Photography

My grandmother got her hip replaced early yesterday morning. Going to bed after 1am and then getting up at 3:30am, spending a day at the hospital and then going to a public safety meeting make for a weird day.  She is still at the hospital. They put her in intensive care because her heart rate dropped and because her kidneys are not doing well. She’ll pull through, though. Tough old Polack.  (That’s a lot of OUGHs.)

I’m doing tasks for my up-coming job and going to meetings.  This is good for my sanity, for easing into my job next month, and I don’t mind working for free at all.  It’s all beneficial work to my favorite city, in the long run.

I am making a terrific stir-fry today, too.  Which is only related in that the veggies are smelling up my apartment right now.  Which is not so related.

I am tired.

Dang it, I don’t start my new job and move into my sweet new office until next month. Here’s a workspace from my dissertation, in the fall of 2006, which feels like last month.

My stomach is killing me, which is why I’m still up.  I could go for some of that chai tea right now.

Photo Friday: The Office.

I am honestly trying to not so negative about McCain.  Really.  There is so much that Obama has going for him that it’s not as “necessary” as when we had Lurch running against Stupid Monkey Face last time.  At least, that’s how I feel now.  (Remind I said that in the fall.)

But McCain does a lot of crazy stuff that people ignore because he’s a war hero, because he has “experience,” because he’s a Republican, because he’s old/from another era. While I don’t think too much bashing will accomplish anything, it’s important to realize what the hell this guy really stands for and to understand some of the other-worldly things he’s said and done. Mobtown Shank does a cool comic series on some of these wacky McCain-isms which you should check out.

Grist reported [via General Carlessness] how Johnny M.C. wants to kill the train in America.  Never mind that flying is becoming and bigger and bigger pain in the ass.  Nevermind how expensive taking your own car is.  Never mind how big our frikkin country is.  (And we should definitely not consider the environment!)  Let’s cripple the train, rather than developing it.  Good idea.

Another reason to vote for Obama.

I’m not used to getting up in the morning without having to spend hours job-hunting. I still wake up with that sour taste in my mouth, soon so be replaced with the taste of a purpose and a nice bike ride every morning to get there.  And lots of coffee.

So, my job.  I can’t say too much because I’m excessively paranoid and would prefer that anyone I know at “work” not find this here blog.  Let’s just say that I am going to be spending a year in the “domestic Peace Corps” that is VISTA.  I am assigned to a local university/college, where it’s like I’m an employee while I’m really a government employee.  Makes a lot of sense, huh?

I am going to be working with community groups and local schools to pool resources and foster a sort of service relationship between the two.  You know, schools often float in their surroundings.  I know this from the famous “Goucher Bubble” we used to live in, prior to it’s…bursting.  There’s a lot of work there to be done.  While my relationship with academic philosophy is likely over for good, my relationship with higher education might not be.  I don’t think it’s useless, not at all.  [Not that I think academic philosophy is useless.  I think I got a hell of a lot out of it.]

So I get a nice 4.something ride every morning, and another on the way home, which can be dallied on by taking a few laps around Druid Hill.  The pay is terrible, but Mrs. P. says we can afford it, and she knows.  I don’t.  I don’t know anything about money.  I just try not to waste it.

It’s a good deal.

I am going to Philly next month for  week of training, which is weird.  I don’t like time away from my other half, and I’m very shy about meeting new people.  But I think it will be productive, maybe even fun.  And I get to spend a week in downtown Philly.  Poor me.

The week before that, we are going to do a little travelling.  Hit New York, likely Washington.  Going to a sweet 90s concert in Baltimore.  Gonna be a nice summer.

I suppose I should edit that dissertation draft I wrote nearly a year ago and send that puppy in.  You know, finish my doctorate and all that.

And dude, I get business cards!

I mentioned a few weeks ago that my grandmother was staying with my parents in Hampden this spring.  She went home to Canton three weeks ago.  Everything was fine, and then she could not move yesterday.  So my mother, her twin brother, her older brother and I spent yesterday at the hospital.  We were there pretty much the whole day.  They X-rayed my grandmother’s hip; couldn’t see anything.  We sat around for an hour and half waiting for someone to get her and take her to get a CAT scan.  Finally, the nurse got fed up and took her down herself.  Nothing was broken.  All day in the hospital for them to tell her to take Tylenol.

But what’s very weird to me is seeing her re-arranged rowhouse.  While the couch, chairs and TV set have been replaced a few times, the arrangement of the furniture in my grandmother’s house has remained unchanged since I was born.  Seriously.  Even before my parents were married, according to photos I’ve seen.  Now, the dining room table is gone, and there’s a bed there.  Large wooden things have been moved around, and the plasma TV my least favorite uncle bought has been ignored in favor of a smaller TV closer to the bed.  It looks like a different house, and it signals something sinister to me.

That my grandmother is on her way out, not a pleasant thought.  Nor what that means for my mother, her brothers, the ton of grandkids and greatgrandkids.  Not a pleasant thought at all.  I don’t really know what/how I think or feel about the downwardly-sliding situation.  I am really trying not to do either of them.

I do know that it’s frustration to be able to do nothing.

When people are ragging on the Hon thing and Hon Fest, I hope they’re not crapping on Hampden entirely.  There’s much more to this cool little neighborhood than the big-haired tourist trappings.  I’m not saying that I hate Hon Fest or anything.  Certainly not that I hate Hampden, where I grew up.

