Men are like ...

You know what? I'm getting pretty damn tired of all this anti-man crap that some of you women spread over the internet.

I know, the internet enables you to get a message out quickly, to a wide audience, and then you copy it and post it on your blogs or send it out as e-mails your exclusive mailing list of 247 names.

But this is one I haven't seen before. My wife got this from her sister a few days ago (she's my sister-in-law; or did you figure that out already?), and it's one of the more insidious anti-man things I've seen for a while.

I'm mad. Grrrr. See how mad I am?

Anyway, read it for yourself, and you'll why I'm upset:

SNIP

For all those men who say, Why buy a cow when you can get milk for free?, here's an update for you: Nowadays, 80% of women are against marriage.

Why?

Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire pig just to get a little sausage.

What are men like?

Men are like laxatives ... because they irritate the crap out of you.

Men are like bananas ... because the older they get, the less firm they are.

Men are like the weather ... because nothing can be done to change them.

Men are like blenders ... because you need one, but you're not quite sure why.

Men are like chocolate bars ... because they are sweet, smooth and they usually head right for your hips.

Men are like commercials ... because you can't believe a word they say.

Men are like department stores ... because their clothes are always 1/2 off.

Men are like government bonds ... because they take soooooooo long to mature.

Men are like mascara ... because they usually run at the first sign of emotion.

Men are like popcorn ... because they satisfy you, but only for a little while.

Men are like snowstorms ... because you never know when they're coming, how many inches you'll get or how long it will last.

Men are like Lava Lamps ... because they are fun to look at, but not very bright.

Men are like parking spots ... because all the good ones are taken, and the rest are handicapped.

UNSNIP

****

It's been a very busy week in a very busy time of the year. I was out at events three of the last four nights, and I've got football tonight. The weather forecast says showers and temperatures in the 40s. Nothing out of the unusual. Not much time for relaxation or self-relfection.

I suppose I could tell you what happened Wednesday. I took the afternoon off, and my wife and I drove down to visit my mom. We delivered a bunch of things she wanted. Tylenols (contraband--she's not supposed to have them herself, but the nursing home staff takes so long to get the pills to her when she needs them; so don't tell anybody), Sudafeds (same thing), chocolate raisins, Skittles and -- finally -- the anise squares she has been craving.

After a while, a newspaper arrived, and my wife was reading it while my mom and I talked. But I was running out of things to say. I looked over and noticed that my wife's blouse was lifted enough so that there was a half-inch space above her jeans.

So I did what I felt I had do. I reached over with my forefinger and made a quick tickling raid. Oh, she jumped. My mom laughed. My wife gave me a look, then resumed reading. I did it again. We (my mom and I) both laughed. "Is this how he treats you?" she asked my wife.

She had to stop reading then to keep an eye on me and dropped a hand to protect her tummy. But by then my ever-observant eyes noticed a gap in her blouse, between buttons, right between her breasts. All of a sudden, the finger struck again. But this time, she had a hand free and slapped the back of my hand. My poor defenseless hand.

It jerked back as if burned. "Wow!" my mom said. "You poor little boy!" And I looked at her and I looked at my wife and then I looked at my hand and started sobbing, Stan Laurel-style, with little throat sounds to make it sound very convincing.

But it wasn't very convincing after I broke out laughing.

I'll leave it at that and hope all of you are doing well. Even those of you who make jokes about us poor, defenseless men.

Moments of prayer

It was the usual busy weekend, trying to catch up with sports stories and such, plus a little relaxing. But I spent part of my time praying. Really.

I didn't pray to the Judeo-Christian God or to any other organized religion's chosen Deity. I prayed to ... whoever is out there guiding our fates, guiding the world, its forces, the sun and stars. The creator. The all-powerful one. You decide the name. I probably prayed to him/her/it/them.

On Friday, it was at the request of S, and the prayer was for her oldest son (grown), who has been diagnosed with hepatitis C. She said the doctors are very pessimistic about his prospects--gave him six months. So she and another person were going to do a healing meditation for him Friday evening. And she asked that if I wanted to, to join them (in spirit) at 6 p.m. Friday.

That was about supper time for me, before I went out to the football game that night. But I explained the situation to my wife, and she had a nice warm pot of chili ready by 5:40. Then I went upstairs to the bedroom and sat on the floor, legs crossed under me.

It took a couple minutes to settle down and push other thoughts out of my mind, but then my elbows were on my thighs and my forehead was on my fingers. I asked Whoever to smile on S's son, to help him and make him whole again. I was in meditation for 10 to 15 minutes. Then I went downstairs, said goodbye, put on my jacket and drove off to the football field (the game was in town).

On Saturday morning, S wrote me again. She said things went fabulously. "It restored his energy level and he felt incredibly loved. Time will tell, but I believe he is healed. Incidently, he had his first experience with the angel of joy yesterday--first time he called on her and was filled with incredible joy. He said he will work on expanding that now so all around him also feel what he did. Today he has lots of energy and is all smiles. God is so good!"

