From the Archives - Bits & Bobs Volume XVII

Introduction

This is the seventeenth installment in the “From the Archives – Bits & Bobs” series. Volume I is here, Volume II is here, Volume III is here, Volume IV is here, Volume V is here, Volume VI is here, Volume VII is here, Volume XIII is here, Volume IX is here, Volume X is here, Volume XI is here, Volume XII is here, Volume XIII is here, Volume XIV is here, Volume XV is here, and Volume XVI is here. (The different volumes have nothing to do with one another, and can be read in numerical order, reverse order, liturgical order, purchase order, mail order, and/or in good working order.)

July 24, 2007

I’m pretty sure I didn’t have any kids back when we were colleagues, but I have two daughters now, A— (age 5½) and L— (age 3½). Parenting has been both satisfying and exhausting. The girls always want me to “play Cassandra,” where I speak in this booming voice and pretend I’m an evil sea witch while acting out various scenarios they come up with. It’s really tedious, but they love it. Well, the other day I realized that playing Cassandra vaguely reminded me of some other wearying activity I’m routinely involved in, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. Then it hit me: conference calls. The dread I feel as I enter the passcode is identical to the dread I feel when I’m asked to play Cassandra. And yet both activities have to be done.

May 8, 2008

My back is seriously jacked up. For years I have lived in fear of my back suddenly going out: no apparent cause, no diagnosis, no treatment, no prognosis … just a purgatory of suffering that ideally will subside at some point. And now it’s upon me. The hardest thing for me is transitions (e.g., sitting-to-standing), and the hardest transition is from riding my bike to standing up and walking. So literally the most painful part of my morning ride today was carrying my bike up the short flight of steps to the porch. Then I had to maneuver the bike through the living room, around the landing by the stairs and through the kitchen, and then down the short flight to the office. A fresh stab of pain accompanied every change in direction, and one spasm caused me to catastrophically lose my grip on the bike when atop the steps down to the office. My poor bike fell and the top tube hit the arm of a chair, and now I have this huge dent in the top tube of my almost-new bike. It is absolutely heartbreaking.

The dent isn’t so bad that the ride would be affected, I don’t think. It’s just a really bumful blemish, like if Natalie Portman had a permanent whitehead the size of a pencil eraser on her forehead. Since this disaster I’ve twice had the bike up to a pretty good speed in a full tuck without any problem, so I reckon it’s good. It breaks my heart every time I look at it, though. Sometimes when I look down at that dent while riding I get so pissed off I can actually suffer more, so I guess that’s a silver lining. Man. I’ll still be whining about this on my deathbed, I’m sure.

February 9, 2009

Sorry it has taken me so long to reply to your simple inquiry. I’d forgotten all about it until I awoke at like 3 a.m., for no apparent reason, thinking, “pork shoulder recipe!” The recipe is below. E—’s handwriting is a bit hard to read, as she wrote this in a hurry. We were eating at Rivoli (on Solano Ave) and in a perfect storm of E—’s journalistic skill, our waitress’s helpfulness, and the amazing generosity of the chef, soon E— was being told the whole recipe, by the chef herself, right there at the table.

Let me decipher some of that for you. The pork gets half-covered in stock. (“Covered” gave me a lot of trouble in E—’s rendering, even though I know the recipe already.) Not given is how much chopped onion, carrots, and garlic to throw in. It probably doesn’t matter. The garlic should be chopped with a knife or razor blade (like in that movie), not put through a garlic press. (To hear Anthony Bourdain tell it, you should never put garlic through a press: “I don’t know what that junk is that squeezes out the end of those things, but it ain’t garlic.”) Real stock always helps but standard chicken broth is fine (except the Swanson “Unnatural Badness” style … you would want to pay the extra for “Natural Goodness,” which might be the same thing and they just added some margin to cover their substantial marketing costs, but you never know). Use the foil over the top even if you’re using a Dutch oven with a lid. The magic is that the pork just gets tougher and tougher and tougher as it cooks until it reaches some invisible threshold and then it just gives up, the proteins collapse (I might be making shit up here), and the whole thing becomes as tender as can be. I’m hoping that’ll happen to me eventually as well.

April 9, 2009

I agree, it’s pretty sad how many guys are running 27s [i.e., 27-tooth rear cogs on their racing bikes] and don’t even have the decency to be ashamed of it. They speak of this as though it were normal, inevitable even, and like it’s as acceptable as using, say, lightweight inner tubes or cork bar tape. “Oh, I love my 27,” T— has said on several occasions. This is as shocking to me as if he said, “Oh, I find that a feminine pad works so well as a chamois liner.” And don’t even get me started on the guys who advocate compact cranksets (as M— did on my blog post, eliciting what I hope was a sufficiently diplomatic response … my tongue is still bleeding).

Man, a pro racer using a giant rear cog? What’s gotten into these guys? It seems to me that if you have a larger rear cog than your competitors, you will either a) not use it, or b) get dropped in it. I remember before some collegiate race (in my Cuesta days) some guys gave me a hard time for having only a 19 rear cog. I predicted that nobody would be using anything bigger than that on the climb. As it turned out, I was dropped while still turning the 17 over pretty smoothly. These days I ride a 25. Sure, I’d rather have a 23 for aesthetics, and could probably handle this even on Lomas Cantadas in the summer on a good day, but I find I’m sometimes having to weave across the road even with the 25. Weaving of course isn’t the prettiest sight, but I’d rather see a guy weaving with a decent gear range than spinning along ineffectually in some really low gear facilitated by a triple, a compact, or a giant cog, or (worst of all) any combination of these.

April 19, 2009

[This pertains to the news that cyclist Tyler Hamilton had tested positive again after having totally denied doping before, but years before coming clean by writing The Secret Race, which is reviewed here.]

Yep, turn out the lights … the party’s over. Actually, for Tyler, the party should have been over in 2004. Since then he’s been like that one dude at the party who never went to bed and is still drinking the next morning.

May 11, 2009

Thanks for the feedback on my blog … that is a rare treat. Only occasionally do I get feedback and when I do it’s just verbal commentary from my biking buddies, such as on the corn cob post. Nobody actually said he liked it, per se. I think there’s some unspoken rule like “Don’t say anything nice to Dana.” Perhaps this is for fear my ego will get too bloated or something. One guy started off by saying, “You should write for the ‘New Yorker,’” which of course sounded like the highest praise I could imagine, but then he continued, “because your articles are so fricking long nobody could ever finish them.” Well excuuuuuse me! (My longest piece so far, on indoor training, took me half an hour to read aloud to E—; it would take less than that to read it silently to yourself, and I’m sure everybody on the ride watches stupid sitcoms that take that long. But as you said, reading is a chore.) Another guy, who I happen to know does read the “New Yorker,” agreed about the corn cob post … sort of. “Yeah, it was way too long. In fact, I even thought the poem itself was too long. I don’t have time.” I took this as a subtle dig at the first guy, but then that’s just the kind of total egomaniac I am.

