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.
Friday, September 12, 2003
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.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
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
-
Friday, August 15, 2003
Okay no blog last night, let me explain.
The Tyranny of Pigs, and the Meaning of Life
I got home and as soon as I walk in the front door the pig whistling starts. They seem to be led by the brown and white one, Buddy Jr. (Buddy Jr. is a female and she’s…. conflicted). I make it to the kitchen, they keep whistling, I turn around to get them the greens they have become accustomed to. The wife says, “Oh no, don't do that. They were outside all afternoon they shouldn't be hungry.” They keep whistling for a few minutes.
The Superwife makes Hungry Jack casserole. Ms. Pikachu is ecstatic. If you're not familiar- Hungry Jack Casserole starts with a layer of baked beans and hamburger mixed with barbecue sauce and onions. Then it’s covered by biscuits and topped off with a layer of cheese.
All Ms. Pikachu could say was "It's just a big pile of gas material. I am going to fart all night." I told her she would fart alone. Not much to say, but it was all I could think of.
Trainboy got caught up in the excitement too. "I'm going to fart too!" Dreams of tooting like a steam engine’s whistle I imagine. “Toot! Toot! I love that sound!
After we stuffed ourselves with the stuff stars are made of the Holywife informed me some group of spiritual people were gathering at some spiritual retreat and they were going to walk a spiritual symbol in prayer. Uh huh, yeah, whatever. When do we leave?
The kids did not want to go. It was just the two of us. We went to the prayer thing, when we got there nearly everybody was already gone. Imagine that, we were late. It was on a large acreage within city limits- a nice piece of ground, it’s only a matter of time before they sell out and it's all put under concrete. That would be a conversion to a shrine to the Almighty Dollar. But you knew that.
Anyway, we headed out on the nature trail and communed with nature. The communing consisted of a deer that ran away, various wild flowers, and mosquitoes. The mosquitoes did not run away. Mother nature can be a bit bloodthirsty, even while you're trying to center yourself and achieve oneness with the oneness.
The event was to walk through a labyrinth. Think of a circle about 30 feet across with one entrance into the circle. Inside the circle is a maze with only one route that will use the entire circle.
The trail was marked by a single line of bricks and was only one brick high- easy to follow, tempting to cheat. Careless travelers had stepped on some of them, bumping them over or misaligning them. Can't have that; have to put them back where they belong. We will leave it better than we found it. As I do the wife gets out ahead of me.
The wife stops and asks, "Didn't you say that bending over makes your eyesight worse? Why are you doing that?" I tell her I am not bending over, I'm squatting, so my head stays up. It needs to be done, and I'm doing it. I continue to walk the path and it isn't long before she bends over to straighten a brick. Ah, love.
The seeker of truth turns and turns, sometimes in the direction you want to go, sometimes not. Sometimes you get sand in your shoes. When you get to the center, why you've reached it. Then you turn around and go out the way you came, spiritually thankful there's no door to hit you on the butt on your way out. Hmmm, a deep thought, this is what we came for.
There is a bell to ring. It can be rung at the start or end of the journey. Supposedly it reverberates with the oneness. Maybe so. But it seems to me that if there are eight notes there is a higher chance of striking discord. Add in sharps and flats and the odds get even worse. What about the Superwife, suppose it works for me but doesn’t for her? It would seem an awfully selfish act then. The odds for total satisfaction seem long indeed. I do not ring the bell. I will ring the bell if there’s $40 million or more at stake.
On the way home She tells me we can pick up the equipment for installing the refrigerator’s ice machine. As we near the Mecca of DIY she asks, “Menards, or Home Depot?” I tell her either will do, certain that oneness will be attained whichever way she chooses. Home Depot it is.
We get a filter, some copper tubing and a length of ½ inch PVC pipe for the water line. We’re running out of time. Our friendly customer helper asks what we need for joints. The fridge is above the main fuse box. Code does not allow water pipe within three feet of the fuse box. Quick guess, six elbows and a tee and we’re done.
