Sunday, September 30, 2007

“restomod”

The Keed
This ain’t the bluster-boy’s car, but nearly identical.
The November 2007 issue of my Car & Driver magazine treats an interesting concept: the “restomod.”
It’s a response to the utterly valid criticism muscle-cars of the ‘70s are such douche-bags compared to what’s available now.
It’s a criticism that makes sense to me after motoring around in, and driving, my brother Jack’s rumpeta-rumpeta.
Here we are, quaking and shaking down the highway.
“People used to street-race these things,” I thought.
Way too much motor in a blowsy old chassis about as sophisticated as an aluminum ladder — and about as flexible.
The bedroom in our house on Winton Road in Rochester fronted on the main drag, Winton Road, a north-south street.
The house wasn’t air-conditioned, so during summer we had to sleep with the bedroom window open.
One night about 3 a.m., a mighty 454 Chevelle blasted up the street at about 75 mph with open pipes. (Winton Road is a city-street; speedlimit 30 mph.)
He was going up the street to the expressway on-ramp. Later we could hear unmuffled muscle-cars winding out in the distance.
There was no way you could sleep through that. The bellow was enough to wake the dead.
About 20 years ago I rode along in a ‘55 Chevy with a 400 Small-Block and Four-on-the-Floor.
Such a car was my dream all through high-school and college.
I had driven to it in the Faithful Hunda, and my reaction to the ‘55 was “what did I ever see in this thing?”
The Faithful Hunda was slower, but would run circles around it. That ‘55 was loud and flimsy.
Sure, throw $35,000 at it, and it would still be a ‘55 Chevy.
The restomod answers the most severe criticisms of the Muscle-Cars; namely unsophisticated chassis, lack of stiffness, and harrowing brakes.
Apparently others are doing it too, but this restomod builder is XV Motorsports of Woodstock, Ontario, Canada; and they do mainly MoPars, because most others don’t.
Gone are the wimpy drum brakes, replaced with six-pot calipers with discs in the front, and four-pot in the back. —Finally the old sucker can stop.
Also gone is the leaf rear-suspension, replaced by aluminum swingarms (that do a much more precise job of locating the rear axle), with an adjustable Panhard rod and coils.
I think what they presented, a Dodge Challenger, is unit-construction like the Nova, with a sub-frame up front.
But they added body-stiffening, which adds weight, but makes the old turkey handle much better.
They also redid the front-suspension. Corvette parts attach to an added-on aluminum sub-frame. The power-steering is current Mustang rack-and-pinion.
Beyond that they also levered out the old 340 and installed a hopped-up version of the new 5.7 liter Hemi. The tranny is five-on-the-floor. They also installed more modern and supportive bucket-seats — in place of the stock bench-seats.
For comparison they had a stock 340 Trans-Am Challenger, and the restomod halved the braking-distance.
The restomod was also much less frightening at speed — like ya wouldn’t loop it into a tree when floored. The writer noticed the stiffness as soon as he slammed the car-door: the XV car ker-thunked, and the stock Challenger crashed.
A 454 Chevelle is impressive, but after driving my brother’s car, I prefer more recent cars. If I want performance, there’s always the new Mustang. It wouldn’t be quivering and quaking. I feel like I could punch it without it punishing me.
A 454 Chevelle is now just a show-car. No matter what people say, cars are much better than years ago.
I was afraid the bluster-boy might “show (me) what she’ll do,” but thankfully he didn’t. (I didn’t wanna end up impaled on some phonepole.)

  • “The bluster-boy” is my all-knowing, blowhard brother-in-Boston Jack, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say. The “rumpeta-rumpeta” is his classic 1971 454-cubic-inch Chevrolet SS Chevelle, a monster.
  • The first house we had (about 1974-1990) was “on Winton Road in Rochester.” We moved out here to West Bloomfield after that.
  • A “400 Small-Block” is a 400-cubic-inch version of the V8 motor Chevrolet introduced in 1955 at 265 cubic-inches. The Small-Block revolutionized hot-rodding. It ran so well, and responded to modification so well, plus was cheap, it replaced the Ford Flat-head V8 which was the original engine-of-choice for hot-rodding. Pretty much the same, yet much improved, it’s still being made. “Four-on-the-Floor” is a four-speed floor-shifted standard transmission. “Four-on-the-Floor” was introduced early on in the late ‘50s by Corvette. Many hot-rodders swapped to Four-on-the-Floor, since such trannies were quicker than a column-shift (on the steering-column).
  • “The Faithful Hunda” was our 1989 Honda Civic All-Wheel-Drive station-wagon, by far the BEST car we ever owned, now departed (replaced by our Honda CR-V). (Called a “Hunda” because that was how a fellow bus-driver at Transit [Regional-Transit-Service in Rochester, where I once worked], pronounced it.)
  • “Drum brakes” were used clear until Detroit began switching over to disc brakes in the ‘70s. On drum brakes the brake-drum would expand as it heated up, expanding away from the brake-shoes, so that drum brakes faded away with heavy use. Disc brakes were less likely to fade, and have gotten better over the years. At first only one piston would activate the brake-pucks. This was increased to two, and even to three, evening and increasing brake-force. Usually the brake calipers only have pistons on one side, which activates both sides by moving the caliper toward the brake-disc. A six-pot caliper may actually only have three pistons. But it’s the equivalent of six things activating the brake-pucks. (Then too, it may actually have six separate pistons; with the caliper solidly mounted.)
  • The “leaf rear-suspension,” commonly used at that time, was two parallel leaf-springs to which the rear-axle was solidly bolted. Those leaf-springs could wobble and bend, steering the rear-axle. “Swingarms” are much more precise at locating the rear-axle relative to the car-chassis. A “Panhard rod” (a long arm connecting the rear-axle to the car [or chassis] underbody) makes rear-axle location even more precise. “Coil”-springs are used instead of leaf springs. They too can be more precise. (Detroit cars at the time used coils mainly at just the front.)
  • “Unit-construction” is the opposite of “body-on-frame construction.” With body-on-frame construction a separate body is fitted atop a frame. With unit-construction the car is essentially frameless — the car-body acts as the frame. But quite often a unit-construction car had a small front sub-frame for the motor, tranny and front-suspension, to isolate road-impact, etc. from the passengers.
  • Saturday, September 29, 2007

    ringtone

    THE BEST THERE IS
    Nickel Plate 765.
    Yesterday (Friday, September 28, 2007) I had the awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity to think I could install the whistle of steam railroad locomotive 765 as the ringtone on my cellphone.
    Steam railroad locomotive 765 is a restored retired steam-locomotive of the Nickel Plate Road between Buffalo and Chicago and St. Louis (the New York, Chicago & St. Louis Railroad), named Nickel Plate by a scion of the mighty New York Central Railroad because it provided such staunch competition.
    765 is a Nickel Plate Berkshire, 2-8-4, a special design common to many other railroads. The concept, called SuperPower, was initiated by Lima (“LIE-ma;” not “LEE-ma — like the lima-bean) Locomotive Works of Lima, Ohio.
    The concept was to build enough steam boiler-capacity into the regular side-rod design, to supply sufficient steam to allow constant 50-70 mph running, and not run out of steam.
    SuperPower was such a success many railroads bought it; 2-8-4 and 2-10-4 iterations thereof. (In fact, a 2-6-6-6 articulated SuperPower engine was also built for Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad).
    But for most railroads it was a misapplication, since many railroads were lugging heavy trains up steep mountain grades.
    SuperPower was efficient too, but not as efficient at slow speeds as steam-locomotives designed for slow lugging (Norfolk & Western was good at this).
    Where SuperPower shined was 50-70 mph running over flat terrain.
    Years ago (early ‘90s) I rode the Chesapeake & Ohio mainline behind 765 up the New River Gorge in W. Va.
    Whoo-wheee! I will never forget it as long as I live! Constant 60-70 mph! They had given us the railroad.
    765 steamed like no steam-locomotive I had ever seen.
    What I saw as a child were Pennsy K4s on the PRSL, but they weren’t as strong as 765.
    We passed a stopped coal-train in a siding. Three hoppers were flipping by every second!
    Me and another guy, covered in soot, timed our train with our stop-watches. 70 mph between mileposts!
    Nickel Plate 765 masquerading as Chessie Kanawha #2765.
    They’d been running the New River Train over-and-over every Fall, so I chased it the following year with my wife.
    The next year (1993) I convinced my blowhard, macho brother-from-Boston he should come out and see it.
    He was supervising construction of a generating-station (or something) in Illinois, and planned to drive home to his home near Boston. He would do so via West Virginia.
    765 had been modified to look like a Chesapeake & Ohio Kanawha, also a SuperPower design, but not built by Lima, and slightly different from a Nickel Plate Berk.
    C&O had the steam dome and sandbox atop the boiler reversed from the standard Lima practice.
    The C&O Kanawha and Nickel Plate Berk also had different pilots.
    What little modification the 765 guys did to make 765 look like a Kanawha was to lower the headlight off of the smokebox door, and put a 2765 number-plate in its place; just like a Kanawha.
    The 765 guys also built a front panel that fronted the air-pumps and an intercooler on the Kanawha. But it doesn’t cover anything. The air-pumps are where they were on 765.
    WHATEVER; it’s still Nickel Plate 765. They also put a C&O hooter whistle on it, but it still has the 765 whistle — BAR NONE the prettiest-sounding steam-whistle in existence. There are steam-whistles on the Shay-locomotives at Cass worth hearing, but they ain’t 765.
    So I dragged out my VHS videotape that I recorded when my brother and I chased 2765 back in 1993.
    I stuck my cellphone up against the TV speaker, and recorded 2765 whistling for a grade-crossing.
    It was awful — it’s only a cellphone.
    So I plugged in my USB microphone and recorded the same sound on my ‘pyooter. Not a direct feed, but much better — I’ve done that before.
    So good I decided to upload the sound-file to our famblee-site; which is when the madness began.
    First I uploaded my MAC System-7 file, which Gates-users can’t play. Loud fulminating from West Bridgewater.
    But I have a software for converting System-7s to .wav-files, playable by Gates users. I also have Windoze Media-Player on my MAC, so it plays a .wav-file (as does my QuickTime).
    I converted the System-7 to .wav, played it, and got deafening silence from West Bridgewater.
    My wife was playing the .wav on her PC, as was my baby-sister, apparently.
    Then after about three plays I began getting a plugin requirement. WHAT? I’ve been playing it right along.
    We looked at things, and apparently MyFamblee was adding something to the embed-address that made the file unreadable.
    A plugin for such gibberish didn’t exist, so I dumped the first embed and embedded again. Now it plays; and still does — about 12 hours since uploading.
    Meanwhile, making it a ringtone may be impossible. I can put it on the cellphone flashcard, but it ain’t the format the cellphone wants.
    Okay, so we convert it online to a ringtone format, but “Version” seems to want ya to do everything through them, so they can charge a fee. I.e. I guess a ringtone has to come from “Version;” not the chip (REPUBLICAN ALERT)!