July 4, 2009

Thanks for the copious feedback on my Father’s Day email. To answer your main question, perhaps the hardest thing for me to convey about my relationship to my dad is how it actually affects me: which is to say, not really that much. I think you are spot-on with your “arbitrary scale” concept, about a son living up to vs. rejecting his father’s example. My dad’s poor performance stands mainly as a cautionary tale, kind of a reverse how-to guide, rather than anything for me to be really bitter about. Certainly I’m disappointed in him, and when I bother to think about him I can get pretty irked, but I don’t feel I’m struggling to bear the emotional weight of my upbringing as I move through my life.

The ability to learn from a parent’s mistakes, even if you’re the victim of those mistakes, seems utterly obvious and straightforward to me (so long as substance and other abuse aren’t involved, of course). At least, that’s what I have traditionally told myself, but I’m gradually realizing that not everybody believes this. B—, for example, believes that my dad couldn’t have succeeded at being a good husband and father because my dad’s own dad, my paternal grandfather, was such a jerk and that family so dysfunctional. To my retort that as parents ourselves we can improve on the parenting we got, B— said, “These things take time.” He spoke as if this were an evolutionary process, one generation gradually improving on the one before it, to which I reply, bullshit! It’s revolutionary, not evolutionary—we make up our minds to not just repeat the cycle. As a metaphor, let’s say you watch a guy stick his hand in a fire and sizzle all the skin off and howl in pain. You think, “Note to self: do not stick hand in fire. Bad outcome there.” Now let’s say your father, and his father before him, and his father before him, all had this tradition of sticking their hands in fire. You’d think, “Note to self: dad and ancestors all idiots. Do not stick hand in fire.”

July 28, 2009

My kids did their first bike race, a criterium on residential streets in Albany. It was a “fun” race, meaning nobody was paying any attention to who finished where (supposedly). My kids were pretty excited about it. A— got ahold of my Blackberry the other day and started writing about her race. Here’s what she has so far:

I went to a race. It wasn’t just any old race. It was a kids race. I made the decision to inter. Though it looked hard it looked fun and I went with my dad to sign up. I was put in the 6-9 group and I was escorted to the start line. L—’s start line was closer to the finish. It wasn’t indicated where the finish

That’s as far as she got. The race was funny because A—’s group was only supposed to go about a quarter lap, but they just kept going after the finish line and did a whole lap of the crit course after that. I was announcing the race over the PA and got to say, “And ladies and gentlemen, crossing the line now is Albany’s A— Albert of the East Bay Velo Club!” I hope she was listening…

August 7, 2009

Yes, we’re in London! Compared to my previous vacation in France, this is very easy because I can speak the local language, having majored in English in college. There’s still a bit of challenge here (a “spot of bother, “ I guess I should say) regarding certain phrases and concepts. For example, at a pub last night I gave the barkeep a five-pound note and asked him to break it. He was nonplussed. “Break” seemed to mean nothing to him. “You know, give me singles,” I said. His confusion continued. Did he think “singles” was some kind of bar snack that costs under five pounds? Finally he grasped my meaning. Apparently England doesn’t have one-pound notes, which might explain why the term “singles” doesn’t carry any meaning for them. They’re all about the coins over here. It’s weird to think of spare change actually having value. I left a bunch of coins on the dresser last night without realizing they comprised most of my liquid net worth here. Three of the coins alone are worth like seven bucks!

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Email me here. For a complete index of albertnet posts, click here.

Overlooked Posts of 2024

Introduction

Last year, I enjoyed an article in the New York Times about overlooked stories—those their editors felt didn’t reach as many readers as they should have. Following the Times’ lead, I blogged about overlooked albertnet posts. Did it make a mark? Well, of the twelve 2023 posts I spotlighted (one per month), two subsequently moved from last place to second place, and four moved all the way into first place (i.e., have now reached the  most pageviews of any posts that month). That strikes me as a pretty good response, so I’m going do this again. Below are the 2024 posts that I think deserved more attention from my readers (I’m looking at you, Mom). Like last year, I’ll explain why they deserve your attention.

January

I thought “New Year’s Resignation” was a catchy title since readers’ brains would automatically think “Resolution” when they hit the first syllable of that third word, and then be surprised. If my readers had any such reaction (which I now doubt), it evidently wasn’t enough to get them to click the link; this post has the fewest pageviews of any I ran last January. Perhaps “resignation” is just too negative a word … I’ve received advice that negative words turn people away and we should always use positive ones. But how, then, would we explain the success of the heavy metal band Megadeth?

I feel the Resignation post should have done better. I mean, don’t we all get sick of the swirl around New Year’s Resolutions, and thus shouldn’t readers welcome a suggestion like improving their capacity for resignation? Wouldn’t they be interested in how this behavior, which we’re all trained to feel bad about, can actually be a superpower? Well, to get that message they’d have to actually open the post, duh! I guess it really is all about window dressing. If I decide to do a post this month on the theme of New Year’s Resolutions, I’m going to call it “Make $150K working from home,” or maybe “Megadeth.”

February

The loss leader for February was “Virtual Reality Killer App!” Any reader expecting a well-researched, informative article on VR technology apparently doesn’t know me very well. The more a topic requires actual research, the less I do, and the higher I rev my BS engine. In other words, it should have been obvious that was a humor piece. Doesn’t everyone deserve a good laugh? I guess it’s possible you identified it as a humor piece but didn’t click through because you don’t think I’m funny. If that’s the case, why are you here at all? Shoo! Shoo!

What? You’re still here? You do think I’m funny? Well then click here right away! I won’t say more about that post because there’s a plot twist I’d hate to give away. So go read it now. And then came back here for the rest of this post. Or not. Whatever.

March

If you consider my lowest-performing March post, “The Power of Loafing,” in the context of my earlier “New Year’s Resignation” post, you might conclude I was (and/or am) burned out and just going through the motions of my life, running out the clock. And you’d be right. Er, wrong. Maybe both. Look, this was a useful post in challenging the so-called “grind culture” of “performative workaholism” while introducing a new buzz-phrase that’s sure to take the workplace by storm: “clip out.” Give it a read!

April

I haven’t seen much response to my April post “Can We Unplug Our Kids?” despite it being a serious commentary on an important societal problem. Oh, wait a second … I just realized this is the last sort of thing anyone wants to read, and that moreover reading is the last thing anyone wants to do. I should have posted a video of myself doing a silly dance, or better yet, a video of a really attractive woman doing a sexy dance. In other words I should have just forwarded something from TikTok, like everybody else.

But wouldn’t earnest parents be naturally drawn to this topic? And aren’t parents among the most earnest type of people alive? Maybe parents didn’t read this because they don’t see that I’ve earned the right to pontificate. Don’t they realize I’m a tall male so I automatically have the right? Well, anyway, I do think I’ve earned that right because I raised my kids in a highly unorthodox fashion and reported on the remarkable results. I should have titled this post “Raised By Nutjobs: the Sad Story of a Cell-Phone-Free Childhood!” Or maybe “TikTok Twerk Tease!” or “Megadeth.”

