Emma Nutt

On February 25th, the north shore and southern New Hampshire experienced a severe storm. The storm, snuck up on the guys and gals of the local media outlet's. Now as we all know forecasting the weather in New England is a crap shoot at best. Even with all the modern equipment,the forecasters get it wrong as often as they get it right. But major storms the meteorologists usually can't miss. That big black blob on the radar is a sure indicator. This turns the media meteorologists into leering, grinning, soothsayers of gloom and doom Warning you to run to your local supermarket and purchase enough groceries booze,candles and toilet paper to last you it least a month. Because there is a good chance you might not be able to get there until tomorrow. So this storm robbed them of their chance to show you their compulsory film footage of panicky shoppers, knocking down the doors of local hardware outlets in search of those elusive snow shovels. I have yet to meet one of those poor souls, who seem to be constantly losing their shovels. Or are just realizing, here on the cusp of March that winter has made an appearance.
This reminds me of Don Kent. Unlike today, where we have access to a gazillion media outlets. In the fifties we had only three TV stations and radio. And on both TV and radio WBZ was the media giant. And Don Kent of WBZ was the heavyweight of meteorologists. And his nickname? You guessed it.Everybody called him Wrong Kent!
So when you look at the big picture, trees down, street and basement flooding and beach erosion. My exasperation with Comcast seems trivial. However, having related to you in previous blogs of my run ins with telephone and video providers. Every confrontation I have with Comcast seems to be magnified.
So naturally Comcast was down and out shortly after the storm started, and still in that mode long after all it's competition was back up and running. This of course was no surprise, as their track record even in nice weather is spotty at best. It seems that if a bird craps on one of their coaxial cables it can shut down the whole system.
How can you trust a company who's major emphasis is to avoid any personal contact with it's customers. The only thing you presume from that kind of attitude is that they know, that they have major issues. And that they expect to be swamped with complaints. Now I know complaint is a badly misused word for problems. For example a doctor might say the patient was complaining of a gunshot wound to the head. Now how can that be complaining? To me that's a fact. To me complaining is when you are bitching about minor issues. So if that's what they think I can understand the smoke and mirrors of their telephone system.
But you know and I know that in this day and age, there is no company ethics or pride. The only thing that counts is the bottom line. So the way the system works is promise them a good deal, with no intention to honor it. Knowing full well that the majority of irate customers will never get past their diabolical customer relations land mines.
Trying to pay your bill on line with Comcast is like playing Russian roulette. There is no way to explain to you how convoluted their system is. You would just have to see it yourself. I pay a number of my bills on line and on the sites where I do they are user friendly. so to give the devil it's due,Comcast is not user friendly in any phase. So it least they are consistent. And the one most annoying stunt is every thirty seconds they have a pop up that ask you if you will do away with paper bills . You can not proceed unless you answer this. Even though there is a box that says check here, to not be asked again. So of course they think, like their phone system, you will finally cave in. So after trying to trick you into paying your bill twice and doing away with the paper trail, they think they have you. Fat chance! How could you trust them to be up and running when it comes time to make your next ransom payment.
The simple solution is to take pride in what they do and give the customer what they promise and then they would not need a bunch of anti linguists.
The one thing switching to Comcast made me do,is get a cellphone. The reason of course is that once any part of the system went down,they all went down. So of course I could not call them to find out if they were just dumping on me that day. Or was it the whole surrounding area,they had decided to abuse that day. Needless to say I really fumble around with this tiny bit of electronic gadgetry. I miss the old days where you picked up the phone and Emma Nutt or one of her ilk, pleasantly greeted you. She would ask what number you wanted and you would reply Walker 233 (Walker was the Beverly exchange) and someone from the business you were calling would actually answer in a civil manner. And I know you might not believe this, They actually spoke English.
Telling you about the Beverly exchange reminded me of the old radio ad that would ask you how many cookies could Andrew eat? Which was of course was Andrew 8 8000.

