Category Archives: Totally random

Andy’s Still Missing

Andy — the corgi whose disappearance nearly 4 months ago brought out hundreds of volunteers, spawned thousands of posters and sparked an avalanche of media attention — has made the New York Times.

Benoit Denizet-Lewis writes in tomorrow’s Magazine:

How far would you go to find your lost dog? Mike and Jordina Ghiggeri, whose 11-year-old Welsh corgi ran away in Westport, Conn., on New Year’s Eve, printed some 10,000 fliers, installed 14 night-vision cameras and 4 dog traps (in which they caught a dog that had been missing for 18 months but wasn’t their dog). Then they hired a pet detective and issued A.P.B.’s. “We’re not giving up,” Mike told me.

Last Stop: Minnybus

Near the corner of North Avenue and Easton Road — right by Coleytown Elementary School — stands this little wisp of Westport weirdness:

In “A Stop at Willoughby” — one of Rod Serling’s most famous “Twilight Zone” episodes ever — a New York advertising executive on the train home to Westport finds himself transported to an idyllic town called Willoughby. In the year 1888.

This sign reminds me of that. Perhaps if I stand there long enough, a diesel-powered Mercedes minnybus will lumber by.

I’ll climb on board, ride it all over town, and suddenly it will be the 1970s all over again.

Oops! (Heh Heh)

What would you or I think if we saw building plans for a new home with a 3-car garage, but no driveway?

Unbelievable oversight, right?

But here in Westport, architects and homeowners think differently.

They think: Gotcha!

Apparently, zoning regulations do not always require a driveway. And without a driveway, builders can gain hundreds of extra square feet of coverage.

Of course, no one builds a 3-car garage without planning to use it.

So the next step, after the home is built, is an appeal to the ZBA for a waiver. To build the driveway that was needed all along.

This is a true story. But now we’re on to the ruse.

Gotcha!

Dude, where's my driveway?!

Judging The Jury

Some people spent last week skiing, on a cruise ship, or otherwise enjoying the school break.

I was summoned to Stamford Superior Court.

Stamford Superior Court -- in, appropriately enough, an artist's rendering.

For the 3rd time in 3 years, I received a summons for jury duty. The first 2 years, a call the night before brought the waaaay welcome news that my services would not be required. This year, my (10-digit jurors’) number was up.

I sailed through security bright and early on my Big Day. I was not wanded, full-body searched, or even forced to remove my shoes. TSA: Take note!

The jury room on the 3rd floor had industrial carpeting — not the linoleum I remembered from previous jury service years ago. (Back then I was questioned for the wood chipper murder panel. That experience still makes for great cocktail party conversation.)

A hundred or so people — the attire ranged from jeans to business casual — spread comfortably in the large room. The chairs were comfortable; the lighting pleasant. This was nothing like “Twelve Angry Men.”

The scene on everyone's minds.

Yet none of the dozens of potential jurors spoke, or even made eye contact. We were all lost in our own thoughts. It was, I imagine, what sitting in the waiting room of an STD clinic must be like. I imagine!

A morning TV show with perky people played on the large screen. The sound level was, thankfully, low — far less intrusive than TVs in airport terminals and auto repair shops.

At 8:50 — just 20 minutes after our arrival — a nice young woman with a New York accent mounted the stage. She managed to make the same patter she’s probably delivered 1000 times seem fresh, then played an informational video. In plain, non-condescending tones, it explained things like voir dire, the presumption of innocence, and the difference between civil and criminal cases.

So far, so good. Still, not one of us had said a word.

I was marveling that I knew no one in the room — living most of my life in Fairfield County, I should have seen at least one familiar face — when a Westport attorney strode through the room. Looking all legal and ready to kick ass, he suddenly stopped at my seat.

“Hey, Dan!” he said. We chatted a bit, then he went off to pick a jury. Would I be lucky enough to get called on his case, and be excused because I’ve known him for 30 years? My heart soared.

We continued to sit. This was just like an airport, though without the squawking flight announcements and erotic smell of Cinnabons.

Next up: taking the “jurors’ oath.” We all swore to tell the truth, so help us god.

This was not our judge.

Then: here came the judge. He reiterated that — if we were chosen — we could not engage in any private research about the case. He was businesslike, clear, but also friendly. He was the kind of judge I’d like on my case, which fortunately I was not there for. What I was there for was to wait.

We had a break until 9:50. At that point the dueling attorneys explained the 1st case, which would last about a week. It was medical malpractice involving, apparently — they mentioned “plastic surgeons” — Botox gone bad.

