The Online Photographer

I Hate Shopping!

By Ctein

Paula and I are going to have to buy a new car next year. My VW bus and her Toyota Corolla are nearing the ends of their lives. I don't drive a lot—less than 1500 miles a year; she, in turn, commutes 300 miles a week. We really need about 1.1 cars instead of two cars, but we do need that extra 0.1. And one of them needs to be really trustworthy. So one of the current cars needs to get replaced.

We went to the big West Coast auto show. I realized two things about myself. The first is that I truly couldn't care less about cars; they don't do anything for me. No aesthetic/emotional/visceral reaction whatsoever. I hadn't actually realize that before, but having all this supposedly delectable fruit dangled in front of me and not reacting to it made it pretty obvious. With very rare exceptions, it doesn't matter if it's standard or tricked out, sport or a sedan, $15,000 or $100,000. I truly don't care! It's like buying a nice hammer, to me. Does it work the way I want? That's it!

The second thing is that I hate shopping! Okay, that's not correct. I love getting cool stuff. What I hate is comparison shopping. Poring over specifications and alternatives and deciding just what the best thing to buy is. I know some people get off on that; me, I really don't like it. Gives me a headache. I just want to hand over the money for a toy and be done with it.

I probably should have known this pattern about myself years ago, but I'd not observed it cleanly. This is the first time I've gone looking for a new (or semi-new) car. Different enough in the specifics for me to see that pattern was the same, that being what this column's about. (It's not actually about cars. Oh, you figured that out, didn't you?)

Paula and I have several sanity-preserving strategies. We figure out exactly what we need (not what we want, what we need), and we make sure that list is a short one. Primarily it's good mileage, the gooder the better. Minimum capacity: Two adults with a full complement of luggage (what the Toyota was good for). We also have a secondary need to be able to carry large stuff, although that's not invoked frequently (what the VW bus was good for). We set firm price limits. If we can do much better than that, that's great! But we don't go higher than the limit without a very good reason (it's firm, not totally unyielding).

With that information in hand, we could go shopping. We did the car show in less than three hours and came out with a list of seven or eight candidates that filled various combinations of the aforementioned needs. As soon as we reached the point that we felt like we were nitpicking or going in circles, we left. It's way too easy to overthink this stuff.

The last sanity-preserving strategy is to realize there is no perfect toy. As I said, we can't quite make do with one car, (although it's close), so eventually we will be buying a secondary vehicle. Just not for a couple of more years. Be that as it may, all the vehicles we looked at were deficient in some way or another. So long as they didn't completely fail our "need" list, they didn't get rejected. Later we'll do test drives and probably winnow it down to two or three choices. Then we'll just make a decision. No buyer's remorse, no waffling, because we know we've already thought it through carefully. Trying to split hairs just causes ulcers and aggravation.

I still hate shopping. At least I know how to keep it from making me totally crazy or fall into purchase-dither deadlock.

That's it for this time.

If there's anyone who still don't see how this is on-topic, just pull out the word "car" and replace it with "camera" and substitute camera-specific features for car-specific ones. Works just as well. In fact, this is how I successfully shop for cameras.

Ctein

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Featured Comment by Photogorilla: "I was just at the dealership yesterday. Thanks for helping me keep perspective!"

Featured Comment by Paul: "Luckily the car that fulfills the needs of most of us just came out. You can watch a little demonstration here."

Mike adds: Funny. Excruciating, but funny.

Open Mike: The Superefficiency House

I don't hate shopping. I hate buying.

It's fun to shop—fun to have something to obsess over, something to anticipate, something to aspire to. It's fun deciding what defines me—what suits my tastes and requirements. Fun defining those requirements. Fun justifying my choices—if only to myself. Conversely, there is something hollow about not having anything to want. Frequently, for me, actually buying something is...a bit of a letdown.

I'm going to admit something very embarrassing here. A while back, there was something I really wanted. I loved to pore over the catalog, read reviews, look at pictures. Then I bought the item. After I bought it, I caught myself settling down in the...well, in the reading room, preparing to pore over the familiar item in the catalog yet again. 

You got that? I was still "shopping" for something I already owned. Sheesh!

I think one of the reasons actually buying something can be a letdown is that we don't actually "own" a lot of the things we buy. I've truly owned a number of my cameras over the years, but there have also been cameras I bought that didn't "take." I just possessed them for a while. I've actually purchased cameras I didn't take a single picture with. Those cameras might have been my property for a while, but they weren't really mine. Not in any significant sense.

