Salvage. Study. Salvage.

I spent the entire night studying for my accounting final, completing inventory statements and  balance sheets, calculating the price of goods sold, and getting the hang of reverse closing entries.

While I’m pleased with all the salvageable materials I’ve managed to recover over the weekend, another day studying would have really helped me get all the chapters down pat.  However, the final turned out to be one of the simplest I’ve ever taken.  I expected problems that involved taking transactions all the way from inventory to closing journal entries.  But, hell, it was just simple addition and subtraction.  Instead of relief, I was disappointed–and sort of  insulted.

There were also 30 multiple choice questions, but we only had to answer 15.  And some were so easy that I refused to answer them and worked on the harder ones instead.  I only missed one multiple choice question, but since I got the extra credit right I ended up with a score of 103.  On one hand, I want a good grade, but I also don’t like things too easy, especially since I lost sleep studying for this.

Afterward, I was so tired that I almost fell asleep in line waiting for my next term’s textbooks.  On the way home, I noticed the wrecking crew was starting on another home.  So I took a nap, woke up and got to the house.  Not much to salvage, except for lumber.  There was a wooden step ladder that I thought about using as a support for flowering vines, but thought better of it and put it back.  There were two other abandoned homes that hadn’t been touched yet.  I got the window sill counter weights out of them.  I think I’ll use those for rigging hanging plants to pulleys.

I also found planting pots, a watering can and metal fencing reinforcing some sort of animal pen that I’ll use as a trellis for my clematis.  As I was loading my trunk, one of the scrap metal scavengers came over from the newly demolished house and warned me that this particular demolition company could have the cops arrest me for trespassing, which could result in one year’s probation.

It’s sad some of these homes will be demolished.  The studs in the second floor of the  home I recovered counter weights from were all exposed.  Someone long ago must have started renovating and later abandoned the project.  But all that nearly century-old timber—this durable, sturdy building material–could be saved and used to build another home.

It’s just sad thinking what all is wasted.

An Urban Night Should Be Longer Than Five Hours

I went to Urban Nights the other evening.  They should really just call it Urban Five Hours.  Businesses, lofts, galleries and creative venues all over downtown Dayton and across the river into Wright Dunbar opened their doors to the public.  There’s a film festival by Dayton-area filmmakers starting at the Neon; live music and entertainment at a half dozen outdoor performance stages; and international food and drink is at the Convention Center.   But somehow people are expected to cover all that territory and absorb all what downtown has to offer in just five hours.  Can’t they start making this a weekend event?  How about a Friday night and a Saturday afternoon?

Next time I’ll stick with the stages and a few galleries.  I covered as much ground as I could by foot again.  Waiting for the shuttles proved to be a waste of time.

Enjoyed seeing the entries in the Light Up Dayton photography contest.  I asked if there were plans for another contest next year.  I was told they didn’t know if they could do another photography contest; but I suggested they have another one with Urban Nights as the subject.   Heck, most everyone seemed to be walking around taking pictures of all the activity.

 In fact, someone should sponsor a contest for the best ten minute amateur video capturing as many sights and sounds of Urban Nights as possible.  Put them on a website and let people vote for the best ones.

There’s no shortage of interesting subject matter.  Not just the crowds and people having a good time.

There’s the entertainment.

 

Then there’s the galleries and art.

I walked to Garden Station and chatted with two nice ladies about donating plants and what’s being planned for this green space.  I even let them know where they could find some free brick paving material.

The plans for the entrance arch and wheelchair ramp are interesting; but right now this seems more like a yard or park than a garden.  Small flower beds and a few containers mark the entrance, but there’s more color coming from the painted murals decorating the north wall.  I don’t claim to be a landscaping expert, but artistic accent pieces alone don’t provide the necessary framework for a successful garden.  Bushes, shrubs, and trees will do that, as well as clearly defined paths.  Nothing really draws the eye down through the space to explore it. I commend the effort; but only time will tell what, if any, potential will be realized. 

By the time I left, the sun had set.  I wandered over to the Oregon District.  Bands were playing.  People danced on the sidewalks.  I squeezed through some art galleries and wished there was a little more elbow room, especially when a singer outside started this killer rendition of “Missionary Man”.  Something about that tune just made me want to stride through the rooms instead of having to inch my way from display to display at a stutter step pace. 

Checked out a yoga studio and a few shops.  My favorite stop though was Bonnett’s Book Store. First, because of all the plastic knickknacks lining the shelves.  Muppets meet cartoon characters meet comic book characters meet fast food restaurant mascots.  It’s a neat place for a game of I Spy.

But then I wondered why I found all the stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling so interesting. 

Then I realized they reminded me of parade balloons and  imagined what Urban Nights would be like with a few giant inflated cartoon characters floating through downtown.

Oh well, maybe next year.

No reward for an effortless A

I won’t have to take my management final.  My instructor  has a rule that if you have perfect attendance, participate in class, turn in assignments on time and maintain an A average throughout the term then you earn an exemption.

