Our Macintosh instability was back with a vengeance today. With everything that’s taken a toll on our studio over the past six months, we can do without these maddening disruptions. I’m still trying to deduce my way out of it, fully aware of how dangerous that scenario can be. After hours of frustration I felt like I needed to either go run or find a Texas Margarita. (For the inquiring fans of Uncle John—he chose wisely.)
Archive for September, 2005
Don’t panic… yet
Friday, September 30th, 2005I’d like to do more of this
Wednesday, September 28th, 2005The precision of certain activities has a strong appeal for me—creating fine typography, fishing for king salmon, engraving wood for printing… and now I can add reloading ammunition to the list, which I did for the first time tonight with David, in his gun room. I’m not mechanically inclined enough to fix engines nor meticulous enough in my logic to write code, but there are aspects of the shooting sports that demand an exactitude which I can manage. I found it satisfying to balance all the parameters and tolerances in order to hold a finished .44 Magnum cartridge in my hand.
My friends are smarter and more creative than yours
Wednesday, September 28th, 2005The fixes I implemented (in my dubious capacity as studio “Mac Czar”) seem to be holding their own. Life doesn’t seem quite as surreal, and we were back at the HUB again for lunch (could become a nice habit)—this time with our friend Bob (the pie guy), who was on assignment in Danville. Darned if we didn’t solve most of the world’s problems, just like we did Sunday while sitting on the Simpson porch, out in the wilds of Marion County. Just as we got there we ran into Professor Weston and his wife (with nifty his-n-her iBooks), and they gave up their table in the crowded cafe so we could settle in. Beau is on sabbatical and has an interesting blog called Gruntled Center. I thought sociology was boring until I met Beau.
Agent 86 vs the Prince of Glue
Tuesday, September 27th, 2005Joan and I joked on Saturday about coming to the HUB as a couple of beatniks on open-mike night. That made us think about the demise of Bob Denver, who we remember as Maynard (to most of America he was Gilligan). Don Adams passed away yesterday. The back-to-back deaths of these 60s-comedy icons got me to thinking about how far we’ve travelled since sitting in front of the tube as adolescents. “Get Smart” was a cool, funny show, Agent 99 had sex appeal to spare, and I never felt self-conscious about watching it. It won Emmys, like our favorite drama, “Mission: Impossible.” On the other hand, wasting your time watching a show like Gilligan’s Island” was inexcusable. Mombo would scold us for being glued to the TV set. Shows like Denver’s became known as “glue” in our household, and you couldn’t deny the obvious if stuck in one. There weren’t a lot of choices if you felt like watching television in the 60s, and even after all these years, it’s hard to believe I allowed myself to “glue down” and watch so much junk like that. Now they’re called classics, and people in Hollywood trip over each other remaking them as major motion pictures.
Microcomputer madness
Monday, September 26th, 2005…an entire day spent waging war against the inexplicable perplexities of technological limbo, and the sad thing is I don’t know if I’m winning, losing, or perpetuating a stalemate. I used to hate those days I spent cleaning out Rapidograph penpoints and scraping wax off the underneath side of my Mayline, but that was paradise compared to the slow torture of troubleshooting a stubborn machine that’s gripping my throat like Vaporware.
Preoccupied territory
Sunday, September 25th, 2005Biked out to Mack’s Cabin to hear Milton’s remarks about the “intelligent-design-vs-evolution” argument. My hip didn’t feel too tender. Dana and I spent most of the day at Simpson Farm relaxing with our friends, but the Macintosh Panic was hanging over my head throughout the visit. Why is it that my storytelling ability degrades dramatically whenever I realize I’m “telling a story?”
Here we go again
Saturday, September 24th, 2005Today had its ups and downs. I finished a 5-to-6-mile run to Millennium Park and back with a very sore hip (the downfall of Cap’n Lice haunts my soul, too.) I was impressed with Rita’s excellent photographic coverage of our Piratical Blowout earlier this month when Joan shared the CD with us while she and Mombo visited the studio. I was then dismayed to learn of my mother’s worsening muscular ailment. There’s a lot she can do from a dietary standpoint that will help her feel better, and I believe she’s prepared to make the commitment. Nevertheless, we still had an upbeat time at the new Hub Coffee Shop in downtown Danville. On our way out we saw Tony H on the street and he asked about Brendan. After we got home and settled back into the studio, we had a major computer malfunction, as bad as the setback that hit us last winter.
KK + G4 = gr8 Po10chL
Friday, September 23rd, 2005When Caitlan came to the studio today I got my first look at her new
Powerbook G4. They make a handsome couple.
