Month: August 2011

Clandestine Observations, Weed Whacking While Drunk-and-Stupid, and Hooray for Technology!

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I never realized how much more affordable covert surveillance equipment has become in the past few years.  Some of Jerry’s drunk-and-stupids would be positively You Tube gold.  The time he tried to start a fire in the fireplace with gasoline would have been right up there with the stuff you see on World’s Dumbest or 1,000 Ways to Die, only flashpoint doesn’t kill you, (usually) but it does burn off body hair.

Speaking of 1,000 Ways to Die  today I had to explain to some Uncle Dad (ill-educated backwoods redneck) that there’s a reason why one does not install a remote start kit on a vehicle with a manual transmission.   Something about disabling the neutral safety switch (the gadget that keeps you from starting the car unless you have your foot on the clutch) is one of those Not Very Good Ideas.  Just color me ethically cautious, but 20+ years in automotive have made me both cautious and cynical when considering the average person’s ability to understand simple directions, i.e. being 100% sure the car is in neutral when you try to start it without having your foot on the clutch.   If I’m telling you a particular modification is not a good idea, chances are I’ve either tried it (lots of experience in the School of the Burned Hand) or observed the carnage when someone else did.  I spent way too many years of my life in mechanical shops and in close proximity to body shops. 

It  does beg the question why would anyone want a remote start kit (even if you don’t drive a manual transmission car) to begin with.  I don’t want my car running without me in it.  This is Ohio, and winters can get cold, but it does not get cold enough here to warrant letting any modern car run unattended for any length of time.  That’s why vehicle manufacturers came up with all the nice innovations such as computer controlled idle and timing and electronic fuel injection.  The electronic controls make the necessary adjustments to idle, timing and fuel mix to adapt to the ambient temperature, so that puppy is going to start and run even if it’s cold.  Start the bloody thing and take off already, that’s how newer vehicles are designed.  It heats up quicker that way (both the engine and the heater, which gets hot because the cooling system from the engine gets hot) and it saves gasoline.  It’s not like back in the day when you had to play with carburetors and chokes and mechanical distributors and such, only to put the car in gear and have it stall out if you didn’t let it sit and idle and get relatively warm first.

Believe me, I don’t miss carburetion or conventional ignition one bit.  The scary thing is I am old enough to remember both- and know how they (are supposed to) work.  Rube Goldberg had nothing on 1970’s and 1980’s (blecch!) domestic carbureted vehicles’ fuel and emissions systems. It’s a bloody engineering marvel if and when they DO work.  Most of the time they didn’t, especially in the the depth of a wet, cold Ohio winter.  There’s a reason why nobody is still driving their old 1982 Chevette- many reasons, actually, but I don’t think there are very many of those old turds left that still can be driven- even if the floorboards by some Act of God failed to rust through.

I may be one of the last surviving women on the planet who knows how to decipher GM carburetor (and differential, and speedometer gear) charts.  Just because I know how to look up the component parts for these old carburetors in the old GM charts doesn’t mean they are available (most probably aren’t) but it’s a quaint old skill, sort of like using a slide rule, or writing a letter using pen and ink.  The guys who play with vintage/classic cars will understand exactly what I’m talking about, but most people will scratch their heads and wonder what the flying thunder I’m talking about.  Have fun rebuilding that four barrel Rochester for your Chevelle.  There are vintage suppliers who still deal with that old stuff, but as for me, progress is a good thing.  I may be many things, and not all of them lovely, but I am certainly not a technophobe- especially as it applies to the automotive world. I want to see a car that gets 100MPG (if it’s not too dorky- like the Smart Car that has no room but still doesn’t get any better mileage than my 4 door Yaris sedan- or expensive I would probably buy it) and for the most part I like the electronics and gadgetry available today.

However, I don’t need a remote start, even if it were safe to use them on a manual transmission vehicle (and trust me, it’s NOT!)  I really don’t mind being a bit cold for a few minutes while the heater warms up, and there are few things I disdain more than wasting gasoline.

