It took a couple of dry runs and an annoying number of phone calls to my technophile buddy, but I figured out this tangle of TV cables in my attic and actually added to it. The idea was to get the best possible "over the air" (OTA) signal to my fancy high definition (HD) TV's.
I am convinced that satellite TV is vastly superior to cable, but sadly satellite providers are not offering local stations in HD on their service. Now, don't go arguing with me that the cable companies do have local HD's, because there's no dispute. Point conceded. I can tell you, though, that a good, strong OTA HD signal is much better than the one provided after the signal is squeezed down and sent across miles and miles of cable. 
To meet my own HDTV demands, it was necessary to set up a Sattelite/ OTA combo. Thanks to the technophile and no thanks to the satellite installers, I was able to service three HDTV's with one antenna in the attic (with capacity for a fourth.) Awesome awesome awesome. This invloved using six little gizmos calls diplexers, two or three splitters and who knows how many jumpers (short cables), but it's all working fabulously and I have magnificent satellite and OTA High Definition. As a bonus, I'm even picking up some distant OTA signals not offered on the satellite service.
Trying to explain what's over the air and what's coming across the satellite dish to the rest of the family has proven to be a challenge, particularly for the young adults in the house who have never known life without cable or satellite.
All they know is since I moved the antenna from the living room into the attic (diplexers, whatever!), most of their favorite shows are reliably in HD. As long as they know what button to push and which remote control to use, that tangle of cables in the attic is just Dad's problem. 
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Digital TV Revolution
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Afternoon Manliness
While these pixellated cell phone photos appear to be clandestine images of some militia training compound, nothing is further from the truth. What you see, instead, is a monumental event. These are hastily captured images of my first experience with firearms. Yes, I lived almost fifty years without firing a weapon.
Today, under threat of emasculation from my friend Andrew, I tagged along with him, his son and one of his friends to a shooting facility out in the country.
I am inclined to believe that calling these guys well armed would be an understatement, but I'm not sure that's true. Since I'm not really a gun guy, I have no real frame of reference on the degrees of individual armament. I know they brought along a vast array of weaponry, from handguns to old style rifles to semi-automatic assault weapons.
Determined to go big and then go home, I pulled the trigger on every single one of them. Along the way, Andrew's son asked me if I was excited. Hmm. No, I wasn't. I was absolutely neutral on the whole experience. I wasn't scared. Aside from being cold out there, I was comfortable. Those guys exercised an abundance of caution, perhaps because they had an utter novice in their company.
Interestingly, it appeared that I have better aim using my left eye. Now, I have loaded and emptied guns, an everyday event for some but a milestone for me. I'm not planning to spool up and start packing heat, but I'm glad I have some experience. You never know when it might work to your benefit.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
I DIdn't Get My Nap
This being the first day of Daylight Saving Time in 2009, I planned to nap in the afternoon to offset the "lost hour" of sleep. Instead, I wound up in the Great Outdoors rescuing young pine trees.
A couple of years ago, out on the land, we planted a stand of pine. We have been patiently watching them grow and they've been doing so reliably. It's starting to smell piney out there in the woods.
Some kind of weather phenomenon blew a few of them over. It was intersting to see, because there was a discernable pattern in the fallen saplings. I assume it was weather. It might have been a supernatural force similar to that which forms crop circles in England, but that seems farfetched. 
So, instead of sleeping, I spent an afternoon staking trees. My father and I straightened them and strapped 'em up. At one point, it dawned on me that I was using skills I learned long ago: making ropes, tying knots, lashing: Boy Scouts!
Maybe in a few years, we can camp out under those pines. I guess that's when I can catch up on my sleep.
Best Commercial ever
If I didn't already have a MasterCard, I'd go get one because I love the latest commercial so much. How did they do it? I don't know. But the idea of a dinner party including The Gorton's fisherman, Count Chocula, The Morton's Salt girl, Charlie the Tuna, Mr. Peanut, The Vlasic stork, and Chef Boyardee is just inspired. Throw in Poppin' Fresh, the Pillsbury doughbhoy walking around on the table, that's just plain funny. And then, the idea that the Jolly Green Giant is so big he can't come in, but waves at everybody through the window...That just floors me. I guess he can't say "Ho Ho Ho" if he leaves the valley.
While the MasterCard narrator goes through his list of prices on his way to saying "Getting everybody together for dinner: Priceless," the dinner table conversation goes on. 
At one pause in the narration, the Gorton's fisherman (off camera) asks Count Chocula, "How's Frankenberry?" That is so subtle yet so brilliant. I'm just a little disappointed they didn't bring up the lightly-regarded BooBerry.
When dinner is over, Charlie clears the dishes and takes them into the kitchen to discover Mr. Clean in there ready to was them.
