Thursday, June 24, 2010
Traveling to Connecticut
The drive up wen much better than expected. I ran all the numbers and
talked with people and decided on I-81 to I-84, which avoids I-95
almost entirely and eliminates and the drive through DC, Baltimore,
Philadelphia, and New York City. On the way back, we will use 95 and
go through all of these. Having grown up in DC, a disaster causing a 5
hour interstate closure always looms large on the horizon. There was
in fact such a problem on I-270 in Maryland when we left Wednesday
morning. One crash can cause miles of 5 MPH driving.
talked with people and decided on I-81 to I-84, which avoids I-95
almost entirely and eliminates and the drive through DC, Baltimore,
Philadelphia, and New York City. On the way back, we will use 95 and
go through all of these. Having grown up in DC, a disaster causing a 5
hour interstate closure always looms large on the horizon. There was
in fact such a problem on I-270 in Maryland when we left Wednesday
morning. One crash can cause miles of 5 MPH driving.
As part of that number crunching to plan the trip, I ended up with a
lot of data. If you punch in the address directly, the GPS and Google
Maps will take you straight up 95. So I had to enter multiple segments
into the GPS to try different routes. Google Maps makes it easier to
try different routes, but you can't import the routes into my GPS and
the time estimates are different. Anyway, all those numbers gave me a
12+ hour estimate from my parents in Manassas, Va to Hammonasset State
Park in Madison, Ct. Somewhere I double counted, and the drive was
only 10 hours with stops and a few slow downs. We arrived at about 5
PM. The temperature was already cooling down, which is completely
different from Durham, where it's still 80+ degrees after dark.
You are a genius Lara! You found a beach with comfortable camping.
The campground is very large. There are some trees, but you don't
have the private alcove afforded in NC mountain camping., so we are
much closer to our neighbors. Sound wasn't a issue at night. Unlike
Lake Powhatan last week, we didn't hear anyone at 11 PM discussing the
merits of urinating in the shower: "Dude it's got a drain." and "Dude
I'm going to use that later" then "just rinse it off."
Instead I saw a beautiful full moon glistening off the water. I also
found the ice cream vending machine in case we get hungry at night.
I'm more practical than romantic.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Road trip to New England
I appreciate people's efforts to lower oil consumption, but Summer's not the time. (It's not just America - you'll see legions of cars lined up along the beaches in Europe, too). But at least we will be HOV with 3 people. Along the way, we'll briefly visit family near DC and Philadelphia. We'll be taking the trip over ten days, driving through the mountains on the way up and urban I-95 (uggh) on the way back. To keep it affordable we'll be camping which allows us to keep both lodging and food costs down. We hope it won't be hot nor wet. Our bodies are tuned to North Carolina weather, so almost anything will seem cooler.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
We should then remain silent
What can we say when things don't make sense? Especially after an end to a tragic life? Below there is a valuable passage from a new book that addresses this subject.
Some Background:
Dr. Hauerwas, a Duke professor of Theology, has written a memoir that includes theology, his career, and his family. It's much more readable than a standard theology text, but it still delves into theological issues. Some of the most heartbreaking but valuable lessons come from his relationship with Anne, his first wife and the mother of his son. She had a very serious case of bipolar disorder. Her family put up with the abusive behavior that the disease provoked, but eventually she initiated a divorce and moved away.
There is no chapter in the book titled "Anne." The story is somewhat abruptly interwoven into other stories, I suppose the way traumas tend to exist around the rest our lives. Even while waiting on the results of a loved one's surgery, you still have to return to mundane life as you wrestle with the hospital vending machine to outwit it so it will take your dollar bill for dinner.
______
Anne has been dead for almost ten years. Like her mother, she died in her late fifties of congestive heart failure. She had been living in a controlled living arrangement that allowed her some independence....After she had died some days passed before her body was discovered.
...
The way she died served only to make me acutely aware of how lonely her life had been. That her loneliness was self-imposed does not make it any less sad. What possibly can be said about life so lived?
