Reading

I had forgotten my passion for reading. For some reason, I have not felt the bug in a long time and, although I continue to buy book after book, I haven't really set aside any real time for reading. This weekend, I was entombed in my home for 4 days and found solace in a few good books. Of course, I also indulged in TV and Xbox, but several hours per day found me curled up on the couch reading some tome that had been gathering dust on my shelves. I can't report that my horizons were broadened or I had my perspective altered by the titles I chose, but I did have fun and enjoyed letting my brain take the quiet path for awhile.

Now, I have an excuse to buy more books...

Building an Ark

People around here have been wondering if this would be a prudent use of time. We had 8 solid days of rain and are experiencing the worst flooding since the 1930's. I am lucky. My town didn't fare so badly and I did not have to pump water out of my basement. However, the school at which I teach was closed for 2 days (the elementary school in our district is still closed) due to the water and the whole area experienced closed roads, schools, businesses...people were kayaking in their yards and down sidestreets...since this is a common occurrence in my home state of Louisiana, I was not overly impressed.

But, I had a 4-day weekend. I watched movies, read, played videogames...the only unhappy lifeforms in the house were the dogs. They went stir crazy and began to gang up on me. Rodney, especially, was unhappy as he is not thrilled with rain. This made him very reluctant to go out to poop. But with size comes authority, so I booted him outside and made him stay there until he deposited his business in the appropriate area of the yard.

Friday is the Senior Prom. This means that the juniors and seniors will all be dismissed at 11:00 to get ready. Last Friday was the big band trip to Six Flags. We have awards assemblies, band concerts, etc. galore right now, so one can say the year is officially over.

Yeehah.

Crappy Films

Some films are just dogs - but we love them so. Call them "guilty pleasures" or whatever you please, but everyone has a list of accepted awful films that they just enjoy the hell out of. I got one of the films on my list in the mail today and I'm enjoying it.

I have always loved the Hammer horror films, the vampire ones especially. As a kid, I just fell in love with the edited version of Vampire Circus. When cable television first arrived in my hometown, they showed some interesting stuff. Telefrance USA, for instance, which showed real French programming - nudity and all. That one didn't last long. They also had a few channels that, trying to find some form of programming, showed tons of creaky movies. One of these channels, and I admit its name escapes me (of course I remember the name of the nudie channel), showed lots of old horror films. For some reason this one stuck in my mind and I remember watching it every time I caught it on the tube.

For years, though, I saw neither hide nor hair of that film. In fact, lots of the Hammer films just seemed to vanish from the airwaves. So did many of the 1950's-1970's horror and scifi flicks. The days of cheese-a-thons on the local tv stations were distant memory. No more begging to stay awake to watch Shock Theater - it wasn't there to watch. Its hard for me to imagine kids growing up today without a diet of hastily-made cheapie films to enjoy with friends and popcorn.

But, one day I got a hair across my behind to try and find a copy of Vampire Circus on DVD. That was a laugh. The VHS version has gone the way of the Dodo. There was a DVD version that was basically out of print, and only ever produced for the European format. Meaning, it wouldn't play on my machine, even if I could grab a copy of some friendly European. Now, this situation was what I learned from checking Amazon. Ok, says I...the hunt now begins. If I've learned one thing in life is that anything is possible if you look/try hard enough.

First, a general Internet search for Vampire Circus. Plenty of reviews and write-ups. Any links to purchasable copies listed prices in Euros. Not a good sign. There were some Hammer collections that contained the film, but, again they weren't in the right format. The collections available to the US market all lacked my desired flick. Now, I figured that I couldn't be the only American to every have looked for this film or for another crapfest only available overseas. This meant, to me, that some enterprising soul must exist out there whose sole purpose was to satisfy our odd cravings. More research was required...

...before finding that enterprising individual. Or individuals, it is a company. Canadian, they specialize in making certain films available. They pointedly state that they films they offer are not those available for general distribution in the US. They also pointedly state that the quality of their product is what one would expect for older films. Ok. Here's what they do. They but European DVD's of titles not made available over here and copy them for resale to the US market. Hey, they may have license to do that...I'm sure the paperwork is in order. All I know is that they got me a playable DVD copy of Vampire Circus for $26.99. The quality is good, too. About what I would expect if I purchased this off the rack at a video store. My crappy film is now mine...