I'm not sure what they're serving. Creepily, tuna casserole, I think. Pickles, dinner rolls and meatloaf seem to be on the table. I guess they had peanuts with the drinks, and there was probably some kind of pasta in there (unless the Chef is just a guest, but he has hit hat on!). There has to be some kind of fish. Everything is salty enough, to be sure....even the vegetables from the valley.
If anybody spends the night, they're having chocolaty cereal for breakfast, to be sure. It's a party I wish I had been invited to.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Who's That Guy With the Camera?
Over the last couple of years, I've snapped a few photos. I've grown fond of saying "I'm not a photographer. I'm just a guy with a camera." This certainly is true. There are many fine legitimate photographers who produce magnificent art with their cameras. I occasionally stumble onto a moderatley pleasing image.
This week, I was thrilled and honored when a local facility rounded up a few of my photos, had them matted and framed, and hung them in a hallway. 
The images seem to be serious business. They are protected by some kind of special glass which minimizes fading and the nice man who mounted the photos used 'security" hardware, whatever that means. As if anyone would stroll by and lift one of these things to hang above the sofa.
All that being said, I have to admit it's a neat feeling to have my little hobby affirmed in this way. It makes me want to walk down the hall.
Hot and Steamy
The house "update" project is ongoing. New curtains have been ordered. Can complementary bedding be far behind? Until all of this is properly in place, many of the newly painted walls remain bare, a Spartan circumstance which occasionally leaves me feeling somewhat like an inmate (but just a little). Even the kitchen feels a little naked, despite new floors, countertops, backsplash, sink, and fixtures. The cabinets have been stained, giving the place a completely new look and feel. We're really pleased with all of it. There is one little gizmo which stands out, though.
It's a dispenser for "nearly boiling" water, an innovation we had to push our contractor to install.
There's a little self-contained water heater under the sink and from this faucet comes water which is perfect for tea or instant coffee. The water is also hot enough to help with stuff baked onto pots, pans and plates.
In an instant gratification kind of way, this is a real bonus. No more waiting for the water to boil. Sadly, the kettle has been rendered superfluous. It is exiled to the dark reaches of the pantry, where it waits in lonely silence longing for a day when it can again produce enough steam to produce a low whistle. This has long been a clear sign that an energizing hot beverage or maybe a batch of dumplings can't be far away. But now, thanks to 21st-century thinking, we're sipping something steamy a little sooner.
My Wife the Scofflaw
Never one to be bound by "rules" or "laws," my wife threw caution to the wind and boldly parked on the street outside a local nursing school this week. As this photo clearly shows, she is in violation of the local parking ordinances. Thank heavens for the alert officer who spotted this flagrant transgression and alertly dropped a ticket on her windshield.
Hang on a second. Which way is the arrow on that sign pointing? "No Parking Anytime...." Thisaway, not thataway! Would any reasonable person not come to the conclusion that, if you are parking on the non-pointy end of the arrow, you should be okay?
All sarcasm aside, she thought she was well within the Rules of Society parking where she parked. This whole thing has her flummoxed, miffed even. When I saw her, she wasn't exactly flush with anger, but her ears were a little pink. The fact that she took the time to snap photos of the crime scene with her BlackBerry should tell you everything you need to know about her reaction to this miscarriage of justice.
It's a fifteen dollar ticket. The easy thing to do would be to just pay the fine and move on. That usually would be her way, but this time she is stung by the injustice of it all. She plans to go "downtown" and press for an explanation. I've got her back on this one.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Shiver Me Timbers
You've got to do what you've ogt to do if you're trying to make minor league baseball successful in this town, as it was wildly so in the late 1980's and early 1990"s. Believe it or not, that was a long time ago.
I have stayed silent on this since they revealed this guy and announced his name, but I remain silent no more. The history of the name "Captains" has nothing to do with pirates or Johnny Depp movies. It has everything to do with the guy our city is named after, Captain Henry Miller Shreve. He was a riverboat Captain who history tells us was perfectly honest and honorable, not to mention reliable.
It's clear the baseball team's management has no sense of our city's history. This incarnation of The Captain flies in the face of all of that.
I hope my feelings don't matter. I want them to be successful. We're all better off if they are. In order to be so, the guys who are running the enterprise need to learn a lot more about the place they now call home.
Sphere: Related Content
Sunday, February 22, 2009
A Fish Out of Water
The 2009 Bassmasters Classic is behind us, and we are told it was a record setting week. More than 100,000 people saw some part of the event over three days, according to the event's organizers. To me that is just incredible. I read in the paper that on Saturday, the fire marshall would not let any more people into our arena, which seats 12,000 or so and holds even more with people on the floor. Although this kind of thing doesn't interest me at all, I had to see it to believe it. So, I used my familiarity with the arena to shoehorn my way in and I was just blown away..JPG)
Aside from the sheer numbers, it was interesting to observe the demeanor of the attendees. They were thrilled to watch their angler heroes roll in and present their day's catch to be weighed. It was that simple: Ride in your boat as it is towed behind a pickup truck, put your fish on the scale, get the weight, get interviewed and get on your way. Next! Do it again...and the breathless thousands were having the time of their lives..JPG)
More power to them. I left after five fishermen and was happy to get home.
