Periscope Depth » weather

into the arms of america

Professor Coldheart — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 11:00:04 +0000

You know you’ve been working too hard when you get more excited about the errands you’ll run on your day off than the parties you’ll attend. Which is how Friday started: running to the bank for quarters, starting a load of laundry, picking up fifty dollars in dry cleaning (one suit, three pants, two button shirts, three polo shirts), swapping a load of laundry, going to the library, whoops!, strike that, library’s closed on the 3rd of July, mailed a package at the post office, got my laundry. Made a very light lunch.

Then I went to Joanna’s annual Independence Day barbecue – a day early, but we all had the day off, or took it – just ahead of some rain clouds. They followed me all the way to Porter Square, no matter how fast I walked. I came in on a foursquare game that was just wrapping up and Joanna’s roommate Matt stringing an impromptu tarp over the grill, lashed between the fire escape and one of the fences. Some of us hung out inside and drank, listening to Serpico talk about parties in Jersey, until the rain let up. I had a few hot dogs, Katie S’s brother (never did catch his first name) confused me with Robert Parish (“CHIEEEF” he yelled, once or twice), Sylvia stole my camera and we ran out of peanut butter cups but hey, it’s okay with me.

Ended up at 90s Night, as always. I picked Meghan O’ up from the bar at ImprovBoston, having a beer and chatting up the night staff. The Harold show let out a little after 10:30, so I said hi to cast and audience. As such, we got to Allston later than I might have liked and ended up waiting in line. DJ Phatmike couldn’t do anything for us – the cops were out in force for the long weekend, and headcount was tight – but the queue moved at a reasonable clip. I met Flannery’s mythical husband Nate and her friend Martha, and I didn’t miss “Flagpole Sitta,” and I never have a bad time there anyway.

And that’s just Friday. Did I mention the weather was gorgeous?

Tagged: 90s night, boston celtics, improvboston, weather

it longs to kill you; are you willing to die

Professor Coldheart — Thu, 07 May 2009 13:08:36 +0000

Allergies have struck back with a vengeance in the last forty-eight hours. Itchy eyes, congested nose, gravelly thick voice. Things got so bad this morning that I took one of my jealously hoarded pseudoephedrine.

I have given up trying to predict allergy reactions based on the weather. Two Saturdays ago, the weather was sunny, 80 degrees and breezy; I felt fine. This week it’s been rainy and in the 50s and I’ve been miserable.

So forget the weather report. Forget the pollen count. A decade in Boston has taught me plenty. If I can make it through Memorial Day, I’ll be fine.

Tagged: allergies, health, weather

iceland part two

Professor Coldheart — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 11:00:15 +0000

General impressions of Reykjavik:

More Like NIceland: Everyone I met in Reykjavik was cordial. Not quite friendly and outgoing, the way you’d get in the American South, but civil and helpful. Mix a laidback eagerness to please with the inherent stoicism that comes from any cold-weather climate, and you get an Icelander. I stumbled stepping off a curb and a complete stranger asked, “You okay?” The cute blonde at the coffee shop rattled off a list of suggestions when I asked for a good place to go dancing. One in three cars I saw on the street had all its doors unlocked. And everyone speaks English.

At least once a day. Every day. Just like this.
Weather: Every day, you’d get 45 to 90 minutes worth of blizzard. Then the sun would come out. Then it would rain – sometimes light spitting, sometimes a steady downpour. Then overcast. Then sun. Then, perhaps, more snow. You get odd little patterns like these when you live between the North Atlantic and the world’s quota of glaciers.
Food. Pricey. Everything on Iceland other than fish, lamb, hot water and light beer needs to be imported. Since I didn’t fly three thousand miles to experience Reykjavik’s notion of a cheeseburger, I ate seafood for most meals. Lunch on Saturday was fish and chips, and the fish had that sinus-filling freshness that suggested they’d been in the sea the other day. Saturday dinner: plokkfiskur at a restaurant called Boston – a fish “stew” that’s served like a plate of mashed potatoes.

I asked the waitress at Cafe Paris what the fish of the day was for lunch on Sunday. She looked up for a moment, searching for words in her head. “Hot dog,” she replied, in the heaviest accent I heard that weekend.

“No, sorry – the fish of the day.”

She nodded, turning to double-check on the chalkboard at the front of the restaurant. I followed her gaze. “Had-dock” was, indeed, the fish of the day.

Iceland just can't get enough of these above-average hot dogs.
Actual Hot Dog: Apparently, hot dogs (or pylsur) are a big deal in Iceland. I saw the longest line that I saw for any establishment – including the nightclubs I visited on Saturday – outside a one-man hot dog stand on the Reykjavik harbor. In the snow. The hot dogs taste pretty good, but the toppings make the difference. Icelanders order their pylsi with a creamy remoulade. You wouldn’t think a hot dog lacked for something sweet but it really ties the package together.
Beer: If you want to drink the local brew, know these three brands: Viking (like Budweiser, but with flavor instead of water); Gull (a bit hoppy for my taste but still solid) and Thule (which I didn’t try). These are all golden-colored lagers with hearty taste. You can also find Guinness on tap nearly everywhere.