I am a Christian theologian. People assume I am supposed to be able to answer that question. I have no idea how to answer that question. If anything what I have learned over the years as a Christian theologian is that none of us should try to answer such questions. Our humanity demands that we ask them, but if we are wise we should then remain silent.... When Christianity is assumed to be an "answer" that makes the world intelligible, it reflects an accommodated church committed to assuring Christians that the way things are is the way things have to be.
...
Faith is but a name for learning how to go on without knowing the answers. That is to put the matter too simply, but at least such a claim might suggest why find that being a Christian makes life so damned interesting.
_______________
One area where I would differ from the text is the idea that Anne's loneliness was self-imposed. Chronic disease is really its own agent, here bringing on consequences for which the self would never wish.
The ability to come clean and confess that we don't know what going on, probably a lot of the time, is difficult in a society of rapid knowledge accumulation. But coming up with a contrived answer can be more hurtful than admitting ignorance.
Many Christians reject the "health and wealth" gospel - do the right things and God will bless us materially (think of the promises of "Prayer of Jabez"). But a lot of us were trained in a "know and go in peace" gospel, where God gives us answers, peace of mind, and a clear path when we do the right things. We hope for such a blessing, but we shouldn't expect it. Followers as noble as Mother Theresa very often felt the absence of God more intensely than the peace of God even as they passionately served to bring peace and good news to the world (that Mother Theresa's situation was only revealed in writings released against her wishes after her death may point to embarrassment in not meeting our expectations of peace and guidance from God). Removing that expectation allows us to long for meaning and peace of mind while freeing us to love even if we don't experience those good blessings.
Think of U2's "40" singing "I will sing a new song" with the repeated "How long to sing to this [not so new or desirable] song?" which was heavily inspired from Psalm 40, triumphantly proclaiming,
I waited patiently for the LORD;
he turned to me and heard my cry.
yet still ending with a plea,
Yet I am poor and needy ,
may the Lord think of me.
You are my help and my deliverer;
O my God, do not delay.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Pictures for a good week
Here's some happy thoughts for the week and a lesson in international politics and entertainment. Even irritated people can look amusing. It's not all schadenfreude - just seeing people who are carefully presented to us actually experiencing normal emotions outside of the carefully polished presentations. Speaking of German, here the ultimate SAT word: Rindfleischetikettierungsüberwachungsaufgabenübertragungsgesetz
(das, 63 letters), meaning "beef labeling regulation & delegation of supervision law" from german.about.com.
German Chancellor Angela Merkel, looking unhappy about Europe's financial woes. Given German facial expressions she make actually look happy.
President Obama unhappy about oil, I think. Or maybe unhappy about our reaction to it. A similar version is here.
And to make this blog entry even more unimportant: Here Bella seems ready to throw up, perhaps over being in love with a vampire. Edward looks good though, downright tanned given his normal pale demeanor.
(das, 63 letters), meaning "beef labeling regulation & delegation of supervision law" from german.about.com.
Friday, June 4, 2010
The game, the rain, and the mustard
It was Memorial Day weekend. The Cable Company sent us a coupon to actually save us money on a Durham Bulls game instead of raising our rates: $5 for a reserved seat and a free hot dog. And the weather wasn't going to be too hot. 70% chance of rain, but that still leaves a possibility of good weather right? As the week went on, the probability of rain for Friday dropped from 70 to 60 to 51%. Make a straight line graph, the probability of rain on Friday the 28th would be to about 0% on June 3 or so. It's all about the future, so let's follow that graph and buy some tickets.
I dropped Lara off at the box office and looked for parking. My family history genetically predispositions me toward coupons (ticket to the game), free food (free hot dog), and free parking (bypassing next door garages). So several blocks later, where Jackie Robinson drive turns a corner, there is a big lot across from the tall NC Mutual Life building. People pass the lot because of a sign - No ballpark parking. But slow down long enough for people to honk at you (transplanted Yankees not locals, I hope) and you see the smaller sign - Except after 6 PM. Brilliant.
