Author Archives: Maria Langer

So Many Books, So Little Time

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But they never seem to be the right books.

I have a problem: I’m addicted to books. I must have mentioned this somewhere else in this blog, but I really don’t feel like searching.

Over the past six months or so, I’ve been picking up books here and there and stacking them on my beside table for reading. The stack is now as high as the lamp there.

I’m in the middle of reading two books:

  • The Art of Fiction: A Guide for Writers and ReadersThe Art of Fiction: A Guide for Writers and Readers by Ayn Rand (which I’m sure I discussed here) is not exactly stimulating reading. Although Rand has some good, solid advice for writers about characterization and plot, it’s pretty obvious to me that she’s the only author who ever followed that advice. And I have to admit that I’m getting a little tired of her bashing the work of other writers (Sinclair Lewis comes to mind) and praising her own. Talk about big ego!
  • 100 Ways America Is Screwing Up the World100 Ways America is Screwing Up the World by John Tirman is downright depressing. I picked this book up in Canada, where it was a featured book on a shelf just as I came into the store — shows you what Canadians think of us — and I started reading it, mostly to see if I agreed or disagreed with what the author said. Not only do I agree with most of it, but he’s shed a lot of new light on a lot of topics. Yesterday’s chapters on dictators we’ve befriended over the years made me pretty sick. I don’t think I want to read any more.

Obviously, I need something lighter to read.

The other books on my night table are a mixture of political commentaries and current bestselling novels, such as Water for Elephants: A Novel by Sara Gruen and The Memory Keeper’s Daughter by Kim Edwards (loaned to me back in May by an editor). I don’t think any of these books will be lighter.

I just checked my Amazon.com Wish List, the place I store books I want to read in the future. I hope to get many of them from the library, so I don’t have to buy them, but I have such a dismal record of returning books late that I’m embarrassed to go in there. Besides, a few of the titles you’ll find on that list are not likely to make their way into the public library of a conservative town like Wickenburg.

Unless, of course, I buy them, read them, and donate them when I’m done. Which is pretty much my plan for some of the titles.

The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop: A Memoir, A HistoryBut there are a few other titles that qualify as light reading that I know my library doesn’t have. One of them is The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop: A Memoir, A History by Lewis Buzbee. I read about it in an independent bookstore newsletter back in May and put it on my list. Unfortunately, it’s on my list and not on my table.

That’s the problem. I put books on my list when I hear about them and they sit there. Once in a while, when I have to buy something else at Amazon (most recently, a pair of batteries for my DustBuster), I add a book to the order to qualify for free shipping. But I always seem to order the wrong book — just another one for the pile — and not the one I feel like reading when I have time to read.

Your Own WordsOne of my recent acquisitions is a book called Your Own Words by Barbara Wallraff. It’s yet another one of the books about words and language that I like to wade through. I heard of Ms. Wallraff on a Slate.com podcast that I may have mentioned in another blog entry. Slate had a contest for euphemisms and Ms. Wallraff was involved in the judging. That got me interested in her work (that was the point, wasn’t it?) and I decided to give this title a try. Maybe I’ll read it next.

If you have any suggestions for some light, intelligent reading, don’t keep it to yourself. Use the comments link to make a suggestion. Keep in mind that I like books I can learn something from. Or books that make me think.

La Jolla Winter Sunset

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New Years Eve at the beach.

Mike and I spent New Year’s Eve 2004/05 in the San Diego, CA area, in a town on the coast called La Jolla (pronounced la hoy-ya). It was an escape from home, made possible by our friends John and Lorna (hi, Lorna!) who house-sat for us and watched our menagerie (and taught Alex the Bird to say “maniac”).

La Jolla, CAOur hotel was on the beach, with a private patio overlooking the ocean. It was very pleasant. I took this photo just after sunset one evening.

It rained a bunch when we first got there — Southern California was having all kinds of flooding problems — but cleared up for the rest of the stay. We visited San Diego, Coronado Island, and a great little aviation museum in a San Diego park. Then we drove back to Wickenburg on back roads along the Mexican border. It was a great trip, a nice getaway.

