Found

I found this in a notebook that hasn't been used for a few years. They're notes on a dream I had, hastily scribbled before it faded completely from memory.

I was in an auditorium. There were sets of three seats. I was there to take an exam, I think. I came with a friend, and for some reason he was involved with administering the test.

I sat next to a woman who I got to know. All I remember is flirting with her, I don't remember doing whatever it is I was there to do. She was two years yonger than me.

I know her first name is "Elizabeth," but I don't recall her last name, only that it had something to do with old wealth. I don't even know if she came from old wealth, only that this was her family name.

Later, I sought help in remembering the name. It wasn't "Rockefeller." It might have been "Vanderbilt," but that doesn't sound right. I can't remember.

And now, I wonder if I ever did catch the name in the dream, or if it will forever elude me.

Live Blog: Snapple Taste Test

Remember I mentioned that Snapple would be redesigning its' packaging and replacing corn syrup with real sugar as a sweetener? The new bottles (and new beverages) have now appeared.

I thought it might be interesting to compare the new with the old, before the old disappears completely from store shelves. (It just about has — I had to use a large, 32 oz. plastic bottle of old Snapple, as that was all I could find.) This won't be the first time I've tried the new Snapple, though (sorry, I haven't been able to resist it), so this might not be a completely scientific comparison. But ever in pursuit of truth, we begin.

9:49 AM — The two glasses of Snapple have been prepared, one old, one new. I've marked the glasses, so I know which is which, but the details are hidden from view. It looks as though I'm going to have to do this as a real blind test, after all — the older tea is just slightly, but obviously darker.

9:53 AM — So here we go. I'm going to close my eyes, rearrange the glasses a few times, and cover them.

9:55 AM — The first sample tastes, well, like Snapple Iced tea.

9:56 AM — The second sample is noticeably different. I'm having trouble defining why, but in comparison, it definitely seems sweeter.

9:57 AM — I definitely prefer the first sample. It seems more subtle. I think I only really notice it in comparison, but the sweetness quickly becomes overwhelming in sample two.

9:58 AM — There's something in the second sample that smells different, as well. I'm not sure what it is — a fruit scent? Or a tea scent?

9:59 AM — The reveal: Sample One is the new, with sugar. Sample Two is the old, with high fructose corn syrup. Other than that, the ingredients seem to be the same (though with a description like "Natural Flavors," there's no way to know).

I still wonder if there's a difference between the tea bottled in glass or in plastic, or in the larger container — that darker color leads me to wonder if it wasn't a more concentrated infusion, somehow. (I'll have to see if I can find a bottle of old Snapple, hidden away in the corner of a refrigerator case and forgotten.) But I did prefer the tea sweetened with sugar. That sort of confirms what I've read about corn syrup through the years, that it tastes sweeter than sugar. I've just never noticed it.

Off

The book came in at 532 pages (though the final page count will be determined by the Index). I'm taking the afternoon off.

Due Diligence

I've been working tenaciously for the past few days on a large book project, with a (mostly) self-imposed deadline. I'll sit down at the computer in the morning, almost as soon as I can get my six-year-old on the bus, and work straight through to the afternoon, when I pick him up from school — inevitably, a few minutes late. Then I'll return in the evening and spend several more hours working, past a sensible dinner, long past any sensible bedtime.

I do my best, with the hope that when I return to look over what I've done the next morning it doesn't look like I've put together the first design draft of a 500-page book during the course of only two or three days.

The lack of sleep is making it increasingly difficult for me to get started so early, though, and procrastination begins to set in. (And blog posting.)

Book Learning

I started reading to my son the day we came home from the hospital. I have a vivid memory of sitting with him, no more than three days old, reading Harold and The Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson. We read the three other books in the series, as well, and that seemed to reawaken the vague memory of a book I loved when I was a child ― Gus Was A Friendly Ghost. (I had thought, for some reason it was also by Crockett Johnson. As I said, it was a vague memory.) I bought a copy from a used book dealer, and it turned out to be exactly the same edition (from 1963!) as the one I remembered. I don't think my son ever enjoyed the book as much as I enjoyed the nostalgia, but there would be many, many others..