May

Once again, a useful-looking how-to advice post was largely ignored: “Five Home Remodeling Mistakes to Avoid.” Would-be readers may have seen that title and thought, “So what, I’m not contemplating a home remodel anyway,” or “What does this unheralded bookworm cyclist blogger know about remodels that the helpful folks at Home Depot couldn’t tell me?” or “OMG, after my disastrous remodel I can’t bear to think about that topic ever again.” Evidently they weren’t thinking, “Oh, this is obviously another purely BS humor piece along the lines of ‘COVID-19: Helping Teens Cope’ or ‘Plumbing Emergencies for Dummies.’ I’ll bet it’s a scream!”

This post takes five perfectly logical and reasonable rules of thumb and smashes them with a hammer. It is the perfect remedy for the dread that contemplating home improvement can generate. Here’s a teaser so you’ll understand what vein I was shooting up in:

Spring is in the air. Out in their driveways, your neighbors are beating on old Turkish rugs with broomsticks, maybe more enthusiastically than is really necessary. Birds are building nests in your trees, without asking. No matter where you look, spring cleaning and other restoration projects are underway. The warm breeze is whispering in your ear: “Time to start pulling your weight.” Or maybe that’s your spouse, and it’s proceeded from a whisper to plain speech to aggressive beseeching all the way up to a flat-out demand, which has become increasingly hard to ignore. So it’s time to bite the bullet and agree to a home remodel.

In summary, check this post out immediately!

June

I read an article yesterday about how a majority of the movies that Hollywood is working on this year are sequels, prequels, reboots, or remakes, because that’s the kind of crap that gets people into the theaters. The logic of this is not lost on me: I understand that people are lame and don’t like to gamble on new stuff. Thus, when a post does well, I often try to work my way around to a sequel. A post from 2009, “We Have a Winner,” has racked up about 1500 pageviews, and—get this—over 850 of them were in the last year alone. That’s not an albertnet blockbuster but it’s pretty solid. So in June I posted “We Have a Winner! – Part II” and it has done … very poorly.

This post concerns the winner of my second non-annual albertnet Amateur Product Review contest, and recaps the three consumer reviews I featured of various products, with one review each being a fake that I contrived. Then this post provides the correct answer and the winner’s brilliant commentary around how he came to his answer. Give it a read, it’s fun!

July

I am very disappointed with the performance of “What Are Men Extenders?” which concerns a term that (after harrowing Internet research) I traced etymologically to the movie “Barbie.” This post provides a very thorough definition of “men extender” and plumbs the fascinating topic of what products are the quintessential examples. This phrase is utterly useful, as is the examination of what it means to be a man—a man’s man, even—in our modern, enlightened times. This post is my finest on this theme since “The Sissy Syndrome” which I posted back in 2010, and which has been really popular. Read ‘em both!

August

Okay, the loss leader for August, “Ageing Focus – Make Balance a Habit!” is unabashedly earnest, helpful, useful, and understandably has been ignored. It’s really not very amusing and concerns the unpleasant reality of getting old and lame. I guess I could have titled it “Try This Weird Trick That Your Therapist Doesn’t Want You To Know About” or “Too Hot For TikTok!” but that would be a bait-and-switch. Look, there’s some helpful stuff in this post, okay? And if you want the punch line without having to read anything, just scroll down and watch a couple of the 20-second videos shot by my daughter. (In one of them you can hear her yawning, which is probably the highlight of the whole post.) Just do it. Do it for your future self, assuming you don’t want to be falling-and-you-can’t-get-up.

September

All of my posts did pretty well in September, but one had to be the loser, so I’ll draw your attention to “Major League Baseball FAQ – a Guide for Foreigners.” Given that a large percentage of albertnet viewers are overseas, I figured this would be popular (especially given the strong performance of “Super Bowl FAQ – A Guide for Foreigners”). But it hasn’t gone viral or anything (not really, not yet).

You should read it whether you’re foreign or not, whether you’re a baseball maven or a total newb. (My nephew, who played varsity baseball in college, says he learned a couple things.) It’s not because you need this knowledge, but because you need a laugh. Here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite.

Cuba has won more Olympic medals for baseball than any other country but they have never played in the World Series. How can MLB baseball call it the “World” Series?

Because America.

What is the seventh inning stretch?

This is when all the fans in the stadium stand together and stretch, since they’ve been sitting so long on those uncomfortable bleachers.

So it’s like yoga or Tai Chi?

No, just stretching out your arms a bit, and singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”

Is it always the same song, across the nation?

No, in Boston they sing “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond.

Why Boston? Why don’t they sing “Sweet Caroline” in North or South Carolina?

Nobody knows. That is to say, I don’t know.

October

It’s not often that the title of an albertnet post includes “Mea Culpa.” In case you’re not fluent in pig Latin, that roughly translates, “Just kill me.” I fell on my sword with this post (schadenfreude, anyone?) based on the myopia of my April loss-leader post, “Can We Unplug Our Kids?” My “Part II: Mea Culpa” post considers the social media conundrum afresh, letting parents somewhat off the hook and examining how the Internet industry is more to blame. I examine in particular how privilege and luck helped my family grapple with social media responsibly. Gosh, any time I tap into liberal guilt I ought to touch a nerve, right? With readers either commiserating or condemning me, possibly both? Well, not this time … people simply ignored it. Do you want to remedy that? Click here! (Note: reading the post will not actually help you save the world. But you might feel smug and/or indignant. Won’t that feel good?)

November

Frankly, November was a great month for albertnet. Its four posts have accumulated over 1,100 page views so far, and the count from those four is still climbing with well over 100 views in the last week. The least number of views is from “Bell’s Seasoning II – The Spawning” with only 180 views so far (38 in the past week). I already mentioned how sequels are supposed to be a slam-dunk, so what’s going on here? I even included “The Spawning” in the title, which strategy seems to have borne fruit in the past (e.g., “Tire Chains II – The Spawning,” “Keep Calm II – The Spawning”). And yet my Bell’s sequel hasn’t yet propelled me to international fame and stardom.

You should read it anyway, because it’s not just about a spice concoction that is the key to Thanksgiving, but also about a dogged blogger who is persistent beyond all reason. It’s almost like a cautionary tale, except there’s no moral (unless I missed it, in which case you could enjoy some first-rate dramatic irony). I know your next turkey dinner is over ten months away, but you should check this post out anyway.

December

Well, I posted only three times last month, and it’s probably not fair to pick on the most recent, lowest-performing post for December because it’s only been up for a week and a half. I’m talking about “A Mysterious Note” which is the strange, true story of a mysterious note, and includes as a bonus the even stranger, also true story of the time I terrorized a junkie during his heroin fix. At least, I think I terrorized him. I can only assume he experienced actual terror (since I’ve never tried heroin myself, obviously). Does any of this make you curious? Good, good. Click on through!

Here’s to 2025!

Thank you for visiting albertnet. I look forward to another year of writing about, well, anything that amuses me, and I hope you look forward to reading it.