Then, on Saturday evening, I was back in the bedroom. This time it was for someone I had met at the pagan gathering in 2005. They were holding a day for working on yardwork at the site in southern Wisconsin. (I couldn't attend due to my work duties.) At the same time, they were holding a healing circle for this woman, who has been diagnosed with a malignant tumor in her breast.

So I was back sitting on the floor, asking the Almighty and the Divine to remove her sickness and make her body whole again.

There are more prayers to come, I'm sure. S wants me to add a prayer that she can find a job to bring in money so she can continue her healing work. And there maybe others.

That's all right. I've got a big heart and lots of love to share. I pray for others. I pray for family and friends. I pray for some of my blog friends and the challenges they are facing in their lives. Maybe even you.

S and I exchanged about eight e-mails on Friday. "Yeah," I wrote in one of them, "when you see beyond yourself, you see many things that make your problems look very small and inconsequential. I'm very aware of that."

Lighting up the gridiron

I enjoy covering football. There's no hiding that. The games are usually fun, and the weather is, well, variable. At the start of the season, I'm wearing shorts and sometimes even sunscreen. By the end of the season, I'm sometimes driving through snow on my way home from games. Any kind of precipitation you can imagine.

I'll save some of my football/weather experiences for another day. Today, the theme is light. Good light, bad light, so-so light. It's also variable. Even during the same game.

A few games I cover each season are daytime games [places where the fields don't have lights], but most are at night. Some places have good lighting. Others leave something to be desired. But the digital camera and computer processing (the office uses Photoshop 7) sure beats the pants off olden times, not too long ago, when I was playing with chemicals, rolling film onto reels in absolute darkness and then playing with a stubborn enlarger under red light. And more chemicals.

Yes, I could talk about times when I turned on the darkroom light, only to realize I still had the film reels with the undeveloped film (instantly ruined) in my hand. I could tell you about that. But I don't really want to. The memory still hurts.

My little camera (the one I use for work) is just a toy compared to what daily newspapers use. I've covered several state championship games, using my little water pistol next to the guys with the big cannons. Big long lenses. (Sigh!) Today, it seems everyone has a digital SLR. Everyone except ... well, my little camera does well enough, I guess. (Except indoor basketball pictures. And volleyball, especially. Ever hear about "shutter lag"? Grrrrr!)

But I was going to talk about lighting and how variable it can be.

Here are some pictures from the game I covered last Friday. It started at 6 p.m., about an hour before sunset, so I had good light for much of the first half. Here's a shot from the first quarter, when one of our guys was returning a punt 68 yards for a touchdown, running down the sideline towards me ... and ol' Sol, 93 million miles away.

I normally crop my pictures, but in this case it would have meant cropping out my shadow along the sidelines. Also, note the trees in the background--a little color, but not much so far. That will change pretty quickly.

OK, that was about midway through the first quarter. This picture was taken just before halftime, with the sun now below the trees.

Quite a bit darker. In cricket, the players would go off for "bad light."

In the second half, we go from bad to worse. The field is only illuminated by the light standards around the gridiron, and they aren't the greatest. So I have to use a big flash unit attached to my camera's hot shoe. (Hot shoe? Gesundheit!)

If I didn't use the flash, this is what I would wind up with ...


It's not quite a black cat eating licorice in a coal bin at midnight, but it's pretty close.

However, the software can do some pretty amazing stuff. This is the same picture as above after a little work with Photoshop.

It's pretty grainy, and the colors aren't great, but this is a major improvement. You can see that the shadows are coming from the lights. Getting any kind of an image off a superdark film negative like this would be nigh onto impossible.

The flash, though, really brightens things up (as long as the players are on this side of the hashmarks--my rule of thumb). Here's a shot I got late in the third quarter ...


That's the picture, just as it comes off the memory card. We can make it even brighter with the software--I'd probably want to brighten it just a little if I was going to run it in the paper. If I brighten it a lot, you can see the press box on the other side of the field.


This week, the game starts at 7 p.m., so I'll be using the flash all throughout. Except I might try some without the flash--our field (where Friday's game will be played) has much better lighting than this one. A little "pushing" with the software, and we'll see what we can get.

Anyway, it's football, and I enjoy the fun and excitement, the combat on the grass and the handshakes after the final horn. It's a nice night. I'm really glad I can do that. For all the hustling and hazards along the sidelines and occasional confusion, it's the most funnest thing I do on my job. I cover every single game that I possibly can.

MiniMe "rises" to the occasion

I'm starting to wonder about getting a massage. I've never had a real massage in my life. In fact, the last time I got any kind of a massage was when I visited S in Canada early last December. That's over nine months ago. (The last time I saw her. S is back in Wisconsin now, but back with her husband, and we agreed that we'll just write each other for now. Maybe I'll write more about that some other time.)

