About town.

Just a couple of holiday-related visions for you on this Monday morning, to give you the oomph to get through the next three days. You're welcome!

 

Bat Tree

In the dark of the morning I was walking golden Izzy, America's Sweetheart, and while he was sniffing about I did similarly with photons, which is to say I looked up into the tree with the headlamp on my forehead. There was this small Batman-themed bag, about ten feet off the ground, just hanging there like a hornet's nest. I was and am mystified by it. It looks too small to be a kid's schoolbag, too childlike to be a mom's miscellanea bag, too difficult to operate to be a Halloween candy bag, too landlubbery to be a sailor's ditty bag. What could it be? What's in it? I'll bet Catwoman is involved. She probably stole it from Bruce and got stuck up in the tree.  

Barbie vs. Minions

It's time for the gingerbread house kits again, and of course even they have to be branded now with pop culture-themed crap. I suspect there might be a Star Wars (TM) Death Star gingerbread house out there somewhere. My wife and I will have more than enough cookies around without gingerbread, but out of curiosity I asked which of these would appeal to her. She loves the Minions, but she was a Barbie girl throughout childhood, and has even made it a point to give Barbie dolls to girls whose moms were reluctant to introduce their daughters to the world of everyone's favorite toy blonde. To my surprise, though, she liked the Minions kit better. She just thinks they are a hoot.  

Early to Decor

Friday was probably the last day we'll have in the sixties for four months, so a few people around here took advantage and did their outdoor decoration. I've never seen so many people decorate for Christmas before Thanksgiving. Maybe they have in the past, but they didn't turn the lights on so I couldn't see them. 

Gator? Later

On the topic of seasonal inappropriateness: I knew exactly what this was from a ways off -- an alligator-shaped pool float. The property on which he reposed has no swimming pool. I can only suppose the wind carried him to this resting spot. People, take care of your gators and your gators will take care of you. Didn't we all learn that in first grade? 

Meanwhile, Back at the Wire

Remember this?

Two days after I put in the call, the power company got back to me. I was wrong, people! (Yes, it is possible!) This is a phone line, not a power line. Not that that makes it okay for the wire to dangle down to head level. So now I have to call the phone company. The adventure continues, and you can bet I'll milk a blog entry out of it keep you informed of further developments.  

Say no to pools.

I feel like the only guy who doesn't want a pool at his house. Surely I can't be. 

It would be different if we lived in the south. Relatives in Florida had a heated pool under a skeeter- and UV-blocking screenhouse that was very nice. It wasn't a heated pool, so you really didn't want to go in the water from, say, Thanksgiving to St. Patrick's Day, although you could if you were brave. But here in New York, you get maybe three months out of the pool. They open in May, no one goes in the water until June, they come out for good at Labor Day, and wrap it all up by October. 

It's a lot of work and money for a three-month dip. Besides, most of the time no one actually goes in the water in the families I've observed. They just sit around the pool, tanning. 

Bankrate.com tells us that in-ground swimming pools can add up to seven percent to the value of the house, but they may cost more than that to build and maintain. 

The value they add is more in scenery and potential than swimming. Everyone who wants to entertain knows that guests--especially those with kids--will be excited to come over if there's a pool. The kids will use it, but the adults, probably not. However, it will keep the kids busy. And it looks nicer than a dry, empty, sunbaked backyard with maybe a tetherball and some cornhole stuff. BORING.

I don't want people coming over in large numbers anyway, so I'm cool.

I've resisted successfully, and it has not been too hard. Our backyard has a severe slope, so the cost of installation would be much higher than if the ground was flat. The legally required fencing alone would cost thousands. Financial setbacks over the years have often taken big capital improvements off the table. Most of all, I've resisted because you know whose job it would be out there with the net and the chlorine tester every day. (It's always the husband.) 

Now, this kind of pool might be worth investing in: 

Keep the dogs cool and give 'em a stealth bath while you're at it. Win-win.

