The Drip, Drip, Drip of the News - Something Happened Pt. 2

Every day it's the same thing in the semi-darkness
just before dawn. Touch, but don't look.
I must save another newspaper for the day I "awake."

Each morning, as I go outside to retrieve the newspaper, I approach the rolled tube lying on the sidewalk with extreme care.

I usually get up at 5:30 a.m. and it's still dark, yet there is the porch light. This provides enough illumination to make it possible to see through the transparent plastic protective sleeve of the newspaper.

Without making out any of the specific words, I can sense that the headline on the front page has been an impressively large font size most every day this week.

Today I want to read. I want to find out what the world is, in effect, shouting about. Can't I "wake up" for just a minute or so? I swear after that I'll go back to being Van Winkled...

Then I remember my fresh vow.

My Recent Failures
In light of some recent news leaks that reminded me of the flawed nature of this project, I've decided to crank down on the news faucet. It wasn't that it was gushing. It was that I had allowed it to drip and dampen my potentially pristine ignorance.

Drip, drip, drip...little pieces of news were slipping into my life.

Here are three  items that have happened in the past few weeks that I'm not supposed to know about and how I came to come in contact with the "drips."

Could a birth certificate really be big news?

1 - President Obama "released" his birth certificate:
I learned this because one of the newspapers I'm stacking in the garage for future reference (after Sept. 11) was turned the wrong way and I glimpsed the main headline.

It only takes a second for a few key printed words to register in the brain.

Of course, this particular headline raises many questions that I assume readers know the answer to, but I don't...

How is it more than halfway into his presidency people are still talking about whether Barack Obama is a U.S. citizen? What was released that wasn't released before? Why was it held back? Are the naysayers satisfied? Or has doubt gone mainstream? Is this a big news story or is it a sideshow circus?

2 - A tornado or tornadoes did major damage to Tuscaloosa, Alabama:
I know this because I was speaking to the woman who comes to clean our house. We were talking about the hail storm right here in our own town occurred on Easter afternoon. This was perfectly permissible because it's first-person local news, which is not banned by the Van Winkle Project.

But then she started telling me about her sister in Alabama and about the power plant that was destroyed and that there was no electricity for a huge swath of the state and that the president was headed there today...I couldn't stop her or stop my ears.

3 - There seems to have been a thing people call a "Royal Wedding":
Well, how was I not going to know that? For weeks there were pictures on magazines at the grocery store check-out lines. I had to assume some of them were not Global Lying Star inventions, but true. William really does love Kate! And, there was the main source of this unwanted information: people were talking about it.

And the bride wore what? I have no idea.

It should be noted that Americans sometimes have a conflict about the Brits. Should we really care about what their royals are up to?

So the conversation became, "Are you going to get up in the middle of the night to watch this wedding or do you think the whole royalty thing is a farce? I mean, the country is actually run by a parliament and the prime minister and what goes on at Buckingham Palace is sort of like the world's most expensive reality TV show that the rest of their nation pays the bill for."

That's the critique, but don't misunderstand (especially if you're from the U.K.). I'm sure England is a lovely country. It's just that between the Atlantic and Pacific shores of the U.S. some people (not all) seem to still hang on to their King George III hangover.

Know Any Good Plumbers?
The point of this post is that the news faucet continues to drip into my life. However, so far (knock on wood) it has never turned into a flood. I'm only slightly dampened (to keep pressing the metaphor to the point of screeching) with the minimal amount of knowledge. Apparently, I'm not good at this kind of "plumbing," so I have no certainty that I can ever shut it off completely.

I have to say it's much worse to know just a little than to know nothing. Even knowing that on May 1 "something major happened" destroys a chance at "blissful" ignorance.

I know, but I don't really know. And with incomplete knowledge lies the potential for worry and concern. Fear, even. What is waiting out there in the darkness? - V.W.

.

It Fell Out of the Sky

This is a very short story about a personal mystery.
 Perhaps science or the fertile imagination of one our readers can propose a credible explanation...

This took place on Sunday afternoon (on the day that something important happened in the news & I don't know what it was) my wife was walking out of a coffee shop with a latte in her hand.

