http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Christmas loot, like you wanna know: 12/25
Got an aircraft calendar, a Dilbert calendar, and go ahead- ask me what day it is, go ahead, just ask!
A beard trimmer from my older brother, and I can take a hint. Thanks for not getting me a deodorant. Then I'd have to wonder if my Irish Spring ain't workin'.
RocketBoy sweatshirts from my older sister for the kids and me since we'd been shooting model rockets this past summer. She reads me, she really reads me!
But did NOT get any from the WhackoWife, not that I'm complaining, cuz there's always New Year's Day, MLK Jr Day, Valentine's Day, President's Day... and things start looking mighty thin. There are times when having two calendars is of no help at all. And yes, I am feeling a little testy.
Got myself '1339... or So, Being an Apology for a Pedlar,' and a Stevie Ray Vaughn boxed set. I've been able to make myself happy, but not satisfied. Have to remember women don't find desperation attractive, especially my woman.
Not that I'm complainin' cuz I got a box... of CD's. I've got a real good... reading... coming... up. I've got 56rt78yui4587jhmnb v56789rrtyioughjkbnvm
ouch that hurts when I bang my head on the keyboard. I hate it when I do that, I do.
When it all comes down- I'm married to an amazing woman, and have two kids so adorable and bright I should doubt their fatherhood, except they look like their Presidential-scholar mother. I am in like Flint and I know it. But I'd still like to get in a little more, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.
(Things do get a little odd when I stay up too late.)
You might call me on all this and say "Whiner, what did you get your fabulous Superwife?" Thanks a lot. You couldn't just let me luxuriate in my own pity party, you had to ruin it. Yeah, thanks a lot. Well Trainboy thought she needed a Pasta Pot. No fooling, everytime he saw it on TV he said his mom needed one. We saw them in Wal-Mart and he said his Mom needed one. I had no ideas, and I'm easily swayed. So I bought her one. Are you happy now? Yes! Yes! I bought my wife a Pasta Pot for Christmas! Are. You. Happy?
Since she often makes things with noodles she's happy with it. I carry no new wounds. Or maybe she's a pacifist. But I tried, honestly I tried. I asked her what she wanted. She said slippers. I begged, I pleaded, "Honey, baby, what do you want for Christmas?" All she'd say was "slippers." My older brother asked me what she wanted, what could I say but, "slippers?"
Thus it was I was taking gift-giving advice from my six year-old son. Fortunately, he's apparently a natural. And how did he fair himself? Pretty fairly. More than fairly. Lots of loot for Trainboy. He was happy, but he wasn't too excited either. Trainboy was concerned with more than loot.
He was apparently concerned because he'd seen most of the presents under the tree before Christmas- not Santa Claus' work. The Supermom pointed out a big box I had brought up after he'd gone to bed. He looked at it and said, "Dad bought that." It was his big Christmas train set that had come in the mail. He'd seen the box, and he remembered. He was not happy. It would be safe to say we won't be making any more gingerbread cookies for Santa. It was his Christmas of Disillusion. There probably won't be any more teeth under the pillow either.
In contrast to Trainboy's fall to Earth, Ms. Pikachu was in it for the loot and was happy for it. She got a large computer graphics tablet. It's bigger than a standard sheet of paper- bought it at Aldi's. It works just fine. Since she's very artsy it makes her happy.
Of course, it wasn't really about the loot. It was about a child born to reconcile us to God. It was the beginning of a story about sacrifice, forgiveness, and the greatest love.
Enough for now.
Friday, December 26, 2003
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
This morning I was having some facial pain again. The Superwife got my Tegretol and I got medicated and left for work. When I got to work I realized my bottle of pills was still at home. What to do, what to do? When pain threatens the answer is obvious, call home and ask the Superwife to bring it out. So she brought it out at lunch.
Ms. Pikachu was out of school so she came along. While we were eating the Superwife observed that Trainboy is easy to wake up in the morning. He can’t wait to get ready to go to school. He loves riding the bus, he loves his classmates, and he loves his teacher. He loves school and it shows.
What could I say? What I said was, “And this is different from someone else we know?” The WearyWife said, “Oh yeah, somebody else fights getting up every morning.” From behind us came the exasperated cry, “It’s not my fault I’m nocturnal people!”
Maybe it’s not her fault. She probably gets it from my side. But you have to play the cards you’re dealt.
This is going to be a special Christmas. Trainboy is 6 ½ and hanging onto Santa. He still believes. It will surely be the last year that he does. Each passing year will bring more knowledge, more disillusions, and more wisdom. It’s kind of silly that as he hangs on I want to help him hold on tight. As a parent I want him to grow, but the innocence of childhood is so short I want him to have it just a little bit longer.
This will be the last Christmas to put out cookies and milk for Santa. The last time he’ll go to bed expecting Santa to bring him something wonderful. And wonder how he’ll get in without a chimney.
There’s no doubt that one of the joys of having children is getting to do it all over again. Through our children we can relive the excitement and joy of Christmas. Our hearts melt with their joyful expectation of a visit from Santa and are then rent with their disillusion. Our Christmas tree is a brightly lit beacon for a Santa making his last visit.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Ms. Pikachu was out of school so she came along. While we were eating the Superwife observed that Trainboy is easy to wake up in the morning. He can’t wait to get ready to go to school. He loves riding the bus, he loves his classmates, and he loves his teacher. He loves school and it shows.
What could I say? What I said was, “And this is different from someone else we know?” The WearyWife said, “Oh yeah, somebody else fights getting up every morning.” From behind us came the exasperated cry, “It’s not my fault I’m nocturnal people!”
Maybe it’s not her fault. She probably gets it from my side. But you have to play the cards you’re dealt.
This is going to be a special Christmas. Trainboy is 6 ½ and hanging onto Santa. He still believes. It will surely be the last year that he does. Each passing year will bring more knowledge, more disillusions, and more wisdom. It’s kind of silly that as he hangs on I want to help him hold on tight. As a parent I want him to grow, but the innocence of childhood is so short I want him to have it just a little bit longer.
This will be the last Christmas to put out cookies and milk for Santa. The last time he’ll go to bed expecting Santa to bring him something wonderful. And wonder how he’ll get in without a chimney.
There’s no doubt that one of the joys of having children is getting to do it all over again. Through our children we can relive the excitement and joy of Christmas. Our hearts melt with their joyful expectation of a visit from Santa and are then rent with their disillusion. Our Christmas tree is a brightly lit beacon for a Santa making his last visit.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Thursday, December 18, 2003
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
ChristmasBlog 2003.doc
If the Christmas letter doesn't open up automatically (because I'm too dumb to do it), and if you're feeling like you need some abuse, click on "ChristmasBlog 2003" up above.
The top of the letter is a picture, so give it a second, or two.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
ChristmasBlog 2003.doc
If the Christmas letter doesn't open up automatically (because I'm too dumb to do it), and if you're feeling like you need some abuse, click on "ChristmasBlog 2003" up above.
The top of the letter is a picture, so give it a second, or two.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
If you want more grief the following is an earlier year's Christmas letter. No picture attached, don't know what happened to it. I think it's much funnier though.
ChristmasBlog 2000.rtf
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
If you want more grief the following is an earlier year's Christmas letter. No picture attached, don't know what happened to it. I think it's much funnier though.
ChristmasBlog 2000.rtf
Wednesday, November 26, 2003
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Worked yesterday. Had problems feeling lightheaded- the doc calls it abnormal brain-wave activity. Since that has often meant a pain attack was coming I took a Tegretol to suppress it. Unfortunately, Tegretol, often makes me sleepy. Today was no exception. Usually I stay until the last minute. I went home earlier than that. Stuff needs to be done, but I was just too out of it.
When I got home the Superwife had prepared what I'd be tempted to call a corn chowder. It was kind of like potatoe (to throw Dan Quayle a bone) soup, but with corn, carrots, peas, and bacon. In the world of marketing we could call it Corn Chowder Ultra, or Corn Chowder Extra, or just Super Corn Chowder. When you stir it- as it goes around it's Turbo Corn Chowder! Not that it matters.
It was wonderful. More accurately- it is wonderful. Because there's a big pot of it in the fridge and I'll be eating it for days. Not that I mind. Crumble some crackers in it, sprinkle some pepper on it, and I'm in Mega Corn Chowder Heaven. So I'm ok with it.
The Superwife and Adorable Kids wanted to see the Looney Tunes Movie. So did I, but I knew I'd fall asleep during the flick no matter how good it was. Rather than sit through a white-knuckle drive and pay money to fall asleep I stayed home. Slept ten hours. Feel right pert.
Maybe I'll have a bowl of Ultra Mega Hearty and Wholesome Corn Chowder With Turbo Action! for breakfast (no PETA endorsement expressed or implied). Thus fortified I'll more than make up for my miserable performance yesterday. Slap me, I must be dreaming.
-
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Worked yesterday. Had problems feeling lightheaded- the doc calls it abnormal brain-wave activity. Since that has often meant a pain attack was coming I took a Tegretol to suppress it. Unfortunately, Tegretol, often makes me sleepy. Today was no exception. Usually I stay until the last minute. I went home earlier than that. Stuff needs to be done, but I was just too out of it.
When I got home the Superwife had prepared what I'd be tempted to call a corn chowder. It was kind of like potatoe (to throw Dan Quayle a bone) soup, but with corn, carrots, peas, and bacon. In the world of marketing we could call it Corn Chowder Ultra, or Corn Chowder Extra, or just Super Corn Chowder. When you stir it- as it goes around it's Turbo Corn Chowder! Not that it matters.
It was wonderful. More accurately- it is wonderful. Because there's a big pot of it in the fridge and I'll be eating it for days. Not that I mind. Crumble some crackers in it, sprinkle some pepper on it, and I'm in Mega Corn Chowder Heaven. So I'm ok with it.
The Superwife and Adorable Kids wanted to see the Looney Tunes Movie. So did I, but I knew I'd fall asleep during the flick no matter how good it was. Rather than sit through a white-knuckle drive and pay money to fall asleep I stayed home. Slept ten hours. Feel right pert.
Maybe I'll have a bowl of Ultra Mega Hearty and Wholesome Corn Chowder With Turbo Action! for breakfast (no PETA endorsement expressed or implied). Thus fortified I'll more than make up for my miserable performance yesterday. Slap me, I must be dreaming.
-
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
After work I met the Superwife at the mechanic's to leave the van. Superwife drove from there on because I assume she can see better than cross-eyed me. She has always driven like a racecar driver- she drives to win. She's either hard on the gas or hard on the brakes. Everyone in front of her will be passed, and I will keep a white-knuckled grip on the arm rests.
She likes to drive the Intrepid. With the 3.5L, 16-valve engine she has said it reminds her of the Grand Prix with the 400 cubic-inch engine. Hit the gas and it accelerates right smartly. She certainly likes it.
Then we hit Kohl's because they have a two-for-one sale on sweaters. A lot of my sweaters are starting to get ratty. She decided I needed some. They had really nice sweaters at Kohl's- liked one a lot. Superwife thought it was too busy, that and maybe that even at half-off it was $27. Oh well.
So we went to K-Mart, they had some perfectly acceptable sweaters on sale for $17. So I got a couple of them. The kids got their Icees. Is everybody happy? Yes. Next up is Petco for Guinea pig supplies.
Then we hit Petco for pig supplies. As she pulled into the Petco parking spot she was way too fast for me. I yelled, "Hey!" She hit the brakes, looked at me, and said, "What's your problem? There's lots of room." I was carrying a measuring tape, so I measured the distance between bumper and lightpost- 9 inches. No doubt in my mind that if she'd waited a fraction of a second longer to brake my front bumper would have been creased into the radiator.
Then we hit Best Buy. We got the Monkees second season on DVD. Whoo hoo! Nothing else too exciting happened, and that was good.
Then we picked up the van. Changing the oil pressure sender worked- cheap fix, works for me. Since she was already driving the car Superwife continued and I got in the van. Following her on the way home I couldn't help noticing how my petite stock car driver was driving something that looked appropriate. She turned into the bank to deposit a check. I thought I'd continue home but got another half-block and thought, maybe she'd like to stop some place and eat, so I circled back to the bank.
When I pulled up beside them Ms. Pikachu was laughing and motioned for me to roll down the window. She told me to check out the back door.
Ms. Nascar had high-balled into the parking lot and side-swiped a post with my car. Hit the passenger-side mirror and scraped the paint off the rear door and fender, left a little dent. Would not be cheap. Couldn't believe it, but should have figured after the Petco incident. Fortunately for her, and me, I don't emotionally bond with my cars.
We got something to eat at an Italian place. She told me her glasses aren't doing the job, but wants to wait till next year for a replacement. Her idea is to set up a medical account for next year for the tax break and do glasses then. I told her having accidents would offset the tax savings. What if that had been a pedestrian instead of a pole? She agreed to call the optometrist today.
historical note- added to the spell-checker: Nascar, Petco, whoo-hoo, Monkees
She likes to drive the Intrepid. With the 3.5L, 16-valve engine she has said it reminds her of the Grand Prix with the 400 cubic-inch engine. Hit the gas and it accelerates right smartly. She certainly likes it.
Then we hit Kohl's because they have a two-for-one sale on sweaters. A lot of my sweaters are starting to get ratty. She decided I needed some. They had really nice sweaters at Kohl's- liked one a lot. Superwife thought it was too busy, that and maybe that even at half-off it was $27. Oh well.
So we went to K-Mart, they had some perfectly acceptable sweaters on sale for $17. So I got a couple of them. The kids got their Icees. Is everybody happy? Yes. Next up is Petco for Guinea pig supplies.
Then we hit Petco for pig supplies. As she pulled into the Petco parking spot she was way too fast for me. I yelled, "Hey!" She hit the brakes, looked at me, and said, "What's your problem? There's lots of room." I was carrying a measuring tape, so I measured the distance between bumper and lightpost- 9 inches. No doubt in my mind that if she'd waited a fraction of a second longer to brake my front bumper would have been creased into the radiator.
Then we hit Best Buy. We got the Monkees second season on DVD. Whoo hoo! Nothing else too exciting happened, and that was good.
Then we picked up the van. Changing the oil pressure sender worked- cheap fix, works for me. Since she was already driving the car Superwife continued and I got in the van. Following her on the way home I couldn't help noticing how my petite stock car driver was driving something that looked appropriate. She turned into the bank to deposit a check. I thought I'd continue home but got another half-block and thought, maybe she'd like to stop some place and eat, so I circled back to the bank.
When I pulled up beside them Ms. Pikachu was laughing and motioned for me to roll down the window. She told me to check out the back door.
Ms. Nascar had high-balled into the parking lot and side-swiped a post with my car. Hit the passenger-side mirror and scraped the paint off the rear door and fender, left a little dent. Would not be cheap. Couldn't believe it, but should have figured after the Petco incident. Fortunately for her, and me, I don't emotionally bond with my cars.
We got something to eat at an Italian place. She told me her glasses aren't doing the job, but wants to wait till next year for a replacement. Her idea is to set up a medical account for next year for the tax break and do glasses then. I told her having accidents would offset the tax savings. What if that had been a pedestrian instead of a pole? She agreed to call the optometrist today.
historical note- added to the spell-checker: Nascar, Petco, whoo-hoo, Monkees
Thursday, November 20, 2003
Phil Spector has been charged with murder. To my surprise it involves the shooting of a human being. I'd suspected it had to do with the control freak killing his ex-wife's (-Ronnie Spector) career.
In other news, Michael Jackson surrendered to authorities. During his cavity search he was heard to protest, "Stop some more! Stop some more!"
Remember, "Billie Jean is not my lover, she's just a girl" And there you have it.
At least 27 were killed in the blasts in Turkey. The suicide bombers were targeting British-related facilities but car bombs will never be considered a surgical strike. The camel-humping islamo-fascists obviously aren't concerned about collateral damage. There is a saying, "it's a dumb bird that craps in its own nest." They may eventually alienate every muslim government that would put up with them. It's too bad that car bombs give the killers quick deaths. At least they're dead and there are no long trials.
In other news, the Publicserf is now 47.
After I got home from work the nieces called and sang Happy Birthday. I didn't pick up the phone, I was happy to record it. Not knowing, the Superwife picked it up. Oh well. It was still sweet.
Then I drove the van to the mechanic. The oil light flickers when it's in drive and stopped. Gary the mechanic thinks it's a 50/50 chance that the oil pressure sender is failing. He'll order the part and we'll schedule a time to install it tomorrow. If it's not the sender it could be a big-bucks engine repair. On a 1992 Caravan with 190k miles? I don't think so.
Then it was on to the gym to pick up Ms. Pikachu after gymnastics. She can do more push-ups than anybody else in her group. They do them with their feet elevated on a beam. She can do 28, a burly girl like her mother.
When we got home again I called my sister in Tennessee. It was hard to talk because the kids were kind of rowdy. Ms. Pikachu had one of her Guinea pigs out. She held it up on its back feet and worked its front paws around like it was doing calisthenics. Apparently a pig will put up with a fair amount of abuse as long as it's well fed and watered.
The Superwife made a chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting. Four candles on the left, seven on the right. Not having a box mix handy she made it from scratch. It was a butter-milk chocolate cake recipe- quite good, almost like brownies. It was so rich it fairly screamed for ice cream. No ice cream. We are out of ice cream. Who ate all the cookies and cream? Not that I'm complaining. I had to make due with a glass of milk. It's a good life if you don't weaken.
Trainboy sang a different birthday song that they sing in his kindergarten. That kind of surprised me. He's as shy as I am. So it was really sweet.
And it's time for me to call it another night.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
In other news, Michael Jackson surrendered to authorities. During his cavity search he was heard to protest, "Stop some more! Stop some more!"
Remember, "Billie Jean is not my lover, she's just a girl" And there you have it.
At least 27 were killed in the blasts in Turkey. The suicide bombers were targeting British-related facilities but car bombs will never be considered a surgical strike. The camel-humping islamo-fascists obviously aren't concerned about collateral damage. There is a saying, "it's a dumb bird that craps in its own nest." They may eventually alienate every muslim government that would put up with them. It's too bad that car bombs give the killers quick deaths. At least they're dead and there are no long trials.
In other news, the Publicserf is now 47.
After I got home from work the nieces called and sang Happy Birthday. I didn't pick up the phone, I was happy to record it. Not knowing, the Superwife picked it up. Oh well. It was still sweet.
Then I drove the van to the mechanic. The oil light flickers when it's in drive and stopped. Gary the mechanic thinks it's a 50/50 chance that the oil pressure sender is failing. He'll order the part and we'll schedule a time to install it tomorrow. If it's not the sender it could be a big-bucks engine repair. On a 1992 Caravan with 190k miles? I don't think so.
Then it was on to the gym to pick up Ms. Pikachu after gymnastics. She can do more push-ups than anybody else in her group. They do them with their feet elevated on a beam. She can do 28, a burly girl like her mother.
