Ghostytown

Old News

2009-01-18T19:45:00.003-05:00

Hi strangers and old friends, I've set up shop across town, quite literally. Here's how:

I quit blogging at this site for a number of reasons
I got separated in 2007, divorced in 2008
I moved from Michigan to North Carolina
I started a remodeling business
I set up a blog at Wordpress, just to noodle with and keep writing a bit
The new Spiffytown was set up
I got married in 2009

I haven't been avoiding most of you, it's just been a busy and change-laden time. If you'd like to catch up, send an email or comment at the new digs. I go by db grin now. This oughtta be the last post at this here site.

Not Dead

2008-02-17T17:39:00.002-05:00

It seems I keep getting lots and lots of traffic here at Spiffytown. I don't think it's from the reggalers I used to hobnob with; most visits seem to result from image searches. But, in case you've been wondering, I'm not dead. I don't miss the snow, literal and metaphorical, of my old life. I've been building a business, trying to pay bills, and coming to terms with myself in different ways. Haven't been writing much, and I miss it. That's all I came to say really, leave a comment or drop a line to stay in touch.

150 Is All I Can Do

2007-11-02T20:43:00.000-04:00

Hi friends,

This is my 150th post. And it's the last from this place. *

A lot has happened since my launch into the bloggosphere.

I've made a ton of friends, almost all of whom I consider true friends.

I've had a 17 year anniversary. Then moved out.

I've discovered what it's like to undergo a divorce. It's not over yet.

I've experienced real loss and deep sadness.

I've experienced real joy.

At moments like these, it's easy (for me) to get moopy and sad, but I shan't. I've had a blast with Spiffytown, and will keep in touch. Just not here.

Thanks to Tiff, Jeff Kay, Wordnerd, JC, AC, Tracy Lynn, Renn, Stew, Sparky, Hyperion, and Wordsmiths.

Thanks also to those on my blogroll.

Stay connected, it's worth it. Send me your email address, or leave comment in the comments and we'll keep in touch.

I'm planting a tree in honor of Daniel 'Blitz' Krieg (AKA Dr. Syn, Buerger King, or Lenny Harris - I loved that guy). I invite you to do the same. Put a plaque on it in his honor, or at least let his family know where it is.

*I will post the picture when the deed is done. The Blitz Krieg National Forest will grow.

On Hold

2007-10-06T07:48:00.000-04:00

I had occasion to call my mortgage company last week to try to sort out some difficulties. I got the standard, "Your call is important, which is why we monitor calls. That and we're going to use everything you say against you. Please enjoy the music" greeting.

Then the 'music' started - and it creeped me right out. It sounded like Edward Scissorhands was pissed off at the piano, banging away with all his might in E flat minor. It was the music from a silent horror film or some such, and the 'musician' knew the audience had a wicked hangover and was doing his best to make it worse.

Highly appropriate to the occasion.

******

Speaking of music, the local classic rock station has Jazz Brunch on Sunday mornings, 4 hours of 'cool jazz' - very little would be considered classical jazz with the highly polished, overproduced musicians-trying-to-impress-each-other style. I rather like it once in a while. My daughter calls it elevator music. Once last year we were riding over some hills in the car, and she announced, "Going up!" to emphasise her point.

******

Last night I was talking with a friend about Star Trek. Shut up, you know you watched it too, dork.

Anyway, we got to thinking, "What if the Enterprise was crewed by rednecks?"

The sound effects alone would lend a whole different feel to the show. The computer's voice would have a thick southern drawl, and call Captain Kirk 'Sugar.' If the self-destruct sequence was initiated, you'd hear, "Aw shit, now you gone n' done it!"

The doors wouldn't have the cool whoosh-squeak sound; it'd be more like tobacco spit.

Sulu would shout 'Yeeee HAW!' and make vrooming noises when piloting the ship through the Gravel Pit Nebula. Chekov wouldn't quit honking the Dukes of Hazzard horn.

Scotty would be seen squirting starter fluid into the warp core.

While it was up on blocks in Kirk's front yard.

I'd watch that show.

Chirp Chirp

2007-09-30T17:02:00.001-04:00

It's been a busy couple weeks. The weeds have grown around here, the crickets, frogs, and frog-eating snakes have taken over the place. I'm scarcer than ever on the interwebs, as life and work have their way with me. I'll be back as I can, and there's a Wordsmith story due tomorrow. I'll cook it up tonight and post by deadline.

Here's a touching story I thought you should see (thanks to my friend Dave):

In 1986, Mikele Mebembe was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from NorthwesternUniversity. On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the ai r. The elephant seemed distressed, so Mikele approached it very carefully.

He got down on one knee and inspected the elephant's foot and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gen tly as he could, Mikele worked the wood out with his hunting knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot. The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Mikele stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled.

Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away. Mikele never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.

Twenty years later, Mikele was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Mikele and his son Tapu were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Mikele, lifted its front foot off the ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.

Remembering the encounter in 1986, Mikele couldn't help wondering if this was the same elephant. Mikele summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Mikele's legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.

Probably wasn't the same elephant.

The Interwebs Needs One

2007-09-03T13:28:00.001-04:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

So Much To Say

2007-09-01T18:18:00.000-04:00

There have been so many thoughts, observations, and happenings that have sleeted through my mind over the last month that make me smack my head and say, "That would make a great story!" But they've gone unwritten. Some snippets will stick in m' haid and leak out later, when I have the leisure required to maintain a writing hobby. A couple things to log though:

Um, the motorcycle crashing wasn't severe. It was enough to cause some damage that's still not healed up: A blunt-force contusion on my elbow and a busted turn signal. And a scratch on my helmet. Other than that, all is well. Here's what happened, and feel free to mock me like most of my coworkers did.

My day job's parking lot was sealcoated a cuppa weekends ago. Nice, shiny blacktop. It rained for days and days after that. I was leaving for lunch on my vroomscooter (heh - just made that up) and turned to go out the gate and down the drive. Suddenly, at around 8 MPH, I found my wheels making way more of a turn than I was (or was it way less?). At any rate, the bike slid out from under me sideways, skidded 30 feet to a stop, dribbling gas and turn signal lens parts along the drive. I was unceremoniously dumped on my right side with all the force gravity and other various laws of physics could muster. I was wearing my leather jacket (thankfully) and hate to think how much bone meal I'd have left on the parking lot otherwise.

************

I've ended my career at the Kwikee Mart, due to high powered schedule issues at the day job. And I know on which side my bread is buttered, so any extra hours will be spent making the world a better place for construction workers rather than for Squishee drinkers.

Yes, I'm aware construction workers can enjoy the occasional Squishee, stop splitting hairs at me.

*************

There's a post on the interwebs that got me thinking (and reacting) more than usual. So there's only one thing for it: To offer the other side of the pancake.

First, go see Kingfisher's post. I'll wait. Now, I like and respect Kingfisher a great deal, but I couldn't agree a whole lot less. I offer this in the interest of open-minded discussion of ideas, rather than pretending to be an all-knowing end-all authority on existential matters. More discussion is a good idea.

I fear that much of the rambling which follows will be useless if one rejects the very idea of God's existence. But it comes from a perspective I've wrestled and reasoned out for most of my life, and I can say I wholeheartedly believe it.

Without faith it's impossible to please God. Faith takes humble acceptance of things not seen or fully understood. A recurring biblical theme - the greatest wisdom of man is confounded by the simple truth of God. It takes a childlike (not childish, immature) faith to understand, accept, not miss it. I would assert that it takes far more faith to believe that all things that we see happened by convergence of just the right elements and energy, and creative accidents continued to advance life to the stage we now see. That doesn't happen anywhere else in the observable universe - chaos and decay are in charge without intervention. If God's an invention, then it's pure foolish grasping. As CS Lewis said, you either have to believe Jesus is who he says he is (the divine son of God), or he's a madman, on par with one who says, 'I am a poached egg.' One can't simply say he was a great teacher and reject the bit about his claims. Cafeteria style truth isn't an honest practice. If God's a revelation, then it's due reverence, awe, and thoughtful consideration. Nowhere does the bible say to reject reason or science or observation. The senses are designed to inform us, not betray us. The black-and-white assertion that one must either accept Carl Sagan or the Bible leaves little room for discussion. I believe in Carl Sagan, and have learned from and had my curiosity piqued by him. I also happen to disagree with him on philosophy. To 'know' is to farking END CURIOSITY, which is why scientists become scientists. To explore. To question. Every answer produces more questions. I would think this exhilarating, not infuriating, to intellectuals and scientists. If WE are created in God's own image, then that alone evidence of importance. If God alone is worthy of our worship, then he must believe us important. If God deems us worthy of redemption, that's the ultimate trump card. It takes humility, not hubris, to accept truths greater and more durable than we are in favor of demanding to know - with acceptable proof to our satisfaction. Is the only answer to unsatisfied questions that God MUST be a cruel taskmaster?

Just because things aren't the way I prefer doesn't make them malignant, cruel, or spiteful. I could trip on a steel ball and curse it, just as an olympian celebrates his record-setting shot put. I could glory in the beauty of a mountain at sunrise as an unseen climber falls to his doom on its harsh and icy face. A tree that provides me shade blocks my neighbor's view. Or, a favorite among the inspirational email forward crowd: the traffic jam that makes me late could be what saves me from going over a collapsed bridge. I believe there is room for the harsh and unyielding laws of physics/ nature AND God to coexist.

Yes, interpretation is subjective, belonging solely to the individual. Knowing we have "The Correct" interpretation is a luxury we aren't afforded. That takes faith.

Yay for Cows

2007-08-27T07:38:00.000-04:00

This was a perfect late summer morning. The hints of frost were adorning the hay fields on the way in to work, inviting one to traipse (frolic, if you prefer) through the aromatic flora, inhaling the beauty of God's green earth. Until one realized that such nonsense would get one's socks all wet and allow a thousand ticks to infest one's shorts. Since my last visit to my home on the webz, I've been working like mad, building bridges, crashing motorcycles, and living the life of... of, well, I don't know who. But most is well, and I miss my friends & thought I'd say Hi. So, Hi.

Move Along

2007-08-20T08:12:00.000-04:00

As most of you have noticed, there isn't much reason to come by here lately. But today, there are things to read. Just not here. Try International ___ Day.

New, AND Improved

2007-08-11T15:12:00.000-04:00

For Kingfisher.

Don't take it personally, buddy.

My New Wallpaper

2007-08-08T07:33:00.001-04:00

Don't take this personally.

Unless, of course, I meant it for you.

Wordsmiths for August

2007-08-01T07:58:00.001-04:00

Francis pointed to a dark section of the square. “see it? Harrison Ford’s face, the one he’s making when he says ‘we are going to die.’ Get some more dark colors in there.” “I don’t see it,” mumbled Henry. He shuffled the brightly colored pieces like an expert poker hustler, twirling 3, sometimes 4 pieces in one hand, over and through his long fingers. His left hand trembled slightly as he reached for a dark green, his cigarette barely holding onto a long snake of quivering ash. “It’s right in front of your face, idiot!” Francis practically screamed. Henry was becoming irritated at Francis’ constant niggling insistence. And the rudeness was getting out of hand. He put on what he thought was his strongest voice, and quavered, “You stop talking to me like that. You don’t want me to get my stick out again, do you?” Francis didn’t. He was suddenly quiet, remembering the last beating. He had gone unconscious for three days, and while things were always strained between Francis and Henry, the tension was noticeably worse since then. Henry’s face softened. “I think I see it! There, right?” he said, pointing with the dark green. Francis nodded, a manic smile appearing briefly. He placed the piece and filled in the details with blues, browns, and yellows. Satisfied, he leaned back and took a last puff on his cigarette, ash dropping onto his rumpled shirt. It was all he could see anymore. Not just that corner, but the matrix had taken over his little apartment. He didn’t even notice the boxes stacked up in every corner of the small room, crowding his kitchen, desk, closets, floor. He found them at garage sales, EBay, toy stores, pawn shops. What started as a hobby had silently slipped into an addiction, an obsession that cost him his job and his girlfriend. Everywhere he looked, he saw patterns – and had to capture them in light. Hot glue dribbled from the gun, which was always plugged in and ready to add the next panel. He had the colored pegs sorted in trays at his fingertips, ready to express the pictures that were so obviously there. Francis wasn’t helping. In fact, it was Francis who turned this into his life’s work. Nothing was as important as spotting the next pattern to Francis. It was he who insisted on the 2nd, then 3rd, then 120th Lite Brite set, and his idea to cover the walls with them. Lots of people talk to themselves. Not everybody gives a name to their alter egos. When they get a name, sometimes they get their own personality. Henry was aware of Francis’ growing control and autonomy, and he didn’t like it. Beating his own head with a stick brought brief relief, but he always came back. And this wall is what he had to show for it. It could be worse, Henry thought as he inserted the final peg.

Another Teevee Post

2007-07-24T12:11:00.000-04:00

This is kinda like the ol' Teevee Dinner, where you just haul it out of the freezer, pull the foil back over the frosty mystery cherry pastry dessert, and heat for a Tasty Nutritious Meal from the Future. Yes, another drive-by tagging has occurred, and I am the latest victim. The only way to break the curse is to foist the tagging upon you, gentle reader. Then, only then will I be free of it. Thanks for your help, 'ppreciate it. 1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Multiples. Proper name after my Dutch great grandfather. Nickname after my mom's cousin. Middle name after Sean Connery. 2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? Monday. 3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Yep, when I'm writing for something other than myself. I'm a draftsman, write in all caps and like it to look good. When I'm journaling, however, it's sloppy uneven bastard script/ printing that even I have trouble reciphering. 4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Pimento loaf. No, salami. No, roast beef, shaved thin. Anything with fully cooked animal parts and sacks of dextrose, and goes with firm ripe tomatoes and mayo. 5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? One of each. I'm immensely proud of them both. 6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? For a little while. Then we'd drift apart, calling infrequently with enthusiastic cries of 'We should get together more often!' 7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? No. Have trouble trusting people who do. 8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes. In a jar. 9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Depends on who with and where. Victoria Falls maybe? I just don't want to be this guy. 10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Fruity Pebbles, up until recently. Got a box of Krusty O's, surprisingly good. Maple & Brown Sugar Malt-O-Meal, always the best. 11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Usually not, but sometimes. Just to mix things up. 12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Yes. Until it comes to self-control, then I'm strong like jello salad, with bits of mandarin orange and marshmallows. No coconut though. Bleah. 13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Hudsonville Moose Tracks with a sprinkle of malt powder on top. Or French Vanilla with a sprinkle of instant coffee. 14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Posture. 15. RED OR PINK? Whatfor? If you can paint it, red. If not, pink. 16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? Lack of follow-through. 17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My kids. 18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO pick up 3 pieces of feral litter today? Yep. 19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Olive pants, brown Red Wings boots. 20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? A chocolate chunk cookie, with fresh hot coffee. Breakfast of champeens. 21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The Media Player's on random, spinning one of 3570 tunes. Currently it's Kutless, Winds of Change. And the secretary chewing her breakfast. 22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? The melty green-red-blue one that's scraped out of the armrest after a long day in the sun. You might call it bruple. 23. FAVORITE SMELLS? Cut grass. Cut pine 2x4's. Fresh coffee and OJ in the morning. Old attics. The neck of someone you love. Campfires. Lilac bushes. Eucalyptus trees. 24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? Coworker 25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? OMG - yes!!! 26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? The occasional football game. Or the ones that end up on "World's Worst Injuries Caught On Tape." 27. HAIR COLOR? Is 'dwindle' a color? If you're asking favorite, it's red. 28. EYE COLOR? Blue. Like the sky. Earth sky, not Martian. And not when there's a tornado coming, that's more green-brown-yellow-gray. 29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Have 'em, but prefer glasses. Which have been busted and sitting in a drawer for 3 years, doing me lots of good.The world has soft edges and blurry signs, as far as I know. 30. FAVORITE FOOD? Home cooked. Any thing that starts with 'You gotta try this!' 31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Happy Endings. Mostly. Hey, isn't that the name of that massage parlor down the street? 32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Die Hard IV. Entertaining, sure. Quit caring about the characters after they survived the gas plant blowing up (their 14th explosion survival) by climbing into a van, which was then tossed through a wall. Of course, they walked away from it. 33. FAVORITE FLOWER? Venus flytrap. Or dogwood blossoms. 34. SUMMER OR WINTER? Summer. Shirtsleeves trump parka every time. 35. HUGS OR KISSES? Kisses. Hershey's or French, again depending on who with (whom?) 36. FAVORITE DESSERT? Wordnerd's Onion Souffle. It's like savory cheesecake. O.M.G. 37. MOST LIKELY TO discover latent superpowers and save the world? JC 38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND to spam of any nature, including for products I actually buy? Me. 39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? Just finished Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett. The list of his books I haven't read is growing alarmingly small, he'd better get cracking on some more books. I'm shopping for my next read tonight. 40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? A set of drawings, files, coffee cup, dual monitors, dual Aquafina bottles, ridiculously stylish desk lamp, and an assortment of formerly airborne lint. 41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT? Didn't. No teevee. No time to watch anyway, worked twice. 42. FAVORITE SOUND? I can't tell you that here. 43. FAVORITE CANDYBAR? Butterfinger Crisp, when absolutely fresh. 44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? Indonesia. 12 time zones to the west (or east) and 43 degrees south. 45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? I have a pretty good BS detector, combined with a strong filter. I think lots of things that never get said. Play drums and bass, but not at the same time. I also have other powers, different from the ones previously mentioned. 46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Grand Rapids MI. They haven't named a wing of the hospital after me yet, but I'm hoping to get my name on the eyeball shelf of the spare parts closet some day. 47. WHOSE Smoking Fish tee-shirt did you get in the mail this week? My very own, with a personal note from Jeff Kay. Holy crap in a Bundt pan! OK, you are now IT, unless you did the proper ONETWOTHREENOTIT! chant, in which case you're off the hook. 18, 37, 38, and 47 are Do-It-Yourself questions, you can ask yourself anything. G'head, it's easy!

Oh Hai

2007-07-18T09:18:00.001-04:00

Yarr, things be reeee-diculously busy around here, so I'm just poking my head in to point you in the direction of the Monkey Barn. Hyperion's orchestrating a sort of campfire story with a Harry Potter theme, and I for one am interested to see how it turns out. I contributed a chapter, and a bunch of other Barners are too. Go! See! Have a nice day! I'll quit bossing you around now!

Feedbag

2007-07-13T10:20:00.000-04:00

I was up all night again last night. Can anyone tell my why microwaved pizza rolls are so very gross, all leathery and oozing molten mystery goo that tastes vaguely freezerpizzalike, but after the 3rd one you get a craving for the rest of the box? I'm sure they'd be reasonably tasty if toasted properly in a real heat oven, but I was at once disgusted and enthralled by these highly nutrutious lil' suckers. And no, it was not a case of the munchies, simply lunch. Real dinner last night was something I'd never concocted before, but boy oh boy was it some kind of spot-hitting good. I had a pair of round steaks defrosted, and had to cook 'em up. I'd planned on grilling or broiling, but got no grill and I've no experience broiling. No proper veggies for a stir-fry. Rooting around in the larder, I found some bleu cheese, potatoes, onions, and yon steaks. Sliced a pocket in the steaks, stuffed in some cheese (a very carnal experience, that), and set it all to fry... 15 minutes later, the yummiest of quickdishes. Leftovers will be just as good. I watched someone dump 15 (fifteen!) liquid creamers into a 16 ounce coffee this morning. Then added a shot of 'cappuccino' (the powdered machine-made fake sugary stuff) to the mix, and a small handful of ice. In my first office job (a draftsman for a church architecture outfit), I started having coffee every day. It'd be doctored up very precisely, with 1 1/2 sugars and a splash of cream. It HAD to be the right color, or t'were no good. Several years later, I started to realize there were just to many variables to manage, and more hassle than enjoyment. It's crap like that which taught me to drink my coffee black. That way, I'm in & out, no waiting, nobody making faces at me, no mess to clean up - and the bonus is that I can actually tell if the coffee's any good. Turns out I like good coffee. Any particular way you have to have your coffee (or tea)?

137

2007-07-12T08:20:00.001-04:00

This is my 137th post. Why is that number significant? It ain't. I just wondered how many I've done here, so now we all know. Remember the bug story from the other day - the moth that invaded my personal space? That was nothin'. I was riding home on a very hot, very windy Tuesday. I parked my bike in the garage and noticed something prickly in my leather jacket, on the sleeve. Nothing new, as there is a mesh liner with some Velcro which sometimes pokes at my bare skin. But it kept poking me, so I tried to adjust the sleeve while unbuckling my helmet. That didn't help; in fact it got worse. I made it to the door, with neighbors watching as I dropped my backpack and jacket and began beating the sleeve against the wall. I had collected a very angry wasp up my sleeve somewhere in the last 2 miles of my commute. The little bastard stung me 8 times on the soft, frogbelly white underside of my forearm. Never found it, I think she survived to sting again. If you see one, squish it for me, won't you?

Patience

2007-07-11T14:36:00.000-04:00

I'm late.

Okay, so last month Wordsmiths Unlimited came back online. And I was all excited, since I love that outfit and I'm a big fan of the idea, the creative fun, and reading all the concoctions that come of it from other writers. It's like a chili cook-off without the beer, pain, or flatulence.

And then I watched the deadline come and go. I've got lots going on, sure, but I still hate being late.

Rather than mope about it and offer a weak shrug and "Oh well, there's always next month," I figured I'd write the story I'd half-baked when there was still time.

For those new to the premise: The Wordsmiths come up with a photo and a challenge. You write a 500 word (or less) story to go with it. Open to all. Easy peasy, right?

Patience The creak of old rope was barely audible over the gentle thrash of surf. A crackle and pop, then the rattle of various tools as one of them rose from his hammock. "Think it's a good year?" "Hard t' tell, they cert'ny look hardy enough. But sometimes the runts surprise you." The younger one packed up buckets and toolboxes with ziploc bags full of multi colored tags, a tagging gun, shovels, and a large knife. His floppy tan hat flapped about his ears in the breeze. The older one stayed in his hammock, greasy hat pulled over his eyes, a toothpick wobbling around under the brim. A hairy foot hung out one side, lazily rocking his large frame back and forth. "Boy, that was a good hatch. Did you see how many made it? It was better than the year they put up nets, so many got in! Those ‘no trespassing’ signs sure cut down on traffic, we practically have the place to ourselves!" "Yep," came the grunted reply. Too much talking could ruin a good afternoon, he thought. "Well, I s'pose it's time to git," he said as he hefted himself upright. He took the large cast iron pot off the tripod and set it in the sand, doused the embers, and took another spoonful of soup. “Sure did turn out good this year, I think 40’s about the right number.” They were here every year at this time, a tradition going back three generations. The turtles would hatch, they would tag as many as they could and observe weather and predator activity for the university, and then they would enjoy dinner on the beach. They earned a small stipend for their work, but the perk they looked forward to most was the meal. The older man covered the pot and hoisted it into the pickup, strapping it in. He tucked a red plastic tag in his pocket, and tossed a large empty shell in the cab. The sun set over the beach as a herd of new turtles swam deeper into the ocean. Many were picked off by much larger, hungrier creatures who were expecting them. One finally made it to a safe resting place in the brave new world. He was sporting a shiny new red tag.

So Much Interest

2007-07-10T15:04:00.000-04:00

Since Hypnotoad is getting more comments than I ever did, here's more. And, in case you didn't know, it's no fun to catch a bat in your full-face space helmet while cruising down the boulevard. Okay, maybe it wasn't technically a bat, but it did have a wingspan and batlike color and silent flight. And when it crawled along my chin to have a look outside, I freaked out like my face was stuck in a hot oven full of bees. The mothbat nonchalantly flew away, and that was that. I have more exciting bug encounters, I'll tell you about those next time. Got any YOU'D like to share, to set the mood?

Shorty McShorterson

2007-07-09T08:14:00.000-04:00

Cuppa tings as I speed through on my way to enormous productivity: Last week there was a Fark animation contest for all the Photoshop wizards. Some really good and inventive stuff there, but this one really got stuck in my head. If you've lurked in Photoshop contests before, the jokes will make more sense... but still worth a visit! Hyperion asked about Hypnotoad... I'm not hardly clever enough to make that up, but thanks for thinking I could. A brief summary is here (Wiki knows all). All glory to Hypnotoad! I'm here to serve, baby. Have a great day!

Spiffytown Times

2007-07-07T16:32:00.000-04:00

Well, it HAS been a while, hasn't it.

I've missed the community of bloggy friends and daily visits and ongoing commentaries. Here's a snippet of what I've been up to, no guarantees of any sort of regularity for now... but the daily post isn't coming back for the near future. Still no computer at the apartment, and there is no shortage of overtime to be done working on real work. I was assigned a project on Friday, and asked if it was another hot job. "They're all hot," said the boss.

So, I'm here on a Saturday to try to keep up and wedge in a little post.

A cuppa two tree weeks ago I had yet another trip out east to deal with a project that hadn't died yet. We started it in '05. Final final inspection, and my presence was required. We passed with flying colors, having gotten the inspector, the GC's new personnel, our installer, and our customer all on the same page. The success was overwhelmed by spectacularly bad performance by NWA (aka Nincompoops With Airplanes) yet again. This time it was a legitimate weather problem in my destination, but still... Is it normal to load 150 passengers on an airplane, let them sit a half hour (or until it gets up to appropriate temperature to bake a cinnamon roll, whichever comes first), then unload them, then do it twice more? After that, is it normal to leave the gate to the cheers of all hardy souls who haven't made alternative plans, then sit on the tarmac for 3 hours?