My friend, Mr. Attorney, came on to present the 2nd case. This too was medical malpractice — and it was predicted to last 6 weeks. That sound I heard was all the jurors who had not been selected for the 1st case trying to figure out how the hell they were going to get out of that one.

I would have been a slam-dunk reject. Besides knowing the plaintiffs’ lawyer, I knew many of the people and doctors associated with the case.

But @#$%^&*! I had been randomly assigned to the first case: Botox gone bad.

One by one, my fellow (and very silent) juror-mates were called in to conferences. The attorney’s aims were to pick a panel that — based on bizarre factors known only to them — they hoped would favor their client. Our (unspoken) aim was to not be one of those they picked.

Twelve very Angry Men.

At 12:20, my name was finally called. Self- employed people like me were invited to explain their circumstances to the attorneys. I described mine. I was not selected.

Part of me was pleased: I would not have to spend a week in court listening to lawyers and medical experts, then haggling with (I imagined) the modern-day version of Twelve Angry Men And Women while more days dragged by.

Part of me, though, knew this was selfish. We’re all entitled to a jury of our peers, not a jury of people who don’t have reasons not to serve.

And part of me will always wonder: Just how badly did those doctors botch up the Botox, anyway?

Lots O’ Puddles

After the biggest snowfall in recent memory — half an inch last night — this is what the library parking lot looked like today:

That’s what we get for building on the site of the old town dump.

One Good Reason Not To Give Up Your Cell Phone For Lent

Today is Ash Wednesday — the traditional beginning of Lent.

Here in Westport, apparently, it’s also the beginning of the use of QR codes to advertise the special day.

Whether or not St. Luke’s is the 1st church in the world to embrace QR technology* or not — and it very well may be — the 11th Commandment still stands: Thou shalt not text in the pews.

*QR codes — like those shown above — are those bizarre-looking designs which, when put into your cell phone, exhibit gobs of information about whatever is being described or advertised (in this case, Ash Wednesday). NOTE: You need a QR code reader app to access all that info.

We Thought It Would Never End

Well, another brutal winter is nearly over.

After so much snow, ice and sub-zero temperatures, it’s nice to know that spring is on the way.

Thanks to alert “06880″ reader Elise Meyer, for these shots of Brookside Drive. Hard to believe all that white stuff is finally gone!

All Those Nice Cottages

Avi Kaner was sitting in the airport the other day, waiting for an overseas flight.

Avi is Westport’s Board of Finance chairman, but at that moment he was like any other traveler: killing time by chatting with a random stranger also waiting to board.

The man — Uwe — lives in Italy. but was raised in Germany. When Avi said mentioned his own home, Uwe said,  “I lived in Westport!”

Turns out Uwe was a member of the Wollmatingen Soccer Club, in Konstanz. For over a decade beginning in the early 1970s, Westport and Konstanz had an exchange program. I remember those days well.

One summer, Westport players and coaches would travel abroad for 2 weeks. We’d stay in host homes, and in the spirit of freundschaft the German families took us all around beautiful Lake Constance, throughout southern Germany, and into the nearby Swiss Alps.

The next year, we’d reciprocate. We’d open our homes to them, arranging cookouts at Compo and excursions to New York City and Mystic.

There was plenty of soccer too. (Yes, the Americans did fine.)

Clearly, Uwe remembered Westport fondly — to the point of saying he “lived” here.

Of course, he had a few questions for Avi. For example, he asked about “all those nice cottages spread throughout Westport.”

Time sure plays tricks on the memories of our youth.

3 Lost Sisters

Having lived in Westport my whole life, I thought I knew everything about this town.

From the Bankside Farmers to the banks no one ever goes to; from F. Scott Fitzgerald to Marilyn Chambers, I’ve heard all the stories.

Except the fact that Westport has 3 sister cities.

It’s right there in Wikipedia, which never seldom lies: “Westport currently has three sister cities: Marigny, France; St. Petersburg, Russia; Yangzhou, China.”

If that’s true, we must be part of a very dysfunctional family. You know, the kind that never gets together– even for holidays, weddings and funerals.

Well, it is true. I typed “sister cities” into the town website. There it is again, under “Appointed Boards”:

The Westport Sister Cities Association is a non-profit organization dedicated to improving human ties and understanding through cultural, trade, and educational exchange with other communities throughout the world. The Association strives to enrich the lives of Westport and Fairfield County residents through participation in such exchanges.

Westport currently has three sister cities: Marigny, France; St. Petersburg, Russia; Yangzhou, People’s Republic of China.

