The Notebook

Travels through the east

Tue, 9 Mar 2010 19:43:22 -0500

If someone says something you find offensive, perhaps highly offensive, what do you do?

I have more than a little experience with this situation. You see, I have been on both sides of the equation. I have been offended and I have been the one who has given the offense, many times and no I’m not proud of that. On two such occasions I have no idea what I said that caused the offense. With one of the people I tried several times to make contact to find what I did wrong. They wouldn’t talk to me. On the other occasion I never even tried. Perhaps that was wrong of me but I found the relationship was not important enough at the time to even try, so I walked away. On one occasion I know exactly what I did to offend. I tried to make contact, and other than a brief email exchange to acknowledge that yes I did offend this person cut off all contact. These occasions where I gave offense run the gamut of being deeply sorry to not really caring. In no case was it done with an unkind intent. I just seem to have the knack of offending people when I get in the mood. Fortunately that doesn’t happen too often, but a coping mechanism I have learned is to apologize early and often.

That’s really not the point though, or maybe it is. What I want to note is that we humans are all interconnected. We can’t escape this fact and at this point I will be so bold as to say I don’t care if you disagree with me or not. It is the truth. We are here, and we relate to others. We have a web of everyone we come in contact with. We hold them up, just as they hold us up. That’s it really. This web is the only thing that holds us all up and keeps us from falling to our death far below, that thin gossamer web of relationships.

Don’t believe me still? Go find someone who has no one. The old are good targets here, because often everyone they know has passed on and its easy to find themselves in the position where no one cares. My dad is almost there. They are sad and lonely in a way that no one should be. Have you ever had the silent treatment? It’s another variation of this. It’s where no one talks to you, or maybe just some certain one, a parent perhaps. There are few quicker ways to destroy someone personally, especially a child. So go ahead. If you want to hurt someone and make them suffer as deeply as is possible, cut them off and never see them or talk to them again.

The other interesting thing here is that if we cut that web with another, even if for a pure motive like to protect ourselves from having to associate with such filth, part of us suffers too. Most of the time we don’t even notice because the feeling of not getting soiled by that person is too strong. Life isn’t meant to be nice and wonderful though. It’s more like working in the fields on a muddy day. You can’t help but get filthy, and that’s where the true meaning of life comes from. What I’m saying is that the person who offended you, rarely is so purely evil that they will hurt over and over and over with intent to destroy. It was Thoreau I believe who said, “If we could see into the secret heart of our enemies we would find a pain and a suffering to disarm all hostility.”

I’m telling you that the person who offended you is hurting inside and the thing they need most in this life is not for yet another person to snip the web that connects them and make them just a bit more isolated from the rest of humanity. No, they need love and compassion and understanding. No, they do not likely deserve it and likely will offend you again. Yes, you may in fact be justified in withdrawing all contact with them. I will put forth though that this is not the ethical thing to do. The ethical thing to do here is to love those that hurt you and do good to those that use you poorly. Why is this so? Why is loving our enemies the right thing to do? It is why we are here. We are here to see if we will love others even though they don’t deserve it. When we love such persons we heal them and ourselves. This too is inescapable.

An interesting thing happens when we do this. We have the power to change them. I know this is true because I have seen it happen. I have experienced it first hand several times. Creme Puff. Remember him? Everyone in the office hated him. He offended everyone. I was tasked to work with him, and yeah it was hard. He now remains a dear friend. We both changed. We both softened. We lifted each other. If I hadn’t made the effort I would have remained smugly self righteous thinking what a bastard he really was. I would have been the less for it too.

I know what your saying. Your situation is different. Consider that it is not. My brother was an alcoholic and the last decade of his life he was drunk more than not. He was mean and cruel to everyone around him and alienated just about everyone. He really was impossible to help and if you tried he would respond by causing you pain. A few of us though kept loving him and you know what? That love was all he had, and all of us who made the effort and got hurt in the process were much better for having done so. One of the lessons he taught me, and he taught me manny, was that you should always stand by such, even if they are total bastards. I’m not saying this well so I’m sorry, and forgive me if I offend you. I find I lack the words to completely express what I am trying to say here. As close as I can come is this; Love those around you, especially if they are not easy to love. The only exception I can come up with is if the person is abusive in a way that endangers your welfare, but for God’s sake don’t use that as a loophole to walk away from everyone that offends you. Neither is it enough to ‘care for them’ and do nothing to help. If people can’t feel you care through your actions, then I would suggest your ‘caring’ doesn’t matter, neither to them nor to you.

