CELESTIAL TEASE

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (09-14-23)

 

     I certainly hope you didn't miss last week's "blue supermoon," since the next one won't be seen until 2037. I didn't happen to notice the moon last week, but strangely enough I didn't miss it. I also didn't hear anything about my cat running a triathlon, or no traffic on the Hutchinson River Parkway, or a year of reasonable taxes, things you'd expect to happen once in a blue moon. According to scientists last week's moon, its closest point to the Earth, appeared to be eight percent bigger and fifteen percent brighter than normal, the same things my parents wished they could say about me when I was in the 4th grade.

     I hear about these celestial events, and I stare up in the sky, expecting the same excitement as when the crowd first spots what they think might be Superman: "Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane!" And it turns out to be a bird and a plane. Remember the "cold moon" last December? Neither do I. That's where the moon temporarily eclipses Mars so that you can't see it. If I was actually living on Mars I'm not sure I would be able to find it, so the fact that the moon jumps right in front of my field of vision only saves me the trouble of not seeing it in the first place. Supposedly you could see all this with the naked eye, and I took a look outside, but I couldn't remember if only your eye was supposed to be naked, so I apologize to my neighbors for that misunderstanding. If you saw a super moon that night and you thought it was impressive, I'll take most of the credit.

     Several months ago the stargazing community apprised us of the fact that "C/2022 E3 (ZTF)" would be approaching Earth, and that you SHOULD NOT MISS IT because it won't be passing this way again for 50,000 years! C/2022 E3 (ZTF) is a comet, and by "approaching," they mean 28 million miles away, give or take a few million miles. But they really piqued my interest when they further described that this was a rare GREEN comet. Why I would waste my time on a green, unripe comet? But I stayed up until one in the morning, and I saw what I always see during a once-in-a-lifetime astronomical event: cloudy skies. 

     Maybe you know someone who saw the infamous Hale-Bopp comet of 1997. And by the way, if you have a goofy last name, don't be looking up in the sky discovering stuff. Hale and Bopp actually discovered the comet in separate states on the same day and reported it to the Central Bureau for Astronomical Telegrams, which was angry they hadn't discovered it first, and also that they were still relying on people sending telegrams. I'm pretty sure that if Hale and Bopp were together at the time, there would have been a hell of an argument as to who saw it first. "I saw it first," Hale says. "You saw NOTHING," Bopp says. "You couldn't even see Uranus if it came up behind you and bit you on your elbow, which you wouldn't know from it." Hale says, "Why don't you and the boys from Hanson get together and discover the MMMBop comet?" And so forth until Hale bops Bopp upside the head.

     It's entirely possible that whatever's out there in space is not going to help us one bit. Quite the contrary. Scientists say that "2022 AP7" is lurking somewhere out there. It's a giant one-mile-long asteroid which, if its orbit eventually coincides with that of the Earth, could slam into our planet and cause the extinction of the human species. If it slams into downtown L.A., it's possible that no one would notice, but the amount of dust it kicks up could possibly leach into the atmosphere and blot out the light of the sun, or so they say.

     NASA is also tracking an 11-mile-wide comet called "C/2017 K2," with a tail so large that if it belonged to a cat, could knock all the pens off of every kitchen table in the entire country. Should this body impact the Earth, to paraphrase a lot of scientific lingo: we're screwed.

     It seems like the more we befoul our own planet and the more we continue to elect politicians who have no understanding of science, the more we turn our attentions to the stars in the hopes that there is something up there that will somehow help us down here. Astronomers are always freaking out that there might be water on Mars, for instance. I will temper my enthusiasm until it finds its way to my lawn. Is there intelligent life somewhere out there? Judging by the intelligence level here, we'll never know. In the meantime I'm keeping my eyes peeled for a super-DUPER moon.

HALF-BAKED ALASKA, PART II

 ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (09-07-23)

     Our first five days in Alaska were filled with awe-inspiring views of America at its best (in other words with no humans in it). "Oh wow," people said to me before our trip, "you're going to see so much wildlife! Maybe a whale, a moose and a grizzly bear on a good day!" Whether it's a good day for me or them I guess depends on how fast I can run. But by the end of five days as our train pulled into Anchorage, the largest beast I had seen was a squirrel attacking a bird feeder, and I was in awe of this illustration of the brutality of nature.

     I was animal-starved, and even a chocolate mousse on a menu would have seemed exotic. I pictured myself following a big game hunter in order to see some wildlife. "What are we tracking?" I ask him as I tag along. "Keep your voice down," he says. "We're looking for moose droppings." "Wow," It was hard to conceal my disappointment. "I figured we'd go after something larger, like maybe the moose." Perhaps these animals are nocturnal, and since there's 21 hours of daylight, they're over-rested and ready to expend some energy on the first idiot who happens to blunder along.

