Greetings and Salad Dressings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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)