Family Vacation (Cica 1975)

A co-worker and I recently had a discussion about old school family vacations. The kind where you take to the open road with the family and drive to a destination, perhaps the long way. I started feeling very nostalgic for this type of vacation.

When I was a kid, my father would take every minute of vacation time and spend six weeks in the summer driving his "camping rig" to Ohio from San Diego, CA. We would take 14 days to get there, spend a week visiting the grandparents and assorted aunts and uncles then drive back.

We roamed all over the western U.S. and saw many of the major sites between the west coast and Ohio. The week before the big trip, dad would crank the old camper onto the truck and prepare the equipment for the long ride. Good tires, belts, hoses, secure hardware for the camper etc. The day before the trip was spent loading food, clothing, toys, games, all the things one would need for an extended stay in a camper. Potable water was pumped into the holding tanks and ice for the "ice box" (needed block ice, try finding that these days) was secured. My two sisters and me would spend the night in the camper that night, high adventure for a bunch of kids, and by the time we awoke in the morning we would be watching the sunrise through the camper window over the California desert, heading east.

This was way before cell phones, so we had the ubiquitous CB radio fired up and tuned to channel "one nine" to monitor road conditions or call for help if needed. Dad had an 8 track player but it only played through the one speaker in the dash, AM radio was the only other form of entertainment. Dad drove, mom sat in the "navigator seat" and three kids rode in back. The rear window of the truck popped out and was connected to the camper with a "boot" a vinyl pass through that served to allow access from the cab to the rest of the camper. I recall countless boring miles perched facing forward on the dinette seat of the camper watching the western landscape roll by.

Us kids would play games, sleep, fight (but only till dad threatened to pull over). I remember spending a great deal of time being motion sick from the ride. I can even recall great sites we visited based on how sick I was when we got there. For instance, Meteor Crater in Winslow Arizona, sick, threw up in the visitor parking lot, Mt. Rushmore SD. same thing, only I made it to the bathroom at the visitor center that time (ahh air conditioning). I remember hearing rattlesnakes along the path to the restrooms at a rest stop in Gila Bend Arizona and countless summer evenings at "KOA Kampgrounds" along the interstate, hoping for a pool and praying dad would let us swim.

These summer trips in the '70's were the ultimate adventure. I saw mountains and desert, plains and canyons, sea and sky. When finally we arrived at our destination in southwest Ohio it was like visiting mars. These were my dads brothers and sisters, my grandparents, and they lived in a culture that was very different than the suburban life I lived in San Diego. Dad eventually moved us all back to Ohio permanently, but these expeditionary missions across the country gave me not only a taste of what our lives would someday be, but exposed me to the concept that the world did not end at the county line.

Today, vacation means driving to the North Carolina beaches, only 11 hours or flying to a destination and staying in a hotel. I wouldn't dream of driving across the western deserts and mountains without a cell phone, nor would I be able to take an entire month off work and spend a large portion of it driving. All those years ago however, what we did was fairly normal and the experience and lessons have stayed with me all this time. The next time I am 30,000 feet in the air, going west in a flying silver tube, I will look down at the roads I once traveled, in a hot camper, motion sick as hell and remember feeling excited to be moving, going somewhere surrounded by my family and enjoying the most American of vacations.

A tearless day

My First Tearless Day
F-C-G- Possibly Am. Haven't got that far yet.

If just one gray old day went by
When thoughts of you didn't make me cry
If just one golden dawn could break
When with tears I did not wake

If just one slow ,sad song could play on the radio

That didn't cause me to weep, for wanting you so

I would celebrate, healing, saying so long
no more confusion, hurt and barley hanging on.

I would count my first blessing, since you went away
And I would celebrate.. my first tearless day.

If only I could get through
24 hours without thinking of you
Not remembe - ring all the good times we had
and even some of the bad

If I could forget my life being ripped apart
I might get to keep a little piece of my heart

I would celebrate, healing, saying so long
no more confusion, hurt and barley hanging on.

I would count my first blessing, since you went away
And I would celebrate.. my first tearless day.

I miss her so dearly, the tear stains on my face
I want her so badly my smile is out of place
The whiskey and the cigarette smoke
Are just not enough to give me hope

If I could just have one sunny afternoon
When my tears do not stain my eyes so soon.

I would celebrate, healing, saying so long
no more confusion, hurt and barley hanging on.

I would count my first blessing, since you went away
And I would celebrate.. my first tearless day.

Love don't live there anymore, and neither do I

I recently had to move out of my home of two years. My girlfriend and I broke up, just for the record it was her idea. Since it was her house, out I went. I once swore that I would never co-habitate with a woman again unless it was my house. Obviously that vow went unobserved. I loved her then and I love her now. I enjoyed being close to her everyday and adjusted to living with her pretty well. There were good times, mostly good times really. I am still not entirely certain what happened.

Probably the saddest sentence to pass my lips recently was "I don't live there anymore". Just like that I am gone, possessions moved, lease signed, new home, new neighborhood. The apartment is comfortable, I quickly started making it feel like home. But it is not home, home was where my girl and I lived and laughed and loved. Home is where I made plans to improve the landscape and finish the basement. Home is where my former lover and I talked about the future, a future together.