Some days just call for crap films. Today is one of those days. Snowy, with the hint of "gotta go back to work Monday" in the air. Luxuriating in an old favorite with plenty of Coke Zero (at least one will get a bit of Stoli Vanilla tossed in) is a perfect way to pass the hours. Now, if I can just hunt down my copy of Johnny Mnemonic, I'll really be in hog heaven...

Dogs Declare Shenanigans

Make no mistake - they formally notified me that they would be operating under a flag of shenanigans until further notice. I went upstairs to visit the loo and was astonished to be visited within a minute by two balls of defiance. That was the first time they had climbed the stairs by themselves. I knew there was going to be trouble as they both carried something indistinguishable, yet derelict in their mouths...

Since that declaration, they have been racing up and down the stairs at full tilt, pausing only to pee in new and exciting spots on the second floor. They have dragged the bedding off of my guest bed, which is an impressive accomplishment seeing as it is a king-size set. They have eaten two socks, neither of which matched so that I am now down two pairs. The have played "catch me if you can" with a Sharpie, sans cap. Luckily, my walls do not bear any evidence of this particular game. They have started to latch onto each of my legs, one dog per, and making me walk them around the kitchen like a carnival ride. They have tried to chew the paint off the metal heater cover. I stopped that with the liberal application of Tabasco, however...

Vacation is such a wonderful time...I hope it ends soon...

And I Keep on Payin'

The only reason I don't get too upset over life is that I do believe everything is fixable and luck goes in cycles. Right now the cycle is doing the bottom part of its loop...

My best friend was going to fly up for my birthday. Of course, I found out that we can't get off of work due to the fact that a grant-funded enrichment program will be going on at that time and I have to be at work. Flippin' wonderful. I have to miss out on celebrating my 40th in style to handhold a pack of sophomores...

My wrist hurts...

My wallet went missing yesterday. I think it was swiped at school, but I don't know for sure. I realized it was gone yesterday afternoon and had to spend the whole evening cancelling credit cards, trying to remember things I had set on Autopay, placing fraud alerts on my credit reports, telling my refinance representative not to panic when he saw fraud alerts on my accounts, listing all the grocery, drugstore and pet store cards I have to replace, etc. At least I don't carry cash or checks in my wallet...

Today is warm and muggy, my head hurts and I'm in a foul mood...I don't need a crystal ball to know there's a rum and Coke Zero in my near future...

I Pay Every Day

That's my motto. Really. Know how you say "I'm going to pay for this" in certain situations? Well, my motto is I Pay Every Day. Maybe that's why I don't get overly psyched over things - I know that the hand will be proferred for payment at any moment.

Saturday was gorgeous and brought me my XBox 360. Sunday dumped 12+ inches of snow on our heads, but it was beautiful to watch. Plus, school called to cancel Monday's classes Sunday evening, so I could sleep in on Monday and have the day to myself after the final snow clearing in the morning.

Tuesday. What a crapola day it has been. The day started by the dogs being bad. Dogs Behaving Badly. Bark, yap, growl - repeat ad nauseum. Nip, bite, chew - repead ad infinitum. So, I decided to take them walking to burn off some of their pent-up energy. That was so incredibly stupid that I should be flogged. Rambunctious puppies on icy sidewalks...I am currently wearing the wrist brace I got as a reward for having the numbest skull in creation. I went down on the ice, using my left hand to try and stop my fall. Got a nice sprain for my trouble. Actually, its not overly bad; I have to wear my brace for a few days and I should be ok. But, that meant another day off of work as I got it checked out.

Then, the sun was making me sick. Really. It does that sometimes. Despite the fact that I have seasonal affective disorder, I am actually disabled by overly bright sunlight. Combine a blazing sun with a whited-out landscape and my head was pounding. That, in turn, made me nauseous. And the dogs just would not stop their shenanigans. Ugghhhhh...

I finally had to hide upstairs in my bedroom with the door closed just to get some quiet, dark rest. I was nice - I left the backdoor open to the patio for the dogs to play and pee, but I was not going to bring them upstairs with me. When I felt a little better, I filled the tub and just soaked for awhile in cool water. Dried off, donned warm sweats and toddled downstairs to find the pups curled in a big ball o' dog, emitting little contented snores. Bastards.

I am now gearing up to grab a snack and a beverage and take it easy. Must find my way back to the salt mines tomorrow. Its going to be tough, I have only one hand with which to wallop the students...