The weather was overcast, cold, and dreary.

Although it was hardly pleasant to be outdoors, this sort of weather was actually a welcome break from the high temperatures and the roaring wildfires we've seen ripping across the parched land all spring.

And my wife was thinking, "Oh, it's starting to rain again," and she thought she felt okay about it even as the wind was driving moisture into her face.

Then she looked down. At her cup of coffee. At her black shoes. She saw something that looked out of place.

Little pink dots.

She started running toward her parked car.

Our car and all the cars nearby were covered with it. Since our car is black it showed up very well, just as it did on her shoes. And on her jacket. And in her hair.

Little pink dots.

She looked down at her shoes. They looked like they had been
sprayed with this stuff...whatever it was.

Freak Occurrence?
So my wife called me and said, "Something creepy just happened." I quizzed her over the phone and I couldn't really understand.

I said, "Stay there. I'm coming." I was thinking she might have been caught up in a drifting cloud of paint. Some kind of industrial accident might have blown in with the wind.

I reached our car where it was parked in the lot. It looked absurd. From bumper to bumper it was confettied with the pink dots. (I wish I had taken a picture.) I looked around and I could see some other cars that were covered, but the phenomenon appeared to be localized.

It was too windy and cold to investigate further. Instead, I got inside and drove to a 24/7 car wash. Everything washed off and the pristine black paint surface returned.

I was left with a mystery.

The pink dots covered the lid of the cup containing my wife's latte.

What Was It? Someone Please Tell Me...
Strange things have been known to fall out of the sky. Parts of aircraft. Old space vehicles that have only partially burned up as they've fallen out of orbit and re-entered the atmosphere. Celestial objects like heavy, slaggish chunks of asteroids or meteors.

In this part of the world it has even at times rained mud.



Look at these dots closely. Does this look like mud?

That's right. High winds, of which we have plenty, stir the drought stricken fields (and we have plenty of drought, too) and they carry the top soil high into the air. Eventually the dirt mixes with a rain cloud.

A filthy rain then falls. I've seen this rare event a couple of times. Everything on the ground is covered with the splashes of mud.

But I've never seen pink mud. And I've never seen the muddy rain form itself into such tiny dots that look like they've been sprayed on rather than have fallen to the ground.

Even if one were to grant that dirt could be pink, the dots don't look like granules suspended in water. They're solid and have a semi-gloss sheen.

My wife used the word "creepy" and I have to concur. This stuff fell out of the sky, but one thing I'm sure of: it doesn't belong in the sky.

Does anyone have any idea what the pink dots could be? Do you want to share with me your best guess? - V.W.

.

Something Happened, Didn't It?

I sense there's been major breaking news.
Can I avoid finding out what it is?

I'm writing this on Monday, May 2 at 6:19 a.m. CST and I have a recurring question racing through my mind:

"What's up?"

Last night my wife met with some students on campus. It was one of those frantic, get a project ready for the last week of the semester kind of thing.

I'm guessing that on the way home my wife listened to the car radio.

At 10 p.m. as we were going to sleep she said this:

"Be sure to not even go near the newspaper tomorrow morning."

An Opportunity
I want to continue to be candid here and testify accurately to the realities of being Van Winkled as I'm experiencing them.

Throughout the project to date my attempts to avoid information about news, entertainment, weather and sports have not resulted in the kind of pristine ignorance one might expect of a man living castaway on a desert island.

No surprise. I live a low-key life, but I'm not completely isolated. I have friends, I have a job, I get out and about.

So, despite my usually attentive efforts to avoid such, there have been "leaks." Fragments of news insidiously manage to slip through.

This is disappointing in many ways. I'm going to all this trouble, yet when I wake up on Sept. 11, 2011, I'm not going to be completely surprised...

But now I have a fresh chance.

Placing "Clueless" Under Lock and Key
Something just happened. Right? And all I know about it is a result of my almost falling out of bed when my wife mentioned it in the vaguest of terms. She then took pity on me and added cryptically, "It's not bad. Just be ready. You'll probably hear some people talking about it."

