Archive for the ‘Living’ Category

Hi, 2012!

Thought about it, and mostly what I want to do in the new year is the same thing I did in 2011. Just a lot more of it.

Teres and I continued building something of a social life, listened to some great music and made a lot of new friends. More of that, please.

(Teres and I are still having more fun together every year, no reason to slow down now.)

I continued developing my skills at work and found different ways to not only do a job I love but teach others to do it as well. Well, maybe not "as well"…

I did more freelance work than ever before, including a just-finished spec screenplay. An author whose book I liked posted on her Facebook page that she was having problems getting a script adaptation of it done, and since I've critiqued my share of movies over the years I thought it karmically apt to let others take a swing at me. She liked it and sent it off to her producer today. Most likely event, knowing Hollywood? That's the most I'll be involved with it. But writing it was the most (non-Teresa) fun I've had in a while and I want to keep doing it.

Kept practicing the photography and got to shoot the My Generation / Yes concert in Orlando. I plan to do a lot more of that, so beware.

Health? Well, I'm still mostly healthy, "just" carrying an extra person's worth of weight I don't need, so we'll see if I can do something about that.

Watched less TV and fewer movies last year than any year of my life since age 4 or so. But what I saw was amazing. I've decided life's to cheap to waste it on substandard fare, so step up, Hollywood and indie creators. (I happen to know about a great screenplay…)

Read more new books than previously. My ratio tends to be one new book, three old favorites, but ebooks make it so easy…

Online I think I'll spend less time playing with every new social site that comes along and concentrate more in the few I actually use. Anyone's guess how that will turn out.

Mostly I'll just be me, as hard as I can. So, you know, heads up.

See, Erin Palette, over in her blog, has been chronicalling her experiences in marksmanship and gunplay. And, frankly, it sounded fun. I was a decent shot, once upon a time, but I haven't picked up a firearm in 15 years and was never what you might call trained or anything.

Teresa seemed startled when I mentioned it. I'm not the manliest guy around, and while that's not required, shooting does tend to fall into the realm of things I don't generally do, along with playing football and working on cars and knowing how to bevel an edge of something.

But I was curious, and Erin seemed delighted with the idea, and off to the shooting range we went. She made sure I knew basic gun safety (I did), had read the range rules (no problem, I read fast) and knew how to load the rifle (needed some help there).  I was using her lighter rifle, a bolt-action Savage Arms Model 46 — we'll just pretend I know what that is — while she was firing her Mosin-Nagan. She started me off slowly.

Shooting ranges, you should know, are loud. You go in, pass your fee or flash your pass — or, in Erin's case, just nod at the guy behind the desk — and go set up while trying not to flinch at the astounding variety of bangs, cracks, and booms going on. There are ranges with targets at 25 yards, 50 yards and 100 yards. In the picture to the right, the 25s are on the right and the 50s can be seen way back there on the left.

There were also a fair amount of people there, and most of them looked like normal people. That is to say, not redneck gun-happy choose-your-own-cliche psychos. There were young and old folks, a few father-son outing types, a very attractive girl in her late teens or early 20s who was blasting away at a 50-yard target, and us.

Erin showed me how to load, watched me fire a few rounds, and went to set herself up. Thankfully, I didn't embarrass myself, much. Here's my first targetful.

Not the "oh my God, you're amazing!" results I was hoping for, no bullseyes or even close, but at least I hit the thing.

You shoot for 15 minutes and then the call comes to cease fire, and you unload your weapon or shoot the bolt or otherwise make it unable to be fired, set it down and back away behind a line. A staff member walks by to make sure everyone's firearm is safe, and then people are free to walk out and put up or change targets, or just stare at them like I did with barely controlled glee. I hit something! If we were attacked by zombies I could marginally injure one of them! Go me!

The small black circles are stickers you can place over your shots after you've plugged the target too many times and can no longer tell which holes are new.

Clearly I was hitting low and to the right, but at least I was consistent. (Yes, I know how to correct for that. Now.)

