danajohnhill.org | Hard Times Come Again No More

All of my friends in northern climes will forgive the boast, but at this moment—eleven o’clock in the evening on 25 January—the current Gainesville temperature is sixty-seven degrees. This afternoon it reached eighty degrees, and yesterday it was eighty-three. On my bike rides I have been sweating something fierce, and today I noticed that the swimming pool next to my old apartment building had quite a crowd. This entire winter, in fact, has been surprisingly warm. I welcome it. Two years ago at this time we were having the worst January of my life, with a solid two-weeks of freezing cold nights, and days that didn’t reach fifty degrees, and one that didn’t reach forty degrees. Now, oddly, this month we had a day with a twenty degree low, just as we did in 2009, but this year, on our day with the twenty degree low, the high was thirty-six degrees warmer, whereas in 2009, the high on the twenty degree day was only seventeen degrees warmer. Overall, we have had very few cold days so far this year, and I am happy about it.

I should say, of course, Happy New Year. I am sorry to 1.) make my first post in the new year occur more than three weeks into 2012, and, 2.) that my first post is about something as mundane as the weather, but when uses a bicycle for transportation as I do, the weather plays a much more prominent role than it might if one drove. That is to say, riding a bike in the cold sucks.

In other recreational news, I did something I never wanted to do: I joined a gym. Every time I go I think of this:

I am finding myself surprisingly motivated. I have gone three nights in a row this week, and even if I don’t go for hours at a time, I still go. I do a little treadmill, and an assortment of weight machines that are cleverly designed so that the bar cannot fall and crush your trachea. The last time I did any weight training was my freshman year of high school, and I recall that after four months of it I was significantly stronger. I am not trying to make myself look like the guy from the Old Spice commercials, but I would like to not make a loud grunting noise every time I bend down to tie my shoes.

Also, future me will be interested to know that the gym costs only $10 per month (which is much lower than other gyms, perhaps because it doesn’t have a pool), and I didn’t have to sign a year-long contract. Also, future me will be ashamed if he can’t run for more than ten minutes straight.

In the next couple days I will write about one more of the following topics: school, work, collecting classical music compact discs, a fancy new kitty that comes around my house, songs that sound stupid but actually convey a powerfully universal truth, and more. Also, probably how absurdly excited I am getting for baseball. But also how I spent my New Year’s, and how I ate homemade cinnamon ice cream and suck at Scrabble.

Filed under: Cost of Living, Meteorology, Recreation on January 26th, 2012 | 1 Comment »

I have never seen a tornado in person. But I confess to having a bizarre curiosity. It isn’t that I am drawn to danger. On the contrary, I am not one inclined to try BASE jumping, SWAT teaming, Ice Road Trucking, or any other perilous occupation. Tornadoes fascinate me, however. I have watched storm chasers on the Weather Channel and thought, “that would be such a neat occupation”. But the reason I will never be a professional storm chaser—aside from the fact that it may not be a real job—is the same reason that I am intrigued by tornadoes: they are so powerful, but so inexplicable.

Scientists know what conditions birth tornadoes, and can use radar and other means to identify and track tornadoes. But even if tornado predictions were one hundred percent accurate, and even if meteorologists could give ample warning to people in the path of danger, they could still not explain the bizarre and almost unbelievable destruction wrought by tornadoes.

On NBC Nightly News this week, Brian Williams was standing atop debris in Joplin, Missouri. Behind him, a devastated landscape, with great heaps of splintered wood and twisted metal suggested the ruins of a home or business, and a mangled mass of automobiles lay piled one upon another. Williams turned to a small tree, standing erect, with some branches broken at the ends, and pointed out that it had no bark. It was, he said, as if someone had come by and sanded it smooth. Around him, dozens, perhaps hundreds, of other trees bore the same unbelievable mark of tornadic contact. Then BriWi held up a black plastic garbage can – the kind used by countless municipalities across America. It had been speared by a long, dull piece of wood, which remained partly lodged within the container.

I couldn’t understand this sort of destruction. I still cannot.

I have lived through hurricanes. I have seen homes shorn of roofing shingles. I have seen trees toppled and homes crushed. I have seen waters rise and flood low-lying areas. But I cannot comprehend a force of nature that leaves a tree standing naked with no bark. How fast must the wind blow to strip a tree bare? If I had a steel adze I doubt I could slice the bark off my live oak tree, and even if I could, it wouldn’t look so clean. Saw mills use enormous machines to accomplish the same feat. A wind that blows hard enough to do that ought to rip the tree from the earth itself.