We decided not to burn any bridges this time around. I think we both feel like there was enough special and good about our time together, that throwing it all away seems a bit extreme, and sad. Surely there is something to save from that time. But I do not get to live there any longer, and I miss her most of all but I also miss the creaky basement stairs, the morning light in the windows, the garden and yard. I miss my former bed, the one with her in it.

This blog has "love" in the tagline, part of the content. So here we go, my 'readers' get treated to the play by play of getting over yet another love, learning to live in a new neighborhood, gritting my teeth and working through putting my life back together. I have done this before, so I am pretty good at it by now. I just wish I was home right now, the former home, the one I didn't want to leave, the one I miss, because the one I miss the most lives there, but I don't live there anymore.

Wildwood - Music Done Right

I probably played over 50 guitars in the six months since I decided I was going to have my dream guitar. My Martin is a fabulous instrument, but I found it difficult to play and uncomfortable in my hands. What I really wanted was a guitar that felt like an extension of my somewhat less than talented hands. My Ovation felt great to play, it was forgiving with just the right neck, but it could not produce the sound I was looking for.

Thus started my quest for a new guitar. I didn't much care what it cost, I would save up for it and wait as long as needed. I really just wanted to finally own a fine guitar that was just right for me.

Quality guitar shops in my area are getting few and far between. I would never purchase a guitar from the big boys, Guitar Center is too big and unfeeling. I wanted someone to sell me a guitar that was knowledgeable about the product, had some experience to share regarding finding the perfect guitar and if I had questions or a problem I wanted to be able to find that person and discuss it in person. Not some huge corporate behemoth that really didn't care about me or my purchase.

I visited all the guitar shops within a 60 mile radius, some stocked nice guitars others didn't have the first high end instrument on the wall. I already owned a Martin, those are not hard to find, I wanted something different in a smaller size. I researched all the brands meticulously and decided to try Breedlove, Taylor and Larrivee. I played many models of all three brands, only finding one that was close. A Breedlove OMM Revival.

One day while at a small store on the south side of Columbus, a store with NO high end guitars in stock, I asked where I might find a good selection of nice guitars. The helpful gentleman seemed apologetic, maybe even sad, but he explained that he could only stock what he could sell and that the high end models didn't move fast enough. He suggested that I visit Wildwood Music.

I immediately drove home and started researching this place, Wildwood Music. It had a bit of a mystique about it, apparently guitarists from miles around drive to this small town and visit the store. They indeed had a nice selection of Martins, Larrivee's and Taylors. We made plans to drive the 100 miles to the store the next weekend.

I compiled a list of models I wanted to try and was as prepared as I have ever been to get exactly what I wanted. I did bring the check book, just in case I found the perfect guitar but resolved to let it wait if there was any doubt. We were greeted by the owners of the store, Marty and Don. They were super friendly and knew just what questions to ask and Don listened intently as I described what I was looking for. There was an unhurried atmosphere, and I did not feel like I had to buy anything in order to get this priceless personal service.

We were there about three hours, I played a dozen guitars or more. As I tried one out, Don would come over with another and ask some more questions. It was almost like a personal assistant, trying to professionally guide the buying process. I enjoyed it immensely. What fun, getting my hands on all of these expensive, high quality guitars.

I kept coming back to a Larrivee OMV50 with a soft Venitian cut away and the perfect neck. The guitar was also beautiful with mother of pearl abalone inlay as the rosette and many more features like maple binding and a gorgeous Brazilian Mahogany. The top is Sitka spruce, actually from Sitka Alaska. I could go on forever, but the guitar is exactly what I had been searching for. However, I was not going to buy it that day.

Don mentioned that Larrivee is no longer going to produce the "10" series OM's, thus making the guitar I liked the best suddenly unavailable. With that knowledge I went ahead and bought the thing, put it in layaway and three weeks later went up and got it. I own it now and I must say it is a dream. The staff at Wildwood Music have got it right, I am sure what they do is very labor intensive, but the effect was that I bought a guitar and would happily recommend this store and this wonderful couple to anyone. They also sell banjo's and dulcimers. The store is in historic Old Roscoe Village near Coshocton.

If more music stores were like this one, I imagine fewer of them would be closing their doors. There is no substitute for great product AND great people.

Wildwood Music

Hot Dogs 'N Whiskey

We enjoyed hot dogs for dinner this evening. We washed them down with Whiskey. I had several nice Bourbons during the course of the evening.

Wild Turkey 101, Knob Creek (90 proof), Makers Mark, all mixed with as my friend Pete would say "good Bourbon, good Ice, good Coke".

The punchline is actually the build up to this dinner. Last night I knew we would have my daughter and probably a guest. I knew we didn't have much to eat in the house. I looked around and saw that we had 2 1/2 packs of bun length hot dogs, a can of baked beans and some buns. Thus hot dogs 'n whiskey was born.

We grilled out and enjoyed the hell out of a gorgeous summer evening and dined on Oscar Mayer and Van De Kamp. Mmmmm.

Just goes to show, even hot dogs are fancy if you are drinking top shelf Bourbon.

Maybe tomorrow I will skip the hot dogs and just have the Bourbon.

