Winter Storm Watcher

January 27, 2011

Greetings from The Polar Ice Cap, otherwise known as New Jersey.  We have 15 new inches of snow today in my town.  We haven’t seen a patch of our  lawn since Christmas Day.  People are getting cranky.  Our local Home Depot is bringing in spare snow blowers from its Utah locations to keep up with demand.  It has been quite a winter, and it’s only January.

But I don’t mind all of this.  I’m a freak — I sort of love it.  Always have. 

There’s the beauty.

The quiet.

Kids in pajamas.  Hot chocolate.  Baking.  (Or, slicing pre-made cookie dough and placing it in the oven until gooey.  But whatever — it counts, right?)

{Are you kidding me?  What about the shoveling, the freezing cold, the cranky kids crawling up the walls, the grocery store madness and the treacherous driving?  What do you have to say about that?  HUH?}

Yeah, yeah, all that gets annoying.  I’m not toally zen, trust me.  But I just like a good snowy winter for the most part.

So here’s my real guilty pleasure in a snow storm.  Two words:  Storm Watch.  It’s true, I love to watch it unfold on the news — and it’s always in three distinct stages. 

The Before:  Watching the system, looking at the projected track, timing, etc.  The interviews with the sand truck guys.  The lame statements from transit companies and the local government.  The footage of people in the supermarket or at the hardware store, saying ridiculous things, buying obscene amounts of supplies for The End of Days. 

The During:  I love me some good shots of the road conditions, the sanders in action and the complaining jerks who still drive for non-essential purposes, despite all warnings (see Before).  And of course, the reporters assigned to the wretched “stand in the heart of the storm and report back live” assignment.  (Full apologies to my dear friend R, who has this very job at times.  But she rocks it.)  The storm timeline is honed and the anticipated total snowfall refined — complete with the scrolling ticker of local school closures.  Bring.  It.

[Side note:  As a kid in a very rural town, the most reliable way to find out if school was delayed or canceled was to listen for a series of sirens to sound from the local volunteer fire company.  No, I’m not kidding.  Yes, I’m 100 years old.  Perhaps smoke signals or carrier pigeons would have worked as well.]

Ooooh and the airport sleepers.  Love them.  That’s kind of heartless — sorry.  I’m sure my mom taught me better than to have my entertainment come at the expense of folks sleeping on a nasty chair at JFK.  Clearly, karma will come full circle on me one day.

The After:  The Man on the Street interviews complaints.  The government cleanup, or lack thereof.  The statistics — often accompanied by The Surprise Factor (“Folks, we sure didn’t anticipate this one to be quite so bad.”)  And then the big pièce de résistance — Oh, I do love a good, final, official, going-in-the record-books snow accumulation chart.   

 

And I secretly love to win, or at least place well, in the rankings. (“You guys got 5 inches?  Oh, really?  It must have turned to sleet earlier for you.  We got 9.77489 at the top of the last hour…I, uh, heard.”).

Just to be clear — because I don’t want anyone to misunderstand.  I don’t revel in anyone’s injury or peril.  I’m not pro-hypothermia and I don’t ever find car accidents amusing.  At all.  I totally respect the overtime and hard work that all kinds of professions put in during a snow storm to keep us safe.  And I don’t want anyone delivering a baby on the side of an icy highway.  So, remember, I’m talking about the rest of it — the fluff, the collective madness of a snow storm.  That is where my nerdy Storm Love resides.  

***End of ethical disclaimer***

So.  Everyone is already groaning about a few new inches that we’re expecing over the weekend.  Fine by me.  And then, there’s some vague reference from the meterologists along the lines of  “Let’s not even get into what’s possibly on the radar for Tuesday.”  Yes, they are now just about withholding information because the Metro NYC area’s collective psyche just can’t handle any more thoughts of snow. 

Except me — I’m tuned in and ready for The Before to begin.  Again.

{All TV shots courtesy WABC-TV NY}

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Crafts, No. Crafty, Yes.

