Yesterday was the shakedown day for my beloved 32 year old piece of crap car. Typically the way these things work is I spend a bunch of time rolling around on the dirty garage floor only fixing things that were sorta broken, only to make whatever it is worse than is was at the start. That's not really true, but it feels that way sometimes. Welcome to Bill's garage! Our motto: If it ain't broke, fix it 'til it is!
Not this time. Everything works that worked before and the brakes are now better than I ever remember them being. I have been driving this car since 1990 and the brakes have never been great. As I mentioned, I replaced some components, and voila!
The stuff that was broken, like the A/C and heat, cruise control and driver side door lock, is still broken. I keep hoping for some self-healing. No dice.
Stephen King's book Christine is about a 1959 Plymouth Fury that takes possession of it's owners' souls and kills anyone it sees fit to kill. It is clearly meant to be a cautionary tale about not putting too much value into something that is in the end not worth the effort and time you are putting into it. Or, maybe it's an allegory of loving someone or something too much. So much so that you overlook its dreadful and fatal flaws and get sucked into its vortex of evil. Maybe that's what some people get out of it. Not me. Christine could heal herself. After a night of killing and crushing, a girl gets some scratches and dings. No problem for Christine. She just shakes it off and poof, she's ready to kill again. could I deal with a killer car that fixed itself without my intervention? Yes. Killing is wrong, but I hate rolling around on the garage floor.
Well, Bill, you can't fix a car just by rolling on the garage floor, you say. Too right, my friend... It's a phrase, a metaphor if you will. Look it up. Now, back to the car.
I can fix all of it, but it will require removing the dashboard. If I am going to do that, I need to rewire everything in there, replace a bunch of stuff and swear a lot. It will be easier to take out the dash if I take out the seats. If I take out the seats, I might as well restore the plastic seat frames. Since in this scenario the seats are out, I should just pull out the carpet, put in some heat and sound insulation, wire up a new sound system put in new carpet (the right way this time, Dad!), reinstall the seats, do the work in the dash and before you know it, Chelsea Clinton is president and I am a grand high wizard in AARP and the people from Visa are sending people over to meet me with knives in their hands.
Old car owners know the danger of "while I'm at it" syndrome. They go to change a fuse and the next thing you know, the body is off the frame, the wife has to park in the street and Junior's college fund just got appropriated to car. That's okay. He probably wasn't going to college anyway.
I am so ready to tear into the car now. I am in a mental place where not driving for a couple years and spending money that doesn't really exist in the stricktest and shedding much blood, sweat and tears to redo the car. But, I am not in a physical space. I don't have a clean dry garage. If I were to start on the car, I would have a non-functioning car in pieces in a garage that is non-functioning and in pieces. Now, back to the car.
It was a nice short cruise. I find a nice short, successful cruise is just the thing to stave off "while I'm at it" syndrome. I would much rather drive than wrench. I hope spring comes- and soon. I have been real bored lately. It might be nice to feel a wrench in my hand.
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Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Spring? Death!
Oh, the things I learn rolling around in the dirty garage. Today was too nice not to take some time to service my Corvette in anticipation of the summer driving season. At the end of last season, the brake master cylinder crapped out, leaving the car with no brakes. I had just had the rear brakes completely redone and the fact that something on the car worked as it should made some related components fail.
Sounds funny, but it happens all the time. Change a belt and the water pump fails, put in a new battery and the alternator goes bad. I have suffered at the hands of the gods of automotive irony far too often to disavow my belief in them. They exist. I promise you.
Out with the sludgy black oil from last season, in with the new clean stuff. New master cylinder and partial bleeding of that system (I need help to finish). The grease zircs are greased and the fluids are all checked and topped off.
And yet spring is nowhere to be found. It is going to snow on Friday, (according to the weather people who are unimpeachable with respect to their job performance), so I'm sorta proverbially all dressed up with no place to go. I guess the thing to focus on is that when I have somewhere to go, I am ready.
Even though it has remained stubbornly cold, it has been amazingly beautiful with sun and clear blue skies. If it isn't perfect to be in it is at least perfect to look at. Sometimes halfway perfect is perfect enough.
_______________________________________________________________
In this blog a couple weeks ago, I ruminated on car magazines. It was a really boring blentry, hence its title "Really Boring Blentry." In that blentry, I sorta chastised on David E. Davis Jr. for being pompous and patrician though undeniably knowledgeable. I railed against him for bitching about being old and dying of cancer.
He died, Saturday. Technically not from cancer, but from complications from surgery to treat the cancer. We all know the real reason he died, though. It is so obvious that it doesn't really even need to be said. But, I will say it anyway. I killed him. I killed him with my blog.
D.E.D. was an amazing editor and a very talented writer in his own right. Near the end of his life, he was bored and googled himself and found my blog, because I mentioned him by name. He saw my misuse of commas, overwrought phraseology, problems with subject/verb agreement and just lost the will to live.
I am sorry Mr. Davis that I killed you. I shall now borrow your sign-off unapologetically as it is indeed your legacy as I see it. Whiskey! Freedom!
