Blog Master G

One of the fun things about having a blog is when people leave comments. I really enjoy feedback and the often-ensuing dialogue or debate. One of the funny things about having a blog is that sometimes people think I am someone I am not. Twice this week I’ve been contacted by people who have thought I was someone other than who I am. It’s usually pretty amusing. Earlier in the week I was contacted by a woman in London who thought I was connected with Hooters in San Francisco (here’s why). And just today I received this classic email via my email form:

Our Shih Tzu wentinto labor sometime this morning. We found a pup
under the bed at between 6:30 and 7a.m. It was healthy, nice and clean. It is
now 1:26p.m. and Madame’ Chee Chee hasn’t given birth to another pup. She
doesn’t seem to be in distress. She continues to care for the first pup. Not
long ago,she was panting and going over tolay on the paper. I’m trying to
contact a vet by phone as I write to you. Is she okay or what? Pleaes answer
asap. Thank you.

I feel for Madame Chee Chee, but I regretfully informed this woman that I am not a vet.

A Google search for buying an SUV has long yielded as the first result my rant from around this time last year about the fuel inefficiency of and misperception about the greater cabin space in SUVs (Think Twice Before Buying an SUV). That piece has yielded a number of comments and much debate on the topic. Americans are as deeply divided on SUVs as we are on politics.

Shedding more light on the topic of SUV safety in the January 12, 2004 issue of The New Yorker is Malcolm Gladwell in “Big and Bad: How the S.U.V. ran over automotive safety.” Unfortunately, this article is not available online, so I’d encourage you to find the print version. Either way, I’d also suggest reading the follow-up interview with Gladwell, Road Killers. In this interview he discusses in more detail some of the points he makes in the original article.

The primary point of “Big and Bad” is that SUVs are among the most dangerous vehicles on the road (for drivers and others on the road) due to the shoddy pickup-based construction of their frames, their tremendous weight (5,000 pounds-plus), and poor handling (despite SUV ads that suggest otherwise). Further, there has been a nonsensical psychological shift among consumers who buy SUVs that places more importance on perceived safety than on actually being safe. That is, because an SUV elevates the driver up high above the road and wraps him in nearly three tons of steel, there is a feeling of safety, even though there are data to show conclusively that there are more driver and other deaths caused by SUVs than cars and minivans, and that the response time to swerve or avoid a hazard or pedestrian is significantly greater in an SUV. The psychology of this “learned helplessness” suggests that the appeal of SUVs is that accidents are inevitable so it’s better to have a feeling of safety on the road. In essence, SUVs are about passive, rather than active, safety.

“It’s what happens when a larger number of drivers conclude, conclusively or otherwise,” writes Gladwell, “that the extra thirty feet that the TrailBlazer takes to come to a stop don’t really matter, that the tractor-trailer will hit them anyway, and that they are better off treating accidents as inevitable rather than avoidable.”

Gladwell writes later in the article that “We live in an age, after all, that is strangely fixated on the idea of helplessness: we’re fascinated by hurricanes and terrorist acts and epidemics like SARS — situations in which we feel powerless to affect our own destiny. In fact, the risks posed to life and limb by forces outside our control are dwarfed by the factors we can control. Our fixation with helplessness distorts our perceptions of risk. … The man who gives up his sedate family sedan for an S.U.V. is saying something far more troubling (than buying a sports car in his midlife crisis) — that he finds the demands of the road to be overwhelming. Is acting out really worse than giving up?”

I, for one, prefer to be in control of my life and my safety. I prefer not to be a threat to other drivers and pedestrians on the roads. I’ll take the complexly-engineered frame, lighter body weight, and nimble maneuverability of my WRX over an SUV any day. My chances of being killed, killing, and avoiding accidents far surpass any SUV or truck on the road. Oh, and I have four-wheel drive, too, which, incidentally, Gladwell writes, is also a perceived feeling of safety since the driver of a car with two-wheel drive has a better sense of traction and slipping potential on the road than does the driver of a car or SUV with four-wheel drive.

Yesterday Jen and I stopped in at our local DMV to apply for New York driver licenses. Part of the deal with getting a New York license (if you want to skip the behind-the-wheel and written tests) is that you have to surrender your out-of-state license. So for the first time since I was 16, I am without a California driver license. Even while at college in New York, I kept my California license.

