The World According to Google

For the past month or so, I've seriously been considering purchasing a camper. I should state clearly that I am not a camper. I do not particularly enjoy camping. Too many bugs and raccoons. That being said, the thought of a camper sounds appealing to me on several fronts. For starters, I am tired of carrying around a lifetime worth of stuff. I am currently forming a plan for my great escape and the first part to executing this plan is to get rid of pretty much everything I own. I have come to the realization that antiques are highly over rated. And collectables. In retrospect, I have no idea how I ended up with so many collectables. And what exactly are collectables? As far as I can tell, they are objects of varying size that, at one point in time I thought were cute, pretty, whimsical, unique, or might-be-valuable-one-day. I live alone in a four bedroom house that is FILLED with stuff. I must stop the madness!

Once I am able to rid myself of all of my things, I will get rid of the house. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, living room, dining room, kitchen, two mud rooms, utility room, 3 season porch and a garage(with two storage rooms) is more space than any one person needs. Even with the dogs and cats taking up their fair share of square footage, I cannot justify having all this space – filled with all this stuff. So I will sell the house. I have come to the conclusion that home ownership is highly overrated. I look back on my years as a renter with fondness. If something broke – call the owner.

The other thing that I find appealing about owning a camper is the fact that it is portable. I like the idea of being able to hitch my house to the back of my suburban and drive off to parts unknown. Winters in Florida, summers in Maine; sounds like a plan to me. So I have been surfing Craig's List in search of a camper. After surfing for a week or so, it dawned on me that I really don't know anything about campers. For instance, how much does a camper weigh? Can I tow it with my suburban? Does size matter (it does)? So the first thing I did was to google the specs of my truck to find out how much camper I could pull. This turned out to be good news. The max tow weight for my truck is 6000 pounds. From what I've seen, most campers up to 32 feet fall well below this limit. So far so good.

Then I started to notice more detail in the ads referencing anti-sway hitches and gas powered refrigerators. The gas powered refrigerator had me baffled. So off to google. It turns out that gas powered means powered by propane. I'm still not completely clear on this, but the idea sounds good. Some of the motorhomes that I looked at didn't have this option. I considered motorhomes only briefly. The suburban can tow a camper, but a motorhome can't tow a suburban, so that idea was scrapped. So anyway, a gas powered refrigerator cools with heat, using ammonia as a coolant. That's all I know. The article went on (and on) about how this this works, but I figured I had all I really needed to know, so I moved on to the anti-sway hitch.

Apparently there is an anti sway hitch and there is an anti sway control system. I have read a little about these and have come to the conclusion that the sway control system is preferred, particularly when used in conjunction with the anti sway hitch. So the upshot is that the hitch is on the truck and the system is on the camper. I know from personal experience that not swaying is important. One winter, when I was 12, I traveled with my family by car to Pensacola. We were towing a 28 foot sailboat behind us. Well, as anyone who has traveled with kids will attest, road trips get very long with kids in the car – particularly kids who fight a lot (like my sister and I did). Long story short; two kids fighting in back seat, father gets frustrated (after telling them to knock it off for the past 800 miles), turns around to (hopefully) smack them both. Sadly (for him) he misses, but he was distracted long enough to swerve a little. Apparently a little swerve can turn into a big swerve when you are towing things behind you. Fortunately, Dad got it under control and we continued on our way. My sister and I, never missing a chance to annoy, immediately started berating poor old dad. “Geeze, are you trying to kill us?” “If you hadn't tried to smack us, that wouldn't have happened.” So I'm pretty well sold on the importance of having the anti sway hitch and sway control system.

So far, my research has gotten me to a point where I know how much I can tow, I can keep my food cold, and I can hopefully keep from rolling the whole works over. This is a start, but far from enough to make any sort of intelligent purchase. So back to google.

