Mississippi Ramblings

American Gods by Neil Gaiman

2009-10-15T19:42:00.002-05:00

Just finished American Gods by Neil Gaiman; interesting concept and well written. I'll warn you it's a darker sort of fantasy novel -- you won't spend a lot of time laughing on this one. But it's definitely worth reading and, after Neverwhere and American Gods, while Gaiman isn't on my must read list, he's on my probably read list. Since the must read list doesn't finish off my reading appetite, I'll likely pick up a few of my own over the coming months . . . instead of waiting to borrow one from a friend again.

Boca Knights by Steven M. Forman

2009-10-13T16:56:00.002-05:00

I ended up disappointed by this one. To start with, if you take out the various history lessons you have about half a book. I'm actually fairly interested in history and have read an historical book or hundred on purpose -- but I'd rather they be written by an historian and not a fiction writer. I don't order chicken at the Oyster Shack and I don't read history by fiction writers.

With the half a book left, it had the occasional moment -- at one point I approached almost thinking about considering the possibility of laughing (well, chuckling) out loud -- but overall I tended to not be involved in the characters or story arc. Everything was pretty predictable, with indistinguishable characters. As a semi-aside, I always find it interesting when characters (or people) tend to rationalize violence when in support of their ideology, but find it abhorrent when in support of those in opposition. While that could be a topic for a later blog entry, the part of the aside that makes it semi is this book marked the first time I've had a character -- via first person writing -- explain why the two are clearly different. I think the convoluted rationalization it took to pull that concept off was the funniest part of this book, though not intended to be humorous.

Overall, not a lot of imagination in the stereotypical characters, and nothing story-wise to hold my interest, but I did read to the end so it had some merit.

I'll add a standard disclaimer: I like raw oysters, SWMBO hates 'em. In other words, different tastes yield different results; you might love it.

Book Log 101109

2009-10-11T18:57:00.003-05:00

Wow, it has been awhile since I put anything here. I think I'll start again utilizing this blog occasionally -- if for nothing else, I'll use it to log the books I've read. I have a bad habit of buying books I've already read, primarily because I read enough that they can fake me out the first few pages. I may throw another post in here or there along with the books.

So, to start, I'll list the last few books I've read; it won't be an exhaustive list since the last time I blogged about books, as I've no idea what all should go there. I'll just start with the ones from this week.

I had never read Ayn Rand's book Atlas Shrugged and decided it was high time -- particularly considering the current political trend and the general knowledge I had of Rand's book. I think there is one key point any reader of Rand can agree on -- she was verbose! I won't go into depth on the ideology and, as mentioned long ago in this blog, I'll have limited review of the books, but it was an interesting view that, though much simplified, has a hard truth: you can only bleed folks for so long.

Many Americans seem to have a distorted view of how our republic works. They think "the government" should pay for this and "the government" should pay for that. The government has one means of paying for anything, and that's to take it from those who earn it. So when someone says, for example, "the government should ensure I have availability to good health care" what they mean is "since I haven't provide the means to pay for my health care, I think the government should take the money by force from those who have earned that money and cover my health care cost." It's a viewpoint, I suppose, but folks just need to understand that the money ain't coming from the government. We are rapidly heading to the point where two families are living next door in the same neighborhood, driving the same brand of car, shopping at the same stores, eating the same food, wearing the same clothes, only one of the two are paying for both families to live at that social level. Eventually the working folks will decided it isn't worth working, and the Ponzi scheme of socialism will crash.

But I digress.

After Atlas Shrugged, I read Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman. It's the first book of Gaiman's I've read, and found it pretty interesting. I borrowed it from someone else, along with American Gods (another Gaiman book), in a "loan swap" where I loaned her the first two Dresden books by Jim Butcher.

After finishing Neverwhere, I read John Sanford's latest Virgil Flowers book; enjoyed it, and have now loaned it to my brother who took it on a trip to Arizona.

I'm currently reading a couple of books. I started American Gods, but was in Barnes & Noble and picked up a few books including Boca Knights by Steven M. Foreman, which I started reading in the bookstore while waiting for SWMBO to finish hitting the mall. So I'm sort'a reading them both at present, and reading two at a time is something I rarely do. Not sure which one I'll finish first, but I'll make another post when I complete one or the other.

And that's the book log for today.

Fall From Reality

2008-06-13T09:11:00.004-05:00

So SWMBO and I are picking up a prescription when a guy comes up and asks if he can go ahead of us. We let him, because he looks like he has problems . . . considering he has horse hooves where his hands should be, metal replacements for legs, and a two foot finger growing out of his stomach. Face it, you gotta let this fellow cut line for drugs. While waiting, he complains about the government stopping his benefits from his service in the Vietnam war, where he got these various and sundry replacement parts grafted on to replace missing body parts. I'm thinking first that the doctors who did this should be shot, and second that it still doesn't explain the giant finger growing out of his stomach. I don't ask, though, because I've always made it a practice not to say anything that could tweak the sensibilities of hoof-handed, bionic-legged Vietnam veterans.

He gets his prescription and drives off in a go-cart with plywood attached to the sides and back, where he does doughnuts and trick driving in the parking lot until he crashes and, somehow defying gravity, goes flying over the top of an eighteen wheeler -- at which point SWMBO and I are in the trailer of an eighteen wheeler which has been outfitted as a camper; full kitchen, bath, and -- oh, yeah -- a bed in which we were sleeping and, turns out, I was dreaming the go-cart riding Vietnam Vet.

While riding along in the eighteen-wheeler trailer/camper, we had crashed and our eighteen-wheeler camper/trailer crash coincided with the go-cart crash of the dream that woke me. When I get out to see what caused the crash we are actually not in an eighteen-wheeler trailer/camper but in a train car (I recently read Water for Elephants – may be the source of the train car). Climbing down from the train car I realize it makes no sense that we would be riding around in a train car so this must still be a dream. (Apparently hoof-handed, bionic-legged folks with fingers growing out of their stomachs make enough sense to pass for reality.) I mentally shake myself and wake up at home in bed with SWMBO, though for some reason I’m sleeping crossways along the foot of the bed. Well, a few other odds and end happen in the next couple of minutes (of dream time anyway) at which point I actually do wake up; I'm not sleeping cross ways along the foot of the bed but in the normal position and had been still dreaming. So, of course, I grab a cup of coffee (obviously needed) and sit here now typing this out.

For reasons of brevity (yeah, I know, you're thinking "too late now") I'm leaving out the potlatch tank, the Christmas die-cast truck contest, and waking up lost and parked in someone's driveway. Along with more mundane happenings, these all occurred in last nights fall from reality. I’ve dreamed I was dreaming before but I think this may be the first time I ever dreamed I was dreaming that I was dreaming that I was dreaming. Assuming my waking up parked in a stranger's driveway was a horizontal and not vertical experience, I think that’s as deep as it goes because I think -- I think -- I’m awake now. But if you would, do me a favor and pinch yourself to be sure your awake; hey, if your awake while reading this then I must be awake as well.

Brought to you by FloMax

2008-04-19T22:23:00.003-05:00

Every now and again I check the source of visits to my blog to see what might be bringing folks here. Visits are rare in any case, and when I say I’m checking “now and again,” I hadn’t actually looked since last August. I’m basically hoping to see what google searches lead folks to the “personal mental ramblings set to pixel” I have on display.

My thought in monitoring was to find some search requests that I could fold into a blog post for humor, but I really haven’t had much luck. Since I tend to avoid those offbeat words that might bring the strangely interesting or twisted searches (along the lines of butt plug, hermaphrodite, or Paris Hilton), the search requests that lead to Mississippi Ramblings are fairly benign. Most of the time search engine referrals are based on my BBQing or square foot gardening posts, but when I checked this time I did notice an upward trend of late based around, of all things, my post titled
The Pee Race. There were a couple of searches that included the words “pee” and “bus” or “pee” and “school trip” and I suppose I can see where those might arise, but I was surprised at how many had two things in common: they were specifically about pee races and they were from Italy.

I’ve never been to Italy and chances are I will never go, though I've always thought it would be a great place to visit. Still, the closest I expect I’ll come is the Mario Batali recipes I occasionally prepare or the Chianti Classico I enjoy drinking. So granted, the mental image I have of Italy is poorly formed and when I think of Italy -- which is rare in itself -- the things that pop to mind are the afore-mentioned food and drink as well as the (in?)famous tilted bell tower in Pisa, Sophia Loren (remember Houseboat?), and . . . well, actually, that’s about it. My image of the boot-shaped country has never gone much deeper than that, but now I’ve got this a image forming of a fairly quiet, probably purposely suppressed subculture of Italian Pee Racing.

I’ve been trying to figure out what the rules could be for such a race. I started with the assumption that it’s purely a male sport -- at least, I hope that’s the case, because I didn’t want to go down the mental road that otherwise must be followed. It may just be my old-school, old man gender bias coming to the forefront, but nevertheless I left that one alone.

But even if you assume an all-male sport, there are a lot of questions to be answered. The first question that popped to mind was to wonder if it’s a relay race. Being a guy, I know in a relay race there’s the worry in the heart (and gonads) of every contestant to keep clear which hand has the baton and which hand has the . . . well, accidents would be both dramatic and painful if you passed with the wrong hand. “Ohhh, Bob, that’s a rookie mistake right there; and he was just married. Really tragic.”

You also have to wonder if distance comes into play in more than one aspect. What about accuracy? Staying power? This could go on and on (with enough beer for the contestants), but I stopped with those questions because it didn’t take long in the thought process for me to decide Italian Pee Racing is a sport I don’t plan to think about any further. I’ll leave this particular activity to those Italians who have been disappointed when visiting my blog and not finding pointers (no pun intended) to help in their next match. I’ve already decided if the Golden Shower Cup series (brought to you by FloMax) ever hits the ESPN International channel I’ll find something else to watch.

All in all I really I wish I’d never learned of this phenomena. As mentioned above, I always figured Italy would be a lovely country to visit; great food, beautiful countryside, historic architecture, and some great wine country. Now, though I'd still love to go, I'm a tad worried. While I’ll still enjoy the Chianti, the food, and the Houseboat reruns on Turner Movie Classics, without knowing the language I fear in visiting the country I'll somehow get caught unawares and end up at a local Italian Pee Race competition and find out it's a spectator participatory sport!

I cleaned up my desk area here at home today and, in so doing, ran across my Wacom pad. I decided, however, that this post isn't one to start back adding my drawings; I hope you'll agree.

Uncle Elwood

2007-12-18T09:19:00.000-06:00

SWMBO’s uncle passed away Sunday morning. Married to SWMBO’s maternal aunt, I was introduced to Uncle Elwood some thirty years ago while dating SWMBO and over the years have only spent a small amount of time with him; family get-together at Christmas or Thanksgiving, occasionally at other times, but rarely saw him otherwise. There was one lunch we had together when I was in the area for some reason or other and dropped by his barbershop to say hello, but not much else. Yet, even with the small amount of time together, Uncle Elwood always impressed me.

The thing that made me decide to write this was thinking about the commercial from the Marines, who are looking for “A Few Good Men.” Now, I have all the respect in the world for those who serve in the military. They do something most of us either can’t or don’t, and in the world we live in they are necessary. But I couldn’t help thinking about Uncle Elwood. Uncle Elwood was a kind and gentle man. I never saw him angry and from all reports it wasn’t because I just missed those times – they didn’t exist. I heard someone say at his visitation last night that they, who spent much more time with Uncle Elwood, felt the same. Married for over fifty years, he ran a barbershop in a small town until he retired for health reasons a few years ago. During his working years, someone else told me, Uncle Elwood treated everyone who came into his barbershop the same, no matter their “station” in life. Young, old, grungy or well kempt, they were greeted with a smile and made to feel welcome. And, as to the visitation last night, over the years Uncle Elwood touched a lot of people. The line at the funeral home was over an hour deep from five o’clock to the time we left at about eight; kind and gentle will make friends of everyone.

So, back to the Marine commercial, and what crossed my mind. Even though Uncle Elwood served in the military during the Korean conflict, I can’t help but think if the world was made up completely of good men like Uncle Elwood, we wouldn’t even need the ones who go to war. Bless you Uncle Elwood; as I get ready this morning to head out to your funeral, I know if I can just emulate some of your traits then perhaps I will see you again one day.

Dreaming with Ponce de León

2007-10-20T08:27:00.000-05:00

Remember (think back, waaaaaay back) when you would wake up in the morning refreshed and feeling alive, full of V&V (vim (*Note 1) and vigor), ready to face the world? Remember when you fell into bed after a hard days play and got up ready for another hard days play? Getting older (can't bring myself to say "old") sucks.

I go to bed sleepy, exhausted, sore muscles, aching bones, creaky joints. I wake up slightly less sleepy, exhausted, sore muscles, aching bones, creaky joints and with a free bonus of stiff neck and a head full of sinus drainage. Where did those days go when the exhaustion and sore muscles disappeared during the night? Not to mention you didn't even go to sleep with the remaining ailments, and there were no crappy bonus additions when you woke up, either.

I don't think enough money is being spent on getting a good, refreshing night's sleep. Let's take, oh, say five billion from the military's budget for designing a left-handed ink-pen-shaped pocket laser and create a new study. Put the best minds at work figuring out how Rick (*Note 2) can sleep better and wake up feeling as he did when he was twelve (you get your own study -- I'm looking out for number one, here).

Now some might say that no amount of money can bring that feeling back, that these things are going to happen as the years roll by -- but let's at least try first, give it our best shot. And we can start by taking a billion off the top of the five billion dollar budget and just giving it to me. I guarantee, no matter what the end results of the other four billion spent in the study, with a ten-figure bank balance I'll sleep better at night.

Ah, well, maybe a refreshing night's sleep is out of the question at my age. Maybe I need to head to Florida, see if Ponce missed anything while he was thrashing through the underbrush. There's gotta be some reason all the old folks head there.

*Note 1 - I've never actually known what "vim" was - I could have given a reasonable guess, but for those like me without a dictionary knowledge: Ebullient (*Note 3) vitality and energy.

*Note 2 - I haven't checked, but this may well be the first time I've spoken in third person of myself. Not sure what that says, but it did cross my mind.

*Note 3 - Ebullient: Zestfully enthusiastic. I want to be zestfully enthusiastic again. Heck, who am I kidding - I'd take peacefully optimistic.

Random Childhood Memory: The Pee Race

2007-10-14T11:47:00.001-05:00

I started school in 1965 and, living in the sticks like we did, rode a school bus to Saltillo (MS) school which was 1st through 12th grade. At the time, at least at Saltillo, kindergarten didn’t exist but there was a buffer for beginning students to help prepare us for school. I can’t remember how long it lasted, maybe two or three weeks, but during that time there was an introduction to riding the bus to school, going to a class, and some field trips -- you know, kinda lure you in with the fun trips which, of course, stopped immediately when the for-real 1st grade classes started.

The only trip I actually remember was the train ride we did where we were dropped of in one town and rode a passenger train (this was pre-Amtrak days) to another town, where we were picked up. The only image I have of the ride was the pink snowball Mom had packed for my snack, and eating it while looking out the window watching trees go by. The pink snowball was sort of a hemispherical twinkie the size of half a softball, with pink icing and coconut sprinkles; I can't recall having seen one since that train ride.

The bus ride everyday to and from school was a bit lengthy, though after all these years I can’t remember how long it took. In fact, other than the train ride, I don't remember very much about the pre-school (which is, I believe, the term they used for this intro to the scholastic experience) time at all. But there is one memory, one that has stuck in my brain for, as of this writing, going on forty-two years.

I was the last kid dropped off every day on the school bus route, and we were closing in on my house. But I had a major problem -- I had to pee. Bad. Really, really bad. Now, from the title, I know what you are thinking: it’s a race to see if I make it home before I pee. Nope. I failed that one some distance from home, quietly walked to the back of the bus, held on to the sides of two seats and raised myself off the floor (don’t remember why), and let it go into my pants, run down my leg, and puddle on the aisle floor of the bus. Apparently my bladder was disproportionally large for my size (I was a skinny kid, believe it or not) because a lot of liquid puddled on the bus floor some six or eight inches below my propped-up feet. Now you’d think it couldn’t get much worse than peeing in your pants, but you’d be wrong. See, I had already figured out if I could let it out and then get off the bus without discovery there be no way they could pin it on me. I'd deny everything during any whodunit investigation, no matter what they tried, and there were no witnesses to dispute my claim. But then the pee race started.

As mentioned, it was a large puddle . . . and it began to flow. Forward. Toward the driver, who I had no doubt would immediately notice a stream of liquid flowing up beside his seat. This was not in my plan at all, totally unexpected. I had figured if I pulled off the pee-on-the-bus-floor plan without being noticed from the mirror, I was home free. Now this turn of events. While I’d be able to deny everything the next day, it’d be much tougher to pull off with a huge wet stain on the front of my pants. I was a good liar even back then, but not that good.

So as we trundled and bounced on down the dirt road on which we lived, I fearfully watched the flow run farther and farther down the aisle; amazing, really, how far it was stretching out. I mean, I went to the back of the bus for a reason, yet this yellow stream was approaching the front three or four seats -- and, no, I wasn’t riding the “short bus.”

Sitting here typing this I can still picture my view while propped up in the aisle of the bus, hands on the back of two seat backs and feet on the seats, watching the stream elongate farther and farther toward the front of the bus. It was a race: would the pee make it to the front and get noticed by the driver before I was dropped off or would I make it to my stop and off the bus before the stream ran the distance? It was a close call, but I did make it off the bus and, unlike my fears during that night, never heard a word about it again. I never mentioned it again, either. Till now.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation – Day Five

2007-09-08T09:40:00.001-05:00

We drove home; the end.

Okay, one or two more details I suppose. We had bought boogie boards and beach toys but left all of those behind, yet still had problems getting everything into the car. It seems the stuff we brought had expanded while at Destin. It took three or four tries to get everything to fit and still leave room for the five of us, but it finally was arranged with enough room for comfort. Breakfast prior to leaving was Krispy Kreme doughnuts, lunch was Cracker Barrel, and dinner was bought back home at P-Town. All in all a really nice trip.

And with that, “How I Spent My Summer Vacation” for 2007 really is at an end.

. . . .

Um, those cheers are because you enjoyed it, right?

How I Spent My Summer Vacation – Day Four

2007-08-29T21:31:00.000-05:00

Day four was the final full day at the condo, but since the yoots didn’t make it to Big Kahuna water park the day before, their primary mission on arising was to get to the water park as near to opening as practical (for Number One Daughter, who tends to sleep late). SWMBO and I dropped them off around ten or so and then headed back to the condo. I only spent a small amount of time on the beach, instead using most of the time to work on the last paper needed for my business finance class (final results a 95 and an A for the class). SWMBO spent a little time down at the beach and we ate lunch in the condo.

Around four in the afternoon the kids called and said they had finished with their water park fun, but had one more ride they wanted to do. Number One Son and Number One Daughter were going to the Cyclone and wanted to know if we wanted to watch. Actually, I would have preferred to be forever in denial that they would get on such a contraption as this thing, but ended up going and watching. The Cyclone is basically an eighty-foot propeller with buckets stuck way out on the each end. Passengers (two per bucket) are loaded on and it spins in one direction for a bit, then spins in the other direction. While the seat does pivot, leaving the slight possibility that you could rotate all the way around and the chair would pivit to keep you upright, it appeared to me that upside-down is just as common a position on this ride. In the picture here, clickable for a larger version, you can’t get a feel for how high up it goes or how fast it spins but suffice it to say I cringed wondering about little things like bolt strength, preventative maintenance routines, and the quality of the workmanship. But what you gonna do? They, of course, loved it.

Afterward we cleaned up and then made a trip out to a place called the Village of Baytowne Wharf, a collection of shops, restaurants, and clubs in Sundestin, a bit east of Destin. I really didn’t want to go and griped about it a fair amount -- yeah, I’ll admit to acting a bit of an ass about going because I didn’t really want to do a lot of walking around, but keep that to yourself -- SWMBO isn’t aware that, upon occasion, I can be a bit of an ass; it’d shock her should she find out. However, after arriving, it was an interesting place and I’ll plan to go back the next time we are in the neighborhood -- but it was a lot of walking.

My walking ended once we got to the restaurant where we were planning to eat that night, a place in the Village called Poppy’s Seafood Factory. They had an outdoor bar (as well as an indoor bar) along with the restaurant, so I put our name down for a table, plopped down at the outdoor bar, and had a couple while the rest of the gang did some Baytowne Wharf site-seeing. After a bit of a wait, we got a table outside where we could watch and listen to the live band, playing Margaritaville style music with a lot of Jimmy Buffet covers.

The best part of the night, though, was Number One Daughter’s first try at a whole lobster. Now, Number One Daughter can’t even handle shrimp at the table when the head is still on but somehow got the idea that she wanted a whole lobster ($30/lb, but that’s another story See note below). So our server brought one out for Number One Daughter to approve -- which, of course, Number One Daughter couldn’t do, couldn't even look at the thing. The reason she couldn’t approve any lobster was because she couldn’t, personally, sentence the poor bugger to death (never mind the fact she was sentencing some mud bug to death when she ordered it; these are her rules not mine). She told the server to pick one for her but to not let her see it ahead of time.

The second picture you see above is her reaction to the lobster when served, along with Number One Son showing a little brother’s heartfelt empathy for her plight. But as the last picture shows, she did manage to finally dig in; it was an interesting time getting to that point. As for the rest of us, we had various seafood thingies and enjoyed the meal and the music. It was late by the time we finished the meal, so it was time to wrap it up and call it a night.

Note: SWMBO and I discussed going somewhere like Ruth Crisp or the Copper Grill for some really nice steaks but I decided it would be too costly; as I told SWMBO, we would end up spending close to three hundred by the time the meal ended. When all was said and done, the total cost at Poppy’s Seafood Factory? $366.68. Never try saving money -- when will I ever learn?

How I Spent My Summer Vacation - Day Three

2007-08-28T21:11:00.000-05:00

Not a lot to say here except “second verse, same as the first” (for you Herman's Hermits fans); day three was another day of lying around on the beach, taking it easy in the condo, and then going out for a nice meal. I ended up doing some work on a paper I had due shortly for an online class I was taking (some two weeks later, class now completed), so spent a fair amount of time working on it in the condo. I did find some time to slather up and lie around on the beach reading, along with some cooler reading in the condo (for day three, it was Vinnie’s Head by Marc Lecard). Lunch was also in the condo, using up some of the bounty we had bought when first arriving.

After lunch, the yoots planned on going to the local (to Destin) water park Big Kahuna; we took them there around three to find out it closed at six, so scrapped those plans and they decided to go the next day. While out, though, we did make a run to the Marble Slab Creamery where we had ice cream with stuff in it. If you’ve never been to the Marble Slab Creamery (or Maggie Moo’s or the Cold Stone Creamery) you choose an ice cream flavor and then some fixin’s - Reese’s cups, Butterfinger, Oreo Cookies, nuts, sprinkles, even gummy bears - and they throw it on a cold slab and smoosh it all together, using all the smooshing around to keep your attention diverted from the price you pay. But it was good.

Therefore the afternoon was more beach time, which included Number One Daughter, with minimal help from the other yoots, building a massively small sandcastle. Even had a family of itty-bitty hermit crabs moved in, the wife crab would have been complaining within two days of a lack of storage space, and quite honestly there was no room for a decent workshop to Bondo up a dent in one of the family's shells.

That night we went out to Rick’s Crab Trap for seafood. An interesting place. The thought I had after leaving is it is a family-run business run by a somewhat mentally challenged family. We were told there was an hour wait, but figured what the heck. We waited at the bar and noticed one section was completely empty, the rest half empty. While we were waiting, another fellow came in and was told they were closed (it wasn't yet 8:30). I think we were told of the wait to discourage us from staying because after about twenty minutes, we were seated. I also think we were why the hostess switched to "we're closed," deciding some folks just can't take a hint.

We tried for the crab cakes all around as an appetizer, but after taking the order our server was back shortly with news that it was a no go. A couple of us decided against an appetizer while the rest went with seafood gumbo (which, having a bite, I’ll vouch for being pretty good). I had the steamed plate which included some crab claws, some oysters, a whole crab, some shrimp, and an abundance of mussels. Number One daughter went with Alaskan King Crab – apparently the local crab wasn’t good enough, so she had to order from as far away as you can get and still be eating an American crab. Two grouper sandwiches and some fried shrimp rounded out the entrées. All of it was pretty good except the fried shrimp which had a doughy, not crisp batter. I had to ask for assistance on the crab, where upon the server picked it up off my plate and broke it in half and showed me how to pull out the meat. After she walked away, Number One Son commented, "I hope she washed her hands." As do I, seeing as how I was the one who ate it.

When we were getting ready to leave, I visited the (unsurprisingly named) "Buoys" restroom. There were two urinal stalls and, though the first was mounted so low as to be nearly on the floor, the second one was occupied -- so I took the first. I wasn’t sure what the fellow in the second one was up to, but there was a fair amount of banging and bumping against the partition while I took care of business. As I washed up and was opening the bathroom door to leave, a young lady (as opposed to my assumption of a male) stepped out of the second stall.

“I was cleaning” she quickly told me. Since she was wearing a Rick’s Crab Trap T-Shirt (“I Have a Crabby Attitude” as the slogan) and holding a toilet scrub brush, I had puzzled that one out on my own, but I guess she didn’t want me to think she was back there for nefarious purposes. Perhaps the T-shirt and scrub brush were just a disguise so she could hang out in men's bathrooms trying to grab a quick peep. In either case, she didn’t seem particularly embarrassed and I didn’t intend to worry about it. Whether cleaning while customers are using the facilities or trying to catch a quick (and, in my case, probably disappointing) peep show I just put it down as part of the charm of the place.

If I recall correctly, back at the condo there was another walk on the beach but, again, I stayed at the condo and pretended to be lazy. I fake lazy very well - you can hardly tell it from the real thing.

Interlude Two –Roast Bambi with Cabernet

2007-08-26T16:25:00.000-05:00

Another quick interlude in the vacation posts because . . . well, because it was tasty!

One of SWMBO’s brothers is a really dedicated deer hunter who, unlike me, has not discovered you can buy steaks at the butcher shop. Instead, he thrashes around for miles going into in the woods, climbing over hill and dale to find a spot to sit in the freezing cold in the rare hope of seeing a deer at which to take a shot -- all of which is much harder than stopping by the butcher shop for a couple of T-Bones or Porterhouse steaks. Well, okay, I lied a bit. Actually he rides a four-wheeler into the woods to a heated "hunt house" where he sits back in a comfortable chair waiting for a deer to happen by. But still, I think the butcher shop is easier.