There are all sorts of problems with actually buying things. One is that it closes down the possibility of buying something else ("opportunity cost," in econ-speak). Some people like coming to a final decision; not me. I hate giving up possibilities. Another is that there's shopping, and there's shopping—by which I mean, there's shopping for the hypothetical Mike, who has enough money to buy what he wants and a place to put it—and a whole lifestyle to match the item in question—and then there's shopping for the real Mike, who has to be sensible and frugal and for whom every actual choice is a compromise, and whose lifestyle just doesn't suit objects that are too, er, elegant, or luxurious. A final problem is the frustration of buying something that doesn't live up to its promise—that is, making the wrong choice, despite all the effort. 

I make up for these downsides, in part, by shopping for things I'm never going to actually buy.

Phantom rides
Unlike Ctein, I do like cars. And over the decades, I've successfully shopped for dozens of cars. I just never bought any of them, is all. I'm great at shopping for them. I choose cars that are not impractical and not inappropriate (even in my daydreams I do not buy supercars—I dislike ostentation, actual or fanciful). I've done this many times over the years. I've owned some great cars, in my dreams.

Another thing I like to shop for is houses. I enjoy imagining the house I'd build, if I could build a house. I'm never going to. But I enjoy looking at floor plans, investigating building methods, collecting ideas (if I had another life to live, I'd be a builder of efficient but elegant lowish-income housing, I think).

I have strong opinions about imaginary houses. My house, were I to build one, would be engineered—not designed, engineered—to be as efficient as possible. What does that mean? I mean it would be as maintenance-free as possible, and cost as little to run as possible. I've got lots of ideas along these lines.

I've also discovered (this probably won't surprise you, given my opinions about cameras) that I'm against almost every current fashion.

For instance, I think the houses we build today are way too big. I like small houses. Less to heat, less costly to fill with furniture. More efficient all around. Studies have shown that most people do most of their living in just 640 square feet, regardless of how big their houses are.

Because I like small houses, I hate two-story rooms, which are all the rage right now—every new house has to have "open to below" on the second floor plan. They're a waste of space in my opinion. With rare exceptions, I also dislike their cavernous, barn-like feel. I have no idea why these so-called "cathedral ceilings" are popular. Pure fashion.

I don't like lots of windows. (An excess of window area has been reflexively popular for a long time now.) Why, you might ask, if I like light, would I not like windows? Because I'm a book collector and and photographer—I need interior wall space! Walls to put bookshelves against, and walls to display art on. The more walls, the better. Some well-placed windows are essential, but needless windows are complications—they cost lost heat, require expensive window treatments, and ruin the utility of interior walls. In my current (very small) house I have at least two windows I'd get rid of if I could.

I also dislike open-plan houses. Partly for the wall-space reason, partly for reasons of privacy and purposing: separate rooms are more luxurious in my book. Big rooms are no better than small ones—they just contain more wasted space, and are draftier, harder to heat, and harder to furnish. People have this fantasy that big "open plan" rooms equates to family togetherness—nonsense. Overly large rooms just makes it harder for different people to do different things without bothering each other, is all.

Finally, I detest huge bathrooms. A bathroom is not a place where I want to go hang out. A bathroom is a utility room. No reason for them to be tiny, but 8x10' is overkill, and the current fashion for bathrooms the size of living rooms is absurd. 

Anyway, it's probably a good thing I'm not going to build a house—it would be so unfashionable that it would be hard to resell!

I don't spend a lot of time doing this. But it's been a source of recreation over the years. It's just shopping, really. But shopping the way it ought to be done—for fun. Without all the hassle and responsibility of actually buying.

Mike

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Featured Comment by nic: "I'll never forget one of my grandfather's favorite sayings...'Wantin' is better than gettin'."

Featured Comment by Chuck Albertson: "I wish I had an 8x10' bathroom. I could convert it to a darkroom."

OT: Weird Adventures in A.I.*

Opal as a very young bird. Wish I had a photo of him "slinky-diving."

By Ctein

I was amused by a comment to one of my previous parrot columns that opined that parrots weren't so smart, 'cause they'd never invented anything.

'Cause, y'see, I had this tool-making budgie (a.k.a. budgerigar, a.k.a. parakeet).

I am not making this up.

It's hard for me to know if Opal was weird by budgie standards; I've never had a budgie that wasn't weird. I think weird is the budgie norm—they're little bundles of organic chaos. I raised Opal from a chick, hand feeding and weaning him (above). Growing up safe and secure made him fearless, not exactly a useful survival trait in a small prey animal, but whaddayagonnado?

