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