January 22, 2011

My three and a half year-old son got to do two things this week that really rocked his world.

The first was bringing his parents to pre-school for Visitation Day.  In reality, it was Visitation Hour.  It was sweet — circle time, the songs, sharing the whole routine with all of the parents (the dad whose car I almost stole last week was not there, thankfully).  My son was assigned the calendar and weather job, which he loved and dutifully performed — further reinforcing my belief that he will grow up with the same affinity for tracking storm fronts as other people in my family (you know who you are).

Then it was craft time.

Can I just make a side confession?  We’re not craft people in Fordeville.  None of us.  Books?  Check.  Toys?  Of course.  Outdoor play?  We’re there.  But you’ll never find me spreading out an assortment of sticks, pine cones, glue and glitter for a rainy day project.  Maybe if my kids showed interest, I would — and maybe, someday, that will be the case.  But now, they don’t even like the sight of a crayon — never mind cutting, drawing or gluing.  This could be my genetic contribution.  Craft stores freak me out.  The whole scrapbooking phenomenon leaves me confused.  Jewelry making sounds dizzying.

But there we were, The Uncrafty Three, trying to make a simple cut out project.  My husband and I feigned interest for the sake of the group activity at hand, but my son was having none of it.  Let’s be clear:  If there is not a train, other vehicle or some type of novice engineering (paternal genetics at hand there) involved, no dice for him.  So he snuck off to the side with his dad to take on serious high-rise construction matters while I completed the craft trauma.

If my hands hadn’t been covered in glue, I would have taken a photo of our ridiculous family craft end product for your entertainment.  It could easily double as an All Points Bulletin to permanently keep me from ever leading any scouting troop in America.

I always find it fascinating to see how pre school teachers operate — and I love the women who teach at my son’s school.  They are doing God’s work with a room full of three year-olds and, in truth, getting my son to fall in line.  He has a pretty serious stubborn streak and they are great with him.  This picture cracks me up because my son (in the red shirt) is in his class line-up but he’s all, “Hey, let’s cause some trouble” with his accomplice in the rugby shirt — and that kid is all, “I can take a meeting next week to discuss this further.”

I loved seeing him in his element at school — he’s himself, both the good and the, uh, less obedient, but he’s also a little different — feeling out how to socialize, where his niche is — and, largely, how to avoid arts and crafts.  It was great.

The second big to-do for him this week was our invitation to the third birthday party of my dear friend’s son in the city this morning.  We were excited to see them and celebrate — and also ride in on the train.  This journey on NJ Transit was like a Disney World vacation for my son.  He was utterly mesmerized.

Even if the noise got to him a little.

He was glued to the window, talking of tracks, hopper cars, quarries, smelters (don’t ask me — I’m still learning about this stuff).  Also, Jersey Haters, here’s some visual fodder for any stereotypes of the state that you have embraced.  Admittedly, this route is not our best foot forward.

The party was held at a DIY pottery place — which was so great — though it forced the Anti-Crafter to emerge for the second time this week. So he left me to paint his plaster stegosaurus, while the extent of his crafting was assessing the color composition of the M&Ms bowl.  But no matter, he loved the opportunity to torture everyone with his tales from the rails.

In all of our fun at the party, we ended up missing our train home, which meant having to kill an hour in Penn Station — not really Manhattan’s finest attraction.  On cold days, and particularly on weekends, all brands of Special Crazy come out of the woodwork there.  As far as I can tell, it’s where Giuliani exported all of the shadiness that he purged from Times Square.  And he sent the city’s collective smell of urine to reside there as well.  Good times.  In my head, I had just one prayer:  Please, God, please — Do not let this child tell me that he has to use the bathroom while we’re here.  I beg you.  I don’t have a HazMat suit in my bag.

But I’m not afraid to coat my kid in Purel from head to toe if I have to.

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.  I distracted my son and his bladder with a cheesy NYC souvenirs store in the station to pass the time.  I told him he could choose one vehicle to take home, which he carefully considered for about six minutes.

