Every other day some columnist has written a piece detailing their agony over the decision to give up paper books and journals and buy a Kindle or tablet. I can boil it down for you and make the decision very easy.
If you currently only read books from the library a Kindle will definitely be a financial shock. You will now have to purchase all of your books. On the positive side no one but you has taken your Kindle into the bathroom with them....after eating bad clams. Or sneezed into it. Or picked their nose and left the booger on page 231. All of these things have happened to the library books you read in bed and let touch your pillow. I'm just saying. And when borrowing library books on the Kindle does become widespread then there will be no dilemma about whether to buy one.
If you like to browse for your books at Barnes and Noble, and circulate among fellow readers, then downloading from Amazon can be lonely. But the reviews, especially the mean ones, on Amazon.com will most assuredly keep you entertained. After reading some of the reviews you might not even have to buy the book. This is especially true for non-fiction. We all know a non fiction book is basically one 25 page chapter repeated over and over to fill 350 pages anyway. If Thomas Friedman tells me the world is flat and proves it by an anecdote about call centers in Mumbai India, then I believe him. And I usually believe him by page 23. Or if Michael Pollan tells me to eat more home grown vegetables and less corn syrup enhanced chicken nuggets I am on board by page 18. No need to go on and on about some wacko hippie foragers or right wing survivalist farmers for 250 pages. So by reading the reviews or downloading the free samples in the Kindle store you have already saved money.
If it is the tactile feel of the book's paper, or the sound of turning a page you think you will miss, let me disabuse you of this silly notion right away. The Kindle can be held in one hand. It can rest on your lap without your having to hold it open. It can play music while you read. It can read to you. You can buy a book without getting out of your beach chair. You can have your newspaper delivered to it and it will never be wet or late (well sometimes it is) and there is no newsboy to tip. You can cut and clip favorite passages and download them to your computer. You can look up SAT words by just putting the cursor on the word.
You don't need your glasses while reading in bed as you can make the font bigger than this. It fits in a back pocket and you will look very cool reading it at the airport.
There are a few downsides. Books will never get remaindered as there will be no need for a warehouse to store unsold books. But if you ever believed technology would save you money, you were already misguided. The biggest negative of the Kindle, however, is that you can't share a good book with a friend, or trade it at a used bookstore. But I am sure the authors are happy about that so by reading your book on a Kindle perhaps there is a better chance for struggling writers to make a decent living. And that's a good thing because I feel sorry for people who get to sit around in their underwear, drinking coffee and eating donuts, and staring at a computer screen all day long to make a living.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Eleven Rules for Living
1. It is never wrong to be a mensch. Though the Jews still feel persecuted.
2. The devil you know is better than the devil you don't know. Two 25 year olds are not better than a 50 year old.
3. Own a pet. They appreciate getting fed.
4. If everyone threw their troubles into a circle you would take yours back. If I didn't have problems what would I talk about?
5. Live every day as if next month will be your last. You do need a little planning.
6. Walk a mile in another man's hiking boots. Preferably Merrells. And a Gore Tex liner wouldn't hurt.
7. Call your mother. Even if you are 70 and she is 95.
8. At a party always talk to someone you don't know. If you need a drink first, I understand.
9. Don't take yourself seriously. No one else does.
10. Be open to other viewpoints. Keep reading my blog.
11. Never have more than ten rules. Thinking you know more than God is a big mistake.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thank You
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. First and foremost because it is America's holiday and I am grateful to have been born an American. I am thankful for my grandparents who had the courage to cross the pond into the strange and unforgiving urban wilderness that is New York City. Thanksgiving is my Yom Kippur and Easter. An ecumenical day of celebration when atheists and the pious have equal reverence for their creation. The right to believe as one chooses is one of the greatest gifts bestowed upon us by our Founders. And for that I am forever grateful.
I am also thankful for just being conceived. The first and practically only time I ever won a race was when the sperm that would become me beat out all his peers and crossed the vitelline membrane first. It would be another 41 years before I repeated the feat in a 10k race, but that was strictly an age group win. So I am thankful for the gift of life and the 85 or so years that have been granted to me. To experience love and rejection. To feel ecstasy and pain. To witness the birth of a new life and the death of an old one. To hear the birds sing and babies cry. And to see the grace of nature's creation and the power of her destruction.
