Mike,

You’ll need a bigger monitor (40,784 x 26,800 pixels), or a bunch of monitors, to see this picture all at once.

Ed

Mike,

I was jogging steadily on the treadmill at the gym where Dom and I play racquetball, when Dom tapped me on the shoulder. “I’m going into the court to warm up”. Our court time wasn’t for 5 minutes, but Dom likes to push the
envelope. I said, “OK, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

When I came into the court, Dom was stuffing his bad right hand into a glove. Watching him curiously, I stuffed a big long sponge under my sweat shirt as protection for my clobbered left shoulder, I asked Dom if the glove helped him hold onto the racquet. “Yeah, a little bit. Without it, the racquet almost blows out of my hand on a swing.” He wiggled his damaged pinkie finger, showing its limited range of motion.

We did the usual bounce-to-the-line for serve, and I won. Dom returned my serves to his back hand a little weakly, and I scored a few points, but I lost the serve when I tested his forehand. From then on, throughout the match, I returned to his backhand whenever possible and won that game handily, 15-8.

Before making his serve for the next game, Dom took the racquet with his left hand, and shook out his right. I couldn’t help noticing a grimace. Dom’s game fell apart in the first few minutes. I was up 9-0 and wondering what had happened to my old partner. So I relaxed a bit (always a mistake). Dom surged back and tied the game up 10-10. That got my attention, and I started exploiting his weakened backhand at the left rear corner. At the end of that game (15-10), Dom asked for a rest. Sitting outside next to the drinking fountains, Dom described the history of his hand in great detail.

After the rest, we hit the court again. Except for the first 3 points in one game, Dom never came close in the final three. There were a few of his trademark double-z-sidewall-frontwall-graze shots, but I had learned to play mid-court and returned most of them, much to his chagrin. Dom’s accuracy was still good, but the zip had been lost from his drives. Finals: 15-8, 15-3, 15-6.

At one point in the last game, Dom reached high overhead near the back wall, and missed the ball. Afterwards he said, “I just remembered how I jammed that finger and broke it. I was reaching back over my head next to the rear wall, just like that, and smashed my hand hard.” Apparently he had repressed the memory of the incident until that moment.

As we walked out after our sweaty hour, Dom showed how red that barely healed pinkie was. I said to him, “I sure hope you haven’t damaged it more.” Dom insouciantly responded,”No worries. It’ll get better. Let’s play again next week. We’ve got to get in as many games as we can before you leave!”

–rakkity

Mike,

I was jogging steadily on the treadmill at the gym where Dom and I play racquetball, when Dom tapped me on the shoulder. “I’m going into the court to warm up”. Our court time wasn’t for 5 minutes, but Dom likes to push the
envelope. I said, “OK, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

When I came into the court, Dom was stuffing his bad right hand into a glove. Watching him curiously, I stuffed a big long sponge under my sweat shirt as protection for my clobbered left shoulder, I asked Dom if the glove helped him hold onto the racquet. “Yeah, a little bit. Without it, the racquet almost blows out of my hand on a swing.” He wiggled his damaged pinkie finger, showing its limited range of motion.

We did the usual bounce-to-the-line for serve, and I won. Dom returned my serves to his back hand a little weakly, and I scored a few points, but I lost the serve when I tested his forehand. From then on, throughout the match, I returned to his backhand whenever possible and won that game handily, 15-8.

Before making his serve for the next game, Dom took the racquet with his left hand, and shook out his right. I couldn’t help noticing a grimace. Dom’s game fell apart in the first few minutes. I was up 9-0 and wondering what had happened to my old partner. So I relaxed a bit (always a mistake). Dom surged back and tied the game up 10-10. That got my attention, and I started exploiting his weakened backhand at the left rear corner. At the end of that game (15-10), Dom asked for a rest. Sitting outside next to the drinking fountains, Dom described the history of his hand in great detail.

After the rest, we hit the court again. Except for the first 3 points in one game, Dom never came close in the final three. There were a few of his trademark double-z-sidewall-frontwall-graze shots, but I had learned to play mid-court and returned most of them, much to his chagrin. Dom’s accuracy was still good, but the zip had been lost from his drives. Finals: 15-8, 15-3, 15-6.