Some day if you do this, perhaps far in the future, it is very likely this person will come up to you and say something like, “Thank you for loving me, I know I didn’t make it easy. I knew I could count on you though.”

When The Mighty Fall

Sat, 27 Feb 2010 19:13:47 -0500

I had just got settled into my favorite chair and had taken my first sip of tea. It was the big soft chair in the front corner of the store with windows on both sides and a speaker directly overhead. It was playing the same music found in every Starbucks in the country, which today was Tony Bennet. Having grown up in the sixties I was subjected to, “Dad’s” music which was mostly big band mixed with the crooners, Deano, Frank, Andy and the rest. I’m loathe to admit this to just anyone but it imprinted and like music from that era. Tony Bennet was just fine with me this morning, even though dad thought him a worthless jerk that sang off key. That’s when it happened.

A big SUV drove up and stopped right in front of the door. I don’t know what kind it was, a Lincoln Navigator, Ford Excursion, maybe a Caddy, but it was big. All I remember was that it was not a Hummer. Stopping in this fashion leaves just enough room for a car to get by. It leaves not quite enough room for the cars that are parked to the side of it to get out. I shook my head. Even Tony wasn’t helping now, my blood pressure began to rise. “I know what the person that opens the door looks like,” I said out loud. “She’s in her thirties, blonde, cute, and dressed in slacks and a jacket that cost more than my monthly take home pay. That’s unless the passenger door opens. Then she’s no older than twelve, blonde, painfully cute, dressed in slacks and a jacket that cost more than my monthly take home pay, and she’ll have a twenty in her hand.” The guy in the chair nearest to me glanced at me over his paper, smiled, and went back to reading.

The driver door opened and a beautiful svelte blonde got out and walked into the store. The fortress SUV was left idling. “Absolutely amazing,” I said out loud. “I’ll never understand how some people think the rules don’t apply to them.” I glanced out at the idling fortress and sure enough saw traffic begin to back up as cars were now forced to negotiate a narrow space. I wasn’t surprised when I turned my gaze back inside the store to see cute blonde talking on her cell, laughing, completely oblivious to the traffic jam she was causing outside.

This went on for several long minutes and anger was beginning to boil over when I saw something that made me smile, no it made me laugh. “Thank you Jesus,” I said out loud. One of Long Hill’s finest had pulled up in his squad car and the red and blue’s were flashing. I glanced over at cute blonde. She was completely oblivious, laughing and talking on her cell still, and now placing an order. I glanced back outside. Yes, he was hard at work, no doubt running the plates and getting the ticket ready.

Cute blonde got her drink and was turning to return back to her fortress on wheels at the same time the officer was opening his door. Their eyes met. I was doing my best to see both of them at once and trying not to hurt my neck in the process. I swear though that I saw a smile cross his face and fear, yes fear, cross hers. She started dashing to the door, her expensive heels clacking noisily on the tile. The officer meanwhile closed his door and began walking to the front of her vehicle. By this time everyone in the store was watching. “Perfect,” I said out loud. “He has an audience now and there’s no way in hell she’s getting out of this.”

The guy in the chair nearest to mine laughed as he set his paper down. “Nope,” he said agreeing, “She’s going down.”

The two met the cute blonde doing everything in her power to stop the officer from handing her that long narrow piece of paper that was going to cost her fifty dollars. It didn’t work. He never cracked a smile, never said a word. He just handed her that paper with a motioned tuned through years of practice, that said you’re going down so take it like a big girl.

The woman who took that paper was now the picture of humility. The officer’s expression never changed. I don’t think I have ever been prouder to pay my taxes than when I saw her thank him. Her fall was complete, and she was now just one of us.

“You know the fifty dollars that ticket will cost her is nothing,” the guy in the seat next to me said.

“Yeah I know, but I like to see them get cut down to size every now and then.”

“Me too,” he said with a wink. “That’s why I called him.”