Naturally, all connections were broken. I got to spend quality time in Detroit's Metro Airport again... hours' worth. That's a long-ass airport, with a train running the length of Terminal A. I went to the rebooking gates, but the line stretched all the way past the mid-terminal shops and bars. With an average of 10 minutes per customer, and at least 180 people in line, I figured it'd be better to walk home. Or rent a car, either way. I went up to the nearest gate with an agent and asked if there were any flights to Grand Rapids. He said yes, it was at gate 76 - at the end of the terminal. I finally arrived there 10 minutes later to find the gate had been changed to gate 41, right next door to the rebooking gates. At least the agent at 76 got me a seat before sending me packing again, near the front of the plane. And there was time to have a beer in the only open bar. The plane arrived, it was actually going to leave the airport, and I discovered my seat was in THE front row, 1st class. It was my only time riding with The Privileged Class (did you know 'privilege' means 'private law?' Thanks Terry Pratchett). The flight attendants are way friendlier up front, and they give you snacks and free alcohol if you want it. Even if the 26 minute flight doesn't allow beverage service in the main cabin (where the peasants ride).

One good flight out of four ain't bad... is it?

=============

I've put 1000 miles on the motorcycle since I got it. Everyone I know who has a bike has a story of near-death experiences, but I hoped to be the exception. Last night I decided it'd be a good idea to wear a flashing neon light after a car pulled up behind me in the left-turn lane rather fast. In fact, it pulled up so fast the tires screeched as it stopped centimeters from my taillight. I forgot momentarily that the thing has an engine and tried to paddle it out of the way by foot, like an overturned turtle.

In all the experience has been awesome (nevermind the bug collection on my shirt and knees). The smell of freshly mowed hay in the morning (it's much better before it goes through cows), the subtle changes in temperature I find sailing through forested areas, and the up-close sensation of speed are immensely gratifying. So far I haven't had to ride in the rain, but I got a rain suit just in case a July blizzard pops up. Could happen here.

=============

I'm working overnights at the local Kwikee Mart to pay the new bills. It's changed my outlook about humanity: People are gross. Folks dumping Squishees all over the place, dropping litter as soon as they go out the door, and thieves of all stripes are highly irritating to me. Not to mention lazy or careless coworkers - or manager (the guy could win a Worst Customer Service Ever Award).

Although, the drunk people have been highly amusing. There are plenty every night, but especially on Thursdays. The store is at the entrance of the largest apartment complex in Michigan (around 1700 units), so the variety of humanity is stunning. Lots of regulars, but folks just passing through need their Squishee fix too. And when they get sloppy drunk and stagger around the shop, it's usually great fun for at least one of us.

One couple was walking around for 20 minutes. The hippie chick was just screaming about the prices of sammiches and candy bars. She was smiling the whole time, but badgering her highly pierced guy friend about every item he touched. She sashayed around in her ragged dress and silver bangles and hemp necklaces, unsatisfied with everything but laughing at it all. Finally their last item was on the counter, and the guy announced that he was gonna turn gay. She shrugged, paid for the stuff, and they left the store. I turned to get some coffee, and I heard her peek in the door and shout, "Hey, Mr. Slurpee Man!" I looked, and she had her tank top over her head, dancing like she was collecting beads on Bourbon Street.

I wasn't sure how to respond, so I gave her a friendly wave and they were gone. The hippies too. I observed that my rack is bigger, to my double dismay.

More drunk people and boobie stories to come, but I must go...

Won't you tell me what you've been up to in the last weekerso?

Mah Associates Tell Me

2007-06-21T07:37:00.000-04:00

Due to a threat of violence against Hypnotoad, here is a post. While I'm sure Hypnotoad can take care of himself, I thought it would be best to put something up to keep the peace. If you want to know what Hypnotoad sounds like, see Kingfisher's comment... cracked me right up!

Happy first day of summer (Summer Solstice, for you druidic dancing-naked-around-a-fire-at-midnight-in-the-woods types). Today's a good day to test the theory that you can stand an egg on end on the sidwalk at high noon. Of course this works best at the equator, I'm told. I've always remembered the experiment around 2PM, and naturally it wouldn't work then. Plus which, I'm near the 45th parallel, which is halfway between the equator and north pole. Which explains why we get howling blizzards in April. Makes for a short day at the beach.

I'm absent mostly from my online haunts due to an increase in workload and downcrease in computer play time. I don't have a computer (or teevee) at the apartment, so my activities are limited to those blessed by my boss. Not only that, but I got a virus this week that required the wipeout and reinstallation of every.single.byte on my computer. I was without my trusty jet-engine sounding puter for 2 1/2 days, and I got it back clean and fast and almost like new. It's boggling how much personalization I took for granted, like toolbars and menus, printer setups, music and bookmarks. It's still not back to full efficiency yet. And, the IT guy has to approve all downloads, and Firefox ain't approved. Gah! Feels like I'm painting a house with those toy watercolor brushes, and my colors are all reddish-black. And runny.

I have a few posts in the hopper, but they may not see daylight for a while.

Since you're already online, go check out some people who actually write stuff you want to read - The Places I Go, at right. Wordnerd's got a bright and freshly painted site I'm sure you'll love, and Wordsmiths Unlimited has a story challenge for you, it's due in 9 days. Tiff's already posted her story, 'cause she's on top of things like that.

Up Your Dates

2007-06-11T08:13:00.000-04:00

Things of note: I got me a donorcycle (as named by one who thinks horses are other than ferocious, murderous beasts that like to maim little girls) this weekend. It ran just enough to tease me, dying after a few seconds or minutes of erratic idling. I knew it had this problem when I got it from a coworker, but I still couldn't resist trying to start it every time I went by. I took off the side covers, installed a new battery, new gas with some fuel system cleaner, and took apart the top of one carbeurator. Then put it back together, because I have no idea what I was looking at. I actually got it to run for about 4 minutes once - that was big excitement. But, as all things do, it died. Happily, there is a bike repair shop across the street from my office. Here it is in the morning dew, waiting for the experts to tinker with it and bring it back from the dead. Speaking of which, my Betta (rhymes with wetta - credit Kingfisher for the correctitude) has bit the dust. I came home from work Friday to find the poor fishy floating near the bottom, colors fading and fins still. He (she? I didn't look between its fins) never did eat any of the bettafood, even though I followed the directions exactly. Sadly, it expired before I could do the christening - so he (or she) has returned to the earth via the Grand Rapids Wastewater Treatment System. Speaking of which, I had one job which required me to visit that facility. I was an outside plant engineer for a telecom engineering firm, who handled all the fiber optic cabling for the city. Interesting place, that. Miles of underground tunnels and a very unusual smell - not terribly unpleasant, and not sewage-like. More like a combination of bakelite (pegboard, or the back of an old teevee) and toasted marshmallows. The part that really skeeved me out was the presence of emergency boxes along the length of the tunnels, much like a fire extinguisher box. These boxes, however, contained SCUBA gear. A mask, a tank, and the very sickening realization of the possibility of needing such a thing. Jibblies. Grossed me out far worse than the sign in the lobby which read: "The water you drink tomorrow could be the water you drank yesterday." A final thought before I must go work work work: Wordsmiths Unlimited is back!! I can't tell you how exciting this is. My presence on the innerwebs is due to that institution; up until then I thought blogs were things for people with dread diseases or political agendas. Or both. Had no idea they were such interesting and diverse fun. You can see my first story here, then go write one of your own!

8+1

2007-06-07T09:32:00.000-04:00

It's time to change the scenery here. I've been tagged, which takes care of the decision-making portion of this post. I've also been impugned by one Trinamick (that's a rare photo I'm sure she wouldn't want published. Ha! to that). So, on with the completion of a thing started last week. I'm so on top of things. So, I shall call this: An Octet Of Things 1. I was a spelling bee champion at my school in 7th grade. I got eliminated in the regionals, but had all kinds of dorky fun getting there. Nobody was more surprised than I when I won my classroom, then school. I studied at my friend Mark's house, but I seem to remember overdosing on orange pop and Oreos, and playing with all kinds of strange toys from the 50's including wooden telescoping boxing gloves much more than studying. 2. I've been on 4 cross-country bike tours. First was Grand Haven to Mackinac Island, MI; next Rochester NY to Bar Harbor ME; then Jackson Hole WY through the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone; finally, Eugene OR to San Francisco CA. Between age 13 and 16, I put a couple thousand miles on the ol' Schwinn. We would take a bus to our starting point, then bike about 35-60 miles each day to camp. The bus would leapfrog us, carrying the kitchen and tents. Some of my best photos are from those times. I managed to collide with something on each trip (another biker, ground, tree, or car). Fortunately it never happened during the many times I was inches from a several-hundred-foot dropoff. 3. I'm getting a motorcycle this weekend. I hope to get it to run (it's, uh, in my price range). It will be my primary mode of transport since Marlon went all corkscrewwy on me. I had one once before (when I was 18): a Suzuki 3-cylinder POS that I got for $50. It had a gas leak, bald tires, loose chain, and no license or insurance. I plan to be a wee bit more responsible this time around. I hope to get a 4-wheeler before the snow flies again, which should be some time after September. 4. I've never asked a girl out on a date, since being turned down for my Homecoming dance in 9th grade. Oh sure, I've been on plenty of dates. But it was either mutually agreed or initiated by the girl. I told Boy this story on the occasion of his having 5 dates to homecoming. His reply? "Sucks to be you." I think I'm over it. 5. I've never gone 2 weeks without work since landing my first Real Job at a car wash at 16 years old. It took me a while to settle into a career path, and there sure was some wandering. But even in one of the worst economies in the country, I've always managed to find work. 6. Related to #5, I tried entrepreneuring 3 different times, which certainly has its ups and downs. Freedom and limitless possibility come with long hours, no health insurance, and all the responsibility. The first was a cleaning business, which was wildly successful. Mrs. Spiffy cleaned houses for extra cash when the kiddos were young, and I began helping her out. We picked up an office to clean, and then another... soon we were earning a week's pay each night. I quit my day job, hired a flotilla of part time cleaners, and became a Businessman. Four years later, when two of our crew leaders quit on the same night, it fell to me to keep the accounts rolling. I managed for a couple weeks. Until one day, when I woke up in the afternoon and realized I hate cleaning. Truly hate it. So, we liquidated. From then on I vowed to do what I enjoy. So far, so good. 7. As a yoot, I always wanted to be an astronaut, pilot, or locomotive engineer. Didn't matter, I just wanted to be at the controls of a big, powerful, expensive machine. Gave up on astronauting when I realized I needed better grades than I ever got, and the pilot program is still in my future. I get my jollies when I can in construction equipment - I have operated backhoes, bobcats, cranes, bulldozers, skytracks, and forklifts. Wouldn't think I'd like doing that full time every day, but it's fun once in a while. 8. I'm not a big sports fan. I'll watch about 4 football games each year on purpose: Michigan/ Michigan State, Michigan/ Ohio State, the Superbowl, and the Lions' annual Thanksgiving loss. I like going to live games, but when people talk sports around me I usually nod, smile, and shuffle off to look at my Star Trek Action Figure collection. Or something. OK, now you know a thing or two that you might not heretofore have known. Here's the Plus One: I received a gift fish last night, quite unexpectedly. No, I didn't look it in the mouth. It's a very pretty Betta with a flowing iridescent tail, in a new bowl with a bright yellow plastic cactus. BTW, my fish is much prettier than the one linked. It needs a name. Won't you help?

Whatever You Were Planning, Fahgeddaboutddit

2007-06-04T07:46:00.000-04:00

Came in to work this morning to see this. I'm just glad it wasn't on my desk. Poor guy's gonna have some thumbs to twiddle while the IT guy works his magics. The power goes out here a few times a year, and every time the office stands around chatting about baseball or kids or anything.but.work. The longest we've stayed open without power is one hour - because we are utterly dependent on these little machines. Even the phones are part of a computer system, so there is no contact with the business world unless the juice is flowing. In my first office job, I worked for a design-build firm specializing in churches. The accountants and secretaries had computers, but nobody else. If the power went out (which happened often), we kept drawing. We'd have to erase by hand instead of using the nifty little power erasers, but pencils don't care whether the lights or AC were on. At this office, there isn't a drawing board on site. It's not even a practical backup anymore, since we need our engineering software to work before there's anything to draw. Once we were downtown at a swanky restaurant for cocktails. I asked for the check, and the young waitress said the credit card machine was down. So they weren't collecting any money. We were free to go. I asked if we could stay and get a few more, but got the stinkeye and decided it was time to make our exit. Nobody on staff had any idea how to work a manual credit card transaction, even though I could see the kerchunking machine under the register. I wasn't about to explain it to her. Lately, I'm busier than a chameleon in a blender full of crayons, so my time is up. Any stories of total computer dependence? Won't you share in yonder Comments? Have a nice day.

Powering Down

2007-06-01T12:13:00.000-04:00

That is all. Stolen from here.

Good News, Everyone!

2007-05-31T09:47:00.000-04:00

Go sing Happy Birthday, as soon as you finish here. Or before, it's your life. Don't let ME tell you what to do. Just do it. I got an email today announcing that another terrorist has been captured, with photo evidence. I am a big fan of taking out terrorists, because they have never produced anything good for the world, IMHO. Caution, you may find the image disturbing. Viewer discretion is advised.

Snacks

2007-05-30T09:52:00.000-04:00

By popular demand (ok, one request, but I like to take care of my readers) here's the Secret Recipe for some durn fine snacking. And some other junk. But first, I have to say: You haven't lived until you scrape the sludge from 'neath a Slurpee machine. That's some rich livin' raht thar. My night job features plenty such activities, plus all the mopping and stocking and drunk people you can stand. It's entertaining, no doubt. Here's a snapshot of a snack from the office vending machine. They're supposed to be tasty glazed donut holes. And, if you close your eyes, the packaging didn't lie. I just can't look at 'em without thinking Rocky Mountain Donuts. The next snack in the Spiffytown Rolodex of Savory Foods is so simple and nearly healthy, you'll be having cravings for it in no time. That's how it worked for me. You need a roma tomato, sliced colby-jack cheese, Ritz crackers, and seasoning. I use cracked pepper seasoned salt, one shake and it's done. Slice tomato, stack, eat, repeat. It could be argued that the bourbon & Diet Coke are optional. Smoothies are fun for breakfast or whenever, and I've just found out there are whole books devoted to 'em. They're all basically the same: Chuck in some fruit and stuff, add ice, blend. The one I use goes is my own invention, never done by anyone else. At least, nobody has told me they've done this. I think it's rather special, and if you don't then kindly keep that to yourself. Pour OJ in a blender (about 6 oz, if you're into measuring things). Add a banana, 3-4 peach segments from a can, a dollop of plain yogurt, and a handful of ice. Set the motor to 'mutilate' and plug your ears. Pour into as many glasses as it takes, and enjoy. It's my substitute for breakfast some days. Yummay. And finally, the best snack I've made all year. I used my new red toaster oven, cuz I love that thing. Cut a thin-skinned (gold or somesuch) potato into cubes, and cut a small onion into big chunks. Hand mix (that's the magical part) with olive oil, salt, pepper, and basil. Line a baking sheet with foil for easy cleanup, and spread out the mix in one layer. Roast at 400 degrees for 30-40 minutes, until the potato edges are brown. Cool a little and enjoy. Oh, so tasty. Bonus: the place smelled wonderful for the rest of the night.

The Five Things Thing

2007-05-29T12:19:00.000-04:00

I saw this over at No Accent yet, then at JC's, who tagged me. So I'm it. Time to knuckle down and get this done. My post explaining the mysteries of cold fusion and cheap, abundant, and clean energy will have to wait. Here's the 5 Things meme, which can be counted on one hand (unless you're a Simpson). What were you doing 10 years ago? Enjoying my new remodeling business, took the family to see relatives in California by train, had the 2nd of several marriage crises. Thought I was mature and wise. Still living in our first house, a cute little brick box on the corner in Cedar Springs. What were you doing 1 year ago? Starting my 2nd year at my current company, enjoying life with 2 teenagers, adjusting to how freaking busy one can be with high school activities. Barely paying the bills on our 3rd house in the pseudo-country. Five snacks you enjoy: 1. Tortilla chips (plain or with cheese, bean dip, or salsa) 2. Sliced tomatoes with colby jack cheese on a Ritz cracker 3. Roasted potatoes & onions 4. Wheat thins (or, stack 5 and eat at once, making a Wheat Thick) 5. Banana-OJ-Peach smoothies Five songs to which you know all the lyrics: Oh geez, I learn lots of lyrics. Then forget key bits as the songs collect dust in the back of the ol' brainium, and wind up mumbling through it until the chorus starts. Do I pick church songs, Christmas carols, TV themes, or stuff I listen to every day? Here are the first 5 that come to mind: 1. Amazing Grace 2. Gilligan's Island (tune and lyrics interchangeable with #1) 3. Oh Lately It's So Quiet (OK Go) 4. Let Go (Frou Frou) 5. Love Shack (B52's) Five things you would do if you were a millionaire: 1. Be debt free by sundown & set up the kids' college funds 2. Get my pilot's license and an airplane 3. Buy a motorcycle and an RV, and travel a ton 4. Set up mutual funds to keep earning interest 5. Give a bunch to select nonprofits Five bad habits: 1. Frittering time/ procrastinating 2. Avoiding 3. Saying yes too much 4. Thinking I don't need that much sleep 5. Drinking a bit much Five (g-rated) things you like doing: 1. Bike riding with my kids 2. Flying 3. Cooking 4. Writing 5. Poking campfires with a stick Five things you would never wear again: 1. A mullet 2. White tuxedo 3. Bathing suit with a split up the middle 4. The plastic halloween costume I had at 7 years old 5. Plaid polyester anything Five favorite (g-rated) toys: 1. Bicycle 2. Camera 3. Computer 4. Sharp chef knife 5. Frisbee INSTRUCTIONS: If you participate, include the blog chain that got this here. Remove the blog in the top spot from the following list and bump everyone up one place. Then add your blog to the bottom slot, like so: One Gal's Musing Philly Transplant No Accent Yet What Can't Be Looked For Spiffytown And now for the tag: Er, well, since I swim in the same waters as most of my blogbuddies, I say YOU'RE IT just for reading this. Again. I'll be sorely disappointed if you don't play along. But of course, I'll get over it. Please drive through.

Verbal Intercourse

2007-05-28T12:04:00.000-04:00

I had a boss, a big Swedish guy, who would routinely call me into his office, announcing to all, "Biff, I need to have verbal intercourse with you." It still creeps me out a little. At any rate, the discussion continues regarding how communication works. Now, I'm no expert in practically anything. And, to boost Hyperion's hypothesis, 64% of all statistics are made up on the spot*. So, please ingest the following with a small amount of sodium chloride. I went looking things up, which is easy to do with the Power of The Interwebs at my outsize fingertips. Wikipedia is always first, because they OWN research these days. Nevermind that the articles are written by the likes of me (albeit, hopefully more smarter likes than I). The Wiki article cites all kinds of studies relating to communication. It mentions work by Charles 'Deathbed Confessional' Darwin which argues that "all mammals show emotion reliably in their faces." I then discovered that there are actual names for all sorts of expression - object communication (clothing, or waving sticks threateningly), haptics (I guess it's a shorter word than 'touching'), chronemics (manipulation of time), oculesics (eye contact), and paralanguage (tone of voice). Too much to think about indeed. The study cited by my friend was done in 1971 by Albert Mehrabian. He's the 7%-38%-55% guy. It makes sense, especially considering how easily we pick up on whether someone is telling us the truth in face-to-face communication. If you tell me you like me, but won't make eye contact and have the scowl and tone of voice that suggests you like me as much as brussels sprouts, I might be inclined to doubt your veracity. How much does it matter though? In this forum, where we're all insulated to varying degrees by miles of cold copper wire (or fast & sexy fiber optics) and flat, unblinking monitors, we can claim anything. We can also believe anything - or not. If you're new to Spiffytown, you might believe I'm a hott, well-muscled and ridiculously wealthy entrepreneur with the keys to all of life's mysteries. In case you're still wondering, it's true. The blogs I visit tend not to be written by overly cynical people. How can I relate to someone for which everything sucks and there is no hope? To make witty observations without injecting some personality and heartfelt opinion means very little to me. The point of our discussion was to explore why online friendships are so valuable to me. Is it a substitute for 'real-live' face to face community? Of course not. Friends who know and care for me, who spend hang-out time and can ask about my business, are essential. What, then, makes the blogworld so attractive? I heard recently on NPR about a social experiment conducted on the subways of Washington DC. A violin virtuoso was standing on the platform, playing for passersby. Most paid no visible notice. A small percentage paused for a moment to listen. A tiny handful of people stopped to hear a few minutes' worth of music that would have cost them plenty to get in a concert hall. He collected $59 (including $20 from someone who recognized him). Those questioned said they were too busy, or in a hurry to get somewhere, to notice the beauty right before them. That got me to thinking about how easy it is to miss people in 'real life' circumstances. How would you know if you passed a potential best friend in the grocery store, or had so much in common with the gruff-looking guy with the beer gut at work? That's one door that online friendships opens up. Discovering people from their thoughts out, rather from appearance in. *Todd Snider, 'Statistician's Blues'

Nothin Doin

2007-05-23T15:58:00.000-04:00

There's not much to see here. Life continues, working a lot, and running around like stick people. A question for you: I heard from a friend that only 7% of communication is understood based on words. The rest: 38% is eye contact, and 55% body language. What do you think? How does that affect your online friendships?

Swimming With Incompetent Sharks

2007-05-16T11:24:00.000-04:00

You know, it'd really be nice to be doing new work. You know, the stuff that pays the bills. Fresh projects which smile back at me from clean sets of drawings. These don't have the angry, sloppy red marks of poor coordination or contractors' mind changes on them. They make me whistle while I work. Instead, I'm on my umpteenth day of sorting out which of the 301 connection photos I got from the project engineer are correct, and which are hopelessly botched. They are welded connections. The building is now finished, and no welding is allowed. The entire team which ran this project (when catching mistakes would have been easy) has been sacked. I've made 2 cross-country trips to inspect this dog, and the installer has visited countless times - but never got it all the way right. This crap is costly, in time, dollars, and mental resilience. Maybe I should become a truck driver.

Tuesdays are for

2007-05-15T09:01:00.000-04:00

Good morning Surf Reporters (you know who you are). Nothin' to see here, move along. So why post, you ask? Good question. It's because a) it's what I do and 2) I have some questions. I've been told that after meeting my mortality nose to stump, I can expect to freak out at some point in the future, since it hasn't happened yet. As I regained consciousness, I assessed reality pretty quickly, recognized where I was and knew what had happened based on the evidence around me. It was a fairly matter-of-fact affair. There are also interpretations and meanings being assigned to the accident and the fact that I'm not dead or smushed like a frog on the pavement. The question, in two parts: Have you had a delayed reaction to a big event? If it were a message, what do you think it's saying? Would you be s'kind as to tell me about it?

Update

2007-05-14T12:33:00.000-04:00

This morning I stopped by my insurance agent and the crash site. I have AAA, and my agent has always been outstanding to work with. I hope not to report Bob-kat style troubles to you... but the Carol Beers episode made her trials so much more enjoyable. From here, anyway... I don't think I missed the telephone pole by inches. Another day to count my blessings. A: Curb jump location B: Did I miss it?? C: Divot created by Marlon's windshield and roof D: Clump of trees which stopped the car and provided my first alert view of the outside world (imagine them upside down and much closer) E: Where I waited for the ambulance. I brought a layer of grass clippings and an assortment of pine cones to the hospital with me

Hand of God

2007-05-14T00:43:00.000-04:00

Today was another wonderful Spring day. I was invited to attend church with my friend Mitch. I haven't been in a couple months, so I met him there. It's one of the local mega-churches, it meets in a converted shopping mall. Enormous. It was a good time, great music and a Mary-oriented Mother's Day sermon. It was nice to see some friends there. After that, I went to my apartment and had leftovers for lunch, read a book, and decided to repeat this week's bike trip. It was gorgeous outside, and thoroughly enjoyed the ride. Returning home, I called my friend Neil to see what he was up to. He was just closing up his roadside stand for the afternoon, and invited me over to his place for some brews. We chatted and enjoyed a couple IPA's in the back yard. Eventually, his wife called out that she was ready to go for their annual Mother's Day dinner. I hopped in the car and waved goodbye. On the way home, I started to feel nauseous. It came in waves; for a moment I thought it had passed, but then I would mentally locate the Lysol and scrub brushes in the event I couldn't pull over in time. I crossed a bridge and considered pulling into a driveway, but there was a pedestrian in the way so I stayed on the road. Scott Simon was reading the news on NPR, and it became too much noise. I turned off the radio. At a stop light, the world began to spin a little and I broke out in a cold sweat. Through the intersection, I figured I could make it the 1/2 mile to the apartment, but a hundred yards later I was looking for a place to pull over. Then I woke up. Things didn't look right. They didn't sound right, either. I felt disoriented. Some of the stuff that was in my car was lying by my face. I realized (surprisingly quickly) that I was hanging upside down from my seatbelt. The engine was making weird noises, so I turned it off as I released the seat belt and came to rest on my head. Outside the broken windshield I saw a lush green tree. Very close up. I saw the blue stripes on the flaccid airbags. I knew vaguely through ringing ears that this was not good. I fished my legs out the driver's side window and found myself on a grassy hillside. I sat up just as a man came around the car to see if anyone was hurt. He had the expression of one who was expecting to find something very nasty indeed. His relief was audible. Not sure whether I should move, I hazarded a glance at the car. It was flat on its back like a tortoise, new tires helplessly skyward. The fender near me was folded in half. I lay down on the grass, feeling clammy and woozy, while more motorists gathered around. The first responders were wonderful, doing everything right and asking thoughtful questions. Moments later sirens arrived, one by one, until 5 agencies had gathered. A state cop came and held my head still until the paramedics arrived. A sheriff breathalyzed me and found that I did indeed have only 2 beers (BAC .02). I was strapped to a backboard, neck braced, and hoisted into an ambulance. The friendly sheriff handed the paramedic my ticket. I asked if they could locate my cell phone, but it wasn't found before the ambulance sped off to the hospital. I got stuck with a variety of needles and sticky electrodes, while the paramedic kept me talking and signing release forms. At the hospital, I was parked in the hallway while blood was drawn, spine was checked, guts palpated, and joints wiggled. Nothing but a headache to report. After 2 hours in the hallway, I was taken in for my first head CT scan. It was over quickly, but something smelled funny. I hope they didn't cook my brains (freakin' radiology zombies). Another half hour in the hallway, and the phone and water I requested in the first hour arrived. Mrs. Spiffy arrived just as they were discharging me. We stopped by the impound yard on the way to the apartment - I needed my keys and phone, and snapped these photos. The driver's side fender Poor Marlon came to rest on the roof, breaking the windshield in 2 places Contents of the glove box spilled out when the airbags deployed I don't remember a moment of the accident. I remember looking to pull over, then nothing. The doctor said it was probably a vaso-vagal nerve reaction; something upset my stomach, causing me to faint. Not a scratch or bruise on me. The car is totaled. I looked at the crash scene. I crossed 3 lanes of a curving road, jumping the opposite curb. The car flipped, plowing nose-uphill into a clump of small trees. I missed a telephone pole by 5 yards. The other side of the road featured mature trees and a deep ravine which carries a creek. I'm choosing to give God credit for the outcome. And hugging my kids tonight.