It was a big decision.

He was in Transportation Heaven, while I tried to block out the distinct scent of pee.

But that’s OK.  I had two great events this week with my beloved genetic Anti-Crafting partner.

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My Brush with Crime at Pre-School

January 15, 2011

{Photo: www.elcivics.com}

I stole a car from the pre-school parking lot yesterday.  Almost.  And accidentally. Luckily, my downward spiral into a life of crime was thwarted by my three year-old.  It all happened so fast.

Things were crazy at the end of this week and I just wasn’t in top form.  I took the baby with me to pick up my son from pre-school.  Usually I’m at work — but because my nanny was caring for her ill mother, I stayed home and was happy to get the chance to go to pick-up.  All of this is to say that I don’t really know the parents of my son’s classmates because I’m that mom they never see.  Anyway. 

The pre-school parking lot is an SUV flash mob — it’s almost comical.  Suburbia Central Casting.  You’d be hard-pressed to find a mid-sized vehicle without a third row.  

So I walk over to our car, which looks like every other car in the lot, and I open the back door (I left it unlocked).  It looks dirtier than usual to me and somehow just a bit off.  I couldn’t put my finger on it.  But my nanny drives it during the week, so the reality is that I’m not the best person to ask how it looks Monday through Friday.  So I didn’t think much of it.

I begin to load the  baby into the car seat and the straps aren’t fitting her.  And I start to have this moment of slow realization that something isn’t quite right, but my brain isn’t really catching up.  It’s cold and I’m getting pissed about adjusting the straps, and then I take a good look at the car seat — and something about it is different.  Really different.

It has flowers on it.  Our car seat doesn’t have…

“Mommy, this isn’t our car,” says the three year-old.

Oh my God.  It’s not our car.

{Oh my God.  Someone has a messier car than we do.  This is great news.}

And as I take my child out of the car seat that does not belong to us from the vehicle that is not registered to me, the whole silly episode would  have been done.  Except, as I closed the door, standing right there is the rightful owner of the car, waiting to place his daughter into her flowered car seat with the straps configured to her height and weight, not my daughter’s.  Oh, and it’s one of the parents from my son’s class — one who probably already thinks I’m a Phantom Absentee Parent.  And now also a novice car thief.  Perfect.

The look on his face was somewhere between disturbed and confused.  I have no idea what look was on my face but I can assure you it was no photo opportunity.

I apologize profusely and nervously stammer something about not being able to get far without the keys.  I then point to my own car, two spots over, which, in my defense, is the same model and color — just so he knows I’m not certifiable, or criminal.

My son’s friend then pipes up with:  “Why is your mommy trying to take our car?”

I wonder if this is a good time to ask about the next PTA meeting.  Probably not.  I decide against it and enter our legally owned vehicle, where the non-flowered car seat straps fit just fine.

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Filed Under: Family, New to Town, Places Near and Far 18 Comments

Wanderlust

January 5, 2011

More fun today from the Land of Post-Holiday Denial.  I mentioned yesterday that I am in the process of booking a warm weather getaway for our family.  It will be a lot of fun, no doubt, but the reality is that you just can’t (or at least I just can’t) take trips like I did before I had kids.  And that’s OK — for now.  But someday, when sippy cups are not on the packing list, I will cut into my Must Visit List again.   At least in my mind.  How this idea co-exists with college tuition is TBD.

We all have such a list, right?  Even if some of it is sheer fantasy.  So, if budget and logistics (aka Real Life) were not factors, I would be sure to see these places in my lifetime (in no particular order — and, yes, some are more specific than others):

  • Ireland
  • Australia
  • Dubai
  • Hong Kong
  • St Petersburg (Russia, not Florida)
  • Sweden/Denmark
  • French Riviera
  • Tuscany
  • Greek Islands
  • Seychelles
  • Mauritius
  • Maldives
  • Grand Canyon
  • Buenos Aires
  • Angkor Wat
  • Montreal
  • Napa Valley
  • Anguilla
  • St Bart’s
  • Rio de Janeiro
  • Thailand

With all the cash I’ll have left over after those trips (as if), I can’t forget the must-do return visits.  You know those places that strike you in such a way that you must go back at some point?  For me, those places are Spain (yes, the whole country, repeatedly, or even permanently), Paris, Tahiti, The Amalfi Coast and Rome.

