Those six words have likely never been said before. Certainly not in New Hampshire.
For the better part of two months I have been trying in vein to rid myself of two box televisions. They are fully functional and without much in the way of scuffs or dings so I thought surely someone would want them. Surely?
Surely not. Even though buying such a television would have cost a good chunk of change just a year or so ago at any Walmart or Target, with flat screens being the only thing any self-respecting American will have in their home these days I may as well have been trying to give away anthrax or a swift kick to the nuts.
None of my friends wanted them for free. No one on Craigslist wanted them for $10 or $20. None of the local thrift stores were interested. Even the local school district wanted nothing to do with them. They instead offered some box TVs of their own they wanted to get rid of! Argh, I'd rather have anthrax.
So I did what anyone would do in my situation. I took them out into the parking lot, doused them in lighter fluid, and set them on fire. I know of no other way to properly dispose of a television.
Actually I took them to Best Buy to get them recycled, but considering no one charged me the requisite $10 a television to recycle them I'm pretty sure they just took them back to the loading dock, doused them in lighter fluid, and set them on fire.
Happy New Year!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
The Death of Paper Bird
Dartmouth Hitchcock Memorial Hospital is a classy hospital. Between the pianos, artwork, gardens, more pianos, and periodic impromptu classical guitar concerts some would say it's the classiest of hospitals. It's so classy in fact that the class spills over into the stairwells. And that's where I first met Paper Bird.
In most if all not all stairwells the walls are lined with murals on most if not all floors. They are idyllic paintings of the native wildlife and pastoral farms of New England. Some are beautiful, some are clearly done by volunteers. For the first few weeks of work I enjoyed looking at them while running around the clinics and wards, but I didn't pay them much attention as I usually had places to go and Lyme disease to stomp out. One day, however, while walking up the same daily flight of stairs I always hike upon arrival I noticed something was different. A bluejay seemed to be out of place. No longer perched atop a picnic table, it was now sitting comfortably on a nearby collection of pumpkins. Or maybe I was just crazy -- probably too much chronic brain Lyme. The next day, however, my suspicions were confirmed when while again walking into work I noted that the bluejay was no longer perched above the pumpkins but now sitting outside the picture frame entirely, resting immediately above the upper right border of the painting. Clearly I wasn't crazy, the bluejay was alive!
Shortly I found out that, no, the bluejay was in fact not alive, but rather made entirely of tape when I discovered him one day lying flat on the ground and being, well, composed entirely of tape. He had fallen from his roost atop the painting and was now resting face down on the floor, lying in his own filth. It was very sad; a dark day for Paper Bird. Thankfully the following morning he resurrected and for the next few months led a good life sticking to the various walls of the various murals, sometimes sitting on picnic table, sometimes atop one of the gratuitously placed pumpkins, once hanging upside down like a bat from a branch in a tree. It was always a pleasure seeing Paper Bird and where he'd be sitting that particular day. Life was good for the both of us. Then, one day, he disappeared.
Although no one knows where he disappeared off to -- some believe he flew off to paper bird heaven -- it is understood that he will not be coming back. By most paper bird standards he had a good life. The average life expectancy of a paper bird is only two and a half months and most paper birds are born into relative poverty forced to adorn pediatric clinic offices and elementary schools to earn a working wage. Paper Bird on the other hand got to, well, sit on pumpkins. I'll never forget his permanent paper smile or... I guess mostly just that. He was a paper bird, and for that we'll miss him. Goodbye Paper Bird!
Memorial services will be held in Auditorium D after the holiday break.
In most if all not all stairwells the walls are lined with murals on most if not all floors. They are idyllic paintings of the native wildlife and pastoral farms of New England. Some are beautiful, some are clearly done by volunteers. For the first few weeks of work I enjoyed looking at them while running around the clinics and wards, but I didn't pay them much attention as I usually had places to go and Lyme disease to stomp out. One day, however, while walking up the same daily flight of stairs I always hike upon arrival I noticed something was different. A bluejay seemed to be out of place. No longer perched atop a picnic table, it was now sitting comfortably on a nearby collection of pumpkins. Or maybe I was just crazy -- probably too much chronic brain Lyme. The next day, however, my suspicions were confirmed when while again walking into work I noted that the bluejay was no longer perched above the pumpkins but now sitting outside the picture frame entirely, resting immediately above the upper right border of the painting. Clearly I wasn't crazy, the bluejay was alive!
