Many thanks to my mother for this find.
As a person who enjoys mathematics, I thought this an interesting glimpse into the realm of geometry. Not to mention the philosophical commentary associated with actualization of freedom within known limitations. Or something.
I give to you Chuck Jones' The Dot and the Line narrated by Robert Morley.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
It's Personal: Teeth
RIP Art in All Its Forms. I tried it for a couple months. But the topic didn't excite me. Yes, I reviewed a few movies. And I even tried to breach the realm of painting a few times. In the end, it felt - for the most part - too forced.
I have taken a step back. In the glimpse I've taken of the blog, I realize that I have backed away from the personal aspect of this life in days. I will therefore re-inject the personal on Mondays. Tidbits about me, past and present.
Tonight, I give you teeth. My teeth. As you've probably guessed, I'll 'splain.
I was six. I visited some overly friendly dentist on the Wallingford - Meriden line. He found a cavity. I was too young to understand what that meant. What my parents - and the dentist - did pound into my brain was that it was the result of the junk food I ate.
Based on the medieval three-day - it seemed like it to a young kid - procedure that included multiple metal tools used in ancient torture, the dentist filled my first cavity. I still have nightmares. But I also have a particularly short memory. And so I kept eating junk food.
I also learned to avoid the dentist at virtually all costs. It got so bad during my childhood that the dentist would no longer allow my brother and me to come on Saturdays because we canceled so often.
Fast forward to middle school. A certain Dr. Paul Rigali had my parents come in with the 'specimens', namely my brother and me. My brother with his underbite and I with some of my crooked teeth were optimal mouths for bracing. Metal wires used in countless machines used in factories around the world were wrapped in and around brackets that were super-glued to each one of my teeth. Honestly? And then we'd have to go back every so often to ensure that they were tight enough. Because they had to pull those teeth together.
I challenge any one of you to have your braces tightened right before a football practice during which you are hit in the head at least 476 times.
Not to mention the Old Man - prior to the procedure that neither my brother nor I really wanted - claimed that each of us could claim the rest of our body after the age of 18 but that the teeth were his until we respectively turned 99 years of age. I suppose that's because he almost had to take a second mortgage out of his house to ensure that the orthodontist yanked on the scrap metal in our teeth as hard as he could.
During that unbelievably painful episode, the orthodontist suggested that I get my wisdom teeth extracted. He said it was better to do it when I was young. And however much I agreed, I was tired of the whole 'metal instruments of death in my mouth' thing. Not to mention that the extraction was rather expensive.
During my sophomore year of high school, the orthodontist removed the braces. Thank God. But, he had one parting gift for me as he removed them. Clink, clink, clink came off the scrap metal. Utter relief. And then he started sanding. SANDING! Had to get the superglue off, after all. There he was with his tiny piece of sandpaper attached to a tiny sander buzzing away at each tooth in my mouth. I tasted tooth dust for a month. Not to mention the fact that he hit nerves. Literally.
I wore a retainer. And yet, my teeth began to move back to their original positions. So, I wore the retainer more. And it began to hurt. So, I stopped. And I was annoyed. And I cursed all orthodontists.
Again, I spent time avoiding dentists. One of my last visits for a long, long time came during my senior year of high school. They found a cavity.
I can't honestly remember another dentist visit between that last visit and my journey out to Seattle. Whether because I just put it out of my head or because it just didn't happen, I can't tell for certain.
I finally went to my first appointment in Seattle. The Medical Dental Building. Some guy who was trying to get me to donate monies to Howard Dean for said Democrat's presidential run. I wasn't interested. And I didn't really like the dentist either. They found a cavity that go-round. Surprise, surprise. Then they told me I should get my wisdom teeth out. He referred me to an oral surgeon in the building. I walked into the oral surgeon's office, saw that there was no one at the front desk, and never returned.