Gym Rat

Wed, 24 Feb 2010 16:53:38 -0500

I split my workout today. It is almost eleven months to the day when I made a commitment to go to the gym six days a week, knowing and allowing myself that I would often achieve something less because of real life getting in the way. I haven’t felt the need to keep track but if you don’t count the couple weeks I have been on vacation and unable to get to a gym, I think I have averaged four days a week for the last year. Perhaps I should have split my workout earlier but it wasn’t until just recently that I felt the need.

Common wisdom dictates that one should allow a day of rest between workouts. This provides sufficient time for your muscles to recover and rebuild. Fine. I got it. My approach though was the following. Ridge Walker is by his nature a soft squishy couch potato. What if he were a big burly blue collar worker who engaged in physical labor every day? That would be a little like going to the gym every day wouldn’t it? Yes it would. That is why I started the daily gym routine. At the beginning I would alternate cardio days and weight days to allow my body the recovery time I read about. At some point though, last fall I think, I decided to just do both every day. I would do my weight routine, and follow up with twenty or thirty minutes of cardio. This has worked fine for a number of months.

The other reason I decided to go to the gym every day was because as Paladin has said on several occasions, “I have never left the gym after a workout and not felt significantly better than when I entered.” It lifts me and I need that and crave that feeling. I also have to mention that in my current jobless state motivation is absolutely not an issue. You working stiffs have to jump through some mental gymnastics to get yourself to the gym. Me? I look at the clock and think, “This will burn two hours easy! Let’s go!” I could also throw in that I would rather show up to a job interview, when they come, fit and trim and energetic, instead of soft and squishy and lethargic.

Recently though I began to notice that on Monday’s, after a day of rest, I was lifting much better, and on the following days I struggled more. Now yes, it takes me some time to pay attention to such things as I am slower on the uptake than the rest of you. A dimly lit light bulb above my head, just like in the cartoons of old, turned on and I thought to myself, “Ridge Walker, you need to split your workout. You clearly have a good enough base built and you are in good enough shape to do so.” I started today. The theory here is brilliant. You lift every day, alternating muscle groups so that each muscle has a day of recovery. For gym rats like the Ridge Walker this can’t help but make us smile.

After some research to find the right way to split a routine so as to not allow for any ‘secondary’ exercise of muscle groups on off days, I settled on the following. I am going on a two day split even though with my consistency and dedication I could probably do three. Day one, today, I worked back, biceps, and legs. Day two, tomorrow, I will work chest, triceps, and shoulders. The advantage of splitting a workout is that you can double down on your exercises. In stead of doing just one exercise for each muscle group you can do two or three. The Ridge Walker hopes that doing this will help to gain better definition of each muscle group, as he has all the muscle mass he thinks he needs.

Other than this, the goal here is to stay consistent through the rest of my life and not revert back to that soft squishy couch potato that some of you remember.

Pet Peeve's

Mon, 22 Feb 2010 16:53:11 -0500

There are a couple things that make me see red, punch my button if you will. These things range from minor annoyances to major breech of ethics. One of them is how you handle your automobile. I think it was George Carlin who said, “Have you ever noticed how everyone that goes faster than you is a maniac and every one that goes slower than you is a moron?” That starts to cover it, but no. It’s much more than that. It can be as simple as a this. I’m sitting in my fluffy chair at Starbucks sipping my tea and people watching. Someone drives up and parks right in front of the door. It is either a big assed SUV or a very expensive sports car. It is never something small and economical. Sometimes the front passenger door opens and a yuppy puppy steps out, walks into Starbucks, stands in line to buy mom’s drink while mom stays in her mobile fortress oblivious to the manner in which she is blocking traffic. Other times mom herself walks in, leaving the fortress idling. No attempt is made to find a legal parking space because such rules do not apply to these people. “I always park here, what’s the problem? I’m only here for a minute or so.”

A variation on this happens on the freeway. Traffic is bumper to bumper and moving slowly. The urge to pull into the safety lane on either side of the road builds for all of us. We resist though because that is illegal. It is reserved for accidents, and emergency vehicles which no doubt will soon be flying by. We are law abiding citizens and we understand this so we stay in lane and suffer. Then it happens. Someone, either in a big assed SUV or an expensive sports car, goes flying down the safety lane. The rules don’t apply to them you see. Invariably, emboldened by that scene one or two or more follow the lead.