Overlooked posts of 2023:

• Jan: Ask a Fitness Dweeb (now up to second most popular of the month)
• Feb: What We Should (and Will) Be Embarrassed By
• Mar: Schooling ChatGPT (also up to second)
• Apr: Errata
• May: More Tom Swifties
• Jun: Impromptu Commencement Address
• Jul: Gravel Riding in the Rockies
• Aug: If William Wordsworth Were Writing Today (now up to first place!)
• Sept: Jumbo-Visma & the Kuss Conundrum
• Oct: Epic Trans Alps Cycling Trip – Part VI (also now first)
• Nov: Undeterred - A Critique of a Book About Life Without Free Will (also now first)
• Dec: Cycling Smackdown – Small Cog Tale (also now first)

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Email me here. For a complete index of albertnet posts, click here.

A Mysterious Note

Introduction

It’s hard to blog during the holidays, or so I tell myself. Too many distractions! On top of that, another distraction presented itself recently that has lodged itself so firmly in my brain, I can’t move on, so I have decided to make it this week’s post. Read on because things are about to get weird.

(By the way, I’m typing with a sprained, or at least wanged, wrist so I’m gonna go fast and not worry too much about literary polish … bear with me.)

A weird note

I was minding my own business on Sunday when my wife said, “We got a weird note slipped under our garage door today.” I was immediately concerned.

It would be weird for a neighbor to leave a note, obviously, since they could just knock on our door, wait until the next time we’re out front, or even just text. Unless they’re really upset about something and don’t want to put us on the spot … but then, we’re pretty easy neighbors these days now that our kids’ multi-keg ragers are a thing of the past. (Kidding! I mean, not to insinuate the multi-keg ragers are still going on … I mean, they never were. As far as I know or remember.)

So, I reasoned, this must be some random passerby leaving a note. And that’s not automatically a bad thing—it could have been something simple like,  “The light in your crawl space is on,” which would have actually been true up until Saturday when I finally mustered the resolve (being claustrophobic) to crawl in there and turn it off. But Saturday being in the past, and the note having been described as “weird,” its message would have to be something like a) “I know why your crawl space light was on,” or b) “I turned on your crawl space light … guess how?” or maybe something even more disturbing. But the theory of Occam’s Razor would say the note most likely had nothing to do with the light in our crawl space.

It was still possible to imagine a note from a rando that wasn’t full-on disturbing. For example, somebody once left a note on my Scion XB, a toaster-shaped car I inherited from my late father, that read, “I will pay you OVER BLUE BOOK for this car, RUNNING OR NOT!” with a phone number listed. I was a bit offended, actually. I mean, why would this rando assume there was a good chance my car isn’t running? Do I look like the kind of derelict who keeps a broken-down car parked in front of his house? I was tempted to incorporate the rando’s number in some graffiti, e.g. “FOR A GOOD TIME CALL…” on a bathroom wall.

Not that the car purchase offer was weird, exactly. Of course the Scion would attract potential buyers, it’s totally gangsta! So what would a “weird” note say? My mind raced, trying to imagine someone I might have had crossed paths with who subsequently might feel like leaving a weird note … unfinished business, perhaps? Naturally the first guy I hit upon was the junkie.

The junkie

Now, before you get all judgmental on me for jumping to conclusions about this or that vagrant being a probable junkie, I’m talking about an actual known junkie. A few years ago my wife and I started finding these small squares of aluminum foil in our front yard, burned black on one side. You can imagine this was a bit disconcerting. My wife called the police non-emergency line, and an officer came out. I chatted about it with him, and he confirmed that the foils were from black-tar heroin, and he was pretty sure he knew who was smoking it. It was this 20-something who lived with his mom a few blocks away, who liked to smoke the heroin in his mom’s Mercedes. I spotted the car not long after but only as the guy was pulling away from the curb. I later discovered where the guy lived (or at least parked most of the time). I thought about leaving a note on his car saying, “Please stop smoking heroin in front of my house,” but I wasn’t sure the admonishment would be taken in the right spirit.

Well, a week or so later, I was about to head out for a bike ride, and was in the driveway pumping up my tires (still wearing flip-flops, not yet my cycling shoes, which as you shall see is important). A little old lady happened by walking her dog and started to chat me up. As we talked, I suddenly became aware that the junkie was parked right out front, in broad daylight, getting his fix! The moment was very awkward; I couldn’t exactly tell the little old lady, “Excuse me, I’m enjoying our chat but I need to step away for a moment and terrorize this junkie.” Fortunately she soon continued on her way, and I ran over to the driver’s side door of the Benz. I was going to pound on the window and give the guy a piece of my mind, confident that if the situation devolved into fisticuffs I would have two advantages: a) my opponent was high and I was not, and b) I alone was wearing a helmet. But he saw me coming, put the car in gear, and took off. I ran after him, right down the middle of the street, rounded the corner, and followed him up the next street, as fast as I could. By the time he took the corner onto his street, I was too out of breath to continue, which was fine … I figured I’d made my point. And in fact, this was proved out: the guy never again parked in front of our house. And in case you’re one of my neighbors who has stumbled across this post and are now livid that I’m disclosing information publicly that could lower property values, this was years ago and I haven’t seen that car, nor any burnt foil, in quite a while. The guy was an anomaly. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have left the mysterious note last Sunday, something like, “I had found your curbside a safe space in which to enjoy my self-medication and it really hurts my feelings that you ran me off.”

To be clear, I didn’t ponder all of this at length, and the amount of time it took you to read the above background is just because you’re getting the story for the first time. For me, all of that flashed across my mind in like a second, with basic images working like macros to swiftly convey the themes: neighbor, rando, crawl-space, black-tar heroin. Within a second that was all past and I was holding out my hand and saying, “Let me see the note.”

The actual weird note

Okay, here is the note (click to enlarge):

There’s so much that’s weird about it, right? First off, it’s on a ripped-off piece of grocery bag, like the guy didn’t have a notepad or even a piece of junk mail to write on. Then, the note starts out in cursive (an arguably odd choice for a rando who scrawls notes on scraps), and then becomes a mix of lowercase and uppercase print. It also mentions CBS, a network that has become so obscure, in this modern above-the-network, cable-cutting Internet era, that I wasn’t even sure they were still on the air. I mean, CBS? Really? I hadn’t been this mystified since that one time my dad said, “Is there a Sears around here? I need to buy some trousers.”

It’s also a little weird to say that a show is both funny and worth seeing … I mean, aren’t all funny shows worth seeing? And doesn’t the fact of the note automatically suggest the show is worth seeing? Who would leave a note saying, “There’s a show on CBS but don’t bother”? I was further nonplussed by the note saying, “on Sunday night,” since the note was left on Sunday. Why not just “tonight”?

Then there’s the matter of the time specified. You’d think that somebody who bothered to write a note recommending a show would be a bit more careful writing out the number. I think it looks like an 8, as does my wife, but our younger daughter emphatically declared that it’s a 5. Her friend S— initially thought it was a 5 but then agreed it actually does look more like an 8. This number is important because if I’m to track down this mystery, I’ll need to see what the show even is. That could help; after all, if it’s a stirring (and yet funny) documentary about a reformed heroin addict, everything would snap into place.