In any case, he does hunt often and a couple of years ago gave us several packages of frozen meat. One package was a tenderloin which we quickly scarf’ed up, but there was also four big packages of bone-in shoulders -- or at least I assume they were either a front or back shoulder (haunch? -- there may be some other name it goes by for all I know). The tenderloin I sliced and fried and had with biscuits & gravy and it was fantastic. This other, though, I didn't really have any idea how to go about cooking. Hey, that didn't stop me from trying. Shortly after we got it I decided to take a shot with one of the packages, but after thawing it out I realized it wouldn’t fit any of the pans we had. The fix was a tad bit of home-style butchery with a (new, washed) hacksaw, cutting it to a pan-fitting size. I don’t even remember now what I did to cook it, I just remember the hacksaw butchery was somewhat of a pain to get done. Thank God I'm not a serial killer; I'd confess rather than hack up an entire body.

Fast forward to now, when I’ve decided we are at the point of needing to defrost the (nearly fifty year old) deep freezer we have. I’m not going to throw away the venison because 1) it was a gift and you just don’t do that, 2) I generally like venison, and 3) I’m too cheap to throw away perfectly good food. But a new opportunity was at hand with a large cast iron pan I bought awhile back. It’s a fairly large pan and I thought (correctly) it would hold the entire shoulder. I figured I could cook it in the oven and then pull the meat and make a stew with it. As with most of my culinary attempts, I played this one by ear and, as with most, I ended up with something quite tasty (yeah, I'm braggin').

First I stuck the pan across two eyes and sautéed some onions and garlic in olive oil. I then seared the shoulder on both sides. After this, I poured in a can of Guinness draft beer and put it in the oven at 250 F for six hours. The plan was to use the pulled meat and juices in the pan to make a stew but when I pulled the meat off it was so tasty (had to sample) instead I put the meat into a 9 X 9 dish, saved the juices, melted a tablespoon of Crisco in the cast-iron pan to brown some flour, then deglazed with the reserved juices (adding enough water to get the gravy the consistency I wanted). Some mashed potatoes and peas, and an inexpensive McWilliams Hardwood Estates Australian Cabernet made for a very nice meal. SWMBO and both Number One Daughter and Number One Son, as well as Boyfriend (of Number One Daughter, not SWMBO or Number One Son (or me)) loved it as well. The pictures are of the meat and of the pan while making the gravy. Both are clickable for a larger picture.

So, next post will be vacation day number three (unless it’s not) but given how tasty this meal was I just had to share. Thanks, BIL, for the deer meat. I’ll be cooking the other packages of venison soon, and once the freezer is empty (there is other stuff in there as well) it will be defrosted. At that time, BIL, you are welcome to load me back up! I promise it won’t take as long for them to get used this time around.

Post Day Fifteen Post

2007-08-24T09:23:00.001-05:00

Since the fifteen-day mark has passed I thought I’d stick in an interlude on the day-by-day vacation discussion and mention something else. I’ll get back to days three, four, and five in upcoming posts so for those who are repeatedly clicking their browser's refresh button to view the next “Wanna see my vacation slides” entry and sobbing that day three has yet to be posted, don’t despair. For now, though, back to the post-day-fifteen post.

Sha' Chi or Si Chi, bad karma, bad luck, I really don’t know which it might be. Maybe I need to rearrange the furniture, maybe I did something really evil in a past life, or more likely it’s just that there are millions and millions and millions of folks in the world so some are going to land on the statistical far right of the luck curve and win the lottery, others on the far left get struck by lightning, and some hang more in the middle. This post is for those of us who tend to spend our time just left of center on the curve. It’s certainly not a bad life; those who live downhill from us are much more deserving of sympathy. I don't think I can really complain all that much being where I am, but for we folk who do hang here it is a pain in the ass at times.

See, we’re the folks who buy the new mattress the weekend before the big sale, who win the homemade fruitcake instead of the ten speed bicycle in the church raffle *Note one below, who are the fifth caller when the station is looking for caller number six, or who have our freezer go out two days after taking advantage of the grocer's sale by buying an entire beef sirloin and one day after leaving on a week-long trip. Oh, we occasionally have something exciting happen, such as being customer number one-million-and-one at the electronic store and are seen standing in the background in the newspaper photo of the millionth customer receiving the big screen flat panel TV, but usually it's just day to day getting the rock to the windshield, ordering dinner just after they ran out of the daily special we came for, and so on. Basically we who spend life always just short of making it over the hump – we can see the top from here, we just never seem able to reach it.

There are those in this group who continually work to make it over that hump, to move to the easy life, to achieve comfort, to “get ahead.” For years I was one of those and let me tell you, it’s a frustrating existence. Maybe if you work just a little harder, maybe put a few bucks into a business and pour all your spare time there, try over achieving in your job, study everything about getting ahead you can find, listen to motivational programs, find something that will help you make that final little bit of a climb and allow you the opportunity to coast a bit. When that doesn’t work, you try even a little more, and a little more, and more, and more, and more. Soon you're overextended in all phases of life: working too hard, emotionally drained, physically unhealthy, can’t sleep, convinced the world is against you, and you are starting to get desperate. If you are in that group, let me help you: STOP. See, again, whether Sha' Chi or Si Chi, bad karma, or just bad luck from being on the wrong side of the curve, the world is against you. Accept it and life gets much easier.

I’ll give you an example. Recently (day fourteen of the post portion of the fifteen-day pre/post window, but I’ll get back to that in a bit) I went out one Sunday night to go fill my car up with gas for the coming week. I normally leave for work a little before five in the morning, and since I hate to set the 4:15 alarm any earlier I didn’t want to wait until morning to make the refueling stop. But when I went out that Sunday night the car wouldn’t crank, wouldn’t even turn over. It had been sitting there since coming home from work the previous Friday night, so I assumed I had left a light on or something, and ran the battery down. I pushed the car back (okay, Number One Son pushed it back and I sat inside and steered) to where I could get to the battery and then jumped-started it. I let it run for twenty minutes and then drove to get gas. When I shut off the car, it wouldn’t crank back up. Dead as could be. *Note two below

I called in reinforcements (Number One Daughter and Boyfriend) from home and, of course, this time it wouldn’t jump-start. I tried several times, then sent them back for the Big Black Blunderbuss (1994 Trooper); it’s what I had jumped it off with the first time and I thought, maybe, it had a stronger starting capacity than Number One Daughter’s Traveling Dumpster. No joy here, either. I finally pushed it to the side and left it for the night. On the brighter side *Note three below, I did get to sleep late the next morning. Since I figured I’d pay overtime fees to get a tow truck prior to seven or eight o’clock, I planned to wait until then. So I slept until six, a luxurious treat on a Monday morning.

Bright and reasonably early next day, SWMBO made the suggestion that we try and jump it off one more time before calling a tow service. We drove over, hooked up, and darned if it didn’t crank. Now comes decision time. I can either drive it to a shop to be looked at or drive it to one of the auto parts places where they will check for a bad battery and replace it if need be, with no extra charge for them doing the work of replacing it. I was certain the problem was the battery and replacing it would fix the problem -- but this is where a left-side paradigm shift is critically important, where the acceptance of being on the left side of the luck curve comes into play.

If I drive to the auto parts house to have the battery checked, the problem is going to be something other than the battery. I will turn the car off, have them check the battery, and have them tell me the battery is fine. At this point, no effort will get the car to crank so I will need both a tow to the shop and then significant work. But what I've learned over the years is a modified Schrödinger's Cat principle: until the decision is made the results are unformed. By deciding to go to the auto parts store, I would have cemented the problem to being more than the battery. But if instead I accept the inevitable trip to the shop, I can leave open the possibility of the battery being the problem. Once you learn this approach you can begin to mitigate the damage of living left of center. So I immediately drove to the closest dealer and had them check it out: bad battery. Forty minutes and a hundred and five bucks later, I’m on the road again. The fates rewarded my acceptance of living left of center by allowing the problem to just be the battery. You may be thinking that I spent an extra fifty or so, but instead I saved a tow, the cost of, say, replacing the starter (much more than a battery), plus the need to leave the car in the shop for at least a day or two.

What I’m trying to do here for those of you who, like me, are just slightly left of center on the luck curve, is to get you to understand that, once accepted, it’s all about mitigation of the damages. I’ve come to realize over the years that, whether Sha' Chi or Si Chi, bad karma, or (most likely) just bad luck, once accepted you can appease the fates of life by this acceptance and mitigate the costs, both financially and emotionally. Since life’s gonna slap you from time to time, just roll your head with the slap and it hurts a lot less. I used to fight it, used to think I could win, but a glance at this picture and you'll see what lies just below the surface of those who follow that path; I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Mr. Munch spent his life just to the left of center on the luck curve. I have found it's much easier to accept and then plan for the inevitable. *Note four below.

All of this brings me to the title of this post, the “Post Day Fifteen” part. We left for vacation on August 1st and returned on August 5th; add fifteen days and you have the 20th of August, which marked the fifteen days post-vacation point. Subtract fifteen days from the day we left, and you have July 17th. This is the fifteen-day pre/post zone, and something that I have to plan for on any vacation. It’s like this: whenever we decide to go on vacation, there will be extra costs. No, not the clothes that inevitably must be bought for vacation, the extra, unplanned money spent while on vacation, or such. I know we hemorrhage money when we take a trip and of course that’s built into the vacation budget. But, heck, many on the other side of the curve can state that claim. What my fifteen-day rule is about is the left-of-center situation that I face.

Anytime we plan a vacation, there are going to be unrelated expenses that occur sometime during the fifteen-day pre/post window. Basically, I budget an extra thousand dollars to try and cover those. Sometimes it’s enough, sometimes it’s not, but at least once I cross the fifteen-day point I know the damage. In a good year, it's only a few hundred to replace a dishwasher (happened twice). Other years, it’s worse news, such as the year of the air conditioner (over five grand, all told), but that was before planning for such to occur.

This year it was more than just the battery example above; that was just the final item in the plus/minus fifteen-day window. Altogether, it was plumbing and automotive problems totaling just under three grand – yep, a tough year and doesn't even include our cost in Number One Son's new car (as opposed to putting $1,800 into his old one). I’d have much rather installed a third dishwasher, but you get what you get. (I could mention that the battery, at $105, would have been 100% covered under the car’s 36K mile warranty had it occurred the week before, but this sort of stuff goes without saying when you live on the left side of the curve.) Even though it was a large chunk, I can now breath a sigh of relief as the fifteen-day pre/post vacation window has closed. Oh, other things will occur, but at least it won’t happen because we decided to take a vacation. We had already pushed our luck by SWMBO's suggestion early on that we could pull this vacation off inexpensively, and that's the most likely reason the fates hit us as hard as they did. But at least the window is now closed.

Hopefully this post has been instructive to some of you out there who, like me, live just left of center on the luck curve. Acceptance is the ticket to live with this problem, mitigation is the key to smoothing the face in the portrait above. Just remember, once accepted, life is good even from the left side of the curve. So for those left of center like me, take it easy . . . and, hey, good luck (insert whimsical smile here) to you! *Notes five & six below.

*Note one: No, winning the homemade fruitcake isn't good luck, it's much worse than not winning anything. Fruitcake sucks, and being homemade, it was made by some nice church lady who is going to ask you how you liked it. You will be in church when she asks. You will lie. In church. This is bad.

Note two: I know what you’re thinking: driving to the gas station and shutting off the car was a foolish mistake. Smarter would have been to circle the block a few times, then go home, cut it off, and see if it would crank. That way, when it didn't crank, you are at least home where you can work the problem and not stranded at a busy gas pump in front of a Wal*Mart Supercenter. But that’s “right side of the luck curve” thinking. If you go home to try shutting down and restarting the car and it would crank right up . . . but would have bit you later. Accept it: you are going to be stranded somewhere, so you might as well get it over with while near home. Otherwise it'll happen in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night in the middle of a pouring rain.

Note three: When you live left-center of the luck curve, look for bright sides wherever you can.

Note four: Don’t think of this as giving up. Would you tell a quadriplegic that if he doesn’t just jump out of that wheel chair and get on with life, he’s giving up? Of course not. Instead, you are impressed by what many handicapped individuals are able to achieve in spite of what life dealt them. In the case of the left-of-center luck curve folks, it’s the same; not nearly as debilitating a condition to be sure, but as it’s a foregone conclusion where their luck lies, be impressed with the mitigation plan.

Note five: Is this tongue in cheek? Of course; life should be lived tongue in cheek.

Note six: Wow. I had a lot of footnotes in this post.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation - Day Two

2007-08-19T13:11:00.000-05:00

Day two was, obviously, beach day. You can’t go to the beach and then not, on the first full day, go to the beach. A service on the beach rented out sets of two chairs and an umbrella, so I rented two sets for the next three days. I think we really only needed one set, as the yoots spent most of their time in the water and not on the chairs, but having two umbrellas gave both SWMBO and myself plenty of shade; while I’m willing to go to the beach I’m unwilling to broil.

After renting the chairs, I went back up to the condo and we lotion’ed up for the beach. This took forever; it’s bad enough for the rest of the family, but when you get my size you need a bucket of lotion and a paintbrush. Number One Sun brought up his idea hatched in previous years of beach-going where he was going to install spray-on lotion booths at ocean-side condos. You get in, pick your lotion, put in some coinage, and get sprayed all over with SPF 20/30/40/LP (latex paint) at your preference. I went one better and suggested cabanas set up on the back part of the beach. No need for an "ocean-sound" CD playing as the real thing is right outside. Add a breeze blowing through the cabana, a comfy padded table, a bottle of suntan lotion, and a ~~hot babe~~ massage therapist, and you have the recipe for ending up completely relaxed and ready for the sun. Pay attention here, massage therapist SIL, but I want a cut when you make millions from this idea.

There were a couple of sorties into town, once by just me prior to hitting the beach and once by both SWMBO and I in the afternoon. On the first trip I picked up a shirt - turns out, the shirt I had packed didn’t match my swimsuit and though I didn’t see a problem with this, SWMBO found it an important shortcoming in my attire. But mostly I was willing to go on the shirt run to pick up a TomTom navigation unit that I had eyeballed on the previous night’s visit, a device I far more wanted than needed. *Note below Later SWMBO and I ran out and got four boogie-boards for the yoots and for SWMBO who, when on the beach, is going to hit the water just like the yoots do. We also went, again, to Wal-mart, this time to find some over-the-glasses shades for me. Actually, the shades were a great idea because we decided to stop off at Hooters and get some wings to go for lunch. I learned you can swivel your eyes all you want without turning your neck and avoid SWMBO’s notice altogether – worked great on the beach, too. Oh, and yes, I remember the mention of all the food we had stocked up on for lunch – but those wings sure were good.

Back to the beach, though; the picture here shows the four boogie-boarding folks en route from far, far, far out (okay, about waist deep or so) riding the wave back in to shore. The yoots and SWMBO kept walking into the ocean and the ocean kept throwing ‘em back out, over and over and over. Sort’a like a NASCAR race, where as a viewer it’s a pretty repetitive scene -- except, of course, for the crashes. My job on beach day was to guard the umbrella and the cooler full of bottled water, read (Red Light by T. Jefferson Parker) and snooze, with the occasional picture-taking break. SWMBO hung with the yoots pretty much all the way, and I think the ocean was thinking about giving up on throwing ‘em back and just swallow them whole when we stopped all the hard work for lunch. (Hey, snoozing on the beach is hard work! You have to adjust the umbrella sometimes twice in an hour, not to mention digging through ice for another bottled water.)

After the late wings lunch, it was back to the water for the yoots and SWMBO, and another hard couple of hours of snoozing under the umbrella for me -- though I spent about half the afternoon in the cool of the condo reading and doing a smidgen of work (I had brought my laptop). I sent an email to my boss regarding a report that I read, and he sent one back that said cut off the laptop and enjoy my vacation. Not a bad piece of advice.

When we finally got around to cleaning up for dinner, we headed out (with TomTom showing the way) to McGuire’s Irish Pub. Now this is a pretty cool place with an interesting decor. Clearly a touristy place, and a bit pricey as such, it was still a lot of fun. One very interesting thing about the decor was the dollar bills, dollar bills, and more dollar bills. Folks would write something on the dollar bill and then staple it to the wall or ceiling. The picture here, clickable for a larger version, was taken with my camera phone and didn't turn out so well, but all the "furry" stuff on the ceiling is solid in dollar bills hanging down. We didn’t partake in the dollar bill bonanza, but with some paper-napkin figuring we decided there was at least a million bucks hanging in McGuire’s. The cool part was how McGuire’s managed to get a million dollar décor with the cost covered entirely by the customers a buck at a time. While we didn’t leave a buck stapled anywhere, we did leave a few coins in the gift shop, the wine store, the bar, and the restaurant that make up McGuire’s Irish Pub. The wait for a table can be both lengthy and expensive!

After the meal, Number One Son and I were ready to depart, but the rest stayed at McGuire’s for some more music. About an hour and half or so later, they text-messaged for the chauffeur (me) to pick them up and we then all called it a night.

Either all GPS navigation systems are less than ideal or the TomTom is an under-performer. I've nothing to which I can compare with the TomTom, but it has been disappointing. If you are looking for a portable navigation unit, look elsewhere.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation - Day One

2007-08-11T11:23:00.001-05:00

For our annual get-a-way, the family planned a vacation down to Destin, Florida, for a few days on the beach. Let me extrapolate that a bit. When I say "the family" what I actually mean is I got a phone call at work one day a couple of months previous explaining how we really needed to get away for a couple of days and we had yet to plan anything; wouldn't be expensive, just a quick trip to the beach. Having been beaten into fairly routine submission from some ten years of continuously raising at least one teenager, with overlapping years of two teenagers, along with being married to SWMBO (as the acronym suggests, "Must Be Obeyed;" i.e., if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy), I was pretty much destined (no pun intended) to go along.

So, on Aug 1st, we were packed and headed out just after 7:00am, which is amazing for this family; I was operating on four hours sleep, but the excitement of five days away from work plus numerous variations of the alphabet driving game kept drowsiness at bay. You have any idea how hard it is to randomly drive by something that starts with "Q," "X," or "Z"? If I had known where a quarry was located, I'd have detoured to it.

First stop, excepting some bathroom breaks, was shortly after passing through Mobile, Alabama, for lunch at the Original Oyster House. Though I wanted 'em, I refused to break my cardinal rule of “no raw oysters in a month without an ‘r’,”*Note below but we all had seafood of one sort or the other. Number One daughter had the grilled shrimp salad, her boyfriend (along for the trip, henceforth called “Boyfriend”) had a fried fish (grouper) basket as did Number One son. SWMBO had some sort of fish with a hollandaise sauce while I had the seafood gumbo. All was quite tasty. It’s here that I’ll point out what I discovered after our return: we suck at photo chronicling. A ton of pictures at the beach, very few of anywhere else on the trip -- in fact, none taken of the inside of the condo. But so you know, the OOH is a nice -- though busy -- place to stop for seafood. A sandy playground on the bottom floor for the (younger than my) kids, you go upstairs to eat. Our table -- incidentally the same table where I sat when there the week before on a business trip -- overlooked the neck of water that runs behind the OOH, so we saw a few small boats passing through while eating. Along with the boats were silvery flashes that started up a discussion of whether it was sunlight on waves or schools of fish hitting the top of the water, with SWMBO going for fish and Number One Son falling on the side of waves; I mentally went along with my son, but kept quiet. I think the end result was Number One Son winning the argument, but in any case all differences were settled while splitting a frozen chocolate-peanut butter pie thingy that was fantastic and, after the meals, plenty for all five of us to share.

A few more hours of driving and, around four-thirty that afternoon, we arrived at our chosen condominium. Through some internet searching we (and the "we" here is used in the sense that I made the telephone call to reserve the condo) had decided on Jetty East as our condo of choice and had reserved a three bedroom with two balconies overlooking the ocean, one in the living room and one in the master bedroom. I'll point out in passing that the cost of the condo for four nights was roughly double the entire trip's budget that was thrown at me in the original telephone call, but I had never bought that number for a second anyway.

The two photos here (both ‘clickable’ for larger views) show the view down the beach on one and in the other the view of the beach below our condo. We’ve stayed at a number of condos over the years but this one had the absolute easiest access to the beach.

You’ll also notice the tennis courts, the pool, and the pavilion on the beach – we used none of these. The folks using the tennis courts were running around, sweating, whapping tennis balls -- it all looked like work to me, and this was a vacation. The pavilion had grills and tables where you could take some dead animal parts of one sort or another, light a fire, roast said animal parts, and eat on the tables, all to the accompaniment of the ocean breeze, the ocean sounds, and the ocean view . . . but let's face it, while this looked somewhat fun, we discovered there were many places in Destin where you go in, sit down, tell some nice folks what you want, and they cook it and bring it too you -- and then clean up afterward! We decided this was a much better plan. As for the pool, while it might be inviting when otherwise landlocked, it seemed silly to use that little dot of water with an entire ocean just steps away providing not only splashing area but a continuous wave-pool environment that was totally missing from the man-made version.

For dinner that first night we went to Fisherman’s Wharf and sat on the deck overlooking the Destin marina. It was late afternoon, and the boats were returning so it was nice to sit, eat, talk, and watch the activity of the marina as darkness approached. Fisherman’s Warf is a great place for seafood, and if the weather permits the deck is the way to go. I immediately broke my afore-mentioned cardinal rule of “no raw oysters in a month without an “r” and had half a dozen as an appetizer. Nobody was willing to try one of my oysters, as expected -- otherwise I’d have ordered a dozen. The restaurant had some sort of "guarantee" of quality, and I, wanting raw oysters, quickly bought into the guarantee.

For the main course I, along with Number One Daughter, went with the grilled grouper while SWMBO had the Grouper Destin; it was the special of the night though we don’t remember what made it special as opposed to the grilled grouper. Boyfriend had chicken alfredo (yes, we verbally beat him up over a “chicken while by the sea” choice). Number One Son had pasta as well, but went with the seafood pasta.

Afterward we stopped off at Win-Dixie and loaded a basket of “condo staples” and, in the process, realized two things: we would still need to stop at Wal*mart for items not carried at a grocer and, two, without a Win-Dixie card everything was way overpriced. There was a gaggle of folks at the customer service line where you had to get the card and I wasn’t waiting, so we abandoned the cart and headed for Wal*mart. For us, this approaches a criminal act and was rationalized away by Win-Dixie’s choice of going with the “shopper’s card” methodology. SWMBO wanted to put everything back, I abandoned not only the cart but the discussion and went to the wine shop next door (where I got both wine and directions to the Wal*mart super-center) and the ‘yoots’ of the bunch talked SWMBO into a compromise of returning the refrigerated items to the shelf and leaving the rest. We did all agree to blame it on Win-Dixie and their shopping card, as we would have gone ahead with the purchase otherwise.

The stock up of staples was considerable, with lots of quickie breakfast items (pop tarts, cereal, milk) and some lunch items (bread, peanut butter, sandwich meats) along with some junk (popcorn, cookies) and drinks, not to mention toilet paper, paper towels, dishwasher detergent, laundry detergent -- you'd think, for $400+ per night, they could throw in a box of cascade.

We went back to the condo, unloaded everything, and while I took a short walk to the couch with a book, SWMBO spent a bit of time on the balcony, the yoots took a long nighttime stroll on the beach with a newly acquired Wal*mart flashlight each. Afterward reports indicate few sand crabs, but much chasing of Number One Daughter around the sand with a pretend crab. I doubt either Number One Son or Boyfriend would actually pick up a live crab, but that apparently didn't occur to Number One Daughter.

Thus ended our day one of my summer vacation.

Note: I am amazed at the foresight of the long ago Calendar Planning Committee for not only pulling off the number-of-days-in-the-month-by-the-knuckle trick, but including the oyster rule in the month names as well. If such superb planning was displayed in the meetings I attend at my job, we'd own the business world.

Saving Money

2007-06-24T13:05:00.000-05:00

I had a 3:15 doctor’s appointment Friday over in T-Town, and SWMBO rode along. Given that afternoon appointments always seem to allow the doctor time to get an hour or so behind, the plan was to maybe do a bit of shopping after the appointment and then go out for dinner. Turns out, when I signed in with the receptionist at exactly 3:15, the nurse was on the phone with her asking if I was there. I was the last appointment my doctor had for the afternoon (the office is shared between two doctors) and they were right on time. This put us out of the office by 3:45, way too early to eat and neither of us felt a strong need for the shopping. So I came up with a brilliant plan: instead of eating out we could save money by buying a couple of steaks, a bottle of wine, and grilling out at home. I figure a couple of really nice steaks would be around $16, get a reasonable bottle of wine at $20, throw in salad and a baked potato, and for around $40 we would have a nice casual meal at home better than anything we could get for $60 to $80 eating out.

The Steaks
We were pretty sure we wanted steak but figured we would see what else was available prior to making the decision final. Because of this, we went to Tony’s for the meat before going to pick out the wine. The seafood didn’t really impress me, nothing else non-beef jumped out, so we settled on two 2” thick great looking Angus T-bone steaks running about 20 ounces each. One for SWMBO and I to split, one for the kids to split when they got home later that night. Steaks: $33.41.

The Wine
We had Tony’s hold the meat while we went next door to La Vino for the wine. Wandering around in a wine shop is a pretty bad idea. We settled on a 2004 Kendall-Jackson Cab to go with the steaks, but I ran across a 2004 Cotes Du Rhone Perrin & Fils Reserve at only $12 bucks that I wanted to try and also a 2001 Poggerino Toscana Primamateria that Wine Spectator scored 90; with a price tag of just over $13, it had to be worth a try as well. Went to check out, the total was over eighty bucks. Huh? I checked the receipt and the Kendall Jackson had rung up at over $43, not the $20 price shown on the shelf. I asked the clerk to come take a look, and he looked, read the receipt, and explained I was looking at the wrong line on the receipt. The Kendall Jackson had rung up correctly, but it seems what I had read in the store's dim light as a “1” on the shelf sticker for the "$13" Primameteria was a “4.” Ah, well, what you gonna do? After feeling like an idiot over misreading the receipt, I wasn’t saying anything on the Primameteria so we kept it; heck, it's still worth a try. But that’s not all.