Shank's mare

Take Shank's mare is a familiar term to anyone that is my age. That's the term kids would often hear, when they asked their parents for a ride. In my case I did not have a parent with a car. So when I asked someone for a ride, the usual response was "take a hike". Which of course had a totally different meaning than a parent saying walk, The exercise will do you good.
So along with Victor Bernson,I became a veteran hitch hiker. Thumbing was very prevalent back in the fifty's. In this day and age of political correctness and fear. Thumbing a ride is an exercise in futility. Not only are your chances of getting a ride slim and none. But if you are unlucky enough to get a lift, your life and health insurance premiums better be up to date.
Bicycle's of course were all kids main form of transportation.
Which brings me to a story about Victor. He was the same age as I, and we were more like associates than close friends. Living in the same place, and sharing the same experiences. We were sort of paired up by fate. He was just the opposite of me. Dark,handsome and out going.
Once when we were about twelve, he limped around for a couple of weeks.He claimed that he had hurt his tailbone while playing football. I of course was sure, that he had tripped over his ego. But anyway back to the story , which proves people are not always what they appear to be. The YMCA was running a candy sale as a fund raiser. The prize to the member who sold the most, was an English bicycle. Victor bragged to anybody who would listen, that he was going to be the proud owner of a new bike. As time went by it became clear that Victor was probably going to finish in second or third place. So he approached me with a proposition. He figured if that if I got into the competition, I could sell candy to all the people that he had already hit up, He would then submit my sales as his. His theory being, people would not buy from the same kid twice. But would buy again from another kid. The carrot for this deal was that he would give the bike to me. This of course would be after everybody saw his picture in the newspaper. And after he puffed his chest out and told all of doubters,"see I told you so"
Well, I did not want to do it, for a number of reasons. The main reason was of course that at that age, I was firmly in the wallflower mode. Especially with adults, and any girl of my age who might happen to answer my tentative knock on their door. That plus my brother Harry, who at that time I hardly knew. Had just giving me a practically new Schwinn bicycle.
Victor persisted, and I finally gave in. Lo and behold the theory was correct. All of Victor's customers and many new one's, went out of their way to help out the skinny little blond haired runt. Thus Victor was the proud owner of a brand new English bicycle. And to my surprise(and everyone else) he insisted on holding up his end of the bargain and give the bicycle to me. And to Victors surprise I took it.
Anyway with the number of kids at eight Virginia avenue, things that we had were more or less interchangeable And at that time we were both on the cusp of teenage. In the fifty's no self respecting teenager would be seen dead on a bicycle. I don't recall every seeing a bicycle at Memorial junior high or at Beverly high school. I don't recall seeing any bicycle racks there either.
So in our early teens we became masters of thumbing and hitching rides.Some days we had no trouble getting rides. Other days we would end up walking all the way to our destination. So we were forced into learning some great short cuts. I'll just list a few of our favorites. Up County way extension into the woods, follow the bridal path to the United Shoe golf course, across golf course to McKay street and north Beverly, This was short cut to Memorial junior high, Shoe Pond and Beverly airport, where in 55 and 56 they held SCCA automobile races on the fourth of July.
Another favorite was up Beverly Hills ave to Sunset drive into the woods, over Folly Hill to the cattle underpass of rte 128 to Cherry Hill farm. At that time it was a model dairy farm owned by the Hood milk company. This was also our gateway to the Topsfield fair grounds. Into the woods off of rte 97, over the chain link fence and into the fair. Back in the fifties it was always held on Labor day week, and the greyhounds were the big draw. For us kids it was rather sweet and sour, as it was also the first week of the school year.

