Anyone who knows me knows I'm rather fond of music. I'll listen to almost anything (yes. I'm talking about you Eric Clapton). The other night I was watching a concert from the 1990s featuring Ravi Shankar. I've been aware of Ravi because of his influence on George Harrison from The Beatles but I've never really listened to the Indian raga music that he has helped introduce to the world at large.
Before I watched the concert I watched the extras which included a short documentary on Ravi. He seems very intelligent and well spoken with a real passion for music. Plus his daughter is really hot.
The concert started out with 10 minutes of tuning up which I later discovered was the first song. It's not easy to watch someone play a sitar. The instrument looks like what a small child's drawing of a guitar might be like, all out of proportion and misshapen. I found myself enjoying it more when I closed my eyes and just listened. The guy playing the tablas was outstanding and it was amazing that he could coax so much sound out of two little drums. He and Ravi had been playing together for some time and you could really get a sense that there was an almost telepathic link between them.
Raga music is both like and unlike jazz. I'll never be able to live on a steady diet of it but when the players are in the groove it's an awesome thing to behold.
It's funny (or tries to be).
Friday, August 27, 2010
Uncomfortably Numb
Change is a good thing. I relish most change because I like new things even if they are just new to me. Lately there has been both too much and too little change in my life. My job situation is one area where I'd like to see some change soon. The long commute is starting to get to me both with the high cost of fuel and the time it takes which could be better spent doing almost anything else.
Up to this point I haven't minded the drive as it gave me more time to enjoy the books on CD habit that I developed when I started walking the dogs. I also used to enjoy my job more than I do now. Lately there has been too much turnover with our staff, so much so that even our customers have been making comments. Throw into the mix of untrained help with little or no experience, a host of new services which we all also will not be trained on and the ever popular trouble cashing my payroll checks, and you have a stew of reasons to look for employment closer to home.
Instead of my usual "complain and do nothing about it" tactic that I developed while working at Wegmans, I've been more proactive about my future with more than a little help from Kathy. Unfortunately in this tough economic climate all her polish can't bring a shine to this turd. I have had a few interviews but with no follow ups so as it stands now the immediate future is looking bleak.
I'm not kidding myself that I'm alone in all this. My brother-in-law Eric was recently laid off from his job in Rochester. He has a good education, security clearance and experience so not surprisingly he has found a new job. Here. In Baltimore. His son is starting his junior year of high school this fall and rather than uproot the kids at their impressionable ages, it's been decided that he'll work here during the week and commute back to Rochester on weekends. We'll gladly take him in as he and his family have done the same for us on more than one occasion. He'll be sacrificing a lot of the things that make being a father worthwhile. No more watching the kids swim meets or volley ball games for a while, but you have to do what it takes to survive and provide. With luck he'll be able to get a job up in Rochester again once the economy improves.
The real trick is going to be adding someone else to our household. Another car in the driveway, another body in line for the shower. On the plus side I'll always have someone to go to concerts with just like when we all lived in Rochester. Hopefully he'll be able to do things with Jeremy too. Manly things like sports which I have no interest in or aptitude for.
In the near future it looks like my man cave will be downsized or eliminated for the greater good. I am a bit of a pack rat and soon I'll be without a hole to store all my treasures in. It may end up being good for me in the long run. It's just not something I looking forward to. For better or worse, change.
Up to this point I haven't minded the drive as it gave me more time to enjoy the books on CD habit that I developed when I started walking the dogs. I also used to enjoy my job more than I do now. Lately there has been too much turnover with our staff, so much so that even our customers have been making comments. Throw into the mix of untrained help with little or no experience, a host of new services which we all also will not be trained on and the ever popular trouble cashing my payroll checks, and you have a stew of reasons to look for employment closer to home.
Instead of my usual "complain and do nothing about it" tactic that I developed while working at Wegmans, I've been more proactive about my future with more than a little help from Kathy. Unfortunately in this tough economic climate all her polish can't bring a shine to this turd. I have had a few interviews but with no follow ups so as it stands now the immediate future is looking bleak.
