Actually, they’re already here, at least two of them, over down there by Camp Smith. The other morning, one, a juvenile I think, was wheeling low over the water where you cross the Jan Peek Bridge. Stopped at the light, I looked around for others and saw a burly, white-headed grownup perched on a tree on the slope just above the road, so that it was about fifty feet over the crowd of cars stopped three ways at the light. As far as I could see, I was the only driver craning my neck forward and up, and the otherwise secret juxtaposition of the mighty symbol of American dominance with the scrum of commuters wishing they didn’t have to go contribute to the wellbeing of the homeland this one day, was funny.
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Friday, January 18, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
How I Envy Those with Certitude, and the Wealthy; also, Otters
I often find myself believing that doubt makes people more interesting; that those interesting people who are interesting because they display no doubt (not that everyone who displays no doubt is interesting, are you following me, but that some people are interesting because they engage in doubt-worthy enterprises but display no doubt, outwardly) are, in fact, hiding vast reservoirs of doubt and that is what actually makes them interesting.
In case that’s true, I hang on to doubt the way my parents hang on to old newspapers and magazines, and you’d be hard-put to get me to sell it off or, worst of all, throw it away.
Which is why it’s so very very strange that I envy those who are certain. Certain of anything, really, I don’t care what, although I feel most envious of those who are certain about things I disagree with. Because those things would have to be really really hard to believe in the first place. Can you imagine how rock-solid one’s certainty would have to be to be so very very convinced of such things?
I imagine that the Certain Person’s day goes something like this: upon waking in a comfortable bed he or she richly deserves under a roof that could belong to no other, the Certain Person puts on clothes that look terrific and heads downstairs to greet the smartest kids in their class and to eat a perfectly normal breakfast after taking a shower using the infinite supply of hot water. Picking up the keys to the exact right car, he or she leaves his or her hard-won and well-deserved house—a house that fits his or her personality and makes him or her feel a rich sense of achievement—to drive to work at a job that pays the bills and offers a dose of personal pride; this is no fly-by-night outfit, either, but a trusted, benevolent employer where he or she pictures him- or herself advancing into the golden glow of a fulfilling career. Driving to work listening to the news, knowing that we’re fighting for freedom someplace where our enemies live, he or she is comforted by the knowledge that our leaders know best what’s safest for all Americans and will do their utmost to see our lives made even better. And that the Lord is looking out for those leaders, and for the troops, and for each and every one of us. And that criminals are bad bad people, worse than him or her, and deserving of punishment of all kinds. After working really hard at that fulfilling job and doing the best work of anyone in the whole department, he or she heads home with the expectation that the nutritious, prion-free dinner he or she is going to eat will be one of many in an uninterrupted string of healthy meals of great deliciousness. And after the dinner and a dose of very funny and realistic medical television, he or she will go to bed and enjoy the hottest marital relations anyone is having anywhere with his or her immortal spouse, then drift off into what is sure to be a sound sleep, knowing that the next day will be more or less the same, a beautiful necklace of sunrises and sunsets stretching into a restful retirement and a secure old age, followed at last by the eternal reward of the afterlife.
Ahh, the Certain. What a joy it must be to be you.
And then there are the wealthy, who, it is well known, can purchase happiness. And otters are extremely good swimmers and very cute.
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In case that’s true, I hang on to doubt the way my parents hang on to old newspapers and magazines, and you’d be hard-put to get me to sell it off or, worst of all, throw it away.
Which is why it’s so very very strange that I envy those who are certain. Certain of anything, really, I don’t care what, although I feel most envious of those who are certain about things I disagree with. Because those things would have to be really really hard to believe in the first place. Can you imagine how rock-solid one’s certainty would have to be to be so very very convinced of such things?
I imagine that the Certain Person’s day goes something like this: upon waking in a comfortable bed he or she richly deserves under a roof that could belong to no other, the Certain Person puts on clothes that look terrific and heads downstairs to greet the smartest kids in their class and to eat a perfectly normal breakfast after taking a shower using the infinite supply of hot water. Picking up the keys to the exact right car, he or she leaves his or her hard-won and well-deserved house—a house that fits his or her personality and makes him or her feel a rich sense of achievement—to drive to work at a job that pays the bills and offers a dose of personal pride; this is no fly-by-night outfit, either, but a trusted, benevolent employer where he or she pictures him- or herself advancing into the golden glow of a fulfilling career. Driving to work listening to the news, knowing that we’re fighting for freedom someplace where our enemies live, he or she is comforted by the knowledge that our leaders know best what’s safest for all Americans and will do their utmost to see our lives made even better. And that the Lord is looking out for those leaders, and for the troops, and for each and every one of us. And that criminals are bad bad people, worse than him or her, and deserving of punishment of all kinds. After working really hard at that fulfilling job and doing the best work of anyone in the whole department, he or she heads home with the expectation that the nutritious, prion-free dinner he or she is going to eat will be one of many in an uninterrupted string of healthy meals of great deliciousness. And after the dinner and a dose of very funny and realistic medical television, he or she will go to bed and enjoy the hottest marital relations anyone is having anywhere with his or her immortal spouse, then drift off into what is sure to be a sound sleep, knowing that the next day will be more or less the same, a beautiful necklace of sunrises and sunsets stretching into a restful retirement and a secure old age, followed at last by the eternal reward of the afterlife.
Ahh, the Certain. What a joy it must be to be you.
And then there are the wealthy, who, it is well known, can purchase happiness. And otters are extremely good swimmers and very cute.
