Saturday, August 31, 2013
Where is Dick Durbin, Harry Reid, Chuck Schumer? These guys all seem pretty eager to shove a microphone down their throat
— S.M (@redsteeze) August 31, 2013
Of course he did
Did Obama refer to the U.S. Military as "My Military" today? Yes he did!
— Nachumlist.com (@Nachumlist) August 30, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
Ain't this familiar? A dithering politician, a gelded leadership class, and a boatload of well-meaning cannon fodder
Official: Ship carrying Marines arrive in Med
Hang in there, boys and girls, I know what it's like to be a puppet of the political class.
Hang in there, boys and girls, I know what it's like to be a puppet of the political class.
I had an old colleague and friend visit this week and that, combined with the intermittent Internet outage, caused me to be offline for most of that time. Things are now back to normal, though, as the WiFi is working and the guest is gone.
It's a funny thing about academics; they spend so much time living in dorms that they never quite adjust to being in a house. My friend came to stay and, to lessen the impact on a home that isn't mine, and that enjoys a cleaning service only once a month when it's otherwise vacant, I moved him into the guest room and me back out to the truck. I slept remarkably well, as the nights were cool and you can hear the surf.
My old friend leaves a trail behind him wherever he goes, though. The guest room looked like a frat house's, the living room was filled with half empty coffee mugs and power bar wrappers; by the pool sat a rather conspicuous can of Bud Light Lime. I really shouldn't have shown him how to operate the elaborate European coffee maker, mainly as he changed all of the settings. Killer Joe was exhausted by it all and spent most of his time sleeping behind the pool's storage shed.
Still, it was good to have another human with me, someone undemanding and with whom I have a great portion of history. It's also nice that, unlike most of my colleagues, he actually strives for physical fitness, so I had a running, swimming, surfing partner, too. It was nice to hear of the academic rat race, as it simply ratified my decision to leave it all behind.
Now, to catch up on the news, especially as I see that Mr. Peace Prize is using the lives of others to draw attention away from his abysmal poll numbers, and to polish an academic article that will keep me relevant and solvent for a little while longer. Unless the rain stops, of course, and then it's to the water.
It's a funny thing about academics; they spend so much time living in dorms that they never quite adjust to being in a house. My friend came to stay and, to lessen the impact on a home that isn't mine, and that enjoys a cleaning service only once a month when it's otherwise vacant, I moved him into the guest room and me back out to the truck. I slept remarkably well, as the nights were cool and you can hear the surf.
My old friend leaves a trail behind him wherever he goes, though. The guest room looked like a frat house's, the living room was filled with half empty coffee mugs and power bar wrappers; by the pool sat a rather conspicuous can of Bud Light Lime. I really shouldn't have shown him how to operate the elaborate European coffee maker, mainly as he changed all of the settings. Killer Joe was exhausted by it all and spent most of his time sleeping behind the pool's storage shed.
Still, it was good to have another human with me, someone undemanding and with whom I have a great portion of history. It's also nice that, unlike most of my colleagues, he actually strives for physical fitness, so I had a running, swimming, surfing partner, too. It was nice to hear of the academic rat race, as it simply ratified my decision to leave it all behind.
Now, to catch up on the news, especially as I see that Mr. Peace Prize is using the lives of others to draw attention away from his abysmal poll numbers, and to polish an academic article that will keep me relevant and solvent for a little while longer. Unless the rain stops, of course, and then it's to the water.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
"If gun control worked, Chicago would be Mayberry right now!" - @CamEdwards http://t.co/fdxCt1msOC
— jimgeraghty (@jimgeraghty) August 22, 2013
I'm guessing the president won't be commenting on their hypothetical resemblance to his hypothetical sons http://t.co/xPaXQDwsEd
— David Burge (@iowahawkblog) August 20, 2013
Dad as moron
After watching their latest commercial, I'll have to eliminate Oscar Meyer products from my menu.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Despair caught up with me rather strongly yesterday, right out of the blue. While at the end of what had been a very reasonable surf set, especially for August, I suddenly realized that I was closing in on the age at which many people start gearing down for retirement, that I was a childless widower with no siblings, and would probably see my health reach a point where my peripatetic life would not be sustainable. If I were to become seriously, even mortally ill, I would have no one to count on during those final months.
