Herman the Wonder Chicken

I'm not sure what inspired me to want to take Herman (a cement chicken) with me to New Haven for Freshman year at Yale. I actually wasn't brave enough to do it first thing in the fall, but I decided clearly enough that I wanted him that brother Dunn had to carry him through Laguardia Airport in the fall of 83. Good thing that was before the security they have in airports today, because I am sure Herman would not have made it through the carry ons.

This was the trip where upon arrival at the Old Campus, my whole family was looking for me (don't know why TGP didn't know where Phelps Hall was). They ran into Tom Fahsbender (I would love to contact him any yalies that know where he is let me know), fellow freshman, who happened to be in Calhoun College and knew me. Therefore, when TGP said "Do you know Eben Hollingsworth?", Tom was able to answer "You can't be his family, you all have shoes on". (As per the newspaper picture from 1979, I frequently did not wear shoes, even in that northern clime).


What does one do at Yale with a watch chicken, you may ask. We used him as a door stop and decoration, and the roomies were surprising tolerant (probably just thinking this was a southern thing) for all four years. I still don't know what Lo-Babe was doing with the towel in the picture.


Kim told me later on that he and sister Sophia actually lifted that cement chicken from a friend's lawn in Georgetown one night. I didn't know how it first appeared at Millstream but never thought to ask for years.

The saddest part of the Herman story is that I did not send him home after graduation. Herself claims now that she wanted to keep Herman and I refused to bring him home. I don't remember it that way, but then again, it's been over 25 years. I guess I didn't really see a concrete chicken as part of our married decorating scheme, so Herman stayed in the squash court storage in the basement of Calhoun College in May 1983. Hopefully, some underclassman put him to work the next fall. MA thinks someone probably threw him off of the balcony pictured here in the fall of 1983.

Surprisingly, years later, she wanted some homage to Herman. The chicken we bought in Pinehurst seems a pale comparison.

Gasoline

We had a small scale gasoline crisis in the ATL a couple of weeks back. After supper one night two weeks ago, we loaded up the dogs and the four of us spent 30 minutes in line at the local Shell station so we could get filled up. If you looked at the national gas price map, you would have seen that Atlanta was the darkest kind of red. The price has dropped a dollar a gallon since then, but everyone is still of a mind to make sure every drop counts.

I was listening to Click and Clack on NPR in August, and they got a call from a woman who lifted up the gas hose to empty the last few drops into her tank after she shut off the fuel pump. As you would expect, Tom and Ray mocked her severely. She was even forced to admit that her 16 year old son refused to follow her lead and raise the hose. Upon further inquiry, the Magliozzi brothers found out that her father had taught her the trick about lifting the gas hose.

I learned a lot about driving from TGP. He did a lot of random honking of the horn to keep rabbits out of the road. When queried as to the efficacy of that, the answer was always "You don't see any rabbits, do you?". There was also his axiom that once cruise control was set, it should never be broken. Muv's sucking in air through her teeth was not enough to provoke a slow down, whether for an off-ramp that really shouldn't be taken at 55 or a driver ahead of us that didn't understand his car needed to move back to the right lane.

The most lasting lesson Pha taught was that you should shake your car after the gas pump turns itself off so that the gas settles in the tank, making more room so you can top off the tank. You have to grab the car high on the back side and push and pull to rock it back and forth. It was probably an interesting sensation for those still in the vehicle. I persisted for years even over the protests of herself and wonderment of both girls. It was only when Helen and Jenny went on a long trip with MA and she told them stories about me that the teasing became too much to overcome and I had to stop. Not that I ever really got that much more gas in the car after shaking it, but it was a habit. Even so, I was able to stop cold turkey, and don't even do it on the sly when I am alone filling the car.

I really didn't get back at Helen until I showed her Scout's AKC registration. Our Welsh Terrier's official name is Helen Scout Poole.


In the end, watch your habits, because you never know which ones your children are going to pick up. At least teach them some good ones.

Managing Maxine

Herself and I went to the Alliance Theatre yesterday afternoon to see Managing Maxine. This production is the world premiere of a work written by Atlanta's own Janece Shaffer. We enjoyed dinner with Janece and her husband in August, and it was a great pleasure to see the finished work after hearing about its origin and evolution. I do not agree with the AJC's tepid review, and would encourage anyone in town to see this show.