Likewise, what force would be required to drive a board through a tough plastic trash can? We have all seen video of two-by-fours being fired through sheets of plywood. But in those tests the plywood is firmly fixed in some stationary position. The same machine that launches lumber at high speed would surely cause a plastic trash can to go flying before it could pierce its walls, right?

Any force of nature that can rip the asphalt clean off a road ought to be feared as well as fascinate.

Filed under: Current Events, Meteorology on May 26th, 2011 | 1 Comment »

I don’t know which meteorological phenomenon is responsible for the present weather conditions in Gainesville (partly cloudy, seventy-six degrees).  Perhaps it’s El Niño or La Niña.  I don’t really care more than to say that, whatever it is, I love it.  It hasn’t been cold in weeks.  Indeed, we haven’t had a day with a high temperature below sixty-five degrees since the twelfth of February, and eight of the past ten days have reached eighty degrees.  I ride home from class at night in a t-shirt and I feel fine.

At last night’s Florida baseball game, I stood on the deck of Dizney Plaza [at the left on the picture below] overlooking left field and basked in the cool breeze blowing across the diamond.  The temperature was precisely what one would choose if somehow, as with a giant magical thermostat, he could select a permanent outside temperature that would never change.

The afternoon before I had met up with our friend Laura who had never been to a UF baseball game, but was excited to have the chance.  We arrived for the five o’clock game perhaps fifteen minutes early, and took our seats in my normal spot, halfway between third base and the left field fence.  Shortly thereafter we were approached by one of the athletic department staff who asked if we’d like to volunteer to be “Captain K”.  Captain K is the person or persons who sits in the bleachers above the left field wall and hangs up giant posterboards printed with the letter K, signifying a strike out thrown by a UF pitcher.  I had never done it before, and was a bit hesitant, only because I’d be committing to paying perfect attention.  McKethan Stadium does not have a billboard-sized screen offering repeat glimpses of important plays.  Moreover, Captain K is expected to distinguish between strikeouts in which the batter was caught looking or went down swinging.  Nevertheless, Laura and I fulfilled our duty admirably, tallying eight strikeouts during the amazingly brief two hour game.  For our trouble we received a “Captain K” t-shirt and a $25 gift card to the Gator Sports Shop.  I now have a tinge of regret that I didn’t trade Laura for the cool shirt, since it isn’t every day that one gets to be Captain K.

UPDATE: Laura’s Captain K t-shirt was too big for her so she let me have it!  Huzzah!

Filed under: Friends, Meteorology, Sports on February 26th, 2011 | 1 Comment »

The average low temperature in Gainesville for this date is forty five degrees Fahrenheit.  I didn’t get that warm today, nor is it forecast to tomorrow.  Worse, it’s been exceedingly windy, with gusts in excess of twenty miles-per-hour.  Bicycling in this weather is worst than unpleasant; it’s painful.

The cats’ water was still frozen at two o’clock in the afternoon.

Given all of the above, where do you think I ought to go this week on vacation?  How about Cleveland?  I’m looking forward to it.

Filed under: Meteorology, Travel on December 13th, 2010 | No Comments »

I am of the very firm opinion that summer’s best days fall between Memorial Day weekend and Independence Day.  Indeed, the Fourth of July is both the climax and beginning of the end of Summer.  I have often found myself on a mid-August day thinking, “I can’t believe the Fourth of July was six weeks ago”.  So, this year, as usual, I was tremendously excited by the holiday, and well aware that it might be one of the most exciting weekends of the whole summer.  Little did I know!

In Gainesville, 3 July is a big day.  Since so many people are out of town in the summer, and those who are left often travel, the big fireworks display is held a day early.  Two years ago, in the midst of huge budget cuts, it was canceled, and only saved at the last minute by an anonymous donor who ponied up so everyone could enjoy a spectacle.  Last year, though, no savior came forth, and the town was silent and dark.  Since fireworks were scheduled to return this year, there was excitement all over town, and especially in my heart.

In the afternoon we were invited to a pool party out in the country near Newberry.  We drove way out of Gainesville before heading north on a narrow two-lane road, and finally an unmarked dirt road.  Posted signs led us to the party.  All the derby girls were there, many with their significant others, and some even brought their children.  It was a huge crowd.

Everyone brought some food or drink.  Since the party had a luau theme I took Hawaiian Punch.  Sara made Jell-O shots–dozens of them–and they were wildly popular.  As time went on the girls went from eating them individually, to eating them in unison, and finally to feeding them to one another.  Eventually though, it turned into a game of catch, albeit with limited success. Everyone seemed to enjoy all the food.