As we were arriving home, we decided it would be nice to put the steaks off for a bit and have some appetizers and glass of wine, but wanted a different wine than the ones we had purchased. So SWMBO heads off to Oxford for some appetizers and another bottle of wine. She came back with a Pinot Gris from Oregon and a Chardonnay from Napa Valley (not to mention the crackers and goat cheese). Adding these two in with the original wine purchase, it was Wine: $113.21.

Throw in the baking potatoes, the salad, the crackers, the goat cheese, and the pepperonis ended with a grand total of $168.51. Yep, saved a lot over going the sixty-dollar dining out direction.

But the meal was great! The Pinot Gris was an Oregon A to Z for $15 that was pretty tasty. Semi-sweet with a dry finish, it went well with the crackers, goat cheese, and pepperonis. On the steaks, I used a dry mustard, salt, and fresh ground pepper rub (heavy handed on the pepper) and seared on the Weber kettle, cooking to a nice medium rare. Sliced the filet and the strip off of one T-bone that SWMBO and I split and we had plenty to eat, with some left over. The other T-bone was used for Saturday brunch the next day, served with scrambled eggs (with sautéed green onions, chilies, & the remaining goat cheese) for all four of us (the kids had eaten prior to coming home Friday night, so the steak was still available on Saturday). Later for dinner, SWMBO and I had the rest of the Pinot Gris with roasted chicken. And there are still three bottles of wine for later meals, not to mention the nearly half a bottle of left over Cabernet Sauvignon for cooking.

But I have to admit, the math didn’t work out quite as I had planned.

The Old Gray Goose is Gone

2007-05-11T14:04:00.000-05:00

Back in 1989, we (myself and the family) moved to Tennessee for a job I had taken and, shortly after, I began driving a company car. We had a 1984 (I think) Grand Marquee that SWMBO loved, got around 10 gallons per mile (it seemed), and needed a parking lot to turn around easily. Gas guzzling, but big & roomy, quiet & comfortable, it was a great ride. We also had a nineteen-eighty-something Mazda 3000 series pickup that I loved. Straight shift, great mileage, fun to drive, but with a company car it rarely even left the driveway. So we traded them both in on a brand new two-tone gray 1990 Ford Aerostar minivan. Digital display, trip computer, four captain chairs and a back bench seat with grocery room behind the bench seat; it served us well for many years.

In 1999 I left the Fortune Five company to go to work for myself, lost the company car, and bought a used Trooper to serve as my business car. SWMBO continued to drive the Aerostar; great for hauling multiple kidlets (ours and their friends, and we had it full on a number of occasions), it continued to serve us well. But by 2005, when I went back to the Fortune Five company and got a company car again, the Aerostar—by this point the Old Gray Goose—was showing her age, so SWMBO started driving the Trooper.

I hate to complain about the Old Gray Goose; I mean, after all, I don’t move as smoothly as I once did, either. She was leaking in multiple places, a problem I haven’t yet faced, thankfully. But the Old Gray Goose lost power steering fluid enough so it required topping off every week or so, and she was leaking radiator fluid at a rate that required topping off every couple of days even after short trips. And, least I forget, a touch of oil now and again. So I was driving the company car, SWMBO was driving the Trooper, and the Aerostar sat. And sat. And sat. And sat. And sat for two years while we kept thinking about selling it.

Over the next two years, the Old Gray Goose sat in the back yard (yeah, we’re redneck) and gathered dust, spider webs, and dirt-dauber nests. At a guess, she probably was cranked five or six times at most (you get cranked less as you age, too, I suppose). She hadn’t left the yard but twice over that period, and neither time went more than a couple of miles away. I guess you become a home body as you age, as well.

In the end, the Old Gray Goose was unceremoniously hauled off with her front end jacked up on a dolly, shedding pine tree droppings as she left the driveway. So while the Old Gray Goose wasn’t dead, she is gone and her seventeen year history as part of this family comes to a close. You know, I’m glad the kids weren’t around when I got rid of her; wouldn’t want them to get any ideas about what you do with things when they become old and useless.

Never Ever Say "Never Ever" (A Lesson in Rationalization)

2007-05-05T09:18:00.000-05:00

"Being as how we don't do debt"

Okay, scratch that line from a previous post. In my post titled New Job, New Ride I mentioned that I had bought a 1997 Dodge Intrepid via eBay because I had changed jobs and lost the company car in the process. I paid cash since "we don't do debt."

Our only debt for the past few years has been our house and a monthly payment to Uncle Sam over a $32K tax bill from some time ago (another story for another day). But the Trep (the eBay car) was having problems, and we had no dependable car; every time we took a trip we rented a car. The rental car issue couldn't be claimed as an overriding factor, but it did seem that every other month we were spending a hundred bucks or so for a trip for some activity of Number One Son; not a huge amount, but over a year's time it added to the transportation costs.

The major reason for me to begin to consider a more dependable car was the problems with the Trep and the 140 mile round trip I make at least four times weekly to work, sometimes more. Adding 3,000 miles per month to the Trep's already 100K plus mileage total was starting to show up in repair bills. The last straw was when it went into the shop for a week due to motor/drive train mount problems to the tune of $1,000.

So I decided to look at it logically. I laid out the options: Continue to save $400/week toward a new(er) car or borrow and buy.

Option 1: If I saved to buy, say, a $12K used car, it would take thirty months -- and I'd be paying cash. Cash is better, but the $400/month kept taking hits (like the $1K shop repair) and wasn't growing at a rate that would get us there in thirty months.

Option 2: If I borrowed $12K for thirty months at 10% (used car), the payments would be $454 per month. Total would be $1,620 extra, or $54 per month.

The subjective comes with figuring the difference in maintenance cost for the thirty months. Based on the first six months of the Trep, I'd be putting $3K per year into unscheduled maintenance to keep it running. Granted, that's unlikely, but I wouldn't be surprised at all at $500/year, so used that number. My experience with later model cars (we were looking at one year old cars with under 25K miles) has been little unscheduled maintenance during the first three years, so I figured $200/year.

With a difference of $600 ($1,500 - $900) in unscheduled maintenance, the actual extra cost for the thirty months is $1,020, or $34 per month. Add in the occasional rental car expense that would go away, which had been averaging around $50/month, it would be cheaper to get the newer car.

Of course, I should mention risk is left out of this equation altogether: risk of losing my job seems low, but should it happen that payment still keeps coming. Something I did consider, but discounted. Also, discounted in the above is that at the end of the thirty months the cash scenario has a thirty-month-newer car than the debt scenario. But as we would have the newer car for the thirty months, I tossed this one out as well.

So we bought an '06 Taurus with an upgrade package that included leather seats & an electric slide'y thing in the roof & 17K on the odometer for $13K (including taxes), gave the Trep to Number One Son, and--don't tell Dave Ramsey--I'm happy with the decision.

I'm still not a fan of debt, and after a particularly hard loss on a business I had, having to start from below scratch well into middle age gives one pause on any such decision. After going through my logical/rationalization process, though, I wondered two things:

1 - Can you really rationalize any financial decision you set out to rationalize? (If so, it’s time to start rationalizing a Cherokee Six.)

2 - Not only aren't we rich, we aren't even in the ballpark -- but we do make over twice the national average income. I wondered how many folks at our income level spend this much time and effort deciding to finance a $12K used car?

One Thousand, One Hundred, Twenty-Two Days Later . . .

2007-01-26T18:30:00.000-06:00

. . . I was one again in the air as the only PIC. I mentioned in a previous post that I had started back flying. Once you have your pilot's certificate, the only thing you need to do to start back is get your medical certificate current and get a flight review. Flight reviews are required every two years, but if you haven't flown for longer it's still all that's required to be legal again. However, having been so long since I had flown, I went out a couple more times with my instructor, Calm One, to do some instrument work (aiming for my instrument rating) and to get some more flying time. But I decided that, as today was a nice day, it was a good time to take a shot at going up and coming down, by myself, all in one piece.

First thing I want to do is to get back to my comfort zone with the landings. Prior to today, while I've made all the landings fine, I wasn't happy with how the landing went. It wasn't like strapping on a car and going around the block; if you aren't a pilot, you may remember first learning to drive. Over-corrections, incorrect braking, not sure whether to go through the yellow or not . . . tons of things that are not even surface thoughts anymore. The same is true with flying, and with landings. When learning to fly, you do a lot of landings; prior to starting back, in sixty-four hours of flying I had logged 222 landings. By the time I stopped flying in 2002, the minor corrections you make while landing were automatic, everything felt right, it was a smooth operation. I'm not back to that point as of yet, and today was a day to move further in that direction.

So I drove over to KTUP, where the sky was clear and the winds were calm to variable (direction) at four knots. I'm flying a Skyhawk II, a Cessna 172 that's seen a lot of rental hours but is a fun flyer. I'll admit I prefer the Warrior I trained in, but sometime over the past few years the FBO sold it. I'm partial to low wings for a couple of reasons. But no matter, I'm flying the Skyhawk. I do the preflight, start her up, and request permission to taxi. Take off is on runway 18, which is the long haul from the FBO. I taxi out, do the run up, wait for an incoming plane from the other direction doing an ILS approach. After he/she is clear of the runway, I get permission to take off. First thing I notice when I apply full power is the significant right rudder required to keep it center-line, I expect due to my size and nobody riding left seat. At rotation, the thing seems to jump in the air without the extra weight of Calm One, even if he is a skinny fellow.

The picture at right, clickable for a larger version, shows my trips around the pattern. The color coding depicts direction, and the picture was created using GPS Visualizer from tracks made with my Garmin etrex VistaC GPS. As you can see, the circuits were a bit different. Instead of a nice, easy routine of round and round, I was directed on the first circuit to do left close traffic (all left turns), then after that touch-and-go, I was given right close traffic but halfway through the downwind was asked to do a 180 and re-enter the downwind for left traffic for runway 360. After a couple of left close for 360, I was asked to maneuver east and renter a left base for 180, then given the option of doing a teardrop to a straight-in final (an option I took). All of the preceding was to help synchronize my pattern flying with various incoming traffic coming from various directions at various times, including a T-37 from Columbus Air Force Base practicing an ILS to 360, a couple of twins, and a couple of light aircraft. All in all, a perfect test to keep me distracted -- or, I should say, to test my ability to not become distracted.

The circuits weren't as square as I'd like, though a couple were required extensions to follow other traffic in. I did two go-arounds; probably could have landed fine, but I'm going to do a go-around on anything the slightest bit squirrelly at the moment. I'd only call one a really decent landing, though none were horrific or even near-so. Altogether, I touched down six times and had one landing I'd be happy with; seventeen percent. I needed the practice, but I enjoyed the practice and I'll be doing some more in the weeks to come. Landing is my favorite part of flying, because it's a continuous challenge to make the perfect landing. Working the wind, the throttle, the controls to line it up and nail it. I'm planing to do another round of circuits like today some time in the near future, then plan a hop-fest, jumping from small airport to small airport to get some practice on shorter, narrower runways.

Man, I do love flying.

Random Childhood Memory: The Circus Family Kids

2007-01-07T14:20:00.000-06:00

I don't remember how old I was, but it was in the neighborhood of eight or ten. At that time we lived in a fairly close-built neighborhood in T-Town, and as with most such neighborhoods there was the occasional swapping of a family. One family moves out, another moves in, and it's a dice roll whether or not things get better or worse. New kids our age? Mean dog? You never know. But in one such instance, across the street and down a couple of houses, the Circus Family came to town.

To my knowledge they weren't actually in the circus, but it's sort'a how I've always thought of them. They were a large family, with kids of all ages under the one roof. And they were always doing something. It wasn't enough to play baseball in the big field behind our house or ride bikes or hunt rabbits (that remained perfectly safe), or just to lie around in the grass and contemplate life in general. The Circus Family kids had doings that were always more dramatic and usually offbeat. When they came out to play, you could count on something unique, usually something theatrical, and often a major event. For example, the neighborhood fair.

The CF kids had this idea of holding a neighborhood fair with games, food, and a play to cap off the evening. The local gang (as I recall, that was me, Brother Number One, GI Joe, Bart, and the Gardner) were all roped in. Now keep in mind we're talking kids here, the oldest maybe fifteen. The idea of doing such wouldn't have crossed the mind of any of the regular gang, but it isn't the least surprising to me that it happened with the Circus Family around.

Their plan was to plaster the neighborhood with fliers inviting all the kids to come join in, charge an admission plus a fee for the games, and knock back significant money we would split. They (I suppose I should say "we" but it was mostly "they") had each person in charge of a game, with the standard fair-like motif. You tried to accomplish some difficult task and won a prize if you pulled it off. Throw a ring over a coke bottle, snag a paper fish with rod & reel, that sort of thing. Being one of the younger ones, I was mostly left out, but they did finally let me bring over my electric football game; if the plastic player could run the length of the field, you won a prize. Each game cost a dime or some such, with the prizes being junk we drug out of the back corners of our collective closets.

Then there was the play. It's been too long ago to remember exactly, but I recall a Dragon, a Hero, and a Fair Maiden. The ring leader of the CF kids was the oldest boy of the clan, and he played Fair Maiden (yep, in retrospect from some forty years later, it explains a lot about this fellow and this family, but at the time we had not a clue). I also recall Brother Number One having the part of Hero, saving Fair Maiden, and the play ending in a kiss. My memory is that while Brother Number One wouldn't agree to the kiss (reasonable, in my opinion), he did agree to Fair Maiden holding up a fan to hide their faces and then fake the kiss. This was after much work on Fair Maiden's part to get the real deal, and finally settling for the fake. Brother Number One's memory is that even the fake kiss never took place and he's pretty iffy on even taking part in the production at all. Well, he can write his own blog. I think he's just exercising selective memory, and I'm sticking to what I remember, right or wrong.

So the night of the fair came along, we had passed out fliers all over the neighborhood, door to door and stuck up on light poles. Circus Family's backyard has been transformed to a fairground, with sheets draped over the clothes line for curtains to hide the stage (the yard between the fence and the clothes line). Cookies and Kool-Aid have been made (and priced), the prizes were ready, there were probably six or seven games including my electric football game, and the play had been practiced twice. We were ready for a deluge of excited kids to show up, raining money on us, and having a good time.

We had one customer. One. Which, granted, is infinitely better, both mathematical and emotionally, than zero customers, but it was still seen as a disappointment. Some neighborhood kid I'd never seen before brought a bag of change and became the target of every pre-teen and teenage game hawker at the fair. I was especially glad he came, because his favorite was my electric football game. He spent most of his time and most of his money bending plastic tabs on the bottom of his runner, trying to make it all the way down the vibrating field of randomly dancing plastic fellows and win a prize. He never did, but I think he had fun trying. He stayed with the electric football game until Fair Maiden, by this time dressed in drag, required him to watch the play. After the fake kiss finale had occurred, there were a couple more tries at winning a prize on the football field, at which time he had gone broke. Three bucks as I recall, and as I also recall, even though he spent nearly every cent on my game, I never got a cut of the proceeds. Ah, well. Not much has changed over the years; I still get financially screwed on every business venture I attempt -- but I digress; this is about the Circus Family kids.

When I think about them, I always think of them as being clannish in that when you got one, you get the entire clan of kids. They were gone quickly, less than a year after moving in, which was normal for what they told us. With that much moving, sticking together probably becomes second nature. But my main memory of them is the neighborhood fair -- and also the gun and knife episodes, but those are other stories, only vaguely remembered. Probably because I was scared to death.

Later in life, I would see reruns of old Andy Rooney movies with some variation of the gang banning together to put on a musical to save Farmer Brown's land from Banker Scrooge. Some folks might watch those movies, laugh, and toss out a sarcastic "Yeah, that'd happen." But I know it could happen, at least if the CF kids were around. If Farmer Brown is about to lose the mortgage because Mrs. Brown took sick and the medical bills were too much to handle, I can easily see the CF kids throwing together a musical to save the mortgage. It would fail utterly, of course, Farmer Brown and the missus would get thrown out on their asses and die broke and destitute, and Banker Scrooge would sell the family farm to a developer for one-point-two-five million . . . but the important thing is that there would be a musical and manly Fair Maiden would have another shot at a kiss from Hero in the end. Perspective, people. It's all perspective.

I occasionally wonder what ever happened to the Circus Family kids, not to mention what happened to our one guest that night. The boy that showed up seemed quiet, introverted. I figure his Mom pretty much forced him to go, so he could "meet some of the other kids." I never saw him again, but I like to think somehow or other he and Fair Maiden remained in touch and even ended up together, that maybe they run a little theater somewhere -- Gatlinburg or Branson or some other off-beat, way, way off Broadway locale, that Fair Maiden and the Hero is on the bill Tuesday through Saturdays, with a Sunday matinee, and that finally Fair Maiden . . . well, you know.

Out with the Old, In with the New

2006-12-31T11:10:00.000-06:00

year, that is. In my end-of-year post I'll put a few quick thoughts (all I have time for, anyway).

1 - Christmas was a nice time, pretty decent gifts all around. Number One Daughter got clothes, most all from Victoria Secrets, picked out by herself, approved by me (yeah, she's twenty-one, but if I'm paying for 'em they still have to pass by me). Number One Son got a Playstation III though he had to finish off paying for it (over the limit). To me it doesn't seem all that Christmasy when the kids pick their own gifts and get them ahead of time but, then again, I did the same. I got an IFR instructional video set (instrument flying) and some yokes and rudder peddles to practice approaches. (No, it's not a game, it's simulated flying. Really. I'm not playing, I'm studying.) SWMBO got banjo lessons to go with the banjo she got for Christmas last year. Then we also got nice stuff from extended family members, so a nice haul all around. Honestly, and sadly, we spent little time recognizing what Christmas is all about; need to do better on that score next year. It really just never seemed really like Christmas at all this year. Heck, ignoring the religious aspects of Christmas, I didn't even see A Christmas Story or It's a Wonderful Life, so until Christmas Eve it just seemed like any other time of year. Work, eat, sleep, back to work, catch up on around-the-house stuff on the weekend. I'm planning on taking over Christmas preparation next year, and we're having Christmas.

For New Year's Resolutions this year, I'll just scratch ~~2006~~ out on last year's resolutions and put "2007" on the top. Saves time.

Flying is still a blast. The biannual flight review is signed off, but I'll probably stick to instructional IFR flights right now as I've got limited budget money for flying and will use the money for some instructional flights. I've got to raise that budget number higher, but some major stuff is coming out right now along with the start of the year resetting the deductible numbers, so limited funds, limited flying. Number One Son has started taking lessons, and I'm covering the instructor, he's covering the plane. Renting the plane I use (Skyhawk II) is $110/hour, the one Number One Son gets (152) is $80/hour. Calm One charges $30/hour, but is generous with the ground school time. All in all, lots of fun but relatively expensive.

The new job is going great. The fellow I'm replacing will be finishing his time there on January 5th, so it'll be a bit more pressure. I'm spending something like 50+ hours a week there and it may go up after Jan 5th, but isn't unexpected. The three hour round trip to work is the killer. I hope Number One Son appreciates my making that drive so he can finish school where he started school. Sixteen months to go.

That's all for now. I've a long honey-do list, we have plans tonight (New Year's Eve, ya know), so need to get going.

Merry Christmas, Everyone! And have a safe, prosperous New Year!

Back in the (very small) Saddle

2006-12-09T22:42:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, after 1,652 days of not doing so, I went flying. I don't mean riding in the back of a commercial airplane, by the way -- I've done that within that time span, but that's not flying. I mean hands on the controls, take 'er up and bring 'er down flying.

A tad bit of history is that I began working on getting a pilot's certificate back in November of 2000, and finished up on April 6th of 2002, but only flew a few times after that prior to stopping. Lots of things caused the interruption, primarily an absence of folding money, but I've missed flying a lot. But along with -- and in large part, thanks to -- the encouragement of SWMBO, I get the medical renewed and called up Calm One.

Calm One is my flight instructor, and I call him this from his behavior during my early flights. S-turns, turns around a point, climbs, descents -- these were probably screwy enough but were done with much distance betwixt ourselves and the ground. However, those early landings where I was coming in and the runway seemed to sway from high up on the left to high up on the right, the ground was kind of right there. I would glance over at Calm One, expecting the Oh My God We're Gonna Die shout to come forth but, instead, he'd just spit into his spit cup (Skoal) and say "A little left rudder." Calm.

Turns out, I did end up nailing those landings, and wound up with a certificate. I'll probably reminisce about some of the flying from back then occasionally, but for now I'll just say the rust was there after four years. Everything went pretty well, though I felt behind the plane the entire time. Things were happening faster than I needed them to, and the ease I remember I had achieved had evaporated. But it'll come back, and I'm looking forward to the next time up. I'll be working with Calm One on an IFR rating, and it'll probably take a couple of years to accomplish. But SWMBO and I have already begun planning some get-aways while I'm working on it. When you travel in a straight line at 150 MPH, lunch out on Saturday can take place much farther away.

Oh, and one other thing: I'd forgotten how small a small-plane cockpit is. When you're my size, getting in and out is half the battle. But once in, it's a blast!

Trust in the Modern World

2006-11-18T20:25:00.000-06:00

You know, it's nice that even today in our modern, rushed, every-man-for-himself world that a big business can still trust a fellow. I was at gas station at our local Wal*Mart, and noticed the sign you see here. Isn't that great! They trust me -- no questions asked. It's heartwarming, really. They don't know me, but no impersonal, you're-just-a-number attitude with this big business. These folks recognize that I'm more than just a number, I'm a human being. Living, breathing human and they accept -- with no questions asked -- that I'm honest. They trust me . . . but, apparently, not very far. Just to the right of the pump is the sticker shown below:

New Job, New Ride

2006-08-20T07:19:00.000-05:00

On August 11th I left my position as an Automation Specialist for an electrical distributor and on August 14th I started my position as a Process Controls Engineer for a large company at one of their small manufacturing plants, a planned change. I was never really comfortable as an Automation Specialist which, at least where I worked, was a salesman. I would find myself saying the wrong things to customers, such as "No, Bob, you really don't need to upgrade to our latest, greatest gizmowidget -- what you have will serve your purposes just fine." Sales folk are supposed to encourage the upgrading to, and therefore the buying of, the latest, greatest gizmowidget, whether or not it was of any need to Bob. Telling the customer he doesn't need it is against the "Sale All You Can However You Can" code that I was supposed to be following.

My new position is at a fairly small factory with one production line and primarily one product. It's a modern plant, but dated a tad by selections made in the past and woefully short in documentation of what is there. Over the next few years, hopefully I can help move them to a world-class level of automaton as well as world-class in documentation of their automation.

But, of course, who cares. What really changed with my job change was the loss of the company car, and my need for transportation for the hour and fifteen minute one-way commute four days a week. Being as how we don't do debt, I was paying cash. Being as how the job change was costing me $1,400 in un-refunded tuition, and that as the new plant keeps you a week behind where my old company didn't I was making up a week's pay, and that our emergency fund was running low because of a couple of other things of late, and I didn't want to get into any other money, the cash to spend was limited to $3,500.00.

My first thought was a small used pick-up. Turns out, most folks seemed to like their small pick-ups much more than I did. Much more. There were no reasonable deals to be found, let alone good deals. So, I shifted my thinking to a sedan. Long story short, I didn't find much better here. Everything was well over book value, and the only one I actually looked at looked pathetic. So I did something I never dreamed I'd be doing -- I shopped eBay for a car, and found one. A 1997 Dodge Intrepid, base model (i.e., not an ES), with a 3.5L engine. When thinking about buying a car on eBay, I figured I had more knowledge about the seller, through eBay's feedback system, than I did with a local seller. Granted I wasn't going to actually see the car, other than some photos, but I took a chance. Primarily took the chance because the car was going for less than $1K, and had a book value, if in fair condition, of $2,680. I put a max bid of $1,300 and got it at $1,226. With the $125 "administration fee" (read that as "buyer pays the eBay fees") that was slightly over half of the book value.

I knew a couple of things going in (from talking to the seller). It had a crack in the windshield, it needed a couple of new tires, and it had no radio. The car had been repossessed, so I knew there might be another thing or two I would find. But I figured I had about $1,300 to play with to get it to "fair" condition, per Kelly Blue Book, so it would be a pretty good shot at that price. So far, so good. The clickable photo here gives you an idea of what it looks like, and later on I'll be adding a more detailed page on it. After replacing several fuses everything works, and I did put a couple of tires on it -- found used ones to match the wear on the others, and by installing used tires, some 25K to 30K miles from now they'll all four need replaced, and I much prefer changing all four at once. I've also changed out the headlights, which worked but were broken and loose in the car, replaced two interior lamps, one exterior light, had a couple of belts changed, had the oil changed, and installed my satellite radio receiver. So far, it appears I got a pretty good deal.

Now, of course, after having it a couple of weeks and fixing a few things, Number One Son wants it. Apparently I'll be back to looking for a small pick-up in a few months and passing the car on to him. And I'll already miss her. The Trep (yep, I named her) is growing on me every time I drive her.

In any case, wish me luck in the new job, and wish me luck with The Trep.

Wanna See My Vacation Slides?

2006-07-28T22:45:00.000-05:00

No? Okay, I'll leave off the slides, but still bore you with a few of the highlights of the trip, mention the attractions we visited, mention some good places to eat . . . and probably still slip in a photo or eight.

I call it the Pigeon Forge/Gatlinburg trip, because we stayed in a cabin in Pigeon Forge but we spent most days in Gatlinburg. The cabin was only about a year old and very nice, but the location was basically a subdivision of near-identical cabins. No mountain vistas spread out before you from these windows, just more cabins and some trees.

The big thing to know prior to visiting Gatlinburg is the walking. The tourist stretch is long, and has for-pay parking available and even if you sleep late (like we did) and get there around noon (like we did), we always found parking. It's about $6/day or part thereof (i.e., six bucks for eight minutes or eight hours), and getting from one end of the stretch to the other is a fairly long haul. There are trolleys at fifty cents per ride, with free parking at the visitors center which is a trolley stop. We tried that once and found walking preferable. I think after the one ride (two, counting coming back), we'd have taken a root canal over another trolley ride.

Of the food, we ate dinner at the Cherokee Grill, the Greenbrier Restaurant, the Best Italian Cafe and Pizzeria, The Smoky Mountain Brewery, and Calhoun's Restaurant. The only knock I have is with the Greenbrier Restaurant; while it was pretty good, it's priced as if it should be exceptional. Yet it didn't have exceptional food, service, or atmosphere. Of the other places, I wouldn't hesitate to tell you to try, and if I could only pick one it would be the Cherokee Grill.

