Rantypants

A coworker of mine just broke open a bag of popcorn…at 3pm…at work. While I personally find popcorn to be a late-night movie snack, I am not personally offended by the fact that she brought this tasty snack to work. Someone else in the office is though.

The popcorn saga is much longer than just today. A number of people enjoy popcorn at work, it appears. And one person – the writer of the note below – feels that this amounts to cruel and unusual punishment. This note was posted in the staff kitchen months ago, and I have only now gotten around to sharing it.

I could only get a quick and blurry camera-phone picture of it before someone else walked in. I wish you could read it verbatim.
















First of all, it is typed (to preserve the identity of the ranter), and printed on yellow paper. In the first paragraph the ranter informs us that she has a terrible reaction to the fumes resulting from the popcorn, and that she has to bring her asthma inhaler to overcome the torture of breathing. She then elaborates that it is not only the smell of popcorn, but the offense of BURNING the popcorn in the microwave that is inexcusable. I mean, how could you not set the microwave to a reasonable time?!

Becoming legible, the note reads “This doesn’t mean you can set a high powered microwave for 4 minutes and disappear. Four or more minutes will probably burn the popcorn, and may even start a FIRE!!”

“I promise that I won’t cook fish, cabbage, or strong onions, if I don’t have to continue to breathe burning popcorn fumes, and my lungs and brain will thank you.” This is the most amusing paragraph I have ever read. I still laugh out loud when I read it.

"Have a nice day :)
And

For the person who keeps throwing these in the trash, you are obviously very uncaring and selfish :("

Response (written in sharpie): "I apologize for the burnt popcorn, it was an accident. But these notes are uncalled for. Mistakes and accidents happen. Please be more tolerant."

What about the office setting makes otherwise sane people go crazy? Granted, there are supporting arguments for both the popcorn-lover and the suffering asthmatic. But is a piece of yellow paper in the staff lounge table the proper forum for discussing this issue? The underlying tones in each message betray so much frustration and animosity ... yet these two people are co-workers.

I swear this stuff hurts the collective office. There is now a note on the water dispenser telling me how to dispense my water so as to not contaminate it with my germs. There are rules about how to leave my food in the fridge, and when to label it, and how it might be thrown out if I'm delinquent in my duties.

I can't express exactly how I feel, but it certainly isn't freedom. I feel watched, monitored, as if someone is waiting for me to screw up so they can unleash their wrath on me via a strongly worded letter (typed on yellow paper). That's not an environment I like to work in.

*deep breath in*
*let it out*
Thank you for letting me rant. I feel better.

Pics from Phone

Its a wonder about phone plans. I used to be very conscientious about what text messages I sent and received, because I had a plan that allowed a limited number per month. I recently switched to next step up - an unlimited plan - but was skeptical that I would change my texting habits. How adorable.

The feature I am most surprised to find myself using is picture messaging. I don't really send pictures to others. Instead I send all sorts of photos to my email address. The messages are automatically filtered into a special folder, and wait patiently for me to extract whatever information I thought was important enough to remember at a later date, but not important enough for me to find a pen and paper (ugh, sooo 20th century).

I decided to look back on the past few messages / photos I sent myself, and found such a strange window into my life that I had to share. Enjoy!

When Katie and I were looking for an apartment, I used to wander around neighborhoods taking pictures with my phone. This was really useful, because I could take a picture of the phone number, take a picture of the house, and be on my merry way. The downside was that I looked like a vagabond "casing" the neighborhood, looking for the next place to rob.

Many of my posts actually start from photo or text messages I send when I'm struck with an idea. Remember that strange message I posted about my "Plan of Action" for blogging again? That was a text message I sent myself on March 6, at 2:09am.


This is a photo of the bus route I took every day during the winter. The bus system here has an awesome web page that lets you track the location of your bus using GPS. Why wait outside like a sucker, when you can just sprint to the bus stop at the last second? Yes, that was me running down the stairs like there was a fire; I lost track of time. Its a little like playing chicken...trying to wait until the very last moment to leave, all the while increasing your risk of missing the bus. And with buses on my route only coming every hour, the consequences are severe. I have been humbled by a long, cold walk home on at least one occasion. Other times, I went back to my computer to kill time until the next bus.