Sounds funny, but it happens all the time. Change a belt and the water pump fails, put in a new battery and the alternator goes bad. I have suffered at the hands of the gods of automotive irony far too often to disavow my belief in them. They exist. I promise you.
Out with the sludgy black oil from last season, in with the new clean stuff. New master cylinder and partial bleeding of that system (I need help to finish). The grease zircs are greased and the fluids are all checked and topped off.
And yet spring is nowhere to be found. It is going to snow on Friday, (according to the weather people who are unimpeachable with respect to their job performance), so I'm sorta proverbially all dressed up with no place to go. I guess the thing to focus on is that when I have somewhere to go, I am ready.
Even though it has remained stubbornly cold, it has been amazingly beautiful with sun and clear blue skies. If it isn't perfect to be in it is at least perfect to look at. Sometimes halfway perfect is perfect enough.
_______________________________________________________________
In this blog a couple weeks ago, I ruminated on car magazines. It was a really boring blentry, hence its title "Really Boring Blentry." In that blentry, I sorta chastised on David E. Davis Jr. for being pompous and patrician though undeniably knowledgeable. I railed against him for bitching about being old and dying of cancer.
He died, Saturday. Technically not from cancer, but from complications from surgery to treat the cancer. We all know the real reason he died, though. It is so obvious that it doesn't really even need to be said. But, I will say it anyway. I killed him. I killed him with my blog.
D.E.D. was an amazing editor and a very talented writer in his own right. Near the end of his life, he was bored and googled himself and found my blog, because I mentioned him by name. He saw my misuse of commas, overwrought phraseology, problems with subject/verb agreement and just lost the will to live.
I am sorry Mr. Davis that I killed you. I shall now borrow your sign-off unapologetically as it is indeed your legacy as I see it. Whiskey! Freedom!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
How Come?/The Dog Days!
With All Apologies to Mr. Seinfeld
How come I never have to wait for the commercial to load when I go to watch something on the interwebs? Advertisements come through perfectly fluid, yet as soon as the time comes to actually watch the content I went to watch it gets all jagged and constantly buffers. I am trying to watch puppies on a slide! It doesn't have the same effect if it constantly stops and buffers.
Never once have I waited for a commercial to load. I'm just saying.
And what is it with these websites that without warning blast some sound effect that sounds for all the world like a guillotine blade falling to the background of a violent thunderstorm? Who designed this page, Jerry Brukheimer? The startling sound effect always gives way to an ad that you didn't load. Now you have to find the little 'skip' button that they have buried to get it to shut off.
Shhhhh! My wife is taking a nap and I don't need her to know I am looking at the 'Used Car Auto Mall' website again! I promised her I would stop!
This kind of thing only happens after I have had my speakers on full volume, trying to hear content on another page that was poorly recorded.
On an unrelated topic, I think small creatures- maybe Fraggles- are building whole communities in my mouth at night when I am trying to sleep. My gosh! I have not had dry mouth like this since... well, never mind. Suffice it to say, it's been a long while. It is like the Sahara in there. I bring a 16 ounce glass and a small pitcher of water to bed and if I drank it all like I want to, I'd be up all night drinking and peeing. What a hassle.
Which makes me wonder if gingivitis is actually, I don't know, sentient. Do they feel despair and agony when, after working so hard to build a place to live and work and good schools to send their kids to, another flood washes it all away.
What of the twice daily brushing? Is that like earthquakes to them? Spicy food a raging inferno? I wonder if mouthwash is their acid rain. You would think they would just stop rebuilding there and move into a redneck's mouth, or maybe someone from Britain. The food there is inoffensive and I hear there is only one dentist on the whole of the island. Sounds like a good place to live.
Speaking of dogs. Yesterday I was going out to hunt and gather us up some dinner when two familiar dogs came running up to me. They are both pit bulls, but friendly as the day is long. I asked how they got out of their fenced back yard and took them back to their yard three houses up.
I was in the car and pulling away when I realized... wrong dogs. Those dogs belong on the other street and I know them because we pass them on our daily walk. And I don't know if they are friendly or not, at least I didn't before now. a rare moment of good luck there old bean. So I sat in the car stupidly thinking about whether these dogs were those dogs or the other dogs. You can see how I might be confused.
I did the only thing I could think to do. I got my wife.
I paraded her over to the house where I may have wrongfully imprisoned the dogs.
"Are these, these dogs or the ones from the other street?"
"Read the tags! (you idiot was implied)"
If it had been that easy I would have done it myself, but they simply wouldn't sit still. There was no tag reading to be done.
I realized that these dogs were actually those dogs when these dogs began to bark from the house upon seeing those dogs in their back yard. Simple. So, I loosed those dogs and began corralling them up the street to bring them home. Imagine the surprise of the owner of the house upon finding two not her dogs in the yard. I imagine the not her dogs would be just as confused. Anyway, I had just gotten back from my walk, and now I was taking the last 1/3 of it again. Yippee!
Meanwhile, somewhere, my dinner was getting cold.