On the way home I realize I’d forgotten a shut-off valve, necessary for the filter changes, and a cap- unless we want a fountain in the kitchen. We did not achieve oneness. Oneness is not achieved in a rush.
We get home and the whistling starts again. They whistle and whistle. Buddy Jr. climbs on top of her hut, stands on her rear feet and whistles like Benita Mussolini inspiring the masses. The others gather around. Benita whistles and nods. The genuflecting hairballs whistle in response. It almost sounds like “Duce, Duce, Duce!”
Needing to head off the revolt I go outside and gather dandelion and plantain greens. I place them in their boxes, and even Il Duce shuts up and eats. It’s a sad thing to admit, but sometimes achieving civil peace is nothing more than bread and circuses.
Supermom and Ms. Pikachu head off to read before bed. Trainboy watches a video. I sit on the couch to keep him company, and fall asleep before he does. And that’s why I didn’t blog last night.
Hungry Jack Casserole (The stuff stars are made of)
Brown together and drain:
1 lb hamburger
½ cup chopped onion
½ cup chopped green pepper
Add:
¾ cup barbecue sauce
2-1 lb cans pork and beans
2 T brown sugar
Heat and pour into 9/13” pan. Top with a tube of biscuits or crescent rolls (unrolled).
Cover biscuits with 1 cup Cheddar cheese (shredded).
Bake at 375 for 25-30 minutes.
Best served with sides of Beano and acidophilus.
Airwick makes a delightful centerpiece.
The Tyranny of Pigs, and the Meaning of Life
I got home and as soon as I walk in the front door the pig whistling starts. They seem to be led by the brown and white one, Buddy Jr. (Buddy Jr. is a female and she’s…. conflicted). I make it to the kitchen, they keep whistling, I turn around to get them the greens they have become accustomed to. The wife says, “Oh no, don't do that. They were outside all afternoon they shouldn't be hungry.” They keep whistling for a few minutes.
The Superwife makes Hungry Jack casserole. Ms. Pikachu is ecstatic. If you're not familiar- Hungry Jack Casserole starts with a layer of baked beans and hamburger mixed with barbecue sauce and onions. Then it’s covered by biscuits and topped off with a layer of cheese.
All Ms. Pikachu could say was "It's just a big pile of gas material. I am going to fart all night." I told her she would fart alone. Not much to say, but it was all I could think of.
Trainboy got caught up in the excitement too. "I'm going to fart too!" Dreams of tooting like a steam engine’s whistle I imagine. “Toot! Toot! I love that sound!
After we stuffed ourselves with the stuff stars are made of the Holywife informed me some group of spiritual people were gathering at some spiritual retreat and they were going to walk a spiritual symbol in prayer. Uh huh, yeah, whatever. When do we leave?
The kids did not want to go. It was just the two of us. We went to the prayer thing, when we got there nearly everybody was already gone. Imagine that, we were late. It was on a large acreage within city limits- a nice piece of ground, it’s only a matter of time before they sell out and it's all put under concrete. That would be a conversion to a shrine to the Almighty Dollar. But you knew that.
Anyway, we headed out on the nature trail and communed with nature. The communing consisted of a deer that ran away, various wild flowers, and mosquitoes. The mosquitoes did not run away. Mother nature can be a bit bloodthirsty, even while you're trying to center yourself and achieve oneness with the oneness.
The event was to walk through a labyrinth. Think of a circle about 30 feet across with one entrance into the circle. Inside the circle is a maze with only one route that will use the entire circle.
The trail was marked by a single line of bricks and was only one brick high- easy to follow, tempting to cheat. Careless travelers had stepped on some of them, bumping them over or misaligning them. Can't have that; have to put them back where they belong. We will leave it better than we found it. As I do the wife gets out ahead of me.
The wife stops and asks, "Didn't you say that bending over makes your eyesight worse? Why are you doing that?" I tell her I am not bending over, I'm squatting, so my head stays up. It needs to be done, and I'm doing it. I continue to walk the path and it isn't long before she bends over to straighten a brick. Ah, love.