I remember growing up in the sixties when littering was socially unacceptable behavior. Now everyone does it and thinks very little of it. I see cigarette butts flying out car windows all the time. We do this because we can. If no one is there to catch you is it really illegal? This may well be the mantra for our generation, for the age in which we live. It starts at the highest level of our government and trails on down to the lowest among us. Ethics is being redefined as doing what is morally right unless you can get away with something less that benefits you. I’m going to sound like my father here but in my opinion it is a sign of the fall of our society. I am of the opinion that greatness, both in an individual and a society, can be measured by the code of conduct you adhere to. Ethics.

More and more this lack of holding to a high standard is being flaunted in the open. What ever side of the aisle you find yourself on a look at our federal government reveals representatives that are not interested in cooperating and coming together in compromise. Distrust is replacing trust, hatred is replacing kindness and civility, and lying and untruth is replacing honesty. It is all being done in the open while trying to make others take the blame. It seems a significant lack of honor.

It leaves me to wonder how this could happen so quickly. As a child if I used foul language I was punished severely, if I hurt someone I was made to go to them and ask their forgiveness, and then punished severely. Working hard and being honest were rules I lived by, or I paid the price. Today though, things are different. Such rules no longer apply.

Change Is In The Air

Fri, 19 Feb 2010 15:17:07 -0500

I had a phone interview this morning that sent me into a state of euphoria. Now yes, at this point any interview will do that for me, even the one with the Russian woman. Well, no, not that one, but just talking to someone with the potential of the end result is them offering me a job is thrilling. This one though was a good match. There was some real chemistry going on and that my friends is what it is all about. I have said this before but it’s like going on a date. Did he like me? Is he going to ask me out again? Did I smile enough? Did I talk too much? Every job I look at and apply for I feel I am a pretty good match for, and I know I could pretty much ace it. The fact that I don’t get offers on every interview I go on speaks not only to my interviewing skills, but more importantly to the chemistry going on in the room. That’s just my opinion though, your’s may differ. After the call though? Yeah. I was stoked.

Too, and this is nothing I can attach any data points to, there is the feeling of change being in the air. I don’t often feel this but now it’s palpable. The Chef is working nicely with her new partner in Utah and it looks like that business arrangement could become more permanent sooner rather than later. We’re both West Coast people by birth and have claimed NY as our own only through adoption. I will go on record here and say I love living in the NY metro area for all it allows us to do. If I had the chance to go back West though? In a heartbeat.

I’m hearing bagpipe tunes in my head now, jigs mostly. Perhaps that’s a sign that it is sinking deep down into me, past the level of conscious thought, down into and past the lizard brain. This is important because you have to get to the point where you do not consciously think about which fingers you are moving, it’s all muscle memory. The tunes are just too fast. Music changes you, playing music changes you. I’m convinced it allows you to access a part of you that otherwise would be difficult to reach. Too, I think it’s keeping me younger.

Nothing may come of this. I may not get an offer with these guys. I really can’t say. This much I know though, change is in the air. Something is going to happen. I can feel it.

Mid Town Conversation

Thu, 18 Feb 2010 18:19:24 -0500

I walked into the Starbucks at 120 West 56th street and looked for an empty table. It was just after 1pm so I didn’t have too much hope that I would get lucky and sure enough, I didn’t. Fine. I got a Grande Vanilla tea and a chocolate chip cookie and took a seat at the window. The architecture on 56th street between 6th and 7th Avenues is very uninspiring. It’s much too modern. This is true of much of mid town. You have to go to the South end of Manhattan or up higher to find the good stuff. I only sat there for a moment though when I saw a table open up. Nice. I walked over to it and settled in. It was just across the way from another table occupied by an upscale homeless woman. She had a large suitcase on wheels next to her and Starbucks cups and papers scattered all over her table. She was completely harmless in an unsettling way, and therefore easy for me to ignore. She and I did the same thing for the next hour or so. We killed time.