I'm not kidding myself that I'm alone in all this. My brother-in-law Eric was recently laid off from his job in Rochester. He has a good education, security clearance and experience so not surprisingly he has found a new job. Here. In Baltimore. His son is starting his junior year of high school this fall and rather than uproot the kids at their impressionable ages, it's been decided that he'll work here during the week and commute back to Rochester on weekends. We'll gladly take him in as he and his family have done the same for us on more than one occasion. He'll be sacrificing a lot of the things that make being a father worthwhile. No more watching the kids swim meets or volley ball games for a while, but you have to do what it takes to survive and provide. With luck he'll be able to get a job up in Rochester again once the economy improves.
The real trick is going to be adding someone else to our household. Another car in the driveway, another body in line for the shower. On the plus side I'll always have someone to go to concerts with just like when we all lived in Rochester. Hopefully he'll be able to do things with Jeremy too. Manly things like sports which I have no interest in or aptitude for.
In the near future it looks like my man cave will be downsized or eliminated for the greater good. I am a bit of a pack rat and soon I'll be without a hole to store all my treasures in. It may end up being good for me in the long run. It's just not something I looking forward to. For better or worse, change.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Bright lights, Big doofus
I have very vivid memories of when I first learned to ride a bike. On the evening my 6th birthday, after countless days of unsuccessful attempts, I climbed on my sisters hand me down bike and at that moment I seemed to find my balance (which has since escaped me). I was riding a two wheeler! That day I rode countless laps around the neighbor's big looping driveway, enjoying a freedom of movement I had never experienced before.
Fast forward more than 40 years:
After work yesterday I drove to my friend Chris's house for either an evening bike ride or a paddle in the canoe. The weather was not on our side as it started to rain as soon as I got there. The canoe plan was out. Chris said that he could ride bike in the rain or ride bike in the dark but not both. It seems the the headlights he rigged for his bikes were very effective but not waterproof.
By 7:30 the rain had stopped and a plan was formed. I had not brought my bike so I was to ride Chris' emergency backup bike which he has painstakingly built from scratch. The first stop was to be for dinner and after vetoing several area restaurants which did not serve beer we settled on a place that was all the name said it would be, Buffalo Wings & Beer. Instead of wings I opted for the Thursday night special which was a rib platter. It was less than the fall off the bone delight I had expected but the beer was good.
The next leg of the ride was to take us to a place the Chris knew of called Dish. He'd never been there before but it was in theory the closest place where we could enjoy another pint and then head back home for our 10:00pm deadline. The name Dish gave me pause and when Chris said that the last time he had been by there, there was a lot of motorcycles out front I was intrigued. Was Dish some kind of Gay leather bar? Would there be antiquing later? Chris assured me that it was called Dish because of the satellite dish which I assumed broadcast all sorts of sporting events to the bar.
We reached Dish just before 9:00pm to find not a motorcycle in sight nor any lights or televisions on. The barbecue joint next door was about to close too, which didn't matter much since they didn't serve beer anyway. Our options were very limited. There were no more bars on the way home and if we were to ride farther out we wouldn't be home by ten to meet his daughters return from a beach party.
As luck would have it there was a liquor store just down the block from Dish so the plan was to just grab a couple beer singles and find a quiet spot to enjoy them before the final up hill leg of the journey home. Of course as soon as we got the the liquor store the lights went out. Not our night. Was someone trying to tell us something? I tried the door anyway and the clerk inside spotted me and came to unlock the door. He said the the store was new and they could use any sales they could get. I'm sure my purchase of two 24 oz cans of beer was less than he'd expected for his kindness but at least I didn't dawdle while pondering the selection in the now dimly lit store.
Now it was officially dark out and time to switch on the makeshift bike lamps to light our way home. Of course the darkness would also provide cover for us to drink our beers in peace. We both agreed that the schoolyard we'd passed through on the way here would be ideal for our last pit stop. Chris rode in the lead as always even though my bike had the brighter light. When we got to the parking lot of the school he stopped and turned off his light to preserve our cover. As I caught up to him I attempted to kill my light too which turned out to be not so smart.