When we got home again I called my sister in Tennessee. It was hard to talk because the kids were kind of rowdy. Ms. Pikachu had one of her Guinea pigs out. She held it up on its back feet and worked its front paws around like it was doing calisthenics. Apparently a pig will put up with a fair amount of abuse as long as it's well fed and watered.
The Superwife made a chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting. Four candles on the left, seven on the right. Not having a box mix handy she made it from scratch. It was a butter-milk chocolate cake recipe- quite good, almost like brownies. It was so rich it fairly screamed for ice cream. No ice cream. We are out of ice cream. Who ate all the cookies and cream? Not that I'm complaining. I had to make due with a glass of milk. It's a good life if you don't weaken.
Trainboy sang a different birthday song that they sing in his kindergarten. That kind of surprised me. He's as shy as I am. So it was really sweet.
And it's time for me to call it another night.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
It was an up and down kind of day.
A woman came into the office and I told her to fill out a form and show me an ID when she was through. She brought her nearly completed form back up and just flashed her driver’s license at me. The parents names were blank. To see if that might be a problem I took a quick look at her online record. Both parents were listed, and had been entered several times. She should know them. I told her she still needed to enter her parents’ names and show me her ID when she was through.
She protested- she said her mother was deceased so we shouldn’t need it. I told her we just need the names as identifying information. She entered her father’s name, and left her mother’s blank. Since I could get by without it I decided to be nice and let it ride. Then I told her I still needed to see her ID. She got in my face and complained that she shouldn’t have to get it out AGAIN. If I wanted to see it again, why didn’t I tell her?
At times like that it’s really hard to stay civil. I do, because I don’t have a choice. But it would be so good to really unload on the idiots and ask them, “What’s your problem, you think I’m going to call your parents and thell them they raised a brat? Why would I do that? Don’t I look busy enough? You could get out of here in half the time if you’d just do what I told you, and I did tell you. I’m paid to know this stuff, I wouldn’t ask unless it was needed. Now fill it out, hand it over, shut up, and get out.”
That was the particularly down part.
I needed a little change of pace so for break I logged onto the web. There it was- a search warrant was served on Michael Jackson. Gee, a pedophile who keeps … pedophiling. Surprise, surprise, surprise. Gomer Pyle could have seen it coming.
Is this case a sign that Schwarzenegger is going to be the law and order Governator? If so, he isn’t wasting any time.
If the rumors are true, and Jackson doesn’t have the cash reserves he used to, he may not be able to buy his way out of this one. He may yet find out if he can moonwalk in a prison shower. I’m not sure what that means. But this is about the time my little sister starts shouting, “No visuals, NO VISUALS!”
They can string up Michael by his bleached balls for all I care. Another bad visual, sorry.
He’s a menace to kids. I don’t know how the law works in this kind of thing, but I’m amazed no one at the DA’s office has told him, “You’re going to stop having little boys over, and if you ever step out of line we will throw you behind bars for a long time and you’ll learn to answer to “Hey, bitch.” Sometimes, they just need a little heart-to-heart.
A jury found Muhammad, the DC sniper, guilty. The guy is the poster monster for the death penalty. Even if they do sentence him to death the appeals will drag on for years. Judgment will ultimately be executed by an inmate with a shiv.
It’s probably hoping for too much that Muhammad will turn out to be a faithful black Muslim just trying to do the will of Farrakhan. Kill the white man in the name of Allah! Kill the Jews! Allahu Akhbar!
When I got home this evening I was informed by the Superwife we needed to go to Best Buy. They have some deal going on with an extra rebate if you buy Lord of the Rings and the new Sinbad movie at the same time. With all the manliness I could muster I said, “yes dear.”
As we were walking from the car to the store the Trainboy saw a VW Beetle. He shouted HugBug! Apparently feeling very generous, he gave everybody a hug. Gotta love him.
Superwife browsed movies, the kids browsed video games, I headed for the computer section. Lo and behold they’ve got a 120 gig hard drive that after rebate is only $80.00. That’s a lot of hard drive for the money.
This computer has been giving me fits again. The sound card isn’t working properly. The only sound I can get is off the CD drive, and the only way to adjust the volume is by going into the Windows device manager and changing it in there. None of the media players will produce sound. I’ve tried reinstalling sound card and CD drivers- no change.
So I’m hoping I can put in the new hard drive, install the programs like new again, and see where the problem comes in. If I had to guess, and I don’t, I’d guess the problem is due to one of Window’s updates. But I don’t really know.
One way or another a fix has to be done. Trainboy has been trying to play his games on the computer and since they don’t produce the necessary sounds he’s becoming quite frustrated.
As you can see, I didn’t buy a huge new hard drive for me. No, I bought it to make Trainboy happy. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. My joy is completely secondary, but it is mine.
When we got home I changed and went to work on the car. The thermostat had failed so the car was overheating. Fortunately Dodge did a nice thing and put it on top of the engine and right in front. It's hard to imagine them making it any easier.
Thermostats normally fail closed. That's how you know they've failed- the water can't circulate, the engine overheats, and the idiot light declares you an idiot.
I paid a couple bucks more and got one that fails open. The downside to that is that some day when it fails it will suddenly take a couple more minutes for the engine to warm up. The upside will be that I won't have to worry about being stranded with the kids in the middle of nowhere. That's worth a couple bucks to me.
So I installed the thermostat after we got home. It was dark, of course. I changed it by the light of the flashlight the Superwife held for me. It always impresses me how quick she is to help. I didn't ask her to. She just volunteered. The Supermom is a wonderful example to her kids, and to me.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
A woman came into the office and I told her to fill out a form and show me an ID when she was through. She brought her nearly completed form back up and just flashed her driver’s license at me. The parents names were blank. To see if that might be a problem I took a quick look at her online record. Both parents were listed, and had been entered several times. She should know them. I told her she still needed to enter her parents’ names and show me her ID when she was through.
She protested- she said her mother was deceased so we shouldn’t need it. I told her we just need the names as identifying information. She entered her father’s name, and left her mother’s blank. Since I could get by without it I decided to be nice and let it ride. Then I told her I still needed to see her ID. She got in my face and complained that she shouldn’t have to get it out AGAIN. If I wanted to see it again, why didn’t I tell her?
At times like that it’s really hard to stay civil. I do, because I don’t have a choice. But it would be so good to really unload on the idiots and ask them, “What’s your problem, you think I’m going to call your parents and thell them they raised a brat? Why would I do that? Don’t I look busy enough? You could get out of here in half the time if you’d just do what I told you, and I did tell you. I’m paid to know this stuff, I wouldn’t ask unless it was needed. Now fill it out, hand it over, shut up, and get out.”
That was the particularly down part.
I needed a little change of pace so for break I logged onto the web. There it was- a search warrant was served on Michael Jackson. Gee, a pedophile who keeps … pedophiling. Surprise, surprise, surprise. Gomer Pyle could have seen it coming.
Is this case a sign that Schwarzenegger is going to be the law and order Governator? If so, he isn’t wasting any time.
If the rumors are true, and Jackson doesn’t have the cash reserves he used to, he may not be able to buy his way out of this one. He may yet find out if he can moonwalk in a prison shower. I’m not sure what that means. But this is about the time my little sister starts shouting, “No visuals, NO VISUALS!”
They can string up Michael by his bleached balls for all I care. Another bad visual, sorry.
He’s a menace to kids. I don’t know how the law works in this kind of thing, but I’m amazed no one at the DA’s office has told him, “You’re going to stop having little boys over, and if you ever step out of line we will throw you behind bars for a long time and you’ll learn to answer to “Hey, bitch.” Sometimes, they just need a little heart-to-heart.
A jury found Muhammad, the DC sniper, guilty. The guy is the poster monster for the death penalty. Even if they do sentence him to death the appeals will drag on for years. Judgment will ultimately be executed by an inmate with a shiv.
It’s probably hoping for too much that Muhammad will turn out to be a faithful black Muslim just trying to do the will of Farrakhan. Kill the white man in the name of Allah! Kill the Jews! Allahu Akhbar!
When I got home this evening I was informed by the Superwife we needed to go to Best Buy. They have some deal going on with an extra rebate if you buy Lord of the Rings and the new Sinbad movie at the same time. With all the manliness I could muster I said, “yes dear.”
As we were walking from the car to the store the Trainboy saw a VW Beetle. He shouted HugBug! Apparently feeling very generous, he gave everybody a hug. Gotta love him.
Superwife browsed movies, the kids browsed video games, I headed for the computer section. Lo and behold they’ve got a 120 gig hard drive that after rebate is only $80.00. That’s a lot of hard drive for the money.
This computer has been giving me fits again. The sound card isn’t working properly. The only sound I can get is off the CD drive, and the only way to adjust the volume is by going into the Windows device manager and changing it in there. None of the media players will produce sound. I’ve tried reinstalling sound card and CD drivers- no change.
So I’m hoping I can put in the new hard drive, install the programs like new again, and see where the problem comes in. If I had to guess, and I don’t, I’d guess the problem is due to one of Window’s updates. But I don’t really know.
One way or another a fix has to be done. Trainboy has been trying to play his games on the computer and since they don’t produce the necessary sounds he’s becoming quite frustrated.
As you can see, I didn’t buy a huge new hard drive for me. No, I bought it to make Trainboy happy. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. My joy is completely secondary, but it is mine.
When we got home I changed and went to work on the car. The thermostat had failed so the car was overheating. Fortunately Dodge did a nice thing and put it on top of the engine and right in front. It's hard to imagine them making it any easier.
Thermostats normally fail closed. That's how you know they've failed- the water can't circulate, the engine overheats, and the idiot light declares you an idiot.
I paid a couple bucks more and got one that fails open. The downside to that is that some day when it fails it will suddenly take a couple more minutes for the engine to warm up. The upside will be that I won't have to worry about being stranded with the kids in the middle of nowhere. That's worth a couple bucks to me.
So I installed the thermostat after we got home. It was dark, of course. I changed it by the light of the flashlight the Superwife held for me. It always impresses me how quick she is to help. I didn't ask her to. She just volunteered. The Supermom is a wonderful example to her kids, and to me.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Saturday, November 01, 2003
Odd Saturday. Nobody woke me up, and getting out of a warm bed is about as hard for me as getting out of a hot shower. It usually takes a lot of insistence on somebody else’s part, or a lack of hot water. But there are limits. We are civilized, are we not?
Eventually even I couldn’t stand it any more. I sat up, looked at the clock and thought, “Five o’clock and it’s light outside already? Can’t be, it should be dark this early in the morning. I never wake up this early. But it can’t be 5 in the afternoon, can it?” Sure, I was tired. But no way can I justify staying in bed till 5:00…. yes, in the afternoon. Anybody who knows my Mother’s side would nod and say, “Yup, Mother’s side.”
May I digress with a little family history? Thank you. When I was a child my aunt Linda secured her place in family lore my walking out of her bedroom, asking what time it was, and upon being informed it was 1 in the afternoon said, “It’s only 1? If I’d known that I would have stayed in bed.” It’s true. Ask any family member, they’ll smile and nod.
Back to the present. The Supernurse was at work, she was working 11am-11: 30pm. She later told me that Trainboy wanted to wake me up at 9:00 “Because it’s late.” She knew I was up late reading and told him to let me sleep. Normally he would have woken me up after she left so we could visit his cousins. He’s a good boy; he followed his Mother’s orders.
I asked Ms. Pikachu why she didn’t wake me up either. She said she’d woken up at four in the morning and heard me typing, she figured I needed the sleep. It’s all so sweet, what do you do? I can’t blame them for my own sloth, though that would be handy. No doubt about it though, I’m responsible for getting my own butt out of bed, my kids aren’t.
I belatedly got out of bed, dressed, and asked the kids if they were hungry. Why yes they were. I took a poll of what they wanted- shrugged shoulders. Well, they got something from me. I offered Bishop’s Cafeteria. They agreed. We like buffets- there’s no waiting, everybody gets what they want and as much as they want. Into the car and away we go.
When we get to the mall where Bishop’s is it’s 6:00. Most of the cars at the mall are parked in front of the Bishop’s entrance. Not surprisingly it’s very busy- a long wait in line. We still don’t like long waits. So we go over to the mall directory and I’m amazed at how few choices there are.
The mall never adopted the food court idea. Eating establishments were scattered all over, making it a pain to accommodate differing wants. As an alternative, in about twenty minutes you can be down the interstate at a huge mall in another town that almost requires hiking gear and a map to get around. It has a food court where you can watch ice skaters on the indoor rink. Everybody goes there, it’s the popular thing to do.
But back to the local mall. I would estimate 30-40 percent of it is vacant. It’s an economic slaughterhouse where dreams get butchered. It’s sad, because those businesses were owned by people who owned homes, paid property taxes, and supported other businesses. The mall down the road isn’t going to do anything to support this town, it just sucks money out. But I’m preaching. Sorry.
So we had all of about four choices to eat- Orange Julius, Chick Fil-A, a deli, and a Maid-Rite. We would have eaten at Sbarro’s because the kids like pizza, but that’s gone. Ms. Pikachu suggests Maid-Rite. Good call . My folks owned one, lost a lot of money trying to make it work, and at a very young age I learned how to make a good soft-serve ice cream cone. There’s a lot of sentimental baggage involved, and I’m happy to help a guy who’s probably struggling to make it work too.
We walked down to his place and it was depressing how few people there were on the way. You could shoot skeet in the mall and probably not hurt anybody. We stepped right up to the counter, no wait and we like that, Maid-Rites and onion rings for Ms. Pikachu and me, chicken strips and fries for Trainboy, drinks, and we’re set. We sat at the counter in the window and watched a few people walk by.
When Montgomery Ward was open there was a salesman who, over the course of a few years, sold us our TV, a CD player, and VCR. He was a nice guy, we liked him. After Wards closed he opened an ice cream shop in the mall. I wondered if he was still in business, or got run through the grinder. So when we were done we walked farther down. Surprise, surprise, he was still open. We exchanged pleasantries. I bought a smoothie, Ms. Pikachu got some ice cream which she said she’d share with Trainboy. Neither one was really hungry after just eating, but they couldn’t turn down ice cream.
As we headed back to the car Ms. Pikachu asked if we could go to Petco to get some more fish. I’m nothing if not a pushover. Sure, why not. So we went to Petco, and had to wait for some guy who apparently wasn’t going to buy anything, but wanted to monopolize the sales clerk’s time because he had too much of it himself. We stared at fish and waited as patiently as they did. Eventually he ran out of things to discuss and Ms. Pikachu got to tell the clerk which fish she wanted. They discussed it a little, then Ms. Pikachu walked towards me.
When she got to me I asked her what was happening and turned my head to the left. It was a little noisy in there, and I was turning my right hearing aid towards her to hear better. The next thing I notice is my daughter laying face down on the floor at my feet. She’s a joker, but this just wasn’t right.
I got on my knees next to her, and called her name. No reaction. Dear God. All I can think of is a story where a child had an undiagnosed heart defect and just fell over dead one day and there was nothing anybody could do. Panic. Fear. Those are good words for panic and fear. But they don’t come close to what I was feeling.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and started to turn her over. Please be okay. Just be okay. All you have to be is okay. Please.
She slowly regained consciousness and sat up. She was scared, said she had felt light-headed and then she woke up. Now she felt fine.
The clerk came over with her manager and they tried to be helpful, but what could they do? We left the store without any fish. Get the kids in the car and we’re on our way to the hospital where the Supernurse works. No way am I going to blow off a faint like that, this has to be run by the Supernurse.
At the hospital there’s a lot of people waiting in the emergency room. I tell the admission person I need to talk to my wife. She calls the nursing supervisor and directs me to second floor. When we get up there the Supermom is waiting.
She takes Ms. Pikachu’s blood pressure and temperature, and then calls the family doctor. The doc asks how she fainted. It’s actually better to fall over like a tree. If you just slowly collapse in a heap it’s probably a seizure- that is serious. She fell like a tree. The doc is not too concerned; fainting just happens sometimes. The only concern is whether or not Ms. Pikachu was injured from the fall. Her jaw hurts. Another nurse gets her an ice pack. Doc says to keep an eye on her, and she’ll note it in her file.
We leave, walking by the people still waiting. Sometimes life is not fair. Sometimes I don’t care.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Eventually even I couldn’t stand it any more. I sat up, looked at the clock and thought, “Five o’clock and it’s light outside already? Can’t be, it should be dark this early in the morning. I never wake up this early. But it can’t be 5 in the afternoon, can it?” Sure, I was tired. But no way can I justify staying in bed till 5:00…. yes, in the afternoon. Anybody who knows my Mother’s side would nod and say, “Yup, Mother’s side.”
May I digress with a little family history? Thank you. When I was a child my aunt Linda secured her place in family lore my walking out of her bedroom, asking what time it was, and upon being informed it was 1 in the afternoon said, “It’s only 1? If I’d known that I would have stayed in bed.” It’s true. Ask any family member, they’ll smile and nod.
Back to the present. The Supernurse was at work, she was working 11am-11: 30pm. She later told me that Trainboy wanted to wake me up at 9:00 “Because it’s late.” She knew I was up late reading and told him to let me sleep. Normally he would have woken me up after she left so we could visit his cousins. He’s a good boy; he followed his Mother’s orders.
I asked Ms. Pikachu why she didn’t wake me up either. She said she’d woken up at four in the morning and heard me typing, she figured I needed the sleep. It’s all so sweet, what do you do? I can’t blame them for my own sloth, though that would be handy. No doubt about it though, I’m responsible for getting my own butt out of bed, my kids aren’t.
I belatedly got out of bed, dressed, and asked the kids if they were hungry. Why yes they were. I took a poll of what they wanted- shrugged shoulders. Well, they got something from me. I offered Bishop’s Cafeteria. They agreed. We like buffets- there’s no waiting, everybody gets what they want and as much as they want. Into the car and away we go.
When we get to the mall where Bishop’s is it’s 6:00. Most of the cars at the mall are parked in front of the Bishop’s entrance. Not surprisingly it’s very busy- a long wait in line. We still don’t like long waits. So we go over to the mall directory and I’m amazed at how few choices there are.
The mall never adopted the food court idea. Eating establishments were scattered all over, making it a pain to accommodate differing wants. As an alternative, in about twenty minutes you can be down the interstate at a huge mall in another town that almost requires hiking gear and a map to get around. It has a food court where you can watch ice skaters on the indoor rink. Everybody goes there, it’s the popular thing to do.
But back to the local mall. I would estimate 30-40 percent of it is vacant. It’s an economic slaughterhouse where dreams get butchered. It’s sad, because those businesses were owned by people who owned homes, paid property taxes, and supported other businesses. The mall down the road isn’t going to do anything to support this town, it just sucks money out. But I’m preaching. Sorry.