I just went back to the house that isn't mine, empty yet again, accidentally stepped on the cat's tail, thus alienating him for the rest of the evening, and watched television. It was one of those times when I wished the island had a bar so that I could walk there and find even transient, inebriate company. Self-pity is always unattractive, but especially so with those who, like myself, have lived for awhile and have had a life of success and interest.
Sometimes it's just best to go to sleep.
Not that today was much better, but this sensation does encourage me to make plans for the future and not slip so easily into despair's clutches. I may head for Florida sooner than I had planned, spending the better portion of the month in the Keys before heading towards Daytona for the duration of the winter; or until a house-sitting opportunity presents itself in southern California.
I just went back to the house that isn't mine, empty yet again, accidentally stepped on the cat's tail, thus alienating him for the rest of the evening, and watched television. It was one of those times when I wished the island had a bar so that I could walk there and find even transient, inebriate company. Self-pity is always unattractive, but especially so with those who, like myself, have lived for awhile and have had a life of success and interest.
Sometimes it's just best to go to sleep.
Not that today was much better, but this sensation does encourage me to make plans for the future and not slip so easily into despair's clutches. I may head for Florida sooner than I had planned, spending the better portion of the month in the Keys before heading towards Daytona for the duration of the winter; or until a house-sitting opportunity presents itself in southern California.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Well, I didn't leave, but it has been a complicated weekend. Again. The home owner came back for the weekend, found that all was well, even Killer Joe had gained some weight, and now seems to have put together a plot to keep me here through the winter. Honestly, is there anything more endearing/annoying than a woman who decides she needs to fix some guy's life?
I'm going to stay almost to the end of October, as the waves are supposed to be massive this fall, and then head on down to Daytona Beach for no reason other than that I've never been there and I can get a sub-let for $750 a month. A long trip down I-95 should be fun, too, as long as I do it in the middle of the night, at least through D.C. metro traffic.
I'm going to stay almost to the end of October, as the waves are supposed to be massive this fall, and then head on down to Daytona Beach for no reason other than that I've never been there and I can get a sub-let for $750 a month. A long trip down I-95 should be fun, too, as long as I do it in the middle of the night, at least through D.C. metro traffic.
Friday, August 16, 2013
I awoke suddenly and a little confused, knocking my reading glasses and travel alarm from the nightstand, not quite sure where I was. I usually keep my gestures controlled as I spend most of the year sleeping in the back of a pickup truck where there is limited room and rapid movement usually results in a collision with the aluminum walls, but I'm clearly getting used to sleeping indoors and in a bed. I'm not sure that's what's best, though.
The home owner returns this morning for a couple of days, so I may be sleeping in the truck again. Or not. It doesn't matter really, except that the water has been unseasonably cold and greasy with storm-churned flotsam, so I really don't feel like surfing today or running. I have a stack of letters to write to people, as I like the intimacy of letters over e-mail, and may spend some time in the library. I'll drive there and then have a late lunch at a bay-side restaurant in the next island south of here. It'll be a leisurely meal, as they always let me hang out, at least until the early birds come from the nearby assisted living community.
The Weltschmerz is running strong today, though, and I'm missing my wife and wanting to share all of these experiences and days in the sun and surf with her. She loved beaches and swimming. Ah, hell.
Maybe it's just time to move on....
The home owner returns this morning for a couple of days, so I may be sleeping in the truck again. Or not. It doesn't matter really, except that the water has been unseasonably cold and greasy with storm-churned flotsam, so I really don't feel like surfing today or running. I have a stack of letters to write to people, as I like the intimacy of letters over e-mail, and may spend some time in the library. I'll drive there and then have a late lunch at a bay-side restaurant in the next island south of here. It'll be a leisurely meal, as they always let me hang out, at least until the early birds come from the nearby assisted living community.
The Weltschmerz is running strong today, though, and I'm missing my wife and wanting to share all of these experiences and days in the sun and surf with her. She loved beaches and swimming. Ah, hell.
Maybe it's just time to move on....