Apotek before things heated up.
Clubs: As with other cities in Europe, the nightclub scene in Reykjavik doesn’t really start until midnight, and doesn’t really start until 2:00 AM or so. I ended up killing a lot of hours in coffeeshops until the night scene picked up. Though you have your choice of fine dancing establishments, I bounced between Cafe Paris and Apotek from midnight onward.

In Apotek, a stringy-haired elf of a man snatched a scarf off a girl and taunted her with it as she tried to grab it back. She called the bouncer, who remonstrated with the guy until finally tossing him out. The miscreant dragged his weight, clinging to a railing in the end to keep from being thrown outside.

This didn’t kill my mood, though. I danced until 4:00 AM, hopping on a bench with a bunch of strangers to lord my gangly might over the crowd. This being Europe, I recognized almost none of the songs. That never hurt me, though.
Tagged: dancing, drinking, food, iceland, weather

what’s this in my drink?

Professor Coldheart — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 12:00:52 +0000

I worked from home on Monday with Internet Inc’s permission. This was about as fun an exercise as struggling with access to a remote intranet, on a Mac, using an earlier generation of Office, can be¹. But I didn’t leave the apartment for an entire day – which is a fun exercise but, when you live in a one-room studio, a little tiring.

# # #

My work schedule has prevented me from getting to the library as often as I’d like, so I’ve broken one of the core rules of my 50 books a year plan: I’m re-reading a book. It’s a book I read within the last two years, even: Tim Powers’ Declare. In my defense, Declare is a dense enough book that it’s not as if I know exactly what’s coming on a second read-through. And I’ve been busy. And who asked you, anyway? Huh?

# # #

I’ve got another post up on Overthinking It today: Can You Hear Me Running: Thesis, Antithesis and Synthesis in the Music Videos of Mike + the Mechanics. I put far, far too much effort into turning two unrelated music videos – “Silent Running” and “All I Need is a Miracle” – into one story.

It’s not the best thing they have on the site currently, but it’s some good Overthink.

________________
¹ I know I technically didn’t need any of those commas.

Tagged: mike + the mechanics, tim powers, weather, work

’cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket

Professor Coldheart — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 12:00:02 +0000

After my haircut on Saturday, I got a hot chocolate with Dr. Grace at the Starbucks on Boylston St downtown¹. We pounced on a table near the window and people watched. “It’s such a gorgeous day out,” she observed.

“It’s supposed to snow on Sunday,” I told her.

“I heard that, but it’s turning to rain later.”

“And it’s going to snow all day Monday into Tuesday, too.”

“See,” she said, half-frowning. “This is why we only hang out once every three months.”

“Not because we’re busy?”

“No.”

# # #

I took my broken iPod to the Apple Store on Boylston St while I was there. The Genius behind the counter regretfully told me that they couldn’t do much with the 4th generation models. “If you trade it in to be recycled,” he offered, “we’ll give you 10% off a new one.”

That’s a pretty exceptional deal, considering the 4th gen is good for nothing but scrap. I may take them up on it if eBay can’t beat that price².

Browsing through the store on Saturday morning, I remained pretty convinced that the Classic would be the one for me. 120 GB of capacity would keep me in music for years to come. Then my iBook spazzed out on Sunday – freezing up, the display dissolving in a slow rainbow of colors. Considering this iBook is over 5 years old at this point, and that it was one of the models prone to logic board failure, I feel it’s served a good term.

But now I need a portable web browser in addition to a portable music player. I could buy a Classic for $224 (after the recycling discount) and get a cheap laptop in a few months, hoping that nothing happens to my desktop Mac in the interim³. Or I could shell out $269 for a 16GB iPod Touch that’ll also check e-mail, function as a GPS and browse the web. I have just shy of 16GB worth of songs currently, but I don’t need to take all of them with me.

¹ Because there’s only the one on Boylston St.
² From a reliable dealer; I’m not paying $200 for a box full of marbles.
³ Which isn’t at all likely, except that I’ve just commented on it.

Tagged: friends, ipod, ipod touch, weather

all the people we used to know, they’re an illusion to me now

Professor Coldheart — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 12:00:23 +0000

I thought nothing of it when I saw the NSTAR truck parked over a glowing hole in the street on Mass Ave, with a cop directing traffic away from my block. And I thought little of it when the Hess station three blocks was closed and unlit, with ropes barring people from driving between the pumps. But I finally got it when I pulled up to my apartment and saw the entire building – thirty-six apartments, three stories and a basement – dark. And the building next door. Something had taken most of the power near Davis.