     But all that would change as we boarded the Discovery, a 65-foot, six-cabin vessel fitted with kayaks and a motor skiff, designed to visit the natural splendors of the Prince William Sound, just south of the city. From our water-borne vantage point we immediately snapped an iconic photo of a black bear capturing a fish in its mouth. It's less iconic for the fish, but that's the nature of nature. We saw a tribe of mountain goats, the largest mammals to exist at those altitudes. They were on the move, as where they already were looked to be extremely boring.

     We pulled up to a haulout of sea lions, noisy and social, and passed a raft of otters floating on their backs. On our hike we met up with an injured bald eagle that our skipper had been keeping track of. We saw crested puffins, harbor seals and of course, the black-legged kittiwake. 

     We boarded our small craft and positioned ourselves fairly close to Surprise Glacier, and while it would be impressive to see calving activity, an entire cow would likely send our kayak out of the Sound at the speed of sound. We floated around in our kayak for the better part of an afternoon. The worse part of the afternoon was spent rowing it. There was a lot of ice in the vicinity so I was careful not to have a "Titanic moment." As the de facto captain I did not want to have to go down with the ship, when it was much easier to wait until I was back on land and figure out a way to go down without it.

     We returned to town after our wonderful cruise to relax for a couple days before our return flight. Anchorage is home to half the people of the state, which is two-and-a-half times the size of Texas but with a population roughly the size of Seattle. The city is home to several eateries and drinkeries, such as the Bear Tooth Inn, the Bear Paw and the Moose Tooth Tavern. If you assembled every bar in town you'd have one complete animal that could at any time get you drunk and then eat you.

     Our last day we we boarded a bus tour to the Wildlife Conservation Center about 45 minutes south of the city. As we neared the preserve I had to hold onto my kidneys as I realized that the rutting season is the same for roads as it is for elk. But they were all there: the brown bear, of which the grizzly is a smaller subspecies; the moose, which often feeds in the ocean and finds the orca one of its primary predators; the arctic fox, bred for its soft fur. They seemed glad to finally see me. The only animal in the park that did not show itself was the lynx. I bet if I spread out a newspaper and sat down with my coffee he'd come right out and sit on it, and I would have found the missing lynx.

     Finally our beautiful glimpse into the wild corners of America was over, and we boarded the plane back to New York. I wave at the stewardess and say "Huh-hi," since they always say "Buh-bye" on your way out. We make it back to New York in record time, and I say on the way out, "Thank you for flying Delta," which temporarily throws her off her game. It's good to be back in my natural habitat: captivity. But the animals in Alaska are gloriously free, at least until my credit card bill comes.

HALF-BAKED ALASKA, PART I

 ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (08-31-23)

     We're back from a wonderful trip to Alaska, and whether you like it or not, I'm going to tell you all about it. People have asked, "How long was your trip?" Well, it was a total of nine days and one night. That's because during the summer, Alaska is the "Land of the Midnight Sun." And you can see a beautiful sunset if you stay up past your bedtime until 11:30 or so. But don't forget, in the winter Alaska is also the land of the noonday moon, with only a couple hours of sunlight a day.

     I thought I could pack casual to save suitcase room, but then I thought, what if I get caught in a long line at the Anchorage airport and get swallowed up by a glacier? And 30,000 years from now experts will dig me up and evaluate my clothing from an archaeological standpoint. Why was he wearing that ugly shirt? Was it to ward off predators? We began our trip outside of Fairbanks at the Chena Hot Springs Resort, an unassuming conglomeration of buildings that belies the innovations of its forward-thinking owner. The place is run by its own on-site geothermal-powered turbine. When I asked if they were "off-the-grid," the answer was, "What grid?" We did eventually see evidence that Alaska would soon be getting the telegraph. The plant also makes plants, in a hydroponic vegetable-growing facility that produces all the produce for its restaurants.

     Great weather always follows us on vacation, but we were not expecting 85-degree sunshine in the Last Frontier, and our tour of the Aurora Ice Museum was postponed until the next day. When we got there the 1,000 tons of frozen water kept at 25 degrees contained intricate pieces by renowned ice sculptor Steve Brice, and an ice bar serving cocktails. If you ask for a margarita you need not specify that it be frozen, and I would be suspicious of any wine served at room temperature.

     We also toured their kennel facility, where dogs can train for the Iditarod, an annual re-enactment of a 1925 life-saving run of diphtheria serum by dogsled from Anchorage to Nome. A statue of Balto, the lead dog who became a national hero, was erected in Central Park that year. The lead dog runs the show, but the swing dog is the second-in-command, and must take the lead should the number one dog fail to fulfil its duties. The wheel dog is in the rear, keeps an eye on the other dogs and initiates turns.