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Searching for a Stolen Truck

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We don’t find the truck, but we do find two cars and a motorcycle.

I was hard at work on my Excel Visual QuickProject Guide (really, Nancy!) when my office phone rang. It was my friend Tammy. She told me that a white dualie pickup truck had been stolen from in front of a house in Wickenburg. It had some unusual cargo, which I prefer not to discuss, in the back that made its recovery rather urgent. If I was out and about in the helicopter, could I look for it?

I did better than that. I offered to take her and one of our local police officers on a flight to find it.

(If you’re from the east coast or a metro area and don’t know what a dualie is, it’s a pickup truck with four back wheels. It’s better for towing but also sucks more gas. I suspect that many dualie owners buy them because they think dualies are cool. Until they have to replace the first set of six tires.)

We met at the airport. The officer, decked out in his dark uniform and looking bulky with his flack vest on, climbed in. His gun hung right over my collective. He later told me that his utility belt weighted about 27 lbs. Tammy rode in the back. I had our three doors off.

If this was a typical stolen vehicle, it would be stripped of anything easily strippable and ditched somewhere out in the desert. There were a number of usual places to look. So that’s where we started.

We flew around the outskirts of town, up and down washes and dirt roads. We didn’t see the truck, but we did see some cows, a tent pitched right off Constellation Road, lots of shiny windmills, and more dumped junk than you could imagine. We headed south toward Wittman, passing over the concentric circles of Circle City.

We crossed the Hassayampa River way down south and flew over Whispering Ranch, a rather notorious collection of off-the-grid ranches south of Vulture Peak. It was there that we saw a two cars and a motorcycle hidden under trees in a wash. I used my GPS to set a waypoint so I could give the police the GPS coordinates to investigate later. (There are no street signs down there.)

Then Vulture Mine to Vulture Mine Road to Vulture Peak Road. Then around Constellation Road and across to Moreton Airpark. Then south to Route 60 west of the airport, skirting around the hills out there.

The dualie was not in sight.

If this was not a typical stolen vehicle, it could be in a Phoenix chop shop. Or down on the Mexican border, getting ready to pick up Mexicans crossing over into the remote parts of the southern Arizona desert.

Or if someone stole it for its cargo, it could be anywhere.

We came back to the airport. It wasn’t a total loss. The police officer now had a whole different perspective of Wickenburg, along with GPS coordinates for three potentially stolen vehicles that he could hand off to the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office. Tammy had gotten a second chance to see Wickenburg — and a whole lot more — from a helicopter. I’d gotten a chance to fly about an hour and a half and provide a service for Wickenburg.

It’s true: I didn’t get paid. But the Town of Wickenburg did pick up my fuel tab.

Update, October 1: I tried to keep the cargo a secret, but KTAR didn’t.

What the Patriot Act Has to Do with Buying a New Computer

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And how the government has found a way to get their hands on our financial information.

I bought a new computer today: a MacBook Pro. I needed to replace my G4 eMac with a machine that could run Leopard and Boot Camp. I’m under contract to revise my Mac OS X book for Leopard and need to be prepared to get to work when I get my hot little hands on the software.

After much agonizing, I settled on a 15″ 2.16 GHz model. It had the extra RAM I needed and that tiny bit of extra power in the processor and video card will extend its useful life. I’m hoping to get 4 years out of it — I think that’s how long I’ve had the eMac.

I was going to buy from Mac Connection because they offered a sizable rebate and didn’t charge sales tax or shipping. But after doing a little research, I discovered that I qualified for an Apple educational discount. The final price would be the same and I didn’t have to deal with rebate bull.

The last time I bought a computer with a rebate, they tried to deny it, claiming that I hadn’t sent the right paperwork. When I told them I had copies of everything I sent and could resend it, they changed their tune. I got the $150 check in the mail a week later. I guess enough people don’t keep copies that they can get away with that crap.

