Installing Ubuntu

Okay, Windows XP has slowed to a crawl. You hate to turn off your laptop, because every time you do so, some program tells you it's not shutting down properly. And when you re-boot, Windows takes forever and insists that you put in a (missing) original CD to update another program. Firefox has been penetrated by a virus; it crawls anyway.

It is time to switch to Ubuntu, the truly user-friendly version ("distro" or distribution) of Linux. Here is a How To Install Ubuntu.

It's easy; it really is, for even a moderately technical person like me. I found the most difficult part to be making the Ubuntu system CD. You can't just copy data files; you have to "burn the ISO image onto the CD." More on that in a bit. Here is an overview of the steps I followed.

Backup Files
Whatever files you want to keep (photos, documents, spreadsheets, etc., probably all in the My Documents folder) you should save to CD. I used 4 CDs, but I didn't keep any music or video files; they can get bulky. Or you can save your files on a thumb drive.

Download Ubuntu
Go to the Ubuntu website; download the latest version (9.04 as of July, 2009). That will be a single ".iso image." It resembles a Zip or WinRAR file, but do not unzip it with such a tool. It is important to keep it as one, unitary thing, i.e. an ".iso image" that you will burn to your CD.

Burning the ISO to the CD
This took me the most time, because I am a noob. You need to use CD burning software like Nero, Roxio, or CDBurnerXP (which is what I used). I am not sure why, but none of the forums or guidelines indicated that you could use a more common media player such as you might use to burn a music CD.

When I tried to download any CD burning software, all of them informed me that they needed Microsoft's .NET Framework (all 230MB!) before they could run. So, at this point, it seemed pretty complicated. But ... it's simple enough to download the .NET Framework; it installs easily. Then download and install CDBurnerXP or some other CD burning software.

Using that software, open up your Ubuntu "iso image" (don't call it a file) and "burn" it to the CD (don't just copy & paste the individual folders & files). This can take some time, but then you will have a bootable Ubuntu system CD.

Telling your PC to look in the CD drive for an OS
This can vary from machine to machine, but my Dell Inspiron B130 might be typical. It is set up to look for an operating system (OS) on the hard drive before it looks in the CD drive. So, to reverse that order, one needs to modify the dreaded BIOS. It's okay; being reasonably careful, nothing will blow up. For my laptop, I had to hit F2 once a second while it was booting up; that took me to the BIOS menu, where there was a choice to change the order of places to look for an OS. The idea is to make it look in the CD drive before the hard drive. Move 'CD drive' to the top of the list. Save and exit. (Other PCs might use different keys to get at the BIOS.)

Installing Ubuntu
Now the fun part. With the Ubuntu system CD in the drive, re-boot the machine. You'll get a choice to "install without changing anything" (or words to that effect). Try it and see. No destruction of Windows. No partitions. No formatting your hard drive. Not yet anyway. :) You'll be able to run Ubuntu. In my case, I wanted to make sure it would find my network card. It did, and I supplied the WEP key. Bingo. I had internet access. Next, I wanted to print. No problem; it easily found the drivers for my HP All-in-One Laserjet 6310, and printed a test page. I was sold.

Having previously saved my data files to CD, I now went back and did a total install of Ubuntu. I wrote right over Windows, using my entire hard drive. It wiped Windows right out, or as Ripley would say, "nuked it from orbit." Ubuntu installed seamlessly, and didn't take very long.

And, all the software is already there, all part of Ubuntu: Firefox web browser, Evolution email client, F-Spot photo manager, Open Office word processor and spreadsheet (I opened up a Windows Word .doc file, modified it, emailed it to my wife, who opened up the modified version in Word.) And a lot more. Ubuntu rocks.

Totally amazing. I can only ask, "Why would anyone PAY MONEY for such an inferior product as a Windows operating system?"