IF You See A Faded Sign At The Side of the Road

2007-05-11T07:59:00.000-04:00

Good morning! I bring you tales of travels. Last night it was gorgeous, schpring in Michigan is really pretty nice when it eventually arrives. Sunny and 79 when I got home from work. I had an appointment to go talk quietly in a small room for a couple hours 25 miles away, but the outdoors was calling. So I canceled. Instead, I heated up my leftover steak & taters in my toaster oven (love that thing), peeled on my Under Armor, shorts, and a fire-engine red shirt (both for my commitment to high fashion and traffic visibility), and hopped on my bicycle. I struck out without a plan, as is my wont. Leaving the parking lot, I went right, then left, then left again, and on a whim went straight instead of left again. Left would take me along the White Pine Linear State Park - a rails-to-trails path which stretches from Comstock Park to Cadillac. It's a nice ride, but the scenery is familiar. Instead, I crossed the Grand River and headed toward Riverside Park. The park was simply lousy with people. All shapes, sizes, and stripes (some with spots), on foot or wheel, enjoying the evening. There was a soccer field loaded with older kids chasing the ball with all their might. I passed scores of moms with little bambinos in various wheeled apparatus. Riverside has an 18-hole frisbee golf course, so there were all kinds of disc-flinging folks walking around chasing their toys. At least 4 family picnics were underway, with charcoal grills perfuming the air with hot dogs and overdone marshmallows. I got to the end of the 3 mile long park and kept going. Riding onto Monroe, I found the road exceptionally lumpy, but got to see the amazing architecture of the old fresh water treatment plant from a new perspective. Round turrets and parapets in glazed, rust-colored brick caught the sunlight and sent it around like a giant disco ball that seemed to spin as I rode past. The park system picked up the trail again along the river, closing periodically for construction. I don't think I've ever seen the entire river trail open all at once; it is pretty extensive and they're always improving it. I crossed the river repeatedly on historic bridges and foot paths, taking whichever trail caught my immediate fancy. There were lines and lines of people fishing off the boardwalks and bridges. You could catch a hint of fishy aroma, but I never actually spotted a real fish. I crossed into Ah-Nab-Ah-Wan Park, which is a great expanse of manicured lawn and paved trails between the GR Ford Museum and the Grand River. The city fireworks are held there on Independence Day and a couple other festivals in the fall. Great spot for a concert, or to get food onnastick. Over the crashing roar of the fountains, I heard a deep, insistent drum beat. The south end of the park features model Indian burial mounds - big grassy knolls which call out to kids to climb and roll down (the actual historic burial mounds are downriver about 10 miles in a swampy area). In a little valley between the mounds and the park, a group of native Americans were seated on lawn chairs around a giant drum. Each had a mallet and was beating on the drum and singing in call-and-answer style. A little girl in a leather skirt was dancing a few feet outside their circle. I slowed to listen and rode over the foot bridge, the song and beat bouncing off the Amway Grand Plaza concrete and glass walls. I went just a little further, circled the museum and the university, and headed back. I rode past the final resting place of Gerald Ford, interred in a garden beside the museum last December. Since then, they've put up a tall wrought iron fence around the garden. I suppose it's only open during museum hours or tours. The drums were still thumping their echoes off the buildings as I retraced my route, on the opposite bank of the river where possible. The sun sets late here in the western side of the eastern time zone, leaving plenty of light well after 9PM. People were still out in force, although there were more couples holding hands at this hour. I came through riverside park and heard clanking, grunting, crashing noises like people throwing bricks and raccoons into metal garbage cans. A group of guys, dressed up in medieval armor like the Knights of Swamp Castle, were standing around a pair of their own. The two in the middle were carrying shields and round blunted swords, bashing each other in halting, awkward thrusts. A girl was watching disinterestedly from the open door of a Plymouth Dart, clearly waiting for one of them. I pondered how one gets a girlfriend with a hobby like that, but quickly remembered there's someone for everyone. Surprisingly, I found myself full of energy by this point, sprinting for whole sections of the park. Thick clouds of IN's (Eyeball Gnats, using the acronym promulgated by strict adherence to the IKFSA*, which, no matter where you are, kamikaze directly into your blinking peepers) were loitering over the path in unexpected places. I ate at least 3 bugs, maybe more. One felt like it was still clinging to my uvula today, its carcass refusing to be moved. I bounded into my kitchen and wondered how far I'd went. I retraced my steps in Marlon (the grampa car) and clocked it out: 15 miles. Not bad for a lazy late spring evening. *Innernational Kownsel on Fonetikly Spelt Akronims

Music and Tagging

2007-05-10T08:38:00.000-04:00

Thanks to Wordimus Nerdimus for the musicthing tag, I have to come up with 7 songs I'm into - WITH AN ESSAY on each - and then fling my tags upon other bloggertypes. I'm not alone in saying music is a huge part of my day. When I'm driving, I'll often have talk radio on, but at work, at home, or on solo bike rides, I've got a couple thousand of my favorite tunes ready to feed my need for rhythm. I'm always on the lookout for new stuff, and my tastes are varied all over rock, alternative, electronic, and world. I do need to get some classical in me, stuff without operatic singing or squeaky sleepy olfolks music. I'm not sticking strictly to the rules, partly 'cause that's how I roll. I'll pick 7 artists, since my MO is to find one I like and devour everything I can find. Heave-ho, here we go... OK Go: I've been on a total immersion diet of these guys for WEEKS now, and while I always move on to something new, their 2 CDs are my best music purchases of this century. I ain't kidding. Master musicianship and hooks, pop sensibility, intelligent humor and soul-stirring harmonies all come together. I like 'em a lot, enough to list 7 just for them (plus a bonus). Shortly Before The End: Horribly sad lyrics, but incredible build-up and gorgeous melody There's a Fire: Polyrhytmic song where every instrument is quirkily understated, and I love the earnest storyline. Don't Ask Me: Danceable, singalongable, and the most fun angry song evah. Video here. Let It Rain: Pretty AND fun. Whoever can tell me the time signature wins a prize (difficulty: no internet help!) Lately It's So Quiet: Nobody can 'oh' like these guys. Modern day Jon Anderson with the falsetto. Get Over It: Hay! I love this song. A Million Ways: One zero zero zero zero zero zero ways to like this tune. Bass line is just one. The Fix Is In: A song about getting lost in Boston that just makes me tap my enormous toes. Dave Matthews Band: Ants Marching is the song on the radio turned me on to these guys, and the quality stands up to ridiculous amounts of repeat listening. I particularly like the live version, Carter shines as one of the greatest drummers on the planet. I have a religious experience every time I hear Bartender (from Busted Stuff). Switchfoot: More Than Fine is one of my theme songs. Might Have Ben Hur is another one that I always drop everything and pay attention to. Def Leppard: Rock of Ages. As a pre-licensed teen, I walked for miles in a light rain to go buy Pyromania because that song would not leave my brain. A turning point in my musical curiosity. Rush: My heroes all through high school, and the only band I've seen live four times. I wanted to play bass like Geddy Lee, although for some reason I never wanted to sing like him. Tom Sawyer got me hooked, and I can sing along to any of their tunes from Fly By Night through Grace Under Pressure. Talking Heads: I'm gonna make them representative of the quirkier side of my music, even though it's pretty mainstream. Same with the B-52's, Bjork, Massive Attack, Peter Gabriel. AfroCelt Sound System: Another group I've never gotten sick of. Great driving music. This is an All Skate tag (cue organ music from The Wrong Trousers). If you're reading this, you're tagged!

Greetings and Salad Dressings

2007-05-09T07:44:00.000-04:00

I don't believe I've ever been more spoilt on my birthday, even including the time I got a pony. When I was a wee tot we had a big backyard to-do, and it was stuffed with other wee tots, hot and steamy and all wearing sticky polyester. There was a fort made out of a jungle gym and some horse blankets, a big picnic table loaded with cake and picnic food, and games & prizes a la Bozo's Bucket Bonanza. Other kids were winning the contests and getting prizes, and it was MY special day, dammit. I remember being a total ass that day. Good thing I've grown up, at least a little. My daughter's handmade card to me last night said 'Growing older is mandatory, but growing up is optional.' Here's hoping for some of both. Thanks to Wordnerd and Tiff and Kenju for the birthday mentions around the interwebs - how fun to get so many visitors and wishes! You guys rock! And a hearty hi-ho and heaps o' thanks for my friends who stopped by. I just wish I hadn't seen the card Blitz sent me. Not sure I can look him in the eye anymore. The celebration continued last night, as I met the Spousal Unit at Meijer (if you don't have a Meijer near you, get one) to get some dinner supplies. It was steaks-on-the-grill night, the first time the grill has been fired up in 10 months or so. Did you know the Bible says grilling is man's domain? Yep. It's right there in 2nd Kingsford. Anyway, we got a cuppa two tree items, and up to the house for the festivities. We had planned to have friends over, but they pussed out. They'll be up Friday and we can do it all over again, but they missed the best grilling I've ever done (if I do say so m'self). The grill scrubbing took as long as the cooking, but it was worth it - I've never been a fan of last year's charred remains in this year's food. I made garlic mashed potatoes, a pan full of sauteed onions and green & red peppers, and hand-rubbed seasoned steaks. El-yummo. S'all I got time for this morning, I'll leave you with a couple representations of me last night: This is me after a couple doses of bourbon, cooking and singing some new OK Go tunes. This is me when I finally got back to my bed. Except I didn't have cat food in bed with me.

Making Pudding

2007-05-08T09:04:00.000-04:00

Oh yes, there are tales to tell. This week it's my birfday, and according to my Death Clock it won't be my last. I should have a good 45 years or so left, so I don't have to go all nutz like the guy I heard about on Bob & Tom yesterday morning (given 1 year to live by his doctor... one year later, he's still alive and not gonna die due to a misdiagnosis). So, I'm a-living. I was showered with goodies by the kids and Spousal Unit this past weekend, and at the risk of being all braggy, I'm fixin' to tell ya about it. First, I got to make breakfast. Fried sliced potatoes, brown-n-serve sausages, and the BEST scrambled eggs ever (add a spoonful of cottage cheese for each egg, salt & pepper, then shovel 'em around a non-stick frying pan with a spatula until cooked). I got a box of chocolate truffles and a flowering plant-thingy for the apartment. Then it was off to a mystery address. But first, we stopped by Best Buy for my new favorite CD. I got their newest one first, and love it. The older one is just as good - a whole new raft of favorite tunes! Buy it. You can thank me later. From there, Mrs. Spiffy handed me an envelope with an address scribbled on it. "Go here," she said. We drove 45 minutes west to the lakeshore town of Grand Haven, found the street, and started looking at addresses. It was an industrial neighborhood by the airport, and the addresses were far apart. We must have driven right by it, because the numbers were going the wrong direction again. Turning around, I realized the address I was looking for WAS the airport. I pulled in the long drive past the airport sign (F-100 Super Sabre on a pedestal) up to the B&B flight office. A tall guy was walking around inside stuffing a chewy granola bar into his face, chatting about the windy weather with the girl behind the counter. "Oh, you must be here to fly. Jennifer will go with you." I was pretty bouncy by this time. In case y'all didn't know, I love to fly. I'm what might be known in Latin as 'pilotus beginnerus interruptus' (or something) - I've started flight training, got my books, completed ground school - but due to time and expense, haven't yet completed. Still an A-list dream though (you know, after securing things like food and shelter and whatnot). I've got about 12 hours of flying time, including 4 takeoffs and one landing. Jennifer was friendly and happy, and handed me a couple headsets while she completed some paperwork. She grabbed the keys and we walked to the hangar across the lawn. Mrs. Spiffy came trotting up while we were pushing the Cessna 172 out of the hangar to begin the preflight checklist. I kicked the tires, sumped the fuel, checked the oil, and made sure not too many rivets were missing. I hit the master switch and heard the gyros whirring to life, another full-body rush at the excitement. Jennifer invited Mrs. Spiffy to climb in the back seat, if she promised not to barf. "I can't clean up that sort of mess, so don't make one." I climbed into the left seat as Jennifer got buckled into the right and we completed the checklist. I primed the engine and turned the key. The propeller spun, engine sputtered and then roared to life, filling all the senses with vibration and motion and noise and power. Jennifer asked if I knew how to taxi. I nodded, and she told me to take it out to the runway. Sure, I know how to taxi - but being good at it is something entirely different. The rudder and nose wheel are controlled by foot pedals, the tops of which operate differential brakes. I weaved down the taxiway like a drunken senator, watching the wingtips to make sure I didn't shear off a gas pump or hit one of the half-dozen planes on the tarmac. We successfully made it to the runway entrance and mashed the brakes for the runup - revving the engine up to 1700 RPMs and checking the magnetos. Everything was set and Jennifer announced our takeoff to area traffic. She gave me the go ahead to get on the runway, and mentioned we should be centered and pointing the right direction before I gave it full throttle. It was a good thing, because I was itching to go. There was a 20-26 MPH headwind, and I could feel the buffeting before we even started rolling. We were to rotate at 50 knots and take off at 70. I pushed the throttle all the way in and we were moving. We had barely reached 50 knots and we were off the ground - the wind had saved us a couple hundred feet of runway, and I grinned like a retard in a dunking booth as I pointed the nose skyward. Jennifer looked back at Mrs. Spiffy, who was gripping the upholstery like a cat over a washtub and rather pale. She instructed her in the fine art of using an airsickness bag in case it got to that point as we climbed to 2000 feet. I cruised around the lighthouse and turned southward, following the beach. It was cloudy and windy, but the warm spring day had countless fishing boats on Lake Michigan and all the homeowners sprucing up their landscaping. It was gorgeous. We neared the power plant and Jennifer said it was time to turn around. I asked if I could do a steep turn, but she thought it'd be a bad idea with Mrs. Spiffy's questionable gastric condition. We began our approach and descent, the tummy-tickling thrill of the first drop in altitude when I pulled back the throttle, and returned to the airport. I added flaps and neared the trees while Jennifer calmly suggested I add some power so we don't land before we reach the runway. The wind was coming at us diagonally, so I had to bank left while steering right with the rudder to keep us on track. We crossed the threshold and cut power, floating ever so gently to a soft landing, flaring as long as possible until the nose wheel finally touched down. I can't wait to go again. Later, we met my dad and sisters at the theater to see Spiderman 3. Very entertaining and pithy, it's fulla villains and morals to the story. I totally ran out of energy while we were waiting for our order at O'Charley's after the movie, nearly falling asleep in my spinach dip. T'was a good day.

Chewing Hair

2007-05-07T13:09:00.000-04:00

Sometimes people with great frustrations and limited connections with reality will sit in the corner and chew their hair. Or gnaw on their legs. This isn't a story about that. But it's close. In kindergarten at Sylvan, a very young Biff Spiffy found himself observing some strange girly behavior. One pretty reddish-blonde girl named Laura particularly intrigued him. Nobody knows if she had anything to do with his tendency to talk about himself in the third person. At any rate, I had a crush on Laura. She and her peers would regularly chew on their glorious long hair while coloring or learning the alphabet or listening to Miss V reading about Dick and Jane or cats in hats. Me, being of short boyish hair, had no idea why this was a good thing, but it looked tasty. So, one day while waiting in recess line, I wound up right behind Laura. Her hair was hanging right there next to me, all clean and shiny (and so far unchewed that day). It seemed reasonable to me to try the hairchewing. I didn't see what was so great about it, and apparently neither did Laura. Her indignant shriek was my first clue. "Miss V! Biff's chewing my hair!!" As a chorus of classmates sang 'eeew,' I was hauled by the arm to Dr. V's office (no relation - most Dutch names start with V). It was only my first year of Big Kid School, and I was already in trouble. As I waited in the sparse lobby, my eyes fell upon the Board of Education. It was strategically placed so that a waiting ruffian wouldn't miss it - a pine paddle the size of a canoe oar, with holes drilled in it so it would be sure to make a terrifying whiff through the air on it's way to contact with a young behindus. The school nurse (or secretary pressed into nursehood by default) was seated at her desk. I decided right then it'd be better to die in a puddle of my own barf than call on her for help. She silently looked at me over her horn-rimmed spectacles with the disdain. If she had spoken, I'm sure she would have used words like 'urchin' or 'nefarious.' I finally met Dr. V with much fear and trembling. His kind eyes and reasonable speech couldn't fool me; I knew this guy had a dungeon in wait for the first kid to cross him. I was determined to escape that office and never return. That visit went on my Permanent Record; if not in the official file, at least in the memory of my classmates. I do believe I put an end to the practice of public hair-chewing at that school for the rest of the year. Anything like this ever happen to you? No? Ahem. Oh, well... me neither.

Alphabet Goop

2007-05-04T08:45:00.000-04:00

Remind me to tell y'all about things I've been meaning to tell y'all, but never have had the combination of a computer, time, and inspiration (or is it memory?) at my fingertips at the same time in the last week. Exciting things like GAP and flags, conquering mountains (sorta) and rants. Buttfour now, that'll have to wait. I've been tagged. I like me a good game of tag, especially with a great big pile of people at the Castle Park (officially Rotary park or some such, but with a giant wooden play structure with bridges and tubes and towers and creative use of truck tires). Since I'm It, and the goal of a good It is to quickly make someone else It, here goes: A - Attached or Single? Animated. It begins with A, so let's leave it at that. B - Best Friend: I don't rank 'em that way. I'm a collector of friends. Lots more valuable and interesting than philately. Some are pretty to look at, some are for taking along into battle, some are for trusting with the keys to the Viper. Or the dungeon. None are expendable. C - Cake or Pie: Ice cream cake. Chocolate. D - Drink of Choice: Water, averaging over 3L/ workday. Still chubby, so what they say about it making you lose weight is in question. E - Essential Item: Deodorant. Smelly people are not taken seriously. F - Favorite Color: Blue. No, yelloAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHRRRRGGH! G - Gummi Bears or Worms? Ew. Fork over some chocolate, preferably truffles. H - Hometown: Grand Rapids Michigan, home of the Remington 12-Gage Shotgun (according to Bruce Campbell anyway...) Furniture city, they call it. Has a river. And restaurants, and churches. Buncha people too. I - Indulgence: Bourbon. And chocolate. Not usually at the same time. J - January or February: January. February is when winter starts to get old. K - Kids: Teenagers. Love 'em. Fascinating creatures, creative and smart, always surprising. L - Life is incomplete without: Oxygen. M - Marriage Date: 3-10-90 N - Number of Siblings: 2 or 4, depending on which version you've got. 2 younger sisters, both in Michigan. One older brother in PA, and another sister I've never met. O - Oranges or Apples? Oranges. Citrus makes me happy. P - Phobias/Fears: None really, but spiders come in pretty close. I made out with an earwig once, that was icky. Never want to do THAT again. Q - Favorite Quote: Oh geez, there are too many favorites. I'm going with 'Better to be silent and thought an idiot, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt." Attributed to Solomon, Ben Franklin, and Abe Lincoln. R - Reasons to smile: Healthy, happy, employed, and surrounded by people to love who also love me. S - Season: Fall for bonfires and sweatshirts and leaves and cider, beauty and change and snuggly blankets. T- Tag Three: Short & sweet: Tiff, AC, Stew U - Unknown Fact About Me: If I tell you, wouldn't it then change into a known fact? This is a self-defeating question. I'll never be able to stop answering it, thereby laying bare the very fabric of my soul. Which, if you look really closely, is kinda gross. But, in the continuing spirit of playing along, heregoes: I don't have a TV, or a home phone. And I don't miss either. V - Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animals? Neither. I leave oppression to others, but I am a firm supporter of PETA (People for the Eating of Tasty Animals). W - Worst Habit: Not finishing things. X - X-rays or Ultrasounds? Y - Your Favorite Foods: Z- Zodiac:

The Difference

2007-05-03T13:12:00.000-04:00

The difference between this bird and me is... I got nothin. And, he can fly. And he isn't indoors at work on a beautiful day. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Have a nice day.

Faux Paws

2007-05-02T09:12:00.000-04:00

While you may not be able to say this post was inspired per se, the idea came from the tales of home-improvement woe over at Blitz's joint. Many years ago, I was the proprietor of a remodeling outfit. We specialized in kitchens, bathrooms, windows and siding - and insurance repair. A nearby city had public dollars available for homeowners who needed repair work done, and this family hired me to provide a new kitchen and bathroom, including vinyl flooring. It was a 50 mile drive each way from my little hicktown to the heart of the 'hood. They were nice folks and were thrilled to have their house spruced up. The homeowner would start drinking beer from a mayonnaise jar around 9AM and wouldn't stop until long after we left, which was usually by 7PM (we regularly put in ridiculously long days). His hobby, while we were there, was to make observations. He'd lean against a wall and watch us wrestle sheets of subflooring into place over freshly reinforced joists and say, "That wall looks to be about 9 degrees off. I used to be in tool & die, so I know my degrees." We smiled and nodded, because the customer is always right, even if it is only 1/2" over 4' (6 tenths of a degree, if you're following along at home). Every day he reminded us he used to be in tool & die. Kids were running around continuously, often barefoot, and it was a very good thing they had an alternate door to use. We got the plumbing and electrical done, cabinets installed, and high gloss blue marble laminate on the countertops. We were ready for flooring, so I called Steve, my trusty vinyl man. He was a great big dude with long and wild black hair, an outstanding craftsman as long as you left him alone. Nice enough guy, but he did NOT deal well with customers. Steve was working on the floors while I loaded my trailer. The littlest kid came running in and hovered over Steve's shoulder, asking 40 times-per-minute "Whatcha doing?" Steve was uncharacteristically gracious, and kept the kid entertained while he measured and cut. The homeowners (Grandma and Grandpa to the kid) came and stood in the doorway to watch as well. I came in just as Steve looked up and commented, "Yaknow, your kid here looks just like the mailman!" Grandma and Grandpa exchanged horrified glances. I've never seen someone stammer and backpedal so furiously. Rather than implying a secret liaison between the mother and the postman, he was trying to say he looked like Karl Malone (nickname: The Mailman), and it was meant as a compliment. Steve quickly finished his work, muttering to himself the whole time. Anything like this ever happen to you?