I got a 98 for the class, but don’t feel like a star pupil.  These last two weeks I’ve had to force myself to sit down with my textbooks and finish homework.  I’m too easily distracted.  There’s something a little too ironic about putting off a written assignment describing my personal one, two and five year life plans until the last minute.  I get A’s, but question why I’m not approaching my assignments with a little more gusto and efficiency.

I’m doing enough; and sometimes, lately, just enough.  But more than enough is far more satisfying.

“There’s bricks in dem dar piles!”

In total, I ended up making five trips to the demolition site for bricks this weekend.  I delivered a second carload to the Garden Station.  I wish I had a pickup truck.  There was a couple filling raised beds who had a SUV.  For a moment I thought about mentioning it to them.

I dunno.  I thought more people would be crawling all over the site salvaging brick.  There were a couple people scavenging for whatever metal they could find and pile onto their old pickup trucks.  Aluminum gutters, drain pipes, amd iron tubs—including the one I had been offered days ago.

It wasn’t until late in the afternoon someone from the McPherson Town district came over.  There had been an article in the paper about the neighborhood garden the residents had started this year.  Those are the people I thought would be hauling loads of brick away for pathways.

“Here for the free paving material?” I said to the woman getting out of her shiny, red compact car.”  I held two bricks up over my head. 

But she just said no.  And then a couple in a shiny, black SUV came by and they all three went off together to inspect the other properties on site.  I thought it seemed very standoffish.  But then I thought about how I was dressed: sweats, torn t-shirt, painter’s hat and badly in need of a haircut.  Not to mention dirty from crawling around piles of rubble and carrying bricks.
 
I imagine them thinking I was some sort of panhandler or homeless person, more than an environmentally conscientious gardener.  (“Don’t make eye contact, Margaret.  He’ll start asking for change.  Make sure you locked the car!”)

Or maybe I looked like some crazy old prospector type from the movies, loading up my Elantra like a burro.  (“Git away from my bricks.  I claimed ‘em!  This here brick lode’s all mine!  Now git!”)

Oh well.  I also ended up finding a couple good-as-brand-new downspouts, a three foot segment of limestone that I’ll use as a mini-pillar to mark the beginning of my garden path and a portion of rusted wire fencing that I’ll use as a trellis for my clematis.

Life: More Satisfying Than Galactica

I finished watching the last three second season episodes of NBC’s Life.  If the show doesn’t end up getting picked up by USA Network as rumored, then at least the last episode served as a satisfying and entertaining series finale.

And also maybe a timely remedy, considering how for weeks I’ve been walking around in a gobsmacked stupor after watching the once astounding Battlestar Galactica collapse into a sloppily resolved, disappointing mess.  And, no, I’m not just talking about the finale.  I’m talking the last six episodes.  When Tyrol showed Adama the fractures in Galactica’s hull after the failed mutiny, he might as well have been pinpointing weak points in the overall storyline.  As the cracks in the hull started to widen, so did plot holes and lapses in characterization. 

One could say that it’s unfair comparing two series from two different genres.  Life only lasted two seasons compared to Galactica’s four.  But why do I think Life turned out to be a better series?  Why would I buy both of Life’s season DVDs and not any of Galactica’s?  Because in the end, Life’s creators proved to be the better storytellers.

True, the Zen-free start of the second season screamed network interference.  Crews seemed more obsessed with his ex-wife than learning who was behind the conspiracy that sent him to prison.  However, the mysteries and characters were still offbeat.  And, more importantly, because the show started the season on the bubble I appreciated the creators’ consideration not to delve too deeply into the conspiracy and start something they couldn’t finish unless they got a full season commitment.  Once they did, the show returned to its Zen roots.  And kicked ass.   Then when I worried Sarah Sahi’s pregnancy might hamper the narrative, in came Gabrielle Union as a great cast addition and substitute partner for Crews. 

It’s just not that one show managed to end on a high not while the other languished.  The key difference is that Life’s creators had a clear idea where their main storyline (the police conspiracy) was headed while in Ron Moore’s case raising intriguing questions and mysteries proved easier than actually providing and incorporating credible answers and resolutions.

And despite some commendable episodes and performances, Moore ultimately squandered much of the final season’s potential by favoring certain characters over others.  If instead of Battlestar Galactica the show was called The Epic Love Story of Adama and Roslin then it could be deemed a great success.  And I never thought I’d say it, but there could’ve been a little less Baltar.   Cylons supposedly lost the ability to resurrect.  Yet Moore still found a way to bring back D’Anna and Ellen.  Meanwhile, Boomer, Athena and Helo continued to be treated more like plot devices to move the action along rather than complex characters with relationships worth exploring.

Treating Boomer like an afterthought shortchanged the season on so many levels.  Boomer was an essential part of the first season; and her connection to Tyrol needed to be explored in depth over several episodes.  Not only because they continued pining for one another even after Cally gunned her down; but because Boomer’s identity crisis after discovering she was Cylon paralleled Tyrol’s.  It also significantly contrasted with Tory’s, who should’ve been the one to abduct Hera, not Boomer.  I firmly believe Galactica’s final season would’ve turned out better if Boomer hadn’t escaped during “The Hub” episode and was brought back along with D’Anna.