I checked the listings. At 8:00 p.m. there was a sitcom called “The Neighborhood” on CBS. The description on IMDB makes it sound pretty stupid: “A white-bread couple from the Midwest moves to the hood and turn to milquetoast when they try to befriend their rough, street-tough and intimidating neighbors.” I watched a few trailers and man, if those are the highlights, this show is far from funny. In terms of critical reviews, Common Sense Media says, “Regressive racial attitudes and bad jokes mar family sitcom.” So whoever left this note has pretty poor taste.

Unless … this person is tweaking me? Casting aspersions on my taste? But then wouldn’t the note say something more like, “You’d probably like this”? Nothing about the note made sense.

I checked the listing for 5:00 p.m. and all it said was, “Local Programming.” Not sure what that means, though it brought to mind our old independent station in Denver when I was growing up that would show low-budget shows like “All Star Wrestling.” And my brothers and I would actually watch them, because that’s how little we cared about our time and our brains back then. (Yes, I find this as disgraceful as you do.) Anyway, I didn’t worry too much about that because it looks like an 8 on that note. And would 5:00 p.m. wouldn’t really be “night,” would it?

There is exactly one neighbor (i.e., non-rando) I thought might have left the note. He lives a couple blocks away but often passes by while walking his dog. Of course his handwriting and diction would be better, but who knows, maybe he was heading home after one of the neighborhood multi-keg ragers or something. It was just so easy to inquire, I went ahead and sent him an email asking if he’d left me a note. He promptly replied, “No I didn’t. Besides, I’m more of a severed-horse-head-on-the-pillow-next-to-you kind of message-giver.” (I shall endeavor to stay on his good side.)

Soliciting theories

My wife and I talked over the possibilities about this note. Her theory is that somebody was trying to break into our garage to steal stuff, and had the note on hand in case he got caught—he could just say he was leaving a note. But I’m not buying it, because there was no damage to the door; it would have been a broad daylight break-in when we were obviously home; nothing in the garage would really be worth stealing; and, since the rando wasn’t caught in the act of anything, why did he leave the note? Furthermore, why would it be such an unrealistic one, scrawled messily on a scrap?

I texted a photo of the note to P—,  a friend of mine, asking for his theory. He suggested the note was from a spurned lover. He might have been implying that my wife has been cuckolding me, or he was casting aspersions on my fidelity. Most likely he was being sarcastic or at least facetious. I replied that a spurned lover would send a perfumed letter, or attach the note to a brick thrown through my window. I also pointed out that a spurned lover would be more likely to recommend a Lars von Trier film than an insipid comedy. P—  replied, “I think this person is dumbing it down to your intellectual level … I know the truth hurts.” As you’ve gathered by now, this input was not helpful in solving the mystery.

My younger daughter suspects it’s a homeless guy who somehow had the chance to see this show and is using all the influence he has, and the tools available, to recommend it to others, sliding notes under as many doors as possible, and that there’s nothing special about us to explain why we received it.

Her friend S— has a slightly similar theory: that’s it’s one of the producers of the TV show, promoting it in a grassroots way. In this latter case, I wondered aloud why this promo was on a scrap of paper, handwritten , instead of something photocopied. S— just shrugged.

I asked my brother B— for his take. He guessed it was “someone with an addled mind, or under some unnatural influence?” I’m intrigued by “unnatural” vs. “drug or alcohol.” The broader term “unnatural” doesn’t rule out the supernatural. Still, not a particularly compelling theory. As to 5 vs. 8, my brother couldn’t decide which and suggested I “just tune in to CBS straightaway and start watching, just in case.” I think this was disingenuous because he knows I don’t have cable, or even rabbit-ears. (Do Gen-Zers even know what rabbit-ears are/were? Well, my brother sure does. As kids we’d take turns standing next to the TV holding the aerial because that made it work better.)

I asked my older daughter for her theory. She suggested that the note is a puzzle of some kind, and that solving it would gain my wife and/or me entry into some elite club or cult. If we can’t solve it, we’re not allowed in.

Now, before you read further, it may well be that you have your own theory. If not, take a moment and think of one now. What, to you, seems like the most plausible scenario? Who wrote this note, and why?

Epiphany!

As I pondered all these theories, I suddenly had an epiphany, of the non-religious variety. Is it redundant to say “suddenly” I had an epiphany? Probably, since epiphanies don’t really dawn gradually on a person. Unless they do … probably the insight had been creeping up on me and suddenly achieved escape velocity. Maybe that’s always the way with epiphanies. But I digress (and I could go delete the last few sentences except I’ve kind of fallen in love with them … and yes, I’ve been warned against this, but like I said earlier, I have a sprained or at least wanged wrist).

The epiphany, alas, does not concern the origin of this note, nor its purpose. The note itself remains a mystery. The epiphany, rather, is this: whatever the intent of whoever left this note, the note has become like a Rorschach test. The theory a person puts forth can help shed a little bit of light on “where he or she is at,” as the expression goes. I decided to take a look at the theories in light of what I know about who advanced them:

Theory	Theory’s author and his/her traits
Would-be burglar looking for plausible alibi	My wife, a protective mother
Junkie who used to favor our front yard	Myself, a protective father with a typical male thirst for hand-to-hand combat
Spurned lover	P—, an obviously lonely middle-aged man ;-)
Homeless man seeking to have influence	My younger daughter, a student who has yet to step onto the world stage
Producer of the show trying to grow his audience	S—, a film student and budding filmmaker
Person who is addled or unnaturally influenced	B—, a religious man with a wary eye
Puzzle/intelligence test to screen potential club/cult members	My older daughter who is studying for the MCAT and is understandably nervous about it

Call to action

A minute ago I asked you to pause and come up with your own theory about who wrote this note and why. Now you see where I was headed: you can use your own response as a window into your soul. And with that, I’m going to call this a post … it’s Christmas Eve, after all, and I should be eating cookies with my family. Thanks for tuning in. Come back Sunday at 5 or 8 p.m. PST for another episode of … whatever!

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Email me here. For a complete index of albertnet posts, click here.

2024 Online Holiday Gift Guide!

Introduction

I used to do most of my Christmas shopping at the Westfield San Francisco Centre, which Tripadvisor calls “iconic” and “a premier retail destination.” (In fact, it was at that very mall that I was intercepted by a lotion sniper back in 2010.) Alas, due to a combination of COVID, teleworking, and competition from e-commerce, the SF Centre is practically a ghost town, with entire floors closed down and much of its famous spiral escalator boarded up. If something similar is going on in your neighborhood, fear not: with my annual albertnet Online Holiday Gift Guide, you can shop online without a lot of false starts and dead ends. And as a bonus this year, I’m posting in time for you to actually do some shopping before it’s too late!

