Verging on Pertinence

Labels: 2010: Are We Recovering Yet?, Delaware

In other news, Delaware's unique competitive festival makes the Onion. Will the Sea Witch Halloween Fiddler's Fest soon follow?

Labels: Delaware

Reading Patricia Marx' article, Itsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny, in this week's New Yorker, was a hoot. Coming at the tail end of this article on the dangers of bathing-suit shopping, was this paragraph;
"Speaking of winners, the first known bathing-beauty competition (not counting the ones on the Minaon cave walls) took place in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, in 1880. One of the judges was Thomas Edison. First prize, which went to a young woman named Myrtle Meriwether, a trousseau."

Ahh Rehoboth Beach!?! Home of the 2 hr parking meter and parking meter maids who work, I'm positive, on commission. While the meter says two hours, the time passes by quicker in Rehoboth Beach. In celebration of another beach season, parking fines were raised. Don't get me wrong, Rehoboth is a lovely place. Women are numbered for identification purposes. You never know who you'll run into at the beach. Families are welcome here. No Beach Tags! (Take THAT New Jersey!) And, of course, Dogfish Head Brews and Eats, reason enough to make the trek. But enough of the summer-based reminiscing.

In her piece (one piece; not two), Patricia Marx demonstrates why I, for one, will hang out by my land-line and wait for a call to join her on her shopping trips treatises she is commissioned to write about twice a year for the New Yorker. When not concocting her own bon mots, she is sure to quote a quip from one of a multitude of witty co-shoppers.
Here's Cynthia Kling, who notes,
"It's essential to bring a friend when bathing-suit shopping.
One, women are too crazy to judge how they look.
Two, if you go with your mother, she'll project her neurotic body image onto you.
and, three, salespeople lie."

In the article, along with other choice observations, Ms. Marx links to this Speedo LZR Racer suit instruction guide. All I can say is that any male out there who already hesitates uncomfortably at the mere mention of Speedo will be embarassingly tested if he even thinks of donning a LZR Racer. In fact, a guy may think that the only reason the swimming times have fallen so precipitously in the last year was that the faster a race ended, the faster a LZR Racer squeezed shmo can get out of his suit.

All in all, an enjoyable trip to stores that may give one reason to blush or avert one's eyes with a guide whose tongue is perpetually deep in her cheek. I'm here, Ms. Marz, waiting for an invite on your next foray into purchase land.

Labels: 2009: The Year of Living Dangerously, Delaware

Last night on The Daily News, this exchange took place between the impish Jon Stewart and the Stick-it-to-the-Diamond State Ken Salazar.

So, if the state that used to be called the "Small Wonder" was wondering what Washington D.C. thought of it...no need to go any further. It's the state to punk.

Now, it will be interesting if, as Mr. Stewart opined, V.P Joseph Biden "is going to kick (the forementioned Mr. Salazar's) ass! Biden is going to be all over you."

In Delaware, with quite a lot of beachfront property being owned by House of Reps and Senators from the capital, we had assumed those areas were classified as a national park. I mean, on a congressman's salary they couldn't afford the property, right? There has to have been some Federal assistance to allow our elected officials to dip their overworked footsies in the Atlantic or the inlet.

Labels: Delaware

In a bizarre twist on "Take your Daughter to Work" Day, a woman decides to eliminate the need for a baby-sitter while offering some on-the-job training.

Labels: Delaware, Domestic Burdens

We lowlanders residing in the state of Delaware are well aware that no mountain or even hill range runs through our small state. Most of us are aware that we have the second lowest highest point in the country. Allegedly, Florida, land of hallucinogenic cow pies, has the lowest highest point, Britton Hill, at 345 feet. A lot of folks in Delaware thought Mt. Cuba was our high point as it has "Mt." in its name (In most states "Mt." is short for mountain; in Delaware, it's short for minute) and it's located in an almost hilly part of the state.

Turns out the highest point is Ebright Azimuth, soaring up to 448 feet. Now, IMHO, you can have your Mt. McKinley (Denali), AK at 20,320 ft, your Mauna Kea, HI at 13,796 ft, or even California's Mt. Whitney at 14,494 ft. Me? I prefer the Ebright Azimuth. What a great name! How often do you hear of a place named Azimuth?
"I'm going to Ebright Azimuth's!" sounds like the beginning of a drinking bout.
"That Ebright Azimuth...Geeeeeeez!!" Well, we all know an Ebright Azimuth in our lives that we have an issue with, don't we?