We read together in the afternoon, to settle him down for his nap. We read a great deal of Dr. Seuss — I had acquired those books years ago, long before he was born, and I'm proud to say that they have been so thoroughly enjoyed that they've just about fallen apart. And there was a time where I had The Poky Little Puppy committed to memory (if he was just about to fall asleep, but not quite there, I'd quietly, surreptitiously begin the story again once we reached the end).

When he was old to enough to express a preference, we'd often read Richard Scarry's Cars And Trucks And Things That Go, and share the endless search for Goldbug.

My wife tends to read with him more than I do, these days (to my regret), but there are still a few books (like Dr. Seuss's The Lorax, The Dumb Bunnies and the endlessly amusing Walter The Farting Dog) that he insists only I read.

My son's school has been trying various programs to encourage kids to read (and parents to read with their kids), but I'm not sure how well it's been working. There have been a number of different methods to encourage participation ― first, we were asked to keep a list of books that were read together. Then, we were asked to check boxes on a small card. Now, we're being asked nothing more than to scribble our initials on a series of coupons, and return them each week by a date that's clearly noted. It couldn't be easier. Yet I still see notes from the teacher, two, perhaps three times a week, reminders that students (or parents) aren't participating. It's disappointing.

Pyrexia

I think I'm suffering from Spring Fever — though I suppose I couldn't honestly call it suffering!

The Guiding Light

I don't think I've watched, really watched Guiding Light in twenty five years — perhaps longer. (I first saw it in November, 1979, a fact I know only because the show expanded from a half-hour to an hour two or three days after I started watching.) I'm not even sure I followed it for all that long when I did — but it seems to have left an indelible impression with me.

I've seen a few minutes, here and there, in the years since (I was always surprised when I'd recognize an actor still with the series), but I've never had the time to return, and anyway, it was never the same as I remembered. Last year, the series largely abandoned the traditional studio to shoot primarily on location with handheld cameras, ostensibly to "reinvent" the format, though more likely with the hope of reducing production costs. It may be the same series, though in name only — several older cast members have been dropped (also to reduce costs), and I hardly recognize anyone. The jittery camera work just seems distracting.

Still, I was sort of disappointed to learn that the series would be ending in September, after a remarkable fifty-seven years on television, beginning in 1952. (The radio series ran from 1937 to 1956.)

I've always had a weakness for a serialized story — they seem to be more fun than most, somehow. I was never really aware of it while watching, but Guiding Light followed many of the same characters over the course of thirty or forty years. When I went back years later and read summaries of the stories that ran through different decades, I was surprised to discover that characters I remembered as adults had been introduced as children, often only a few years before. (They don't age in real time, of course, and it's the characters who remain, not the actors — though there have been a handful of actors who played the same roles for twenty or thirty years, first on radio, than television.)

I never realized the show had woven such a rich tapestry. I often wonder if this was a conscious attempt to appeal to the audience that had been following for so many years, or if it was driven by the practical demands of having to produce so much story material (more than 250 episodes each year).

I've been listening to recordings of radio episodes as I write this, probably from the late 1940s or early 1950s (I'm not sure). They're great fun — charmingly melodramatic, occasionally overwrought. In the episode I'm listening to now, a young boy is reluctant to confess his fear of boxing (boxing?) to his overbearing Father — while his mother's restless sleep is disturbed by strange, foreboding nightmares of her son's impending doom! In the episode that follows, she continues to feel unsettled: "I keep waiting for something. I don't know what. Something that might happen. Not to me — but to Chuckie."

At the end of that episode, the narrator reminds her (and us): "Have you forgotten your dream? You're not going to forget your fear. It will be with you — for months to come."

(I've no idea how long that story was drawn out, but according to this Wikipedia entry, radio listeners were given the opportunity to decide if the character would be found guilty of murdering her ex-husband, "who had let their young son Chuckie die in a freak boxing accident.")

I've seen a handful of older television episodes, as well, most from the 1960s. The stories seem to proceed at a leisurely pace, and nothing much seems to happen, though that may just be the particular episodes I've seen. I would never have imagined that in 1958, for example, a character was killed when "bicycling children accidentally pushed her wheelchair into oncoming traffic." (CBS was inundated with mail.)