Funny pictures of everybody’s favorite uncle
Thursday, September 22nd, 2005If you don’t think that Brendan’s “Plastic Mullet Series” has achieved the summit of artistic hilarity, then A) you’ve been tragically blind since birth, B) you’re a snob who needs a search party to rescue your sense of humor, or C) maybe you actually wear a mullet style and are not at all amused by his cute little pastime. And if the Cap’nLiceCam is not weird enough, the Danville Rotary Club put up this page. Sonuva gun… I figured that after ten years in Rotary, I’d start looking more like Peter Graves. Maybe I should send Rotary a picture from the famous Muscle Club, (actually I don’t look that wimpy any more, due to my impressively strenuous, Bruce-Waynian training schedule this year).
Home again
Wednesday, September 21st, 2005After tasting my smoked salmon again, I decided that it
didn’t come out so badly (it should get better with some
practice). I unpacked, reorganized, and sorted through my
email. Read over and thought about the report James
prepared on Mombo’s Trust. Got a nice reply from Kyle (no,
by Heaven, he’s not a God-cursed Spaniard!) and learned
that BCA accomplished his assigned missions. Checked out
the “Invasion” pilot on ABC. Wasted my time; it stunk…
Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy
Tuesday, September 20th, 2005This short note is written in the car, heading south through
central Michigan, listening to Paul Harvey, a fixture on the
radio my whole life (that guy isn’t old, he’s damn old!). As
usual, I wax introspective when I leave the Les Cheneaux,
taking internal stock of my priorities and the direction of
my life. I’ve felt such a strong desire for rededication in
my affairs, and I hope I don’t leave the contemplative mode
too quickly. How do I balance my yearning for a hermitage
in the midst of nature with my need to become even more
involved in public activities?
Day Eight at Barefoot’s Resort
Monday, September 19th, 2005My morning was devoted to cleaning up the used smoker that belonged to Bill’s dad. I played the soundtrack CD from “Master and Commander,” realizing that it was the first time I had truly listened to it. Some of these discs become mere background music in the studio. It made me want to watch the motion picture again, and I kicked myself for letting Marty’s DVD sit around the house for a month this summer without indulging. I made the offhand remark to Bill that it’s the best historical action drama since “Braveheart,” and that might actually be true, but I said it without really thinking much about it. Nevertheless, it would be interesting to know more about the Weir-Gibson connection.
I love smoked fish, but doing it myself is an entirely new thing for me. The timing is perfect today, as we organize and clean in preparation for tomorrow’s departure. We had to soak the salmon in a mixture of brine and seasonings all night. I’ll monitor the smoking process as the rainy weather makes is way through the Straits of Mackinac. There won’t be any more fishing for us in the Les Cheneaux
on this trip…
Day Seven at Barefoot’s Resort
Sunday, September 18th, 2005Mike, JD, and Bob headed south this morning. Even though Bill and I stayed up late talking, we were up early to say our goodbyes. I’m glad I took the group shot last night, having learned that morning portraits are difficult to pull together on a departure day (plus we end up looking sleepy). Following Bill’s lead, I joined him on a workmanlike trek for perch in one of the small boats, starting at Little Joe Island. The outing was characterized by a lack of enthusiasm. We came back to Moscoe and spent time at the weed beds with little success. Bill caught a sunfish and keeper perch or two, but I got nothing except a bit more tan on my back… hasn’t been a good week for pan fish, but we sure tried.
I told Dana on the phone that maybe our fishing luck had run out, but the results of an evening run to Dolomite Bay were quite to the contrary—two nice Chinooks for Bill (10-1/2 and 13), and a nine-pounder for me. A lot went wrong because we weren’t used to a two-man trolling crew (snags and tangles during the salmon runs), but we managed to get each of our fish into the boat. It didn’t compare to the “Friday Night Orgasm” of 2004, when three of us hauled in 60 pounds of King in one twilight session, but it was an outing full of excitement and surprises. It gives us a good reason to resurrect Walt’s old smoker. The weather forecast for tomorrow looks like a rain-out.
Day Six at Barefoot’s Resort
Saturday, September 17th, 2005We decided to sleep in little today, which comfortably set the day in a “play it by ear” mode. I prescribed myself some peaceful moments at the end of the dock, casting for morning pike above the weed beds, hoping for an extraordinary hit, but no luck. On our salmon run we motored directly to Gravely Island and set to work. It was another magnificent day, and getting “skunked” out on Lake Huron would still have been worth it, but JD proceeded to catch a two-pound Coho to prevent that distinction. Bill provided some superior piloting, keeping our submerged gear moving steadily over a 60-to-70-foot depth at the edge of the drop-off along “Salmon Alley.” It turned out to be a very relaxed day when we got back. I did some sketching and got in some good swimming time. I grilled and ate one of my salmon steaks at our traditional Saturday night “feast.”
