Politics and state government doesn't really interest me - this is one of the reasons why I left fulltime newspaper journalism - but when the governor of your state (Jodi Rell) proposes to close state parks to save money in the year's next budget and then legalize Keno gambling, you've got to question exactly where she's getting such stupid ideas, and what her priorities are.
Yesterday, Rell thought it'd be a good idea to encourage MORE gambling in a state where they is already a flourishing state lottery and two huge casinos by legalizing Keno in Connecticut. I don't know, but is this not preying upon those people who can afford to lose money the least? Gambling is an addiction, like smoking and drinking, and when the state government steps in to encourage it - all in the name of making money off of it - there's a huge problem.
The day Rell announced the closing of some state parks, she reversed the decision, or at least backed off of the plan, because she started to feel the heat from making the proposal. The parks closing would have saved $1 million a year, but now Rell has found some obscure underground tank account in the DEP account to take the funds. This makes no sense, shouldn't have happened in one day, and is an example of Rell caving to expected pressures after making a foolish move.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Memorial Day observations
Watched a small-town parade this morning and visited a state park this afternoon. It was a beautiful, dry, sunny day. A few things occurred to me during this time...
As bystanders at the parade applauded for the young soldiers (all men, that I could see), I couldn't help but imagine that of the group of 20 or so, five or six men will likely be sent to battle somewhere in the next few years and one or two might not return alive. Many of these men looked about 18, 20 years old, fit and focused, and seemingly naive, but perhaps not. I'm sure they understand the risks involved in wearing the uniform. But you want to ask them: Do you really know what you're getting yourself into? Do their parents care? I mean, we need them, absolutely, but if it were my son, would I try to offer as many alternatives as possible to volunteering for the armed forces? The answer is yes.
Watching a Memorial Day parade during wartime is especially moving. You appreciate more fully the idea of serving one's country. This was especially so in the first few years after 9/11, but is it still true.
I could not believe the number of girl scout troops marching in the parade, all from the same community. Are the Brownies making a comeback? There had to have been 200 Brownies, in their little brown vests, the smell of thin mints and peanut butter cookies not quite washed from their hands from recent fundraisers. The Brownies vastly outnumbered Cub Scouts; they had them beat (in sheer parade length) by a whole block. I wonder what's going on, here. Are the mothers better at recruiting girls for this? Are fewer boys becoming Boy Scouts? I'm not THAT interested in answering these questions, but this was obvious enough to arouse some interest.
Is it not common knowledge that Pit Bulls should remain at home? I see more of them leashed - and unleashed - in public places where children are or could be. What will it take for owners of Pit Bulls and other vicious breeds such as Rottweilers to understand that their dogs are bred to fight/kill, and places where innocent strangers pass them on the sidewalk or grassy knoll are not good places to bring them? I know the answer. Highly publicized attacks on innocent strangers.
It is amazing to witness the power of blowing bubbles on young children. Bigger than TV or Chuck E. Cheese. Well, maybe not. (Note: Check where your bubbles are made. Ours were made in China. Hey, kids, don't drink the bubbles!)
As bystanders at the parade applauded for the young soldiers (all men, that I could see), I couldn't help but imagine that of the group of 20 or so, five or six men will likely be sent to battle somewhere in the next few years and one or two might not return alive. Many of these men looked about 18, 20 years old, fit and focused, and seemingly naive, but perhaps not. I'm sure they understand the risks involved in wearing the uniform. But you want to ask them: Do you really know what you're getting yourself into? Do their parents care? I mean, we need them, absolutely, but if it were my son, would I try to offer as many alternatives as possible to volunteering for the armed forces? The answer is yes.
Watching a Memorial Day parade during wartime is especially moving. You appreciate more fully the idea of serving one's country. This was especially so in the first few years after 9/11, but is it still true.
I could not believe the number of girl scout troops marching in the parade, all from the same community. Are the Brownies making a comeback? There had to have been 200 Brownies, in their little brown vests, the smell of thin mints and peanut butter cookies not quite washed from their hands from recent fundraisers. The Brownies vastly outnumbered Cub Scouts; they had them beat (in sheer parade length) by a whole block. I wonder what's going on, here. Are the mothers better at recruiting girls for this? Are fewer boys becoming Boy Scouts? I'm not THAT interested in answering these questions, but this was obvious enough to arouse some interest.
