Phones and 'Phones

Time for some bits of randomness...

--Yesterday I went into the restroom at work and found a guy in there talking on his cell phone. The building I work in houses a library in addition to various offices, so it tends to be quiet. But there is no specific prohibition on cell phone use (they seem to care more about people spilling food on the books) and there are plenty of nooks and quiet areas on the various floors where one can have a quiet cell phone conversation without disturbing others, and I often see people doing this. So why this dude felt it was necessary to have his conversation in the restroom was unclear, but this is something I find particularly annoying. My response was to make as much noise as possible while I was in there, in the hope that I may have annoyed him back, at least a bit.

--To the guy on the T yesterday morning, listening to music on his headphones so loudly that I could identify the artist (Dropkick Murphys) from six feet away: holy crap, how loud must that be inside your head? Ow.

--Then on my commute home, someone's phone rang with a Dropkick Murphys ringtone. It was that song "I'm Shipping Up to Boston" that was featured in The Departed. I'm not a fan of ringtones in general, but if you feel you need to have one, that song seems like a good choice.

Microwave Roulette

The kitchen in our apartment was redone a few years back, when the owners lived in the unit. Everything is nice and modern, and we enjoy the conveniences of a dishwasher and garbage disposal. There are several power outlets along the wall where the counter and sink are, so naturally that's where we have our appliances plugged in. There's the microwave, the toaster oven, the coffee maker, the dishwasher, the switch for the disposal, the switch for the light over the sink, the stove, and the vent hood above it. (The stove is gas, but it needs electricity for its clock and the fan and light in the hood.)

A while after we moved in, we discovered that random kitchen activities would trip the circuit breaker. Each occurrence meant a trip down to the basement to reset the breaker. After a few more instances, we realized that these events weren't so random. Every time it happened, it was caused by one of us trying to use the microwave.

As a result, we started to adjust our behavior. Neither of us wants to be the one who causes the breaker to trip and thus has to trudge downstairs to flip the it back on, so we do things like set the microwave for longer than may be necessary, to avoid food that isn't hot enough and needs to go back for a second zapping, because that could be the one that does it. We turn off lights before starting the microwave. We try to remember when the breaker last got tripped, and try to estimate how long it's going to be before it happens again.

Not being an electrician, I'm not certain of this, but it seems to me that even though we don't make a habit of running all our kitchen appliances simultaneously, this circuit has too much on it and probably should have been split into two smaller circuits. When I talked to the landlord about the circuit, I got a sense that he and his wife had had to put up with the fussy breaker as well. But he's not going to pay to have work done on it. So reheating leftovers becomes sort of like a game of Russian roulette, but with a touchy circuit breaker instead of a gun.

Eyeglass Update #3: I Can See Clearly Now, But...

Glasses arrived yesterday via USPS Priority, which costs $6.99. (You can get free shipping, but I think it's just first-class and is therefore not trackable.)

The prescription is correct, which is good. The frames are the right size and color, which is also good. They left out the anti-reflective coating, which is not good. They did not charge me for it, but it was in my order confirmation, so somewhere along the way it got lost. So I called customer service and explained what had happened. After about two minutes on hold, I was given instructions on how to return the glasses so the error could be fixed. The rep admitted that mistakes do sometimes happen, and obviously they want me to be satisfied, so they are going to give me some sort of discount on the coating. The saga continues...

Eyeglass Update #2

So, about that weekend posting I mentioned? Didn't happen, obviously. But when I reviewed what I had done for three days, I came up somewhat empty. Saturday we were out of the house almost all day, from haircuts to errands to picking up a used computer that's going to help bring my mother into the 21st century. Sunday was mostly consumed by the football games, with a run to the grocery store to get stuff to eat while watching those games.

Monday was a holiday, but I spent a good chunk of the day working, because I had a deadline this week, and because last week we were closed for a day because of a storm that didn't amount to anything. I was unprepared for the closure, which was deemed a "work at home day" by management, and felt I could use the holiday to make up for some of the time missed the previous week, and thus improve my chances of making my deadline. I also had a visit from the cable company, which I'll have more to say about soon.