I bring this topic ("Lowest Highest Point") because I will admit to being duped by a favorite group of mine, Moxy Fruvous. This Canadian raconteur-ish band has a live album in which they demand audience participation in determining the Lowest Highest Point. Their answer, i.e. the band's, is Delaware.
I believed these guys, even though the closest they ever got to Delaware was Philly, because they were Canadian. I figured their geography teachers were simply better than ours. Besides, they're Canadian. Why would they invent, mis-lead, or lie? The definity in their tone had me swallow this geographical error with nary a choke.

Lesson to the kiddies: Never trust a rock band for your geographical facts. And if the band happens to be Canadian? Well, don't let their polite manners sway you.

Labels: Delaware

I actually empathize with Dick Cheney's coat-du-jour in this 2005 pic. I mean, he must have been freezing and decided decorum is colder than parka. I sit in my office, as I type with my frozen and cringed fingers, with a polartec and a ski jacket on. I'd forgotten my gloves so excuse me if there's a break in the typing as I blow on my fingers.

The HVAC folks that we contract with are nice enough fellows. How do I know they're nice? Well, they're here most of the summer tinkering with the A/C. And, they're here most of the winter, yes, tinkering with the heating. These are the same folks who installed the brand spanking new HVAC system as well. Needless to say, I had zero to do with the contracting of this fine HVAC organization, though I have to tip my hat in their direction. During the summer, while repairing the A/C, all of the guys wear long sleeve t-shirts and long-sleeve insualted plaid shirts. When they're camped out in the building allegedly repairing the heating in the winter months, they don short sleeve t-shirts. The wimps in the office (I raise my hand) then feel even more wimpier as we protest (though not looudly) that 62 degrees is a bit cold to be working in. The repair guys just look at us and wipe their sniffly noses as they parade around with tools and look at the ceiling.


AHHHHH- Chooo.
God Bless you, too.

Labels: Delaware, Humans

In the part of Delaware, south of the C & D Canal, known as "Slower Delaware" there are still opportunities for days of the past to come up in the present. While I am a strong admirer and a fan of nicknames, I wonder sometimes as to the self-advertisement of one's nickname in certain situations.

Say, oh, election time.

An election for a state representative slot is happening this Saturday. One of the candidates is William "Lumpy" Carson, running on the Democratic plank. He seems to be the favored candidate. I'm not sure if William Steig or the writers of Our Gang were involved with his election committee, but "Lumpy" comes straight out of those fecund and "unique" names locations. However, if he is favored, Mr. Carson's Republican opponent, a Ms. Christine Malec, should consider picking up a memorable nickname. And quick! Only 4 days until election day.

Labels: Delaware

In the small and quaint state that is Delaware, oddities of character are quite abundant. From the state's largest paper, in Monday's edition comes this local vial (or is that "vile"?) of color.

Birthday Bash Ends Badly (names altered to protect the innocent and shade the guilty)
A birthday celebration ended abruptly when a man stabbed three people early Sunday morning, state police spokesman Sgt. Po Lease Speakman said. None of the injuries was life-threatening, he said. The incident began about 1:40 a.m. when Julip Mongo, 39, of Smyrna, and the three victims returned to a home on Raven's Wood Road in Towns End after celebrating his birthday. One victim, a 28-year-old, helped Mr. Mongo after he fell out of the vehicle in the driveway. Mr. Mongo came into the home "very irate", grabbed a steak knife from the kitchen and threw it into the living room, hitting a 31-year-old Wilmingtoooon woman, causing a scratch, Sgt. Speakman said. When a 33-year-old Wilmingtoooon man tried to calm him, Mr. Mongo got a second knife and stabbed him in his left hand. Mr. Mongo then stabbed the Wilmingtoooon woman (that he'd previously caused to have a scratch) in the chest, leaving a superficial wound. As the Smyrna man (the Good Samaritan from the driveway incident) entered the house, Mr. Mongo swung the knife at him, inflicting wounds to his chest and left shoulder. The Wilmingtoooon woman's mother called 911, and the other victims fled. Troopers could not calm Mr. Mongo down until a K-9 officer arrived and threatened use of the dog, Sgt. Speakman said. At the state police barracks in Odessa, Mr. Mongo tried to dismantle the jail doors and destroy a video camera. Mr.Mongo ("Mongo only pawn... in game of life") was charged with three counts of felony second-degree assault and possession of a weapon during commission of a felony. Bail information was not available Sunday.