Mr. Schadenfreude- aka Mr. Rattus- addendum 4/27/10

I consider my self to be a contrarian, not because I am argumentative. But because I feel free to form my own opinions. There is a surprising percentage of people who"go along to get along" I express my thoughts, and if they are contrary,so be it!
But the person I am writing about today is a contrarian in a different sense. He is just a mean son of a bitch, period. I Will not tell you his name. But his neighbors will know right away of whom I speak. Also I do not want to embarrass his mother, nor did I mean her any disrespect when I called him a son of a bitch. It's just that all the other names people call him would have have to be censored. And then this blog would read like a traffic jam,beep,beep,beep,beep etc.
So I will just refer to him as Mr. Rattus. Some people say the only time Mr. Rattus will smile, is when there is a death in his family. I dispute that, I actually saw him smile. One day when he came into the parking lot and saw Simmie's tow truck hooking up to my pickup truck, he broke out with a grin from ear to ear. Plus the fact any family members would have disowned him years ago.
For me to dump on Mr. Rattus. I must first tell you about the place I live. It is named great Meadows Village. It is located just off of Salisbury square on Beach road. It is elderly housing,subsidized by the state of Massachusetts. Now you might ask what is a person of only sixty-nine doing living in a place like that? Well the answer is that it makes sense financially for a retired person to live here. I realize that in this day and age, people of my age are not to far removed from teenyboppers. but in order to be one step ahead of the baby boomers, I took one giant step backwards and became a resident of Great Meadows Village. After all I am hoping to make it to old age some day. ( I will leave it to your imagination, as to how some of these old retards like to alter the logo. By turning great, into a three letter word,starting with g).
Needless to say I don't much like living here. I don't feel as though I really fit. This is no reflection on the majority of the good people who do live here. It's just that the asshole factor chaired by Mr.Rattus and his ilk, far out weigh any positives.
Being a bit reclusive and a little anti-social. I should of heeded one of Groucho Marx's famous quotations "I don't want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member" But I let common sense prevail and here I reside,for better or for worse. We'll see!.
As a resident of Great Meadow Village, I did listen to Groucho and refused to take part in the tenants organization. This organization is chartered to represent the tenants and handle any petty disputes. But basically all it does is plan parties and throw silly little socials. The main reason it has no clot, is that Mr.Rattus makes the organizations, elected officers life so miserable that there is a constant turn over in board officers. I have seen more presidents come and go than Tiger has had dalliances.
To be a good neighbor and to offset my snub of the tenant's organization,I maintain some strategically located flower beds for all the tenants to enjoy. This gesture of goodwill, I paid for out of my own pocket. Little did I know that this would burn Mr.Rattus's rectum. And be the start of a feud.
Now I know feuding with a neighbor is inane. But this man is a bully. and just like back in the school yard, sooner or later someone has to say enough. I have watched as he has driven two different women tenants out of the unit that is over his. They did not go easy it took months,but after many shouting matches,police visits and court dates, he just wore them down. I have seen him throw screaming fits at visitors who mistakenly park in his allotted parking spot. He has filed so many complaints with the police department,that the Chief is at his wits end with him. He has to respond to his nonsense,just to protect his department. I saw him cuffed and arrested for screaming at and physically pushing another elderly tenant. Two years ago he was put on probation for a year by the housing authority. Any stunts and he would be evicted.Needless to say there were many hi-jinks,but he is still here. I'm not going to bore you with all the other transgressions. His type is protected by the inane judicial systems and bureaucrats who are only tough when it comes to dealing with the meek. Bullies themselves.
So in my further adventures with Mr.Rattus,we come to the big wooden shed that was donated to the tenant organization by a local contractor. This shed was to replace the big tent that was used by the tenants who were smokers. Because by law they could not smoke in the community hall. I was approached and asked my advice about flower boxes. They wanted a box under each window. I responded that I would make and maintain them as part of my gesture of taking care of the flower beds and being a good neighbor.
In steps Mr. Rattus with an injunction preventing them from smoking in the shed. The law being that it was a state building, thus no smoking. now the smokers have to stand out in the elements and smoke. There is no longer any room to put up another tent. So the shed sits empty, Mr Rattus makes quick checks two or three times a day to make sure no one is sneaking in there and smoking. On a few occasions he has caught them, and ugly shouting matches follow. What a guy! So the flower boxes I made still sit in the maintenance shop. I will either give them away or just leave them where they are until the great shed fiasco is resolved.
Mr Rattus has reported me to the administrator many times. On one of those occasions I wish what he had reported was true.
If cats and dogs were humans, cats would be the gentry and dogs would all have to be registered as sex offenders,Just look at the way dogs great each other!, their toilet manners and not to mention public fornication. Where as cats do all of these things in private. So when Mr. Rattus reported that my cat's piss had landed on his head and face, after Igor had relieved him self on my deck.(Igor is a misnomer,he was no monster). I was elated, even though I knew it could not possibly be true. But I had to respond to this heinous charge anyway.
So as spring approaches,and I plan my flower beds I do not expect to see Mr. Rattus prancing around with rainbows arching out of his butt. My experience is the only people who suddenly see the light are the one's who get hit by lightning or those who are strapped into an electric chair.
Addendum: April 27, 2010
Recently I was asked by one of my neighbors, if I thought Mr. Rattus was ill or if maybe he had mellowed. The reason being, said rat had not publicly, made life uncomfortable for any of the residents for a couple of weeks. I agreed with the sick part. But assured my neighbor , that the rat was probably in his nest plotting some kind of nonsensical revenge, for some imagined slight.
Today he oozed out of his warren with the news that he was petitioning the court to have a rose trellis evicted from the property. How something as charming and harmless as a trellis has offended his sensibilities, seems incredulous. But the truth is, he feels that any land abutting his unit is his. But of course as all the tenants know the lawns and gardens are common property.
However he will go to court where the judge scared shitless of the do-gooders of our society will take a real bold stance. That being that he will take it under advisement, or some other kind of legalese jargon. Such as the last case ,which was just as inane, where he bravely came back with a no finding verdict.Which will mean he just hopes this trivial nonsense will just go away.
But the rat will be proud of himself and he will be strutting around and acting like he was the mayor of Gotham.
There are many happy people when ever a despot or a tyrant buys the dirt farm. As sad as it is to say. This is the only person I know, who will actually bring smiles to the majority of people who know him, when his time comes.