So we had all of about four choices to eat- Orange Julius, Chick Fil-A, a deli, and a Maid-Rite. We would have eaten at Sbarro’s because the kids like pizza, but that’s gone. Ms. Pikachu suggests Maid-Rite. Good call . My folks owned one, lost a lot of money trying to make it work, and at a very young age I learned how to make a good soft-serve ice cream cone. There’s a lot of sentimental baggage involved, and I’m happy to help a guy who’s probably struggling to make it work too.
We walked down to his place and it was depressing how few people there were on the way. You could shoot skeet in the mall and probably not hurt anybody. We stepped right up to the counter, no wait and we like that, Maid-Rites and onion rings for Ms. Pikachu and me, chicken strips and fries for Trainboy, drinks, and we’re set. We sat at the counter in the window and watched a few people walk by.
When Montgomery Ward was open there was a salesman who, over the course of a few years, sold us our TV, a CD player, and VCR. He was a nice guy, we liked him. After Wards closed he opened an ice cream shop in the mall. I wondered if he was still in business, or got run through the grinder. So when we were done we walked farther down. Surprise, surprise, he was still open. We exchanged pleasantries. I bought a smoothie, Ms. Pikachu got some ice cream which she said she’d share with Trainboy. Neither one was really hungry after just eating, but they couldn’t turn down ice cream.
As we headed back to the car Ms. Pikachu asked if we could go to Petco to get some more fish. I’m nothing if not a pushover. Sure, why not. So we went to Petco, and had to wait for some guy who apparently wasn’t going to buy anything, but wanted to monopolize the sales clerk’s time because he had too much of it himself. We stared at fish and waited as patiently as they did. Eventually he ran out of things to discuss and Ms. Pikachu got to tell the clerk which fish she wanted. They discussed it a little, then Ms. Pikachu walked towards me.
When she got to me I asked her what was happening and turned my head to the left. It was a little noisy in there, and I was turning my right hearing aid towards her to hear better. The next thing I notice is my daughter laying face down on the floor at my feet. She’s a joker, but this just wasn’t right.
I got on my knees next to her, and called her name. No reaction. Dear God. All I can think of is a story where a child had an undiagnosed heart defect and just fell over dead one day and there was nothing anybody could do. Panic. Fear. Those are good words for panic and fear. But they don’t come close to what I was feeling.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and started to turn her over. Please be okay. Just be okay. All you have to be is okay. Please.
She slowly regained consciousness and sat up. She was scared, said she had felt light-headed and then she woke up. Now she felt fine.
The clerk came over with her manager and they tried to be helpful, but what could they do? We left the store without any fish. Get the kids in the car and we’re on our way to the hospital where the Supernurse works. No way am I going to blow off a faint like that, this has to be run by the Supernurse.
At the hospital there’s a lot of people waiting in the emergency room. I tell the admission person I need to talk to my wife. She calls the nursing supervisor and directs me to second floor. When we get up there the Supermom is waiting.
She takes Ms. Pikachu’s blood pressure and temperature, and then calls the family doctor. The doc asks how she fainted. It’s actually better to fall over like a tree. If you just slowly collapse in a heap it’s probably a seizure- that is serious. She fell like a tree. The doc is not too concerned; fainting just happens sometimes. The only concern is whether or not Ms. Pikachu was injured from the fall. Her jaw hurts. Another nurse gets her an ice pack. Doc says to keep an eye on her, and she’ll note it in her file.
We leave, walking by the people still waiting. Sometimes life is not fair. Sometimes I don’t care.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Monday, October 27, 2003
10/26
Was woken up, got dressed, and away we went to church. We were later for Sunday school, but we sent the kids into their rooms anyway. They need it. When we got to the adult class we attend a quick survey throught the door showed a packed room. The Holy Wife wanted to go in. She was all ready to grab a couple chairs and make her way in. But…. I dunno, where are we gonna sit? If we go in there we’ll be interrupting a class that’s in session, and everybody will be watching us, and trying to accommodate us as we try to get situated. I don’t wanna go in there late like this.
The Holy Wife is feeling merciful. She suggests getting a cup of coffee. Well alrighty. We went down the road to a convenience store. I went in filled up a cup with decaf, sugar and creamer, and grabbed a blueberry muffin. The Super Wife likes blueberry muffins.
Back in the car we share the coffee. It’s okay. I rarely get excited about coffee. I like it, crave it when eating something sweet, but even so, usually it’s just good- nothing to make me act caffeinated.
She takes two bites out of the muffin and that’s all she wants. It’s a big muffin. If I’d known she was only going to take two bites I’d have gotten something seriously calorie laden. Oh well, maybe it’s only fair since I skipped Sunday School. There’s no way of knowing, but the muffin isn’t that bad, and it goes well with the coffee.
Back to church for the service. The sermon is regarding forgiveness. I hope God is in a forgiving mood. I was up too late the night before writing the rocket pieces. It showed and I know it. Can’t focus on the sermon, too tired. Focus on staying awake. I will not snore in church again. If I do a witchhunter might declare me apostate and I’d be executed. No wait… that’s Islam. I’m safe, but I still won’t fall asleep.
After the service we stopped at Burger King. There’s nothing like a big traditional family meal on Sunday. After reciting our wants, needs, and desires into the little orange box the voice in the box informs us we owe $9.67. The Superwife gives the heavily accented teller at the window a ten and some change to get an even amount back. He gives her a five back. Well that can’t be right.
She tells him we can’t be due $5 back when we gave him only a little more than the amount due. He grabs a calculator and starts feverishly pushing buttons. Numbers, they’re all numbers, and apparently none of them are convincing. Math can be like that.
Another member of the staff joins him. They analyze, plot strategies, punch more numbers, and eventually hand the wife six cents. Still wrong. They still owe us a quarter, but what is the time worth? We get our food and he says, “God bless America!” Whether that was heartfelt, or a defense mechanism it’s impossible to know. For all anybody could know he is an Islamic terrorist trying to destabilize the economy one drive-thru transaction at a time. But there’s no way to know, and suddenly the world seems a little more sinister.
We drove over to the Pioneer Village kind of place where they were doing a day-time Halloween trick or treat thing without yelling “trick of treat.” We buy admission for two kids. Ms. Pikachu is adamant that she wants no part in it. She is at the awkward age where she’s too embarrassed to wear a costume, but she still wants the candy.
Trainboy is done up like, what else, Trainboy. He wears jeans, flannel shirt, engineers cap, and a railroad pocket watch. It is good to be Trainboy. Trainboy is happy to be Trainboy. For about another four years anyway.
We walk from building to building. At each someone marks their location on the ticket and then another gives the candy, or whatever. Trainboy is happy. Ms. Pikachu is beyond embarrassed. She zips up her coat and pulls it over her head. The hood flops forward- she looks headless. She can’t see a thing and hangs onto her Mother’s arm to be guided around. The Superwife presents Ms. Headless Pikachu’s ticket to get her candy.
Every time she gets a piece of candy she lets out her sinister laugh. She thinks it’s sinister anyway. It really sound more like a constipated Woody Woodpecker, but who am I to complain? Many of the candy-givers speculate that there was a terrible accident and Trainboy was driving.
It seems like every kid costume imaginable is on display- some are amusing, some are cute. Many of the adults are in costume also. One of them is a woman in a civil-war era gown- bare shouldered, lots of bare skin. It’s a cold day, way too cold for a dress like that. But she’s a trooper in drag and looks like she’s enjoying herself.
There’s a boy of about four in a Scooby Doo costume. He looks like he was swallowed by Scooby since he’s looking out the dog’s mouth. He runs over to their family car, and as he’s running the head slides off sideways. It looks like Scooby has whiplash.
After we’ve hit all the stations and Ms. Pikachu has done her last sinister laugh her head magically reappears. She claims her bag of candy from the Superwife, and she’s happy, finally.
We head for home, tired, and wondering when the sugar-induced mania will start.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Was woken up, got dressed, and away we went to church. We were later for Sunday school, but we sent the kids into their rooms anyway. They need it. When we got to the adult class we attend a quick survey throught the door showed a packed room. The Holy Wife wanted to go in. She was all ready to grab a couple chairs and make her way in. But…. I dunno, where are we gonna sit? If we go in there we’ll be interrupting a class that’s in session, and everybody will be watching us, and trying to accommodate us as we try to get situated. I don’t wanna go in there late like this.
The Holy Wife is feeling merciful. She suggests getting a cup of coffee. Well alrighty. We went down the road to a convenience store. I went in filled up a cup with decaf, sugar and creamer, and grabbed a blueberry muffin. The Super Wife likes blueberry muffins.
Back in the car we share the coffee. It’s okay. I rarely get excited about coffee. I like it, crave it when eating something sweet, but even so, usually it’s just good- nothing to make me act caffeinated.
She takes two bites out of the muffin and that’s all she wants. It’s a big muffin. If I’d known she was only going to take two bites I’d have gotten something seriously calorie laden. Oh well, maybe it’s only fair since I skipped Sunday School. There’s no way of knowing, but the muffin isn’t that bad, and it goes well with the coffee.
Back to church for the service. The sermon is regarding forgiveness. I hope God is in a forgiving mood. I was up too late the night before writing the rocket pieces. It showed and I know it. Can’t focus on the sermon, too tired. Focus on staying awake. I will not snore in church again. If I do a witchhunter might declare me apostate and I’d be executed. No wait… that’s Islam. I’m safe, but I still won’t fall asleep.
After the service we stopped at Burger King. There’s nothing like a big traditional family meal on Sunday. After reciting our wants, needs, and desires into the little orange box the voice in the box informs us we owe $9.67. The Superwife gives the heavily accented teller at the window a ten and some change to get an even amount back. He gives her a five back. Well that can’t be right.
She tells him we can’t be due $5 back when we gave him only a little more than the amount due. He grabs a calculator and starts feverishly pushing buttons. Numbers, they’re all numbers, and apparently none of them are convincing. Math can be like that.
Another member of the staff joins him. They analyze, plot strategies, punch more numbers, and eventually hand the wife six cents. Still wrong. They still owe us a quarter, but what is the time worth? We get our food and he says, “God bless America!” Whether that was heartfelt, or a defense mechanism it’s impossible to know. For all anybody could know he is an Islamic terrorist trying to destabilize the economy one drive-thru transaction at a time. But there’s no way to know, and suddenly the world seems a little more sinister.
We drove over to the Pioneer Village kind of place where they were doing a day-time Halloween trick or treat thing without yelling “trick of treat.” We buy admission for two kids. Ms. Pikachu is adamant that she wants no part in it. She is at the awkward age where she’s too embarrassed to wear a costume, but she still wants the candy.
Trainboy is done up like, what else, Trainboy. He wears jeans, flannel shirt, engineers cap, and a railroad pocket watch. It is good to be Trainboy. Trainboy is happy to be Trainboy. For about another four years anyway.
We walk from building to building. At each someone marks their location on the ticket and then another gives the candy, or whatever. Trainboy is happy. Ms. Pikachu is beyond embarrassed. She zips up her coat and pulls it over her head. The hood flops forward- she looks headless. She can’t see a thing and hangs onto her Mother’s arm to be guided around. The Superwife presents Ms. Headless Pikachu’s ticket to get her candy.
Every time she gets a piece of candy she lets out her sinister laugh. She thinks it’s sinister anyway. It really sound more like a constipated Woody Woodpecker, but who am I to complain? Many of the candy-givers speculate that there was a terrible accident and Trainboy was driving.
It seems like every kid costume imaginable is on display- some are amusing, some are cute. Many of the adults are in costume also. One of them is a woman in a civil-war era gown- bare shouldered, lots of bare skin. It’s a cold day, way too cold for a dress like that. But she’s a trooper in drag and looks like she’s enjoying herself.
There’s a boy of about four in a Scooby Doo costume. He looks like he was swallowed by Scooby since he’s looking out the dog’s mouth. He runs over to their family car, and as he’s running the head slides off sideways. It looks like Scooby has whiplash.
After we’ve hit all the stations and Ms. Pikachu has done her last sinister laugh her head magically reappears. She claims her bag of candy from the Superwife, and she’s happy, finally.
We head for home, tired, and wondering when the sugar-induced mania will start.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
10/25
The Superwife wanted me to drop some jeans off at her Mother’s. Alright, another launch window. We need more rockets! So a trip to the hobby shop is in order. Two was fun, but it didn’t last. Three seems reasonable. No chance for fancy shmancy paint jobs, they have to be pre-finished.
One of them is kind of cute; it looks like a No.2 pencil. It’s a long rocket, but being almost all cardboard tube it’s still extremely light. The fins on the end are very small for it’s size, kind of like a TOW rocket.
Another rocket is small and done in blue sparkles. Oh, that should be easy to track against a blue sky. Why didn’t I buy red? Red would have made more sense. Because I like blue. And Trainboy likes blue. Superwife likes blue. Ms. Pikachu likes blue. It just works that way.
We get to America’s Other Launch Pad and set up. Or try to. It’s a “no go.” Everything is in the box except the rod the rockets attach to. You really need the rod to get them going in the right direction. Gary, the Superwife’s Dad comes up with a wire that will work. There you have it, the stuff that made this country great. Conditions for launch are now “go.”
We will shoot the blue one first. Install the engine, and igniter, mount it, wire it up and Trainboy gets to shoot again. Whoosh. It’s only a slightly larger than the little one we lost last time. Not much larger, but enough that we can see it coming back down. The wind is gusting and it really carries.
It carries into a field, and we can’t find it. Another loss.
We load up the pencil rocket. Point it a little more upwind so we shouldn’t have to worry about another loss in the field.. Ms. Pikachu does the honors.
After picking up very little altitude it levels off and heads straight for the chemical plant across the road. Underneath that educated exterior it really was a military rocket. Had I been a muslim I would have yelled Allah Akhbar! and looked forward to meeting my virgins.
The chemical plant is about a half-mile away on the other side of a rise. There’s no way of knowing how far the rocket went. It’s good for a smile to think about it though.
The third one is orange with black markings, appropriate for Halloween season. Heather, the kids’ cousin gets to do the honors. It lifts off, soon turns over a little and heads north. At least we can see it coming down.
Another run around the house and fifteen minutes later the kids come back with the rocket. Our first reused rocket. Another launch and this time it flies straighter, higher. The wind carries it, and carries it. . It carries across the railroad tracks a quarter mile away and into the swamp.
You try to be prepared when you’re doing these things. But scuba gear for a water recovery never occurred to me. My bad. Maybe next time.
That’s five rockets and six launches. Not an enviable success rate for a rocket program. More of a failure rate really. But the kids have been having fun and that’s all I’m trying for. In that respect, it’s been a successful program. Now I need to buy some more rockets because there are engines left. The program goes on like a gummint white elephant.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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The Superwife wanted me to drop some jeans off at her Mother’s. Alright, another launch window. We need more rockets! So a trip to the hobby shop is in order. Two was fun, but it didn’t last. Three seems reasonable. No chance for fancy shmancy paint jobs, they have to be pre-finished.
One of them is kind of cute; it looks like a No.2 pencil. It’s a long rocket, but being almost all cardboard tube it’s still extremely light. The fins on the end are very small for it’s size, kind of like a TOW rocket.
Another rocket is small and done in blue sparkles. Oh, that should be easy to track against a blue sky. Why didn’t I buy red? Red would have made more sense. Because I like blue. And Trainboy likes blue. Superwife likes blue. Ms. Pikachu likes blue. It just works that way.
We get to America’s Other Launch Pad and set up. Or try to. It’s a “no go.” Everything is in the box except the rod the rockets attach to. You really need the rod to get them going in the right direction. Gary, the Superwife’s Dad comes up with a wire that will work. There you have it, the stuff that made this country great. Conditions for launch are now “go.”
We will shoot the blue one first. Install the engine, and igniter, mount it, wire it up and Trainboy gets to shoot again. Whoosh. It’s only a slightly larger than the little one we lost last time. Not much larger, but enough that we can see it coming back down. The wind is gusting and it really carries.
It carries into a field, and we can’t find it. Another loss.
We load up the pencil rocket. Point it a little more upwind so we shouldn’t have to worry about another loss in the field.. Ms. Pikachu does the honors.
After picking up very little altitude it levels off and heads straight for the chemical plant across the road. Underneath that educated exterior it really was a military rocket. Had I been a muslim I would have yelled Allah Akhbar! and looked forward to meeting my virgins.
The chemical plant is about a half-mile away on the other side of a rise. There’s no way of knowing how far the rocket went. It’s good for a smile to think about it though.
The third one is orange with black markings, appropriate for Halloween season. Heather, the kids’ cousin gets to do the honors. It lifts off, soon turns over a little and heads north. At least we can see it coming down.
Another run around the house and fifteen minutes later the kids come back with the rocket. Our first reused rocket. Another launch and this time it flies straighter, higher. The wind carries it, and carries it. . It carries across the railroad tracks a quarter mile away and into the swamp.
You try to be prepared when you’re doing these things. But scuba gear for a water recovery never occurred to me. My bad. Maybe next time.
That’s five rockets and six launches. Not an enviable success rate for a rocket program. More of a failure rate really. But the kids have been having fun and that’s all I’m trying for. In that respect, it’s been a successful program. Now I need to buy some more rockets because there are engines left. The program goes on like a gummint white elephant.
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10/18
We visited the Superwife’s folks. They live in the country. I’d bought some model rockets a long time ago in the expectation this opportunity would arrive. The kit contained two rockets for assembly, launching stand, and an ignition controller. All you needed were some assembly time, engines, and batteries. Fun, fun, fun.
One of the rockets was conventional- after the engine burns out it fires a charge that knocks the nose cone off and deploys a parachute. The parts were pre-painted in black and yellow.
The other rocket was much smaller, instead of deploying a parachute each half has an unsymmetrical set of fins. The halves just spin down to their landings. It was unfinished so I painted it purple with chrome leading edges. A rather cool paint job, imho.
When I bought the kit I looked at the box to see what size engines to get. There was a range of possible ones. Common sense would be to start small and work up. Hah! And again, I say Hah! If you’re going to do it, do it right. I got the most powerful engines possible. This could be fun because stupid has its moments. Stupid can be exhilarating.
When we got to the in-laws I set up the base, wired up a rocket and…. Freaking thing wouldn’t work. When you insert the launch key a light bulb is supposed to light up. No light, no joy. So I took it inside and took the controller apart. It was as simple as it could be, inserting the key just puts a pin between two metal plates, thereby completing the circuit. How could anything be wrong?
But inserting the key does not get a light. The only thing that seems plausible is that the gap is just a little too wide between the plates, even though it looks good. So it gets a squeezing with a pliers and….. it works. The light bulb glows in affirmation.