Joseph found another dentist for us. A Dr. Stark also in the Medical Dental Building. He reminded me a little of Egon. AKA Harold Ramis. A good demeanor. And seemingly knew what he was doing. During my first visit, he told me I needed to have my wisdom teeth extracted. That I needed to have work on my receding gums. And that I had a cavity. Duh.
I returned to get the cavity filled. Then, Dr. Stark pulled a fast one. He said he could remove the wisdom teeth; he was more than just a dentist. I didn't have a good excuse. They scheduled the appointment.
I canceled that appointment and waited in utter horror.
I went back for a cleaning. He told me I needed to get my wisdom teeth pulled. Damn. Why couldn't they just fall out? Like my hair...
I made an appointment and kept it. My stomach tied itself into knots. In fact, I think there might have been an entire group of new knot-learning midshipmen in my stomach. I arrived that morning and laid in the chair. The needle first. Then I went into shock as my headphones played absurd music into my ears. He started drilling. He said oops a few times. And oh man. And a few other things you NEVER want a dentist to say while working in your mouth. Why? Because my wisdom teeth were so badly impacted that he had to break them in their respective sockets and pull each piece one at a time. The happy drugs lasted about four hours. Unfortunately, the surgery lasted just a tad longer. And thus I felt him - I mean felt, felt - drill and extract the final pieces of the final tooth.
Suffice it to say I had vicodin for just about a month after that. I had to request two refills. I think I can take pain rather well. I've broken limbs - not like my brother, broken but broken nonetheless. And I've been hit in the head 476 times after getting my braces tightened. I've even bit hit in the head by a golf club. But nothing compared to the pain I felt from having my wisdom teeth extracted. If you happen to know anyone in his / her teens who needs to have his / her wisdom teeth pulled, please tell him / her to make the appointment immediately. He / She will thank me.
For whatever reason, I went back for my scheduled cleaning six months later. Still a receding gum problem. But no wisdom teeth to pull. And no cavities. I felt as though I had gained a victory, even if Pyrrhic.
Almost two years later - no cavities - and I finally agreed to be tortured once again by the dentist. In said procedure, he ripped flesh from the roof of my mouth and sewed it to the remains of the gums that no longer covered the exposed roots of my teeth. As bad as that might sound, I needed vicodin only for two days after the procedure (as compared to 32 for the wisdom teeth). Granted, I can't eat much more than yogurt, scrambled eggs, and ice cream. But for anyone who knows me, an ice cream diet ain't all that bad.
Yeah, I'll go back to the dentist. I know it's in my best interest. I like my teeth, and I'd rather keep them a while longer.
Not to mention my father's still paying that second mortgage...
I have taken a step back. In the glimpse I've taken of the blog, I realize that I have backed away from the personal aspect of this life in days. I will therefore re-inject the personal on Mondays. Tidbits about me, past and present.
Tonight, I give you teeth. My teeth. As you've probably guessed, I'll 'splain.
I was six. I visited some overly friendly dentist on the Wallingford - Meriden line. He found a cavity. I was too young to understand what that meant. What my parents - and the dentist - did pound into my brain was that it was the result of the junk food I ate.
Based on the medieval three-day - it seemed like it to a young kid - procedure that included multiple metal tools used in ancient torture, the dentist filled my first cavity. I still have nightmares. But I also have a particularly short memory. And so I kept eating junk food.
I also learned to avoid the dentist at virtually all costs. It got so bad during my childhood that the dentist would no longer allow my brother and me to come on Saturdays because we canceled so often.
Fast forward to middle school. A certain Dr. Paul Rigali had my parents come in with the 'specimens', namely my brother and me. My brother with his underbite and I with some of my crooked teeth were optimal mouths for bracing. Metal wires used in countless machines used in factories around the world were wrapped in and around brackets that were super-glued to each one of my teeth. Honestly? And then we'd have to go back every so often to ensure that they were tight enough. Because they had to pull those teeth together.
I challenge any one of you to have your braces tightened right before a football practice during which you are hit in the head at least 476 times.