Is it not common knowledge that Pit Bulls should remain at home? I see more of them leashed - and unleashed - in public places where children are or could be. What will it take for owners of Pit Bulls and other vicious breeds such as Rottweilers to understand that their dogs are bred to fight/kill, and places where innocent strangers pass them on the sidewalk or grassy knoll are not good places to bring them? I know the answer. Highly publicized attacks on innocent strangers.
It is amazing to witness the power of blowing bubbles on young children. Bigger than TV or Chuck E. Cheese. Well, maybe not. (Note: Check where your bubbles are made. Ours were made in China. Hey, kids, don't drink the bubbles!)
Friday, May 22, 2009
Hand soap
I'm not sure what this says about me - in theory, it could be a sign of obsessive compulsive behavior however it's not - but I'm a sucker for some good hand soap. I'm talking aromatic, creamy, little-beads-of-scent, probably expensive hand soap. I think because the hand soap at my house comes from Sam's which we buy in bulk and has no character whatsoever, that this is so.
I know of two places where hand soap is good consistently and is varied. My sister-in-law's house, and our friend Sarah's place. Bathrooms at both locales are stocked with excellent soaps, often multiple varieties sharing the same vanity counter space. Generic crap soap, like the stuff we buy at Target and has a blurb on the bottle saying it "is cheaper when compared to Softsoap", is not seen in these women's homes.
Sarah's house features almost exclusively Bath and Body Works soaps. I recall some mango or cucumber varieties, and the stuff is good enough to warrant three or four dollops, which makes one look forward to extra trips to the restroom. The association of good-smelling, quality hand soap is like a stimulus-response experiment. You tend to go more because of it.
My sister-in-law Gretchen also takes pride in the soaps she puts out for visitors. During a recent visit, there was a lemon-coconut brand, I believe - two scents that you might not think work well together, but they did. I lift my hands to my nose and take a whiff. I think Gretchen has more foamy-type soaps than Sarah on her counter. I don't know where she buys hers, but I bet it's not Sam's.
This does make me pause and reflect about our own soap purchases - maybe spending a little more time and money to improve the hand-washing experience is in order. Going to Bath and Body Works is a bit inconvenient since it's in a mall, but I suppose we could stock up. We tend to get the cheap stuff at places where it's convenient, like Stop and Shop.
But I think the few seconds of hand washing spent with better soaps makes the extra effort worth it. It completes and adds a little fulfillment to the hand washing experience. It does more than the typical afterthought hand wash. Hell, I have formed memories around these soaps, and have actually taken time to think and write about this!
I can see already, though, where this is headed. This will end up being one of those things (like volunteering, turning off the light in the basement, and cleaning my car) that I likely just don't get to, because it's hardly a priority. But I appreciate the effort that some friends and family members put in, here. I suppose the easiest way to experience better soap would be to just visit them more often. And use the bathroom, of course.
I know of two places where hand soap is good consistently and is varied. My sister-in-law's house, and our friend Sarah's place. Bathrooms at both locales are stocked with excellent soaps, often multiple varieties sharing the same vanity counter space. Generic crap soap, like the stuff we buy at Target and has a blurb on the bottle saying it "is cheaper when compared to Softsoap", is not seen in these women's homes.
Sarah's house features almost exclusively Bath and Body Works soaps. I recall some mango or cucumber varieties, and the stuff is good enough to warrant three or four dollops, which makes one look forward to extra trips to the restroom. The association of good-smelling, quality hand soap is like a stimulus-response experiment. You tend to go more because of it.
My sister-in-law Gretchen also takes pride in the soaps she puts out for visitors. During a recent visit, there was a lemon-coconut brand, I believe - two scents that you might not think work well together, but they did. I lift my hands to my nose and take a whiff. I think Gretchen has more foamy-type soaps than Sarah on her counter. I don't know where she buys hers, but I bet it's not Sam's.
This does make me pause and reflect about our own soap purchases - maybe spending a little more time and money to improve the hand-washing experience is in order. Going to Bath and Body Works is a bit inconvenient since it's in a mall, but I suppose we could stock up. We tend to get the cheap stuff at places where it's convenient, like Stop and Shop.