Shortly I found out that, no, the bluejay was in fact not alive, but rather made entirely of tape when I discovered him one day lying flat on the ground and being, well, composed entirely of tape. He had fallen from his roost atop the painting and was now resting face down on the floor, lying in his own filth. It was very sad; a dark day for Paper Bird. Thankfully the following morning he resurrected and for the next few months led a good life sticking to the various walls of the various murals, sometimes sitting on picnic table, sometimes atop one of the gratuitously placed pumpkins, once hanging upside down like a bat from a branch in a tree. It was always a pleasure seeing Paper Bird and where he'd be sitting that particular day. Life was good for the both of us. Then, one day, he disappeared.
Although no one knows where he disappeared off to -- some believe he flew off to paper bird heaven -- it is understood that he will not be coming back. By most paper bird standards he had a good life. The average life expectancy of a paper bird is only two and a half months and most paper birds are born into relative poverty forced to adorn pediatric clinic offices and elementary schools to earn a working wage. Paper Bird on the other hand got to, well, sit on pumpkins. I'll never forget his permanent paper smile or... I guess mostly just that. He was a paper bird, and for that we'll miss him. Goodbye Paper Bird!
Memorial services will be held in Auditorium D after the holiday break.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Your GPS Cannot Save You Now
Scene: Small country store and gas station in Eastern Vermont at 7 o'clock in the evening. My friends and I have been looking for a local ski area where
presentations and pie would be dispensed on the subject of community ski
areas in the northeast. Going off of instructions that basically stated
drive to a fork in the road, bend right, and go 9.5 miles we, not
surprisingly, are now lost. I pull open the dusty, metal front door immediately across from the only two rusty gasoline pumps to find no one behind the counter but four men idly resting adjacent to it doing nothing in particular.
Surprisingly, or perhaps not, their instructions were entirely correct. Marty's garage, the bridge on the right, the dairy about a mile down the road; all were where they should be. We arrived just in time to hear about the lost ski areas of Vermont and just in time for coffee and pie. This was followed of course by a pie auction where the big winner sold for $18.50 and the biggest loser for $8.00. Just another crazy Friday night in New Hampshire.
Me: Y'all know where the Northeast Slopes is at?
Young guy in cap: Northeast Slopes?
Old man standing: Northeast Slopes in Cooksville.
Old man sitting: *Gibberish.*
Me: Cooksville?
Old man standing: Yeah, you know where Cooksville's at?
Old man sitting: *More gibberish.*
Young guy in cap: Yeah you go right down the highway....
Me: Right? That way or that way? *Pointing to my right and left.*
Young guy in cap: Right that away. *Point to his right and my left.* You go about... oh three miles...
Old man standing: 3.4 miles.
Young guy in cap: 3.4 miles till you get to the first road running off to the left.
Middle aged guy in overalls: Ain't it the second left?
Old man standing: Well the first left's right out of town and it's not really a left, more of a switchback in the other direction....
Young guy in cap: Well it's your first real left just past Marty's Auto Repair shop so look for that. Called Brook road.
Old man standing: Right.
Young guy in cap: You turn left past Marty's and you'll start going up hill for three or four miles. The road will twist and turn a lot and there'll be a lot of little roads going off to the right, but the right you want is about four miles down and it crosses a bridge. You cross that bridge.
Me: Okay. Left after Marty's. Go uphill about three or four miles. Take the right across the bridge.
Young guy in cap: Yep. Then you'll drive about another mile past a dairy and a farm and you'll reach Cooksville. Go the town hall in Cooksville and it's right across the road. That's where the Northeast Slopes meetin's at.
Me: *I reiterate the instructions, thank them, and turn to leave.*
Young guy in cap: *reiterates the exact same instructions and agrees.*
Old man standing: *chuckling* Good luck!
All: *laugh as if its the funniest thing they've ever heard.*
Surprisingly, or perhaps not, their instructions were entirely correct. Marty's garage, the bridge on the right, the dairy about a mile down the road; all were where they should be. We arrived just in time to hear about the lost ski areas of Vermont and just in time for coffee and pie. This was followed of course by a pie auction where the big winner sold for $18.50 and the biggest loser for $8.00. Just another crazy Friday night in New Hampshire.
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