There was a young pedestrian with whom I had exchanged pleasantries before all this happened. And now he sees me with two loose pit bulls that are jumping and playing and only kinda following my pooches and claps and beseeches to follow me. A shepherd I am not. The younger and more adventurous male went tearing off toward this young man who might have wet himself. I hollered "It's ok- they won't hurt you" from my vantage point a full 50 years away. I said this as if I actually knew. The girl puppy stayed right by me, looking up occasionally as it to say... I told him it was time to go home.
Long story short, I managed to get her home. The other, the male of course, took off chasing cars down a busy rush hour street. I informed the owners, who were out back enjoying their afternoon marijuana cigarette, (I believe the kids call it a 'joint') as I rounded the corner with their dog.
I actually laughed in their mad dash to stash the stash and I said something to the effect of "It's cool, homey- I'm chill" but I think it came off way whiter and less genuine. I managed to not get shot. This is not the place to just wander into people's back yards. And I had on shades, a striped coat, striped pants and look for all the world like I could be a cop, especially in the paranoid mind.
They were surprised I had the dog!How they were in the yard where the dogs were supposed to be (but were not) and didn't know the dogs were gone is totally beyond me. Oh, right. The pot.
So that situation diffused, (they were very thankful by the way for my efforts as they were getting into the car to go chase the other dog), I went to get dinner. Long story short on that, they did away with their "pickup only" parking spaces and I had to park miles from the door. I should have just walked from the house.
That pretty much ends my tale of woe from the day.
How come I never have to wait for the commercial to load when I go to watch something on the interwebs? Advertisements come through perfectly fluid, yet as soon as the time comes to actually watch the content I went to watch it gets all jagged and constantly buffers. I am trying to watch puppies on a slide! It doesn't have the same effect if it constantly stops and buffers.
Never once have I waited for a commercial to load. I'm just saying.
And what is it with these websites that without warning blast some sound effect that sounds for all the world like a guillotine blade falling to the background of a violent thunderstorm? Who designed this page, Jerry Brukheimer? The startling sound effect always gives way to an ad that you didn't load. Now you have to find the little 'skip' button that they have buried to get it to shut off.
Shhhhh! My wife is taking a nap and I don't need her to know I am looking at the 'Used Car Auto Mall' website again! I promised her I would stop!
This kind of thing only happens after I have had my speakers on full volume, trying to hear content on another page that was poorly recorded.
On an unrelated topic, I think small creatures- maybe Fraggles- are building whole communities in my mouth at night when I am trying to sleep. My gosh! I have not had dry mouth like this since... well, never mind. Suffice it to say, it's been a long while. It is like the Sahara in there. I bring a 16 ounce glass and a small pitcher of water to bed and if I drank it all like I want to, I'd be up all night drinking and peeing. What a hassle.
Which makes me wonder if gingivitis is actually, I don't know, sentient. Do they feel despair and agony when, after working so hard to build a place to live and work and good schools to send their kids to, another flood washes it all away.
What of the twice daily brushing? Is that like earthquakes to them? Spicy food a raging inferno? I wonder if mouthwash is their acid rain. You would think they would just stop rebuilding there and move into a redneck's mouth, or maybe someone from Britain. The food there is inoffensive and I hear there is only one dentist on the whole of the island. Sounds like a good place to live.
Speaking of dogs. Yesterday I was going out to hunt and gather us up some dinner when two familiar dogs came running up to me. They are both pit bulls, but friendly as the day is long. I asked how they got out of their fenced back yard and took them back to their yard three houses up.
I was in the car and pulling away when I realized... wrong dogs. Those dogs belong on the other street and I know them because we pass them on our daily walk. And I don't know if they are friendly or not, at least I didn't before now. a rare moment of good luck there old bean. So I sat in the car stupidly thinking about whether these dogs were those dogs or the other dogs. You can see how I might be confused.
I did the only thing I could think to do. I got my wife.
I paraded her over to the house where I may have wrongfully imprisoned the dogs.
"Are these, these dogs or the ones from the other street?"
"Read the tags! (you idiot was implied)"
If it had been that easy I would have done it myself, but they simply wouldn't sit still. There was no tag reading to be done.
I realized that these dogs were actually those dogs when these dogs began to bark from the house upon seeing those dogs in their back yard. Simple. So, I loosed those dogs and began corralling them up the street to bring them home. Imagine the surprise of the owner of the house upon finding two not her dogs in the yard. I imagine the not her dogs would be just as confused. Anyway, I had just gotten back from my walk, and now I was taking the last 1/3 of it again. Yippee!
Meanwhile, somewhere, my dinner was getting cold.
There was a young pedestrian with whom I had exchanged pleasantries before all this happened. And now he sees me with two loose pit bulls that are jumping and playing and only kinda following my pooches and claps and beseeches to follow me. A shepherd I am not. The younger and more adventurous male went tearing off toward this young man who might have wet himself. I hollered "It's ok- they won't hurt you" from my vantage point a full 50 years away. I said this as if I actually knew. The girl puppy stayed right by me, looking up occasionally as it to say... I told him it was time to go home.