Okay. Bad or good, let's amp up this experiment a bit.

I am going to try to take every possible precaution in order not to find out about this event, whatever it was.

For the next few days, I'm going to keep my head down and my ears sealed until perhaps it blows over and people move on to the next thing.

Can I do it?

Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?

I suppose you do.

But take my word for it. I don't. - V.W.


.

Review of My Tennis Shoes

They're everyday wear. That means by definition they're grungy.

There's something odd to note about us
21st Century XY chromosome types.
Maybe it's because not so long ago most of our ancestral father figures were still farming the land. We act as if we've got mud on our heels and hereditary manure between our toes.

Just ask one of us guys to bring out our favorite shoes.

Anatomy of a Pair of Shoes
It's very simply accomplished, this transformation of ordinary shoes into exceptional footwear.

Guy in question takes a pair of pristine tennis or running shoes and beats the crap into them through vigorous use and abuse. After that, lace us up! We're ready for the next five years or until the  poor things expire like dead earthworms on the sidewalk.

In the meantime, for as long as possible we'll wear these many-eyeletted, shredded canvas terrors everywhere.

Of course, there are occasional exceptions to the foregoing bold modus operandi which is supposed to result in such desirable shoes. I must humbly report that my own tennie favs didn't reach their current state of near perfect degradation through worthy outdoor, athletic endeavors.

No fast and sweaty pickup games of basketball to break them in. No hikes through the high country where pebbles cut into the tread and glacial silt impregnated the canvas sides as I forded a rushing, ice-cold stream.

This was a kitchen accident.

Seeking the Perfect Shoe
It began with my wanting some walking shoes that were made in Europe. I had a reason. I was traveling to the Continent for the first time in decades and I lived with the unrealistic hope that I might look as little as possible like a tourist.

Here was the goal: To avoid resemblance to a blatant species of American traveler--the one who gives off the vibe of I'm an SUV driving, McDonalds burger eating, American Idol watching citizen of the  Land of the Free, Home of the Brave.

You know, he's all Yankees baseball cap and flapping cargo shorts and Bruce Springsteen "The Boss" T-shirt and the whole of it is shod with a pair of sparkling Tommy Bahamas or ProSpirits (Target brand).

The French invented an interesting shoe in 1936.

Let's say I'd rather blend in.

So I first figured out that black is a popular color in Europe, especially at our initial destination, Paris, where les hommes and femmes serieux se habille comme la nuit and fume beaucoup (apologies for murdering the French language).

"Dress like a Parisian," I told myself, "but defense de fumer!"

So I put together a no-smoking outfit of black jeans, black T-shirt.

Tres simple!

Then I went looking for a comfortable walking option, Euro-insider shoes if possible.

Spring Courts have distinctive "sole holes" to help
ventilate the feet., but we're not advocating you buy some.
Please see our "Endorsement Policy" at the bottom of this post.

There were some English brands (pricey) and then I found them. Spring Courts.

Invented in France in 1936 and manufactured there ever since.

Spring Courts are the world's first  tennis shoe with ventilation holes along the edge of the rubber sole. They are extremely cushy as well.

Spring Courts (in white) are what John Lennon was wearing to complement his white suit as he crossed the street on the famous cover of the Beatles' Abbey Road album.

But guess what? For a number of complicated reasons, not worth explaining here, I didn't end up wearing the Spring Courts on the trip. They stayed at home in their tissue-lined box.

The Anointing
So last June the three of us return from Paris and Rome. The trip has gone well, and I find myself ready to wear my new shoes. I hardly have them on my feet for a week when my pedestrian life is altered drastically.

I go to the grocery store. I buy provisions for the pantry and fridge and I'm bringing them into the house in those flimsy plastic bags the store provides.

That's when it happens.

The bottom breaks in one bag like a ruptured spleen and out tumbles something that from the sound of it hitting the hard tile floor I know instantly is a very large glass container.

It's a quart of olive oil.

I look down at my shoes. They now reside in a lake of golden oil. Their spiffy gray canvas sides are splashed with dark swirls of Italy's finest.