The People Want This - Warning: Tech Content

In my job I am partially responsible for vetting new projects, consulting on ROI and generally helping with the tech aspects of a new project. I gain an understanding of the business logic with all the stakeholders, then report what it will take in terms of programming, design, and maintenance to make it happen. There are endless meetings where we brainstorm new ideas, or look for ways to implement a new feature. There are other meetings where we look to the past and review what ideas are working and which ones are not. These are all common tasks for a project manager.

What has been bothering me lately however is the blind thrust of certain stakeholders to develop and deploy projects without the first clue as to actual user demand, or more importantly the Return on Investment. I hear it frequently, "a lot of people are looking for (fill in the blank)". Really? Are you sure? If my team and I move forward on this (fill in the blank) project we will be committing hours, time away from other projects, fees, payments and ongoing maintenance that we will have to budget for. Did you really do any research on this or are you simply stabbing in the dark on this one.

Here is an example, I recently had on of my freelance clients complain about the way his photo gallery worked. It is a simple affair on an inexpensive website. Just click on an image and the image will pop up and display the larger version for better viewing. I did not code new pages for each individual image, just a few simple lines of JavaScript that will display the image in a window. Since there was not an actual html page to edit, there was no way to show text or provide a "close window" button. He was unhappy about the lack of a "close window" link and stated in very blunt terms: "..there are many people that wont know to click the 'x' to close the window.." Wow, in today's world if someone is looking at his website and doesn't know to click the 'x' then we all have problems.

He had no empirical evidence, no statistics, no clue whatsoever if his statement was actually true, only that he himself felt that clicking the 'x' was too arcane an operation for most computer users to comprehend. Thus, I had to spend another hour coming up with a solution that both satisfied his odd demand and didn't break my time budget. This happens all the time in meetings at my real job too. I hear one old salt, who is a bit backwards when it comes to tech, always bleating about some odd item "people want". How does he know what people want? He deals in a fairly narrow level of expertise and to forever hear that the "people want this" just drives me up a wall. So assume for a moment he is correct, that means 200 people want it? 1000 people want it? Show me the evidence, the demographics, proof from others that do have the feature.

Second guessing what your audience wants in a web application is not a good way to conduct business. Sure, one reason I have a job is to satisfy the whims of management, but in today's economy when we are all doing more with less, I want to see some hard data before I make my team start on a project that will have minimal returns. Take the time to actually learn what "the people want" then track those metrics and confirm the hours spent were worth the effort.

New Blog

This blog isn't done, by any means. I have a hundred things to blog about. However my attention is going into a little project of mine. Check it out at barflychronicles.com. I will have more posts over here eventually. I promise.
Phresh~

Oh.. we found that was actually one of the best things for you.

In the Woody Allen film, Sleeper, there is a scene were a groggy Rumpelstiltskin Woody is asked if he wants a scotch and a cigarette. He says no, that those things (especially the smoke) are bad for his health. This is when the futurist says (paraphrase) "Oh no we have discovered that scotch and a smoke are one of the best things you can do for your body" the conversation goes on about how 20th century man suffered because they thought they couldn't drink and smoke.

Well I wish that were the case, it is no longer the 20th century but I believe smoking is probably really bad for you in the doses that I engage in the habit. Scotch on the other hand while being only palatable in the rarefied air of single malts is still OK to imbibe in. That is in the doses I normally take of Scotch Whiskey.

I am a pack a day smoker, I have been a smoker for well over 20 years. I once quit for 24 months almost to the day and when I picked them back up I knew what I was doing. I fully understood I was about to re ignite my addiction and let it run part so my life again. The trauma that precipitated that decision is beyond the scope of this post, but tobacco was one of the first crutches I reached for.

Daisy is going to quit, in the face of aging, and a steep increase in the cost of smoking in my state she has decided to make the attempt to quit. I will follow, and also make the attempt, we live together and love each other and should share this burden in order to support each other and increase our chances of success.

I must say I don't want to quit, I mean I want to be free of my addiction but that is a scary proposition. I really love them, the way I feel when I smoke the romance and social aspects of smoking are all very entrenched in my psyche. I have had some health issues as of late, and they were quite unpleasant. None of these issues were a result of my nicotine habit, but what if they were? I hated my recent stay in the hospital, what if I fail to quit and someday have to spend the last of my days in a hospital where the technology to keep me breathing exists? A powerful reminder as to why my smoking days are numbered.

I have had free reign at work for smoking, I go outside to smoke 5 times in an 8 hour period. I take 7 minutes to go downstairs, have a smoke and come back. There was an ashtray directly outside the south entrance. The South entrance is used by the janitorial staff, construction and maintenance staff, the employees in the know that use the entrance as a back door, up the steps, not a grand entrance via wood paneled elevator.

This past week the ashtray left, it is gone. I asked the maintenance man what the deal was. Turns out the new tenanants of the building (well over 100 employees) sent many complaints to the property manager about smokers in front of the south entrance. What the fuck people? Take the East entrance and leave me alone. I cant have my own space to engage in a perfectly legal activity? There are 4 main entrances into the building and "mine" is near the diesel generator and the dumpster, the least convenient and most service like of all the ways into the building. Yet now folks have nothing better to do than start up an email campaign to end my ability to smoke outside.