Not to mention the Old Man - prior to the procedure that neither my brother nor I really wanted - claimed that each of us could claim the rest of our body after the age of 18 but that the teeth were his until we respectively turned 99 years of age. I suppose that's because he almost had to take a second mortgage out of his house to ensure that the orthodontist yanked on the scrap metal in our teeth as hard as he could.
During that unbelievably painful episode, the orthodontist suggested that I get my wisdom teeth extracted. He said it was better to do it when I was young. And however much I agreed, I was tired of the whole 'metal instruments of death in my mouth' thing. Not to mention that the extraction was rather expensive.
During my sophomore year of high school, the orthodontist removed the braces. Thank God. But, he had one parting gift for me as he removed them. Clink, clink, clink came off the scrap metal. Utter relief. And then he started sanding. SANDING! Had to get the superglue off, after all. There he was with his tiny piece of sandpaper attached to a tiny sander buzzing away at each tooth in my mouth. I tasted tooth dust for a month. Not to mention the fact that he hit nerves. Literally.
I wore a retainer. And yet, my teeth began to move back to their original positions. So, I wore the retainer more. And it began to hurt. So, I stopped. And I was annoyed. And I cursed all orthodontists.
Again, I spent time avoiding dentists. One of my last visits for a long, long time came during my senior year of high school. They found a cavity.
I can't honestly remember another dentist visit between that last visit and my journey out to Seattle. Whether because I just put it out of my head or because it just didn't happen, I can't tell for certain.
I finally went to my first appointment in Seattle. The Medical Dental Building. Some guy who was trying to get me to donate monies to Howard Dean for said Democrat's presidential run. I wasn't interested. And I didn't really like the dentist either. They found a cavity that go-round. Surprise, surprise. Then they told me I should get my wisdom teeth out. He referred me to an oral surgeon in the building. I walked into the oral surgeon's office, saw that there was no one at the front desk, and never returned.
Joseph found another dentist for us. A Dr. Stark also in the Medical Dental Building. He reminded me a little of Egon. AKA Harold Ramis. A good demeanor. And seemingly knew what he was doing. During my first visit, he told me I needed to have my wisdom teeth extracted. That I needed to have work on my receding gums. And that I had a cavity. Duh.
I returned to get the cavity filled. Then, Dr. Stark pulled a fast one. He said he could remove the wisdom teeth; he was more than just a dentist. I didn't have a good excuse. They scheduled the appointment.
I canceled that appointment and waited in utter horror.
I went back for a cleaning. He told me I needed to get my wisdom teeth pulled. Damn. Why couldn't they just fall out? Like my hair...
I made an appointment and kept it. My stomach tied itself into knots. In fact, I think there might have been an entire group of new knot-learning midshipmen in my stomach. I arrived that morning and laid in the chair. The needle first. Then I went into shock as my headphones played absurd music into my ears. He started drilling. He said oops a few times. And oh man. And a few other things you NEVER want a dentist to say while working in your mouth. Why? Because my wisdom teeth were so badly impacted that he had to break them in their respective sockets and pull each piece one at a time. The happy drugs lasted about four hours. Unfortunately, the surgery lasted just a tad longer. And thus I felt him - I mean felt, felt - drill and extract the final pieces of the final tooth.
Suffice it to say I had vicodin for just about a month after that. I had to request two refills. I think I can take pain rather well. I've broken limbs - not like my brother, broken but broken nonetheless. And I've been hit in the head 476 times after getting my braces tightened. I've even bit hit in the head by a golf club. But nothing compared to the pain I felt from having my wisdom teeth extracted. If you happen to know anyone in his / her teens who needs to have his / her wisdom teeth pulled, please tell him / her to make the appointment immediately. He / She will thank me.
For whatever reason, I went back for my scheduled cleaning six months later. Still a receding gum problem. But no wisdom teeth to pull. And no cavities. I felt as though I had gained a victory, even if Pyrrhic.