Now, the good news: I got an email from FramesDirect on Monday informing me that my glasses have shipped, which means they should be here in another day or two.

Work, Work, Work

Sorry for my absence from the interwebs the past few days, folks, but it's been a hectic week at the office for your intrepid blogger. First, I missed a day of work because the bosses decided our office would stay closed on Monday due to the storm. Of course, that storm turned out to be nothing much, really. I'll never look a gift snow day in the mouth, but it messed up my rhythm for the week as deadlines impend.

Then on Wednesday, I ran into some computer problems with the temp. I'd begun converting some files for him to work on, but it turned out that he could not open the converted files on his computer, because it has an older version of the software than I used. My boss used to keep track of all the software, but he's been gone since the end of September and he hasn't been replaced yet.

The other person who was likely to have a clue about the software has been put on bed rest for the duration of her pregnancy and is working from home, so I've been emailing back and forth with her and searching through desk drawers in various offices, looking for software that we supposedly have but I cannot find.

Meanwhile, I came up with a way around the problem: I re-converted the files using the older version of the program still on my computer, and that worked--the temp was able to open them, so I'm not sure there's any need to bother trying to find and install the mystery software. Also meanwhile, my own work languishes--really, I shouldn't even have taken the time to write this post. Fortunately we have a long weekend, and hopefully I will be able to get to a post or two then.

No Parking

Yesterday morning I woke up a little before 9, which is typical for me on a Sunday. I put on some clothes so I could take the dog out. She did her #1 in the back yard, then we proceeded down the driveway for her morning stroll 'n' sniff around the block. When we got to the end of the driveway, there was a car parked across it, blocking our car in. There was empty space behind the car along the curb, but I had no way of knowing if it had been that way overnight. I took the dog on her walk as I thought about how to respond.

There is no shortage of parking in this neighborhood. Just about every house has a driveway, the few apartment buildings have their own lots, and there are no permits or stickers, so anyone can park anywhere on the streets. Our landlord deemed that the tenants of the first-floor apartment (that's us) have exclusive use of the driveway and garage, probably because that's how it was when they lived in this apartment. The three people who live upstairs park on the street, and they seem fine with that.

I did not recognize the car, so I knew it didn't belong to any of our upstairs neighbors, or any of their friends. Besides, they are intelligent and considerate people, and they know that if there is some sort of parking emergency, like during December's snowstorms, they can just pull in the driveway and park behind us.

We came back from out walk, and an hour later I looked outside and the car was still there. It had Connecticut plates, so I reasoned that it might be someone's visitor. I didn't want to have to walk around ringing doorbells, trying to figure out who the car belonged to. I thought about writing a sticky note that said "Please don't block our driveway" and putting it on the driver's window, but that seemed like kind of a wimpy response. By now it was nearing 10:30, and I think if you're going to be so rude as to block someone's driveway with your car, you should at least get your ass out of bed and move the car at some reasonable point after the sun has come up. I decided to call the police department, mostly because I wanted to know if I had any legal position, such as the right to have the car towed.

To my surprise, the person on the phone at the police station said they would send an officer out. I took my coffee into the living room and watched out the window, waiting for the show to start. An officer showed up about ten minutes later. He blooped the siren for a moment, sort of like a warning shot. Then he got out of his cruiser and wrote a ticket. I thought, this is great, but then it occurred to me: a ticket still didn't solve the problem of our driveway being blocked. He pulled his cruiser forward of the car, and I saw a tow truck coming around the corner. I thought, wow, Medford takes parking enforcement seriously.

Just then, the car's owner appeared. He was a big guy wearing a hockey sweater. I had an idea which house he'd come from; a bunch of rowdy dudes had moved in two doors down near the end of the summer. I watched the officer give him a bit of a civics lesson on being a good neighbor, along with the citation. The big dude got into his car and went on his way. I wonder if this will make the police blotter?