Lunch was at the Wild Plum Tea Room, Blain's Grill, and the Applewood Restaurant. The Wild Plum Tea Room is in a small craft village section of Gatlinburg, away from the main drag. The (clickable) photo here is from the parking lot, and the attached room you see is part of the covered porch dining room. We had three choices of entrees, and we chose a medley that consisted of potato soup, tossed salad, and chicken salad, and found all tasty -- well, with one exception; Number One Son wasn't particularly fond of fruit in his chicken salad, but otherwise we all enjoyed it. As much as for the food, you should try it for the atmosphere. Quiet, off the downtown path (way off), under the trees; it had an inside dining room, a screened porch dining room, and a deck dining area. We ate on the screened porch; lace tablecloths, eclectic dinnerware, a nice, relaxing meal. Blain's was more along the line's of an Applebee's or similar; the prime rib sandwich was better than the prime rib I had at Greenbrier's. Though I think there was an Applewood Restaurant in Gatlinburg, we stopped between Pigeon Forge and Sevierville on the day we left. It was great, home-style cooking, and we bought a few things from their (separate building) gift shop there as well. I'd send you to any one of them in a heartbeat, though I'd have to give you directions to the Wild Plum. We also had lunch while hitting Obergatlinburg; your basic hamburger, fries, and coke, and I was surprised -- given you are a near-captive audience -- at how reasonable the price was for a pretty big, pretty tasty hamburger.

While we mostly ate breakfast in the cabin, we did have breakfast one day at the Pancake Pantry, which was pretty good. Be warned, though, that the Pancake Pantry only takes cash. They have an ATM inside, but I'd not be willing to give them an extra fee on top of my meal price just because they don't want to accept the same card (Visa check card) through the Visa credit card system (where they pay a fee), but maybe that's just me. Luckily, though, we had the cash to cover it (about sixty for the four of us); this avoided my making us leave for breakfast elsewhere and my kids throwing butter pats at me whenever my back was turned.

The attractions we visited included the aforementioned Obergatlinburg, Ripley's Believe it or Not museum, Ripley's Motion Theater, Ripley's Aquarium of the Ozarks, horseback riding, and the Sweet Fanny Adams Theater. Of the Ripley's branded attractions, the Aquarium was worth a visit, I suppose the Believe it or Not museum is worth seeing once, but the Motion Theater can be skipped. There are lots of places to go horseback riding, and I'd suggest if interested you leave the Smoky Mountain Riding Stables off your list of choices. Unimpressive locale, unimpressive staff, and to my untrained eye the horses looked pathetic. We left and found another place outside of Pigeon Forge, though the name escapes me at the moment.

But to wrap up my little vacation post, of all the attractions we visited the most fun was the one show we did take in. Having done the Dixie Stampede and not being particularly interested in the "kids and/or country music" flavored shows, we bought tickets to The Sweet Fanny Adams Theater. I bought the tickets a week in advance and we had second row, aisle seats though the theater is small enough that there are no bad seats. The Sweet Fanny Adams Theater doesn't have your typical Gatlinburg/Branson musical show. I've included some photos, and you can click any of them for a larger picture. In trying to classify the Sweet Fanny Adams theater shows, I guess you could call it "Monty Python meets vaudeville in a farcical adventure." Their website calls it "1890s style theatre are a combination of Old English music hall, American vaudeville, Monty Python, and Broadway musical comedy." Whatever you call it, we had a blast.

While there were parts the younger kids would enjoy, other shows would be much more fun for children. Our kids, being older, enjoyed this much more than they would have the other shows in the Gatlinburg. Lots of laugh out loud stuff, some corny (audible groans permitted) by design, and lots of fun.

There are two shows that alternate from night to night, and we saw the show titled A Knight's Tale and Other Acts of Superficial Foolishness. I wish we would have had time to take in the other show as well. We must have liked the one we saw, as we bought the DVD (of that night's show - ain't technology wonderful). The show includes songs, dancing, skits, audience participation (particularly the sing along), and various pieces and parts of hilarity. The Knight's Tale was the longest piece of the show and was an funny take on the traditional medieval story of the heroic knight -- though a heroic knight was central. I keep stopping myself from telling you bits and pieces of it, because if you get the chance it needs to come at you fresh. It is loads of fun.

I will mention that there are some parts to which some of the most conservative of Christians might take offense (I know this, because my parents are some of the more conservative of Christians, and would probably have taken offense a time or two) but it's less suggestive than any night of prime time television you pick. Much less. So go, see, and enjoy the Sweet Fanny Adams Theater.

Overall we enjoyed our visit to the Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge area and will probably be back.

Overshare #1

2006-07-27T11:09:00.000-05:00

I was sitting on the toilet of the master bedroom bathroom last night and had a thought: we've lived here for almost thirteen years, and I've probably averaged at least once stop per day on that toilet. Oh, I've been out of town from time to time, but the occasional bout of intestinal flu has easily carried the average, so figure at least once/day. That'd be around 4,745 visits of a sit-down nature.

Now, figuring five minutes per visit, that'd be over sixteen days of sitting in there. During each visit, without fail, I take something to read. Figuring a conservative five pages per visit, that'd be the equivalent of something like seventy-five books. The thought last night was that I don't really like the bathroom off of our master bedroom. Considering I've spent sixteen days sitting in there reading seventy-five books, I think it's about time I fixed it up to be somewhere I enjoy hanging out. New curtains, redo the cabinets, perhaps a television . . . I wonder if they make a combination lazyboy/toilet?

The Renowned Mr. Brown

2006-07-23T18:08:00.000-05:00

I mentioned buying a couple of toys in an earlier post, and described our first cook on the Weber grill. The other toy was a Weber bullet smoker, or as Weber calls it, the Smokey Mountain Cooker Smoker. I broke it in on July 1st by barbecuing three chickens, then did four chickens and two racks of ribs on July 4th. SWMBO and I decided we would do some more chickens this past weekend, so I was going to buy eight chickens and do four on each level of the rack. We were going to eat one Saturday night, and the extras would be seal-a-mealed and frozen for future use. The photo to the right (clickable for a larger version, as are all the photos in this post) is of the chickens. When you look, you'll immediately notice the eight chickens strangely resemble two rubbed pork butts. There's a locally owned small grocery store that, being a locally owned small-business kind of place, has a reputation of working with you on meats. With my new-found barbecue and grilling passion, I decided to try it out. They were out of whole chickens, as was apologetically explained, and they told me when , they'd have them. I think this will be a good place to get meats like I want for grilling or barbecuing, but for that Friday I was out as out of luck as they were chickens -- but, wait; they did have a real nice cryovac package consisting of two pork butts with a combined weight of 16 pounds. On the spur of the moment, I decided to cook butts instead of chickens. That decision, like so many of my spur of the moment decisions, became more than I bargained for.

Chickens take about four hours. Standing in the grocery, my memory told me butts take about seven or eight hours. My memory was bad. Turns out, butts take about three-and-a-half weeks -- or so it began to seem late Saturday night. When I got back from the store Friday and read a bit on it, I realized it would take fifteen or sixteen hours. If I wanted to be finished by ten o'clock of the PM Saturday, I'd have to have them in the smoker by six or seven am. Six or seven in the morning isn't my normal Saturday rise-n-shine time. Nineish, maybe, when I then lie in bed sipping coffee and watching people on TV do lawn work, but certainly I'm normally still sleeping at six on Saturday mornings. Ah, well.

I prepared the butts Friday night per the Renowned Mr. Brown recipe from the book titled Smoke and Spice, and the rubbed butts (wonder will that phrase draw more traffic to my site?) were in the picture at the start of this post. They were supposed to marinate for eight hours, but I didn't get them in until something like midnight, so they ended up with a six-and-a-half hour marinating time. I was actually up and at 'em, in a stumbling sort of way, at ten after six Saturday morning. I lit half a chimney of Kingsford charcoal, and while waiting for it to come up to speed I poured the Weber smoker's charcoal ring full to near-overflowing with charcoal. I first filled it half full and added some soaked Jack Daniels wood chips, then filled it the rest of the way up with charcoal and added some more soaked JD wood chips. The chimney didn't take long to get ready, so after I poured the lit coals on top of the unlit ones and assembled the smoker, the meat went on about 6:45am. The two pictures show the chimney fired up, and then the bed of coals after the chimney has been poured over the top.

Here's where I think I made a bit of a mistake. For whatever reason, I set the vents to 25% open each. The Virtual Weber Bullet website has a nice write-up on doing the Renowned Mr. Brown recipe (click the preceding and you shall see) and Chris, the guy who manages the site, even mentioned that he should have started out at 100% open on the vents. I think I added some time to the cooking by starting at 25%. I was at 225 by 7:40am, and except for one thirty minute period I kept it over 225 the entire cooking time, but next time (and there will be a next time) I think I'll leave it at 100% until I hit 240, then start closing the vents off. The worry then, of course, is overshooting the temperature; barbecuing is low and slow.

By the way, if interested in a Weber smoker, you can't find better information than at the Virtual Weber Bullet website -- and that includes the Weber instruction manual. If you buy a Weber smoker, while reading the manual is useful, more useful is the Virtual Weber Bullet website, including for original assembly; he has photos as well as directions. The picture here is of my bullet smoking the butts yesterday.

After ten hours, at 4:45pm, the lid was lifted for the first time. It was already looking good by this time, as you can see. With SWMBO's help, I basted the two butts in the Southern Sop mop liquid (from the recipe in the afore mentioned Smoke and Spice, swapped the meat between the top and bottom racks, and flipped the butts over. I also inserted a digital probe into the meat on the top rack: 161 degrees. I'm looking for 190 degrees, so there's a bit of time to go.

How much time? Total cooking time: eighteen hours. The meat went on at 6:37am, and came off eighteen hours nearly to the minute. I checked temperatures every fifteen minutes, and at 12:30 Sunday morning I finally hit 190. By the time I grabbed a pan from the kitchen, tested both butts in a few to make sure I had 190 degrees, it was probably pretty near the exact eighteen hour mark of 12:37am. The picture at the right is of the two butts just prior to going into a cooler for a forty-five minute rest (yeah, it ain't over yet).

I finally got the meat pulled and cool enough to put in the refrigerator at a little after two, and while SWMBO snoozed a couple of hours on the patio swing and snoozed for the forty-five minute butt-resting time, she was there to help every step of the way. The final weight of the pulled meat was seven pounds, eight ounces. Not that much hit the 'frige, though; pulling requires sampling.

Was it worth it? Darn right. It was fantastic eating when we munched while pulling the meat, and it was great on buns today for lunch. SWMBO made a vinegar-based sauce (from Smoke & Spice) that she and I used and we also had a tomato based sauce I had made earlier (not from scratch; five parts KC to 1 part honey, as outlined in the BRITU recipe) that Number One Son and Number One Daughter used. After lunch today, three pounds of the meat went into the freezer, and it's planned for dinner here in about half an hour.

We will be doing this again, but the next time I'll change a couple of things. One is that I'll make it an overnighter, and the other is that I'll do four butts, not two. When you take that much time, you might as well max the cooker out. I'd rather have put up ten 1-pound bags instead of the three we did freeze.

Oh, What is the Worth of the Things you Know?

2006-07-23T11:38:00.000-05:00

For most of is, we can't answer that question. Oh, we get a tad of an idea from our salary, but there's lots of things we know that aren't figured in because it doesn't apply to our gainful employment. After twenty-eight years of marriage (with SWMBO), I know a few things about marriage, and after raising two kids (with SWMBO), I know a thing or two about raising kids; my compensation package includes nothing for that knowledge. Heck, I know how to can green beans, how to make beer, how to change the clutch cable in a 76 Vega, the official stance of the United Methodist denomination on the death penalty, how to communicate over amateur radio (even in Morse code), who Indianapolis selected in the 1998 NFL draft, how to smoke a pork butt, how to fly a single-engine plane, what an f-stop is, how to play Shenandoah on the guitar, who the Skipper's little buddy was, where the first marriage in the US took place, the difference between a refracting and a reflecting telescope, and lots of other things . . . but I've no idea what the value of that knowledge might be in the market place.

I could take the things I know, slap them all together in one collection, and make it available for a price. But were you or I -- Mr/Ms Typical American -- to do so, it'd still be tough to find out what it's worth. Most of us don't have a vast marketing engine to drive the collection to the public, to garner the attention needed to find out it's true value, so we will never know what the things we know might be worth. That's most of us. Not all of us.

While it still hasn't been nailed down for the fellow in the photo, at least he has established an upper boundary, a knowledge of how much the things he knows isn't worth. Because at the $1.00 price, with the books in the basement where the deep, deep discount is applied to books that won't sell, there were still boxes and boxes sitting there, moldering away, waiting to become promotional "give-aways," as is the final destination of books you can't get rid of any other way. So it's been determined for this individual that the things he knows are not worth a buck, and is fast approaching the "worthless" tag.

I also noticed it was a slim volume; at a guess, nothing in there covering a twenty-eight year marriage, 76 Vega clutch cables, or canning green beans. And another observation was the store's effort to improve sales by their strategic placement of the discount sticker; were it me, I'd probably take offense to that particular location.

Anyway, based on what I've heard from the guy, it was interesting to see my opinion of the value of the things he knows is being reflected in the purchasing decisions of the general public. Plus, I just found it funny.

What's for Supper? (07-19-06)

2006-07-21T00:36:00.000-05:00

Supper was a bit different tonight, as we started to roast a hen in the oven but decided it was so hot we didn't want to put two hours of extra pressure on the AC system. Instead, I fired up the Weber kettle, butterflied and split the chicken into two halves, and grilled them outside. The cooking had three things going against it: 1) I've not cooked a hen like this before, and it was a fairly big bird (around 8 pounds, I think), and 2) I think it was one of those "enhanced" birds, so wasn't sure how that would affect it, and 3) the bird was bought and frozen about six months ago, so could have been fresher.

In any case, it cooked in about an hour and a half and, while pretty, was really a touch tough to eat. It had a great flavor, but seemed a bit "chewy." Overall, not really a success. But the rice pilaf I made from leftover rice was good, and the veggies were cooked in foil on the grill and were fantastic. All in all, pretty good, but I think the hen would have come out better if done in the oven in a roasting bag. Not as good as the smoked chickens I did on the fourth, but better than tonight's effort.

Also just a note that I visited the new Mecca: our new Wal-mart Supercenter. It is, of course, much bigger than the old one and there are lots of choices in the grocery section that haven't been available here. Parking lot freshly striped, shelves new, floors new and shiny, and most noticeable of everything, new buggies that rolled straight. Yes, no flapping wheels or hard pulls left or right, but brand new buggies that were a joy to drive. Won't last, but I'll enjoy it while I can; I'm a "simple pleasures" kind'a guy.

We're a Big Dot Now

2006-07-19T23:52:00.000-05:00

Just a quick post to say Rand McNally should be changing the dot-size for our town, as the new Super Center Wal-mart opened today. I'm fairly certain that's what dictates the dot size: no Wal-mart, non-grocery Wal-mart, Super Center Wal-mart, then the multiple Wal-mart dots (2 Wal-marts, 3 Wal-marts, 4 Wal-marts, etc.).

That's my theory, anyway; nothing to do with population.

I didn't make the five minute trip, though SWMBO did; she tells me it is was packed. She also tells me meats are, as expected, the same as the other Wal-marts: "enhanced" (read salty-water injected) crap shipped in prepackaged. But otherwise, lots of neat things that haven't been available without driving to the "big city" (Tupelo). I'll be checking it out soon, I've no doubt.

Of Big and Tall and Buttons

2006-07-15T12:05:00.001-05:00

We arrived home late last night from our vacation in the Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge area of Tennessee, and I'll be posting on the trip sometime next week. I've got a paper due in the writing class I'm taking, as well as a mid-term exam due in the my statistics class, and since I didn't work on either while vacationing for a week, I am very much behind. To top it off, we have a family reunion with SWMBO's family and dinner with my parents tonight. But I did want to post a quick something, at least, just to make it appear the site is still alive.

While on our trip, I noticed a tag on a new pair of shorts I bought (actually, SWMBO bought for me), and found it just a touch humorous. I won't go into the waist size of the pants, being somewhat in denial, but I will say that if you are a manufacturer of short pants, when you hit those waist sizes you are being pretty optimistic slapping on a label that says "hiking short." That said, I did put a surprising number of miles on the shorts going up and down the streets of Gatlinburg, and when you are in the mountains, the "up" part can get fairly up. Maybe their optimisim paid off.

But more importantly, I wanted to make mention of something else to the manufactures of clothes for the "Big and Tall" folks. (Ever notice, by the way, the catalogs always have the "tall" guy modeling the clothes, never the "big" guy -- but I digress). When you are working on those big guys pants, please pay extra attention to the front button-sew'er-on'er-person's comp & bennie package.

At a guess, the floor-person doing the manufacturing of clothing isn't generally enjoying a high-paying career, and I don't recall any mention of button--sew'er-on'er on career day those many years ago in high school. I'd also doubt it requires an advanced degrees to handle the job. So perhaps top dollar, CEO level pay isn't the norm for such positions, but while that may be acceptable for the laborer doing the hem or sewing shut the bottom of the pocket, the person sewing on that front button should be the highest paid person at the company.

Thing is, if you remember the denial idea above, most all of us fat folk tend to avoid the necessary move up in size of pants. We'll huff and puff and strain to no lengths to close those things and keep from admitting the need to move up a size, and if that new-purchase denial hits at the same time as the start of a vacation, then these front closure buttons can see stress levels exceeding those of the cables holding up the San Francisco Bay bridge. A critical thread failure after an evening of spinach and artichoke heart appetizer, 14 ounce prime rib, baked potato, chocolate mousse, and a nice cab would not only be embarrassing, but could well do permanent eye damage to the waitperson bringing the after-dinner mints.

So please, with a job this important -- even if it adds a buck or two to the cost of the "hiking" shorts -- make sure only the best of the best put thread to button on those pants. You'll be doing us all a favor.

What's for Supper? (06-29-06)

2006-06-29T23:15:00.000-05:00

I bought two new toys for the patio this week, and I used one of them tonight. It's a Weber 751001 22 1/2-Inch One-Touch Gold
charcoal grill. The picture to the right (click-able for a larger picture) is after I completed putting it together, which I made a tad challenging because I stepped on one of the legs and bent the end out of round -- and round being somewhat necessary to slip into the round short tube welded to the bowl of the grill. But a bit of careful adjustable-pliers-work and all was well. It is very simple to assemble, assuming you avoid stepping on the leg.

And, having just got it assembled, we had to (of course) cook up something. SWMBO, in anticipation of the event, had put some nice, boneless chops in to marinate at lunch. The marinade consisted of water, orange juice, honey, onion salt, garlic salt, and fresh ground black pepper (a quick concoction I dictated via telephone). They were in the marinade for about four hours. First seared (though it wasn't hot enough - more coals next time) and then cooked on indirect heat with Jack Daniels No. 7 wood chips for smoke, plus a foil pouch of potatoes, green beans, and a few cherry tomatoes (the tomatoes being from our garden).
Fantastic! The picture at the left contains neither smell-a-vision nor taste-a-vision, so you can't appreciate what you are seeing but trust me, it was great! For an even better, more mouth-watering view, click the image for a larger version. Note the black "dusting" on the plate is paprika; an artistic touch I should have left out. I haven't had meat this tasty since I started using a gas grill several years ago; wish I'd switched back earlier.

Channel Surfing

2006-06-12T20:01:00.000-05:00

I was channel surfing last night--or actually, around one or two this morning--when I stumbled across the Kathy Griffin television show (whatever it's called). I’ve seen Griffin do stand-up and found her pretty funny but wasn’t particularly interested in watching her show. But I did pause for a moment because of what was going on. Apparently, Griffin’s show was about her appearance on Tyra Bank’s television show. I have no idea who Tyra Banks is or why she has a show, but did find it interesting that TV has fallen to the point that one show is about appearing on another show and stroking each other’s ego. Perhaps these various inane shows will soon limit themselves to appearing on each other’s shows, swap the tapes directly, and clear the channels for something with a bit more intelligence.

"I'm Just Fine, Brother Bob, Just Absolutely Fine!"

2006-06-10T11:20:00.000-05:00

A couple of days ago I was in Wal-mart picking up milk, bread, sugar, and a DVD player. The fact I can pick up such disparate items in the same store sometimes amazes me, but that's another story. For today, what caught my interest was a voice I heard while on the baking needs isle. From a couple of isles over I heard a loud voice proclaim "Hallelujah, HALLELUJAH, HALLELUJAH" in a voice that rose in volume from the first hallelujah to the last. I immediately assumed there was a sale on asparagus, rib-eye steaks, or some other overpriced food--but the voice continued to assail God's ear, and it turned out the entreaty was for healing.

Being somewhat curious as to how a revival meeting broke out in Wal-mart, I quickly selected which sugar package combined the best price-per-ounce and ability to easily carry (ruled out the fifty pound'er), and carted away to find the source. At the end of one of the food isles, taking up a portion of the main isle, was a gentleman who appeared to be about thirty-five, along with a lady I'd peg as north of sixty. With one hand on the shoulder of the lady and the other hand raised to God, the gentleman continued, in a voice familiar to anyone such as myself who was raised in a charismatic church, to pray for and praise for healing.

No, I didn't stop and stare, though I took a good look as I pushed my pulls-to-the-left shopping cart on past to the milk department. The gentleman was obviously lost in the spirit and oblivious (or, at least, unconcerned) as to his surroundings, but the lady had this look on her face . . . sort of like she might make a run for it at any second. I continued on to the milk cooler, picked up 2% white, 2% chocolate, and some French-Vanilla creamer, taking my time on the creamer and checking out a couple of brands. The prayer meeting continued while I was making my dairy selections, and as this was my last stop I headed back toward the front to check out. You could pretty much hear the prayer over that entire side of the Super Center, but nobody assumed terrorism and ran for the doors. The only comment I heard was one mom, hearing but not seeing the source, answer her son with "I guess he was struck by the spirit."

As to how this little healing service broke out, I pictured Brother Bob (as I named him) running into Sister Myrtle (as I named her) at "the Wal-mart" and saying "Well, hello Sister Myrtle, how are you today?" And Sister Myrtle responds with "Oh, Brother Bob, not so good, not so good. My rheumatis' is actin' up, got some arthritis so bad you wouldn't wish it on a mean dog, and I think I may have a touch of the bird flu." And Brother Bob responds, as any charismatic preacher would, by offering to pray for her. At this point, Sister Myrtle is in a tight spot. On the one hand, she may not want to be prayed for in Wal-mart, but she has to be thinking "Well, if I say no 'cause I'm embarrassed, God might let me get worser--so I gotta say yes."

Now, what I think of what was happening isn't really why I wrote this post, but I've got no problem with what was going on. I'd have suggested Brother Bob use an inside Wal-mart voice as opposed to his inside a tent revival healing service voice, but other than that, why not? The God of the tent revival is the same as the God of the Wal-mart impromptu prayer meeting. But, as I said, that isn't why I wrote this post. What struck me as I walked by the pair -- and saw the look on Sister Myrtle's face -- was that the next time she bumps into Brother Bob at the Wal-mart, and he asks how she's doing, she'll reply with "I'm just fine, Brother Bob, just absolutely fine!"

Random Childhood Memory: Demon Dog

2006-06-06T14:09:00.000-05:00

My earliest memories were born in the country, and include the snake race, the fishing hole, me and Joey, corn treasure, the afore-mentioned "Mamaw and the fan" story, and lots more. While living out in the country we didn't have many houses near-by. My grandparents lived about ¼ mile up the dirt road, an Aunt and Uncle another ¼ mile farther, and that was it for neighbors within a couple of miles. As to playmates, there were none but my older brother. Brother Number One is a bit more than three years my senior, so started school when I was three -- leaving me at home with no playmates for most of the day (which brings us to Joey, who I'll detail another time). But a few weeks into my first grade year, we moved "to town," in a subdivision where you could walk down the road and every thirty paces you'd pass a different house. Lots of folks living around.

There were a lot of changes to get used to after moving into town, with house after house within twenty feet of each other, and various and sundry other differences from country living. One difference I discovered the day of moving in, and that was the difference between the country dogs I was used to and strange new city dogs now in my neighborhood. If you lived out in the country, especially if you grew up there, you knew all the local dogs--some three or four, tops. They also knew you. While they would bark at anyone or anything they didn't know, they knew me and we were friends. Strange dogs you had to take care around was a concept that hadn't as yet been born in my six year old brain, as every dog I saw was one I knew and was as friendly as you could want. However, upon unloading a few things at the new house, I jumped on my bike for the first bicycle ride in the new neighborhood. I'd been looking forward to this, as pavement was also something that was new in my experience, and it certainly appeared it would make for much easier biking than the grass and gravel I was used to.

About ninety or so steps down from my house -- or three houses -- an oversized ball of fur came tearing out from behind the house and headed toward me barking up a storm. No problem, the country dogs would sometimes run along beside the bike while I rode, so having this nice new dog to run along beside me wasn't an issue. But the closer the dog came, the barking was seen to be less than friendly; in fact, a few snarls, slobber, snapping teeth, and (if memory serves) demonic glowing red eyes became apparent. It was obvious and without a doubt that this dog was planning to chew off my right leg.

In thinking back, I still cannot clearly determine what decisional process led me to my response, but I jumped off the bike and ran for the house. Knowing I can ride faster than I can run, I still jumped off and ran for it. My best guess is that I must have decided changing from a heading of due north to a heading of due south would require much less time if I abandoned the bike than if I stayed on the bike. Apparently, at six, I had grasped acceleration calculation factors but hadn't yet mastered time/speed/distance equations. Regardless of the reason, that's what I did, and it worked.

Jumping off the bike totally confused the demonic monster that had come after me; obviously he had never witnessed such a response. You could see the confusion in his wrinkled demon-dog forehead as he worked through the problem: "Am I chasing the kid? Am I chasing the bike? Kid? Bike?" It had always been a package deal before, and now Fido-From-Hell didn't have a clue what to do. So while FFH was torn between eating me or eating the bicycle, I made my escape.

