Andy’s Blog

I am sitting here at glorious Castle Island enjoying the cool ocean breeze and a break from the last few days of humidity. I am enjoying a cigar; it is truly a perfect day. I am also using this opportunity to try out WordPress’s new app for the iPhone. It works pretty snazzy. Let’s see if I can get a picture in the post, too.

And another…

Kai, our first child, is due at the end of August, a freightening 5 weeks from now.  We have two cats, Miles and Billie.  We have been worried as to how they will react to this new expansion.  Given that Kai is fast approaching I built his crib (we LOVE IKEA).  Our place isn’t huge so we used the temporarily unfilled crib for a storage area for the multitude of things this little one is/has accumulated.  Perhaps this is the answer to the cat question:

If you look closely you will see our two cats clearly letting us know that this is their turf, thankyouverymuch.

Here is a closer view of the territorial tabbies:

Miles (white and black) on the left and Billie (all black) on the right

Let’s hope that everyone can share and get along because we aren’t getting rid of anyone!  Bonus points if you can “figure out” our kitties names.

I realize it has been a while folks, my apologies.  I am feeling guilted a little into blogging because my pal Susan, who has been away from blogging on one of her blogs for over years, is all of a sudden a flurry of good activity.  I can’t let her beat me!

So let me introduce you all to Tommy, Tommy Tomato that is!

That’s right folks, I have named my tomato plant.  The photo on the left is Tommy’s first day after transplanting; doesn’t he look so young and fragile?  I feel a sort of paternal bond to this plant for it represents my first ever endeavor at growing something living.  (My wife might object here on Kai’s behalf.  I argue that Kai is being grown by my beautiful wife, and while I certainly am a part, she is really doing all the hard work of growing him.)  A while back I threatened to become an urban farmer and have since carried out said threat, albeit on a small scale.  Nonetheless, being the immodest person I am, I hereby deem myself a full-fledged urban farmer.  I feel so proud.

To prove that I have at least some chops at this gig let me show you our progress:

I have been giving him a steady diet of sunlight and keeping him well hydrated and he in return is making me quite happy as he grows and flourishes.  Can’t you tell what sort of proud pop I am going to be?  I will be that obnoxious guy in the VW in front of you with all sorts of bumper stickers trumpeting my child’s each and every accomplishment!  I shall give you all regular updates on Tommy’s progress (again, I have to keep up with Susan!).

I have a new passion: making bread.  Not bread machine bread, real bread.  About a month ago I decided to crack into a new cookbook that was given to me and came across a recipe for honey whole wheat bread.  My wife and I have slowly but surely been working our way from the heavily processed and chemical-laden foods of the supermarkets to the natural and healthier wonders of local and homemade.  (This process was initiated by myself after reading Omnivore’s Dilemma and enriched and encouraged after reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.)  So the timing of finding the recipe was a bit serendipitous as I had been wanting to try my hand (more accurately my palms) at making bread for sometime.

I think it is worth noting that I love to cook.  A joy that seems to intensify with each passing year.  For some reason, though, I find the joy of making a loaf of bread to dwarf the joy of creating a meal.  I am simply amazed that flour, water, yeast, honey, and wheat germ — all otherwise random ingredients — can combine and harmonize in such a manner as to create the final product of a warm, enriching load of bread.  I also marvel at what little mechanization is necessary to deliver such goodness.  Perhaps it is a bit corny, but I feel such a wonderful connection to human history in making my own bread.  This relatively simple process has been nearly identical for quite possibly thousands of years before me and will surely remain much the same for at least as many years after me.

Human connection aside, it is still pretty intense work and that is likely why there is such satisfaciton in the end product.  This “sweat factor” is literally so, and significantly more appreciated, on the humid mornings such as was the case today.  Mixing the pasty, gummy flour/water mixture takes a good deal of muscle to say nothing of the energy and investment required to knead the dough.  However, once it all starts to come together and the first proofing cycle is complete, nothing is more rewarding than this sight:

Of course the best part, and the ultimate reward for patience comes after the second proofing (about 40 minutes after the first proofing) and baking (another 40 minutes or so):

Simply. Delicious.  Any tips for this new baker?  Exciting recipes to share?  Drop it in the comments!

(Editors note: Are these pictures gratuitous?  Are they nothing more than exercizes in vanity showing the prowess and skill of only a novice baker?  Guilty as charged.  My defense: isn’t that why blogs were invented?  To encourage the vanity and self-promotion of the clearly vain individuals who would think the world wide web gives a rip what me, Joe Blow in Roslindale, has to say!)

I am a delinquent.  I wish I could be gentler on myself but the reality, the cold truth, is that I am a delinquent.  A parking ticket delinquent to be exact.  First, let me publicly shame myself.  Until about 2 p.m. today I left a string of unpaid parking tickets that hit the delightful cities and towns of Boston, Cambridge, Somerville, Winchester, and Worcester.  I had a ticket in Winchester from 2005.  Let me restate that for dramatic effect: I had a parking ticket, unpaid, from 2005.  Ouch.  Like I said, I am a delinquent.