I had also read that more than 60,000 people went into our convention center on Saturday for a bass fishing expo. So, I had to see that, too. Having been there for about a half-hour, seeing the crowd and the cars and the vendors, I believe it.
Let me rephrase: I can accept that figure as true, but I still can't really believe it.
As long as I had decided to be out and about, I decided to immerse myself in full citizen participation. I went to an affternoon Mardi Gas parade..JPG)
The atmosphere was lively and light-hearted. People were having a great time. So, it was a positive day and I was about to assuage my guilt about my own abject apathy.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
It's a Really Big Event, They Tell Me
It's a multi-day fishapalooza, "the Daytona 500 of Bass Fishing," and it's happening right here in the home town this weekend. Since the Daytona 500 is "the Super Bowl of NASCAR," the logic linkage tells me something. So it is that tens of thousands of people are showing up in our nice arena to watch fifty men and one woman weigh fish.
The 2009 Bassmaster Classic is getting Shreveport and Bossier City a lot of attention. We are in a "twin cities" situation and the Red River runs through it. In the Red River are trophy-class bass and these 51 competitors aim to find them, hook them, weigh them and take home untold riches because of it.
I actually understand all of that. It's pretty straightforward. I understand the incalculable benefit of having an inernational event of this magnitude in our towns. It means international multimedia exposure, including many hours of coverage on ESPN2. There's nothing wrong with that and there's a whole lot right with it.
What I don't get is why people, thousands of people, stand in line eagerly awaiting the opening of the doors to the arena so they can jam into the place to watch the Fabulous 51 flash their fish.
I have been to this sort of thing before. This weekend's event is the most significant of its kind, but when you get right down to it they're just weighing fish! I didn't grasp the attraction on a smaller scale. Now that it's as big as it gets, the only thing that's larger for me is my puzzlement.
Shuttle buses are running between multiple locations. Visitors have come from near and far to be a part of this like...well, the Daytona 500 or the Super Bowl.
I have been unsuccessful in my quest to muster up any enthusiasm about this. I'm feeling the guilt of being a Terrible Citizen becasue I am not participating in this in any way.
I will celebrate our area's success from the comfort of my house, check the internet for photos and turn the TV on to make sure the ESPN people are saying good things about us. I have several buddies who are just breathless about this thing and have been all up in it. I will go to lunch with them next week and let them tell me all about it. Maybe we'll eat fish.
Friday, February 20, 2009
What's Wrong With This Picture?
So, the first lady of the Great State of Louisiana, Supriya Jindal, came to town today. She's the front person for the admirable "Shots for Tots" program, which promotes immunizations for the state's children. Why she appeared at a Wal-Mart escapes me, but okay.
Even in that peculiar setting, things could be okay...but some people just don't get it. The Wal-Mart braintrust set up a stage, a podium, a microphone and big speakers. They anticipated media coverage, and they got it. So, why...WHY would you set up the lovely, well educated, well spoken, highly respected first lady directly in front of the restrooms?.JPG)
By the way, she was accompanied by the state secretary of health and Human Services. It was kind of a big thing. To prove I'm not making this up, here's a shot of the set-up, pre-arrival: 
This is so shockingly stupid that I can barely wrap my head around it. Mrs. Jindal was gracious and probably didn't even notice. I mean, her back was to the bathroom sign. .JPG)
Still, someone needs to receive a sternly worded memo or something. Better still, next time let's send the first lady of Louisiana, who might be the first lady of the United States someday, into a significantly more dignified setting.
For God's sake.
Monday, February 16, 2009
An Excellent Nap
As a lifelong sports fan, I make an annual attempt to watch NASCAR. I want to give the thing a chance by tuning in its biggest event, the Daytona 500. I saw more of it this year than I ever have before. But, I have to confess that once again I fell fast asleep somewhere in the middle of the telecast. We're talking sitting up, mouth open, drooling snoring sleep. The people in my house did things to try to keep me awake. My son, on his birthday, commandeered the HD and surround sound for an afternoon of Guitar Hero. While "Junior and them" were turning left on other TV's in the house, the living room was rockin'. I got up and played in a little Guitar Hero round robin with The Happy Couple and my daughter and that held my interest. 
But once I returned to The Great American Race, Heaven help me I was sawing logs. This is despite the consumption of large amounts of Diet Coke and iced tea in a genuine effort to make it through the race while remaining conscious at all times.
I did see "Junior" wreck everybody, which as a non-NASCAR afficianado seemed to me to be a jackasss thing to do. Who knows? It might have been brilliant strategy, I couldn't tell you. I'm happy for the guy who won because he was so emotional about it.