Doughnuts

or is it Donuts? I don't know, but I do know that there are a lot of things out there passing as donuts that were not around when I was a kid.

Yesterday was a major snowstorm that required multiple shovelings to completely clear. Shoveling last night, shoveling this morning...I needed coffee. And not hot coffee, I was already sweating from shoveling. Who has iced coffee in February? Dunkin Donuts - the black spectre of commercial America. Well...what are you gonna do?

The dogs had actually been good, so I took them with me with the intention of allowing them a Munchkin apiece. Not surprisingly, the line was a mile long...an army of snow-boot clad New Englanders taking a well deserved break from winter. While waiting, I had time to consider the donut assortment behind the counter and realized just how much times had changed.

Admitedly, being Southern, Krispy Kreme was the donut of choice in my youth and the varities offered were limited. Glazed, jelly, chocolate covered, cream-filled and cake. That was about it. There were usually a few different shapes or types, such as bear claws or crullers, but there were just variations on a common theme. And we were thankful. All we wanted was something sweet, soft and warm and this assortment suited any mood. Now, jelly donuts are stuffed with a myriad of fruit or cream fillings. Donuts have any sort of ingredients in the batter and an incalculable universe of toppings and dustings. It was amazing at how many permutations of donut could be concocted. And that doesn't count the seasonal, limited-time creatures that show up regularly. I just know that green donuts will be available for purchase come St. Patrick's Day.

And muffins, bagels, flavored coffees...It is just nutty. Coffee and a donut is a thing that has passed beyond one of life's simple pleasures....

A Day of Days

Some days just focus the energy of the times into one wacky 24 hours. Today is such a day.

It started at the unholy hour of 4:32 am. Rodney decidecd that he simply had to go to the bathroom and was not taking "no" for an answer. He licked my nose, whined in my ear, scratched at the covers...then Perkunas joined added his efforts and I was outvoted. So, throw on clothes, grab glasses and navigate the stairs to bring the dogs downstairs. This is trickier than it sounds - my stairs are fairly steep and I have to carry the dogs, one in each arm, since they are too stubborn to traverse the steps on their own.

Open the back door and get hit with a blast of 10 degree air. The dogs tried to balk on going outside, but a slippered foot to their backsides changed all that. After they had eliminated everything that a dog can eliminate, I let them back into the house. Normally, I would head back upstairs, put on my contacts and begin my day. Not today. I decided to toss off the slippers and glasses and bury myself under the blankets on the couch. Oh, just one more precious hour of sleep...

Warmly bundled, I began to drift off when I felt something banging on my face. Rodney was doing a popcorn dance trying to get on the couch and ramming his nose onto my face to garner my assistance. Yeah....so, up he comes and promptly splays himself on my face and begins that deep, fast breathing that signals a dog actively trying to fall asleep. So, I wriggle my nose so that it is breathing fresh air and not puppy penis and drift off.

I didn't wake for 3 1/2 hours. I haven't slept until 8:00 am for years. Rodney had changed position, perched on my head like a hat and Perkunas had joined us, clutching my foot like a teddy bear. It took an act of Congress to get those two lazy bones to move and even more effort to get them fed and ready to meet the day. And it was a day lacking an agenda. The sky was crystal clear and the sun was blazing, despite the cold. The big issue was the approaching storm. We are slated to see 12 or more inches of snow between tonight and tomorrow afternoon. So, the only real objective was to be sure that the house was stocked with provisions. That meant plenty of Coke Zero and microwave popcorn. But, my eye spied the bag of chicken breast jerky that the dogs love as a special treat. It was getting low. That indicated a trip to Costco. What the heck.

Dogs gathered, purse found, car pre-warmed using the remote starter. Yeah. Oh, need gas. Drat. Just the thing for ridiculously low temperatures, standing around filling the tank. Of course, the gloves have to come off or they get impregnated with gas fumes. So, fuel and freeze. Finally, on the Interstate. The dogs have to stand on my lap today and try to drive. They also try to lick my nose. Fortunately, the traffic was light and no innocent lives were lost during the trip. Got to Costco with only a glimmer of a plan. Buy dog chicken and putter about - that about summed it up. Then I walked in the door...