But I think the few seconds of hand washing spent with better soaps makes the extra effort worth it. It completes and adds a little fulfillment to the hand washing experience. It does more than the typical afterthought hand wash. Hell, I have formed memories around these soaps, and have actually taken time to think and write about this!
I can see already, though, where this is headed. This will end up being one of those things (like volunteering, turning off the light in the basement, and cleaning my car) that I likely just don't get to, because it's hardly a priority. But I appreciate the effort that some friends and family members put in, here. I suppose the easiest way to experience better soap would be to just visit them more often. And use the bathroom, of course.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
In need of a new sports anthem
For the record, I can do without "Welcome to the Jungle" as the go-to, pump-up-the-crowd sports anthem.
The Celtics overuse it (I'm watching Boston play Orlando in Game 7 right now and Guns N' Roses is playing over the PA system), UConn football uses it every time they're defending a third down play, and the 80s rock song is heard in other sports venues during pivotal moments. I wonder if G n' R considered when they wrote the song that it would become as legendary as it is. What am I thinking? The band was probably unaware of creating the entire album, Appetite for Destruction. That's creativity for you. Mind-altering drugs yield art. Consider James Taylor's most well-known work was written and performed under the influence of heroin.
Anyway, all I really intended to say here was that I was sick of "Jungle" - a song that was good in the 80s, retained its value 10 years later, but now its time is passed.
The Celtics overuse it (I'm watching Boston play Orlando in Game 7 right now and Guns N' Roses is playing over the PA system), UConn football uses it every time they're defending a third down play, and the 80s rock song is heard in other sports venues during pivotal moments. I wonder if G n' R considered when they wrote the song that it would become as legendary as it is. What am I thinking? The band was probably unaware of creating the entire album, Appetite for Destruction. That's creativity for you. Mind-altering drugs yield art. Consider James Taylor's most well-known work was written and performed under the influence of heroin.
Anyway, all I really intended to say here was that I was sick of "Jungle" - a song that was good in the 80s, retained its value 10 years later, but now its time is passed.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Baseball observations
Last night, my son Ethan, who is now 4, and I went to see the Double A New Britain Rock Cats play an Eastern League interleague game against the Connecticut Defenders, the team in Norwich on a seasonably warm spring evening.
It one of those experiences one has in which you could just as well stay home. It was a night game, and I had to be up at 5:30 to go on a day-long field trip to Massachusetts.
We went, though, and had a great time. Of course, we ate a lot of junk food (hot dogs, soda, ice cream, peanuts). We played iSpy around the ballpark, including identifying the giant milk bottle beyond the fence in left-center field. We laughed at the mascots and the between-inning contests. It was quality father-son time. We left in the middle of the sixth inning, which was surprising, especially since my son asked after the first inning, "How much longer is it, Daddy?"
One thing that intrigued me was information displayed on the scoreboard for each batter. Every batter was identified by name, hometown, height and weight.
I wondered about the reason for the height and weight. I mean, how much does this actually tell you? That a guy is big, medium-sized, or small. Beyond that, it doesn't indicate very much about the quality of an athlete, though.
Plenty of men have the same height-weight statistics as professional athletes. Like me. for instance, I am 6'1 1/2" and I weigh 195 pounds. This is misleading, however, because way too much of that weight is centered in the wrong area. I was in my best shape in college, when I weighed about 185.
I think new data needs to be proposed in the place of the height and weight. Tell us the batter's on-base percentage. How many hits does he have? How fast can the guy run 50 meters? What is the team's record when the player plays? While I'm mentioning offensive statistics, I'd rather know the number of runs scored and average than knowing the home runs and RBIs.
For pitchers, provide the ERA, innings pitched, wins, losses and strikeouts.
My point, here, is that we don't need to know a player's height and weight. They are irrelevant numbers that don't mean a thing. A player's age, for instance, would tell us much more.
It one of those experiences one has in which you could just as well stay home. It was a night game, and I had to be up at 5:30 to go on a day-long field trip to Massachusetts.
We went, though, and had a great time. Of course, we ate a lot of junk food (hot dogs, soda, ice cream, peanuts). We played iSpy around the ballpark, including identifying the giant milk bottle beyond the fence in left-center field. We laughed at the mascots and the between-inning contests. It was quality father-son time. We left in the middle of the sixth inning, which was surprising, especially since my son asked after the first inning, "How much longer is it, Daddy?"