One text message simply says "May 19." Anyone know what this means?


I saved the best for last: pictures of stinky winky. It seems he is at his most adorable when there isn't a camera in sight. Luckily my phone is never too far away.

Driving Music

My cousin recently wrote me about a flashback she had while she was listening to a Sublime song. She said it reminded her of how I would play "Rivers of Babylon" every time I drove her home from school, almost without fail. I was dumbfounded, but it brought up a similar memory of mine of a tape my sister would play when she drove me to school.

While my brother was the epitome of intelligence, I remember my sister representing all that was cool. She had an easy smile, could make friends with anyone in a half hour, and she didn't care about what anybody thought of her (so I thought). My high school identity was more "Rachel's brother" than it was Mark.

But she had some of the most confusing taste in music. In addition to hearing songs from the Beatles, the Doors, and Blind Melon I remember riding to school at a break-neck pace in her blue Topaz listening to Bjork.

Listening to Bjork is the most disconcerting musical experience a high school freshman can have. It rejects normal harmonies and rhythms, and leans heavily on electronica. There is nothing normal in it to cling to. I grew up on music like Michael W. Smith and Weird Al Yankovic, and thought I had really evolved when I bought Alanis Morissette's album. I was wrong.

Bjork was pure chaos. Noise. Until about the 10th time I listened to it. Then it started to infect me like a virus, and before long I was singing "There's more to life than this" to myself.

It affected me, and I'm confident that my sister had no idea how much of an impression that music made on me. That's exactly how I felt when my cousin told me about how distinctly she remembered hearing Sublime while I drove her home.

Weird.

The Trial - A Junior High Tragedy

In a class today, my professor was telling an anecdote about a time he was almost "laughed off stage" for using a cubic term in his regression model of (boring and irrelevant details removed). He specifically cited that it had damaged him because he was young, and hadn't developed a tough skin yet. He was still carrying around the scars of that single event.

My professor specifically cited being young as the reason he wasn't able to cope with what was probably an intense and embarrassing event. Was it traumatic? I mean it wasn't Darfur. But since he was young - unaccustomed to the rough edges of adult life - his inability to cope with the event made it traumatic to him.

His confession made him seem more human and endearing - he is otherwise quite intimidating. It reminded me of a "confessional" blog post that I had promised I'd write about an embarrassing situation of my own. So here it is...

One of the coolest things in Junior High was getting out of class. It broke up the monotony, and set you apart from the rest of the herd. YOU were special, and YOU were going to leave class right now, because YOU had more important things to do than read "The Outsiders."

I was picked to act a part in a mock-trial for History class, and eagerly jumped at the chance to be out of class for nearly half a day. I excitedly read over my role in the trial. I was a witness to the murder of some lady down by the town dam...ok, I wasn't a witness, but I was certain I saw the killer running through the park right after I heard a scream. That was all there was.

There weren't any lines, so I kind of brushed up on what he might say and tried to get some clues from my teacher. She wasn't clear, but said the attorney (an 8th grader) and I were going to get into a shouting match at some point, and I was going to run out of the courtroom. What? I thought I was just some witness. Before I could clarify my role, it was time to act. I was certainly not in my element, so the teacher offered to help me if I looked over at her.

"Action"
I get "called in" to the courtroom (ie the classroom), I am read my rights, and I sit down in front of a bunch of my schoolmates. Wow...I did not think this through.

As an aside, I might mention a couple of points that I think everyone understands at heart: Jr. high is not a kind and gentle place. Further, the single goal of Jr. Highers is to impress their peers. On the other hand, the single greatest fear of Jr. Highers is public embarrassment - it could mean excommunication.

Despite my fear, I resolve to finish what I started. I tell my piece to the prosecutor, we chat for a while. No further questions. Then the defense attorney comes up. This is where it gets a little hazy, but yet very vivid. He asks a couple of questions. I look over to the teacher. She nods yes, I assent. She nods no, I dissent.

"Well now" says the defense attorney "your testimony doesn't match what (other witness) said."

Huh? This isn't what we agreed on. Oh, crap. Things start to heat up a little bit. The questions start getting more pointed, and the attorney is starting to kind of yell. I look over to the teacher, hoping to get some help out of this worsening situation. I get nothing but nods.