I could see it from afar. Human eyes are sensitive to three things in order: motion, color and form. It wasn't moving, but the color was unmistakable. White, green and silver. XBox 360. There it was. I covered the distance between the door and the display faster than the speed of light. Oooohhhh....console, hard drive, 2 wireless controllers, Ethernet cable and one game. $489.00. Normally, I would throw up a little in my mouth while contemplating a three-figure purchase, but this was sweet. And they were going fast. While examining the package, I was hit by several sets of hands grabbing units. Not going to leave me in the cold. Mine, mine, mine......

Well, that purchase made a trip to Best Buy an imperative. Had to get games and I found 3 that will suffice for now, Quake 4, Perfect Dark Zero and Kameo. Drat that I still had groceries to buy before going home. And the grocery was a zoo. Everyone was stockpiling for the storm, so lines were long and cashiers were cranky. But, supplies purchased (including a carrot muffin for the dogs as a treat), I screamed home as fast as the RAV 4 could take me to get my game system set up.

Surprisingly, connection of game console to TV was easy. Usually, I wind up pulling out my hair getting configurations correct, but this was a snap. Oooohhhhhh....,46" widescreen HDTV filled with gaming action. Stupidly, I started with Quake 4. I forgot that 1st person engine games can make me nauseous. I had to putter around with some XBox Live arcade games to calm my stomach before I could go back to some serious slaughter. Hee hee hee....

My neighbor is doing some major home renovation, so my walls are rattling a bit. I am reciprocating with laser blasts and the death screams of mutant humans. Let the snow fall...I am so ready....

The Perception of Language

A student of mine started a blog and I have been reading and commenting on his entries. I have noticed lately that his thoughts have centered on the flaws (as he sees them)with the English language. He has commented on the lack of need for capital letters at the start of sentences (punctuation should tell you when sentences start and stop) and the stupidity of silent letters in words. Both are interesting thoughts, but would carry more weight if they were written by someone who cannot string together one sentence that has correct spelling, structure or punctuation. He CAN do it; I have read his research papers. In his casual writing, though, he eshews all manner of language rules. This is not a conscious rebellion; this is pure laziness and a lack of understanding as to the importance of language.

I admit to being a language snob. Not that I am any expert, I make more mistakes than is tolerable for an educated person. However, I usually catch my mistakes and take pains to correct them, if possible. That is because I realize that individuals are judged by the quality of language they use in both verbal and written situations. Our first impression of a person is formed from their appearance. Anyone who says that people are not judged by their appearance is an utopian fool. Our second impression of an individual is formed from their speech. If they sound like a moron, we assume they are one; if they sound smart, we assume that condition. The pattern and sophistication of speech may not reflect the person's intellectual ability or societal worth, but there's not getting around the fact that we draw conclusions based on speech quality and, further, we act on those conclusions.

The same is true for writing. Students don't seem to understand that their writing is taken as evidence of their capabilities and this is why colleges use essays to help assess candidates. Further, more and more employers are screening prospective hires with written exercises. Success in the career world is heavily dependent on one's writing ability and, further, one's verbal skills. Yes, English is a wacky language that could use an enema to clean out and simplify. But, it really doesn't take a super-genius to master and demonstrate the basics. If these kids can conquer the inner workings of XBox 360, they can conquer subject-verb agreement...

Boobs

Oh how I hate them. I have never in my entire life enjoyed having boobs. One of the nicest benefits about dwindling to a stick figure for some years was that I didn't have to worry about boobs. I swear that I would swallow a tapeworm, if I could find an sterilized one, to shrivel me once more so as to lose my boobs.

I have never been a very feminine femme. Unlike others of the Double-X Sisterhood, I do not rejoice in makeup, new shoes, frilly accessories or sultry underwear. I guess I'm just too pragmatic to worry about such things. I wear cheap makeup (the only reason I wear any at all is that it keeps me from looking dead) and buy my shoes, accessories and underpants at Walmart. I don't really work to coordinate outfits and have never, ever, considered matching undergarments with each other, let alone with my outerwear. It appears to me that women who love these sorts of things enjoy their mammary tissue. They shop for underwear that highlights their curves and makes their boobs look as spectacular as possible. They buy clothes that suit their boobs. An outfit that is not sufficiently boobalicious does not make it out of the dressing room.