Almost two years later - no cavities - and I finally agreed to be tortured once again by the dentist. In said procedure, he ripped flesh from the roof of my mouth and sewed it to the remains of the gums that no longer covered the exposed roots of my teeth. As bad as that might sound, I needed vicodin only for two days after the procedure (as compared to 32 for the wisdom teeth). Granted, I can't eat much more than yogurt, scrambled eggs, and ice cream. But for anyone who knows me, an ice cream diet ain't all that bad.
Yeah, I'll go back to the dentist. I know it's in my best interest. I like my teeth, and I'd rather keep them a while longer.
Not to mention my father's still paying that second mortgage...
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Sunday Scribblings: An Odd Case of Aging
I will celebrate my 67th birthday tomorrow. My mother will attend. And my grandparents. No friends, though. I haven’t kept any during the short time I’ve been alive.
I don’t have any wants, per se. With my body the way it is, wants are too expensive. I gave up trying to be current years ago.
I worked my last job at age 60. A lead in the stockroom at Walmart. My boss told me I would have made a good manager if I could have worked longer than 10 years.
It’s funny that there were no other side effects from my birth. The doctors said they couldn’t predict the outcome but offered my mother gobs of money for trying the experiment. I still have no idea why she agreed. But I have my opinions.
I never made it through school; I just couldn’t learn all they wanted me to learn in the time I had. Not to mention the fact that the kids insulted me incessantly. I studied at home instead. My grandmother helped me. Taught me to read and write. I can’t much help that the majority of my reading comes from books about saints. I once thought that God put me here for a reason, like he did those people with the halos. Then, I realized that I was just a science experiment. Gone wrong.
The experiment that begot me was not even the most remarkable happening on the day I was born. No, half way across the world, Dolly the Sheep was cloned. An experiment that meant something to the greater world of science. I did no such good in the scientific community.
The best day of my life had to be the turn of the millennium. I was to turn 30 just a day later. And so, I spent the remainder of my 20s living it up in New York City. Danced. Drank. Ended up in some woman’s bed.
I only have one night stands. For their sake and mine. It doesn’t make sense to get close to anyone. I have no idea if this is genetic. And if it is, then I sure as hell am not going to pass it on. And even if it wasn’t, I just don’t have the time to learn someone. It just isn’t worth it.
I believe in love at first sight. It’s the only way it can work for me. But it doesn’t believe in me.
I only expect to live a few more years. Doctors tell me about three. I find it funny that I might outlive my grandparents. I’ve heard my grandmother call it unnatural when talking to my mother. I am unnatural, after all.
As short as they seem, however, these 13 years have constituted a long life. I’m amazed at what I’ve accomplished; so much more than the average person. Out of necessity. I have no regrets as it were. None for which I’m responsible, that is. If I could change anything, I’d ask my mother not to involve herself in the experiment that mixed her egg and a dog’s sperm.
I don’t have any wants, per se. With my body the way it is, wants are too expensive. I gave up trying to be current years ago.
I worked my last job at age 60. A lead in the stockroom at Walmart. My boss told me I would have made a good manager if I could have worked longer than 10 years.
It’s funny that there were no other side effects from my birth. The doctors said they couldn’t predict the outcome but offered my mother gobs of money for trying the experiment. I still have no idea why she agreed. But I have my opinions.
I never made it through school; I just couldn’t learn all they wanted me to learn in the time I had. Not to mention the fact that the kids insulted me incessantly. I studied at home instead. My grandmother helped me. Taught me to read and write. I can’t much help that the majority of my reading comes from books about saints. I once thought that God put me here for a reason, like he did those people with the halos. Then, I realized that I was just a science experiment. Gone wrong.
The experiment that begot me was not even the most remarkable happening on the day I was born. No, half way across the world, Dolly the Sheep was cloned. An experiment that meant something to the greater world of science. I did no such good in the scientific community.
The best day of my life had to be the turn of the millennium. I was to turn 30 just a day later. And so, I spent the remainder of my 20s living it up in New York City. Danced. Drank. Ended up in some woman’s bed.