One thing that intrigued me was information displayed on the scoreboard for each batter. Every batter was identified by name, hometown, height and weight.
I wondered about the reason for the height and weight. I mean, how much does this actually tell you? That a guy is big, medium-sized, or small. Beyond that, it doesn't indicate very much about the quality of an athlete, though.
Plenty of men have the same height-weight statistics as professional athletes. Like me. for instance, I am 6'1 1/2" and I weigh 195 pounds. This is misleading, however, because way too much of that weight is centered in the wrong area. I was in my best shape in college, when I weighed about 185.
I think new data needs to be proposed in the place of the height and weight. Tell us the batter's on-base percentage. How many hits does he have? How fast can the guy run 50 meters? What is the team's record when the player plays? While I'm mentioning offensive statistics, I'd rather know the number of runs scored and average than knowing the home runs and RBIs.
For pitchers, provide the ERA, innings pitched, wins, losses and strikeouts.
My point, here, is that we don't need to know a player's height and weight. They are irrelevant numbers that don't mean a thing. A player's age, for instance, would tell us much more.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Lucky breaks
Ordinarily, I'm not one to catch lucky breaks. I'm not saying I'm unlucky, but it seems that others are generally more lucky than me.
So when the good fortune rolls, I'm noticing. And I'm happy.
Tonight, while at Barnes and Noble buying books for the kids and me (the Easter Bunny sent gift cards), we were set to pay at the front registers. The front counter person (wearing, proudly, his name tag on a lanyard around his neck) was scanning our stuff - which included two stuffed panda bears, presents that I didn't feel like arguing about - and I noticed that it was Teacher Appreciation Week - 25 percent off. Sweet. Probably saved 10 bucks.
We arrive home and I pop in a construction truck DVD that came with one of my son's books and I go online to check the Scrubs episode that I thought I missed last night when I was out. I go to the site and it says the episode is tonight at 8, not last night. I keep forgetting that Scrubs has been changed from Tuesday to Wednesday night. So now, I'm planning to watch Scrubs in 7 minutes, live, but not really live. Nice.
If my luck is truly ringing true, this last matter will work out in my favor, too. We're heading up to Boston tomorrow, staying overnight. We'll go to the Children's Museum, walk around the city, take to the T to Quincy Market, and swim in an indoor pool (my wife's big request). But if the Red Sox game is rained out tonight - I'm hoping it will - then chances are many people will need to get rid of their seats since the makeup game is tomorrow at 1:35. Might be able to grab some tickets off craigslist later tonight or tomorrow morning.
Good things come in threes, the claim goes, so even though the tarp has been taken off the field and the game is scheduled to start tonight at 7:55, perhaps some significant rain will prevent the game from lasting past the fifth inning, which games need to do in order for them to officially count.
Don't mean to sound like a jerk to those at Fenway tonight, but rain, baby, rain.
So when the good fortune rolls, I'm noticing. And I'm happy.
Tonight, while at Barnes and Noble buying books for the kids and me (the Easter Bunny sent gift cards), we were set to pay at the front registers. The front counter person (wearing, proudly, his name tag on a lanyard around his neck) was scanning our stuff - which included two stuffed panda bears, presents that I didn't feel like arguing about - and I noticed that it was Teacher Appreciation Week - 25 percent off. Sweet. Probably saved 10 bucks.
We arrive home and I pop in a construction truck DVD that came with one of my son's books and I go online to check the Scrubs episode that I thought I missed last night when I was out. I go to the site and it says the episode is tonight at 8, not last night. I keep forgetting that Scrubs has been changed from Tuesday to Wednesday night. So now, I'm planning to watch Scrubs in 7 minutes, live, but not really live. Nice.
If my luck is truly ringing true, this last matter will work out in my favor, too. We're heading up to Boston tomorrow, staying overnight. We'll go to the Children's Museum, walk around the city, take to the T to Quincy Market, and swim in an indoor pool (my wife's big request). But if the Red Sox game is rained out tonight - I'm hoping it will - then chances are many people will need to get rid of their seats since the makeup game is tomorrow at 1:35. Might be able to grab some tickets off craigslist later tonight or tomorrow morning.
Good things come in threes, the claim goes, so even though the tarp has been taken off the field and the game is scheduled to start tonight at 7:55, perhaps some significant rain will prevent the game from lasting past the fifth inning, which games need to do in order for them to officially count.