Interestingly enough, I've no other memories of being bothered by that dog though I do remember continuing to ride my bike in the neighborhood. I can only assume FFH would see me go by and decide he didn't want to again go through those moments of doubt he had experienced. Doggy physiologists were still a thing of the future, so he had nowhere to turn to help sort through his emotional upheaval. Better just to let that strange, puzzling fellow go about his business.

While my encounter with the demon-dog left me shaken, it's probably where I first began to give credence to the at-the-time unknown-to-me adage that if you can't dazzle 'em with brilliance, then baffle 'em with . . . well, let's just say if you confuse 'em enough everything might work out okay.

Books of May, 06

2006-05-31T21:41:00.000-05:00

This month included the final two volumes of The Book of Words trilogy, a detective story, and two books aimed at teens.

A Man Betrayed by J. V. Jones
Heat by Mike Lupica
Flush by Carl Hiaasen
Master and Fool by J. V. Jones
McNalley's Dilemma by Lawrence Sanders (& Vincent Lardo)
Currently reading Idoru by William Gibson

A Man Betrayed by J. V. Jones (Book II of the The Book of Words trilogy) - Second on the Book of Words trilogy, it didn't really move the story along that much. It seemed more to me a sort of "fantasy comes in trilogies, I've got the opening book, I know where I want the ending to go, so I need something in the middle" book. Really, both this and the first could easily have been made one volume with half the stuff cut out. But, while at times tedious, it did keep me interested enough to move on to the third book -- though I needed a break prior to moving on.

Heat by Mike Lupica - Well, here's the thing. I've been wanting to read some of Lupica's fiction. I unexpectedly had two hours to kill, so I went by Sam's Club to see what I might could find to read. I saw Heat by Lupica and bought it without reading the jacket blurbs or any of the book. Turns out it was aimed at kids. Read it anyway, and it wasn't all that bad but if you're over fifteen you can probably pass it up. The story follows a kid, great baseball player (over the top "great" actually) who is struggling with a bit of a problem in getting to play.

Flush by Carl Hiaasen - Another book aimed at teens, though this one could be enjoyed a bit more by older kids and even near-fifty year olds. Number One Son had read it and wanted me to read it. He knew I had read some of Hiaasen's work (definitely not kid stuff) so wanted to see what I thought about this one. There were some fairly large-sized holes in the story I assume were allowable as it was aimed at kids, but overall not a bad book. I'd still pass it up for Hiassen's books aimed at an older audience, but not a bad book for teens.

Master and Fool by J. V. Jones (Book III of the The Book of Words trilogy) - The concluding volume of The Book of Words, and it ended the story in a fairly routine method. I've not read a lot of fantasy lately and, while it wasn't horrible, it didn't light me on fire. This trilogy is skippable in my opinion, but okay if you are hard up for a fantasy read.

McNalley's Dilemma by Lawrence Sanders (& Vincent Lardo) - My first book by Sanders, and it turns out to be by Lardo. I'm going to try and rustle up the original works by Sanders and start with those, then continue with the books that continue the series after Sander's death. Even though it was fairly predictable and I saw the ending (or at least partially saw it) fairly early on, but it was still fun to read. It reminded me a bit of Wodehouse, and I love Wodehouse. In fact, I need to hunt up another Wodehouse fairly soon to add to my collection. McNalley's Dilemma follows McNalley as he tries to sort out a mystery that involves a lovely young thing and the death of her father.

Currently reading Idoru by William Gibson. Gibson is know for writing cyberpunk and I've read a couple of his books and decided I'm not a particular fan of cyberpunk. But I picked this one up via paperback swap and thought I'd give it a try. I'll let you know.

Random Childhood Memory: My Earliest Memory

2006-05-25T10:55:00.000-05:00

When trying to dredge up my earliest childhood memory, I think it's Mamaw and the fan. Mamaw was my Dad's mother and grew up a country woman. We lived a stone's throw away from Mamaw and Papaw and occasionally when Mom and Dad were out and about, Mamaw would keep an eye on us kids. On this particular day, or actually this particular few seconds of memory, I've no idea where my parents were or where my older brother might have been. What I remember was being at Mamaw's house, her sitting in a rocker and me squatting on the floor in front of an old, metal, oscillating fan. AC, while available, was still some thirty years from making it into this house, and the fan was strategically placed to swing back and forth and provide Mamaw's rocker with a nice little breeze.

I was squatting in front of the fan, the breeze swinging back and forth, hitting me then swinging away, then swinging back across and hitting me again, then swinging away in the other direction. The fan had a round metal cage front and back, metal base, and metal blades, and stood about two feet tall. While squatting there, I stuck my finger out and started it toward the fan, whose cage easily permitted entry of a toddler's finger.

I remember Mamaw saying "Don't stick your finger in the fan."
I remember that I continued to stick my finger in the fan.
I remember the rapid thp-thp-thp-thp-thp of those metal blades making drumming sounds on my finger.
I remember jerking my finger back and starting to cry.
I remember Mamaw saying, while continuing to calmly rock back and forth, "I told you not to stick your finger in the fan."

I wonder about the differences in then and now. If I picture that scene played out today, 1) as soon as the child approached, the mother would have jumped up and dragged the child away; 2) the fan would be placed so as never to be allowed in the child's reach again; 3) the parents would have tested (with fan off, and child asleep to avoid emotional trauma) to see if the finger would have gone through the cage; 4) there would have been a lawsuit because of the Mom's sleepless nights from knowing that the possibility existed that the child could have or might one day get his finger thp'ed; 5) the child would have ended up overdosing on heroin from growing up overprotected (okay, perhaps a stretch on that one).

I have often thought through the years that folks, including SWMBO and I, overprotect our children a bit too much. I'm not suggesting we throw the babies on the back windshield of the car anymore (though as a toddler I remember it as a great place for a nap while traveling), but I didn't grow up with knee pads and helmets while riding a bicycle or skateboard, and didn't expire from the skinned knees. I climbed trees to dangerous heights, swam in lakes and streams, built unmoterized go-carts and crashed them, and on and on. I wonder sometimes if the seeming lack of a recognition of consequences some kids have these days stems from being overprotected as they grow up. Who knows. But I can say, on the day of my earliest childhood memory, I learned something I never forgot: don't stick your fingers in a fan. Haven't done it since.

I also learned, or at least had the seeds of the idea planted, that actions have consequences. We've tried to include that lesson in various ways with our kids over the years, and so far it seems to have taken root. But in seeing what some kids do, and seeing the reaction of the parents in blaming everybody possible besides their kids, I think a lot of young adults grew up missing that lesson. If every kid spent a couple of months with a Mamaw like mine -- assuming they survived -- they would have a much better idea of how the world really works . . . and you know, that would probably be a good thing.

Watch Those Orifices

2006-05-21T10:41:00.000-05:00

Something I've noticed lately with prescription pills I've been getting (and I've been needing way too many of late) is the direction to take "by mouth." It made me wonder just how many folks have been taking these things by, um, . . . let's just say by other methods -- but how many that it became necessary to put this info on the bottle.

Granted, I know there are certain things you shove into an orifice other than your mouth (I was thinking nasal spray, what were you thinking?) but I personally would always err to the idea that should some medicine go somewhere other than my mouth the directions might point it out. Given the additional info now on the bottles, I assume this isn't the case with everyone.

"So, Mr. Jones, how's that infection?"

"It doesn't seem to be any better, Doc."

"Hmm. Did you miss any of the antibiotic pills?"

"Nope. Took 'em at 10 am and 10 pm, just like clockwork every day. And just between you and me, Doc, in the little stall we have at work it was sometimes tough to shove 'em up my rear."

"I think I might see the problem."

I'll leave you folks with a piece of advice, one that has stood me well: prior to popping anything into an orifice, if directions are not specific call and ask. A mistake in either direction would be embarrassing.

No Post Post

2006-05-19T14:38:00.000-05:00

Just a quick post to say there are a variety of reasons that I haven't posted lately, least of which is that what little time I've had available, free, and feeling like doing any computer stuff was spent putting together my square foot gardening site. It is incomplete, but mostly there. If interested in the square foot gardening method, you can check the site out by clicking:

Square Foot Garden

I'm going to stop with the occasional log of my square foot garden here and do the garden updates on my square foot garden site.

Misplaced Millions

2006-05-04T13:59:00.000-05:00

Over the last few days, much has been made--at least in sports-reporting circles--about John Daly's gambling loses that were revealed in a soon-to-be-published autobiography. Daly reports that he has lost between fifty and sixty million gambling over the past twelve years. While I agree with the general consensus that losing over fifty million dollars gambling is a bit daft and certainly indicative of a need to make a quick call to gamblers anonymous, I was struck by something different: how can an individual be fuzzy over ten million dollars?

Not fifty million, not sixty million but "fifty to sixty million." Daly apparently can't nail it down anywhere closer than a margin of ten million! I might can see where a country can misplace $10 million, but an individual? Even an individual making millions? Come'on, it seems you'd notice that. I can almost hear him mulling it over: "The other ten million might have been gambling, but I did buy a lot of shoes, who knows how many cigars, and those six packs of beer add up over time; maybe that's where the extra ten million went."

I did try to put this into perspective to see if doing so would make it sensible. See, often SWMBO has commented that she took $100 from an ATM and can't figure out where it all went. "I took a hundred out of the ATM on Tuesday, and here it is Friday and I've only got eight dollars left." She'll try and sort it out, and it goes something like this: "I got my hair done on Tuesday, that was twenty, then stopped by Piggly Wiggly on the way home and spent another fifteen or so. Call that forty total. Then Wednesday, I had lunch out and that was about eight dollars plus tip. But I haven't spent any since then, so I should have fifty left--but there's only eight bucks."

Forty-two bucks disappeared in a period of three days. Extrapolated, that would be over five thousand a year. If Daly misplaced, oh I don't know, say a hundred-K annually it might work out, but compared to the eight-hundred thousand per year Daly hasn't a clue about, it just doesn't compute. We're talking ten million dollars total on which he's fuzzy. I gotta tell you, I don't expect to ever be making Daly's kind of money, but if I do I will fight that problem. If SWMBO comes home with "Let's see, I took $100K out of the ATM, spent eighteen thousand at Wal-mart, another fourteen thousand at Michael's on clothes, five thousand at the spa--I should have sixty-three thousand left but only have eight thousand bucks" we will put intense focus on setting up a cash flow monitoring system. I wonder if Daly has ever heard of Dave Ramsey?

Books of April, 06

2006-04-30T17:48:00.000-05:00

Spending a few days in bed definitely kicks up the reading time, and even when feeling "better" it didn't equate to feeling good (or even close to good) so along with those days there were a number of afternoons spent in bed. The time spent betwixt dozing and reading does show in the number of books I read during April:

Greenthieves by Alan Dean Foster
Big Stone Gap by Adriana Trigiani
Sanibel Flats by Randy Wayne White
Purple Cane Road by James Lee Burke
Wolves of the Calla by Stephen King
Bad Move by Linwood Barclay
The Baker's Boy by J. V. Jones
Bad Guys by Linwood Barclay
Big Cherry Holler by Adriana Trigiani
The Wizard and the War Machine by Lawrence Watt-Evans
Cachalot by Alan Dean Foster
Currently reading A Man Betrayed by J. V. Jones

Greenthieves by Alan Dean Foster - This was an SF detective story about an insurance "adjuster" (this adjuster uses weapons more than adding machines) trying to solve a locked-room theft - actually, multiple thefts from the locked room. The detective story was routine, and being it was SF, it was flavored with the a futuristic landscape. Not bad, a bit of a neat idea included, but overall not spectacular by any means. Do note that if you enjoy Foster's off-beat Spellsinger books, you should know that Greenthieves is a straight SF detective story.

Big Stone Gap by Adriana Trigiani - I call books like this one a "slice of life" style book; nothing that would make the newspaper, just a warm story about average folks. I found it a nice change of pace to thrillers of various sort, and while my brothers tend to suggest my liking such books is an indication of a lack of positive deflection on the mass meter when my foot apparel is placed upon it, I don't care. I likes what I likes.

Sanibel Flats by Randy Wayne White - I picked this book up on the paperback swap website, an opening novel in the Doc Ford series, first published back in 1990. Doc Ford is a former government agent who has retired and now lives in Florida. The cover of the copy I have compares White to Carl Hiassen though it's probably more for the Florida base than the actual novel. And while Ford, the central character, does now live in Florida, most of the action in this opening novel of the series takes place in South America. I wouldn't rate it superb, but it wasn't bad, had interesting characters, and I liked it well enough to see where the next novel goes. Hopefully it'll work out into an enjoyable series as there are several Doc Ford books out there.

Purple Cane Road by James Lee Burke - The first of Burke's books I read was Cadillac Jukebox which I thoroughly enjoyed. It was set in the New Iberia area of Louisiana, an area where I spent several weeks on business, and revisited with my wife one anniversary. Both my (very limited) familiarity with the area, along with Burke's masterful characterization and storytelling skills, left me wanting more of the series. I did read a couple of others in the "Robicheaux" series (the central character being Dave Robicheaux), but now my problem lies in remembering which ones I had read and which ones I had not read. Purple Cane Road didn't sound familiar, and I was right that I hadn't read it. It, too, was a great read, but I've decided I don't want to keep randomly picking them up and reading them out of order. I think I'm going to start with the first in the series - The Neon Rain, and go in order. If I accidentally pick up one I've read along the way, no biggie. The story? Oh, yeah. Well, it's your basic "damaged cop" sort of story, with Robicheaux being the damaged cop, and by "damaged" it's the standard alcohol problems that so many fictional cops/private eyes seem to be fighting. But the backstory around Robicheaux is well done, and the supporting cast is great, and the mixture of detective story with the human qualities of Robicheaux makes for a very good read.

Wolves of the Calla (The Dark Tower V by Stephen King - It's been awhile since I read Wizard and Glass, the fourth book in the Dark Tower series, but it only took a bit of time to catch back up in the story, and I enjoyed this one more than I remember (been a couple years or more) enjoying Wizards and Glass. I'll pick up book six sometime in the reasonable future, and eventually finish the entire series. But unless things change, Book One by far is still the best and I don't think the series lived up to the potential from a (or at least this) reader's perspective.

Bad Move by Linwood Barclay - Absolutely hilarious. The cover states "If Dave Barry wrote mystery, it would be something like Barclay's Bad Move." Which is true, because as I read it I was reminded of Dave Barry's mysteries, which apparently the writers of the blurb didn't realize Barry wrote - though I'd call both this one and Barry's books "criminal capers." But it is a very funny book, enough so that I ordered the hardback of the second novel Bad Guys without waiting for it's soon-released paperback version. The story centers around Zack Walker, a married father of two, whose attempts at life's lessons to his family tend to go awry.

The Baker's Boy by J. V. Jones (Book I of the The Book of Words trilogy) - Barring The Wicked Witch of the West and my partial of Son of a Witch, it's been awhile since I've read any fantasy. Well, I suppose Casual Rex would be considered fantasy, but it was more a detective story with dinosaurs than a fantasy story. The Baker's Boy was a beginning for The Book of Words trilogy. So far, an enjoyable fantasy read -- some small points are brushed over, so a bit of suspension of disbelief is required, but overall enjoyable. The other two books of the trilogy are on the way from paperback book swap members and I look forward to continuing the series.

Bad Guys by Linwood Barclay - The follow-up to Bad Move was also a dynamite, funny story. The hiccups are centered more around central character Zack Walker's relationship with his daughter this go around, but the story is still fast-paced and fun. On the one hand, I'm happy that the sequel wasn't a let down. On the other hand, darn -- that marks all of Barclay's work in this series so now I'll have to wait while he (presumably) writes. But Barclay has been added to my "Hardback Buy" list, and not many make the cut.

Big Cherry Holler by Adriana Trigiani was the sequel to Big Stone Gap. I found Big Stone Gap to be a nice slice of life book, but Big Cherry Holler wasn't nearly as interesting to me. It followed Ave Marie, now married to Jack MacChesney, and dealt with marital problems between Ave and Jack. Basically Ave is pretty passive about life at this point and nothing new was introduced to hold my interest. It seemed to do a bit of a 180 on both Ave and Jack and how their characters behave. Was skip-able in my opinion, having become a sort of failed romance story -- and though some might read it and say "hey, wait, in the end it wasn't a failed romance" I'd disagree.

The Wizard and the War Machine by Lawrence Watt-Evans -- Years ago I read Watt-Evans' The Cyborg and the Sorcerers and this was the follow-up to that book. While I'm a Watt-Evans fan, I didn't get into this book. Watt-Evans shines with his fantasy (the recent Obsidian series, his early Lords of Dus series, or any of the Ethshar books are all examples) but I've not been particularly enthralled with the little Watt-Evans SF I've read. This was an older work from the eighties, and Watt-Evans has settled in to doing Fantasy more so than SF; if you want to give Watt-Evans a try (and you should), make it his fantasy work.

Cachalot by Alan Dean Foster - I couldn't get into this book, try is I might. Written back in 1980, perhaps it was prior to Foster hitting his stride. Like Greenthieves mentioned above, Cachalot is an SF detective story but, while Greenthieves was engaging, I didn't find Cachalot to be in the same vein. The story is about an oceanographer (though I don't think that was what she was called) who was sent to an almost entirely water-covered planet to help figure out what was happening to some of the floating cities of the planet. About half way through I got tired of the story, but did at least check to see who-dunnit.

Currently reading A Man Betrayed by J. V. Jones (Book II of the The Book of Words trilogy)

Square Foot Garden - Produce!

2006-04-17T18:16:00.000-05:00

The picture at left, clickable for a bigger picture, will be part of tonight's dinner. I'm going to make a couple of chef salads for SWMBO and I, and SWMBO is picking up a burger for Number One Son. As today includes the first non-lettuce produce from the square foot garden, I just had to photograph and include it.

I harvested the greens from several kinds of lettuce along with some Swiss Chard. The radishes are Icicle Radishes (you'll hopefully get from where the name comes) and it's interesting to see in how many variations just those half-dozen radishes grew.

Given how many lettuce squares I planted, along with four Swiss Chard squares, we'll have plenty for salads until the lettuce starts to play out. I'll probably plant another square or two of Swiss Chard to replace the lettuce as it gives way come hotter weather. The sad part is, though I'll try shade cloth, I figure the lettuce will be gone by the time the tomato plants start producing eatable tomatoes. I'm hoping at least the sugar snap peas will make it into a salad or two with lettuce from my garden prior to the lettuce playing out. Though I followed the time-table for the sugar snap peas, I believe I could have planted them much earlier -- and will attempt to do so next year.

Brother Running-man's Birthday

2006-04-17T16:21:00.000-05:00

I can't, at this particular moment, actually recall Brother Running-man's day of birth. I was eleven at the time, so it isn't as if I wasn't old enough to recall, but nothing comes to mind - not sure why. I do recall a couple of things prior to his being born, one being his name. Brother Running-man goes by his middle name, and that was as intended by my family. From the start, Mom and Dad planned to use his middle name and have his first name of Christopher just be a spare. But I remember I wanted to call him Chris, and furthermore I remember not only wanting to call him Chris, but only using the name "Chris" for several weeks after he was born; I refused to use his middle name. I finally gave it up as a lost cause, but I was very disappointed that I couldn't sway those who counted. Had I had it my way, bro, you'd be answering to Chris.

While sitting here typing, the first actual memory of Brother Running-man I can dredge up has to do with something I'm sure he'd as soon forget. He was somewhere around two years old, and he hadn't yet had a haircut. His hair was a flowing, baby-blond (though "blonde" might work here as well). One day when some folks with a daughter were over, my parents dressed poor Brother Running-man up in clothes made for the fairer sex - but I have to admit, he was pretty fair. He made an adorable little girl, picture perfect (and pictures were taken, again something I'm sure my bro would as soon forget). But even with this fling with cross-dressing by force, he turned out okay. As flings go, I guess it was Mom and Dad's last fling at having a daughter, giving the baby business up after Brother Running-man arrived as the fourth son.

I also owe Brother Running-man a vast apology for deeds from my late teen/early twenties time period. When I was (in theory) supposed to be the adult in a couple of situations, I allowed some stuff to go on that shouldn't have gone on -- nothing drastically nasty, and certainly mild by today's standards -- but shouldn't have gone on. Heck, prior to visions of real weirdness taking root, let me just say adult beverages were allowed for a nowhere-near-adult. I've looked back on those occasions many times with a ton of regret, so, bro, consider this to be the vast apology owed. To his credit, though, even with such corruption of his younger years, Brother Running-man has overcome.

With Brother Running-man being eleven years my junior, it's occasionally easy to just think of him as the baby of the family. But in reality he's a mature and intelligent fellow, a wonderful husband and dad, and an all around great guy. His running blog is in my links list, and it's an inspiration to a couch potato like myself to get up and get some exercise. By inspiration, I mean it's almost guilted* me into starting an exercise program -- but, hey, "almost" will hopefully become a reality.

To sum up, I'll just say you're a great guy, bro -- have a great birthday!

*guilted - to cause feelings of guilt. (Works as a word for me)

Not as Tough These Days

2006-04-14T11:59:00.000-05:00

While I haven't felt particularly tough these past few weeks, fighting through both an illness and knee surgery (probably shouldn't have had the surgery with the illness ongoing), Easter Sunday coming up reminds me, as always, of how we used to gather in the kitchen on Saturday night before Easter and color some dozen or so Easter eggs for the Easter egg hunt on Sunday afternoon. Most times, we had an Easter Sunday service at the church followed by a pot-luck lunch at a local park. Everybody brought gloves, bats, softballs, and we had a softball game. Frisbees were thrown, some caught, some missed. Much, much food was eaten. And, of course, several dozen Easter eggs were hidden, and surprisingly the large majority were found.

Now picture for a minute if you will these colorful eggs. Boiled up, colored, and refrigerated the previous night, these eggs left the coolness of the 'frige around 9:30 Sunday morning to be hidden around 1:30 Sunday afternoon. Under bushes, against the grassy sides of trees, hidden to be hunted down by a couple-dozen kids. After the hunt, the eggs were brought back, counted (to see who found the most), then passed around, cracked and eaten. Yep, eaten. Out of the 'frige for over four hours, in the heat of the day for at least a couple of hours, and then eaten.

When we began the task of hiding eggs for our kids, we always treated these eggs as poison pills - you were not allowed to eat them suckers. And while my kids are now beyond the Easter egg hunts (though the participate in the hiding), the younger nieces and nephews aren't allowed to eat them either. But in thinking back, I don't recall anyone falling down dead from having a sun-warmed Easter egg back when I was a kid. It must be kids just aren't as tough these days.

Square Foot Garden Update - 04/07/06

2006-04-07T14:34:00.000-05:00

There have been a fair number of changes since my last update. Almost everything has been transplanted from the indoor seeding area to the square foot garden. Below is a picture of my four square foot garden beds taken today. Clicking it gives a larger (800 X 600) image.

The back beds have home-built trellises, made from some scrap wood I had after tearing down the playhouse that used to be on the concrete pad. This will allow the back row of beds A1, A2, and A3 to have climbing vegetables. The left bed has tomatoes, the center sugar snap peas, and the right has both cherry tomatoes and cucumbers.

The overall plan I had in mind allows for nine beds on the concrete pad, three rows (row A, B, and C) of three beds (1, 2, and 3) each. So for my purposes of keeping up with everything the back row of beds is row A1, A2, and A3 with the front single bed being Bed C2. Inside each 4' X 4' bed, there are sixteen planting squares which I number from A1 in the upper left corner to D4 in the lower right corner.

Below is a picture of Bed A3, and the individual plantings that match up are Cherry Tomatoes in squares A1 & A2, cucumbers in squares A3 & A4, a bell pepper in square B1, square B2 is empty, B3 & B4 have Swiss Chard, C1 & C2 along with D3 & D4 have lettuce (various kinds, though I've recorded which kinds), square C3 & C4 have onions, and D1 & D2 have radishes. The image can be clicked for a larger version.

I plan to publish additional pictures every couple of weeks or so as I go. So far, the only food coming out is the lettuce that just came up from dormant seeds left in Bed A2, square D1. But we have had several salads from it, as well as lettuce for sandwiches. See my post God's Little Chuckle for details on this particular lettuce square. I did add two lettuce plants to the square when I transplanted all of the other lettuce.

Random Childhood Memory - The Pants of the Family

2006-04-02T16:30:00.000-05:00

The first house I remember -- the one in which my parents were living when I was born -- was a small two bedroom home out "in the country." By that, there was a gravel road that ran in front of the house, only two other houses within a couple of miles or so, and otherwise lots of woods. My early memories revolve around this house -- and probably have evolved a bit since leaving, as I've had one or two corrections over time.

The house was small; a living room, eat-in kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. You walked into the front of the house straight into the living room and if you kept walking you went into the kitchen and out the back door - and it didn't take all that many steps. Just inside the front door, to the left, was an old record player I wish I had now. It played seventy-eight speed records -- the two I remember are Downtown (the Petula Clark version) and What it was, was Football by Andy Griffith. There was a console TV against one wall, black and white of course, and I remember Mom watching a daytime soap opera back then. Some lady on the soap had a long trial and I still remember the excitement when she was found not guilty . . . though Mom said she did it.

I can't remember the bedroom I shared with my brother, but to get there you went down a short hall from the living room and turned left. If you turned right, you went to Mom and Dad's bedroom. Going straight put you into the bathroom. Apparently there was a bit of confusion about my direction back then, because one memory I do have is of being awakened from sleep by the yells of my Dad. Apparently he was upset that I was peeing on his pants which were lying in the floor by their bed. I'm not sure why he got so upset; after all, he wasn't wearing 'em, so it could have been worse. Turns out in asking him about it later (forty years or so later) that he had found his pants wet on a couple of occasions and had no idea how they got that way. Seems I was good at solving a who-dunnit even back then, as I put an end to speculation on that mystery in pretty quick fashion.

Over the years, in my recollection of this memory, I had remembered this peeing-on-the-pants episode had occurred after we moved to town when I was six, and had attributed my misdirection to the new direction I had to take to get to the bathroom. Turns out, not so. I've no idea why I was sleepwalking into their bedroom and peeing on the pants of the family, but I'm sure a gaggle of therapists could come up with a gaggle of deep-seated mental problems I must have had at the time. I know over the ensuing years I mistook a clothes hamper for a toilet on more than one occasion, lifting lid and peeing on the clothes in the hamper. I don't think it's occurred in the last thirty years, so apparently whatever was causing it I've long since resolved. But peeing on Dad's pants is one of my earliest memories and as it recently popped to mind I thought I'd share.