Just reading the summaries can be very entertaining — particularly once you get into the 1970s, where the cast grows exponentially, the stories become more complex and the descriptions get into greater detail. (The names of several female characters grow ever longer, with marriage, remarriage, and divorce.)

I wish there were more episodes available to watch from the era I remember. (Most everything seems to date from long before or long after the early 1980s.) Though I must admit to some curiosity when I read this, about characters I remember from years before:

"Reva, who was believed to be dead a second time, was cloned at the request of her grieving husband Josh. When Reva was found alive, the lonely clone (named Dolly, like the sheep) committed suicide by drinking too much aging serum. As she lay on her death bed (actually a couch), Josh fumbled with a cure that would have reversed the effects of the aging serum. Unfortunately, he dropped it behind the couch and it was too late to save Dolly. This dreadful plot alienated erudite, intelligent viewers, and forever decimated the integrity of a once-intelligent, honored series. Worse, it was preceded and then followed by other ridiculous stories that usually featured the over-used and burned-out character of Reva, such as Reva The Ghost, Reva The Clone, Reva The Amish Amnesiac, Reva The San Cristobelian Queen, Reva the Time Traveller."

(I never imagined the audience for a soap opera would be described as "erudite.")

Perhaps it's just as well I was only able to watch Guiding Light for a brief time. Even then, there were numerous examples of outrageous soap opera misfortune — sudden, inexplicable blindness, characters presumed dead returning to life, multiple personality disorder, that sort of stuff — but nothing so extreme as science gone horribly wrong (and no Amish amnesiacs).

Earth Day

As today is Earth Day, I think I'll try to find a way to keep one of my cats from repeatedly sitting on the button that causes the Laser Printer to reprint several unnecessary copies of already-printed pages.

(At least it's recycled paper.)

Kinescope

I've spent the (otherwise dreary) day working on a new book project. This was the perfect excuse to buy a new font, one that ought to suit the design especially well. I probably have a million-and-one other fonts I could have used, but none seemed to have those particular qualities I had in mind, and besides, I've been waiting for good reason to buy this one. (I like to support small font vendors — in another life, long, long ago, I did a bit of that work, and I understand just how much effort goes into it.)

The Age Of Persuasion

I need another Podcast I'll enjoy listening to like — well, let's just say my beloved, well-travelled iPod Nano is at that point where I'm frequently having to find creative ways to accommodate everything. And so, it is with a small degree of resignation that I have just today discovered The Age of Persuasion from CBC Radio, a fascinating weekly series about the many ways that advertising and marketing reach into our lives.

(You can listen on the program's web site. It isn't officially distributed as a Podcast yet, for various legal reasons, but it is available just the same, through a few different sources.)

It's an engaging half-hour, immaculately polished, though in a way that occasionally sounds a bit too similar to the material that's being explored (which isn't much of a surprise, really, as the people who have devised the series come from a background in radio advertising), but one that I found completely engrossing. It won't be of interest to everyone, I'm sure — but I am of the belief that it's better to be an educated consumer of media, and this is a fine place to begin.

(And did I mention the catchy theme tune? I can't seem to get it out of my head.)

Library

I got into a conversation with someone, not too long ago, about the relative merits of the Google Books program, and that led to me going to the site for a look at the books I had published. I made limited previews available, ages ago (that means several, though not all of the pages are available for viewing), with the idea that it might somehow increase sales. To be honest, I've no idea if that ever happened, but I have no regrets about having done so.

One feature that's been added since the last time I checked the site (which was also ages ago) is the ability to locate a physical copy of the book in a library. It was a genuine thrill to discover that copies of one of the books that I published ― the books that I published! ― are actually available in a real library! That makes me particularly proud.

(The library that's closest is 119 miles away. I may go and have a look one day.)

Kinda Blue

The Blue Jays seem to have disappeared. They're not the nicest of birds, and they're certainly not the quietest, but I've grown accustomed to seeing (and hearing) them, and their absence is keenly felt. I've read that they tend to maintain a low profile during the mating and nesting that takes place in Spring — but in the ten years we've been here, I cannot recall the sense that they had completely vanished.

Route 23

Wander along any route long enough, follow those winding back roads only to see where they lead, and eventually, inevitably, you'll find just what it is you're looking for.

