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Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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   my first sobriety checkpoint
Saturday, August 8 2015
This morning Anna & Emily returned our Prius and Gretchen took them to the rental car company so they'd have a way to get themselves back down to Brooklyn. After that was done, Gretchen drove to the state prison in Fishkill (near Newburgh) to visit a former BPI student named Powerful. It fell to me to walk the dogs, and I took them on a loop that included the entire length of the Chamomile Heawaters Trail and some of the Gullies Trail. Early in the walk, when I was only a couple hundred feet down the Farm Road, I saw four for five (or perhaps more) mountain cyclists riding in a line diagonally from the Farm Road into the forest to its west, heading in the direction of Tommy's house. Tommy is the only person who routinely mountain bikes in these forests, and I suspect these were either him and his friends or him and his family. Ramona expressed great interest in the cyclists, of course, but she didn't bark and she didn't give chase, which is a huge improvement over the way she used to be. Later as I walked up the Chamomile Headwaters Trail, I saw evidence on the trail the cyclists had been biking on that as well.
I stopped on the Gullies Trail at that firewood gathering site & staging area a third of a mile from home and cut two large pieces from the old skeletonized tree lying on the ground a little below the trail. The resulting pieces weighed over 50 pounds each, so I only added one smallish piece to complete a load that came, when I later measured it, to 121 pounds. It was my first firewood-gathering foray since we left for the Adirondacks (unless you count the forays in the Adirondacks themselves).

This evening after Gretchen got back from Fishkill, she quickly baked a pan of brownies and then we drove with the dogs up to that family compound south of Palenville. E & J had invited us to a summer pool party. As we arrived, I was careful to keep our dogs out of the confined space of the pool until the dogs already present (and there were at least four) became acclimated to the sudden presence of Ramona and Eleanor. After a little time had passed, I let Eleanor into the pool area first, since she has less history of initiating fights. When I let Ramona in, I got down on my knees, took her face in my hands, looked into her eyes and said, "Now Ramona, you gotta be good. No fighting? Okay?" She gave me a look as if to say, "Of course Dad, I'm not gonna fight!" And then she looked away, as if embarrassed that her past behavior had made me feel as though I had to have such a conversation. I'm delighted to say Ramona kept to her wordless word, and did her best to avoid the other dogs when they yapped, growled, or demonstrated aggresive body language. There's one dog at the compound named Jesse who suffers from mental challenges and an excessive inclination to bark, particularly at new dogs such as Ramona (but also Eleanor). One piece of evidence of the weakness of his mental faculties is that he must be kept on a leash at all times to keep him from disappearing into the forest and never being seen again. Ramona was very good at avoiding Jesse whenever he came over yapping and knocking things over with his tard-leash. On several occasions I saw her studiously avoiding eye contact with him and some of the other dogs.
Eventually there was a barbecue featuring vegan dogs and patties, fillets of eggplant, and even oyster mushrooms that might have been the most delicious thing I have ever eaten. After some post-dinner swimming in the pool, eight of us went over to the hot tub and did that for awhile. Later at the fire pit, someone handed me a pipe containing finely-ground marijuana (the kind one prepares for a vaporizor), which gave me a much harsher and stronger hit than expected.
Eleanor had joined us at the fire pit, bit when Gretchen and I were preparing to leave, I found Ramona lying on a outdoor couch up near the pool. I couldn't find one of my flip flops, and sure enough, it turned out that Ramona had taken it from 30 feet away to cuddle with it on that couch (along with some random toy). These days Ramona seldom destroys the footwear she cuddles with, but if you're not aware of this behavior, the sometimes-wide separation of shoes can be confusing.

I was too drunk and, more importantly, too stoned to drive, so (as usual) Gretchen drove us home. On Route 32 heading south, we saw the flashing lights of five or six police cars parkled along both sides of the road. Was this one of those sobriety checkpoints I keep hearing about? Sure enough, it was. A youngish cop leaned close in to Gretchen's window and politely asked where she was coming from. "We were visiting friends," Gretchen replied. "Did you have anything to drink?" the cop asked. "No," Gretchen lied. From my side of the car, I told the same lie at the same time. We weren't, as it happened, under oath. Truth be known, Gretchen hadn't drunk much, and what she had she'd drunk a long time ago. She was not drunk. But you don't want to give these guys any reason to ask you any further questions. The cop waved us on. As Gretchen accelerated out of the stop, another cop walked slowly across the road in front of us without looking up at all. He was that confident in the screening process being made by his colleague. This was the third or fourth actual sobriety checkpoint I've known about in my entire life, and it was the first I'd ever actually experienced. In this area, such checkpoints are always set up on high-traffic state roads such as NY 199, NY 375, NY 28, and now NY 32. I should mention that Gretchen is a little ambivalent about sobriety checkpoints. On the one hand, she admits they're in conflict with the normal conventions of American policing, wherein people (okay, maybe not black people) are left alone until they do something detectably illegal or unsafe. But she also doesn't want there to be drunk drivers on the road.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?150808

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