Ten minutes of walking later and I was back with Lara. We met Amber and her family and found our seats, by the third base side, with a clear view of the "Hit Bull Win Steak, Hit Grass Win Salad" sign (picture).
As usual the Bulls did well, and it was a close game. Amber's family ate before the game, so Lara and I got two free hot dogs each. We probably spent almost a full inning in line for a hot dog that was eaten before we made it back to our seats, but free tastes good. But a fully loaded dog is dangerous, and my shorts paid the price: a mustard stain. I started treating it with water immediately, but I despaired that I had just ruined another piece of comfortable clothing.
So we've gotten several paragraphs in and there hasn't been much about the game here. I'm sad to say I'm slowly drifting into the group of people for whom the game is just a background for social interaction. It shouldn't be an either/or. We should be fully invested in each other and the game at the same time. It's supposed to be a little brick ballpark utopia revitalizing downtown through people and sports and commerce and food all wrapped together. If it's only about the people, couldn't we just sit around in that free parking lot space I found and talk? (still bragging about the space). But we enjoyed each other anyway.
Around the ninth inning, it was clear the Bulls had a very good chance of winning, and that the probability of rain was also very high. Thunder poked at the edge of the city. The temperature dropped. Wind blew about. So normally the faint of heart would leave. But Friday night is fireworks night. We even have umbrellas.
The drops come so slowly and so far spaced apart that I turned my head up to the sky and just watched them come down around me, rarely hitting me. This I can handle. We'll move to the shelter that's over the sections behind home plate after the game and see the fireworks nice and dry. The pace of the rain gradually picked up. The Bulls staff immediately rolled out the field covering after the game ended. Yet, they still towed a little trailer out onto the field. This trailer completely automates the fireworks process. The ballpark lights went dark, and we knew the fireworks were on. Cheers erupted as the show went on. Then squeals erupted as the gradually increasing rain became driving sheets of rain.. We were five rows within the shelter, and we still had to get out our umbrellas to avoid getting drenched. The little fireworks robot worked its heart out, so the cheers and squeals continued.
The fireworks over, we huddled underneath the stadium waiting for the rain to end. The driving rain now became persistent driving rain. After several minutes, I decided to bring the car back. This is where the paid garage across the street looked attractive. The me of that moment of 9:30 PM wanted to have a conversation with me at 6:30. The parking was free, it must be good. Yet, it's far enough way that I could get lost. I can get lost in your own subdivision, when it's sunny. Too late. I still had the umbrella, but it ended up functioning more like a visor. Even after travelling through a sheltered block of the American Tobacco Campus shopping district, I still had blocks more to go. Summer rain isn't bitter cold, so it was no disaster, but it was like one of those water ride signs, "You will get wet!"
I did get a little lost driving back to the park on the dark rainy streets. I panicked momentarily when I called Lara to come to the car and she didn't answer. Was I going to have to re-park the car and go back in and find her? And would I then have to again consider paying for parking? But she came out shortly. I have apparently trained her in the arts of cheapness so thoroughly that she did not want to lower her prepaid cell phone balance by answering the call.
End result: the deli mustard, the type of thing that I could not get out with stain remover and a long rinse plus an extended cycle, was completely out of my shorts by the time I got home. Now that they are naturally, organically, fair trade, locally sourced washed, I will sell the shorts at the farmer's market.
For a more satisfying ending, stop here.
To be honest, the next morning, when I went to wash the shorts, I saw that some of the stain still remained. My hope had clouded my vision. But I still maintain that there was some improvement.
I dropped Lara off at the box office and looked for parking. My family history genetically predispositions me toward coupons (ticket to the game), free food (free hot dog), and free parking (bypassing next door garages). So several blocks later, where Jackie Robinson drive turns a corner, there is a big lot across from the tall NC Mutual Life building. People pass the lot because of a sign - No ballpark parking. But slow down long enough for people to honk at you (transplanted Yankees not locals, I hope) and you see the smaller sign - Except after 6 PM. Brilliant.