I quickly uncovered every non-utility source of light in my studio – three tea candles, a book light and the Maglite I always keep within arm’s length of my bed. This took ten minutes, after which I realized how little else I could do. Without wanting to open the fridge, dinner consisted of Ritz crackers and Keebler cookies. I read until my eyelids grew heavy, napped for thirty minutes or so, then read for a bit longer. That’s about all you can do in an unpowered apartment.

Resolving to make something of the evening, I set out for karaoke. The day’s slushy rain had turned into a thin sheet of ice over every flat surface. I walked from the Central Square T station to Wendy’s with a shuffling gait – my center of gravity four inches lower, my feet pointed like a duck’s. Working my way through a Double Stack, I wondered if homo sapiens might have evolved this way if we grew up on icy tundras.

I stayed at karaoke maybe ninety minutes, sang some Dylan and left after wishing folks a happy New Year.

On the way back to Central I saw a dead man in a doorway. He didn’t look too old, and he was dressed cleanly but in a way that suggested homelessness. Two Cambridge cops flanked him, neither of them making the moves that a first responder would make to help an unconscious man (i.e., keeping him conscious until the pie wagon arrived). One of them peeled Latex gloves off her hands as I passed.

Taking a nap at 7:00 and spending a few hours in darkness threw my whole evening into a weird fugue. This week has an extra day to it, a four hour sojourn between Wednesday and Thursday. It’s like a show with actors I recognize but a script I don’t – I keep expecting something different.

The cure here’s to sleep it off, which, by the time you read this, will have already happened. This note comes to you perpendicular to time.

Edit: woke up fine this morning, albeit sluggish. Disregard most of the above.

Tagged: davis square, sleep, weather

don’t mess with the professor

Professor Coldheart — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 12:00:00 +0000

I updated the “About” page (props to Marie for the link).

# # #

CVS occasionally spits out a coupon worth using, like five dollars off a purchase of $25 or more. Monday last week I decided to save myself a trip to Shaw’s and do my grocery shopping at CVS. I pushed a full-size grocery cart down the pharmacy’s narrow aisles, stocking up on bread and milk and some heat-and-eat entrees.

Come Wednesday evening, when snow fell in showers and I had nothing to eat but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or Tyson breaded cutlets, I no longer felt so clever. And I’d already had PB&J for lunch.

Things grew so desperate that, by Thursday evening – New Year’s Day – I was willing to hit up the Davis Square McDonald’s for variety. Fortunately, it was closed, compelling me to trudge a few more blocks until I found that Mr. Crepe was open.

# # #

My friend Aaron, a professional bartender, took a look at the Jack Benny and promised to work on it. After a few test drives and some customer feedback, he came up with the following:

1/4oz Benedictine
1/2oz Lime Simple Syrup
1/2oz Dolan Dry Vermouth
1 3/4oz Old Overholt Rye Whiskey
Stir
No Garnish

Stop by Drink at Fort Point and let me know how it tastes. I’ll be there myself soon.

# # #

With the crazy changes in weather lately, and more trips across the Charles than usual, I’ve spotted the weather lights atop the Hancock Tower a few times this past week. For non-Bostonians: the lit spire atop the Hancock lights up either red or blue, and either steady or flashing.

There’s a mnemonic that supposedly helps you remember what these lights mean:

Steady blue, clear view
Flashing blue, clouds due
Steady red, rain ahead
Flashing red, snow instead.

The problem: this is one of those useless mnemonics where the worthwhile information isn’t encoded in the rhymes. You can remember the rhyme scheme perfectly and still forget what the code means. I can never remember whether flashing blue means rain or clouds (“flashing blue, rain due?”).

Homer Simpson gives us a similar example:

When the fire starts to burn,
There’s a lesson you must learn.
Something something, then you’ll see:
You’ll avoid catastrophe!

As such, I ignore the old rhyme and remember the following:

Blue is better than red
Steady is better than flashing
Flashing red in the summer means the Sox game is canceled

# # #

Ed Reed! Pick six, baby!

Tagged: baltimore ravens, boston, drinking, hancock tower, jack benny, weather

in my dreams, I’m comets, ornate falling snow

Professor Coldheart — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 12:00:18 +0000

WordPress’s post scheduling feature has been reliably fucking up lately. Let’s see if this one sticks.

# # #

Hugh linked to an NOAA winter storm warning in advance of New Year’s Eve’s snow showers (emphasis mine):

SNOW IS EXPECTED TO BEGIN ACROSS MUCH OF EASTERN MASSACHUSETTS AS WELL AS RHODE ISLAND BETWEEN 7 AM AND 10 AM. SNOW WILL QUICKLY INCREASE IN INTENSITY AND FALL HEAVILY AT TIMES FROM LATE MORNING INTO THE AFTERNOON…WITH SNOWFALL RATES OF ONE TO PERHAPS TWO INCHES PER HOUR AND POSSIBLY THUNDER SNOW. VISIBILITIES WILL BE NEAR ZERO AT
TIMES. SNOW IS EXPECTED TO BEGIN TAPERING OFF DURING THE EARLY EVENING HOURS.