Day Five at Barefoot’s Resort
Friday, September 16th, 2005Yesterday’s conditions were spectacular—clear skies and calm water, so we got in a good day of fishing. The early-morning “zinger” was seeing a big pike with a half-eaten fish in the clear water off the starboard (shore) side on our way out to Yacht Entrance. It confirmed a positive turn in the ecology of the Les Cheneaux. Bill and I each boated a small salmon with some well-considered work in the zone off Boot Island. With the weather remaining glorious, we headed over the reef to “Salmon Alley,” hoping to find a Chinook near the shipping lane. JD came up with a decent Coho instead, the biggest fish of the day. When we snagged our lines in unfamiliar waters near Strongs Island, due to our worries about the presence of Indian nets at East Entrance, we figured it was best to call it a day.
Our good buddy Mike had arrived on Wednesday afternoon. He treated us to some perfect BBQ chicken from the grill that night. Mike doesn’t fish, but loves to relax near the dock while we’re out on the water, which I’ve come to learn he doesn’t do very often with his fast-paced lifestyle as a top salesman in the food service industry. Last night, after the five of us enjoyed an evening at the Islander Bar in Hessel, he dropped his bummer bombshell on us—a diagnosis of aggressive rheumatoid arthritis, a potentially crippling medical condition. It’s been difficult to think about anything else since, because now I can see he’s moving much too slowly for the dynamic guy I’ve known. I felt odd when he watched me do my third channel swim yesterday. Before supper on the day he got here, I discovered a ten-pound boat anchor during my daily swim—a quarter mile out, naturally—so I got the brilliant notion to carry it back with a lifesaving stroke. It didn’t feel very heavy at first, but it was a real challenge not to drop it before I made it back. I’m sure I said some kind of cocky remark to Mike after the meaningless feat, not aware yet of his progressive debilitation. The ego can be nothing but trouble, for the most part.
Today’s weather was almost as pleasant as yesterday’s, so we basically replicated the course of action from Thursday’s expedition. After a “strike out” at the “Booty Zone,” we tried “Salmon Alley” and Bob scored his first ever salmon, a nine-pounder. Bill came back with a small pink, and then I was “up to bat.” I targeted some work in 60-to-70-foot waters, but had no hits for the rest of the session. I remained in the captain’s role when we visited the bay near the dolomite-loading port later in the evening. I was still in standby mode until a few minutes after 8 o’clock when a fish with some apparent size to it hit the port-side “dipsy-diver” line. It’s a wild feeling when the adrenals kick in after so much tedious effort, but that’s what salmon fishing is all about. JD performed an excellent netting action to help get my King into the boat. It’s appearance—a skin tone that lacked a degree of silvery gleam—indicated it was on the way to spawning waters. When we got back, it weighed in almost 12-1/2 pounds, so I steaked out most of it, fillet-cutting the tail end. It seemed to take me forever. I’m pretty slow at the fish-cleaning table, but what need is there to be in a hurry?
For the record
Thursday, September 15th, 2005This is the day my friend Basil was forced to resign his position in state government by Governor Fletcher, along with the other eight individuals indicted by Stumbo’s grand jury. From the beginning, the Governor made the steadfast claim that, although mistakes were made, there was no criminal wrongdoing, and eventually pardoned all nine. Today he modified his stance to admit they violated hiring laws—unintentionally—and should leave his administration so that the controversy can be laid to rest (which his opponents will never permit, now that there’s political blood in the water).
The fact of matter is that too many Republicans went to Frankfort thinking they could play by the same rules that their rivals had written. All the Fletcher appointees needed to have done to level the field for state employment was to have abolished an illegal prerequisite that was in place for decades—Democrat Party influence. Their mantra must be (and should always have been): “Fill the political appointments with qualified Republicans, but hire in a party-blind manner the best people for the merit jobs and commence building the most competent state workforce in Kentucky history.”
Day Three at Barefoot’s Resort
Wednesday, September 14th, 2005A big storm moved through last night and we lost power during dinner.
Fortunately Bill had bought a jar candle on impulse, which saved us from having
to sit around my Mag-Lite to finish our meal. I remember getting up during the
middle of the night to turn off the lights in the cabin when the outage had run its
course. By morning the outlook for the day’s weather looked promising. We made
a four-man, two-boat outing to Connors Point, hoping to find yellow perch.
Inexplicably, JD and Bob each caught a northern pike. We worked Little Joe Island
and Moscoe Channel before packing it in. Clearly we’re not having luck with the
smaller species, but the return of the pike is a great development for the region.
They wouldn’t be back if it weren’t for an abundance of prey, and that must be a
result of the systematic elimination of the destructive cormorants. Perhaps the
balance we knew as recently as the mid-90s will be fully restored. Meanwhile,
we’d better focus on harvesting some king salmon.