Possible police scene, somewhere in the mix.

Bart:I better go check out this Mongo character.
[Bart reaches for his gun]
Jim: Oh no, don't do that.
Bart: Why not?
Jim: If you shoot him, you'll just make him mad.

Labels: Delaware, NaBloPoMo, Personalities

Yesterday turned out to be a gorgeous summer day, negating the threatening weather reports of rain showers for mid-afternoon. This was a good thing because the family was parked in section 116 on Turn #4 at the Monster Mile. While some precipitation would have been welcome to cool our bodies, any rain that would have halted the Busch Series Dover 200 would have stalled the race rhythm. There were enough human elements that had precipitated caution flags and even two red flags that had already slowed the race down without Nature arriving with raindrops.
I'd discussed some of the intricacies of race day with some of the folks I work with to get a feel for the faux pas and the yee-haws. Out of the 450 or so folks at our facility, a conservative guess would be that over 80% have attended at least one of the races in Dover, while at least 40-50% attend one of the two annual races held here in the capital of the state. I had a great pool of fans to draw the needed information. Their pooled advice sounded like this.

1) Come early. If the race starts at 3:00, come at least 2 hours before.
2) Sit in the area of Turn #4 or Turn #2. This is where the law of physics and pent-up adrenalin combine for a slingshot effect that will catch your breath as the cars zoom by.
3) Come early. Yes, re-stated again. And, if you're coming early, come early enough to catch the qualifying heats for race positions.
4) Bring lots of water bottles and a sherpa to lug said bottles around. If a sherpa's not available, be sure to make an appointment with a professional masseuse; you'll be in need of some kneading. The water is for drinking and for pouring (onto one's pate and back). It gets hot, make that broiling, sitting out on the aluminum stands and there are no vendors strolling about because it's TOO LOUD for them to be sceaming about their wares. So, for us newbies it was quickly evident that ...
5)...we should have brought a seat cushion if you don't want to have a hot flat backside by the race's conclusion,
6)Bring ear-plugs or ear protective devices because it gets jet engine loud when the cars are running. Funny how the crashes are almost silent because the roar of the engines shooting by is so deafening. The Ever Loving Wife noted that I must be in Spousal Heaven as her wit and her Social Observational Points, though shouted in my general direction, were lost in the atmos due to the things plugged in both ears. She did have to tap me on the shoulder quite a few times at the conclusion of the race to let me know it was o.k. to remove the noise blockers. My ears tingled in anticipation of her pent up opinions. At least I wasn't wearing these! (Which I didn't simply because I didn't realize they existed). A NASCAR race is a gadget delight of a competition. You've got this to watch as you watch the race in person (Not sure if the controls to this gizmo allows you to control the race car as well). There's this item as well, though I did not see any in operation during the race. Perhaps they're pulled out of the Cleaning Garage after the checkered flag is waved.
7) A couple of tubes of SPF 30 and a hat are de riguer. Also, a shirt with a collar you can pull up around your neck. There's a reason red necks are associated with racing and it has nothing to do with attitude.
8) A book or magazine suitable to to lug along, but nothing along the lines of this or this. People with varied opinions were well-observed on race day. But, there's a point where you should stop making your point. I brought along this book, which Mr. Whisky Prajer has repeatedly recommended and which I have duly repeatedly started and then repeatedly mis-placed (WP, I swear it's not the book! It's quite enjoyable and, from the half I've read, highly recommended. BTW, did you know it's also been made into a film?) In between reading, watering, sweating, and shifting one's derriere on the hot and non-conforming seating (since we forgot to bring cushions), one can catch the qualifying heats for race position for the Busch 200.