The other thing that convinced me to buy from Apple was the 90 days “same as cash” program at the online Apple store. (I’m between royalty checks, which is a crappy place to be right after paying income taxes.) My sales guy, Elvis (really), told me that all I had to do was apply for an Apple credit card. But before he began taking my information over the phone for the application, he read me some disclosures. One of them said that my information could be given to the government to investigate terrorists.

What?

He explained. I later realized that it was the Patriot Act in action. An affront on my privacy in the name of the War Against Terror.

I was ready to tell him to forget it, but I wanted the computer and I didn’t want to pay for it in 30 days. (I always pay my credit card bills in full every month. I hate paying interest.) I wanted the extra two months. So I consented and we got on with the process. I was approved over the phone — why the hell is it so easy to get credit in this country? — and completed the transaction.

Oddly enough, later today I was in a meeting with Merchant Services, a company that does credit card processing. I’m trying to get a deal with lower rates than I’m paying for Flying M Air transactions. After going through the details, I asked the representative what I’d have to do to get the ball rolling. She listed the documents I’d have to show and sign. One of them was a Patriot Act document saying that I wasn’t laundering money (yeah, like I have that kind of cash) or funding terrorists. Of course, if I were doing those things, I’d be breaking the law anyway so signing a piece of paper saying I wasn’t doing them wouldn’t be a big deal. According to the credit card lady, though, it was more to protect the bank than anything else. In other words: protection against liability.

Ah, life in the United States in 2006.

Does the government know I just bought a computer? Are they trying to decide if I’m going to use it to plan terrorist activities? When I apply for the new credit card approval account, will they suspect me of laundering money? How does one launder money anyway?

These are questions I may never know the answer to.

But it’s probably better that way.

Return of the Jeep

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I bring my Jeep back from Howard Mesa.

On Saturday, Mike and I drove up to Howard Mesa to take care of “winterizing” our shed and property. That included things like spraying down the little building with Thompson’s Water Seal, covering the valves on our two water tanks with foam insulator cups, and securing loose items.

We were going to fly up, but for some reason, Mike wanted to drive. So we made several stops along the way in Prescott: the excellent True Value hardware store near the hospital, the Secondhand Man Furniture Shop, and an antique store near Courthouse Square. We almost bought a table and a drop-front desk (or secretary, as they’re sometimes called) but decided that the table was too big and the desk was too rickety. Then we got back on the road and, after stopping at Safeway in Chino Valley for fuel and KFC in Chino Valley for lunch on the go, we finally made it to Howard Mesa by about noon.

We did our chores. It took about two hours. I used Trade-a-Plane sheets to cover the windows of the shed and it’s a good thing I did — Mike has very little precision with the sprayer. He sprayed and I brushed the wet spots — mostly the building’s trim and “shutters.” Then we did our wooden bench and picnic table. Then we did the building again. We went through two gallons of Thompson’s. It was certainly worth the effort. The building will be protected for up to two years (although we’ll probably do this annually anyway) and, hopefully, it won’t turn black like the picnic table is.

Afterwards, we called our friends Elizabeth and Matt, who live full-time on the other side of the mesa. They were home so we decided to visit for a while on our way back home.

My JeepMy Jeep was at Howard Mesa — it had been there for about two months — and I wanted to bring it home. I’d been driving my little Honda S2000 for the whole time it was gone and the poor car was tired of eroded dirt roads and dust. And I was tired of washing it. Besides, as fun as the Honda is to drive, it’s not terribly practical for life in Wickenburg. I’d bought it for road trips and driving down to Phoenix — not for picking up feed for the horses and grocery shopping. And that’s what I’d been doing. (Do you know you can fit three 50-lb bags of horse and chicken feed in the trunk of a Honda S2000?)