  • The “Nickel Plate Road” no longer exists. It was bought by Norfolk & Western, and is now operated by Norfolk Southern.
  • “2-8-4” equals two pilot wheels (one each side), eight driving wheels (four each side), and four trailing-wheels supporting the firebox (two each side). It’s the Whyte numbering system for detailing railroad steam locomotives.
  • RE: “regular side-rod design.......” Most railroad steam locomotives used forged side-rods worked by pistons to turn the driving-wheels. There were other ways of driving the driving-wheels of a railroad steam locomotive (e.g. the Shay), but they were very rarely used. (Most Shays operated on logging railroads, since they could operate on minimal track with steep grades.)
  • “Articulated” is a railroad steam locomotive with two or more driver-sets; usually with the lead driver-set on a hinge so the locomotive could negotiate sharp turns (hence the name “articulated”). The usual maximum was two driver-sets, although Erie had a locomotive with three.
  • “Pennsy” is the Pennsylvania Railroad, no longer in existence. It merged with New York Central Railroad in 1968 as Penn-Central, and that went bankrupt in about two years. “Pennsy” was once the largest railroad in the world. The K4 Pacific (4-6-2) was their primary steam passenger-engine. As a late ‘teens design, it is rather moribund, but very impressive. A lot of boiler for its time.
  • “PRSL” (Pennsylvania-Reading Seashore Lines) is an amalgamation of Pennsylvania and Reading (“RED-ing”) railroad-lines in south Jersey to counter the fact the two railroads had too much track. It was promulgated in 1933. The PRSL ran through the little town south of where I lived as a child. On it is was where I first saw trains; and PRSL still ran steam at that time (late ‘40s).
  • “Hoppers” are coal-cars (hopper-cars).
  • “C&O” is the Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad. It no longer exists. CSX operates it, and many other railroads.
  • “My all-knowing, blowhard brother-from-Boston” noisily badmouths everything I do or say. Like me he’s also a railfan.
  • “The air-pumps” supply air for the train’s brake-system, among other things.
  • “A C&O hooter whistle” is a single low tone, the standard steam-whistle C&O used. It’s rather putrid.
  • “Our famblee-site” (FlagOut) is our family’s web-site, named that because I had a mentally-retarded kid-brother (Down Syndrome) who lived at home, and loudly insisted the flag be flown every day. “Flag-Out! Sun comes up, the flag goes up! Sun goes down, the flag comes down.” I fly the flag partly in his honor. (He died at 14 in 1968.) “MyFamblee” (MyFamily) is the service that maintains our web-site.
  • “West Bridgewater,” south of Boston, is where my loudmouthed brother lives.
  • “My baby-sister” is Peg, 17 years younger than me — I’m the oldest. She lives near Lynchburg, Va. with her husband and children,
  • “Version” is how my loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston noisily insists “Verizon” is spelled.
  • Thursday, September 27, 2007

    Foose

    ‘34 Ford (left); and Plymouth Prowler (right). The Prowler has a ‘34 Ford grille, and motorcycle fenders; the Ford is fenderless. (One wonders how ya get the Ford into a driveway without damaging it?)
    Yesterday (Wednesday, September 26, 2007) two of my 2008 calendars arrived: my two car-calendars; my Oxman Publishing calendars — Classic Street Rods 2008 and Legendary Sportscars 2008.
    They were ordered over the phone, since the Oxman calendar site had the 2008 catalog, but still had the 2007 calendars pictured. Seems this was what it was last year, but I called them to make sure I got the 2008 calendars.
    “Order CAL07 and CAL05 online and you get the 2008 calendars, no matter what the site has pictured. But I can take your order.”
    Both calendars are a let-down, but the “Classic Street Rods” in particular.
    It’s all hot-rods by Chip Foose.
    Foose is okay, but he’s usually over dramatic; cars more dream-like than real-world.
    He’s especially drawn to the ‘34 Ford: classic upright lines with a laid-back grille. (There are three ‘34 Fords, a ‘33, and a ‘34 wannabee [the Prowler, pictured].)
    Absolutely flawless and spotless and perfect — um, what if it rains? —Them fenderless tires are gonna throw up roostertails, and there’s no top to put up. Wipe the windshield with your hands.
    Oh, and uh toothpicks from a chromed power-dispenser for removing bugs from your teeth.
    Sorry, but the Milner coupe in American Graffiti made more sense.
    One afternoon the guy that helped rebuild our kitchen on Winton Road showed up in a Milner-coupe imitation he had built.
    I was impressed. It looked great. You were sitting on the floor, scrunched under the chopped top, but at least there was weather-protection.
    I remember it having a 3/4-inch plywood floor, but at least it was drivable.
    I’m sure there were flaws Foose wouldn’t pass, but I doubt you could drive a Foose dream.
    Earlier Oxman hot-rod calendars were fantastic: classic ‘32 highboys and even a ‘41 Willys.
    (To my mind the Willys looks even better than the vaunted ‘40-Ford coupe; since it’s only three-window [instead of five], and a one-piece flat windshield [the Ford is two-piece]. Plus it’s smaller, and has a prettier grille.)
    ‘54 Chevy custom (left); and ‘57 Chevy convertible stylized up to 1959 proportions (right).
    This calendar has a customized ‘54 Chevy in it, for crying out loud.
    The ‘54 Chevy was one of the plainest turkeys ever made (my parents had a ‘53; which we affectionately called the “Blue Bomb” — it was navy-blue. It’s the same body as the ‘54).
    Of course the heavy boat-anchor Stovebolt-Six has been levered out, and replaced by a snorting 510-horsepower 427 Big-Block.
    Thankfully, Foose didn’t do much to it, except it suffers from the huge Californy wheels (18-inch or more) Foose seems attracted to.
    (A couple of the ‘34 Fords have these.)
    Foose also widened the reversed spear-applique a tiny amount on the rear fenders, and put in the corrugated finish-panel that’s on ‘57 Bel Airs. It looks okay, but since the ‘54 is so close to stock, it looks different. (That 427 also prompted a V on the trunklid.)
    The calendar also has a ‘57 Chevy convertible (pictured) sized up to 1959 proportions. It looks a little ridiculous — like too wide.
    My Legendary Sportscars Calendar is a let-down too. Too many cars from the ‘30s: a garish Hitler Mercedes roadster, a Delahaye, a grand aluminum-bodied Bugatti closed road-car; even a mighty 1931 Duesenberg boat-tail J speedster.
    Excuse me; but all these cars belong in a “Classic-Car” calendar. The closest we get to legendary sportscars is a GullWing Mercedes, and a Ford GT40.
    No recent Ferraris or Maseratis, or even Porsches or Jaguars.
    The Alfa they have is also ancient.
    I might have to try other than Oxman next year. Other calendar-printers might print better stuff.

  • Chip Foose is a car-builder and designer based in Californy who has a program on History-Channel titled “Overhaulin’.” He once was vice-president of “Hot-Rods by Boyd” (Coddington); but is now on-his-own.
  • RE: “on Winton Road.......” We once lived in a house on Winton Road in Rochester before we moved here to West Bloomfield.
  • A “‘32 highboy” is a hot-rodded 1932 Ford roadster, usually fenderless.
  • RE: “three-window” is two side-windows in the doors only, plus the rear-window; and “five-window” was four side-windows — one each in the doors, and one small window behind each door; plus a single rear-window. A ‘40 Ford coupe is actually six-window; since the rear window is actually two panes of glass.
  • The “Stovebolt-Six” was the inline-six motor Chevrolet built from 1937 to 1963 or ‘64. It was called “the Stovebolt” because it had bolts that could be replaced with stove bolts that could be gotten from a hardware-store.
  • “427 Big-Block” is the larger motor built by Chevrolet in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. It came in various displacements: 396, 402, 427, and 454 cubic-inches.
  • Wednesday, September 26, 2007

    It’s 7:17 a.m.

    And so begins Linda’s great foray into our nation’s vaunted healthcare system; and were it not for unions, she’d be consigned to the ice-flow.
    The sun is not up yet, but the eastern sky is light.
    We got up at 6 a.m., and there were the usual chores to do, like put away the dishes from the dishwasher, which I can’t do at 152 mph.
    The extent of my involvement so far is to be taxi-driver, and make snide remarks that make dead-serious people laugh.
    Mention the dreaded C-word, and conversation turns turgid. People frown and express concern. Tub-thumping zealots start praying.
    Well, I don’t want to lose the best friend I ever had, and don’t think I will.
    “You and Linda should value your remaining time together........”
    “Oh come on,” I said. “I don’t think she’s gonna kick the bucket.”
    “It’s lymphatic cancer — fairly common; even Fred Thompson has it, and he’s running for president.”
    “It’s easily treated into remission with chemo.”
    And that’s what begins today (Wednesday, September 26, 2007).
    The import of all this is that I probably won’t be visiting the mighty Curve any more this year.
    Bill called last night and I said I had canceled coming to my 45th Brandywine High-School reunion — a shame, since I feel more attached to them than to Houghton. Probably because they’re not zealots.
    So far this year we (I) have only been to the mighty Curve twice; once on our own.
    I have the Curve web-cam on in the background, and bar none the mighty Curve is the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to — and I’ve been to quite a few; even Californy.
    Last night I had the web-cam on about 9 p.m., and it was pitch-dark. Slowly a tiny yellow blob started across the screen from the right; a train headed west. Suddenly its trailers were illuminated as the train proceeded. A train was headed down, and its headlight was illuminating the trailers. One up; one down. “Ain’ nuthin’ like the mighty Curve,” I said.
    I turn the web-cam on, and within five minutes a train is going by — often one is passing when I turn on the web-cam.
    The thought comes to mind that I could probably drive there (or even my high-school reunion) myself, but I don’t like leaving Linda here alone.
    There’s always the possibility she could get very sick. It’s happened twice so far — and who knows what the chemo will do.
    In our humble experience this is a flip-flop from how things were a year-or-two ago; when it was me we worried about.
    I am pretty good, for the moment, I guess. (I say that because not too long ago I was in worse condition.)

  • “Linda” is my wife of nearly 40 years. She has lymphatic cancer.
  • RE: “were it not for unions.......” My siblings are flagrantly anti-union. I belonged to a union when I drove transit-bus for Rochester’s Regional Transit Service (1977-1993). Seemed worthwhile.
  • RE: “152 mph.....” My brother-in-Delaware (Bill) bragged that his turbocharged Volvo station-wagon was capable of 152 mph. I lived in northern Delaware as a teenager, and graduated from Brandywine High-School there in 1962.
  • My siblings are all “tub-thumping zealots;” I’m not, and am therefore reprehensible.
  • Horseshoe Curve (the “mighty Curve”), west of Altoona, Pennsylvania, is by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to. Horseshoe Curve is a national historic site. It was a trick used by the Pennsylvania Railroad to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is still in use. I am a railfan. The Curve has a web-cam.
  • “Houghton” is Houghton College, from where I graduated with a BA in 1966. I’ve never regretted it. Houghton is a tub-thumping religious college.
  • RE: “It’s happened twice so far.....” Two trips to the Emergency Room.
  • RE: “this is a flip-flop from how things were a year-or-two ago; when it was me we worried about........” Two years ago I was experiencing dizzy-spells, but am not any more. They’re why I retired. I also had a stroke October 26, 1993.
  • Tuesday, September 25, 2007

    on-the-trailer

    Yesterday (Monday, September 24, 2007) I went to the vaunted Canandaigua YMCA.
    Sorry Chillens; no REPUBLICAN Intimidators yelling at me to get outta the way, or flashing their headlights and giving me the finger. No Dubya-Supporters cutting me off or running stop-signs.
    I humblee submit the reason the almighty Bluster-King would get put on-the-trailer at Boughton Park (and he knows he will — tremble and shake) ain’t the Canandaigua YMCA.
    The Canandaigua YMCA was just a continuation of what I began at the Physical-Therapy gym.
    What really is getting me in shape is running: faster and faster and better and better.
    I’ve backed off the YMCA to only once a week, and I could probably dump the aerobic machines and do only the strength-training; and thereby save almost two hours per visit.
    Running is at least 2-3 times a week, dependent on what medical appointments Linda has. The medical appointments also determine how many days a week I take the dog to the park; although I try to do 2-3 days per week.
    The YMCA will get ramped up again after snow flies.
    I wasn’t sure I could run at age 63, but apparently I can.
    Pretty soon the bluster-boy may have to have 350-Chevy powered machines extract and insert his beloved Cheetos. Perhaps a motorized-jaw powered by a 350-Chevy.
    Loud pipes save lives!