In addition to googling for camper info, I am also googling for a source to sell off all of my antiques and collectibles. It occurs to me as I write this, if I didn't have access to google, how long would it take me to find this information? Would I ever find all that I need, or would I have to go out into the world and actually talk to people who know about theses things? Egad! I would never get out of here.

In His Father's Shadow

I am a fan of pretty much any fiction written about the period between 1935 and 1960, with particular emphasis on the period of WWII. But not just any fiction. It has to be historically accurate fiction. There's nothing like reading a book about WWII that has been well researched. A book that weaves accurate historical facts and people into a well written, engaging story.

One writer who has accomplished this feat is W.E.B. Griffin. Not only does he write historically accurate fiction, he also writes in series. I remember the first Griffin book I read. It was the first book of a series about the Marine Corps. It started in the late 1930's, when the marines were still in China, patrolling the Yangtze river. It continued through the beginning of WWII, building a rich case of characters, some fictional, some real. This series followed the lives of its character through the war and into, what appeared to the American public, a more peaceful time.

The beauty of book series is that I can really get to know the characters. I can live a big chunk of their lives with them, although this makes it even harder when I reach the end because I feel like I have lost good friends. Friends that have gone on to live more adventures, fight more battles, and love other people, leaving me behind, here in the present. Finishing a really good W.E.B. Series usually leaves me in a pretty good funk for a day or two.

I started reading his books about 20 years ago. He is a prolific writer, and I have yet to complete all of his books. He wrote several series about the military including the Army, Special Ops and Black Ops, a couple of series about civilian law enforcement and a couple of non fiction books. Of all the series, the military books are my favorites. He is an old soldier, retired military, and his firsthand knowledge of that society comes shining through in his writing.

This has been my history with this author, up until about 2006, when he started writing books with his son. Given the fact that WEB Griffin is now 83 years old, I can understand why he wanted to shed some of his burden onto someone else. I'm sure he is very proud that he has a son who is willing to work so closely with him in an effort to continue his long history of excellent story telling. Unfortunately, his son is no WEB Griffin. It is sad to say that the books I have read that were co-authored by both WEB III and WEB IV do not hold a candle to WEB III's earlier, solo works. I find it particularly disjointing when his son begins writing with him in the middle of a series.

But once I have bought in for 5 or 6 books, there is no way I can not finish the series. There is still plenty of WEB III on these pages, though perhaps not as much as I would like. I have to admit that I am probably being a bit harsh on the younger WEB, but I can't help it. Sadly, he is simply not his father. Perhaps if I had been introduced to him separately, reading works written only by him I would have a different opinion. Perhaps he is a fine writer in his own right. But if he is to continue in his father's footsteps, he has a long row to hoe. I suspect he may be painfully aware of this.

The Book of all Books

If I were stranded on a deserted island, and could have only one book, the choice would be an easy one for me. I would pick my unabridged dictionary. Why, you ask? Well, there are many reasons. For starters, an unabridged dictionary (UD) is so much more than just a dictionary. The UD that I have is filled with so much more than just words.

The first section of my UD is an introduction. It gives the reader an outline of the history of the English language, a guide to pronunciation, a key to pronunciation and a list of abbreviations used within the dictionary. I find this information interesting as well as useful.

After the intro comes the meat of the dictionary – the words! I have been known to read my dictionary just for fun. I like finding obscure words and using them with people I don't like. This allows me to feel superior while, hopefully, making the recipient feel inadequate and slightly stupid. This can be a fun filled activity for any rainy afternoon.

As I write this, my dictionary is sitting on the sofa next to me. The urge to open the dictionary and pick a random word is more than I can take. The winner today is bantling: 1. A young child; a brat. 2. a foundling; a bastard. 3. figuratively, an immature product, as of an author or artist. Funny how random frequently doesn't seem random. Ah, but I digress.

