Blast from the Past - Door goes up, door goes down. Door goes up, door goes down.

(Originally published June 2007)

Ah, the joys of summer.  Nothing like trying to fix a garage door in 5000% humidity.  I left for work early today, gung-ho to get a small project done while it was still quiet there.  Sadly, I was dry for a whopping seven minutes this morning before the fun began.  I opened the garage to get the garbage can, only to find my newly-hung fluorescent shop light (they hum like angels!) dangling precariously above Buttercup, one of my new ceiling hooks clattering across the floor.  Crisis averted and light removed from the danger zone (cue Top Gun theme).

Garbage delivered safely to the curb, soda retrieved from the fridge, I was ready to be on my way, and even be to work early today, when I attempted to close the garage door.  Half-way down, I got a 'brzzrt-thud-thud-whirrrrrrr' as the safety switch kicked in and reversed the door.  Hmm.  Interesting.  I hit the button again, only to have the same result.  On further inspection, I noted that one of the two cables (or 50% of them for you math buffs) was no longer an active participant in the spring-and-pulley show, and the door was landing askew.  I wound the cable and tried to slot the end into the pulley, at which time the cable unwound.  About this time I decided wearing gloves MIGHT be a good idea, rather than filling my hands with oily metal shavings.  I slotted the end into the pulley and then wound the cable around, and it unwound.  I finally loosened the pulley, MOVED the slot to where it would actually reach, then wound the cable and tightened the pulley again.

Success!  Almost.

This time instead of half-way down, I got to within a foot of the ground before 'brzzrt-thud-thud-whirrrrrrr'.  I released the safety catch on the opener, re-tightened the cable, then tried closing it again.  I think I got about  30 'brzzrt-thud-thud-whirrrrrrr's before I got within inches of the ground.  One more tightening, one more  'brzzrt-thud-thud-whirrrrrrr'.

I unlocked the side door to the garage, since it only locks from the inside, and opened the big door again, then dropped it to the ground without the opener attached.  One final tighten, and now the door goes up, the door goes down.  Door goes up, door goes down.

And if you've ever been thrown into a pool with all your clothes on, just imagine that pool being bathwater warm and extremely salty.  That's how I felt by the time this was all done.  It should go without saying that I was NOT early for work.

Everything but the oink

Some of you may recall my discussion on organ donation.  Others among you may remember me posting about the Hogzilla family back in Florida.  (I feel there should be some amusing and frighteningly accurate Venn diagram here, so imagine one.  I'm being lazy.) 

Now, the Discovery Channel has decided that we're SO overrun by wild boars that it warrants a weekly series.  We here at CDS Enterprises (a wholly-owned division of NFC Worldwide) think the time has come to actually welcome our porcine overlords.  Like dinosaurs or leprechauns, pigs could very well be the panacea this planet needs.

(I am not anti-Semitic, anti-Islam or anti-any-faith-based-dietary-obedience.  I am anti-vegan, a point you, my regular reader, will already know.  But this warrants mention.  This is not intended as an ethical discussion, either.  If you've been reading for any length of time, you'll have figured out that ethics have no place in vast global solutions.)

Anyhoo.  Depending on which scientific group you believe, we may be waiting until 2018 for swine-to-human transplants, but others think we may see the first of these this year.  We may start off with limited skin and kidney transplants, but porcine physiology has been used to mimic the human body.  I watch Mythbusters and CSI, so don't try to argue with me.  When they harvest the organs and skin from a pig, that leaves loads of nutritional value to be had.  Boars' hair is used to make paintbrushes, and pigs are full of sweet, unctuous gelatin.

And since we're overloaded with saturated fat in this country (mmm, sweet delicious lard), I'm sure some enterprising person could work out refining and purifying rendered pork fat, and we could all drive bacon-scented cars and trucks, heat our homes and offices, burn clean pork fat to generate electricity.  Can you imagine?  And in nations that consider this religiously blasphemous, just think, they'd still be able to survive using fossil fuel for generations longer, thanks to the use of wild boars in western nations.