I only have one night stands. For their sake and mine. It doesn’t make sense to get close to anyone. I have no idea if this is genetic. And if it is, then I sure as hell am not going to pass it on. And even if it wasn’t, I just don’t have the time to learn someone. It just isn’t worth it.
I believe in love at first sight. It’s the only way it can work for me. But it doesn’t believe in me.
I only expect to live a few more years. Doctors tell me about three. I find it funny that I might outlive my grandparents. I’ve heard my grandmother call it unnatural when talking to my mother. I am unnatural, after all.
As short as they seem, however, these 13 years have constituted a long life. I’m amazed at what I’ve accomplished; so much more than the average person. Out of necessity. I have no regrets as it were. None for which I’m responsible, that is. If I could change anything, I’d ask my mother not to involve herself in the experiment that mixed her egg and a dog’s sperm.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Sporting Rants and Raves: March 28, 2009
Happy 35th birthday to professional snooker player Mark King. One of the more colorful players on the circuit, King has not yet won a championship mainly because he tends to lose control of the cue ball during the break. Snooker? A pocket billiards game originated by British officers in India during the 19th century. Mainly played in Britain, the game's name seems to have come from a common slang reference to inexperienced personnel in the British army. For all of you in the states who want to play, there is an 'Official Website of the Governing Body of Snooker in the United States' at snookerusa.com.
Earlier this year, I spoke about the fact that I had no idea the Columbus Blue Jackets were actually a professional hockey team in the NHL. Today, I read that a Calgary Flames fan decided to threaten the Blue Jackets goalie during a 5-0 shellacking that Columbus put on Calgary. The Flames are on the verge of winning their division and need the stars to align NOT to reach the playoffs. The Blue Jackets, on the other hand, are on the verge of making their first ever appearance in the NHL playoffs. My advice to the fan? Take a long walk off a short pier.
The brackets. I'm mediocre at best. In the work league, I had a final four of Wake Forest, Memphis, UNC, and Pitt. With UNC winning. Things ain't lookin good in that one. With my west coast friends, I had Louisville, UCONN, UNC, and Pitt. All number ones, which I think somewhat blah. But this is also the league in which I have the best shot at winning. With my east coast friends, I had the same final four as in the work league. And thus, ick. Such is life... Still fun.
I opened the NFL front page on yahoo just a moment ago and saw none other than Jeff George. As much as he wants to claim that he's ready to come back because he still has the arm for the NFL, does anyone else really think that the rest of his body can take the beating that these ridiculously large and fast defensive linemen will deliver? UFL for you, Jeff.
Trivia of the Week (Multiple Questions): Jeff George was the first pick in the 1990 draft. His active career - up to this point - lasted 11 years and included 5 different teams. For which team was he drafted? On which team did he play when he made his first playoff appearance? On which team did he play when he won his first playoff game? George also had an 'inactive' career with 3 teams after the 2001 season. Name them.
One week and two days until opening day. The smell of leather and newly cut grass. The feel of the cool breeze. Peanuts and beer. A box of crackerjack to boot. Wooden bats thudding thunderously against a speeding ball. Ah, baseball.
How is it that the Lakers have a 10-game lead over the next closest team in the West (Spurs)? And, again, how is it that the East has so many teams with greater than .700 winning percentage? Seems strange to me.
What do you think of miking caddies? It seems the PGA is considering broadcasting the conversations to give golf fans an ear into the decision making for professional golfers. At issue? The caddies are concerned that they will need to monitor what they're saying at all times during the match - both during playing time and down time. My take? I think there are places where microphones don't need to be. I believe in making the broadcasts better, but imposing a microphone might just make the play worse. I vote no mikes.
The vicodin is causing my eyes to droop ever so slowly... Oh yes, I had a minor dental surgery this past Friday. The dentist - a rather talented one at that - cut a swath of skin from the roof of my mouth and applied it to the gums on the upper right side of my mouth to help slow receding gums and cover exposed teeth roots. Perhaps that qualifies as TMI, but it seems to have worked with the extra side effect that it hurts - not as much as four extracted wisdom teeth - until I down a pill that subsequently makes me sleepy.