After the “words” section of my UD (all 2129 pages) comes the supplements. The true beauty of an UD are the supplements. My particular UD has 19 supplements, plus a full color world atlas. Granted, seeing that my UD is from 1979, many of the countries shown on these maps no longer exist, but they are useful for history projects (or to just peruse for the fun of it – another activity that I find immensely enjoyable). Many of the supplements are dictionaries in and of themselves. Two of my favorites are A Dictionary of Noted Names in Fiction, Mythology, Legend ( I have gotten a lot of mileage out of this section when it comes to naming pets), and A Dictionary of Foreign Words and Phrases (I have gotten a lot of mileage out of this section by using information found here in letters to people I don't like).

Other supplements include Abbreviations Commonly Used in Writing and Printing, Special Signs and Symbols, Forms of Address and Practical Business Mathematics. While I find the first three to be interesting and useful, the last can be used to build a fire to attract nearby ships and airplanes (I'm still on that island).

Other parts of the supplements section include The Declaration of Independence, The Constitution of the United States, all the Presidents, Vice-Presidents and Cabinet Members of the United States, A History of Canada (who cares), Air Distances between Principal U.S. Cities, Principal Geographic Features of the World and Commercial and Financial Terms (this last one is obviously more fodder for the rescue fire).

As you can see, my UD is packed full of useful information which can provide hours and hours of engaging diversion. But the real reason I would pick this as my one and only book on that deserted island is this; every book ever written is contained in its pages. The idea that every book I've ever read and loved is there, in my UD, hidden within its 2129 pages, is something that fills me with the wonder of possibility. I can't think of a better way to while away the days, weeks, months, or years that I might have to fill if I really were stranded on that elusive island.

As I wrap up this missive, my eyes travel once again to my companion sitting on the sofa next to me. What the hell – just one more word (this is one of my favorite games (you probably already guessed that)). The last word for the day is...queachy, 1. shaking; moving, yielding or trembling under the feet, as moist or boggy ground. 2. thick; bushy.

UMA (unbelievably mediocre academics)

Don't go to UMA.  I am currently living this particular nightmare and feel compelled to warn others of the substandard education they will receive at this school.

Here are a few things that you can expect as a student at this school.  Expect to have absolutely no idea where you stand in most of your classes. I have been at UMA for two semesters, taking a total of 8 classes.  By three weeks post-midterm, I had not received any graded work in half of my classes, even though we were turning in assignments.  When I asked about this, the typical instructor response was something along the lines of  “I don't grade students for their opinions.”  I'm still not exactly sure what that means.  If you don't want to grade students on their opinions – don't ask them for their opinions.  Seems pretty simple to me, but what do I know? 

If you do happen to have a class where you get graded work returned in some sort of timely fashion, be wary of who may actually be grading your work.  I am currently taking a literature criticism class.  This is an online class being taught by an instructor that I had heard very good things about prior to signing up.  In fact, it was the high esteem in which she was held that inspired me to take this class.  As it turns out, she has a teaching assistant teaching this class.  I am not necessarily opposed to TA's teaching classes.  In this case, however, I have a huge problem with it.  The TA for this class is a work study student.  She is not a graduate student; in fact, she doesn't even have her bachelors degree.  This would technically make her a peer.  I asked the instructor about this and expressed that I was not particularly happy with this arrangement.  Her response was that this student was “Really good at this – she did really well in the class.”  She also stated that she was “Really busy this semester” because she is working on her book.  Apparently she's too busy to teach her classes.  I'm currently beginning a slug-fest with administration over this one.  I'll keep you readers posted as to the result, if any.

Why do I say “if any?” Because administration is unresponsive.  Administration seems to subscribe to the “Ignore it and it will go away” philosophy of management.  I suspect that with most students, this probably works for them.  I suspect that this school is not unique in this respect.