  • “Dubya-supporter” is a Bush-Cheney supporter. All insane traffic-moves seem to involve Bush-supporters. They seem to think they have the right. “Republicans” seem to be the same way.
  • “Intimidators” are tailgaters, named after Dale Earnhardt, the so-called “intimidator” of NASCAR fame, who used to tailgate race-leaders and bump them at speed until they let him by.
  • “The almighty Bluster-King” is my macho, loudmouthed brother-from-Boston, who loudly insists (at 287 pounds) that he is in better shape than me (188). He gloms Cheetos as part of the Pig-Out exercise-regimen.
  • “Linda” is my wife. She has non-Hodgkins lymphoma (cancer).
  • A “350-Chevy” is a car-engine, the infamous Small-Block V8 that was introduced by Chevrolet at 265 cubic-inches back in 1955. It revolutionized hot-rodding because it was light, revved high, and was easily modified with great results. It replaced the Ford Flat-head V8 as the choice of hot-rodders. The Small-Block went through various displacement upgrades over-the-years, the final one being 350 cubic-inches. It’s still the choice of hot-rodders.
  • Sunday, September 23, 2007

    over from the Dark Side

    Linda has come over from the Dark Side......
    She has decided to go with The Force — namely Colgate “Luminous” toothpaste, just like little old reprehensible me (the toothpaste I use).
    Crest is the toothpaste of lemmings marching headlong into the sea. (“We are marching to Zion.....”)
    Crest is the toothpaste of Darth Vader.
    Colgate is the toothpaste of Liberials.

  • “Linda” is my wife.
  • I am loudly excoriated for using a toothpaste other than Crest.
  • RE: “We are marching to Zion.....”) All my siblings are tub-thumping born-again Christians. Since I’m not I am reprehensible.
  • “Liberial” is how my loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston noisily insists “liberal” is spelled.
  • Saturday, September 22, 2007

    “Mahz-n-Wawdzzz”

    The Keed.
    The vaunted Bloomfield water-tower (pictured) is being painted
    It’s a standard water-tower; a large vessel on six braced columns, about 125-150 feet high — made of steel.
    A similar design stands guard in De Land, Floridy, over Linda’s mother’s retirement-center, although it’s taller.
    I visited the site last week (probably Wednesday, September 19, 2007), because it’s interesting to me.
    I encountered a humble hourly grinding steel angle-irons down to bare metal. They were on the ground, and not a part of the water-tower.
    “I used to do this sort of work,” I said; “although in the middle ‘60s, and all the water-towers we painted were golfballs.”
    “We painted a golfball down by the Jersey seashore, and it was the neatest job we ever did.”
    “It had just been built, so we were sandblasting off the scale, primed it, and finish-coat. —That included inside the vessel.”
    “We started another in Baltimore, and that one was rather unfriendly at 175 feet. This one at the seashore was only 125 feet.”
    “We did it with a single air-powered spider. I see you’ve erected scaffolding all around this thing” (see picture).
    “We have to contain it,” he said; “concern for the environment.”
    Before doing anything at all, they have to contain the entire water-tower in a gigantic cylindrical plastic tarp, including a roof.
    “Yeah; I remember about 75% of our spray blew away.” I said.
    “Well, we also have to worry about our sand,” he said.
    “Ya mean you’re sandblastin’ this thing?” I asked.
    He pointed to a gigantical blaster-vessel that had been towed in on a flatbed behind a giant Mack truck-tractor.
    “We’ll have two,” he said. “They hold 9,000 pounds of sand each.”
    “Holy mackerel!” I said. “At the seashore we had a single three-bag blaster that held three 100-pound sandbags (300 pounds total). It was pushed by a small Schramm air-compressor that generated 125 cubic-feet per minute. I loaded the blaster — by hand — and ran everything.”
    “The largest sandblasting outfit I ever saw was four six-bag blasters pushed by a gigantic 650 cubic-feet per minute Schramm. I loaded them things too, all by hand, and ran that monster.”
    “Well, a 650 is just a tinker-toy compared to what we got,” he said.
    “To me it was a monster,” I said. “It had a giant 8-71 Detroit Diesel bus-engine, engaged by a giant four-foot steel lever. I had to stand back just startin’ that thing. Similar blower to what was on Big-Daddy’s fuel-dragster.”
    “Git to work, you lazy layabout,” shouted someone from high above.
    Just like the Mahz-n-Wawdzzz painter-crew — really great guys, and very conscientious.
    The hourly called his boss on his cellphone: “Somebody wants to visit, but seems very interested, and sounds like he used to do work like this.......”

  • “Mahz-n-Wawdzzz” (Myers & Watters) is the painting-contractor I worked for during college. We mainly painted high-steel; especially in oil-refineries. “Mahz-n-Wawdzzz” is how our Greek supervisor pronounced it.
  • “Linda” is my wife. Her 91-year-old mother lives in a retirement-center in De Land, Floridy; under “the shadow of the mighty De Land water-tower.”
  • A “golfball” is a water-tower on a single central leg. It looks like a golfball on a tee.
  • Friday, September 21, 2007

    Neanderthals

    Last night (Thursday, September 20, 2007) I went to a union-meeting of my old bus-union, Local 282 of the Amalgamated Transit Union (“what’s Ah-Two?”)
    Rather than bore my macho brother-in-Boston with reflections on what it’s like to attend a union-meeting for the first time in 4-6 years, and perhaps distract him from what he really needs to do, which is guard his beloved Porta-Johns from terrorist attack; I’ll only discuss my gas-purchase.
    I took the CR-V, and it needed gas.
    I could have ridden the dreaded LHMB, but doing so would have meant setting out at least 10 minutes earlier, plus riding at night.
    I arrived at the Union-hall parking-lot at 7:35 p.m.; 25 minutes before meeting-start.
    Having nothing to read, I set out for “the cutout,” hard by the old Water-Level, and looking for a gas-station.
    I knew there was still one at Culver and Atlantic in Rochester; an old Sunoco I used to patronize driving home from Transit.
    Except now it was Gulf (Gulf still exists?), and as before affiliated with a dinghy minimart.
    I arrowed in and stopped at the pumps, which were “pay-at-the-pump” but unlike any I had ever seen, perhaps a most recent iteration thereof. (They looked great.)
    Finally finding the well-hidden card-slot, I inserted my credit-card, and the screen flashed “debit — y/n.”
    Eying the tiny keyboard I noticed “yes” and “no” buttons; and inadvertently clicked the “yes” button. (A credit-card ain’t a debit-card.)
    “Insert PIN-number.”
    I poked around and saw a “cancel” button, so hit that: nothing! I hit it again: nothing!
    “Ain’t technology wonderful?” Into the minimart to get the help to clear the pump.
    At least 40 percent of the time I go into the store to get the clerks to fix something — like no receipt when one was requested, “unable to read card,” or a lock-up of some sort. (Once the screen was displaying hieroglyphics.)
    I paddle into the store, forget to ask for the colonoscopy department, and am greeted by two neanderthals standing behind row-upon-row of cigarettes (“Proof-of-Age Required”).
    Obviously I was impeding an all-important discussion about pizza-toppings.
    “That pump is hung,” I butted in. “Can you reset it?”
    “How much gas have you pumped?”
    “None, so far. I couldn’t even get that far.”
    “So how much gas have you pumped?”
    “None. I just told you.”
    “Uh-duhhhhhh...... So how much gas have ya pumped?”
    “None.”
    “How much ya gonna pump?” $25? $35?”
    “I don’t know. I was gonna fill it.”
    “So how much have ya pumped already?”
    “Tell ya what,” I said. “Gimme my card, and I’ll go somewhere else.” (I had better things to do than parry neanderthals.)
    “Uh-DUH.......... Duh-YEEEE-uh........”
    I walked back outside, and lo-and-behold the pump was reset.
    I can’t imagine the neanderthals having the intellectual wherewithal to reset it themselves — not when they were fervently discussing pizza-toppings.
    It probably reset itself automatically on a time-clock.

  • RE: “what’s Ah-Two?” I was in south Florida, visiting my mother in a retirement-community, and I was wearing an Amalgamated Transit Union button (ATU). She looked at me earnestly and asked “what’s Ah-Two?”
  • For 16&1/2 years I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service, the transit-bus operator in Rochester, N.Y. The bus-union was Local 282, Amalgamated Transit Union.
  • RE: “Rather than bore my macho brother-in-Boston....” and “guard his beloved Porta-Johns......” My macho brother-in-Boston has loudly declared that everything I write is “boring.” He manages a power-plant construction-site outside Boston, which includes many Porta-Potties. We always say his primary job is policing the Porta-Potties.
  • “The CR-V” is our 2003 Honda CR-V SUV.
  • “LHMB” is my 2003 Honda 600-cc CBR/RR motorcycle. Seeing a picture of it, my sister-in-Floridy declared “Lord-Have-Mercy;” and my loudmouthed brother-in-Boston, a macho Harley-guy, seeing it was yellow, pronounced it a “Banana.” So LHMB equals Lord-Have-Mercy-Banana.
  • “The cutout” is a prime railfaning spot east of Rochester along the old New York Central “Water-Level” mainline across New York State; called “Water-Level” because it primarily followed rivers. It didn’t cross any mountain-ranges. Compared to most of its competition, it was relatively grade-free. The “Water-Level” is now operated by CSX Transportation (railroad).
  • RE: “forget to ask for the colonoscopy department.....” My brother-in-Boston had his colonoscopy performed at a clinic “in the vaunted Boston healthcare system.” That clinic was in an abandoned shopping-plaza.
    My colonoscopy was performed at Thompson Hospital in nearby Canandaigua, NY — proving yet again my utter inferiority.
  • Thursday, September 20, 2007

    Is this really a silo

    IS THIS REALLY A SILO?
    The Keed.
    Is this really a silo (pictured at left)?
    Well, even though cellphone antennas are attached to it, I kind of think it is.
    As I understand it, a cellphone tower disguised as a silo hides the antennas inside.
    The other factor is reasonable height.
    Most silos I’ve seen are 50-75 feet high. This one appears to be 75 feet.
    One 150 feet high was proposed nearby, but not built.
    150 feet is rather extreme. Who ever heard of a silo 150 feet high?
    Cellphone antennas get pasted to silos and church-steeples, all so five teenyboppers can text each other before running head on into a semi.