I guess the point is moot, since with a bit of luck, I will be a non smoker someday soon. However, I imagine even as a non smoker I will not approve of war on a legal activity engaged in during a legitimate break. What fools, I have often said, if there is one thing worse than a smoker it is a reformed smoker. Well not me, I will quit becuase I want to live. In my heart I will always be a smoker and will support those who have not yet mustered the courage to quit. Believe me, every smoker in the universe knows it is bad for them and want to quit someday. They do not need anyone to point it out or cajole them into stopping. It is a personal decision and one they will all have to make someday or suffer the consequences.

I no longer say to my peers that I am going to quit smoking, what I say is I am going to try. I have tried so many times and failed, it is shameful and embarassing when I triumphantly announce that I have quit yet a few days or weeks later I end up smoking agian. The best I can do is try. And try I will, wish me luck.

Therapy Animals

Ahh, at home resting comfortably. That is a blessed thing today, being able to eat regular food, albeit bland food, and sleeping in my own bed. Being able to take a hot shower at will and wear actual pants. The ability to watch what I want on television in my own recliner. These are precious things that I have been missing.

I was recently hospitalized for an emergency case of Pancreatitis caused by gall stones. I subseqently lost said organ to the surgeons knife and I am now recovering. I have very little experience with hospitals or modern health care as I have enjoyed a healthy life up till now.

While lying in my fairly uncomfortable hospital bed one afternoon during the ordeal, I hear a commotion from the other side of the curtain. Arriving to make my day are an older couple in some sort of uniform, carrying a dog. I didn't want to see the mutt, I don't like dogs much and I was also very grumpy. However, Daisy wanted to see what the deal was, so into the room come the couple with their "Therapy" dog.

Turns out these people volunteer to walk the wards of hospitals and spread cheer with thier terrier-like mutt "Gabby the Therapy Dog". The animal was wearing one of those knitted sweaters that people put on dogs. I mentioned that I was a cat person and on que "Gabby" was prompted to growl a fake growl at the notion of cats.

I wasn't cheered up at all by the "Therapy Dog" that was until I thought about the opposite, what about a "Therapy" cat? No that wouldnt work. The cat would not like being carried around and they do not growl on command, or anything else for that matter. At best the cat would look at a sick person with total ambivalence, at worst the animal would wish you were dead so it could eat your liver.

So we must reject the notion of a therapy cat. If they really wanted to cheer me up during my stay in the hospital the could have sent around "Bambi the Therapy Stripper" now that would have been theraputic!

Music Review - Royksopp

You know the Geico commercial, there the caveman is on one of those "people movers" at an airport. The actor is casually looking at his boarding pass and is obviously on vacation when he notices a billboard with the "so easy a cave man can do it" commercial. The song in the background is Royksopp singing "Remind Me". Turns out this electronic / ambient band has many songs appearing in advertising including Apple.

Melody AM is an older cd of thiers, it is classed in a niche genre of music called "Chill". Even the name of this album is a reference to a time of day, where after spending the entire night at a sweaty rave, eating estacy tabs and drinking vodka mixed with redbull, you are finally able to relax and come down from the evenings escapades.

Indeed, the songs on this cd are perfect for chilling out, a sonic balm of sorts but with interesting hooks and bold electronic beats. I think of it as batchelor music, I envision modern furniture and martini glasses, maybe a mobile hanging from the ceiling, and large coffee table books featuring black and white photos of obscure European art.

I like this sort of electronic music, having been a big fan of ambient styles for a long time. This album of tunes would work well in a party situation, and it works well as background music for nearly any situation when one has to chill out. There are no real stand out songs, just put it in the player and let it roll.

Excellent CD, I will be buying more Royksopp in the future. I give it 4 out of 5 stars.

Enjoy~

Lots of New Music - Music Review

About every two months or so I go on a music buying binge. I sit down over the course of a couple of evenings with Itunes and a credit card and seek out music that I have heard about and music that I just wish to explore. Usually, I have not actually listened to any of it, so I take the risk of getting a dog now and then, but there is a thrill purchasing music sight unseen (sound unheard?).

Recently I bought a bunch of new music. Most of it is good, some of it is exceptional. I decided to review my new albums on my blog, keeping with the tradition of Phresh's music review in the sidebar.

Everything that Happens, Happens Today - David Byrne and Brian Eno

Being a fan of both David Bryne (Talking Heads) and Brian Eno (Roxy Music), I thought this might be worth a listen. The album was also featured on NPR's "All Songs Considered". I am now on my 6th full listen and I am liking it more each time I play it.

The songs reflect David Byrne's quirky yet sophisticated pop sensibility with Brian Eno's genius for production and electronic vibe. The music does indeed have echoes of experimental music from Eno days gone by, but it is not all electronic, in fact, the electronic ambience is quite restrained.

This album is danceable and just a good jam, Bryne works out his signature vocals on several songs with that trademark crecendo. There is alot of good energy in this collection as well, perfect for driving, or a party, it sounds good with headphones.

On "Home" we enjoy interesting lyrics and a great pop melody, backed up with some guitars and a rhythem of industrial sounding loops, it works well. As the song plays, there is a familiarity, almost predictable, then Byrne sings an unexpected note at the last minute creating a very listenable and original sound.

The title track "Everything that Happens, Happens Today" stars with a melodic episode of up front piano and rich synths that lead to Byrne's vocals. The tune features David Byrnes signature lyrics, sung with very "Headesque" inflection.