Full Moon Theory revisited

As I stated in my blog about the full moon,I think we all are a little ditsy.The fact is that we all have phobias. Now some people will tell you that they are not afraid of anything.But there is actually a name for that. It's called phobophobia. Which means fear of phobia.Which makes it one of the few phobias that I don't have. Most people have a few. If they were to stop and think about it, realize it's probably more then they thought. I'm going to relate to you some of my phobias,with out their fancy long names. I'll bet that most of the few people who read my blogs will be able to relate to some of them.
Fear of heights. This has developed as I have aged. When I was a young man,in mid winter, I would climb up the steeply pitched roof of my house. Day or night,ice,wind or snow. I just had to readjust that UHF antenna,so I could watch a fuzzy broadcast of the big bad Bruins. You could not get me to do that now,for love or money.
Before I get to my most serious phobia,here are a few Minor irritants. People who have to keep touching you while they talk to you. People who pick food from your plate. People who talk with a mouth full of food. People who invade your space. And of course,one I have mentioned before. The smug look down their nose at you type .With that Holier than thou look. AKA smell-a-farts.
This brings me to a problem I have had all my life,"social anxiety".I'm sure this problem goes all the way back to my youth,relating to some of the incidences I have touched in previous blogs. To this day an invitation or summons of any kind upsets me. This condition has caused me to upset my children and ex wives many times. I know it's foolish but I have a real dread of any type of socialising. With this comes a claustrophobic feeling,along with the urge to avoid mirrors and cameras. I still get a shaky feeling when I have to sign some thing in any ones presence.My signature looks like I have been on a bender.
I know it all probably boils down to an inferiority complex. But it's my nature and I try hard to overcome it.Common sense tells me to just ignore these feelings and relax a little.But that's like trying to shut down all those thoughts that run threw your head at night when you are trying to go to sleep. I just can't do it.
To end this dreary blog on a brighter note, the name for the full moon in May, is the Flower moon. The Indians who named it, were also taken with the beauty of spring.
All and all I don't feel like the village idiot,just a little abnormal like everyone else.