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Sunday, January 13, 2008
Technicalities
I was an English major, did I mention? So when I say things like "I have changed my feed to a Feedburner feed and if you currently subscribe to my feed you might have to change the settings in your RSS client or Google homepage or what-have-you to be looking at
http://feeds.feedburner.com/exurbitude
...instead of whatever you were looking at before," you should rest assured that to me it sounds like "Έχω αλλάξει την τροφή μου σε μια τροφή Feedburner και εάν προσυπογράφετε αυτήν την περίοδο στην τροφή μου εσείς να πρέπει να αλλάξω τις τοποθετήσεις στον πελάτη RSS ή την αρχική σελίδα Google σας ή τι-έχω-εσείς."
That is all.
UPDATE: Okay, I think I figured it out. DO NOTHING.
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http://feeds.feedburner.com/exurbitude
...instead of whatever you were looking at before," you should rest assured that to me it sounds like "Έχω αλλάξει την τροφή μου σε μια τροφή Feedburner και εάν προσυπογράφετε αυτήν την περίοδο στην τροφή μου εσείς να πρέπει να αλλάξω τις τοποθετήσεις στον πελάτη RSS ή την αρχική σελίδα Google σας ή τι-έχω-εσείς."
That is all.
UPDATE: Okay, I think I figured it out. DO NOTHING.
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Saturday, January 12, 2008
Thank You, Big Government
For: garbage collection, schools, parks, pools, libraries, police, fire departments, retirement insurance, medical care for my poor neighbors, snow plowing, paved roads, streetlights, building inspections, ferries, trains, postal service, national defense, courts, trade regulations, etc.
Where the private sector provides those things, the cost of any one of them is about equal to my entire federal, state and local tax bill.
This post sponsored by the debate over Governor Spitzer's tax cap promise.
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Where the private sector provides those things, the cost of any one of them is about equal to my entire federal, state and local tax bill.
This post sponsored by the debate over Governor Spitzer's tax cap promise.
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Thursday, January 10, 2008
Boiled Down
Reading books and magazines had to go. There was just no time. Now we're down to running, commuting, working, doing chores, telling made-up stories about a frustratingly finite group of cartoon characters, blogging/reading blogs, catching up, sleeping.
I guess the weird thing is that we still actually have the same amount of time that we always had, but we made all these choices, coupled them with commitments to ourselves, and managed to completely fill the time up with activity related to those two facts. Any spare time is taken up thinking about how to solve drainage problems.
With one additional hour per day, I would: run more regularly
With two additional hours per day, I would: pitch more stories to magazines
With three additional hours per day, I would: take up reading again, and write longer pieces
With four additional hours per day, I would: plan and execute drainage projects, train for another marathon, put my kids in daycare less
With five additional hours per day, I would: take half-day trips in the region
...Although what's stopping me now?
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I guess the weird thing is that we still actually have the same amount of time that we always had, but we made all these choices, coupled them with commitments to ourselves, and managed to completely fill the time up with activity related to those two facts. Any spare time is taken up thinking about how to solve drainage problems.
With one additional hour per day, I would: run more regularly
With two additional hours per day, I would: pitch more stories to magazines
With three additional hours per day, I would: take up reading again, and write longer pieces
With four additional hours per day, I would: plan and execute drainage projects, train for another marathon, put my kids in daycare less
With five additional hours per day, I would: take half-day trips in the region
...Although what's stopping me now?
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You're Probably Wondering What's Under the Overhang Next to the Garage
1) Plastic "lawn bench" 2) paint cans 3) plastic basketball net 4) folded 20' x 20' vinyl banners printed with paintings by Degas and Modigliani 5) sawhorses 6) snake containment equipment (old kitty litter container, stick) 7) plastic flowerboxes 8) planting trays 9) bucket 10) recycling bin containing broken vintage glass 11) plastic bucket containing rusty, dangerous old bits of metal 12) plastic flowerpots 13) chaises longues (plastic) 14) bricks 15) box labeled 'eBay' containing various kitchenware.
What's under the overhang beside YOUR garage? he asked, in a transparent attempt to garner comments.
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What's under the overhang beside YOUR garage? he asked, in a transparent attempt to garner comments.
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Monday, January 7, 2008
Root Viewer
I was composting autumn's mums the other day, but of course I'd delayed too long and the potting soil was frozen solid in perfect flowerpot forms. No hope of just sliding the root masses out, I broke the plastic, which cracked in the unruly manner of overly boiled eggshell, flaking off here, sticking stubbornly there and requiring multiple cracks against the railroad-tie wall to come off completely. Inside their glassy shell, the roots were a cross between undersea tentacles and leftover lo mein.
For Christmas we'd gotten the boy a Root Viewer planting kit -- three plastic vials in a wood stand, some peat moss, and seeds: carrot, radish, onion. You plant, then thin down to the one seedling that looks most promising, and watch as it grows a root veggie in the tube. Sounds cool.
I grew up about 58 miles from where I live now. A well-traveled woman who lives with me started out about 11 miles away. This region has always had allure for me; something about the romance of northward, something about the river's origins in the "forever wild" mountains. It seems so natural to live here. It's also not far from my roots, not so foreign that I can't understand it, but just different enough -- a little wilder, a little older -- that it feels like my own place.
How far are you from your roots?
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For Christmas we'd gotten the boy a Root Viewer planting kit -- three plastic vials in a wood stand, some peat moss, and seeds: carrot, radish, onion. You plant, then thin down to the one seedling that looks most promising, and watch as it grows a root veggie in the tube. Sounds cool.
I grew up about 58 miles from where I live now. A well-traveled woman who lives with me started out about 11 miles away. This region has always had allure for me; something about the romance of northward, something about the river's origins in the "forever wild" mountains. It seems so natural to live here. It's also not far from my roots, not so foreign that I can't understand it, but just different enough -- a little wilder, a little older -- that it feels like my own place.
How far are you from your roots?
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