The straight poop.

Most people around here are pretty good about cleaning up after their dogs. 

Not all. 

There's one house in our walk that seems to attract all the dogs to want to go there, and all the dog owners to want to leave it. I don't know what the problem is. I have my theories. 

To set the scene: This house -- a nice one on a corner lot, but no better than its neighbors -- is almost completely enveloped by an eight-foot-tall PVC fence. Part of it is a legal requirement, as they have a swimming pool. Also, they have a couple of dogs of their own -- small ones, I think. I'm not sure. I've never seen them. I've never seen anything. I'm going just by sound.

The thing is, their having dogs who can't be seen or reasoned with by passing dogs may be enticing the latter to leave a little telegram from Western Poopion. Dogs have their motivations. But why don't the dogs' owners perform their cleaning duty?

I believe it's that stupid fence. Not only is it twice as high as the law requires, but they built it right up against the sidewalk. You feel like it's shoving you to the curb. I assume it's perfectly legal, as you need a permit to construct these things, but it just feels rude. It didn't have to be that close to the sidewalk; it's like they were going to be damned if they let more one square inch be outside their yard than they absolutely had to. It inevitably makes one feel like they think they're too good for the plebes out on the street.

I've heard of jalousie windows, but this is a jealousy fence. 

I don't blame them for the high fence. If I had a pool, I wouldn't want people looking in on me while I was using it. But I do wish they'd left a little breathing room on the sidewalk. 

So there may be resentment involved. More important, however, there's anonymity involved. Since we can't see them, they can't see us, and less conscientious dog owners might be taking advantage of that. 

Not that the homeowners are unaware of the situation. They have taken steps. 

Four of these signs, spaced about fifteen feet apart along the sidewalk. That'll turn the tide.

To show you how well it works, yesterday morning in the dim early hours, pup Izzy and I almost ran right into a huge pile of crap square in the middle of the sidewalk. I don't want to punch the dog owner in the nose for leaving that there, but someone ought to. 

I knew that Monday morning would come soon enough, and that corner is a school bus stop for kids of all grades. Easy to anticipate some kid booking for the bus and -- yeesh. What a great way to start the day. 

Many years ago I knew a kid (not me) who was bullied regularly at school, but when the bullies found some dog crap and nailed him on his pants with it, that was the last straw. The kid actually refused to go to school after it. It caused more trouble for him and his family that I even know about. It was years before he started school on a normal schedule again, and he had to catch up. Being that this was a New York City public school, I unconditionally guarantee that no punishment was ever dealt out to the bullies. That was the environment in which I learned you can neither rely on nor trust in authority in this world.

Bottom line today: You can't leave land mines like that dog poop around. 

So what could I do? I used a waste bag to pick it up. Then I threw it over the fence toward where I think the pool is. 

Nah, just kidding. I brought it all the way home and put it in our outdoor repository, and will dispose of it on trash day. I wasn't being nice. I was remembering what it was like to be a kid having to go to school on Monday, and what happened to that one boy whose life was nearly ruined by one cruel act too many. 

The moral of the story: If we'd all clean up after ourselves, and stop grabbing every inch we can, the world would be a better place.

Hard times in a far-off galaxy.

For pool construction ... You Seek Yoda! 

Just call 888-555-YODA! Service fast, rates competitive, hmmm? In all galaxy, best there is!

Sights of summer.

Hello, friends, and welcome to another lousy Tuesday entry following a busy Monday. In keeping with such days, I would like to share some pictures of the season, that season being summer, and this place being around my neighborhood, for the most part:

Early morning, sun coming up on a neighbor's deck. The dew is heavy on the ground, and every other surface, but the moment the sun comes up it begins steaming off. Tears of Eos.

The last robin in the nest. They had at least three and possibly four baby birds in there a couple of weeks ago, but my do they grow up fast. It doesn't look like Mom has to chuck them out either; they seemed to get too big, and one by one they get forced out. Roll over! Roll over! Or the last one ate the others. 😱Probably not, right? Let's check with Mr. Britannica.