I am grateful for the path that my parents set me on. I might complain about all the rocks in my way or that I am freezing or sweating but I know there are many, many more behind me who have lost their way or don't know where they are going. Or if they will ever even get there. And I am most thankful that along this path I met my walking partner, Tammy. Because with her by my side I am already there.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Switched on Bach
Tammy and I participated in, what is for us, a rare auditory cultural activity. I tried not to complain about all the ancillary costs involved, such as twenty dollars to park for 3 hours (in a distant lot, I might add). Or the ten dollar online processing fee for two $29.00 tickets. An eighteen percent service charge, by the way, made even more egregious because I had to pay for the ink and paper to print the tickets. This thought reminds me of how much I also hate fax machine solicitations. Especially the ones where the artwork is in so called reverse print. The page is entirely black and the copy is in white.Who do you think pays for all that wasted ink? All just to find out that if you order a large pizza between 11:30 am and 1:30 pm on the first and third Wednesdays of every month you will receive a free liter of Diet Coke from the pizza joint just down the street. If I want to know their specials I would just call up and say "is today free liter of Diet Coke day?" I am not quite sure, given the overbearing regulatory climate in Washington, how print ads, where the customer pays the production costs, ever became legal. But this, of course, has nothing to do with cabin living. But it does have something to do with the current fad of blaming the government for all of our economic woes and believing that letting businesses run amok will solve all of our problems. Am I the only bourgeoisie that is annoyed by unfettered capitalism? Paging Adam Smith.
But back to the topic at hand. The event we attended was a concert at the Wells Fargo Center in Philadelphia. We don't go to many concerts, or plays for that matter, but once or twice a year I will hear something on the radio and I will say, to no one in particular, or most likely to the patient whose tooth I happen to be drilling at the time, "I have always wanted to see them in concert." The last time I was thus inspired was during Bruce Springsteen's Farewell to the Spectrum tour in Philadelphia. That was also a farewell to my youth tour since the last time I saw Springsteen in concert at the Spectrum was in 1980, during my Freshman year in dental school. Bruce is still exuberantly rocking out in his chosen profession at the age of 62, but at the age of 51 I find myself fading fast in the war with dental caries. The economy isn't helping much. Given a choice between a $125.00 Springsteen ticket and a $125.00 check up and cleaning, I might also choose the former. I am joshing of course... I would buy a new Mountain Hardwear softshell fleece with my $125.00.
Prior to the concert we decided to have a nice meal at a new Italian Bistro which just opened in the economically distressed downtown area of my hometown, Woodbury NJ. We were happy to see it open as most of the other downtown businesses have more of an inner city vibe. A take out fried chicken joint, a check cashing service, a "no contract needed" cell phone operation, and a bail bondsman. I haven't, as of yet, needed any bail money and I try to avoid take out foods that ooze through the bucket before I can get them home. So needless to say Woodbury can use a little upscale BYO place for a romantic evening that doesn't involve plastic forks and a bottle of Colt 45 in a brown bag. The best thing about dining in downtown Woodbury is the fact that we could walk to the restaurant and I was able to apply the $9.00 I saved on parking in Center City Philadelphia to a nice appetizer. I chose a Gorgonzola, pear, and candied walnut salad since a side salad was not included with my entree. In wishing for a chic restaurant to open in my city, I forgot that upscale is synonymous with a la carte. Is it a crime to want an uptown experience for a downtown price? Especially since there was some sort of police activity outside the restaurant during two-thirds of our meal. The red and blue flashing lights added a sort of "this may be my last meal for a while" ambiance. But the meal was quite delicious and kudos to the owners for taking a chance on Woodbury. I sincerely hope they make it.
As for the concert it was cultural in the sense that broccoli salad made with Miracle Whip is cultural. The nutritious cruciferous green vegetable is certainly in there but you have to get through the extraneous fat and sugar laden dressing to unearth the goodness. The music was Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, and Mozart but the lasers, video screens, and staging mechanics was all Kiss. And like the above mentioned salad, The Trans Siberian Orchestra might over do it a bit with the dressing. While extremely entertaining during the show, you are somehow left wondering if you should have ingested all that in one sitting. But the crowd was more potato salad than arugula salad so they know their audience. And, as Tammy noted, if that is the only way you can get some people to listen to Beethoven then so be it. To be fair, I don't go to Philadelphia Orchestra Concerts either. I find it rather difficult to sit through an entire concert without being able to stomp around a bit and shout "whoo whoo" a lot. Perhaps a few well placed lasers during some of the slower movements in Handel's Messiah might get me more interested in attending. Or, like the guitar and violin solos at the TSO concert, a harpsichordist on a scissor lift in the middle of the audience might not be such a bad thing. Let's face it, even a hardcore hollandaise epicurean needs a little Miracle Whip now and then.