I am being berated by this guy...and - it turns out - I am being accused of being the killer! From what I can put together, the evidence is pretty good too. At this point, I desperately want to break character and explain to everyone in the class that this is not what I agreed to. I was just supposed to be a witness. In fact, I didn't even know this poor lady who died by the dam. In fact, what was she doing hanging out by a dam in the middle of the morning? Hey Brett (attorney), how 'bout you calm down. Nobody actually yells in a courtroom.

But I didn't break character, and the situation became real. I was cornered and scared. I can't remember how it ended, but eventually I played my role by fleeing (thankfully) the courtroom.

In reality, it probably all happened so fast nobody really noticed. But my psyche was shot. I was supposed to perform another "show" for the next class period, but I just couldn't find it within myself. I told the teacher I was out. She would have to find someone else.

Why did this shake me so much? Why do I still think of it every once in a while? Clearly, I was not meant for the stage. But I think that my professor had a decent answer too. I was young. I didn't have a thick skin. It was my very innocence that made me so vulnerable to harm.

I like writing the occasional confessional blog post. I get to exorcise my demons by blogging about them, and hoping that others share my experience. I think it also gives a glimpse of my humanity, and if you're anything like me you eat that stuff up.

Equity is Overrated - Our New Apartment!

I alluded to a surprise post, and here it is. Katie and I got an apartment for next year! Disappointed? We weren’t. We have been looking for quite a while, trying to find a place for next year. I wanted something that minimized my car needs (I’m trying to live out the conservationist thing), Katie wanted something adorable, and Euclid wanted a place that allowed dogs. We were partial to Clintonville, but we were having trouble finding something in our budget that wasn’t tiny or in disrepair.

I wish I could have taken you to some of the places we visited. Most were … eh … acceptable. But a select few were pretty terrible. There was one in particular that was surreal. The foundation was completely fouled up, and it was like High Seas in the apartment. The floor slanted, warped, and waved in every direction imaginable. It was enough to give you vertigo. I sounds like I’m exaggerating, but believe me - this apartment was a once in a lifetime experience.

We also saw an adorable, but tiny cottage in Clintonville. We were smitten by it, but so were the other 3 couples who were walking through it at that time. The realtor had decided to show it to potential renters as a group. It was like being at an auction! I kept wanting to yell out an offer on rent. Do I hear $760 a month?

Katie found our place on Craigslist through an independent landlord. We walked through and loved the character, the space, and the landlord. Most importantly, the location is IDEAL! Right on the Number 2 bus line. Blocks from the grocery store. A short walk from the church we attend. It is the apartment’s best feature.

Well, enough gushing. Here is a link to our photo album (click on or below the photo). I have supplied the quirky captions.

New Apartment!

Plan of Action

The blogger button is looming over me. I know, I know! I haven't posted in a while, and certainly haven't thrown anything substantial into the cloud in quite some time.

I was touched by a muse lately though, and thought of a number of daily, meaningless topics that I could discuss. I texted them to my email (that will be another topic I'll discuss) so I could remember them. They are listed below:

Post it pref
anti consum to purchase obsession
vocab wedge
mobile phone lust
the trial (jr high tragedy)
word origin
pbs
old report card

If you can understand anything I have just listed, more power to you...but likely this list is indecipherable. That's ok. Maybe it will pique your curiosty, and definitely it will serve as a contract to force me to write about each topic. After all, I have billions of potential viewers (ok, more like maybe 10 family members) to keep me honest.

Isn't this exciting?!

P.S. I should also give a Euclid update, and a super-secret surprise update*

*does not involve eloping, babies, or anything that earth-shattering...I'm just playing up the anticipation.

This is How You Do Snow

To fully appreciate this post, please re-read my previous post about a past winter storm in Virginia. Let's see what Ohio has to offer:

From the National Weather Service,

A WINTER STORM WARNING REMAINS IN EFFECT UNTIL 12 PM EST WEDNESDAY.

SNOW WILL MIX WITH SLEET AND FREEZING RAIN OVERNIGHT. THE WINTRY PRECIPITATION WILL CHANGE BACK TO ALL SNOW EARLY TOMORROW MORNING. THEN THE SNOW WILL TAPER OFF FROM WEST TO EAST TOMORROW AFTERNOON.