And there’s no elegant way to insert this but I’m itching to go back to Vegas at some point.   Yeah, I sort of love to gamble — but in a low-roller, don’t-lose-my-house kind of way.  Well, how else am I going to pay for all of this travel?  If you want to compare roulette strategies, drop me a line sometime.

How about you?  What destinations, first-time and return-trip, top your list?

{On a related note, last night’s winning Mega Millions numbers for $355 million were  4, 8, 15, 25, 47 and 42.}

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The Next Big Thing

January 4, 2011

After an almost two-week break from work and school, we are back to real life over in Fordeville.  And it sucks.

I don’t think I have Seasonal Mood Disorder or anything that severe, but this first week back to work after the holidays is really a downer.

No more grazing in the kitchen at all hours for Christmas treats and that occasional mid-afternoon glass of wine.  No more pajamas until 10:00 (or later).  No more disregarding my Blackberry, as its red light now blinks with increasing frequency and impatience (“Stop eating Christmas leftovers and answer me!”).  No more bad daytime TV (and, wow, is it bad).  No more Starbucks holiday cups (sniff).

But, on the bright side:  No more holiday madness.  No more blizzard, yet.  And no more leftover ham.  I’m hammed out, big time.  Ham, be gone.

I always have my eye on the next big (or even medium) thing to look forward to.  For us, it’s a warm weather getaway — our first vacation with all four of us.  We are getting our planning finalized and hope to hit that “Book it” button this week.  So, if all goes well, I will be blogging from a beach in early March.  You know, because one always has a free hand or two when supervising toddlers near bodies of water.  While they throw sand and spill my beachy, umbrella-laden vacation cocktails.

Perhaps I’ll call in a guest blogger while I handle the water-side supervision.

Hm.  All this beach talk is making me think about buying a bathing suit and now I’m feeling slightly traumatized (see “ham leftovers,” “wine” and “holiday grazing”).  But, other than that, let’s get it booked.

What about you guys?  What’s your next big (or medium) thing?

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Filed Under: Food & Drink, Holidays, Places Near and Far 10 Comments

Short Circuits

December 6, 2010

My brain is short-circuiting today. Not one full and coherent thought has been produced. So, I’m sorry, but all I’ve got right now are a bunch of disjointed and not terribly important nuggets. Or maybe more like morsels, since I keep thinking about baking.  You know, holidays and all.  Or just Mondays in general.

I’ll stick with food for a minute (well, forever).   You may remember my quest to visit Eataly.  Well, I went and it was fantastically odd. 

Would I do my grocery shopping there?  No, not at $32/bottle for olive oil.  But I’ll gladly return to consume their wine and eat delicious cheese.  In fact, I’m going back next week — after all, it wouldn’t be a fair assessment without hitting the gelato.

Moving on to religion, naturally (shouldn’t it always follow cheese, wine and ice cream?).  My in-laws informed us over the weekend that the church where we were married in Manhattan has been bestowed the distinct and apparently rare-ish honor of Basilica status. What this means will take a better Catholic than me to explain but I do love Old St Patrick’s — lots of history there, both for New York City and for Fordeville. Plus I think our marriage might be more binding now. I told P now he’s really stuck with me. You don’t mess with Basilica vows.

Back on the fury ranch, my commentary on AT&T’s inability to carry a decent signal was apparently not an anomaly.  Today, Consumer Reports came out with the results of their survey on wireless carriers, where AT&T came in dead last.  The PR gal in me felt pretty bad for my flack counterparts in their shop — those are surely not fun questions to field from the press — but not without some Schadenfreude.