I buy cheap bras. As long as they keep my boobs from flopping around, any brand or style is acceptable. Well,that's not true - I hate underwire. The damn things just seem to pinch no matter what. But, I never choose a bra for its boob-enhancing qualities. Even with small boobs, I never worried about push-ups or push-togethers or any of that nonsense. I was content to wear NO bra and a joy it was. Boobs that just stayed put and didn't get in the way of anything. That's the ticket. But since I again have boobs with which to deal, the cheapest bra in the world is more than enough.

Boobs flop and plop and move and groove in ways that I do not find appealing. I don't like part of me jigging left when I'm jagging right. I don't like that I want to nip into the bathroom on a warm day to give the underside of my boobs a wipedown. I don't like that they're squishy to poke at and painful if you poke too hard. A well-planted poodle foot can give a boob a right painful prod. I just don't like the way they feel. They seem to detract from "clean" movement.

I doubt that I will ever become fast friends with my boobs. They just don't fit well with my mindset and lifestyle. I wish they offered liposuction for boobs. I'd be first in line as soon as the clinic opened...

The Fire Alarm

A kid threw a match in the wastebasket in the boy's bathroom today, forcing us out of the building. At least the idiot picked a decent day to go pyro on us. Mid-40's and partly sunny. I'll take that.

The funny thing about fire alarms is that the kids all yell "Yeah" in unison with the first flash of the light and whoop of the bell. Teachers groan and beging to fumble around for our keys and a blank notecard and pen. We are supposed to exit the building, keeping our class together, and record the attendance. Did everyone make it out alive? Yes or no. Of course, this is theory. In practice, once the kids hit the door, they scatter in all directions like hairspray out of an aerosol can. Some race up the hill behind the school, hoping for a quick smoke. Some play hide and seek among the cars. Most just flow together in one big mass of smelly humanity. I was lucky in that the class in which the alarm sounded was my honors class. Good kids who actually clotted together long enough for me to account for all heads before going off to find their friends.

Luckily this was a minor event. We've only had one serious evacuation of the building during my tenure, and that was in response to a vaguely threatening note found on the floor at the height of the Columbine paranoia. That was a nuisance. It was cold, rainy and we were outside for several hours before the students were sent home. They were totally off-kilter in that they had to leave everything behind in the school. No one was allowed back in to get personal items. We teachers decided the policy of building exclusion did not apply to us and we snuck back into our classrooms for purses, keys and laptops.

I had to laugh, though, at the new student that I got for my honors class today. He's a foreign exchange student from Sweden and this was his first day. He had originally been slated to be placed in another biology section that is filled with monkeys. Behavior problems and non-motivated kids. Not really a good environment for a kid away from home in a different country. So, I volunteered to put him in my honors section, since those kids are very sweet and happy. So, poor kid walks right into a class filled with bubbly kids and then we flee the building under an umbrella of flashes and sirens. Welcome to America.

So, the administration will now spend time trying to find the culprit. I'm sure, by now, every kid in the building knows who did it, but management will likely never solve the case. Basically, same ol' story for almost every occurrence in school. I'm just happy it didn't cut into my prep time this afternoon. I needed my nap and Diet Coke...

Homeowning Elitism

I love my condo. It is spacious, has a very useful basement, has beautiful hardwood floors...it is wonderful in all appects. But one. It is a condo. It is 1/2 of a house. It is not detached. And that bugs me to no end.

Growing up, there was one end of my street that had duplexes. That was considered the low-class end of the street. Anyone living in a duplex, or worse an apartment, was looked down upon. "Regular" folks lived in single-family homes. Even when the condominium craze hit, they were considered lodgings for those in-between permanent houses. Good for famililes starting out, but not for anyone that was established in life. Now, the home in which I grew up was no palace, but it met all the criteria for acceptable social status.

I lived in a condo when I was in graduate school, with my future husband, That was ok. We were young and transient. Moving up to Massachusetts, we inhabited another condo, before I pushed to move into a house. We didn't buy - he was too cheap. We rented a nice house and I was far more comfortable mentally. My flight from my crappy marraige necessitated low-quality, low-cost housing. A run-down apartment in a squalid area of town. But, that was ok. I was definitely not settled and very much in a transition phase in life. The holes in the walls didn't bother me. They were a temporary situation; I could handle that.