Speaking of wasting gasoline in creative ways, I got to observe yet another drunk-and-stupid adventure last night.  Joy!  I am afraid to look in the back yard.  Jerry found himself a very sweet high-faluting John Deere weed whacker.  Now, I don’t get excited in the least about yard implements.  I don’t like yard work, and I’m doing good to even start a lawn mower or a weed whacker.  But Jerry loves yard work, and he loves the lawn tools, with the passion that middle-aged men have for all things lawn, and he gets even more excited about dangerous gasoline-powered toys when he’s good and besnookered.  After a twelve pack, and after Bob showed him how to put line in this particular weed whacker, Jerry was out to weed whack everything.  I stayed in the house with the dogs.  I am only hoping he steered clear of the tomato plants, the eggplants and the zucchinis.  I will have to go investigate tonight when I get home and can see the carnage in the light of day.  I am hoping he kept his whacking activity limited to the weeds around the sidewalk and the hedges, but redneck + alcohol + gasoline powered lawn toy is bound to equal some sort of mass destruction of plant life and anything else he could reach with the whacker.

I need to get some of the spy camera and micro DVR stuff.  Jerry out running amok with the weed whacker would have been priceless You Tube fodder.

Sins of Omission, Synchronicity, and There’s No Escaping Murphy’s Law

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I am sure the tome from the 1950’s advertised above has long been out of print, but I bet it’s most informative.  I can only imagine how quaint and tame the descriptions of sex acts in this book might sound when compared to some of the crazy things people do today.  I am sure this book does not contain terms such as, “dominatrix,” “golden shower,” “dirty Sanchez,” or “fisting.”   It may come as news to some, but there was actually sex before the 1960’s.   It was just kept behind closed doors, for the same reason most people keep the vacuum cleaner in the closet.  You know someone vacuums the floors from time to time, but you don’t necessarily want to keep the vacuum cleaner on display. 

In my case, the vacuum cleaner has been in the closet a very long time, but that’s my problem.  Involuntary celibacy is not for the faint of heart.  It is for the troll-like of body, and too soft of heart, however.

Speaking of vacuum cleaners, sometimes that’s the only thing in my life that doesn’t suck…which sucks because the vacuum cleaner is the one thing that’s supposed to suck.  No matter what I do (and I am sure that having three cats, three large dogs, and an incessant smoker doesn’t help here,) keeping the damned thing unclogged takes more time than the actual act of vacuuming.   I would like to pose a challenge to any vacuum cleaner manufacturer.  If you can provide me a vacuum cleaner (that I don’t  have to unclog, replace the belt, or completely rework every three minutes of use) that will actually suck up dog hair and the various other detritus- especially those damned cigarette pack cellophanes that Jerry trails behind him- that ends up on my floors, then you will actually have a decent product that is that is worth the $100-$500 one has to pay for it.  So far I have not been able to find any vacuum cleaner from any price range, manufacturer or design that I deem to be effective.  Let me do your product testing! 

I highly doubt that any vacuum cleaner manufacturer would be able to build a vacuum cleaner that would work for any length of time in my house.  There are just too many opportunities for Murphy’s Law to manifest itself.  First of all there’s the dog hair, most notably Sheena hair.  Sheena is a Husky/GSD crossbreed- with the horrific perennially shedding thick double coat found in both of those breeds.  To make it worse, Sheena’s hair is predominately white, so it doesn’t blend in.  So at any given time, save for right after I’ve vacuumed, you will find tufts of white fluff pretty much everywhere.  The house has been Sheenatized. Lilo also has a dense double coat, but the bulk of her shedding is in spring and fall (or the Central Ohio seasons of Monsoon and Fall Monsoon) so hers isn’t usually as bad.  Clara is the lightest shedder, with the sparser Malinois coat- but during the twice a year blowouts even she can drop some serious hair.