But back to the topic at hand. The event we attended was a concert at the Wells Fargo Center in Philadelphia. We don't go to many concerts, or plays for that matter, but once or twice a year I will hear something on the radio and I will say, to no one in particular, or most likely to the patient whose tooth I happen to be drilling at the time, "I have always wanted to see them in concert." The last time I was thus inspired was during Bruce Springsteen's Farewell to the Spectrum tour in Philadelphia. That was also a farewell to my youth tour since the last time I saw Springsteen in concert at the Spectrum was in 1980, during my Freshman year in dental school. Bruce is still exuberantly rocking out in his chosen profession at the age of 62, but at the age of 51 I find myself fading fast in the war with dental caries. The economy isn't helping much. Given a choice between a $125.00 Springsteen ticket and a $125.00 check up and cleaning, I might also choose the former. I am joshing of course... I would buy a new Mountain Hardwear softshell fleece with my $125.00.
Prior to the concert we decided to have a nice meal at a new Italian Bistro which just opened in the economically distressed downtown area of my hometown, Woodbury NJ. We were happy to see it open as most of the other downtown businesses have more of an inner city vibe. A take out fried chicken joint, a check cashing service, a "no contract needed" cell phone operation, and a bail bondsman. I haven't, as of yet, needed any bail money and I try to avoid take out foods that ooze through the bucket before I can get them home. So needless to say Woodbury can use a little upscale BYO place for a romantic evening that doesn't involve plastic forks and a bottle of Colt 45 in a brown bag. The best thing about dining in downtown Woodbury is the fact that we could walk to the restaurant and I was able to apply the $9.00 I saved on parking in Center City Philadelphia to a nice appetizer. I chose a Gorgonzola, pear, and candied walnut salad since a side salad was not included with my entree. In wishing for a chic restaurant to open in my city, I forgot that upscale is synonymous with a la carte. Is it a crime to want an uptown experience for a downtown price? Especially since there was some sort of police activity outside the restaurant during two-thirds of our meal. The red and blue flashing lights added a sort of "this may be my last meal for a while" ambiance. But the meal was quite delicious and kudos to the owners for taking a chance on Woodbury. I sincerely hope they make it.
As for the concert it was cultural in the sense that broccoli salad made with Miracle Whip is cultural. The nutritious cruciferous green vegetable is certainly in there but you have to get through the extraneous fat and sugar laden dressing to unearth the goodness. The music was Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, and Mozart but the lasers, video screens, and staging mechanics was all Kiss. And like the above mentioned salad, The Trans Siberian Orchestra might over do it a bit with the dressing. While extremely entertaining during the show, you are somehow left wondering if you should have ingested all that in one sitting. But the crowd was more potato salad than arugula salad so they know their audience. And, as Tammy noted, if that is the only way you can get some people to listen to Beethoven then so be it. To be fair, I don't go to Philadelphia Orchestra Concerts either. I find it rather difficult to sit through an entire concert without being able to stomp around a bit and shout "whoo whoo" a lot. Perhaps a few well placed lasers during some of the slower movements in Handel's Messiah might get me more interested in attending. Or, like the guitar and violin solos at the TSO concert, a harpsichordist on a scissor lift in the middle of the audience might not be such a bad thing. Let's face it, even a hardcore hollandaise epicurean needs a little Miracle Whip now and then.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Fulfilling the Boy Scout Motto
My wife's cousin has a dead rabbit in her freezer. She shot, quartered, and skinned it herself so during the zombie apocalypse she is clearly on the short list for my posse. Of course she lives across the Delaware River which is perhaps a bridge too far if I need immediate assistance procuring food while the virally infected undead have my house surrounded. Which is the exact reason I am thinking about purchasing a shotgun for myself. A Mossberg 12 gauge with interchangeable barrel so I can use straight slugs if the lead pellets don't do the trick. If you know anything about killing a zombie I don't need to explain the importance of a clean shot to the brain.