That's it for me and the stock car circuit for another year. See you in February when once again I will try to avoid a long winter's nap.
There's Your Bloodline, Ladies and Gentlemen
My daughter landed at home long enough to join us for a celebration of her brother's 19th birthday. The gang was all there: The girlfriend, both surviving grandparents, mom and me. It was a low-key day. 19 is an odd number: technically a man, but still kind of a boy. He got presents and his longtime love interest made him a cake. We went to his favorite restaurant for lunch. The highlight of the day was watching his 82-year-old grandfather attempt to decipher a Chinese food menu. He said, "I'm not acquainted with Chinese food," which I call B.S. on, by the way. I personally have eaten Chinese food with the man dozens and possibly hundreds of times, but you go with the flow.
The highlight for him was being with his immediate "blood relatives," the entire collection of which is assembled in this photo.
It's Theater of the Hair, wouldn't you agree? I've told Mr. Nineteen to "grow it while you've got it," and now you know why.
For a nondescript birthday, things went rather well. Two years to 21, when the prospects will be decidely more interesting.
Father-Son Bonding
My son and I both have failed to acquire what I call "Man Skills." We're not hunters or tool guys. We don't work on cars. The women in our lives will tell you that we have our strengths, one of them being a clear reconginition of our deficiencies. Macho, we are not. So, it was simultaneously disconcerting and amusing to see My Main Man repairing a power tool.
I guess there are latent man skill tendencies. A recent storm created quite a mess in our back yard. While our daughter was off conquering the world on one of her many out-of-town excursions, the rest of us cleaned up the homefront. This led to the wearing of eye protection and the cacophanous production of prodigous sawdust. 
All of which was worth it to get this hysterical photo which to me is reminiscent of John Belushi's samurai character from Saturday Night Live.
All snickering aside, the day was well spent. We spent time in the not-so-great outdoors as a family, working together to put things back in order. My son used a chainsaw. The dog was thrilled because we spent hours in her domain, giving her the best of all her worlds: Her yard, her food, her cat, her toys and her people all together.
Plus, we have new firewood for the anticipated early spring cold snap. My son and I can sit around together and enjoy the warmth. That's a skill we definitely share.
Home Is Just a Base
You never know where my daughter will show up, it's just usually not at home. Most recently, she was spotted on the floor of the state legislature, introducing a bill.
This was all part of a "Youth in Government" excursion during which she and her peers get hands-on experience with how the state house works. At 17, this girl has been places and has even more plans.
She has been heard to say "The south is a bubble. You live inside it or outside it, but there's a huge difference in atmosphere." She aims to pierce it. With trips to L.A., New York, D.C. and Atlanta in her recent experience, she has a basis for her statement. There's more to come. She's off to Colorado the day after her last final exam to staff a church camp. She has recently announced her intention to take a mission trip to Mexico in July.
Grass does not grow under this girl's feet. I just hope somewhere along the way she's heard the lyrics to that ancient song: "It's good to touch the green, green grass of home."
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Radio Daze
The opportunity to guest host a local sports radio show presented itself. How could I turn that down? It's a semi-regular deal. I'm the "third host" of a show hosted by two brothers. They only need me when they both can't be there. So, I never get to interact on the air with either of them. This means when I'm on, the show takes on a completely different personality.
This used to be easy stuff for me. Sports was my life and my livelihood. These days, I am not forced by my profession to pay attention to sports which do not particularly interest me. This means on the odd occasion I have the opportunity to speak extemporaneously about sports on the radio for a couple of hours, my focus has changed.
I never was a "break down the game" kind of host. My presentation was more philosophical than clinical. Nowadays, it's news driven. This means I got really lucky. The Alex Rodriguez steroid revelation is still fresh. This means it's generating interest and conversation, two things which are vital to the success of sports talk radio. Happily, there was plenty of sports news to discuss, despite the absence of football.
Being back on the air was not like riding a bike. Being able to talk about sports for a couple of hours used to be second nature to me. This time, I had to study. I was happy to do it, though. This will help lunchtime conversations. I'd prefer to talk about sports anytime. I'm sick of politics, economic troubles and octuplets.
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Reapplying for My Man Card
Having spent the previous weekend in the company of my two favorite women doing decidedly non-manly things, Super Bowl weekend presents itself as an opportunity to muscle my way back to the masculine coordinates on the gender axis.
Saturday was spent enjoying a local sports twin bill: college basketball in the afternoon and hockey at night.
Centenary College boasts an NCAA Division 1 athletic program, but hardly anyone notices. It is the smallest school in the NCAA's most prominent level of competition, which could be a badge of honor for the school and the community. It has sent two players, Robert Parish and Larry Robinson, to the NBA. Both earned league championship rings. Parish has five of them , in fact. Now, the city has essentially forgotten about the Gents although there was a nice crowd on hand for this game against Oral Roberts University.