I would like to point out that I have not received any free products or other remuneration for showcasing these gifts. In fact, I have never even laid my hands on them. So, caveat emptor! (That’s pig Latin for “due diligence is incumbent on the buyer, not the seller, nor the blogger.”)

Skull bottle opener - $32

As a kitchen gadget, this Crack One Open bottle opener isn’t particularly compact or easy to use. But as a gift, it delivers a complicated message with finesse and precision. That message is, “I know you drink beer, and I even support that, but you must never forget that ALCOHOL KILLS.”

That’s right, this little doodad is appropriately sobering even as it enables a sweet buzz. That’s a pretty special gift, I think.

Santa Claus sticker – $4

At first blush this Santa sticker doesn’t make much sense. I mean, since when is Santa Claus a life coach or guru? But the full message is, “Believe in yourself since you don’t believe in me anymore.”

This is really for kids: in particular, the ones who just got the devastating news about Santa. And when they stick this on their laptops or water bottles for all to see, they’ll be easing their pals at school into reality as well.

By the way, don’t be surprised if this product doesn’t totally match the picture above. The 5-star reviews include “Super cute little pin that will make the perfect gift for my friend!!” and “Super great little happy pen.” ???

Necklace stacker clasp - $16

Necklaces are the best. They draw attention to a woman’s pretty neck; catch the light in a pleasant way; and, of course, showcase her wealth. A well-attired woman should own many necklaces. The only trouble is, it’s difficult to wear more than one at a time, because they get tangled up. What a waste of potential, to leave necklaces at home …it’s like leaving cards on the table! Well, just wait until that special woman in your life receives this ingenious gift: the Lucky Necklace Layering Clasps Separator!

Not only is this clasp a cinch to use, enabling straightforward display of three necklaces at once, but it’s “designed to be water and sweat resistant to prevent corrosion.” So she can rock the clasp when working out or deep sea diving! Best of all, this item opens the door for next year’s Christmas gift: another necklace!

Rearview mirror cycling gloves - $56

Do you have a cyclist friend who really pisses you off? For example, for Christmas last year he gave you couples’ handholding mittens, right on the heels of your heart-rending breakup? Well, it’s revenge time. Give him these rearview mirror cycling gloves.

Are you kidding me? These are totally Fredtastic! This is the gift that says, “Yes, I really do think you’re a complete idiot!” If he opens this gift in front of you, he’ll have to pretend to like it. You can scrutinize his performance, and then decide whether or not to disclose that he’s been punked.

Optical illusion bowls - $55

These perfectly simple Lessmore Bowls serve up a wonderful optical illusion (exemplifying a known phenomenon, the Jastrow Illusion). As described by the manufacturer, “When placed side by side, one bowl seems much longer than the other. However, when you switch their positions they seem to switch sizes as well!”

So what’s the point? Well, they’re perfect for families with small children: specifically, for defusing sibling rivalry. Breathe new life into the age-old complaint, “He got more than me!” Just dole out the portions into these bowls, switch them back and forth like a shell game, and in no time your kids will be too confused to fight. Thanks, Lessmore Bowls!

Beard bib apron - $16 

Do you have a friend who’s so in love with his beard he can’t resist accessorizing with brushes, combs, special shampoos and moisturizers, and trimmers? Is he sad because he’s run out of ways to celebrate his dashing hipster facial hair? Well, you can surprise and delight him with this Beard Bib Apron!

Granted, beard trimming pitfalls like a messy sink, clogged drain, and wasted towels are purely fictitious, like ring-around-the-collar, but nobody needs to admit that. When your friend mansplains the benefit of this ingenious invention, his girlfriend/wife/other will be (or at least seem) enraptured.

Chalkboard mug - $13

Have you been scouring the Internet looking for a nice mug to give to your coffee- or tea-loving friend or loved one? Well, look no further: this Chalkboard Mug is adaptable to any mood, any sentiment.

But this is more than just a way to increase one’s enjoyment of hot beverages. It’s actually an intervention for those sad sacks you know who can’t resist constantly buying mugs emblazoned with a pithy statement like “YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE CRAZY TO WORK HERE, BUT IT HELPS” or “GUNS DON’T KILL PEOPLE, DADS WITH PRETTY DAUGHTERS DO.” With this mug, your lucky recipient can just rip off any clever aphorism they see, or freestyle with their own bold declaration (e.g, “WASH ME”).

Beer foamer - $96

This Canned Beer Draft System “uses ultrasonic vibrations to create a dense micro-foam that boosts the flavor of any canned beer.”

Now, it’s intuitively obvious that vibrating a beverage cannot change its actual flavor, but that’s not the point. It’s the micro-foam your lucky recipient wants, and this clever contraption delivers. With this little number he can increase the arsenal of cool beer-themed gadgets in his home and thereby impress his friends.

But what if $96 is too much to spend on a friend? For a more affordable version of this gift that would work just as well, get a 3x5 card and (in your neatest handwriting) write, “For a foamier head on your beer, slosh the beer more aggressively as you pour it.” Your friend will love you!

Lemon squeezer - $15

When your friend or family member receives this lemon squeezer, she’s gonna ask, “Where has this been all my life?”

Because you really don’t want to touch a lemon. OMG, don’t even go there. Your hands might smell like lemon oil for days. As the manufacturer says, “With a big smile and no mess, you can simply squeeze your lemons and prepare your salads, juices, tea or any other dish without having to worry about it.” Worry about what? You know, it. All of it. No wonder your loving family member has been so worried … she probably cooks with lemon! This squeezer also “prevents eye splashes” … thank God that nightmare is finally over.

Purse organizer insert - $9 to $35

Does it seem like your wife has at least a dozen purses (and counting)? And is it the case that she can never find anything, because all her purses have completely different configurations with all kinds of hidden pockets that seem to swallow everything from car keys to glasses to her wallet? Well, her life—and thus yours—is about to get a lot easier, thanks to this OMYSTYLE purse organizer insert.

Now she can organize her stuff just one time, with this single, logically designed, easily adaptable insert, and then pop it into whatever purse she feels like carrying for the day. What’s that, you say? All her purses are a different size? No problem! This insert is available in Medium, Slender Medium, Large, Slender Large, X-Large, and Mini! And that’s not all … it’s also available in 16 colors! Imagine the number of permutations available, especially when you combine size, color, and the wide range of purses your wife has. The possibilities are endless!

Steering wheel tray - $18

You might have a humble car yourself … but suppose your friend or loved one has an ultimate superfly ride replete with fancy aftermarket rims, tinted windows, and personalized license plates. What do you get for the car that has everything? Why, this Lebogner steering wheel tray!

Yes, this ingenious product provides a new way for your friend or family member to spend even more time in his car! Perfect for when even the home office doesn’t provide enough privacy (think of that couple who are always looking for ways to avoid each other, and really ought to divorce but you’ve given up hope). This gift is also suited to the guy who realizes he overspent on his car, but can now say, “Hey, it’s not just my car … it’s my office, my dining room, and my vanity!”