We take it back outside, point the rocket upwind so the wind will carry it back to us. Wire it up, hold in the key, hold down the launch button and whoooooosh. I look up to watch it go, it’s already gone. There’s just a little smoke trail that’s already being blown away. It was a little rocket with a big engine- the Ferrari of rockets. It was out of sight before I looked up. When the engine was done, it broke into its two pieces. If you couldn’t see one piece you surely couldn’t see two smaller ones. That was a one-shot rocket. But it was fun. The kids liked it. Did it ever go.
Problem. I never installed the parachute in the remaining rocket. The parachute isn’t in the box. No career in NASA for me. One rocket is gone for good; the remaining rocket just isn’t good. What to do, what to do? Easy decision, we launch. Gotta keep the public happy.
Wire it up, aim it up wind and who wants to launch it? Trainboy volunteers. Hold down the key, hold down the launch button and…whoosh. Another winner, it goes and goes. Being a bigger rocket we can see it though. It comes back down tumbling end over end.
With a parachute it might have carried back to us. But we lose sight of it as it descends on the other side of the house. Run around the house and…. it’s gone. We look around, but can’t find it. If they lived in the middle of a golf course it would be so much easier. Too bad, but it was fun. We’ll have to do it again. We have to, we have more engines, and it would be sinful to waste them. Right?
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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We visited the Superwife’s folks. They live in the country. I’d bought some model rockets a long time ago in the expectation this opportunity would arrive. The kit contained two rockets for assembly, launching stand, and an ignition controller. All you needed were some assembly time, engines, and batteries. Fun, fun, fun.
One of the rockets was conventional- after the engine burns out it fires a charge that knocks the nose cone off and deploys a parachute. The parts were pre-painted in black and yellow.
The other rocket was much smaller, instead of deploying a parachute each half has an unsymmetrical set of fins. The halves just spin down to their landings. It was unfinished so I painted it purple with chrome leading edges. A rather cool paint job, imho.
When I bought the kit I looked at the box to see what size engines to get. There was a range of possible ones. Common sense would be to start small and work up. Hah! And again, I say Hah! If you’re going to do it, do it right. I got the most powerful engines possible. This could be fun because stupid has its moments. Stupid can be exhilarating.
When we got to the in-laws I set up the base, wired up a rocket and…. Freaking thing wouldn’t work. When you insert the launch key a light bulb is supposed to light up. No light, no joy. So I took it inside and took the controller apart. It was as simple as it could be, inserting the key just puts a pin between two metal plates, thereby completing the circuit. How could anything be wrong?
But inserting the key does not get a light. The only thing that seems plausible is that the gap is just a little too wide between the plates, even though it looks good. So it gets a squeezing with a pliers and….. it works. The light bulb glows in affirmation.
We take it back outside, point the rocket upwind so the wind will carry it back to us. Wire it up, hold in the key, hold down the launch button and whoooooosh. I look up to watch it go, it’s already gone. There’s just a little smoke trail that’s already being blown away. It was a little rocket with a big engine- the Ferrari of rockets. It was out of sight before I looked up. When the engine was done, it broke into its two pieces. If you couldn’t see one piece you surely couldn’t see two smaller ones. That was a one-shot rocket. But it was fun. The kids liked it. Did it ever go.
Problem. I never installed the parachute in the remaining rocket. The parachute isn’t in the box. No career in NASA for me. One rocket is gone for good; the remaining rocket just isn’t good. What to do, what to do? Easy decision, we launch. Gotta keep the public happy.
Wire it up, aim it up wind and who wants to launch it? Trainboy volunteers. Hold down the key, hold down the launch button and…whoosh. Another winner, it goes and goes. Being a bigger rocket we can see it though. It comes back down tumbling end over end.
With a parachute it might have carried back to us. But we lose sight of it as it descends on the other side of the house. Run around the house and…. it’s gone. We look around, but can’t find it. If they lived in the middle of a golf course it would be so much easier. Too bad, but it was fun. We’ll have to do it again. We have to, we have more engines, and it would be sinful to waste them. Right?
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Tuesday, October 21, 2003
Still catching up. Maybe this isn’t current- bite me. Speaking of which:
Roy and the Tiger- the last theory I heard was that the tiger was trying to save Roy from a threatening hairdo. The woman’s hair looked like a meerkat, and ever since Lion King the big cats have been suspicious of the little Jew meerkats controlling everything.
I doubt the cat really wanted him dead. If the cat wanted him dead he probably would have been dead in a second. So it seems it was really more like a labor negotiating tool. A kind of, “Hey, I’ve been asking for a freaking vacation for a couple years and I get nothing. Aren’t there laws or something? What do I have to do to be heard around here, kill somebody?” Or maybe kitty was just hungry and prefers his meat very rare.
Enough of that.
In other events- there’s an Islamic Conference going on. A speaker, Mahathir Mohamad, declared they should be willing to declare a truce with the Jews. He was widely reported as a voice of moderation. Moderation is a relative thing. If he said “Push the Zionist Jews into the sea. Then hunt down every remaining Jew in the world and kill them. Throw their bodies in the fields for wild animals to eat. Crush the remaining bones into dust. Then destroy any record they were alive to blot them from history,” the sympathetic media might say he was hard-line, but only because he was suffering the loss of so many suicide bombers at the hands of the Jews, or something like that.
In comparison “Make peace, then keel the Joos” would sound downright moderate.
What he actually said was “The Quran tells us that when the enemy sues for peace we must react positively. True the treaty offered is not favourable to us. But we can negotiate.”
That certainly sounds moderate- like the voice of reason. But then he adds,
“The Prophet did, at Hudaibiyah. And in the end he triumphed.”
If you don’t know what he’s talking about you may think it’s a moral victory- it’s not. What does it really mean?
“Just three months after -Hudaibiyah, Khaiber, the major stronghold of the Jews, was conquered and after it the Jewish settlements of Fadak, Wad-il Qura, Taima and Tabuk also fell to Islam one after the other. Then all other tribes of central Arabia, which were bound in alliance with the Jews and Quraish, came under the sway of Islam. Thus, within two years after Hudaibiyah the balance of power in Arabia was so changed that the strength of the Quraish and pagan gave way and the domination of Islam became certain.
These were the blessings that the Muslims gained from the peace treaty which they were looking upon as their defeat and the Quraish as their victory.” Mahathir is not inciting a truce for the sake of peace. He wants to obtain position for victory.
You can read the entire text here courtesy of a link from Little Green Footballs.
You can expect the media, though allegedly controlled by Jews, will report on the Muslim display of statesmanship as a hopeful sign. Surely the Jews will accept the olive branch and reciprocate with an act of good faith. There will continue to be cries for the Israelis to give up land to be fair, and to heal the wounds. Fair would eventually be determined to mean leaving enough land in Israel for each Israeli to have a burial plot. That’s the only thing that will make Muslims happy. Israel offends Islam, so does the United States.
Enough of that too.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Roy and the Tiger- the last theory I heard was that the tiger was trying to save Roy from a threatening hairdo. The woman’s hair looked like a meerkat, and ever since Lion King the big cats have been suspicious of the little Jew meerkats controlling everything.
I doubt the cat really wanted him dead. If the cat wanted him dead he probably would have been dead in a second. So it seems it was really more like a labor negotiating tool. A kind of, “Hey, I’ve been asking for a freaking vacation for a couple years and I get nothing. Aren’t there laws or something? What do I have to do to be heard around here, kill somebody?” Or maybe kitty was just hungry and prefers his meat very rare.
Enough of that.
In other events- there’s an Islamic Conference going on. A speaker, Mahathir Mohamad, declared they should be willing to declare a truce with the Jews. He was widely reported as a voice of moderation. Moderation is a relative thing. If he said “Push the Zionist Jews into the sea. Then hunt down every remaining Jew in the world and kill them. Throw their bodies in the fields for wild animals to eat. Crush the remaining bones into dust. Then destroy any record they were alive to blot them from history,” the sympathetic media might say he was hard-line, but only because he was suffering the loss of so many suicide bombers at the hands of the Jews, or something like that.
In comparison “Make peace, then keel the Joos” would sound downright moderate.
What he actually said was “The Quran tells us that when the enemy sues for peace we must react positively. True the treaty offered is not favourable to us. But we can negotiate.”
That certainly sounds moderate- like the voice of reason. But then he adds,
“The Prophet did, at Hudaibiyah. And in the end he triumphed.”
If you don’t know what he’s talking about you may think it’s a moral victory- it’s not. What does it really mean?
“Just three months after -Hudaibiyah, Khaiber, the major stronghold of the Jews, was conquered and after it the Jewish settlements of Fadak, Wad-il Qura, Taima and Tabuk also fell to Islam one after the other. Then all other tribes of central Arabia, which were bound in alliance with the Jews and Quraish, came under the sway of Islam. Thus, within two years after Hudaibiyah the balance of power in Arabia was so changed that the strength of the Quraish and pagan gave way and the domination of Islam became certain.
These were the blessings that the Muslims gained from the peace treaty which they were looking upon as their defeat and the Quraish as their victory.” Mahathir is not inciting a truce for the sake of peace. He wants to obtain position for victory.
You can read the entire text here courtesy of a link from Little Green Footballs.
You can expect the media, though allegedly controlled by Jews, will report on the Muslim display of statesmanship as a hopeful sign. Surely the Jews will accept the olive branch and reciprocate with an act of good faith. There will continue to be cries for the Israelis to give up land to be fair, and to heal the wounds. Fair would eventually be determined to mean leaving enough land in Israel for each Israeli to have a burial plot. That’s the only thing that will make Muslims happy. Israel offends Islam, so does the United States.
Enough of that too.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Friday, October 17, 2003
Under the date Oct 17 these go back to Sep 13, at least until I change the post dates to be corrected
9/26
Morning break, lunch, and it’s gone. The Superwife and the kids don’t even get to try it. Everybody liked it. So here it is, a reasonably good cherry crisp.
Reasonably Good Cherry Crisp
2 Big cans of cherry pie filling
1 cup rolled oats
½ cup brown sugar
½ cup flour
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
½ cup butter
½ cup coconut
1 package sliced almonds
Mix in cinnamon and nutmeg into cherry filling. Or don’t add the nutmeg, you get to make the decision. Pour it into a 9x14 pan, or whatever makes you happy.
For topping combine oats, brown sugar, flour, coconut and cut in butter until crumbly.
Sprinkle topping over filling. Sprinkle almonds over topping.
Bake in 375 degree oven for 30-35 minutes.
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9/26
Morning break, lunch, and it’s gone. The Superwife and the kids don’t even get to try it. Everybody liked it. So here it is, a reasonably good cherry crisp.
Reasonably Good Cherry Crisp
2 Big cans of cherry pie filling
1 cup rolled oats
½ cup brown sugar
½ cup flour
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
½ cup butter
½ cup coconut
1 package sliced almonds
Mix in cinnamon and nutmeg into cherry filling. Or don’t add the nutmeg, you get to make the decision. Pour it into a 9x14 pan, or whatever makes you happy.
For topping combine oats, brown sugar, flour, coconut and cut in butter until crumbly.
Sprinkle topping over filling. Sprinkle almonds over topping.
Bake in 375 degree oven for 30-35 minutes.
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9/25
Potluck. I try a piece, it’s too sweet. But it would be real good with ice cream. There’s so much food it hardly gets touched. Either that, or it’s a bust. If I brought it home the Superwife would say something like, “Do you know how many calories are in that pan? You eat it.” So it’s left in the office fridge for tomorrow. We’ll see.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Potluck. I try a piece, it’s too sweet. But it would be real good with ice cream. There’s so much food it hardly gets touched. Either that, or it’s a bust. If I brought it home the Superwife would say something like, “Do you know how many calories are in that pan? You eat it.” So it’s left in the office fridge for tomorrow. We’ll see.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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9/24
Potluck at work tomorrow. We go to Wally World for miscellaneous and sundry stuff. While the Superwife and kids are shopping for their things I head for the food section to find something to make.
I head back to the cake mix section. No, no cakes, don’t wanna do that. Have to do something different. I see easy to make cherry crisp. That’s possible. But looking at the box it looks like something that was at the school picnic, and it wasn’t too impressive. So I shall make one from scratch, or nearly so. I have decided, it shall be so.
Pick up a couple cans of pie filling and stuff I might need.
It’s late, too late to start cooking, but there’s no choice. Find a recipe and make cherry crisp. I find one and figure some adjustments will have to be made. It calls for a two-quart pan. I want it bigger, thicker, and it has got to be good. Into a pot go two big cans of cherries, cinnamon, and a little nutmeg.
Supermom comes down after reading to the kids and getting them asleep. I cannot find brown sugar. She says we don’t have any. She drives to a store to get me some. Either she loves me or she wanted to get out of the house.
In preparing the topping I don’t exactly follow the recipe, I never do. To adjust for a bigger 9x14 pan everything is doubled. I add coconut, because cherries and coconut is a natural. After the topping is on I sprinkle a bag of sliced almonds over the top. I hope it’s good.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Potluck at work tomorrow. We go to Wally World for miscellaneous and sundry stuff. While the Superwife and kids are shopping for their things I head for the food section to find something to make.
I head back to the cake mix section. No, no cakes, don’t wanna do that. Have to do something different. I see easy to make cherry crisp. That’s possible. But looking at the box it looks like something that was at the school picnic, and it wasn’t too impressive. So I shall make one from scratch, or nearly so. I have decided, it shall be so.
Pick up a couple cans of pie filling and stuff I might need.
It’s late, too late to start cooking, but there’s no choice. Find a recipe and make cherry crisp. I find one and figure some adjustments will have to be made. It calls for a two-quart pan. I want it bigger, thicker, and it has got to be good. Into a pot go two big cans of cherries, cinnamon, and a little nutmeg.
Supermom comes down after reading to the kids and getting them asleep. I cannot find brown sugar. She says we don’t have any. She drives to a store to get me some. Either she loves me or she wanted to get out of the house.
In preparing the topping I don’t exactly follow the recipe, I never do. To adjust for a bigger 9x14 pan everything is doubled. I add coconut, because cherries and coconut is a natural. After the topping is on I sprinkle a bag of sliced almonds over the top. I hope it’s good.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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9/23
Trainboy had a class picnic at school. I left work as soon as possible and away we went. We eat the usual stuff, meet his teacher, and go outside to play. When you’re 46 recess isn’t that big a deal though, the thrill is gone. I’d rather lay on the blanket. Trainboy had other ideas. He runs through the playground equipment and I am envious; firstly, because he feels like running all day and can, and secondly because this is pretty neat playground equipment.
My Dad could have said the same thing. As could his Dad before him, going back to when some guy grunted that when he was a kid he didn’t have two rocks like that to bang together. But I digress.
Afterwards the Superwife told me Trainboy was excited that I was going to meet his teacher. Well I failed that one. I just stood there and watched like the anti-socialist I am. She also told me that he told her that he had a special friend in class. Okay, you’ve got my interest now. He then said his friend had brown skin. I don’t know why that would matter. He’s never heard us make racial comments, we don’t make any.
He led the Supermom to the class pictures that surrounded the black board. He pointed out the picture of a cute girl- long black hair, brown eyes, probably Hispanic. Trainboy has good taste. Trainboy can pick ‘em.
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Trainboy had a class picnic at school. I left work as soon as possible and away we went. We eat the usual stuff, meet his teacher, and go outside to play. When you’re 46 recess isn’t that big a deal though, the thrill is gone. I’d rather lay on the blanket. Trainboy had other ideas. He runs through the playground equipment and I am envious; firstly, because he feels like running all day and can, and secondly because this is pretty neat playground equipment.
My Dad could have said the same thing. As could his Dad before him, going back to when some guy grunted that when he was a kid he didn’t have two rocks like that to bang together. But I digress.
Afterwards the Superwife told me Trainboy was excited that I was going to meet his teacher. Well I failed that one. I just stood there and watched like the anti-socialist I am. She also told me that he told her that he had a special friend in class. Okay, you’ve got my interest now. He then said his friend had brown skin. I don’t know why that would matter. He’s never heard us make racial comments, we don’t make any.
He led the Supermom to the class pictures that surrounded the black board. He pointed out the picture of a cute girl- long black hair, brown eyes, probably Hispanic. Trainboy has good taste. Trainboy can pick ‘em.
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9/18
Didn’t make it to Wally World last night. It was Awanas night. The kids go, Patricia teaches. I am a slacker and stay home. Woe unto me. But a little peace and quiet once in a while is nice. I am content to sit on the couch and…. Fall asleep.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Didn’t make it to Wally World last night. It was Awanas night. The kids go, Patricia teaches. I am a slacker and stay home. Woe unto me. But a little peace and quiet once in a while is nice. I am content to sit on the couch and…. Fall asleep.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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9/16
We checked out the machines at Wally World. On the one hand I’m always for supporting local merchants. On the other hand, I work days, she works weekends, and it’s sometimes hard to get us all together and moving at the same time. Wally World is open 24/7. And if I do say so myself, I like that.
In the past I’ve driven by large retailers and seen cars in the lot well after closing. They were probably stocking shelves or cleaning, whatever, but it always seemed to me that as long as you’ve got people in there why don’t you put a couple at the registers and make some money? Wally World does that, and there’s people in the parking lot all the time. Making money 24/7.
So we went to Wally World to see if they had any sewing machines. They do. They carry everything but lumber and, and, I can’t think of anything else. We scoped out the machines, they definitely have some nice machines. The Superwife would be content with any of them. But the Frugalwife definitely doesn’t want to overspend. She is inclined to go with: http://64.4.8.250/cgi-bin/linkrd?_lang=EN&lah=2076170f1e3cb72f6411d49fa7f27cde&lat=1066383777&hm___action=http%3a%2f%2fwww%2ewalmart%2ecom%2fcatalog%2fproduct%2egsp%3fproduct_id%3d1744744%26amp%3bcat%3d4770%26amp%3btype%3d1%26amp%3bdept%3d4044%26amp%3bpath%3d0%253A4044%253A4064%253A90433%253A4770
That’s some kind of link.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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We checked out the machines at Wally World. On the one hand I’m always for supporting local merchants. On the other hand, I work days, she works weekends, and it’s sometimes hard to get us all together and moving at the same time. Wally World is open 24/7. And if I do say so myself, I like that.
In the past I’ve driven by large retailers and seen cars in the lot well after closing. They were probably stocking shelves or cleaning, whatever, but it always seemed to me that as long as you’ve got people in there why don’t you put a couple at the registers and make some money? Wally World does that, and there’s people in the parking lot all the time. Making money 24/7.
So we went to Wally World to see if they had any sewing machines. They do. They carry everything but lumber and, and, I can’t think of anything else. We scoped out the machines, they definitely have some nice machines. The Superwife would be content with any of them. But the Frugalwife definitely doesn’t want to overspend. She is inclined to go with: http://64.4.8.250/cgi-bin/linkrd?_lang=EN&lah=2076170f1e3cb72f6411d49fa7f27cde&lat=1066383777&hm___action=http%3a%2f%2fwww%2ewalmart%2ecom%2fcatalog%2fproduct%2egsp%3fproduct_id%3d1744744%26amp%3bcat%3d4770%26amp%3btype%3d1%26amp%3bdept%3d4044%26amp%3bpath%3d0%253A4044%253A4064%253A90433%253A4770
That’s some kind of link.