Books of March, 06

2006-04-01T09:14:00.000-06:00

During March I finished off six books -- well, that is to say, I completed five books and gave up on a sixth. The books were:

Thud by Terry Pratchett
Son of a Witch by Gregory Maguire
Fast Forward by Judy Mercer
Casual Rex by Eric Garcia
Fearless Jones by Walter Mosley
Tourist Season by Carl Hiaasen

Thud by Terry Pratchett - what can you say? At the very least, it's another Pratchett Discworld book. I mean, if you're addicted, it isn't like you can skip even one of the weaker books, so you're going to read it. And if it's one of the better ones, then you will just enjoy it that much more. That said, I'd probably peg this as one of the weaker ones but was still a fun Pratchett read.

Son of a Witch by Gregory Maguire - I read Wicked - the Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West a month or two ago and it didn't really excite me all that much. A neat idea, but the book didn't pull it off in my opinion (though that opinion was disagreed with by quite a lot of folks). So I wasn't really excited about Son of a Witch, but since I was down to just a couple of choices and at the time I wasn't in the mood for The Assassins, the conclusion to Oliver North's trilogy, I went with Son of a Witch. The principle character, Liir, seemed to wander from place to place for no apparent reason. About two-thirds of the way through I realized I was continuing to read this book for no apparent reason as well. I didn't care about the characters anymore - hadn't cared much to start with. I guess it was supposed to be a "coming of age" sort of thing, following an apathetic character through a particularly boring part of his life written without wit, humor, or any human interest. Since I had spent the BAM gift card from SWMBO's Mom and had some books around I wanted to read, it seemed foolish to keep plodding through. So about two weeks of hit and miss reading into it, without even flipping to the back to see what happened I left Liir to plod along on his on and picked another book to read.

Fast Forward by Judy Mercer - Not bad. This was a "woke up with amnesia" book with a slight twist. A nice idea that Mercer developed fairly well, even though the glaring spotlight of an obvious conclusion to the main plotline introduced in the first page or two of the book was left for a sequel. Don't get me wrong, the first phase of the obvious was shown, but the details behind it were left for later. I'll probably eventually buy the next one (haven't looked for it yet, but I assume there is one), but I did fell let down that the obvious conclusion being hinted at for the entire book was only scratched at the end of Fast Forward. With some books these days, it seems so much effort goes into trying to get you to buy the next one that they don't keep you happy enough with this one to bother.

Casual Rex by Eric Garcia - This is your typical detective story about a couple of hard-nosed guys who have partnered together to form a private eye firm . . . well, typical except the detectives are dinosaurs. In Garcia's world, the dinosaurs have survived but have adapted by hiding in the world of humans (whom they look on as particularly vile). Once you're past the dinosaur twist, the book has to hold together as a private eye story, and it does okay but it isn't really anything special. And the fact that humans are pretty much all trash gets old (our hero considers even having dinner with a human to be disgusting). Since I bought Casual Rex as part of a double-novel book, I'll probably eventually read the sequel in the book, Anonymous Rex (though Anonymous Rex actually came out first, with Casual Rex being published later, but being published as a prequel to the first). Anonymous Rex will have to be a level above this one if I'm going to be tempted to buy another.

Fearless Jones Walter Mosley - Set in Los Angeles of the 50's, Paris Minton is a black small business owner working to mind his own business. But trouble falls in his lap in the form of Elana Love, and so Paris relies on his fearless friend, Fearless Jones, to help bail him out. It was an interesting read from the beginning and I'll probably check out some of Mosley's other work based on this book. Picked this book up via my Paperback Book Swap membership.

Tourist Season by Carl Hiaasen - First published back in the mid-eighties, Tourist Season follows former reporter turned private eye Brian Keyes as he tries to stop the Las Noches de Diciembre terrorist group who are trying to run the tourists out of Miami. A pretty good book, and I may keep an eye out for other Hiaasen books.

Currently reading Greenthieves, an SF detective novel by Alan Dean Foster, published back in 1994. It was also acquired through my Paperback Book Swap membership.

A Mid-Month Bookish Update

2006-03-20T08:57:00.000-06:00

While this isn't the Books of March update (it'll come at the end of March), I decided to post a couple of bookish notes. There are certain authors whose books I buy as they come out, usually in hardback, but these don't keep me in enough reading material to satisfy my reading jones (don't let anyone say I'm not a cool dude - I used "jones" with the addiction definition). Between these "must read" authors, I fill in with a variety of books that look interesting. Often these books I come up with add another author to my "must read" list, but invariably I still need the "filler" books - the books I read in-between the "must read" books. Most of that filler material of late has come by default, with me reading whatever I borrowed from Number One Brother -- and I've already gone through the ones I think might be good and have been working through the ones that don't really excite me. So I was happy to get to go pick up some new stuff at BAM. I got Big Stone Gap by Adriana Trigiani, a double book by Eric Garcia containing Anonymous Rex and Casual Rex, and Tourist Season by Carl Hiaasen.

Big Stone Gap looks to be a Jan Karon, Mitford-type book while the double book by Eric Garcia will either be a nice humorous read or too stupid to enjoy. What I read of it in BAM appeared to fall on the nice humorous read side of the fence; hopefully it'll stay there. Tourist Season looked to be your basic detective story, so I should enjoy that one as well. I'll let you know as I read them.

Bookish note number two has to do with the Paperback Swap club, which I joined over the weekend. It allows you to trade books with thousands of other folks, the only expense being your cost in shipping the books. It's not only a great idea for the book-swappers, it's a great business idea for the site developers. The customers do all the work, Paperback Swap just provides the system. At present there is no fee associated with the basic membership, though there are some things on the site that do cost. The system also lets you know there may be a ten-to-twenty buck per-year fee in the future.

I initially loaded the system with around 150 books and have had six requests already. I intend to load it with a lot more books over the coming weeks (I've got some 1,200 paperbacks that have collected over the years) and should be able to get my "filler" reading material there for some time to come. Check it out at Paper Back Swap and if you decide to join use me as the reference if you would - I get a free credit when you start using the system, and you know you want to give me free credits.

God's Little Chuckle

2006-03-14T17:38:00.000-06:00

As noticed if you read my blog, I've been working on getting some seeds started early for my square foot garden. This has been a bit of a task, requiring the purchase of numerous "grow lights" (2' relabeled under-counter fluorescent lights), much fussing around, restarting some, and so forth. But the results have been dozens of plants poking up in coffee cups getting ready to be transplanted. The picture above is one such plant, a Grand Rapids lettuce plant, that is doing quite well - the quarter is for size reference. It will soon be moving out from the house to the square foot garden; I'll probably start this weekend moving the lettuces out to the patio to harden them, then the following weekend transplant into the square foot garden. The idea, of course, is I can have really nice plants growing that much quicker, therefore reaching harvest much faster than just planting the seeds in the garden.

Speaking of the square foot garden (and getting around to the title of the post), in doing some work there this past weekend I noticed something. Given all of my effort, time, money, attention, and restarts I achieved the picture shown above. The picture below shows what I found growing from seeds scattered last fall that didn't sprout, also with a quarter for reference. They have had no attention, no effort, no money other than the original seed; they just grew. When I was working in the garden this past weekend and thinking about my efforts and those lettuces in the cup, and how little effort I had put into these . . . just for a second . . I think I heard a heavenly chuckle.

Brother Preacher-man's Birth Day

2006-03-12T12:24:00.000-06:00

I remember standing in the parking lot of the Tupelo, MS, hospital and looking at a window on -- I believe -- the third floor. Mom had just had Brother Preacher-man, the brother that came after me. At that time, you had to be at least twelve to go up and see patients, so me, being six, and Brother Number One, being nine, weren't old enough for an official visit. Brother Running-man, being the youngest of we four brothers, was yet to arrive on the scene. Dad (who was in the parking lot with us) helped us find the window and Mom came to the window with Brother Preacher-man (no, it wasn't a Michael Jackson moment - the window was closed). So my first view of my new little brother was through the third floor window of the Tupelo hospital, and while Mom waved he just bawled (at least that's how I remember it). I'm guessing he thought she was tossing him out the window; he was probably fairly insecure at the time, given what all he had just been through.

Fast forward to the birth of my second child, Number One Son, many years later; Number One Daughter was only four but was able to come and check her new little brother out only minutes after birth. Yet back when Brother Preacher-man arrived, not only were we siblings not allowed up, Dad wasn't allowed back in the delivery room. While I wasn't in the waiting room, I picture Dad pacing the floor, smoking cigarette after cigarette; I'm not sure he smoked at that time, as he gave them up somewhere around then, but that's the mental picture I have -- probably from watching old movies.

Of course, by the time SWMBO and I got around to having children, I was back in the room holding her hand and suggesting she breath - why she would forget to do so, I've no clue. Perhaps in the excitement of childbirth it can slip the almost-mother's mind, so husbands hang around and remind them. I assume prior to the time when the fellows started going back with their spouse, a nurse took care of the reminder. Given all these nurses had to do, maybe they occasionally forgot, and the new mom would pass out in the middle of giving birth. So along with slapping the new baby's backside, Mom had to be smacked a time or two just to bring her around. This was probably seen as a bit much to the new Moms, so I'm guessing husbands started going back to handle the chore. It has to be something along those lines; otherwise, what use are we back there? One thing I can tell you for sure, from the experience of Number One Daughter's birth: pointing out the newly arrived baby's ears are on crooked isn't appreciated. I knew better than to make such comments when Number One Son came along. Oh, and don't worry, Number One Daughter's ears straightened out within a few minutes.

Anyway, to get back to the point of the post: Brother Preacher-man, just remembering your birth day here on your birthday, and passing warmest wishes your way. I hope today is the first day of a fantastic new year of life.

Square Foot Garden Update - 03/11/06

2006-03-11T18:21:00.000-06:00

Above is a look at the Meth Lab*, where the plants are percolating along pretty nicely. I still have to get the tomato seeds into cups this weekend, but SWMBO and I spent the day getting a strawberry bed ready for the arrival of our strawberry plants. I'm not real sure when the plants will arrive from Burpee, but they said sometime in March so we wanted the bed ready. We tilled up the area, raked out the grass, put double-stacked landscaping timbers around it (4 feet by 16 feet), then filled with a mixture of top soil and mulch, the mulch to help the soil to drain better. The plants will go into a mixture of potting soil and vermiculite (2/1) when planted. I'll add a picture of the bed when the plants are installed.

Along with the tomato seeds being planted, I am going to get some onions and radishes into the actual square foot garden this weekend. But in looking at the bed in which they were going, I saw what you see to the right - only there were a few thousand; you can click the picture for a larger version, by the way. So now I've got to get rid of an ant infestation. My onions and radishes will go into a different bed, but I still hope to get them in this weekend. The onions are for green onions and the plan is they will be harvested in time to use the squares for something else later; same for the radishes. But I still have to figure out how to get rid of the ants without having them just infest another bed. I'll be posting the question on a couple of gardening boards and see what suggestions I get.

*When the kids dubbed my seedling area, with it's glowing lights and plastic-wrapped exterior, the "Meth Lab," I thought it was pretty funny and a pretty good name -- but SWMBO has suggested I should stop using that phrase. I think she's afraid of a raid some night, with doors kicked in and cops, along with cameras from the Cops television show, storming through. So while the seedling area will continue, this is the last time I'll refer to it as the Meth Lab. Sort'a makes me want to shed a tear.

Retirement Fund

2006-03-08T14:25:00.000-06:00

I always figured I'd retire at fifty-five years old and find something or other to putter around with: a used bookstore, maybe some teaching, grow Brussels sprouts for fun and profit, male escort (though I'll have to run that one past SWMBO) -- I don't know for sure, but something. I wouldn't want to completely retire, but I would want to do something that's more fun than how I currently earn a living, and not have money be the deciding factor in the deciding. However, while I do have both a pension with my company along with money I'm putting into a 410K (and getting a bit of a match), it probably won't allow me to retire at fifty-five in the style to which I hope to become accustomed. It also doesn't appear that my investments in the Powerball Lottery are going to pay off anytime soon either. But I'm not worried, because I have a fail-safe backup plan that will give me a massive chunk of cash come time to retire. I'll put this cash into safe investments and live decently off the interest for my remaining years on this old rock. SWMBO is a bit skeptical of my idea, but I can't see how it could miss. I call it the Scissors/Pens/Umbrella retirement fund.

There's no doubt that over the years I've had at least a couple million bucks worth of pens and scissors taken from my desk, and spent another million or so on umbrellas that go missing from my car, all never to return. Checking with Number One Daughter, Number One Son, and SWMBO assures me that they didn't throw them away, though they'll admit to the remote possibility of maybe having at some time in the distant past borrowed them. They also won't confess to the items being lost, since I've been assured on more than one occasion that "it's here somewhere, I just don't know where." This logic of having no idea where an item might be located, yet not being lost, has escaped me for years . . . but that's another post. For now, I just sit secure in the knowledge that though I don't know exactly where "here" might be, the items are "here somewhere." So when I get tired of the 'ole rat race, I'll just hunt "here" down, throw the entire pile up on eBay, and retire with a couple million in the bank. Anyone wanna join me in a fishin' trip eight years from now?

Crash at the Oscars

2006-03-06T22:07:00.000-06:00

Interestingly enough, in a previous review I described the movie Crash as "one very much worth watching" and on a five-star maximum rating, I said Crash "wasn't quite worth five, but very, very close." Now, seeing as how it won the Oscar for best picture last night, I may have to rethink it. Generally speaking, I'm never on the same page as the Academy Awards. I'm not sure I want to think highly of a picture the folks who vote for the awards also think highly of. I must have overrated it.

Square Foot Garden Update (03-05-06)

2006-03-05T17:42:00.000-06:00

Here are a few of the plants growing in the Meth Lab (re: Meth Lab, see the post Brussels Sprouts in the Meth Lab) that will be going into my square foot garden later on, come transplanting time. Most everything planted so far is up, the exception being most of the pepper plants and one or two of the Swiss chard. In the picture (on which you can click for a larger image, should you want to do so) the two cups in the foreground (#53 & #54) are Swiss chard, behind that are (left to right) a bell pepper and a banana pepper. All the cups behind that are various lettuces; immediately behind the peppers could be anything as they came from a package of Mesclun salad mix, on the back row are grand rapids lettuce plants, and just in front of the back row are salad bowl lettuce plants.

This is my first year to try and start seeds indoors, and as has been documented previously here on Mississippi Ramblings, I've had some setbacks. I have to say I sincerely hope this works out. I've had a ton of trouble with the cheap grow lights I bought from Wal-mart. Every time I go by, one or two or even three have stopped burning. Either squeezing the ends toward each other, shifting the bulbs a bit, or banging on one particular one always gets them going again but I never know really how much of the time they are supposed to be on they are actually lighting the plants.

Books of February

2006-03-02T21:54:00.000-06:00

During February I only read four books (listed, in order, below). I got hung up on Winning, and just couldn't seem to go anywhere. I wasn't really in the mood for that particular type of book so would only read three or four pages prior to putting it down. I probably spent over two weeks on it, reading small doses at a time. The four books I read in February were:

Disappearing Nightly by Laura Resnick
Cell by Stephen King
Winning by Jack Welch
Poison Study by Maria V. Snyder

Disappearing Nightly by Laura Resnick was a barely-okay book -- which is pretty sad, as it started out to be a better-than-okay book. Shortly into it, though, Resnick took a turn toward the ridiculous and kept going in that direction. The story lost a lot of what it could have been, and given the possibilities exhibited in the first chapter or two that was really disappointing.

Cell by Stephen King wasn't bad, but nothing great - in my mind, easily in the lower half of King's work. A neat premises, a decent idea, but somewhat disjointed and meandering without much purpose. As always, though, King's characters keep me interested.

Winning by Jack Welch was a decent book, but nowhere as interesting as Straight from the Gut and, as mentioned, I got bogged pretty badly on this one. Aimed far above my meager level of the corporate ladder, his ideas may have been in place for the upper echelons of GE but didn't trickle down to the lower rungs very well. Some good points could be dug out, though, so might be worth adding to your list.

Poison Study by Maria V. Snyder was by far the best of the February books and a nice opening to a new series of novels. A complete and interesting story in and of itself, I'm now looking forward to the publication of Magic Study due out in October. Based on what I see on her website, this is Snyder's first book - I know because I went hunting for anything else she might have written. I hate waiting for the next, then the next, etc. I usually wait until the series is finished, then buy them all. I didn't realize this one would be a series until I was nearing the end of this novel. I could tell the subplot would probably wrap up, but there was much more to the story than could be finished in the remaining pages. I was right, and it mentioned the next one. Ah, well.

Currently reading Thud by Terry Pratchett, one of the Discworld books.

Beating the Odds

2006-02-25T23:16:00.001-06:00

The odds of winning at Powerball are 1 in 146,107,962; that's 0.000068 percent. This means if you buy a ticket, the odds of someone who didn't buy a ticket lucking up and finding the winning lottery ticket are very close to your odds of winning, because the difference between your odds of winning and their odds of finding the winner is less than one millionth of a percent.

If you bought 500 tickets every week for the next fifty years, your chances of winning the lottery are still less than one percent - and you have spent $1.3 million trying.

You are more likely to be struck by lightning 253 times than you are to win the lottery from a single ticket.

You are 1,660 times more likely to date a supermodel than you are to win the lottery. (Okay, I take exception to this one, as I figure -- even at 1 in 146,107,962 -- I'm much more likely to win the lottery than date a supermodel, because I asked SWMBO and dating the supermodel is out (parenthetically dropping down another level, no, I didn't ask a supermodel, but I figured that'd be a piece of cake compared to getting SWMBO to go along.).)

Over the next fifty years if you buy two Powerball tickets each week (one per drawing), the earth is five times more likely to experience a catastrophic collision with an asteroid over that fifty years than you are to win the lottery.

But what the heck, somebody's gotta win; buy a ticket.

Square Foot Garden Update - 02-25-06

2006-02-25T23:11:00.000-06:00

A lot of the plants sprouted back on the 22nd, but I hadn't expected them to sprout that quickly (three days). Because of this I hadn't picked up any new lights. Also, I had to be out of town 22nd and 23rd, so wasn't able to do anything about it. I did pick up more lights while out (as planned), but by the time I got back the plants were already tall and spindly. So I added a shelf to the Meth Lab, added many hooks, and added lights for a total of eight two-foot lights. Replanted most of what was growing, but was able to leave a few. Left sprouted (though added additional seeds to some cups):

#01 & 03 - Brussels Sprouts
#04 - Eggplant, #05 - Eggplant (barely sprouted)
#08 & 09 - Grand Rapids Lettuce
#15-17 - Black Seeded Simpson Lettuce
#18-21 - Salad Bowl Lettuce
#27 - Paris Island Cos Lettuce
#29, 32, 33, 39 - Mesclun Mix
#48 - Broccoli (pretty spindly)

Several others had also sprouted but, as they were spindly, I pulled them. After replanting I watered for 2 hours. Also planted 12 Swiss Chard seeds, watered for about 3 hours or so to get the cups good and soaked. On a side note, I pulled the two parsley plants out of the SFG; the garden is now bare and waiting for plants.

That's a Funny Dog

2006-02-21T20:37:00.000-06:00

On a recent morning as I was still in bed, more asleep than awake, I had a joke pop into mind. Not one I'd heard, but one that was sort of created from my dreams. A woman is at an upscale hotel, talking to the concierge and explaining that her husband is a bit daft. While he's harmless, he doesn't really have a one-to-one relationship with reality anymore. She asks the concierge to please inform the staff of her husband's condition and treat him kindly, just playing along with him in his delusions. As someone is approaching, she glances back and then says to the concierge "Here's Henry now," to which the concierge looks, then replies "But madam, that's a schnauzer!"

Now, I realize the joke isn't really funny, the gist of it being the lady whose been doing all of this "husband is crazy" explanation is the one who's nuts. But what occurred to me later is that my subconscious didn't come up with "But madam, that's a German shepherd!" or "that's a collie!" or "that's a Labrador retriever!" For some reason, when my mind wanted humor, it picked a schnauzer. I don't even know anyone with a schnauzer. I've never known anyone with a schnauzer. I don't think I've even met a schnauzer. Are schnauzers funny animals?

Note: Oh, and I know that picture of the schnauzer sucks, but I'm still enjoying my Wacom pad, so suck or not, I'm sticking my pictures up here.

Square Foot Garden Update - 02-19-06

2006-02-19T20:16:00.000-06:00

Replanted the Brussels Sprouts. They had gotten "leggy," sort of tall, spindly, and then fell down. In surfing around to try and figure out what happened, it appears this comes from either not enough light or too much fertilizer. I'm thinking it was the fertilizer, so cleaned out the cups, replaced with about an 80/20 mixture of top soil and vermiculite, and replanted.

Also planted several lettuces (Grand Rapids, Black Seeded Simpson, Salad Bowl, Paris Island Cos (Romaine), and a Mesclun mixture), bell pepper, banana pepper, hot lemon pepper, cayenne pepper, and broccoli. Planted all in 80/20 mixture of top soil and vermiculite. Watered all for about five - six hours; I wanted to make sure enough seeped up to get the seeds good and wet. Sometime prior to their emerging, I've got to get some more lights to keep a light over each row of cups, and I won't fertilize until the second leaves form - and then I'll cut it in half.

All the planting was in the Meth Lab and not in the SFG proper. I planted:

Burpee 53967A, "Tasty Nuggets Hybrid," purchased in 2006 direct from Burpee (Cup #1, 2, 3)
Wal-mart Gardens Brand Grand Rapids, Tipburn Resistant Lettuce, purchased from Wal-mart, spring 2005 (Cups #8-12)
Burpee Black-Seeded Simpson (Loosehead Type), purchased spring 2005 from Wal-mart (Cups #13-17)
Wal-mart Gardens Brand Salad Bowl Lettuce, purchased from Wal-mart, spring 2005 (Cups #18-22)
Wal-mart Gardens Brand Parris Island Cos (Romaine) Lettuce, purchased from Wal-mart, spring 2005 (Cups #23-27)
Burpee Mesclun Salad Mix, purchased spring 2005 from Wal-mart (Cups #28-39)
Walmart brand California Wonder 300 TMR Bell Pepper, purchased from Wal-mart, spring 2005 (Cups #40-42)
Burpee 65045A, Bananarama Hybrid Banana Pepper, purchased in 2006 direct from Burpee (Cups #43 & 44)
Burpee 54320A, Hot Lemon Pepper, purchased in 2006 direct from Burpee (Cup #45 & 46)
Walmart brand Long Thin Cayenne (Hot) Pepper, purchased from Wal-mart, spring 2005 (Cup #47)
Burpee Green Goliath Broccoli, purchased Feb, 2006 from Wal-mart (Cups #48 & 49)

For Number One Daughter

2006-02-18T09:46:00.000-06:00

Man, don't they grow up quickly. Number One Daughter turned twenty-one this past Wednesday. The picture below-left was taken last week, I think, while the one on the right is from her birthday. We kept her at home for a little while the night of her birthday - at least I can still get her attention with steak & shrimp.

Last night I dreamed she was a baby again, just starting to aaaalmost walk, and something had happened to scare her, so I picked her up and sat her in my lap. She was about to cry, and I made faces at her and laughed until she started laughing, too. After a couple of little baby laughs, she said, in her little baby voice and with a big smile on her face, "Daddy." From my dream perspective, this was the first time she had ever said "Daddy." It was about here that I woke up, and was either thinking or dreaming that in her saying "Daddy" she was recognizing that here was the guy who made everything all right.

I don't really know how an infant sees those around them, but I do hope when Number One Daughter was small, along with being the big blobby thing that made coughing sounds on the rare occasion I changed a diaper, I was also the funny-face-make-her-laugh guy, the read-to-her-guy, the hold-her-close-guy, the loves-her-no-matter-what guy, and, yeah, the guy who makes everything all right. I've tried over the years to do that: love her no matter what and make everything all right. I've failed at times on that last one. I can't fix it when a boy friend breaks up, and there are times when I have seen something is bothering her and she doesn't want to tell me about it. I used to push to find out, but it only caused more upset; now I suffer along with her and keep quiet, hoping that things -- whatever those things are -- will get better. And there have been times when what I thought would make everything all right might not fit into her plans.

But I do think I've helped to make a few things all right, the little things dads can do. Fix the bike, skate, car when it's broken. I can still make her laugh, and that brings me as much joy as it did when she was a baby. We can sit and talk about dumb stuff, and that's fun. She may still live at home but she has her own life now, and SWMBO and I grow less and less a part of it; it's sad, but it's how it's supposed to be as your kids grow up. I do hope we stay close, though, because that, too, is how it's supposed to be. Whatever the case, she's turned into a great person; smart, funny, a bit lazy (like her Dad) on chores she hates, but works hard at the things she enjoys. Nobody on the planet can drive me up a wall quicker than she can - and I think that feeling is mutual. One thing I have done, even in those times when we had the arguments: I've loved her no matter what. I hope she knows that, if nothing else. So Number One Daughter, as you become an adult remember you'll always be my baby girl, I'll always try to make everything all right, and I'll always love you no matter what.

Square Foot Garden Update - 02-16-06

2006-02-16T23:55:00.000-06:00

Watered everything, used 7 drops/quart of the liquid fertiziler in the Brussels Sprouts. Watered sprouts for two hours, rest for four. Sprouts have gotten tall and spindly and are falling over. Doesn't look good.

A Little Less Bling Bling

2006-02-13T23:37:00.000-06:00

With the NFC winning the Pro Bowl yesterday, the NFL football season comes to a close -- at least the playing does. Now starts the free-agent negotiations to make a bit more money, the upcoming draft where new players will be getting rich, and a few players will be trying to renegotiate their current contracts in an upward direction. Let's face it, bling bling costs money.

On that note: the total of the NFL salaries runs in the neighborhood of $2,784,000,000, the NBA about $1,470,000,000, MLB comes in at $2,123,000,000, and the NHL hits around $1,304,000,000. That's a total of $7,681,000,000. That's over 7.5 billion dollars, in case you don't want to count the zeros, and that doesn't include many, many millions in Nike, Reebok, and other endorsement deals. That's a lot of bling bling.