Long story short, I managed to get her home. The other, the male of course, took off chasing cars down a busy rush hour street. I informed the owners, who were out back enjoying their afternoon marijuana cigarette, (I believe the kids call it a 'joint') as I rounded the corner with their dog.
I actually laughed in their mad dash to stash the stash and I said something to the effect of "It's cool, homey- I'm chill" but I think it came off way whiter and less genuine. I managed to not get shot. This is not the place to just wander into people's back yards. And I had on shades, a striped coat, striped pants and look for all the world like I could be a cop, especially in the paranoid mind.
They were surprised I had the dog!How they were in the yard where the dogs were supposed to be (but were not) and didn't know the dogs were gone is totally beyond me. Oh, right. The pot.
So that situation diffused, (they were very thankful by the way for my efforts as they were getting into the car to go chase the other dog), I went to get dinner. Long story short on that, they did away with their "pickup only" parking spaces and I had to park miles from the door. I should have just walked from the house.
That pretty much ends my tale of woe from the day.
Monday, March 28, 2011
On Parenthood
Amy and Adam had their baby this morning. I called it right on Friday night when we saw them. I called it right again Saturday when I told Em's Mom it would be within 48 hours, even though she was 2 weeks from her due date and this was her first. I told Adam it was a boy. It was.
I am the baby whisperer, apparently.
Chandra and Jason also announced their great expectation this weekend and we are of course all excited. We are excited because they are excited. It makes us happy to see people happy. This is what makes us good people.
And then there is us. That's right, the last childless couple we know. Literally. Well, literally at all; Em has an aunt and uncle that don't have kids. My sister doesn't have kids, Dave and Greg don't have kids, Doug and Elizabeth don't either. So I guess I should amend that to say we are the last married, heterosexual couple in our immediate circle who don't have kids. Literally.
I am sure now you are expecting some circumspection on how it's lonely out here and my life is incomplete and I have been a fool and I need to put a baby in my wife as soon as possible for I have seen the error of my ways.
Nope. Sorry.
All my friends who have kids are truly excellent parents. They are devoted to parenting. They plan their schedules around kids, they employ full scale logistical management techniques to make sure someone is at Johnny's play while someone else gets Suzy to the soccer game. They make sure the kids do their homework, the tell them they love them and the kids are happy and healthy and will grow into productive members of society who will save the world!
I hang around with some pretty awesome people! Amy and Adam and Chandra and Jason will no doubt carry on the tradition. They really want this.
Turns out, they're all better than me. I think I have sufficiently demonstrated my love for words. Have I told you my favorites? They are in no specific order; I, me and mine.
Goals begin with visions and visions start off as dreams. Dreams are unfiltered representations of your thoughts and desires (if you are a Jungian, anyway). The only dreams I have of kids playing in the yard usually end with me brandishing a shotgun and muttering something about "dern kids!"
I am really comfortable with this. I just wish other people would understand.
I feel badly for my parents that they will likely never be grandparents. Not that they have ever put the guilt on me, because they haven't. I still feel like I am depriving them. But that's a pretty piss poor reason to have a kid.Outside of that I wish people would stop thinking of me a irregular or selfish or petty or shallow or whatever missive they wish to apply to me. Live and let live. You do your thing, I'll do mine.
Besides, I'm pretty committed to your kids. I go to their plays and clap. I buy their cookies and candies and other sundry overpriced things that I don't need or want so they can go play their instrument in front of a crowd of adoring parents in another state. I go to their baseball games and swim meets and choir concerts and cheer them on as if they are my own. At graduation time, I give them money I can't afford to give and come up with some kind words of wisdom to send them off into the great wide world. And when they go there, I keep up with them and visit them make sure they know I am here for them... unless they need money.
In that sense, I have dozens of kids. I have graduated still dozens more! It's actually a pretty good system. It's just that none of them come home with me at night and I don't have to pay for college and/or bail. It's part-time parenting, and I am ideally suited to it. It would be unfair to be a part-time parent to my own kids, but it's pretty darn convenient to have me around if you have kids.
What have we learned today? Nothing, other than congratulations to my wonderful friends Amy and Adam on their new gift and to Chandra and Jason for the one on the way. I can't wait to help you raise your kids!
I am the baby whisperer, apparently.
Chandra and Jason also announced their great expectation this weekend and we are of course all excited. We are excited because they are excited. It makes us happy to see people happy. This is what makes us good people.
And then there is us. That's right, the last childless couple we know. Literally. Well, literally at all; Em has an aunt and uncle that don't have kids. My sister doesn't have kids, Dave and Greg don't have kids, Doug and Elizabeth don't either. So I guess I should amend that to say we are the last married, heterosexual couple in our immediate circle who don't have kids. Literally.
I am sure now you are expecting some circumspection on how it's lonely out here and my life is incomplete and I have been a fool and I need to put a baby in my wife as soon as possible for I have seen the error of my ways.
Nope. Sorry.