Petrichor and Wormucking

2007-05-01T08:14:00.000-04:00

It was a lovely spring day yesterday, the lush green grass and burgeoning leaves adding a richness of color to the mottled gray skyline. Fat, heavy drops of rain exploded on the pavement and made the bushes outside droop under the downpour. Worms are streaming across the parking lot from wet to wetter, many giving their gooey all under the uncaring crush of tire and heel. I love the smell of freshly mushed worms. Or is that geosmin? Probably that. ******************* Here in Grand Rapids, we have a weather ball. It's a nostalgic device that sparked up many memories of a very different downtown, with crowded streets and Depression-era construction, exposed structures and odd angles. The stainless-and-neon beacon sat atop a tower mounted on the roof of Michigan National Bank (which has been bought and re-bought a brazilian times since then) for decades. It came down as I was graduating high school because it was wrecking its building, which wasn't designed to support a 64-ton sail rocking in the wind. It shined upon a generation with a vaguely remembered poem about what the colors meant. A local TV station resurrected the weather ball and mounted it next to its main tower at the intersection of I-96 and US-131, and includes a live shot of it (with the rhyme) in all its forecasts. Thought I'd share, since all y'all probably don't have one. What local landmarks do you have? More reading, for the insatiably curious: GR Business Journal History WZZM TV 13 Restoration Color Key (will resize your browser window)

Shhh

2007-04-30T08:23:00.000-04:00

Arrested Development

2007-04-27T21:48:00.000-04:00

As promised many moons ago, here is a tale of youthful indiscretion. I grew up as a city kid. Decent neighborhood, close to the train tracks, and pretty sure but not too smug that I was on the correct side of 'em. Our house was where all the friends gathered, because my mom didn't mind the noise and bustle of lots of high-energy younglings, and loved to feed us whatever was in the fridge. "A block of Velveeta? No? How about some 3-week old pea soup? C'mon, have a Twinkie." She would always (eventually) manage to serve something. In the summer of my 13th birthday, my country-boy friend Dan came for a weekend sleepover. We hung out at school, and I'd been to his house where he showed off his closet full of camouflage clothing, a large collection of knives, and stacks of some kind of military/ boy scout magazines. His fondest dream would be to attend military boarding school. He was militia material before it was popular. He came over, dropped his duffel bag, and reached in to retrieve a Crossman lever-action BB gun. He had a little milk carton full of BB's, and filled the chamber. We immediately set out into suburbia looking for targets. It was a midsummer night, which in West Michigan is characterized by late sunsets - it can remain bright until after 10PM - and beautiful warm weather. We stalked the ubiquitous pigeons, but they proved too wily for shooters of our caliber. We tried shooting at each other, and after we each got pinged in the ankle, that lost its appeal. Walking down the street, Dan hit on a brilliant idea: Car hubcaps. They make a satisfying clank like a muted railroad crossing bell, and did no damage. At least, not the kind that would be visible enough to get us in trouble. We strolled the neighborhood as the sun set, turning the blue sky a bright cobalt color, yellow streetlights humming to life. Plink! Thud! Plank! Goink! We were getting pretty good at hitting the mark. We decided to graduate to moving cars. What could possibly go wrong? There was a church across the street from my house, and on the other side of the church there was a fairly busy road. The large, orange brick modern-gothic building had a row of dense juniper bushes a comfortable distance from the wall, and we crawled in and hid ourselves. We took turns plinking at cars, listening for the sound of a bullseye. It was Dan's turn to shoot, while I amused myself tormenting a June bug in the dirt. He shot. I heard tires squeal. "Oh shit oh shit oh shit!" I heard him breathe. I couldn't see what the problem was, but I could tell it was bad, for there were voices emerging from the car. Voices belonging to 5 large young men, who were clearly agitated over something. My view was obstructed, but I was pretty sure they stopped because of something Dan did. Dan argued that we should run for it, they were occupied looking at the damage. I firmly refused, for we were well hidden and would never be found. Just then I found myself levitating, miraculously several feet off the ground. We cleared the bushes and nearly bumped heads as I realized one extremely strong guy had both Dan and me by our belts, weighing us like so much produce. I immediately burst out with "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Don't kill us!" while Dan was trying to pin the blame on the guy who was walking down the opposite sidewalk. In an extreme twist of good fortune, one of his buddies came running out of a neighbor's house yelling, "Don't beat 'em up! I just called the cops!" Moments later, two of Grand Rapids' finest rolled up and we were saved. Sort of. In handcuffs, in the back seat, the interrogation began. I said I didn't even know what happened. The officer trained his searchlight on the back window of the car. The entire window had shattered like teevee snow, because of one tiny BB lodged in the lower right corner. Oopsie. The cops wrote up a report, saying they'd have to bring us in and hope we each had someone to come and get us or it would be a long night. I pleaded with Officer Friendly to bring us home, right across the street practically. He was having none of that. On the way downtown, we were presented with a number of scenarios involving little old ladies dying from fright and mean, angry men who don't mind punching children. Very solemn stuff. At the jail, we were deposited in the drunk tank. It was vacant on our side, but there was a bona fide smelly and ragged drunk man in the next cell. I nonchalantly asked, "What are you in for?" He grunted, farted, and fell over. Dan's mother came to get him first. She was extremely vocal. And loud. Dan hunched his shoulders and tried to discretely protect his ears as he slunk out a few feet behind her. An hour later, my dad arrived. That was the longest ride of my life, going the 25 minutes home in stony silence, except for this: "What on earth possessed you to do that?" We each got cited for Misdemeanor Malicious Destruction of Property and $250 restitution, which ate my entire summer's worth of paper route profits. You would think I would have learned my lesson.

She's Back

2007-04-27T13:52:00.000-04:00

Trina, of Meanderings In Hickville, is back among the living. She got drunk and fell off a train bridge or something, and has been unable to blog for a while due to injuries. Go show some love! DO IT!!!

Triple Dipper

2007-04-26T11:17:00.000-04:00

Wordnerd just got around to answering HER 5 questions, thus beginning the cycle of interviewing and intervieweeing all over again. It's like the Line Ride at the Cow Days Festival in South Park, Colorado. "I wanna go again! I wanna go again!" I can't even come close to the breadth and quality of her preamble, but it reminded me of a parking lot carnival in Grand Rapids one weekend around my 12th birthday. I had a buncha friends overnight, and we partied into the wee hours. There were pillowfights and pizza, cheetos and broken teeth, an unbelievable amount of Orange Crush, and a potion made of Tobasco, Scope, pickle juice, and shaving cream for the poor schmuck who fell asleep first. Oddly enough, we all fell asleep at the same time. Early the next morning, we took our bikes up to the carnival and rode the rides. We climbed aboard the swing-thing, and it raised us up as it began its rotation. These rides are amusing, especially to a pile of kids who are trying to twist around backwards and kick each other while hurtling through space 20 feet off the ground. After a while, we'd had our fill of fun. However, the classic leather-skinned mono-toothed greasy-haired vulgar-tatooed ride operator was working his romantic magic on a pasty local Dutch girl and left us hanging. Quite literally. For about 12 minutes (which, according to This Reporter's research, is at least 4x longer than the regulation ride length). There is a reason certain rides are called 'the spin-and-puke' variety. Not a one of us were unaffected, and we showed our appreciation for the generous helping of centrifugal amusement by decorating the parking lot in shades of orange. I told you it wouldn't be as good. On to the Questions - Ms. Nerd gets fiery red for questions, my answers are in basic black. 1. I’m going to be in your area next Friday night, and as luck would have it, you’re free! What will we do? First, I check the weather. Crap, cloudy and not warm. In that case, we head downtown and visit the BOB (Big Old Building) - a warehouse converted into restaurants and brewpubs and a comedy club. If we get sick of talking, eating, drinking and shooting pool, there are lots of other places with live music or quiet cafes within walking distance. That'd be one proper use of a Friday night. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Chicken. I can prove it. What scares you? Besides bears? Spiders landing on me. And my own capacity for bad behavior. Where do you see yourself in five years? Incredibly fit, financially secure, and deliriously happy. Geography doesn't matter. It's your last meal, and you can have anything you want. What'll it be? Depends on the circumstances of said last meal. If it's because I'm on death row to be punished for my fully justified but still illegal killing of someone who needed killin,' I'd have stuffed cabbage rolls. If it were because of an unseen defect in my bungee cord just before leaping off the Victoria Falls Bridge, it would have been hot dogs and rice. I try to eat stuff that doesn't suck so I wouldn't regret my choice in case THIS meal is my last. Lean Cuisine Panini for lunch today.

Fishpickles

2007-04-25T07:19:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, spring sprung in Michigan. All the trees shed their pollen on cue, and then a gentle rain turned it into sheetpaste on my freshly washed car. I don't mind, for the apple blossoms are in bloom and it's short sleeve weather finally. I still need to wear layers to work. The whiny-ass pansies in back (near the hi-temp copiers) (Hello, Dan!) think it's too hot and stuffy and crank up the air, converting my end of the room into an icebox of antarctic proportions. I've been enjoying the springiness by walking aboot (as they say in Canadania) and riding my bike for longer and longer distances. I'm still not in riding trim - not even close - but I can go far enough to walk funny when I'm done. I don't have a scale at the apartment (shoulda known, it's not an upscale place), so I'm not sure how my Shrinking Piggy stats are shaping up. But, if I eat less, drink less, and exercise, it should continue to work. Or I could get a virus or amoeba and lose 10 lbs in a week like our dear friend TracyLynn. On 2nd thought... Naaah. ********************** As I was leaving my night gig (measuring lumber for a new deck), I was driving through a residential neighborhood in the city. A sedan slowed to a near-stop in front of me, and I saw kids crowd to the left side of the car, sticking arms and wispy hair out the window. I followed their gaze to a goat in a back yard. In the city. It was running back and forth along the fence, wagging its little stubby tail, and jumping up for attention like a golden retriever. It made me grin. For a while, a friend and I were looking at buying a goat to share. We'd have joint custody, and every week one of us would keep the goat in the yard. Why, you may ask? No mowing. Plus, if your lawnmower ever breaks, you can't roast it up on the grill and make pitas with grilled onions and tangy dressing. Never happened, but I'm kinda thinking it'd still be fun...

Hospitals

2007-04-24T10:25:00.000-04:00

Since I have no time for a proper post today, I'll play along in the Drive By Post Games. ================ A sweet grandmother telephoned St.Joseph's Hospital. She timidly asked, "Is it possible to speak to someone who can tell me how a patient is doing?" The operator said "I'll be glad to help, Dear. What's the name and room number?" The grandmother in her weak tremulous voice said, "Norma Findlay, Room 302." The Operator replied, "Let me place you on hold while I check with her nurse." After a few minutes the Operator returned to the phone. "Oh, Good news. Her nurse has told me that Norma is doing very well. Her blood pressure is fine; her blood work just came back as normal and her Physician, Dr. Cohen, has scheduled her to be discharged Tuesday." The Grandmother said, "Thank you. That's wonderful! I was so worried! God bless you for the good news." The operator replied, "You're more than welcome. Is Norma your daughter?" The Grandmother said, "No, I'm Norma Findlay in 302. No one tells me shit around here."

Phantom A** Syndrome

2007-04-20T08:09:00.000-04:00

Note: This is a link-laden post. Follow them! This morning I awoke in the hours between total dark and mostly dark. I blearily looked at the clock, and while the exact time didn't register, I knew it was too early to be up. In my state of semi-consciousness, I realized something was amiss. I went to sleep with a right arm, but now where was it? No tingle, no movement, no reply at all. I began to sit up and heard a *thwump* over to my side. I think it was my arm. Did.not.feel.a.thing. I decided now was not the time to panic, I'd wait a cuppa two tree minutes before commencing to little-girl-finding-a-monster-under-her-bed screaming. I reached over with my functioning left hand and felt a cold, hairy limb in bed with me. I picked it up and laid it across my belly, massaging life back into it. I muzzily wondered if the circulation had been cut off too long and it'd have to be lopped off at the elbow or neck or something. Fortunately, sensation returned quickly so I could go back to sleep. =================== My routine has been thrown off track in the last weeks. In fact, it's off the track, down the hill, and drifting waterlogged in a large inland lake. My early-riser routine accounted for exercise, healthy breakfasts, and substantive posts. My Shrinking Piggies results have taken a hit, and my goal for next week is to actually get up when the alarm rings (after the first snooze, of course. But only one snooze). I had reached a 10-year low in weight, and have put 3 lbs. back on, which is unacceptable. Pass the biking shorts. =================== As has been repeated like the reports of a woodpecker on the trail of some woodmunching bugs, I like to play along. That interview thingie was so much fun, I volunteered to do it again. This time, the brilliant questions are supplied by Renn, who credits a coworker with assistance. Renn gets black letters, because that's how she rolls. My answers are in a fabulous periwinkle. 1. What is your Super Power? Flight. And an incredible capacity for beer. 2. Christmas has Santa, Easter has the Easter Bunny, and Thanksgiving has a Turkey. Create a "mascot" for Labor Day, Arbor Day or the Vernal Equinox. What does (s)he do, and what gifts will we receive? Hmm, tough question. The Labor Day Donkey? Nah, that's taken. The Arbor Day Woodpecker? Ummm, no. How about the Vernal Equinox Chicken? It's said that you can stand an egg on end at noon (as yet unproven by This Reporter). Since it's the longest day, you could continue your celebrations into the late evening on the Weber with your happily exhausted mascot. It's a win-wi... oh, wait. Nevermind. 3. How much money would someone have to pay you to shave off your eyebrows? $354.00 4. How do you quiet the voices in your head? What are they saying right now? They get angry when I try to shush them. I create new voices so they can talk amongst themselves and keep entertained. Trouble happens when they form committees and reach consensus. They're currently saying they wish I hadn't created the Cheney voice, because he's always telling the rest to go fark themselves. 5. If you were in a Big Hair rock band, what would it be called? What would your hit song be? I was in a BHRB called Dreams. We had the hair, the volume, and the rawk, but not the audiences. It died an appropriate death in the stoner guitarist's basement. If I were in one now, it'd be called Wombat. Our hit song would be a power ballad cover of Heywood Banks' Toast.

Doing Things

2007-04-18T10:50:00.000-04:00

It's a fine April day in Meechigan, the sun is shining with nary a cloud to block it, and a cool breeze in the 58-degree weather makes a long-sleeve shirt very cozy. I have a night gig, carpentering with a friend to help pay the bills. It's kept me busy into the late this week, and I haven't the energy (desire) to get up so early lately. Therefore, I'm not a-posting today, at least anything of much import. Instead, I'm offering these photos which have been clearly labeled (by someone other than me) to show even the most myopic of us that these are, indeed, redneck creations.

It's A Major Award

2007-04-17T15:15:00.000-04:00

Thanks to my drinkin' buddy* Sarch for tagging me with this. I sincerely appreciate the honor of having any readers at all, let alone being nominated for something nice like this. Especially at a time of scandal, intrigue, assassination attempts and an onslaught of telemarketers in the highest offices of Spiffytown. In the spirit of carrying on, I'll finally get 'round to it. Unfortunately, due to extended/ sporadic hiatusing, some of my prime candidates have already received this award. If you would be so kind as to peruse the blogroll you see at Right (-->) you will find the bloggers I read as regularly as I can, in order. They're there because they make me think, laugh, and enjoy their company. And, they can spell. Nothing chases me off faster'n rotten grammar and rottener spelling. None of 'em are fillers or simply there for politeness' sake. Without further adoo, here are my humble nominations. JC at What Can't Be Looked For She's a writer alright. Painting pictures that evoke emotions and memories, she can switch between hilarity, warmth, and touching depth with grace and biting wit. Stew at Get Stewed He's a conservative with compassion. And hella funny. Vote for him, dammit. Hyperion Duh. Thinking is his first, middle, and final name. While I have reason to doubt he would deign to participate because of a reported dislike of all things memey, he deserves the tag. I'm counting him as an alternate, in case he doesn't play along. Blitz Krieg A regular haunt of mine, he's engaging and fun, a real guy with a large music library and a penchant for snotty comments. Tracy Lynn Kaply Don't go there today, unless you're OK with the graphic awfulness sometimes associated with being human. Her style is brief and acerbic, but smart as honk. And, lest she think I'm stalking her with multiple tags, Rennratt rounds out the list. Rare insight even when reporting the mundane. Do NOT get in an insult war with this woman. ****************

The participation rules of the award are simple:

1) If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think

2) Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.

3) Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.

*Contrary to the term 'drinkin' buddy,' Sarch did not, in fact, get plastered and fall off his bar stool. He did almost start a brawl, however. We escaped with our lives.

Revelations

2007-04-15T16:09:00.000-04:00

This happens to me often. I'm schlepping along, minding my own business, when something shiny catches my attention. I stop. I look. I read and absorb, enthralled. I fail to notice the tendrils of a carnivorous plant slinking around my ankles, executing its ingenious plan to suck me in and make me participate in its nefarious pursuits. That's how memes get me... usually. This one I had to volunteer for. So, while doing some casual reading at Tracy Lynn's site, I got zapped with this Interview/ 5 Questions thing. Since I'm a joiner, I jumped up and down to be included in the games. Here goes (her questions are in fashionable green): 1)Where exactly IS Spiffytown? It's not a place, but a state of mind. BWAAAAAAAH!!! heh heh... naw, I can't leave it like that. Pretentious drivel is something I'm only a little good at. Spiffytown is wherever I happen to be at any moment. In fact, it doesn't have to be a moment that now exists - truly, do moments ever exist? Once you notice it, it becomes the past and therefore no longer exists as this moment. I have no problem tripping around in time and space to find nuggets of nonsense that entertain and interest me. And, I like sharing nonsense, thus this place was created. So, Spiffytown is loosely Michigan based, but can pick up and move around easier than a pack mule in a catapult. 2)If you could be rich and stupid or poor and smart, which would you choose and why? I like my life generally. It's already the latter more than the former, and there are far too many stupid people in all socio-economic strata. So I'll take smart and see if I can turn a buck with my wits. And a bit of rope. 3)When I say JUMP, what do you say? 'MMkay. 4)What's the weirdest food that's ever been offered to you? I'm not a big seafood fan, so the first things I thought of were squid and mussels. But it's not that weird to some people. Soybeans got me though. People were at a party munching on soybeans in pods, and said they were tasty. I tried one. It was gross. Then, an hour later, I noticed someone putting the empty husk of a used soybean pod into a bowl. The way you enjoy soybeans is pinch the beans from the pod with your teeth, like skittles from a sleeve. I drew from the discard pile, so to speak. Much alcohol was warranted to make me unremember that and get the taste out... The fresh ones, from the 'fresh one' bowl, were noticeably better. 5)Name your five favorite movies of ALL TIME. 1. Braveheart. Most moving story, and best philosophy on serving something greater than oneself that I've ever witnessed. Makes me want to be a hero. 2. Monty Python In Search of the Holy Grail. Not that strong by itself, but watched repeatedly during my geeky formative years with great friends, it is the most quotable and absurd amusement movie ever. 3. Star Wars, Episodes 4-6. I put the whole trilogy in because it's my list, dangitt, and it deserves its iconic status. Great story, groundbreaking visuals, and all the things my demographic at the time was wired to eat right up. 4. Princess Bride. Again, chock-full of quotable lines, real comedy, a grand story, and terrific imagery. 5. The Matrix. Allegorical, stunning, inspiring, dark and adventurous. Here's how it works - you too can play! In order to be tagged, do this:

Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
You will update your weblog with the answers to the questions.
You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Deja Vous?

2007-04-13T07:58:00.000-04:00

It's spring again. Seems like we just had it days ago... The deep green grass is poking up through the snow, and it was a gloriously blue sky and a crescent (toenail) moon. Snow was vaporizing through the orchards in the sunrise. That's all the time I have; it's my duty to go do stuff for other people now. And you thought you were coming here to be entertained.... heh heh heh And, as requested:

Old Thunderfart

2007-04-12T07:23:00.001-04:00

I hung out with my good friend Bob last night. Drove to the other end of the county in the kind of slush that likes to lurk in the gutters and reach out to pull your tires into its cold, slimy bosom. Marlon Blando, my Buick, stayed on the straight and narrow and we arrived in good time. Bob has a new website, built from scratch. He's working out the bugs; it works best on Explorer. He's the co-author of the now famous Frog Haiku, a world-class musician, hardcore tornado chaser, and all-around good guy. He has recently gotten into home brewing, and shared with me a bracing pint of barley wine he lovingly calls Old Thunderfart. Sadly, there isn't a label. It would become a collector's item, I'm sure. It was wonderful, so rich I needed crackers to wash it down. Still snowing outside. They say it'll be 40 today, so this will all turn to flooding mud soon and back to normal some time after that. Tomorrow, Friday the 13th, is Boy's first crew meet - on the water - and not a moment too soon. Our dart-flinging weathergirl says it should be in the upper 40's and dry. Perfect weather for riding in a boat skinnier than me on a dark and swollen river with 8 other teenage boys. Nothing could possibly go wrong. This morning Girl is being fitted with a shiny new cast. It'll be her 3rd. This one is for a broken ankle in gym class yesterday. If the pattern holds, next summer she'll get one on the other ankle, and have a complete set. Have a great day!

Desolation

2007-04-11T14:25:00.001-04:00

One day. It matches my spirit today, the weather. Cold and blowing. Snow violently billowing across the roads, depositing treacherous slush and dangerous drifts in my path. Low visibility. One day there will be sunshine.

Dark Day

2007-04-10T16:01:00.000-04:00

There is much to be happy about in life. There is also much that sucks. I'm having the latter in spades. ================= By popular demand (Rick and Kenju), here is the site I found that's full of animated gifs - some of these are just wrong, most made me laugh out loud. I wish I'd never seen David Hasselhof this way though. I don't know if this guy is the creator or just a collector of these things, many of which I had the pleasure of witnessing at Fark for various photoshop contests and comment threads.

A Tribute To Tracy Lynn

2007-04-09T11:37:00.000-04:00

I discovered this repository of animation the other week (can you tell?) and when I saw this, I immediately thought of my poor afflicted friend, Kaply. Enjoy.

No, It's Not OK With Me

2007-04-05T13:14:00.000-04:00

I've been on hold for 28 minutes now with the Priority Club Rewards people. They have a neither-nor named Pat with a squealy, nasal voice whine-asking if it would be okay to put me on hold again. This is my 5th person/ computer I've had to talk to on this call. The reason? I redeemed some points last month for a free stay in Chicago. I was charged $146.57 for my free stay. The bastards.

Because, That's Why

2007-04-04T17:26:00.000-04:00

Sorry about the width, I can't seem to make 'em fit. Clicking on the cartoons will take you to the source, and you can see the whole thing. You can do it!! Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Frog-a-trois

2007-04-03T06:32:00.000-04:00

And ye olde Thirde Installment is found herein. The cold and sleet came true. Frickin' Michigan. I think we've joined forces with Canada, where they manufacture cold. And beer. ================== Frogs full of evil. Although they look so harmless, do not turn your back Licking certain toads can give you an acid high. Who first thought of this? Peace frogs on bumpers and t-shirts flash the peace sign. But do they mean it? Frogs in the bathroom holding toothbrushes and soap. They’re watching me shave Too many to count swarming out from the roiling Nile—the second plague Like tapioca, yet so unlike: frog eggs. Would you care for seconds? Death frogs on the march: boing, boing, boing. I attack with pogo stick of doom. Full moon. My skin turns green—the werefrog stalks! Tremble in fear, foolish folk To this night’s regrets, add one crystal tear: Once frog. Now smudge on sidewalk.

Haiku, Part Deux

2007-04-02T16:38:00.001-04:00

One...Two...Three... Spring Over!! West Michigan is enjoying 2-3 inches of rain today ("Flood watches are in effect for the entire listening area"), with hail and thunderstorms tonight. Snow tomorrow through Saturday. Perfect weather. If you're a frog. ================ Witches stir their brew, need eye of newt and frog hair. They pay me with cash Up late pondering: Is a frog's ass watertight? How would I find out? Frog. Steam roller. Need I say more? Now kindly hand me the spatula. A world in itself, this pond. I would swim its depths, but frog poop abounds. Open frog mouth and apply to drain: frog plunger. Cleans clogged pipes fast. Painted in tribal colors, warrior frogs march on helpless village. Right. Frogarang, Frog Cave, Frogmobile . . . image problem. Try again, Bruce Wayne. You’ve never heard of the terrible “Frogs of War.” It’s still top secret

Peekies!

2007-04-02T15:45:00.000-04:00

Hi my friends, I'm still on hiatus, thanks to all who expressed care and concern. And, thanks Sarch for the tag - I appreciate it a ton and will make good on it in the near future. I'd like to think I'll be back at it soon. Meanwhile, I saw an old friend last week. Way back around 7 years, we amused ourselves for a period of weeks writing Frog Haiku. Why, you ask? I already told you in the last sentence. Pay attention, yo! In 3 installments I will provide more haiku than you thought you'd want Without more stalling let me present unto you some froggy haiku (I'm out of practice. Sorry for the crummy intro. Half of these are mine, other half are my friend's. Enjoy! Submit your entries in the comments - there's never enough frog haiku!) Orb-eyed fen-dweller sits by moose-dung fly fest. Ah! But is he happy? "Just thinking of your diet gags me," says princess. No French kisses here. Princess kisses frog. Frog remains frog. What on earth else would you expect? Halfway down snake’s mouth, frog stays the stoic course. Does nothing bug this guy? Her tongue stuck to that of cursed prince, princess says, “Dang! What was I thinking?” Two slices of bread. Frog. Mayonnaise. Pickle. You can’t be serious. “Kermit the Frog here interviewing Godzilla.” Sadly, short meeting. Green and red, whirling Frog innards, toenails, and skin. I wreck mom's blender

Suspended

2007-03-22T08:47:00.000-04:00

sus·pend (stolen from Dictionary.com)

1.	to hang by attachment to something above: to suspend a chandelier from the ceiling.

3.	to keep from falling, sinking, forming a deposit, etc., as if by hanging: to suspend solid particles in a liquid.

4.	to hold or keep undetermined; refrain from forming or concluding definitely: to suspend one's judgment.

5.	to defer or postpone: to suspend sentence on a convicted person.

6.	to cause to cease or bring to a stop or stay, usually for a time: to suspend payment.

7.	to cause to cease for a time from operation or effect, as a law, rule, privilege, service, or the like: to suspend ferry service.

8.	to debar, usually for a limited time, from the exercise of an office or function or the enjoyment of a privilege: The student was suspended from school.

9.	to keep in a mood or feeling of expectation or incompleteness; keep waiting in suspense: Finish the story; don't suspend us in midair.

11.	to come to a stop, usually temporarily; cease from operation for a time.

Good morning good people. For a time I'll be suspending Spiffytown. I appreciate your visiting and commenting, and your friendship.