That said, I will ask this week's question of the week. I'm not here to talk about the alleged NCAA recruiting violations made by the University of Connecticut; UCONN and the NCAA can figure that one out. I'd rather ask why UCONN wanted to recruit Mr. Nate Miles in the first place. Calhoun didn't need Miles; look at the team he had, after all. And Miles had a checkered past to boot. Five high schools in four years because of behavior problems. And later expelled from UCONN because he violated a restraining order after having been accused of attempting to force a woman - according to sources, his girlfriend at the time - to have sex. If nothing else, I think the entire recruitment proves that Calhoun - and others who recruited Miles - showed bad judgment off the court. I've said this before, and I'll say it again. Trying to win at all costs sends the worst possible message to those looking for heroes and mentors. For that reason, I think UCONN's basketball program should reevaluate itself and figure out its true vision and mission.
Trivia of the Week (Multiple Questions): Jeff George was the first pick in the 1990 draft. His active career - up to this point - lasted 11 years and included 5 different teams.
For which team was he drafted? Indianapolis Colts
On which team did he play when he made his first playoff appearance? Atlanta Falcons
On which team did he play when he won his first playoff game? Minnesota Vikings
George also had an 'inactive' career with 3 teams after the 2001 season. Name them. Seattle Seahawks, Chicago Bears, Oakland Raiders.
Earlier this year, I spoke about the fact that I had no idea the Columbus Blue Jackets were actually a professional hockey team in the NHL. Today, I read that a Calgary Flames fan decided to threaten the Blue Jackets goalie during a 5-0 shellacking that Columbus put on Calgary. The Flames are on the verge of winning their division and need the stars to align NOT to reach the playoffs. The Blue Jackets, on the other hand, are on the verge of making their first ever appearance in the NHL playoffs. My advice to the fan? Take a long walk off a short pier.
The brackets. I'm mediocre at best. In the work league, I had a final four of Wake Forest, Memphis, UNC, and Pitt. With UNC winning. Things ain't lookin good in that one. With my west coast friends, I had Louisville, UCONN, UNC, and Pitt. All number ones, which I think somewhat blah. But this is also the league in which I have the best shot at winning. With my east coast friends, I had the same final four as in the work league. And thus, ick. Such is life... Still fun.
I opened the NFL front page on yahoo just a moment ago and saw none other than Jeff George. As much as he wants to claim that he's ready to come back because he still has the arm for the NFL, does anyone else really think that the rest of his body can take the beating that these ridiculously large and fast defensive linemen will deliver? UFL for you, Jeff.
Trivia of the Week (Multiple Questions): Jeff George was the first pick in the 1990 draft. His active career - up to this point - lasted 11 years and included 5 different teams. For which team was he drafted? On which team did he play when he made his first playoff appearance? On which team did he play when he won his first playoff game? George also had an 'inactive' career with 3 teams after the 2001 season. Name them.
One week and two days until opening day. The smell of leather and newly cut grass. The feel of the cool breeze. Peanuts and beer. A box of crackerjack to boot. Wooden bats thudding thunderously against a speeding ball. Ah, baseball.
How is it that the Lakers have a 10-game lead over the next closest team in the West (Spurs)? And, again, how is it that the East has so many teams with greater than .700 winning percentage? Seems strange to me.
What do you think of miking caddies? It seems the PGA is considering broadcasting the conversations to give golf fans an ear into the decision making for professional golfers. At issue? The caddies are concerned that they will need to monitor what they're saying at all times during the match - both during playing time and down time. My take? I think there are places where microphones don't need to be. I believe in making the broadcasts better, but imposing a microphone might just make the play worse. I vote no mikes.
The vicodin is causing my eyes to droop ever so slowly... Oh yes, I had a minor dental surgery this past Friday. The dentist - a rather talented one at that - cut a swath of skin from the roof of my mouth and applied it to the gums on the upper right side of my mouth to help slow receding gums and cover exposed teeth roots. Perhaps that qualifies as TMI, but it seems to have worked with the extra side effect that it hurts - not as much as four extracted wisdom teeth - until I down a pill that subsequently makes me sleepy.