It may seem silly, but there was something pretty emotional about this letting go for me. A Californian all my life, it’s going to be odd having a New York license in my wallet.

Despite this emotional letting go, I was shocked and pleasantly amazed by how easy the process of getting the new license was. First of all, you can just walk into the local DMV with the paperwork (as opposed to making an appointment weeks in advance and waiting in line for an hour once you get there, as one must do in California); the wait wasn’t more than ten minutes. Once at the counter, it was incredibly easy to process all the paperwork, take the eye test (which I actually passed without my glasses), and have a new photo taken. Jen and I were both in and out in less than half an hour.

I wasn’t able to register my car yet since the lienholder is my bank in California. They’ve first got to fax a copy of my title to the DMV before I can get NY registration. This is just as well since my California registration is good through May, so I might as well get my money’s worth.

Last night my mother-in-law came over for dinner. Jen made her delicious eggplant parm. After dinner, Jen and I did some work on the 100 Faces production and watched the maddening State of the Union address.

One of the fun things about moving into a new apartment is furnishing it with things like plungers. On the packaging of my new plunger is this text:

toilet plunger & stand
The Michael Graves Collection provides an inspired
balance of form and function. Sensible and sublime
practical and whimsical, the objects envisioned by this
world renowned architect infuse our daily lives with joy

I never thought of a toilet plunger as being “sensible and sublime” or “infusing” my life “with joy,” but to each his own. I’ll report back as to whether my life becomes more joyful after owning this architect-designed plunger.

I went skiing at Killington yesterday with Dan and Lauren, some friends from Vassar. Lauren and I were on the Vassar Ski Team together, so it was fun to have a bit of a ski team reunion (photo from February 1999). It was my second day skiing this season. The first was last month with my bro and Enoch, who is also a VC Ski Team alum. We were representin’ the ski team with our matching vests at Northstar.

Dan, Lauren, and I drove up to Vermont (a mere two hours from Saratoga) on Friday morning with plans to ski that day. We were greeted, however, by weather that was 50 below with the wind chill. All the lifts were closed. It was so cold, in fact, that I took off my glove in the parking lot for about 30 seconds to buy a lift ticket voucher from some guy, and I couldn’t feel my hand. I ran back to my car, blasted the heater, and defrosted my hand.

We lucked out with the weather on Saturday, though. It was sunny with blue skies and not terribly crowded, despite its being MLK weekend. The snow was mostly good with only occasional spots of ice. We had a really fun time and I can’t wait for the next trip, which will likely be to Whiteface.

It’s good to have friends with whom I can ski on this coast, too.

Ahh, high speed Internet. How I’ve longed for thee. The cable guy just left and we’re no longer imprisoned in a world of dial-up across America. It’s the little things (and the fast things) that make me happy. So what if our bed doesn’t arrive until tomorrow? Now I can blog at the speed of light. Road Runner is so much faster than Earthlink DSL ever was.

In the days since The Toddler I’ve been…well, recovering. That was quite the burrito. Apparently everyone agreed since I got a number of emails about it.

It’s snowing outside right now. The falling snow really is beautiful, as are the snow-covered streets. It turns out that last week when we arrived in Saratoga, the region was experiencing extreme temperatures. Friday night when we walked to and from a local bar, it was -15. Yes, that’s fifteen degrees below zero. We thought we had become wimps living in California for so long. Turns out it was just really damn cold. It’s a warm 27 degrees or so right now.

It was so cold last week, in fact, that Happy was literally shaking every time we walked the dogs, so we figured he needed to warm him up with a fleece dog tartan. Both dogs also do this funny little three-legged dance to keep their feet warm. Next on the dog goodies list: Booties. As James said when I told him about Happy’s tartan, “Oh great. Now you guys are those people.”

Today Jen purchased some wooly mammoth slippers to stay warm in the house. The dogs think the slippers are wee critters and greeted them correspondingly. And I’ve noticed what a terrible effect the cold has on gas mileage. Whereas I normally get around 23 mpg in city driving, I’m getting only about 16.9 mpg here in the tundra. My theory about low mileage was confirmed this morning by Car Talk. The emissions from cars are noticeably more significant, too.