As I was pop-popping along, Erin was setting up her rifle which, as it turned out, did not go pop so much as BOOM. She grinned happily at my expression and turned back to blast away and have a merrily violent time.

Ear protection is mandatory at the range, and really should be in place before you go near it. It's not the sound so much — which can be loud, sure, but I've been going to rock concerts every week and taking pictures from in front of the amplifiers — but the air pressure. After one of the breaks I forgot to put my left ear plug back in, once. Once. That ear is still ringing a bit, days later.

Some more of that and Erin asked if I wanted to try the 50-yard range. What the hell. If anything I did a little better (see the pic on the right).

It also helped that Erin added a bipod so it was easier to hold steady. I could barely see the thing even with the scope and couldn't clearly tell when I hit it, which for all I know helped.

My main problem, and the reason I was unable to get into a good rhythm, was that bullets kept jamming for me and I would have to eject every third one or so. Kind of annoying.

By the way, while I was doing this, Erin was calmly putting shot after shot in the circle, which is about the size of a CD, in her own target half a football field away.

Remember CDs?

Oh, did I mention this was in Florida last Saturday, a day that broke 9,000 temperature records across the country? We were slugging down water, toweling our faces and just generally suffering every time we slogged out to the target. Not a blistering heat, but a relentlessly oppressive one, so, you know, the perfect time to deal with heated gun barrels and hot flying bullet casings.

Erin gave me a big black sticker the size of the circle so I could cover all those shots and reuse the target. This is my final result.

I had to quit after about 2 hours, from the heat and the back ache from the unaccustomed muscle use and because my rifle was jamming steadily now. Erin let me fire her higher-powered rifle at her target (not pictured) while she worked on the other one, and I have to say I liked the Mosin-Nagan better. Much better scope, more accurate, a boom and kick that I admit I found highly satisfying in a purely atavistic way. Also, it has AVADA KEDAVRA painted on it.

In shooting, like with dating and produce selection, there's always something better out there. The guy next to Erin was firing his own weapon, a something-something with a polished wooden stock and, I assume, other cool stuff because she was openly eyeing it, and he let her fire a few rounds. It made an even louder boom, followed by her scream of "I want one!"

I left Erin there to keep going and I went to meet my son James, my brother-in-law Rodger and my friend Dan at Tony's Pizza in Deland to hydrate, blow my diet and brag about my exploits. Rodger, who owns several firearms and regularly hunted for food back in Indiana, politely praised my shooting. I expected that.

I didn't expect the young waitress who saw my iPhone pics and stood there for 10 minutes, holding our dishes and telling us about her own love of guns, her annual pass to the same shooting range, and calibres and gun models I couldn't possibly keep track of. That was just funny.

I think I'll be going back. I'm still not a gun fan, really, and I don't see myself learning firearm models and history and whatnot. But I am definitely a shooting fan, if that makes sense.

And zombies? Beware! Apparently I'm a better shot the farther away you are, possibly. Beware!

You get really shiny quarters.

Last year our dryer motor died, and as we didn't have the ready cash to go pick up another one we called my long-suffering brother-in-law, who can fix anything. He took it apart, I found a replacement motor on Amazon (seriously, on Amazon) and we got it back up and drying in a week.

But while he had it apart, we cleaned it out. Aside from a staggering amount of change in and under it — literally enough to cover half the cost of the motor, which just seemed apt — he found about $4 worth of quarters stuck inside the plastic vanes inside the dryer that agitate your clothes. Plus some perfectly round, tightly packed balls of lint, which were kind of cool.

But the quarters had been tumbled for months, possibly years. The lines on the edges are completely gone, rubbed smooth, and the coins themselves have a kind of black lustre to them. These are much cooler looking and feeling than regular quarters, like really, really cheap Kruggerands. They still register as quarters in machines; we dumped the load into a Coinstar for the Amazon coupon and had no problems.

I kept four of 'em, though, 'cause these are seriously cool. Hey, U.S. Mint? Think about it. Buy a bunch of dryers.