  • RE: “...so five teenyboppers can text each other before running head on into a semi.....” Last June five teenagers were killed after running head on into a semi. Cellphone records indicate they were texting a follower.
  • Wednesday, September 19, 2007

    Uzis a-blazin’

    Over the years that I’ve had e-mail, and that’s about 15+ years, I’ve noticed various e-mail programs like to do various things.
    I got a reply last night (Tuesday, September 18, 2007) from K-man (Kevin Frisch, Managing Editor at the mighty Mezz), and I noticed it put carets and a space at the beginning of each line of my send, and a hard return at the end of each line.
    This is OutLook, the e-mail program at the mighty Mezz. It always does that.
    I also noticed it squished words together (e.g. “wasgiving”), as if something had dumped my space before a wrap.
    I’ve seen that happen too, and who knows if it was Outlook or my Netscape (MyWay doesn’t do that). I have Linda amongst the Netscape Messenger Ne’er-do-wells. We’ll see if it squished words on her, and her mail is Yahoo. If her’s is squished too, we suspect the Netscape.
    All of this is of little consequence; if all you’re trying to do is communicate.
    But a newspaper is something else. Fly errors like that and Granny shows up at the receptionist-desk, Uzi a-blazin’. Tub-thumping REPUBLICANS bellow loudly at us about Liberial bias.
    Quite a few of our columnists e-mailed us their stuff. Our Cornell Co-operative Extension columnist would e-mail a weekly column she had done in Word.
    I always had to fiddle it. Deleting carets and hard returns can be done en masse with an AppleWorks find/replace — everything in one fell swoop.
    Then I would have to delete her link-tags; which in Word were not HTML h-ref.
    E-mailing her column saved time, but I usually had to do an hour of fiddling.
    Who knows how things are done now....... Probably the e-mail is printed and our typist retypes it. That there typist is acting as the ‘pyooter translator.
    It would take her about an hour too (maybe a little more — she was quick), but “tricks” (as I called them) were beyond the intellectual wherewithal of most Messenger employees. —I think the Webmaster could have mastered it, but he already was swamped.
    (Our Senior columnist used to do his weekly column on his old Royal typewriter. I tried to get him to type his column in a ‘pyooter, and then e-mail that, but it was over-his-head. The thing could be OCR-scanned, but was very messy. He had inserted corrections with a pencil.
    Finally we gave up and had the typist do it.
    And then he fell and had to give it up — his wife had died too.)
    I also used to get a garden column, but that was pretty decent = OCR scannable.
    Once he misspelled “diarrhea;” in a way that passed the spellchecker. I asked my proofer if she had ever heard of such a thing, and she said emphatically it was “diarrhea.”
    I didn’t like calling him up — he was over 90. He never knew I was a stroke-survivor with compromised speech. When my speech went wonky he’d get frustrated.
    He died during 2003, and his column ended.
    We also had quite a few local business-columnists. The rule was they had to be based in Canandaigua, and their column locally-written.
    One guy cheated. He’d mail me a boiler-plate column that had been written by his PR in New York City. It even had the web-address on it.
    I’d crank the web-address into my browser, and VIOLA; there it was.
    All I had to do was copy/paste the sucker, and we were ready-to-print.
    But it was cheating. It wasn’t locally written.
    As such we never ran him much; only when we ran out of locally-written stuff.
    We had at least three other business-columnists, and they all resorted to e-mail once I showed them how — a slam-dunk; it’s what they wanted to do anyway.
    Our columnist from Canandaigua National Bank’s Wealth-Strategies Group was the most challenging, although he wrote the most useful stuff.
    He did his columns in a recent version of Word; although mine (at the mighty Mezz) was an antique: 6.1.
    It would only open his stuff as text; devoid of all his formatting.
    So what I did was forward his e-mails here to home, where I could open with Word-98, print, and the print-out would have his formatting.
    Then I’d sneaker-mail the print-out back to the mighty Mezz (or complete it here at home), so I could format his column as he had done it.
    That was the onliest way I could bold and italicize anything; 6.1 wouldn't do it.
    The other fix was bullets; and that got into Quark versus other apps.
    Quark (the pagination software at the mighty Mezz) had its own tags, not HTML and different from Word or AppleWorks.
    Bullets were a valid Quark character, but ya hadda generate the Quark bullet-tag, because AppleWorks and Word bullets came through as asterisks.
    So I had 89 bazilyun macros for Quark-tags; about 3-4 characters each.
    I’d file a column with all the Quark-tags already in it, so the column just flowed on the page as it was to appear.
    There were a few Mezz-people who could do such things, although in most cases they individually typed in the Quark-tags, or formatted on the page. They weren’t using macros or “tricks.”
    “Just e-mail it,” the Veep who got fired once said — wonderful technology being the solution to all our time-constraints.
    “Uh, sure. Print what’s e-mailed and the Grammar-Police call us up.”
    Honor-rolls ended when I retired. (The reason we could run so many is because I was using “tricks” on e-mails — a typist can’t afford the time to type up an entire honor-roll; like the huge one from Canandaigua Academy.)

  • The “mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired. Best job I ever had.
  • “Linda” is my wife.
  • RE: “Netscape Messenger Ne’er-do-wells.......” The “Ne’er-do-wells” are an e-mail list of everyone I e-mail my stuff to. I had to make a special Ne’er-do-well list of Messenger employees in Netscape’s e-mail, which I used long ago, and is still active, because their replies to my regular e-mail, MyWay, bounce.
  • “Liberial” is how my loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston noisily insists “liberal” is spelled.
  • “OCR” is optical-character-recognition.
  • I had a stroke October 26, 1993.
  • Tuesday, September 18, 2007

    Weather-Bug

    The other night (Sunday, September 16, 2007), when I installed Netscape 9.03, which is really only a browser, Navigator, I noticed it was giving a temperature-value in the lower right-hand corner.
    Groovy. Fifty-some degrees; that sounds about right.
    Three other live icons are there; one for today’s values, one for tomorrow’s forecast, and one for two days out.
    I tried clicking on the first icon, and discovered the fifty-some degrees was at Mountain-View, California.
    For crying out loud, why in the wide, wide world would I ever want that?
    So the next day (yesterday, Monday, September 17, 2007) I tried an icon even farther to the right, and I could pinpoint a specific location in the weather-bug network.
    “Please enter town-name or zipcode.”
    So I enter 14585, the West Bloomfield zipcode.
    Suddenly I got the weather-values at nearby Victor Intermediate School, and I was presented with a list of alternatives; some quite far away.
    Victor Intermediate School has a weather-bug weather-station, and is one of about 20 throughout the Rochester area.
    It also has a live web-cam covering its parking-lot (ho-hum).
    “Well, I ain’t sure Victor Intermediate School’s weather is like out here,” so I switched to Pittsford-Sutherland High-School.
    It too has a web-cam, aimed at Rochester. Animate it and watch dawn rise over the Pittsford-Sutherland stadium. (Zippity-dooo!)
    Web-cams are going up willy-nilly; although the one at the mighty Curve currently doesn’t work. “Nothing is private any more,” Linda says.
    So I thought I was now getting a local feed, but the temperature was still Mountain-View, California.
    I fired up the change-window again, and switched it to Pittsford-Sutherland High-School; although I’ll probably change it back to Victor Intermediate School, since I think that may be more like here than Pittsford-Sutherland High-School.
    The current temperature at Victor Intermediate School is 67.9 degrees, and the wind is out of the east at 5 mph. The parking-lot is about two-thirds full.
    In Altoony it’s 57.4 degrees, wind out of the south at 4 mph.

  • West Bloomfield (where we live) is nowhere near Mountain-View, California.
  • “Altoony” (Altoona, Pa.) is the location of Horseshoe Curve (the “mighty Curve”), by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to. Horseshoe Curve is a national historic site. It was a trick used by the Pennsylvania Railroad to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is still in use.
  • “Linda” is my wife.
  • Monday, September 17, 2007

    TWO INCIDENTS........

    LET’S SEE IF I CAN REMEMBER ALL THIS IN FULL;

    -1) Here I am quietly driving east on West Ave. in Canandaigua, shortly after exiting the tiny shopping-plaza parking-lot where I park when I attend the vaunted Canandaigua YMCA.
    I only go a little way on West Ave., under a railroad overpass and then up a short hill to turn south (right) onto the main drag through Canandaigua. I’m headed toward mighty Weggers.
    Just past the railroad-bridge, and adjacent to the hill, is the Canandaigua City-Hall, an ancient building that may or may not be being used. The City-Hall fronts the main drag, but parking is alongside West Ave. down to the railroad-bridge; a bunch of slots at 90° to West Ave.
    Suddenly GrandPop backs his silver Sebring from a parking-slot out into my path.
    I am absolutely terrified, or so I’m told by siblings “hunderds” of miles away who know me far better than I possibly can, because I use the wrong toothpaste, etc.
    Enough to freeze? I don’t think so, although my siblings will claim I did.
    I slam on the brakes, after which GrandPop pulls back into the slot, but nope; he’s turning around and madly arrowing onto West Ave., ahead of me, blasting through empty parking-slots next to his.
    West Ave. intersects the main drag with a traffic-light, which is red, so we stop, me behind the Sebring.
    Sorry guys; no Dubya-sticker.

    -2) I park at mighty Weggers, and walk toward the store.
    Suddenly GrandPop (again) is flooring his white Buick Park Avenue in reverse out of the handicap-slot.
    He hits the brakes after I jump on his trunk.
    I calmly get off, and glance at his rear deck-lid.
    Sorry guys; no Dubya-sticker. (Sure drove like a Dubya-supporter — “Get outta my way, you liberial!”)
    But it did have a Christian fish amongst “Support-Our-Troops” ribbons.

  • “Mighty Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester we often buy groceries at. They have a store in Canandaigua.
  • “Hunderd” is how my loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston noisily insists “hundred” is spelled. He also loudly claims “Liberal” is spelled “Liberial.”
  • “Dubya-sticker” is a Bush-Cheney 2004 bumper-sticker. All insane traffic-moves seem to involve Bush-supporters. They seem to think they have the right.
  • Netscape follies continued:

    A number of givens are at work here:
    -1) I have two e-mails: -a) my MyWay account (bobbalew25@myway.com) which is an Internet e-mail, and -b) my old RoadRunner account (rhughes3@rochester.rr.com), which directly accesses the great e-mail server in the sky, the PoP-server.
    -2) Both e-mails deliver to the mighty Mezz, but responding only works to rhughes3@rochester.rr.com, apparently because MyWay is an Internet e-mail, and access to the dreaded Internet is blocked, to keep people from surfing.
    (Apparently even Google was blocked at first, but a patch was applied to allow Google, but I wonder if that allowed going a step beyond Google.)
    -3) So, in other words, a Messenger response to a MyWay e-mail bounces. The work-around was to respond to rhughes3@rochester.rr.com, but in my humble experience that’s a step many Messenger employees can’t take. (“All I know is the response button.”)
    -4) My MyWay e-mail allows “view as HTML,” which means I can paste in my AppleWorks file (like this) that already has the HTML-tags in it.
    What appears in a MyWay e-mail is exactly what appears in FlagOut, and the blog: text wrapping around picture-tables, links, formatting, etc.
    -5) RoadRunner e-mail doesn’t have the “view as HTML” feature, but does have a power-editor, which allows formatting (bold, italic). (MyWay has a power-editor too, but it’s only beta, and doesn’t work.) Picture-tables and links don’t work under RoadRunner; pictures have to be attached (under the text), and links deleted.
    -6) My Netscape e-mail isn’t updating its “sent.” The java-script that does that is dislocated.