First we learn that the name for the American robin is Turdus migratorius. And then we laugh like Beavis and/or Butthead. Heh heh ... heh heh ... you said "turd." Further down in the article there is this:

Four to six bluish green eggs are incubated by the female for 12–14 days. The female incubates the eggs and the male obtains food for the young, who fly in 14–16 days. There may be two or three broods per season. The name robin is also applied to other New World thrushes of the genus Turdus.

Heh heh ... heh heh.

So yes, the robin (or Joe Turdus as he is now known here) does flee the nest quickly. Everyone else goes too. There's no empty nest syndrome with robins. After the kids are grown they all leave home. It's like Mom and Dad saw the last kid off to school, abandoned the house, and took off for their golden years in a Winnebago.

This one isn't mine:

I saw this online and immediately sent it to a friend. Due to circumstances beyond his control, he was forced to become the president of his homeowners' association. And he's been the one to get the flak for following through on the order to close the development's swimming pool. So of course I wanted to know if this "Due to The Carnivorous" picture was from his pool. He denies it, but I don't know. He does enjoy the Jurassic Park movies.

We'll end with this little love note from the skies:

Awww.

The Corpse Pose was a little too on-the-money.

Lisa's first attempt at starting a Water Yoga Class was also her last.

Shoot pool, fast Freddie.

I was looking for a phone app to kill time in a stupid way while waiting for a bus, or in a doctor's office, or wherever else I may need to be at a time I didn't want to think. Really, the perfect game app is one that engages me enough so that my brain is too busy to worry about other things. I see the FDA just approved an electronic device for OCD, but I suspect the smartphone has been doing that already for some of us with these kind of games.

I tried a few different games, until I finally found my new favorite waste of time:

Infinite Pool by Kiseki is a typically insane setup. You are basically shooting pool along a varying landscape to get hats to sell in your hat store. Yes, you read that right. How do you get hats by shooting pool? Well, DUH. You knock balls wearing hats into holes! And you can upgrade hats with money you earn. The more and better hats you sell, the more money you make; the more money you make, the more you expand the store; the more you expand the store, the more merchandise you have to get. And that means? Back to shootin' pool!

No, it doesn't have to make sense. 

Like regular pool, the plan is to knock balls into holes without your cue ball going into one. A scratch ends the round. So does running out of shots. But every time you knock a ball into a hole you get another shot (you start with five, also the max you can earn), so if you're a good shot you can theoretically keep going forever. Of course, the round gets harder the longer you play. 

With all those neat hats hanging around, your cue ball wants to wear one, amiright? Of course! Different hats give your cue ball different abilities, like greater shot power, more shots to start a round, or bigger explosive power. (Did I mention there are bombs you can set off? There are bombs you can set off.) You can also earn different cue balls as well; you start off with basic Cupi, but at this point there are 27 you can get for your cue-ball stable. Here's Woofi, whom I equipped with a police hat, thereby making him a police dog:

In addition to the basic mission -- Hats -- there are also sub missions that lead to financial rewards, ranging from stupidly easy to slightly difficult. And of course there are the inevitable in-game purchases and ads to watch for side benefits.

Officer Woofi minding the hat store.
Note that the term "hats" includes glasses,
sunglasses, and Afro wigs.

As you expand your store you get more expensive hats to sell, but these sell more slowly than the cheaper ones. As in real life.

There are also special events. There was a soccer theme in place during the World Cup, and now a tennis theme has started -- maybe just for US users -- with the US Open under way. These events feature various achievements and rewards you can reach.

It's a fun game that takes some but not a lot of skill, and rewards regular play. I hate to think how much time I've wasted on it, but those have all been tiny amounts of time. I guess I could have been flossing in that time, or reading Plato, or learning new French words, but would I? Would I really?

No, if I wasn't shooting pool and collecting hats, I'd just be worrying. It is the way of my people.