Some of you have written about massages you have had--full body massages. What I need specifically is something to calm down the tension in my back and shoulders and neck. The sides/back of my neck can get stiff.

It wasn't feeling good last Saturday. I got back home from the football game at about 10:45 p.m. Saturday morning, I was trying to catch up on all the stories I have to do every weekend. Plus an additional bunch of concerns/worries.

A bouquet of them. Shall I elaborate? 1. I still had a news story and editorial to write for the news part of the paper. 2. We'd be short-handed on Monday--the editor took a day off for whatever. 3. A board that I chair had to move its monthly meeting from Wednesday morning to Monday. 4. I had to take my car in for a wheel alignment. 5. I've got a doctor's appointment Tuesday afternoon. Yearly checkup type thing.

All those things were each adding their little invisible lumps on my neck. Little guys swinging their hammers, and I was feeling the impact. But I had to go visit my mom at the nursing home on Saturday afternoon. I took a Tylenol for my neck before leaving. As I was driving out of town, I turned to my wife.

"I know what's causing it," I said. "Stress, stress, stress. Pressure, pressure, pressure. Worry, worry, worry." I have a lot "on my plate" right now. Doing more now and enjoying it less.

Last Friday, by the way, was the one-year anniversary of the day my mom hurt her back, setting in motion the whole series of events that has put her in the nursing home and left me to handle her affairs. (If you don't know, she had two boys, and I'm the one who's still living. My dad died 10 years ago.)

I really didn't want to go, but I had to--for her sake. Because I wanted to make her happy. She is having problems with her nerves more often and had an attack while we were there. Then it passed, and she cried. It was the last "nice" day before cooler weather would be moving in, but she didn't feel like going out. Her nerves were too much of a problem on this day.

So after the visit we did a little shopping, got supper and then drove home. We got back about 8:30, dropped off David at his apartment and headed for home.

We sat on the couch and watched something on TV for a while. I can't remember what. I think I checked the news on the laptop for a while, got caught up on the sports news and saw how far behind I was on blog alerts. Then the kitties got fed, and we went upstairs to bed.

I was beat. I mean, I was tired. Very tired. But guess what? She wanted to play.

For our long drive on Friday, I suggested she wear a button-front blouse, so I could play with the buttons. It makes for a little merriment to help pass the time. But she was already dressed and said she would wear something buttoned for our trip on Saturday.

On Saturday, she wore a buttoned blouse, under a fleece sweater, under a jacket. And she had a bra on underneath it, which is getting unusual for her. In any case, I wasn't in a naughty/playful mood Saturday for our drive, with my worries weighing me down. Didn't attempt to do anything with the buttons.

When we sat on the couch that night, after the trip, she had changed into a beige top with snaps, and the bra was gone.

Snaps can be tons of fun. With the proper move, they can go pop-pop-pop, and all is revealed. Flashback: Back in early August, when we were visiting Green Bay, we walked down to the motel lobby to get some ice. Walking back down the hallway to our room, I thought what the heck. Pop-pop-pop. All was revealed. She got embarrassed and tried to pull her shirt back together, but I pulled it open. There's nobody here, I said. And if someone sees, so what? She walked down the hall with her blouse open. About a half hour later, when we went to bed and I started playing with her pussy, I discovered how turned-on she had gotten. We had a good night's sleep!

But on this night I was just too tired and achy. She may have even undone a snap herself while we were downstairs. (This is as sexy as she is capable of behaving, believe me!) and brought out a bottle of Mike's Hard Raspberry Lemonade. One bottle. We passed it back and forth while watching whatever we were watching.

"Let's go upstairs," I said. "I'm tired." I said that because ... I was tired. Very tired. I just wanted to sleep. But when I got to bed, I discovered she was sans nightie. Since she doesn't masturbate, I'm the only one who can touch her fun parts and make her feel good. I rubbed her breasts and pussy, and she touched my penis, which was as uninterested as I was. It's all on my achy shoulders--she doesn't do oral sex. Ever. I tried and tried to conjure up some fantasy that would get me going. Nothing worked. My brain and body just wanted to sleep.

I finally decided that at least I can make her happy, so I started rubbing her where she wanted to be rubbed. As she moaned, I tried so hard to get some kind of fantasy working. Something in a bar or convenience store/gas station where pop-pop-pop happens. Or she's in some top that turns out to be really, really transparent. Or something of a sheer fabric. Or a short dress while she decided to get rid of the panties. Or something. Penis, isn't there anything you're interested in?

And as she was moaning and twitching, something happened. It quaked. It moved. I managed a massive three-inch erection. An erection as hard and sturdy as a bag of rice. An erection that would make you burst out laughing if you saw it. "Who's this little guy?" you'd ask.