Opal had a plastic slinky, both ends taped down in an upside-down U, on his play platform. He'd pluck at the loops; they'd go twang. Budgies do like making a racket. Opal started seeing how far he could yank them against the springiness; he'd stand on one side of the U and use the beak-over-claw hauling motion to pull loop after loop to one side of the U. The higher the tension, the bigger the twang when he let go.

One day he pulled as many loops as he could over, the tension nearly matching his body weight, hanging onto the topmost loop with his beak. Then he stepped onto the loops. Wham! The slinky sprung back over, whipping Opal over the top and flinging him onto his back on the other side. Opal flailed, flapped, and emitted that shrieky chitter that's the budgie's "I'm in danger" panic cry.

Then he jumped up, ran around to the other end of the slinky and did it all again. Pull, pull, step, twang, fling, SHRIEK. Over and over. He liked scaring himself.

But that's not the point of this column.

Parrots have trouble scratching around their eyes and their earholes with their claws, so they like using sharp protuberances as scratching posts. They're also Nature's own wood-chippers. Shredding stuff is a major time-sink for them. We regularly replenished Opal's supply of chew sticks; a block of wood would rarely last more than a week or two before it was sawdust.

We had a hamster chew-dowel (square cross-section stick about 6 centimeters long and half a centimeter cross) stuck into a block of cactus wood that was bolted to the top cage play area so the stick stuck out at beak level, for more chewing pleasure. Opal had gotten it down to a pointy stump maybe 1.5 cm long, well on its way to total demolition. I hypothesize that an itch struck, and he started rubbing his ear against the stump. I didn't see. Apparently a little grain-of-wheat lightbulb went off over that lentil-sized brain. Opal stopped demolishing the stump. He started trimming it. He evened up the sides, smoothed off corners and turned it into a nearly symmetric pencil-point of wood. This became his regular scratching stick and for the rest of his life (several more years), he never chewed away at that stick, save that he'd periodically slightly resharpen and reshape the tip when wear made it deviate from the desired form. He was still a mighty little sawdust machine when it came to other woody accessories. This one was special.

That's still not the point of the column. This is:

After a few months of observing this, Paula and I, being scientists by nature instead of normal people (to understand this difference see here), wondered if this might be subject to experiment. I decided to see if it was replicable. I stuck a fresh hamster dowel in the other end of the cactus wood. The feathered chain saw sprang into action, demolishing it with vigor. In a matter of days, all but a centimeter or so of that dowel was gone. The destruction stopped and finishing immediately began, much more promptly than before. With no hesitation at all Opal smoothed the sides, rounded off edges, and finished the point. When the second stick nearly matched the first, he stopped reworking it. He'd use one stick for scratching his left ear, the one facing the other way for scratching his right. That way he could always face towards the room when scratching an itch (that's just survival instinct—you don't turn your back on the world if you're a budgie).

Opal's tools. Once may be happenstance, but twice is definitely not coincidence.

Much else was reduced to sawdust over Opal's life, but the scratching sticks endured and were carefully maintained. When Opal died, I saved them and the cactus wood they were stuck in—it's pictured here as Opal left it.

Any animal behaviorists reading this? This one puzzles the hell out of me. It appears to meet the criteria for purposeful toolmaking, which has been observed in corvids and large psittacines. I've never read of it in something with a brain this small.

I won't go so far as to label it "invention," because I don't know how common it is for budgies to whittle points. Maybe that's a normal instinctive behavior. But maintaining and conserving a particular artifact and replicating it? That's just weird.

Ctein

*Animal intelligence

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OT: Cliff Lee

Cliff Lee, Cliff Lee, Cliff Lee.

Mike

*In case you're wondering what's up with this post...well, it's all Cliff Lee.

Open Mike: Plugs

On Sundays I sometimes write off-topic posts that have little or naught to do with photography. This week, plugs: that is, a few endorsements of stuff I happen to like. Some of these you might have heard before from me. Apologies if I repeat myself.

Who Reads TOP? Bronislaus Janulis reads TOP
First of all, ever wonder where the frames for priceless museum paintings come from? They're obviously not just stock moldings from the U-Frame-It down at the local strip mall. Regular perusers of the site will recognize the name Bron Janulis from the comments section, where he frequently contributes. Bron is a painter, photographer, and wood-carver from South Bend, Indiana, who makes his living creating custom-made, very high-end frames for artwork. Working craftsmen hold a particular appeal for me; if you feel the appeal too, check out Bron's frame offerings at his website. Granted, most are not for photographs, being better suited for paintings. But they're beautiful. Keep Bron in mind if you have something precious you need a fine frame for, or if you know someone who does.