AN ADDITIONAL 3 TO 5 INCHES OF SNOW AND SLEET WILL OCCUR TONIGHT ALONG WITH UP TO ONE TENTH OF AN INCH OF ICE ACCUMULATION. ANOTHER 2 TO 3 INCHES OF SNOW CAN BE EXPECTED TOMORROW.

TOTAL SNOW ACCUMULATION FOR THE ENTIRE EVENT WILL BE 7 TO 11 INCHES.






Tuesday afternoon, I got off work an hour early. This is before the storm:











This one shows a couple of accidents (right lane, four cars). Whoops! It was arguably icy, but people just HATE letting a pesky thing like weather slow them down!












The storm put down snow, then ice, then snow at a startling rate. Here is the view in the morning.










Needless to say, it was a snowday! Rather than do homework, I set out to clear the driveway.






About 15 ft after the start. Break time!











Foreground: my ice encrusted car. The cool thing is that - due to a thin layer of snow below the ice - removing the ice from my car was like cracking creme brulee'*

Background: progress, sweet progress!






-----(end of original post)
Footnotes:
*I mean, I think that's what its like...I'm no elitist, eating creme brulee'. I shovel my driveway! With a shovel!

-----(beginning of update: 5 days later)

Despite the shoveling, a thin layer of ice persisted on our driveway until today's heat wave - 40 degrees F never felt more like summer! The funny thing is that our driveway was one of the only driveways cleared this week. This is a stark contrast to the scene after the first storm of the year (a couple weeks ago). While our driveway looked like the tundra, our neighbors' driveways were cleared and salted the next day. This storm must have caught our neighbors on their heels or something.

It is strange to me how much satisfaction I drew from the fact that "my" driveway was clear when no others were. Is this a sign of how I might act when I'm a real adult, and not just a renter (or in this year's case, kind of a squatter)? I could be that crotchety or man who sits in his rocking chair, staring out the window, and muttering about how the neighbors just don't take care of their properties anymore.

Spooky.

Blog Reviewing Current Events Already Irrelevant

Justin Timberlake parodies Beyonce on Saturday Night Live while our economy tanks, and I worry about tween girls spraining their ankles. Besides being immediately outdated upon construction, what is the significance of this sentence? Allow me to metaphorize the Perfect Storm at hand.

High Seas

These are hard economic times. Stocks are falling, and women are rising. No, this is not a reference to Hilary Clinton’s rumored nomination as Secretary of State. Women are literally getting taller with the help of a 4-6 inch heel. Through a strange quirk of history the average height of stilettos increases as the economy declines. Don’t believe me? The Early Show would never lie to you*.

The Sou’wester

Who is Sasha Fierce? Turns out she is Beyonce. Like a phoenix from the ashes of Destiny’s Child, Beyonce is re-re-inventing herself for another bid at fame. To mark the occasion she has created an alter ego, signifying that she is both unlike Old Beyonce and a lot like Garth Brooks. She even has a new single, Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It). How very sad; pathetic ev-en. We have seen these stunts before – you weren’t fooling anyone Mr. Hyde – and by now our society surely has too much self-respect be duped again. This will never work out for Beyonce…right??

The Nore’easter

Saturday Night Live is crazy popular right now. This is no shock. SNL, the Daily Show and other late night outfits pay their mortgages during election season. Want to hear what Lorne Michaels has to say about this phenomenon? Pop some Ritalin and watch this Charlie Rose exclusive. If you don’t have a 35 minute attention span, just skip to minutes 27:29 – 29:00. In addition to the common "bump" in viewership every fourth November, this election season was one of those rare times when a politician (Sarah Palin) must compete with her own impersonator (Tina Fey) for attention.

The Lynchpin

The election is won, the winds of Change are sweeping through a very cold November, and SNL needs desperately to give me a reason to show up to church underslept. This brings me to Justin Timberlake, the center of it all. His Saturday walk-on performance was an instant hit, the likes of which we have not seen since…his last performance on Saturday Night Live**. Last week’s show saw Justin clad in a black leotard and heels, pretending to be a back-up dancer for the musical guest of the night. Beyonce Knowles, enter stage right*.