The seeker of truth turns and turns, sometimes in the direction you want to go, sometimes not. Sometimes you get sand in your shoes. When you get to the center, why you've reached it. Then you turn around and go out the way you came, spiritually thankful there's no door to hit you on the butt on your way out. Hmmm, a deep thought, this is what we came for.
There is a bell to ring. It can be rung at the start or end of the journey. Supposedly it reverberates with the oneness. Maybe so. But it seems to me that if there are eight notes there is a higher chance of striking discord. Add in sharps and flats and the odds get even worse. What about the Superwife, suppose it works for me but doesn’t for her? It would seem an awfully selfish act then. The odds for total satisfaction seem long indeed. I do not ring the bell. I will ring the bell if there’s $40 million or more at stake.
On the way home She tells me we can pick up the equipment for installing the refrigerator’s ice machine. As we near the Mecca of DIY she asks, “Menards, or Home Depot?” I tell her either will do, certain that oneness will be attained whichever way she chooses. Home Depot it is.
We get a filter, some copper tubing and a length of ½ inch PVC pipe for the water line. We’re running out of time. Our friendly customer helper asks what we need for joints. The fridge is above the main fuse box. Code does not allow water pipe within three feet of the fuse box. Quick guess, six elbows and a tee and we’re done.
On the way home I realize I’d forgotten a shut-off valve, necessary for the filter changes, and a cap- unless we want a fountain in the kitchen. We did not achieve oneness. Oneness is not achieved in a rush.
We get home and the whistling starts again. They whistle and whistle. Buddy Jr. climbs on top of her hut, stands on her rear feet and whistles like Benita Mussolini inspiring the masses. The others gather around. Benita whistles and nods. The genuflecting hairballs whistle in response. It almost sounds like “Duce, Duce, Duce!”
Needing to head off the revolt I go outside and gather dandelion and plantain greens. I place them in their boxes, and even Il Duce shuts up and eats. It’s a sad thing to admit, but sometimes achieving civil peace is nothing more than bread and circuses.
Supermom and Ms. Pikachu head off to read before bed. Trainboy watches a video. I sit on the couch to keep him company, and fall asleep before he does. And that’s why I didn’t blog last night.
Hungry Jack Casserole (The stuff stars are made of)
Brown together and drain:
1 lb hamburger
½ cup chopped onion
½ cup chopped green pepper
Add:
¾ cup barbecue sauce
2-1 lb cans pork and beans
2 T brown sugar
Heat and pour into 9/13” pan. Top with a tube of biscuits or crescent rolls (unrolled).
Cover biscuits with 1 cup Cheddar cheese (shredded).
Bake at 375 for 25-30 minutes.
Best served with sides of Beano and acidophilus.
Airwick makes a delightful centerpiece.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
I got my vision back last night for about a half-hour, then the steroid ran out. Took another one, two a day is allowed, and got some sleep.
Today I'm at work, oh boy. Seems odd to say it, but it feels good to be here.
Tonight we blog.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
I got my vision back last night for about a half-hour, then the steroid ran out. Took another one, two a day is allowed, and got some sleep.
Today I'm at work, oh boy. Seems odd to say it, but it feels good to be here.
Tonight we blog.
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Here's the news- the brain tumor is pushing forward on my right eye. Another brain surgery is required. The first one was supposed to take care of me for life. Oh, well.
Tuesday morning I'm to get a prescription for Decadron (sp?) to relieve the swelling. Then some surgical consults will be done.
Ever get the feeling God is shaking you up? "Why aren't you listening? We used to talk, talk to me." No doubt about it, I've become a miserable excuse for a Christian.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Here's the news- the brain tumor is pushing forward on my right eye. Another brain surgery is required. The first one was supposed to take care of me for life. Oh, well.
Tuesday morning I'm to get a prescription for Decadron (sp?) to relieve the swelling. Then some surgical consults will be done.