Ten minutes of walking later and I was back with Lara. We met Amber and her family and found our seats, by the third base side, with a clear view of the "Hit Bull Win Steak, Hit Grass Win Salad" sign (picture).
As usual the Bulls did well, and it was a close game. Amber's family ate before the game, so Lara and I got two free hot dogs each. We probably spent almost a full inning in line for a hot dog that was eaten before we made it back to our seats, but free tastes good. But a fully loaded dog is dangerous, and my shorts paid the price: a mustard stain. I started treating it with water immediately, but I despaired that I had just ruined another piece of comfortable clothing.
So we've gotten several paragraphs in and there hasn't been much about the game here. I'm sad to say I'm slowly drifting into the group of people for whom the game is just a background for social interaction. It shouldn't be an either/or. We should be fully invested in each other and the game at the same time. It's supposed to be a little brick ballpark utopia revitalizing downtown through people and sports and commerce and food all wrapped together. If it's only about the people, couldn't we just sit around in that free parking lot space I found and talk? (still bragging about the space). But we enjoyed each other anyway.
Around the ninth inning, it was clear the Bulls had a very good chance of winning, and that the probability of rain was also very high. Thunder poked at the edge of the city. The temperature dropped. Wind blew about. So normally the faint of heart would leave. But Friday night is fireworks night. We even have umbrellas.
The drops come so slowly and so far spaced apart that I turned my head up to the sky and just watched them come down around me, rarely hitting me. This I can handle. We'll move to the shelter that's over the sections behind home plate after the game and see the fireworks nice and dry. The pace of the rain gradually picked up. The Bulls staff immediately rolled out the field covering after the game ended. Yet, they still towed a little trailer out onto the field. This trailer completely automates the fireworks process. The ballpark lights went dark, and we knew the fireworks were on. Cheers erupted as the show went on. Then squeals erupted as the gradually increasing rain became driving sheets of rain.. We were five rows within the shelter, and we still had to get out our umbrellas to avoid getting drenched. The little fireworks robot worked its heart out, so the cheers and squeals continued.
The fireworks over, we huddled underneath the stadium waiting for the rain to end. The driving rain now became persistent driving rain. After several minutes, I decided to bring the car back. This is where the paid garage across the street looked attractive. The me of that moment of 9:30 PM wanted to have a conversation with me at 6:30. The parking was free, it must be good. Yet, it's far enough way that I could get lost. I can get lost in your own subdivision, when it's sunny. Too late. I still had the umbrella, but it ended up functioning more like a visor. Even after travelling through a sheltered block of the American Tobacco Campus shopping district, I still had blocks more to go. Summer rain isn't bitter cold, so it was no disaster, but it was like one of those water ride signs, "You will get wet!"
I did get a little lost driving back to the park on the dark rainy streets. I panicked momentarily when I called Lara to come to the car and she didn't answer. Was I going to have to re-park the car and go back in and find her? And would I then have to again consider paying for parking? But she came out shortly. I have apparently trained her in the arts of cheapness so thoroughly that she did not want to lower her prepaid cell phone balance by answering the call.
End result: the deli mustard, the type of thing that I could not get out with stain remover and a long rinse plus an extended cycle, was completely out of my shorts by the time I got home. Now that they are naturally, organically, fair trade, locally sourced washed, I will sell the shorts at the farmer's market.
For a more satisfying ending, stop here.
To be honest, the next morning, when I went to wash the shorts, I saw that some of the stain still remained. My hope had clouded my vision. But I still maintain that there was some improvement.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
This time it's local. Our taxes at work, or sleeping on the job.
Durham I love you, but you got to step up your game.
I've had a couple of interactions in the past few weeks that confirm those stereotypes where competence isn't the number one goal of government. Maybe that wouldn't be a problem if there were another obvious and important goal.
Number one: Durham county keeps forgetting the reproductive capacity of my cats and tries to charge me $150 for the honor of owning them. (1a Durham county cares about and keeps records on the reproductive capacity of our cats).