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9/15
I talk to my sister about the sewing problem. She’s really good at that kind of thing. She made the Superwife’s wedding dress. If you saw the pictures you’d be impressed. Anyway, she said that elastic is about the worst thing to sew. When I mention this to the then exasperated Superwife she cut me off and said, “It even does it when I'm sewing cotton!" Translation- "I want a new sewing machine. End of discussion." So we'll probably go to Wally World tonight and her get one.
That will be fine with me- the machine she has was bought used shortly after we were married. She complains it doesn’t keep tension consistently and it breaks the thread. You don’t have to sell me, let’s buy one and get it over with. My middle name is Easy.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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I talk to my sister about the sewing problem. She’s really good at that kind of thing. She made the Superwife’s wedding dress. If you saw the pictures you’d be impressed. Anyway, she said that elastic is about the worst thing to sew. When I mention this to the then exasperated Superwife she cut me off and said, “It even does it when I'm sewing cotton!" Translation- "I want a new sewing machine. End of discussion." So we'll probably go to Wally World tonight and her get one.
That will be fine with me- the machine she has was bought used shortly after we were married. She complains it doesn’t keep tension consistently and it breaks the thread. You don’t have to sell me, let’s buy one and get it over with. My middle name is Easy.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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9/14/03
The Superwife was trying to mend some of her work pants. The elastic in the waist had worn out. She tried to sew new elastic in using her sewing machine. It was not good. It did not work. A very upset Superwife declared, “I need a new sewing machine!”
Alrighty then, let’s go get one. Too simple. I don’t understand the complexities obviously. It is hard for Cheapwife…I’m sorry, “Frugalwife” to live with a guy who thinks if you need something you should just go down to a store and buy it.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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The Superwife was trying to mend some of her work pants. The elastic in the waist had worn out. She tried to sew new elastic in using her sewing machine. It was not good. It did not work. A very upset Superwife declared, “I need a new sewing machine!”
Alrighty then, let’s go get one. Too simple. I don’t understand the complexities obviously. It is hard for Cheapwife…I’m sorry, “Frugalwife” to live with a guy who thinks if you need something you should just go down to a store and buy it.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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I can tell I’m not going to get caught up, it’s just slipping away. Oh well. But here’s some more flashback anyway.
9/13
We drive back to visit my brother and his family. While there he and I go to Wally World, there’s one everywhere you go. Sam Walton still wants your money. He’s dead, but old habits die hard. As we walk to the door I trip over the lip of the sidewalk and fall like a freaking tree.
Being cross-eyed screws up my depth perception. Normally I would never trip over something like that, but I just couldn’t see it. At least if I die from the resulting injuries they have it on tape. That would be about right, I always figured if I won the lottery it would be after I died.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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9/13
We drive back to visit my brother and his family. While there he and I go to Wally World, there’s one everywhere you go. Sam Walton still wants your money. He’s dead, but old habits die hard. As we walk to the door I trip over the lip of the sidewalk and fall like a freaking tree.
Being cross-eyed screws up my depth perception. Normally I would never trip over something like that, but I just couldn’t see it. At least if I die from the resulting injuries they have it on tape. That would be about right, I always figured if I won the lottery it would be after I died.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Wednesday, October 15, 2003
I haven’t posted in… way too long. There are reasons, but it’s already been so long I’ve forgotten most of them. Such is life, or just getting older. What hasn’t helped is trying to decide how to cover lost ground. Because I want to is why. When I obsess I really obsess.
So I’ve decided to just write something, leave it for the day, then move it to where it should have been posted. Eventually things should kind of fill up. That’s not important to you, and I don’t blame you for not caring. After all, it’s my neurosis, not yours.
I was tired Sunday morning. It was one of those mornings where you just want to stay in bed and sleep. It would be just one Sunday, and God has forgiven bigger things.
God would forgive me, but Superwife, the Holywife, would not. So I arose, it was a poor imitation of the Big One. It’s unlikely that on His resurrection he mumbled “Five more minutes?” but at least I was awake.
Get dressed in something presentable. Brush teeth. Comb hair that’s getting so thin it hardly seems worth the bother. But I do. Then we all pile in the van and away we go at speeds that can get you in trouble. The kids keep an eye peeled for hug-bugs, I keep an eye peeled for the local boys in blue. May I digress? Thank you, I’ll try to keep it short.
People race all kinds of crap. There are car races, bicycle races, motorcycle races, pickup races. Nearly every kind of conveyance built by man is raced. But, to my knowledge, not vans. Why not? Anybody who thinks you can’t race a van hasn’t ridden in one with my wife at the wheel on a Sunday morning. It’s almost a religious experience. Many times I’ve thought I was about to meet God. But He’s always waiting for us at church, so it’s always one more week of grace.
Anyway, back to church. And thanks for indulging me.
Admittedly, I haven’t been getting a lot out of church lately. With my double vision, there are two pastors, it messes with my synching lip movement to the sounds, therefore it can be hard to pay attention. Maybe, if I close my eyes and just focus on the voice it will be more clear. Focus, focus, but it’s not much better. If feels better though. So tired, it feels better. Relax and focus. It feels better….. Nudge.
Uh oh. A nudge can only mean one thing. I was sleeping. A quick peek at the wife- she’s smiling. Then look beyond her at Ms. Pikachu, she’s obviously suppressing a laugh. Hmmm, this can’t be good. I scribble on the bulletin, ‘Did I snore?’ The wife nods and writes, ‘But it wasn’t very loud.’ Uh huh, yeah, right.
It’s all my fault, of course. There’s an Air Force unit with the motto, ‘Anytime, Anywhere.’ They train to have that capability to drop bombs. I developed that capability to sleep. It’s a skill with no value to anyone but myself.
In contrast to a skill which is largely learned, there is the gift which is just there. My most noticeable gift is snoring. It comes from both sides of the family, you could almost say I was bred to snore. It takes little effort to sleep, it takes no effort to snore. It’s like walking around and getting fleas and the plague. Or something like that.
Crap, I can’t believe I fell asleep in church. Gotta know how big my faux paus was. Keep the head down and look around. Can’t be more than…. Thirty, may forty people who could have heard me. Not one of them seems to be looking at me, not one of them is smiling or sneering, or exhibiting any sign of annoyance. All of them are focused on the pastor, none of them are sleeping. Forget judges, the new standard is ‘Sober as a Baptist on Sunday morning.’
My few-seconds nap has me feeling positively high-res. Too bad there’s no way to gauge sleep efficiency. That little snooze would have rated high marks indeed. It’s one junk sport that would never get coverage on ESPN though, too bad. It’s as exciting as lumberjacking and has even less overhead. Hey, run them both at the same time and call it Sawing Wood Squared. Maybe not. Oh well.
After church the drive home is uneventful. No fear. No adrenaline rush. That is not to say it was slow. It never is. The Superwife drives to win. Everybody will be passed, just not as quickly.
We stop at HyVee to eat. Everybody gets Chinese except me. I get meatloaf- a freak in my own family. Not that I’m complaining. Everybody tolerates me pretty well. The Supernurse goes off to work. Ms Pikachu is doing computer drawings. Trainboy and I watch Cartoon Network. We laugh at 'Ed, Edd and Eddie' for a while. Then it’s just him watching. I fell asleep and took a nap.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
So I’ve decided to just write something, leave it for the day, then move it to where it should have been posted. Eventually things should kind of fill up. That’s not important to you, and I don’t blame you for not caring. After all, it’s my neurosis, not yours.
I was tired Sunday morning. It was one of those mornings where you just want to stay in bed and sleep. It would be just one Sunday, and God has forgiven bigger things.
God would forgive me, but Superwife, the Holywife, would not. So I arose, it was a poor imitation of the Big One. It’s unlikely that on His resurrection he mumbled “Five more minutes?” but at least I was awake.
Get dressed in something presentable. Brush teeth. Comb hair that’s getting so thin it hardly seems worth the bother. But I do. Then we all pile in the van and away we go at speeds that can get you in trouble. The kids keep an eye peeled for hug-bugs, I keep an eye peeled for the local boys in blue. May I digress? Thank you, I’ll try to keep it short.
People race all kinds of crap. There are car races, bicycle races, motorcycle races, pickup races. Nearly every kind of conveyance built by man is raced. But, to my knowledge, not vans. Why not? Anybody who thinks you can’t race a van hasn’t ridden in one with my wife at the wheel on a Sunday morning. It’s almost a religious experience. Many times I’ve thought I was about to meet God. But He’s always waiting for us at church, so it’s always one more week of grace.
Anyway, back to church. And thanks for indulging me.
Admittedly, I haven’t been getting a lot out of church lately. With my double vision, there are two pastors, it messes with my synching lip movement to the sounds, therefore it can be hard to pay attention. Maybe, if I close my eyes and just focus on the voice it will be more clear. Focus, focus, but it’s not much better. If feels better though. So tired, it feels better. Relax and focus. It feels better….. Nudge.
Uh oh. A nudge can only mean one thing. I was sleeping. A quick peek at the wife- she’s smiling. Then look beyond her at Ms. Pikachu, she’s obviously suppressing a laugh. Hmmm, this can’t be good. I scribble on the bulletin, ‘Did I snore?’ The wife nods and writes, ‘But it wasn’t very loud.’ Uh huh, yeah, right.
It’s all my fault, of course. There’s an Air Force unit with the motto, ‘Anytime, Anywhere.’ They train to have that capability to drop bombs. I developed that capability to sleep. It’s a skill with no value to anyone but myself.
In contrast to a skill which is largely learned, there is the gift which is just there. My most noticeable gift is snoring. It comes from both sides of the family, you could almost say I was bred to snore. It takes little effort to sleep, it takes no effort to snore. It’s like walking around and getting fleas and the plague. Or something like that.
Crap, I can’t believe I fell asleep in church. Gotta know how big my faux paus was. Keep the head down and look around. Can’t be more than…. Thirty, may forty people who could have heard me. Not one of them seems to be looking at me, not one of them is smiling or sneering, or exhibiting any sign of annoyance. All of them are focused on the pastor, none of them are sleeping. Forget judges, the new standard is ‘Sober as a Baptist on Sunday morning.’
My few-seconds nap has me feeling positively high-res. Too bad there’s no way to gauge sleep efficiency. That little snooze would have rated high marks indeed. It’s one junk sport that would never get coverage on ESPN though, too bad. It’s as exciting as lumberjacking and has even less overhead. Hey, run them both at the same time and call it Sawing Wood Squared. Maybe not. Oh well.
After church the drive home is uneventful. No fear. No adrenaline rush. That is not to say it was slow. It never is. The Superwife drives to win. Everybody will be passed, just not as quickly.
We stop at HyVee to eat. Everybody gets Chinese except me. I get meatloaf- a freak in my own family. Not that I’m complaining. Everybody tolerates me pretty well. The Supernurse goes off to work. Ms Pikachu is doing computer drawings. Trainboy and I watch Cartoon Network. We laugh at 'Ed, Edd and Eddie' for a while. Then it’s just him watching. I fell asleep and took a nap.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Friday, September 12, 2003
You say, “It’s nice that you’ve given us some nice homey moments with the family. And it’s nice that your visit to Mayo was nice, but how about something a little more edgy. It’s been weeks since you did the news, how about the news?. Or how about some urban angst?”
Well, I’m touched by your nice sentiments. But I don’t think I can do urban angst, so how about dirty and disgusting, or something or other? How about a little California politics? You get it anyway.
For a little history:
8/26/2003-SanDiegoTribune
While the sacred places of Native Americans should be protected, the imperious method chosen by lawmakers and the haste with which this new bureaucracy is being formed would scare Californians – if they knew about it. By rushing the sacred sites bill through in the last days of the legislative session, lawmakers are severely restricting public debate on the measure. The law of unintended consequences is sure to broadside the people of California shortly after the bill goes into effect.
Senate Bill 18 would empower the Native American Heritage Commission to regulate development on any land that includes or is close to an Indian sacred site. This would add a new, lengthy and costly regulatory process onto the already complex California Environmental Quality Act. There's no distance limit between a project and a sacred site, so the Native American Heritage Commission could have power over projects that are quite removed from the sacred site itself.
What's more, the bill includes very questionable secrecy provisions. It would make it a crime for anybody engaged in identifying a sacred site and gauging its importance to divulge any information about it to the public. The Native American Heritage Commission could conduct its proceedings on sites, including proposed mitigation measures required of developers, in secret. This would violate the public's right to know about the process of government. And it could prevent property owners from learning if there are sacred sites on or near their land until the commission acted against a project on that property.
Gov. Gray Davis vetoed a very similar bill last year but supports this year's effort. The current bill is co-authored by Senate President Pro Tem John Burton, D-San Francisco, and Sen. Denise Ducheny, D-San Diego.
Wow, sounds spooky. But wait, there’s more, and it gets worse.
7/20/03 CaliforniaLicensedForestersAssocLetter
The legislation also stipulates that the Native American Heritage Commission must determine whether a TTCS is within 5 miles of a proposed project’s boundaries during its lengthy review of a project listing proposal. There are currently 150,000 known prehistoric archeological sites in California. If only 1% of the known sites in our state were upgraded to TTCS status, this would mean that an area equivalent to ¾ of the entire state (75 million acres) would be covered by these TTCS circles.
That’s only 1% of the archeological sites to cover ¾ of the state. It certainly wouldn’t take much of an increase to cover the rest. Not that this might even matter, because the foresters’ letter is concerning archeological sites. The legislation may not be nearly so specific.
You may recall from the song ‘Paint With All the Colors of the Wind” from Pocahontas that, “every rock and every creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name.” The Indians might be content with an archeological interpretation, but they’ve already argued that an old tree is sacred. There can be an argument over “what would be logical?”, but a Federal judge would make the decision, not a State one. Would you be willing to bet your house on the outcome? Hint: Federal courts lean towards the Indians.
Either way ”sacred” is defined the Indians would have tremendous power over development. All they’d have to do is slap a ‘sacred site’ injunction against it and everything would grind to a halt. Negotiations would then be opened to decide the proper compensation the tribe is due for withdrawing its objection, a shakedown scheme that would make Jesse Jackson green with envy.
Time for a flashback:
10/2/02 National Assoc. of Tribal Historic Preservation Officers
Gov. Gray Davis' veto Monday of a controversial bill aimed at protecting California Indian sacred sites off tribal lands was met with sharp criticism from the Pechanga tribal chairman.
That’s right, they tried the legislation last year and Gray Davis vetoed it.
8/7/03 SanDiegoUnionTribune
Lt. Gov. Cruz Bustamante is gearing up to run for governor in the Oct. 7 recall election, breaking ranks with other prominent Democrats who promised to support Gov. Gray Davis and stay off the ballot.
9/8/03 TheDesertSun
Gov. Gray Davis was the darling of California Indians the last time he ran for office, but so far the tribes have abandoned him as he faces an Oct. 7 recall.
Campaign contribution records on the Secretary of State’s Web site as of last week show that Indian tribes have not donated a dime to Davis’ efforts against the recall, after donating $750,000 to the governor’s campaign against Republican Bill Simon last year.
Davis spends much of his time squeezing groups for campaign contributions. The Indians tried to play the game with the 2002 legislation, but they were simply outbid.
But Davis is willing to give them another chance. The legislation is up for his approval or veto again. Davis needs money to fight the recall.
9/4/2003 TheMercury
Davis, who vetoed a similar bill last year, received more than $1 million from Indian groups for his re-election campaign last year. And his endorsement of SB18 in July -- shortly before the recall effort qualified for the Oct. 7 election -- suggests to some critics that it was intended to woo more money from the tribes.
What am I bid for this fine piece of legislation? Going once, going twice…can’t you hear me? The Indians aren’t bidding it seems.
9/3/2003indianz
The Viejas Band of Kumeyaay Indians announced on Tuesday it will spend $2 million to boost the recall bid of California Lt. Gov. Cruz Bustamante (D).
Oh, they’re betting on another horse.
9/3/03 WashingtonPost
"This contribution is not a support for the recall, or a comment about Gov. Gray Davis," Tribal Vice Chairman Bobby L. Barrett said in a statement. "Our support comes from our people to a person we know as our friend, who we believe should be the next governor of California."
Yeah sure, but this is politics and you talk with your money. The rest is just… talk, ineffective talk.
9/5/03 TheContraCostaTimes
What's clear is that Indian tribes have anted up for a man who has pledged to loosen the reins that Gov. Gray Davis has held since he signed gambling compacts with 61 tribes in 1999 and early 2000. Bustamante has left little doubt that he would lift a 2,000-per-tribe cap on slot machines operated by those with compacts and end a near-moratorium on about 35 tribes who want them.
Bustamante also suggested that he would reverse an effort by Davis to close the state budget deficit by tapping Indian gaming revenues. Early this year, Davis said he wanted $1.5 billion from the casinos for state coffers -- about a quarter of Indian gaming revenues -- though he has since sliced that amount. Bustamante slammed Davis for "trying to arbitrarily take money from the tribes."
They found a more sympathetic seller. Davis was trying to shake them down for tax money to reduce the state deficits so he could keep his office. It’s a natural reaction, people don’t mind being bought half as much as they mind being extorted.
It’s pretty much a given that Davis has done a terrible job of running the state. If contributions are drying up, what to do, what to do. Gotta get some votes. So…
9/6/03 SacramentoBee
Beginning Jan. 1, an estimated 2 million immigrants living in California illegally will be able to apply for and obtain driver's licenses.
Instant voters. When they get their driver’s licenses they check the voter registration block and there you go, a grateful, newly registered voter. Except the illegals are going to be predominantly Hispanic, and may just be more inclined to vote for Cruz Bustamante. May? They’re excited about having a Hispanic governor.
But talk about a cynical voter grab. It means any illegal, ANY ILLEGAL, can get a valid driver’s license- the document that will get you on an airplane. Fly into Mexico, go across the border into California, declare yourself an illegal, and voila. 9/11 replays, anyone, anyone? For screwing with national security Davis should be recalled, put up against der vall, undt shot.
Another problem will be that this will encourage illegals to drive, and will they have insurance? Don’t drive defensively in California, drive paranoid.
9/15/03 WeeklyStandard
Indians may keep mum on the recall itself, but some of their money is riding on Lt. Gov. Cruz Bustamante. During the last election cycle Indian casinos gave the Fresno Democrat nearly $500,000. Last week, his gubernatorial campaign pocketed an additional $2 million courtesy of the Viejas band of Kumeyaay Indians, a tribe with 300 members that controls gambling east of San Diego. The contribution followed by a few days an $800,000 donation from two other tribes. "Cruz Bustamante is our friend," Viejas vice chairman Bobby Barrett explained. "He has sat down with our elders, learned our stories and our values."