OK, we’ve covered food, church and phones — I think we’re good for now.  Sorry you had to be on the receiving end of my randomness. Let’s hope full brain functionality and thought connectivity is restored tomorrow.  Maybe I need a baked good to get me back on track.

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Filed Under: Entertainment, Food & Drink, Places Near and Far, Tech Bits 1 Comment

To The North Pole, Via NJ

December 3, 2010

My son is a serious train nut.  All day long, he talks of pistons, buffers and coal tenders — words I never breathed before he was born but now have a prominent place in our house.  He obsesses over which trains to couple together, which engine will make the delivery to the quarry and which one  will bring the children in the passenger coaches, over the mountain, to the party (whose party, he hasn’t said).  He wakes up thinking about this stuff.  It’s pretty hard core.

And while Thomas & Friends are his usual trains of choice,  he also loves The Polar Express.  So, off we went to ride the New Jersey version this past weekend.

The whole set-up is really cute  — it’s an old train (a diesel engine, as my son will specify) on a railway line that they run for special occasions, like the Thomas ride we took over the summer.  For The Polar Express, they had the cars all decked out with Christmas lights and decorations.  A lot of kids — and some parents — wear their pajamas.  The audio version of the book plays over the speakers and they have folks come through the cars and serve the kids cookies and hot chocolate.  Santa comes through each car too and the kids even get the little bell from the elves. 

It’s all very sweet.  And waaaay too long. 

Two hours is an eternity to hold any kid’s attention under the age of five.  And, since I was far from the only guilty party bringing small kids to this event, you end up with a train full of very antsy, very impatient kids once the novelty has worn off.  Our son was pretty good — mostly out of train intoxication — but bringing the baby (she’s 16 months) was like being on a flight around the world without buying her a seat.  Our bad.

While she was deciding what damage she could do (to the train and to us), our son, armed with his copy of The Polar Express book, followed along with the story — perfectly content. 

Until his sister went after his cookie.

She’s tough, but he prevailed — and (some) order was restored.  He got a shiny new train from the gift shop to occupy him for the remainder of the never-ending ride.

And the 16-month old ran the aisles with alternating parents, until she (and mostly we) finally tuckered out a bit.

What a trip.  We may, in fact, have gone as far as The North Pole — or so it seemed.  Great in concept, long in execution. 

Oh, and for the suggestion box:  Put some wine in those hot cocoa cups for the adults.  Because surely we’ll make the same trek next year in the name of holiday tradition — and parental amnesia.

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Filed Under: Family, Holidays, Places Near and Far 2 Comments

In Search of a Signal

December 2, 2010

Dear AT&T,

As a long-time customer, I thought I would take this opportunity to point out there is an island in your alleged service area that you might want to look into.  It’s not that big — about 13×2  miles — so I guess I can see how it has been seemingly ignored all this time with virtually no signal for service. 

But there are a lot of people crammed onto this small-ish island.  1.6 million residents, in fact.  Add in commuters and tourists and you’ve got over 2.5 million people on the island during most work days.  Yep, there’s commerce here too — with lots of big shiny buildings.  It’s pretty busy, I’d say.

And you know what?  Many of these people want to use their cell phones, their email and gaming devices of choice.  Every day.  Reliably.

Back when I first became your customer in 1996, with my first cell phone (antenna and all), I didn’t expect much in terms of coverage.  In fact, we only used our cell phones sporadically then.  We weren’t texting and certainly I didn’t have email on my phone.  But that’s when I got my cell phone number that I have retained to this day.

I moved on to a Blackberry when my then-employer told me to do so, circa 2001 or 2002.  How cool was that?  I could talk *and* have my work email on the go (which quickly went from novelty to life-changing curse).  And there was a big wheel on the side of this device to scroll up and down — very cutting-edge at the time.  I had plenty of emails that didn’t go through, attachments I couldn’t open and a ton of dropped calls.  I was used to it, though it became increasingly puzzling, as everyone on the island seemingly had a similar device in their hand.  Hm.