At 2:15pm I rose and walked out the door and up the street to 156 West 56th Street and took the elevator up to the offices where I had my job interview. I had done my homework which consisted of going through their website and looking up every member of the management team on LinkedIn. Hmm. They were all Russian. The CEO and I were close to the same age and I pondered how he grew up in Soviet Russia and just what kind of perspective that had given him. I would love to have a chat with him, informally away from any work setting. I bet he would have some nice stories to tell. The hiring manager was also Russian, and younger, late thirties.

I announce myself, am met by the HR manager and taken to the conference room. Hiring manager comes in and introduces herself. She has a thick Russian accent, so much so that it is somewhat difficult to understand. And she is beautiful. Now, no, usually I don’t dwell on this, especially in a business setting but here it is impossible. This actually works to my advantage in the interview because I scrupulously focus on perfect eye contact.

As the interview starts and we get talking I have this thought that this is what it must have been like to be interviewed, or is it interrogated, by the KGB. Her questions are concise and efficient. She never smiles, and yet manages not to come across overly stern. It’s because she is so attractive, I think to myself, and she has clearly learned how to use this to her advantage. The questions she asks, some of them anyhow, are ones I rarely hear in an interview and I wonder if this is a cultural thing. Are these questions common over in Russia? She asked me questions like, “When you come in to work how do you decide what work to do that day, tell me exactly.” (By the way as you may know my hobby, one of them, is studying productivity systems so I know I ace this answer even if she doesn’t smile, say boo, or indeed give me any kind of feedback whatsoever.) “What do you do in your spare time? Do you play any musical instruments?” (Yeah, we talked about bagpipes and how insanely hard they are to learn to play well).

At the end it was my turn to ask questions, and this woman liked to talk. I had to gently insert myself a couple times here to tell her how wonderful I was and how good a match I was for them and how lucky they would be to have me or she would have told me the history of the company, which is nice but not why I am there. A couple times after I interrupted her she would look at me pointedly and say, “Now I will finish answering your question.”

At the very end, when everything was wrapping up I asked her, “Do you have a business card.” I do this so I can get her email to write a thank you note. She looks at me and replies, “Yes.” We stare at each other for an uncomfortably pregnant pause. My mind races. Why doesn’t she offer to give it to me? Does she think I am not worth wasting one on the fraction of a penny it costs? Is she a linguist, or is she so logical that she is only answering the exact question I asked? Anyone in the country knows that my question is a request, is this lost on her?I ignore all these thoughts and continue, “May I have one.” Yes of course, and she leaves to get one.

As I walk past the Starbucks and notice the upscale homeless lady still in her chair an hour and a half later, I reflect on the interview and how she and I accomplished close to the same thing in that time. The hiring manager was highly intelligent, extremely logical, very inflexible, and difficult to communicate with. By that last statement I mean not only the language barrier, which was significant, but also the lack of feedback of any kind. I’m okay with non emotional responses. I’m wired that way myself. What I have an issue with is no feedback of any sort. Now yes, I understand in a job interview the exchange is not designed to be two way, so I chalk this up to move of a feeling I got walking away after it was over. Working for her would be challenging. Of all the interviews I have ever gone in, this was one of the most difficult, and I am still pondering just why that was.

So if this goes further will I pursue it? Absolutely, I need a job, but I do not have a good feeling about the Russians.

On Being Well Informed

Thu, 11 Feb 2010 17:54:15 -0500

I flirt off and on with news readers. I have noticed a cycle that I have repeated several times now. It goes something like this. Phase one, “Oh cool, I can have this thing take all the pages, topics, authors I’m interested in and consolidate them into a single page for me to read!” The savings in time is immediately obvious. I love it. Phase two, “Wow, I’m seeing things and reading things that I wouldn’t have seen before. I feel more like a world citizen. I’m informed!” This happens because more information is put in front of me in a better fashion than I would ever do on my own. At some point I’ll discover a new feature like ‘bundles.’ This is where someone, usually an industry pundit of some sort, has built a list of sites they like on a theme, finance, news, sports and so on. Phase three, “My God! I can’t quit! I’m spending too much time reading. It’s like trying to take a drink from a fire hose.” At this point I’ll try and trim back some of the sites I am reading. It’s hard though because they are all good. Phase four, “I quit! This thing is controlling my life.” This is a reflection of my hot and cold personality. I seem incapable of limiting myself to a set amount of time in the morning and evening, or trimming my list back to a very small amount. It’s all or nothing.