Water under the bridge.

Ah, summer at the pool...

Isn't that nice?

Not mine, but a yard I happened to pass a few weeks ago while walking the dog. I really admire the way they set it all up. When I passed by there yesterday the pool was sealed up like Tupperware for the fall.

When we got our house, I kind of wanted a pool; my wife definitely wanted one. But I knew how much trouble swimming pools are to maintain. They require daily effort, unless you hire a pool guy, and I wouldn't have been able to afford the pool, let alone the pool service. So I would have been spending time and money daily on something that we'd have used for three months out of the year. In these northern climes, you can pretty much only get in that water June through maybe part of September; the rest of the time it's like you joined the Polar Bear Club.

So the pool takes up a lot of money and yard space, and swimming pools notoriously add little value to house. And yet, if you use it, it's worth the time, trouble, and money.

Except most of the pools I see around here are not used. I've never seen a soul in many of the ones I pass regularly. Spring comes, the cover comes off; fall comes, the cover goes on. No one's been in the water. Maybe they're all flopping around like seals at midnight while I'm in bed. But I doubt it.

And no, I'm not obsessed with looking into people's pools.

I just think they're a mistake, at least in the north. Maybe in the south it's more of a thing, although even down there the water gets cold in the winter. Maybe in the north people used their swimming pools more before the ubiquity of air conditioning and the explosion of in-home entertainment.

When I was a kid we had six TV channels and no air conditioning. I think we'd have used the pool every day in the summer. Or would we?

Ultimately we human beings get used to everything good. We take things for granted, then we forget about them. Then, if we are deprived of something, even something we don't use, it's infuriating. I once heard a wealthy man, not a man who was born wealthy, say that he'd been embarrassed by his own behavior after he lost his patience when flying a regular commercial flight. Thing was, he'd gotten used to private jets and helicopters. Having to fly---the miracle of human aviation!---in a regular plane with regular people was a horrific experience for him. And then he understood why celebrities and high-level politicians begin to act like such bastards when they don't get their way---because they're used to all the good stuff and expect it all the time.

That's why stuff  does not matter, in the end. Stuff can do us in. Marie in The Jerk said, "I don't care about losing all the money. It's losing all the stuff." Because she'd become addicted to the stuff.

So, a swimming pool and people to take care of it and everything else? Fine, but I'll pass. I'm spoiled enough as it is.

Anyway, I still can't afford it.

Tactical error.

Live and let dive.

We got a little wading pool for our extra-large puppy, Tralfaz. He's a cold-weather fellow, and summer has come as something of a shock to him. So we got this nice plastic pool. It's a cooling spot and a chew toy all in one!

It's about eight inches deep, as you can see by my scientificy measurement. So it can hold about six inches' depth of water.

I was surprised by some of the instructions:

See that? No diving! No jumping! "Do not dive into this pool. Diving into shallow water can result in a broken neck, paralysis, or death."

I can understand the warnings about watching children and emptying the pool; toddlers can drown in very little water. And electrocution, yes, that can happen with the kinds of things people keep outside during a pool party or barbecue, like boom boxes. But diving?

Most of us have no temptation to become the next Professor Splash, the amazing fellow who can fall 36 feet into 12 inches of water. If you watch the video at the link you'll see he actually does a belly flop, not a dive, so he's landing flat on the surface of the water rather than piercing it. But don't try that either.

Here I should write about how idiots and their obliging lawyers are ruining the country by doing moronic things, getting hurt, and suing everything in sight, turning us into petrified wusses instead of grown men and women who know better than to pull a David Boudia into an eight-inch-deep pool. So we wind up with instructions on the handles of chef's knives that say DO NOT PUT IN EYEBALL. (Not yet, no, but give it time.)

Anyway, don't worry about Tralfaz. He is absolutely terrified of the pool and won't go near it, full or empty. Another ten bucks down the toilet. Dogs are the second craziest species I know.