Dog hair is lethal enough to vacuum cleaners, but then you have Mr. Cig Pack Cellophane dropping those nasty bits of clear (and therefore almost impossible to see) plastic all over creation to clog up the works along with the hair.  One may pose the question, “Why doesn’t he throw them away in the trash can?,” to which I must reply, he was raised by wolves.  I am doing good for him to get a daily change of clothes and a  daily shower.  Beyond that, he pretty well leaves a trail of wrappers, cig butts, pop and/or beer cans, wherever he goes.  There is a laundry chute in the bathroom and the whitey-tighties still end up on the floor.  His mother did not train her POMC very well.  I hope I did better with mine.

My favorite Rube Goldberg machine is in the “Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure” movie- the machine that serves up Pee-Wee’s breakfast, including his smiley face pancake and Mr. T Cereal.

To me, the Rube Goldberg machine provides a wonderful illustration of logical progression- what led up to this and that and finally the final result.   It also is a wonderful illustration of what happens if a step in the progression fails.

For the want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For the want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For the want of a horse the rider was lost.
For the want of a rider the battle was lost.
For the want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
I remember these verses from an old book of children’s stories my Grandma had- all instructional tales with a moral to the story, similar to (and included some of) Aesop’s Fables.  Today when I think about these verses it makes me wonder how history would have been different had Operation Valkyrie succeeded, or even more dramatically, had the elaborate chain of events that led to WWI fallen apart somewhere. 
 
Yes, it may sound cheeky, but I wonder what my life had been like had I actually had the proper bait to go trolling for men.  🙂   
 
Then again one cannot forget the condition of synchronicity- all things working in parallel, or what I see to be the overwhelming tide of the will of God that makes the events of history plod onward and forward in ways we can neither control nor fully understand, no matter what  individual human effort is made to prevent or change them. 
 
Personally, I thought killing Hitler was a pretty freaking good idea- but as sadistic as it might sound, apparently there was a reason he lived as long as he did, and a reason why he wasn’t killed by the many assassination attempts against him.  I don’t understand why despots and sleazeballs are allowed to keep on truckin’ and those who really could be a benefit to society either die in what seems an untimely manner, or live out their days in impotent obscurity.  I can’t see the entire picture and I don’t pretend to.  But God is behind it all, whether we see things to be good or evil or incomprehensible.  One of the hardest things for me to do- being a rational type and all- is to stop trying to understand and just believe God has a purpose.
 
Far be it from me to claim to have more wisdom than Solomon, or to question the sovereignty of God like Job. 
 
It can be entertaining to play the history “what if” game- but ultimately there’s no escaping Murphy’s Law.  Humanity has been drowning in its grandiosity and hubris ever since the tower of Babel.  I can’t say Obama is the only human to get caught up in his own hubris, but he’s a good example of it.  I can only hope and pray that by the grace and mercy of God this blathering fool is booted out of the Oval Office- and that the American people have learned a lesson not only about the ways of petty tyrants, but of the folly of “sympathy voting.”  Isn’t it just as racist to vote FOR someone just because he’s black (or half-black) but clearly unqualified to hold the office as it is to vote AGAINST a qualified man simply because he’s white?

I don’t wish even someone as misguided as Obama eternity with Beezelbub, or even scathing, humiliating defeat,  but the way he’s going now it seems like scathing, humiliating defeat might just be what he wants.

Entropy in Practical Application, All is Vanity, and Balance?

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Castles made of sand slip to the sea, but ill-maintained redneck houses are reclaimed by the swamp.   Entropy in action!  I think these guys thought they were going to put in a pool right next to the house.  It’s hard to see from this angle, but they dug a giant hole right next to the house for some mysterious reason.  Then the whole house started caving in and they filled in the hole again.   I’ll bet there’s not a level floor in that place, no running water, and there’s a roach colony of millions, but the satellite and big screen are working just fine.  Until the house falls in on the plasma TV, that is.  Central Ohio is all one big drained swamp.  Compromise your foundation at your peril.