Number two: A city employee decided to estimate water usage instead of reading the meters. Four months later, the city caught him, without announcing any form of prosecution and even protecting his privacy.
Situation 1: Cat Fertility
First, friends ask, why do they tax cats at all? Because they can. Cable Internet doesn't get taxed because Youtube is a public service. But, my indoor cats suck city services like they slurp water from open toilets, and a few hundred dollars in property taxes a month can't be expected to cover those services. $75 is the annual charge for reproductively enabled animals, so $10 a year for neutered pets seems like a bargain.
This is the second instance in which the county tax collector has lost its documentation that our cats are spayed. The first time, I had to find proof and fax it to them. They admitted data had been lost when the tax duty was transferred from the animal people to the tax people. Oops. They were friendly, but their belief that it was my duty to repair their mistake was bizarre, bizarre enough to not make it worth challenging. You don't argue with the homeless guy who thinks he is Napoleon. You just ask him how the latest battle is going.
But the second time, enough was enough:
I wrote them Friday. We'll see what happens.
Situation 2: The Hope of A Good Toilet Valve
I installed new toilet valves in all three toilets to correct some dripping issues. A little dripping can use a lot of water. One involved some drilling upside in a confined space for several minutes to get a stuck screw undone. So when I got a bill that covered two months of water usage, and it asked for only $30, I was overjoyed to know that my clumsy projects had accomplished something. I was saving money and saving the city from another drought. I was a good citizen. My toilets were good citizens. Each flush was a source of pride.
Then a letter from the city arrived.
No explanation was given on why my hopes were being dashed, but I knew, in my heart, that my achievements had been a lie. But the citizenship of my toilets was now in question. My cynicism lead me to recall a story from our friend Lori, a nurse. She ran into a nursing assistant at a certain prominent hospital (whose name may be present in the title of a show with a car called the General Lee) who was casually touching a patient and then writing down a number. It was supposed to be a pulse reading. The assistant just decided that it was less effort to write down a random number than taking 10 seconds to read a pulse. I didn't know if a meter reader had just decided to guess, but the lack of an explanation made me suspicious.
Then Sarah forwarded an email from a neighborhood group with information on the water problem, including
So laziness was the culprit. If this were a business, they would be embarrassed and not make people pay the higher (if accurate) bills. But alas. To have replaced toilet valves and lost is better than to have never replaced at all.
I think I'm in with Shemeecka [sic] from the web story, who now has to pay higher bills to cover the water not previously billed. Lower bills while the fraud was on helped keep it going. I was perplexed, but I wasn't going to call in, waste my time, and wade through departments to get an answer when the bill was in my favor. Now, if he had done it the other way, people would have been "outraged" at the beginning.
The fraud prevention technique for the city would have involved an advanced statistical technique called Microsoft Excel (do you pronounce ex-seal or x-ull?) This program averages and totals so you can see that one route increased usage 5% while another decreased 38%. You can even compare the same route year to year if you employ the super-happy-plus version with multiple tabs.
The employee is apparently protected by privacy laws. I don't think that should protect him from prosecution. Fraud is fraud and abuse of the public trust is a big deal. And failing to manage employees should be a big deal for the water department.
In protest to lower my water bill, I shower and wash my clothes using water from fire hydrants. If you hear water flowing from your hydrant, just look away. It's not embarrassing to me; it's embarrassing to the man, man.
I've had a couple of interactions in the past few weeks that confirm those stereotypes where competence isn't the number one goal of government. Maybe that wouldn't be a problem if there were another obvious and important goal.
Number one: Durham county keeps forgetting the reproductive capacity of my cats and tries to charge me $150 for the honor of owning them. (1a Durham county cares about and keeps records on the reproductive capacity of our cats).
Number two: A city employee decided to estimate water usage instead of reading the meters. Four months later, the city caught him, without announcing any form of prosecution and even protecting his privacy.