The only Klinker in my opinion is "Poor Boy" which starts out a bit dischordant and tries to hard with experimental themes.

The album plays as a solid and contiguous work, very entertaining and an easy listen without being boring. I give it 4 out of 5, worth the money.

Go get a copy of "Everything that Happens, Happens Today" and enjoy.
Phresh~

Using the Force to Cut Steak in Style - The Jedi Steak Knife Set

"Never underestimate the power of dark meat"

Serve your next piece of charred meat in style with our new Jedi Steak Knife set. Table service will never be the same with our "guaranteed to cut" knife set. "Do or do not, there is no try" in truer now than ever. Steak a little tough? No problem, with the Jedi Steak Knife nothing is ever too much to cut again.

Our elegant set of four Jedi Knives will have you saying goodbye to the Ginsu forever. Severing a steel pipe, melting a blast door or sending your sons hand to oblivion is no match for our knives, you will still be able to slice a tomato with ease!

This 5 inch Jedi steak knife set compliments any Jedi's dinner table, comes in handy for melting cheese on fondu night as well.

Made of unspecified otherworldly materials the knifes use the Power of the Force to stay sharp at all times. No more dull knives! Shipped direct to you from our factory on Dagoba, you will receive your set in hyperspeed.

Users report nothing but glowing sentiments when it comes to this unique product. Reggie N. in Duluth writes: "My Jedi Steak Knife set arrived today and already cutting my meat has never been easier. I get a big kick out of the powerful "swooshing" sound each time I slice off a delectable piece of savory steak."

Agnes P. from Houston wrote in with this testimonial:" I accidentally cut my finger while trying to cut the last bit of goodness from around my T-bone. I used the Jedi knife to instantly cauterize my wound, my guests didn't even know I was bleeding on the asparagus."

As you can see this set is not only beautiful but highly useful as well. Other popular uses include
using as a flashlight, cigarette lighter, fine metal cutting and soldering. Many users find the knife useful as a letter opener.

Get your set today.

*Same day shipping by Imperial Cruiser available.

** Most orders shipped by scruffy smuggler, please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.


**Extra Metachlorians sold separately.

Here is some good news....but

Yet another rant about my good friends at National Public Radio. NPR is the only way to get the news and insight that I crave on my long commutes to and from work. Even though the attitude of the entire organization is decidedly liberal and a bit elitist. I overlook the left leaning spin and glean a good bit of actual news and analysis from the stories. 

Lately however; I have started yelling at my radio again, all by myself in the car. The inanity of some of the comments just leave me wondering what people do all day if they have time to be worried about such minutia. 

Here is my latest dilemma, I am sick to death of listening to a story that has one outcome, and then hearing how that outcome will negatively affect something or someone, no matter how positive the story is. Here is a fictitious example. 

News reader: "The 2.6 million dollar clean coal plant will be built in a small town in West Virginia bringing good paying jobs to an economically depressed region. Plant officials estimate 5000 jobs will be created, making this a boom for the entire economy of an otherwise depressed area. 

(All positive so far, jobs for poor people)." News reader continues: "However, a rare bird, the West Virginia Blue Tit lives on the same mountainside as the proposed plant construction site. The small bird has suffered habitat loss in the past and the construction of this plant could endanger the species. Local Audobon Society representatives say the plant should not be built due to the risk of harming the already frigile eco system." 

So while this example is fiction and was never really reported, it is emblamatic of the type of reporting I hear all day on NPR. There is ALWAYS a caveate no matter how small or how trivial it may be. In my mind, you cannot have it both ways. Either the poor and downtrodden of a rural area suddenly get really good jobs boosting the local economy, or we save an obscure bird. Which is it, becuase I know for a fact that if the plant in the story were not built because of environmental issues, the story would have been about the poverty and hopelessness of the people involved. 

I hope most Americans live, work and go about thier lives with not so much angst about every little thing. Most of us have learned that you cannot please everyone. When did the needs of the few start outweighing the needs of the many? When did policy and planning start including the obscure and the minor at the expense of the good of the many? In a way, this type of attitude is both condescending and elitist and I am sick of it. The little bird will find somewhere else to live and the plant will be built helping thousands of people who had little hope of gaining good jobs. Sounds like a good thing to me. There are enough worthy things to be concerned about in this life without manufactuing angst over some of the details. People as well as nature are more adaptable than we are getting credit for, including the blue tits. 

Daddy LOVES his Caddie

After months of silence, the first new blog post of the summer is about the Cadillac..again. I truly love my car, even though it is older, it still looks really good. The Catera is low slung, has a cool looking front front end, if I pop the moon roof the cars profile oozes sophisticated sportiness.
I try very hard to take care of my car, the oil get changed religiously, I recently hand washed and waxed the thing under the tree in the backyard. I want the car to last and to continue running well, making my long commutes like spending time in my living room swaddled in soft leather luxury.

While driving to work not long ago, I noticed the "check engine" light was on. Just for perspective, I have owned many high mileage cars, so the "check engine" light typically does not intimidate me. I once drove a Cavalier (loved that old car) for four years with the check engine light on. Hell, if it went off is when I would get nervous. Mostly this light is just a means of getting you into the dealership so they can sell you some obscure part that costs too much, oh and while you are there why not spend hundreds of dollars on other maintenance items that happen to need fixed too.