Mousavi's call to shut down Iran's bazaars

Mir Hossein Mousavi, on his Facebook page today, June 23 2009, called for his supporters to shut down the bazaars in all of Iran's cities. Following is a literal translation of his statement, per comments on the Facebook page:

In the name of god who gives life,

We are not going to waste our energy and we will act effectively. We have stated our position on the streets to those responsible for the coup d’état and also all the world. Now it is time to change our tactics.

Starting on Tuesday, everyday from 9:00AM all over Iran, we will move toward the Bazaar of that city. If they prevent that, we will close the Bazaar. Even if they do not prevent it, the crowd will result in closing of the Bazaar. If they disconnect the phones in the early morning, we will disrupt the activities all over country and Bazaar will close. As much as possible, we close all the city and we move toward Bazaar so we can close Bazaar. We want everyone to be together in this....

Bring the kids – be very quiet- No slogans- no green- We act like we are going to shop but we will not buy anything. We will be thinking about closing of the Bazaar. We will not leave any signs of ourselves. Even we will not show sign of victory with our fingers, No way...

We will only think about victory. Bring the kids also. All over Iran, in all cities, with no slogans, no slogans, no slogans, quietly, with no green, without getting involved in confrontations. If someone tries to cause trouble, we will not get involved since supposedly, we have gone to do our shopping. There is no fear in this and everyone will come.

There will be no beating, no bloodshed, no slogan, no confrontation, no sit-in. If they prevent us, easily we come back since our goal is to close bazaar, not to have a gathering. If they use tear gas, bazaar will close. We are smart and we will not get involved in confrontation. Even though if there is a confrontation, that will result in Bazaar not being secure and will result in closing of the Bazaar.

But we will not get into confrontation. We will be only thinking about victory. Either Bazaar will become closed as result of our crowd or there will be no one and it will become closed that way. Any way, we will win

Mr. Mousavi, we don’t need your bravery and readiness to become to martyr, We need your leadership. Until we get results, until 9:00AM Tuesday morning which will be 3 days from martyrdom of those killed on 30th of Khordad (June 20th) , we have time to let people know about this information. Any way you can, let your friends and foreign media know about this information, through internet sites, let them know that starting from Tuesday morning, we will move toward Bazaar,

Send this information to your friends and also to following addresses, let it become public knowledge all over beloved Iran. This plan is effective and there is no fear in it and will result in bringing milions of Iranians into the scene without any bloodshed. Be certain that this plan is so effective that the enemy will start denying it and it ... Read Morewill start the rumors and the enemy will try its best. So don’t be fooled, this plan will continue, do not listen to the rumors and let everyone know about this plan.

With hope of success

65 Jumps - The Baker

One of our rituals is Elaine's birthday, which we celebrate during our second week at the lake, the centerpiece being a large vanilla birthday cake. Right around sunset, we gather on the deck overlooking the lake, and serve up the cake, some soft ice cream from Donnelly's, chips and dip, and maybe a bottle of wine. If we're lucky, we get a photograph of the three girls.

The cake is always delicious. Always. Because we get it from the world's best baker, the lady who runs Lake Flour Bakery, and who also must be the world's worst business person. The bakery itself is located on the main highway leading into the town of Saranac Lake, just one block before Main Street. The small white building sits across from Lake Flower, affording the apt pun in the name of the bakery. It is a perfect location.

A few years ago, however, Nancy, the baker and proprietor, went to the local Chamber of Commerce meeting. And she had a complaint. The town needed better street signs. Why? It seems that people were coming into her shop to ask directions. Which she apparently found intolerable.

Originally, the bakery was open for business, with something like reasonable business hours. But now, it is almost always closed, and Nancy has turned her baking business into a road show, hauling her delicious baked goods to Farmers Markets in the region, some 15 or 20 miles away. It is unclear why she prefers to load the goods into her van, haul it around the Adirondacks, while the bakery's spacious, convenient parking lot remains roped-off. Better to discourage those direction-seekers, I suppose.