I am one of those people who is all about practical application.  I seldom read fiction for that reason. I like a good story, but is it true?  Is there a practical lesson in it, or is there at least something funny, gross or macabre in it?  When I was much younger and had a lot more time on my hands, I read almost everything I could get my hands on- bodice rippers, porn-without-the-pictures, mystery-especially Agatha Christie, most of Stephen King’s novels, most of Tolkien’s works, but even then the bulk of my reading material consisted of my usual standards- scientific and historical non-fiction.

Sadly I’ve not read a fictional novel in years.  I really should broaden my horizons, and I would if I had more time for recreational reading.

I do read the Bible.  I really understand what the Teacher of Ecclesiastes was talking about.  Sometimes life seems futile and pointless and I feel like Sisyphus – I have to roll the boulder up the mountain every day only to wake up the next day and do the same pointless tasks over and over.  There truly is no satisfaction under the sun.  I get frustrated, lonely, tired and broke- and for what?  The only hope that there is purpose in life lies in the realization that it’s God’s plan and that there is a deeper meaning to life than just endless repetition and monotonous drudgery.  Sometimes it’s just really hard to see.

I couldn’t resist taking a pic of this bumper sticker, even though I managed to get my own reflection in the pic.  I have to amuse myself somehow.

On a much brighter note, the Journey show last Friday was beyond awesome.  I am a huge Journey fan and would love nothing more than to send myself back 30 years to be backstage with Steve Perry- believe that- but I am also a realist.  It’s not 1981.  Steve Perry is of the over 60 crowd, hip replacement and all.  As much as I would love to see him, and hear The Voice live, I don’t think he is physically able to tour and endure all that.  Arnel Pineda is worth seeing and hearing in his own right, and I don’t think I have ever heard Neal Schon or Jonathan Cain play better.  Journey 2011 is still very, very good.  I absolutely loved “Edge of the Moment,” which is one of the new songs from Eclipse.  I only wish they would have had time to play “Resonate” from Eclipse also, but if they would have played everything I would have wanted to hear they’d been playing all night and that’s simply not feasible- especially considering these guys are getting up in years.  Pity.

I only encountered two people who understood the t-shirt I wore to the show that says, “Neal Schon Afro Society” and has a pic of Neal from about 1977 with that ridiculous poofy ‘fro he had back then. (see the cover of Next to see what I mean- Neal is the one on the left)   But today I understand very well that a 56 year old guy with black hair is going to be coloring his hair, and the less hair one has the easier it is to keep it all one color.   Besides, a 23 year old guy looks dorky with a ‘fro like that.  A guy more than twice that age would look like Flippo the Clown with a ‘fro like that.  The ’70’s- I must say the hair and clothes were bad- but the music (grandiose, funky, fusion based rock, anyway) was good.

The nice part about this show was that everything was worth watching.  At no time did I feel compelled to make a run for snackies or to go to the john out of boredom!  Night Ranger was excellent- I particularly enjoyed Deen Castronuevo coming out to play drums during “Sister Christian.”  They also did a most wonderful rendition of Damn Yankees’ “High Enough”- even without Ted Nugent.  Foreigner was impressive as well- especially “Dirty White Boy” and “Jukebox Hero.”

You can’t turn back time, but you can learn to enjoy the moment for what it is.  I know some people might have been disappointed because they expected to see everything exactly as it was in the Big 80’s.  In some ways it was all that and more- perhaps with some different faces or arrangements or a few new twists, but who or what can remain the same forever?  Entropy, my friends- everything is moving ever closer to disorder and chaos. My boobs are heading a bit further south every day.  That’s a lovely thought.  Pink Floyd- in rather macabre Brit fashion- in the song “Time,”  put it as,  “one day closer to death.”  Might as well tell it like it is.  As for me, it was most therapeutic for once to simply sit back and enjoy the show.  Next time- if there is a next time- I really want to spring for the VIP tickets and perhaps get seats close enough to take reasonably visible pics.  You can almost see Neal in the big screen in this one.