This time however, I was not content to just let it pass, I couldn't stand seeing the light on the dash, a constant reminder that my beloved Cadillac might be sick. As I drove I carefully tuned into the vehicles performance. I turned off the radio and the A/C and listened for anything out of the ordinary. I put the car through some different driving conditions to determine if anything was out of place. As it turns out there were no obvious differences in the way the car behaved. Just the glowing reminder that something might be wrong.

Later the same day, as I drove home from work, I called the Cadillac dealer in my town to inquire about getting the light checked out. The next day I drove into the service bay at the dealership to have the mysterious light analyzed.

Now, the Cadillac dealership service bay isn't like the Chevy or Saturn service areas. This place looked like the workshop for a NASCAR drivers car. Clean, modern, the staff were extremely friendly and professional. In the past I have had negative feelings about all things dealer, especially the service department but this time I was impressed. I was Mr. Freshour, and I felt that my car would get the finest service available from these clean and professional service people.

The paper work was done in moments and I was ushered into a service lounge. The lounge featured high end leather seating, a large flat panel television and deep cold air conditioning. I settled into a chair and picked up a very recent copy of GQ while I awaited the prognosis on my car. The test was supposed to take an hour but only 30 minutes later the very nice service man sat down next to me with a computer print out that contained the diagnosis. He explained what needed to happen and why, he also pointed out the long term consequences of ignoring the light.
I agreed and an hour later I was back on the road. The repair was a vacuum pump that had gotten old and no longer worked to spec. There were also some hoses that had dry rotted and no longer held air.

I do not understand everything about a cars vacuum system, I know on older models the compression from the cylinders created vacuum pressure and this was harnessed to advance the timing as well as a host of other vital functions, but newer cars are all "fly by wire" with electronics controlling most of a vehicles operations. I also know that larger cars rely on vacuum assist to enhance vehicle performance. Sure enough, the slightly anemic air conditioning was blowing robustly again, I had more break pedal, and the car idled more smoothly. All small and subtle things, but I was happy. Mostly, I was glad the light was no longer advertising the fact I had to go to the dealer and spend money.

The repair was not cheap, but I did get a 10% discount for being a first time customer. I got an oil change punch card, so every 5th oil change is free. I also gained a trust for the service department, I would not go anywhere else now. I will pay a bit extra for the Cadillac service, all because these people have not forgotten that the customer is king.

The Ultimate Condiment

Readers of this blog know that I have been on a diet these last few months. It has worked very well so far. I eat a lot of Splenda, and am amazed at the vast universe of flavors that can be coaxed out of the humble turkey. I have satirized diet foods in the past, including the weird spray on butter substitute endorsed by Fabio.

While contemplating what special needs a man has while dieting,
it occurred to me that men only need a simple condiment to lose weight. If everything tasted like bacon, we could easily eat brussels sprouts, broccoli, oddly colored "baby" lettuce, even spinach. Our entire dietary intake could be high fiber leafy greens with usually flavorless yellow squash. Imagine how fast the pounds would fly off.

Yes, I propose the wonder condiment, "I Can't Believe It's Not Bacon....Spray". Whip up a heaping plate of green beans and with a few simple sprays they suddenly taste like they have been cooking in bacon fat for hours, just like mom used to make! Think of the millions of dollars the inventor of this miracle condiment would make. Other uses for our amazing new spray on food would include bacon low fat smoothies, bacon sandwiches with only lettuce and tomato, unnatural eggs in a carton with the bacon flavor cooked in. I can't wait to write the "I Can't Believe It's Not Bacon" cook book.

Forget celery with peanut butter, just a few good sprays of this stuff and it would be like eating pork rinds, crunchy goodness and all. The possible uses for this wonder spray are endless and enticing. For the hard core bacon lover, it would be possible to drink the stuff right out of the bottle, for an intense bacony rush of goodness just pour into a shot glass and enjoy, neat.

I will keep scanning the grocery store shelves for the holy grail of diet foods, searching for bacon on demand without the guilt (or the fat and calories). Look for "I Can't Believe It's Not Bacon...Spray" at a store near you.

It Ain't Easy Peeing Green

So being "green" is all the rage these days. All we hear in the media is how to conserve, save, recycle and if we don't then we are obviously bad, bad people. Companies are jumping on the green bandwagon in record numbers, most are just using it as a promotional tool. Sending me junk mail on recycled paper does not really qualify as being environmentally sound to me. At least the company that is sending me the advertising can put a cool logo on the mailer stating how green they are.

We, as a society are encouraged daily to conserve, save gas, save electricity, save water, don't pollute unnecessarily. I keep hearing how the world is facing a water shortage. I can see that in the desert parts of the world (like California and Texas) but where the most recent problem has been is in the American South, like Georgia. I am from California originally, where folks have been using "low-flow" toilets and "gray water irrigation" for years. I suppose a water shortage comes as a bit of a surprise in an area normally known for being very moist.