But, if you venture into the lot on the day of Saranac Lake's own farmer's market, you can find the lady herself. And, if you are feeling bold, you might ask for a few loaves of her unique sausage bread. And she will furrow her brow, look intensely confused and displeased, grit her teeth, and ask skeptically, "How many?" ... "Four?" ... "Well, I really want to have some for the farmers' market in Tupper Lake, and that's a long way, and the other day someone wanted a wedding cake decorated to look like maple leaves on it, so I had to get actual maple leaves to model the decorations, and it's been a long day ... But, I suppose, I could sell you four loaves."

And then, pushing our luck, we order Elaine's birthday cake. She looks at us narrowly, "I think I better get a pen and paper to write this down." She disappears into the bakery and emerges with half a piece of eight-and-a-half by eleven paper, and begins to write down the details of the cake order. Invariably her pen has run out of ink, and we get one out of the car. "A single-layer full sheet or a double-layer half-sheet?" she asks suspiciously. "Whatever would be easier for you!" And so it goes. Finally, we negotiate the cake (not the price; her prices are quite reasonable).

And the cake really is outstanding. If you are ever in Saranac Lake on Farmers' Market day, be sure to stop by Lake Flour Bakery, but just don't trespass any other time.

65 Jumps - Growing Up on The Lake

(Continuing the draft of the story '65 Jumps,' started back on 12/28/08, intended to be read sequentially.)

From 1998, when Nate and Anna were 7 and 5 years old, we have been returning to our summer family on Lower Saranac Lake. The growth of this special extended family just happened, and while I know that the Paces and the McManuses are among our oldest friends at the lake, and that the Windels and Karps were definitely on the scene by 2002, the evolution of what we sometimes call "The Manhunt Clan" just seemed to happen.

Kurt Vonnegut coined the words "karass" and "granfalloon" to describe the two different types of human groups.

A karass is a spontaneously forming group, joined by unpredictable links, that actually gets stuff done, "a team that do[es] God's Will without ever discovering what they are doing." A granfalloon, on the other hand, is a "false karass," a bureaucratic structure that looks like a team but is "meaningless in terms of the ways God gets things done...

Atheist that I am, I like to think that, if there is a God, it is His will that people spend a week or two a year in heaven on Earth; fishing, hanging out on the dock, swimming, sifting little semi-precious stones from bags of sand at tourist-trap caves, motoring slowly through a narrow river channel while Great Blue Herons reluctantly flap away, and, most importantly, the kids have a chance to spend some great time every year with familiar, non-judgemental, other kids.

It is like family without the baggage, a karass, I like to think.

Every year, for nearly a decade, Nate, Anna, Chelsea, Shannon, Ericka, David, Anna, Nathan, Bryan, Daniel, (and others more recently) have spent this time together. They now know each other as well as anyone. The friendships develop over the years, but there's no peer pressure. They all accept each, warts and all, for the week. In between times, they email, they send text messages, they visit, they see each other over the webcam, and on and on.

Kids' lives are full of problems and challenges and insecurities. What a struggle. But every year, if only for a week or two, it all goes away. They are At The Lake and that's it.

And on top of that, each family has its own store of photographs, memories, and stories to get them through long winter nights, or to help count down the weeks remaining until August when it's only early April.

A photo of Anna, when she was about six, wearing a light blue Cub Scout hat, holding a fishing rod, smiling a peculiarly satisfied smile occupied a prime spot at my office desk for years. We took it on a walk to Moose Pond, a spot that we haven't gone back to since.

And there's a photo of Nate, from which I am oddly absent. He landed a 23 inch Northern Pike one day when he was about seven. When he first heard the noisy splashing, we thought he or Robbie had fallen in. But he landed this truly monstrous fish, and of course, we wanted a photograph. I inexpertly tried to pick the thing up, but he opened his jaws so widely, I thought I might lose a finger. A helpful, more knowledgeable guest, came to the rescue and held up the fish. The photo of a beaming young Nate next to the anonymous guest holding the huge fish still decorates the office at Ampersand Bay, and we have a few 5-by-7's of it too.