But no matter. Any port in a storm. MiniMe was inserted, she moaned, I squeezed her boobs, she shook her hips a little, and MiniMe fired off his little tiny popgun.

The earth moved a little bit. 2.0 on the Richter scale. Then it stopped. We cuddled for a little while. And then--and only then--could I reach the goal line I had been striving for all day, the only place I wanted to be, the only thing I wanted to do.

I rolled over and was asleep within seconds.

Right in on the action

It's late Friday night, and I got back a little while ago from the football game I covered tonight. It was about 80 miles out of town. And tonight, I really got in on the action.

My job when going to these games is to cover the action as closely as possible. And since we have a one-man department, I'm in charge of taking game notes and getting photos. You can't get good game photos sitting in the press box. I've been covering high school football for close to 20 years now, and I have never watched any game from the pressbox. Not even one. Because I can't.

No, that's me, right on the sideline, where the action heads my way from time to time. I've got to anticipate. I can't go dashing madly from one side of the field to another every three minutes, so I try to pick a spot where the action may be heading my way. Usually, that's about 10 yards beyond the line of scrimmage. If the team gets off a nice running play or a good pass, I might be able to get a good shot.

But there are so many variables that it mostly comes down to playing your hunches. And lighting is always a big factor. Tonight, I was lucky. The game started with about an hour of daylight left, so the sun was out. By the second half, though, it had set ... and since the lights at these fields are usually so dim, I need to use a big flash attached to the camera. Because light disperses over distance, I need to be close, within about 10 yards of my rapidly moving subject. So my toes are usually just inches from the sidelines. If a play heads my way, I need to be ready to fire a shot--and to then duck out of the way if they're getting too close.

Usually my 56-year-old legs are pretty good at that. I've just been nailed along the sidelines a few times. Once was about 15 years ago. The back on our team had made a nice gain, and I had him in focus when a tackler hit him in the side--and knocked him out of bounds. Right into me. Wham!

I was knocked on my back hard. My cap flew off, my glasses flew off, I dropped my notebook, and I even think the camera (an SLR) flew out of my hands--fortunately, all of us landed on the grass along the field. Still, the shin on my right leg got hit pretty hard by one of the players' cleats--it drew a little blood, and the shin was bruised for at least a month.

I have had "incidental contact" with players going out of bounds from time to time, but that was the last time I had really gotten nailed. Until tonight.

OK, our team had a good lead in the third quarter, but the other side (the home team) was driving, led by their quarterback. It was a second down play, and he rolled out to his left and then started downfield, with a couple of our guys in hot pursuit. Right towards me! Great! I thought. This could be a good shot!

Too late, I saw that they were heading right at me. Others were standing nearby, and they blocked my only exit. Here comes the tsunami. All I could do was lower the camera and shield it with my body while turning away. And pray.

Wham! The QB made impact on my shoulder and knocked me down, hard, onto my right hip. My genuine imitation Milwaukee Brewers baseball cap flew off, my glasses were knocked askew, and I dropped the notebook. The camera, though, avoided major impact. I managed to hold on to it, and it seemed to be none the worse for wear.

I guess you can say the same for me. The opposing player who hit me apologized (why?) as he helped me back up. After everyone saw I was OK, there was a good deal of laughter and teasing. "Nice hit!" "Do I credit you with the tackle?" My hip, where I landed on the grass, was a little sore, and I wondered on the way home whether a big bruise is in my future, So far, none is evident.

Guess I survived another one.

*****

This may have been our last nice day/night for some time. It was in the upper 70s and sunny as I drove to the game, and temperatures were still in the 60s for most of the drive home long after sunset. But on Saturday, a storm front starts moving through the region. By Tuesday, highs here will be in the upper 40s--about 30 degrees cooler than today.

Well, it's that time of year. The leaves haven't changed too much yet, but the reds, oranges and yellows are on the way. In two or three weeks, it's going to be really pretty around here.

The night the words came out

I have known for years that I would share this. This day, the anniversary of the attacks on New York City and Washington, is the day.

I didn't write this on 9/11. It came out of me three months later, on Dec. 16, 2001, as I was jumping through all the hoops I have to jump through for the holiday season. I was feeling so empty, like many of you did. Remember how you felt? Christmas? What Christmas?

I was home that night and didn't want to do anything. Pre-blog days. I wanted to talk, but there was nobody to talk to. I wanted to cry, but there was nobody to cry with. I wanted ... I wanted ... I wanted to get it out of me.

And I did. That night, I found a notebook, and as I wrote as fast as I could in a nearly illegible script, I realized that I had to make big changes in my life and in what I believe in. Here is a portion of the original ...



Don't bother trying to read my scribble. Here is what I wrote that tortured night, lying on the bed with a composition book in front of me:

This book is all in black and white, but it's all about shades of gray.

It's about a journey I'm planning to make, that I want to make. Don't know when or how or where. But I do know why.