The skit went viral immediately – your coworker probably showed you the video on Monday morning – despite early attempts by NBC to litigate into submission every Youtuber who posted the video. But the aggregate will of Youtube is too great, and conspiracy theories were starting to make their way around the inter-nets. Or perhaps NBC and Justin struck a deal. The video remains on Youtube in some form, but chances are that my video embed* won’t work an hour after I post it. So like moths to the flame we are drawn first to the parody video, then to the real music video, and lastly to imitate what we see.

Step One: Watch the SNL video

Step Two: Watch the real music video in awe as Beyonce defies physics in 6 inch heels***. My point is illustrated by minute 1:28 to 1:40.

Step Three: Make her open the box. Woops! Wrong video**.

The Victims

Won’ someone please think of the children?! More specifically, I am worried about our newest little demographic, the tweens (preadolescents). Looking into the future, the headlines clearly read Girls in Mom's Heels Emulate Beyonce, Visit Hospital. These (hypothetical) tragedies are the consequence of colliding pop culture forces – the newest fad, hit single desperation, Justin’s mastery of the viral video, and a tween market share that will consume anything pop culture feeds it. Pity and ace bandages for all.

Conclusion

You have likely invested half an hour of your life consuming a blog rife with embedded videos, wikipedia references, pop culture buzzwords, misused punctuation, pompous**** vocabulary and occasional nonwords. You may feel a little emptier and a little older for reading it, and you are certainly no better off. But you were entertained.

To anyone who reads this, I represent only my own twisted viewpoint. If you are offended, please don't sue me.

* If the videos don’t work,

google: “hard times, high heels” video for The Early Show

google: "Gov. Palin Cold Open" for Sarah Palin on SNL

google: beyonce timberlake youtube for the viral video

** Too raunchy for Mom & Dad, but every college student in the U.S. remembers D!$% in a Box.

*** She hates physics too, dear.

**** I had to look up “pompous” while writing to ensure I was using it correctly. I have a problem, and admitting that is the first step to getting better.

Wordfind! How many Pop Culture words can you find? Famous names count too!

A Most Satisfying Burger

In the hopes of embracing more vegetables into my diet, I've been trying to cook something new once a week. I've tried out the whole recipe based cooking approach - the socially accepted way of cooking - but have often been sucked into a more "exploratory" approach to cooking:

Get a mind's eye picture of what I want, by

• Researching a couple of recipes for some dish and extracting an idea of a basic method;
• Recalling something I liked at a restaurant, and mentally reverse engineering it;
• "feeling like" eggs, or something sweet, or a burger (see below);

Take inventory...change plan

• "Man, I really need to get rid of those ________. I should use them too."
  
• "Mmm I want those leftovers too, somehow."
• "Oh no, I don't actually have (key ingredient)... ah well, I'll try it anyway!"

Get cookin' (Go go go!; salt, salt salt!; stir, stir, stir!; don't burn!)

Smell...think...review plan

• "OMG, I am so* gourmet!" Finish cooking, savor the dinner slowly, and contemplate future fame and fortune as a chef.
• "burnt / gross / dried out!" Feed the garbage disposal and curse into my cereal bowl.
  
• (Most common) Impulsively take the dish in a completely different direction, often with surprising success; this is followed by one of the options above.

So, I was feeling like a burger today when I saw this guy top a fried egg with chili for breakfast on TV. I remembered the "Gus Burger" from med school - a burger famous for being topped with an over-easy egg**- and decided that what I really wanted was a burger with a fried egg on it.

I fired up the stove (small skillet, med/med-high) and started emptying the fridge, collecting an egg, the last tomato of the season (sliced thick), a burger from last night, (should have gotten some cheese), pickles, ketchup, and mustard.

I fried*** the egg (over hard) first, then the tomato slices,**** adding salt and a dash of tabasco, and nuked the burger. I toasted the bun, assembled the burger, said "OMG I am so gourmet," and savored my success while I watched college football.

It has been a good Saturday.




*This italicized emphasis brought to you care of an in-depth discussion I had with an unnamed loved one regarding what my writing style is and what it is *not*.
** fun fact: also famous for being consumed at 2am by drunken undergraduates; this of course did not include me. I took the high road...to Pita Pit.
***I used butter, so I think I actually sauteed it. This smelled so good my knees got weak...
****Move 'em often, cuz tomatoes tend to stick to the pan and generally fall apart when I cook them this way

Tuckered Out

We've been travelling by car way too much recently. Euclid - I'm proud to brag - has done wonderfully as a passenger... no whining or "accidents." This picture encapsulates how Euclid, Katie and I all feel right now.