As I attempted to unplug the battery from the light fixture I also tried to slow my bike by applying the brakes and suffered another "Oh SHIT" moment. Although I was moving pretty slow I must have had just enough forward momentum to cartwheel over the front tire (again) and land on my hands on the parking lots asphalt.
Chris said he saw the whole thing up to the point when the bike's headlight hit the pavement too and smashed into a thousand pieces. He assumed that I'd hit an unseen pothole or something but after searching the scene it's been determined that it was just bad timing, poor judgment and basic clumsiness. Looking at the scene also turned up Chris's keys and some money that had come out of the backpack I was wearing at the time of my spill.
On the bright side I suffered next to no injury and aside from the shattered light to bike had fared well too. The bit of road rash on my hands was relieved by the cold beer can which also quenched our thirsts. A roadside pickup was out of the question because his wife was out of town so we had to get going. I'm not sure what he was thinking but Chris insisted that I ride his bike with the working headlight the rest of the way home. It turned out that the larger tires on his bike did make my ride home easier. We got home just before 10:00 as planned and after washing out my few cuts I was no worse for the wear.
Now if you're sensing a pattern here you may be reading too much into this. Yes this has been my year for going over the handle bars but there have been other rides that I survived without a scratch. Last nights ride was about 12 miles which brings my total number of biked miles this year to somewhere over 12 miles. I'm not big on the details. I ride to the freedom of movement it gives me and maybe a story to tell.
Fast forward more than 40 years:
After work yesterday I drove to my friend Chris's house for either an evening bike ride or a paddle in the canoe. The weather was not on our side as it started to rain as soon as I got there. The canoe plan was out. Chris said that he could ride bike in the rain or ride bike in the dark but not both. It seems the the headlights he rigged for his bikes were very effective but not waterproof.
By 7:30 the rain had stopped and a plan was formed. I had not brought my bike so I was to ride Chris' emergency backup bike which he has painstakingly built from scratch. The first stop was to be for dinner and after vetoing several area restaurants which did not serve beer we settled on a place that was all the name said it would be, Buffalo Wings & Beer. Instead of wings I opted for the Thursday night special which was a rib platter. It was less than the fall off the bone delight I had expected but the beer was good.
The next leg of the ride was to take us to a place the Chris knew of called Dish. He'd never been there before but it was in theory the closest place where we could enjoy another pint and then head back home for our 10:00pm deadline. The name Dish gave me pause and when Chris said that the last time he had been by there, there was a lot of motorcycles out front I was intrigued. Was Dish some kind of Gay leather bar? Would there be antiquing later? Chris assured me that it was called Dish because of the satellite dish which I assumed broadcast all sorts of sporting events to the bar.
We reached Dish just before 9:00pm to find not a motorcycle in sight nor any lights or televisions on. The barbecue joint next door was about to close too, which didn't matter much since they didn't serve beer anyway. Our options were very limited. There were no more bars on the way home and if we were to ride farther out we wouldn't be home by ten to meet his daughters return from a beach party.
As luck would have it there was a liquor store just down the block from Dish so the plan was to just grab a couple beer singles and find a quiet spot to enjoy them before the final up hill leg of the journey home. Of course as soon as we got the the liquor store the lights went out. Not our night. Was someone trying to tell us something? I tried the door anyway and the clerk inside spotted me and came to unlock the door. He said the the store was new and they could use any sales they could get. I'm sure my purchase of two 24 oz cans of beer was less than he'd expected for his kindness but at least I didn't dawdle while pondering the selection in the now dimly lit store.
Now it was officially dark out and time to switch on the makeshift bike lamps to light our way home. Of course the darkness would also provide cover for us to drink our beers in peace. We both agreed that the schoolyard we'd passed through on the way here would be ideal for our last pit stop. Chris rode in the lead as always even though my bike had the brighter light. When we got to the parking lot of the school he stopped and turned off his light to preserve our cover. As I caught up to him I attempted to kill my light too which turned out to be not so smart.