I am still waiting to resolve an issue with an East Asian philosophy class that I took last semester.  I've been trying to resolve this for 5 months. This particular instructor is a religious fanatic who was pushing his personal flavor of faith.  Each class was started with 5 minutes of meditation, complete with gongs and bells.  I expressed my objection to this behavior and was promptly blown off.  I then asked the dean to please explain the difference between this man performing meditation (with gongs and bells), and that of a professor teaching religious studies starting class with the lord's prayer.   The dean said it was a question of interpretation.  Again, I'm not entirely sure what that means.  It seems to me that if there is a question of interpretation, that is a problem in and of itself.  After all, this is a public, tax dollar supported school.  In addition to his praying in class, he also owns his very own Ashram, which is a non profit (read: tax exempt)501(c)3 corporation.  Maybe it's just me, but that seems like a conflict of interest that flies in the face of academic instruction.  But what do I know?

These are just a couple of examples of life at UMA.  I could go on to tell about how UMA Augusta treats UMA Bangor like a red-headed stepchild, or how I tutor students who cannot write a complete, cohesive sentence.  I could speak to the inordinate percentage of students who are methadone dosed, recovering addicts earning degrees in social services or the disjointed, typo strewn, syllabus presented to a class by Dr. so-and-so, but I'm sure that would border on the tedious.

So why did I choose to attend this misguided school?  Simple.  Their price, and they took all of my credits that I earned at EMCC, unlike UMO.  The transfer college billing that EMCC is currently pushing is profoundly misleading.  But this is a topic for another missive.

What's the Rush?

What's the Rush?

Squirrels

I am a procrastinator extraordinaire. If the deadline is 5:00pm, I will have it completed and turned in by 4:49pm. This is the system that works for me. It is not necessarily a good system, nor is it an encouraged system, but it is the one I use. I have tried to do assignments early, but it never seems to work out very well for me. For example, I get an assignment that is due in four weeks, at midnight. So in week two, I sit and start my assignment. I write a bunch of really bad stuff, delete most of it, start over, delete, edit, try a different approach...it goes nowhere. So I close the file and forget about it. That is what happens when I try to do my assignments early. Here is what actually happens. Fast forward – two days before the due date. I review the assignment (because I'm not completely clear on it anymore) and I think about it. That's right, I just think. I mull it around in my head here and there. I find drive time to be particularly productive for mulling. 

When I wake up on the due date, I have a brief moment of panic. “Geeze, I really should start that thing. If I do it this morning, I'll be off the hook for the rest of the day.” This is immediately followed by two cups of coffee and countless hands of solitaire. And thinking. And mulling. Then walk the dogs. Then a cigarette. A shower. Maybe I should do some dishes (another procrastination issue). If I actually manage to do some dishes (and maybe throw in a load of laundry), I'm sort of tired. The cure for that? Why a nap, of course!

I live for nap time, as do my dogs. I get my smelly old quilt, and stretch out on the couch. Henry has to reposition at the foot so I can get comfortable. He circles, finds a spot and settles his head on my feet. Then it's Sophie's turn. She climbs up on the sofa, very gingerly so as to avoid stepping on my stomach (which I greatly appreciate because a good 80 lb. shot to the stomach is enough to warrant a trip to the bathroom, which means we have to start the ritual all over) So up she comes. She nestles in between me and the back of the sofa, finally resting her head in the crook of my neck. Last, but not least (at least in my eyes – Henry and Sophie would disagree) Emmett approaches the couch. He stops and sits, looking hopefully at me that he will be included. I give him the go ahead, and he hops up and finds a small gap between Henry, Sophie, the back of the couch and my legs. He circles once, Henry glaring at him, and quickly finds a spot. Then we all shift and wiggle a little bit and settle in for the duration. As I close my eyes and drift off to the sounds of reality TV, I think to myself, “What am I going to write about?” It's only 3pm, I have plenty of time. How long could it take? Certainly not 9 hours. Ahh...deep breath.