Ever get the feeling God is shaking you up? "Why aren't you listening? We used to talk, talk to me." No doubt about it, I've become a miserable excuse for a Christian.
Monday, August 11, 2003
Sunday, August 03, 2003
After church it was time to eat, and then it was time for… the train. The Frugalwife raised an eyebrow, maybe two. She asked, “Was that expensive?” Time to dance. “Kinda, but it was cheaper than buying it on the web.” Well, it was true. The shipping would not have been cheap.
Being a fairly large assembly it took a while to assemble. The track was easy to assemble. Though he could certainly do it, Trainboy let me assume the drudgework of assembly, easy as it was, while he examined the train. The boxcar doors work! Two ovals, a bridge, and he was in business. “Whoo, whoo! I love that sound.”
As the day went on we added more parts- the automatic gates for the road intersection, the tippler to dump coal in the coal car, and rocks in the tipping gondola, the unloader for the gondola.
The kids took turns controlling the train, using the other accessories and throwing the switches. We had to turn down the lights so the train engines lights could be seen.
The Supernurse went to work and I fell asleep on the couch. I slept the contented sleep of a parent with happy kids.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Being a fairly large assembly it took a while to assemble. The track was easy to assemble. Though he could certainly do it, Trainboy let me assume the drudgework of assembly, easy as it was, while he examined the train. The boxcar doors work! Two ovals, a bridge, and he was in business. “Whoo, whoo! I love that sound.”
As the day went on we added more parts- the automatic gates for the road intersection, the tippler to dump coal in the coal car, and rocks in the tipping gondola, the unloader for the gondola.
The kids took turns controlling the train, using the other accessories and throwing the switches. We had to turn down the lights so the train engines lights could be seen.
The Supernurse went to work and I fell asleep on the couch. I slept the contented sleep of a parent with happy kids.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Saturday, August 02, 2003
As you may recall from last Saturday’s post Trainboy brought his new train engine with him when he visited cousins. The coupler was broken when he played with it there. I’d glued it and thought it worked. The glue did not hold. I have many glues, none of them worked. They apparently make the couplers out of super-anti-adhesive plastic. Crap.
After Supernurse went to work we headed for the hobby shop. Maybe they would have a replacement coupler. The lady who runs the shop was busy helping a customer so we wandered around for a while. We looked at the train layout they’re building. It has a bridge- he likes bridges. It has a tunnel and he likes tunnels too. He thought it was a fine thing.
The train I had bought Trainboy for his birthday was a Bachman with EZ-lock tracks. From the look of it the track would just snap together. From the look of it. The reality of it was that it still used connectors on each rail for the electrical contact. Trainboy prides himself on being able to do things for himself, but the track was too difficult for him. It was sometimes aggravating for me, requiring pliers to straighten a bent connector.
So I figured there’s got to be a better way. It does no good for Trainboy to have a train he can’t play with when he wants. So we looked at the train sets too. Life- Like sets use a system they call Power Lock. The tracks snap together side-ways and don’t use rail connectors. Hmm…
The set he already has is a fairly small oval. It seemed reasonable that if he liked it we’d just expand it. Buying a new system would mean the first one is either junk, or rarely used. There is such a thing as cutting your losses though and this seemed like such a time.
I picked out a set that’s much larger than his original one. It’s a double oval almost six foot long and about four feet wide. The ovals overlap, meaning it has a bridge- a good thing. It also comes with a mountain so it has a tunnel, the other good thing. There are also loaders and unloaders for coal and rocks, moving gateways, boxcars, gondolas and the always-important caboose. Guys like toys.
He liked it, no doubt about it. Trainboy looked at me and with a very concerned voice asked, “Is it expensive?” He didn’t want to get his hopes up and then see it go back up on the shelf. “Kinda, but we can buy it if you think you would like it.” “Okay.” He was pleased, me too. In the back of my head was a little voice threatening, “How are you going to explain this?” I didn’t care… much.