Sweet Treatment

Remember a couple of weeks ago when I was talking about IKEA's cinnamon rolls? Did that make any of you hungry? In the mood for some delicious baked goods? Want to learn how to make great baked treats yourself? You're in luck, because our friend Anne teaches baking classes at Brookline Adult & Community Education, and she has two classes coming up that I offered to plug on her behalf.

The first class is called "Breakfast Baking" and takes place on Saturday, January 26th from 10 AM-1 PM. Anne is planning to demonstrate "professional baking techniques, and how to prepare breakfast specialties that are quick and easy to assemble even on the busiest of mornings. We'll make and enjoy breakfast treats like Sour Cream Coffee Cake, Chocolate Chip Muffins, Banana Bread, Cornmeal Currant Scones, and more." Mmmm, I could go for some of that coffee cake about now...

The second class, "Homemade Bars and Brownies," is the following Saturday, February 2nd, also from 10 AM-1 PM. "In this highly-participatory class, bakers of all levels will learn easy recipes and how to make two of the most popular desserts: bars and brownies. We will roll up our sleeves and make an assortment of homemade Turtle Shortbread Bars, Double-Cherry Streusel Bars, Four-way Fudge Brownies, and Citrus-Hazelnut Bars." Oh, baby.

I can testify to Anne's baking skills and the goodness of her creations, as we have been testers for some of her recipes in the past. Tough job, huh?

Eyeglass Update #1

I got a call from a customer service rep at FramesDirect yesterday after I'd submitted my order and faxed my prescription, but it was after I'd left work for the day. When I came in this morning, the voicemail light was blinking on my phone. Here's the thing: I never get phone calls on this line. Once or twice a coworker has called me from within the office about something, but since I've been here, any work-related matters involving people outside the office have been resolved by email, so I did not know how to retrieve the message.

The phones here are terrible: most of the buttons are unlabeled, and nothing about how to use it is obvious. It turned out that the phone had been used by someone who left here over six months ago, and it still had his name as the voicemail greeting. I haven't figured out how to change that yet, but a call to the telecommunications department got the voicemail password reset so I could at least listen to the message.

The reason for the call was that, due to the strength of my prescription, the lenses have to be custom ground, so there would be a surcharge on the order, and the rep wanted to give me the option of choosing the cheaper, but thicker, polycarbonate lenses. She left a name and an extension, so when I called back I was able to speak to her, and not have to explain everything to another rep who was not familiar with my order. So, points to them for getting customer service right.

Specs

A follow-up on the eyeglass frames I bought on eBay: while the measurements of the lenses and bridge are identical to my current glasses, the overall width of the frame is a bit narrower, resulting in them gripping the sides of my head a little too tightly. Also, they have this sort of filigree trim on the temples, which was not visible in the auction photos; had it been, I wouldn't have bid on them, because they just aren't me. So I learned a lesson there, but like I said, they only cost me $30 plus shipping, so I will probably just give them away, or something.

Meanwhile, yesterday after work I found myself with a bit of time to kill, and while wandering around downtown I passed Cohen's Fashion Optical. They are an East Coast chain, and somehow the place had slipped beneath my radar altogether. So I went in, and through some sort of luck, they had the frames I was thinking about ordering online, which meant I was able to try them on to see which size I should get. (You can do all the measuring in the world, but as I learned, glasses just have to be tried on before a decision can be made.)

Of course, they wanted $270 for just the frames, which is what the frames cost that I looked at in the other place. Online from FramesDirect, I can get the entire pair of glasses made for that amount, with the high-index lenses and the more expensive of the two choices of anti-reflective coatings. So, kids, in the interest of consumer research (and blog fodder), I have decided to take the plunge and buy a pair of eyeglasses online. I've placed my order, I've faxed my prescription to them, and now I await the results.