All my friends who have kids are truly excellent parents. They are devoted to parenting. They plan their schedules around kids, they employ full scale logistical management techniques to make sure someone is at Johnny's play while someone else gets Suzy to the soccer game. They make sure the kids do their homework, the tell them they love them and the kids are happy and healthy and will grow into productive members of society who will save the world!
I hang around with some pretty awesome people! Amy and Adam and Chandra and Jason will no doubt carry on the tradition. They really want this.
Turns out, they're all better than me. I think I have sufficiently demonstrated my love for words. Have I told you my favorites? They are in no specific order; I, me and mine.
Goals begin with visions and visions start off as dreams. Dreams are unfiltered representations of your thoughts and desires (if you are a Jungian, anyway). The only dreams I have of kids playing in the yard usually end with me brandishing a shotgun and muttering something about "dern kids!"
I am really comfortable with this. I just wish other people would understand.
I feel badly for my parents that they will likely never be grandparents. Not that they have ever put the guilt on me, because they haven't. I still feel like I am depriving them. But that's a pretty piss poor reason to have a kid.Outside of that I wish people would stop thinking of me a irregular or selfish or petty or shallow or whatever missive they wish to apply to me. Live and let live. You do your thing, I'll do mine.
Besides, I'm pretty committed to your kids. I go to their plays and clap. I buy their cookies and candies and other sundry overpriced things that I don't need or want so they can go play their instrument in front of a crowd of adoring parents in another state. I go to their baseball games and swim meets and choir concerts and cheer them on as if they are my own. At graduation time, I give them money I can't afford to give and come up with some kind words of wisdom to send them off into the great wide world. And when they go there, I keep up with them and visit them make sure they know I am here for them... unless they need money.
In that sense, I have dozens of kids. I have graduated still dozens more! It's actually a pretty good system. It's just that none of them come home with me at night and I don't have to pay for college and/or bail. It's part-time parenting, and I am ideally suited to it. It would be unfair to be a part-time parent to my own kids, but it's pretty darn convenient to have me around if you have kids.
What have we learned today? Nothing, other than congratulations to my wonderful friends Amy and Adam on their new gift and to Chandra and Jason for the one on the way. I can't wait to help you raise your kids!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
The Man Who Sold the World
Sale'n, Take Me Away To Where I'm Goin'
I got my first sale. It's eensie weensie teensie, but it is my first and it excites me. I suppose I feel a little like a young betrothed woman when she looks at her little chip of a diamond ring... it may be small but it's all hers and it means a lot.
For me, it means some people have to eat their words and others are, slightly at least, vindicated. Again, it isn't anything too exciting, so it would be to certain peril to call my transition a success. But today I feel I am on the right track. By my calculations, my commission for this account will total $490.00. Not a princely sum to be sure. And, it will be paid in dribbs and drabs over the next year. As far as waves go, this one is not tidal.
For some reason, it doesn't matter to me. I made a sale. There will be more.
The Blah Blah Blog
Alright, another blog is the last thing you need to read and the last thing I can commit the time to writing. But Em and I had floated the idea of the Blah Blah Blog, a he-said, she-said entry about fun little things that have happened to us and what we learned. I do not profess to being any sort of relationship expert but the fact that she has put up with me and I with she (not correct gramatically, but cute) for as long as we have counts for something.
No one really responded and it sort of died. It probably died more because of our lack of time, new jobs and the like.
It came up the other night after dinner. There were a lot of dishes. Em took a stack from the table to the kitchen. I removed the rest of the non-dish items from the table (un-set it as it were) and briefly left the area. I believe I was changing the channel from the news to Wheel of Torture; because if Em hears the beginning drum beats to Inside Edition she starts yelling about turning that crap off. I race to the remote each night to avoid this eventuality.
Of course, the lights and sounds of Wheel are enough to entrance my simple bird-like man mind and I stood, momentarily transfixed at the bounty of visual and auditory input before me blazing out of my ultra bright and clear 1080p HD TV into my darkened room.
From my left ear, I hear a sigh. A big one. A resigned, big, sigh. This is never good.
"How may I help you, dear?" I say in a sing-song voice at her side again in the kitchen.
"I can do the dishes, but it is nice if you just help me out a little bit," she says, waving at the stack of dishes before her, "You can at least rinse the dishes like I have asked you to do so many times!"
Reflexively I was about to defend myself, for like a well beaten dog, I know to rinse the dishes or suffer the wrath. In fact, I have been faithfully rinsing dishes for quite some time now and yet I still have the reputation for not.
And then I remembered. SHE BROUGHT IN THE DISHES! I UNSET THE TABLE!
This is tantamount to having your finger on the nuclear button. What to do? What to do? If I take the opportunity before me, juicy as it seems, I set off a chain of events that leads to Mutually Assured Destruction With Intent For Everlasting Enmity (MADWIFEE). Nobody wants that. Especially since my good friends and coping mechanisms Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, Jose Cuervo and Mark Maker aren't in the house during Lent.
My little man mind shifted down to DEFCON 3 as I weighed my options.