     My own dog Gidget is Canadian, and she was bred to be a sled dog. I can easily picture her traveling the almost 1,000-mile route, as long as there is a comfortable place for her to sit on the sled. She's not going to pull anything. She is very easily distracted, and spends much of her time trying to lick things. I sometimes ask her, you're licking random objects all the time and you never once had a bad experience with that? I guess if you can't lick 'em, don't join 'em.

     The resort boasts a very refreshing man-made wading pool, which cools the incoming 165-degree underground spring water to a more humane temperature. I could not confirm the legendary healing powers of the mineral-laden waters, but a breakdown of the chemical content showed a lithium value of 250 PPM, so I guess it's a great place to go to recharge your batteries. I'm thinking of turning my own swimming pool into a resort for people trying to escape global warming, since it seems to sustain a constant temperature of about 33 degrees.

     Back in Fairbanks the next morning, we took the historic Alaska Railroad south on a breathtaking tour of the vistas that are just a normal occurrence here. Gold Star service means fine dining as well as a seat in the upper domed sight-seeing car. You can gorge on great food as well as gorgeous gorges in between the stunning Alaska Mountain range. The railroad, begun in 1903 by a private company, was finished by the federal government in 1923, at a cost of about five times what the U.S. paid for entire state 56 years prior.

     We de-trained in the kitschy town of Talkeetna, native for "Three Rivers." The unofficial but popular mayor of the place is a cat named Aurora who lives at the general store. We met her, and while I wouldn't ask her to outline this year's budget, I would trust her with decisions regarding fair mousing, and duties related to the purr-formance of the Town Pouncil. In the center of town is a grass airstrip, common in the state, used in bygone days for supplies and now mostly for tourism.

     The next day we took an ATV tour of the local trails. We made a few stops to admire the scenery, one of which held a dramatic sighting of Mt. Denali. The 20,000-foot behemoth, as big as it is, is only fully visible 30 percent of the time, so we were lucky to have a full view of it just before it hopped in the shower. Denali means "The Great One" in native Koyukon, and was restored as the official name from Mt. McKinley in 2015, since William McKinley, not a horrible president, was certainly not The Great One. I'll see you in Anchorage next week for Part II. Wear something comfortable.

MISSING THE BOAT

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (08-17-23)

 

     Every summer we eventually find ourselves aboard a boat, and it reminds me of when I myself was the skipper of my own cabin cruiser, which I co-owned with my very patient and understanding friend Dave. I've heard it said a million times that the two best days a boat owner ever has are the day he buys the boat and the day he sells it. And to that I say, well if you buy and sell a boat annually you'll have two great days a year, which is not a bad average.

     Ours was mid-size power cruiser, and sometimes my wife and I would head up the Hudson and put in at our sister marina in Newburgh. Eventually, in between dry-dock repairs, we would bring our dog and our bicycles, and have a nice weekend. But the learning curve for a novice skipper is arduous and nerve-wracking, and I bent so many fenders that I came to be known as "Captain Crunch." 

     In my own defense, things that didn't make much sense on land make even less sense at sea, and then you're too far from shore to tell anyone how stupid it is and that they should change it. For instance "starboard" and "port" mean "right" and "left," so if you were to say, "my phone is probably right where I left it," on a boat you might say, "my phone is probably starboard where I port it." I guess portholes all are on the left, too (don't worry, I'm almost done). Nothing is the same on a boat. The kitchen is the galley, the bathroom is the head, the bedroom is the cabin and the steering wheel is the helm. There's a sign as you motor out of the marina channel that says "NO WAKE ZONE" which I never saw because I was asleep, thinking I was obeying it.

     One beautiful summer day three weeks after 9/11, we were stopped by a Coast Guard patrol boat for wandering into the Indian Point "no-fly" zone. He called out on a megaphone, "Do you have a radio and know how to use it?" I answered, "Of course I do, it's down below." "What band is it on?" I said "I believe that is Metallica right now." "Did you know you are currently in a restricted area?" He asked. "I'm aware of that, and as you can see I haven't let anyone else in." He looked at the front of my boat and said, "I'd like to see your bow," and I gave such an elaborate example of one that I thought he would leave right away, but instead he came aboard. He gave me a stern warning: get my stern out of there or face federal charges.

     I could only get one engine started because I must have flooded the carbureter on the other one. On a boat there is no end to the amount of things you could flood if you put your mind to it.