It occurred to me recently that I use a ton of water for flushing the commode. On a good drinking night I imagine I flush a hundred gallons or more down the drain. I therefore have decided to pee green. I don't mean that I plan on eating tons of green substances, or take some medication that will make my pee a nice shade of chartreuse. I am suggesting a return to the outhouse. That quaint shack built over a ditch in the back yard. Then all my waste would simply gurgle into a ditch where it could decompose naturally. No water used at all. All men could do their part by simply whipping it out and peeing behind the garage, anytime. No water, no flushing, no paper products used. Public decency laws could be changed to when the guys are out at the bar, drinking, a quick trip to the alley in back of the place could serve as the green pee area.

With this idea I have done my part to save the earth. I bet peeing green would save tens of thousands of gallons of water each year. If every man did this (yes the ladies are exempted for now) we could float Georgia with the water saved. Of course alleys and the back of garages may end up looking like some back street in Bombay. But what is a little odor and disease if we are saving the worlds water supply? If growing corn to make fuel is a green action to take, even though now there is a global food shortage, then peeing green to save water, even though the gutters may run foul with waste, cant be a bad thing, right?

Now I am making a difference, something has finally come along that I can do. I am not going to buy a Prius, nor am I going to use canvas bags at the grocery store. I doubt I am going to start using an electric lawn mower, and our town does not even offer a recycling program as part of trash pick up, so peeing green is my small contribution to saving our planet.

It is easy peeing green after all.

I Can Tell In Your Face

I have lost some weight in the last six months, 15 lbs in just the past five weeks. I have dropped a pant size, and I feel better. I still have a long way to go, but the diet I am on isn't too hard and there is no reason to believe I will fail. I am craving pizza really bad these days though, some foods are hard to give up.

My girlfriend can tell where I have lost weight, but she has access to my body and a certain intimacy that others do not. I love it when she notices, it makes me smile. Still, it would be nice if others started noticing my weight loss. When I proudly announce that I have lost 30 lbs. since last Labor Day, I get the usual accolades and that is cool, but what I really want is an unsolicited comment. How about "wow Scott you are looking sveldt these days" or maybe "have you lost weight? You look fabulous".

Alas I get nothing of the sort, instead what I hear is "I can tell you have lost weight in your face". Thats great, I wasn't worried about my face, I am worried about my ass. Will you tell me when you can see that I have lost weight in my ass? "Egads, Scott, your ass is nearly gone! Good work!". It is the bane of every fat guy who ever went on a diet, I have been there many times actually. I lose weight in my face, so I have a 16 lbs. head instead of an 18 lbs. head. That is fabulous. Maybe my old hats will fit better. Here is an idea, I can now get a smaller fucking dew rag. Oh and what do you mean when you say you can tell in my face? Does that mean you never look at my ass? Good, just as well you keep it that way I suppose, but really, it would be nice to get some validation on the other body parts that are rapidly shrinking into much smaller sizes.

Today was the first day I added exercise to my diet, yes the fat man went to the gym. It was pretty fun, there were the usual cliques of weight lifters, getting all buff and built, I wonder how many are 'roiding after the workout. There were mostly working folk, people like me who sit on their previously fat asses (not that anyone notices) and stare at a computer screen all day. If it weren't for the 40 minutes at the Y, most office bound Americans would move less than a three toed sloth. I sat on a bike for 15 minutes, the read out said I had burnt 70 calories. Let's see, 70 calories is about the equivalent of a quarter of a slice of pepperoni pizza pie. The math makes my head spin, if I ever want to eat again I will have to spend all of my free time at the gym.

I spent some time on the elliptical machine, some weird contraption that is like a bike but you "pedal" with your arms, then I did some traditional weight training. See, I want a big upper body to counter act by big lower body.

Mostly, I can not help but compare the equipment in the gym to ancient torture devices. There are machines there that even look like The Rack. All of them are a form of torture too, because I have been home for all of two hours and I am already stiff and sore. I am sure the morning will feel even more like I have spent time on the Rack. All that is missing is the little bald rat faced man with a lisp asking me to renounce my religion.

Yet I will willingly go back to my torture chamber on Saturday, because my diet and the American Heart Association say I must. Someday I may be able to actually enjoy the fruits of my labors, perhaps even have buns of steel, and then by god, you had better notice.

What Will Do For An Icon

Well here we are 32 days since I posted the first post in my quest to write each day for 30 days. All of this to get an icon for my blog. I visited the site www.nablopomo.com and I cant find a badge that says 2008 on it. I will probably have to make my own.

I like to blog, and I intend to continue doing it for a long time. Do not however, look for a new post every night. Here is a summation of some loose ends I know I left hanging around in the past 30 days.

I came in second in the big Chili cook off, damn mid western taste buds did me in again.
The Cadillac is running fine.
I am so tired of the presidential primaries that I doubt I will write about them again. (Even though I promised a blog picking on Obama and Huckabee)
The diet is going well, I have lost 9 lbs eating fake butter.
Daisy is still the love of my life and she rocks. I hope to be a blogging superstar like her someday.
The cat still sleeps as much as ever and the comparisons to a three toed sloth have not abated.
The daughter that wrecked her car has recovered fully and is supposedly driving safely in my old Saturn.
Little cakes have come back into my life in the form of Weight Watchers snacks. 1 Point, Yay!
I am on schedule to get the new guitar out of lay away in May.
All I got out of the historic snow storm was half a day off from work and much of that was spent commuting on very icy roads.
I am still mildly obsessed with the weather, but summer weather is not as interesting.
All the snow is gone.
I still plan to write that long essay about CMS but of course by the time I get around to writing it, there will be a new technology to supplant it, and my thoughts will be irrelevant.