Don't mean to sound like a jerk to those at Fenway tonight, but rain, baby, rain.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
First bike ride
I seized the moment to ride my mountain bike the other day - the first ride of the season. The first ride brings so much promise, and it will hopefully be the first of many rides to come over the next seven or eight months.
Sun beamed strongly during the morning hours, warming the air just enough to take the nip out of it in the afternoon, when I took my ride. The winds picked up substantially, though, especially on the trail, and it seemed like I was riding against it both ways, but more so on the first half of the ride. The back end, which is slightly uphill, turned out to be easier than usual, which was good because I was running late.
Bike rides, even if you're not going that slow, give you so much opportunity to observe things. You get to watch people, their dogs, little kids struggling to pedal and keep up with their families, the rising water in a Hebron swamp, a tree leaning from the side of a grassy marsh at a 45-degree angle, looking as if it'll drop at the gentlest breeze.
It felt good to move the legs, to power my own movement. Running on the treadmill or elliptical during the colder months just isn't the same. There is no current of air to breathe in or birds to hear when running in my basement or at the gym.
Biking puts you in a trance of sorts, and after the first 10 or 15 minutes you can feel your body relax into it, even as your pulse is pounding. Music from my mp3 player helps provide an energy boost. The one that did it for me this time was Spacehog's "In the Meantime."
The only bummer of the ride - and I have feared this would someday happen - is that my mp3 player fell to the dirt path, perhaps hitting a stone, and the display window cracked. It still works, but it kind of pissed me off. I'll have to put the bulky leather case back on it to keep it going. Got lazy, there.
On the way home, clouds gathered above the trail, but by that time I'd been sweating. As I approached the parking lot, I saw a family of about six, including a woman who was partly disabled, pushing a walker. I silently gave the woman credit for getting outside, for not remaining a prisoner to her disability.
I threw my bike on my bike rack, and, as is customary, blared WEEI on the way home with the sunroof of the CR-V open. The trip home after a long ride is usually a blur, and it was on Saturday.
I pulled into my driveway, grabbed my bike off the bike rack, and put them both in the garage. While I was on the front walkway - in a seemingly eeriely planned way - the first raindrops struck the asphalt. They hit me for about two of my strides before I opened the door and it closed behind me.
Sun beamed strongly during the morning hours, warming the air just enough to take the nip out of it in the afternoon, when I took my ride. The winds picked up substantially, though, especially on the trail, and it seemed like I was riding against it both ways, but more so on the first half of the ride. The back end, which is slightly uphill, turned out to be easier than usual, which was good because I was running late.
Bike rides, even if you're not going that slow, give you so much opportunity to observe things. You get to watch people, their dogs, little kids struggling to pedal and keep up with their families, the rising water in a Hebron swamp, a tree leaning from the side of a grassy marsh at a 45-degree angle, looking as if it'll drop at the gentlest breeze.
It felt good to move the legs, to power my own movement. Running on the treadmill or elliptical during the colder months just isn't the same. There is no current of air to breathe in or birds to hear when running in my basement or at the gym.
Biking puts you in a trance of sorts, and after the first 10 or 15 minutes you can feel your body relax into it, even as your pulse is pounding. Music from my mp3 player helps provide an energy boost. The one that did it for me this time was Spacehog's "In the Meantime."
The only bummer of the ride - and I have feared this would someday happen - is that my mp3 player fell to the dirt path, perhaps hitting a stone, and the display window cracked. It still works, but it kind of pissed me off. I'll have to put the bulky leather case back on it to keep it going. Got lazy, there.
On the way home, clouds gathered above the trail, but by that time I'd been sweating. As I approached the parking lot, I saw a family of about six, including a woman who was partly disabled, pushing a walker. I silently gave the woman credit for getting outside, for not remaining a prisoner to her disability.
I threw my bike on my bike rack, and, as is customary, blared WEEI on the way home with the sunroof of the CR-V open. The trip home after a long ride is usually a blur, and it was on Saturday.
I pulled into my driveway, grabbed my bike off the bike rack, and put them both in the garage. While I was on the front walkway - in a seemingly eeriely planned way - the first raindrops struck the asphalt. They hit me for about two of my strides before I opened the door and it closed behind me.
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