As far as survival gear goes I am quite well prepared. I have in my immediate possession; gas, stoves, lanterns, rope, machetes, knives, flint and steel, an appetite for canned beans, water purification filters, and most importantly, an isolated cabin in the woods, on a dead end road leading into a dead end valley-as my neighbor was astute enough to point out. Come zombies, Russians, al Qaeda, or a prophetic flesh eating virus and my valley will be the last place any one or thing will go looking. But if trouble should come my way I want to be prepared. After just a few years worth of weekends of rural cabin life and a federal government and national economy in total disarray I am morphing into a redneck survivalist. According to my Woodland Valley neighbor and good friend across the street, I may not even be a liberal democrat anymore. I don't know if it is my second amendment sympathies (kidding), or my love of canned beer and cigars (not kidding), but even after a half hour discussion whence I held the untenable positions of defending government regulatory controls, the Federal Reserve Bank, Medicare, Medicaid, global carbon offsets, and NAFTA, I had to beg off an invite to a local Tea Party rally. I wasn't really invited to a Tea Party rally but it is true that I had trouble convincing my friend that my sympathies really do lie with the Occupy Wall Street crowd. It proves the sociological axiom that we more easily tolerate differences in those we know and like.
But back to the Mossberg 12 gauge. My quest to arm myself has also run into a few sociological roadblocks. First and foremost Jews, apparently, do not hunt. Or so says my other Woodland Valley neighbor a few houses, and a few political viewpoints, down the road. And if Jews don't hunt why do I actually need a gun since everyone knows that during a zombie blitzkrieg I will most likely be one of the first ones bitten and infected in spite of how well armed I may be. A presupposition that, in light of my poor track record in the childhood elimination games of dodgeball, tag, and musical chairs, I cannot seriously argue against. And as a progeny of the merchant class it may be true that I am better suited to procuring my beef downtown rather than in the woods. The second, and definitely more insurmountable barrier, is my spouse. The granddaughter of duck, deer, and pheasant hunting outdoorsmen, she never the less sees no reason to own a firearm in the modern era. My wife does not subscribe to the delusional paranoiac fantasy that in the aftermath of a cataclysmic geological event, such as an asteroid crashing into Times Square, or Rick Perry becoming president of the United States, it will be every man and his wife for themselves.
This is not the first time I had to convince my partner of the need for unusual preparatory readiness. Back in December of 1999 she didn't understand why I had stockpiled rolls of duct tape, plastic sheathing and bottled water. I didn't end up needing any of it but if my computer did crash at least we wouldn't have died of thirst. Or drafty windows. And then there was the blizzard of 2010. We may not have needed sixteen loaves of bread and eight gallons of milk but the birds and neighborhood cats still come around when they are hungry. And who doesn't love feeding evil feral cats and tic infested Canadian Geese?
Okay, so it's going to be an uphill battle to arm myself. But at least I have the CDC on my side. No, they don't recommend a shotgun as part of the pandemic preparedness kit now, but if a Tea Party favorite wins the White House that will surely change. Instead of looking to the CDC, FEMA, HHS, and EPA for help during the apocalypse it will be the NRA, and SOA, calling the shots. Figuratively and literally.
But back to the Mossberg 12 gauge. My quest to arm myself has also run into a few sociological roadblocks. First and foremost Jews, apparently, do not hunt. Or so says my other Woodland Valley neighbor a few houses, and a few political viewpoints, down the road. And if Jews don't hunt why do I actually need a gun since everyone knows that during a zombie blitzkrieg I will most likely be one of the first ones bitten and infected in spite of how well armed I may be. A presupposition that, in light of my poor track record in the childhood elimination games of dodgeball, tag, and musical chairs, I cannot seriously argue against. And as a progeny of the merchant class it may be true that I am better suited to procuring my beef downtown rather than in the woods. The second, and definitely more insurmountable barrier, is my spouse. The granddaughter of duck, deer, and pheasant hunting outdoorsmen, she never the less sees no reason to own a firearm in the modern era. My wife does not subscribe to the delusional paranoiac fantasy that in the aftermath of a cataclysmic geological event, such as an asteroid crashing into Times Square, or Rick Perry becoming president of the United States, it will be every man and his wife for themselves.
This is not the first time I had to convince my partner of the need for unusual preparatory readiness. Back in December of 1999 she didn't understand why I had stockpiled rolls of duct tape, plastic sheathing and bottled water. I didn't end up needing any of it but if my computer did crash at least we wouldn't have died of thirst. Or drafty windows. And then there was the blizzard of 2010. We may not have needed sixteen loaves of bread and eight gallons of milk but the birds and neighborhood cats still come around when they are hungry. And who doesn't love feeding evil feral cats and tic infested Canadian Geese?
Okay, so it's going to be an uphill battle to arm myself. But at least I have the CDC on my side. No, they don't recommend a shotgun as part of the pandemic preparedness kit now, but if a Tea Party favorite wins the White House that will surely change. Instead of looking to the CDC, FEMA, HHS, and EPA for help during the apocalypse it will be the NRA, and SOA, calling the shots. Figuratively and literally.
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