Novel

I'm taking on a rather large responsibility behind-the-scenes for a new business venture I've become involved in. (I suppose I could use recognizable buzzwords like "payment processing" and "virtual terminal," but they probably wouldn't mean all that much to most of the people who read this.) This, despite the fact that I've never done anything of this sort before, and I'm almost completely unprepared for it. But why should that stand in my way? I always enjoy the opportunity to learn something new, and I appreciate a technical challenge — particularly one that shouldn't require too much more than reading up and familiarizing myself with the details. I'm flushed with foolish confidence, anxious to begin.

It will require a clear head and time to study those details, though, both of which have been in limited supply. We'll see what the day brings.

April 15

You know, I almost became one of those people who waits for the very last minute to file their tax forms. Granted, it did take months for me to get the appropriate paperwork together, but completed forms arrived from the accountant at least a week ago. If that hadn't happened during the chaos and bacchanalia of spring break, I would have given them more than a cursory glance, instead of setting them on the pile of paperwork to be attended to at some unspecified date, and I wouldn't have completely overlooked the forms I was required to sign before everything could be filed electronically.

I dropped them off yesterday afternoon. I suppose I could have put it off for one more day, to be able to say proudly that I waited for the very last minute — but I'm anxious to get my refund.

Out

I think I'll take the morning off. (Or part of it, at least.)

Tara

I'm watching Gone With The Wind this evening. (I only have a few minutes during the Intermission, so this will have to be brief.) I've seen the film before, and of course I remember all of the scenes that are familiar to most everyone, but it's been probably twenty-five years since — so it's almost as if I'm discovering it for the very first time.

(I find myself unsettled, though, at the thought that twenty-five years have somehow passed.)

I'm Confused.

Over the weekend, there was considerable hew and cry over Amazon.com's apparent removal of the sales rankings from books they consider to be "adult content" (which included many gay- and lesbian-themed books). Hysterical, indignant complaints were made that this would have the effect of making these books impossible to find through the basic search functions available at Amazon.com’s website (and that did happen, briefly), but it took all of ten seconds (and a search for Lady Chatterly’s Lover) to discover that you shouldn't necessarily believe every hysterical, indignant complaint you read. The company claimed this was all in error (and not, in fact, limited to gay- and lesbian-themed titles), and that steps were being taken to address the issue, though that explanation was widely regarded as inadequate.

Apparently, this has been going on for months, though nobody ― except for the authors who follow their own Amazon.com sales rankings ― seemed to notice. (I used to obsessively follow the sales rankings of the books that I published, but I got bored with that and gave up after about two weeks.)

Now, someone has made the claim that, by exploiting a weakness in Amazon's systems, where a small number of complaints can have a disproportionately large impact, he was able to cause virtually every gay- and lesbian-themed book available to be marked as "inappropriate content." Amazon still claims responsibility for the problem, though the option to report inappropriate content seems to have been removed (at least, I can't seem to find it).

I agree that there are issues here worth discussing ― I just don't have much patience for the predictable (and predictably premature) calls for boycotts and furious waving of Internet torches and pitchforks.

All That Glitters

Someone suggested an intriguing possibility that I hadn't ever thought of (something, I will admit, that is probably of more interest to me than most of the people who will read this) ― the metallic gold ink used in printing might begin to tarnish with age!

I'd never heard of such a phenomenon before, but a cursory Google search did yield a document that refers to metallic ink "tarnishing due to contact with atmospheric pollutants, acids, alkalis etc." (Apparently, Pantone metallic inks have to be handled and stored much more carefully because of this.) I suspect what happens is as the paper has ages, the pH changes (it probably becomes more acidic with time), and this is the inevitable result.

Then again, I've seen several copies of a book published in 1948 that had significant gold detail on the dust jacket, and none of them displayed any evidence of this sort of problem. Granted, that was about 15 years before Pantone inks were introduced (I'm not sure when Pantone's metallic inks were first used), but I would imagine the underlying composition of the ink is more or less the same.

My (very) small publishing company reissued this book as a replica of the original edition, a few years ago. I wonder if my edition will have that same longevity?

The World's Biggest Dump Truck

One of my son's favorite toys over the past several years has been something we have (both) taken to referring to as "The World's Biggest Dump Truck." It's a simple and reasonably inexpensive toy (you can find them at Target), but it's enormous ― to a toddler it must seem like the biggest and most fun toy imaginable.