Hon Fest this year was kind of boring for me, though.  It was the same thing as last year.  Even more ignorant county yuppies, too.  Not all people from the county and not all yuppies/buffies.  It’s a special brand of white asshole who walks with zero awareness of other people (just how they drive, which is scary as hell); wears special boring white people clothing that you can only find outside the city limits; displays a sense of entitlement to own Hampden because they went to Cafe’ Hon once — at night!  “Look, Chahllles, the city’s not so frightening!”

I think that a large part of Hon Fest’s popularity is that it’s an excuse for white people who fled the city to come back to it in a way that they feel is safe.  Hampden is still mostly white, and most of the people at the festival are white, too.  Don’t think pointing out a minority you saw this weekend proves me wrong.  I said “large” and “most”!  And I’m only half kidding.

Personally, I don’t enjoy celebrating Hampden’s “heritage” in itself.  The Hon stereotype comes from a lack of money, education (if you say “lack of class” I’ll kick your nuts!) and exposure to other cultures.  If you’re actually from Hampden, you know that the neighborhood’s non-Hon heritage involves racism, punks and blandness, underneath all the things Cafe’ Hon allegedly celebrates.  The only thing to celebrate about Hampden’s past is that it’s gone.

Instead, when I celebrate anything about Hampden, I celebrate what’s new and better about it and about The Avenue.  Places like Atomic Books and Atomic Pop, Salamander Books, Common Ground, Dogwood, Golden West, bike racks, a night life, people who aren’t all white — these are things worth celebrating.  This is all much preferable to the shithole Hampden was in the 80s and early 90s.

Yes, it was a shithole.  If you don’t know that, that’s not my fault.  You weren’t here.  But it’s true.  What’s also true is that Cafe’ Hon didn’t save anything on its own, no matter how much that gets repeated.  It took a lot of people and a lot of business owners to make that happen.  I’m sick of seeing one person get all the credit, and someone who lives in the frikkin county at that.

Dudes, you gotta check out North Baltimore Bike Brigade site.  It’s getting written on, yo.  It’s here.

My friend Zack left his keys in my apartment the other night when he bought his new bike. They are very very easy to carry, no? Mine have heavy bike keychains, and I need four keys for my apartment and mailbox. Not to mention my U-lock key. Poor me.

For Photo Friday: Minimalism.

[Larger.]

Bikes locked together at the Ecofestival a few weeks ago.  Mine is on the right.

Photo Friday: Difficult Shot.

Dang, I need to get outside more.
But I am going camping this weekend.
And I did walk all over North Baltimore yesterday.
So all is not lost.

At the Smithsonian this winter. I give you the rocket dude. He really caught my eye because his shoes were basically white Chuck Taylors with a side zipper. Even if these rocket packs caught on, at $4 a gallon, I think they’d all be grounded.

Photo Friday: Fire.

Geez, with this crappy weather, I found myself like this little bird today, hunkering down in head-to-toe flannel and socks.  I did walk to the market in the rain, with a hoody.  I swung my folded umbrella, to alert people that I was in fact enjoying some rain, rather than forgetful of said umbrella.  Stupid decision, since I went from not feeling well to feeling worse.  I watched Broken Flowers when my work was done.  Drank too much coffee, too.

Did I mention that I learned how to use a sewing machine?

[This is from three years ago, when I had a balcony on which I hang stuff like birdhouses.  I didn't move.  Again.]

Shyte’s been whacky lately.  Have a lot to think about.  I sewed stuff tonight, too, after making one US gallon of homemade salsa for my mother, for M-Day.

We were out riding Saturday, hitting Lake Roland at Robert E. Lee Park. We were blowing down Bellemore Road in North Baltimore, a super drop. I mean, you’re running at 25 mph pounding the brakes, and you get back up 10 more miles per hour inside twenty yards if you let off the brakes. It’s not a drop for a problem. Toward the bottom, something sounded like it bounced off of my bike, my helmet visor and my glasses. Dan turned around. We stopped at Falls Road, and I wanted to touch my rims, to see how hot they were. Dan said he thought he snapped a brake cable, that something shuddered through his entire bike. I was like, “Yeah, you hit me with a rock!” I was thinking of how crappy the situation would have been if it had hit me in the tooth. We stopped for coffee drinks, hit the lake, chilled, cleaned out our brake pads and got moving.  A nice, relaxing ride.

Dan’s wheel was wobbling and hitting his brake arms. What the frikk?

We decided to walk the four miles home, rather than risk an injury or further damage. Dan was afraid that the heat of the descent warped his rims. I thought maybe he snapped or bent an axle. I mean, I can true a wheel like a sumbitch (for not getting paid to do it and having very little experience, that is). But I didn’t have any spoke wrenches on me.  We got home fine, though, and all was well.  I ate half a pizza for dinner.

Talked to Dan Sunday, and he found the problems. Bent axle, but also a snapped spoke. It was still attached to the nipple (huh huh huh), so we didn’t see it. No prob! We hit the shop, bought a spoke and went about getting it on. The freewheel was being a bee-otch and had to go into the bench vise.  The lockring tool had to, that is. That took a while. But then it came off, got cleaned up, Dan put the spoke on, and I got the wheel nice and trued up.  Working on bikes is a hell of a lot of fun.

Also, I was introduced to Lava Soap. Awesome.

[Also for Photo Friday: Professional.]

You a damn fine freewheel,
Won’t you back that axle up?