That said, I will ask this week's question of the week. I'm not here to talk about the alleged NCAA recruiting violations made by the University of Connecticut; UCONN and the NCAA can figure that one out. I'd rather ask why UCONN wanted to recruit Mr. Nate Miles in the first place. Calhoun didn't need Miles; look at the team he had, after all. And Miles had a checkered past to boot. Five high schools in four years because of behavior problems. And later expelled from UCONN because he violated a restraining order after having been accused of attempting to force a woman - according to sources, his girlfriend at the time - to have sex. If nothing else, I think the entire recruitment proves that Calhoun - and others who recruited Miles - showed bad judgment off the court. I've said this before, and I'll say it again. Trying to win at all costs sends the worst possible message to those looking for heroes and mentors. For that reason, I think UCONN's basketball program should reevaluate itself and figure out its true vision and mission.
Trivia of the Week (Multiple Questions): Jeff George was the first pick in the 1990 draft. His active career - up to this point - lasted 11 years and included 5 different teams.
For which team was he drafted? Indianapolis Colts
On which team did he play when he made his first playoff appearance? Atlanta Falcons
On which team did he play when he won his first playoff game? Minnesota Vikings
George also had an 'inactive' career with 3 teams after the 2001 season. Name them. Seattle Seahawks, Chicago Bears, Oakland Raiders.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Potluck: Parking
It was a Thursday. March 12, 2009 to be exact. I had traveled to the Dahlia Lounge to purchase expensive cookies for the development team deploying the Previous Debt Discharge Status; don't ask. Meanwhile, I had no idea that the UCONN - Syracuse game was about to begin. I arrived back at my office and sat in my chair to do some work. It would be another 2.5 hours before I left.
What does this have to do with parking? Absolutely nothing. Because this story isn't about me...
Joseph fed the pups at about the time I was visiting Dahlia lounge - or so I'd surmise - and readied to depart the house. He started up the Subaru Forester and traveled to Capitol Hill for a drink at Purr.
As is common on Thursdays, Capitol Hill was rather busy. That means little to no parking. And, in fact, it took Joseph a number of circles around the neighborhood to find a spot. He found a spot almost directly in front of the bar and made the motion to pull in, when he noticed a young woman on her cell phone standing in the spot. Joseph rolled down the window and said 'Excuse me' somewhat loudly. But the young woman did not move. Again, he tried - a bit more loudly - to convince the woman to move. But he got no response.
For those of you who don't know Joseph as well as I, let's just say that he doesn't mind a confrontation, especially when there's principle involved. And so, Joseph commenced pulling into the spot. The young woman, taken aback by the fact that someone would do this, stared with malice into the Forester at Joseph. But she didn't move. Instead, she let fly a fist - all the while spewing a plethora of four-letter words - and came down on the hood with a thud. Joseph stopped the car. The woman then leaned on the hood of the Forester, essentially daring Joseph to do anything more.
Not a good idea.
Joseph suggested vehemently that the woman move. She didn't. So, he moved her. Ever so slowly - and gently - he inched the car forward. And in the end, she was no match for a multi-ton Subaru. Joseph successfully parked.
But that wasn't the end. Oh no...
Instead of leaving it at that, the woman called the police.
Joseph relates that a number of other parking spots opened in the time that it took for the police to arrive. And the woman's friend still hadn't arrived.
The police arrived and approached Joseph. They asked who called and what the problem was. Joseph intelligently decided to allow the woman to do the talking. The cops listened as the woman spoke. And when she finished her rant, they offered some advice. 'Ma'am, it's not a good idea to stand in front of a moving car.' As you can imagine, she did not want to hear that advice. She therefore decided to speak to the cops in a language she thought they might understand. 'What RCW states that I can't stand in the road and save the spot for my friend?'