Palace of fine foods

Today as I was walking up and down the aisles of the local Market Basket,the old adage "the more things change.the more they stay the same" popped into my head. The
first thought being being signs. I am talking advertising signs and price signs. Now what's the difference you might ask. And as John Karolides would say "I'm going to tell you now so you'll know"
In 1958 First National stores opened up a brand new super market on the corner of High street and Purchase street,in Danvers. It was just before rte.128. I am told that at one time a hospital was on this site. In later years it was Coleman's sporting goods.I think there is a Walgreens there now.
This is where I first became aware of window signs. At the grand opening, there was three big signs in the front windows. Announcing that this was the PALACE OF FINE FOODS. I have no problem with signs like that or any kind of seasonal signs. It was weekly sales items and regimentation of these signs that bothered me. I have always
liked the natural light that streamed through those big widows. Rather then the alien fluorescent sheen of the overhead lighting. But the company insisted that every Saturday night we changed six or eight 4x8 window signs in exact accordance
with the corporate schematic.
Now so not to bore you to death, with all my little bitches about window signs,I'll get to my main bitch. When I was a store manager The Somerville division alone had well over 100 stores and the total for the company was well over 600. So just how many man hours and how much money went to make these signs.
So I would make my quarterly payroll projections, knowing that they would be kicked back to me. With this admonishment! cut the hours, You need to project a higher sales per man hour. So as any store manager knows cutting the hours means cutting the front end service. Sort of like the road to Perdition!
So now you can see why every time I looked at those signs, I would wonder how many baggers and checkers we could have, if we did away with the print shop instead of clerks.
Remember that at that time over ninety percent of the stores were like the Danvers
store free standing units. Set back off the road on busy thoroughfares. So the signs
could not be read from the street. I always thought it was a pretty safe bet, that
once a customer pulled into the lot and parked we probably had them, That plus the fact the items on those window signs were prominently displayed and signed on front end caps.
So today at the Market Basket on rte.one in Seabrook New Hampshire the windows signs
are still there. If you know that stretch of road,you know that anybody who takes his eyes off the road to read window signs, either has a death wish or is searching for his cell phone.
So that brings me to price signs on merchandise displays. In this age of scanners
most items do not get individually price marked. It never seems to amaze me how many of the smaller and secondary displays have no signs. It is a fact the impulse sales of these smaller displays generate a high gross profit,and are there to off set the low gross profit of the advertised loss leaders displayed on the end caps.
So if your looking for impulse sales. Why in hell would you risk losing a sale,by failing to put a sign on the display.
Back in the FNS hay day,even though we marked everything individually. Lack of a price sign would promptly bring the person responsible for the display, a swift kick right where the pants hang slack!
My next thought was the slovenly appearance of the clerks in all departments. Back
in the FNS days the male grocery clerks all wore white shirts and neckties,the females all wore pink smocks. In the perishable departments the personnel all wore long white wrap around smocks.
There was no problem telling the customers from the clerks, as there is today. Now
that sullen guy moving cans or packages around, might be a clerk,a vendor or a shop-
lifter. You'll never know,as most seem to be hard of hearing and in a sudden hurry to get to another part of the building.
This same appearance and attitude permeates the check out stands. In the FNS days
you actually had to know how to to operate a NCR cash register,do fractions and actually count out the change into the customers hand and say thank you! like you meant it.
Now in this day and age,here I have to say "honest to God". All the clerk has to do
is wave the part of the item that has the universal pricing code on it past the scanner. That's it. No thinking, the computer does that for him. And again I must say "honest to God" these geniuses manage to find away to stumble around this chore
like it was a mine field. Then when all is said and done, the computer spits out a mile long receipt, that has along with a list of your purchases, enough propaganda and empty promises on it to make the CIA proud. He then proceeds to wad up your change and the humongous receipt into a ball and slap it into your hand.
As far as the express register goes. In this day and age it should be referred to as the local. Because it sure as hell makes a lot of stops. Any manager who knows what
he's doing, puts his weakest link where it will hurt him the least. So the person who
ends up on the express lane,is not trying to make your life miserable.He or she can
do that with out trying.
Surprisingly, most things are still the same as they were fifty years ago. The same kind of shelving. The aisles just wide enough to get a pallet down them. The eye
straining fluorescent ceiling lighting. The coffin style meat cases with the tinted dome lights, that make the beef appear redder. The check out stalls and conveyors and refrigerated produce counters. The shopping carts,and tile floors.
F@#$%$%^&*()(*&^%$#@!~ing plastic bags,are of course new.
I could probably drag this narrative out a lot longer.But I am going to cut it off here. But I am going to come back at a later date to relate to you some of the interesting things that happened to me at the palace of fine foods. And tell you about some very interesting people I met, including my first wife.

Biochar

Today I am going to try to relate my thoughts on global warming. I feel that you have to first accept the fact the earth is and has always has been constantly changing. You know like the ice age, and all the other ages you are always hearing about.
We see and hear about it every time there is a coastal storm. Some idiot has his house or parts of his property washed into the ocean or his basement has filled up with water. The fact that he never should have built his house that close to the ocean, or in a natural wet land. Is of course not his stupidity, but it's that dam global warming.
Now I'm not going to say that a lot of today's fears about the ozone layer are true or false. I just do not have the knowledge or the expertise to expound on it.But I do think that like all things,it's probably partly our fault and partly the earth's evolution. You all know my feelings about the news media.They feel the best way to beat their competition, is to scream gloom and doom. So much of what is said about global warming, should be taking with a tablespoon of common sense.