Ignore the endorsement money -- with just the salaries alone every person in Mississippi could have a double-cheeseburger and order of fries from the McDonald's dollar menu three times a day for the entire year, with a billion and a half left over for cake and ice cream. Or instead, the entire US population could go to Outback Steakhouse one night a year and have prime rib and a couple of beers. Well, maybe not on the same night, as Number One Daughter (who's a server at an Outback) would complain about being "slammed" -- but we could work out the details. Nurses whose last name starts with the letter "T" could go June 25th, plumbers named "Douglas" on August 7th, and so forth.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm a sports fan, an ESPN Insider, listen to the Dan Patrick radio show, watch PTI, the whole schmear. But every now and then some athlete makes a comment along the lines of Latrell Sprewell saying he needs more than his $14.1 million per year because he's "got mouths to feed," and I find myself wondering if we couldn't better spend this money. Let's face it, without basketball Sprewell is probably handing out those MickyD burgers the money will buy. You know he'd play basketball for $100K/year instead of not playing pro ball at all; beats $6.50/hour and "you want fries with that?" (yes, we do, it's part of the deal). I guarantee you, if every major league sport had cut all annual salaries to $100K five years ago, you'd be watching the same players as you are now and Mississippi could be eating three double-cheese burgers daily. And don't worry about us Mississippians eating all of that junk food; we are already the most obese state in the nation. Heck, it'd probably be an overall improvement in our diet.

There isn't really a point to this post, other than pointing out how I hear about these salaries, know that the players getting them would play for a tenth -- or even a hundredth -- of that salary, and wonder how exactly that came about. I don't blame the athletes for taking the money, but you gotta be curious how folks dumb enough to pay it out became rich enough to pay it out.

Gardening in Bed

2006-02-12T12:37:00.000-06:00

This past Friday night I fixed SWMBO and myself a mocha bianca with whipped cream (forgot the shot of vanilla), a large cup each. After drinking this (which was pretty darn good) neither of us could get to sleep; it was around three-thirty before we even turned in. We ended up sleeping until almost ten, something we haven't done in a long time. While still lying in bed, we turned on the television and I noticed something, a bit of a disconnect in thinking in my opinion.

I've noticed before, but never really thought about it, that Saturday morning is prime time for gardening shows, home improvement project shows, and the like. Yet the very people these are aimed at are not in front of a television – they're out in the garden, or working on the lawn, or doing home improvement projects. I wonder if that's ever occurred to any of the network execs who do the scheduling? It could have, and unbeknownst to me the shows are actually aimed at couch potatoes who enjoy work, just work being done by other folks. I'll admit, I woke up this morning much less sore from watching work yesterday than from doing work last weekend.

My Kids Should be Terrified

2006-02-10T22:13:00.000-06:00

I'm not sure how my kids hide their worry. They seem to be reasonably carefree, with just the average teenage to young adult dramas going on, but they should walk about with a look of sheer terror on their face. I mean, let's face it, based on discussions with them, they obviously believe that sometime between your twenties and forties your brain begins to atrophy. For me, it apparently began when I hit forty – coincidentally, the same year Number One Daughter hit thirteen. There had been some signs (again, based on discussions) that my problem was beginning around age thirty-seven, but by forty the onset was obvious. I couldn't understand simple things (per Number One Daughter) such as why she should be able to stay out past ten o'clock at night, or how there was no need for her to keep her room clean, or the obvious reasons she should be able to date prior to being sixteen years old. Believe me, from empirical evidence, it's gotten worse over the past seven years.

Don't get me wrong, I've got great kids, but it is obvious from the rolling eyes that I'm just being humored as my simple-mindedness grows worse and worse. Suggestions I make (saving money, dressing reasonably, pointing out that eight hours sleep can start at eleven at night and end at seven in the morning as well as start at four AM and end at noon) are apparently given without any comprehension of the complexities of the teen-to-early twenties life. Since I have to believe they don't think I somehow skipped right from six years old to thirty-six years old, they must think I can't relate to anything in that age range due to my rapidly diminishing capacity for intelligent thought. While I prefer to disagree with their assessment of a lack of understanding, what I mostly don't understand is how they can go through life not trying to figure out how to avoid this diminished capacity that strikes when your first child hits puberty. If I were them, I'd be terrified.

Garden Update - 02-09-06

2006-02-09T23:00:00.000-06:00

The second seed in cup #02 (Brussels Sprouts) sprouted - eleven days.

Note: this comment actually added on 2/11; decided to keep a Garden log here as well as on my computer, but will be putting the dates as to when it actually occurred.

Garden Update - 02-05-06

2006-02-05T23:00:00.000-06:00

Watered, forgot and left overnight. Was pretty soaked the next morning. Used seven drops (per/quart) of Schultz 10-15-10 liquid plant food.

Note: this comment actually added on 2/11; decided to keep a Garden log here as well as on my computer, but will be putting the dates as to when it actually occurred.

And in this Corner. . . .

2006-02-05T08:17:00.000-06:00

The fight of the century is about to take place around the ole homestead. In the near corner, wearing a sprightly orange, standing 18" long at the blade, and sporting 45cc of pure power is the Husqvarna 345 Chain Saw. With a throaty growl and vicious teeth churning it's ready to take on all comers - and it's good it's ready to go, because . . .

In the far corner, weighing in at several tons, with age estimates ranging from 100 to 300 years, measuring in the neighborhood of five feet at the base, is Massive Giant Oak. Oak has lived long, but was felled on September 25th when the remnants of hurricane Rita swept through the area. Over the years it watched children play, looked over the work of a blacksmith shop, saw many changes at which I can only guess, but finally lay down. However, the Gentle Giant is gentle no more, ready to wreak havoc on the Husqvarna that attempts to move him on to the final resting place.

Contestants pointed out, you can click the tree's image for a large view of what I'm up against in removing this tree. Number One Daughter is in the picture and while that particular picture shows the size of the base it doesn't really show the entire tree - I'm not sure one picture can capture the entire problem facing us in getting rid of this thing. The picture here can also be clicked on for a larger version, and gives a different perspective on the entire tree. In it, some of the damage to the deck off the back of my shop can be seen. Myself, SWMBO, and Number One Son spent much of yesterday clearing off the limbs on the deck, and we also cut a few more on the opposite side of the tree (not to mention shaping up some shrubs and cutting some down to the nub for later removal). In the picture, for scale, SWMBO is standing holding the chainsaw. The chainsaw isn't running in this picture; SWMBO hasn't yet held it while running but plans to take a whack (pardon the pun) at it sometime soon. There's also an interesting note on that picture. I took several pictures at late dusk, and noticed in the preview on our digital camera they were very dark. I wanted to try and get the flash to go off (though I think it actually did go off on most), so covered the lens with my hand to "darken" the photo and get it to think it was darker. On this and one other, while the flash didn't go off, it held the shutter open longer for more light capture and it looks much earlier in the day.

The plan is to cut this thing little by little, keeping any parts we want for firewood and burning the rest right in the area. I'll point out that my three brothers and my dad are taking bets on when it'll be finished, and I'll also note they aren't picking which month, but which year. Nobody picked 2006, by the way.

The fire in this photo is in our old garden spot. I'll scatter the ashes around on the chance that I use the area for a garden again. Right now I don't plan to expand on my square foot garden, but have thought about adding a separate raised bed for asparagus and might do so in that area; if I do, when the roots dig deep maybe the old oak will live again. In the picture, the "V" ditch is the property line, though my property also runs down into the lake you see in the background. We love this view but, unfortunately, it's not nearly as good from the house. I think the previous owners of the house built the deck on the shop just to find a place to enjoy the view, though I don't think they ever used it -- just as we never do. The picture is clickable for a larger version as well.

Brussels Sprouts in the Meth Lab

2006-02-03T16:40:00.000-06:00

I built a plastic-covered frame to start seeds in for my square foot garden, and the kids have christened it the Meth Lab. From what little I have picked up on the manufacture of methamphetamine, mostly while watching cop shows on television,it doesn't involve plastic enclosed areas with "grow lights," but if the kids don't know what it takes to start a home-version of a meth lab, I'm kind'a happy that's the case. Thankfully, they didn't mention my contraption looking like a friend's indoor marijuana farm, which it probably more closely resembles than a meth lab.

But while it might not be useful as a meth lab, it is working as originally designed; my first seeds to go into it were Brussels sprouts, planted this past Sunday, and as you can see they're already poking their heads out. These get set outdoors in two or three weeks, and will be the first plants to be transplanted into my square foot garden. Nobody but me is particularly excited about the Brussels sprouts or, for that matter, the square foot garden. But I'm having fun.

Books of January

2006-02-02T00:26:00.000-06:00

To the disappointment of nobody, I've been neglecting this little spot on the web for a number of days - and I really don't have time for a decent post now. But I did want to take a quick moment to post, if for nothing more than a later reminder to me, the books I read in January. I'm not sure I remember them all, but:

Predator by Patrica Cornwell. I loved the first couple of Scarpetta books, but I think Cornwell started going downhill shortly after those. I can't remember exactly how many I read, but I do remember finishing the last one and thinking this was written because it was time to publish another book. The entire story could have been told in a couple of chapters, and it really didn't hold my interest at all with what I thought - not to mention the characters seemed to be all headed toward self-absorbed jerkdom. But Number One Brother loaned this one to me (in a stack of others), and I gave it a shot. Same thing. Characters are all full of themselves, the niece is still this super-hotshot-do-anything person who continuously makes obvious mistakes, everyone not a central character is an idiot. The niece (Lucy?)is now wealthy from writing software, yet can't handle computer security issues that a high-school computer gamer wouldn't screw up; she's never been able to get the computer stuff correct. I'll pass for a few more of Cornwell's books before trying another.

The Jericho Sanction by Col. Oliver North is the second of the Newman trilogy, and wasn't all that bad bit really wasn't a page-turner either. Good enough that I'll read the third, but it won't bother me to stick a few books in between.

Forever Odd by Dean Koontz is the second of the Odd Thomas books, and I enjoyed it as well as the first. I'm a Koontz fan and while I wouldn't put the Odd Thomas books at the top of the Koontz list, they're a good read.

Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire was an interesting take on L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, but from the Wicked Witch's point of view. A pretty fun book to read, but it didn't make me want to grab any other Maguire books (he has several of similar ilk) anytime soon.

Ukridge by P.G. Wodehouse; I'm a fairly recent Wodehouse fan, so still have a number of books to read before running out. Each book is a gem, and I'll be very disappointed when I've gone through them all -- which I will. The only reason I don't grab them all at once is because they're like a great wine you can never buy again. Once gone, there will be no more.

S is for Silence by Sue Grafton is the latest in the Kinsey Millhone Mysteries, the alphabetical series that started with A is for Alibi. This was another loaned to me by Number One Brother, and it was a good book. I always liked Grafton's books about Millhone and had read through somewhere around "M" or so, but never felt the need to buy them in hardback. I keep forgetting to pick up the paperbacks, but I'll probably go back to my bookshelf and see where they left off and pick up the ones in between.

Other than a couple of gardening books (reread of parts of a couple and read Cubed Food Gardening by Christopher O. Bird) and some magazine articles, I think that's it. Well, there are a few blogs I read as well, and various other ramblings on the net, but I think that covers all the books I've read this month. I could have missed one, but can't think of it if I did.

Currently reading Disappearing Nightly by Laura Resnick, but it'll be a February book.

Garden Update - 02/01/06

2006-02-01T23:00:00.000-06:00

Watered seedling tray for two hours.

Note: this comment actually added on 2/11; decided to keep a Garden log here as well as on my computer, but will be putting the dates as to when it actually occurred.

Garden Update - 01/29/06

2006-01-29T23:00:00.000-06:00

Planted Brussels Sprouts (Burpee 53967A, "Tasty Nuggets Hybrid," purchased in 2006 direct from Burpee) in seed cups #01-#03, two seeds per cup. Watered by filling tray up above holes in cups; left water for four hours, then drained. Packet says seedlings emerge in 10-21 days.

Note: this comment actually added on 2/11; decided to keep a Garden log here as well as on my computer, but will be putting the dates as to when it actually occurred.

I Crack Me Up

2006-01-17T08:55:00.000-06:00

Over the holidays, during a family get together for SWMBO's side of our family, Cousin Jim was talking about something he does to amuse himself while traveling alone. He'll go into a restaurant and pretend he doesn't speak English. He'll hold the joke throughout the entire visit, pointing at pictures on the menu and using very broken English to communicate what he wants for dinner. Granted, it might not bring the house down at a stand-up comedy convention or make for a regular sit-com series, but what I found amusing is that he amused himself.

Thing is, I travel a fair amount by myself, though not overnight as much as in the past. However, I do spend hours in the car alone; for example, since the new year began I've probably clocked around forty hours or so of solitary drive time. During these drives I often do things to entertain myself: tell myself stories, get into running discussions with (not on) the radio, hold bottle-flipping world championships (extra points when meeting an eighteen wheeler on a bridge) with commentary from Michaels and Madden, and Swaney (not the girl) on the sidelines, and many, many others. Any of these can go on for a half-hour at a time.

I often end up laughing out loud--sometimes to tears--from this silly stuff. Doing so, I've often wondered how many other folks amuse themselves in such a manner. It's nice to see, from Cousin Jim's description, that I'm not alone with such imbecilic behavior. And I will be trying out the "no English" routine soon, though probably with an inadvertent deep-south accent. I expect it'll crack me up - and, after all, that's the point; it's for my own amusement.

Weekly Dashboard

2006-01-16T11:15:00.000-06:00

Week One

Week Two

Yo, World ("yo" being what the kid's say these days - I think):

Above you'll see two weekly dashboards, the first for week one of 2006, the second for week two. I intend to post these weekly, though of course I've intended to do things in the past that didn't occur. But, generally speaking, the meters on the board represent measurement of different aspects of my life over the past week. They're primarily a measurement for me to look back at, and a method of accountability as well. As to what each means, while fairly self-explanatory, I'll briefly list. Spiritual has to do with reading the Bible, prayer, study, etc. Family is how well I did in working on maintaining and strengthening my family ties with SWMBO, Number One Daughter, and Number One Son. Things are pretty good, and hopefully they'll stay that way. Health is how well I have done with my diet (as in food you eat, not so much a specific methodology for losing weight) and exercise. Mental is a measure of how well I stretched my brain the previous week, sort of Covey's Sharpen the Saw bit. It'll include reading fiction, non-fiction, and any other mind-stretching activities. Writing is a measurement for my efforts in fictional prose I have attempted from time to time, and lastly Work, which gives measure of how well the week went in the efforts of my gainful employment.

So, recapping the two weeks, Spiritual hasn't done so well. In fact, due to a few circumstances, we've missed church the past couple of weeks so I can't even count that as a plus for these two weeks. It needs addressed.

The Family measurement was biased a bit as I was out of town for two days of week one and five days of week two. Given that, I can't say it was all that bad. Health, or the lack of effort there, I'm blaming on my bad knee that still hasn't healed up properly along with the out of town including business meals - meals of steak and lobster, prime rib, various seafoods, and tons of other choices at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But it has to be improved.

Mental measurement is not as high as I'd like; one thing I want to accomplish is at least one non-fiction book per month along with various other magazines - basically anything that sharpens the mental processes. I'll be taking up Jack Welch's Winning that was given to we employee's from our boss week one, so that'll move the notch up a bit. But I did finish up Forever Odd by Koontz, along with reading several stories from P. G. Wodehouse's Ukridge collection (an Overlook Press printing). If you've not discovered P. G. Wodehouse, do yourself a favor and find a book or two. He's the reason you associate "Jeeves" with knowledgeable butlers.

Lastly, Work was partially stymied because week one was mostly planning at the office and week two was spent, all week, at a conference. But some business was accomplished as well as, hopefully, groundwork laid for the future.

Again, this stuff is mostly for me, not that much interest to passers-by, so I'll apologize, World, for boring you with it. Expect to be bored once per week - well, once for this particular message type. I'll bore you with other stuff at other times.

Your friend,

Rick

A Little Respect

2006-01-06T09:18:00.000-06:00

While I don't travel as much as I have in the past, where some years better than a third of my nights were spent in hotel rooms, I still travel a bit on business. I'm not particularly naive so I do recognize there are certain activities that occur in hotel rooms that, as the person sliding between the sheets on any particular night, you'd as soon not think about. Heck, with nearly twenty-eight years of marriage behind me, I've even crawled into the sheets of a hotel with a member of the opposite sex (this being SWMBO) a number of times. Of course, since most of our trips over those years were with the kids along, nothing much but sleeping took place -- but I can dimly recall a few events from distant, pre-children trips (including my honeymoon, though one of those nights involved a couch in a hotel meeting room -- but that's another story). So not only do I recognize certain activities happen, I've even been involved in the activities that can, um, arise in the bed you are nestling into at some out-of-town hostelry.

But you keep those thoughts distant when snuggling into that lonely pillow after a day (and usually a dinner) of meetings so that you can snooze to recharge for the next day. At least I put them out of my mind. At least I normally do. But not Wednesday night, not in Monroe, Louisiana, not in room two-hundred & thirty-three of the Courtyard by Marriott. No, on that night the activities that you know (but try to forget) have taken place in the bed you're crawling into sort of got thrown into the forefront of my brain.

Wednesday was a relatively short day, all things considered. We did go out for a start-of-the-year kick-off celebration, a Japanese place with the whole whopper/chopper thing, the chef doing the cooking at your table. Steak, lobster, shrimp, chicken, the trimmings, and all this after three huge platters of various sushi rolls. Then, interestingly enough, we finished up at a Maggie Moo's and did most of our business talk there. But since several of us (including my boss, which helped) wanted to watch the USC/Texas game, I was back at the hotel by 8:30. I'll leave the game alone, other than to say the pre-game hype of a particular player was by far overshadowed by the opposing team's quarterback, and just say the game didn't end until midnight local time. I had pretty much finished up some charts for the next day by then, so was ready for bed.

There was a gap of about 18" between the bed and wall, with a night stand that held a lamp and an alarm clock, so I went over to set the alarm. This particular Courtyard is currently under room renovation, and I wasn't particularly surprised to see what looked like a small mass of wadded up black electrical tape in the floor. I wasn't sure how the vacuum missed it, but nevertheless I wasn't surprised. It was kind of dim in the floor between the wall and bed, though, and I decided it might be one of my socks. Keep in mind all of this occurred in a flash, but I bent down to check to be sure it wasn't a sock. Just as my fingers touched it, the thing came into focus: a jet black and obviously previously-used condom.

Like I said, there have probably been many such items used many times in every hotel room I've ever stayed in. But you'd like to forget that while sleeping there. At least I would. Amorous thoughts, to me, do not include the leftovers from previous activity and in any event I was alone. But the question that occurred at this point was what to do about it. Well, what to do about it after scrubbing my hands in hot, soapy water for about five minutes. Should I call the desk? I almost did, but figured what was the use. It was now around twelve-thirty in the morning, I had to be up at six, and any complaints would at best put me in another room where the same sort of activity might well have happened the night before anyway. Most likely, the staff would have just removed the thing. In either case, I'd be another hour getting to bed and it usually takes me at least half an hour to get to sleep after I go to bed.

So I just went to sleep. I'm not sure exactly what that says about me, but it did seem logical at the time. I didn't think it was an attack condom that would crawl up into bed after I dozed off, and as I said, any sex-cooties floating around would be floating around in any room I picked. At least these unknown folk used a condom, so certain aspects of their activities were contained and not spread around the bed. And while just going to sleep seemed inappropriate enough in the light of day that I fibbed about it to my coworkers and said I didn't find the black prophylactic until the morning, that's all I did. Went to sleep. And, in truth, slept pretty well.

I did, of course, alert the staff the next day. However, as part of my New Year's resolutions (after the incident with the motorist who cut me off in December that had me following them to their destination and Number One Son in the floorboard hiding), I chose to handle it in a very polite fashion and at the desk the next morning I only pointed out their system of cleaning and room check was apparently flawed. To her credit, "one of the managers" (as she said she was when I asked for the manager) looked suitably disgusted when I told her what I'd found. But I did want to make a quick note to end this rambling tale:

Dear World:

For the sake of your fellow travelers--if not the cleaning crew--please dispose of your used condoms properly. Show a little respect when you get, er . . . well just show a little respect.

Thanks, World.

Your friend,

Rick

Philosophical Musings

2005-12-31T16:07:00.000-06:00

Every now and then, to kill a little time, I tend to read random blogs by clicking the "next blog" button. What with the ones who write in a language I can't read, the ones who start music playing or throw up pop-ups, and the many which have a total of one post (all of which I leave without reading), probably ninety-five percent are a waste. Of the remaining five percent, maybe one in twenty I actually spend a bit of time reading. Lots of clicking with little result, but remember I'm just killing time so no big deal.

I spent a bit of time today doing the click thing, and noticed (as expected this time of year) that there's a lot of self-analyzation going on. People looking back and looking forward, assessing how the past year went and setting goals for the coming year. All good things, of course. But some times the self-analyzation turns to philosophical musing.

I've noticed something when people begin to philosophize: most (me included) sound like idiots. Oh, I know, at the time we picture the text as a fount of wisdom, but I'd bet if we let it sit
for a week or two, it'd appear as what it is: either hashing what's been said a thousand times or more, dragging up three and four syllable words to state the obvious, or just pretty much idiocy.

What got me to thinking about this was one guy's take on the new year, and "the nature of happiness." When someone starts to wax philosophical about "the nature of" any human emotion, get ready for some laughs. I'll give him credit for ambitiousness as he started from our "unicellular past" and worked his way up. Sex was involved, as was candy (though he was off-base on both). His conclusion seemed to be that happiness is always related to the survival of the species, then immediately contradicted the conclusion with his summation on why we are happy at New Year's.

Ah, well, it was a fun read anyway. So keep those musing coming. I'll probably throw one in from time to time so you can laugh at me as well.

It's starting to look a lot like Christmas . . .

2005-12-27T14:40:00.000-06:00

. . . is over.

We finished up the final family get-together last night, and so I guess Christmas is officially over. A nice haul was had by all, and happy folks abound. We all ate too much and did so multiple times. Nobody killed anyone at the family gatherings, or even felt the need to do so -- at least that I could tell. One nice thing about our extended family, both on my side and on SWMBO's side, is that everyone gets along reasonably well. We can hang out without tension, unlike occasions in the past. My family Christmas get-together centers more around the gifts and the food, I guess, while SWMBO's side is more about the games. We eat a gigantic Christmas breakfast, exchange gifts, but then move on to playing games (board games, card games, etc.). On my side of the family, we eat, exchange gifts, eat, eat, then eat some more.

Both sides did take time out prior to the gift scramble to remember the focus of the season, or at least what the focus should be. Society has so commercialized Christmas, in the main, that without taking the time out I think we'd soon forget what we are, in theory, celebrating. But the food and gifts and time together is a nice bonus.

So another Christmas holiday comes to a close. Didn't overspend too much and, since we don't do the debt thing, no worries about bills coming due later. Had to move around a bit of money to cover the overages, but it wasn't too bad. We overspent more on groceries (percentage-wise) than Christmas gifts, so I'll keep that in mind for next Christmas. All in all, a great holiday and now a week to reflect on the year past and plan for the year upcoming. Hope all had a Merry Christmas and hope next year brings you health and happiness.

Note: By the way, the picture -- as bad as it may look (for fifteen minutes work) -- was done with my new Wacom pad (one of my Christmas gifts from SWMBO), which I like very much.

We Pagan Christians?

2005-12-22T15:53:00.000-06:00

I was listening to a news reporter, CNN or MSNBC or CBS or some such, explaining how most of us Christians don't realize the "pagan roots" of the Christmas tree, and during his report he mentioned the Christmas tree as being part of the Christmas story. First of all, most every Christian I know is aware of the origins of decorating a tree around the winter solstice, though I'd bet even in those days gone by it was as much a celebration of the turn of winter toward spring as anything else, with little of the symbolism tied to worship of any kind. Be that as it may, for the purpose of the discussion I'll give you the origin of a winter decorated tree being from pagan worship.

The main point I found interesting is that this dimwit providing information for the nation thinks a decorated tree is somehow part of the Christmas story. Granted, it's part of many folks' Christmas celebration, but hopefully there aren't any Christians under the impression that Christ was born under a decorated Douglas Fir. The Christmas tree is no more a part of the Christmas story than the Easter bunny is part of Christ's death and resurrection, and if anybody happens across this dimwitted reporter between now and April, please let him know that piece of info so he won't confuse those come Good Friday.

That out of the way, the question remains: are we Christians participating in a pagan form of worship when we plug in 750 twinkling lights on a synthetic pine? No, of course not. For me, the Christmas tree is a secular celebration of the holiday season, and when my family and I have our day of decoration it begins the spirit of family, tradition, giving, and sharing that are part of this season. A reminder of how blessed I am, with my family, both immediate and extended, still a part of my life. The Christmas tree isn't about Christ's birth, though for us we try and keep Christ's birth as a central focus of the season. No, the tree is just part of the overall fun of the holidays, about sneaking around and trying to figure out what the perfect gift for SWMBO might be, or what the kids will be thrilled with. It's about laughter, food, and family togetherness, and the ever-growing pile of packages underneath that get rattled, shook, and carefully weighed as we try and figure out what they might contain. Along with mistletoe, Dickens' village pieces, peanut-butter balls, chocolate covered pretzels and Chex-mix, the tree is another of our seasonal joys. And we don't worship mistletoe, ceramic houses, chocolate covered pretzels, or Chex-mix. Now, the peanut-butter balls . . . .

Note: the included image of the Christmas tree was my first drawing done with GIMP. Check it out if you have an artistic flair (or, like me, wish you had one); it's neat, and it's free (distributed under the GNU software license).

Dream: The Swappers

2005-12-21T11:59:00.000-06:00

Okay, if you're one of those folks who believe dreams can be interpreted, that dreams are our subconscious trying to tell us something, then feel free to take a stab at this one.

We (family) are sitting around the house when we hear knocking from the laundry room, which has an entrance from outside. "Someone here?" I ask SWMBO, but she says she doesn't know. So I go check. When I get to the laundry room there's a guy hooking up a different (not new) washer and dryer; our washing machine is gone and our dryer is on a hand truck (both our washing machine and dryer, by the way, work fine).

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Swapping out your washer and dryer."

"Why?" I semi-shout.

"I thought you would like it."

"No! I don't like it. Put my washer and dryer back."

The guy gives me this quizzical look, like I'm the demented fellow in the room. "Well, okay." he says.