From that hovel came a move to another apartment, albeit one that was gorgeous. Situated in a Federalist mansion in a beautiful, historic town, it was large, had an amazing airy living room with floor to ceiling shelves, 3 functioning fireplaces...I always felt I had one foot out the door. It was an apartment - not designed for lifelong living. I had just started a new job, moved across the state...just starting to rebuild my life. Being lazy, I stayed in that one spot for 8 years. The space and location were great, but I always felt a twinge of anxiety about the place. It was not a house. Period. I had not yet "made it."

My situation was changed by disharmony in the landlord side of the building. They decided to get a divorce and the house was to be sold. There was a great deal of uncertainty about how the apartments would be handled, so I decided it was time for a move. This time, I knew I had to bite the bullet. I had to buy something. I was 38 years old, damn time to get away from the rental lifestyle.

For the first time, I had to take a good, hard look at the housing market in this area. It dawned on me that most of the houses ewre multi-family dwellings. Large, old houses broken into pieces. Even then, the pieces were worth a king's ransom. I looked around at other towns. Any town of size presented the same picture. My town was not an abberation - it was the norm. Pricewise, a single-family dwelling was ridiculous. But, I did not let that deter me. I wanted my own house and would move man or mountaian to get it.

Well, my resolve lasted as long as it usually does. The second place I looked at is the one I bought. Yes, it was a condo, but at least there were only 2 units in the house. The street was wonderful. I loved it immediately. My house-hunting stopped the minute I found the place. In terms of cash, she was a steal for the area. 3 bedrooms, full basement for under $300,000 in my town is considered dirt cheap. Everyone told me how lucky I was and how wonderful was my new place. I've been there two years now...and I actually tried to flee the other day.

A house came available on my street awhile back and ever since I saw the For Sale sign I had a pull in its direction. It was single-family. It was still on my street. The move would be a piece of cake. It even had a deck on the 2nd floor and the kitchen looked gorgeous on the website. I finally decided to check it out. It was far smaller than my current place and the basement was abysmal. But, the rooms were nice, the ceilings didn't need repair (like mine) and, most important, it was detached. I made a offer on the place and went home to await the news.

I left the realtor's office around 4:30 and was told I would hear word by 8:00. My nerves were firing bullets into my brain. I was experiencing a roller coaster ride of anticipation and buyer's remorse. I wanted the new place, but I loved my current residence. Pins and needles, pins and needles....until I got the call. The buyer had accepted an offer that was made that morning. No new place for me. And, I didn't really care. I didn't feel any loss, I wasn't upset. It was very odd. I thought that I would have been somewhat down, but I actually felt fine.

I thought about this for a few days. Was I not upset because I'm over my disdain of attached dwellings or was I not upset because I was not really that happy with the house for sale. I'm still not sure. If another little house comes available, I might take a look, but I'm certainly not going on a house-hunting crusade. I guess I'm somewhat more comfortable with the idea of condo living. Plus the dogs have claimed the place as theirs and I'd rather not upset them. They'd take revenge...

MP3 and Me

I never thought I would own an MP3 player. I have never had an urge to join the digital music masses. Through experience, I knew that music-playing devices died quick deaths in my possession. Every Walkman and cd-player I have owned was used briefly and then neglected once the initial round of batteries bit the dust. I was never too upset about their passing from my life - their sound quality was marginal, I didn't enjoy carrying piles of tapes or discs, they were bulky and unattractive, they skipped or stopped at the most inappropriate times...Good riddance.

For a while, now, I have been observing my students using their MP3 players. They are far easier to hide and use clandestinely than other music devices. The students also seemed to enjoy the sound more than with other devices. My noodle began to wonder if such a plaything was do-able for me. I was not convinced, however, that I would use such a purchase and delayed furthering my purchase research for a long time.

Puppies, snow and midterm exam week diminished my reluctance. Walking dogs, shoveling snow and having to sit through 2-hour blocks giving/grading exams made me reconsider the usefulness of having music on my person. The great grind of the research machine began. Most of my students have ipods and I researched them first. Quickly I realized that I would not take a bite of the Apple. A number of reviewers questioned the sound quality and, worst, there were limitations on locations from which you could download your music. I find that rather odd for a company who vilifies Microsoft for its monopoly tactics and it cheesed me to no end. Most likely, my growing dislike stemmed from an abhorrance of going with the flow. I consider the average American to be more or less intellectually bankrupt, so I don't feel following their lead to be a wise move. Out with ipod.