Weekend at the Museum

2007-03-19T09:08:00.000-04:00

This last weekend Mrs. Spiffy and I dropped the kids at her sister's and traveled 3 hours and one time zone into Chicago to see the Body Worlds 2 exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry. She's a nursing student, and her anatomy professor highly recommended the exhibit to help with visualizing muscle groups in living (heh) color. The exhibit was an invitation to explore the philosophy, art, and science of anatomy. Very well done. It was an adventuresome trip, and before I get on with it I must say that while I lurve my Buick, it sucks large that I couldn't play my new OK Go (in-ca-redibly cool) CD in it. Stinkin' car came without a CD player. I wrangled one from the car dealer (he handed me a factory deck from a cluttered broom closet, said I could install it myself), but it didn't fit. I found this out after I had removed the entire dashboard. So we were reduced to finding strange stations in a strange town and listening until they got fuzzy or played something irritating. I get to Chicago at least twice a year; there's always something interesting going on, and try to hit the museum at least once a year. Fascinating place, all kinds of stuff to look at and read and stand in awe over/ under/ near/ of. We spent a few hours in the Body Worlds exhibit, and the rest of the day in the general admission areas. It was more crowded than any mall at Christmas, a thriving throng of living, breathing humanity staring in wide-eyed wonder at plasinated, departed humanity. The learning, people, oh the learning. It was immense. Things that would have bored me senseless as a youth were leaping out and fascinating me right upside the head. Stats like this: 26: The length of your digestive system in feet, from tongue to... end. 219 MPH: The speed at which signals travel the nervous system 2-3: The weight of the average brain, in pounds (about 1% of my mass) 20%: The amount of your blood supply required by the brain Rows and rows of well-lit, glass topped tables housed slices and bits and whole organs. Diseased parts were on display next to healthy specimens. The inside of a young, healthy aorta, about 18" long - slippery shiny smooth - compared to crotchety old aorta, sporting what looked like the frozen results of a rice krispies sneeze. Healthy livers next to the fatty, yellowing liver of a moderately heavy drinker, next to the dried-out coffee soaked sponge of a cirrhosis liver. Of course, they had a section on lungs and the effects of smoking. There was a video display with Yul Brenner's last will and testament. It was a one minute loop of him explaining how, since he got sick, he wanted to say one thing: Don't smoke. There was a clear plastic case where smokers could deposit their last packs. It was half full at 11 AM. One table displayed the difference between a 300 pound person's midsection and that of a 120-pounder. Dramatic, to say the least. Mr. 300 only made it to 50, his poor heart couldn't squeeze the blood through his mass and gave up on him. There were lots of very cool displays. Must be seen to be believed. The most interesting to me were the Exploded Man, which had an entire body expanded away to reveal how things fit together (about 12 feet tall, suspended from thin wires. Extremely striking visually), and then one where a man was beside himself. It had his entire musculature standing in a walking pose. Right behind and a little to the side, was his very own skeleton. Teeth fixed in that permanent skeleton grin, eyeballs completing the happy smile. I was a bit worried that I'd be a tad freaked out by all the explicit gruesomeness. It was actually not a problem, except for a few parts. They had a guy hanging in a closet. In slices. Body parts don't bother me, and the the exposed, denuded muscles and whole-body displays were well done and fascinating. But this guy, in his grey-complected, closed-eye segmentedness really got to me. The 2 inch slab that contained his face looked peaceful. Alas, there is more to post but I shall save it for another day. 10 hours of mind-draining work later and I'm only 1/3 of the way through this. TTFN

In One Word, Answer

2007-03-18T23:55:00.000-04:00

I was just innocently creeping around in Lady Jane Scarlett's den, and BAM! She tagged me. (OK, this was mid-January. I never said I'd do it immediately.) 1. Where is your cell phone? Gone 2. Your spouse? Studying 3. Your hair? Disappearing 4. Your mother? Invalid 5. Your father? Retired 6. Your favorite thing? Kidlaughs 7. Your dream last night? Unremembered 8. Your favorite drink? Water 9. Your dream car? Runs 10. The room you are in? Cozy 11. Your ex? What? 12. Your fear? Bears. 13. What do you want to be in 10 years? Tremendous 14. Who did you hang out with last night? S.U. 15. What you’re not? Wet. 16. Muffins? Chocolate. 17. One of your wish list items? Airplane 18. Your dinner tonight? Culver's 19. The last thing you ate? Butterburger with Swiss and Everything, Crinkle Fries, and (of course) Diet Coke 20. What are you wearing? Comfies 21. Your tv? Off 22. Your pet? Sheds 23. Your computer? Slow 24. Your life? Full 25. Your mood? Energetic 26. Your holidays? Short 27. What are you thinking about right now? Tomorrow 28. Your car? Resting 29. Your work? Waiting 30. Summer? Humid 31. Your relationship status? On 32. Your dream vacation? Hawaii 33. When is the last time you laughed? Moments ago 34. Last time you cried? Don't 35. School? Michigan! You're supposed to do this just because you saw it. Now, that's just silly because you'll only do this if you feel like it. Therefore, you are hereby tagged if you meet the following requirements: 1. You read this 2. You feel like doing it 3. You haven't done it before.

Was That It?

2007-03-16T07:49:00.000-04:00

It went from sunny, warm, and beautiful back to scraping the windshield and bundling up. At least most of the snow is gone, and the floodwaters are receding. The route I take to work each morning was closed* for a couple days because the swamp had claimed the road in several low spots due to huge amounts of runoff. Most roads are back to normal. *closed to 'other people' that is. Those without urgent business on that road, and a Jeep. ========= Is there anything better than a brand new box of boxes of Girl Scout Cookies? I just let my teeth sink through a layer of soft chocolate and creamy peanut butter into a crunchy fresh center of crispy cookie goodness. Mmmm, that tasted like another one. Must save room for Thin Mints. Don't tell the Piggies. ========= I got a whole lotta nothin today. So, on to entertainment news. I heard that not only is the original cast of Futurama back at work on new episodes, but they are also making four movies! The first, Bender's Big Score, is in production even now. Cartoon-wise, Futurama is second only to Looney Tunes in quality, character development, sophistication, artwork, and being flat-out funny. The voice work is stellar - perfectly cast with immense talent. In fact, Billy West, who does a multitude of characters for the show, took over voicing many of Mel Blanc's characters for newer WB shows. Every episode makes me laugh out loud, which is still true after repeated watching. I own the entire collection (yes, I'm that much of a geek) and it's my most prized set of DVD's. I can relate to most of the characters: Professor Farnsworth, the grumpy misunderstood aging inventive genius with an entire collection of doomsday devices and an intergalactic spaceship; Fry, the clueless but good-natured idiot; HedonismBot (who wouldn't want to eat grapes?); even Hermes Conrad, who lives for collating and stamping. I'd have to say if I were going to be any character, it'd be Bender. Narcissistic and calculating, he's an all around fun guy who can store things (and even brew beer) in his belly and beat people with one detached arm. Plus, he has a wicked cool antenna. If you were going to be any cartoon character, which one and why?

Acts of Service

2007-03-15T09:50:00.000-04:00

Today it was distinctly less springy than the last 2 days. I wore a Hawaiian shirt anyway. I believe the weather should match my mood, not the other way around. Yesterday Boy was job-shadowing me. Although we could visit career fields that interested us, we had no such program at my school. I would have enjoyed it. His school has it as a grade requirement, and the students have to spend at least half a day with an employee and answer specific questions. Well done program, and it was fun for both of us. We went out to lunch at the local burger joint (which used to be a railroad depot, then a dentist's office, and now a restaurant). Good food, very friendly if not flawless service (sometimes things need repeating, but it's a short walk to the kitchen and the waitresses are so nice it's impossible to get frustrated), and cheap prices. And, it's the only sit-down joint in this little town (besides the dark & smoky saloon). It's frequently frequented by the same old-timers who have been in town their entire lives, farming or raising families or keeping businesses. One grumpy-looking codger shuffled to a corner table, and before he plopped his wrinkly butt on a chair, the waitress had his drink on the table with a smile. He hardly acknowledged her exceptional care and service. It got me to thinking about how and why people serve each other. Back in my pizza days, we had a customer who was, shall we say, a regular. I'd answer the phone and give my 20-second speech thanking the caller for calling and would you like to try this or that special today? The instant I was done, he'd say, "Yeah, this is Earl," and hang up. Within 15 minutes, he'd have a piping hot medium pepperoni-onion-beef pizza at his doorstep, with a Coke (no ice). He paid $15 for a $9 meal about 3 times a week. We drivers jockeyed to get that run, and everyone worked together to ensure he got perfect service. It wasn't just the money; he was genuinely a nice guy who liked to keep things simple for himself and everyone else. We had other customers who tipped exceptionally well, but they were such insufferable plicks that nobody wanted to deal with them if at all avoidable. I think people generally want to do nice things for people. It feels good to make someone smile, and in many cases it's a requirement if you want to earn good money. Motivation is a tricky thing to me. I always want to think only the noblest of motives are present in me, but I know better. People always do things that are in their perceived best interest - even unpleasant things. Whether that interest is preserving a sense of righteousness, loyalty, or duty - or simply looking good, feeling good, or being in control, all activities produce some kind of payoff. Whether it's worth it is another matter. Some folks, however, make me want to either a) avoid them; b) poke them in the forehead with a pointy stick; or c) sic a skilled SpooNinja on their sorry asses. I don't mind getting the bird if I cut someone off in traffic, because cutting people off (no matter how unintentional) is frustrating to the cuttee. But if I've gone out of my way to be kind, gracious, and generous - and then get the bird - that sucks. I take that kinda stuff personally. Ever had someone who couldn't pay you enough to be nice to them?

Happy Pi Day

2007-03-14T07:00:00.000-04:00

That's pronounced "Pie Day," not piday (as in bidet). Just thought you should know. Ahem. Well, on to more sophisticated things. Boy is my job shadow today, so he'll learn why Dilbert is so popular in the office. I was thinking t'udderday how miraculous it is that I made it to adulthood. Specifically because of a long and storied history with bikes. I never thought at the time of my youth that bicycles hated me, but as I review the pattern, one could get the distinct feeling that they really thought I should be dead. Malicious little weasels, all of 'em. My first memory of myself on a two-wheeler has me zooming down the sidewalk, Dad holding the back of my seat to make sure he didn't have to explain howcome I came home all bloody. We went back and forth down the sidewalk a dozen times, and finally I could keep the thing upright. Until I got to a heave in the sidewalk, which I could have navigated except for a brief moment of panic. And a tree, which jumped out in front of me. Luckily, I was going slow enough to cause very minimal damage. Little did I know, this was only the beginning of the Cold War between my bikes and me. My friends and I would terrorize the neighborhood, being as cool as little Christian Reformed Dutch kids can be. We weren't allowed to ride bikes on Sundays, but we made up for it the rest of the week. Clothespins and playing cards in the spokes, homebuilt ramps and obstacle courses, and reenactments of Emergency 51 made up my neighbors' soundtrack. We'd ride up to the Gene Meyer Pharmacy and spend our meager allowances on candy and "fireworks" - smoke bombs, snakes, snap-pops, and ladyfingers. Back at the ranch, we'd wreak whatever havoc could be wrought and invent ways to play with fire. A favorite trick was to stick a smoke bomb in the frame by the back wheel, light it, and cruise up and down the street like a motorcycle gang, belching macho exhaust. Once my aunt came back from Kentucky and handed me a sack of fireworks she got from a roadside stand. I don't think my dad knew she did this. I reached in and grabbed a smoke bomb, installed it in the frame, lit it and waited for the fuse to burn down. Next thing I knew, I couldn't hear, my tire was flat, a buncha spokes bent and twisted, and I was on the ground. That was my first experience with an M-80. In Little League, there was a kid named Ernie who had an amazing BMX-style dirt bike. It was Hulk Green and had knobby tires, a bottle holder, and motorcycle grips. I broke the 10th Commandment all over that thing. Ernie let me touch it once, but he'd never let me ride it. Then, one early May morning, I came downstairs. It was my birthday, and Mom had made breakfast (which was special, we lived on cold cereal most days). There, in the living room, was the Green Monster. I was an odd little kid, because my first thought was, "We're not supposed to have bikes in the living room," and my second was, "Dad stole Ernie's bike! Sweet!!" The truth was that Ernie was getting a new bike, and our dads worked a deal that got me his old one. I was ecstatic, and immediately took it out for a test drive. It was heavy and hard to pedal, but I looked like Evel Knievel on the thing, except for the tight white jumpsuit and broken bones. For now. As I practiced coasting downhill on my new bike, I hit a bump in the road. I remember watching the pavement come closer to my face, and then nothing. I heard some kid crying, and began to realize it was me, as I was standing in my doorway with the neighbor who had scooped me up to bring me home. The first thing my mom saw was, I'm sure, not a pretty sight. Where her boy's face should be was a gooey mess of hamburger and gravel. I had skidded to a stop on the right side of my face, and remember showing up to church unable to open one eye for 2 weeks. That bike and I never got along too well after that. Different bike, different time, same hill. I was cruising on my purple sparkly chopper with the banana seat and a 3-speed gear shifter on the crossbar. It was a total badass 70's bike, and I would ride around like one of Heck's own angels. On the way home from school one day, enjoying a long downhill coast toward a normally busy intersection. There was no traffic, and I really didn't feel like stopping. I picked up speed through the intersection, certain there were no cars approaching. Suddenly, my chopper and I were airborne, but in different directions. The bike was launched half a block to the north, while I rocketed south - into the windshield of a magically appearing car. I slid off the hood and onto the pavement. I crawled to the side of the road, thinking it was a bad idea to lie in the street because you could get hit by a car like that. Another memorable event for my mom. I got out of it with a nasty bump on the head and a gash on my leg. At the time, they weren't able to detect any brain damage; it must have been present before the accident. There are many, many more stories. Fortunately I had a little more brains and skill by the time I found myself riding through mountains and next to logging trucks and sheer cliff faces, and the rest of the stories seem pretty tame. Remind me to tell ya some slow news day in the future. ============= Sometimes I think about things, and this is one of those times: Is there a Chinese restaurant anywhere that has hot water at the sink?

Pranks

2007-03-12T21:46:00.000-04:00

Inspired by Aly Kaply, niece of Der Spoonflinger Herself, is a post of prankmatic proportions. I've always been a fan of lighthearted mischief. Anything that causes someone to say naughty words and then forget about it is good times for me. From an early age, I'd play ding-dong-ditch-it on the neighbors, or TP a friend's house, or try the Flaming Poo trick (never with full success). The advent of Licensed Driverhood brought a whole new realm of naughtiness, as we could stage our prankiness far from our parents, which was always a plus. I'll not tell of my night in jail just yet, because that wasn't SUPPOSED to be misdemeanor malicious destruction of property. It just turned out that way. In school, there were a couple of kids who got matching Jeep Wranglers. On the last day of school, their Senior Prank was to park said Jeeps on the steps, blocking the office doors. Seems harmless enough to me, but they were not allowed to graduate. Poor schmucks. There was a kid who severely annoyed one of the football players. He enlisted us, his teammates, to help him exact revenge one afternoon. The annoyer had parked his VW Rabbit at the end of a row near the woods. A dozen of us picked up the car, walked it about 30 yards over, and placed it bumper-to-bumper between two trees. It was hilarious watching the kid try to wiggle the car out of that spot, carefully backing-and-forthing for about 20 minutes. I had a girlfriend after high school whose big brother was a first class, full scholarship geek of epic proportions. In his 20's, he was a big fan of Yanni other such smooth jazz, had a studio apartment, and was an airport parking lot attendant. A trio of us decided it was Prank Night, and raided his apartment. We saran-wrapped the toilet and applied Fishstink (aromatic fish bait in paste form) to the doorknobs, light switches, and ice cube trays. We gave up on stuffing the bathroom with wadded up newspaper, because we were both lazy and impatient. Finished with the demolition of his cozy, familiar surroundings, we set off to his place of employ. The kid in back had a tank sprayer filled with water and fully pressurized. Think fire extinguisher with a hand-pump. We pulled up to his booth and girlfriend chatted with him a moment. Then, Kid In Back let loose with a mighty spray from the hose. Big Brother smelled a rat, since his sister was normally not friendly to him, and closed the window before suffering a really wet uniform. On the way home, KIB couldn't be satisfied with his failed prank, and hosed down neighboring cars at stoplights. This earned me a personal visit from the very pissed-off driver of an orange GTO, who opened my Chevette's window with his bare fists. I was lucky to escape with only a bloodied ear. I've heard, but never witnessed, that if you pinch a goose's beak shut, he'll poop uncontrollably. There's a local legend involving a college student who captured a goose, some duct tape, and a neighbor's car. Hilarity ensued, including a completely ruined interior and one dead goose. That's a bit extreme for my style. I've messed with cars before, but only by stretch-wrapping the entire vehicle (poor driver late for leaving, trying to saw through a dozen layers of plastic with a key, inventing new cursing combinations) or filling the car with packing peanuts via the sunroof. My favorite recent pranks involve some toys Boy and I found at a novelty shop on Mackinac Island. He got a shock-stapler, which made no sense to me until I borrowed it. I got almost everyone in the office with that contraption, including the boss. Anyway, we were out to lunch on the Island, and he asked the waitress if she knew how to fix it, because he had just bought it and it wouldn't staple. She turned it over, studying it, not noticing the wires, until she finally squeezed it and ZZZAAPP!! Got a hearty shock. She flung the toy across the table, wide eyed and stammering. Naturally, we all cracked up. I leaned over and suggested that it would be OK for her to get Boy back for it. She came out moments later with our drinks, Boy's conspicuously handed to him first. He took a long drag, and his face twisted up like he had smelled rancid skunkmeat. He swallowed hard, exclaiming, "EEeeew! What IS that??" She had poured a half-cup of pickle juice in with his Diet Coke. Simply excellent. Any grand schemes you'd like to share?

Everybody's Doing It

2007-03-12T20:37:00.000-04:00

Stolen from Tiff, Wordnerd, Bob-Kat, Blitz Krieg, and other copykat types. Uncanny in accuracy, and more fun than I thought it would be. Although, should it bug me to a high degree that it left the apostrophes out of my descriptions? Cuz, you know, it does. They didn't have a spot in the assessment for anality or grammatical nerdiness.

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Somebody Owes Me An Hour

2007-03-12T07:57:00.000-04:00

It's dark again. Friday, when I came in to work, it wasn't. It's a ripoff and a scam, and I won't stand for it. So, I'll sit. Meh, it's like getting to watch the season change again. This weekend was fraught with lovely weather, the kind that entices and seduces and falls on its glorious knees begging you to come away with it. So I spent as much time as my pale sack of flesh would tolerate out-of-doors. It wasn't exactly warm by normal standards, but 48 is downright balmy after you get acclimated to 12 and below. I went wogging this morning, and it was an adventure. The warmth of the weekend melted lots of snow, but the cold that comes with nightfall turned the runoff into a thin & crispy crust glazing over the asphalt. In the dark, it's tough to see the difference between black pavement and black ice. I expected to do the instysplits at every moment, and only let my guard down under streetlights, where it was plain to see whether I was on dry land. This coming Wednesday is Pi Day, as the numeric date is... well, if you don't know already, you're not geek enough to appreciate it. This PSA is brought to you so you have time to set up the catering and buy the booze. Leave party invitations in the comments, I'll come to each of your celebrations. Time to Earn My Keep, which means that this morning I have an actual deadline and better do something or join the Former Employees Club (there actually is one, they meet monthly at a local pub. There's a Future Former Employees Club too, we go out for lunch on Fridays).

80, My First Numbered Post

2007-03-10T16:28:00.000-05:00

Numbering posts is the trendy thing to do, and if I ain't trendy, then cornflakes don't come with ratpoo anymore. It's also trendy to notice visits to blogs, and as I write this the sitemeter says 3061 people have frittered away precious time here. That's about 38 visits per post. If I ever want to catch up to the Real Bloggers, I better write more. Plus, ETW says if I don't write every day she's not getting her money's worth. And we can't have that. I got some presents from the wimmins' trip to Disney. Cooking presents. Sweet. And, since it's sunny and a very nice 48 here today, I'm thinking they brought back some weather too. Warm enough to traipse about jacketless, and the snow is receding from the driveway. It was even sparkly enough to get the car washed. This morning I rose and shone and made some experimental scrambled eggs with the Mickey egg rings. They turned out more tasty than artistic; they didn't come with instructions, but since I'm a guy I wouldn't have read 'em anyway. Today is another numbered day. Seventeen. Way back in 1990, when silver and rose were the cool colors to have in a wedding, Mrs. Spiffy and I got all dressed up and tied a knot. That was a long time ago, seemingly in a galaxy far away. The church we got hitched in is still just up the street, but lots has changed since then. We didn't have teenagers or a mortgage or a history at the time. Happy anniversary, Mrs. S. To celebrate, we spent A Day About Home. Traditionally, our anniversary is a very big deal, and we'd plan elaborate trips or events. This year, we'd both been traveling a lot recently, and Boy had driver's training right in the middle of the day. So, we took him to class and went downtown to go for a walk in the sunshine and get some lunch at a place we'd never been. Went to San Chez Tapas Bistro, a Spanish place in an old building right in the center of downtown. Lotsa windows, and the place got quite crowded by about 1PM. There was a womens' expo downtown, and the joint was packed with females of every stripe. I was one of maybe 3 guys in the room (not counting the cooks). The food was wonderful, we got hummus appetizers and paella, and a local amber beer. Lunch beer is the best. Another item of Disney loot I got was a "Dismembered Mickey" cutting board. I love the flexible plastic ones. They take up almost no room in the cupboard, and you can funnel whatever you've just chopped into the mix. Last night I made a concoction in an attempt to copy this dish from Bombay Cuisine, a nearby Indian restaurant. Amazing stuff. It has chicken, spinach, and spicy creamy goodness to it. Recipe follows. We were planning to have friends over, but they bailed out on us and I was already in full SuperChef mode, no way I was just gonna have spaghetti after getting all amped up to be exotic (at least for Dutch people). It really turned out as something good, but it's no match for the real Indian version. Have no idea what I was doing. Pictured are the leftovers, which were scarfed for dinner today. Get this stuff: 3-4 chicken breasts 2 cans spinach Red bell pepper 1 medium onion, chopped Salt, pepper Curry, turmeric, thyme Basmati rice 4 oz. Cream cheese Dollop sour cream 1 pint Jim Beam Don't forget to have a well stocked kitchen, including stove, oven, pots, pans, sharp things, and flippers. No, not fish flippers (although you could flip fish with one), but food flippers. AKA Spatula or Turner, depending on which silly accent you've adopted. First, put the Jim Beam on ice. Sip. Repeat during cooking. Splash some oil into a pan and sautee onion. Cut chicken into bite size chunks and cook. At this point I started the rice, as it takes about 55 minutes from zero to done. It's not Minute rice by any means, but it was worth it. Hearty, tasty stuff that. Expensive, but I was going for UltraYum, not just regular yum. Sprinkle the chicken generously with curry, turmeric, salt & pepper. I probably used 1 1/2 - 2 tsp. curry, and 3/4 - 1 tsp turmeric. It should turn very yellow. Red pepper was sprinkled by the pinch, about 1/4 tsp. Turned out very mild, could have used more. Add cream cheese and sour cream (could use heavy cream or half & half too, but I failed to get any); melt Stir until well coated. Add bell peppers, chunked up. Last, drain the spinach and add to the mix. Fold into a baking dish, bake at 350 until the rice is done, about 20-30 minutes. I baked up some Flaky Layers Grands rolls too, because I like 'em. A lot. You can tell by my stunning lack of momentum in the Shrinking Piggies Smackdown (go see the update!) Scoop out some yummy rice onto plates of hungry minions; top with chickenny spinachey goodness, and watch it disappear. Oh, it were quite good.

Various Things

2007-03-09T07:32:00.000-05:00

Happy Friday! A few things to report, then it's time to apply my snotlocker to the archaic spinning implement-sharpening device. Er, something. Last night I made Beef Strogatiff, and holey freaking cow was it good. Never had it with a) ground beef and b) rice instead of noodles, but it was deeeeligh. How do I know it was a hit? No leftovers again. Crap. I wanted some for lunch today, but it's the price you pay for cooking something good. I used the white wine AND red pepper (1/4 tsp - probably a pinch hotter than needbe), and savory doesn't come close. Creamy, rich, and extrayum. I used cream of celery soup too, because every time I try mushrooms, they taste like mushrooms - and that just doesn't work for me. However, I did get a comment that 'this dish needs mushrooms,' so if that floats your boat, so be it. (In case you're wondering, no those aren't my boobies in the picture. Not my kitchen either.) =============== Mrs. Spiffy and Girl returned safely late Wednesday night from their week at Disneyworld. They didn't want to come home. I can't say I blame 'em, since it's freaking Disneyworld - and it was 80 degrees there, compared to 12 here. They're both tannish-pink and full of tales to tell. Girl dumped about 500 photos onto the computer last night, I'll hopefully get to see them tonight. =============== Rhetorical question: Can you be a pirate if you're from Boston? Maybe it's a silly question, but practice the Boston accent: "I pahk my cah in hahvahd yahd..." Now try and roll off a hearty "AAARRRRRGH!!" with that affectation. =============== Last night I found myself locked both in and out of work. Our lunchroom/ restrooms are part of the shop's keying and security system, while the office is separate. I ducked into the echo chamber toward the end of the day, and when I washed up and came out, discovered that I was the last one in the building. Fred, a coworker, thought HE was the last one in the building. Alarms set and doors locked. My keys, naturally, were in the office. Fortunately, I have experience with breaking and entering. I've "had to" break into my own house, churches, offices, and friends' houses before, and can do amazing tricks with a butter knife and coat hanger. The biggest lifesaver is that I had the occasion to know the shop's alarm code; that would have been harder to explain. After about 20 minutes of fiddling, and calling to bail out on Boy's Parent Teacher Conferences (way to go, Boy! He's the art teacher's favorite student, and all-around good kid), I shivered out to Esme The Jeep. Rooting around in the little compartment between the seats, I found an old keyring. Sometimes it's possible through creative wiggling to get another key to work, so I brought it along. The first key I tried turned the lock effortlessly. Forgot all about that spare. Yep, I'm still as smart as ever.