We can follow a whole history of life preservers, from the first little yellow toddler ones, with the all-important head supports, to Nate's latest, high-tech gray-blue, absurdly trendy item.

There are even rituals associated with it: Manhunt, jumping off the Bluff, going to Sandy Beach, Kathy & Ira's picnics, buying sausage bread from Lake Flour Bakery, going to Donnelly's for Fruit Surprise, Joe's fish-fry, and so on. Each one of which the children, and the adults, imbue with special significance, because of all the history that is wrapped up in each event.

65 Jumps - No boats to pack

In the early years, 1998 through 2001, we didn't have our own boat. We still enjoyed Saranac Lake, but in retrospect, it was nowhere near as much fun as having your own boat, tied up fifty feet from your unit, ready to hop into whenever you wanted.

Our first trip to Saranac Lake was in 1998. I know that because one of my most prized possessions is a well-worn USGS topographic map of Saranac Lake, which I have noted with trip highlights over the years. In the lower left is an "X" on Middle Saranac Lake, with the brief note, "picnic 8/20/98."

Nate was 7 and Anna was 5 that year; it was our first real vacation since the kids had been born. Elaine and I had talked about the vacations we had taken when we were children. And we both liked the idea of a car trip to some destination in the Northeast. Her family had frequently gone camping, and at eight years old, she had figured out how to put up the family-size tent, while her father enjoyed a cold beer. One of their destinations had been Fish Creek, near Upper Saranac Lake. As my own family had always stayed in house-keeping cabins in Cape Cod or Maine, the idea of camping out, huddling in some cold nasty tent in the rain, appalled me.

But the destination, the Adirondacks, seemed interesting, and I had learned in twelve years of marriage that suggesting something familiar to my wife, something related to her own experience, was more likely to fly than some wholly alien concept. I used this new "internet" thing from my office computer to locate a promising place: the Ampersand Bay Boat Club, in the Saranac Lakes area, with housekeeping cabins. Cleverly having dodged the camping bullet, I presented the idea to Elaine, who agreed.

We reserved a cabin for a week, paid for it in advance, and arrived there in the first week of August, 1998. John and Kate were the owners and managers. They were definitely low-key. The cabins were adequately maintained, but no more. The towels were thin, well-worn, white with a green stripe, the type you'd find in any cheap motel. You carried your trash to the recycling area out back. They had a few rowboats for hire, equipped with 8 hp outboard motors, and one blue pontoon boat with a ... *drum roll, please* ... 25 hp motor. A distinctly low maintenance operation.

There were about 20 cabins clustered around an open grassy area fronting the lake and a little weedy beach. Standing on the beach, looking out west at Ampersand Bay, the three-story main building and driveway was on your right. Off to the left was the so-called Heron Creek Boathouse, a building even more run-down than the cabins, incorporating six tiny units perched above the boats.

One day that first year, I ventured to rent one of the rowboats. Nate and Anna donned their proper yellow life-preservers, with headpieces to help keep their little heads out of the water in the event, and we piled in. John showed me how to start the boat, how to use the throttle, and how to steer the boat with the motor. I nodded and tried to absorb, and then, on my own, promptly backed the boat in a nearly-circular course, stopped only by the weeds fouling the prop. We pushed off with the oars, cleared the tangled green mess out of the prop, got someone to shove us off a safe distance, and started the motor again. Or tried to start it. Drifting back to the dock, John took mercy on us, started the outboard, and shoved us off.

I gripped the tiller tightly and we moved off noisily. We certainly did not "speed off," but chugged along, me with my hand on the tiller, grimly willing the boat forward. I had a map of the lake and my first thought was to explore the inlets and bays like Pope Bay, which we quickly learned, all look alike from the water. We motored on gamely, aiming for the river at the far western end of the lake.