At one point in the last game, Dom reached high overhead near the back wall, and missed the ball. Afterwards he said, “I just remembered how I jammed that finger and broke it. I was reaching back over my head next to the rear wall, just like that, and smashed my hand hard.” Apparently he had repressed the memory of the incident until that moment.

As we walked out after our sweaty hour, Dom showed how red that barely healed pinkie was. I said to him, “I sure hope you haven’t damaged it more.” Dom insouciantly responded,”No worries. It’ll get better. Let’s play again next week. We’ve got to get in as many games as we can before you leave!”

–rakkity

Michael,

Nothing exciting happened yesterday at the rakkity-young’uns rematch. Patrick arrived late, due to meetings that he couldn’t quit from early. I had just about given up on his and his sister’s arrival, and was heading upstairs to the treadmills and ellipticals, when they both arrived, carrying 3 racquets and beaming broadly. Down at the court, we agreed on the rules–I’d play only to the sidewalls and ceiling, P. would play left-handed, and KT would play normally. 

The first game went to Mr. P. 15-8-6. (The old man got the 6.) The magnetic attraction of the front wall was just too powerful. But the magnetic force in the front wall weakened in the 2nd game, and the old man came back handily, 15-4-5. Admittedly, that was due mainly to the fact that P. was playing on the right side, where he had to field wall-grazer serves with a back-handed left hand, and KT had to return left wall grazers with her backhand. 

The last game was only to 5 due to time shortages, so it doesn’t really count in the greater scheme of things. (OK, since you insist, Patrick won that one, 5-2-2.)

What about collisions, wall smashups, broken bones, and all that good stuff? Aside from a few errant balls that hit me in the ribs, butt, and face, there were no real painful incidents. And I only hit the wall once really hard, but no shoulders were involved. Sorry, bloggers, but sometimes reality isn’t so interesting.

But what may be interesting is this:

Hi Dominic,

Possibly tomorrow evening (Thurs) or Saturday?

Ed

On Sun, 2006-11-05 at 12:56 -0500, Dominic Zarro wrote:
Hi Ed,

Are you interested in a few games before you hit the road?

Dominic

–rakkity

Michael,

After our last racquetball game on Thursday last, Katie revealed that she had asked Patrick to join us for a game of cut-throat sometime in the coming week . So tomorrow, Patrick, Katie, and their more-or-less healed dad will be hitting (gently, gently) the court.

Meanwhile, Dom has had the cast removed from his right hand, and he sends this:

Hi Ed,

Are you interested in a few games before you hit the road?

Dominic

Well, I’m trying to think of how to answer. I’ll wait until I survive tomorrow’s family game.

–rakkity

Mike,

For the last few years I’ve been noticing changes in the freeway sound barriers in Maryland. They seem to be gathering foliage at a much faster rate than they used to. Can this be a harbinger of climate change? Botanists say that Kudzu and Creeping Charlie and some other vines are growing 2 or 3 times as fast as they used to because of increased CO2 in the air. (This has been proven by growing the vines in sealed greenhouses under controlled conditions with varied CO2 concentrations.)

But here in the mid-Atlantic, the advance of Kudzu and its cousins is not an unmitigated curse. The sound barriers on the highway to Annapolis and on the Washington Beltway look quite nice with all the greenery draped over them. And in late October and early November, their autumn colors are quite fetching. For quite a while I’ve been trying to get some photos of the better examples of colorful freeway foliage. It’s difficult to find a time of day when you can stand in a freeway and shoot a picture of the walls. But yesterday, early Sunday morning, I had some good luck getting shots.

Freeway Art

The walls where you can see these organic murals are in downtown Bowie, where the city fathers just last year erected some sound barriers around Annapolis Road. On the back side of these walls, the homeowners must have some colorful scenes much like these, but I haven’t climbed over to look.

The wild colorations of these vines must not even exist further south like South Carolina and Florida, where autumn is just a later part of summer, and perhaps the same vines don’t even inhabit New England, where fall colors are best. But as time wears on, and CO2 increases, Maryland may become part of the deep south, and the fall colors of freeway walls will disappear. New Jersey, then New York will get the vines and the colors. And inevitably, I think, New England will be invaded too. Then will the maples fade away?