If Centenary's team could find a way to win consistently, it could capture the area's imagination. We really have something special here. People just need a reason to drive into the heart of the city and experience it.
Conversely, the minor league hockey team seems to be thriving. For more than a decade, the Mudbugs have attracted impressive crowds. On an ordinary Saturday night in January, traffic leading into the arena was so significant that police shut down nearby traffic lights to manage the flow themselves. It seemed like a special event, and I suppose an argument can be made that it was.
The team wins consistently and seems to always be in contention for its league championship. It gives people something to cheer about which is always a good thing. This was the first game I've attended this season. It was a pleasant way to spend an evening.
It did get me into a little pinch with my bride. There was a show downtown at the same time featuring Broadway stars singing memorable numbers from the Great White Way. She really wanted to go to that. We had dropped a chunk of change on the lodge and the spa the weekend before. The hockey game cost significantly less than the theater. Faced with the prospect of paying bills this weekend, that got her attention. Broadway can wait. Manhood sufficiently reasserted, I can strap in now for the last football game of the season.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Life's Little Twists
I spent a quarter century going as fast as I could back and forth from the Thomas Assembly Center in Ruston covering Louisiana Tech basketball. The women's team was nationally prominent and the men's team featured the likes of future NBA standouts Karl Malone, P.J. Brown and Paul Millsap. Ruston is 70 miles east of Shreveport, so to get highlights on the 10pm news, one typically drives a couple of hours to see about fifteen minutes of actual college basketball.
In my narrow view, this was often underappreciated by certain folks on campus, but I enjoyed doing it nonetheless. I've always thought it was vital to the legitimacy of local sports media as well as the athletic program at Tech for those games to be covered on a regular basis.
All of that philosophical blather is moot now since I no longer have a stake in the local media game, but I still feel strongly about it. I remember getting into a huge war of words with a news director and a general manager who were looking for ways to trim expenses. I was told in an unmistakably condescending tone, "You're going to have to cut out your little trips to Ruston." I stood my ground and continued to cover La. Tech's sports quite consistently. I wound up doing it myself, rather than assigning someone. This meant leaving after the 6:00pm news, driving an hour for a game that starts at 7:00pm, getting the end of the first half and turning right around to drive back. I had a major conflict with a campus cop one time when I arrived at a game with two minutes left in the first half and he didn't want me to park and run in. The idea that I would be leaving at halftime meant nothing to him. I have to admit my feelings were profoundly hurt that evening.
Against that backdrop, we frame this photo:
This has nothing whatsoever to do with me personally. I was representing an organization at the game. But, there I was at center court with Karl Malone looking on from the front row. Tech presented the organization with a basketball autographed by the team. The crowd applauded politely, as the warm folks of Ruston are inclined to do. I enjoyed a self-indulgent moment, thinking of things like forgiveness.
I realized again how much fun it can be to take in a game at your own pace, without a deadline hammering you. I might go back and sit in the stands one night. Isn't that what most people do?
Monday, January 26, 2009
Leftovers From the Road
Somehow, I became confused and disoriented in Prescott, Arkansas. On the way home from a weekend in the minor mountains, we stopped at a travel plaza to fill up the car and grab some lunch. It was one of those places with three or four fast food franchises under one roof. The sandwich artist at the Subway counter was in full-blown ADD mode, keeping two or three conversations going at once. His boss had told him he had to step up his game, we were informed. His boss might have served customers better by asking the guy to bathe more often, but that's another story.
Already dizzied by the tempest behind the counter and his inability to focus exclusively on assembling my double-stack BMT, I went to fill my drink cup. That proved to be a challenge because the drink dispenser had not been filled with ice. So much for stepping up his game, right? A disheartened trickle of Five Dollar Footlongers wandered through the intellectual desert until we found ice over by Sonic.
Somewhere between eating my Doritos and buying a box of Whoppers for the rest of the trip, my wife and daughter disappeared into a vortex that from the outside appeared to be a ladies' room. It might as well have been the Bermuda Triangle because they were gone for an alarmingly long time. They were gone so long, in fact, that I forlornly loped to the vehicle, Whoppers in hand, figuring they would show up eventually. I made it to the driver's side door when I heard a familiar female voice beckoning, siren-like, from under an awning. Dancing on the wind came a request: "Can you come pick us up?" It's a long way from the Prescott Void to the parking lot, apparently.
I spotted them briefly, dreamlike faces in the distance, flushed in the cold and yearning for curbside service. Yet, like the apparitions they seemed determined to emulate, they simply vanished as I made my way across the vast paved wasteland. I pulled to the curb and they were nowhere to be seen. Frustrated and bewildered, I simply found my way into another parking spot and waited. Moments later they appeared, complaining of the cold but finally corporal again. They slipped into the car as if nothing unusual had occurred and we were on our way, the vagaries of Prescott becoming but a memory in the rearview mirror.