The weather was hot, of course, but mostly overcast.  It seemed as though it might rain at any time, and for a little while it did sprinkle a bit, but not for long.  And whatever rain and occasional thunder there was didn’t keep anyone from swimming in the pool.  At one point there were twenty-five people in the water.  I was more excited about the homemade slip and slide.  Kaylen brought plastic sheeting and baby shampoo, and I helped lay out and spray down the plastic.  I hadn’t been on a slip and/or slide in years and I was really looking forward to it.  It was fun, but the ground where we set it up–the only place available–wasn’t especially soft or smooth.  As you slid you could feel every bump.  But a lot of people tried it out, and the kids loved it especially.

By the late afternoon it seemed like the storm clouds were gathering in the east, and with the Jell-O shots depleted people began to depart.  As we made it into town the sky was black.  We met up with Robin, Sarah Jean, and Kerri back at Kerri’s place.

The fireworks on campus begin at 9:30, and we hoped to get there before nine o’clock to find a good place on Flavet Field to set up our blanket.  Two years ago, at the last Fanfares and Fireworks, we had all met up and enjoyed the music and fireworks together.  This time, though, the rain that persisted well into the early evening meant that the field would be wet, so we also had some plastic to put beneath the blanket.  We arrived on campus shortly after 8:30, and I hoped that the rain was done for good.  But the storms that afternoon were not like the typical summer storms that come in swiftly, rain violently for an hour, then move on leaving clear skies.  This storm rained slow and steady for hours, not looking to let up.  We parked initially behind Weil Hall, but as no other cars were parked there, we thought perhaps other people knew something we didn’t, namely that the fireworks had been postponed due to rain.  The radio provided no information at all.  So we drove over toward the the Keys Complex across from McKethan Stadium where we found a police officer directing traffic.  She told us that no decision would be made until after nine o’clock.  So we drove back and parked again, and began walking.  But by the time we reached the corner of Gale Lemerand and Stadium Road the skies opened up again, and it began raining so hard that it was nearly impossible to see.

It was not quite nine o’clock, but the weather was so bad that all of us–including me–thought there was no way they could put on a fireworks display.  We decided then and there to cut our losses and go home.  Of all people, I am the most in love with fireworks and would be the last to be convinced that they might be canceled, but I saw no way that they could go on in that weather, and I did not doubt my conclusion for a moment.  On the way back to the car, as the deluge reached absurd proportions, we covered ourselves with whatever tarps and blankets we had.  When we reached our vehicle and I fumbled for the car keys, Kerri stood with her arms akimbo and asked me to take her picture.  I snapped a quick photograph, which involved the camera experiencing no more than three or four seconds of direct exposure to the elements, but that turned out to be a bad idea.  The picture you see here was the last my Nikon D70 would ever take.

The next morning I awoke and hung my flag on the house outside.  I read the newspaper which contained the shocking news that the fireworks display had, in fact, gone off as planned, though with a slight delay.  I couldn’t believe it.  Evidently there had been a brief window just before ten o’clock in which the rain subsided and they could uncover the pyrotechnic machinery.  I was, of course, sorry that I missed the fireworks, but I couldn’t feel sad about it.  The rain the night before had been so extreme that my very best judgment concluded fireworks were impossible.  I had not been talked into giving up, nor had I felt there was even a small chance.  In any case, I was actually glad that the few intrepid souls who had braved the weather were rewarded for their efforts.  They deserved it.

We had been invited back to Matt and Kerri’s house for barbecue and fun that evening.  Matt had kindly provided IBC cream soda again, which was a delightful treat.  I didn’t eat anything, but there was a whole buffet laid out, and, if I recall, everyone brought something.  Sarah Jean was there, of course, and Kat and Harris came, too.  After dark we set off our own cheap fireworks.  Sarah Jean made the most ghetto pyrotechnic display I’d ever seen, which consisted of a flaming black plastic trash bag hanging from a branch that dripped boiling liquid plastic onto the ground as the fire burned its way up the length of the bag.  We all had sparklers, and Kaylen brought some more impressive Roman candles and bottle rockets and such.  We did all of this in Matt and Kerri’s front yard along Northeast Ninth Street.  My camera was broken, so I was sad to only be able to capture the goings on with my cellphone camera, but that’s all I got.

Back inside the house we played the original Super Mario Bros. on Nintendo, and it was great.  I had never had that game, which was included with each Nintendo game console, because my system came with a book instead.  So I never got good at Super Mario, either.  That hasn’t changed.  Harris was expert.  We had a lot of fun.

And that was Independence Day 2010.

Filed under: Friends, Gainesville, Meteorology, Special Occasions on September 19th, 2010 | No Comments »