Heading out there for the first time, the river channel leading up to Middle Saranac Lake was not easy to find, and we ended up in the dead end of Boot Bay. Circling back, we passed through the Narrows and found the red and green buoys marking the channel. Motoring up the winding river, through the lock, and continuing farther through even more swampy flooded land, it was beautiful, but a bit endless. Eventually we emerged into a broad open lake, thick with a distinctive water-grass in the shallows. The channel cut through the grass, when we got out onto the much larger openness of this lake, we decided to turn right and see what might be on shore. (We thus missed the main attraction of Middle Saranac Lake, its wonderful sandy beach, hiding several hundreds yard to the left.) With the young kids quite worn out and the sky getting overcast, we spotted an unoccupied campsite, marked by a blue and white #65 (?) sign. Beaching the boat, and having no choice but to shut off the motor, we ate our sandwiches. With no campfire, threatening clouds, cranky little ones, and a rented motorboat which I had already shown I couldn't start, we didn't stay very long. With a yank or two on the cord, John's 8 hp outboard motor spluttered to life, and we thankfully headed back.

Through the tall grass, through the winding river, again through the lock, more sinuous river, and the rain began to come down. Elaine had brought rain jackets, and we donned them as we regained Lower Saranac Lake. My wrist and arm were tired from holding the throttle at full, but the little boat would only go so fast. We plowed back the 5 miles to Ampersand Bay.

The rest of that week involved car trips to local destinations like the Indian (?) Cave and Mine, fishing off the dock (or rather, watching the kids fish off the dock), and playing with the kids on the little beach at Ampersand.

The week drew to a close, and we liked the place. It seemed possible that might even want to return again the following year. We were not certain, but wanted to explore such a possibility. "John," I asked, "when would we reserve the cabin if we wanted it again next year?" He smiled the broad smile of a businessman who has just closed a deal, and said "Right now." We could reserve it then, and not have to put down a deposit until January." That was easy enough, and if, by chance, we did want to spend another year at this odd little place, we could.

Eleven years later, and we're still going back for more.

65 Jumps - A Real Blind Man's Bluff

We were not the only ones to enjoy jumping off the bluff. It's a popular destination for anyone out on the lake, and other families frequent it, although more locals than tourists, many of whom prefer the smooth aisles of the Lake Placid Benetton to the pine needles, tree roots, and uneven bedrock of Bluff Island. Many times, another family or another group would appear, and we'd all share that feeling you get when just you and a few other people know some secret.

On August 16, 2002, two days after our discovery of Bluff Island we went back again. This day the Windels (Derek, Liz, Nathan, & Anna) came out too. After we were settled, another rather noisy large gang pulled up in canoes near the base of the bluff. It seemed to be youth group, with adult leaders and distinctly less-than-capable teenagers. They were blind. We couldn't believe it. It was an "Outward Bound" type youth outing, bringing blind and disadvantaged kids canoe-camping in the Adirondacks for a few weeks. They tied up their watercraft and the leaders brought them up to the bluff. And they loved it.

The blind teenage boys fell into two stereotypes: big, strong black guys and skinny, pale white kids. The guides were middle-aged, and managed their charges with a casualness that surprised us. They all spread out and we all chatted and interacted. I was with one of the white kids, who wanted to sit by the water, right at the water's edge, with his feet dangling in the water. "No, I don't know how to swim," he said. But when I pulled him back or moved him, he insisted that he wanted to feel his feet in the water. Somewhat ashamed that I had not grasped his interest in sensing the cool water of the lake lapping at his toes, I relented and brought him back to the edge.

Elaine noticed one of the larger black blind kids, Ellis, who was large enough, but not that muscular, and distinctly even less capable than the rest. "Stephen" she called in a voice of studied casualness that I understood immediately, "throw me one of those white cushions from the boat." Yeah, one of the white life-saving cushions that Ellis could grab onto while he flailed in the water. I had rigged up a yellow line, extending down into the water, to assist out new sightless friends getting out of the water. (Many of them could swim, and had been jumping in.) But poor Ellis, he seemed to spend most of the time splashing away, half-drowning, hollering, and fumbling with the cushion and the rope, while Elaine watched and helped him as much as she could. He must have been more capable than he appeared, because the guides never made a move for him, and despite his continuous gurgling protests, he neither drowned nor did anyone haul him out of the water.