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Photo: cc Fai Ho

Pieter Wispelwey and Dejan Lazik

Pieter Wispelwey
This rightly belongs in a "music notes" post, but I thought I'd put in a plug for another recent find. Pieter Wispelwey and Dejan Lazik's traversal of the Beethoven Complete Sonatas and Variations for 'Cello and Piano, issued in 2005 on the Channel Classics label, is terrific on any number of points—the two discs are superlatively played, very expressive, and outstandingly well recorded. If you like this music you probably have a couple of versions of these pieces already, and maybe favorite artists in the repertoire. I also like Pieter's earlier traversal with Lois Shapiro on period instruments. But this is well worth hearing. Just terrific. Available in CD or hybrid SACD, and on iTunes and eMusic. And from the Channel Classics website. And probably elsewhere as well.

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Bob Latino
Another richly deserved plug for Bob Latino, who sells tube amplifier kits. Bob's kits amount to replica Dynaco Stereo 70 amps*. Dynaco, for those of you too young to remember (it was before my time too, really) sold inexpensive kit amps that helped turn a whole generation on to electronics and stereo.They're still so plentiful that several different outfits make and sell replacement input boards for them, the input board being the biggest weak point of the original. There's even a small cottage industry on Audiogon selling hot-rodded originals in candy colors. 

Back-on-black rebuild by Will Vincent, who often paints his rebuilds red, purple, or yellow.

And, over the years, suppliers started selling replacement parts of all kinds for the originals. I don't know whether Bob was the first person to figure out that you could put together a whole new amp using only new parts, but that's what he sells...and from what I hear, his assembly instructions are outstanding. (Bob built mine...he'll build one for you, too, for a very modest premium.)

There are still some ways this could be improved, in my opinion. A standard IEC C14 chassis socket is needed in place of the captive lamp cord, and the input jacks are just too close together for many of today's interconnects. And see that stereo/mono switch on the front panel in the picture below? It's a dummy! The circuitry degrades the sound, so Bob leaves it out.

Full-tilt boogie: Bob's supercharged VTA ST-120, sporting KT-88 output tubes, beefier transformers, and upgraded caps. 60 watts per side. 

The big 120 will drive most speakers, but efficient speakers are still best—especially with my VTA ST-70, which I run with EL-34s. For those who are really ready to chug the Kool-Aid, Peter Comeau designed a replica Dynaco A-25 kit (the WD25A) that's sold through World Designs in Britain. Watch out, though, because their shipping costs to the States are excessive.

Of course, nothing matters if the sound quality isn't there, and my Bob Latino ST-70 replica is the best amp I've ever owned and one of the best I've ever heard. I love it. It has none of the weaknesses of the original. There are stories on the internet of people giving up $5,000 conrad-johnsons and Air Tights for this thing, and I believe them. Simply the most satisfying audio purchase of my life, is all.

How's that for a plug?

I should add that I don't know Bob, except as a customer. Check out his web page.

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Keep yer pencil sharp
This is going to seem like a strange one, but you know one thing I hate? It's when an object or device only has a very limited design brief—only a couple of things its design needs to fulfill—and it fails at one or more of them. For instance, when a broom handle  falls off the broom. Really, the entire design brief of a broom can be summed up in about four points, and one of them would  have to be, "the broom part and the handle part must not fall into two pieces." A broom whose handle falls off had a designer who ought to be flogged with...well, a broom.

Anyway, one of those frustrating possessions I've been putting up with for years is a horrible electric pencil sharpener that slanders the name of the great city of Boston—a Boston Model 22, to be precise. It can't hold a pencil without allowing it to wobble all over the place, meaning that the points are always decentered, and the motor in the bloody thing isn't strong enough to keep turning with even moderate inward pressure. Flunk! Fail! Back to design school for you, phooey designer!

I know...who uses pencils any more? For what, the grocery list? But in case you are one of the hold-out pencil users, I'm pleased to commend to your attention the Panasonic KP380-BK. Briefly: it fulfills its design brief. With no fuss, no muss, and the shavings collected.

Further in re pencils: It probably won't surprise you to learn that there are pencil aficionados and pencil connoisseurs, and that they're now served by specialty websites such as pencilthings.com; and finally (told you I repeat myself), another plug for an old favorite book, Henry Petroski's The Pencil: A History of Design and Circumstance—proof that a good writer can write at length about anything, and still be thoroughly enjoyed.