That’s so special, he felt their feelings. I wonder what he’ll look like wearing a feather bonnet as an honorary chief. His friendliness has nothing to do with wanting their money. No it’s more than that. Surely he’s not power hungry like Davis. Of course he’s power hungry like Davis- he’s a politician.
But if I was paranoid, I’d say he’s enthusiastic about helping the Indians because it would be a legal way of getting rid of the gavachos. It would be a legal attempt at ethnic cleansing that would rid California of the European scourge and restore it to the latinos. The MEChA dream.
http://gladstone.uoregon.edu/~mecha/plan.html
So I’d have to guess Davis will be recalled, Bustamante will get the nomination, he’ll run against Schwarzenegger, and… like I’m a prophet. I don’t know.
I’d still like Schwarzenegger to win, and he may. If he does though he’ll probably be ineffective. The Dems control both houses, he’d have to work from a weak position.
It could be said that stringing together a bunch of newspaper clippings doesn’t prove anything. That events may have been due to other factors and there’s no denying that. Only time will tell if Bustamante signs the legislation, and what the consequences are if he does. Unless you’re a prophet, you just wait and see.
Well, I’m touched by your nice sentiments. But I don’t think I can do urban angst, so how about dirty and disgusting, or something or other? How about a little California politics? You get it anyway.
For a little history:
8/26/2003-SanDiegoTribune
While the sacred places of Native Americans should be protected, the imperious method chosen by lawmakers and the haste with which this new bureaucracy is being formed would scare Californians – if they knew about it. By rushing the sacred sites bill through in the last days of the legislative session, lawmakers are severely restricting public debate on the measure. The law of unintended consequences is sure to broadside the people of California shortly after the bill goes into effect.
Senate Bill 18 would empower the Native American Heritage Commission to regulate development on any land that includes or is close to an Indian sacred site. This would add a new, lengthy and costly regulatory process onto the already complex California Environmental Quality Act. There's no distance limit between a project and a sacred site, so the Native American Heritage Commission could have power over projects that are quite removed from the sacred site itself.
What's more, the bill includes very questionable secrecy provisions. It would make it a crime for anybody engaged in identifying a sacred site and gauging its importance to divulge any information about it to the public. The Native American Heritage Commission could conduct its proceedings on sites, including proposed mitigation measures required of developers, in secret. This would violate the public's right to know about the process of government. And it could prevent property owners from learning if there are sacred sites on or near their land until the commission acted against a project on that property.
Gov. Gray Davis vetoed a very similar bill last year but supports this year's effort. The current bill is co-authored by Senate President Pro Tem John Burton, D-San Francisco, and Sen. Denise Ducheny, D-San Diego.
Wow, sounds spooky. But wait, there’s more, and it gets worse.
7/20/03 CaliforniaLicensedForestersAssocLetter
The legislation also stipulates that the Native American Heritage Commission must determine whether a TTCS is within 5 miles of a proposed project’s boundaries during its lengthy review of a project listing proposal. There are currently 150,000 known prehistoric archeological sites in California. If only 1% of the known sites in our state were upgraded to TTCS status, this would mean that an area equivalent to ¾ of the entire state (75 million acres) would be covered by these TTCS circles.
That’s only 1% of the archeological sites to cover ¾ of the state. It certainly wouldn’t take much of an increase to cover the rest. Not that this might even matter, because the foresters’ letter is concerning archeological sites. The legislation may not be nearly so specific.
You may recall from the song ‘Paint With All the Colors of the Wind” from Pocahontas that, “every rock and every creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name.” The Indians might be content with an archeological interpretation, but they’ve already argued that an old tree is sacred. There can be an argument over “what would be logical?”, but a Federal judge would make the decision, not a State one. Would you be willing to bet your house on the outcome? Hint: Federal courts lean towards the Indians.
Either way ”sacred” is defined the Indians would have tremendous power over development. All they’d have to do is slap a ‘sacred site’ injunction against it and everything would grind to a halt. Negotiations would then be opened to decide the proper compensation the tribe is due for withdrawing its objection, a shakedown scheme that would make Jesse Jackson green with envy.
Time for a flashback:
10/2/02 National Assoc. of Tribal Historic Preservation Officers
Gov. Gray Davis' veto Monday of a controversial bill aimed at protecting California Indian sacred sites off tribal lands was met with sharp criticism from the Pechanga tribal chairman.
That’s right, they tried the legislation last year and Gray Davis vetoed it.
8/7/03 SanDiegoUnionTribune
Lt. Gov. Cruz Bustamante is gearing up to run for governor in the Oct. 7 recall election, breaking ranks with other prominent Democrats who promised to support Gov. Gray Davis and stay off the ballot.
9/8/03 TheDesertSun
Gov. Gray Davis was the darling of California Indians the last time he ran for office, but so far the tribes have abandoned him as he faces an Oct. 7 recall.
Campaign contribution records on the Secretary of State’s Web site as of last week show that Indian tribes have not donated a dime to Davis’ efforts against the recall, after donating $750,000 to the governor’s campaign against Republican Bill Simon last year.
Davis spends much of his time squeezing groups for campaign contributions. The Indians tried to play the game with the 2002 legislation, but they were simply outbid.
But Davis is willing to give them another chance. The legislation is up for his approval or veto again. Davis needs money to fight the recall.
9/4/2003 TheMercury
Davis, who vetoed a similar bill last year, received more than $1 million from Indian groups for his re-election campaign last year. And his endorsement of SB18 in July -- shortly before the recall effort qualified for the Oct. 7 election -- suggests to some critics that it was intended to woo more money from the tribes.
What am I bid for this fine piece of legislation? Going once, going twice…can’t you hear me? The Indians aren’t bidding it seems.
9/3/2003indianz
The Viejas Band of Kumeyaay Indians announced on Tuesday it will spend $2 million to boost the recall bid of California Lt. Gov. Cruz Bustamante (D).
Oh, they’re betting on another horse.
9/3/03 WashingtonPost
"This contribution is not a support for the recall, or a comment about Gov. Gray Davis," Tribal Vice Chairman Bobby L. Barrett said in a statement. "Our support comes from our people to a person we know as our friend, who we believe should be the next governor of California."
Yeah sure, but this is politics and you talk with your money. The rest is just… talk, ineffective talk.
9/5/03 TheContraCostaTimes
What's clear is that Indian tribes have anted up for a man who has pledged to loosen the reins that Gov. Gray Davis has held since he signed gambling compacts with 61 tribes in 1999 and early 2000. Bustamante has left little doubt that he would lift a 2,000-per-tribe cap on slot machines operated by those with compacts and end a near-moratorium on about 35 tribes who want them.
Bustamante also suggested that he would reverse an effort by Davis to close the state budget deficit by tapping Indian gaming revenues. Early this year, Davis said he wanted $1.5 billion from the casinos for state coffers -- about a quarter of Indian gaming revenues -- though he has since sliced that amount. Bustamante slammed Davis for "trying to arbitrarily take money from the tribes."
They found a more sympathetic seller. Davis was trying to shake them down for tax money to reduce the state deficits so he could keep his office. It’s a natural reaction, people don’t mind being bought half as much as they mind being extorted.
It’s pretty much a given that Davis has done a terrible job of running the state. If contributions are drying up, what to do, what to do. Gotta get some votes. So…
9/6/03 SacramentoBee
Beginning Jan. 1, an estimated 2 million immigrants living in California illegally will be able to apply for and obtain driver's licenses.
Instant voters. When they get their driver’s licenses they check the voter registration block and there you go, a grateful, newly registered voter. Except the illegals are going to be predominantly Hispanic, and may just be more inclined to vote for Cruz Bustamante. May? They’re excited about having a Hispanic governor.
But talk about a cynical voter grab. It means any illegal, ANY ILLEGAL, can get a valid driver’s license- the document that will get you on an airplane. Fly into Mexico, go across the border into California, declare yourself an illegal, and voila. 9/11 replays, anyone, anyone? For screwing with national security Davis should be recalled, put up against der vall, undt shot.
Another problem will be that this will encourage illegals to drive, and will they have insurance? Don’t drive defensively in California, drive paranoid.
9/15/03 WeeklyStandard
Indians may keep mum on the recall itself, but some of their money is riding on Lt. Gov. Cruz Bustamante. During the last election cycle Indian casinos gave the Fresno Democrat nearly $500,000. Last week, his gubernatorial campaign pocketed an additional $2 million courtesy of the Viejas band of Kumeyaay Indians, a tribe with 300 members that controls gambling east of San Diego. The contribution followed by a few days an $800,000 donation from two other tribes. "Cruz Bustamante is our friend," Viejas vice chairman Bobby Barrett explained. "He has sat down with our elders, learned our stories and our values."
That’s so special, he felt their feelings. I wonder what he’ll look like wearing a feather bonnet as an honorary chief. His friendliness has nothing to do with wanting their money. No it’s more than that. Surely he’s not power hungry like Davis. Of course he’s power hungry like Davis- he’s a politician.
But if I was paranoid, I’d say he’s enthusiastic about helping the Indians because it would be a legal way of getting rid of the gavachos. It would be a legal attempt at ethnic cleansing that would rid California of the European scourge and restore it to the latinos. The MEChA dream.
http://gladstone.uoregon.edu/~mecha/plan.html
So I’d have to guess Davis will be recalled, Bustamante will get the nomination, he’ll run against Schwarzenegger, and… like I’m a prophet. I don’t know.
I’d still like Schwarzenegger to win, and he may. If he does though he’ll probably be ineffective. The Dems control both houses, he’d have to work from a weak position.
It could be said that stringing together a bunch of newspaper clippings doesn’t prove anything. That events may have been due to other factors and there’s no denying that. Only time will tell if Bustamante signs the legislation, and what the consequences are if he does. Unless you’re a prophet, you just wait and see.
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
No, I haven’t been Blogging much. I work. I watch movies with the wife. I sleep. Not necessarily in that order.
We watched 'To Kill a Mockingbird.' I liked it. I liked it a lot. Gregory Peck was outstanding, again. The only thing that bothers me about his performance is that I don’t seem to become a fan of anybody until they’re dead. Then it’s too late to write them a gushing fan letter and get an autograph, maybe an 8x10 glossy (do they still do those?). Such a waste.
If you don't know, it's a film about racial prejudice in the south. It's centered around a black man falsely accused of raping a white woman. Gregory... Peck plays his defense attorney, Atticus Finch.
The kids in the film were as curious and annoying as real kids. I found it particularly annoying that they called their dad by his first name. He should have back handed the brats and said, “Just call me Dad, okay? I don’t wan’t flavah, I want juice.” Or something like that.
Robert Duvall gets a fine turn as a spooky neighbor, a harbinger of greater spooky parts to come. Maybe he's just spooky and not acting at all. If that's the case he's not acting and he should give the Oscar back.
It was shot in black and white in 1962. Color film was common by then. But black and white was a logical choice. After all, it’s a film about race relations, and right and wrong.
Anyway, it’s a great film and you should see it. Especially now that Gregory Peck is dead.
We also watched ‘Gods and Generals.’
No Gregory Peck. It is the first in what is supposed to be a civil war trilogy, God help us. The film focuses on Stonewall Jackson. Is the portrayal accurate? I have no idea.
However, you do get a non-spooky Robert Duvall as Robert E. Lee, so he can keep the Oscar.
Keep in mind, I’m a Christian. Christ is a friend of mind. But they seem to spend a lot more time talking about their religion than they do prosecuting the war. Maybe southern gentlemen generals are just that way, but it seems… unnatural.
Says Jackson, “My wife’s lemonade is too sweet, not the way God intended. Fetch me some Godly sour lemonade.” Alright, that’s a flagrant misquote, but you get the idea.
My best guess is that Ted Turner is an atheist and this film is a diabolical attempt to be so preachy it will turn all viewers into atheists too. Either that, or he wants Jane back in bed. I dunno, you choose. I don’t care, I’m not watching it again.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
We watched 'To Kill a Mockingbird.' I liked it. I liked it a lot. Gregory Peck was outstanding, again. The only thing that bothers me about his performance is that I don’t seem to become a fan of anybody until they’re dead. Then it’s too late to write them a gushing fan letter and get an autograph, maybe an 8x10 glossy (do they still do those?). Such a waste.
If you don't know, it's a film about racial prejudice in the south. It's centered around a black man falsely accused of raping a white woman. Gregory... Peck plays his defense attorney, Atticus Finch.
The kids in the film were as curious and annoying as real kids. I found it particularly annoying that they called their dad by his first name. He should have back handed the brats and said, “Just call me Dad, okay? I don’t wan’t flavah, I want juice.” Or something like that.
Robert Duvall gets a fine turn as a spooky neighbor, a harbinger of greater spooky parts to come. Maybe he's just spooky and not acting at all. If that's the case he's not acting and he should give the Oscar back.
It was shot in black and white in 1962. Color film was common by then. But black and white was a logical choice. After all, it’s a film about race relations, and right and wrong.
Anyway, it’s a great film and you should see it. Especially now that Gregory Peck is dead.
We also watched ‘Gods and Generals.’
No Gregory Peck. It is the first in what is supposed to be a civil war trilogy, God help us. The film focuses on Stonewall Jackson. Is the portrayal accurate? I have no idea.
However, you do get a non-spooky Robert Duvall as Robert E. Lee, so he can keep the Oscar.
Keep in mind, I’m a Christian. Christ is a friend of mind. But they seem to spend a lot more time talking about their religion than they do prosecuting the war. Maybe southern gentlemen generals are just that way, but it seems… unnatural.
Says Jackson, “My wife’s lemonade is too sweet, not the way God intended. Fetch me some Godly sour lemonade.” Alright, that’s a flagrant misquote, but you get the idea.
My best guess is that Ted Turner is an atheist and this film is a diabolical attempt to be so preachy it will turn all viewers into atheists too. Either that, or he wants Jane back in bed. I dunno, you choose. I don’t care, I’m not watching it again.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Went back to work.
To catch up I've posted everything day by day back to the 28th.
Your assignment, should you decide to accept it, is to read it. Schools open, think of it as homework. Or maybe not.
[ Mon Sep 01, 04:59:06 AM | Dale | edit ]
Went back to the in-laws. Ms. Pikachu got stung by bees. Ah, country livin’.
[ Tue Sep 02,
I wait for Dr. Uhm’s call. It does not come.
I feel a song coming on. Yes, it's definitely a song.
The way-yay-ting is the hardest part.
It was not worth the wait.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
To catch up I've posted everything day by day back to the 28th.
Your assignment, should you decide to accept it, is to read it. Schools open, think of it as homework. Or maybe not.
[ Mon Sep 01, 04:59:06 AM | Dale | edit ]
Went back to the in-laws. Ms. Pikachu got stung by bees. Ah, country livin’.
[ Tue Sep 02,
I wait for Dr. Uhm’s call. It does not come.
I feel a song coming on. Yes, it's definitely a song.
The way-yay-ting is the hardest part.
It was not worth the wait.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
I start the day with a call to Uhm. He’s not available so I leave a message with the phone answering person. She assures me she’ll post it where he can see it. Around 1:00 I find his business card. His e-mail address is on it. Come to papa! I e-mail him. About 3:30 the Superwife calls me downstairs, Dr Uhm is on the line. He says he got my e-mail. High tech, gotta love it.
He restates what he said before. He still thinks it’s a cholesterol related problem. I’m to give it a couple months to heal on it’s own. Okay. But I still think a one-nerve stroke is kind of weird.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
He restates what he said before. He still thinks it’s a cholesterol related problem. I’m to give it a couple months to heal on it’s own. Okay. But I still think a one-nerve stroke is kind of weird.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Sunday, August 31, 2003
Friday, August 29, 2003
Superwife wakes us all up early. Ms. Pikachu did not finish her peanut butter cup last night. It is now covered with ants. The ants know good chocolate when they see it. Or feel it. Or whatever it is ants do. The kids smash well-fed ants. We go swimming. Who’d a thunk?
Then we head back to Rochester. I say, “Why don’t we eat at the IHOP over there?” It’s only a block away. Ms. Pikachu said she wanted to eat there last night when we drove by. Silence. Okay, fine. Drive on.
By the time we get to Rochester everybody is hungry. Superwife decides to pull into a Golden Corral. We like buffets. Everybody can find something they like, and then gorge themselves like the good Romans we aren’t.
While we’re eating I notice Trainboy is drinking brown gravy by sucking it through a straw. I say, “I’m sure I’ve never seen anybody drink gravy through a straw before.” The Superwife replies, “He really likes gravy.” Trainboy is pleased, “Well, you’ve seen it now.” Yeah, he showed his old dad a thing or two.
We get back to Mayo, and I see the eye doctor, whose name I don’t remember either. Forgetting names is nothing personal for me, I just usually don’t remember them. In contrast the wife never forgets them. Which is why when the doctors ask me questions, she usually answers.
The chairs in the waiting area are lined up side by side and they're covered in a grey vinyl. This is not the neuro area at all. You can see the reasoning- neuro makes them lots of money, neuro gets the best of everything. The optic area is not a money maker selling glasses, they don't invest a lot of money there. At least that's the way I'm calling it.
The eye doctor turns down the lights. He’s wearing a hat with a light on it, kind of like a coal miner. He tilts my chair back. I tell him I’m suddenly flashing on a prior alien abduction experience. Not even a smile. This guy is so sedate he’s probably getting pharmaceutical help. Or maybe he’s a believer. I dunno.
Then we’re done and it’s time to head for home. Dr. Uhm had told us he would call Tuesday. If we don’t hear from him, we’re to call him Wednesday. Alrighty, it's a plan.
Then we head back to Rochester. I say, “Why don’t we eat at the IHOP over there?” It’s only a block away. Ms. Pikachu said she wanted to eat there last night when we drove by. Silence. Okay, fine. Drive on.
By the time we get to Rochester everybody is hungry. Superwife decides to pull into a Golden Corral. We like buffets. Everybody can find something they like, and then gorge themselves like the good Romans we aren’t.
While we’re eating I notice Trainboy is drinking brown gravy by sucking it through a straw. I say, “I’m sure I’ve never seen anybody drink gravy through a straw before.” The Superwife replies, “He really likes gravy.” Trainboy is pleased, “Well, you’ve seen it now.” Yeah, he showed his old dad a thing or two.
We get back to Mayo, and I see the eye doctor, whose name I don’t remember either. Forgetting names is nothing personal for me, I just usually don’t remember them. In contrast the wife never forgets them. Which is why when the doctors ask me questions, she usually answers.
The chairs in the waiting area are lined up side by side and they're covered in a grey vinyl. This is not the neuro area at all. You can see the reasoning- neuro makes them lots of money, neuro gets the best of everything. The optic area is not a money maker selling glasses, they don't invest a lot of money there. At least that's the way I'm calling it.