In that instant, my tennis shoes enter the mature phase of their lives. From here on out they will be sheer grunge.

Walk Another Mile in Those Shoes
I did try washing them. At first it appeared that the stains were almost gone. True, the heat of the dryer caused some of the rubber trim to start to melt away, but the shoes looked so much better!

I was deceived.

Soon those stains began to come back. The damaged areas of the canvas seemed to magnetically attract dirt. The oil spots darkened, turned brown.

Rating
Do I really love these shoes or am I just hanging on to them because of what they could have been?

Or am I trying to do what my father always called "get my money's worth" which meant he wouldn't toss anything until it had reached the point of decomposition or had converted itself into particles of rust?
Or could it be I'm futilely clinging to the romantic idea of these shoes the same way I cherish the notion I've always had that I will actually master the French language (although, let's face it, after much study I have as much proficiency in le francais as my dog Bullwinkle has in English)?

Or is this just a blatant guy thing?

I say any object that can provoke such existential, probingly deep questions can't be all bad. They may be ugly, but in quite an anatomical stretch they make my feet speak to my head. For that reason I'll rate theses shoes a solid 3 stars ««« - V.W.

Twisted Plots and the Wrinkles in Life's Fabric

I keep reminding myself that if a person is "Van Winkled" to what's happening elsewhere on the planet, then the only news that remains available is "local" and "personal."

Specifically, "news" becomes whatever seems of import that happens directly to him or her. It's the solipsist's news beat.

Or Welcome to Me-World...

Of course, the blogosphere is replete with this sort of daily diary stuff.

Most of the time, I find myself unwilling to risk a Twitter-style yawn by sharing nuggets of the monstrously mundane aspects of my life (e.g., I had a BLT for lunch, yum! e.g., Just took a Gas-X tablet, ugh!). There's nothing in my daily routine worth reporting on this blog.

Every day is average. Every day goes much as expected. So I write about other matters.

But the last couple of days! Whew! I won't claim it was as if we were on board the Titanic, but our metaphorical ship of life sure wasn't reaching its ports of call in an expected fashion.

All Is Well (Or Is It?)
It began with a planned Easter holiday junket to the nearest major metropolitan area to seek some cultural nourishment not available in our little burg of 110,000 people. We set out on our adventure on Saturday afternoon by getting in the car and driving two hours east of here.

There have been rampant wildfires in this part of the state. For weeks now the daily temperature has approached the summer heat levels of July and the wind has ripped across the arid plains and there has been no rain and no rain. It's a recipe for out of control flames to sweep unimpeded across the landscape.

For weeks, the weather app on my computer desktop
has delivered the same "alert" nearly every day...

Pastures have blackened. Houses have burned. Cattle have been barbecued alive in the field.

Many days I'd stepped outside the house and smelled the smoke in the air. One night my wife drove home with the car's sun roof open. Mistake. She found ash drifting down onto the seats and into her hair.

During our drive on Saturday we checked for places where the fires had burned. We saw one small charcoaled patch alongside the road. Not too impressive. I think it was at this point we began to relax.

The Nonexistent Noodles
So for our Saturday night dinner we selected a Vietnamese restaurant we  had discovered on our last trip to the big city. They featured the kind of delectable, well presented food we can't obtain back home. But wait. Something was wrong. Yes, I mean wait. Really wait. Our appetizers arrived and the server said that our orders were coming. But you know where this is headed.

So March was "National Noodle Month" (seriously) and we
missed it, so we thought we'd atone by ordering up some serious
platefuls of Asian noodle dishes...

We waited. We waited. Our glasses of ice water ran dry. Outside we could see through the tall windows the sky was being illuminated by giant scribbles and lassos of lightning.

Mother Nature was having a blast. Not us.

When the food finally came it was with apologies. At least it was delicious. The manager knocked a few dollars off the bill and gave our son a free cup of chocolate ice cream.

To conclude the evening we headed over to the used bookstore. The night sky still appeared apocalyptic. But the Four Horsemen remained at bay and only scattered drops of rain fell on us. We went back to our hotel with a bag of books and used LPs. We were feeling pretty good about life...