But I'm trying to make the universe make some sense. Religion just isn't doing it. It's meant to be mystic, OK, but why so confounding? Why so anachronistic? I guess the biggest question is why does the Big Guy whatever his name is allow so much killing and death and misery in his name, for his sake? We have the Taliban's guerrillas running planes into skyscrapers in NYC, we have Jews & Muslims killing each other in the name of God. And we have ??? Christians that don't love, that gossip, that hate, that don't love their neighbor. That don't do anything or follow any of the lessons of Jesus. And I ask, WHY!! And I don't get an answer. Maybe there is none. Maybe I have to move on.

Not that I think any religion has the answer or some insight on the cruel joke being played on us. But it would be nice if there can be a manifestation of some divine order just once in a while. Instead of some cosmic geopolitical chaos theory.

It doesn't make sense, and I don't want to try making sense of it anymore. I'm hurt too deeply when there terrible things happen. Am I the only one? The only one wondering why TV seem to want to exploit the situation & scare people as much as possible, exploiting the millions to see one possibility and dwelling on that. Of not letting people just get on with their lives. Do people want to hate, or are they being taught by the so-called leaders?

So they ignore Jesus' message and focus obsessively on the societal taboos. About sex. About nudity. About all the no-nos we've heard too much about. And it's the 19th century again. Have we come so short of that ideal? Is evolution wrong?

I want to leave that behind me. I want to move on. Turn the page. Get on with life. And that way may be mysticism and modern-day witchcraft. No abracadabra or black magic stuff. Just being in better harmony with the universe and the world around me. Being able to wonder at the infinite. Being able to find a oneness with life. Being able to hug life and hug others and feel them hugging me back. There is too much loneliness in the world. And nobody's doing anything about that.

I don't know how I'm going to do this. It's damn scary. What I have to do is find a path to this other existence. I have to find a way. I need to know if there is another way and then look at it and decide if it's right for me. Only my soul can say that.

But I'm terribly disillusioned about life like it is right now. You'd think that someone who is 51 would have felt that long before. So maybe I'm behind the rest of the world.

Five years ago

Five years ago, something very important happened to me.

No, I'm not referring to that.

After thinking about it for a long time, I made the big decision and ordered a digital camera. It arrived one Friday morning in early September 2001 while I was at work, and I eagerly opened the box while my wife was making lunch. I loaded the (included alkaline) batteries, put in the Compact Flash memory card (16 megs), turned it on and pointed across the table ...


That was a Friday, Sept. 7, and I had a football game to cover that night. The new digital camera came along. I had taken my work (film) camera along to take pictures of the game, but I got some shots with the digital before the game, as our team limbered up. But the clouds and sky distracted me, which happens fairly often ...


On Sept. 8, I got a photo of my wife mostly in her towel after a shower. I also got one of David sitting on our old couch, studying the Packers media guide ...

As you can see, I was trying out the date imprint feature on the camera. It seemed so neat. A few days later, I turned it off again.

On Sunday afternoon, Sept. 9, my wife sat next to me on the couch to "watch" the football game. Naturally, she dozed off. But she woke up a little later and held her "big baby," who just eats this kind of attention up with a fork. She still does...


No pictures on Monday. On Tuesday morning, I was in the office doing my usual Tuesday morning thing--updating sports schedules. I was by myself, focusing on that, when the office manager came in. "You didn't hear???" I saw what had happened a few minutes later when I had to take my wife to work.

The girls basketball games that night were canceled, but the cross country meet that afternoon went ahead--many of the teams had already left. I went there and got some pictures, but I didn't want to go home. Man's inhumanity to man. I couldn't understand why this happened. Of course, I was well aware of what is happening in the world, and I uttered the mastermind's name before anyone else.

So instead of going home, I drove south. I passed some old railroad cars rusting away on a siding...


I went further south, towards my mom's house, and along the way I got an idea. She had been talking about an old white pine where she used to go when she was a girl. It was on a "mountain" near the rural home where she grew up. We had looked for it maybe a month earlier, but we were on the wrong (south) side of the hill. While thinking about it later, I remembered the old nature trail she once spoke of, which is on the southwest side of the mountain, and decided to go there and look around.

And after a while I found it. There was so much downed timber between the tree and the road that she couldn't have gotten in there herself, so I took a number of pictures of the tree and the sandstone outcropping it was sitting on--she used to sit at the base of the tree, legs over the outcropping, and sit and think.

After that, I went to my mom's place, hooked the camera cables to her TV and showed her the pictures. Here is "her" tree--or as much of it as I could get, since the camera's lens isn't very wide-angle ...


The tragedy consumed everything, but life went on, and I was up in Ontonagon that Friday night. I got a picture of some fishermen in the channel leading to Lake Superior...



The game was played in coolish, drizzly weather, which is normal for this time of year. The lighting here is also typical--bad.