Pork.  The other cure-all. Now if we could just find a use for the oink, we'd be all set.

Blast from the Past - Eine Kleine Organmusik

January was a busy time around here at CDS Enterprises (A wholly-owned division of NFG Worldwide, Ltd.) and February isn't shaping up to be much quieter.  As such, I don't always have the time to rant anew - at least not in print.  Being as we are four three months from my cresting (and subsequently being 'over') the hill, it seems only appropriate that I share with you some crotchety posts from the past.

I'm not editing these, except where I may have spelled something incorrectly in my angry fervor.

 

I've never really given much thought to organ donation before, but last week (Correction: November 2006) as I sat in a drive-thru waiting less-than-patiently for my soda, I couldn't help but notice the car in front of me, with the 'ORGN DNR' license plates, and the 'Liver Transplant Recipient' license plate frame.  The combo made me wonder:

1)  Can someone donate an organ they've received as a transplant?

2)  Would this be considered re-gifting?

3)  Do you get an OrganFax report, certifying that your new kidney/liver/whatnot has never been in an accident, isn't flood-damaged, that you're the second owner and nobody has an outstanding lien against your received organ?

I've always been on the fence about organ donation, due in part, I'm sure, to the 'Live Organ Donation' segment of Monty Python's Meaning of Life.

Part of me still honestly, truly believes that the little orange sticker on my driver's license gives the paramedics a sign that they don't need to try as hard.  Logically, I know that probably isn't true, but one can never be too careful, now, can one?

A footnote:  I broke down and signed the organ donation release the same day I passed my test for my motorcycle certification in late 2007.  I figured, even if I'm wearing my helmet, that's hardly enough to let me win a fight with a Peterbilt.  And if you're my mom and reading this, I ALWAYS wear my helmet.

Love, American-Style

Has it really been almost two weeks since I wrote to you, kiddoes?  Probably, kids.  Life moves pretty fast.  I passed my one-year Blogiversary without fanfare, but I think 234 posts in 365 days is pretty good, for me. 

Now, in the summer of my discontent, I've been spammed, my punishment for paying little attention to you, dear readers.

But oh, what a holiday weekend it's been!  Plantings, big and small, have adorned our little abode and made it a little more 'ours'.  We have a Japanese maple again, and I'm thrilled that thanks to the graft, we actually have two different varieties of these beautiful trees.  Flowers in pots and boxes, red, blue, black and white, brown and yellow.  Discovered baby rabbits under one of the carefully planted shrubs around our house, explaining why the Dammit has been so interested in that side of the deck.

Took the bikes out, and lo and behold, HILLS!  Curving roads, and more hills.  Things...To...See.  Llamas (which are quadrupeds, and live in large rivers like the Amazon...), barns for sale, streams and falls and classic cars.  Really should get it titled, like soon.

Fired up the grill not once, but twice.  Tuna and summer squash on the patio last night, with cherry pie and vanilla ice cream for dessert.  Tonight, ribeyes and corn enjoyed in air conditioned comfort, because I never adapted to the heat during our stay in America's Wang, and we finally toasted the giant marshmallows I bought just for being giant marshmallows.  That was quite the sticky mess, but once a year is good for me.  This doesn't mean I don't have room for more pie, calling to me from atop the cabinet. 

Last night we walked to the town's fireworks display.  We were going to drive, until I saw people parking in front of our house and walking from even further with their blankets and chairs.  The walk wasn't as far as I'd expected, and we enjoyed what was undoubtedly one of the best small-town displays I've ever seen, sitting on our blanket and staring at the clear night sky filled with all manner of shapes and colors to the accompaniment of Sousa marches.

So it was a good weekend all around.  One might say I loved it.  Here's hoping you enjoyed yourselves, as well, and that you finished the weekend with as many fingers as you had when it began.