Ellis' behavior, and the guides indifferent approach to it, helped set up the final scene. Many of the blind kids had gone in the water, they all seemed to get along, and there were plenty of adults right there. It all seemed safe enough. When one of the big black blind kids picked up one of the skinny white ones, and took him to the edge of the bluff, with the intent to throw him in, I didn't think much of it. The smaller kid was protesting, but no more vehemently than any sighted kid in the same situation. I glanced at the guides, who were unconcerned. The big kid stood up, raised the smaller one up high, faced right out onto the wide open lake ... and then, to my speechless, frozen, horror, threw the damn kid sideways, ... bouncing and scraping and howling down along the steeply slanting bluff. A few people went right in after him, and pulled him to safety, none the worse for wear, other than a long nasty scrape on his forearm.

We were all pretty shaken, and when the blind group paddled off, we were relieved that nothing worse had happened. The late afternoon sun went behind the clouds, the wind picked up, the temperature dropped, we packed up the boats, and headed in.

65 Jumps - The Lake

Saranac Lake, or more precisely, Lower Saranac Lake, is one of three lakes in a chain: Upper, Middle, and Lower. Almost all of the vacation events took place on Lower Saranac Lake, usually called just Saranac Lake, or more simply The Lake. The nearby town is also named Saranac Lake; it lies about ten miles west of Lake Placid.

The lake itself is about five miles long and a mile and a half across at its widest point. It is situated obliquely on the map, from the East (or a little bit north of east) to the West/Southwest. Ampersand Bay, where we stay is at the eastern end.

The lake is dotted with about twenty named islands, from the largest, Eagle, to the tiny rocks: Otter and Mink. While the lake looks simple enough on a map: a long irregular oval with numerous bays, peninsulas, islands, the first time one goes out there in a rented motorboat, especially if it's an overcast day, everything begins to look alike very quickly.

The islands lend a lot of interest to the lake, making it seem larger than it is, affording fabulous camping sites, and providing variety for the boaters. Generally speaking, the medium-sized islands all fit the same pattern: boulders at the water's edge and pine trees covering them thickly. While Bluff Island is large and distinctive, and Eagle, being so close and so big, is also easy to remember, it's generally the smaller ones that are memorable. Aptly named Gull Rock sits alone in the middle of the western half of the lake. A pyramidal rock no more than six feet high, covered with with bird dropping, and usually one Ring-billed Gull perched on top. The Sister Islands, like a pleasant Charybdis, beckon the boaters to stop for a bit. Otter and Mink, befitting their names, are virtually identical little discs, with about a twenty trees each, and sitting out by themselves. But Fern, Sable, Halfway, Green, Partridge, Duck, Goose, and the rest are damnably difficult to tell apart, for the first few seasons.

But the river channels connecting it to other lakes are what makes Lower Saranac Lake so wonderful. A bit more geography here. While "Lower" is indeed the lowest and last of the three lakes named "Saranac," it also connects to some other lakes near the eponymous town. In fact, we can dismiss Upper Saranac Lake completely; it's another world, of old money and restricted great camps. For us, "Lower" is the center of all things. Go up the distant western river, and you arrive at the nearly empty Middle Saranac Lake, with its marvellous sandy beach. And if you go down the other river channel, the one that heads south from Bluff Island, you can go all the way into the village, past the houses, marinas, and busy roads, to tie up your boat at Mountain Mist, and have a frozen custard sundae.

That's the key to Lower Saranac Lake; it links rustic, natural, "get-away-from-it-all" unspoiled beauty with motorboats, jet skis, and soft ice cream. One would not mistake downtown Saranac Lake for New York City, but it's an actual town, with a main street, a Sears, a hotel, a bakery, a library, etc. As for the other end - Middle Saranac Lake - there is nothing there: no automobile access, no houses, nothing but water, sand, boaters, and Bald Eagles.