The next day, Sept. 14, I took my wife to a quilt show in town. She liked the quilts in this book, but she couldn't make heads or tails out of the instructions ...


They had lots of nice quilts there ...

As you see, the date imprints were gone.

On the next Tuesday, Sept. 18, girls basketball was back in action. I drove about 60 miles to my game and passed a group of turkeys along the road...


Then, on Sept. 19, I was back at the football field--but this time it was for a service in remembrance of the victims of the attacks. The mood was somber. A little bit of anger, but much, much more sadness than anything else.



But life went on. On Sept. 20, a Thursday, it was sunny and crisp, and fall was definitely in the air...

That's the big old maple tree across from our office. It always is colorful in fall.

The leaves were changing under a vivid sky ...


... and the little roads through the pines were lovely ..


By the time the football games were played on Sept. 21, something new had been added to our team's helmets ...


On the morning of Sept. 25, we had our first heavy frost ...


By Sept. 30, here's what the big maple across the street looked like ...


And life went on. But I want to show you one other picture, taken on Oct. 25. It was snowing, and I was trying to get a picture of snowflakes. That didn't work out very well, but I did capture something in this picture that you just don't see today. It might even make you a little bit nostalgic. Take a look ...

Yes, you're right. The Amoco stations are now history ... they're all under the yellow and green BP sign now.

***
I should explain that I was taking pictures at a fairly low resolution at the time--1280 x 960 pixels. I'm at 1600 x 1200 now, and it may be time to go to higher resolutions yet. Maybe that will be my new year's resolution. ;) )

Time moving on

Guess what time of year it is?

Here's a hint. The picture is from last year, but it could have been taken last night at the football game.



The big difference is that this picture was taken last October. I dug out these gloves from the bottom of my camera bag at the game I was at last night--Sept. 8. And with good reason.

It had been warm here and a little on the humid side but not bad at all. Thursday night, our buddies in Canada sent us a cold front, and it went through here Friday morning, with a little wind and a little rain (not much of either). The temperature stayed in the 50s most of the day and was dipping into the 40s during the game. With a cool breeze from the north, I considered myself wise to take along my late fall/early winter jacket. But I forgot about gloves.

For most of the first half, I stuck my paws inside my pockets when they weren't needed for writing or manipulating camera controls. Otherwise I tried to keep them out of the breeze.

Then I remembered the gloves. They are called hunting gloves, and I keep them stashed at the bottom of my camera bag. The reason I like them: The fingers only go up halfway, so I can write into my notebook fairly well and work with the camera. That's also why hunters use them. (Others use mitts with a flap over the fingers, so they can slip their fingers in and out as needed.) I don't hunt, so that's my guess anyway.

I also wore a baseball cap, mainly because I didn't think it would be that cool. Next time, I have to take a knit cap along, so my ears will stay warmer.

These temperatures are in town way early. The leaves haven't changed very much yet. Tonight, we're supposed to get a killing frost--it could fall into the upper 20s. Some areas out of town had a good frost this morning, and it will be colder tonight.

The sun was out today, temps in the low 60s. But the sky is clear with no wind, so the temps will fall quickly once the sun exits. And it's exiting sooner and sooner each day.

Anyway, it's been a busy week, which is normal in fall. I did some writing (for here), but nothing is finished yet. One post is with pictures, but I haven't finished working on them yet. A few other distractions, too. Wife and I will likely watch a movie tonight.

The NFL season starts on Sunday (outside of that Thursday night game), and David will come over here. We'll watch together and see how badly the Packers get beat by the Bears.

From hot type to desktop publishing

It's been quiet at home since we returned from our extremely brief vacation. The highlight on Sunday was a shopping trip. Right in town here. Groceries. We were short or out of a lot of stuff--we were planning to restock after getting back home on Tuesday.

We bought some sodas and some of the Mike's Hard Cranberry Lemonade. Could be fun to get them out while watching a "fun" movie. Maybe we'll get to that tonight. If David doesn't come over, that is. I've had enough Star Wars for a while. (David came along for shopping, too, and also bought a lot of groceries. He must have been out of a lot of stuff.)

Sunday night, we watched "Destry Rides Again" with Jimmy Stewart and Marlene Dietrich. And I started writing this.

But I'll warn you right now: It's really dull. So feel free to read only every fifth paragraph. Or every 10th. Or skip it altogether. It's about how the newspaper business has changed in the last 30 or so years. The actual process, that is.

Consider yourself duly warned.

*****

My original plan was to write about how computers changed photography. Somehow, though, I wound up writing how computers changed the type-setting process. I first got to see that when I was in college, since I worked nights at a daily paper as a copy boy. I became familiar with the entire hot-type process. Typewritten pages, edited with copy pencils, and set into hot type via a guy operating a Linotype machine.