    With all these givens in mind.........
    -A) I upgraded to new version of Netscape last night (Sunday, September 16, 2007); 9.03 versus my old (yet fairly recent) 7.2.
    But all it is is Navigator, a browser. There’s no longer an e-mail function.
    So now I’m fiddling FlagOut with 9.03; but I kept 7.2 for e-mailing the Messenger Ne’er-do-wells.
    -B) We added Linda to the Messenger Ne’er-do-wells, since we’ve had no success getting the “sent” to update. It’s a bass-ackwards solution to the not-updating “sent” problem, but I hardly ever use Netscape e-mail anyway. Next is to add bobbalew25@myway.com to the Messenger Ne’er-do-wells.
    -C) We tried saving the AppleWorks file as an HTML-file, but the RoadRunner still sends just the text; i.e. Linda’s browser (she’s using IE) won’t display it as HTML. It would probably have to be attached to the e-mail as an HTML-file, whereas a copy/paste into the e-mail body is only moving text.

  • The “mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired. Best job I ever had.
  • “FlagOut” is our family’s web-site, named that because I had a mentally-retarded kid-brother (Down Syndrome) who lived at home, and loudly insisted the flag be flown every day. “Flag-Out! Sun comes up, the flag goes up! Sun goes down, the flag comes down.” I fly the flag partly in his honor. (He died at 14 in 1968.)
  • “Linda” is my wife.
  • Sunday, September 16, 2007

    Packard

    MIGHTY PACKARD
    1956 Packard.
    Here I am this morning (Sunday, September 16, 2007) navigating north (west, south, east; WHATEVER) on state Route 64 in the Bucktooth Bathtub, returning from running at the so-called elitist country-club.
    I notice a car approaching in my rear-view mirror.
    It’s backlit, so I can’t tell what it is.
    But it appears to be from the late ‘50s. The wheel-track is quite narrow; wheels at least eight inches inside the wheel-wells — as opposed to the way they are now far out at the corners.
    What I could see also appeared to have peaked fenders, and what appeared to be a wrap-around windshield.
    What have we here? A ‘55 Chevy — the car I lusted after all through high-school and college?
    I turned toward Ionia, and the car passed on my right.
    Holy mackerel: a ‘56 Packard — the self-same car my supposedly all-knowing car-guy brother misidentified as a Desoto, for crying out loud.
    Some car-guy. A Desoto is a Chrysler-product. MoPar had wrap-around windshields too, but different than Ford and GM (and Packard). The MoPar wrap-around wrapped at the top as well as the bottom — the other wrap-arounds didn’t.
    The Keed.
    I think this is the actual car I saw; it was this color.
    GOOD GRIEF! What I pictured ain’t the MoPar wrap-around. The bluster-boy has even confused two-piece windshields with one-piece, and ya didn’t see one-piece until after 1952 or ‘53.
    How in the wide, wide world can an alleged car-guy flub a ‘56 Packard?
    By then Packard was doomed. In the ‘30s it was the grandest car that could be had — but they stuck with that beautiful snarling vertical grill even after WWII.
    On top of that they produced a butt-ugly beetle-bomb introduced in ‘41 or ‘42, and produced it clear up until the early ‘50s. That snarling grill pasted on a beetle-bomb looked ridiculous.
    They also couldn’t afford new designs like mighty GM. Early ‘50s until just before Studebaker took over was essentially the same car; rebodied.
    By then Packard had given up on the snarling grill — about the onliest vestige of that is the curve of the grill-mouth (see pictures).
    But it was nothing compared to a nail-valve Buick — or a Caddy.
    The parents of the first girl I lusted after in Erlton had a Packard, but it was white. (Her name was Joan Kupzoff — she had dark hair in a pony-tail.)

  • RE: “north (west, south, east; WHATEVER).............. My loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston and I have been having an argument about which way a road goes in northern Delaware, where we grew up; me as a teenager. I say the road goes west-east; he says it goes north-south. Actually it goes northwest-southeast.
  • “The Bucktooth-Bathtub” is our 2005 Toyota Sienna van; called that because it’s white and like sitting in a bathtub, and appears to have a bucktooth on the grill.
  • “The so-called elitist country-club” is nearby Boughton (“BOW-tin”) Park, where I run. It was called that long ago by an editor at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, where I once worked, because it will only allow taxpayers of the three towns that own it to use it. We are residents of one of those towns.
  • “Ionia” is a tiny hamlet east of where we live.
  • “MoPar” is Chrysler Corporation.
  • “The bluster-boy” is my all-knowing, blowhard brother-in-Boston, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say. He noisily claims superior knowledge about cars.
  • RE: “nail-valve Buick.......” During the mid-fifties, Buick fielded its first V8 engine, and it was overhead-valve, but unlike most overhead-valve V8s of that time (e.g. Cadillac and Oldsmobile). It valves were vertical to the crankshaft, instead of the cylinders, rendering a smooth shot to the intake-manifold, but a contorted path to the exhaust-headers, which were on the outside.
    The valves were also tiny — “nail-valves.” Later Buick gave up with the “nail-valve” design.
  • Saturday, September 15, 2007

    The Pig-Out exercise regimen

    -1) Assume supine position in cushy sofa in front of $7,000 plasma-baby with open bag of Cheetos.
    -2) Tune $7,000 plasma-baby to NASCAR by fingering remote.
    -3) Extract Cheeto from bag.
    -4) Lift Cheeto to open mouth.
    -5) Crunch Cheeto to crumbs by flapping mouth.
    -6) Swallow Cheeto-crumbs.
    -7) Wash down Cheeto-crumbs with gallon of ‘Dew.
    -8) Bellow loudly at the Little Twerp. (Accuse him of cheating just like the Pasties.)
    -9) Burp loudly; tossing Lynn-Ellen right out the window over the IED faucet......
    (Boink; another golfball. Must be my brother’s ISP!)

  • “$7,000 plasma-baby” is my macho brother-in-Boston’s high-definition TV. He called it a “$7,000 plasma, baby.” He currently weighs 287 pounds; which is down from the 300+ he probably once weighed. He’s guzzling diet Mountain-Dew instead of regular. He usually gloms a whole bag of Cheetos while watching NASCAR on TV.
  • “The Little Twerp” is NASCAR-driver Jeff Gordon, who he loudly claims cheats.
  • “The Pasties” are the New-England Patriots football-team, who he loudly trumpets. Our family called them the “Patsies;” which he misspelled “Pasties.”
  • “Lynn-Ellen” is his wife; who he calls “Lynn-Ellen” as a put-down.
  • RE: “the IED faucet......” he had a faucet in his kitchen that was more an Improvised-Explosive-Device as in Iraq. He never replaced it for five years.
  • RE: “Boink; another golfball....” My brother lives right next to a golf-course. They have been showered with 89 bazilyun golfballs.
  • RE: “Must be my brother’s ISP........” To my brother-in-Boston all faults are because of my Internet-Service-Provider.
  • FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING

    SECOND VISIT TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM
    Yesterday (Friday, September 14, 2007) my first intent was to run, with Linda walking the dog here at home.
    I dressed for it, but that quickly deteriorated to me walking the dog here at home, while Linda stayed home.
    But that deteriorated to me not walking the dog, because Linda was afraid she might faint.
    Finally, after a lot of hemming and hawing, I decided we should go to the Thompson Hospital Emergency Room; only I would drive her instead of the ambulance.
    At the hospital, Linda was able to walk into the Emergency Room, but holding onto me.
    All this is rather frightening, since it’s not the super-strong Wonder-Woman I’m used to.
    “I’m not in stellar shape,” I said; “but I don’t feel I might expire any minute.”
    Linda was put in a wheelchair, and wheeled into the ER.
    With that I drove home. I had a dog abandoned in the house, so I took him for his promised walk.
    “Here we are, you little monster,” I said; “just you and me; and and I won’t be able to do as much as I’d like, like fill in for Linda.”
    I ate breakfast, and slowly started doing a grocery-list.
    I did it long ago, but haven’t for years (we have prompt-cards).
    Time passed slowly, yet quickly. The poor dog sat dejected on his sofa.
    Linda had her new cellphone with her, and I had mine. They transmit more like landlines than our old ones.
    Finally I set out for the infamous Honeoye Falls MarketPlace supermarket in the Bucktooth Bathtub — a store I’m not familiar with, unlike Linda, who has been there “hunderds” of times.
    I had my cellphone in the center console, and it rang.
    Who knows how it rang despite my allegedly never having it on.
    I answered it, and said “I’m driving......”
    FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING. Even though driving down a side-street in deepest, darkest Honeoye Falls, I was jawing on my cellphone — illegal in New York State.
    —Although yammering with this cellphone is much easier than the old cellphones.
    “They’re sending me home,” Linda said. “They can’t find anything wrong.”
    “I’m headed toward the MarketPlace, and the dog is alone in the house,” I said.
    “My inclination would be to unload what I buy, and pick up the dog; but that may take a while,” I said.
    I also was approaching a stop-sign with a turn, so had to discontinue.
    After blowing at least an hour wandering lost around the MarketPlace, putting away groceries, and getting the dog, I headed for Thompson.
    Linda seemed more herself — not utterly washed out.
    “About all I’ve done is sleep a lot,” which she couldn’t do the night before. (She also probably took on too much; like can tomatoes.)
    “I wondered if my coming to the ER was silly, but they said it wasn’t.”