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Blue Jean LC-1
We were talking not long ago about $2,700 power cords for stereo equipment. It made me think of another plug to make...the best single-ended stereo interconnects I've found are called Blue Jean Cable LC-1. They're very low capacitance interconnects with very good shielding. (There's a white paper...okay, let's call it an an "off-white" paper...here.) They sound as good as anything I know of under about $700 a meter pair, at which price-point you can find well-made, well-shielded pure silver interconnects that do sound a little better. (Forgive me; I was a high-end audio salesman, many years ago, and I've actually heard some of the megabuck interconnects). And LC-1 are eminently affordable—about $39 for a 2-meter pair. I use these, and would recommend them for virtually any real-world stereo system. They're very good.

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Gruesome

Albatross bars
I bought a new bike a couple of weeks ago—hopeful of Spring, as John Camp commented—unfortunately just prior to learning that I should have reserved that money for fixing the garage door. The bike's an aluminum-framed Cannondale called an "Adventure." I immediately named it "Gruesome," after a comment made by Robin P. about the illustration I used in the "Observations" post. (A comment I loved, I hasten to add.) Quoth Robin, "Your 'wimp bikes' really are exceedingly gruesome!—must be the cycling equivalent of a cheap pink P&S with a very small sensor...."

Very funny, although attempts to shame me with associations to cheap cameras will never work; you should see some of the cheap cameras I've played with over the years. I actually once sold a picture that I made with a Kodak Instamatic, and I am not kidding. It was used in an actual print advertisement, and I was paid well for it, by my standards.

It's not Gruesome I want to plug here, but rather albatross bars. What are albatross bars, you ask? Well, I didn't know either, until about two weeks ago. They're the kind of bicycle handlebars that were in fashion before "monkey bars" (drop bars) became all the rage in the '70s thanks to what is arguably the most significant bicycle in American history. Well, actually, albatross bars never went out of fashion in about 80% of the world—they're common from Rotterdam to Bangalore to Beijing. They're the rising, swept-back style of bars you'll see on Dutch bikes and old Schwinns.

A 1970s Schwinn Collegiate with albatross bars

I've had some absorbing conversations about bicycle functionality and aesthetics lately with Grant Petersen of Rivendell, and one thing he said to me was that "...the Albatross...is the only bar, that, once you try it, you never leave it." Not surprisingly for a purveyor that decidedly goes its own way, Rivendell sells albatross bars—two kinds, actually, one steel and one aluminum, both made by Nitto.

Rivendell albatross aluminum bar by Nitto

I am gratefully now of an age when I can return to sensible handlebars without having it damage my cool or my cred, not because the bars aren't still a little geeky, but because I have so little cool or cred left. I'm happy about that. To make a long story short, Grant's sending me some Nitto albatross bars for Gruesome, along with a warning that my bike shop won't be pleased about swapping in a new part they didn't sell me and will probably charge me enthusiastically for the privilege. You know what they say: Oh well. I'm looking forward to it. I'll post an update on Gruesome's new albatross fitment once it's actually fitted.

Has this gone on long enough? Thus endeth my plugs for today. Is there any product you've encountered recently that you think is undeniably superior and worth a genuine endorsement? Have a nice and relaxing Sunday.

Mike

*Bob clarifies: "Your amp in kit form or wired was designed to look like an original Dynaco ST-70, yet have the performance of a modern, high-quality tube amp in terms of sound quality and reliability."

Featured Comment by Scott Jones: "OMG, I didn't think anybody else in the whole world had read that book on the history of the pencil! It was really good and every time I mention it to people they just roll their eyes and laugh. Also on the topic of fine art frames, it was so nice to see your comments. My wife always looks at me funny when we go to high grade museum shows and sometimes I am more enthralled with the frames than I am with the paintings. Some of the frames are just plain gorgeous. Thanks for these fun OT musings...."

UPDATE: Nic M. found a nice review of the Wispelwey/Lazik Beethoven.

UPDATE #2: The not-at-all-gruesome bicycle that Robin Pywell built for himself in 1982:

OT: More Howlers

Howler, n., informal, a stupid or glaring mistake, esp. a humorous one.

As a professional editor, I was a semi-professional editor. I've never been trained in editing and I am not an expert in grammar. However, spending six years of your life correcting other peoples' prose has the effect of sensitizing you to verbal errors; it's unavoidable. As a naturally good speller, I'm also sensitive to spelling mistakes.

"Howlers," to a professional or semi-professional editor or a former one, as well as to many readers, are commonplace. Finding them is easy. But sometimes I'm amused by finding several in close proximity—a high "howler density," you might call it. I ran across this actual sentence the other day on a forum:

"Hey your right. Where is everbody? Look's like there loosing interest...!"

That one is pretty impressive. Three sentences, and at least one error in each; and, in a mere 11 words, five errors, four of which are flagrant howlers. And that's not counting the fact that there probably should be a comma after "hey." The third sentence is particularly impressive, with three howlers in eight words (the whole sentence had three more words), for a total howler density of 37.5%. A howler density over 50% is rare, even on the internet.