So I loaded the garbage into the Jeep and let Mike take Jack the Dog in his truck. (He also took a very tall ladder that I’ll be using at the airport during my preflight to get just a little closer to my rotor hub.) We drove to Elizabeth and Matt’s place. We took what we call the Tank Road — a two-track that winds through state land from a big metal water tank to the edge of Elizabeth’s and Matt’s property. It’s a mile shorter that way, but the road is pretty rough. Didn’t stop me from bouncing along in the Jeep. I figured that the Jeep had had enough rest and it was time to get back to work.

We had a nice visit, then hit the road again in our two separate vehicles. I led the way. And that’s when I started to remember why I’d bought the S2000 in the first place.

On paved roads, the Jeep rides like crap.

First of all, the Jeep’s 6-cylinder, 4-liter engine cannot compare to the 4-cylinder, 2 liter engine in my Honda. The Jeep has terrible acceleration and could barely reach the speed limit on Route 64 (65 mph), I-40 (75 mph), or 89 (65 mph). My driver’s license would be safe: Speeding wasn’t much of an option. The whole thing shakes and rattles, feeling very unstable at any speed over 55. The Honda, on the other hand, feels rock solid and stable at any speed — and I’ve tried a bunch of them.

And the Jeep’s brakes — well they suck. I’m going to get them checked. They really can’t be that bad by design. The first time I used them at a stop sign, I nearly coasted right through the intersection.

Noise was a big issue. Although I had my iPod plugged into the stereo system with one of those cassette do-dads, I couldn’t get the volume loud enough to hear the podcasts I was trying to listen to. I had to resort to my ear buds, which are designed more like ear plugs than the standard iPod buds. That actually sounded good and cut out all the road noise.

You might say, well if you hate the Jeep so much, why don’t you just get rid of it?

First of all, I never said I hated the Jeep. I actually kind of like it. You know, the way you might like a stray dog who knows how to catch Frisbees. It can do a cool thing — drive just about anywhere my Honda can’t — and it really isn’t either troublesome or costly to gas up and insure. I hardly ever wash it — Jeeps are supposed to be dirty — and it does start right up every time I turn the key. And it is the perfect vehicle for driving around town in Wickenburg. After all, I have to cover nearly a mile of dirt road just to get to the supermarket from my house.

But I really don’t like driving it long distances on paved roads.

Especially after driving the Honda nearly every day for the past six or so weeks.

We stopped at the Iron Springs Cafe in Prescott on our way home. I wish Wickenburg had a little restaurant like that. The March Hare comes close — but it’s only open for dinner one day a week and you need reservations by noon the previous day, which is not always convenient. Good, interesting food, great taste combinations. But the Iron Springs Cafe is filled with trendy baby-boomers and young people, rather than retirees.

From there, I followed Mike home. I had a hard time keeping up with him on Iron Springs Road. The sun had set while we were in the restaurant and the sky glowed with that post-sunset color — red, orange, violet. The air was clear. I had my window open — mostly because I had a half full, open bottle of fuel injector cleaner wedged in beside my seat (long story) and the smell of it was screwing up my sinuses. (I think if I had the windows closed, I probably would have been asphyxiated.) The air was cool enough to have the heat on in the Jeep. We passed by the Kirkland Steakhouse, which was really hopping and had a bunch of antique cars parked out front, then made our way through Kirkland Junction, Peeples Valley, and Yarnell. We got behind a slow pickup truck going down Yarnell hill and I smelled his brakes burning until I managed to pass him where it opens up to two lanes. (Some people just don’t understand how to use a lower gear.) A while later we were home. I had to leave the Jeep in the middle of the driveway because Mike had been encroaching on the Jeep’s parking spot with his Honda Accord and there simply wasn’t enough room to park.

I washed the Jeep at the airport on Sunday morning. I had to do it twice. It was really dirty — too dirty for even a Jeep. There’s still some mud on the asphalt just outside the hangar door.

I took the Jeep to work with me today. I would have taken Jack the Dog, but he made himself scarce when it was time to go so he missed out. It was nice to bounce along the dirt road as I left our house. No worries about erosion or rocks.

The Honda gets a rest now. It deserves it.