Movie Mania Monday - Right. Now pay attention

Ah, finally a Floridian weekend to savor! Beautiful weather outside, LOTS of James Bond movies inside. This includes The Spy Who Loved Me, identified last weekend by the steel-trapped mind of Ms. In addition to Barbara Bach, TSWLM featured the second-best Bond car ever, beaten out only by the irreplaceable DB5. I mean, amphibious Lotus Esprit? Very cool, but it's no DB5. Just sayin'.

We went to the Florida Strawberry Festival on Saturday, horrible waste of time and money. Ten dollars apiece to get in to an over-sized midway alongside hordes of purveyors of the deep-fried arts. Even with that cover charge, they were still charging $5 a pop to ride the rides! I did have some excellent strawberry shortcake, a great piece of strawberry Napoleon, and 'Hog on a Log'. Great in concept, but not quite where it needs to be in the 'Food-on-a-Stick' developmental stages. Nicely grilled pork chop, bone-in, with a skewer run through it. In order to actually eat much of it, I had to pull it off the stick and eat with my hands. Mmm, sanitary. The most fun I think I had was watching the old guy make cinnamon rolls, forty at a crack.

We even wandered through the boring civic center. Oops, sorry, the (Arthur) Boring Civic Center. Appropriately named. A few vendors, a few thousand human cattle, and some of the worst FFA displays a three-year-old with a paste allergy could come up with.

Sunday was another beautiful sunny day, so Lori and I did about sixty miles on the bikes. I have the sunburn to prove it, too, my head feels like a lit match. Grilled burgers and chicken, watched some more Bond, and came into my office to wrack my brain over this week's quote.

This really is work, kiddoes, I don't just phone this in. Sure, there's a formula to it, but the art of finding a movie that's obscure enough that you won't get it right out of the box, offset by my need to be fair and not make this too difficult, it really does try the mind.

On to it, though. First, the rules. Movie quotes should be simple, so you may not consult the great Oracle of Google, or any of the other search engines on this fine planet. This is a long-time favorite film of mine, it brings back happy childhood memories. First person to correctly identify the original film source of the quote wins the peoples' ovation and fame forever, along with the coveted title of Iron Quote-Guesser. No movie characters quoting other characters, we want the original film source. Voici la quote de la semaine:

"Well, look here! You put more water in it next time!"

Allez guessing!

Movie Mania Monday - You broke my heart. You broke my heart!

Ah, the incomparable Ms, identifying last week's quote from The Godfather: Part II. Excellent movie, tremendous locations and sets. I get sucked in every time it's on.
Sadly, though I teased some of you with Florida's beautiful weather yesterday, and announced my plans to go riding, Reuby just wouldn't start. I had the bikes out a month ago, and everything was just fine, so now with a fully-charged battery we'll try again at lunchtime today. That's more than I can say for Blogger this morning, it's being quite uncooperative.

Now for this week's quote (if it actually posts...). If you're new here, there are some rules. First person to correctly identify the original source of the quote wins the peoples' ovation and fame forever, along with the title of Iron Quote-Guesser. No movie characters quoting other characters, but the original film source. No Googling, no asking Jeeves, no Bing (you'd have to dig him up), either you recognize the quote and know the source, or you wait on the sidelines for your turn. Snarky comments are welcome, but should be accompanied by a guess. This week's quote, another easy one:

"Bring us a pitcher of beer every seven minutes until somebody passes out. And then bring one every ten minutes."

Allez guessing!

Tied Up In Knots

It's the little things, really. I put new shoelaces in my boots yesterday, since I've been fighting with a frayed lace for a while, and the boots would loosen up while we were out riding. Last evening's ride was bliss, and the boots stayed snug and comfortable.

Have I mentioned that I'm nerdy? Not as nerdy as the dude who built this site, but still...the link takes you to the way I laced the boots this time, because I felt creative.

Makes me wish I had taller boots, let me tell you.