Now some quick background.  As I have mentioned numerous times before, I am from Wisconsin.  In cheeseland there really is no such thing as a parking meter.  Everything is acres upon acres of blacktopped horor.  I suspect there more parking spots in the entire state than there are residents; there is just that much parking.  I wasn’t exposed to meters and the like really until I moved out to the big bad East Coast.  I clearly at not good at paying them or keeping them fed.  Given my lack of meter experience I left the great Dairy Land without a parking ticket; each time I renewed my license (I actually don’t ever remember doing that out there) I didn’t run into a string of delinquency like I have out here.

A little more background (yes, the post is longer for this but it will help you understand me).  My wife and I moved here in 2002 and in that time we have had a total of 4 cars.  This means we have never gone through the “natural” registration renewal process.  Additionally we have also had our licenses for a while.  These two facts — never having an expired registration and the expiration of my first license — are like massive cold and warm fronts colliding to create the perfect storm.

The storm landed this Sunday in Groveland, Massachusetts.  My lovely wife and I decided to drive our favorite route along the ocean by way of Route 113 from Haverhill.  We were but 5 minutes into our leisurely drive when a police officer in sleepy Groveland noticed my expired registration.  (He was following behind us; apparently the officer’s best use of his time was to run my plate for no particular reason.)  I should say I harbor no ill will for the officer; he was very pleasant.  As standard operating procedure he of course asked for my registration and license.  The storm came violently on shore at that moment.  He sternly but politely let me know that my expired license was cause for potential arrest.  Instead he informed me that he was issuing me a summons for the Haverhill District Court on a date to be determined by the Court.  (That day surely will be another blog post.)  My wife took over as driver given that she had a valid license.  We promptly drove back to Roslindale where the car remained parked until today.

So this morning I quickly paid as many tickets online as I could so I could clear my license of all my delinquency.  Alas, the dreadful Town of Winchester continues to operate in a pre-internet and credit card world.  This meant I had to drive to Winchester with cash and get a receipt to prove to the Registry that all blemishes had been removed.  (I think I have the makings for one of those cheesy Visa commercials where all stops because someone had to pay with cash and get a receipt.)

Finally my friends we arrive at the whole point of this post.  I strolled into the Registry of Motor Vehicles in Roslindale, Massachusetts at approximately 12:30 p.m.  The situation would more accurately be described as walking into a wall!  There were at least 100 people waiting.  My number in line was just short of “never gonna happen today buster!”  Nonetheless I had to get this straightened up so I wait.  And waited.  Then I waited a bit more.  Let me further paint the picture.  100 of my not closest friends on a 70 plus degree day with no air conditioning, little or no breeze, and even less patience.

My number was finally called after nearly and hour and a half of waiting.  By now I was paniced because I was in a 2 hour only spot with only 30 minutes to go and no clue what lied ahead.  (Gee, I wonder how I got so many parking tickets in the first place.)  I went to the window ready with my forms and for the woman to help me.  I would say that customer service was abysmal but that would imply that there was even customer service.  I experienced none.  The woman asked a series of questions clearly designed to get me out of her face for failure to comply with some sort of bureaucratic minutiae.  I pass them all with flying colors.  We were ready to proceed.  It appeared that the storm had passed and I had weathered it.  I gave her my driver’s license number.  Turns out that I was only in the eye of the storm; you know, that minute or two of calm before the back end of the storm batters you one last time.  It turns out a Worcester ticket from just weeks ago was blemishing my record unbeknownst to me.  I had paid it but apparently paid an insufficient amount.  Thank goodness for my iPhone.  I was able to use its phenomenal internet to pay the ticket online.  I was able to jump back into the queue ahead of the other masochists like myself and get my issue resolved at last.  I hope to never have to go back to the Roslindale RMV again.  The experience was simply too dreadful to fully recount or relive.

So what is my moral for the day?  Pay your darn parking tickets on time!  Or in the alternative, never live in a state where they asphault half the surface area.

I am not a scientist.  I am not a farmer.  I have no specialty in any area regarding biofuels or food production and delivery systems.  That said, I can see, if I look at the issue logically, a problem if we start growing “food” as fuel for our cars in addition to fuel for our bodies.  First, there is a limited and relatively fixed amount of land on which to grow food.  This is problematic because we cannot obviously convert land used by people for living into land used for production of food.  This means we will need to determine how to get more yield out of less space.  This is problematic because that leads us to genetically modified food and crops.  This is NOT GOOD.  We are better off not messing with Mother Nature.

Second, demand for food and demand for fuels are not on a downward trend; quite the opposite, demand is increasing in both areas.  This sets up a fundamental conflict between feeding people and feeding cars.  Bolivian President Eva Morales has it exactly right:

“This is very serious. How important is life and how important are cars? So I say life first and cars second.”

Exactly.  We need to feed people before we feed cars.