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I had a massage while I was in the Resort with the ladies. My therapist was named Bea and she was perfectly nice. About midway through the process she asked "You don't relax very often, do you?" Maybe not. I guess I need more massages. It was maybe my third. I'm not really sure what usually happens, but I feel like I need to send Bea flowers or something.
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We had a hot tub on the deck outside our condo. The air temperature was freezing cold and the hot tub was well, hot. So, the combination was soothing. Every time I get into a hot tub I think of buying one. Then, I wonder how many times a year I would actually use it and talk myself right out of it.
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For the trip, I randomly selected the book "In an Instant" by Lee and Bob Woodruff. It's about the ABC World News Tonight co-anchor who was gravely injured by an improvised explosive device (IED) while covering a story in Iraq. It hit me as I sat there that I was reading the book on the 3rd anniversary of the incident. I'm glad he's okay.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
A Chill in the Air
(While Joe College and the Mighty Guard Dog keep the homefront secure, the ladies and I are on the road again.) 
(Mt. Ida, AR)- My wife got a surprise sprung on her for her birthday. We brought her to a lodge on the shore of Lake Ouachita in in appropriately named Ouachita Mountains. We caught some kind of break with the weather. What kind of break, I'm not sure. A cold front moseyed through overnight and there's a persistent breeze here at the higher elevations. The detriment: it's cold! But, hey, it's January. What should we expect? The benefit? The lake is whitecapping, which means waves are lapping up onto the shore. So, we have sunshine, cool breezes and the soothing sound of moving water. That's a pretty nice combination.
The was set up to be a no-stress "chill" weekend and it's working out so far. The loft which we are renting is exactly what we expected. Our easily-entertained 17-year old is recovering from a weeklong sickness that has rendered her academically and socially useless. A change of scenery and a chance to sit around in serenity should really work to her benefit.
We have gone on long walks along the lakeshore, finished books and started new ones. There was a a nice, long hot tub session on the deck last night.We actually skipped stones for a while in the evening. Later today, the real reason we brought the birthday girl here: spa day! She has a massage, facial and pedicure lined up. The goal is to relax her. If this doesn't do it, nothing will.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The D's: Big and Daddy
(Dallas) - It's kind of goofy. It's a little bit funny. It's a tradition now. It had to happen. The mascot photo. I've simply become shameless with this thing, even though essentially it amuses only me. You have to take life's little pleasures where you can get them.
The day trip to Dallas certainly was one of them. I saw my first NHL game and had a prime spot for the Mavericks' game against the Utah Jazz.
Both contests were closely contested and the home team won each time, so what more can you ask?
The Mavericks game was much more lively than the Stars'. That's no doubt because there were significantly more people there. Plus, my new buddy Mark Cuban places a premium on his Mavericks games being a total entertainment event. Like him or not, he puts on a show.
I kid around about Cuban because we passed in the hall and spoke briefly, but we actually do have a mutual friend. I thought about pausing for a moment to make the connection with him. But, all kidding aside, it was game day and that seemed inappropriate. Since it's unlikely we will ever be in a social setting together, I guess the hello in the hall with a affable nod will suffice.
I thank him for making NBA games interesting. This was my first Mavs' game since they moved from Reunion Arena, so that says something about how high they are on my list of sports priorities. Still, I'm glad I went and I appreciate my friend Roy for asking me along.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
A Big D Afternoon
(Dallas) - The frigid weather of the past week is a memory now and this January afternoon in north Texas was spectacular. With several hours to pass between our hockey-basketball double dip, my buddy Roy and I decided to walk through Dallas' trendy West End.
Did I say walk? Yes! we had a fantastic parking space at the arena, so why give it up?
If you're in this part of Dallas with some time to spend, there are a couple of things you can do: visit a restaurant or a club, or go see where JFK was shot. Well, we did both.
At Roy's insistence, I had a photo taken at the legendary grassy knoll and it felt perfectly silly. 
I was surprised at the number of people who were there, though. Most had cameras or video cameras. Forty-five years after the fact, the Kennedy assassination endures as one of the most compelling periods in American history.
So, the grassy knoll it is.
We are here for basketball, though. We walked right past the Dallas Mavericks' larger-than-life owner, Mark Cuban. That was a celebrity sighting for me. He's a rich guy and a famous guy. So, I'm pretty sure he qualifies as a celebrity.
I did not ask to pose with him for a photo. He's an owner, after all...not a mascot.