While my son was attending preschool, there was a small park nearby he liked to visit in the afternoon. The World's Biggest Dump Truck was a favorite toy to bring there, though it inevitably attracted the attention of virtually any toddler that came within sight of it, and one of them would usually run off with it if it were left unattended for more than fifteen seconds. (Thus, my son learned difficult and unpleasant lessons about sharing his toys.)

We eventually bought a second World's Biggest Dump Truck and quietly left it in the park for all to play with. It was well and truly enjoyed ― I recall having to bring it home at least once to repair a wheel that had fallen off.

My son still plays with his World's Biggest Dump Truck. Or he did, at least ― before I backed the car over it when it was mistakenly left in the driveway several months ago. I promised him we'd buy another, and I suggested we also buy another for the park — that was what we did this morning. (He was eager to explain to anyone who would listen that this was "The World's Biggest Dump Truck," and why we were buying two of them.)

We dropped it off at the park this afternoon. It was a cloudy, dull day, and unseasonably cool, so there weren't too many kids about ― but the moment we arrived with The World's Biggest Dump Truck, every toddler there wanted to play with it, a fact that did not go unnoticed by my son. ("We should have bought two World's Biggest Dump Trucks!" he said to me.) By the time we left, a two-year-old was happily pushing it all around the park.

Sweatshirt

One of my very favorite things in all the world was a sweatshirt ― one that came into my life with an old girlfriend, and stayed with me long after she left. It was a dark, cranberry red, almost the color of wine, and it was, without a doubt, the most comfortable piece of clothing I've ever owned, or probably ever will own. It was a woman's sweatshirt, but I couldn't have cared less (and anyway, it wasn't all that obvious). I had taken to wearing it while the former owner and I were still together, and for whatever reason (I can't remember why), it was left for me. Either that, or she just never noticed that I had taken it.

I couldn't begin to tell you why it felt so comfortable ― I have no idea. I never examined it too closely, as that might have spoiled the mystique.

(When I catch a cold, my preferred method of treatment is to bundle myself up and sleep under several layers of blankets and quilts ― I wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, but with my fever broken, and I usually feel much better the next day. I would always, inevitably, wear this particular sweatshirt ― it was my magic talisman.)

I would wear this sweatshirt for years, long after those years began to show, for as long as I possibly could ― before it finally dissolved into nothingness. I've never been able to replace it.

I had hopes for another sweatshirt from, of all places, the Victoria's Secret catalog ― my wife had spotted something she thought might be reasonably similar, and they were on sale, so I chose one that was a sort of grey blue green (if you can imagine that). I've been wearing it off and on over the past several days, while working. It's loose-fitting, perhaps a bit too open around the neck, but comfortable. But it just isn't the same.

Responsibilities Include

Today's mail brought with it a complimentary copy of the trade magazine Security Management. (This month, there are articles on animal rights extremists, hotel security, and stalking, among other topics.) It came addressed to me as the "Security Director" of my small business.

If I'm going to ask me to take on additional work, I'm going to walk right into my office and demand an increase in my salary from myself.

The Dot and The Line

I've recently introduced my six-year-old to one of my very favorite cartoons (and books): The Dot and The Line: A Romance in Lower Mathematics. It's the delightful tale of a straight line who longs to win the love of a high-spirited dot; but she finds the line to be dull, and conventional, and instead turns her affections toward a wild and unkempt squiggle. Based on the book by Norman Juster, Directed by Chuck Jones and released by MGM in 1965, it went on to win the Academy Award for Best Animated Short Film for that year. You can watch it here.

(My son seemed to enjoy it, more than I thought he might — it's gentle humor, much more whimsical and clever than funny.)

I have a copy of the original edition of the book, published in 1963, somewhere in the attic — it's been reissued once or twice in the years since, but none of the later versions seem to have the charm of the original (on which the animated version were based), not to mention the distinctive and wonderful typography and design of that era.

Spring

April First

For me, nothing quite captures the spirit of April Fool's Day like having a six-year-old tell you (repeatedly) that there's a frog on your head. (When I dropped him off at school this morning, I heard my son play the same prank on his teacher.)