  • “Linda” is my wife. She has non-Hodgkins lymphatic cancer.
  • Our dog is Killian; a rescue Irish-Setter. We had a second rescue Irish-Setter, Sabrina, who died in March 2007.
  • Thompson Hospital” is the hospital in nearby Canandaigua.
  • “The Bucktooth-Bathtub” is our 2005 Toyota Sienna van; called that because it’s white and like sitting in a bathtub, and appears to have a bucktooth on the grill.
  • “Hunderd” is how my loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston noisily insists “hundred” is spelled.
  • RE: “despite my allegedly never having it on.....” My noisy blowhard brother-in-Boston claims I am utterly intimidated by cellphones — and therefore never turn mine on.
  • Using a cellphone while driving is “illegal in New York State.” (I usually don’t answer it if I’m driving, since it’s a distraction.)
  • Friday, September 14, 2007

    Here’s two

    -1) Netscape follies:
    For a long time, ever since we got the RoadRunner cable Internet, my e-mail was Netscape 4.73; e-mail downloaded directly from the PoP-server (the great e-mail server in the sky).
    Before that it was America-Online, except they were dial-up, and had a tiny megabyte limit on attachments, which made it nearly impossible to attach picture-files.
    At that time I was driving OS 9.2, and it crashed occasionally (an app lockup would crash the whole ‘pyooter).
    Pulling the plug meant a pretty good chance of dislocating a Java-script (“java40.jar”) that updated my “sent” folder.
    Somehow we figured out putting the java40.jar back where it belonged got Netscape’s e-mail back up to snuff.
    My current e-mail is MyWay; like Yahoo an Internet e-mail.
    E-mail isn’t in your ‘pyooter; it’s at MyWay’s Internet site like Yahoo. You can easily fiddle it from any ‘pyooter (you could fiddle RoadRunner e-mail too from their site, but it was a mess — jumping through all kinds of hoops — you’re fiddling the PoP-server).
    So I constructed a ne’er-do-well list in MyWay, and it included seven Messenger employees.
    For years that worked like a charm, but then someone at the mighty Mezz decided a wall should be erected to keep Messenger employees from surfing the Internet.
    Those Messenger employees could no longer respond.
    But they could respond directly to the great e-mail server in the sky, and that didn’t bounce.
    So I decided I needed to go back to Netscape and make a ne’er-do-well list of just those seven Messenger employees.
    By now my Netscape was 7.2, a recent download. (I had installed 7.0 under 9.2, but it failed to grab my address-list, and couldn’t understand smart-quotes and em-dashes. I went back to 4.73.)
    7.2 had apparently grabbed my address-list, and I wasn’t noticing bombs on non-QWERTY characters — at least on my end; who knows about the mighty Mezz....... I remember fiddling Word-attachments at the mighty Mezz to remove unfathomable gibberish and thereby make them printable.
    But that java40.jar was still dislocated from a long-ago reboot — so my “sent” wasn’t updating.
    We searched “java40.jar,” and got four hits, none of which seemed to make any sense. Some were ancient.
    I’ve relocated the java40.jar in the filmy past to my 4.73, so hope I can do it again.
    After that I’d trash my 7.2, download a new 7.2 (or later; WHATEVER), and hopefully it would grab everything. (The 7.2 apparently updated 4.73 and 7.0; so maybe putting the java40.jar back where it belongs will bring the 7.2 I already have up to snuff.)

    -2) Photoshop Elements:
    The Photoshop Elements 2.0 that came free with our new scanner is lobbing a hairball.
    It wants to automatically update from the Adobe-site — like the automatical updates I have to so many other apps.
    But Photoshop Elements stops at the update, because it doesn’t know what to do with it.
    At that point I have to force-quit Photoshop Elements, because it’s lost.
    Seems to us the Photoshop Elements had a dialog-box scotching automatical updates.
    We (I) have two options: -a) reinstall the free Photoshop Elements from the CD, disallowing the automatical updates, or -b) download the newest Photoshop Elements from the Adobe site — it would probably have the update, and perhaps not be free.
    Meantime, I’ve had to fall back to my old Photoshop 5.5, a classic app, that fires up 9.2.
    But I prefer my Photoshop Elements, since it has a “browse” that displays all the photos on an input as thumbnails. 5.5 didn’t, and I had to browse myself through all the files — a time-consuming pain.
    So hopefully I can toss my old Photoshop Elements and reinstall a new one that doesn’t hang.
    I’m more inclined to download from the Adobe site — even if it costs money; can’t be that much.
    (I’m also beginning to think a Quark update is rather silly — I hardly ever use it any more. I only have the most basic stuff on it; all 4.1, a classic app.
    Not working at the mighty Mezz any more makes a Quark-update pointless. 700+ smackaroos — not worth it.)

  • “We” is my wife Linda and I.
  • The vaunted “ne’er-do-well list” is all the people I e-mail my stuff to. It’s an e-mail list; whatever is pasted in goes to all the recipients.
  • The “mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired. Best job I ever had.
  • RE: “classic app, that fires up 9.2.......” equals classic application; one that won’t fire up in OS-X. OS-X has an earlier 9.2 operating-system buried inside that fires up to open “classic apps.”
  • Thursday, September 13, 2007

    expect to get showered in sweat

    Apparently the vaunted Canandaigua YMCA is in Phase-Two of its gigantical exercise-gym expansion project.
    Thankfully, they didn’t bring in Ty Pennington and his crowbar-wielding blue-helmeted marching-minions to perform an Extreme Home Mayhem last week when they were closed.
    What they did do was transfer all the exercise-equipment out of the old exercise-gym into the newly remodeled weight-room; treadmills, ellipticals, step-machines, and exercise-bicycles; cheek-to-jowl with their ancient Nautilus equipment.
    The hallowed Nautilus-circuit, which no one paid much heed to at the time I was there — I only use four machines of 11 — had been broken up and wedged this-way-and-that.
    Clearances between machines are minimal — expect to get showered in sweat.
    All the Nautilus-machines are there, just scattered around. They’re wedged wherever they could find room.
    So first I found out that the exercise-gym was little more than a dusty, hollowed-out shell.
    No trespassing, apparently; although a hand-lettered sign said the mat-room was past a canvas tarp draping a doorway (the infamous door that’s not a door)
    “Be careful,” it said; “and watch our dust.”
    I treaded gingerly through a twisting maze, past an open closet, barricaded by yellow crime-scene tape, for electrical panels (probably for the entire building).
    I also passed the tattered remains of the men’s downstairs bathroom — no toilets or urinals; they had been smashed to smithereens, and the dusty shards were in the dumpster out front, victims of Extreme Mayhem. (BALLPEEN HAMMER TIME!)
    But I recognized the wall-tile; despite jagged holes where the urinals had been.
    I found the weight-room, now gleaming with light, and its crowded exercise equipment.
    A brawny workman sauntered in, erected a tall step-ladder, and installed a small HVAC vent.
    He also installed a second vent. Leo J. Roth HVAC services — in business since 1949. 89 bazilyun dollars please. (Even an engineer coulda done it; although they probably woulda needed a team of six — one to hold the ladder, one to watch for terrorists, etc., etc.; all hot to take command.)
    The improvements mean no satellite-radio — no XM26.
    What they’ve done is install a small boombox on a window-ledge, and then tune it to a local radio-station.
    The weights are still in the basement dungeon, and there’s one machine I use there.
    So every visit I have to toddle down to the dungeon, past the mentally-challenged using a recreation-room and bellowing at a pool-table.
    Boom-chicka-boom-chicka-boom-chicka-boom-chicka — the dungeon also has a boombox; and it’s tuned to “The Drive.” (Don’t radio-stations ever reveal their call-letters any more?)
    The new exercise-gym (the old weight-room) had a boombox tuned to “The Fox.”
    Naturally, each radio-station has a different format; “The Drive” playing essentially what’s on XM26, and “The Fox” playing stuff from the late ‘60s and early ‘70s.
    Compared to satellite-radio, the difference is the ads: screaming furniture ads (“never pay anything at Raymour & Flanigan”) and Billy Fucillo (a Hyundai dealer) bellowing “HUGE-AH” every two seconds.
    But “The Fox” was pleasant.
    How long has it been since I heard Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young singing “Tin Soldiers and Nixon’s coming; four dead in Ohio.......”
    Another pleasant memory was “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely-Hearts-Club Band” by the Beatles. WOW; one of the most extraordinary pieces of music I’ve ever heard. (HERE WE GO!)

  • RE: “door that’s not a door.........” Sign long ago on door at Canandaigua YMCA: “this door is not a door; please use the door adjacent.”
  • RE: “(BALLPEEN HAMMER TIME!)” My blowhard, macho brother-in-Boston has been known to fix things with a liberally applied ballpeen hammer.
  • RE: “Even an engineer coulda done it.....” My loudmouthed, macho brother-in-Boston was trained as an engineer; which of course makes him vastly superior to me, since I majored in History.
  • RE: “(HERE WE GO!)” I had the awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity to suggest that Luciano Pavarotti was the greatest tenor of all time; prompting all my siblings to weigh in..... For me to say that just proves my vast cluelessness compared to them.
  • Wednesday, September 12, 2007

    GET OUTTA MY WAY!

    LESSEE IF I CAN REMEMBER THIS IN FULL......
    Here I am quietly beginning to pull out of the tiny shopping plaza where I park when I attend the vaunted Canandaigua YMCA.
    I pull outta my parking slot into the traffic-lane, and suddenly am cut off by a tattered dark-green Astrovan, rust around the doors.
    GramPaw is lunging out of a side-lane that T’s into my lane.
    I slam on the brakes. “Oh well,” I say. “Insanity rules in parking-lots.” I navigate each parking-lot with great fear and trepidation — and am called a wuss by the guy that has cracked up two times in parking-lots — I never have. (Once he ended up with a slew of broken bones, and the other time five guys and a dog were needed to right his motorbike...... But as usual, I was fully to blame in each case — the broken-bone time was my ISP.)
    GramPaw is ahead, quickly disappearing down the parking-lot exit.
    He merges onto Park Ave. without stopping, which thankfully had no one coming.
    I noticed what might be a Dubya-sticker, but by now he was too far ahead to tell.
    But we’re coming up on a T-intersection with Gibson St., so since someone was ahead of him, he had to stop.
    I pulled up behind, and it wasn’t a Dubya-Cheney ‘04 reelection sticker. What it was was “Support President Bush and the Troops.”
    Then just as suddenly, when the car ahead advanced, he barged onto Gibson St., cutting off a guy coming up the street.
    He had to slam on his brakes.
    “Get outta my way! I supported the president.”

  • RE: “am called a wuss by the guy that has cracked up two times in parking-lots......” My loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston has cracked up twice in parking-lots; once when I wasn’t even around. I am excoriated because I “ride safe” in parking-lots — like I was supposed to barge into the lot at 200 mph, and since I didn’t, he nearly rear-ended me, and dropped his motorbike avoiding me.
  • RE: “was my ISP......” ISP equals Internet-Service-Provider; and the fact he got flaky Internet service at my home reflects that I am inferior.
  • “Dubya-sticker” is a Bush-Cheney 2004 bumper-sticker. All insane traffic-moves seem to involve Bush-supporters. They seem to think they have the right.
  • You get what you pay for

    The Keed.
    It is finished.
    At long last, our giant window-replacement project is finished.
    Our bank accounts are therefore $18,000 lighter; the balance due. $10,000 against the home equity line of credit we shouldn’t have, and $8,000 from our Canandaigua National Bank checking account, which still has over $10,000 in it, and that’s before the vaunted eagle deposits our Social Security.
    The final window (pictured) was installed yesterday (Tuesday, September 11, 2007). All the other windows were installed long ago, but a window was missing, so this one, which was originally contracted, wasn’t.
    The Keed.
    Before.
    Only one guy came — he would install the window. He also was required to do final touch-up; things that hadn’t been done.
    Quite a bit of caulking had to be done, a trim-board reattached, and drywall finished. He also tore out quite a few of the window-surround fascia-boards, replacing with new. (I guess they didn’t meet with his approval — must not be an engineer.)
    He probably thought I was a complete zombie — I couldn’t say much.
    (I remember thinking Pop-Pop Connor was a zombie too — he couldn’t talk much, and I think he had had a stroke.)
    The Rochester-Colonial guy and I passed each other in the kitchen once, and I avoided eye-contact.
    Avoided contact of any kind.
    Many times he passed me and all I could do was stand quietly.
    You get what you pay for.........
    Well I am a zombie more-or-less.
    I had a stroke and it compromised my speech; so since I can’t talk well, I avoid conversation.
    When I walk the dog there’s a pretty good chance I’ll meet someone, but I keep to myself.
    People wave and I don’t wave back unless it’s pretty obvious I could.
    So Linda did most of the talking.
    I said little.
    When it came time to settle up, I was taking a nap.
    These new windows are much better than our old ones, but essentially, like the shed, it was Linda’s project.
    Although I initiated it; since I felt I had to — that is, initiated the trip to Rochester-Colonial.
    But Linda made most of the phonecalls, and scheduled the work.
    Our old windows were in bad shape. We still have quite a few old windows left, and Rochester-Colonial will probably get to replace them.
    Far as I’m concerned, the $23,102.00 was well-spent. You get what you pay for.
    The crew didn’t throw up their hands when they discovered the water-damage. They didn’t decide to bring in Ty Pennington and his blue-helmeted minions.
    It was beastly hot, but they just fixed it.