Thursday, August 15, 2013
A normal day, except that the lawn crew didn't show up. I gave them until noon and then cancelled them and did it myself. The home owner will arrive tomorrow and the place needs to look just right. I also cleaned the kitchen and ate out tonight, getting some fish and chips from a fry shop and sitting on the beach watching the sun set. It was more visceral that I wanted as the fish folks forgot to put either napkins or utencils in the bag. Still....
Now I'm watching a baseball game between teams from a fudge shop on the boardwalk and a bar on the mainland. It's really a perfect evening for it.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Sometimes I'm forced to remember my age. My shoulders have been bothering me this week. I wasn't sure if I had strained them somehow in the surf, or ran in a tense posture, or am coming down with some respiratory illness. Maybe a combination of all three. I need to remember that I've been on earth since Eisenhower was president and need to take a healing day and probably more often than I do. As it stands, I have spent the last week surfing/swimming twice a day and running at least two miles. Yeah, that may be a bit much.
Another pleasant baseball night at the the Shark Bar with good surf this morning. Really, there's nothing much else to mention except I think I'll take the next 24 hours off and do some writing. Killer Joe keeps me good company and I can always take a stretch in the pool. No baseball tonight, I don't think. Maybe I'll go out to eat locally, although not at the grease-pits on the boardwalk. There's a place that makes a fat fish taco a couple of blocks away and Killer Joe and I can share it by the pool with some Plymouth gin from my hostess' larder.
'til then, folks....
Another pleasant baseball night at the the Shark Bar with good surf this morning. Really, there's nothing much else to mention except I think I'll take the next 24 hours off and do some writing. Killer Joe keeps me good company and I can always take a stretch in the pool. No baseball tonight, I don't think. Maybe I'll go out to eat locally, although not at the grease-pits on the boardwalk. There's a place that makes a fat fish taco a couple of blocks away and Killer Joe and I can share it by the pool with some Plymouth gin from my hostess' larder.
'til then, folks....
Of course she is. She should have thought it through first, though. It's hard to claim "racism" when you're beating up some Swiss shop clerk whose crime was not recognizing you.
Is Oprah Pushing Racism Story to Promote New Movie?
Some usually tedious law professor, who generally likes to talk about the things he owns and make mild references to his sex life and desire to live forever, actually has something useful to say about this:
"My favorite bit is this, though: “We have to come to grips in this country that we have unconscious bias.” In this country. Oprah’s story was about Switzerland. Maybe the unconscious bias is in assuming that everyone’s as racist as Democratic media folks.
Plus, from the comments: “A story about personal experience with racism probably shouldn’t be set in a Swiss boutique for rich tourists. For future reference.”
And pushback from the store: “Maybe she was somewhat offended because she was not immediately recognized.”Hey, it’s not like she’s still on TV or anything.
Finally, Oprah rows back and TMZ isn’t having any of it: Passive Aggressive Oprah Gives BS Apology for Switzerland Racist Flap.“O’s full of it. What did she think was going to happen when she went on national TV and cried racism? The media was just going to ignore that?? Oprah once ragged on hamburgers and single-handedly CRIPPLED the beef industry. She knew damn well how the media was going to handle the Switzerland situation … which is why she went to the media in the first place. Her mission was to destroy the shop.”
Turns out she did more damage to her own brand. What’s left of it.
UPDATE: “I don’t know why she is making these accusations. She is so powerful and I am just a shop girl.”Race-talk these days is mostly a way for the powerful to keep the ‘shop girls’ in their place."
Some usually tedious law professor, who generally likes to talk about the things he owns and make mild references to his sex life and desire to live forever, actually has something useful to say about this:
"My favorite bit is this, though: “We have to come to grips in this country that we have unconscious bias.” In this country. Oprah’s story was about Switzerland. Maybe the unconscious bias is in assuming that everyone’s as racist as Democratic media folks.
Plus, from the comments: “A story about personal experience with racism probably shouldn’t be set in a Swiss boutique for rich tourists. For future reference.”
And pushback from the store: “Maybe she was somewhat offended because she was not immediately recognized.”Hey, it’s not like she’s still on TV or anything.
Finally, Oprah rows back and TMZ isn’t having any of it: Passive Aggressive Oprah Gives BS Apology for Switzerland Racist Flap.“O’s full of it. What did she think was going to happen when she went on national TV and cried racism? The media was just going to ignore that?? Oprah once ragged on hamburgers and single-handedly CRIPPLED the beef industry. She knew damn well how the media was going to handle the Switzerland situation … which is why she went to the media in the first place. Her mission was to destroy the shop.”