I just switched to Google reader, from NetNewsWire, and am currently in phase two moving quickly towards phase three. I’m reading some really cool stuff, and I have the time to do so. Too Google reader is a news reader on steroids. Not only am I reading cool stuff, I can easily share it with you if you are on Google reader too. I can also see what you share and while so far you are a bit reluctant to share at all, I have seen some stuff that I otherwise wouldn’t have seen. If you are in my gmail address book I can share with you, and you can share with me. So not only can I read cool things, I can start a dialog about it too. It’s all very cool. It makes me happy to be alive in this day and age.

Then Google Buzz arrived. Now we all get it whether we want it or not, if you use gmail you also get buzz. You can read about it, so I’m not going to try and describe it here, I just want to give my opinion on it in relation to the above. It is very similar to twitter, only it’s nicely integrated into the Google experience. If I share something in reader it also gets buzzed and anyone that is following me can see it. In addition to people in my address book I can follow anyone with a gmail account, all 170 million of them. Now we can all connect and have a dialog, about what ever is on our minds. I happen to think this is very cool. I’ll likely never meet Scobile in person but I can have a dialog with him and anyone listening. I can connect with the best and brightest, quickly and easily. The interface needs some work and it may or may not fly but I see potential. Serious potential.

It pushes me though to phase four. It’s too much information, all valuable, and too much for me. That is the age we live in. We have too much information at our fingertips, and my issue is how to manage through it without going to phase four and walking away vowing to go all Walden.

On Why I Hate Weathermen

Tue, 9 Feb 2010 17:29:27 -0500

Upon being queried about what The Ridge Walker should blog about today, The Chef replied, “Write about how much you hate weathermen.”

It all started when I got my motorcycle. I quickly learned what weather I could and could not safely ride in. Now I will say here that I rode through most every kind of hellish weather possible. The only thing I won’t ride in are high winds, and frozen moisture of any kind. I have been blown to the side of the road on my bike, twice, and I have no desire to tempt fate and try for that charmed third time. Frozen surfaces are obvious dangers. So, knowing this I would rise, before work in the morning and watch the weather channel. I would also pay rapt attention to the weather the night before. Hmm, they are saying it’s going to snow tomorrow. Damn. I’m taking the car then. The next day? Sunshine and low forties. Those Bastards! I could have rode my bike! I loved riding my bike and because I listened to them I was cheated of the opportunity. I watched the weather that evening waiting for some acknowledgement of how badly they screwed up, some apology of any form. Hell, I would have been happy with an explanation of what caused things to differ from their forecast. Nothing. They simply went on to tell me about how tonight it was going to snow. That’s how I learned to hate weathermen. I watch them and base my decisions on my transportation and they ended up being wrong as often as they were right. Eventually I became my own weatherman. I looked at radar, high and low pressure systems moving, wind speeds, and learned to gauge pretty well if I could ride or not. That’s why I hate weathermen.

So sometimes I will still watch the weather on the news, but only for entertainment. Invariably, like tonight, they are forecasting 12 to 18 inches of snow. ROFLMAO. It won’t happen. How can I be so sure? These guys live for big bad storms. It excites them in ways you and I can’t fully appreciate. Because of this they see them everywhere. They see storms of the century a couple times a year. I saw the forecast for a foot and a half of snow tonight and tomorrow and my first thought after laughing was to go park my motorcycle in the street because I am that confident we won’t get more than a dusting.

So yeah, I hate weathermen. It’s one of the few professions where you can be wrong fully half the time and have absolutely no penalty. If I were to ever run a news team, I’d make them keep a score card and show it every time they go on the air. “Yes this storm is going to be a big one, a true Nor’easter. We’ll get a good two feet of snow out of it. By the way I’m wrong 65% of the time when I make this kind of forecast.”

Ink: Noodler's The Heart Of Darkness

Mon, 8 Feb 2010 13:14:04 -0500

First of all, how could you not like an ink called, “The Heart of Darkness?” The name alone makes you want to try it out. It conjures up the thought that nothing on the earth could be as dark as this one. Indeed, the product description from Amazon.com tells us, “The Ink: Heart of Darkness is a combination ink that absorbs as much of the color spectrum as could be engineered, with an average penetration rate.” That’s a pretty bold statement, and after testing it . . . I have to agree. Read the words carefully though because it is both the caveat and the reason this ink is a very good find.