-rakkity

Mike,

There’s a wonderful picture on APOD today. A couple of years ago, I was shown how to see Venus during the daytime, and of course everyone has seen the moon a few times in daylight, but this is far, far better.

I’ll be coming up with a nice montage of Freeway art later today.

-rakkity

Mike,

As I was leaving Starbucks this morning, who should I see coming towards me but The Once Proud Dominator, Dominic. We both said “Hi!”, and then I looked down at his right hand. It was swathed in an Ace bandage, and his pinkie finger was strapped to a metal flange. “What did they do to you?”, I asked in surprise. He started to tell me the gory details, but I reminded him that I had seen him eating with chopsticks the previous Thursday. He said, “I was in a lot of pain, and it wasn’t any better, so I decided to go in and have it looked at.”

He lifted up his hand and showed me. The Ace bandage covers a cast which tilts his wrist at an odd angle. “But I’m glad I did,” he went on, “It doesn’t hurt any more. They found a break up high on the side of my hand.” So I said, “But I guess you can’t play racquetball for a while.” He responded, “Just two weeks. Your wrist was laid up a lot longer, wasn’t it. Six weeks?” 

I was a little shocked at his happy-go-lucky, Aussie insouciance. “But you can’t use a computer very easily now, can you. (That’s his main job, programming.) “No problem.” He held up his hand, tilted in its funny way, and wiggled his fingers.” And to prove it, he opened the door to Starbucks with his splinted hand and went in, saying, “See you.”

Sorry, Mike, I didn’t get any X-rays.

–rakkity

Mike,

As I was leaving Starbucks this morning, who should I see coming towards me but The Once Proud Dominator, Dominic. We both said “Hi!”, and then I looked down at his right hand. It was swathed in an Ace bandage, and his pinkie finger was strapped to a metal flange. “What did they do to you?”, I asked in surprise. He started to tell me the gory details, but I reminded him that I had seen him eating with chopsticks the previous Thursday. He said, “I was in a lot of pain, and it wasn’t any better, so I decided to go in and have it looked at.”

He lifted up his hand and showed me. The Ace bandage covers a cast which tilts his wrist at an odd angle. “But I’m glad I did,” he went on, “It doesn’t hurt any more. They found a break up high on the side of my hand.” So I said, “But I guess you can’t play racquetball for a while.” He responded, “Just two weeks. Your wrist was laid up a lot longer, wasn’t it. Six weeks?” 

I was a little shocked at his happy-go-lucky, Aussie insouciance. “But you can’t use a computer very easily now, can you. (That’s his main job, programming.) “No problem.” He held up his hand, tilted in its funny way, and wiggled his fingers.” And to prove it, he opened the door to Starbucks with his splinted hand and went in, saying, “See you.”

Sorry, Mike, I didn’t get any X-rays.

–rakkity

Michael,

The past couple of weeks, the Mrs & I have had the worried feeling that things were going too smoothly in our housing transactions. First, improbably enough in this market, our house sold on the very first Open House day. Then with incredible luck, after only a week of searching, we found a great, affordable house in Boulder. And the timing was perfect, too. We could take our earnings from the sale of our Bowie house at closing on Oct 16 and apply it to our Boulder house closing on Nov 1. No mortgage!

But the randomness of fate struck yesterday, when we heard that yesterday, 4 days before closing, our buyer had gone to the hospital for routine surgery and had lapsed into a “coma-like” state afterwards. He can’t even sign a power of attorney for his wife and daughter. The closing is delayed until he wakes up, whenever that may be. A month from now, he could still be in a coma, and we can’t put the house on the market

So, we’re going to have to float a mortgage until this is resolved. I hope we don’t end up trying to sell our Bowie house while living in Boulder!

–rakkity

Canoe

Mike,

Here’s an interesting factoid about Boulder weather–90 mph winds in December and January are surprisingly common.

The attached picture shows a bar chart of occurence of winds in a recent 35 year period (1967-2002). In the months of December and January, there have been 41 90-mph “Chinooks” in Boulder. Chinooks are warm, fast, steady winds from the west, usually after a snowfall. I had no idea there were so many of them. On our drives out there this coming December and January, we may have to batten down the hatches pretty tight. We’ll be driving into the wind, anyway, so we should be able to watch the flying tumbleweeds and two-by-fours as they come towards us.

–rakkity