Down In Flames

2007-03-07T22:13:00.000-05:00

This story problem had me overheating my few precious brain cells. You're in a car, going a constant speed. To your left, there is a 2' dropoff. To your right, there is a fire truck, going the same speed as you. In front of you, there is a galloping horse. You cannot overtake the horse. Behind you, there is another horse, also going the same speed. How do you get out of this situation? (you may need a pencil) Get your drunk ass off the merry go round. Shamelessly ripped off from Bob and Tom this morning =============== Go check out the Shrinking Piggies site, if only for the cool diminshing mascot. Show your support, we shrinkers are chugging along! =============== A discussion th'other day about fired people generated some very interesting tales. Anyone who has been in the workplace any length of time knows of someone who either quit or was sacked. Sometimes it's exceedingly sad, and sometimes it's spectacular. Now, I've been reassigned/ downsized/ upsized/ recruited/ laid off/ fired/ rehired many times in my long and storied career. I've never gone 2 weeks in a row without working since I was 17. Ever. It was a milestone to reach a point where I get two weeks' paid vacation; to date I've never put 'em together in one clump. I like to sprinkle short trips on long weekends throughout the year. But that's beside the point, which I think is this: I don't tend to panic, for there is always work to do. I know how to exit a company somewhat gracefully, because burning bridges is generally bad for one's career path, especially if you have a lot of water to cross. Before I put more metaphors in a blender and hit 'puree,' let me get to the stories. One employer is rich with stories of tumultuous turnover. As an industry leader, it has been growing steadily since the company was founded. You would think in a high-unemployment state like Michigan, one would be able to find high quality, highly qualified people. You'd be wrong, because the good ones are usually taken. We had one guy that came from a lifetime of field construction to work in the office. He used the first 6 months as 'learning curve' time, as he barely knew how to work a computer and keep track of things. He'd come in, prop his feet on his desk, have the office assistant fetch files and coffee, run back and forth making single copies, and make an occasional phone call. Sometimes he'd just stare out the window for hours. When the 6 months were up, he began becoming belligerent, and it seemed he would try to piss off the boss. He'd get into shouting matches, march around trying to create alliances in the cube farm, and go to the president to complain about the VP. The office pool had him being fired a full 3 months before it actually happened. On the way out, he hugged everyone. Even me. It was hella weird, as he and I were cordial coworkers, but not hugbuddies. Ever. Soon after the door clicked shut behind him, I began to realize some of his files were missing. No, wait. All of them. He had deleted his entire network file system. It took 3 days to recover most of the information, and months for his projects to quit swirling around the bowl and settle down. The VP he had locked horns with was a brilliant accountant, great with numbers and analysis, but a bit awkward with people. He was promoted from Controller to VP of Operations after several successful years with the company. One time we were chatting in the common area of the cube farm and I commented that the place ran far better while he was out on vacation, and when would he be leaving again? The gasps from adjacent offices were audible. His face scrolled through various expressions like a slot machine, trying out which reaction to choose. I suddenly realized I may have started my own Doomsday Clock. He laughed insincerely and went back to his corner office, I'm sure to draft my pink slip. In a grand and surprising twist, it turns out he was sacked soon after that (much to my relief). We had a guy in management who was there for years, but one day he simply wasn't. Normally there would be a staff meeting to announce personnel changes and plans to keep projects flowing. Not so this time; there was a vacuum of mysterious silence. The only explanation anyone could get was, 'He did something we couldn't tolerate.' Months later at a project managers conference in Florida, the boss and a buncha guys were at a bar into the wee hours. He had been gulping wine all night, and was decidedly more animated than usual. A few of us sidled up to him and asked, "Whatever happened to old Harry?" He did a spit take, spewing red wine across the bar. As soon as he recovered, he recounted the tale. "One day I was checking on why the mail server was bogging down. I noticed his account had lots of massive files, so I opened one. Let's just say (he said in a loud, conspiratorial drunk-whisper), he was emailing his girlfriend. I saw his wiener." He was mortified, and immediately escorted Harry out the door. Harry's explanation? He was bored. The most spectacular stomping-off-the-job I've ever witnessed came from a guy I replaced as an estimator. He was with the company for years, and frequently complained that his pay was too low. The boss would tell him that he was being paid all the company could afford, and the guy would grudgingly accept the answer and go back to work. One day, he walked by the fax machine and, as was custom at this office, picked up the faxes to deliver them. Right on top was a statement from the company's IRA manager. It listed each employee's salary, including the boss. Now, I have no problem with the boss making lots of money - it's the reward for starting and keeping a successful company. But this poor schmuck found that not only was he at the bottom of the pay heap, but the boss was taking in more than the combined payroll of the entire staff every year. Suddenly, the 'we can't afford to give you a raise' argument seemed, well, a little weak. In his bitter rage, he went to his office and crashed the hard drive on his computer. He then made 50 copies of the document, and distributed it to all the employees, and even faxed it to vendors and customers. He stormed off in a huff, never to be heard from again. When I was running a new network cable in his former/ my new office, I discovered all sorts of treasures. Turns out the boss had his reasons for keeping him at a humble salary; I found dozens of empty liquor bottles in the drop ceiling, as well as virtual stacks of porn on the recovered hard drive. How about you? Any juicy meltdown stories?

The Hairy Edge Of The World

2007-03-06T13:29:00.000-05:00

It only takes 2 tablespoons of water to drown an adult human. This is why I'm not afraid of deep water. One of the coolest places on earth to swim is the Bay on South Manitou Island, Michigan. Of course, for 7-10 months a year it's hella cold water, but for the brief window of perfect weather it's amazing. There is a rocky, gravelly beach that slopes gently and turns to soft sand when you're about knee deep. The slope continues to about 8' deep; by bouncing, I can walk on the sandy bottom and come up for air between steps. My favorite thing to do is face out into the bay, eyes open, where the bottom drops out. A sandy canyon where the water turns from green to deep blue, and the abyss stretches out to invisible depths. It's like standing on the edge of the world. On our last trip, we were hiking around the island with a herd of middle school kids on a beautiful August day. A helicopter appeared, zooming and circling around the island, then went over to North Manitou, and back to swoop about South again. Later that night I asked a ranger if she knew what that was all about. She told me the sad story of a 50-something hiker who had a heart attack while climbing a giant dune. The call came in but the rescuers didn't know which island he was on. He expired, and according to the ranger, it wouldn't have mattered if the helicopter had gotten to him 10 minutes earlier. It got me to thinking, that's probably how I'd want to go. Now I'm a big fan of not dying. But if and when the time comes, I think being in the great outdoors on a beautiful day, doing something I enjoy, and exiting quickly and irrevocably would be preferable to a wide range of other options. I certainly wouldn't want some rescue team to exhaust themselves trying in 10 minutes to reverse 30 years of cholesterol and sloth. Since, as has been said, one can drown in a puddle, I pondered the situation that might ensue. The coast guard generally doesn't dispatch a chopper to rescue a poor schmuck flailing about in a gutter. The story might read, "Biff struggled against the current and his sodden clothing, but finally succumbed to a pint of dirty runoff." Now that's just undignified, and I can't have that.

Backing Up

2007-03-05T21:21:00.000-05:00

Well, it feels as though a month has gone by without much of my involvement on this little endeavor we like to call Spiffytown. Which, basically, is true. And I'm grateful. I know that when I'm hankering for some communication from friends in the 'unreal world' of the Interwebs, I'm grateful when I find new words to devour. I love love love reading stuff, especially from friends who have interesting and fun and thought-provoking things to say. Check my blogroll if you're short on interesting-fun-thoughtful stuff today. Regarding the title, I never have caught up to the things that happened early on in my travails and travels. The Alabama trip was wonderful all around, not least because of meeting a friend in person that I discovered online. Sarch is a newish blogger who has been haunting many of the same haunts I haunt. On my first day in a strange town (Birmingham - it's like home, only with more traffic and less snow (and a bit of an accent)), he suggested we meet at a local (Loco) watering hole. "It's a bar, but they have good food too," he said. Turns out my hotel was downright convenient to his place of work, and only a stone's throw from the restaurant. We met after he got off work, and for my part, I had an absolute blast. Some people think folks you meet online aren't real; in fact I've gotten to know many people online who I now count as genuine friends. Oh sure, most aren't close enough to go catch a movie or pull me out of a ditch if need be, but true friends nonetheless. Sarch is the real deal, full of easy friendly chatter on topics ranging from faith and family to work and motorcycles. We gossiped extensively about other bloggers, but none of you, my dear readers. I would never. We enjoyed Yeunglings and hotwings and burritos, and the time was up too soon (I pooped out early, as I am getting noticeably old). I would do that again in a second, and but for not wanting to pester the poor guy, would have enjoyed another get-together. There's always next time, right? My classes were both easy and challenging, fast paced and interminable. It's weird how things can be so paradoxical. I was enjoying the learning of new things, understanding a program that has certain idiosyncrasies; but the weather outside was generally nice, sunny, and warm. Which gave me a mild dose of the Cabin Fever. I was itching to be out in it, since the home weather was chock-full of ice, snow, and nosehair crystallizing cold (I call that the BFP, or Booger Freezing Point). The class consisted of me and one well-qualified instructor. There was another student enrolled, but he punked out at the last minute. My instructor and I went out to lunch each day, and I learned about his fascinating career path and history with this company, and the cruise he and his wife just took with some church friends. The entire time was worthwhile. After hours, I found myself with some time to kill, which I had expected to be filled with homework and catching up on office/ home stuff. The instructor had given me some suggestions, and each night I tried something new. One night I took a driving tour of the pretty parts of Birmingham. Would have been prettier, I'm sure, in the daylight and without a heavy rain. Another time I visited the McWane Center, a hands-on science museum with an IMAX theater. Still another time, I visited the McWane Center when it was open. That was infinitely more fun. What a cool place, especially for those of us (me) who have to touch everything. I flew an airplane (poorly), made a cartoon, watched tornadoes being formed, and blew smoke rings from a giant steam table. There was a bed of nails also, which was surprisingly comfy except for a few pointy bits in the shoulderbone region. They had video butterflies and stone waterfalls, a fascinating Rube Goldberg contraption that kept me mesmerized for about a half hour, and all manner of physics and art experiments. I highly recommend the place, but it's sure to be much more fun with a friend or a few youngsters. In all, it was a wonderful trip. I wouldn't change a thing.

Homo Erectus!

2007-03-04T22:42:00.000-05:00

As I write, Gorillaz are telling me all about windmills. I loves me some new music. While I was out last week for reprogramming, I got a call from a customer on a project we'd closed out many months ago. He says the inspector finally came through, and wouldn't finish the inspection because he found some missing items. That can't be, I told him. My installer is a pro, and knows what he's doing. But, through a commitment to customer service (and really no other way out), it was decided I was going back out into the field. On Monday, I booked a Tuesday morning flight to Washington, with a plan to drive to Cambridge for a meeting Tuesday afternoon with the customer, and the Big Meeting Wednesday morning with everyone. I arrived at our local International Airport with plenty of time for an 8:00 departure. Only, the flight was rescheduled for 11:30. That would make it hard to keep my 2:00 appointment. After a 2 hour wait in line, I was rebooked on Midwest to Milwaukee, then to Reagan National Airport. It didn't make sense to go west before going east, but hey, it would get me there almost on time. I was game, and happily trotted to my gate. I asked for a window seat, and got a snort from the gatelady as she told me 'They are all window and aisle seats.' We descended the stairs and it became apparent why the snort; I climbed aboard a Chrysler minivan with wings (ok, it wasn't a Chrysler, but a Raytheon Beech 1900D). I expected to see wood on the sides. As I stepped over the hump in the floor where the wing strut went through, I found my seat near the back. The seat in front of mine flopped over forward when I touched it. The back of the airplane featured a 3-wide bus bench up against a wall which was being thumped and rattled loudly by the baggage handlers. The windows were tinted smoky brown, and there was no PA system. The enormous young copilot shut the door and checked for daylight around the edges, then thanked us for flying and wished us luck. He said if anyone needed to communicate an emergency, we should come up and talk to him. I suddenly wished there was a bathroom on this plane. As we got to the runway, I was impressed by the massive amount of thrust generated by the twin propellers. I was pushed back into my wobbly seat with considerable force, and it made me forget the peeling paint on the engine cowl for a moment. We were aloft in no time, and crossed Lake Michigan as the crunchy center of a cloud sandwich. There was a fluffy layer of thick marshmallow clouds below, and wispy cotton stretched above. It was beautiful. I arrived in Wisconsin over mini icebergs in Lake Michigan and snowcovered residential neighborhoods. Milwaukee is Midwest's bustling hub, but one entire terminal seemed deserted. I wandered around while waiting for my next flight, and spotted something... icky. It reminded me of the scene in the Eddie Murphy movie Coming To America involving excessive hair product. The second leg of the trip was AWESOME. This time I boarded a brand-new-looking Boeing 717, and they proved the Midwest slogan, 'the best care in the air.' Not only were the flight attendants friendly and professional, but the seats - oh.my.goodness. They were ALL business class seats, leather upholstery, 2-2 configuration, wide enough for my fat ass AND some wiggle room. The lunches they served were delicious, and my friendly seat mate awoke me from a nap to let me know the cookies were coming. So what, you may ask? Well, let me tell you, if there's one way into my heart, it's via warm chocolate chip cookies, and more than one, thank you. They have earned a customer for life in me. Plus, the plane was on time, which is always something one hopes for. I arrived at Reagan National and got my Dodge Magnum station-wagon-with-attitude, and made the trip to the jobsite. It was a beautiful night, and I had time to take some decent pictures. Unfortunately, I did NOT have time for the meeting; the place was closed down by the time I showed up. The next morning, we met on site and began going through the inspector's concerns. Turns out his concerns were not only justified, but not hardly concerned enough. I found missing items and missed connections and enough things just plain wrong that if there was a heavy snow and a little wind, I would not be found inside that building. A long list was made and provided to my installer, and he set about making things right, which is good. That left me with a little time to kill before my flight out, so after returning the car and writing my report, I found myself at the Steven Udvar Hazy Center (silly name for an awesome airplane museum). It's on the Dulles Airport property, and features bunches of airplanes and flight artifacts. Boy and I spent an entire day in Washington DC a few years ago at the Smithsonian Air & Space museum, so this was right up my alley. It features all kinds of sweet airplanes, real adventurer stuff, and baby changing rooms. It's true. Also, it may have featured Oliver North. I walked all the way around him, but didn't ask if he was him because he was in conversation and that would have been rude. On the way out, I overheard one security guard saying to another, "Homo erectus! Homo erectus was found all over Asia, I tell you!" The hell? Is this what rent-a-cops normally discuss? Tell me, I don't know. The time came for me to sprint across 8 lanes of heavily-laden human traffic to my gate at the airport. I did so, arriving at my gate right on time (4:04) for a 4:14 flight. Only, um, wait. The display showed my flight leaving at 5:51. Which would wreck my connection in Detroit. I waited in line, which is what you do when you buy a Northwest ticket, moving at a rate of one passenger per 28 minutes. I started out #6 in line. #7, the nice lady behind me, missed a flight to Houston that would have saved her connection because of the long wait. Two hours later, I was told that the airplane that would take me from Detroit to Grand Rapids was in Washington DC as we speak, undergoing repairs, and would likely be delayed as well. I was further told that I should fly to Detroit because "chances are good" I would make it to Grand Rapids tonight. That was the best he could do, he said with a shrug. I went to the seating area to wait further. After a moment, I felt a bit peckish and picked up some pepperoni pizza from the purveyor across the parkway. Midway through my 2nd bite, I was informed that the gate had changed, pack up your belongings and trot (1 mile) to B15. B15 was under construction. There were bulldozers and open dirt at B15. As it turned out, we were to take a shuttle out to the 'remote parking area' for our airplane. My fellow passengers and I finally boarded a variable-height all-purpose shuttle bus, and waited (which, as you know, comes standard with a NWA ticket). Finally, we drove out to an airplane, parked all alone on the tarmac, and after extensive adjustment and wiggling, were able to walk directly from bus to plane. With a little rain shelter, too. That was a nice touch I must admit. After getting cozy in my $15 upgrade exit row window seat, we waited some more. Another 30 minutes or so. It was rush hour, said the pilot. Naturally, we arrived in Detroit well after my flight to Grand Rapids departed. It was at this point I began wondering about new acronyms for NWA: Not Working Again? No Way Anytime? Nincompoops With Airplanes? Turns out there were more to come, as Northwest has an entire gate dedicated to rebooking broken connections. And, as you would expect, the rebooking center features the customary long wait. 2 hours again. I found that I was automatically rebooked for 8:30 the next morning (it was now 9:00 PM or so), but I was on my own for where to stay and how to pay for it. It's a 3 hour drive from Detroit to GR, so why can't they just give me a free rental car and I'd be on my way? "Oh, we don't have any agreements with rental companies," she said. "Isn't there any other way?" I asked. There happened to be one more flight that night to Grand Rapids, but it was overbooked. I could fly standby, if I liked. Yes, I liked. So I waited in THAT line for about 1 hour while all the confirmed passengers boarded. I made it aboard as one of the last 3 allowed, and I was grateful. I slunk into the very last row, up against the bathrooms in an Airbus A320. 158 passengers in front of me continued to breathe and make the air humid and stale as we waited some more. The first officer announced he was resetting the lights, and did so. The cabin went dark, then flickered, then the lights came on. Except for the 'fasten seat belt' lights, which seemed to be the initial problem. 3 resets later, they called a mechanic. I took a nap to avoid the chatty Spaniard beside me as the mechanic worked the problem. I awoke an hour later to find myself not in Grand Rapids, but still in FREAKING DETROIT. It's a 20 minute flight. This was not turning out to be my day for travel. As I now announce, I made it home safely. Even my luggage made it home, which impressed me substantially - but I still harbor some bitterness toward Northwest.

Today, Girl and Mrs. Spiffy are in Disneyworld enjoying 80 degree swimming weather. Boy and I went to Crystal Mountain to go skiing, and had the ultimate best weather day ever. It would have been perfect except for a potentially broken thumb and a really broken cell phone. Clumsiness aside, it was a perfect day. I almost forgot how much Northwest sucks. Almost.

The Post I Almost Posted

2007-03-02T09:22:00.000-05:00

Well, I'm back in town. Thanks for leaving the lights on for me, and I was pleasantly surprised to find my key still works and there's no saran wrap on the toilet. First, mega-thanks to Tiff, Guest-Hostess Extraordinaire who put up the guest posts (not put up WITH, mind you). And thanks to y'all who kept the place running. I enjoyed seeing what you'd come up with (and in some cases, what you wouldn't come up with) the days I could get online. ================ This is what I almost posted last Friday, with much much more to write. But, I had another surprise trip come up, a whirlwind tour of Virginia, DC, and Maryland to deal with jobsite problems. There ensued adventures galore, tales of which are forthcoming. Today. I promise. I've already returned Rick's Rent-A-Goats and paid the bill, and I'm planning to choke and barbecue Tracy's chickens for a big party tonight. Stay tuned!

Well, I'll be.

2007-02-27T10:04:00.000-05:00

It looks like the Mayor is still out of town! Nice job on his office, y'all. The chickens were a nice touch. I'm here feedin' them and keeping the goats watered, so no worries about any livestock issues. This extended absence of his makes me think that his "business trip" might have gone a tad awry. I mean, instead of a straight-out docket of meetings in a bland meeting hall somewhere generic, I'll just BET he's probably off on a fact-finding junket someplace tropical, and had one too many mai tais, after which he forgot himself and the burden of responsibility his office carries and started flirting with the waitstaff, one of whom probably didn't appreciate it much because his name is "Bob" and who therefore maybe threw a punch at the Mayor, not realizing that Biff is a former Golden Gloves champion of the 10th grade who takes care to maintain a healthy physique and musculature and was thereby surprised to find himself (the disgruntled waiter) in a match of fisticuffs with our leader, who maybe, through the magic of alcohol, thought that the one disgruntled waiter was a whole HERD of ticked off islanders after his wallet, and so he wreaked a path of destruction at the Sandy Crack Shack, only to be taken down by a tiki torch to the back of the head (wielded by Big Moms Kanuckastan, the proprietress), after which he was hauled off to the pokey to spend a few days cogitating on the inelegance of his actions. Probably. Or, maybe, he's just snowed in, and the internets are frozen up in Michigan, and he forgot to revoke my permissions as guest poster and administratrix, so HA! I'm here, and I'm posting wildly incorrect (maybe) stories about him because.I.can. If I DO find out what happened to him, and find out that he's just been SLACKING, you can expect to hear from me. More details as events warrant.

TGIF, fellow Spiffytonians, TGIF

2007-02-23T09:55:00.000-05:00

Today, Rick of RickLeonard.com pays a little visit to Spiffytown, and hatches a plan. ==================================== Can you believe the Mayor ran off an left an entire town in the care of Innerweb roughians like us?? For an entire week?? He's just damned lucky to have a town to return to, if ya ask me. Speakin' of roughians, can I get a round of applause for the girls... Ms Tracy Kaply of www.KaplyInc.blogspot.com... Rennratt of www.rennratt.blogspot.com ... the inimitable Wordnerd of www.doihavetocallitablog.blogspot.com... the ever-literate AC of http://www.achronicleofwastedtime.blogspot.com.... and our very own administratrix, Tiff of http://noaccentyet.blogspot.com Thanks, y'all. (Waits for applause to die down.) My name's Rick and as near as I can tell, I'm in charge of lockin' up and goin' home. But here's a little secret, just 'tween you 'n' me and the innerweb... I'm leavin' the key on top of the door frame. For a reason. See, where I come from, we like to express our affection for the dearly depart, er, vacationing visionary by redecorating his or her office for their return. Sometimes, we redecorate and then brick up the door. Sometimes, we redecorate and install a fully-functional Cadillac DeVille, though that depends on the mechanical inclination and number of volunteers. Sometimes, we redecorate by encasing everything in tinfoil. Sometimes, we fill said enclosure with packing peanuts. Sometimes, we screw all the furniture to the ceiling. Sometimes, if we're really, really lazy and time is of the essence, we just turn a couple of goats and a handful of turkeys loose in the office for the weekend. The point is, we like to express our appreciation for elected officials that take a week off, coincidentally the same week as Mardi Gras, and insist they don't have time to fulfill their bloginess responsibilities, but do have time to comment elsewhere. And if someone just happens to leave a key on top of the door frame... Why, anything could happen! Catch my drift? And thanks for havin' us for this past, glorious week... You've been a great audience!

Gaining a little perspective

2007-02-22T09:44:00.000-05:00

Today, AC takes us on a path to enlightenment, or at the very least partway down an alley toward what isn't scary anymore..... BONUS - terrific quote-age. ====================================== Writing is Easy. You Only Need to Stare at a Piece of Blank Paper Until Your Forehead Bleeds. (Douglas Adams) Guest posting! A sure fire way to create a writer's block out of thin air. Last week I could barely spell blogger and today, well, here goes. First off let me tell you all it is to be near 70 degrees down here, kind of close to where Mr. Mayor finds himself today. I hope he is taking advantage of the shirt sleeve weather to gather some rays of natural Vitamin D. I think there is some theory, maybe even fact, that the sun must be a certain number of degrees above the horizon for Vitamin D absorption, and whether that is occurring this time of year, I don't know. Still, everybody I see today is giving it the old college try. For a moment, nothing happened.Then, after a second or so, nothing continued to happen. (Douglas Adams) Guest posting! topic, topic......Hey, Could I just make a post of Douglas Adams quotes with little or no commentary in between? Except I need to do this today, now, this morning...... I love deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they fly by. (Douglas Adams) He shifted his weight from foot to foot, but it was equally uncomfortable on each. (Douglas Adams) Alright already. If you don't change your beliefs, your life will be like this forever. Is that good news? (Douglas Adams) The other night Mr. AC and I did something we have not done in years....we went OUT at Night and STAYED out Late. Now Biff says he has worked construction so he knows that lifestyle is early to bed, early to rise if you expect to stay clear of saws or atop a roof and sometimes you work Saturdays. Mr. AC generally hits the sack by 9:02 pm to rise at 5:00 am. I sleep less, but arise at 5:00 as well. This sleep requirement keeps us home a lot, and when we go out, its in the daylight hours. We're the late lunchers, the library in the afternooners, the movie matinee-ers. We're not boring people, though, I promise! But last Friday night we had tickets for a concert I'd been anticipating for months and the Mister was informed he Would Stay Awake and that We Would Have Dinner and Drinks Out at a Date Night Hour and that After, We Might Walk Around Downtown and Get a Coffee. Of course he agreed; he loves me and besides, it took care of his having to conjure up a Valentine's Day present. I always say, move out of the way, let me run it. I've lived in this area where I live since 1972 when I came for college. That is 35 years, a figure that really quirks my brow! Over those years I developed a love / less-loving relationship with the town -- I love the geographic beauty, love where I live several miles out and a county over from the City, love the friendly, generous natures of the people. But I have dissed the social, artistic, culinary and entertainment offerings as too few; have laughed off the attempts to finally turn the Old City into anything other than a place to get mugged on your way from a dark parking lot to a seedy bar with a rare blues band playing. Changes didn't happen fast but change nevertheless occurred. My daughter, who goes to college there, kept telling me the Downtown was exciting, while I kept telling her to NOT go Alone anywhere down there, in fact, to Not Go! She defied me. Go figure that! What we learned last Friday night is that the world downtown changed while we were home, tucked in, not just in our nice, toasty comfortable home, but tucked in our old, comfortable notions. We had convinced ourselves that nothing much would ever change. We found a vibrant, pleasantly crowded, well lit, safe feeling and yes I will say it, hip place to go. My town, that I pigeon-holed as satisfactorily commodious but kind of hopeless, actually made something of itself while I wasn't looking, while I was going to bed early, while I was staying home, enjoying stasis. Which led me to extrapolate to all sorts of other areas, to philosophize, to muse, to ponder....how I am ready for change myself. How I want to move on my own potential and make some exciting improvements to my life. It is not unimportant that I took these last 21 years to raise a daughter, get her through college (please God, see her out this last semester), basically hunker down and provide. Its just that now, I can see to a blossoming in the space that opens up. Maybe all it takes is changing one habit, breaking just one pattern. Maybe one walk-around at night, when lights and sounds and scents are changed and charged with a different energy, is all it takes to open my other eye, the one I had squinted shut. And so I end my guest posting...perhaps if I could have set it to music, choosing, say, Chet's Ramble as accompaniment, or better yet, Sanitarium Shuffle....readers might have been better served. At any rate, I'm honored to have been asked. There was a point to this story, but it has temporarily escaped the chronicler's mind. (Douglas Adams)

It Worked For Seinfeld

2007-02-21T09:27:00.000-05:00

Today's installment of the Spiffytown Guest-post-a-pa-looza is from the darlin' of the South, Ms. Wordnerd herself, who seems to be having a bit of a time finding content on which to write as she travels through the Mayor's realm.... Herein, her offering. ==========================

Ah, the guest post. A lovely thing, eh? You work and work all day to think of something deargodjustsomething new and different and fresh to write and then you come up with it, only to have to post it elsewhere?