Below is the rest of the pile we pulled out of and from under the dryer. It's an odd savings method, but it seems to work for us.

As I mentioned here previously, I recently got a somewhat-better camera and wanted to take a little more care of it (meaning, I can't just shove my camera in my pocket anymore). But none of the inexpensive camera bags met my needs and if I wanted one that didn't look like an obvious camera bag, which I did, I'd have to shell out some serious bucks. I, however, am a cheap bastard, so I decided to roll my own.

Supplies:
Messenger bag. I liked the look of this one and it was marked down at Burlington Coat Factory. Price: 20 bucks.
Foam padding. Closed-cell padding is better and thinner — you can find it at some fabric stores or camping supply retailers — but I went with some old packing foam I already had. Price: free.
Duct tape. Price: $3.95 because I splurged on a color roll.
That's it.

Total price: $23.95.

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I forgot my cellphone today.

It doesn't happen often, I'm pretty good (read: obsessive to an alarming degree) about keeping track of my phone and keys and iPod. But I'd plugged it in to charge and I left earlier today and, well. I was almost to work (45 minutes away) when I noticed.

So? No big deal. I'm a big boy, I can live without a phone for 9 hours.

Only a friend called and wanted to get together for dinner, and I needed to call home and coordinate it, and it's all long distance from my job, and then I was supposed to meet everybody at the restaurant and had no way of letting them know I would be on time or late or early or broken down somewhere on I-4…

It is truly amazing how quickly and totally I have become dependent on having immediate access to everyone I know. Years have gone by since I really sweated out having my car break down, since I can always call for help. I barely use the thing, really, rarely more than a call home every day to make sure nothing needs picking up. But it's there if I need it.

Little scary, really, as I have reservations about becoming dependent on any external device or system. But I also notice I rarely see anyone stuck on the side of the road anymore. Used to, fairly often, and I've given rides to more than a few, especially if people with kids were stranded. And the few times it does happen now, they're almost always standing there talking on a phone so I can drive by with a clear conscience.

Whatever else the last decade has brought us, instant and clear communication from almost everywhere is one of the best things ever.

Unless you forget your damn phone, that is.

This year's haul was an odd one, for several reasons.

Absolutely nothing required assembly or sneaking around, so for the first time in nearly three decades I didn't have to stay up late on Christmas Eve (although I did anyway).

Most everyone in the family knew what they were getting, with a few surprises.

There weren't quite enough surprises, as the Bon Jovi-related merchandise I got for Teres from her list of stuff still to get turned out to be the same stuff she had in fact already ordered for herself. Fortunately I also found her one of the "Have a Nice Day" smirk necklaces. The hard case we got for James turned out to be too small for his bass despite our careful measuring. Still, everyone seemed pleased.

I received:

- A safety razor, holder, blades, beaver hair brush and soap dish (all of which I had asked for, as I plan to start wet shaving with a safety razor to save money and, one hopes, get a better shave).
- "Vanilla Ride" by Joe R. Lansdale (the latest in his Hap and Leonard series, from my housemate, marking the 1st time in many years someone has managed to surprise me with a book I didn't know existed but would immediately have bought myself if I had).
- A carved walking stick (from Teres, so I'd have something unexpected, which it was).
The Incredible Hulk TV series Ultimate Collection (from my son James, who decided my DVD shelf wasn't cheesy enough).- A signed autograph of Walter Cronkite (from my son Tony, because he knew I didn't have one and the likelihood of me getting one seemed bleak).
- Money (from mom, who knows what I like) (Also she gave me fudge)
- The Regular Expressions Cookbook (an unexpected gift from my friend Shmuel, who has answered several panicky instant-messaged regular expressions questions from me in the past and apparently decided to head the next one off) (not pictured; it's at my work desk already).

And some of the money that would have gone into prezzies for me instead was diverted towards the Guilt Camera Teresa bought me (not pictured, cuz it was busy picturing).