When I was a wee lad, three things frustrated my child's mind. First, and very early on, was tying my shoes. I could read at a 4th grade level entering Kindergarten, but heaven forbid I should ever have to take my shoes off. I may have known by that age how to do it, but it wasn't much before that.

Second was the whole bicycle-riding thing. Mainly because I'd get hand-me-down bikes, or things my dad would buy from the police auction, bikes I had to grow into. Difficult to balance when your center of gravity is suddenly high above the center.

Finally, was subtraction. Third-grade subtraction killed me.

Now I'm a motorcycle rider who ties his own shoes and does math in his head. How's that for progress?

It's charming how alarming I feel

Our office building is at DefCon2. In an effort to keep better track of us (and to keep the smokers from leaving the back door open for the homeless guy who overnights behind the dumpster), they have added full-time alarms to two of the external doors and our back stairwell. We also have little signs as reminders that klaxons will sound if we so much as touch them.
The signs say ‘Door is alarmed’. Funny, I would have figured they’d seen everything by now. Did someone flash the door? Did someone just tell the door how much it costs to raise a child to age 18 in this country? It is, after all, nearly $300,000, and doors don’t really earn much.
In other news, I’ve been Captain Sunburn since Saturday, thanks to five hours in the Florida sun on the back of Ruby, complete with goggles and bandanna. My face looks like an inverse red panda, white-red-white-red stripes top to bottom. Plus I’m furry and cuddly, so that helps. Sunburn rocks, except for that whole peeling thing. I hate the peeling thing.

On our ride we encountered a mammoth hairy hulk at the side of the road, and both Lori and I had the independent WTF moment (no, not the Wisconsin Tourism Foundation, the other one…). We’ve never seen deer this far south, but it was too dark to be a cow, and too big to be any other land mammal stumbling into the path of oncoming traffic. As we got closer, we saw. It was the front end of a very large wild boar, the back end having been obliterated by what must have been either a monster truck or space aliens.
That’s enough keep me off the country roads at night, even in the car, let alone on the bike. This is why I am encouraging every man, woman and child once again to consume more pork. Wild boar should be showing up on menus. Wild boar bacon, Hogzilla ham. King-size pork porterhouses.
Yum. That's the stuff.

My attention span is barely a footbridge

From time to time, I do manage to squeeze a coherent, well-versed essay from my addled brain. However, as much as I want to, today is not one of those days. Instead, I am electing to enlighten you with random little thoughts that have crossed my mind of late.

I love Bond films, and I am biased toward Sean Connery. Especially when compared to the wacky, '70's episodes with Roger Moore and wacky music and bad stop-motion photography. Which begs the question. Obviously James Bond in a finely tailored suit is NOT the same as James Bond with his tweed safari jacket and Sansabelt bell-bottomed trousers. Why then did '70's babes like Britt Ekland, Jayne Seymour, Maud Adams and Lois Chiles simply fall into bed with him? If we're going to do a parody of Bond in the NOW era, wouldn't it be far more empowering for them to reject him cold? To simply chuckle in his face when he tries to be suave in his bell-bottomed Sansabelt slacks? To scream 'Rape' when he grabs their arms tightly and throws them down on the bed?

This is not something a superspy wears. Even if he did get a Chevy Vega from the rental agency.

Oh, and even though I always want Connery to win, and would love to see Moore fail, I still love the episode up above where Homer tackles Bond, resulting in his demise. He he he!

A while back at the grocery store, I discovered manna from the pork gods: a three-pound box of bacon ends and pieces for the same price as a pound of strip bacon that I was going to chop up, anyway. Nothing like frying three pounds of bacon at once to put the whole house in an applewood-induced state of euphoria. A plus, it was Wright Brand bacon, whose marketing campaign includes one of the all-time best call-in radio questions: How can I get my wife to be more like Wright Brand bacon?

And yes, I'm inserting another rad '70's clothing moment. Because how else can we appreciate how far we've come if we don't remember where we've been?

