Showing posts with label Notebook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Notebook. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 15, 2020

Notebook: Sketchy Man, Sauntering

I.

 Sunday afternoon: I spotted a sketchy/methy white dude scoping out my front door and well-grown yard.  He had something in his hands--looked like a hammer or a screwdriver to me, definitely not a phone--as he skulked (really) up the short walk.  I was sitting in my study which gives me a clear view of the front yard, and he suddenly realized that I was watching him closely.  He straightened up, guiltily, spun about, and headed on down the road.  

I moved the cat from my lap, picked up my phone as a camera, and popped out the front door.  A block away, Sketchy Man was doing a loose-limbed saunter, head high and not looking back, just a trifle faster than most people walk and faster than his approach to my front yard. 

(I was pulled back to childhood and my own walking guiltily that way from almost being caught eating the neighbor's fruit off the tree, you know?) 

Most benign reading: He was looking for a place to urinate.

More criminal possibility: He saw the pile of mail on the floor (social-distanced, de-Covid-19-ing) through the curtains of the front window--which is what I saw from outside when I was scoping out what he could have been up to--and he figured no one was home and he'd pry the door open.  He had some kind of tool in his hand, after all.

I grew up in a neighborhood where this kind of guy was common enough.  It has been a while since I saw one (probably) in action.


II.

I appreciate the good wishes I received from friends after I described the situation, but the event wasn't really scary. I was secure at home, and the fellow immediately backtracked and moved on. The stereotypical aspects were funny, for if this had been a film, the director would have cautioned the fellow not to overact. As the son of a cop, I tend to see suspicious behavior maybe too much. 

One thought I had was, a home burglary, on a Sunday, during a smoky air emergency, during a pandemic? We're all home!


III.

Lanky dude, white, 25-35, 5'9+, 150, sunburnt/lined face, scraggly blond/brown hair, ripped jeans, bright green t-shirt -- that's my description, but is it really accurate? I have a powerful imagination and I was keyed up just a bit. Also, if he combed his hair, changed his shirt, and stood up straight, would I recognize him? We did look each other eye to eye, but in my mind I keep wondering which actor could play him--so there goes my ID.


IV.

I can imagine, now, the fellow taller or shorter, younger or older, etc. I think my description is accurate for what I thought I was seeing, or think I'm recalling, but at the time the skulking behavior, looking eye to eye, and the bright green shirt kept me from really assessing the man himself. I come from a police family, and so I was raised to observe, but IDs can be tricky certainly.

And I can see how my specificity of recall could be problematic if I were wrong.


V.

The man's memorably bright green shirt, which I laughed to myself about as crazy attire for a criminal (if such he was), now seems almost clever as a distraction from seeing the man himself. "He had a really bright green shirt, officer. It was almost glowing. And something odd in his hands. But the shirt. Find that shirt and you'll find that man."





Thursday, December 13, 2018

Sunday, July 24, 2016

Respite in York: Two Views

The ruined tower outside.

The comfort inside.

I'd caught that sore throat on the plane from Frankfurt, and so needed a respite from walking York's stone walls . . . .

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Notebook: Whale-Watching / Kayaking



1.  I will have to set aside the camera a bit more deliberately to engage my whole sight and other senses.    Next time around.  The camera itself, turning it on, fussing with zooming and focusing, really narrows the experience.  I love having the shots to document and to spark memories, but I want to look and see more fully in the moment.

2.  The experience really was rooted in wet neoprene, in the seat of the wetsuit, in the motion of the swell under the kayak, in the lifting and the dropping and the shifting and the pulling and the pushing.  On the afternoon of the 30th, the tug was back into the harbor, but the swell was rising and the wind had created chop, so there was a constant motion -- up down thisway thatway-- that the morning had lacked, had been so flat and calm.  I love the water movement, and the sit-on-top is so well-crafted to ride such movements.  Even now, two days later, if I just sit and unfocus, I am moving in my mind with residual body sense-memories.  A lovely sensation to me.

3.  Then, besides the emphatic floating quality, the sounds!  So many birds flying, shrieking, calling, ker-plunking into the water after the anchovies.  Pelicans and terns and murres and cormorants and classic gulls.  Terns and pelicans out with us, mostly.  Then, the barking of sea lions in the distance, the splashing of seals nearby, the crunching-lunching of otters.  The chatter of humans: excited, agitated, inane.  "HOLY SHIT" were the first words out of one fellow's mouth, as he rounded the small point to leave the harbor only to be faced with a lunging whale.  (That fellow was off his game, more nervous than his date, and he shadowed JP and me off and on, nervously.  Still, such caution in such a situation is no bad thing, and his date may have been more water-savvy -- or simply oblivious -- than he was.)  The whales' spouting, blowing, and splashing.  Occasionally, the power station would let out great blasts of steam that would mimic the whale spouts--and would confuse me, for a moment, as I looked for that other whale.  The water made the most noise and the most noises, lapping and slapping and splashing and crashing along and onto the jetty, the kayak, the whales, itself.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Study Session


"The labor we delight in physics pain."
          --Macbeth from Macbeth (2.3.46)

I believe it's best to take that line out of context.

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Old Notebook: Was I Talking To Myself?


"Be more careful about what you offer to other people. I know you mean well in the moment, but you tend to set up expectations that you don't follow through on. People get frustrated and confused when that happens."

--entry in an old notebook--

Question: Was I talking to myself or to someone else?

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Saturday, August 4, 2012

Pit-Stop: Mendocino

Moody's in Mendocino.  That shortbread dipped in chocolate is quite scrumptious.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Friday, July 27, 2012

Studio Check: Practical Spiral


Pizza stone in process; clayfish; assorted items.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

B-SIDE


Lyrics from an Old Notebook (mid-80's vintage):

You need to imagine Early Elvis Costello crossed with The Smithereens here, if you want to be kind.  Oh, and you have to recall vinyl records, especially singles, with A-sides and B-sides.


B-SIDE
I'm here breaking records
While he's out stealing shows
The anger doesn't bother me
It's just how much she knows
I've been hanging around now
Till I feel like packing it in
It's not a case of do-or-die
But more like where-and-when


These things I discover
Make it easier to decide
He's her A #1 Lover
I'm just lying on the b-side


I need to break her records
I need to break her heart
But like a fool I'm waiting
Because I loved her at the start


These things I discover 
Make it easier to decide
He's her A #1 Lover
I'm just lying on the b-side

--MD



(Until a few minutes ago, the second verse had a full eight lines too.   Here is the part I just cut:


I give her all my money
I give her all my love
Still she goes out shopping
Hopping in--I know--his hot tub

Pretty lame, that hot tub line, but I wanted . . . well, who knows now what I wanted then?  I do think the lyrics still work, after all these years, as a rock and roll song, particularly with those four lines excised.  Now, if I could remember the tune in my head at the time too . . . .)

Tuesday, May 24, 2011