  • RE: “home equity line of credit we shouldn’t have.....” My loudmouthed macho brother-in-Boston loudly insists our home-equity line-of-credit should be closed, since like him we shouldn’t have any debt of any kind. We keep it open should we ever need it. It’s the onliest debt we have — our mortgage is paid off, as are cars and credit-cards (we only have one)..
  • RE: “must not be an engineer.......” My loudmouthed macho brother-in-Boston was trained as an engineer, which makes him superior to me, who majored in History.
  • I had a stroke October 26, 1993.
  • “Pop-Pop Connor” was my mother’s father. He died in 1954.
  • Rochester-Colonial was our window replacement contractor.
  • “Linda” is my wife.
  • RE: “like the shed......” The shed was installed last fall.
  • Tuesday, September 11, 2007

    Cancer lady

    CANCER LADY
    The Keed.
    The consensus is my wife can survive her cancer, which is non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
    I guess I am proceeding per this conclusion, since my input has essentially been nil.
    If the consensus were grimmer, I probably would try to be more an advocate, in my spastic, stroke-addled way.
    Linda has been making all the phonecalls — I have done nothing but drive her to doctor-appointments, and do as much as I can of what she would have done (e.g. the lawn).
    She got an appointment at Wilmot Cancer Center at Strong Hospital in Rochester for the 20th, which is better than Podunk Cancer Center the 28th.
    But now the doctor who initiated the appointment for the 28th is trying to do earlier.
    But I (we) tilt toward Wilmot. Her oncologist there specializes in non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
    It can be treated into remission, but never cured. It might flare up again, and have to get treated back again.
    The consensus is Linda will have this the rest of her life.
    I just wish I could be a better advocate. The stroke has made me barely able to talk, and afraid to get involved.
    I had a hard enough time fiddling the cellphone upgrade.
    And that shed is Linda’s doing; not me.

  • “Linda” is my wife.
  • I had a stroke October 26, 1993.
  • “Must be our ISP”

    The other night (probably Sunday, September 9, 2007) “Uh-oohh,” from the other room; “‘we are updating this feature.’ I can’t get on.”
    “Well, I’m boomin’-and-zoomin’,” I said.
    Linda comes out and looks at my rig. I have FlagOut on; so I quit Netscape.
    I know firing up Netscape again will bring up the FlagOut log-in page, which is my Netscape home-page. (The Curve web-cam is my FireFox home-page.)
    Boom; Netscape throws up the FlagOut log-in page, and Zoom; I click the “Dr. Loo” link and it immediately fires up FlagOut.
    “How come you can get in and I can’t?” Linda asks.
    “Well, I ain’t usin’ Internet Explorer,” I say.
    “What was that window you just quit?”
    “Netscape. I hardly ever use IE. I only use it for online purchases. FlagOut is Netscape.”
    “Must be our ISP,” I said; although I can’t see how, since we both use the same ISP.
    But it has to be. After all, everything that goes wrong is due to our ISP.
    That valve-stem on our zero-turn sheared off because of our ISP.
    The shower-valve broke because of our ISP.
    Linda has cancer because of the ISP.
    The greatest tenor of all time wasn’t Luciano Pavarotti; it was Internet Explorer.

  • RE: “we are updating this feature....” is a window our family web-site, which is based in Utah, throws up when it’s overloaded and can’t process a request.
  • “Linda” is my wife.
  • “FlagOut” is our family’s web-site, named that because I had a mentally-retarded kid-brother (Down Syndrome) who lived at home, and loudly insisted the flag be flown every day. “Flag-Out! Sun comes up, the flag goes up! Sun goes down, the flag comes down.” I fly the flag partly in his honor. (He died at 14 in 1968.)
  • The Curve (“Horseshoe Curve;” the “mighty Curve,”) west of Altoona, Pennsylvania, is by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to. Horseshoe Curve is a national historic site. It was a trick used by the Pennsylvania Railroad to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is still in use. It has a web-cam.
  • “Dr. Loo” is my handle on FlagOut.
  • “ISP” equals Internet-Service-Provider. My loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston blamed my ISP for wonky Internet performance here on his laptop. Our ISP is RoadRunner cable, and I don’t have the problems he had.
  • Our “zero-turn” is our 48-inch Husqvarna riding-mower; “zero-turn” because it’s a special design with separate drives to each drive-wheel, so it can be spun on a dime. “Zero-turns” are becoming the norm, because they cut mowing time in half compared to a lawn-tractor. I had a valve-stud shear off on a front tire.
  • RE: “The greatest tenor of all time wasn’t Luciano Pavarotti.......” I was loudly excoriated for saying Pavarotti was the greatest tenor of all time. If I say anything at all was “the greatest whatever of all time,” I get loudly excoriated by my all-knowing siblings.
  • Monday, September 10, 2007

    Long ago.........

    Stores along Main Street bridge.
    When I came to Rochester 41 long years ago in the Fall of 1966, things were somewhat different than they are now — not vastly different, but different.
    -I suppose the main difference was that the Main Street bridge over the Genesee River was lined with stores; i.e. stores built right out over the river.
    It was as if Rochester wasn’t admitting a river flowed through it.
    Thankfully those rickety stores were all torn down within a few years, opening up the Main Street bridge to the mighty Genesee, which had once been harnessed to mill flour from the vast Genesee Valley to the south, which was then shipped east on the Erie Canal — thus giving Rochester the moniker “flour city” (now “flower city”).
    Downtown Rochester was once a thriving metropolis, but it’s been dying ever since.
    When I came here a downtown mall, Midtown Plaza, bridged two anchor-stores, and was really groovy.
    Both anchor-stores have since closed, and shopping moved out to outlying suburban malls; leaving Midtown a withering shell, even though it had a large underground parking-garage.
    Sibley’s, across from (and thereby cut off from) the mall, the equivalent of a Macy’s or Wanamaker’s, tanked a while ago, another victim of shopping moving away from downtown Rochester.
    The Sibley’s anchor-stores in outlying malls were bought by Kaufmann’s — and even they may have changed hands.
    With the departure of Sibley’s a mighty icon of downtown Rochester disappeared. Now there is talk of converting the still-standing hulk into a glittering casino bathed in flashing red laser-light. UGH!
    Xerox Tower.
    When I moved here, the Xerox Tower was being built. Unset concrete was craned to the top, and then poured (set, placed; WHATEVER) into forms that kept moving up.
    I still think Xerox Tower is the most appealing skyscraper in Rochester (HERE WE GO.......). It still stands, but Xerox doesn’t own it any more — their headquarters moved to Stamford, Connecticut; and Xerox is on shaky ground.
    At 30 floors it’s the highest building in Rochester.
    -The other major change is the departure of railroading as a way of getting freight into Rochester.
    The Erie Canal was moved too; but that was long ago. Used to be the Erie Canal went right through Rochester, but it was relocated south when the massive State Barge Canal was built. That’s about 1918.
    The old right-of-way of the Erie Canal through Rochester was converted into a railbed; the infamous Subway that tanked in 1956.
    But it wasn’t a subway like the New York City subways. A lot of it was above-ground, and it operated glorified trolley-cars — usually only one car per train.
    The underground part was through downtown Rochester — the Erie Canal ditch was never filled in; just covered over.
    The old aqueduct over the Genesee had a second bridge built on top, which carries Broad Street. The aqueduct itself became part of the Subway roadbed.
    All that was gone before I moved here — and an expressway had been built out over the eastern half of the subway roadbed; which was previously the Erie-Canal right-of-way.
    In fact, you can still find remains of an old stone Erie-Canal lock along the expressway.
    Tracks in the underground part of the subway weren’t removed, so a railroad could service downtown shippers — in the end it was only delivery of newsprint in boxcars to the Rochester newspaper; and they put up a fuss when the railroad wanted to abandon service — I wrote a letter-to-the-editor defending the railroad: something about the newspaper getting a free ride (i.e. they were on corporate welfare; not paying the actual cost for shipping).
    The tracks extended clear out past downtown east along the expressway, but I never saw any trains. I don’t think I even saw any boxcars parked on sidings. Those tracks are long-gone.
    Three railroads operated into Rochester from the south, and all are gone.
    -1) Pennsy had a branch that operated from Olean to Rochester mostly along the old towpath of the Genesee Valley Canal (a feeder to the Erie). That railroad had been built by another, but then Pennsy got it. The Pennsy branch tanked while I was at Houghton. It also passed Houghton, and tanked about 1963. (I once saw a Pennsy RS3 on it.)
    It was rather difficult to operate; it twisted this way and that. It also navigated a part of Letchworth Gorge, and washed out within a year of abandonment.
    Nevertheless, the people at Houghton say why they weren’t flooded during Hurricane Agnes was because of that old railbed. It walled off the raging Genesee River.
    -2) Another service was that of the Lehigh Valley; which had a spur from its Buffalo-Extension south of Rochester into Rochester.
    The LV spur went north along the east bank of the Genesee river, and stubbed at downtown Rochester. A small yard was along the east side of the river.
    All that was still there when I arrived, and I once saw an LV switcher.
    I never got a picture, and now the whole of Lehigh-Valley is abandoned — even its Buffalo Extension; perhaps the finest railroad to ever reach Buffalo (HERE WE GO AGAIN!).
    So the old Lehigh-Valley spur is mostly torn up, although a short segment remains to service a lumberyard.
    It no longer reaches Rochester, and the segment from the Extension to the lumberyard is gone.
    The LV Buffalo Extension was fabulous. Good for 60+ mph, arrow-straight, easy grades, no bottlenecks, and double-track. Boy-oh-boy, when a LV redball came through, you waited.
    -3) The third service was that of the Erie Railroad, which had a long branch up to Rochester from its mainline near Corning, N.Y. in the southern tier.
    Much of it remains, operated by the Livonia, Avon & Lakeville shortline railroad, although east of Lakeville it’s abandoned — i.e. it no longer reaches Livonia. (It mainly services a corn-syrup processor in Lakeville — and Lakeville was a spur.)
    South of Livonia the old Erie branch is long-gone.
    When I arrived, that Erie branch was still extant, and Erie had a small yard on the west side of the Genesee north of where it crossed the river. That yard may have been gone when I arrived, since I don’t remember it.
    Even north of the Rochester Bypass (the old West Shore), the Erie line is gone, and all that remains is that large steel bridge over the river. —Plus the trench next to the University of Rochester both the Erie and the Lehigh-Valley used.
    The old Erie overpass over Elmwood Ave. near the UofR was converted to a pedestrian walkway or parking-lot access. The old LV overpass next to it still remains and has the opposite use of the Erie overpass. Farther south, the old Erie overpass over the State Barge Canal was converted to another use; the ex-LV overpass was torn out.
    Further south the railroad reappears as the LA&L, south of the Rochester Bypass — to which it connects.
    LA&L built a connector from its ex-Erie line to the ex-LV line so it could service the lumberyard.
    Other railroads service Rochester; mainly New York Central’s Water-Level Route, plus the Baltimore & Ohio (ex Buffalo, Rochester & Pittsburgh).
    The B&O (ex BR&P) lines were sold to an operator affiliated with the Genesee & Wyoming, a short independent railroad that served area salt-mines south of Rochester.
    The line south out of Rochester is the Rochester & Southern, still affiliated with the G&W. (So is the one out of Buffalo, although it's the Buffalo & Pittsburgh.)
    B&O also built all the way up to the lake, but most of that was abandoned some years ago. I think some of that lake-line was still in use when I arrived, but now it’s gone. That B&O lake-line was a travesty; hills and difficult curves. Even the Lake Ave. overpass over the B&O lake-line was filled in. (NYC also had some lines to the lake, and I think one still exists [as CSX].)
    NYC had a number of affiliated lines that served Rochester. The Auburn-Road, the first railroad into Rochester, was still extant, all the way from Auburn to Rochester. This includes through Canandaigua, Victor, Pittsford and Brighton.
    The Auburn out of Rochester was torn up years ago, and all that remains is the line to Canandaigua, operated by Finger-Lakes Railway. The Auburn is extant from Auburn to Canandaigua, but north of Canandaigua it’s gone. (The Auburn switched into the Water-Level east of Rochester — and was once NYC’s bypass in case the Water-Level got blocked.)
    Other NYC lines were the Falls Road and the Hojack.
    The Falls Road was a bypass for getting NYC trains directly to Niagara Falls. I once saw an NYC Alco F-unit switching onto it with a train. It wasn’t the original junction which was rather puny. A heavier-duty junction had been built farther west.
    The Hojack was the ex-Fonda Johnstown & Gloversville, built long ago, and eventually taken over by NYC.
    It ran more-or-less along the Lake Ontario shore, and skirted all the big cities.
    Years ago I saw a Penn-Central RS3 as a local on it near Webster, and now nearly all of that is gone.
    All that remains is a rotating truss across the Genesee River, that still stands, but is out of service. It needs to be removed, as it blocks the shipping-channel — although the onliest ships that use that channel anymore are freighters carrying concrete premix. And they can’t use it for the time being because the channel needs to be dredged.
    West of the Genesee the Hojack is long-gone. East a short segment remains, operated by Ontario Midland, that accesses the old Pennsy Sodus-line to (Pennsy through) Newark.
    Most of Ontario Midland is that old Pennsy line — although part of it south of Penn Yan is Finger Lakes. (Between Penn Yan and Newark is gone.)
    None of the infamous Peanut remains, although when I arrived a short stub of it was serving an Agway in nearby Holcomb (since merged back into Bloomfield).
    I once saw a PC RS3 switching that Agway.
    That stub was abandoned about 1975; and now even the Agway is gone.
    A lot of the Peanut right-of-way remains — I could follow it from a hot-air balloon ride I once took.
    The Peanut is the original Canandaigua & Niagara Falls, built to transfer Erie coal north of Canandaigua to Niagara Falls and environs.
    So it was originally built to Erie’s six-foot gauge; then gauged down to standard-gauge: 4-feet 8&1/2 inches.
    Later NYC got it, and a Vanderbilt called it a “Peanut” compared to the mighty Water-Level. —Which it was; it never served much, so soon tanked. I don’t think it survived the ‘30s, except for that stub to Holcomb.
    So all that remains of railroad service to Rochester is the Water-Level (now CSX), and the Rochester & Southern. The LA&L doesn’t access Rochester, and the old West Shore never did. (The onliest remaining segment of the West Shore, west of the Hudson and the Albany area, is what is now the CSX Rochester Bypass. Both grade-crossings in deepest, darkest Henrietta have been made into overpasses.)
    When I arrived there were at least two other railroads, plus a slew of other NYC lines. And NYC was still extant when I arrived, although it soon merged with Pennsy in 1968, as Penn-Central.