Now I have an iPhone.  I debated this long and hard — I really did — and, in the end, I signed your mandatory two-year service contract in exchange for this device.  Funny, though, when I think about a contract, it implies a two-way agreement to me.  So I’m curious — what’s your obligation under the terms of this alleged contract?  Because my iPhone does all kinds of cool things — as long as I don’t try to talk on it or receive incoming data on a timely basis.   And I’m starting to get a headache from looking at that spinning orb all the time that indicates my wait for data to load.  But it sure is neat otherwise.

I was looking at your coverage map online and it’s odd because this island is color-coded under “Best Coverage.”  And yet this morning I nearly threw my iPhone across the room because I couldn’t get a simple web page to load (again).  But I did hear a crazy rumor recently — or perhaps it was just urban legend — that some people have witnessed a full five bars on their signal icon!  I had no idea it went beyond three.  Is this new?  I guess that’s encouraging progress, for a small island like this.

My frustration is my own fault, really.  I let my loyalty to my cell phone number drive my purchasing decisions over the last 14 or so years.  I held out hope that you’d improve your service because, well, I figured you’d just have to by sheer open marketplace competitive principles.  Apparently, that’s not so.  (Well played on that iPhone monopoly, by the way — at least for the time being.  Verizon — can you hear me now?)

Anyway, you may want to send one of your people over to look into this.  There are plenty of bridges, tunnels, ferries and even heli-pads that allow easy access to our island for a service call.  Just give us a four-hour window and one of us locals will be here to meet you — as long as we can receive your call, text or email.

Signed,

Ready to Hang Up for Good

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Filed Under: Entertainment, Places Near and Far, Tech Bits, That Which Drives Me Crazy 6 Comments

Morning Glory

November 18, 2010

One of the big trade-offs of moving to the suburbs was dealing with a daily commute into the city.  I knew I wasn’t going to love it but, in the grand scheme of the moving equation, it seemed tolerable.  What I didn’t know is that NJ Transit is one of the most poorly run operations in the history of modern (or even ancient) transportation.

Take this morning, for example.  I’m, as usual, running my ass off to make it to the train on time.  This entails missing a belt and shoving an oatmeal down my throat while kissing my kids goodbye and trying to find the car keys that I misplace every single day.  It’s kind of like a scene from Groundhog Day (which I hated as a movie but enjoy the everyday reference).

I speed through town with years of pent up road rage (remember, I hardly drove for the 16 years I lived in the city, so I have some vehicular aggression to catch up on).  This involves tailgating, honking, cursing and trying to fumble for the $5 that I’ll need to park (don’t get me started on this).  Wait, that’s not $5 in my bag, that’s the shopping list I couldn’t find last weekend at the store.

Are you feeling the early warning signs of a stroke with me yet?

Then.  I arrive at the station, somehow on time, basically in a full sweat (it’s 44 degrees out, FYI).  I run up to the train platform and take out my Blackberry to see what work I am inevitably behind on already.

And I see this email from NJ Transit.

Raritan Valley Line train #5714 up to 20 min. delay, due to disabled train ahead.  Sent: 7:27 AM

This isn’t good.  Not good at all. Thank God I don’t have a 9:00 meeting.

Then, several minutes later, this.

Raritan Valley Line trains are subject to 10-15 minute delays in both directions due to slippery rail conditions.  Sent: 7:35 AM

First, what happened to the disabled train as the cause of the delay?   Second, notice that the delay is now affecting all trains on the line.  And, most importantly, WTF are slippery rail conditions on this non-icy and quite sunny morning, you ask?  Excellent question.  If you’re new to NJ Transit lingo, let me enlighten you. I was told a few weeks ago (because they use this phrase chronically) that “slippery rail conditions” means we have a problem with wet leaves. 

?Wet leaves?

Yes, folks, the entire NJ Transit operation is easily thwarted by the presence of wet leaves on the tracks. 