One important note: if you decide to follow my lead and do this yourself, you need a very important piece of information called pupillary distance, which, in typical science-speak, is the distance between your pupils. This number dictates how the lenses should be ground so that they are properly centered in front of your eyes. You can get it a couple of different ways: if you are getting an eye exam, you can ask the doctor to take the measurement. But if you have already had an exam, like I did last year, and are working with a copy of that prescription, the PD may not be on there, because it is usually done by the optician at the time you order glasses. What then? You can look in the mirror and hold a ruler up to your forehead (which is a less than ideal solution, for obvious reasons), or you can call the place that made your previous glasses; they should have it. That's what I ended up doing.

Attention Passengers

I noticed that the T has altered its incoming-train announcements (at least at Wellington in the morning; it could be just a test). I was pleased when they started doing these, because they do make your life a little bit easier--when it's 15 degrees and you hear the announcement, you know you only have to stand outside for another minute or so before you can squish into the train with all the other over-bundled commuters and instantly get overheated.

The thing that has always bothered me about them is the choice of wording: "Attention passengers: the next Orange Line train to Forest Hills is now arriving." Each time I hear it, I think to myself, well no, it's not actually arriving; technically it's still approaching, so that's what the announcement should say.

What the T has done is added a second announcement for each train. And lo, what does that first announcement say? "Attention passengers: the next Orange Line train to Forest Hills is now approaching." Then there's another announcement, when the train is in fact arriving in the station, that says the train is arriving. Whoa. It's like the T somehow got inside my head and read my thoughts. Scary.

The only real downside to the T showing a flash of original thought? That we might expect more of them in the future.

Darkly Dreaming

The Mrs. and I have spent the past few days immersed in the first season of the Showtime series Dexter. We've never had HBO or Showtime or any of the other premium cable channels, mostly because, while cable TV and internet have become things we feel we don't want to live without, I do feel like I'm already giving Comcast too much of my money every month for those services. So with original series like Dexter that air on premium channels, we generally wait until they're available on DVD. In fact, we still haven't seen those last nine Sopranos episodes from earlier this year; I should Netflix them soon.

Though it's only twelve episodes, Dexter is some of the best television I've ever seen. Dexter Morgan is a crime scene tech, specifically a blood spatter analyst, for the Miami police department. He's also a killer who kills only other killers, those who have managed to elude justice one way or another. His adoptive father, a police officer, realized early on what Dexter was and what he was capable of, and taught him in how to pass for normal to get along in the world, how to kill without leaving evidence, and to kill only those who deserved to die. The psychological motivations that drive Dexter are fascinating, and far more rich and complex than those of just about anyone in TV history.

Based on the book Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay, naturally the show is at times gruesome, but it's also deeply compelling, with superb writing and excellent acting. As Dexter struggles to comprehend the motivations of a killer who seems to be using his crimes to send messages intended specifically for him, it quickly becomes apparent that this is no ordinary TV show. If you're not squeamish and not upset or disturbed by this sort of material, you should definitely see Dexter.

Seeing Red

I need a new pair of glasses badly. I've had my current pair for six years, so the lenses are scratched and the finish (originally midnight blue) has worn off much of the metal, leaving them looking like the eyewear equivalent of an '86 Accord that's been parked outside for the past twenty winters. Also, I have no backup pair, so I'm hoping to solve that, and make my current pair my backup pair.

Now, I'm not one of the folks who can just cruise over to For Eyes or one of those other places that advertises on TV and pick up the "two pairs for $99" special. That's mainly because I have a pretty heavy-duty prescription, and in order to avoid the coke-bottle look, I need what are called high-index lenses, which cost somewhat more than the standard plastic lenses that come in the promo-package glasses. If you want the anti-reflective coating, which is helpful if you have to sit under fluorescent lights all day, that costs extra too.