All in all, a good haul and a great Christmas. My son Tony was here with his girlfriend Laura, my bro-in-law Rodger came over, and we opened prezzies, went to see "Sherlock Holmes" (quick review: not a great movie or a real cinematic gamechanger, but an awful lot of fun to watch if you can get past the idea of Holmes having any sort of romance) and came back to play "ImagineIf" for hours with lots of uproarious laughing and good natured personal abuse.

Hope yours went as well. Happy holidays, folks.

Tony and Laura

Originally uploaded by CABridges

I know Florida is supposed to be a warmer climate, but shouldn't we have at least a little chilliness?

We drove over to Ormond-By-The-Sea today to spend Christmas Eve with my mom, and went up to the beach approach at the top of the street. Pleasant day, low 70s, nice breeze… this is Christmas?

Nice day, though.

Here we see my son Tony and his girlfriend Laura, discussing the relative merits of Bosonic string theory vs. superstring theory .
More photos of, basically, us messing around on the beach, can be seen here.

 

N-J Kitty Memorial

Originally uploaded by CABridges

The black cat that has hung around the Daytona Beach News-Journal's building for the last 16 years died last Friday. As our company is in the final steps of being sold, I'm trying really, really hard not to see that as being in any way ironic.

The cat, known as Miss Kitty (and sometimes Mr. Kitty, gender being somewhat indeterminate, an odd omission for usually detail-oriented reporters), could often be seen wandering the parking lot, prowling around the security booth and generally owning the place. Footprints on cars was not uncommon.

One day I left work to find him (her?) sitting regally on my roof. I explained my need to leave and the probable effects of wind shear on cats (yes, I talk to cats out loud. Don't you?) and after a moment of consideration he rose, padded gracefully down my windshield, stared me in the eye while he peed on my hood, and leaped away. I've rarely received such a direct message before.

Anyway. We had a small memorial service today consisting of some of us standing around talking about the cat. One coworker noted that there were quite a few human employees who wouldn't receive such a sendoff.

He — or possibly she — will be missed.

Yes, fine, rip-proof mesh and weather-proof nylon makes perfect sense for a durable camera bag. But do they all have to look the same?

Like all photographers pro and amateur, I am on the eternal hunt for the perfect camera bag. And like all great eternal hunts, my quarry does not exist in the real world.

Partly this is because your needs change. A bag for an all-day hike to take pictures of a transcendent mountain lake sunset would be substantially different than the bag you'd throw your stuff in to take pictures of your neighbor's car, and neither may handle air travel very well.But mostly because I'm really picky and skilled at determining what I don't want without ever quite articulating what I do.

It should be small enough to be convenient as a daily take-to-work bag but include padded compartments for my camera and accessories. It should have pockets for my other assorted doodads — pens, notebooks, ID, extra SD cards, batteries, what-have-you — but not be confusing. It should be durable. And, very important, it should be able to double for a casual backpack or messenger bag, ideally brown or charcoal gray (definitely not "I'm-a-camera-bag-steal me-black").

My other drawback? Has to be cheap, which knocks out some perfectly good contenders.I'm starting to think the easiest way to satisfy my various needs is to find a really good backpack and just add padded compartments for the camera gear. But that seems like cheating, and frankly I also have trouble deciding on the perfect backpack. Also, quick camera access is usually easier from a dedicated camera bag and you never know what sort of horrific accident, perfect moment of beauty, or spontaneous nude eruption might occur.

At the moment the closest (if still on the pricey side) (from my viewpoint, not compared to most camera bags) are the various offerings from Domke, but I know already that whatever I ultimately purchase will disappoint me in some way. This one appeals to me greatly, for example, but while I could make up for the lack of gadgety pockets with makeshift additions the price is still a sticking point.

There is no perfect camera bag. There is only the quest.

Foggy Morning

Originally uploaded by CABridges

I've usually got a camera with me, but I rarely remember to use the thing unless something really jumps out at me (unlike our paper's staff photographers, who know how to stalk settings and wait for the perfect photo to appear).

This morning fog was everywhere, every light was a shining star, and every body of water a misty loch in which hidden monsters stirred. Even in retention ponds.