I then prowled the specs of the Creative Labs products and found them to be more to my liking. They got better reviews for sound and were compatible with far more download sites. Not as eye-catching as the ipods, but that doesn't really count for much in my world. I settled on the Micro Zen Photo, grey front. 8 gigabytes of storage holds plenty of tunes and some nice photos to boot. I can now show people the latest pics of my pups as easily as if I kept snapshots in my wallet. The sound is killer and its still nice and small for easy portability and concealment.

But, as with any digitech product, hardware is only part of the puzzle. The next issue was software and tunes. The player came with its own software package, but I had a feeling that I could work around that and use something else. Enter Rhapsody. The Real Player people put this together and its not a bad site. Lots of good music and comedy albums and the software interface works great with my player. It might not be the cheapest, $14.95/month for unlimited downloads and transfers to my Micro Zen, but it is easy to use and that carries a lot of weight with me. With my broadband connection, I've been downloading muy albums from my tempestuous youth and new stuff that I've been wanting to give a listen. Hey, might as well get my flat-fee worth...

It has been a joy, let me tell you. This last snowstorm (Monday) was made far more pleasant by shoveling to the sounds of Queen, Jethro Tull, Heart, and Ozzy. Puppy promenades fly by while lost in Les Mis. I listened to part of an Eddie Izzard album during my prep block and was glad the kids weren't there to hear me bust out laughing. I am having tres fun with it and, of course, wondering what took me so long to get on the bandwagon. I anticipate that since I finally broke down and bought an MP3 player, this ensures that they will soon become defunct as a new technology rises to take their place. That's ok, I guess there's always room for one more new toy...

Ancestral Technology

When the term "technology" is used today, it is normally in reference to electronic technology. Computers is the most common example cited when technology is discussed in the context of education or other professions and fields. However, this is a very narrow use of the word. Technology just means using tools. A fork is a piece of technology. A stick used to extract ants from a log is technology. So is a hammer and snips. And they are not my friends...

When I spent a king's ransom to fence my patio, I thought ahead to the coming months of snow and decided to leave a space of several inches between the ground and the bottom of the fence. This would allow me to more easily open and close the doors without having to shovel for 1/2 hour prior to moving my car or trashcans. That was Life Pre-Puppies. It was quick to see that the dogs could easily, even as adults, escape through the provided gap. If I am out there, I can verbally correct their behavior, but who wants to be outside all the time? Those hounds like to play in the snow and rain and I like to be warm and dry.

This situation made potty trips for the dogs a matter of walks and that, in New England winter, is a time-consuming process. So, when my desire for a quiet, indoor afternoon finally reached maximum, I bit the bullet and went to the hardware store. Our local hardware hut is one of those places that has a little of everything under the sun. A quick perusal turned up fencing material. The question, of course, was what type to use. Chicken wire? Too flimsy. Chain link? How to cut that stuff? I settled on "Rabbit Guard." Then, snips were required. Find a suitable pair. Finally, something with which to affix the Rabbit Guard to the wood fence. That meant a big honking stapler. I gathered my $41.00 worth of poodle protection and trundled back to the car. The boys were standing on the passenger seat watching me. Their hopeful eyes made me happy that I was taking the step to give them a backyard in which to play and pee.

Boy, those looks didn't last me long. Quickly I descended into frustrated muttering as I worked to install my fencing addition. First, I had to work with the Rabbit Guard. It had to be laid flat to unroll, but I couldn't easily gauge how much I neecded unless I had it upright along the fence. I didn't want to add another tool, a tape measure, to my arsenal for fear of being overwhelmed with gadgets. Stand the roll of Rabbit Guard on end. Try to unroll it upright. Flip, flop, fall. Lay it down. Roll some out. Try to stand rolled-out fencing and remainder of roll. Watch it curl and fall. Repeat several times. Argh.

Then, staple RG to wood fence. Have staples miss RG wire. Have staples nearly bind finger to wood. Swear. Yell at dogs who are laughing at me from the steps. Roll out more fence, endure more staple chaos, snip fence in wrong place...oh the humanity...

Finally, a sufficient barricade was put in place to pen the most persistent poodle. I let them explore their new backyard and they seemed happy. Of course, it was also rather dark, so they did not get to enjoy the experience as much as they could. The next day was a monsoon. Hard, driving rain. Needless to say, no outdoors play. Just quick trips to the ivy at the edge of the yard for the doin' of the business.