It should be, of course (with corrections in bold):

"Hey, you're right. Where is everybody? Looks like they're losing interest...!"

Of course, that was not on a photography forum. You can tell not necessarily because of the howler density, but because people don't loose interest in photography. Theirs alway's somthing new and interesting to learn. Photo buffs aren't loosers.

Mike

(Reminder: I'm off tomorrow. I'll try to find something just as productive as this to do.)

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Featured Comment by Matt: "To be honest, I find it a bit harsh how nitpicky some people here are. Of course, good grammar would be a pleasure to read, but keep in mind not everyone's native language is English. If one learns the language at an older age, it might even be quite challenging. There's people that don't even bother or try, but those are most likely the same people that don't write their sentences with capitals in the first place."

Mike replies: I probably should have made more of the fact that I consider my sensitivity to be a regrettable occupational hazard, in the way that a podiatrist might notice the way people pronate their feet when they walk, or the way a musician might be unable to ignore the Muzak in an elevator. It's not necessarily even desirable.

And of course it's possible to be perfectly correct and utterly boring. One of my favorite readers here on TOP writes comments that are peppered with errors, but he also expresses himself vividly, and with spirit, and he has a lot to say because he knows a lot. To be distracted by his errors—or, worse, to be bigoted against his opinion on their account—is akin to not enjoying a spectacular sunset because there's a contrail in the sky, or dismissing a great photograph in a museum because it has dust spots.

For instance, in your comment, you made a common error...."there's people...", where "there's" is a contraction for "there is," when of course it should be "there are." But what does it profit me to notice that? Nothing. It's like a nagging little pinch to my brain on the way by. And I wish I didn't feel it. You've expressed yourself perfectly clearly. I would prefer not to notice the small mistakes people make. I would prefer not to notice all the mistakes I make. Alas, 'tis not to be.

But I'm sorry if I offended anybody here. That wasn't my intent.

To be honest, I'm going to try very hard to take to heart the comment made by David, the former proofreader, in the comments section below.

Featured Comment by robert e: "That forum poster 'should of' proofread his remarks.

"I am as annoyed by these errors as anyone, and probably just as annoyed that I'm annoyed as you are annoyed that you are annoyed, Mike.

"And it is doubly annoying when I consider what an unkempt, mercurial pastiche the English language has been since its beginnings: the bastard offspring of several major linguistic collisions, a ravenous assimilator, even historically a big mess that, late in its adolescence, a bunch of cloistered monks attempted to stuff whole into an ill-fitting Latinate grammatical structure.

"Being picky about something so wild and alive feels like a futile and inappropriate thing to do."

Featured Comment by Rana: "What I tell my students, when it comes to grammar, typos, and writing, is that correcting errors is a way of showing that you respect your readers and your own work.

"I liken it to brushing your hair or checking your suit for lint before an interview; people will notice errors, and, for some of them, it's a deal-breaker. They'll stop reading, outright, or they'll view everything else you wrote with increased scepticism.

"In some cases, too, the errors are such that they get in the way of the message—it's not unlike trying to view the world through a lens covered with specks of dust. Clean them, and your point is easier to discern.

"That said, I make a distinction between formal writing and causal writing, just as I make a distinction between formal speech and the sort of speech you use when hanging out with your friends.

"(Of course, as I've been writing this, I've backspaced more than once to correct typos, errors in punctuation and spelling, etc.  It's pretty hard to turn off the internal editor once you've acquired one.)"

OT: WTTW

Sorry about this morning's post. I was still a little traumatized by something that happened last night. (You have no idea how many babbling-brook/stream-of-consciousness vamps I write and don't post...I'll get done with one, sit back, and think, nah, I can't inflict that on people.)

Last night I had hopped into the car, late for an appointment, and the garage door was opening when it made a loud "SPROING!" sound and essentially disintegrated. The rollers came off their tracks, the cables jammed, and the appearance of the panels became the reason why the word "wopplejawed" was invented (it's sort of like "akimbo" only worse).

Zander called the garage-door repairman, Stu, who was here until well after 9 p.m. despite the fact that it was his wedding anniversary(!).