Quietly, without making eye contact I said in a soft, pitiful voice, "Is now a good time to remind you that you brought these dishes in my dear, and that I, your loving husband unset the table and then vanquished the dreaded trash television show you hate so much?"
It worked. She laughed as she realized it was all too true. "Well that shouldn't matter!" she said jocularly while my sympathetic nervous system forestalled the countdown to stroke.
An old coworker of mine once said love is defined by knowing which buttons to push, and then not pushing them. I suppose that concept rang around my empty head a little while I decided the best way forward.
And so the doomsday clock reset, I poured my wife a glass of wine and retreated to the drawing room to watch Vanna White make millions for no discernible reason whatsoever. And getting off topic somewhat; Vanna dresses up like it's the Academy Awards every day of her life. I wonder why she doesn't show up to the red carpet in jeans and a hoody. Now that would be fashion!
I got my first sale. It's eensie weensie teensie, but it is my first and it excites me. I suppose I feel a little like a young betrothed woman when she looks at her little chip of a diamond ring... it may be small but it's all hers and it means a lot.
For me, it means some people have to eat their words and others are, slightly at least, vindicated. Again, it isn't anything too exciting, so it would be to certain peril to call my transition a success. But today I feel I am on the right track. By my calculations, my commission for this account will total $490.00. Not a princely sum to be sure. And, it will be paid in dribbs and drabs over the next year. As far as waves go, this one is not tidal.
For some reason, it doesn't matter to me. I made a sale. There will be more.
The Blah Blah Blog
Alright, another blog is the last thing you need to read and the last thing I can commit the time to writing. But Em and I had floated the idea of the Blah Blah Blog, a he-said, she-said entry about fun little things that have happened to us and what we learned. I do not profess to being any sort of relationship expert but the fact that she has put up with me and I with she (not correct gramatically, but cute) for as long as we have counts for something.
No one really responded and it sort of died. It probably died more because of our lack of time, new jobs and the like.
It came up the other night after dinner. There were a lot of dishes. Em took a stack from the table to the kitchen. I removed the rest of the non-dish items from the table (un-set it as it were) and briefly left the area. I believe I was changing the channel from the news to Wheel of Torture; because if Em hears the beginning drum beats to Inside Edition she starts yelling about turning that crap off. I race to the remote each night to avoid this eventuality.
Of course, the lights and sounds of Wheel are enough to entrance my simple bird-like man mind and I stood, momentarily transfixed at the bounty of visual and auditory input before me blazing out of my ultra bright and clear 1080p HD TV into my darkened room.
From my left ear, I hear a sigh. A big one. A resigned, big, sigh. This is never good.
"How may I help you, dear?" I say in a sing-song voice at her side again in the kitchen.
"I can do the dishes, but it is nice if you just help me out a little bit," she says, waving at the stack of dishes before her, "You can at least rinse the dishes like I have asked you to do so many times!"
Reflexively I was about to defend myself, for like a well beaten dog, I know to rinse the dishes or suffer the wrath. In fact, I have been faithfully rinsing dishes for quite some time now and yet I still have the reputation for not.
And then I remembered. SHE BROUGHT IN THE DISHES! I UNSET THE TABLE!
This is tantamount to having your finger on the nuclear button. What to do? What to do? If I take the opportunity before me, juicy as it seems, I set off a chain of events that leads to Mutually Assured Destruction With Intent For Everlasting Enmity (MADWIFEE). Nobody wants that. Especially since my good friends and coping mechanisms Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, Jose Cuervo and Mark Maker aren't in the house during Lent.
My little man mind shifted down to DEFCON 3 as I weighed my options.
Quietly, without making eye contact I said in a soft, pitiful voice, "Is now a good time to remind you that you brought these dishes in my dear, and that I, your loving husband unset the table and then vanquished the dreaded trash television show you hate so much?"
It worked. She laughed as she realized it was all too true. "Well that shouldn't matter!" she said jocularly while my sympathetic nervous system forestalled the countdown to stroke.
An old coworker of mine once said love is defined by knowing which buttons to push, and then not pushing them. I suppose that concept rang around my empty head a little while I decided the best way forward.
And so the doomsday clock reset, I poured my wife a glass of wine and retreated to the drawing room to watch Vanna White make millions for no discernible reason whatsoever. And getting off topic somewhat; Vanna dresses up like it's the Academy Awards every day of her life. I wonder why she doesn't show up to the red carpet in jeans and a hoody. Now that would be fashion!
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Effluvium/Alluvium/Fulminate
Dear friend, Heather, sent me a Facebook message after one post about words we never use but should... or maybe it was about words I made up, but those two things aren't mutually exclusive, so let's go with it.
It says, in short; Please accept the challenge of inserting the word effluvium into your blog. She was kind enough to provide a definition as well.
Effluvium, n. a slight or invisible exhalation or vapor, esp. one that is disagreeable or noxious. Adv. form effluvial.
Challenge accepted. Here goes.
This morning, my breath was so bad you could see it like so much effluvium trailing from my mouth!