Turns out she did more damage to her own brand. What’s left of it.
UPDATE: “I don’t know why she is making these accusations. She is so powerful and I am just a shop girl.”Race-talk these days is mostly a way for the powerful to keep the ‘shop girls’ in their place."
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Really good surf today, despite a little experience of heavy rain in the morning. No one out during the dawn patrol and only a couple of others during the late afternoon, with the beach patrol giving it up early along with the swimmers, it made for a pleasant day.
A pleasant evening last night, too, at the Shark Bar. Not as nostalgic as I thought, as the old place would have never offered Kobe beef cheeseburgers, but my venerable Phillies hat served me well as I joined the vociferous locals in watching them play the Nationals. It was so pleasant that I might go back tonight and get to be a familiar. Besides, I burned about 800 calories today and am in no danger of beer bulk.
Actually, it may not be a bad idea to get to be known as a non-local local, as my house-sitting has been extended a week and may stretch into the whole month of October, since the home's owner is going to be looking at condos in Florida and then spending some time in Italy. She'll be here this weekend, which may or may not be awkward, given our indulgence the week before last, but maybe not.
I do want to be careful, though, that I don't get sedentary. It's nice to live in a house and not in the modified "bedroom" in a pickup truck's bed, sleeping with some mildewing books and a surfboard. At the house in the evenings, Killer Joe the cat and I sit in the yard, look at the pool lights shimmer, listen to the surf at the end of the street, and enjoy life. More weeks here means it's harder to leave. That, plus the occasional conviviality that seems to be on offer from the home's owner, could make this a really hard place to leave.
That's why I must go no later than November 1. I'll need to drive either to California or down south and would rather not do that in inclement near-winter weather. The surf truck would never get over it.
Oh, well, I'm not really a planner anymore, so it's time for a shower, to feed Killer Joe, and then head over to the Shark Bar for a big cobb salad, some Rolling Rock, and a Phillies game. Then, dawn patrol in the morning. Shove off, despair.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Another pleasant weekend with reasonable surf for August and lots of chances to swim and run; and because I have a nice pool/patio area, I can hide from the weekend crowds in the backyard. This is a rather good life.
There are complications, though. The kitchen cabinet installation has been delayed and I had hoped that would take place this week. Now it looks like the week after or even the week after that. Also, the home owner is talking about coming back just for the next weekend for reasons that I suspect are physical. Not that I have a problem with that, but it does make life a bit more entangled with emotional politics than I care for it to be. As long as she's just here for the weekend; I'm stingy about offering hospitality at a house that isn't mine, aren't I?
Perhaps if I play up the fact that the town's really, really crowded with tourists. No, everyone knows that it isn't, especially after last year's hurricanes wiped out more than half the beaches. Still, maybe a last minute influx of people taking advantage of end-of-season discounts? I'm really over thinking this, another sign that I may need just to move along earlier than usual.
Too much thinking. Well, I know the cure for that. I'll need to indulge myself some. When I returned from overseas in the early 1970's it was to a neighboring town that I came. I had no connection with the town, other than another guy in the barracks used to speak of it fondly and told me that there were jobs there and cheap places to live. He was right on both. I found an apartment on the upper floor of a converted Victorian a couple of blocks from a ratty beach on the bay, where the water was greasy from the gasoline motors of the many, many powerboats that roared on through, and I found a job at the local marina, helping the rich guys "park" their expensive boats so that they didn't embarrass themselves in front of their expensive second wives. I lived there for about five months, enjoying that I now lived in a sunny place where far fewer people wanted to kill me, and it was a perfect existence.
My ambition got the best of me, though, and shortly thereafter I re-entered the academic world, never to leave until recent times.
A block away from my former apartment and equidistant to my former marina was and is a small bar. It used to be a place where the pro fishing guides would gather in the evening along with the marina rats, so it was a simple and convivial place. There was no kitchen so to speak, but there was a small galley that was employed when some of the skippers had some extra catch that their charters didn't want. They would cook up the fish and share them, for free, with whoever came into the bar. Also, when a shark was caught, they would boil the flesh off of the jaws and mount them on the rapidly dwindling wall space.