I ate the biggest burrito of my life tonight. Well, I actually ate only about a third of it (so far). But the beast we’ve so fondly dubbed “The Toddler” must have set some kind of record. It cost $14 and probably weighed in at as many pounds. Seriously. It didn’t come close to comparing to any California burrito in terms of taste or quality, so as if to make up for this, the Mexican Connection here in Saratoga Springs apparently cranks out the biggest burritos that are humanly possible. It was unbelievable. You really had to see this thing.

Lucky for you, Jen whipped out the camera to document the incredible moment when it was carted from the kitchen to appear before us. I couldn’t stop laughing from the moment it thudded down on the table. Even our server laughed, remarking that “They’re usually big, but this is the biggest one ever.” The menu warned that the “Buro Grande” could practically feed a family of four. I thought they were exaggerating. But lo and behold, it looked as if they had jammed the whole damn chicken in there.

After I ate a burrito baby, Jen and I attended our first Howard Dean Meetup, as part of the national event, at The Parting Glass. The turnout was much larger than I had expected — about 40 or so attendees. We talked about the New York primary on March 2, heard from a lobbyist for the civil servants’ union in New York State, and wrote personal letters to Iowan and New Mexican voters. We met some really nice people, most of whom were older than us, which was a change from San Francisco political events where it’s mostly younger people. Nonetheless, it felt good to get out of the empty house, discover a fine new Irish pub, and meet some other politically active Saratogians.

You know you live in the Northeast when you own big snow boots. Tonight Jen and I became Northeasterners. Saratogians, in particular. It’s been snowing here lately and, as Californians, our sneakers couldn’t take trudging through the fresh banks of snow or through the slushy sidewalks much longer. What a difference. My feet are now warm when we walk the dogs and I don’t feel the moisture seeping into my California cotton socks (a big no-no, according to the staunchly serious man who advised us on boots at Dick’s sporting goods).

Last night we finally saw Lord of the Rings: Return of the King after dinner at Friendly’s with super-friendly service. As expected, I really enjoyed the final installment of the Tolkien trilogy. I didn’t want to leave the theater when the credits began to roll after three hours, but it’s hard enough to get Jen to sit through a standard-length movie. I knew Jen was getting more and more restless with each loud sigh throughout the final hour of the film. But I’ll give her some credit, given the multiple natural points at which the movie could’ve ended.

It’s hard getting used to life in such a quiet place. It’s not like the big city at all. I was tempted earlier to let Happy off leash while walking down our street since there’s nary a car in sight. This peaceful lifestyle is already having a pleasantly surprising effect on the dogs: They’ve been so calm and relaxed the past couple days since we moved in. And I do love the snow. It’s so pretty lining the streets and trees.

Our place is still pretty much empty (furniture doesn’t arrive until the 10th), so we’re continuing to settle into our echoey apartment. The air mattress wasn’t great the first night, but it’s growing on me.

Last but far from least, a big congratulations is in order to Jane and Sarah on their engagement. I’m really happy for you both.

After driving for eight continuous days, it felt strange yesterday not to wake up, pack up the room and the dogs, and hit the road. Rather, we slept in, had breakfast, and chilled out. I also took a break from blogging. The dogs continued to get to know Daisy May the husky.

We celebrated the New Year last night with Tracy and her family. We drank wine, ate heartily, played games, and toasted 2004 as the bubbly flowed. It occurred to me sometime during the night that Jen and I were celebrating our sixth consecutive New Year together. How time flies when you’re having fun. Life is good but no doubt short.

Today was the big day in Saratoga Springs. We drove north around lunchtime to meet with our landlord and sign the lease. It was Jen’s first time seeing the apartment, and her first time back to Saratoga in about ten years. It was an exciting, nervous feeling driving into town, knowing we would soon call it home. We spent some time circling the new apartment as a dog sniffs out a new territory. It always takes some time to get to know a place before it feels like home. We set up a new coffee table (made by my mother-in-law in the 1960s), unpacked our books, and bought some cleaning supplies and a new bed for Stella Brie. We enjoyed lunch at the local coffee bar, Uncommon Grounds, all the while taking in our new environs. We visited picturesque Saratoga Lake, frozen in the winter for activities like ice skating, hockey, and ice fishing, and a summer destination for sports like boating, swimming, and my personal favorite, jet skiing.