Man, that guy can make a car effluvial in mere minutes!
Great word. Sounds a lot like what it is. Very Latin. And it's easy to mix up with alluvium/alluvial which refer to non-compacted loose earth or various consistency and makeup. I suppose however you could adapt that to scatology and say you had an alluvial bowel movement containing toxic effluvia.
Which brings us to the next word that Dave and I have been trying to resurrect for some time, which is fulminate. This word means variously a primary explosive compound, or a vociferous protest. Both work on so many levels for us since we generally use the adjective form (fulminant) in a scatological sense. Interesting fact that the last form, fulminant, which is indeed a word is no recognized by the blog publishing site's dictionary. But that is a rant for another day. In fact, thanks to bathroom humor, the last bastion of the hack comic, you can make the following sentence incorporating all three words.
"Sorry about your bathroom. Those tacos went totally bad on me which caused some fulminant alluvium and not a little bit of effluvia . I hope you have insurance"
You'll likely notice I didn't really use any of those words correctly in the strictest sense, but they are so aptly descriptive of the intended message that I believe that can be forgiven.
So, I will end there with the reminder that not only did I use the word, I used all it's forms, applied it to daily life and made it a little funny.
Challenge Won. Sorry it took so long, Heather... I kept forgetting.
If you would like to see a word that is little known or used reintroduced, drop me a line. I would be happy to work it in.
It says, in short; Please accept the challenge of inserting the word effluvium into your blog. She was kind enough to provide a definition as well.
Effluvium, n. a slight or invisible exhalation or vapor, esp. one that is disagreeable or noxious. Adv. form effluvial.
Challenge accepted. Here goes.
This morning, my breath was so bad you could see it like so much effluvium trailing from my mouth!
Man, that guy can make a car effluvial in mere minutes!
Great word. Sounds a lot like what it is. Very Latin. And it's easy to mix up with alluvium/alluvial which refer to non-compacted loose earth or various consistency and makeup. I suppose however you could adapt that to scatology and say you had an alluvial bowel movement containing toxic effluvia.
Which brings us to the next word that Dave and I have been trying to resurrect for some time, which is fulminate. This word means variously a primary explosive compound, or a vociferous protest. Both work on so many levels for us since we generally use the adjective form (fulminant) in a scatological sense. Interesting fact that the last form, fulminant, which is indeed a word is no recognized by the blog publishing site's dictionary. But that is a rant for another day. In fact, thanks to bathroom humor, the last bastion of the hack comic, you can make the following sentence incorporating all three words.
"Sorry about your bathroom. Those tacos went totally bad on me which caused some fulminant alluvium and not a little bit of effluvia . I hope you have insurance"
You'll likely notice I didn't really use any of those words correctly in the strictest sense, but they are so aptly descriptive of the intended message that I believe that can be forgiven.
So, I will end there with the reminder that not only did I use the word, I used all it's forms, applied it to daily life and made it a little funny.
Challenge Won. Sorry it took so long, Heather... I kept forgetting.
If you would like to see a word that is little known or used reintroduced, drop me a line. I would be happy to work it in.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Saturday Night's Alright...
Saturday at the Expo
We went to the Old House Expo on Saturday specifically to talk to a man mamed Kevin who is on the HPC with Emily. Among other amazing things, Kevin restores wood windows in old houses like ours. You may recall my lament last fall about how I spent a lot time on doing this for one window (out of a bazillion) and I was disappointed with the overall results.
Well, Kevin was a wealth of knowledge, gave me good pointers and some confidence to try again. For my part, I selflessly offered my own home as a learning laboratory; If anyone wants him to physically demonstrate the process, and they want to practice hands-on, they can come to my house. I will provide the beverages and the sandwiches.
We ran into a friend of mine who is a social worker in Muskegon. We met while I was working for Barnes and Noble and hadn't seen each other in almost three years. It was fun. We of course made all sorts of promises to get together and have dinner and drinks. I hope we do.
I also got to meet Tom Logan who is the author of a great book about Heritage Hill here in Grand Rapids called 'Almost Lost'. I bought it for Em some years back and she subsequently met him in his home, which was designed by an acolyte of Frank Lloyd Wright and is indeed kitty corner from our only FLW home, the Meyer May House.
Afterward, we decided to take advantage of the brisk but gorgeous Saturday and walked a fair bit to have a taco lunch and a stroll. It was a nice time to be sure.
Saturday In the Garage
Not being able to resist temptation, I spent a spare hour or so messing with the Corvette on Saturday. I am pleased that it staved off infestation by rodentia for another storage season and it started right up on about the third crank after not being started all winter.
Unfortunately, that model didn't come with the self-healing brakes, so I still need to replace the master cylinder and booster and do all the fluid maintenance and it should be good to go for another summer of ice cream runs.
From Grease Monkey to Symphony
Life is a dichotomy. After tooling around with the 'Vette, I took a shower to clean off the smell of unburnt hydrocarbons and we met Chandra and Jason for the G.R. Symphony. They were featuring Leahy, a large family from British Columbia of Irish descent. It was a Celtic show and I was not terribly excited to go.