Are their darker inks, that is to say, inks that absorb more of the color spectrum? Yes. Private reserve Ultra Black is darker but . . . it is much more saturated than this ink. It takes a bold piece of paper for Private Reserve not to bleed through. This ink is on par with Sailor Black (not to be confused with Sailor Jentle Black) and at $20 for 4.5 ounces is much better priced than that bottle of Sailor at $30. Both inks look equally as dark, which is very black indeed. You would like them both.

This ink though? It dries fast on the paper I tested it on! I’m talking write a word and run your finger over it and not have it smear fast. This is most impressive, especially when you consider that Private Reserve is still wet minutes after having written. Minutes! The only thing I can say negative about this ink is that the paper I wrote on, a nice 65lb off white, there was a bit of bleed through. Now I’m not one to let this get in the way, though I understand it really irks some people. My take here is that by the time you write and both sides of the paper a little bleed through matters not. Still I note it as a negative.

Second, I have done a little more research on Noodler’s, and what I have found is most impressive. If you will allow me I want to insert a couple clips from their web page. This ink is branded an, “Eternal,” ink. Here is what they have to say about that.

"Eternal" refers to any Noodler's Ink that resists the effects of time - moisture, humidity, UV light, acids, water exposure, and many common detergents such as dish soaps and household ammonia, as well as alcohols and acetone (which conventional ball point pens have no resistance to - often rinsing off a newly written check within 8 seconds of being washed with acetone). Many Noodler's inks such as "eternal" and "bulletproof" inks are made with the ideal of reaching out as far into immortality as the written word permits us to reach - the only way to speak to future generations remains the written word durably made upon the page.“ Impressive right? There’s more. Check out their web page. Theses guys are passionate about providing excellent ink at a value.

It is an interesting twist that if you buy the 4.5 ounce bottle, which I did, they throw in a free fountain pen. Now, no it’s not anything you would want to hand down to your children when you pass on, but it is very serviceable. If you’re looking to try out fountain pens, this is the best way to launch yourself.

So, if I’m not concerned about the money I’m laying out I’m going to buy a bottle of Sailor Black. It does everything Noodler’s does without the bleed through. If I’m looking to stretch my dollar though? Yeah, Heart of darkness.

(Comfort Food)Not

Sat, 6 Feb 2010 12:34:46 -0500

I remember when we first got married, coming home from school and asking The Chef what was for dinner. In reply I got this wild eyed stare. She no more had an idea what to do about dinner than I. She ran to the cupboard and grabbed a packet of onion soup and a jar of strawberry topping, turned and said this was what we were having for dinner. Well, she became more adept and we ate better insofar as our student budget would allow. In the first few years of our marriage we ate a great deal of casseroles, hamburger and tuna. The Chef got pretty good at making them, and they were tasty, but oh my gosh did we eat a lot of them. Finally at one point we looked at each other and said in unison, “No more.” Neither one of us had a desire to ever again have such fare. To this day we have held firm on that oath, and if you were to ask either one of us we would both say that we had no desire to ever eat them again.

Arwen came in last night and went to the kitchen to make up some food for herself. The Chef and I had eaten already. She came out with a bowl of hamburger helper. Now understand Arwen is an accomplished cook. She can do Chinese and Thai and Indian and anything else she puts her mind to. She made this up because she wanted to eat it. She expressed to us, as she was walking by how much she liked this hamburger helper stuff, in a low brow comfort food kind of way, and asked why we had never served it up to her when she was growing up. The Chef and I looked at each other and shook our heads. No. Thirty years later we will not willingly go back to that. We smiled and briefly told her we had eaten our lifetime quota long before she was born.

Neither one of us are much for cooking dinner either. The Chef is a, “Pastry” chef and as such has little interest in the other side of the kitchen. The Ridge Walker enjoys a cooking experience but it doesn’t do much for him. Too, he is happy with just about anything you put in front of him. He would be thrilled if you were to come up to him around six or so in the evening and tell him, “Tonight we’re having grits and eggs and toast for dinner.” This is to say going back to hamburger casseroles would be a significant improvement, but no. It’s not going to happen