This brings me to biochar. To me this is a subject that makes great sense in slowing down the shrinking of the ozone layer. Basically what it does is capture and store carbon.Which is then put back into the soil to be slowly released back into the atmosphere.That's it in a nutshell,but of course it is way more complex then that.
I suggest that you google this subject. I think you will find that there are many ways to meet our problems head on,and do more good then bad. Or you can listen to Al Gore and all the other chicken little types who run around screaming "the sky is falling,the sky is falling".
Not only is biochar potentially good for the atmosphere,it also bodes well for farming and agricultural waste management. I have always felt bad when ever I had to cut down a tree or a bush. The good they provide,filtration of pollutants and noise, soil erosion and releasing of carbons into the atmosphere. That plus the beauty and shade they provide, made me feel like I was being disloyal to a true friend.
In the past I thought that biochar was a limited field. Because for it to be practical,it meant just using dead or diseased trees. And of course cutting down healthy trees would be counterproductive.
However this brings me to a new twist of biochar the use of chicken manure.The much maligned member of the poultry family. Now I love raising poultry as much as I love gardening.To me the two always went hand and hand.My best gardens were always the result of heavy doses of aged chicken shit.
I know the subject of raising chickens commercially is a sore subject with the do-gooders. They say it is inhumane to raise them for mass markets. They believe organic free range is the only way to go. But just try to raise a few chickens in your own backyard. They will jump up down and scream that you are ruining the neighborhood, and then treat you like you were an unregistered sex offender. The only thing I am going to say on the subject of raising chickens commercially is this. Skinless chicken is believed to be the healthiest meat there is. Mass raised birds would not exist if not for the farmer and the consumer.So a short difficult life has to be a better alternative to no life at all. Because if there was no demand for it, those birds would never have been hatched. Over crowding poultry causes the pecking order to pick on and wipe out the weak. So the do-gooders say stop it. But we have over crowding in our cities and the human pecking order is just as brutal as any chickens beak. Yet the do-gooders solution to that problem, welfare and political correctness. This makes as much sense as free range poultry. It brings out the rodents,foxes and weasels. Not to mention the vultures. And as far as anything organic goes, I put that right up there with the great spring water scam.
http://www.usatoday.com/tech/news/2010-02-10-cheap-carbon_N.htm If you read this article from todays tech section of the USA today newspaper you will get a much more rational explanation of how they process the manure into carbon briquettes.
For years chicken manure has been a problem.There has always been a problem with it leaching into ground water and fouling it. With this process that will cease to be a problem. This process will not only help the ozone layer. It will make a good heat source, as well as a good fertilizer.

Paradoxical

Writing a blog has got me questioning my idiosyncrasy's. Things that interest me I embrace right away. Things that don't, I usually shun.When I was a student,I dreaded English class. Just the thought of spelling, punctuation and grammar was enough to give me a headache.So naturally I really struggled . Needless to say the grades I got in my English classes were not anything to boast about! So the fact the I cannot start the day with out doing USA Today's daily crossword puzzle. Or that I am a compulsive reader seems odd. The fact that I am actually pretty good at solving crosswords. And that all the books I have read over the years, would fill a decent sized library, seems odder still.
So I agreed to write a blog, for a couple of reasons. One being a chance to relate to my children some of my experience's in life. The other being,they seem to delight in my inane out look on life in general.
Writing a blog is harder than it looks. The sentence structure and punctuation, still escapes me. Some authors composition just seems to flow. While with others, it seems to grind. after I reread what I have written, my reaction is wow! I hope I am not embarrassing myself here. Thankfully the computer will do a spell check for you.
But even then misspelled words slip by. because they were used out of context.
So in my next blog,I am going to go back to my Ryal side days. I will do this, with no fear of making grammatical or punctuation mistakes. Because I have made you aware,that I slept through most of my English classes. And do not pretend to be any great shakes as a writer.