Stalking the wild tangerine

I've mentioned Barb's quest for the tangerine of old - the loose-skinned, easily-peeled fruit of Christmas past. We've searched the usual places and the markets that carry more exotic fare, as well. A produce manager at Central Market told us that it was highly unlikely that we would find the classic tangerine in any store in this day and time.
During our Coastal California excursion, we happened to tour a section of the Cal Poly campus in San Luis Obispo (no, I was not in the lead, nor were we receiving directions from the GPS Lady, Preventer of Driving Directions). This particular detour passed through some citrus orchards, and at one there was a market set up with "Pick your own" signs.
Sure enough, at the market table they handed you a bucket, a pair of clippers (clippers?), and pointed you down a path between rows of fruit- laden trees. Help yourself.

If you pull the fruit off the tree, the easy-peel skin tears; thus the clippers.

This particular orchard was of the "Satsuma" variety of citrus fruit. Loose-skinned, easily peeled, seedless fruit that tasted sweet with just a little tang. Just like... tangerines!

We've seen Satsumas in the store, but paid them little attention. After enjoying a bucket of can't-get-any-fresher fruit over the next few days, we wondered if the Satsumas in our local store would be as good. They are, but if you pick them yourself, you pay only $1.50 a pound; if you buy them at Central Market in Austin, they are $2.40 a pound. I guess we'll just have to go back to California.

Monday Meanderings - 1.9.2011

Drove by one of those clothing collection boxes that sit on street corners and there was a single snow ski propped up against the box. No sign of the mate, and it made you wonder if there were some ski togs inside the box; say a bib and some long johns. It really set me to wondering about the back story here, and where the other ski was. Somehow, I think this pertained to a story with an unhappy ending.

Christmas trees are appearing on the curbs around town, waiting for the city to pick them up for recycling. That makes me think of my youth, when we would roam the neighborhood after Christmas, gathering up all the trees that had been set out, dragging them to some central location for an annual bonfire. Sometimes, before the big bonfire, we divided them up into tree forts and had roman candle wars with other neighborhood kids, but don't tell anyone that we did that because it definitely wasn't a safe thing to do.

He said (noting the recent 15 cent increase in the price of gasoline): "They said on the news last night that the cost of gasoline is headed for record highs."
She said: "Ummm."
He said: "I guess it's time to buy a couple of bicycles."
She said: "Too expensive."
He said: "No, I'm not talking high-dollar bikes, here. If gas costs..."
She said: "No. What you are forgetting is the cost of the emergency room."

I guess we do eat at Fran's too much. Our favorite waitress pointed out which table was hers, but before she let us sit down she walked over and tested it to see if it wobbled - something we always do, but didn't know it was that obvious.

I have featured the miss-spellings and malaprops of the Crestview Baptist Church sign before. Recently it read, "Welcome to our warship." Glad to know that is a problem with the Baptists, too.

And yes, I have weighed myself now that the holidays are over, and yes, my weight did reverse direction SINCE I SHOWED NO RESTRAINT WHATSOEVER!! But it was not as bad as I expected, and I should be back on track in, oh, say another 6 months, or 10,000 miles - whichever comes first.

The car from... Gothenburg!

Another episode from our California adventure -

It is my understanding that Volvo makes good cars. Dependable, safe cars. So when the car rental agent told me that she was going to upgrade us to an "elite Volvo" I thought that would be a good thing. What she did not tell us was that it would be a Volvo S60, a snazzy-looking little car about the size of a roller skate. So the first part of our journey, with 5 passengers and all our luggage, was, to say the least, painful. Especially for Jana, who shared her space with some of the luggage.

Setting aside the lack of room, there were other issues with the car; most notably the "control center," that video screen in the dash that - depending on your point of view - either kept one informed about current conditions, or taunted you with information you could do nothing about. For example, for many miles, the screen displayed the cryptic statement, "There is one car message." Okay, the car is texting me. How do I see this message? Push this? No. This? Uh-oh. This? Okay, I don't really need to know what the car message is. Or do I? Let's see, there are only 36 buttons and knobs on the control console. Surely one of them fetches the message. Many miles later, I found that a dial on the left-hand steering column thingy shows the message text, which was, and I quote, "Rear left, center and right seat belts are in use."

OK. How about the radio? According to a decal on the window the car was equipped with satellite radio. Alright, let's cruise down the Pacific Coast Highway listening to the Beach Boys on Classic Rock! Barb and I spent 30 minutes (while stopped) fiddling with buttons that suggested that they would actually produce radio choices. Finally the console indicated that we had indeed selected XM Classic Rock - and that if we called an 800 number they could set up a paid subscription in place of the one that had expired. Okay, I'll just flip over to an FM station. Or not.

There were other problems, to be sure. Among them finding the button that opened the gas filler lid, the switch that turned on the headlights (actually I never found that, but the lights seemed to be on when I needed them). There were certainly buttons enough to try, including 4 on the sun visor! Never did figure those out. But the most aggravating behavior of the car was to rotate the rear-view mirrors downward whenever you put the car in reverse. Want to see behind you? Sorry, the mirrors are pointed to the ground. Am I going to back into something? With the restricted view out the windows, the only way to find out is to open the moon roof (assuming you can figure out which button to push to do that) and stick your head out and look behind you!