The Empty Church
The main reason we had journeyed all the way to this lovely large metropolis was that I'd picked out an  elegant, Spanish-styled church associated with a major university at which we would attend Easter services. It was near our hotel, but we still had to hustle to pull our best clothes out of bags, dress, and get ready to go.

We arrived on time. Hurray! But another twist, another wrinkle awaited us...

A man accosted us in the parking lot and told us that the service had been moved from the church. "There's been a power outage," he explained. We were redirected to the nearby campus. Church would be held in the student center where they still had power.

Such disappointment! We had wanted to hear the bells toll in the tower. See the robed choir process down the stone tiled aisle. Watch the morning light pouring through stained glass. Feast our eyes on the vaulted ceiling.

The church we hoped to attend...

It was too late to amend our plans. So we joined a line of Easter church goers who, like us, had found that the grand old church on this morning was only an empty, non-electrified, darkened tomb. Plan B was to gather in what resembled a hotel banquet room. Industrial carpet, rows of banquet chairs, cheesy chandeliers. Everyone made the best of it.

Sometimes life doesn't go according to plan. This isn't necessarily bad. Isn't that the message of Easter?

Ah, the MOMA, the perfect venue for our Easter brunch...

Spill the Wine
We were really looking forward to our Easter brunch.

We had reservations in the cafe at the Museum of Modern Art.

Soon as we arrived we knew: this was it! The architecture was wonderful, the food the other diners were tucking into looked aesthetic and palate pleasing.

Indeed once our food arrived my son and I whipped out our cameras and started acting like tourists and taking pictures of it. That's where I became incautious. My blazer sleeve snagged my champagne glass.



A glimpse in the foreground of the glass of sparkling wine moments
before the tragic (and messy!) fall...


The glass tumbled. It shattered with a LOUD  pop!! on the table. I was splashed with golden wine and, with my synapses firing like military grade ordinance, I leaped up by reflex before I even realized what had just happened. Behind me my chair fell over. The nearby diners went "oh!" just like they do when a waiter drops a plate.

"Are you all right?" the waitress asked, hurrying to my assistance.

Some part of me was. All right. The rest of me? Not so much.

I tossed a wadded napkin in the direction of the puddled wine. I excused myself to head in the direction of the bathroom.

The Seventh Plague
It was almost time to go home, but what else could go wrong? Hadn't we had our quota already?

In fact, I refuse to count as an adversity that we had planned to finish our visit with a visit to a large super market that features gourmet and natural foods that we can't buy back home. We had even brought a cooler that we planned to fill with ice and then pack with organic meats and vegetables.We arrived and found the parking lot empty.

Closed for the Easter holiday.

So we began the two-hour drive back. Again, we relaxed. Then, only half an hour from home, the sky began looking gray and grim. It appeared to be storming off in the distance. We were within fifteen minutes of home when the rain began to fall. Heavily.

Photo by Greg Kendall-Ball (who V.W. personally knows!)

The windshield wipers had to be put on full speed and visibility was only as far as tail lights of the vehicle ahead of us. Still, we could proceed, albeit at a slightly reduced speed.

Then hail began falling.

Not good. We sought shelter under a highway underpass with a crowd of cars, SUVs, vans, and pickup trucks. We were now on the outskirts of town, only five minutes from our driveway. Soon the rain slackened .

We and the other highway travelers took shelter, huddling beneath the underpass. while rain and hail poured down

I started up again. Only a mile from our house the hail started falling again. Big hail. Verging on golf ball size. I screeched to a halt beneath the gas pump awning of a car wash. The entire town appeared be swamped with water. This came after months and months of drought.

Eventually the hail relented and sun began to poke through and I got the three of us home. Hail stones still littered the front yard. Our roof might have to be replaced. But that was it, right? Nothing else untoward would happen to us on this day? There as to be a time limit on such things?

Apparently so. Which makes me happy. You see, it may have been a lot of trouble, but at least I derived a blog post out of the weekend. What I don't want, though, is an entire series. - V.W.

Home again.