I’ve read a synopsis of Moore’s original plot for the fourth season’s second half before the writer’s strike halted production.  And although the fates of certain characters seemed better realized, it too lacked the cohesive complexity of the first two magnificent seasons.

Maybe it’s the sci-fi genre that’s to blame.  Moore might’ve come down with the same case of creative hubris that hobbled other fanboy idols like George Lucas and Frank Miller.  He got lazy or became convinced of his own cleverness; and instead of crafting meaningful storylines, he compensated with shocking scenes or gratuitous action to generate message board buzz.

This is the real reason behind Lee’s sudden and unbelievably accepted decision to go Luddite and plunge the fleet and all its technology into the sun.  It was actually Ron Moore’s thinly veiled intention of burning all the toys of his franchise so Sci-Fi Network or some other creative team won’t be able to write BSG: The Next Generation.

Or maybe it’s the television medium.  Even prolific television writers such as JJ Abrahms and David E. Kelley became so successful that they spread their creative energies too thin developing other shows and ended up neglecting the very series that made them famous in the first place.   Developing the prequel, Caprica probably distracted Moore.  Maybe that’s why so many of the cast like Tahmoh Penikett and Dean Stockwell got so much say in the storyline, especially the finale.

Maybe it was a combination of all three.

But I also found certain story elements of Life to be much more entertaining and meaningful than Galactica’s.  I’d prefer listening to Charlie’s Zen tape on a loop than Baltar’s monotheistic ramblings.  And I also thought Roman turned out to be a greater nemesis than Cavil.   Not just more cunning, but more ruthless.  If Roman had a ship, he’d ruthlessly pursue Galactica and the fleet all over the galaxy like a pitbull after a pack of rabbits.  And be nonchalant about it the whole time.

Sure, there were themes running throughout Galactica concerning theology, humanity, and wartime politics.  But, then again, themes can be found in mediocre writing too.  How well they are handled distinguishes the mediocre from the inspired.  And those themes were handled much better in the first two and a half seasons.

Am I sorry I ever watched Battestar Galactica?   Not as sorry as if I’d watched the show weekly instead of as complete seasons.  I’ll watch The Plan movie this fall, but not without some trepidation.

I will buy both seasons of Life on DVD though.  And the only thing I’ll be disappointed with was that it ended too soon.

Don’t Ignore the Free Stuff

I stayed up longer than I thought I would and woke up after eleven, which seems to be where my body’s alarm clock is stuck nowadays.  And because I fell asleep on the floor my body was stiff, and for awhile I walked around the house like an arthritic zombie.
Later, I drove to the demolition site and loaded up three carloads of brick.  The demo crew had made quick work of leveling two houses.  All the debris and brick should be cleared and gone by next weekend.

A few cars passed by.  No one stopped to get anything though.  I took one carload to the Garden Station public garden nearby.  I hope someone from there comes by with a truck and salvages some of the available materials.  My little Elantra alone isn’t going to do it. 

Some guys were rehabbing a nearby apartment across from the site, and I nabbed an old iron sink they had left at the curb.   Don’t know if I’ll make a birdbath or a sedum container out of it.  I’ve thought about repaving some of my stone paths with the salvaged bricks.  I can’t rescue everything though.  Or expect everyone to share my interest and concerns about recycling.

I think of the thousand or so buildings that will be demolished around town in the next eighteen months.  Some are supposed to be deconstructed and the materials salvaged.  But how many, and what about the rest?  I’d like to think there are industrious people in town that will find creative uses for all this free, useable stuff that will be otherwise be shoved into a landfill.

Urban Garden Photos 5-8-09: Solomon’s Seal

Demolish and Salvage

Demolition has started on the site of the new elementary school across the river from downtown Dayton.

Can you see all the free garden path paving materials that I see?  I was offered an old cast iron bathtub that could’ve been used for a bog garden, but I didn’t have a way to haul it back home.  Darn it.

Don’t think that I’m not thinking of a way though.  Maybe I can put wagon wheels under it and push it all the way back to my house.

Porch Loitering

I was on the computer when I heard voices.  It sounded like arguing, but I thought it was the television in the next room.  But then I heard “n-word this” and “n-word that”, and I thought that can’t be MSNBC.

So I go to the front door and sitting on the porch ledge are these two guys.  As soon as I opened my door to ask why they were on my porch immediately they’re all, “Oh, sorry man.  I didn’t know anybody lived here.”

“Who do you think takes care of all these plants?” I said, gesturing towards the front yard.  Specifically, the 30 feet of yard that seperates the sidewalk from my porch.

It was raining, but they had umbrellas.  Why they chose to hang out on my porch, I don’t understand.  I thought I smelled pot.  Maybe they were high and showed up at the wrong address.  Or I just live in a crummy neighborhood.

Urban Garden Photo 5-4-09:Fern