?Look, I’m no engineer.  Maybe it is a legitimate issue.  I have slid in my car before on wet leaves, so it’s definitely feasible.  But doesn’t it seem ridiculous?  Shouldn’t we be able to solve for this after, say, hundreds of railway-operating autumns in the Mid-Atlantic where leaves have predictably fallen, right on schedule?  I don’t know the answer but I’m going to need something better than this.  I’m in PR, after all.  Let’s put some spin on this, I say.

?OK, Fordeville, you want better?  How’s this:?

Rail Update: Raritan Valley Line trains are subject to 20-30 minute delays in both directions due to disabled train.  Sent: 7:46 AM

Note that we’re back to the disabled train.  I guess the perilous wet leaves were properly disposed of in the last  11 minutes.  Meanwhile, we have various unhelpful PA announcements at the station regarding ongoing delays.  The train platform is really getting full but most folks don’t seem too bothered.  I guess they are used to it.  I was about to have an embolism. ?

Raritan Valley Line train #5422 is cancelled ; passengers may use train #5902.  Sent: 8:40 AM

?Oh, my God.  Did I mention I hadn’t had any coffee yet?  And that I pay $133/month for this bullshit?  (By the way, NJT, learn how to spell “canceled” correctly since you have to use it so frequently.)

I think someone at NJ Transit told the person hitting the email button to just stop talking because we had sheer radio silence for a while.  And then later, the train finally arrived.  I somehow even managed to get a seat.  I spent the ride thinking about selling our house and leaving the suburbs.  Surely the NYC subway system wasn’t so bad, right?

?Did I mention that NJ Transit is only half of my journey? Once I am free of their nonsense every morning, I have to deal with the PATH train, whose torture tactics make NJ Transit look like Amateur Night.  I’ll give full attention to that another day.

In the end, it took 1 hour and 45 minutes to travel the 35 miles from my home to my office.  You have to ask what’s in store for me once we hit the freezing mark.  How will NJ Transit manage this?  More to come.

Oh, and here is the email that can only be described as the pinnacle F-U of the morning.  Note that I received this after finally arriving at my desk.  Perfect.   

Final Rail Update: Raritan Valley Line trains are now operating on or close to schedule. 

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A Walk With an App

November 16, 2010

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’ll remind you that I have little to no skill in photography.  It’s not my gig.  I’m better with a keyboard.

But I do have two kids, a pug, some fall foliage and a camera, and I’m sort of obsessive about trying to document a lot of everyday happenings — even if my skill doesn’t match my will.  So that means, unfortunately, that you have to suffer through my bad photos now and then as part of the blog posts. 

Now I’ve added my newly found iPhone photo apps into the mix.  It’s like having no skill on steroids (or acid, if you look at some of these colors). 

We went out for a walk this past weekend and everything was downright stunning — the weather, the colors and even the toddler dispositions.  It was an alignment of the suburban planets.

Out came the photo apps.  Before each photo, I gave the baby my iPhone and told her to shake it (which she loved, as I prayed it wouldn’t meet an early demise landing on the sidewalk).  Many of you who have been iPhone-indoctrinated long ago  — yes, I’m light years behind — know that shaking it will randomly change up the lenses and film on some of the apps to give you a different look each time. 

So I guess what we have below is some photographic roulette, courtesy of a 16 month-old and me.  We have the same level of competence with a camera, so it seemed fitting to include her as my apprentice.

Here’s our app-fueled, color-tastic trip around the neighborhood.  I feel a little like Dorothy after the  tornado.

My assistant, mentally framing the next shot.

And back at the ranch (well, the colonial):  Fun with mud and trains — basically, the Holy Grail for a 3 year-old boy.

I like the whole retro-color look.  It reminds me (as I assume the app marketers intended) of the types of photos my parents and grandparents took when I was a kid.  I wasn’t overcome with nostalgia as much as with some residual jaundice from the overblown yellows.  But it gave our walk a color boost and my non-skills a little help, both of which were welcome.

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