History every day interactive mug - $28

This beautiful ceramic mug features not only the dictionary definition of the word history (“A record of the triumphant, terrible, and ceaselessly astounding stories throughout time”) but a QR code which feeds the user’s smartphone “a new historical event that happened on that date.” Now, I know we’re deep into oxymoronic territory with “new historical” but suffice to say, the app provides a synopsis of a historical event that took place on the same date any number of years before.

I’d love to say this is the perfect gift, but really it isn’t. First of all, the definition printed on it is wrong. We all know that history—far from being “ceaselessly astounding”—is actually famously boring. Meanwhile, the daily tidbit is just too short … you read it in like 30 seconds and then have nothing interesting to look at while you unhurriedly enjoy the rest of your coffee. On top of that, the daily rotation of reading material is too frequent … it would mean washing your mug every single day, which just isn’t practical. But the most important failing of this mug is that it’s the same dull subject—history—every single time. Wouldn’t it be better to have a weekly cadence of longer pieces, spanning all kinds of subjects, from how-to guides to fiction, from food & drink to music to parenting to … I think you can see where I’m headed here. I’m talking about an albertnet mug.

Obviously I could go to one of those custom add-your-photo websites, Shutterfly or whatever, and make the QR-equipped albertnet mug myself, and probably make a killing selling them. But honestly, I can’t be bothered … I’m too busy writing. So I hereby give you, gentle reader, permission to take this idea and run with it. Here is the fully functional albertnet QR code for the back side of the mug.

Seriously, I’m happy to let you take all the credit and receive all the gratitude for this thoughtful, one-of-a-kind gift, as I’ll be perfectly content with all the new readers I’ll be getting. That can be your gift to me, the tireless blogger who has tried all year to amuse and enlighten you. Thank you in advance!

Other albertnet holiday posts

• 2023 Last-Minute Online Holiday Gift Guide!
• 2022 albertnet Last-Minute Online Holiday Gift Guide
• 2021 albertnet Online Holiday Gift Guide
• 2020 albertnet Last-Minute Online Holiday Gift Guide
• The 2019 albertnet Online Holiday Gift Guide
• Interview With Santa Claus
• The 2018 albertnet Christmas Guide
• The Christmas Eve Doldrums
• A Cure for Holiday Consumerist Bloat
• The Black Friday That Wasn’t
• Santa Denial, and How Lance Armstrong Taught Me to Lie
• Fiction – The Happiest Christmas Story I Know
• My 2012 Holiday Newsletter: the Cat’s POV
• My 2011 Holiday Newsletter – Head Lice!
• My 2010 Holiday Newsletter – Importance of Santa Mythology
• Holiday Mall Report: the Lotion Sniper
• My 2009 Holiday Newsletter – Retail in the UK
• The Suppressed 2008 Holiday Newsletter
• Descent Into Chaos: My 2005 Holiday Newsletter

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Email me here. For a complete index of albertnet posts, click here.

From the Archives - Bits & Bobs Volume XVI

Introduction

This is the sixteenth installment in the “From the Archives – Bits & Bobs” series. Volume I is here, Volume II is here, Volume III is here, Volume IV is here, Volume V is here, Volume VI is here, Volume VII is here, Volume XIII is here, Volume IX is here, Volume X is here, Volume XI is here, Volume XII is here, Volume XIII is here, and Volume XIV is here, and Volume XV is here. (The different volumes have nothing to do with one another and can be read in numerical order, alphabetical order, in birth order, or in whatever order your Ouija Board advises.)

What are Bits & Bobs, in the context of this blog? They’re like little literary snacks … brief passages from old emails or essays, or things I’d have scrawled on a bathroom wall if I were a vandal. Though generally written to a friend or family member, they’re tidbits I figure my albertnet audience might get a chuckle, snort, chortle, or at least a smirk out of. Read these aloud to your friends, family, colleagues, or a stranger on the phone, ideally a telemarketer. Or copy them onto Post-its and stick them all over your house for inspiration!

January 17, 2005

Welcome to Gmail! I’m glad my special exclusive invitation hit its mark. I hope you consider me kind of elite to have made this new platform possible for you. Of course, it’s hard for me to feel superior when you got a cooler address than I did. Alas, dana.albert is always taken when a new email platform sprouts up. Anyway, as you start using Gmail I entreat you to never click on any of the Adsense “sponsored links” (i.e., ads), lest you help launch a new way to advertise, which is the last thing this country and world need.

Gosh, that’s a less-than-cheery paragraph, I now realize. I’m pretty fed up, I guess. We took the kids to San Francisco today for a nice stroll along the new waterfront, where they’ve restored a wetland. It was absolutely frigid, with a howling cold wind. L— cried continuously. A— had a blast, though: she saw her first helicopter, her first container ship, her first motorboat, and her best (if not first) view of a seagull, quasi-hovering not 10 feet away. Then we went to House of Nanking, where A— pronounced most of the food (scallops excluded) “too spicy,” and L— tore up the place, even flinging food at the couple at the next table. We had to take turns walking her outside. We got home and put both kids to bed, and tried to get a nap ourselves (I’m fighting some bug), but the phone rang every 20 minutes, and no handset was near. So I have half-napped, which is a recipe for grogginess and a sour disposition. So, have a better one!

December 3, 2006

What do I mean by “damn fritjes?” Why, I’m glad you asked! “Fritjes” is a Dutch word, the diminutive of “frites,” which needless to say are fries, as in French fries. There’s a story behind this. When my mom was married to the man who had formerly been her landlord, and whom we thus always called The Landlord, or more precisely The Landlo’, they traveled quite a bit. This was fun for my mom except that the Landlo’ was, well, a total dick. I doubt you could find a single living human who would describe him in any other way. I suppose if he’d met a nun somewhere along the line she’d choose a different description, like “sinfully cruel and unredeemable,” but you get the idea. Anyway, he didn’t really “tour” places, he “did” them. As in, “Do you think we can do the Sorbonne in under twenty minutes?” Travel, to him, was a way to check off all the “been-there” lists. He was terribly impatient in general and I think travel just exacerbated the trait. Anyway, G—, when showing them his adopted country, went for the slow-absorption style that reasonable people tend to favor. The Landlo’ was having none of that. If there wasn’t a famous landmark to be checked off and mentioned later to some disinterested, and doubtless uninterested, third party back home, he wasn’t interested. About the only specific thing on G—’s list was fritjes. He really loves the fritjes in Holland, and for good reason. They really do them right. There are stands all over the place. As far as he (and thus I) know, everybody in the country always orders “frites mit.” That means “fries with.” You’ll be happy to know that there’s no need to specify with what; of course “mit” means “with mayonnaise.” They don’t skimp, either. As far as I can tell, frites mit is about the only luxury that the temperance-addicted Dutch allow themselves, unless you count raw herring.