Eventually my bladder protests loudly against my napping brain, and I am forced to get up. Wow – it's 6pm! Damn, I must have been really tired from doing those dishes! And I better put those clothes in the dryer, before they start to smell funny, and I have to rewash them. But first, the bathroom. “Hey, what about us?” my dogs say in unison. So, a quick walk for the pups; everyone pees and comes back into the house. Then to the laundry. I go to put my clothes into the dryer and, damn it, there are clothes in there. Okay, I guess I should fold those clothes, instead of just piling them on top of the dryer (that pile is already pretty high). So I fold, and as I fold I start to sort. “Hmm...haven't worn that in at least a year – probably don't need it anymore.” So off I go to get a bag for my rejects. I will take them to the church (some day) and donate them. 

Clothes finally folded and sorted, new load in the dryer, I move off into the kitchen. Yep, pretty hungry. What to have? Pizza sounds like a great idea, but it can be expensive. So a quick look through the coupon book. Nothing that great, and I really don't need to spend the money, so back to the fridge. Then the freezer. Then back to the fridge. I have tomatoes. Pasta is always good. So I boil water, dice tomatoes and get to cooking. I turn out a nice fresh tomato and garlic cream sauce served over spaghetti. I sit down to eat and am met with the “Hey, what about us” look from the dogs. Back to the kitchen, fill the food bowls, fill the water bowl, and go back to the couch to dine. The bird has heard me filling the dogs' dishes and starts in with his own little parrot version of “Hey, what about me?” So I fill his dish with seeds, and change his water. Finally, everyone is content for the moment. I really should get on that paper. The clock is ticking. I'll start as soon as I'm done eating.

It's now 9 pm. 3 hours and counting to my deadline. Start typing. Type, type, type. Shitty. Delete. Type some more. Not half bad. Type a little more, delete some, readjust. Okay, here we go! Off and running. All the disjointed thoughts of the past two weeks come forth, suddenly finding a relationship with the other heretofore disjointed thoughts floating in my brain. Before I know it, I've got a good 1000 words on the page and it's not even 10 pm! Great! Time to wrap it up. I finish, save and prepare to send it off into the ether. I cannot connect to the internet. Shit. This happens now and then because I rely on my neighbors who have unsecured modems. No luck tonight. Argh. Really not in the mood for this – it's cold outside and I don't want to be cold. I'm cozy and warm, sitting on the couch with Henry and Emmett, Sophie at my feet. Damn it. No other option if I am to meet my deadline. Okay. Shut down the computer, pack up my cord and grab my purse and keys.

I'm ready to head up to Tim Horton's, where the coffee is fresh and the internet is free. “Hey, what about us?” No, you dogs need to stay here. “But we really don't like it when you go out this late and leave us at home.” I know. I'll be back before you know it. “Well, okay, but can you at least let us out to pee before you go?” Yeah, sure, but make it quick. So we leash up, go out, pee, and come back in. Okay, now I'm off to Tim Horton's. It's 11 pm.

As I enter I spy a young woman, who is a friend of my daughter, behind the counter. She's one of my favorites as far as my daughter's friends go. So we chat a little. She tells me about school and dorm life at UMO. She asks about Claris (my daughter), so I fill her in on her current escapades. I order a decaf (because I feel guilty for really only wanting to use them for their free internet) and a doughnut. Chocolate with coconut – perfect. I get my coffee and doughnut and find a table with an outlet. I plug in and boot up. I agree to Tom Horton's terms of agreement (which I have never, and will never, read) and sign in to my email. I write a quick note to my instructor and attach my file. Off it goes. Finally, I am done! It is 11:45. I finish my coffee and head home.

I greet the dogs, smoke one last cigarette, and head upstairs to get ready for bed. The cats greet me at the top of the stairs singing a demanding chorus of “Where's our dinner”, so I fill their bowls, give them a pet and head to the bedroom. I settle in, surrounded by the dogs (and a cat or two) and, as I close my eyes I think to myself “I wonder what's due tomorrow?”