In more anti-moving company sentiment, it occurred to me today that by urging me to send our books via media mail (which we did) to supposedly “save money” since, he claimed, it would be less to ship “heavy things like books” via Post Office instead of moving company, the estimator from All Points Moving Systems/North American actually tricked us, making more room on the moving truck and, in effect, more money for the moving company. Though hard to believe, our stuff weighed in at quite a bit more than estimated, so it wouldn’t have mattered if we had included the books since there was a not-to-exceed price. In reality, it ended up costing us $100 extra out of pocket to ship the books U.S. mail. The estimator has not heard the last from me, nor has the company. An angry letter will follow.

Please boycott North American Van Lines and, in particular, All Points Moving Systems in Vallejo, California.

California friends: We miss you already.

East Coast friends: We’re looking forward to hanging out with you.

Happy New Year 2004!

Kinderhook, N.Y. – We made it. Not all the way to our new home in Saratoga Springs just yet, but we’re essentially there. We’re at Jen’s parents’ house in upstate New York, about an hour and change south of Saratoga. We rolled into town around 10pm Eastern Time tonight. It’s certainly surreal: Being here on a more permanent basis than we usually are. We’re no strangers to this town or this house, but our presence here is different this time. Different because this region of the country is now our home. It hasn’t quite sunk in for either Jen or me, I think, but certain physical clues solidify the situation and make it somehow more real. There’s the fact that we drove into town, rather than flying here, and my car sits in the driveway outside my in-laws’ house; and then there’s the fact that our dogs are here. In Kinderhook. That’s probably the strangest part. They even met Daisy May (one at a time). And no blood was shed. A few growls and flared hackles.

There’s no flight to catch back to California this time. Until the first vacation, anyway.

Today was another long day, though not too bad. We set no alarm in Pittsburgh at our final La Quinta stay across America. We woke up around 10am and made plans to meet Johnny as we passed through Buffalo.

So we hit the road and left Pennsylvania behind, cruised briefly through a corner of West Virginia, and north into New York. Around 4pm we arrived in Buffalo and had a great time hanging out with Johnny at an early supper. We made arrangements for him to visit us as soon as we’re settled in Saratoga Springs. It’s a good feeling to have so many great friends on this side of the country, too. I’ve reflected on that quite a bit lately: That we’re fortunate enough to have such wonderful, close friends on both coasts. I feel very lucky.

The drive time passed quickly for the most part today, listening to most of the audio book we started yesterday (or day before?), The Life of Pi. The story started out to be really good but has taken a turn for the worse and is just plain bad at the point where we stopped listening tonight (we had had enough). It’s a tale of a castaway Indian boy who, following a shipwreck, is stranded at sea on a lifeboat with a tiger and other animals from his father’s zoo. It was not the best pick in audio book to listen to while driving across the country with two dogs since the story is essentially about a long, hellish journey without end in the company of wild beasts. Apparently there’s some kind of twist at the end, though, according to Johnny, so we’ll have to make it through the painful final two CDs (of nine total). It’s a pretty stressful story, not quite as light-hearted as the previous audio book we heard (Big Bad Wolf).

A couple hours before we were due to arrive in Albany, the dogs must’ve gotten the sense that we were close to our destination. Happy decided he’d had enough of riding in close quarters in the way back of the Scoob with his sister for eight straight days. The space is cozy for them, but not much bigger than their overall dog-volume. So I really couldn’t blame Happy when he decided to climb over the rear headrests and into the backseat stacked to the ceiling with luggage and other belongings we didn’t want to send with the movers. It was hilarious seeing him wiggle his little Border Collie body over the seat and weave this way and that to find a comfortable perch among our suitcases. It made for perfect rearview mirror entertainment and provided Jen and me with a fit of much-needed laughing.

And then we arrived. It was over just as suddenly as it had begun. Eight days on the road. The journey is nearly over, but the real one is about to begin. A new town and a new year await. A future of infinite possibilities is on the horizon.

Tomorrow we’ll take a New Year’s Eve breather here in Kinderhook before heading up to Saratoga Springs on Thursday to bring our trip to an official close, sign our lease, and begin to settle in as we wait for our stuff to arrive.