told my Mom that, she hit me up at the side of the head so hard that MY eyeballs almost came out. But Mom was pretty mean back then and I didn't help anything.
Little did I guess back there in 1960-something that I'd already experienced the zenith of my work window gazing. But my life still isn't over yet.
Is being in an old-folks home work?
March 10, 2012
I'll Be Damned ...
I think I promised last time that my next post would be a bitch-fest, but frankly, I don't feel like it tonight. I had a pretty good day, so I'll save the bitching for later.
This afternoon, I was dialing through the TeeVee channels and happened across a very old monster movie named "The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms". I used to know what a fathom was, but I forgot. I think one fathom equals three Mark Twains, but I'd have to double check.
Anyway, in the movie, the Paleontologist, who later gets eaten in his diving bell, says that the Monster is heading from parts north to the Hudson Submarine Canyon, which is supposedly off the coast of New York City.
I looked at Jan and said "I call bullshit on that". I was smug in my certainty that this was a made up name ... but for some reason, I made a mental note to remember so I could look it up later, to reaffirm my intellectual superiority.
About an hour ago, I typed it into Google ... and son-of-a-bitch! There IS a Hudson Submarine Canyon!
Here are some pictures:
This afternoon, I was dialing through the TeeVee channels and happened across a very old monster movie named "The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms". I used to know what a fathom was, but I forgot. I think one fathom equals three Mark Twains, but I'd have to double check.
Anyway, in the movie, the Paleontologist, who later gets eaten in his diving bell, says that the Monster is heading from parts north to the Hudson Submarine Canyon, which is supposedly off the coast of New York City.
I looked at Jan and said "I call bullshit on that". I was smug in my certainty that this was a made up name ... but for some reason, I made a mental note to remember so I could look it up later, to reaffirm my intellectual superiority.
About an hour ago, I typed it into Google ... and son-of-a-bitch! There IS a Hudson Submarine Canyon!
Here are some pictures:
Pretty damned impressive, isn't it? And I guess I'm not as smart as I thought I was. I suppose even I can learn something almost every day.
Oh, and the Beast From 20,000 Fathoms never made it to the Hudson Submarine Canyon. He got sidetracked by coming ashore at the Port Authority where he ate a policeman and a couple of cars before Lee Van Cleef put on a radiation suit, and armed with a grenade launcher fitted with a radioactive isotope, rode a roller coaster up to where Beastie was and shot him in the balls.
I am not making this shit up.
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