When we got to the register I asked the lady who owns the store if she had a coupler for a HO scale Bachman. She told me Bachman only came in G and O scale. There were other customers waiting so I wasn’t going to disagree with her in front of them. Call me a weenie but that’s just the way I am. She told me to check the train for it’s make and get back to her to order one. Okay.
We left the store with one large train set and one happy Trainboy. We put it in the trunk and headed out of town to get Ms. Pikachu. She was not there. They’d gone to the zoo. This made me feel even better about the train purchase. After Ms. Pikachu had gotten to go to Adventureland, the zoo, and stayed over at a cousins it seemed fair that he got a train.
We went to older brother, Herr Ronald’s, and Trainboy played with his cousins. Eventually we got the call that Ms. Pikachu was back and away we went. She was happy. Trainboy was happy. They slept soundly on the way home.
-lifelike trains
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
After Supernurse went to work we headed for the hobby shop. Maybe they would have a replacement coupler. The lady who runs the shop was busy helping a customer so we wandered around for a while. We looked at the train layout they’re building. It has a bridge- he likes bridges. It has a tunnel and he likes tunnels too. He thought it was a fine thing.
The train I had bought Trainboy for his birthday was a Bachman with EZ-lock tracks. From the look of it the track would just snap together. From the look of it. The reality of it was that it still used connectors on each rail for the electrical contact. Trainboy prides himself on being able to do things for himself, but the track was too difficult for him. It was sometimes aggravating for me, requiring pliers to straighten a bent connector.
So I figured there’s got to be a better way. It does no good for Trainboy to have a train he can’t play with when he wants. So we looked at the train sets too. Life- Like sets use a system they call Power Lock. The tracks snap together side-ways and don’t use rail connectors. Hmm…
The set he already has is a fairly small oval. It seemed reasonable that if he liked it we’d just expand it. Buying a new system would mean the first one is either junk, or rarely used. There is such a thing as cutting your losses though and this seemed like such a time.
I picked out a set that’s much larger than his original one. It’s a double oval almost six foot long and about four feet wide. The ovals overlap, meaning it has a bridge- a good thing. It also comes with a mountain so it has a tunnel, the other good thing. There are also loaders and unloaders for coal and rocks, moving gateways, boxcars, gondolas and the always-important caboose. Guys like toys.
He liked it, no doubt about it. Trainboy looked at me and with a very concerned voice asked, “Is it expensive?” He didn’t want to get his hopes up and then see it go back up on the shelf. “Kinda, but we can buy it if you think you would like it.” “Okay.” He was pleased, me too. In the back of my head was a little voice threatening, “How are you going to explain this?” I didn’t care… much.
When we got to the register I asked the lady who owns the store if she had a coupler for a HO scale Bachman. She told me Bachman only came in G and O scale. There were other customers waiting so I wasn’t going to disagree with her in front of them. Call me a weenie but that’s just the way I am. She told me to check the train for it’s make and get back to her to order one. Okay.
We left the store with one large train set and one happy Trainboy. We put it in the trunk and headed out of town to get Ms. Pikachu. She was not there. They’d gone to the zoo. This made me feel even better about the train purchase. After Ms. Pikachu had gotten to go to Adventureland, the zoo, and stayed over at a cousins it seemed fair that he got a train.
We went to older brother, Herr Ronald’s, and Trainboy played with his cousins. Eventually we got the call that Ms. Pikachu was back and away we went. She was happy. Trainboy was happy. They slept soundly on the way home.
-lifelike trains
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Friday, August 01, 2003
The Supernurse went to work and it was just Trainboy and me. He got out his half-his-size-but-still-only-$3.00-at-Wal Mart squirt gun. He showed me how he waters the plants with it. Each plant got three pumps.
When it got dark we went inside and watched some Cartoon Network, because there’s no such thing as too much Ed, Edd, and Eddie.
At bedtime we read ‘Green Eggs and Ham.’ That was it for us.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
When it got dark we went inside and watched some Cartoon Network, because there’s no such thing as too much Ed, Edd, and Eddie.