What a bizarre dinosaur that was! The machine had three keyboards (not at all like typewriter keyboards) with hundreds of tiny brass matrices above it, used to set the lines of type, each of which was cast individually. (More about it here. And this is an interesting page about how the machines worked, if you are interested in the mechanical details.)

The Linotype was large, noisy and had the aroma of hot lead around it--because "pigs" of a lead alloy hung on the back of the machine, the bottom end in something that was melting the lead so the Linotype could cast lines from those matrices, according to what the typesetter had typed.

Once the story was finished, a galley proof was made and sent downstairs to the newsroom for proofreading. Eventually all those lines of lead type were physically carried to a page form, where they were set in place. The headlines were assembled by hand, letter-by-letter, in something that I think was called a composing stick. To do something like that, you had to read the letters upside down and backwards, so they would appear correct when printed.

Eventually the page was finished and a curved plate was made via a process that I never got to see. All those curved plates were placed on the presses, and that's how your daily newspaper was printed every day, every city, everywhere for years and years and years.

When I started at the paper up here 25 years ago, I used an electric typewriter. They had already switched to the cold type process, which used a photochemical process. The stories were typed into a photo-typesetting machine that had a tiny, red, one-line readout and that was very loud. Filmstrips with the letters for various typefaces had to be attached to a revolving drum--the source of the loudness. One font at a time--when you had to use a different font, you switched off the machine and waited for the drum to stop rotating before you could make the filmstrip change.

The type was "printed" inside the loud machine on photosensitive paper that wound up in a magazine. When the story (or ad or whatever) was finished, then you walked the magazine over to the developer, fed in enough leader so it was taken by the rollers and then (most important) closed the door to keep the light out. The thing would rumble (nowhere near as loud as the typesetter), and pretty soon you would see the photosensitive paper coming out the back--with your story (or ad or whatever) on it.

From there, you took scissors and physically cut the story down to the margins and hung it on hooks for each section. When you laid out the paper, you put the stories on large layout "dummy sheets" with faint blue lines on them. The photosensitive paper was waxed (hopefully on the right side) and placed on the layout sheet and rolled down. Of course, you had to refill the chemical jugs all the time and occasionally give the waxer another chunk or two.

The layout part of the process lasted a long time, but the typesetting system changed a lot. First, we got computers! Yes! The first ones we got were large and had tiny screens. Maybe six or seven inches diagonally. And the stories were saved on disk--on none-too-trusty, none-too-durable 5 1/2-inch floppy discs. Hey, it was the 1980s, and we were computerized! (They had a machine "retired" in the basement that used 8-inch floppies, which preceded the 5 1/2-inch varieties.)

Before long, our machines joined them in the scrap heap, and we got Apple Macintoshes. I think they were Mac IIs, with maybe a nine-inch diagonal monochrome screen--and a graphic interface. And they used 3 1/4-inch more-reliable, less-floppy floppies that stored more data. Woo! Way cool!

After a couple years, I even got a second-hand hard drive. Woo hoo! I could store 20 megs of stories and stuff, and it seemed like a lifetime supply! The only trouble with the Mac IIs is that the video would go out pretty often. I was regularly driving Macs off to the next city, which had a place that serviced them. Then they announced that were getting out of the Mac business.

So we converted to the IBM/Windows platform. I think that's around about the time we went to laser printers and gave the noisy, chemical-eating Compugraphic machines the heave-ho. We were networked and could print on the same printer. (After a while, though, we realized that several printers would be better.)

Over the years, the computers went from Windows 95 to Win 98 to Win XP. I think my present-day computer was originally one of the Win 98 machines, but it's been upgraded to XP now. We got the Win 98 machines from a local distributor, and most of us on the staff had the same opinion about them: They were cheap and crappy.

Most of them are gone now; I think mine and the receptionist's are the last ones left. The others have gotten Dells, complete with thin-screen monitors. Good for them. In due time, I'll get a nice, fast, new one with gobs of memory, too. (I think that's what convinced me to go for a little extra when I ordered my own new desktop for home, with lots of memory, a dual-core processor and a 20-inch widescreen monitor. Ooh, that's the only way to fly!)

In line with our conversion to digital photography (which was planned as the original topic of this entry--well, maybe next time), about two years ago we made the final break from the past. No more dummy pages. No more waxer. No more scissors work. We went to desktop publishing, and now we lay out our pages inside the computer. We are using Adobe Pagemaker 7 for that. Yes, Adobe's flagship desktop publishing program today is InDesign, but we haven't made that move yet. I think my company's (ahem!) frugality (that's the nice word for it) has something to do with it. But time will catch up with them, as it always does.