Lastly, why aren’t we asking an important question: Is it wise to tie a supposedly renewable resource to a non-renewable resource?  Land is finite.  We really cannot create more land.  So while I understand that crops are renewable, the land is not.  We cannot farm the same piece of land over and over for years without destroying that land.  I suggest then, that biofuels are really  not the panacea nor the renewable resource we believe them to be.

Can we please rethink biofuels and better spend our time investing in energy source that are genuinely renewable?  Sadly the answer is no; not as long as Congress is filled with lobbyists from every major agribusiness in the world.

I consider myself eco-conscious.  However, I found out, thanks to the Ecological Footprint Quiz, that while I may label myself eco-conscious, I certainly do not practice much ecological conservation.  According to the quiz, if everyone acted like I did, we would need 4.8 earths.  Ouch.

One part of the quiz in particular jumped out at me: I do not recycle.  Nothing.  Nada.  When my wife and I moved into our place in Roslindale one of the first things that struck us and really bothered us was that the complex/community we lived in did not have a recycling program.  We did our duty while in Somerville but have fallen short because of the lack of recycling program.  Therefore, one immediate and fairly easy change I can make is to find out how I can recycle on my own.

However, I have no clue how to do this.  Are there recycling centers in Boston?  Can I independently go to a place and drop off my newspaper, cans, bottles, plastic, etc.?  Does residential Boston have a recycling program?  I just thought that recycling was a standard everywhere.  If anyone has any suggestions or solutions I would certainly love to hear them.  I now have research mission.  Maybe I shave off .8 of my planet use!

The lovely wife and I made a stop in the Arnold Arboretum on Saturday.  We are not very familiar with the place despite living so close to it and passing it nearly daily.  So we decided to take advantage of the tremendously gorgeous weather on Saturday to head into the Arboretum.  (Side story: we actually missed most of the sun and warmth because, for whatever reason, we decided to clean the apartment first before enjoying the day.  That was a mistake as it wasn’t sunny and the wind was picking up.)  This was only our second visit since moving to Rozzie in late August.  Yes, I am saddened by this fact.  However, we decided to really make it fun and stopped fist at Fornax to get a little lunch.  If you haven’t been to Fornax Bakery in Roslindale Square you must go — go right now!

By happenstance, and because we were coming from Fornax, we entered the Arboretum from the “backside” on Centre Street.  The last we went we went in from Washington Street right across Forest Hills.  I say this is happenstance because the gate we entered through was a pretty fast and quick climb up Peter’s Hill; we seemed to scale the monster from the side rather than a direct, frontal assault.  This was good for three reasons: first, I am out of shape and suspect a frontal assault would have spoiled my fun a bit; second, my lovely wife is pregnant — strenuous activity is not her forte right now; and third, given that we are so unfamiliar with the Arboretum it was a completely unexpected and wonderful surprise.

Even though the weather had turned a little sour we prepared to enjoy a nice picnic.  And for the most part, it was just that: nice.  However, we did have one small complaint.  We either stumbled upon a regular or impromptu meeting of dog owners.  At the height of the affair there were about 10 dogs.  Now, my wife and I are animal lovers.  We both took delight in seeing so many happy city dogs having a chance to run free — at first.  Then the annoyance began.  Because all the dogs were off leash and because we had food we became a bit of a target.  Also, there was a nice couple with a very newborn baby trying to enjoy the view and the moment by capturing pictures of the proud papa with his new life.  One dog, whose owner was completely unaware of her pup, slipped away and nearly toppled mom by jumping up on her with the baby in her arms.  Inappropriate.  That sort of got my wife and I a little riled.  Now, we admit to perhaps being extra-sensitive to the plight of the parents are we are expecting a newborn of our own in a few months.  The straw that broke the proverbial back of the camel was when two dogs when chasing after a little kid who just wanted to run on the hill.  The kid was either afraid of dogs altogether or just startled by two very energetic pups approaching at a high pace.  Either way, he let out a shrill and clung to momma!  Again, inappropriate.  What made the whole situation frustrating was that the owners were aware of the misbehavior but had such little disregard for the people around them that they never thought of leashing the dogs.  Frustrating and all too typical for Massachusetts.  Basically the callousness of the owners took two otherwise sympathetic supporters and turned us into finger-waving foes of dogs in parks.  And these same people probably wonder why they cannot drum up support for looser leash laws.  Go figure.

Not to be a total sour puss I must say we did enjoy the Arboretum.  I really love having such a big green chunk of earth in a city and so close to our home.  Here are just one picture of the view we had:

Looks like those anti-gambling/casino folks have their work cut out for them. While it isn’t the strongest argument, I view instances like this as reason why some (read it again, SOME) “illegal” behavior should possibly be legalized.  We know we can’t stop gambling, so I can’t help but wonder if some degree of legalization and regulation would be more beneficial or of greater benefit then leaving it to the black market.  (Then, too, though we know the black market surely isn’t going anywhere!)  I use the same logic to come to the conclusion for legalizing marijuana.

I wonder if Dan Kennedy will start another crusade?  He hasn’t had as much to whine about for a while.

But what do I know?