At bedtime we read ‘Green Eggs and Ham.’ That was it for us.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Thursday, July 31, 2003
Bad news when I got home. The mother of the other Guinea pigs died. Apparently when they shot the video outside yesterday it got too hot.
When she’d had her litter this past winter one of the babies didn’t make it. Since the ground was frozen it wasn’t possible to bury it. The Supermom wrapped it up and put it in the deep freeze. She’d intended to bury it when it got warmer, but it just never seemed like the right time.
They held a little funeral and buried the momma with its baby. Everybody cried, Skunk was a good pet.
We took Heather back home. Ms. Pikachu brought along some clothes and stayed over. She looks forward to this. The last time she visited she was excited that she got to help clean out the chick coop. Imagine that. If she only had the same enthusiasm for cleaning up her room it wouldn’t look like a chicken coop.
It was a quiet drive home.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
When she’d had her litter this past winter one of the babies didn’t make it. Since the ground was frozen it wasn’t possible to bury it. The Supermom wrapped it up and put it in the deep freeze. She’d intended to bury it when it got warmer, but it just never seemed like the right time.
They held a little funeral and buried the momma with its baby. Everybody cried, Skunk was a good pet.
We took Heather back home. Ms. Pikachu brought along some clothes and stayed over. She looks forward to this. The last time she visited she was excited that she got to help clean out the chick coop. Imagine that. If she only had the same enthusiasm for cleaning up her room it wouldn’t look like a chicken coop.
It was a quiet drive home.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
When I got home the Superwife told me that she and the kids had shot a movie. They wrote it, storyboarded it, and shot it with the camcorder. It was their version of ‘The Three Little Pigs.’
They used the Guinea pigs for the actors. Costumes were made, including a hat with ears for the fox. Watching the video it was obvious they’d greatly enjoyed themselves. They even had a blooper segment.
We went to see ‘The Lion King’ at the IMAX. I’ve always liked the movie. It has some cute moments, drama, and a fine score. I was looking forward to seeing it on a huge screen. It was a disappointment.
Enlarging the picture so much often made the lines look like they were drawn on a chalkboard. Sometimes the images were so large and moved so fast I couldn’t follow them. The kids have played the DVD too many times to count, so I’m more than familiar with the film. Even knowing everything I couldn’t keep up. It became just a swirl of color. If I’m not getting the experience across think of it this way- watching TV with your nose against the screen.
But the sound was good. Not that it mattered much. I have a nice surround sound system. Part of my system is a 15-inch, 300-watt sub-woofer that can shake the floor. So I wasn’t impressed when the elephants walked during “I Just Can’t Wait to be King.” If you don’t have such a system, and you really want to feel the elephants walk, then go ahead and see it. But I can’t recommend it. The Superwife feels the same way. However, the kids liked it.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
They used the Guinea pigs for the actors. Costumes were made, including a hat with ears for the fox. Watching the video it was obvious they’d greatly enjoyed themselves. They even had a blooper segment.
We went to see ‘The Lion King’ at the IMAX. I’ve always liked the movie. It has some cute moments, drama, and a fine score. I was looking forward to seeing it on a huge screen. It was a disappointment.
Enlarging the picture so much often made the lines look like they were drawn on a chalkboard. Sometimes the images were so large and moved so fast I couldn’t follow them. The kids have played the DVD too many times to count, so I’m more than familiar with the film. Even knowing everything I couldn’t keep up. It became just a swirl of color. If I’m not getting the experience across think of it this way- watching TV with your nose against the screen.
But the sound was good. Not that it mattered much. I have a nice surround sound system. Part of my system is a 15-inch, 300-watt sub-woofer that can shake the floor. So I wasn’t impressed when the elephants walked during “I Just Can’t Wait to be King.” If you don’t have such a system, and you really want to feel the elephants walk, then go ahead and see it. But I can’t recommend it. The Superwife feels the same way. However, the kids liked it.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-