Bad move, lady. For those of you who don't know, RCW stands for Revised Code of Washington. It is the compilation of all permanent laws now in force in the state of Washington. Yes, she was trying to tell them how to do their job.
The cops quickly grew tired of this young woman and asked, 'Ma'am, are you hurt?' 'No' she whined. They turned to Joseph and asked him if there was any damage to the car. He responded that there wasn't. The cops said it was a wash and were ready to have Joseph and the young woman go their respective ways.
But Joseph had one more question. 'Can I get this lady's name and number? I'm concerned that something might be wrong with my car when I come out of Purr.' The young woman responded that she wasn't that type of person. And the cops chimed in saying that they didn't think she would do such a thing. Joseph responded that he didn't think she would stand in front of a moving car either.
With that, the young woman stalked away - her friend having finally arrived - and left Joseph and the cops to depart the scene.
As it turned out, there was no damage to the car when we drove home that night. But a crazy lady had left her mark.
What does this have to do with parking? Absolutely nothing. Because this story isn't about me...
Joseph fed the pups at about the time I was visiting Dahlia lounge - or so I'd surmise - and readied to depart the house. He started up the Subaru Forester and traveled to Capitol Hill for a drink at Purr.
As is common on Thursdays, Capitol Hill was rather busy. That means little to no parking. And, in fact, it took Joseph a number of circles around the neighborhood to find a spot. He found a spot almost directly in front of the bar and made the motion to pull in, when he noticed a young woman on her cell phone standing in the spot. Joseph rolled down the window and said 'Excuse me' somewhat loudly. But the young woman did not move. Again, he tried - a bit more loudly - to convince the woman to move. But he got no response.
For those of you who don't know Joseph as well as I, let's just say that he doesn't mind a confrontation, especially when there's principle involved. And so, Joseph commenced pulling into the spot. The young woman, taken aback by the fact that someone would do this, stared with malice into the Forester at Joseph. But she didn't move. Instead, she let fly a fist - all the while spewing a plethora of four-letter words - and came down on the hood with a thud. Joseph stopped the car. The woman then leaned on the hood of the Forester, essentially daring Joseph to do anything more.
Not a good idea.
Joseph suggested vehemently that the woman move. She didn't. So, he moved her. Ever so slowly - and gently - he inched the car forward. And in the end, she was no match for a multi-ton Subaru. Joseph successfully parked.
But that wasn't the end. Oh no...
Instead of leaving it at that, the woman called the police.
Joseph relates that a number of other parking spots opened in the time that it took for the police to arrive. And the woman's friend still hadn't arrived.
The police arrived and approached Joseph. They asked who called and what the problem was. Joseph intelligently decided to allow the woman to do the talking. The cops listened as the woman spoke. And when she finished her rant, they offered some advice. 'Ma'am, it's not a good idea to stand in front of a moving car.' As you can imagine, she did not want to hear that advice. She therefore decided to speak to the cops in a language she thought they might understand. 'What RCW states that I can't stand in the road and save the spot for my friend?'
Bad move, lady. For those of you who don't know, RCW stands for Revised Code of Washington. It is the compilation of all permanent laws now in force in the state of Washington. Yes, she was trying to tell them how to do their job.
The cops quickly grew tired of this young woman and asked, 'Ma'am, are you hurt?' 'No' she whined. They turned to Joseph and asked him if there was any damage to the car. He responded that there wasn't. The cops said it was a wash and were ready to have Joseph and the young woman go their respective ways.
But Joseph had one more question. 'Can I get this lady's name and number? I'm concerned that something might be wrong with my car when I come out of Purr.' The young woman responded that she wasn't that type of person. And the cops chimed in saying that they didn't think she would do such a thing. Joseph responded that he didn't think she would stand in front of a moving car either.
With that, the young woman stalked away - her friend having finally arrived - and left Joseph and the cops to depart the scene.
As it turned out, there was no damage to the car when we drove home that night. But a crazy lady had left her mark.
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