The eye doctor turns down the lights. He’s wearing a hat with a light on it, kind of like a coal miner. He tilts my chair back. I tell him I’m suddenly flashing on a prior alien abduction experience. Not even a smile. This guy is so sedate he’s probably getting pharmaceutical help. Or maybe he’s a believer. I dunno.
Then we’re done and it’s time to head for home. Dr. Uhm had told us he would call Tuesday. If we don’t hear from him, we’re to call him Wednesday. Alrighty, it's a plan.
Thursday, August 28, 2003
My first appointment was at 7:30. We figured we should leave by 3:30 to make it to Mayo on time. The Superwife woke us all up at 3:30. Uh oh. Everybody dresses and we’re out the door. Superwife drives because she has to be safer than her cross-eyed husband. I sleep almost the whole way there. She drops me off at the front of the Mayo building and she finds a place to park. I walk up to the desk on 7th floor at 7:25, that’s right, I’m five minutes early.
The neurosurgery waiting area is very nice. Tasteful, clothe upholstered chairs arranged so it doesn’t feel too crowded.
I see Dr. Uhm, a neuro-oncologist. He’s very pleasant and has a good sense of humor. We like him. He is skeptical of surgery. He thinks the problem is my high cholesterol level. Perhaps I’ve had something like a stroke that has affected the nerve.
While we’re talking to him the kids get bored and go back to the car. I’m just amazed that an 11 and 6 year-old are self-confident enough to just head back to the car. The parking ramp is across the street and connected by an underground tunnel. So it wasn’t a matter of crossing traffic, but still I’m amazed.
We fetch the kids from the car and head for the Mayo cafeteria for lunch. On the way we pass a chocolate shop. Ms Pikachu goes manic. I buy her a humungous peanut butter cup. We bag it for later. We arrive at the cafeteria. The food is unremarkable but the prices aren’t. Even a freaking egg salad sandwich is about $3.00. But it’s food, and we eat. But just a few words of advice- if you ever go to Mayo, find some other place to eat. There are plenty of them downtown within walking distance.
In the afternoon we do a consult with the neurosurgeon, whose name I forget. Dr Uhm is present also. Both doctors wonder, “Your one of Spetzler’s patients, what are you doing here?” Spetzler is in Phoenix and did my first surgery. He’s the big dog of brain surgery. These guys obviously respect him and that’s nice.
They keep asking me questions. The Supernurse keeps answering them. She knows the answers; I don’t, so it’s just as well. They ask about my recovery in Phoenix, the Supernurse gets downright technical, I have no idea what she’s saying. But the docs are impressed. Uhm tells us I have a rare kind of tumor. Well I feel special.
I ask him about the Decadron, should I keep taking it? He asks if it’s had any affect. “It keeps me hungry.” All the medical people laugh, it’s the biggest laugh I get. Uhm tells me to stop taking it.
They ask me to show them where Spetzler entered my skull. I turn my head and pull my right ear forward to show the crease. “Oh, he went under.” They sound a little excited. It’s almost like I’ve just given away a trade secret.
The neurosurgeon, who shall remain nameless because I still don’t know his name, looks at the MRI’s and says he doesn’t see a need for surgery either.
Well okay, that’s fine; just get me my vision back.
My next appointment is for tomorrow with an eye doctor. We go to the eye doctor’s unit to see if I can get in today, so we don’t have to stay overnight. The receptionist says it’s impossible, but if I want to get in earlier I can show up at 7:00 in the a.m. and wait and see. Like that’s going to happen. We can safely forget that idea and show up at the appointed 2:30.
Trainboy has always wanted to go to a Legoland. There’s one at the Mall of America. So we hop in the car and away we go.
We pull into the Days Inn across the street from the mall. It costs about $110. Hokey smokes Bullwinkle. I can’t remember the last time we spent a hundred bucks on a room. Decision time. Pay for the room, or drive around looking for something cheaper? We have a limited amount of time to spend at the mall and we’re losing it minute by minute. I pay for the room. It’s nice. The room’s nice. It has a nice pool/sauna/whirlpool. Everybody’s happy. I do not tell the Cheapwife how much it cost. That would make her unhappy. Don’t ask and I won’t tell.
We head over to the mall.
We head straight for Legoland. Because we have to make sure Trainboy gets to browse the Lego displays. And there are certainly plenty of displays showing how you can use Legos. We must blow at least a half-hour in there. Trainboy gets a Lego kit, and a Legoland flag T-shirt. He’s a happy boy.
Hungry. The decadron keeps me hungry. It hasn’t worn off yet. We eat at the Rainforest Café. It’s a restaurant that’s geared to kids. Everythings done up to look like a rainforest. There are large aquariums with saltwater fish. It’s impressive. So are the prices, but not the portions. It doesn’t matter, the wife is happy, the kids are happy. I should be happy, but I can tell it won’t be long and I’ll be hungry again. How expensive? $15 for fish and chips.
Trainboy does not like his pizza. I try it. For a kids place this is not kid’s pizza. The sauce does not taste like kids’ pizza. Definitely a gourmet sauce, how could they blow it so badly? He won’t eat fish unless the tartar sauce is the way he likes it. The tartar sauce is spicy, so he won’t eat the fish. He eats my French fries instead. Is everybody happy? Yes, they are.
We head over to the Critter Cove, or something like that. It’s an aquarium. Part of it is a moving walkway that takes you through a clear plastic tunnel where the aquarium goes overhead. So you’re virtually surrounded by fish, turtles, and sharks. Have I left anyone out? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
It’s a nice aquarium. It is. But it’s nothing compared to the one in Gatlinburg, TN.
Then it’s on to Camp Snoopy. An indoor amusement park, this must be kid heaven. The kids go on the ferris wheel. I am not going on any rides with my vision screwed up. It’s too easy to imagine blowing fish and chips all over Minnesota. We wouldn’t want them to think Iowans are rude. On the other hand I could tell them I'm from Nebraska. Naaah.
The Superwife and Ms. Pikachu ride the rollercoaster. Trainboy rides the train and a couple more rides. There are still a few points left on the ticket. Ms. Pikachu rides the roller coaster again, all by herself. She flies by, arms over her head. She’s happy, you can tell by the smile on her face.
There’s a little time left, so we go through Legoland again. Happy Trainboy.
Back to the hotel. Everybody wants to swim. Can’t swim. The pool closes when we get there. Oh well. Tomorrow we shall wake early and swim. Uh huh, yeah.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
The neurosurgery waiting area is very nice. Tasteful, clothe upholstered chairs arranged so it doesn’t feel too crowded.
I see Dr. Uhm, a neuro-oncologist. He’s very pleasant and has a good sense of humor. We like him. He is skeptical of surgery. He thinks the problem is my high cholesterol level. Perhaps I’ve had something like a stroke that has affected the nerve.
While we’re talking to him the kids get bored and go back to the car. I’m just amazed that an 11 and 6 year-old are self-confident enough to just head back to the car. The parking ramp is across the street and connected by an underground tunnel. So it wasn’t a matter of crossing traffic, but still I’m amazed.
We fetch the kids from the car and head for the Mayo cafeteria for lunch. On the way we pass a chocolate shop. Ms Pikachu goes manic. I buy her a humungous peanut butter cup. We bag it for later. We arrive at the cafeteria. The food is unremarkable but the prices aren’t. Even a freaking egg salad sandwich is about $3.00. But it’s food, and we eat. But just a few words of advice- if you ever go to Mayo, find some other place to eat. There are plenty of them downtown within walking distance.
In the afternoon we do a consult with the neurosurgeon, whose name I forget. Dr Uhm is present also. Both doctors wonder, “Your one of Spetzler’s patients, what are you doing here?” Spetzler is in Phoenix and did my first surgery. He’s the big dog of brain surgery. These guys obviously respect him and that’s nice.
They keep asking me questions. The Supernurse keeps answering them. She knows the answers; I don’t, so it’s just as well. They ask about my recovery in Phoenix, the Supernurse gets downright technical, I have no idea what she’s saying. But the docs are impressed. Uhm tells us I have a rare kind of tumor. Well I feel special.
I ask him about the Decadron, should I keep taking it? He asks if it’s had any affect. “It keeps me hungry.” All the medical people laugh, it’s the biggest laugh I get. Uhm tells me to stop taking it.
They ask me to show them where Spetzler entered my skull. I turn my head and pull my right ear forward to show the crease. “Oh, he went under.” They sound a little excited. It’s almost like I’ve just given away a trade secret.
The neurosurgeon, who shall remain nameless because I still don’t know his name, looks at the MRI’s and says he doesn’t see a need for surgery either.
Well okay, that’s fine; just get me my vision back.
My next appointment is for tomorrow with an eye doctor. We go to the eye doctor’s unit to see if I can get in today, so we don’t have to stay overnight. The receptionist says it’s impossible, but if I want to get in earlier I can show up at 7:00 in the a.m. and wait and see. Like that’s going to happen. We can safely forget that idea and show up at the appointed 2:30.
Trainboy has always wanted to go to a Legoland. There’s one at the Mall of America. So we hop in the car and away we go.
We pull into the Days Inn across the street from the mall. It costs about $110. Hokey smokes Bullwinkle. I can’t remember the last time we spent a hundred bucks on a room. Decision time. Pay for the room, or drive around looking for something cheaper? We have a limited amount of time to spend at the mall and we’re losing it minute by minute. I pay for the room. It’s nice. The room’s nice. It has a nice pool/sauna/whirlpool. Everybody’s happy. I do not tell the Cheapwife how much it cost. That would make her unhappy. Don’t ask and I won’t tell.
We head over to the mall.
We head straight for Legoland. Because we have to make sure Trainboy gets to browse the Lego displays. And there are certainly plenty of displays showing how you can use Legos. We must blow at least a half-hour in there. Trainboy gets a Lego kit, and a Legoland flag T-shirt. He’s a happy boy.
Hungry. The decadron keeps me hungry. It hasn’t worn off yet. We eat at the Rainforest Café. It’s a restaurant that’s geared to kids. Everythings done up to look like a rainforest. There are large aquariums with saltwater fish. It’s impressive. So are the prices, but not the portions. It doesn’t matter, the wife is happy, the kids are happy. I should be happy, but I can tell it won’t be long and I’ll be hungry again. How expensive? $15 for fish and chips.
Trainboy does not like his pizza. I try it. For a kids place this is not kid’s pizza. The sauce does not taste like kids’ pizza. Definitely a gourmet sauce, how could they blow it so badly? He won’t eat fish unless the tartar sauce is the way he likes it. The tartar sauce is spicy, so he won’t eat the fish. He eats my French fries instead. Is everybody happy? Yes, they are.
We head over to the Critter Cove, or something like that. It’s an aquarium. Part of it is a moving walkway that takes you through a clear plastic tunnel where the aquarium goes overhead. So you’re virtually surrounded by fish, turtles, and sharks. Have I left anyone out? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
It’s a nice aquarium. It is. But it’s nothing compared to the one in Gatlinburg, TN.
Then it’s on to Camp Snoopy. An indoor amusement park, this must be kid heaven. The kids go on the ferris wheel. I am not going on any rides with my vision screwed up. It’s too easy to imagine blowing fish and chips all over Minnesota. We wouldn’t want them to think Iowans are rude. On the other hand I could tell them I'm from Nebraska. Naaah.
The Superwife and Ms. Pikachu ride the rollercoaster. Trainboy rides the train and a couple more rides. There are still a few points left on the ticket. Ms. Pikachu rides the roller coaster again, all by herself. She flies by, arms over her head. She’s happy, you can tell by the smile on her face.
There’s a little time left, so we go through Legoland again. Happy Trainboy.
Back to the hotel. Everybody wants to swim. Can’t swim. The pool closes when we get there. Oh well. Tomorrow we shall wake early and swim. Uh huh, yeah.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Tuesday, August 26, 2003
Okay, I’m depressed. The wife picked up the MRI’s from the hospital for the trip to Mayo. We took a look. I had hoped that the tumor had somehow extended away from the brainstem in some easier to get at way. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. It’s just a little more forward than before and putting pressure on the optic nerves. Crap.
I’m grateful that it hasn’t caused the extreme trigeminal neuralgia episodes it did before. But the whole double vision thing is irritating. It’s like looking through one of those old stereo-opticon devices and not getting the pictures lined up. Driving is a pain, and is best done with one eye closed. You only try merging onto the interstate once, after that it’s just side streets. Fun, fun, fun.
The wife tells me not to worry. We’ve been there, done that. But I don’t want to do it again, because I’ve been there, done that. The brain surgery and after-effects were no fun. I was weak for weeks after I got out of the hospital.
The spinal tap was no fun either. Just a little tip here- if someone ever says you need a spinal tap- while they’re doing it exhale as hard as you can, arch your back, and try to touch your toes with your shoulders. Three times is not a charm, it’s three times the pain. Get it right the first time. No, I am not looking forward to this. But I have to do something.
So tonight, I had to do something about the car’s brakes. They’d been screeching for a while. If would be a bummer to drive up to Rochester and have the brakes fail on the way. It would be… cosmic, in a black hole comedy kind of way. So I did the brakes.
While we’re at it, how about some brake tips? Just in case you want to save a few bucks and get greasy too. Firstly, maintenance manuals will tell you to bleed the brake lines. That would be stupid, that would be making the job bigger than it has to be. Just unscrew the master cylinder cap (where you put in the brake fluid) and pump the brake pedal a few times, it will relieve the pressure just fine.
Loosen the lug nuts and jack up the side. And herein lays the days comedy. By the time I ‘d started to do this it was already late evening. I slide the jack under the car, it’s very dark under there, and I’m seeing double. But everything seems good. Remove tire, remove brake caliper. Easy enough. Remove outer brake pad, leave the inner one on. That way you can use a C-clamp to compress the cylinder by clamping down on the inner brake pad. It’s slick, it would be more work to do it any other way. After compression, remove the inner brake pad. Add new pads, reassemble, and away you go. Manly braking, screech free. So quick it’s a waste to pay somebody to do it.
Ideally anyway. Not tonight.
Because I tried to do it too fast. And I was visually impaired too. And sometimes somebody should pull my Mensa card. As you recall, I placed a jack under a car hardly able to see it. I thought it was a good placement, it was not. I did not bother to set the parking brake or block the wheels. The car was flat, and I’ve never had a problem with a vehicle rolling. It was all done too fast and too familiar.
As I was working on a caliper I noticed the jack was leaning because two of its wheels were in a seam in the concrete surface. But it didn’t seem like a big deal. I just figured, “Don’t put your head in the wheel well.” The wife came out to help. As I tried to line up the bolts in the caliper by feel, and not putting my head in the wheel well to see, she pushed on it to try to help line it up. She pushed in the direction of the jack’s leaning. The jack leaned farther. It slowly rolled onto it’s side like an elephant taking a nap. Kawunmp. Well, that was interesting. Nobody’s fault but my own, I broke every safety rule and got busted. Crap.
Wonderboy held the light. He was impressed. He said his Dad could fix anything, his Dad should be a mechanic. If he were a little older he'd know his Dad had just royally crapped it up. Sure I felt unworthy of his praise, but it was awfully nice to hear him speak so well of me.
Then I got out the scissors jack, jacked it up, and finished the job. Nobody got hurt, it was a good lesson. I promise not to be so stupid again, I can be taught. I got washed up and we took it for a test drive. The wife drove. Manly braking, no screeching. She can pound the brakes all the way to Rochester, we’re good to go. I just don’t wanna go.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
I’m grateful that it hasn’t caused the extreme trigeminal neuralgia episodes it did before. But the whole double vision thing is irritating. It’s like looking through one of those old stereo-opticon devices and not getting the pictures lined up. Driving is a pain, and is best done with one eye closed. You only try merging onto the interstate once, after that it’s just side streets. Fun, fun, fun.
The wife tells me not to worry. We’ve been there, done that. But I don’t want to do it again, because I’ve been there, done that. The brain surgery and after-effects were no fun. I was weak for weeks after I got out of the hospital.
The spinal tap was no fun either. Just a little tip here- if someone ever says you need a spinal tap- while they’re doing it exhale as hard as you can, arch your back, and try to touch your toes with your shoulders. Three times is not a charm, it’s three times the pain. Get it right the first time. No, I am not looking forward to this. But I have to do something.
So tonight, I had to do something about the car’s brakes. They’d been screeching for a while. If would be a bummer to drive up to Rochester and have the brakes fail on the way. It would be… cosmic, in a black hole comedy kind of way. So I did the brakes.
While we’re at it, how about some brake tips? Just in case you want to save a few bucks and get greasy too. Firstly, maintenance manuals will tell you to bleed the brake lines. That would be stupid, that would be making the job bigger than it has to be. Just unscrew the master cylinder cap (where you put in the brake fluid) and pump the brake pedal a few times, it will relieve the pressure just fine.
Loosen the lug nuts and jack up the side. And herein lays the days comedy. By the time I ‘d started to do this it was already late evening. I slide the jack under the car, it’s very dark under there, and I’m seeing double. But everything seems good. Remove tire, remove brake caliper. Easy enough. Remove outer brake pad, leave the inner one on. That way you can use a C-clamp to compress the cylinder by clamping down on the inner brake pad. It’s slick, it would be more work to do it any other way. After compression, remove the inner brake pad. Add new pads, reassemble, and away you go. Manly braking, screech free. So quick it’s a waste to pay somebody to do it.
Ideally anyway. Not tonight.
Because I tried to do it too fast. And I was visually impaired too. And sometimes somebody should pull my Mensa card. As you recall, I placed a jack under a car hardly able to see it. I thought it was a good placement, it was not. I did not bother to set the parking brake or block the wheels. The car was flat, and I’ve never had a problem with a vehicle rolling. It was all done too fast and too familiar.
As I was working on a caliper I noticed the jack was leaning because two of its wheels were in a seam in the concrete surface. But it didn’t seem like a big deal. I just figured, “Don’t put your head in the wheel well.” The wife came out to help. As I tried to line up the bolts in the caliper by feel, and not putting my head in the wheel well to see, she pushed on it to try to help line it up. She pushed in the direction of the jack’s leaning. The jack leaned farther. It slowly rolled onto it’s side like an elephant taking a nap. Kawunmp. Well, that was interesting. Nobody’s fault but my own, I broke every safety rule and got busted. Crap.
Wonderboy held the light. He was impressed. He said his Dad could fix anything, his Dad should be a mechanic. If he were a little older he'd know his Dad had just royally crapped it up. Sure I felt unworthy of his praise, but it was awfully nice to hear him speak so well of me.
Then I got out the scissors jack, jacked it up, and finished the job. Nobody got hurt, it was a good lesson. I promise not to be so stupid again, I can be taught. I got washed up and we took it for a test drive. The wife drove. Manly braking, no screeching. She can pound the brakes all the way to Rochester, we’re good to go. I just don’t wanna go.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Saturday, August 23, 2003
The status of things:
We have more ice cubes than we’ve ever had. If you need ice cubes you just let me know.