Occasionally, some stray tourist would wander in, but they would be treated well and welcomed. I would stop after work on most nights and talk to the skippers. Mostly I would listen, I guess. One night, a touristy type of guy, whom I recognized from my marina, came in and sat next to me at the bar. My hair had not yet grown out and was still recognizably high and tight, and we got into a conversation about the Marine Corps and such. This might be a story to tell another day, for he then hired me as a bodyguard to protect him from his girlfriend's ex-husband. Things got a little weird at that point. Yes, that will be a story for another day.
The bar, which was called "the shark bar" by the locals, is still there but has been transformed from a fishing guide hangout to a proper sports bar/restaurant. The interior has been completely gutted and modified, all of the shark jaws are gone, but it still has that neighborhood bar ambiance and I thought I would head on over and watch a ball game and eat a 900 calorie cheeseburger. I could use the protein and the company. Maybe the nostalgia, too.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Friday, August 09, 2013
Thursday, August 08, 2013
After Obama leaves office, let's hope he doesn't get a job at Google Maps.
— David Burge (@iowahawkblog) August 8, 2013
Active surf today, so I spent a couple of hours in the waves, until the beach patrol arrived, of course. They're a little more serious today, as one of their own was arrested for building illegal explosive devices. I understand it was just a couple of smoke bombs but, in this nervous era, that's enough to get cops all butched up in their SWAT gear, swagger around feeling on themselves, and scowling. That, in turn, causes the beach patrollers to get defensive and suddenly become more interested in their jobs. Since mostly what they do is exercise and talk to the pretty girls, this causes a shift in priorities for the rest of us.
Rain with lightning later, which means I can clean the house, measure the pool's chlorine content and skim out some leaves. Atlantic City is north of here, but it is one of the most scuzzy cities I've ever seen with very little entertainment value, so that's not a distraction. The other barrier island towns are pretty much like this one, so it hardly seems worth taking the truck out of the driveway. I've been invited to write a book review for a scholarly review, so maybe that'll be the day's main feature.
I don't feel like cooking for myself today, so I'm heading over to the surf cafe for some fish tacos in lime and mango sauce. Not exactly breakfast food, but tasty, which makes it universal.
Rain with lightning later, which means I can clean the house, measure the pool's chlorine content and skim out some leaves. Atlantic City is north of here, but it is one of the most scuzzy cities I've ever seen with very little entertainment value, so that's not a distraction. The other barrier island towns are pretty much like this one, so it hardly seems worth taking the truck out of the driveway. I've been invited to write a book review for a scholarly review, so maybe that'll be the day's main feature.
I don't feel like cooking for myself today, so I'm heading over to the surf cafe for some fish tacos in lime and mango sauce. Not exactly breakfast food, but tasty, which makes it universal.
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
Do you go to movies?
No, as Mark Steyn explains far better than I could:
I see that conservative critics are blaming Hollywood's listless summer on its blockbusters' off-putting politics: In the new Lone Ranger, the sidekick is the star and the bland pretty boy playing the Ranger is just (in Tonto's words) a "stupid white man"; in White House Down, an Obama-esque hopeychangey president comes under siege in the people's house from Tea Party–type terrorists.
Granted, it's all terribly tedious, but it's not really "political" in any meaningful sense. In The Lone Ranger, the baddies are top-hatted mustachioed railroad barons because the formula dictates someone has to be the villain and, for a multinational conglomerate like Disney, big business is the easiest to hand. In Olympus Has Fallen, last month's blockbuster about terrorists attacking the White House, the baddies were North Koreans, which superficially has some connection to reality but in the end is no more grounded than the right-wing Palin worshipers. There's a scene in which the president demands to know why traitorous Secret Service agent Dylan McDermott has gone over to the Norks, and he mumbles something about banks . . . bailouts . . . whatever . . . Are we done yet? Can we get back to the explosions now? Rehearsing Damn Yankees 60 years back, the great Broadway director George Abbott was famously asked by one actor what his motivation was: "Your paycheck," snapped Abbott. Dylan McDermott's motivation is apparently Lehman Brothers' paychecks, which is even less persuasive. The Russian villain in A Good Day to Die Hard dispenses with the same perfunctory pretext more adroitly: "Do you vont to know vot I hate about America?" Stage pause. "Everything!"