I need to try to remember every now and then that garage doors are expensive, and that they need maintenance. We use our garage door several times a day, and the wear-and-tear adds up. Assuming you live in a house and have a garage door, here's what, according to Stu, you should do: every year or so, look it over and tighten up all the many bolts and screws you can find. Use silicone spray lubricant on the metal hinges between the panels and on the chain and chain-rail. About every three years, call a garage-door repair outfit (find 'em on Angie's List) and have them come out and give your door a checkup. That still doesn't guarantee you won't experience a catastrophic failure, but it betters your odds. And it will cost you about fifty dollars, as opposed to, oh, let's say $790.80, which is what you might be charged if the garage repairman has to come, let's say, in the evening, after business hours, all the way from Milwaukee, and leaves his missus stewing at home about him being late for their anniversary dinner.

And by the way, if you live in a condo or an apartment with indoor parking, don't assume you'll never be the victim of a malfunctioning garage door. I used to live in a condo with a huge commercial overhead door on the garage, and one day the spring broke and the door jammed shut; it was ten hours before it could be fixed, my car was trapped inside, and I missed a job and lost a client. Best not to assume that routine maintenance is being performed on a communal door. As for me, you'd think I'd learn.

(I gave Stu a Chet Baker CD to give to his wife. Nobody can stay mad listening to Chet.)

Anyway, I'm not the least bit thrown by a broken garage door; it was that $790.80 that had me traumatized.

Mike

Featured Comment by Geoff Wittig: "True garage door follies:

"We live out in the boondocks at the end of a winding 250 yard driveway. We haul our trash to the road in the trunk of the car, seeing as how 250 yds. is a bit far to carry it on your shoulder. About 15 years ago I hit the door opener and backed out like usual, with the trunk so packed with trash it wasn't closed. Unfortunately I was about 10 milliseconds too fast; the raised trunk lid caught the lower edge of the rising garage door, with hideous consequences for both. It sounded like a beagle caught in the trash compactor. Total repair costs were about $1,500.

"About five years ago, my daughter hit the door opener button inside the garage and then hopped into the car. She unfortunately then absent-mindedly hit the remote button in the car to 'open' the door, which of course promptly began to close again. Which she failed to notice, so she backed into the door at high speed. Crushed two panels and the bumper of the car. That was also about $1,500, if I recall.

"Two years after that, my son did exactly the same thing. My wife and I were sitting in the kitchen over coffee; we looked at each other as we heard the garage door cycling down again (waaaaay too soon) and we both jumped up just in time to hear the 'crunch.' Sigh. Fortunately my son was slower than his sister; we were able to bend the kinked door panels back into semi-functional shape.

"The door screeches like a banshee every trip up and down since then. We're leaving it like that as a daily reminder to our youngest son, who still lives at home. We're hoping maybe the the unpleasant din will stick in his head if he's tempted to back into the door."

OT: On Sobriety

I mentioned a few days ago that I had a personal anniversary coming up today. September 10th is the date I got released from detox at Suburban Hospital in Maryland, and commenced a long journey of learning how to live.

When I was doing my "90 meetings in 90 days" in the (very rough) early going, I often went to the Westside Club meeting of AA in Georgetown. In those days, it was the meeting of choice for some of Washington's movers and shakers—Ted Kennedy came every now and then, and Jim Vance, anchorman of one of the local nightly news broadcasts, would show up on his blindingly chromed Harley dressed from head to foot in white fringed buckskin leathers. Those meetings could be crowded and loud. At one, a guy got up to speak who had been sober for 19 years. I had maybe eight or ten days at the time, and was really struggling with it, desperately, hour by hour—I remember sometimes having to go to three meetings in a day because I couldn't think of any other way to get through another six hour period. And I remember feeling completely, utterly incredulous at that guy's situation, for a whole jumbled mix of reasons—I couldn't believe anyone could do what I was doing for 19 years; I had no confidence at all that I wouldn't be dead by then; and I couldn't believe a guy who'd been sober for that long was still coming to meetings. That period of time just seemed so incomprehensibly immense—you might as well have told me I had to count all the grains of sand on a beach. I got so fixated on it that a few of the guys eventually had to sit me down and give me a good talking-to on the whole meaning of "one day at a time." "You worry about the next nineteen hours. That you can do."

That was true. The days do add up, though. Today, I've been clean and sober for 19 years. I'm still just a little bit incredulous at the whole preposterous idea—but here I am, alive, and still sober. And still going to meetings (whenever I get cocky, mainly).

Anyway, no need to comment on this. I don't need or want to start a discussion (and neither do you—go to your meeting to do your talking). I just wanted to give a word of encouragement to anyone who is struggling with staying clean or sober on this day, September 10th, 2009. I know you're out there. Solidarity, my brothers and sisters. Make it through today. It actually gets easier, little by little, one grain of sand at a time.

-

Mike

The illustration shows "Temperance bearing an hourglass," a detail of a fresco by Ambrogio Lorenzetti at the Palazzo Pubblico in Siena, Italy.