Having been to quite a few of these places recently to browse frames, I can say that none of them have anything I'm interested in wearing on my face. Besides my strong prescription, I have a narrow head for an adult male, and (in case you hadn't picked up on this by now) I'm wicked fussy about pretty much everything. The dominant style at every place I've visited is wide, rectangular frames with a very short top-to-bottom lens measurement, which is precisely the worst-looking style of eyeglass frame for my face. I do best in the roundish realm, and round is out right now, and has been for a while.

There's a place near work that isn't part of a chain, so I popped in there just out of curiosity. I found a nice-looking pair of round frames. They happened to be a designer brand, but they were also the right size and color, with no fussy trim and no logos, so I showed them my prescription and asked them what the total cost would be. The guy looked at my prescription, did some scribbling, punched at a calculator, and said, "Seven hundred."

Seven hundred dollars. SEVEN. HUNDRED. DOLLARS. For a pair of eyeglasses? My new computer cost less than that, and I got a free printer with it, a printer that also scans and copies, and probably makes toast too. Not wanting to look like a clueless bumpkin, I kept calm and didn't change my facial expression. I asked, "How much are just the frames?" "Two seventy-five." Oooo-kay then, gotta be getting back to my office, thanks for your time.

This makes me wonder how the cheapie places do it. I'm sure they are using cheap frames that are no doubt made in China (the higher-end brands tend to be made in Italy), but even so, one place charges a hundred bucks for two complete pairs of glasses, and another place charges fourteen times as much, so what does that mean in terms of lens quality? Eyeglasses are kind of crucial to a lot of people, so what happens when you spend the least possible amount of money on them? That worries me.

None of this has helped me get new glasses, of course. So I'm considering other options. I bought a pair of new, Italian-made designer frames on eBay for a mere $30. If I like how they look on me, I'll have lenses made for them. If I don't, I'm thinking about getting glasses made through the web site FramesDirect. They have a great selection, and I've found exactly what I want; the only drawback is that I can't see and try on the frames first. But I may have to trust in the measurements and photos; the alternative is to call every optician in town to see if they carry the frame style I want.

1985, Part 2

The other major thread running through 1985 was the woman. I met her in early February, at a party hosted by myself and the other residents of the brownstone dorm where I lived. She came as the guest of someone else I knew that I had run into that week and invited.

I was in charge of the music for our house parties, and I think that's what caught her attention initially: we liked a lot of the same music, stuff that wasn't necessarily popular. We danced and talked about music, and I thought she was interesting and attractive; after the party I thought maybe there was something between us, but I had never had a real girlfriend before, so I didn't think much more about it.

Several days later, I again saw the person who had brought her to the party, this time in the cafeteria. It turned out that they were roommates. She said, "She's been talking about you all week, will you please just call her?" This was difficult to comprehend. She was tall and voluptuous, with striking features. She had a punkish haircut and dressed with attitude. She had lived in foreign countries and spoke fluent Spanish. I had never met someone as worldly and sophisticated as her, let alone had someone like that be interested in me. But while I've done at least my share of stupid things in my life, I'm no idiot; I called her that night.

It was just before the Presidents' Day weekend, and she was going home to visit her family, so we made plans to go out the following weekend. I thought I had won some sort of dating lottery. I tried not to talk or think about her too much, afraid that I might jinx the whole thing. For our first date we went to see Stop Making Sense at the Harvard Square Theater. We were both big Talking Heads fans, but she was really into them. She told me she had already seen the movie, but wanted to see it again. It was unseasonably warm for February, so we took a long walk after the movie.

The following weekend was the start of spring break, and I was heading for Florida with a few friends, not to run amok in Fort Lauderdale but to relax by the pool at my friend's house outside Miami. So it was another couple of weeks before I saw the woman again. We dated regularly through March and April, frequently going out to see bands on weekends (once even taking the bus to Worcester to see Prince at the Centrum), but things didn't get serious between us until the semester was nearly over, mostly because I was nervous and unsure of myself. She was finishing her sophomore year and was headed home for the summer to Maine. She didn't really want to go home, but she couldn't afford to stay in the city for the summer. She left a few days before my graduation, and we were faced with sustaining the relationship while apart over the summer.