Everything — and nothing. Which is a bit of a problem if you're looking for a film about . . . something.
I see that conservative critics are blaming Hollywood's listless summer on its blockbusters' off-putting politics: In the new Lone Ranger, the sidekick is the star and the bland pretty boy playing the Ranger is just (in Tonto's words) a "stupid white man"; in White House Down, an Obama-esque hopeychangey president comes under siege in the people's house from Tea Party–type terrorists.
Granted, it's all terribly tedious, but it's not really "political" in any meaningful sense. In The Lone Ranger, the baddies are top-hatted mustachioed railroad barons because the formula dictates someone has to be the villain and, for a multinational conglomerate like Disney, big business is the easiest to hand. In Olympus Has Fallen, last month's blockbuster about terrorists attacking the White House, the baddies were North Koreans, which superficially has some connection to reality but in the end is no more grounded than the right-wing Palin worshipers. There's a scene in which the president demands to know why traitorous Secret Service agent Dylan McDermott has gone over to the Norks, and he mumbles something about banks . . . bailouts . . . whatever . . . Are we done yet? Can we get back to the explosions now? Rehearsing Damn Yankees 60 years back, the great Broadway director George Abbott was famously asked by one actor what his motivation was: "Your paycheck," snapped Abbott. Dylan McDermott's motivation is apparently Lehman Brothers' paychecks, which is even less persuasive. The Russian villain in A Good Day to Die Hard dispenses with the same perfunctory pretext more adroitly: "Do you vont to know vot I hate about America?" Stage pause. "Everything!"
Everything — and nothing. Which is a bit of a problem if you're looking for a film about . . . something.
Tuesday, August 06, 2013
Left alone in the house, which is blissful. I don't mean to say I didn't enjoy the companionship, I certainly did, but I am a solitary and it's in this ambulatory hermitage that I find my solace.
I don't want to dwell on it, but I am and have been in mourning for awhile and realize that, while it may be modified by time, it will always be a part of my life until its ending. My concern is that despair, my nemesis who is always in pursuit, will catch up with me. So I keep moving, altering my address, or engaging in activities that are of little interest to despair. In this manner, I stay safe one day at a time.
Enough of that. This morning the waves were a little flat but the water warmer than the air and so, when not trying to ride the Model T waves, those are ones that give the surfer a slow, under-powered ride, but a ride nevertheless, I paddled on the board to and fro perpendicular to the beach until the popping noise in my shoulders stopped and the joints felt functional again. I'll come back to the beach after 4:30 when the noisy families, and the ineffective and annoying beach patrol, have left.
Last night, while quietly alone, I went to the second floor porch, propped my feet on the railing, smoked a cigar and enjoyed a cheap beer while watching the sun go down, and that was all I really needed.
I don't want to dwell on it, but I am and have been in mourning for awhile and realize that, while it may be modified by time, it will always be a part of my life until its ending. My concern is that despair, my nemesis who is always in pursuit, will catch up with me. So I keep moving, altering my address, or engaging in activities that are of little interest to despair. In this manner, I stay safe one day at a time.
Enough of that. This morning the waves were a little flat but the water warmer than the air and so, when not trying to ride the Model T waves, those are ones that give the surfer a slow, under-powered ride, but a ride nevertheless, I paddled on the board to and fro perpendicular to the beach until the popping noise in my shoulders stopped and the joints felt functional again. I'll come back to the beach after 4:30 when the noisy families, and the ineffective and annoying beach patrol, have left.
Last night, while quietly alone, I went to the second floor porch, propped my feet on the railing, smoked a cigar and enjoyed a cheap beer while watching the sun go down, and that was all I really needed.
Monday, August 05, 2013
Sunday, August 04, 2013
Saturday, August 03, 2013
IRS chief: WANTS OUT Labor unions: WANT OUT Over 1000 corps: WAIVERS Congress & staffers: EXEMPT Tell me more how great Obamacare is. #tcot
— Razor (@hale_razor) August 2, 2013
Friday, August 02, 2013
Well, that was interesting
The woman for whom I am house-sitting, whose son and daughter were once students of mine, is a divorcee. Do we still use that term anymore? She cannot take the barrier island community in August, as it is at its most crowded with tourists and, as most of them come from either North Jersey or the Philadelphia area, they are unaccountably rude in everything from standing in line to buy an ice cream cone to stopping for the people in the crosswalks. She bails to head up to her sister's house in Maine each year.