  • “Linda” is my wife. She worked almost 35 years at Lawyers’ Co-operative Publishing (arrowed; lawbooks), later bought out by West Publishing and Thomson Publishing.
  • “Wanamaker’s” is the Philadelphia equivalent of Macy’s — also the first department-store in Philadelphia.
  • RE: “poured (set, placed; WHATEVER)......” My noisy blowhard brother-in-Boston, who was trained as an engineer, claims I’m not using the proper engineering-terminology for doing concrete — he noisily claims it’s “placed.”
  • RE: “(HERE WE GO.......).” I’m excoriated for having the awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity to name a “greatest whatever of all time.” (I had labeled Luciano Pavarotti as the greatest tenor of all time.)
  • “Olean,” a small city, is in the southern tier of New York State.
  • “Pennsy” is the Pennsylvania Railroad, no longer in existence. It merged with New York Central Railroad in 1968 as Penn-Central, and that went bankrupt in about two years. “Pennsy” was once the largest railroad in the world.
  • Houghton” is the college I graduated from in 1966.
  • Letchworth Gorge” is a massive canyon in Western New York, carved eons ago by the Genesee River. It’s now a state park.
  • “Livonia, Avon & Lakeville” has been in existence since the ‘70s. It once ran steam passenger excursion-service, but no longer does.
  • “The West Shore” was a railroad financed by Pennsy in the late 1800s to compete with the New York Central Water-Level. Most of it was very near the Water-Level, but it went up the west shore of Hudson River — hence “West Shore.” NYC started a competing railroad in Pennsylvania to compete with Pennsy, but never got as far as laying track. The two lines changed hands after a conference on J.P. Morgan’s yacht in Long Island Sound. West Shore went to NYC, and the competing railroad in Pennsylvania (the South Pennsylvania Railroad) was never built. Quite a bit of its right-of-way, including its many tunnels, became the Pennsylvania Turnpike.
  • “Deepest, darkest Henrietta” is a rather effusive and obnoxious suburb south of Rochester. They were grade-crossings when I arrived.
  • We live in West “Bloomfield,” adjacent to the village of “Bloomfield.”
  • Sunday, September 09, 2007

    “Who are you?”

    The Keed
    “Who are you?”
    Late yesterday afternoon (Saturday, September 8, 2007) we attended a surprise 60th birthday-party for one of Linda’s past co-workers.
    The party was at a nearby local park: Powder Mills Park.
    I have taken to accompanying my wife on these shindigs, because -1) I would have nothing else to do (except perhaps sew acrimony with this here rig), and primarily -2) my wife is automotively challenged, and I don’t want her to drive over strange roads and probably get lost.
    Actually, I think she could have found the park, but it would have meant -A) a map, and -B) a trial run.
    My wife successfully found a funky restaurant, but it was on a street she had driven before.
    I drove her to the main Rochester post-office in deepest, darkest Henrietta so we could find a route with dedicated and signaled left-turns.
    Cardinal rule here: all left-turns can only be made from dedicated and signaled left-turn lanes. (Believe it or not, The Keed knows this stuff.)
    My wife once did volunteer cleanup for a group-home for the mentally challenged near Powder Mills Park.
    It was so hard to find I ended up taking her there myself. Two trips; one going there, and one returning.
    Powder Mills Park is also hard to find.
    I pulled out three maps, but my Finger-Lakes Bicycle map is useless, since it lacks many roads, and Powder Mills Park isn’t even on it.
    My second map is Western New York, mainly Buffalo and environs. But it’s only counties west of the Genesee River — Powder Mills Park is east.
    So I was left with only one map, my giant Finger-Lakes district map, but it covers half of New York state, so the segment around Powder Mills Park is tiny.
    So here we are driving north on Strong Road, headed for State Route 251.
    “That map I drew can’t be right,” I said. “Right takes me toward Victor, not Mendon. Mendon is left.”
    It’s my old sense of direction taking over; what lead me to loop near smelly Boston Harbor on the way to Logan Airport.
    (“Halt in the name of the law!” the security-guards shouted, massive sidearms drawn. “Where do ya think you’re goin’, you terrorist lackey?”
    “I was trying to get to Logan,” I said. “I was following directions by my brother, Jack Hughes.”
    “We know that guy,” they said. “Get yourself turned around. He had ya headed toward New England.”)
    I could drop into negatory mode here, but I’ll pass. After all, these are the people that make America great — Liberial-Arts majors, as opposed to engineers that drop the I-35W bridge into the Mississippi. People that care about what they do...... as opposed to billionaires that want to leave no billionaire behind so they can drive megabuck Mercedes.
    A flaccid male bimbo with red-dyed hair was dashing madly about snapping pictures with his Canon digital camera, beer in hand, pop-up flash flopping lazily.
    Fortyish hags were trying to project sex by wearing saggy tanktops. One thin girl was trying to compete with Jack’s “Sweet-Cheeks” Harley-Momma, but her tiny boobs were still above her belt. She was leashing a dog that serenaded me loudly.
    The protagonist, Mary, arrived about 3:30 p.m. and everyone shouted “Surprise.” I’m sorry, but the Aunt Betty birthday-party was more successful.
    Mary was “shocked” — pleased that so many of her coworkers (and former coworkers) were there, but Aunt Betty was stunned. 89 bazilyun relatives from all over the country had come to her party — relative overload. Aunt Betty, the youngest, is the last Connor child left — all the others are gone. Aunt Betty was turning 80.
    This was mainly a Lawyers Co-op (West, Thomson; WHATEVER) party, so every once in a while my wife would get up to go accost someone, while I sat quietly reading my Trains Magazine.
    Um, no problem. This is what I usually do at a Messenger party, while Linda sits quietly in the background.
    Dinner came from the famed Dinosaur Bar-B-Q in Rochester; a place Lawyers employees frequently had lunch at.
    Dinosaur Bar-B-Q is mainly a Syracuse operation, but they have a restaurant in Rochester, at the old Lehigh-Valley railroad-station.
    I had pulled-pork, baked beans and macaroni-salad; the equivalent of a regular meal.
    The dog was trying to snag plates, and eying its owner earnestly while she ate. (“I could eat that!”)

  • “Linda” is my wife.
  • “Henrietta” is a rather effusive and obnoxious suburb of Rochester.
  • “Jack Hughes” is my loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston. We flew to a wedding of his daughter, and then got rather wonky directions from him back to Logan Airport.
  • “Liberial” is how my brother-from-Boston noisily insists “liberal” is spelled.
  • RE: “as opposed to engineers that drop the I-35W bridge into the Mississippi.” My loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston was trained as an engineer, and claims superiority. I majored in History, so am inferior.
  • RE: “Aunt Betty, the youngest, is the last Connor child left......” Connor was my mother’s maiden-name. My mother was second-to-last, but quite a bit older than my Aunt Betty.
  • RE: “Lawyers Co-op (West, Thomson; WHATEVER).......” My wife worked work for “Lawyers Co-operative Publishing” (a lawbook publisher) for years, but they were later bought out by West Publishing, and later Thomson Publishing, and thereby became rather unbearable.
  • “The Messenger” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired — best job I ever had.