Ice in the Afternoon
(Dallas)- Certainly, I've been blessed over the years to witness high-level sporting events. However, until today I had not been to a National Hockey League game. When presented with an opportunity to attend an NHL-NBA doubleheader, how could I refuse? So, off we go to American Airlines Arena to watch the Dallas Stars. The Stars and their opponents, the Los Angeles Kings, are among the lowest-scoring teams in the league. Hockey purists, if there are any in Texas, will surely enjoy great goaltending and tenacious defense.
If that makes them happy, at least they got their money's worth.
Having seen my share of minor league hockey, I know a little about the game but I'm no expert. If every player at this level is more athletic, quicker, faster and a better skater than what we minor league afficiandos are accustomed to, then so be it. I take it on faith, because all things being relative it apepars to me to be the same game.
Who am I to say? I'm just grateful for the chance to see it. Tonight, arena workers will plop a court on top of the ice and many of us will reconvene. Sounds like fun. 
Friday, January 16, 2009
Happy Reunion
The dog and cat who live in our house can rest easy. The visitor cat has been reunited with its own family. We found out that "lost cat" signs were planned for the weekend, but it was modern communication that brought about a happy result. Better late than never, I suppose, the cat's owner sent out an e-mail blast to the neighborhood association describing the wayward kitty. Thanks to Smartphone technology, the e-mail hit my pocket and the cat was back home within an hour. I wonder what the lady was waiting for.
There was some concern that the little guy, named "Pepper" we discovered, had in fact been eaten by coyotes. Happily, he was not. The good news, for those near us who were not-so-secretly hoping he was a stray, is that he lives just a few doors down. So, he is easily visited.
One less bell to answer. One less vet bill to pay. Everybody's happy.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Interloper
The look you see on our dog's face means "what is that furry thing that my family has brought into the house?" The answer is a stray cat, which I am forbidden to show you for reasons which are diabolically logical.
A few nights ago, I was in the back yard doing grill duty when there was a commotion in the shrubbery. I was thinking "bunny," but much to my surprise a kitten came slinking onto the patio. The little guy was skinny, starving and thirsty. I know this because I put some dog food out and it pounced. I gave it some water and it plunged face-first into the bowl. I watched it for a while thinking it would go home. It did not.
After a while, the little cat drew something of a crowd. Watching it eat became a spectator sport. It walked around and greeted everyone, so I became convinced that it is someone's cat and it has just wandered away from home. I was sure it would leave the same way it came and we would be done with it. That has not happened.
It has been abnormally cold this week, and the other people in my house would not sit idly by and watch the cat stay outside in the freezing nighttime, even though it has obviously made it this far in life without us. So, they brought it inside. I have been saying several times a day, "Somewhere there's a little girl named Emily or something who is crying herself to sleep because her kitty is gone. She thinks it has frozen to death or has been eaten by a coyote. Put it out and let it go home."
Their position is they are keeping the cat safe and warm, and if it lives nearby then Emily will put up "lost cat" signs. I say "Emily is too little to make her own signs." The counter is, of course, that Emily's parents will make signs. So far, no signs. So, I say, "Let's make 'found cat' signs." They say no, that the people at LSU Health Sciences Center will see the signs, claim the cat is theirs and take it back to LSUHSC to do live experimentation. I am not making this up.
They have not been allowed to give this cat a name. After all, Emily is out there somewhere. I've been semi-twittering about this by mentioning the cat in my Facebook status, and today I got a friend request from someone down the street whose neighbor is missing a cat. Did the internet relieve Emily's emotional pain? No. The description of the cat offered by my newest Facebook friend isn't even close.
This is why I am not allowed to show you the cat. As the thinking goes, anyone who reads the blog could claim the cat by describing it from a photo posted here. This tells you everything you need to know about the intentions of the other people in this house. The little thing is skinny and it didn't have a collar. It has been said more than once that cats adopt families, so maybe we've been chosen.
If Emily doesn't surface soon, I have another mouth to feed, another vet bill to pay and more pet hair. The population of this house is supposed to be getting smaller as the kids get older. Instead, it seems to be going in the opposite direction.
The other people here are sick of my Emily speech, so now I just drop a random sigh and say, "poor Emily." My declarations are now falling on deaf ears.
Emily, wherever you are, break out the magic markers.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Shiver Me Timbers!
The fine folks at Fair Grounds Field are doing what they can to resurrect significant interst in minor league baseball in Shreveport. They're bringing back the name "Captains," which is cause for celebration. For a couple of seasons, the team was known as the Swamp Dragons. That flew like a frozen turkey. When that franchise moved away, another one came to town and went way back in history to grab the name "Sports," which did very little except confuse people.
So now, with an updated logo and a mascot that looks more like a pirate than a riverboat captain, here we go again. 
You can take that a couple of ways. The whole Pirate thing was done in the 1990's when the Candian Football League had a team (The Pirates) in Shreveport for two seasons. It was great fun and nobody disliked the logo, so maybe this new incarnation of baseball branding homogenizes the two.