Day Two at Barefoot’s Resort
Tuesday, September 13th, 2005Made our typical run to Cedarville for fishing credentials and perishables, but it
wasn’t too long before we got our lines wet. The perch weren’t biting, so I did my
initial half-mile channel swim. The water is unusually warm for the middle of
September and I didn’t even need a wet suit. Our chums JD and Bob arrived in the
afternoon, so, after prepping the Sylvan, we mounted our first salmon operation
of the trip. We got skunked, but were able to work the bugs out with a
worthwhile shakedown.
Day One at Barefoot’s Resort
Monday, September 12th, 2005Dana and I left Augusta early, barely catching the first ferry across the Ohio.
Wick had already told us that he’d never seen a day that the ferrymen hadn’t
operated due to fog, and today it was so thick we couldn’t see the other side until
the last moment (kinda spooky). We missed the rush hour in Cincinnati and arrived
at my good friend’s Tipp City house in time for Dana to make her rendezvous
with her chums from Wright State days. It was tough to say “bye” to my sweetie
after such a precious day together, but we parted and I continued north with Bill
Barefoot. I expected it to get cooler when we traversed Michigan, as it usually
does, but it stayed warm instead, all the way to the Upper Peninsula. We arrived
at Barefoot’s Resort and settled into Cabin One. The last patrons were leaving
for the season, so we had the lakefront to ourselves. After grilling a tasty
supper, we stayed up too late in fairly heavy conversation, and then took a boat
out into the channel for a midnight drift, soaking in the reality of being back in the
Les Cheneaux.
Honoring that day in ’82 when it was just our 9/11
Sunday, September 11th, 2005It’s been a while since the sleepy voice inside my pillowed head murmured, “Yes… a perfect day.”
Our 23rd Anniversary celebration was in full swing by midnight. Dana and I had arrived at our B&B abode only a few minutes before, drastically delayed by a leisurely dinner at a winery across the Ohio near Maysville plus our unfamiliarity with the route to Augusta. It would have been easier to find our destination by river, since it was right at the waterfront, but this is not 1805, so we traveled by car and twice missed our turn before we located the historic Thornton Marshall House. I knew that the adverse circumstances would be a strong indicator with respect to the personalities of the proprietors, and indeed they were. Despite that fact that we arrived hours late, after they’d left more than one voice message to our dead-zone phone, our hosts met us with good cheer, warm hospitality, and a bottle of Chardonnay chilling in the spacious second-floor bedroom above their art gallery and antique shop.
The next twenty-four hours defy description—by this mediocre scribe, dear reader—so forgive a mere laundry list of the activities that filled our “perfect day” with aesthetic delight, Epicurean pleasure, and a deep soul satisfaction born of true companionship:
• Waking up to the throaty horns of barge boats working in the fog, as a magical ambient light flooded our riverside chamber.
• Our sunny walking tour of old Augusta, which survived a fiery attack by Morgan’s raiders, and a tasty buffet lunch at the Country Inn.
• Kayaking with my sweetheart up the surprisingly clean Ohio and exploring a quiet Kentucky tributary.
• Enjoying our spectacular window view of the wharf, as we listened to Eric’s “Cooler” and relaxed with generous Jerome’s old vine Zin.
• Strolling down to the Beehive Tavern for a delicious gourmet supper and getting invited (three times!) to come back for their 20th Anniversary party later that night.
• Meeting Heather on the sidewalk (a fellow graduate of DAAP) and accepting an offer of a personal tour of her design work on the Rosemary Clooney House (those brown eyes!).
• A stop near the riverbank to look downstrean at a painterly sunset over water (those frontiersmen sure knew how to pick a spot).
• Experiencing the surprise celebration for Chef Luciano “Sean” Moral and the fulfillment of a 20-year vision for his tavern and the restoration of Augusta’s riverfront, with the most extravagant “potluck” spread I’ve ever seen (alas, too sated to exploit it).
• The spontaneous song fest, including “My Old Kentucky Home” on the harmonica, and Sean’s operatic serenade for his family and friends (We were stunned to discover his “O Solo Mio” was absolutely magnificent!).
• Watching fireworks over the river (20 rockets—one for each year) as the stars came out and the carriage horse ended her long day with enough spirit to gallop down the street.
• Oh yes… leaning over a candle to look at something before bedtime and singeing the hair on my head (1805 was dangerous, man).
Leave of Absence
Saturday, September 10th, 2005Tomorrow begins a lengthy period of off-line journal entries that will in due course magically appear in their ultimate blogginess…
That’s my nB
Friday, September 9th, 2005I don’t believe I understood to what extent an online discussion could break through to a new level of interactive dynamism until I had the opportunity to partake of this sweet nectar.