It was fantastic. I have not the words to describe the concentrated talent of this gene pool. I don't know what they gave up to be this musical, maybe they can't read or write, or maybe they have gills or something and can't be out of water for more than an hour (that explains the long interval). But who cares? These people, even the children were phenomenal! There was one kid who wasn't even old enough to walk doing the full Bojangles! My adorable meeter has been broken since I decided to be a cynic rather than a human and it was still the cutest thing I had ever seen.
On the technical side, they all played all the instruments. One even played a full fiddle solo... with the fiddle upside down! And this was no Hot Crossed Buns, this was a full solo with 64th notes and all. The Single most impressive thing to me, though, was the front man. At one point, he was fiddling so fast his fingers were blurry. Blurry! To the naked eye. And as this is happening, he is moving his bow so fast and then... wait for it, he begins to pluck the frets (the fingerboard) with some fingers while using other fingers conventionally to so his bow could make notes and he was plucking and playing at the SAME TIME!
Words can't describe what a feat this is. Go look them up online. It was a great time. Afterward, we went out. That's right. Put us all together and we are something like 110 years old and we stayed out until almost 1 a.m. Isn't there a law? Oh well, it was a great show and a great night with great friends.
Truck You
It has been decided. We will wait until October (Ford Truck Month, incidentally) when Emily's lease is up and then I will get a truck. This will allow us to keep Grandma Marjorie Rubenstein for a couple more years. I mention this only so it is in writing as a matter of public record. You've read it... you can't unread it.
We went to the Old House Expo on Saturday specifically to talk to a man mamed Kevin who is on the HPC with Emily. Among other amazing things, Kevin restores wood windows in old houses like ours. You may recall my lament last fall about how I spent a lot time on doing this for one window (out of a bazillion) and I was disappointed with the overall results.
Well, Kevin was a wealth of knowledge, gave me good pointers and some confidence to try again. For my part, I selflessly offered my own home as a learning laboratory; If anyone wants him to physically demonstrate the process, and they want to practice hands-on, they can come to my house. I will provide the beverages and the sandwiches.
We ran into a friend of mine who is a social worker in Muskegon. We met while I was working for Barnes and Noble and hadn't seen each other in almost three years. It was fun. We of course made all sorts of promises to get together and have dinner and drinks. I hope we do.
I also got to meet Tom Logan who is the author of a great book about Heritage Hill here in Grand Rapids called 'Almost Lost'. I bought it for Em some years back and she subsequently met him in his home, which was designed by an acolyte of Frank Lloyd Wright and is indeed kitty corner from our only FLW home, the Meyer May House.
Afterward, we decided to take advantage of the brisk but gorgeous Saturday and walked a fair bit to have a taco lunch and a stroll. It was a nice time to be sure.
Saturday In the Garage
Not being able to resist temptation, I spent a spare hour or so messing with the Corvette on Saturday. I am pleased that it staved off infestation by rodentia for another storage season and it started right up on about the third crank after not being started all winter.
Unfortunately, that model didn't come with the self-healing brakes, so I still need to replace the master cylinder and booster and do all the fluid maintenance and it should be good to go for another summer of ice cream runs.
From Grease Monkey to Symphony
Life is a dichotomy. After tooling around with the 'Vette, I took a shower to clean off the smell of unburnt hydrocarbons and we met Chandra and Jason for the G.R. Symphony. They were featuring Leahy, a large family from British Columbia of Irish descent. It was a Celtic show and I was not terribly excited to go.
It was fantastic. I have not the words to describe the concentrated talent of this gene pool. I don't know what they gave up to be this musical, maybe they can't read or write, or maybe they have gills or something and can't be out of water for more than an hour (that explains the long interval). But who cares? These people, even the children were phenomenal! There was one kid who wasn't even old enough to walk doing the full Bojangles! My adorable meeter has been broken since I decided to be a cynic rather than a human and it was still the cutest thing I had ever seen.
On the technical side, they all played all the instruments. One even played a full fiddle solo... with the fiddle upside down! And this was no Hot Crossed Buns, this was a full solo with 64th notes and all. The Single most impressive thing to me, though, was the front man. At one point, he was fiddling so fast his fingers were blurry. Blurry! To the naked eye. And as this is happening, he is moving his bow so fast and then... wait for it, he begins to pluck the frets (the fingerboard) with some fingers while using other fingers conventionally to so his bow could make notes and he was plucking and playing at the SAME TIME!
Words can't describe what a feat this is. Go look them up online. It was a great time. Afterward, we went out. That's right. Put us all together and we are something like 110 years old and we stayed out until almost 1 a.m. Isn't there a law? Oh well, it was a great show and a great night with great friends.
Truck You
It has been decided. We will wait until October (Ford Truck Month, incidentally) when Emily's lease is up and then I will get a truck. This will allow us to keep Grandma Marjorie Rubenstein for a couple more years. I mention this only so it is in writing as a matter of public record. You've read it... you can't unread it.
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