Anyway, as the Landlo’ dragged my mom and my brother around at his breakneck pace, cussing and looking at his watch every five seconds, poor G— decided to cut his losses and forget every single local attraction he’d planned to show them, except fritjes, since that at least still seemed possible. He reminded the Landlo and our Mom to keep an eye out for a fritjes stand. Finally the Landlo’ decided he (and thus they) were done with Holland and started to drag them back to G—’s place. G— meekly protested that they hadn’t had any fritjes yet, and the Landlo’ blew sky high and gave the poor guy a blistering diatribe about “you and your damn fritjes!” From that moment forward, G— has never called them anything but damn fritjes, and neither has our mom, and once the rest of us heard the story, the name has stuck with all us brothers, kids, nieces, and nephews as well. It’s gradually spreading from there (e.g., to my friends and colleagues). Needless to say, if you ask one of my daughters if she’d like some damn fritjes, she’ll know exactly what you’re talking about. “French fries” might throw her, though.

February 29, 2009

[I sent the following email to a mass audience of family and friends.]

I am pleased to introduce my web log, or as they say in the Internet space, my “blog.” (It is with great trembling thrill I use these élite modern words like “space” and “blog.”) Please stop whatever you’re doing and go—right now!—to www.albertnet.us, and check out my Intro post and my first (real, non-intro) post, “Wrecking the Car.” While you’re there, click the “Follow” button and become an official albertnet follower. To the first person who does this, I will send a spanking new patch kit from biketiresdirect.com, postage-paid. I’ll bet you’re wondering, “What’s in it for me, a man or woman of acclaimed Command Presence, to become a mere follower?” Well, for one thing, when you do this something will be enhanced about your “dashboard.” I was reading about this somewhere but I can’t remember where. Think of being a follower as social and/or intellectual Armor All for your dash. (If you happen to know what a “dashboard” even means in this context, please drop me a note and explain it to me.)

Anyway, the main benefit of following my blog is that you’ll help me gain other followers. Right now I don’t have a single one, and it’s kind of embarrassing. I had hoped that before I turned forty I’d have scores of minions, not just followers, but as so often happens I’m needing to adjust my expectations. By clicking that little button, you’ll be seeding my future success. (Think of me as a virtual busker who doesn’t yet have a single coin in his violin case.) Oh, and please leave comments for me on the page as well. If you don’t have anything nice to say, say something arch.

March 2, 2009

No, I didn’t get a Prius [to replace my 1984 Volvo wagon]. Fuel economy be damned: I’m tired of Priuses. They’re kind dorky and far, far too common. (I used to call Albany the Volvo Belt, but now it’s clearly the Prius Belt.) What we bought is a newer Volvo wagon, about which Robert Frost would write:

Whose car this is I think I know;
It’s not his old grey Volvo, though.
This fly-ass ride is newer, so
I’d have to guess he’s pimpin’ ho’s.

Okay, that was lame, but at least it rhymed. Anyway, the Volvo we have now is a barely used (pre-depreciated, I like to say) V70. I couldn’t get a stick shift model without going to like Miami, which was, alas, out of the question. It’s my first automatic transmission but surely not my last <sniff>.

March 15, 2009

I have a couple of household items I no longer need, that I hereby offer “free to a good home,” as they say.

Item #1 is a Silca floor pump (they call it a “track pump” for some reason), black. It’s less than fourteen years old. It’s made of a Columbus tube (Cromor, their cold-drawn seamless chromium molybdenum tube, in this case non-butted for obvious reasons). The brass chuck is only a few years old. It works okay on presta but shraeder is a pain in the neck. The gauge sort of works, sometimes; its clear cover is gone and the needle does its own thing. The hose leaks at both ends so you have to pump really fast and there’s a constant hissing. It’s possible to repair this pump by cutting off the stretched-out ends of the hose and crimping a fresh, tight section over the chuck and pump base with the little wire doodad. I did this repair a number of times before something in me just died and I couldn’t do it anymore.

I also have a microwave oven by Sharp, and it is. Works great, and you can turn off the beeping. Carousel. Dedicated Hot Dog button (like a macro). Popcorn button (though microwave popcorn should be illegal because it’s gross, and air-poppers work so well). Compu-defrost. Auto-sense. Interactive help menus. It’s eleven years old. The catch? It’s pretty disgusting in there. It’s rusting. There’s an accumulation of food shrapnel on the ceiling and walls that we’ve given up trying to remove. In the heady dot-com days we’d probably have just pitched it, but times have changed and who knows, maybe you belong to a nursery school co-op that wants a dedicated microwave for defrosting mice for its snake. Or for your home. Yours if you want it.

March 16, 2009

You’ve probably read about the shocking revelation that cyclists tend to have poor bone density, because we don’t carry enough weight around on our skeletons. For some reason cyclists, among other very lean athletes, are singled out by these studies. It is true that, statistically speaking, runners suffer far fewer broken collarbones than cyclists do. But some researchers have proposed that this is because runners almost never get driven into the pavement at 30 or 40 mph. I would like to propose a follow-up study comprising a control group of typical runners plus a test group who are subjected to high-speed impacts with asphalt to test their collarbone strength. I think YouTube would be the ideal way to showcase the results.

In light of this disconcerting stuff, I want to share some good news for a change. We’ve all known for a long time that ice cream and cheese are chock-full of calcium. But that’s not the only way forward for bone health. New studies are showing that alcohol suppresses bone-weakening hormones, so we should be including more of that in our diet. Meanwhile, there are minerals such as boron and silicon that occur naturally in beer (more so than in wine) and that also promote bone health.

Below are some links on the great news about beer.

• http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-385602/Drink-beer-beat-crumbling-bones.html
•  http://www.medscape.com/viewarticle/490673

Meanwhile, running is hard on the joints, plus I’m no good at it, and it doesn’t give you great belches like beer does. So stop worrying about your bones. Ride your bike and drink your beer (though not at the same time). That’s my 0.71 rubles, anyway…

November 18, 2008

Thanks for the email! Gosh, so much to reply to there. To start: the way you describe the dread you felt when you moved that furniture, worrying that it would crush you? I had to chuckle because that’s how I’ve felt my whole life! At least you have an upper body. “Gosh, I wish I had a cyclist’s body,” said nobody ever. Swimming has been good to you, even if you haven’t done it in years and years. You’ve still got the muscle memory there (literally hundreds of miles of muscle-feeding capillaries that dudes like me lack) so you’ll get it back the moment you go back to the pool or get a rowing machine or whatever. I’m trying to rehabilitate my shoulder still, and I want to add some muscle there to hold everything together now that the ligaments are permanently severed. Maybe when you’re here for Thanksgiving, we can do my little circuit training regimen together (barbells, this weird sport-cord thing, a soccer ball, and a big exercise ball—you’ll see).

But what’s this about cigarettes? You literally smoked a whole pack in one day? What’s up with that? Don’t punish your body, dude, it’s done nothing to deserve that. I assume you’re not planning on smoking during your visit (not in front of my kids, or I’ll stub the cigarette out on your arm!). I’d recommend you quit right now, so if there’s any withdrawal it won’t be distracting you during your vacation.

Wow, I just picked this big booger and flicked it away, and I heard it hit the window. It’s like that sucker had wings.

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