Last week, as part of my weekly movie quote contest, I decided to take it upon myself to catalog all the films I've seen in my life so far. I knew I'd seen a few, but so far, I have over 650 on the list, and somehow I keep coming up with films that I thought were obvious and that I would have listed early on, but they're not there. It also amazes me how many movies I haven't seen in their entirety, despite knowing their plots and intricacies.

A week or so ago, I managed to get my entire desk dismantled into its component pieces, and I only had to drill out one 40-year-old bolt to get it done. Now I can once again park a car in the garage along with both bikes, and we can still navigate around with relative confidence. Which was especially nice this past weekend, because it poured for most of it, and unloading groceries is far nicer if I don't have to walk through the deluge off the roof of the house.

I did manage to stay relatively dry on my ride home on Friday, though I still get a little flinchy on wet pavement. No traction is a bad thing.

The Packers won yesterday, and beating the Bears is always especially nice. Tough thing, though, I didn't get to see any of the game since we're apparently not in prime Packer-watching country. That also means, however, I don't get any of these on my television, while overpaid commentators make generalizations about my home state:

Which could be a mixed blessing, depending on who decides to wear them.

Look at that! No discernable theme, not even any segues. The road to enlightenment blurs before you. Sorry about that. I'll try harder next time.

I guess that only proves that I'm insane

The joy of weather is that if you don't like it, give it a minute and it will change. Despite the beautiful drive to work yesterday, it was a rather moist, windshield-free ride home. Even stopping under cover to wait for the storm to pass didn't help, because I'd just catch up to it again. I was a bit damp by the time I pulled in my driveway.

But it was still a great ride.

I have to share some fun things from my newest friends at International Bacon Day, because bacon is our friend. In any language.

Bacon in Many Languages
English - Can I have some Bacon?
Dutch - Kan ik wat Bacon hebben?
French - Est-ce que je peux prendre du lard ?
German - Kann ich etwas Speck haben?
Greek - Μπορώ να έχω κάποιο μπέϊκον;
Italian - Posso avere certa pancetta affumicata?J
apanese - 私はベーコンを食べてもいいか。
Korean - 나는 약간 베이컨이 있어서 좋은가?
Portuguese - Posso eu ter algum bacon?
Russian - Могу я иметь некоторый бекон?
Spanish - ¿Puedo tener un poco de tocino?

Also, while I have not always been a big fan of true love, I did finally find mine. Some day, I'll get around to posting my former opinion of the big TL, 'Just Another Fairy-Tale Notion'. However, true love does mean that you can joke about it a little. Check out The Oatmeal's "Six Reasons Bacon is Better Than True Love", and maybe take the quiz to see if your loved ones are just fattening you up to eat you.

Happy Saturday!

Something so glorious I'm actually quoting Travolta

I'm having a good day, on the whole. I brought Ruby to work this morning, purring all the way, and didn't even hit any nasty potholes or get cut off by oblivious texters. I made a number of lights so I wasn't sitting motionless above a hot engine too many times.

Work didn't completely suck this morning, and I had one of those rare feelings of work-related adequacy.

Then, high point of the day, I went to lunch and ate my barbecue pork sandwich WHILE READING A NEWS ARTICLE ABOUT BACON! And sure, it's Pulp-Fiction-Travolta, but still, Travolta all the same:

"Bacon tastes gooooood. Pork chops taste goooood."