The guy who came over for a one-day training session told us, "In a few weeks, you won't ever want to go back." He was quite accurate there. As I wrote this, it took a while to remember all the miniscule steps and the sundry frustrations with the old process. Such as when a story went for a swim in the waxer, and you had to print out a new one at the other end of the office. When sharp scissors were in short supply or gummed up with wax. When you had to cut up stories so they would look nice on the page--physically creating space between paragraphs--and when you had to revise your layout when things didn't work out as hoped. When you discover that you had gotten parts of scissored-up stories out of order.

It's a dim memory already, and it's getting dimmer all the time. No, I don't miss it. Times change, and we have to, too.

3 1/2-hour vacation

After a very busy morning of writing and editing, selecting and editing pictures and laying out two pages, then going home for a shower and packing, we left on our three-day trip to my inlaws at about 3:20 p.m.

About 3 1/2 hours later we were home again. That was a short vacation.

Roughly 30 miles from home, I felt something strange with the car and a little noise. I didn't have to get out of the car to know what it was. A very low tire.

I groaned. We were driving through the national forest at the time, so there wouldn't be any homes for a while. Not even a farmhouse. So it's up to me. I dumped everything out of the trunk to get to the spare tire. Located the jack and the "wrench" and the mini spare tire.

But hold on here. The spare tire was securely bolted down--and I didn't have a wrench. The situation was obvious. I opened the door and leaned in. "Get comfy," I said. "You're going to be here for a long time." I switched on the four-way flashers and started walking west. I had my cell phone along, as if that mattered. This is an area with no cell reception.

So away I walked. About a half hour later. I heard an engine behind me. There had been many cars and trucks passing by, but this engine was slowing down. I turned around to see a motorcycle pull to a stop next to me. "We changed your tire," the guy said--about my age with a short white beard. His lady was with him. After a few moments, we agreed that they should ride back and have his wife drive the car to where I was. They did. I thanked them heartily and sent them on their way.

But, as we discussed, the spare is a limited-use tire, and you're not supposed to go much faster than 40 mph on them. I finally decided to proceed to the next town, about 15 miles away, and try to find some place that would either patch the old tire or sell and install a new one.

Yeah. Fat chance of that, since we got to town at 5 p.m. on the Saturday of a holiday weekend. We actually found a place that sold tires, but they were just closing and weren't about to unclose. They said they'll be open again Sunday morning. Thanks a heap.

Under the circumstances, there was only one thing to do: drive back home. I wasn't about to drive another 150 miles while not going over 40 mph on a narrow state highway. We called and told my wife's family that we won't be visiting after all.

Instead, we'll be home, doing this and that and waiting for Tuesday morning when the full-service gas stations reopen. I was not in a very cheerful mood, and when I went downstairs, they (my wife and son) were watching Star Wars 2, which was on CBC. I'm sure it wasn't my wife's idea.

The movie lasted three hours, and it was terribly boring. I was fighting off sleep and trying to get comfortable and trying to ease a stiff back and neck. (Wonder how that happens, eh?) It finally ended, and my son went home.

I took my wife upstairs to bed, helped her change and heard her tell me that she still loves me. It didn't do much to cheer me up. Of all the things I hate, right at the very top of the list is letting people down by not keeping promises. Yeah, I know, the tire wasn't my fault. But the car is my responsibility. It's my car, and I'm the one who's responsible. So I'm disappointed and they're disappointed and everyone over there is disappointed. So I don't feel too terribly great right now.

But this may amaze you. All through this, I didn't curse or swear or say anything nasty at all. And I am really capable of it, too. But I didn't. Not when I saw the tire, not when I saw the bolt on the spare, not when the gas station guys said, Sorry, we're closed! Not when I started feeling depressed.

No, I didn't. I didn't say a single nasty thing about that fucking no-good Goddamned worthless piece of shit.

Labor Day trip countdown

At some point Saturday afternoon, my wife, son and I will get in the car and head off to visit my in-laws for a few days. It's about 175 miles away, and they don't have internet. So I won't be able to sampe your blog entries until I get back. I know I'll have to do a lot of catching up once I return.

But next week won't be nearly as busy as the last two weeks have been. This last week (the one just ending) has just been chaos, what with the short deadline and lots of last-minute stuff to do. Except for my two pages, the rest of the paper was finished this afternoon.

I'm not quite finished with the story of the Thursday night football game I covered--I spent most of today writing girls basketball--and I still have to write up the story of the game I covered tonight (Friday). I was going to start that story tonight, but no; I decided to write this instead. After some sleep, I'll be in a better mood to write football, anyway.

By the way, I'm taking my laptop along on the trip. I anticipate ("hope" may be the better word) some quiet time when I will be able to edit photos and write a few stories ... for my benefit and your amusement. That's the master plan, anyway.

Of course, there is always the chance that most of my time over the weekend will be spent as chauffeur. But rain is forecast for both Sunday and Monday, so we'll see about that.

Anyway, it's after midnight, so I'd better get to sleep. Three nights on the road. Well, at my father-in-law's place. I'll get back Tuesday and hope to have something for you then.