     I said to my wife, "Come up here to the bridge, take the wheel and hold position while I weigh the anchor. Then I'm going to the galley to make a hot mess." She said, "First of all, there's no bridge on this thing. And second of all, No." "WHAT? What do you mean 'NO?'" I was flabbergasted, which resulted in a noise that I had to deny came from me. I ranted, "There's no 'No' onboard when the ship is underway! The Captain has absolute authority, and hands down the orders and the crew obeys the orders. That's the Way of the Sea." She said, "Well, it's the same No that I use on land." "I'm going to have to place you on report, and write the incident up. See this thing here? This is the Captain's Log." She said something about how small my Captain's Log was, but still would not hold position. I realized that she wasn't crazy about our position in the first place, which put me in an awkward positon. I didn't want to threaten to keel haul her and risk her pointing out that I didn't know where the keel was. So I had to weigh anchor, which seemed like it might have put on a little weight, plus hold down a mutiny the same time.

     I realized I better take care of business or I might end up like Henry Hudson, the explorer that discovered the Henry Hudson Parkway. He perished at sea during the year 1611 in Canada after his crew turned on him and set him adrift. If I was to be set adrift of a boat that was not holding position it might not be all that dangerous, as long as we both drifted in the same general direction. 

     The boat finally sustained an injury to its engine that would have cost more to fix than the vessel was worth, which was not a very high bar to pass. We ended up donating it to "Boats 4 Kids," which furthers youth and educational programs. So if you see an underprivileged kid piloting a 32-foot yacht around the Hudson River, he's probably doing better than I did.

AUTO DETAILING

 

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (08-10-23)

 

     These days you can read user reviews on just about anything before you it, and see what normal people think. When I say normal, I mean people like you and me. Okay, maybe just people like you. It's been six months since I bought my new car, and I discovered that there's a learning curve with finally getting a new car after 10 years.

     One drawback of owning a performance car is that speed limits seem much more archaic than they used to. When I get behind someone going 30 miles an hour I feel like a garden slug on union golden time.
     My turn signal doesn't turn itself off unless I make a 90-degree turn, so I either have to veer into the other lane to tighten up the angle, or turn it off manually and end up signaling in the other direction by mistake. So if you're behind me I apologize for my lack of direction. I blame my parents.

     Luckily there are many more safety features than there used to be. At first this was comforting. An alarm sounds when you're too close to something, and it sounds when you're too far away from something. If I'm equidistant from everything, it's pretty quiet, but that doesn't happen very often. An alarm such as that would come in handy when you're dating so that you know where you stand, and specifically, where TO stand. But when I hear a beep as I'm driving and I don't know what it's for, I'll need to consult the instruction manual while I'm either too close or too far away from something to figure out what it's for. 

     I was overjoyed to find that there WAS an instruction manual, and it was only in English. Just about every instruction book I've ever seen has four or five different languages in the back, and if you turn to the wrong one, you can learn less about your car than before you started. I could turn the car upside down trying to find the écran du tableau de bord, only to realize that I was in the wrong language section. I learned some French curse words and it did make me feel better.

     The most interesting alarm goes off if you don't put on your seatbelt right away. It sounds exactly like the first 8 chords of a Guess Who song, in the correct key. And it's pushy, as if I should have fastened my seatbelt while I was still in the shower. If you don't act IMMEDIATELY it gets louder and louder, and I wish they'd get on with the rest of the Guess Who song. 

     I suppose most people love scrolling around all touch screens on a dashboard to find the right station on the sound system, or adjust the perfect temperature for the cockpit. I'm not sure when car companies started calling the inside of the car the "cockpit," but if my car does suddenly start to take flight I'll have to figure out which menu has the altimeter. Anyway, I scroll through the different screens to find the "air recirculate" button, because somebody ran over a skunk. Once I finally find it, dead-skunk-air has already finished filling my cockpit and I recirculate it for the next five miles. If I go through that many menus there had better be dessert at the end and not a dead skunk.

     I had to wait two years during the pandemic for computer chips to start turning up again for this scrolling opportunity. My last car was 10 years old and just had a bunch of knobs and dials. If you turned the dial towards red, it got warmer, blue it got colder. The system was a relic of its time and not very high-tech, but I could adjust the temperature perfectly without having to look at it.

     All this assumes that there is nothing particularly interesting going on in the road that I should be paying attention to. If I have my phone assistance app on, I can ask it questions about navigation, song playlists and the weather. And now that there is AI involved, having a normal conversation with your car is something that will be happening very soon. "Hey," I ask my car, "these are all-season radials you got under you, correct?" My car says, "Yes, it's baseball season right now, and I  think they'll do better in football season than the Giants will." "I don't want to sound insulting," I continue, "but white was not my first choice for a car color." "Well," my car replies, "the first time it snows no one will notice that you have a white car." "Hey- how fast are we going? I've had three speeding tickets." "Well at least you have the courage of your convictions." By the time there is enough artificial intelligence for my car to have a normal conversation with me, it will be smart enough to know that there is no such thing.