This is nothing compared to the list compiled by the Royal Bacon Society, the Top 10 Homer Simpson Quotes about Bacon:

1. “(Lisa) “I’m going to become a vegetarian” (Homer) “Does that mean you’re not going to eat any pork?” “Yes” “Bacon?” “Yes Dad” Ham?” “Dad all those meats come from the same animal” “Right Lisa, some wonderful, magical animal!”"
2. “Porkchops and bacon, my two favorite animals.”
3. “When you’re in my house you shall do as I do and believe who I believe in. So Bart butter up that bacon, boy.”
4. “Is it Bacon Day?”
5. “Mmmm. Move over, eggs. Bacon just got a new best friend - fudge.”
6. “Not again! First you took away my Philly Fudgesteak. And then my Bacon Balls. Then my Whatchamachicken. You monster!”
7. (Homer): I’ll have the smiley face breakfast special. Uhh, but could you add a bacon nose? Plus bacon hair, bacon mustache, five o’clock shadow made of bacon bits and a bacon body.(Waitress): How about I just shove a pig down your throat? [Homer looks excited] (Waitress): I was kidding. (Homer): Fine, but the bacon man lives in a bacon house! (Waitress): No he doesn’t!
8. “[strained] You know that feeling you get when a thousand knives of fire are stabbing you in the heart? I’m having that right now…[normal] Ooh, bacon!”
9. “Mmm … bacon”
10. “Mmm … unexplained bacon”

Number 8 is my favorite.

The article, adopted from the Foat Wuth Stah Telegram, indicated there is actually a Texas grocer with 15 different bacons in stock. Wisconsin, West Virginia, Iowa and Texas bacon, bacon smoked with all manner of wood and wood-alternatives (i.e. corn cobs) and the Vosges Mo's Bacon Bar, a chocolate-bacon candy bar I'm sure is worth every penny of the $7 it costs.

Mark your calendars, September 5th is International Bacon Day! You still have time to rush out and buy me this for an IBD present!

Fun Fact Friday - You drive me up the wall!

I am enthralled by the silodrome, more affectionately known as the 'Wall of Death'. Twenty years ago I saw a movie titled Eat the Peach, where the protagonist, an Irish national, decided to build himself one of these contraptions after watching an Elvis film. An obvious work of fiction, since most people can only muster up the energy to tear their eyeballs from their sockets and fill the void with lye after watching one of those.

Of course, you can call me 'Crash' all you want, I know I'm not Captain Stable when it comes to riding on dry, level pavement. (Just Google 'microcows' and check out the photobucket album!) However, the thought of this rush thrills me.

The concept is nowhere near new. Originally, cycle tracks were made of wooden planks, and in an effort to make the races more accessible, portable tracks were built. In 1915, Erle 'Red' Armstrong built the first silodrome, in an effort to show off and sell more motorcycles for his employer, Indian. What thrills me is that originally, the 'Whirl of Death' as it was originally dubbed, was set up INDOORS. Take that, monster truck jam!

Copycats abounded, and more of these walls showed up at fairs here and abroad. The shows survive today, many riders still using vintage stripped-down Indians and Harleys. And they kick ass.

If the Buick ain't happy, ain't nobody happy...

Now I understand more fully why I have flood insurance. It rains in Florida, I'm no stranger to that. However, before today, I've never feared for my car just leaving the subdivision. The creek/gulley that runs behind the houses was full as I crept down the center of my road, and I'm sure by now the pool is overflowing as well.

Even now, I can hear cars outside the office driving through a foot or more, rain that falls faster than the storm drains can suck it down. And I passed more than a few of these:

Of course, I could rejoice slightly that I had the Buick, and didn't have to ride the bike in, like the rainsuited Hayabusa rider I passed on the crosstown. As some of you already know, I have a hard time keeping the bike upright on dry pavement.

For the most part, I was able to remain a sane, safe driver. For the last few blocks of my drive, though, I had the choice of turning around or driving through a foot or more of flowing water. Hint: if the puddle has cresting waves, DON'T drive through it. I did, with a dumptruck coming towards me, pedal down, not looking to see if the water was flowing in around the doors, and all the while my engine going 'Rrrr-rrr-rrr-rrr'. I did manage to make it to the office, since I know that stopping in the puddle is the worst thing to do.

When I got out of the car, the wheel wells were all smoking. I can hope I didn't crack the block in the process, that would probably be bad.