We wrote many letters to each other, talked on the phone as often as possible (long distance calls were still kind of expensive then), and managed to see each other about every other weekend. Most of the time I would take the bus to Portsmouth, where she would meet me and we would drive the rest of the way to her family's home. I felt strange around her parents, not having been in this sort of situation before, but they made me feel welcome and seemed to like me well enough. A few weekends she came down to Boston and stayed with me.

As the summer went by, I fell deeply and helplessly in love. At times I literally had stomach aches from the pain of being apart from her. As the end of August approached, my anticipation grew for her return and the beginning of the school year. (Although I had graduated, my brain was still very much on academic-year time, and knowing her and other people who were still juniors or seniors kept me in that mind-set.) She returned on a Friday, which happened to coincide with my birthday, and we spent the weekend celebrating.

We fell into a pattern: during the week I would usually stay with her in her dorm room (she had a single). From there I would go to work in the morning. After work I would go home to my apartment, eat dinner, and pick up a change of clothes, then head back to her place. On weekends we would stay at my apartment; she loved to cook and was happy to have access to a kitchen. It wasn't domestic bliss, but I was feeling blissful anyway.

Through my various ordeals with housing and jobs that year, she was a great source of strength to me, always able to say the right thing and help keep me optimistic. When I moved into the house in Allston in early December, I thought everything was falling into place and started allowing myself to think about a long-term future with her. But about a week later, she broke up with me.

It happened at a holiday party back at my old dorm, where we had first met. I had become too dependent on her, or something along those lines. What I wanted her to understand was, this is my first relationship, so I don't exactly know what I'm doing and I'm sure I'm going to make mistakes, give me a chance. But it didn't seem to matter what I said. She had had other boyfriends. She knew what she wanted, and I had been what she wanted, for a while, but no longer. That was probably the worst night of my life.

Naturally, we had already bought each other Christmas presents. Logic takes leave in situations like this; I was still so much in love with her that I wanted to give her the gifts anyway, mostly because I wanted her to see how much thought I had put into them. I had paid attention to things she had said about books, music, jewelry, things I knew she liked. I had chosen wrapping paper in her favorite colors. I had wrapped everything so carefully (I've never been much of a gift-wrapper). I naively thought these gestures might be enough to win her back, but of course they weren't.

I went home for Christmas and never said a word about any of it to my family. I pretended everything was normal and great between us. After I got back from my family visit, she called from her family's home: did I have plans for New Year's Eve? I hadn't made any specific plans, but before all this had happened, I had assumed they would somehow involve her. She was bored, and invited me to come up and spend it with her. Was this a mere olive branch, or a real reconciliation? She didn't give me a clue either way on the phone. It turned out to be a reconciliation. She had had time to think, and had realized that she hadn't been fair to me. She wanted to come back. I wanted her to come back, more than anything. Happy new year.

It lasted about two weeks. At least the second time, it wasn't as much of a shock. Ultimately we would go back and forth this way for months. Eventually it wasn't painful anymore, and when it finally ended for good, it just ended. Nothing was said, but I knew it was really over, and to my surprise I found that I was relieved. It had become clear that there wasn't going to be a happy ending for us, regardless of how well things might have been going at any given time. I did love her, and I knew that she had loved me as well, but she needed something I was simply unable to give her.

We attempted to remain friends, but she had been moving away from me for a long time in many ways, and then she moved away for real, to the other side of the country, with another man. In looking back, I am certain that even if she had not broken up with me that first time, we were not destined to be together. I can't explain how or why I know, I just know. But when you're in the middle of something so intense, you can't see it that way. You can't see in from the outside until you've been turned inside-out. With the benefit of hindsight, I was able to see that she had given me something very important: the ability to see myself in a different way. She showed me that there were other choices, other possibilities for my life. She helped me find myself, my real self, the one I didn't yet know existed.