I house-sat for her a couple of times when I was still teaching, especially one summer when I was working on a book. As I've mentioned before, it is a pleasant home, just down the street from the best, post-Hurricane Sandy surf beach, on a tree-lined residential street. My duties are simple: Feed and care for her cat, who is a true gentleman who gets used to me being there after about three days; let in the fellows who are installing the new kitchen cabinets, and monitor the chlorine level in the swimming pool. Not bad.
In return, I have a place to stay for five weeks and a small compensation. That latter bit was added, perhaps out of pity, during my post-retirement widower-ness, but it has been appreciated.
Well, until last night, as things got a little more complicated. As I've said, the home owner and I have known one another for several years, but during our dinner together we seemed to suddenly become aware of the fact that I was a man and she was a woman and neither of us had anyone with a particular claim to our affections anymore and that, as we are of approximately the same age, could indulge in intimacy that was gloriously free of complication. Taking money from her right now seems a bit odd.
Anyway, the company of a woman is rather nice and an aspect that I have missed in the last couple of years, although I still feel that, in a small way, I'm betraying my late wife, it was more the exercise of a friendship rather than the expression of a great romance.
Well, when things get too complicated, it's best to go surfing. Or swimming, as it's raining and there are no waves of which to speak. Still, a simple, exhausting swim in the sea, aided by a spring wetsuit, is just the ticket, especially since the homeowner is still here and will be sleeping for awhile. After some water and a cup of coffee, I'll go for run, return and make breakfast and feel oddly domestic for a morning or so.
I house-sat for her a couple of times when I was still teaching, especially one summer when I was working on a book. As I've mentioned before, it is a pleasant home, just down the street from the best, post-Hurricane Sandy surf beach, on a tree-lined residential street. My duties are simple: Feed and care for her cat, who is a true gentleman who gets used to me being there after about three days; let in the fellows who are installing the new kitchen cabinets, and monitor the chlorine level in the swimming pool. Not bad.
In return, I have a place to stay for five weeks and a small compensation. That latter bit was added, perhaps out of pity, during my post-retirement widower-ness, but it has been appreciated.
Well, until last night, as things got a little more complicated. As I've said, the home owner and I have known one another for several years, but during our dinner together we seemed to suddenly become aware of the fact that I was a man and she was a woman and neither of us had anyone with a particular claim to our affections anymore and that, as we are of approximately the same age, could indulge in intimacy that was gloriously free of complication. Taking money from her right now seems a bit odd.
Anyway, the company of a woman is rather nice and an aspect that I have missed in the last couple of years, although I still feel that, in a small way, I'm betraying my late wife, it was more the exercise of a friendship rather than the expression of a great romance.
Well, when things get too complicated, it's best to go surfing. Or swimming, as it's raining and there are no waves of which to speak. Still, a simple, exhausting swim in the sea, aided by a spring wetsuit, is just the ticket, especially since the homeowner is still here and will be sleeping for awhile. After some water and a cup of coffee, I'll go for run, return and make breakfast and feel oddly domestic for a morning or so.
Thursday, August 01, 2013
Time to go, again. Living in a house for awhile will be a welcome change, as it will be pleasant to develop habits related to a neighborhood and town. Once I'm there, I can stock up at the market and liquor store and park the truck for weeks on end. The surf beach is just down the street, but if I feel like a little exploring I can clamp the board carrier onto the bike and head south. I can run five miles a day on the boardwalk and then eat breakfast at the surf cafe. There's a sunrise church service every Wednesday morning just four blocks from here, which is also where I pick up most of the good intelligence concerning waves and whatnot.
It'll be terrific. And now, I'm out the door, checking out in the middle of the cool night with nothing but that crazy America Coast to Coast radio program as company. It sure beats working.
It'll be terrific. And now, I'm out the door, checking out in the middle of the cool night with nothing but that crazy America Coast to Coast radio program as company. It sure beats working.
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