Oh, wait. That’s just me. The rest of these guest post-writers ROCK at this stuff. They can come up with the perfect post HERE, then go write the perfect post THERE, without breaking a sweat.

Me? Sheesh. As many of you (Tiff, Hyperion, the rest of the Monkey Barners), I do not respond well to pressure. Time and again, those guys have pleaded with me to write something at Monkey Barn, or at Wordsmiths Unlimited, or wherever. And the Nerd ran and cowered.

So the Mayor (the freakin’ MAYOR) of Spiffytown makes his request, and I say yes. What was I thinking? Just because I contributed a four-line stanza to an otherwise lovely poem at a new blog I found the other day, what made me think I could do this? I mean, I’m going to have to take DAYS off at the not-a-blog to recover from this. Oh. Wait. Never mind. I do that all the time.

Too. Much. Pressure.

What’s a girl to do? Write the best post ever? And use it here? Or write something totally lame, saving the best for her own place? Oh. Wait. We’re talkin’ about me again. ‘Best’ ain’t gonna happen. Lame, however, just might.

So it’s the post about nothing. Much like the show Jerry and George pitched oh so many years ago.

Ah, well, you get what you pay for, Spiffster.

An epiphany of sorts.

2007-02-20T09:59:00.000-05:00

This installment of Guest Posting Week is from Rennratt, in which she confesses to finding a new life direction. ----------- While Biff is out of town on business, I have agreed to step in and help dust his office. While I am here, I am going to confess something. Something so dark, so disturbing, that I prefer to announce it well away from the prying eyes of my family. So, without further ado, my confession:

I have decided to join the Roller Derby. As a result, I have pulled out my torn fishnet stockings, my black eyeshadow, my blood red lipstick...and my utter lack of grace.

It is well known around these parts that I suffer from perpetual clumsiness. What better way to celebrate, then, than to skate/slam into random strangers while dizzying myself into nausea? I am getting pretty excited about this.

I will begin in roughly three weeks - as an alternate jammer. Since I have the attire and scary make up, I lack only a name and a Theme Song. The Theme Song is a no brainer. I shall skate out in time to “Fat Bottomed Girls” by Queen.

The name, on the other hand, is a little tougher. Shall I be Immortal Cin? Ven Detta? Mis Demeanor? Do you, friends of Biff, have any suggestions?

Oh, and if you see my folks? Just tell them I've joined the PTO. That will scare them plenty.

You Being Ok Is Not Part Of My Balanced Diet Of Doom

2007-02-19T06:53:00.000-05:00

It's guest posting week here in Spiffytown - being kicked off today by one Ms Tracy Kaply of KaplyInc! Three cheers for TL!! ========================== Last week, Biff Spiffy, Mayor around these parts, asked me to write a guest post, and I, possibly delirious from an excess of carbohydrates, agreed. I must have been as mad as a spoon. Writing guest posts is hard, and generally my natural tendency towards inertia prevents me from such efforts. I consider this to be the blogging equivalent of a V chip, in that it's supposed to keep me out of trouble, but in reality is rather ineffective. See, around at my place, my seven loyal readers, bless their little black hearts, are as degenerate a bunch of loonies as ever looted a zombie run mall, and my style of writing tends to cater to them in what seems a very natural, almost organic, way. I write, they read, we diddle around in the comments a bit, and Bob's your uncle. Everybody wins. But here in Spiffytown, which I'm sure is a lovely place with rising property values and fabulous schools, I have no idea what the denizens may or may not be willing to accept. And I hesitate to embark on the usual round of perversion and insanity for fear of being run out of town on a rail, or brought up on charges of witchcraft, which I hear they're prone to do out here in the boonies, I mean suburbs. And while, in my usual haunts, the mere mention of the Bodacious Rack can often lift me out of any trouble I wander into, I'm not at all sure the local constabulary of Spiffytown will be swayed, although , if they aren't, then we need to moot the topic of pod people again. Anyway, I'm just going to wander around town, keeping a low profile, and trying to find a subject that won't get me tossed out again on my ass. You wait here. -- FEAR ME! http://kaplyinc.blogspot.com

Flapping My Wings

2007-02-17T21:54:00.000-05:00

This Monday, as has been previously mentioned, for those who are keeping track, is the first of many days I'll be Elsewhere. Probably in a windowless room in the back of a seedy motel, just me and a computer and a lonely engineering trainer. Maybe another designer or two, but these classes are usually pretty customized. One of the best parts of this trip is I get to fly there (my very favorite thing). Another best part is when I return, I'll no longer be between jobs, but be able to focus on the new gig. A third best part is it's a week with different scenery. Since I am one who loves variety, this is a good thing. Another (fourth, if you're counting) best part is yon Alabama is roughly 70 degrees warmer than hither. That, my friends, rocks. While we're on the subject of flying, Mrs. Spiffy decided to take Girl on a Girls-Only Vacation during spring break. Where would Girl like to go? Disney World, of course. This greatly pleased Mrs. Spiffy, who used to go with her family every year. They looked into the cost and timing of driving, and opted to fly. Which came as a surprise to me, since Mrs. Spiffy isn't a big fan of flying, and it's kinda pricey for an impromptu little getaway. But, they've decided it Shall Be and both are working extra jobs to make up the difference. It fell to me to book the tickets, since I have some degree of internet air travel booking experience. I compared prices and dates, and surrounding airports, and came up with a good budget number. I selected Southwest and plunked in the dates, credit card number, and hit "Purchase." All was set, and they were committed. Three days later, we discovered afresh that I am an idiot. I got a phone call from Mrs. Spiffy at the office. "Um, can we come home after our vacation?" "I don't know. Do you think you should?" I answered. "Well, it's where we live," she said flatly. Turns out SOMEone had incorrectly thought, with all confidence, that 'round trip' was selected before air travel was purchased. It wasn't. The nice people at Southwest kindly sold me another pair of tickets. Same price as the first leg of the trip, which was just slightly less than the price I'd found for round trip tickets elsewhere. Which is why I'm now working an extra weekend job, to help pay for their little excursion. They'll be camping at Fort Wilderness, which is a much nicer place to camp in February than most anywhere in Michigan. They have an adorable little tent and it's fun seeing Girl count up the trip money that's pouring in from their enterprises. Boy and I will be all bachelor-like for a week, watching chick-flick-free teevee and leaving the seat up, eating spicy foods and burping all we want. Oh wait, Mrs. Spiffy is the family champion belcher, so I guess we'd better come up with something distinctly bachelorey. Any ideas? We may go skiing, who knows. It should still be hella cold then.

Indonesia, Part 1

2007-02-16T07:15:00.000-05:00

JC said she really, really didn't want to know how one could deal with not having toilet paper. Therefore, this post is dedicated to her. There are whole chunks of the world that only recently discovered indoor plumbing. And there are some who invented indoor plumbing of an entirely... foreign nature. Back a few years, I got the opportunity to do a music tour in Denpasar, Bali, Indonesia. I was the bass player in a 40-member touring group. We had some amazing musicians and singers, plus a dance team, and spent a week in support of churches in a place that is often very hostile toward Christians (and not just calling them names, either). We played in a variety of settings and configurations, but the coolest place was this giant palace of a building. It made the Orthodox church I visited last week look like a cheesy Vegas wedding chapel. The floor and walls were tiled with marble (the place was e-NOR-mous). The stage had huge marble columns and carved frescoes in the walls, a kind of architectural artistry that I have never seen in America. They do have McDonald's and other American-ish food (Texas Chicken was a big chain there - doesn't exist anywhere else, as far as I know) but you will not find a restaurant that doesn't serve rice. I didn't go to McDonald's while there, but someone on our team did. They got McSpaghetti - lo mein in a thin red sauce - and pieces-parts chicken nuggets. One thing I noticed was the absence of Starbucks. Having made a career in construction, I was very interested in how they did things 12 time zones away from me. There were a few projects underway in the area, and I'd always stop to watch as much as I could. Bamboo scaffolding and concrete forms would sprout from the ground and be crawling with small, limber people with bare feet and straw hats. They have never heard of OSHA or laser levels. Everything was done in concrete and marble and dark-stained wood, and while there were certain idiosyncrasies (like stair steps not being uniform from one to the next), I witnessed a high degree of hands-on craftsmanship. Now, this trip has enough material to fill several posts and I intend to milk it for all it's worth. But, the thing that inspires toDAY's installment is their plumbing customs. Our hotel was the epitome of tropical resort goodness. I didn't realize how much I would come to appreciate it, but the hotel was outfitted with western appliances. They had bottles of Air (Indonesian for water) in the washroom, because the tap water was infamous for causing a condition called Bali Belly. There was no vent fan, but a little stack of candles and a book of matches. That was thoughtful. This view is my room, and roommate Stu. That's marble tile on the floor. Verrry nice. Now, the other places we visited, whether restaurants, orphanages, homes, stores, or churches, had the more traditional Asian plumbing. Known as 'squatty potties,' they consist of a porcelain bowl set in the floor with foot pads along the sides. You stand on the bowl and, well, squat. They feature a 2" drain, which is woefully inadequate for carrying the Cottonelle, so (here's the part that JC's gonna love) they don't use toilet paper. There is a kitchen vegetable sprayer on a hose, that's all you get to work with. Oh, and don't offer anything to anyone with your left hand. It's seen as an insult. Upon this discovery, I saw to it that all business was carried out in the hotel room. The view outside the room A small group of us enjoying the shallow end of the 1/2 mile long pool - I'm the pale one in the one-piece ==================== Programme Update! It's official, Spiffytown will be overtaken by a band of pitchfork-wielding villagers next week (some may be bringing the Throwing Spoons), while I'm in foreign parts (Alabama) for training. MagnifiTiff, SuperHeroine, will be administering justice and lining up the posts in my absence, and I trust that you will be highly informed and entertained. BE HERE! I expect you to visit and comment profusely, for there be some stars lining up to unload their greatness upon you.

Lists of Things

2007-02-15T12:15:00.000-05:00

Well, now I've done it again. I, your humble and appropriately-for-public-office Idiot Mayor of Simpleton, have lost another post. It was passably good, too. I went to put the CD I got for Mrs. Spiffy's VD present ("No, really, it's for you") in my new computer, and without looking too closely, pushed the wrong button. The power button. As windows vaporized one by one from my dual monitors, 35 minutes worth of writing did too. I suppose I've had worse occasions of 'time I'll never get back' - but dang it's frustrating. I should probably compose in a format that auto-saves. Anyway, back to the subject at hand. It's a co-ink-a-dink of epic proportions, since I had started a post about my long-time romance with keeping lists, and then happened upon Wordnerd's site where she tagged me (don't go see unless you're willing to be unwittingly tagged like I was, only if you go now it'll be wittingly and you'll have nobody to blame but yerself) with a 'make a list of six weird things about you that everyone is doing internet phenomenon (and DON'T call it a meme)' thing. A list! Yay! One of a list of my many favorite things! Almost enough to make me lurvitate. Almost. I start most every day with a list of some sort. I created a comb-bound book to contain my work-related lists (spiral notebooks are too easy), because I had a season where I practically wallpapered my little corner of the cube farm with stickynotes. I appear much more organized now, but the days I misplace or can't reach my listbook, I get grumpy. It creates a very seductive illusion of productivity and importance. Besides, once I write something down, I'm free to forget it, since that bit of useless information is no longer cluttering my brain. Appointments, calls to make, paperwork to finish, all can be safely forgotten for it is on a List. Now I have mental capacity for really important things like... uh, like... blog posts? Monty Python quotes? The lyrics of my favorite poem? Well, at least I'm in prestigious company. Einstein reputedly didn't know his own phone number. When an incredulous reporter asked him about it, he asked, "Why should I memorize it, since I know where to find it?" I'm such a listophile, I like to make lists of things I've already done. Shower... check. Shave... check. Breakfast... check. It's comforting to know that before I even clock in I've accomplished so much. The thing that's saved my compulsive list-making life is the discovery of this rule: All lists contain 3 items, no more, no less. That way the important 3 get done. Oh look! My day's already complete! Of course, then you can add another item to keep it at 3... For today's exercise, I'm making an exception to the Rule. Okay, on to my obligations. Here is my List of 6 Weird Things About Biff Spiffy. 1. I like to keep lists. See above. 2. I absolutely love trampolines. I am the most undignified sight you could see on one, but I'll bounce the night away, get into 'rocket wars' with anyone willing, and flail around like a sped on speed for endless hours. I used to have a trampoline, but took it down after witnessing Girl snap her little arm into the shape of an S one evening. Should have happened to me long before it did to her; once I was bouncing with a friend who is roughly my size (think huskypants). He launched me over a fence. It was not pretty. 3. Spiders fascinate and terrify me. Simultaneously. I once watched a wolf spider for several minutes (while on a ladder - 2 stories up), convinced he was looking at me curiously, much like a puppy or billy goat might. Then I turned him into hairy goo with my hammer. I really enjoy studying their creepy, creative web-spinning, prey-stalking, and trying-to-bite-me ways. The very worst thing about spiders is that if one lands on you, unlike other buggy critters, he can't just fly away. Oh no. If you brush at him, he has to either crawl all the way wherever he's going, or rappel - and I can't have that. Jibblies. If you want more reasons I'm skeeved out, go here and scroll to January 17. 4. Q-tips are more important to me than any other part of my morning hygiene rituals. We can run out of toilet paper, and there are ways to work around that. Shampoo gone? Use soap, or just rinse vigorously, it'll keep until tomorrow. But if I can't squeak out my ears, it bugs me all day long. 5. I don't have any fetishes. As someone who has spent some significant time on The Interwebs, I'm beginning to think I truly am weird for not being into feet or midgets in drag or bikers wearing diapers chasing nurses dressed like smurfs. I do like a goofy sense of humor though. Oh, and good spelling. Yeah, I'd have to say spelling is a turn-on for me. 6. I'm known as the Polite Police at my house. There is nothing that drives me up one wall and down the other like poor table manners, particularly open-mouth chewing. Gaah! Celery, carrots, and tortilla chips are noisy, and I can understand that. But when I can hear you masticating a banana or slurping soup, I just go out of my head. And, please don't hold your fork like a shovel. Thank you.

Now THIS Is How To Celebrate

2007-02-14T08:00:00.000-05:00

For your loathsome holiday enjoyment, here is a Valentine's Day post from accurately self-proclaimed funnyman, Avitable. Most of you who read here already know Evil Genius Tracy Lynn, so this may be a little redundant, but hey, funny is funny.

VD and Valentine's Day

READ THE ARTICLE AT DRIVL.COM

Sponsored by STD Floral, providers of the 'Sorry I Gave You The Clap' Bouquet ============================ Programme Note: (Like that fancy spelling? That's for my international readers) I will be offsite all next week, Monday through Saturday. I'll be a stranger in a strange land, learning my new job on the high-falutin' proprietary engineering software. I expect to be surrounded by people who speak a different language and have unusual dental formations, and who knows if the Internet has penetrated such foreign parts. However, you can count on Spiffytown to bring you the most for your entertainment dollar, oh yes. The village will not go dark, and I will tell you how. Later. ============================ Last night I was roped into another long, drawn-out game of Cowboys and Indians. The rules of this game go thusly: The cowboy waits on the phone while the Indians try very, very hard to sound American while sapping my will to live through repeated requests for highly personal information, interminable waits with ultrashat smooth jazz music, and multiple transfers. Yes, Charter has still not come through with providing the service for which the meter is now running. They say on the 15th a technician will arrive to take on the daunting task of opening a little plastic box and attaching a wire. Good thing I have a place to go where the internet flows like sugar from a hole in the bottom of the bag. ============================ Somehow the subject of kids with Wal-Mart bags on their feet came up last night. It sent me back to my days as a snot-nosed schoolkid. Okay, lots of things send me back there, but you're missing the point. I had the old-fashioned black rubber boots, with the thick felt liner and metal buckles on the side. Since they were made of rubber, you would think they'd be waterproof. Not so. My mom, in her ever-watchful wisdom, would bundle us up by first slipping our little feet into 3 layers of socks, bread bags, and then the boots. Yep. Wonderbread, in case you wanted to know. My feet had a fresh baked yeastly aroma for most of my childhood. When Moonboots were invented, I could ditch the bread bags because the fashionable one-piece design tended to keep slush and water out for a little longer. I loved 'em, for the baglessness and the quickness. An ADD riddled (undiagnosed, because that hadn't been invented yet either) kid who wants to go out sledding does NOT want to be hampered by shoestrings and buckles and the like. At school, we didn't have traditional lockers. They were wooden shelves with a coathook in each, open for the world to see. Along the hallway floor there would be rows and rows of moonboots. One day at the end of class, I was leaving late for some possibly detention-related reason. My moon boots sat nearly alone in the deserted hall. I inserted a socked foot, and felt something strange therein. I wiggled my toes, but couldn't figure out what was inside. I turned the boot upside down and shook gently. Out plopped a soft, perfectly formed dog turd. It had been collected while frozen, and left to thaw in my warm and cozy boot. Tragedy was averted because I caught it before full-meltdown mode - odorless and stainless, which is not a turd's normal state. The perps were never brought to justice, which bothers me still. Maybe that's why I've never gone to any class reunions. Perhaps I should be grateful. From that day on, I compulsively check every shoe before installing it on my enormous foot, saving me from countless golf balls, spiders, and other buggy encounters.

The Post That Never Was (But Is Now)

2007-02-12T15:08:00.000-05:00

Recreating an eaten post might be difficult. I don't know, since this is my first. I'm usually a compulsive saver, ever since the Green Screen of Doom ate my term paper on Construction Materials way back in my 'college lite' days. Oh, it was a masterpiece on single-ply membrane roofing, it would have brought tears to your eyes. As I was putting the finishing paragraph on it, *PHOOMP* - the screen went dark, and 5 hours of work disappeared. At 1AM. The night before it was due. This was back when Commodore 64's were still available, and the 386 hadn't been invented yet. I did recompose the whole thing and aced it, but I had my lesson firmly in place, never lost any significant work over the years. Until yesterday. Anyway, on to a riveting description of a lazy Sunday at Spiffytown. I slept in, which is unusual for me. I awoke at the usual time (4:50 AM), thought a second, rolled over, and set to sawing new logs. It was glorious, snoozing well into the crisp white morning. There were dreams, weird and wild adventures full of corporate intrigue, nuclear explosions, and rescuing a damsel in distress (rawr!). The details are too fuzzy and surreal to describe here, since I've gone to the all-ages format. Finally around 8:30, I hauled my carcass off the flannel sheets and padded to the office, where I sipped hot coffee and caught up on some blog reading. Suddenly, it was time to go to church, and I made an executive decision: I'm staying home and playing hooky. I announced all my ambitious plans, which included some writing, a couple laps around the neighborhood, and finally installing the internet cable properly since it had warmed up (relatively speaking, since 20 degrees feels a lot warmer than minus 14). Mrs. Spiffy and the kiddos got dressed up and off they went. I finished some writing, did some reading, and moments later they were back. OK, not moments... 2 hours had passed and I was still in my captain's chair on the computer. Not a thing to show for it; I just couldn't get motivated when the snow was flying sideways past my window. I went upstairs to fix a feast of chicken and potatoes, but nobody was that hungry, so we went with grilled cheese for the kiddos and the leftover Biff dish for me (doctored up per Chachi's recommendation, good call!). Finally, in mid-afternoon I showered and got bundled up for the cold. I realized something yesterday as I stepped steaming from my tiled booth of boiling bliss - my day really doesn't start until I get my shower. I was rarin' to go, chock full of motivation and energy. I disconnected the internet, grabbed my tools, and trotted out into the frosty afternoon. My tired little drill was on the charge all weekend, but the cold had gotten to it and I had to twist it like a screwdriver to finish the last hole. The siding didn't shatter when I peeled it from the wall around the front door, and I did rejoice. I piled my coiled cable on the mini-porch and fed it through the wall, climbed into the trusses and walked it over to the cable box. Down through the wall plate, out the hole under the Source of Internet Goodness, and I was nearly done. As the last of the daylight oozed from the sky, I went to open the little plastic box. Which, by a stroke of brilliant foresight, is tucked 1/4 of the way behind my storage shed. And has a special fastener holding the box shut, to keep unauthorized persons out. I tried all of my allen wrenches, a needlenose pliers, a clear-handled screwdriver, and was contemplating the sawzall (Porter Cable Tiger reciprocating saw, to those who get a woody around real tools) when it finally became fully dark. It gets significantly colder when it turns dark in my neighborhood. Screwwit. I called Charter 3x, but so far have gotten no help. I may embarq on a full-on rant if it doesn't get turned around and quick. Boy needed me home last night to fix up the internet for his homework requirements, so I hurried off to save the day. Mrs. Spiffy had restrung the cable inside to the unused teevee outlet, as had been arranged before, but nothing was working. I arrived and Boy was busy on an art homework project, and couldn't be budged from the computer. I asked him what he so desperately needed the World Wide Web for, and he said... "To look up some words." Turns out he actually owns a dictionary. Has for years. Last night, he learned how to use it. My only major accomplishment from Sunday was getting a haircut. Now, I hate sitting for haircuts. Not sure why, but to be truthful I prefer the dentist. Needles and drills and funny smells and burning teeth don't bother me nearly as much as feeling my own prickly hair crawl down my shirt. Mrs. Spiffy has been my barber for most of the last 17 years, since she says 'Store-bought haircuts make you look like Frankenstein.' Hard logic to argue, since the wedding pictures all show a young Frankenstein in a white tux. So every once in a while, usually 3 weeks overdue, I'll get the supplies out, perch on a kitchen chair, and grit my teeth. This haircut was rather a rerun, which usually is good (if you like the way it went last time) but this was a repeat of an episode we had a few years ago. She's clipping away, and suddenly stops, eyes wide, and says, "Oh. Oh, crap. Now I gotta make the other side match." It's a little shorter than I prefer, but at least it's not wonky. I am noticing the grey-factor is increasing; the sides look as though 'clear' may actually be a hair color.

GAAAAAAAAAAH!

2007-02-12T13:55:00.000-05:00

Blogger ate my homework. I had a post today, a wonderfully brilliant concoction. Then my computer locked up. Unsaved words, hundreds of 'em, vaporized. It was my best post ever.

Redirecting

2007-02-11T13:22:00.000-05:00

There's a party game over at Monkey Barn, go see! Play! It'll be fun.