Personally, I'm rooting for this to make a difference. Some of the happiest days of my life have been spent inside that ballpark, especially when the old Captains were prominent. In fact, in 1987, we took our wedding guests to a game so we could relax and enjoy one another's company.
A lot of people are saying "it's about time" on this move. The club's ownership had an "aha!" moment in 2008 when they did a "turn back the clock night," featuring throwback uniforms. They threw back to the Captains and it was their best-attended game of the season.
Oh, and for the record: they're hoping to tie in both communities by expanding the name to "Shreveport-Bossier Captains." Both mayors spoke at the announcement. Hey, it can't hurt.
It seems that people really don't care about the quality of baseball. Winning makes a difference in attendance for the other minor pro franchises in town. It's just more fun if you win Arena Football or hockey games, but baseball is a different kind of experience. Maybe just feeling good about the team's image will help.
Let's hope so.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Awkardness and Frustration
I have an elderly father, which has come to mean frequent trips with him to doctors' offices. I don't mind that part so much. It comes with the territory. Having spent an extraordinary amout of time in physicians' waiting areas recently, I have become acutely aware of a circumstance that I just can't reconcile.
People talk about their problems in these settings, strangers and eavesdroppers be damned. Throw in an old guy who just can't hear and it becomes almost ubearable for me.
On our most recent trip to the doctor, I met my father in the common area some time after he had arrived for his appointment. I asked him how long he had been waiting. He said almost an hour. I asked him, "Do you know if the doctor is even here?"
He didn't understand me. Four times, I repeated the question. There were people all around us. He still didn't hear me, although everyone else did. Heck, people in the room across the hall heard me. Not fifteen seconds after the fourth attempt to get a simple yes or no answer, an office nurse came out to assure me the doctor was indeed in the building. Innocent small talk had become something of a scene, and I was just plain embarrassed.
I suppose I shouldn't be. Sitting around there, I learned about some lady's sciatica, another one's apnea and a man's Parkinson's. I don't want to know their business, and they were not speaking to me. But they were speaking to people with them and that's a pretty wide open space. As we learned, sound carries. Even more than I don't want to know their business, I don't want them to know ours. But, like the rest of them, Dear Ol' Dad has no hesitancy whatsoever about discussing his health or just about anything else in a room full of strangers. I just don't get it.
Why can't we just sit there and read or watch the TV they provide and wait our turn? I don't mind making small talk, providing you can make it within the framework of common manners and not be forced by circumstance to shove it down other people's throats. Doctors' waiting rooms have become the most awkward psuedo-semisocial settings in my life.
There should be rules:
1. If you're going to have some kind of public conversation in this space, confine it to something of widepsread interest like the weather or LSU football.
2. Don't presume you know something about my particular health issue. You didn't go to medical school.
3. If you must speak in the common area about your personal issues, keep your voice down so that only people in a one-person arc with its midpoint being your face can hear you.
4. You are under stress. We are under stress. Otherwise we wouldn't be at the doctor. This is all the more reason for you to keep it light.
Okay, I know this sounds harsh. I'm venting and confessing here. Believe it or not, in that context I just want to kind of walk in, not call attention to myself, get my personal business done and get out of there. I wish everybody else was the same way. If we want to talk about our problems, we can go grab a cup of coffee or something after the appointment. Is that too much to ask?
Friday, January 02, 2009
Leftovers from The Road
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We spent about twenty hours on highways in five states this week. Road kill was abundant. I saw a fox and a small bear on the side of the road in addition to the usual deer, armadillos and raccoons.
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I've concluded that Burger King has surrendered its standards. I've stopped in Burger King restaurants in three states over the last month. All of them were alarmingly dirty and the quality of the food and service has dropped precipitously. Given the starting point, that's saying something. Burger King, which I once really enjoyed, is dangerously close to becoming a last resort for me.
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A moment from the Vanderbilt tour which confused me: a parent asked the tour guide about intercollegiate sports. The guide patiently explained that Vanderbilt has 16 sports and competes in the Southeastern Conference. If you don't care about sports, that's one thing; but if you are interested enough to ask about it, how can you not know that Vanderbilt is in the SEC?
Besides, earlier the presenter has asked for a show of hands from people who planned to go to the bowl game. How did the guy miss all that?
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At breakfast the day of the game, some people in line were talking about the number of people wearing Vanderbilt gear. We were staying in the official alumni hotel. One lady asked where the game was being played. Another said, "I guess at Dudley Field..." which is Vandy's on-campus stadium. This was incorrect, because the game was in fact being played at the NFL stadium in town. Again, how can you not know that? I actually didn't say anything to them. I wonder what that lady thought when she showed up to an empty stadium that afternoon.
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On the way home, we saw Kentucky and East Carolina fans driving into Memphis for the Liberty Bowl. Cars were decorated and flags were flying. College football is just a lot of fun.
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