By this time, SWMBO has arrived. I tell her to call 911, and the fellow says "Don't get upset--most people like having their washer and dryer swapped out." I tell him we don't. I grab a pen and paper to go outside and write his tag number down, in case the police don't arrive before he leaves (good thing; they never did show up).

When I get outside, there's a truck (with my washing machine loaded on it), a guy driving, a woman in the passenger seat, and standing near the back of the truck is an older lady (not old, from my nearly forty-seven year old perspective, but older--maybe sixty). She is watching a little girl, around five years old, walk toward the door (where I'm standing). The little girl has her hands extended, and says "Here's five dollars and a biscuit." Sure enough, in one hand is a five dollar bill and in the other is a biscuit.

I tell the little girl I don't want the five dollars or the biscuit, and the older lady calls out "It's for your trouble." I call back that I don't want the five dollars or the biscuit, I just want my washer and dryer back.

At this point, SWMBO walks outside and recognizes the older lady. They talk for a second, I can't remember the conversation, but the gist is the older lady cleans houses, and somehow or other SWMBO has met her. SWMBO then asks "how much do you charge?" I look her as if she's nuts. "We're not letting any of these people in our house!"

"But she might not charge too much."

And it's at this point, with our original washer and dryer replaced, these strange folks begin to pile in the truck. I tell them "And we don't want our refrigerator, our stove, our couch, or anything else swapped out." Then I wake up.

So, while I don't believe dreams are our subconscious trying to share a subliminal message, if you do believe dreams have meaning I'd love to hear what this one might be trying to tell me.

Dear World,

2005-12-19T12:06:00.000-06:00

Please note the following information:

advise: To offer advice to

advice: Opinion about what could or should be
done about a situation or problem

People give advice. You give advice. I give advice. Financial managers give advice. Marriage counselors give advice. Neither you, I, financial managers, nor marriage counselors, give "advise." When you give advice, you have advised someone. When they give you advice, they have advised you.

So don't thank someone for their "advise" thank them for their advice or thank them for being an advisor. And don't ask people for "advise," ask them for advice or ask them to advise you.

Thank you, World.

Your friend,

Rick

Peace on Earth

2005-12-17T11:36:00.000-06:00

What with the holiday season upon us, the old "Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Man" phrase crossed my mind. That got me to thinking (it happens, though usually with bad results). We've probably had two or three generations of beauty contestant entrants working on the world peace problem, along with putting an end to world hunger, yet it seems we haven't moved forward at all. I've never really put much worry into either, considering these ladies are on the job, but I'm beginning to think they aren't up to the task. So I thought I'd throw a couple of suggestions their way to see if it might help.

I know it doesn't sound as impressive, but instead of working on the entire world at one time, how about one of the contestants wanting to put an end to hunger in, say, Butte, Montana. See, I figure these girls start out on their "cure world hunger" task with a lot if energy, but when they actually get a handle on the size of the problem it overwhelms them. But Butte has a manageable population of a bit over 30,000. And since we can assume most of them aren't deprived in the food department, let's err on the side of caution and say it's as high as 1 in 100; that means 300 folks in Butte need fed. Heck, a couple of soup kitchens and a PB&J brigade and Butte's taken care of – it's that simple.

This is a mission she can sink her teeth into, see some progress. You talk to any of the "end of world hunger" contestants after a few years, ask them how it's going, and they have to admit things still suck. But you give Miss Iowa a couple of years in Butte, then ask her, and I'll bet she'll have the problem licked. Fifty years multiplied by fifty contestants, and we'll have 2,500 cities covered, and that's just the Miss America pageant – we've also got Miss USA, Miss Teen America, Miss Teen USA, Miss Fitness, Miss Senior America, Miss Wheelchair America, Miss Senior Sweetheart, Miss African-American, Miss Nude USA, and more, plus tons of local and state pageants (Miss Sweet Potato, Miss Cucumber, Miss other vegetable along with Miss this or that city or county, and on and on). Heck, we can cover the entire nation in a few years, no problem. As for the rest of the world, well, there's the Miss Universe and Miss World pageants, which require each country to hold a contest, with corresponding local contests and so forth; I see soup kitchens and PB&J sandwiches around the globe.

While I've no doubt you're impressed with the above logic, at this point you're thinking about the post title: Peace on Earth. I'm gettin' there. I know you've seen, as I have, those commercials where you can feed a hungry kid for thirty cents a day. Even ignoring the fact that all those beauty pageant contestants are working on the problem, I don't sign up because I know that at least half that money goes to make the commercial, pay for administration, offices, phones, business lunches, travel, and tons of other overhead. Heck, probably more than half goes for overhead, but we'll figure half. Which means you have to feed the kid with only fifteen cents, and fifteen cents a day won't buy more than rice.

I keep picturing, should I go for that program, opening the door one day to an emaciated foreigner screaming at me "You know wha' sisteen-thousand, fo hunned twinny-fi is? It tree bow' rice tree time day fo fi'tee year! You dri' nice cah, you live nice house, you cunna spring fo a fri chicken leg evah now an then?"* At which point he shoots me or blows up my house. And that's when it struck me: the reason we don't have peace on earth is because of all these pissed of people eating rice every day, day in and day out, week in and week out, year in and year out, to the point where the promise of seventy-two virgins and a steak sandwich (it's in the literature, I'll bet) is worth getting blown up over. So I say we go with my beauty contestant plan -- soup kitchens & PB&Js worldwide -- and within ten years we'll have no hungry people and will then have peace on earth.

I smell a Nobel Peace Prize in my future. Pardon me while I go work on my acceptance speech.

* My best foreigner lingo; live with it.

Note: You may be wondering why I know so much about pageants; I've been married for almost thirty years with a daughter that's about to turn twenty-one. With one female in the house for the past twenty-seven years, and two for the past twenty-one, I've only seen three or four pageants. That's actually a pretty good record.

Advanced Math & The Peter Principle

2005-12-15T17:36:00.000-06:00

Cashier: "That'll be three-oh-five."

Me: *pay with five dollar bill*

Cashier: *punch, punch, punch on register*

Me: "Oh, wait, I've got a nickel." *hand her nickel*

Cashier: *confused look*

Me: "It was three-oh-five, so I gave you five-oh-five."

Cashier: *looks at me with suspicion – looks at register, with $1.95 showing*

Me: "Without the nickel, you owe me $1.95, so with the extra nickel, it's two bucks even."

Cashier: *confused look – calls manager*

Manager: "What's up."

Cashier: "He gave me a nickel."

Me: "I gave her a five, then remembered I had a nickel."

Manager: *confused look*

Me: "I gave here a five for the three-oh-five, then remembered I had a nickel and gave her the nickel to go with the five dollar bill."

Manager: *looks at me with suspicion – looks at register, with $1.95 showing*

Me: "With the extra nickel, it means you owe me two bucks."

Manager & Cashier: *look at me suspiciously*

Manager: "Let me cancel the transaction and start over."

Me: *Look at manager impressively, wondering where she learned three-syllable word*

Manager: *Hands me back the five and the nickel, punch, punch, punch, punch, punch, punch on register, inserts and turns a key, punch, punch, punch some more, removes key, punch, punch, punch even more* "That'll be three-oh-five."

Me: *Hand her five-oh-five*

Manager: *punch, punch, punch on register* "And two dollars change."

Me: "Thank you."

Manager and Cashier: *look at me in triumph that I didn't get one over on them*

It's starting to look . . .

2005-12-13T23:58:00.000-06:00

. . . a lot like Christmas. Sitting here as today turns to tomorrow, the Christmas tree lights flashing, presents piled high, Christmas music playing (occasionally; currently it's Billy Squier - All Night Long), I'm thinking it's been a pretty good year, all things considered. I'll reminisce more on that, I suppose, as the year's end gets closer.

As to Christmas, I think we've knocked out all the shopping, and the gifts really are piled pretty high; some big boxes this year, if not more gifts. We actually stayed within 50% of the budget -- partially by raising the budget, but still. I blew it on SWMBO's gift, but I knew it was something she'd like to have. And while I love getting stuff, I find I enjoy giving her things she'd like to have more than getting things I'd like to have. Not enough more that I'm willing to give up getting gifts, but enough that I blow the budget to get her something I think she'll love receiving. I know what you're thinking - love like that should be rewarded by some random stranger who happens by this blog. When it comes to rewards, by the way, I prefer cash.

Indeed, Where's the Beef

2005-12-09T15:08:00.000-06:00

This past Monday was the local Christmas parade, but I skipped going. My wife, being involved in getting the Christmas parade underway, can't hang around with me and watch it, and Number One Son was not marching due to a hurt back, so I decided not to weather the cold to watch four zillion "Little Mister and Miss Red-Headed, Left Handed, First Zion Holiness Free-Will Baptist Church Pre-School" cars with half-asleep toddlers go by. But after the parade, my wife dropped by the local Wendy's to pick up some Jr. Cheeseburgers to go with some fries I was cooking at home.

The first picture below is the Wendy's Hamburger as shown on their website, the second is what we received. Spend a few seconds with a "compare and contrast" party betwixt these two photos.

Wendy's had a famous commercial some twenty years ago in which an elder lady, Clara Peller, looked at her hamburger with tiny patty and exclaimed "Where's the Beef?" I was reminded of the commercial while looking at the pitiful excuse for a hamburger we had served to us by Wendy's. Hence the title of this post.

I did go back and ask the night manager about this burger, and her reply was that they were out of the Jr. Hamburger patties and she was instructed by the manager to cut the single hamburger patties in half and use them. I can remember the time when, if a manager screwed up (i.e., running out of something), the knee-jerk reaction was to upgrade the customer. Not anymore, at least at this Wendy's. This manager's solution is to screw the customer over. The night manager (who was cutting them at the store manager's direction) did offer my money back, but I told her I'd hang on to the burgers – I'd have more fun with the burgers than with the money.

Granted, a 2 oz. hamburger patty is half the size of quarter pound patty, but you would think it might cross the mind of the manager that in putting half a patty on a bun, you eat half a hamburger without tasting meat. Second, granted there's some loss in the cooking, but that "patty" weighed in at a whopping 0.8 ounces (yes, I weighed it – I'm that anal), so didn't start with two ounces – there just ain't no way. The photo below is of the "patty" with just the bun, and a U.S. quarter thrown in for reference.

Clara, I hate to tell you, but Wendy's has now joined those fast food franchises you found so questionable. I figure poor Clara's spinning in her grave. Oh, and by the way, the McDonald double cheeseburgers for a buck we ended up eating that night were actually pretty good – and had way more beef.

Movie Crash

2005-11-28T11:26:00.000-06:00

Short answer: I really like it.

Crash was an interesting look at race relations from various angles, and had the courage to cinematically admit there are shades of gray in all of us. I found Crash to be a realistic, thought-provoking, and interesting movie; one very much worth watching. Gave it a Netflix four stars (really liked it), though had 4.5 stars been doable that would have been my rating. Wasn't quite worth five, but very, very close.

Of Secret Window and Movie Reviews

2005-11-25T08:47:00.000-06:00

I'm not sure why I started sticking my opinion of movies here, because I hate reviewing them. I can't do a true movie review because, since I hate finding anything out prior to seeing a movie, I don't want to say anything about the movie. So my reviews, when boiled down, are pretty generic. For example, with the movie Titanic, I obviously wouldn't mention that the ipshay inksays in the end, but I also wouldn't want to mention any particulars of the movie. That said, while I may continue to post a review of the movies I watch (or may not, it'll be a random thing), they will be very generic in nature.

And all of that said, Secret Window: Bottom line, I liked the Steven King novella (Secret Window, Secret Garden) better. I always find it amusing when a movie maker (be it the producer, the script writer, whoever) takes a story they paid a gazillion bucks for -- because it was good -- and decide they, an unheard of writer, can make it better than the guy/gal who has millions of satisfied readers. They almost always fail. But the movie ending wasn't particularly bad, just not as satisfying as it would be had they followed King's story-line. Depp was interesting as Mort Rainey and, I thought, played the part well. I also thought John Turturro (who I loved as Pete in Oh Brother Where Art Thou) was great as John Shooter. Of course, I'd read the King story, so whether or not the movie was predictable is difficult to say since -- even though it had been some 15 years since I read the story -- any predictability could probably be due to a distant, vague knowledge of what was coming.

All in all, a pretty good movie, gave it three Netflix stars ("liked it").

Movies: Troy & Stealth

2005-11-20T14:24:00.000-06:00

Number One Son and I had a double feature night last night and watched Stealth, then Troy. Number One Son mostly read (Rainbow Six, by Tom Clancy) during Troy and just paid attention to the fight scenes. Both were okay movies, nothing to write home about, gave 'em a Netflix three stars. Stealth, of course, was totally unbelievable, with lots of fairly glaring "nuh-uh" moments, but if you forgave those things it was fun to watch.

During Stealth, I was reminded of an old Saturday Night Live skit where either Eddie Murphy or Garrett Morris was in a "war movie" skit. If you remember the skit, you'll know what I found amusing about Jamie Foxx's character in the movie. I guess some things never change.

Troy was mostly interesting for the fight sequences; there was little of the plot that was of interest. I was pretty tired of Brad Pitt's character, Achilles, by the end. Nothing of any value from this guy, and I think there was supposed to be. Ah, well, if the worst I have going is a disagreement with the philosophical ideals of Hollywood, I'm okay.

Our cat

2005-11-18T21:56:00.000-06:00

We have two pets, a cat named Lady Socks and a dog name Charley. Both were strays, and both were small when we acquired them, but I'll mention how I got roped into that another time. For this post, I wanted to mention something I noticed today: I call the dog by his name, but the cat's just "cat." I started wondering why that might be, and I think I've come up with the answer. See, Charley, being a dog, is happy with letting us name him and call him whatever we want. Charley epitomizes the old expression "you can call me whatever you want as long as you call me for dinner."

The cat, however, wouldn't come when you called her if she was the one who provided the birth certificate with her name spelled out. She certainly isn't going to answer to some name we came up with, and as she hates me, she wouldn't come when I called her if I was an open can of tuna fish.

Now, she may have reason to hate me just from the number of times I've either stepped on her tail or caught it in the door (all accidental, I assure you). But I think she hates me for more "catly" reasons. She, like most cats, thinks herself better than we mere humans. On the rare occasion when I'm sitting watching TV and wouldn't mind having the cat sit in my lap, she gives me this aloof look that suggests I'm not worthy to pet the hairs that grow on her beautiful back. Doesn't matter what I use for bait, she can ignore me.

However . . . .

Years ago I bought the kids a laser pointer, back when these things were the rage. We still have one lying around, and from time to time I break it out. Thing is, I can tell the cat hates that she chases the little red dot across the floor, but she can't help herself. She's like me when it comes to the leftover Halloween candy; try as she might she can't resist. I'll run her up a couple of walls, around the fire place hearth, and so forth, and she'll finally decide she's above all this and start to walk away. But I'll jiggle that dot near where she's walking and you can see her strain to resist, crumble, let out a cat-curse, and start chasing it again. Aloofness is shot, disdain be darned, she runs slobbering after that red dot like a crack head after a free fix. When I finally get tired of the game and she gets to slink off in shame, she usually pauses to give me this one last look of pure cat evil. I know the chink in her armor, and she hates me for it. I find that amusing . . . but I sleep with the bedroom door closed, and the cat on the other side.

Movie - Taxi

2005-11-18T11:36:00.000-06:00

Subtitle: Overloading the Suspension of Disbelief

Okay, granted: you watch a movie and it generally requires a bit of suspension of disbelief. This "suspension of disbelief" simply means there are usually some elements of the movie that, for you to enjoy it, you are required to suspend the "no way that's believable" factor. I had a coworker back in ye old college days who just couldn't do it. For example, he wouldn't even go see the Superman movie (1978, Christopher Reeve) because "it's stupid - people can't fly." Barring the question of whether Superman: The Movie was any good or not, it'd be difficult to enjoy if you were unwilling to accept, for the duration of the movie, that this guy could fly. But Tony wasn't willing to do so, so didn't bother to check the movie out - he had no "suspension of disbelief" ability, red sun planet or no red sun planet.

Now, even if you rule out superheros, SF movies, and blonde marketing majors going to Harvard law school, most movies require a touch of disbelief suspension; for example, the Red Sox being three games down, then winning four in a row to beat the Yankees and go on to win the World Series the exact year the couple in Fever Pitch are getting together? Come'on. But, for the movie, you make the effort to believe it might be possible.

Which brings us to Taxi. I watched the previews, and while Queen Latifah rates slightly below Al Gore in the "folks I want to see in a movie" category, I thought it might be somewhat funny. We sit back and start the movie, we being myself, SWMBO*, and Number One Son. The movie content during the opening credit routine is of a bicycle messenger doing a number of stunts (off an overpass and onto a moving eighteen wheeler, bouncing the bike onto the side of a van for a fast direction change, etc.) that require the suspension of disbelief. First, no way. Second, no way. Third, you'd be arrested. But, hey, it's a movie, I'll make the effort. Then the bike messenger slides to a stop in front of a small, cheering throng of folks, pops off the helmet, and it's Queen Latifah. I don't know if you know who Queen Latifah is, and my knowledge is skimpy (singer, I think), but I've seen her for one, and I'm looking at her for another, and I just can't wrap my mind around this chunky woman having just done the bike messenger impossible stunt routine. Yeah, round is a shape and one I resemble, but speaking for us folks in the shape of round, we can't ride bikes off of overpasses onto trucks.

Long and short, we give it another ten or so minutes to determine if she came from a planet with a red sun (apparently not), or if there's any other reason to continue watching, decide there isn't, and give up on this dog of a movie. Rated it one star (can't give zero) which, in Netflix rating, means: Hated it.

*SWMBO - She Who Must Be Obeyed, a.k.a., the wife.

Movie - Fever Pitch

2005-11-17T13:35:00.000-06:00

Watched this the other night, a Netflix rental. It wasn't bad, but wasn't anything to get overly excited about. Very chick-flickish, of course. Gave it three stars (Netflix meaning: "Liked it"). Was predictable, more than just the usual "girl meets boy, problems occur, they get back together" kind of predictable, which is pretty typical for any chick flick, but even where the problems were going to occur and so forth.

Music . . .

2005-11-17T12:19:00.000-06:00

. . . is a wonderful thing -- as long as it isn't an autoplay on a website. Now, it's perfectly fine to do whatever you choose with your personal little corner of the internet, but hopefully folks recognize that 95% of people who drop by their site immediately leave the site when music starts playing. If it's okay with you that they leave, then knock yourself out. But if you wonder why there is limited interaction with your site, that might well be the reason.

I'm not complaining

2005-11-16T19:58:00.000-06:00

I got the results back from my final essay for English Comp. II, and scored 100. Now, I'm not complaining, but really it seems it ought to be more trouble to get a perfect grade. Not that I didn't work fairly hard at it, but it was the final essay, worth 35% of the total grade, and only took me about five hours. For a perfect score, it seems I should have had to work more. On the other hand, I realize most students aren't taking just one (though compressed) course, so five hours times six courses would be 30 hours in that final week. Still, that seems reasonable to me - most full-time students probably aren't working 50+ hours/week, trying to help manage a household, and a host of other drains on their time, and while thirty hours per week for six courses seems about right for a normal week, I'd think that final week would hit fifty or sixty hours. But, again, I'm not complaining - it's an A, and I'll take it.

It's a sixty minute game

2005-11-15T11:54:00.000-06:00

Last night I was banished to the bedroom to watch Monday night football (actually, banished prior to the game starting) because SWMBO had some folks over to practice the music for the upcoming Sander's Family Christmas community play. I thought it would be the usual couple of people (Berl & Stanley being their character names), but more like fifteen or twenty showed up. Now, Berl & Stanley come over at least once per week to work on the music (I don't think most cast members realize how much extra work these three, SWMBO and the other two, put into the play so the music is ready), but this was a conflaguration (a perfectly good word) of people. But since I was going to hide in the bedroom in either case, it only mattered when I went to the kitchen for munchies - had to wind my way through guitar cases, mandolin cases, banjo cases, fiddle cases, and so forth.

But, back to to the Monday night game, the Eagles won for 56 minutes; unfortunately for them, it's a sixty minute game. Dallas makes a quick touchdown, it's a six point game. McNabb makes an errant throw, and it's a win for Dallas. The blame can be placed on the Eagles defense deciding the game was won and letting Dallas march easily for the score to cut it to six, or blame can be placed on McNabb for the bad decision on the throw. Doesn't matter, I'm a Packer fan, so who cares who wins (though I was pulling for the Eagles). But what crossed my mind is that much of life is like that; it's a sixty minute game, whether talking about a particular project, a particular goal, or life altogether. Doesn't matter how hard you work or how far you are ahead; get complacent and it can be over with a bit of a let down or an error in judgment. Just crossed my mind; must be in a philosophical mood, though this is pop philosophy at best.

On the one hand, I didn't make it, on the other, I did

2005-11-14T11:50:00.000-06:00

Well, since I didn't walk on Sunday, I failed in my goal of seven straight days of a thirty minute spin on the treadmill. In my quest for becoming King of Procrastination, I put off both the walking and the essay I needed to write ("Self Deception in Tennessee William's The Glass Menagerie", and ended up finishing the essay around three in the morning. I'm way to old to be up at three in the morning, and certainly too old to be up on a treadmill at three in the morning. But on the other hand, the essay is complete, and that finished all the work for this English Comp II class I'm taking.

Work will be hectic today (already has been), mostly phone calls and trying to figure out this and that for various customers. Plus I sold some stuff on eBay, and need to send invoices and do some shipping today. Busy, busy, lots of fun.

Packers Win

2005-11-13T19:34:00.000-06:00

Having been a Packer fan for somewhere between thirty-five and forty years, I've had my share of lows, lowers, and then some highs over the past few years. Given this year, though, it is nice to see today's win against the Falcons. A kid who wasn't playing and wouldn't be playing but for numerous injuries to Packer running backs came up big with three TDs, an the smile of his face at the end of the game was neat to see.

Watching it also gave me more procrastination fodder, but, alas, it's getting to now or never time on the essay.

It's sad, really

2005-11-13T00:38:00.000-06:00

When walking for thirty minutes on a flat treadmill at a pace to make just over a mile in the thirty minutes leaves me this tired. At seventeen minutes, I wasn't sure I'd make it. Back was hurting, sweat rolling - as I said, sad, really. But that's another day gone with thirty minutes done.

I'd actually decided not to walk today (well, yesterday, now, but if I haven't gone to bed, it isn't tomorrow yet.) I forgot about walking all day, then at 11:30 PM, remembered I hadn't done so. I decided not to, to just skip it. I was ready for bed and my book, didn't want to get sweaty and tired just heading that way. So I went on to bed . . . but then, knew I wouldn't be able to type on here that I'd walked for Saturday. So now I have walked. And now I have typed. One more day down.

One thing I didn't do today was the essay I needed to work on. It's due midnight Sunday, and I had planned to finish it today. Still nice to know some things never change - I procrastinated when I was taking college classes twenty-five years ago, and I'm still doing so today. So I'm lots older, out of shape, hair turned to grey, had to switch to bifocals . . . but I'm as good at procrastination as ever.

Headache

2005-11-12T11:32:00.000-06:00

I hate headaches, and I woke up with one. You'd think, as often as I have headaches, that I'd learn to enjoy them, develop a taste for them. Heck, I hated coffee when I first tried it, but now can't start the day out without a cup. But, no, can't seem to acquire a "taste" for headaches. Ah, well. I've popped three ibuprofen, so hopefully will be better later.

I've spent the morning on the computer and listening to SWMBO and a couple of cast members practice the songs from the upcoming A Sander's Family Christmas, (to be put on by the Pontotoc community theater group, Dec. 3rd & 4th). I promise, though, I had the headache prior to them starting. :)

Book I'm reading

2005-11-12T00:42:00.000-06:00

Okay, one of the things I was planning to keep up with is what I've been reading/read. Currently (just started) Oliver North's Mission Compromised, the first of a trilogy of fiction novels he wrote with Joe Musser. I'm a bit over 100 pages in, and like it so far. It's a touch slow moving in setting up characters, and some of the flashbacks within flashbacks to help set up the characters was somewhat stumbling, but I think I'm past most of that. We'll see if the pace picks up, but either way I'm enjoying it.

It's Friday (okay, it's now Saturday)

2005-11-12T00:36:00.000-06:00

Had a hectic work day, but finished up (with all I was gonna do) around 5:00. We went out to a local Japanese restaurant, our first visit there. It was good, though SWMBO decided she had had her first and last raw sushi. But her teriyaki Chicken was good, Number One Son had some combo of shrimp and steak, and I had steak with some sort of noodle.

Did my 30 minutes today; it could be I'm just getting started, but hopefully part of the reason it's been tough these first two days is because I've got this cold. I feel better today (Friday) after the shot yesterday plus the medicine I'm taking. Hopefully I'll be over this stuff soon.

Goal - (physical area)

2005-11-10T11:36:00.000-06:00

This goal is for seven days, including today, and is to walk 30 minutes per day. I'll throw in an "at least" in case I want to go over, but the idea is no less than 30 minutes per day.

From this goal, you should get some idea of my current physical condition (abysmal). I need to lose a lot of weight. However, while I'll keep up with weight loss, it will never be a goal. Exercise and diet will be goals, and if I achieve the exercise and diet goals, I believe the weight will drop.

But for this goal, it's just to walk at least thirty minutes (on the treadmill) per day for the next seven days. I'll post as I go, and this goal will end (positively, mid-range, or negatively) on the 16th of November.

Goals

2005-11-10T11:20:00.000-06:00

As to the goals mentioned in an earlier post: generally speaking, they are to improve myself in five areas of life: physically, spiritually, emotionally, mentally, and fiscally.

To this end, I'll have several short-term goals that will help move me farther along in each of these areas. Over time, I will develop some longer term goals to go with the short term goals, but primarily (for now) I'll stick with the short term goals, aimed to focus in one (or more) of these five areas.

Each goal will be specific, measurable, attainable, and have a time-frame attached. Short-term goals will generally be very short, just a week or two. I'll have some longer term goals that aim at months or more. I'll also develop a principle-based statement for each of the five areas that will indicate my purpose. These will be less a goal than a statement of intent, along the lines of: "I am a physically fit person who, through close attention to diet and exercise, continuously maintains a high level of physical fitness." Now, that doesn't apply now, but is the target of the "physical" area of my life.