Beef & Incense

2007-02-10T22:05:00.000-05:00

We went to a wedding today. It was a big fat (insert European ethnicity here) theatrical wedding, but I guess they all go like this in an Orthodox church. This was my first time inside an Orthodox outfit. It was a grand, sprawling building, the cornerstone proudly proclaiming 2000 as its year of dedication. It had a great, dark grey metal dome in the center, white stucco walls, modern storefront windows inset with very European looking stained glass, and giant arched oaken doors. We pulled into our parking spot right on time, knowing that weddings always start a couple minutes late. We went to the big wooden doors, and Mrs. Spiffy rattled on the handle. Vigorously. Then she tried the other one. They made a deep, clanking sound like a castle drawbridge under siege. I cringed and shuffled quickly over to the breezeway doors, as if we'd just played Ding-Dong-Ditch-It on the neighbors. We slunk down the hallway toward the dome, and could hear some warbly high-pitched sing-song coming from the sanctuary. As we rounded the corner, I was aghast to see the wedding party on the chancel, and a full house. Everyone was seated, and things were well under way. We ducked around the photographer and videographer and found an opening in one of the back pews. Apparently, this is a tight ship, and when they say it starts at 3:30, they mean the bride is on stage at 3:30. Crap. The first thing I noticed, other than our dear friend in the white dress, was the incense. The place smelled amazing, steeped in the kind of aroma you could get used to but not sick of. As we settled in, the enormous scale of the place came into focus. The dome overhead was littered with stylized portraits of all their favorite saints and prophets, with a giant Jesus in the center. At least, I think it was him. All the saints looked distinctly white and well groomed, with Matthew and John writing their gospels on ornate gilded desks and showing off their scrolls as if they were appearing in a life insurance commercial. The front of the building was hollowed out and covered in gold leaf. There was a painting of some androgynous saint, perhaps Mary, but he/she was obscured by a frescoed wall of dark mahogany scrollwork, more painted saints, and arches. All the action was taking place in front of this wall, and it was interesting action indeed. They guy in the big golden robe would sing-say something, and then a barbershop quartet would echo in pentatonic harmony from the side of the stage. Sometimes they repeated what the priest said, sometimes they sang in Latin, and sometimes they just made stuff up. Back and forth, forth and back with the sing-saying and the echoing, waving crosses and incense around, jingling bells and marching around the altar 3 times. Although I have no idea what was said, I think it was beautiful and probably means the couple is now married. As the crowd was being dismissed, it became apparent that the groom's side had gotten the memo about dress code. Apparently this is his church, and everyone was decked out in variations on black. Black suits, dresses, ties, everything. Everybody greeted the couple with a hug and a kiss, and several hearty slaps on the back. Our side was distinctly American, with pastels and lime green and polka dots (I just adore polka dotted dresses, don't you?). The greetings were far more sedate, handshakes and a moment of eye contact were all some could muster. I tried not to feel self-conscious in my non-black getup, but any anxiety melted when the radiant bride came to greet us. We bailed out of the reception, even though it was already beginning down the hall. It was early afternoon, and there was time for a night out on the town. Besides, I've given up drinking temporarily for the Shrinking Piggies, and didn't want to be tempted. Especially not in a church. As we were driving through downtown, we played our favorite date-night game, called "I dunno, what do YOU wanna do?" There was no hockey or concert in the arena, none of the bars looked all that great, and we weren't dressed for the outdoor ice skating rink. So, we went home and watched Over The Hedge with the kiddos, and I made a weird little meal. I was in full experimentation mode, as I've never had anything like this before. Don't even know what to call it, would you help name the thing? It did turn out, and I'd like to hear if it's a hit anywhere else in the world. =============== 1 1/2 lb. ground beef Onion Chopped garlic 2 cans french-cut green beans Italian bread crumbs Spices & olive oil Flaky Layers Grand rolls (Pillsbury) Preheat the oven to 350, and drizzle some oil in a frying pan Chop half the onion, sautee with 1 tsp. chopped garlic Brown ground beef with garlic & onion Season liberally while cooking - Montreal Steak Seasoning, crushed red peppers, salt & pepper Place dinner rolls in the oven when preheated Toss beans in a baking dish with 1 tbsp olive oil, oregano, italian seasoning, basil Drain beef Return beef to heat, chop and add the rest of the onion, add about 1/2 cup bread crumbs Stir until coated Combine beef and beans, bake until rolls are done, about 8-10 minutes Serve. Get surprised compliments. Watch it disappear.

I'm Planning a Sesquicentennial Exhortation of Clinquant Omniscients

2007-02-08T19:19:00.001-05:00

I was talking to a friend last night, who exclaimed at one point, "Wow, I've never put a 'daddy hat' on you before. I know you have kids, it's not like they're secrets, but when you were talking about them just now I really made the connection." Well, dang - I'm a full-time Dad, so that came as a bit of a surprise. So, here's a story riddled with kiddos. Date Night is a sometime tradition in Spiffytown. It started many moons ago, where each parent would have a night alone with a kidlet once every week or month or so, then switch kiddos for the next one. During busy seasons, which seem to run together, Date Night is often neglected. I caught up a little bit a couple weeks ago. I took Boy out for Chinese on Tuesday, since the wimmins in our house don't care for it. We piled on the wontons and cashew chicken, chatting about plans and skiing and odds & ends. He just started driver's training last night, which is vastly different than when I was a beginner driver. First of all, it wasn't offered in winter - which, if you ask me (and I know you're asking since you're here), is a good idea, teaching 'em how to drive in snow, since (surprise!) it snows here. Second, there's the waiting list, which for him was many months. And (c), there's the cost. When I was a whippersnapper, it was offered through the public schools using ginormous Caprice station wagons (built like tanks) for the road and crappy little Volares for the range. All using tax money. No charge to the whippersnapper. However, now we have to fork over hunnerts to get him trained up. As a capitalist, I suppose that makes good sense. As the one paying the bill, it pisses me off. Not enough to vote Libertarian, but still. I discovered he's been invited to Sweetheart Swirl, which was supposed to be last weekend but canceled because of a little weather. It's happening this weekend, and he's happy because he doesn't have to go clothes shopping. Yep, he's a man after my own heart. Speaking of which, I found out about this game he likes which involves math... and bloodshed. Oh, it's fun alright, but I had to cringe every time he scored a hit. If you click, play vs. the computer... Girl and I went out on Thursday, to a nice place near the 'movie village.' It's a little city all to itself, where you can stroll the covered sidewalks from theater to record shop to restaurant, art gallery, coffee house, and salon. I got Fettuccine Jambalaya, and she got a wood-fired pizza. As we gourmeted ourselves to contentment, I heard about her little stalker. Oh yes, she already has a stalker. His opening line to her was, "My girlfriend just dumped me, and I'm lonely. Will you be my girlfriend?" Um, no thanks. He persisted over the weeks, trying to wear her down with his abundant charms and questionable hygiene skills. She continued to politely decline his advances. Finally, she asked him, "Would you like my father's phone number?" He did not get any clues from this. "No, why would I want that??" She eventually took her plight to a teacher, and he's calmed down since then. That's my girl alright. She has a custom when we're out in public of asking everyone we encounter, "Do you like your job?" Waitresses, cashiers, stockers, snowplow drivers, anyone. Sometimes it's when she notices a particularly grumpy worker. Other times it's as if she's doing research, to find out what kind of job she's going to want. Often she'll get glib, off the cuff answers. Sometimes there's a surprised and thoughtful response, one lady even coming to the verge of tears. Ever the conversationalist, she announced at dinner one night that she wanted each of us to tell our Most Embarrassing Story Ever. I have so many to choose from, but I narrowed mine down to the time I was trying to impress a girl at a dance, and just before delivering a sure-fire opening line ("Hi!"). I sneezed. In her face. Oh, it wasn't pretty. These little buggers are fascinating. I had a few memorable times of being 'alone with dad' when I was a kid, and I want to make sure it's not an unusual thing for us.

Wordnerd's Armpit

2007-02-08T14:22:00.000-05:00

There has been much talk lately of the perils of winter driving. Especially since we got a serious dose of winter recently. Now, I do my best to drive responsibly and professionally at all times, and avoid getting or giving the bird or rude names (do NOT fail to click those links, unless you're a limp wristed pusillanimous pansy). I've been driving well more than half my life, and have made a living of it at times. My early driving record was fairly atrocious, but I've recovered nicely and am the darling of insurance agencies everywhere. In fact, I was once interviewed by a gecko. But, that's another story. Today at lunchtime, I was tooling about the countryside in my trusty Jeep, munching pretzels and enjoying the swirling, glittering snow - bright and shining like millions of stars in the sunlight. I traveled down a dirt road in very rural farm country, twisting and turning with ease and confidence. We were in 4-wheel-drive, my Jeep and me, and life was good. Snow drifted across the road in a few places, and I plowed through like a daggone car commercial. I half expected an elephant to be dropped onto the luggage rack from the sky, to make a a point about the excessive strength of my vehicle. The time came to return to work, so I swung around in an intersection and continued from whence I came. The clouds thickened and the snow became grayer. I plowed through another weak little drift, and felt my wheels pull to the right. I countered left and added some gas, trusting my fourby to pull us out, but I continued traveling right. Suddenly, I found myself leaning into my passenger seat and slowing quickly. I stopped a few feet short of a scrubby little tree, and about 3 inches from a bobwahr fence. Yep, I was ditched. Irrevocably. Houston didn't have problems like this (probably because it doesn't snow there). Rocking it just made matters worse, and I sunk slightly into the tundra. To add spice to my predicament, I had no idea where I was, street name wise. And, I left my AAA card at home. Brilliant. There was a farm house 1/4 mile in front of me, and another one 1/4 mile behind. I called Jason at the office, to see if he'd be in my neighborhood (with the plow truck and a tow strap) any time soon. Then he asked the dreaded question: "Where are you?" Crap. Crap crap crappity. I told him I'd call back, and decided to run for it. Grabbing my gloves... then another layer of gloves, and another sweater... I climbed down out of the driver's side door and headed for the nearest faraway house. The wind was biting and harsh, but it wasn't a terribly long walk. The driveways, however, were interminable. Rather than spend another 4 minutes in the cold to find out a house was unoccupied, I hazarded a peek in a mailbox, hoping the homeowner didn't keep a salt-filled shotgun by the kitchen window to ward off mailbox raiders. Nothing. I walked a little way more and scored a freshly-filled mailbox, sporting an envelope with an address on it. I called Jason back and he Mapquested me, saying he'd be along shortly. I climbed back in Jeepers (I'm really starting to think it needs a name, any suggestions?) to wait for my eventual rescue. I pondered my plight, and the plethora of vehicular problems which permeated my past. I've been fairly fortunate, this being only my 3rd time in a ditch. No serious accidents to speak of, only a few minor crunches (other than the time I was hit by a car while riding a bike, and another time I hit a car while riding a bike - I'm sensing a pattern here, but I might be getting overly parenthetical). This isn't so bad, except for the utter helplessness of it. I'm ok, there is no known damage, and I didn't hit any frozen cows. Still not a bad day. Eventually, Jason and his truck and chain arrived, we shoveled out a little hollow hooked it up. Within 60 yards we had tugged it out backwards. The upside? It was a 2 hour lunch, and I got to prove again that I am an idiot. Any adventures you'd care to share?

Surprise

2007-02-08T07:26:00.000-05:00

I was leaving the corner after making the Kid Drop this morning. It's kinda like a rural drug deal; I enter the deserted parking lot, drive around like a dog getting ready for a nap, and park in my designated spot facing the wall. Lights on. Another parent comes in, and does the same thing counterclockwise. The bus arrives, and we wordlessly exchange kids for... for what? Damn, I'm getting gypped... My dealer's gonna hear about this. Anyway, I was on the way to work through the frozen mist-draped orchards, and happened to glance to my left. Gaah! The sky was blue! I swerved a little, then remembered I am cool and unflappable. It's just the sunrise. Only, I hadn't seen it on my commute in months, and was accustomed to inky darkness. Off to the east, the sky was awash in deep blues and greens, the clouds showing silvery edges on their bottoms. It was worth getting up for. Spring is on the way. I know this, because the Early Newsgirl says Detroit is having a heat wave (it was 7 degrees - above zero - during my truncated workout, while West Michigan enjoyed a nipply 3 degrees). Photo courtesy of coworker Melissa's camera phone, because she had the presence of mind to snap a picture (although her view came an hour later than mine).

Uninvited

2007-02-07T22:00:00.000-05:00

This my linkalicious (and late) February entry for the assignment from Wordsmith Kingfisher. Never heard of Wordsmiths? It's great fun, and you should play along! ================================ “What's the matter, Billy?" I asked my roommate, sliding another beer in front of him. The dark and slightly smoky bar was mostly deserted, except for a few regulars. He was obviously upset, and becoming a little drunk.

“My life sucks. I want to help people, and I have some real gifts. This world needs me, but nobody wants me around.” His shoulders shook a little as he heaved a sigh.

I did my best to cheer him up. “Aw, c’mon. Everybody loves you. Why do you think they call you ‘Smiles?’ Now listen, that thing you did at the gravel pit? That was amazing.” I reminded him of the time he rescued the little girl that had drifted out to the middle of the lake in a tiny raft. Now, this may strike you as odd, but… Billy Evans can fly. He can’t do anything while flying, because it takes all of his focus, but he can go places in a hurry. Since there was a big crowd for a July 4^th party, and he’s got a bit of a messiah complex, he decided to walk out to her. The showoff. I could tell he was faking because his feet weren’t really touching the water most of the time. But the crowd went wild with cheers and applause, even before he got halfway there. He reached the raft and almost tripped over it, breaking his concentration. He sank into the water, grabbed the raft, and swam back with the girl in tow.

He groaned. “Yeah, that was cool. But afterward they all turned on me. I was lucky to get out of there alive.” He was right about that. He was mobbed upon his return to shore, and the crowd pressed in on him all night asking what other special powers he had. He tried to blow them off, but they wanted to be healed and levitated and dazzled with magic tricks. He finally relented. Touching his temples and closing his eyes, he began to glow a little. After a very brief moment, nothing happened. “There,” he said. Everyone looked at each other and shrugged. Then someone took a swig of beer. It had turned to water. He miraculously converted all the alcohol in the park into water. His ability to fly came in very handy that night.

I tried again. “Look, all heroes have their problems, but they don’t whine about it. Peter Par… I mean, Clark Ke… Take Bruce Way… Ok, they all whine. But everyone still wants them around when there’s trouble.”

“They think I singlehandedly put Blatz out of business. I’m banned from Wisconsin for life. Nobody invites me to parties. I don’t have health insurance or a girlfriend. I’m a total loser!” he sobbed.

I had to admit I was running out of bright sides to show him. “Hey, at least you’re unique. No other superhero has a burlap costume. Now fly away home and pick up some beer on the way, would ya?”

Bits of Wisdom

2007-02-07T08:40:00.000-05:00

Ok, I'm a slacker. But, as my friend Mike likes to say, "It's not procrastination if you plan it that way." I'm working on my Wordsmith challenge, which is due today, and really wanted to post some stories but I find myself owing time elsewhere (stupid work). A couple tidbits follow, with more to come today. I came out in my T-shirt and shorts this morning, fresh from an early workout into the -7 degree pre-dawn darkness to start the Jeep. I wanted it toasty and defrosted when finished getting ready. As my nosehairs crystallized and my breath formed a fog around my head, I looked up and noticed a nearly full moon and long streaks of light in the sky. I said 'Huh,' and turned to go back inside, because the sweat on my legs was solidifying. I suddenly realized the city lights were in the other direction, so I stopped to look again. It was a grand display of Northern Lights, shimmering lines of pale blue-green light between the stars and me. Beautiful. (Photo credit) ======================== Here's a little life lesson I got from my buddy Mitch: A man was walking down the street when he was accosted by a particularly dirty and shabby-looking homeless man who asked him for a couple of dollars for dinner. The man took out his wallet, extracted ten dollars and asked, "If I give you this money, will you buy some beer with it instead of dinner?" "No, I had to stop drinking years ago," the homeless man replied. "Will you use it to go fishing instead of buying food?" the man asked. "No, I don't waste time fishing," the homeless man said. "I need to spend all my time trying to stay alive." "Will you spend this on greens fees at a golf course instead of food?" the man asked. "Are you NUTS!" replied the homeless man. "I haven't played golf in 20 years!" "Will you spend the money on a woman in the red light district instead of food?" the man asked. "What disease would I get for ten lousy bucks?" exclaimed the homeless man. "Well," said the man, "I'm not going to give you the money. Instead, I'm going to take you home for a terrific dinner cooked by my wife." The homeless man was astounded. "Won't your wife be furious with you for doing that? I know I'm dirty, and I probably smell pretty disgusting." The man replied, "That's okay. It's important for her to see what a man looks like after he has given up beer, fishing, golf, and sex."

A Tale of Two Ships

2007-02-05T10:54:00.000-05:00

This was emailed to me recently and I enjoyed it. I went looking for the source, and the earliest version I found is at Lost Socks Insanity. Reprinted here, because you need to know. The USS Ronald Reagan passing by the USS Arizona Memorial, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. BEAUTIFUL!

When the Bridge pipes "Man the Rail" there is a lot of rail to man on this monster: shoulder to shoulder, around 4.5 acres.

Her displacement is about 100,000 tons with full complement. Capability • Top speed exceeds 30 knots, powered by two nuclear reactors that can operate for more than 20 years without refueling • Expected to operate in the fleet for about 50 years • Carries over 80 combat aircraft • Three arresting cables can stop a 28-ton aircraft going 150 miles per hour in less than 400 feet

Size • Towers 20 stories above the waterline • 1092 feet long; nearly as long as the Empire State Building is tall • Flight deck covers 4.5 acres • 4 bronze propellers, each 21 feet across, weighing 66,200 pounds • 2 rudders, each 29 by 22 feet and weighing 50 tons • 4 high speed aircraft elevators, each over 4,000 square feet Dates • Dec 8, 1994 Contract awarded to Newport News Shipbuilding • Feb 12, 1998 Keel laid • Oct 1, 2000 Pre-commissioning Unit established • March 4, 2001 Christened by Mrs. Nancy Reagan • May 5, 2003 First underway • July 12, 2003 Commissioned • July 23, 2004 Arrived at home port in San Diego, CA

Capacity • Home to about 6,000 Navy personnel • Carries enough food and supplies to operate for 90 days • 18,150 meals served daily • Distillation plants provide 400,000 gallons of fresh water from sea water daily, enough for 2000 homes • Nearly 30,000 light fixtures and 1,325 miles of cable and wiring 1,400 telephones • 14,000 pillowcases and 28,000 sheets • Costs the Navy approximately $250,000 per day for pier side operation • Costs the Navy approximately $25 million per day for underway operations (Sailor's salaries included).

US Navy welcomes the USS Bill Clinton Sunday July 2nd '06 Vancouver, BC, Headed for Seattle, WA. The US Navy welcomed the latest member of its fleet today.

Pictured above:

The USS William Jefferson Clinton (CVS1) set sail today from its home port of Vancouver, BC. The ship is the first of its kind in the Navy and is a standing legacy to President Bill Clinton "for his foresight in military budget cuts" and his conduct while president. The ship is constructed nearly entirely from recycled aluminum and is completely solar powered with a top speed of 5 knots. It boasts an arsenal comprised of one (unarmed) F14 Tomcat or one (unarmed) F18 Hornet aircraft. Although they cannot be launched or captured on the 100 foot flight deck, they form a very menacing presence. As a standing order there are no firearms allowed on board. The 20 person crew is completely diversified, including members of all races, creeds, sex, and sexual orientation. This crew, like the crew aboard the USS Jimmy Carter, is specially trained to avoid conflicts and appease any and all enemies of the United States at all costs. An onboard Type One DNC Universal Translator can send out messages of apology in any language to anyone who may find America offensive. The number of apologies are limitless and though some may sound hollow and disingenuous, the Navy advises all apologies will sound very sincere. The ship's purpose is not defined so much as a unit of national defense, but instead in times of conflict the USS Clinton has orders to seek refuge in Canada. The ship may be positioned near the Democratic National Party Headquarters for photo-ops. It is largely rumored that the ship will also be the set for the upcoming season of MTV's "The Real World."

That's MINUS Seventeen

2007-02-04T22:17:00.000-05:00

It seems lately that I only get to go skiing once or twice a year. It's always a good time, and I usually can hobble around without too much discomfort afterwards. But, for some reason, it always seems to be on the coldest blooming day of the year. And so it was today. The high was to reach a balmy 6 degrees, but when we bailed out of the Jeep at high noon, it was all of 3. With a wind chill (at the flat airport) of -13. I was pretty certain that on the slopes, with weird wind patterns and the highest point in the county we could expect some nastier wind chills. I had promised Boy after our Long Beach trip last weekend I'd take him to the hill, and since church was canceled and the sun was peeking out, we decided there was no better time than the present to burn a day on the slopes. Boy is halfway through his season pass, and every time he goes out he has a blast. He has a friend on the ski team, so we called after we hit the road to see if she'd join us. She would, and we picked her up on the way. The roads were loosely packed with cars heading to and fro the beer stores and party destinations, as I hear there was to be a game on teevee today (yay Colts!). We arrived at the local 'mountain' and I coughed up my bank card so it could be bent over. I have my own skis, and Boy has his season pass, so we kinda got a twofer. But, it still came to $39 for a 4-hour pass. All I could do was shrug and get dressed. Boy and his friend had been here several times and wanted to ski The Face, this hill's attempt at an expert run. I tried to talk them into a run on the bunny hill, since I was certain to be rusty. They almost relinquished, which means we were immediately riding the chair lift to the tallest point on site. The uphill ride was lovely and serene, except for the harsh, biting east wind. Even though I had 14 layers, I wished for a couple more. We dismounted the chair lift and I remembered what was so thrilling about skiing on the 6-foot unloading hill: I am completely at gravity's mercy. Oh sure, I could influence my destiny, but only Gravity truly controls it, as far as a fat man on skis is concerned. This is the same hill I first skied upon, way back in 1981. The place is largely unchanged, except for the addition of snowboard terrain. The same chair lifts that hauled my shivering butt up the hill way back then are still chugging along, the same fences (mostly) keep daredevil kids from a certain doom, and the same menacing snow cannons are mounted along the sides of the hills. I remember getting off the Ski Club bus, watching a few skiers slalom down the hill, and thinking, "This looks easy. Let's hit the biggest hill." On that day, The Face was littered with moguls. I had no idea how to get off a chair lift, let alone ski a mogul. I spent 65% of that run on my snow-packed tookus, and decided I best take advantage of gentler slopes until I sort things out. I rode the Double to the top of a long, straight, shallow hill ideal for the 'advanced beginner.' Since it was long and straight, it was possible to build up some impressive speed after a while. Especially if you go in a perfectly straight line, since you have no idea how to slow or turn yourself. I feverishly willed myself to the left or right, and sometimes my skis would miraculously obey. Sometimes not, such as the time I neared the creek that divides the hill from the lodge and rental buildings. I willed myself to a stop in a hurry, since the bus wouldn't be leaving for another 2 hours and I had just learned about hypothermia in science class. My methods were sloppy, but effective: simply fall over. Worked every time. Not much for impressing the snow bunnies, but I was sure falling in the creek would impress them less. My technique has improved over the years, and I can hang with most of the folks I ski with (my kid). Falling over is a thing of the past, for the most part. Except for one time today, when the young decided we were all going to make a sharp right turn to exit the chair lift. I was on the right, and wasn't in on the plan, so I skied straight ahead. They steered me firmly into a steel stake, planted ever-so-solidly in the snow. Ow. We had an awesome time, rocketing down long and nearly deserted slopes, veering off through the woods, and even trying out some jumps. I tried several by sheer accident; once I followed Friend of Boy up a steep hill, only to find that the steep hill ended in a pretty serious jump. Nothing but sky. I'm sure it would have been graceful and amazing, if done by someone younger and less fat - and who expected a jump to be there. I landed it, and was wiping my frozen brow when I found myself standing on air again. They had cleverly cut a ledge into the hill, so one moment you're on snow and the next you're not. Again, this could have been cool were it not a total surprise. I landed on my skis, but my hips, knees, and teeth slammed together as I mentally reviewed my company's health plan. No permanent damage that I know of, but I couldn't do 4 minutes on the stair stepper this morning. Boy got in the habit of losing one of his skis every time he got on the chair lift. If you've never practiced, it's a challenge to get off the lift hill with one ski. He would routinely veer left, bounce off the wooden fence and fall over. There he would wait until someone a few chairs back delivered his escaped ski. It was great fun to watch. At the end of 4 hours, we retreated to the lodge for some nutrition (elephant ears and hot cocoa) while we shed our gear. My face was showing the effects of the bitter cold. I'm told I had purple cheeks, which is not good as far as I can tell. My bandanna face-warmer was frozen solid, the fog on my glasses had turned to frost, and my toes, legs, and butt were numb. My pantlegs were mashed into my skin inside my ski boots - I can still feel the phantom creases in my shin. The most glorious feeling was peeling those hard plastic boots from my feet. Okay, the 2nd most glorious - a long shower set to 'boil' was pretty darn nice at the end of the day. I can't wait to go again. =================== By popular demand, here's the recipe for the chili I made last night. Note: this is NOT health food. Bacon grease and tofu do not go together. It was a smaller batch, and turned out very red and tomatoey. I skipped the cooling step, and it was slightly noticeable, but it still turned out delicious. I'm having it for lunch today, and really looking forward to it. Yum! Spiffy Chili Big can dark kidney beans 1 1/2 lbs ground beef 1 lb REAL bacon (NOT turkey bacon) Green, red, and yellow bell peppers Onion Fresh garlic 2 big cans chunk tomatoes Small can seasoned tomatoes V8 juice (optional) Chili powder Ground red pepper Cayenne, Tabasco, or other spiciness to taste Corn flour

Drain beans, toss in stew or crock pot with all the tomatoes, mix. Dump a heap of chili powder (4-5 tsp) and 1/2 tsp red pepper over top and start simmering. Fry bacon extra crispy. Set on paper towel to cool. Sautee chopped garlic and ½ onion in the bacon grease, toss in pot when done Fry ground beef in same pan - add a generous sprinkling of Montreal Steak seasoning and chili powder, drain well Crumble bacon into pot Chop and add remaining onion, bell peppers Simmer covered 2-4 hours, stirring occasionally Add V8 if more liquid is needed Refrigerate 2-4 hours or overnight Return to simmer or crock pot 2 hours Add spice to taste. If too spicy, add sugar 1 tsp at a time. ½ hour before serving, slowly stir in corn flour to thicken. Serve with shredded cheese, corn bread or rice, sour cream.