The brain thing. The pressure on my right eye makes me cross-eyed. Past about arms length I see double. I tell the wife it’s almost like being married to twins. She doesn’t find it very amusing. I’ll have to give up the pitch to convert to Mormonism.
The steroid I take to combat the brain swelling can cause mood swings. It sure does. I become very impatient with the kids and have to tell myself to shut up, even more than usual. The wife? I just say “yes dear” like usual and we get along fine.
At work, Don, High Sheriff and Security Grand Poobah, was sharing his thoughts re my upcoming surgery. He figures that since the problem is pressure on the eye the surgeon will just pop my eye out and Roto-Rooter around in there to clean it out.
There’s a happy image- laying there with an eyeball hanging out while a surgeon gets to practice his plumber’s snake technique through my eye socket. But wait, there’s more.
James, a co-worker, overheard this happy conversation and felt his own need to share. James used to work at the VA hospital. James said, “They’re really careful about working around the frontal lobes. They’ll probably keep you conscious so they can keep track of how you’re doing.” Thanks a lot.
Now I’m going to be laying on a table, fully conscious, and they’re going to pop out an eyeball and roto rooter my brain while saying, “How ya’ doing?” Like I’ll feel like talking. I’ll certainly have to be under some kind of anesthetic. So I’ll probably say something in a semi-delirious state like, “How ‘bout them Hawks?” and the surgeon will flinch because he’s a Gophers fan. I am so screwed. I’m really looking forward to this.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
We have more ice cubes than we’ve ever had. If you need ice cubes you just let me know.
The brain thing. The pressure on my right eye makes me cross-eyed. Past about arms length I see double. I tell the wife it’s almost like being married to twins. She doesn’t find it very amusing. I’ll have to give up the pitch to convert to Mormonism.
The steroid I take to combat the brain swelling can cause mood swings. It sure does. I become very impatient with the kids and have to tell myself to shut up, even more than usual. The wife? I just say “yes dear” like usual and we get along fine.
At work, Don, High Sheriff and Security Grand Poobah, was sharing his thoughts re my upcoming surgery. He figures that since the problem is pressure on the eye the surgeon will just pop my eye out and Roto-Rooter around in there to clean it out.
There’s a happy image- laying there with an eyeball hanging out while a surgeon gets to practice his plumber’s snake technique through my eye socket. But wait, there’s more.
James, a co-worker, overheard this happy conversation and felt his own need to share. James used to work at the VA hospital. James said, “They’re really careful about working around the frontal lobes. They’ll probably keep you conscious so they can keep track of how you’re doing.” Thanks a lot.
Now I’m going to be laying on a table, fully conscious, and they’re going to pop out an eyeball and roto rooter my brain while saying, “How ya’ doing?” Like I’ll feel like talking. I’ll certainly have to be under some kind of anesthetic. So I’ll probably say something in a semi-delirious state like, “How ‘bout them Hawks?” and the surgeon will flinch because he’s a Gophers fan. I am so screwed. I’m really looking forward to this.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Friday, August 22, 2003
I’ve been behind in the blogging, so this morning a little catch-up. It may have already been done to death, but it hasn’t been done here yet.
Arnold as California Guv’ner. Oh why not. Reagan showed you can go from acting on the screen to acting in real life and succeed. Not only succeed but have acolytes that would put him on Rushmore. If Ann Coulter ever has a kid it will be because she gave in to carnal thoughts while thinking of Ronald Reagan. Just don’t tell her husband, if she has one. She would certainly nickname the kid, regardless of gender, ‘Li’l Gipper.’ Remember, you read it here first.
But back to Arnold. He’ll almost certainly win. The left-wingers will beat him with everything they can come up with- nothing will be too petty. I predict, I predict, even his Aryan Marine haircut will become the stuff of punditry. Just remember I did it first.
Gray Davis? He’s dead meat. He’s going to learn how few political friends you have when you’re no longer useful. Twisting in the wind, he’s going to be a more gruesome spectacle than hanging chad was in Florida.
Of course, just because his political friends abandon him doesn't mean they'll glom onto Arnold. Which is why we may be treated to the spectacle of Arnold campaigning while Barbara Streisand and Cybil Shepherd bite his ankles. Expect Arnold to shake them off with customary good humor.
He has larger groups to deal with. A big part of California’s population is Hispanic. I’m not even going to try to get a percentage, it just seems that obvious. So it seems that the Hispanics could have a lot to say about who wins the guv’nah ship. Arnold can capitalize on his own status as an immigrant to suck up, though the Hispanics might complain they got there first. The problem might be that Hispanics probably vote Democrat, part of the whole minority “thing.” I’m not going to research that either.
I like Arnold. He makes it easy. So here’s a bone for Arnold. To get that big Hispanic vote- one little phrase. “Ich Bin Ein Hispanic.” Sure, the Hispanics might prefer it a little more correct, like “Lo soy Hispanico.” But you gotta admit, the German rings. It brings into play that whole Kennedy thing he married into.
Other contestants- Gary Coleman. Well that's different. He announced he would not accept any campaign contributions. Across the country were heard cries of anguish as check books slapped shut. It seems a little strict of him not to let the people express their free speech via contribution, but maybe he's more Aryan than Arnold.
Gotta go to work. If not more of this later, you’ll get my slant on Queer Eye. Oh boy.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Arnold as California Guv’ner. Oh why not. Reagan showed you can go from acting on the screen to acting in real life and succeed. Not only succeed but have acolytes that would put him on Rushmore. If Ann Coulter ever has a kid it will be because she gave in to carnal thoughts while thinking of Ronald Reagan. Just don’t tell her husband, if she has one. She would certainly nickname the kid, regardless of gender, ‘Li’l Gipper.’ Remember, you read it here first.
But back to Arnold. He’ll almost certainly win. The left-wingers will beat him with everything they can come up with- nothing will be too petty. I predict, I predict, even his Aryan Marine haircut will become the stuff of punditry. Just remember I did it first.
Gray Davis? He’s dead meat. He’s going to learn how few political friends you have when you’re no longer useful. Twisting in the wind, he’s going to be a more gruesome spectacle than hanging chad was in Florida.
Of course, just because his political friends abandon him doesn't mean they'll glom onto Arnold. Which is why we may be treated to the spectacle of Arnold campaigning while Barbara Streisand and Cybil Shepherd bite his ankles. Expect Arnold to shake them off with customary good humor.
He has larger groups to deal with. A big part of California’s population is Hispanic. I’m not even going to try to get a percentage, it just seems that obvious. So it seems that the Hispanics could have a lot to say about who wins the guv’nah ship. Arnold can capitalize on his own status as an immigrant to suck up, though the Hispanics might complain they got there first. The problem might be that Hispanics probably vote Democrat, part of the whole minority “thing.” I’m not going to research that either.
I like Arnold. He makes it easy. So here’s a bone for Arnold. To get that big Hispanic vote- one little phrase. “Ich Bin Ein Hispanic.” Sure, the Hispanics might prefer it a little more correct, like “Lo soy Hispanico.” But you gotta admit, the German rings. It brings into play that whole Kennedy thing he married into.
Other contestants- Gary Coleman. Well that's different. He announced he would not accept any campaign contributions. Across the country were heard cries of anguish as check books slapped shut. It seems a little strict of him not to let the people express their free speech via contribution, but maybe he's more Aryan than Arnold.
Gotta go to work. If not more of this later, you’ll get my slant on Queer Eye. Oh boy.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Wednesday, August 20, 2003
Home Improvement- The Icemaker
I finally installed a water line to the fridge, and therein lays today’s tale, as it were.
The installation had been giving me fits. There seemed to be no satisfactory answer because the fridge is in a corner. In the basement, below the fridge, is the fuse box. Yes, fuse box is correct, it’s never been upgraded to breakers. You say “So what?” Well the “what” is that building code does not allow installation of a water line within three feet of a fuse or breaker box.
Measure out three feet from the edge of the fuse box and you wind up about a foot and a half to the side of the fridge. So I figured I could run some ½ inch PVC from the washing machine line up through the floor, cap it off, and tap into it for the line to the fridge. Sure, it would work, but it would be an ugly thing to have on the kitchen floor.
The wife wanted her icemaker. So we got everything we’d need from Home Depot to do the job. One of the things needed was a basic ice-maker connection kit. The choice was plastic or copper, each kit had a seven foot length of tubing. It’s not as much as I want. It’s a 4’1/2 foot drop to the washer line. There won’t be much slack for moving the fridge.
Copper is a hassle. I picked up the kit using plastic pipe. The friendly HD friendly person said, “No, don’t use that, use copper.” And he handed me a kit using copper tubing. Dear God. But being weak-willed I assented. Now we’re going to have copper tubing stretched across the floor. Crap. Damn me for being spineless, but spineless I am.
But I can’t bring myself to drill that ½ inch hole in the floor. It would be ugly. It would be final. Can’t do it, there has to be a better way.
Maybe… Tom would know a better way. Tom is the guy next door whose initials should be DIY. He does everything- tears down cars, welds, fabricates. His day job for the city seems to be just to get money for his projects. He has a work ethic to shame an ant. So why not ask Tom?
I step outside, and there’s Tom walking up our shared driveway. Could this be a sign? Indeed. I explain my predicament; he seems somewhat amused. “Why don’t you just go to Menards and get some plastic pipe, run that through the floor and hook that into the washer line?” But if I do that to come up behind the fridge, won’t I be violating code?
“Nah, that’s just for any joints in case they leak. You’ll just be running tubing from the washer line to the back of the fridge. You’ll be okay.”
There it was, simple, beautiful, easy. I coulda kissed him, but he’s not that kind of guy.
God forbid that I should run into the same guy at Home Depot, so to Menards I go. Their installation kit has 25 feet of tubing. It just keeps getting better. We be on a roll. This suddenly feels very good.
Well it felt good for a little bit. I drill a small hole in the kitchen floor behind the fridge to make sure it’ll be ok. I want the hole at the tile’s seam, so anybody who ever replaces the tile has an easier job of it. I leave the drill bit in the floor so I can find the hole easier. I check it downstairs, nothing. Apparently all the time spent watching Star Trek has not been wasted. No doubt about it, I’ve discovered a wormhole. The drill bit goes into the kitchen floor and comes out somewhere around Alpha Centauri. I hope the Alphas do not find me rude for arriving unannounced. Hopefully they will know I come in peace, but a drill bit coming through looks kind of serious.
The house is overbuilt in its 100 year-old way. Maybe a wider, longer bit would reach. It does not. Screw this, we can go the other way. Into the basement with the drill, put it up as far back as possible, hope and a prayer, and away it goes. And may I just say here, thank God and the inventor he inspired, for cordless drills. It definitely went through something. We have to go upstairs to see now. Oh, boy, oh, boy, it’s like Christmas, only maybe destructive.
The hole is about a foot in from the wall. Dear God. Stone foundation like a freaking castle. Of course the hole is nowhere near a tile seam. Someday some guy will curse me for giving him a crappy job, but I’ll probably be dead by then, or living on Alpha Centauri.
The tubing is ¼ inch. I go crazy and go to 17/64 for that extra 1/64 of play. Oh baby, it slips through so nicely, you’d almost think I knew what I was doing.
I figure, what if I get the freak one in a million bad saddle valve and it starts running as soon as I hook it up to the water supply? Better have the fridge end hooked up first.
So next up, do the compression fitting on the back of the fridge. Snug but not too tight, don’t want to ruin the fitting. Leave the wrench right there in case it’s needed.
Then it’s time for the saddle valve on the water line. This seems kind of rinky-dink to me. You clamp the valve onto the water line, screw it in, back it off, and like magic you’ve got a water connection. Okay, but it still seems kind of rinky-dink to me. Or did I already say that?
Being married to the Supernurse the union area must first be cleaned, scrubbed, sterilized, cauterized, and swabbed with baby wipes. This is health ya’ know, sterile procedure. Clamp, screw, unscrew, and the water flows like magic. No drips, good job for me. I follow the slow flow up the tubing. Oh baby, this could be so good. It reaches the ceiling; I run upstairs to watch. You can’t get this on cable.
Slowly, slowly it reaches the fridge. Then it’s there with a little bubbling. I’ve no problem with letting it clear air out of the line. Bubbling stops and a drip comes out. Grab the handy wrench, and a quarter turn later dry off the top, no more water, no problem.
Oh baby, this is good. Except there’s the little matter of “Does the icemaker work?” The Superwife flips the switch, nothing. It was accidentally tripped before and it made a grumbling sound, but this is nothing, not even a hum. There’s nothing to do but wait and hope it doesn’t mean a service call.
Two hours later, ice cubes! Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. They’re not really cubes. They’re more like half-slices of canned cranberry sauce. As if ice cube description is at all important. But it works. The Superwife is happy. I knowledgeably inform her that the first three loads must be discarded, system flush you know. You can read it in the manual, I did.
When I got home today she told me every once in a while she and the kids would open the freezer to see how many cubes we had. Sometimes it takes so little to make them happy. For a few days anyway, we’re living high on the hog. Tonight, at supper, to drink we had … ice water with non-cubic cubes.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
I finally installed a water line to the fridge, and therein lays today’s tale, as it were.
The installation had been giving me fits. There seemed to be no satisfactory answer because the fridge is in a corner. In the basement, below the fridge, is the fuse box. Yes, fuse box is correct, it’s never been upgraded to breakers. You say “So what?” Well the “what” is that building code does not allow installation of a water line within three feet of a fuse or breaker box.
Measure out three feet from the edge of the fuse box and you wind up about a foot and a half to the side of the fridge. So I figured I could run some ½ inch PVC from the washing machine line up through the floor, cap it off, and tap into it for the line to the fridge. Sure, it would work, but it would be an ugly thing to have on the kitchen floor.
The wife wanted her icemaker. So we got everything we’d need from Home Depot to do the job. One of the things needed was a basic ice-maker connection kit. The choice was plastic or copper, each kit had a seven foot length of tubing. It’s not as much as I want. It’s a 4’1/2 foot drop to the washer line. There won’t be much slack for moving the fridge.
Copper is a hassle. I picked up the kit using plastic pipe. The friendly HD friendly person said, “No, don’t use that, use copper.” And he handed me a kit using copper tubing. Dear God. But being weak-willed I assented. Now we’re going to have copper tubing stretched across the floor. Crap. Damn me for being spineless, but spineless I am.
But I can’t bring myself to drill that ½ inch hole in the floor. It would be ugly. It would be final. Can’t do it, there has to be a better way.
Maybe… Tom would know a better way. Tom is the guy next door whose initials should be DIY. He does everything- tears down cars, welds, fabricates. His day job for the city seems to be just to get money for his projects. He has a work ethic to shame an ant. So why not ask Tom?
I step outside, and there’s Tom walking up our shared driveway. Could this be a sign? Indeed. I explain my predicament; he seems somewhat amused. “Why don’t you just go to Menards and get some plastic pipe, run that through the floor and hook that into the washer line?” But if I do that to come up behind the fridge, won’t I be violating code?
“Nah, that’s just for any joints in case they leak. You’ll just be running tubing from the washer line to the back of the fridge. You’ll be okay.”
There it was, simple, beautiful, easy. I coulda kissed him, but he’s not that kind of guy.
God forbid that I should run into the same guy at Home Depot, so to Menards I go. Their installation kit has 25 feet of tubing. It just keeps getting better. We be on a roll. This suddenly feels very good.
Well it felt good for a little bit. I drill a small hole in the kitchen floor behind the fridge to make sure it’ll be ok. I want the hole at the tile’s seam, so anybody who ever replaces the tile has an easier job of it. I leave the drill bit in the floor so I can find the hole easier. I check it downstairs, nothing. Apparently all the time spent watching Star Trek has not been wasted. No doubt about it, I’ve discovered a wormhole. The drill bit goes into the kitchen floor and comes out somewhere around Alpha Centauri. I hope the Alphas do not find me rude for arriving unannounced. Hopefully they will know I come in peace, but a drill bit coming through looks kind of serious.
The house is overbuilt in its 100 year-old way. Maybe a wider, longer bit would reach. It does not. Screw this, we can go the other way. Into the basement with the drill, put it up as far back as possible, hope and a prayer, and away it goes. And may I just say here, thank God and the inventor he inspired, for cordless drills. It definitely went through something. We have to go upstairs to see now. Oh, boy, oh, boy, it’s like Christmas, only maybe destructive.
The hole is about a foot in from the wall. Dear God. Stone foundation like a freaking castle. Of course the hole is nowhere near a tile seam. Someday some guy will curse me for giving him a crappy job, but I’ll probably be dead by then, or living on Alpha Centauri.
The tubing is ¼ inch. I go crazy and go to 17/64 for that extra 1/64 of play. Oh baby, it slips through so nicely, you’d almost think I knew what I was doing.
I figure, what if I get the freak one in a million bad saddle valve and it starts running as soon as I hook it up to the water supply? Better have the fridge end hooked up first.
So next up, do the compression fitting on the back of the fridge. Snug but not too tight, don’t want to ruin the fitting. Leave the wrench right there in case it’s needed.
Then it’s time for the saddle valve on the water line. This seems kind of rinky-dink to me. You clamp the valve onto the water line, screw it in, back it off, and like magic you’ve got a water connection. Okay, but it still seems kind of rinky-dink to me. Or did I already say that?
Being married to the Supernurse the union area must first be cleaned, scrubbed, sterilized, cauterized, and swabbed with baby wipes. This is health ya’ know, sterile procedure. Clamp, screw, unscrew, and the water flows like magic. No drips, good job for me. I follow the slow flow up the tubing. Oh baby, this could be so good. It reaches the ceiling; I run upstairs to watch. You can’t get this on cable.
Slowly, slowly it reaches the fridge. Then it’s there with a little bubbling. I’ve no problem with letting it clear air out of the line. Bubbling stops and a drip comes out. Grab the handy wrench, and a quarter turn later dry off the top, no more water, no problem.
Oh baby, this is good. Except there’s the little matter of “Does the icemaker work?” The Superwife flips the switch, nothing. It was accidentally tripped before and it made a grumbling sound, but this is nothing, not even a hum. There’s nothing to do but wait and hope it doesn’t mean a service call.
Two hours later, ice cubes! Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. They’re not really cubes. They’re more like half-slices of canned cranberry sauce. As if ice cube description is at all important. But it works. The Superwife is happy. I knowledgeably inform her that the first three loads must be discarded, system flush you know. You can read it in the manual, I did.
When I got home today she told me every once in a while she and the kids would open the freezer to see how many cubes we had. Sometimes it takes so little to make them happy. For a few days anyway, we’re living high on the hog. Tonight, at supper, to drink we had … ice water with non-cubic cubes.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-