As I attempted to unplug the battery from the light fixture I also tried to slow my bike by applying the brakes and suffered another "Oh SHIT" moment. Although I was moving pretty slow I must have had just enough forward momentum to cartwheel over the front tire (again) and land on my hands on the parking lots asphalt.
Chris said he saw the whole thing up to the point when the bike's headlight hit the pavement too and smashed into a thousand pieces. He assumed that I'd hit an unseen pothole or something but after searching the scene it's been determined that it was just bad timing, poor judgment and basic clumsiness. Looking at the scene also turned up Chris's keys and some money that had come out of the backpack I was wearing at the time of my spill.
On the bright side I suffered next to no injury and aside from the shattered light to bike had fared well too. The bit of road rash on my hands was relieved by the cold beer can which also quenched our thirsts. A roadside pickup was out of the question because his wife was out of town so we had to get going. I'm not sure what he was thinking but Chris insisted that I ride his bike with the working headlight the rest of the way home. It turned out that the larger tires on his bike did make my ride home easier. We got home just before 10:00 as planned and after washing out my few cuts I was no worse for the wear.
Now if you're sensing a pattern here you may be reading too much into this. Yes this has been my year for going over the handle bars but there have been other rides that I survived without a scratch. Last nights ride was about 12 miles which brings my total number of biked miles this year to somewhere over 12 miles. I'm not big on the details. I ride to the freedom of movement it gives me and maybe a story to tell.
Steve,
I don’t know if you accept guest submissions, but I thought an account of your crash by a witness might be useful.
Steve’s crash was absolutely surreal. He was gliding along at 5 or 6 miles per hour on a perfectly flat, smooth piece of asphalt, and then his bike was standing almost vertical on its front tire, and then there was the perfect, Hollywood-like crunching, smashing and tinkling sound of a severe crash. It was as if God had just reached down and picked up the rear wheel. Automatically rejecting divine intervention, my mind simply inserted a large, square hole in the pavement into the scene. Once I made sure Steve was OK, the first thing I did was search for the hole. No hole. So, if we are still rejecting the God hypothesis, the question is – how could Steve have possible managed to coax his bike into a handstand from a starting speed of 5 mph on level ground? I figure it’s like this: He leaned forward and looked down to find the plug and turn off his light, he took his right hand off the handle-bar while applying the front brake with his left hand. At this point he was no longer receiving visual cues about the status of the bike, he was leaning forward and off balance, he was attempting to steer and brake with his left hand and the bike started to get unstable. So, he applied more brake with his left hand, unintentionally pulling back, thus turning the front wheel to the left because his right hand was still off the handlebar. If you imagine the front wheel turned completely sideways and the brake fully depressed . . .you can imagine the front of the bike coming to a sudden, nonskidding stop and the back rotating up into the air. I don’t think the front wheel would necessarily have to be turned too far to get this effect. Or, God just reached down in picked up the rear tire. Take your pick.
The spectacular sound of the crash was created when the cast aluminum landscape light that was mounted on the handle bars shattered. The light was just totally pulverized into tiny little pieces.
I rode the crash bike home in the dark, and it seemed fine, so I am going to assume that God’s issue was with Steve and not with the bike itself.
Christopher Flaherty
Monday, August 2, 2010
honfest_2010
Back in June Fred and I worked the tent at Baltimore's 10th annual Hon Fest to promote the business where I work, Techlab Photo. Now when I say we worked the tent, this was more than just carny barking.
This is (as far as I can tell because I'm not from around these parts) a celebration of women, high hair and ugly glasses and all these people come out to see and be seen.
Here's a sample of what we saw. For a full size version go to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2VNk4E5bZvM
This is (as far as I can tell because I'm not from around these parts) a celebration of women, high hair and ugly glasses and all these people come out to see and be seen.
Here's a sample of what we saw. For a full size version go to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2VNk4E5bZvM
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