Situation 1: Cat Fertility
First, friends ask, why do they tax cats at all? Because they can. Cable Internet doesn't get taxed because Youtube is a public service. But, my indoor cats suck city services like they slurp water from open toilets, and a few hundred dollars in property taxes a month can't be expected to cover those services. $75 is the annual charge for reproductively enabled animals, so $10 a year for neutered pets seems like a bargain.
This is the second instance in which the county tax collector has lost its documentation that our cats are spayed. The first time, I had to find proof and fax it to them. They admitted data had been lost when the tax duty was transferred from the animal people to the tax people. Oops. They were friendly, but their belief that it was my duty to repair their mistake was bizarre, bizarre enough to not make it worth challenging. You don't argue with the homeless guy who thinks he is Napoleon. You just ask him how the latest battle is going.
But the second time, enough was enough:
To: tax_assessor@co.durham.nc.us
Re:
Bill 5553289
Owner ID 5555845
Animal ID A555756
The cat in question is spayed. Examing receipt 5556153 on your own web site will show the same cat was spayed last year. We have not performed any reproductive surgery to bring her kitten producing abilities back to life. She is available for inspection to confirm this claim. She is very friendly, especially if you bring treats.
This is the second time I have had to address your loss of data on a cat. Please fix your systems. Please mark our cat Carolina as spayed and resubmit a bill. Also subtract $5 from the $10 tax to reflect the value of my time the last two times I have had to address this issue.
I wrote them Friday. We'll see what happens.
Situation 2: The Hope of A Good Toilet Valve
I installed new toilet valves in all three toilets to correct some dripping issues. A little dripping can use a lot of water. One involved some drilling upside in a confined space for several minutes to get a stuck screw undone. So when I got a bill that covered two months of water usage, and it asked for only $30, I was overjoyed to know that my clumsy projects had accomplished something. I was saving money and saving the city from another drought. I was a good citizen. My toilets were good citizens. Each flush was a source of pride.
Then a letter from the city arrived.
It has recently come to our attention that water meters in some of our districts may have been misread, resulting in lower or higher than usual or water bills.
No explanation was given on why my hopes were being dashed, but I knew, in my heart, that my achievements had been a lie. But the citizenship of my toilets was now in question. My cynicism lead me to recall a story from our friend Lori, a nurse. She ran into a nursing assistant at a certain prominent hospital (whose name may be present in the title of a show with a car called the General Lee) who was casually touching a patient and then writing down a number. It was supposed to be a pulse reading. The assistant just decided that it was less effort to write down a random number than taking 10 seconds to read a pulse. I didn't know if a meter reader had just decided to guess, but the lack of an explanation made me suspicious.
Then Sarah forwarded an email from a neighborhood group with information on the water problem, including
http://www.wral.com/news/local/story/7462069/
So laziness was the culprit. If this were a business, they would be embarrassed and not make people pay the higher (if accurate) bills. But alas. To have replaced toilet valves and lost is better than to have never replaced at all.
I think I'm in with Shemeecka [sic] from the web story, who now has to pay higher bills to cover the water not previously billed. Lower bills while the fraud was on helped keep it going. I was perplexed, but I wasn't going to call in, waste my time, and wade through departments to get an answer when the bill was in my favor. Now, if he had done it the other way, people would have been "outraged" at the beginning.
The fraud prevention technique for the city would have involved an advanced statistical technique called Microsoft Excel (do you pronounce ex-seal or x-ull?) This program averages and totals so you can see that one route increased usage 5% while another decreased 38%. You can even compare the same route year to year if you employ the super-happy-plus version with multiple tabs.
The employee is apparently protected by privacy laws. I don't think that should protect him from prosecution. Fraud is fraud and abuse of the public trust is a big deal. And failing to manage employees should be a big deal for the water department.
In protest to lower my water bill, I shower and wash my clothes using water from fire hydrants. If you hear water flowing from your hydrant, just look away. It's not embarrassing to me; it's embarrassing to the man, man.
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