The common wisdom about aging is that everything gets bigger, hairier and closer to the ground.  Except the tops of men’s heads, that is.  The tops of their heads might get bigger and closer to the ground, but the hair migrates to their ears.  No wonder I wondered for a moment what my Dad’s friends were doing at my class reunion, until I realized they were the guys I graduated with, and not the geezers Dad hangs out with.  Creepy.

 

Ain’t No Coupe deVille In That Cracker Jack Box, and the Inevitability of Entropy

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My sympathies to Meat Loaf (the singer/keyboardist of late 1970’s legend, not the dish) but as far as the pithy bits of life and love, he was spot on.  It really sucks that the poor guy has asthma.  It’s bad enough trying to sing – or do much of anything else- with constant sinus drainage and congestion, (even after sinus surgery I still have to sleep somewhat sitting up to keep from choking on snot) but I can’t imagine trying to sing and not be able to breathe.  I can understand why he has a hard time performing- asthma, heat and humidity, and he’s not a young man.  It’s a shame that a man of his talent would be so vexed.

I’ve always liked Meat Loaf, ever since I got the Bat out of Hell cassette tape and set it right on the “I’m breaking out of my body and flying away….ayy…like a bat out of hellll!” refrain at the end of the song so that’s what would blare from the stereo speakers when Mom started her old Ford.   Never mind that I was underscoring the obvious, because Mom drives like a bat out of hell, always has, and everyone including local law enforcement knows it.  That was funny.  Almost as funny as when I put the “F—  the IRS” and the “Bad Cop/No Donut” bumper stickers on that old Ford.  Dad should never have let her have anything with a displacement over two liters, let alone a 350 Windsor.  It didn’t corner for shit,  and the suspension was shot, but that old Ford would go nine kinds of fast in a straight line.

I’ve seen many Cracker Jack boxes in my life, but the prize always seems to be somewhat disappointing.  It would be my luck to get this one:

Apparently it’s a guide to clubbing in the Short North?  This little booklet was a Cracker Jack prize at one time (I actually took this pic in a museum.)  It must hearken back to more innocent times, when “queer” was just another way of saying “a bit strange.”

Some of the Cracker Jack prizes I remember from my own childhood were kind of cool- the plastic mini magnifying glass which you could use to either fry ants or melt army men, if you had the patience, was one of my favorites.  I did have the patience, and I also had plenty of time since I really didn’t have very many friends.

There’s a statement to be made here.  Fanny is a big, fat cat.  She is every bit of 15#, which is just plain lardy for a female cat.  Fanny, for some inexplicable reason enjoys napping on my AB Lounge.  She is not amused when I dislodge her ample carcass so I can do my obligatory 50 daily crunches.  Perhaps she is trying to convince me of the futility of the pursuit of fitness, or she’s just a fat cat who has managed to find a comfy place to nap that the dogs can’t get to.

Entropy is a fascinating concept to me- a sort of cosmic Murphy’s Law.

Entropy (n):

1:
a measure of the unavailable energy in a closed thermodynamic system that is also usually considered to be a measure of the system’s disorder, that is a property of the system’s state, and that varies directly with any reversible change in heat in the system and inversely with the temperature of the system; broadly : the degree of disorder or uncertainty in a system
2:
a : the degradation of the matter and energy in the universe to an ultimate state of inert uniformity
b : a process of degradation or running down or a trend to disorder
3:
I wouldn’t even pretend to be a physicist.  My knowledge of physics is pretty well limited to how it relates to internal combustion, ratios and other things automotive, but I understand entropy very well.   The Cliff’s Notes definition is:
Everything eventually turns to shit.
What a depressing thought.
Intelligence is a constant, the population is growing.