Today. The day. In the 40's and sunshine. I had planned to do some errands before coming home, but set them aside to race back and let the dogs enjoy the outdoors. Do they like their territory? Yes. But, Rodney will only stay outside right now if the back door is fully open. I can't close the storm door or he whines and cries to come back in. This does not bode well for my fuel bills this month. But, he has at least started to staunchly claim one corner for himself and has been merrily marking his area with puppy pride. I am so thrilled.

I was thinking about how to shade the pups from the sun, provide some structural amusement, etc. I then remembered that any more alteration of my environment will require more tools and work on my part. This will not do. They will have to rough it. Hey, I did more "home improvement" for them than I have done for myself since I moved in. I think I deservce a medal...

Pong Culture

In British slang, "pong" means stink. However, I do not use the term with this definition. Rather, I refer to the mother of all video games - Pong.

I remember back to the time where calculators, home computers and cable television were nonexistent in our culture. Digital watches had yet to make a real appearance and, when they did, were the clunky black-banded red LED variety. Same with calculators, for that matter. In other words, basic subsistence technology was not in place during my tender youth. Technology for fun was not a top priority.

Then came Pong. The simple yellow console. The arcane cabling and boxes required to hook the magic to the television. A black and white TV was fine - Pong was black and white. You could play singles or doubles, fast or slow. Back and forth hitting a square white ball with flat white paddles. A video game for the television. A completely novel idea for a generation just getting an inkling of what the new electronic era would provide them.

I thought I was quite privliged to have my Pong game. I caged a discarded black and white TV to put in my bedroom and watched my father have a cerebral vascular event while trying to successfully hook up the device. But, once set up and ready to go, I barricaded myself in my room with 32-oz glass bottles of Coke or Tab and didn't exit for days. The fun thing about Pong was that the simplicity of the game allowed the imagination to rule the show. The ball and paddles could be anything. My mission knew no bounds. My opponent, whether real or imaginary, could be anyone. We created our own fantastic scenarios, dangerous missions, heroic characters to fit our mood. My mother, if I had company, would leave us alone, except to deposit paper trash bags filled with freshly-popped popcorn and more soda just inside my bedroom door.

Pong lasted me a good while. My parents weren't Rockefellers, so as technology progressed, I had to wait patiently for anything new to make it into our house. The next salvo in the video game war was Atari 2600. I begged and pleaded with my parents for an Atari system. My friends and I would spend our free time at the mall or in bowling alleys playing the arcade games - Pac Man, Centipede, Space Invaders, Asteroids...Atari offered these and, it seemed at the time, so much more. Finally, I was rewarded with a gleaming new Atari 2600 system and fell into worship almost immediately. I had, by that time, obtained small color television set. The screen size was such that I and any companions had to huddle close to the set in order to adequately visualize the action. That was ok, we were used to forming a clot of humanity around the arcade games at the mall.

The color, graphics and performance of the Atari system was, by today's standards, laughable. But, it was a major departure from the minimalist Pong environment. We could now see our spaceships blasting our foes, our heroes vanquishing the villains...life was good. Then came The Grand Disruption.

Pong had been the only game in town. With the realized potential of the video game industry, a variety of units hit the market. My friends got a Texas Instrument system. Their games were different than mine and our games could not be played on opposing systems. The Nintendo revolution hit, bringing improved functionality and quality of graphics. Every time, the cost of console and game increased. Quickly, the kids in my neighborhood saw the writing on the wall - we weren't going to be vanguards in the new video revolution. Our parents didn't have the money to keep up with the ever changing technology. I went no further than my early Atari system. One friend got an early Nintendo, but couldn't afford more than a couple of games.

Gaming culture took off with a blast, but we were left in the dust. It was not until I could afford my own computer, as an adult, that I began to play again. Being both poor and cheap, I downloaded demo versions of games onto my machine and made do for a long time. Duke Nukem, Doom, Castle Wolfenstein...I never bought any game software, but had a good time with the free offerings. Even today, if I get the urge to play, I find a free site online and make use of their bandwidth.

My generation built the video universe. Many of us dropped off early on and let others push the developers for new and better programs and hardware. We stragglers were content to play what we had, old and sad as it was, and use our imaginations to fill in the gaps. One day I may jump back into the matrix and rejoin my Pong culture brethren. One day, when I win the lottery....

Rodney - Puppy Extraordinaire

Perkunas - Snow Dog