I'm told this is a "feature" of high-dollar cars; the mirrors rotate so that you can see the curb when you are parallel parking. I ask you - when was the last time you had to parallel park? When was the last time you backed up and needed to see behind you? I rest my case, your Honor.

So the message is clear. I'm just not an "elite Volvo" sort of person. Next time, I think I'll ask for an old pick-up truck. I'll bet I can get the radio to work on an old F-150.

Recalculating!

I have blogged before about misadventures with GPS devices. In fact, it was while traveling in this very same area a couple of years ago I learned that you can't always trust the GPS for the best way to go. On this trip, however, we learned that you can't even trust the GPS to get you out of town, let alone point you in the right direction!

The back story is that on our trip to California we rented a car and I added a GPS to the rental because we were driving to unvisited places on unfamiliar roads. Makes sense, right? So we pick up the rental car and I start off while Barb plugged our destination into the device. That's the way you do it right?

Let me just stop right here and state that if I had not been in such a hurry; if I had waited, or pulled over while everything got set up; if I had given Barb adequate time to get everything operable, I might not be writing this blog. But I did not, and let me be perfectly clear about the fact that I am the one that missed the crucial on-ramp to the freeway and started the whole mess.

 Having said all that, the normal expectation of a GPS unit, or "the GPS Lady" as the disembodied voice came to be known, would be to recalculate and direct us to the next opportunity to get on the freeway. But this was not a normal GPS Lady. This was more like "Mordac the Preventer of Information Services" in the Dilbert cartoons. The GPS Lady, Preventer of Driving Directions. It took us an hour to find our way out of San Jose! We toured the San Jose State Campus, we toured the barrios (are the doors locked?), we were directed into the middle of a street carnival, we were directed North, when our destination was South! At every misstep, when it was obvious we were not achieving our goal, the GPS Lady would say, "Recalculating" and send us off in a different direction!

Finally, we escaped into the countryside on a secondary road that was going in approximately the right direction. All the while, we could see Highway 101, our destination, paralleling us off to our left! We made several attempts to cut across to that highway, but did not succeed until we finally came to a small community that nestled between the two roads. There, a seventeen-year-old working at the McDonalds gave us clear and succinct directions to our target highway. At last, we pulled onto 101 and felt certain that we could get clear GPS navigation help from that point. We were so naive, so gullible.

The GPS Lady had her heart set on taking us down the old road. So much so, that she pointed out every opportunity:
    "In 1,7 miles, exit right."
    "Exit right!"  and when we did not do so...
    "Recalculating. In 3.2 miles exit right."

And this went on for 70 or so miles, until we finally got tired of her whining and turned her off. Not once! Not once, did the GPS Lady consider, "You know, they seem to want to take this other route. Let me recalculate and find them the best way to proceed down 101 instead of this little road off to the West that I do so love!"

Let me give a clear picture of just how obstinate and obtuse the GPS Lady was. Check out this map:

See the little pin at "A"? That's where we were when Barb decided to give the GPS Lady another chance. Our destination is Fresno, on highway 41, that straight stretch that heads off toward the top of the map. YOU CAN ALMOST SEE FRESNO FROM THERE! So, she plugs in the address in Fresno, presses GO and the GPS Lady says.... Wait. I'm going to let you guess. Do you see another highway on the map? The big one that goes AWAY from Fresno?

    "Recalculating."

Monday Meanderings - 1.2.2012

Welcome to the New Year and the new, revised Monday Meanderings. Of course, it's exactly like the old Monday Meanderings, but with every new year we pretend we're going to be better, right?

With the good Doctor's approval, we did indeed spend some time exploring Coastal California - from Pismo Beach to the south, up the Pacific Coast Highway, past San Simeon and the Big Sur to Monterey Bay. Breathtaking scenery.  Toured the Hearst Castle, went back to the aquarium in Monterey, saw sea lions and elephant seals, ate clam chowder at the Splash Cafe, ate steak at Jocko's, got to hang with my favorite people. It was good.

But since I was supposed to be taking it easy, here's my favorite view, just a short stroll from the house we were staying in.

Came back by way of Las Vegas. My plans for underwriting the cost of the trip with a little slot machine action were foiled by a very tight connection at opposite ends of the airport. My previous visit to Las Vegas was as a teenager, when my family and the Woods family were camping at Lake Mead. We drove in one evening to see the lights. So now I have seen the lights of the Strip by drive-by and by fly-over without ever having set foot in the city itself.

Spending a week two time zones away requires a little adjustment. When it's time to get up or go to bed I always seem to be in the wrong time zone.

It's Capital Bowl Week(s) and if you are a football fan there's no better time. The downside is that you have to listen to Lou Holtz and Mark May arguing at half times. However, with careful planning you can work in some real life segments during those periods. Like my annual tradition of sorting out all the bills and junk to get ready for the tax process.

Another year has passed, and a lot has happened in the last 365 days. Like the character Earl in the comic strip "Pickles" said, "I kinda wish I could remember what it was."

Happy New Year!