Since this was our first live exposure to a NASCAR race, the speed and the noise were eye-opening and ear-shattering (even with the earplugs). The Dover racetrack, named the Monster Mile for its length and its steeply banked turns, is one of the shortest on the NASCAR circuit. This translates to the need for drivers to come out of the turns at maximum speed so as to minimize their time through the short straightaways. That's why Turn #4 is the most coveted place to sit. Maximum speed shooting through the turn and pit row right at the end of that turn. Lots of burning rubber and "incidents".

My prevous exposure to NASCAR racing was of the sofa-sitting tv-watching variety. I admit that I was one of those buffoons who mouthed off about what the interest was in seeing cars go around in circles. Over and over again. For hours on end.
I had no interest in going to a live event until recently. Since the tickets were already purchased and re-selling them offered minimal return, I persuaded the fam to come along, noting that it's a part of Delaware tradition that we had seriously neglected. Watching and thoroughly enjoying the race, I was immediately reminded of another sport.
Ice Hockey.
Bear with me please.
The first time I saw an NHL game, I saw it live. The rushes, the defensive battles, the kick saves. I saw the entire rink all of the time, so if there was a hard check into the boards and a change of possession, my eyes tended to dwell a bit longer on the guy who was checked, to see his reaction to being summarily dumped. When I saw an NHL game on tv afterwards, I noticed that the camera never lingered. It stayed with the puck and not necessarily with the action. The beauty of the game is dimmed by the tv camera.
I saw my first NASCAR race on tv, where the camera almost always stayed with the leaders, only straying back to the stragglers in the pack if there were wrecks. Seeing a race live made me appreciate the entirety of the race, of the track. Your eyes aren't cameras being directed by ESPN; you can linger and stare independently of the front pacers of the race. Just like a hockey game, there are things of interest happening all over the track. The limitations of television in broadcasting a race are incredible. The heat of the tracks, the shudder of the stands as a pack of cars slams through a curve, the smell of oil, gas, and burning rubber, and the energy of the crowd as a favored car passes another are all missing while sitting and eating chips on a sofa.


The eventual winner, Car #60 driven by Carl Edwards, crossed the finish line first, albeit on a dual checker and yellow flag. The latter was typical of the whole race as exuberance, a very narrow track, and the unforgiving nature of the Dover track on any little mistakes resulted in quite a few dings against the wall and minor pile-ups at various corners. Mr. Edwards celebrated his victory with his now-famous backward flip off of the roof of his car. Mr. Edwards reflects the new type of athlethic driver v. the drivers of the bygone eras when NASCAR style racing was more of the seat-of-the-pants style and certainly a lot more dangerous even though the average speeds were 30-40 miles less. A series of pictures of the race are viewable here, from the NASCAR site.


Oh, yeah. The strapping fellow at the top with a back broad enough to be rented out as a billboard? Quite the interesting and helpful fellow. He was there as part of a son-begats the son-who begats the son continuum of NASCAR racing. Quite the attentive dad to his own young heir to fandom and more than helpful in doling out advice and insight about the tactics on the track.

Turns out the only red neck that I saw was my own, where I'd neglected to spread on the SPF 30. A great day was had by all.



N.B.: Click on any of the pictures to see a larger version.

Labels: Delaware, Only in America, Trips

I am going here on Saturday and I am not a happy camper. My lack of mirth has nothing to do with this. In fact, I'm actually looking forward to it. I've been residing in the First State for well over 15 years and have yet to have gone to any of the 2 NASCAR events held here every year. How I haven't gotten arrested yet for such a lack of participation in one of Delaware's main attractions is pure luck. I haven't researched the entire Code of Law in Delaware, but I'm pretty sure there's some regulation in there stating a resident of the state must go to the Monster Mile for a race at least once if said resident has resided in said state for over ten consecutive years. If there isn't one, there should be. I'll be posting pics and descriptives sometime next week, after fully recovering from the the Sun, the Suds, & the Speed.

My lack of mirth? The key gobbets are Homeland Security, US Embassy, family, and summer visits. I am still so teed off at this point to be able to write about this topic without bathing the entry in a full body acid wash. I promise to re-visit this topic. Going to the race on Saturday will, unfortunately, rub in the pain more as it was an event I was not going to attend without a certain visitor who, unfortunately, will not be visiting this great country. Let me just finish by stating that it's a sad state of (foreign) affairs our country has come to when dealing with those folks who aren't our citizens.

Labels: Delaware, Domestic Burdens, Quirks