So we not only have 3 sisters — we’ve got an entire Association dedicated to them.

Marigny - magnifique!

The Marigny connection makes sense. Right after D-Day Westporter Bob Loomis — a gun sergeant — ended up there, 25 miles from Utah Beach. A couple of weeks later another Westporter, heavy machine gunner Clay Chalfant, moved through Marigny with his company on their way to Belgium.

Woody Klein’s history of Westport notes that after the war Charlotte MacLear, head of the French department at Staples, sparked an campaign to “officially adopt Marigny” and help its recovery. Our town sent clothes, money and Christmas gifts, thanks to fundraising that included selling toys and buckets with designs painted by Westport artists.

In return, Marigny created the “Westport School Canteen,” and named the town’s largest square “Place Westport.”

In June 1994 — as part of the 50th anniversary of the invasion of Normandy — Marigny invited 3 Westport middle school students and 2 Westport veterans to stay in the homes of residents. They visited shops named “Westport Pharmacy” and “Westport Gift Shop.” The 2 veterans were, of course,  Loomis and Chalfant

Zut alors!

St. Petersburg seems to have no connection to Westport. It is, however, the only one of our 3 sisters I’ve actually visited. I don’t recall any signs hanging near the Hermitage or Neva River saying “Здравствуйте, Westport” (thanks, Google Translate!).

Of course, I might have missed them. There was a lot of vodka involved.

St. Petersburg -- not too shabby.

Finally, Yangzhou. Of our 3 lost sisters, this was the one with the most potential. After all, the US is now a wholly-owned subsidiary of China, so we ought to embrace our relative with all the money.

Bingo! (Or, as we say via Google Translate, 宾果!)

Google offered several links. The 1st was a long-ago sister-city site on a Staples server. It hasn’t been updated since 2002, but it included information about exchange programs with students, and a trip to Yangzhou by long-ago social studies teacher Todd Parker. Though the messageboard, chatroom and guestbook were all defunct, clearly some sort of arrangement once existed.

Clicking the link to Yangzhou’s official site delivered this error message: “The URL. www.china-yz.com is categorized as ‘pornography.’”

Now we’re talking!

Yangzhou in the spring.

Another link brought up a long-ago journal entry from Chris Fray, the Staples Mandarin teacher. Traveling in China, he wrote:

I meet Joel and Arline Epstein, two Westporters who have recently moved from Long Island. They are on a four day visit to Yangzhou and want to meet me. Joel and Arline are active in the Westport Sister City Committee and have come to Yangzhou to scout out some potential activities for the Committee as part of a larger-scale visit to China….We spend most of the dinner discussing China and the potential of future exchanges between Westport and Yangzhou.

And in June 2005, WestportNow reported, then-First Selectwoman Diane G. Farrell visited Yangzhou to “commemorate” the 10th anniversary of the sister city relationship, and then renew it.

Since then, 这是她写道 (“that’s all she wrote”).

Chris Fray confirms that — after 9 years or so of teacher exchanges, and a few other connections involving photographers and businesspersons — our Yangzhou connection has petered out.

There’s no more information online about our sister-city relationship with Yangzhou — or St. Petersburg, or Marigny. And, Chris thinks, the sister city committee hasn’t met in several years.

Do you think it was something we said?

Intrepid Entrepreneur Wanted

Alert “06880″ reader Melissa Ceriale and her son 10-year-old son Jack recently spent 2 months in Paris. In between museum and Eiffel Tower trips they discovered Oya Café, an “out-of-the-way but amazing games shop.”

Inside are floor-to-ceiling displays of board and card games from around the world, and for all ages. They’re all available to rent, for an hour or an evening. You also pay 5 euros to sit and play for as long as you want.

Inside Oya Cafe.

There are competitive games, educational games, group collaboration games, war games, animal games — the variety seems endless.

The expert staff helps with everything, from selection to rules and questions.

Drinks (non-alcoholic) are served. Snacks too, but limited to avoid messes on tables.

It’s a very popular place for a non-custodial parent to spend an evening with children, Melissa says — much more interactive than a movie or play area.

Melissa adds: “I toss this out there as it is an interesting retail venue, one that could perhaps be of potential in a family community such as ours. Maybe there’s an entrepreneurial reader out there looking for the next big thing to hit our shores.”

What do you think, Westport? Is this just the thing for our next vacant storefront — perhaps Achorn’s, Talbots or the Liquor Locker?

Nah.  Probably another clothing chain.