SNOWFALL ACCUMULATIONS IN THE WARNING AREA ARE EXPECTED TO RANGE FROM 5 TO 8 INCHES…WITH AMOUNTS POSSIBLY AS HIGH AS 10 INCHES ACROSS THE GREATER BOSTON AREA INTO NORTHEAST MASSACHUSETTS…
DEPENDING ON EXACTLY WHERE THE HEAVY SNOW BANDS SET UP

Silly NOAA. There’s only one heavy snow band that can bring the thunder:

# # #

I had a dream on Tuesday night that I saw Kyle Andrews live at the Paradise in Allston. I didn’t recognize him at first; I was just stepping indoors to see a rock show. There was a huge air hockey rink set up inside – big enough to play actual human hockey on. I clambered onto it and slid into the glass wall nearest the stage.

Then he started playing “Tennessee Torture Dream” and I had to cover my face in excitement, because I love that song so fucking much^*. He was playing at about 3/4 the usual tempo so not everyone recognized it at first.

Of course you were there. Everyone was there.

# # #

Happy New Year, everyone.

A lot of folks devote their New Years’ Day weblog posts to resolutions they will keep for a month and then fail at. Long time readers of this site know that I spend most of my year failing at resolutions (ask me about my “four hour work week”), so I’m already ahead of the curve!

_______________
^* In true dream logic, he wasn’t actually Kyle Andrews until he started playing this song.

Tagged: dreams, introvert, kyle edwards, weather

make sure he a thug and intelligent too

Professor Coldheart — Tue, 13 May 2008 13:18:27 +0000

Some life lessons, smuggled in the form of weekend anecdotes:

Learn Enough Dance to Dance to Funk / Soul; Everything Else is Wasted. Well, okay, and the bare minimum of dance required to get married in the States. But so few places bust out any sort of swing worth swingin’ to, and salsa can only be found in seedy gin joints with knife artists in sharkskin suits. But if you’re ever in Central Square on a Friday night – like I was for Rachel R’s birthday – stop by the Cantab and listen to Diane Blue and the Fatback Band lay down the oldest and greatest. “Dancing in September,” “Knock on Wood,” and maybe even a little James Brown for you. Really – all you need.

Pick a Party and Stick With It. I left Rachel’s celebration midway through to see if anyone had camped out at 90’s Night in Allston. Had I called ahead I could have saved myself the trip – the cool kids had been crowded out by the BU kids. After waiting in line for a minute and confirming the situation with Matthew, I returned to Cambridge and closed out the night at the Cantab. I probably missed a lot of prime dancing thanks to my indecision and I will regret it until the day I die.

You Build a Surprise Party with 90% Discipline and 10% Innovation. I went to a surprise party with Kym from work on Saturday evening. Kym’s friend Allie had been planning this for about a month and had gone above and beyond to keep everything quiet. But it takes more than just secrecy to get a surprise party going. So, that afternoon, she recruited Kym’s landlord, who called Kym and told her that a burst pipe had flooded her closet. She hurried home and found us waiting.

Never Drink On An Empty Stomach. Seriously! Never! What did you think would happen? And no, two plates of tortilla chips and a bowl of creamy dip do not count! And no, a single slice of a pulled pork quesadilla does not count! How old are you? Have you learned nothing? Seriously! It’s like I can’t even look at you!

(But I had an excellent time at Bukowski regardless, helping Kate G. tick off the last few items on her beer card. If you go into the Inman Square dive and find the Charlotte Perkins Gilman mug off its hook, you’ll know she’s in town)

If You Have Time Alone, Enjoy It. I caught up with Jodi at the Grafton St Pub in Harvard on a cool Sunday afternoon, giving her the chance to vent about dealing with undergrads (apparently, the dumb kids at Harvard are just as dumb as the dumb kids anywhere). After seeing her off, I took the T to Kendall and walked to Kendall Cinema to get tickets for Redbelt. With two and a half hours to kill, I had an early dinner at the Cambridge Brewing Company right around the corner.

The afternoon had hit that “magic hour” that photographers love, when the sun lights everything soft. The red brick of the CBC kept the inside warmer than the outside (low 60s), but the ceiling fans provided a gentle downdraft. Not quite dinner time yet, so I had a quiet corner of the bar to sit and read some Fritz Leiber while a perky bartender brought me a pulled pork sandwich and the house pale. Afterwards I walked two blocks and bought ice cream at a 7-11.

Don’t look too hard for those moments; that never helps. Just stay ready when they arrive.