The show is full of well painted personalities. It is multi-generational, but the truths about relationships cross all age barriers. I believe that Janece wanted us to leave the theatre more in love with our spouse and believing more in the possibilities of love, and she accomplished that. MA & I agreed that the whole show was really about acceptance. Once a couple truly accepts each other, they can have real intimacy.

The set was open, portraying the living spaces of three of the characters and the lighting was used to move from scene to scene. It worked well as we followed conversations between daughter and mother while seeing both.

The cell phone usage and conversational speech gave a very genuine feel to the entire production. We heard the actors in AfterTalk after the show and they talked about how their own experiences contributed to their performances. We felt that during the show.

We laughed and we cried; what more can you ask for from a couple of hours in the dark?

Sparky's ears, the sequel

Scottish Terrier puppy ears are fascinating to me, even if not to anyone else. After working at it so hard, Sparky got both ears up, as noted on the post from 9/20. Shortly after that post, as if to question my journalistic integrity, the right ear remained up, but the left one went down. Watch the ears from several angles:


This week, his ears are back up, presumably for good.




Lest we forget Helen Scout, the two of them continue to get along very well:


And finally, just because I am enjoying the pictures, remember the debate in the late 19th century about whether all four legs of a race horse were in the air at the same time. They used photographs to settle the question (they are). Scout's legs are also all in the air at the same time:

I Love Technology

The first half of this was written on 9/25, as I waited for Delta for 3 extra hours to get home after a conference in Canton, MA. The title, of course, comes from Kip's song (after the credits) in Napoleon Dynamite.

I'm stuck in Logan Airport with an hour to kill before my flight. Logan advertises their WiFi all over the airport, but I'm too cheap to pay the $10 per day for an hour's benefit to get access to the net. Unfortunately, all my story ideas are on my Google Docs. It's so rare these days to not have access to the net that leaving my story ideas there seemed perfect – I could get to them from whatever computer I was using.

The Legal Seafood test kitchen at Logan has, as always, a great clam chowder. The lobster roll isn't bad either.

What does ubiquitous connection to the net really mean? Google is betting that it means having all your data in the cloud is the technology of the future. As I use more and more different computers (2 desktops and 2 laptops at home, plus a work laptop), it's easier to imagine not caring which machine I'm on. My daughters' generation assumes it; they have never used an email client that stored the messages on their local hard drive.

Having all my data on the cloud reminds me of when daughter Eleanor first became vaguely aware of the telephone. She assumed that our home number in Mt. Pleasant would follow us when we went to a friend's house. Before she reached adulthood, that was her reality. The dorm freshman year included a land line; I don't think she ever gave out that number. She certainly never checked the old-fashioned answering machine I attached to it. The cell phone in my pocket is now the best way to reach me also.

As I review my airport ramblings towards the end of the next week, it's clear that the theme I was trying to get to while stuck at Logan is the evolution of technology to meet at least some of our expectations. Eleanor expects her phone number to follow her and eventually that's exactly the way it works. I have always thought we should have a cashless society. Clearly, I was ahead of my time.

In 1984, six months after our nuptials, I was on my first business trip. NDC was selling its pharmacy system to Rite-Aid and somehow I was sent to a 2 day meeting in nowhere Pennsylvania. It took one day more than expected to close the deal, so I extended my trip. That meant that I used the last of my cash in Washington National airport as I changed planes on the way home. I spent $10 in 1984 dollars for an unappetizing hot dog. I arrived at Hartsfield about 10pm. I recognized my dilemma immediately in that my VW Rabbit was in the parking lot and I didn't have the cash to get it out. There were no ATMs at the Airport. The ticket counters were closed, so no one could cash a check for me. The worst part is that I spent an hour looking around to try to find some way to fix my problem by myself. By the time I called my bride about 11pm, our friend Kim had just left the house after giving up on waiting for my return. MA had to go to the ATM on Jimmy Carter Blvd (a sketchy place even then), and then drive 20+ miles to the airport. That's an awful lot to ask from a 22 year old girl raised in small town SC, especially very late at night. When I saw the maroon Renault Alliance approach the drop-off point on the airport road, I was thrilled. Herself, clearly less so. She stopped and I opened the door. She threw a 20 dollar bill on the passenger seat. I grabbed it and she sped off quickly enough that the door closed on its own. It was a long drive up I-85 to the Treehouse apartments.

Today, the parking ticket machines inside the terminal don't even take cash to pre-pay before leaving ATL; they only take credit cards.

I love technology.