Till next time,
I am out of here.

The Pope Doesn't Speak for Me.

I am not Catholic, therefore I can blaspheme the earthly incarnation of St. Peter if I want to, since I believe he is just a man after all. See what Sinead did for us all? Here is a basic difference as described by Monty Python.

Mr Blackitt: That's what being a Protestant's all about. That's why it's the church for me. That's why it's the church for anyone who respects the individual and the individual's right to decide for him or herself. When Martin Luther nailed his protest up to the church door in 1517, he may not have realised the full significance of what he was doing. But four hundred years later, thanks to him, my dear, I can wear whatever I want on my John Thomas. And Protestantism doesn't stop at the simple condom. Oh no! I can wear French Tickler if I want.

Mrs Blackitt: You what?

Mr Blackitt: French Ticklers... Black Mambos... Crocodile Ribs...Sheaths that are designed not only to protect but also to enhance the stimulation of sexual congress...

Mrs Blackitt: Have you got one?

Mr Blackitt: Have I got one? Well no... But I can go down the road any time I want and walk into Harry's and hold my head up high, and say in a loud steady voice: 'Harry I want you to sell me a *condom*. In fact today I think I'll have a French Tickler, for I am a Protestant...'

Mrs Blackitt: Well why don't you?

Ok since you all know how I feel about Catholicism I will move on to a the reason I am ranting about it today. See, in Europe (most notably Ireland) St. Patrick's day is a religious feast day, just like dozens of days associated with Easter and Christmas etc. Many of the days exist because, in antiquity, the only way to get the Godless heathens to convert was to super impose the pagan holiday they had always celebrated with goats blood and sex, onto a Christian historical event. Thus Christmas was celebrated on the solstice, when most pagans were sacrificing a virgin and erecting large rocks in alignment with the stars. So to get everyone to cooperate with the church, some pope said, "On this day Jesus was born" and a tradition was born. The same goes for Easter, and and many other feast days on the Catholic calendar.

Now I am not Knocking Catholics, hell, if I had to do it all over again I would be a Catholic instead of a Baptist. I mean the Catholics can at least drink and gamble with little thought of going to hell. As a Baptist I am certainly going to hell, just by virtue of writing this blog , let alone the fact that I often drink old wine and spirit's and am having carnal knowledge of my mate out of matrimony.

The reason I am pissing on the pope today is the fact that because there is an early Easter this year, Monday the 17th (St. Patrick's Day) has been officially moved to Saturday the 15th. Well this sort of screws with my Protestant plans for the day. See, a back sliding Baptist like myself has carefully planned a night of drunken abandon on the 17th. Up to and including subterfuge with my employer to get a work night to myself.

I think the non-Catholic world should totally ignore the Papal proclamation and rage like the apocalypse is already upon us in spite of the holy see's ideas. The fact that the feast day was officially moved suggests that the Vatican does not trust the parishioners to behave on a holy day. Yes,I understand it is Lenten, but my God man, no one gives up Guinness.

My John Thomas and I are going to rage and get in tune with our Irish heritage on Monday, the REAL St. Patrick's day, and we are going to have a good time doing it. I love not being obligated to listen to the pope. Steak next Friday anyone?

The Reason I Love St. Patrick's Day

And the number one reason Phresh loves St. Patrick's Day is:

A.
B.
C.
I was at a family reunion recently, back in November actually. I learned some interesting things at this reunion. I learned that my paternal grandfather was adopted. That was quite a bombshell, since my understanding of my family lineage had been ingrained in me for many years. There have been questions, like who my biological grandfather was on my mothers side. That is a very sticky, messy subject that is beyond the scope of this blog post. I have thought for years however, that I had my fathers side of the family all figured out. I have been to the family cemetery and I have read the history book about our county and all the data I read pointed to German heritage on my grandfathers side and Irish heritage on my paternal grandmothers side.

While I have always managed to identify with my supposed German heritage, I have also wished I was more Irish, especially on St. Patrick's Day. I just understood the culture more intimately. I was happy being of German, Irish stock on my fathers side and English, Canadian on my mothers side. Like most Americans, I am a mix of many European cultures. From way back, as in the Revolution and prior.

So when I learned that my paternal grandfather was adopted, my interest was piqued. I have much yet to learn, but it turns out that he was of solid Irish decent. This makes sense to me on a fundamental level, he was a hard drinker till the day he died at a ripe old age, and seldom touched a beer. Black Velvet on the rocks was his poison of choice. A taste for whiskey is a good indication of heritage.

Liquor preference is only a minor thing though. My grandfather apparently was adopted in the pre-depression era by a German family. This boggles my mind and I really need to talk to the sole surviving member of his immediate family. My great aunt (his sister) lives still at the staggering age of 80 something. She is the last link, the last chance to learn what my lineage really is.

So now I have a clue to why a Catholic Irish holiday resonates so purely in my soul. I know, anyone who knows me understands that my favorite holidays are heavy drinking holidays, but there is so much more to it than that. I hope to learn what the real story is, and I am also hoping I am more Irish than originally thought. I could do worse.