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OT: Self-Incrimination

By Ctein

Well, folks, it's been exactly three years since I started writing these columns for Mike. To celebrate, here is an off-topic column (which will lead to a photographic question next time).

Paula and I cohabit with four demented psittacines (your new word for the day—it means "parrots"). This column's about our nine-year-old male African Grey, Elmo, who we've had for a bit over two years. (Some other day I'll tell you about Opal, our tool-making budgie. I am not joking about that!)

One of Elmo's previous owners developed "bird-handler's lung," a.k.a. bird-fancier's lung or bird-breeder's lung, an allergic reaction that can cause permanent lung damage and be fatal. There is no cure except to avoid the allergen, and African grays are powdery birds that naturally create airborne dust.

Coincidently, our Nanday Conure, Tinker, died at 25 of old age. We found ourselves reflexively preparing food dishes for her at dinner time, expecting to hear her shriek when we drove up to the house, etc. After a month I turned to Paula and said, "Omigod, we are suffering from empty nest syndrome...literally!"

Off we went to our local high-quality bird store, looking for a bit larger bird to hand-raise. Elmo was being boarded there. He was cordial but a little bit stand-offish and reserved with us. Obviously not the right match. After several visits, we had pretty much settled on one of their hand-raised babies, when we got the back story on Elmo.

Elmo wasn't an older juvenile as we thought—he was seven, and he'd been hand-fed and raised by his owners his entire life, just the three of them. Now he was separated from them for the first time and surrounded by strange birds and strange people. Just a little reserved and standoffish?! He had to be the most well-adjusted African Grey on the planet; a common reaction would be nonstop screaming and feather plucking. It was hardly surprising he wasn't treating us like his best friends.

After a great deal of dithering, we decided Elmo needed a good home a lot more than we needed to raise a baby bird.

Shortly, two things became apparent:

1. Elmo is one hell of a talker. The way he'd expressed his distress was by shutting up. I should have been keeping a log book of his utterances; I only started doing so at the beginning of this year. He's got at least 150 different vocalizations, and it's probably more than 200. He tends to run "playlists," six to twelve different utterances which he'll use quite frequently for several days to several weeks; then the playlist will change to a different one. These will get mixed in with the dozen vocalizations that he does routinely as part of his basic repertoire.

2. The social relationship with an African Grey is extremely complex. Best description of our first couple of months? Highly bipolar. Imagine you adopted a teenager who'd been suddenly orphaned. Would there be mood swings? Understatement! Elmo oscillated between, "Oh, I love you I love you I love you thank you for rescuing me I love you I love you I love you!" and, "You're not my mommy you're not my daddy these aren't the rules I have to follow I hate you I hate you I hate you!"

We consumed many, many Band-Aids. African Gray bites won't crush bone, but they will draw blood. At first, several times a day. Then we got it down to once a day, then once a week, and now he bites (defined as drawing blood) less than once a month.

We understood what was going on but thought it was a good idea to talk to one of his previous owners after a month or so, to learn what his behavior had been like with them. He assured us that Elmo was a total sweetie and that they had never, ever had any trouble with him biting. Okay, they doted on him, so we didn't entirely believe this, but we took it for what it was worth.

Fast forward to last winter: I'm in the living room with Elmo, packaging up dye transfer prints. Elmo's on his perch, running his playlist for me. There's a momentary lull followed by this, all in the previous owner's voice:

"Ouch!"

(One second pause)

"No bite. No bite."

(Two second pause)

"Goooood boy."

Elmo returns to the program previously in progress.

I look at Elmo and say, "You are so busted!"

Elmo looks back at me and clucks happily.

Ctein
Photograph of Elmo and Ctein © 2008 by David Dyer-Bennet

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Featured Comment by John Sarsgard: "I had a friend with a Grey several years ago. It picked up several vocalizations not in its own best interest, such as 'here, here, kitty kitty.' "

Featured Comment by Paul Amyes: "We have a Weiro (the Aboriginal name for a Cockatiel) name Diego, also known as el grumpy. He also has an amazing repertoire of words but his main talent is mimicking the noises of machinery. He does a very convincing telephone ring which is followed by 'Hello Cheeky' when you find you've been suckered yet again. His main fault is his need to ride on the mouse as I work in my home office. He had a fascination with the wires and chewed through quite a few before I went cordless. I'm now waiting for Microsoft to make a cordless mouse with a built in perch."

Bad Shopper: UPDATE (and Jim Lager Leica Books)

I know this is just egregiously off topic, and I apologize in advance to those who might be annoyed on that account. There's an on-topic bit at the end...