While I am too emotionally detached to sing the following to him directly, the picture reminds me of a lullaby I've always liked, "Godspeed" by the Dixie Chicks*.


Sweet Dreams, Math Man.


*If you look it up on YouTube though, you get to witness an interesting juxtaposition of sweet and soulful vocals (kind to the ear) against a punk rock-ified Dixie Chicks (harsh on the eyes). I will not give this video tacit approval by linking to it though.

Our Little Bundle of Joy...and Work

“Oh my GOD! He is so CUTE! What kind of dog is he? (Long-haired Chihuahua) Oh my GOD!! You know Chihuahuas always looked weird to me, but this little man is just DARLING! He just looks like a normal dog, only tiny and SO CUTE!!* Can I pet him? You are just SO CUTE! Yes you are! Yes you are! My widdlepuppywoogiewibble…it then decomposes into “Not English.”

This is how many people react our new puppy, Euclid. Those who know Katie and me are probably not surprised at the nerdiness of our name choice. I personally love the sound of the name, and that it is so very nerdy. As the above paragraph reveals, Euclid is a very charming puppy.

In fact, our walks are regularly interrupted by eager children and adults who want to fawn over him. Even people in stopped cars will melt at the sight of him. I occasionally see a silent “…so CUTE!” through a car window. Nobody can resist.

And Who can blame them? With his big eyes, tiny body, and hilarious way of bounding through grass, he is the puppy-est of puppies. In fact, he is currently trying to use his wiles to con me into to playing with him instead of blogging about him. Must…fight…adorableness!

Once upon a time, when I lived with my brother and sister-in-law and their 1 year old daughter, I learned a major theme in child rearing: They always need you. If you take time to do anything for yourself, you’re momentarily fulfilling your own needs at the expense of fulfilling theirs (with resulting guilt). Kids rule the lives of their parents, and it baffles me how parents keep sane. Seriously, Steve and Lara. You guys are amazing.

Raising Euclid has the same theme to a much lesser degree. Many of the things I do to Euclid would qualify as child abuse, i.e. having him sleep in a cage twice the size of his body, having him poop on a pad on the floor, and anything involving a leash. But many things are similar. I am always fretting about if he’s fed, watered, if he peed or pooped, if he’s tired, if he has toys, and most of all how to keep him out of trouble. I look for him every 30 seconds. I feel best if he’s nearby, so I know he’s okay. And most parental of all, I cherish the moments he is asleep, and when he is I creep around like a cat burglar to keep from waking him.**

Having a puppy is a lot of work and also a lot of responsibility. Everything we do now will shape little Math Man's future***. Fingers crossed we raise him right.

P.S. As any proud parent or puppy owner must do, I will continue to flood my blog with pictures of the little critter, and you will swoon.

*At this point a small squeal exits their mouth and, were they a dog, they’d be wetting the carpet.

** This is practically impossible, since Euclid’s ears are half his body weight and he can hear a pin drop 20 miles away.

***Math Man is my favorite nickname ever, and was thought up by Katie's roomate, Kelly.

I'm a year older, and my car is getting the presents

Prologue
Ever so observant of my car's condition, I have recently been obsessing that my brakes are wearing thin. I didn't hear the "familiar horrifying screech" that most often accompanies this milestone (a purposely engineered sound), but some brake pads don't have warning; they just start to grind. Every once in a while I would brake at low speeds and I could swear it was a-grindin'. My baby is in trouble! I immediately sought a diagnosis from my trusted mechanic and spared no expense*

.... yeah, right! If that had happened, there would be no story. I had final exams to worry about and no money, so I waited for a couple months until I had some free time** and found a sweet coupon for a free tire rotation and brake inspection (cue Jaws music here). I knew what I was entering into, I knew the risks (mechanic must make money for service), I did it anyway. Of course they thought the brakes had to be replaced AND they still had my car up on blocks (a nice bargaining chip on their part) so as to quickly and efficiently perform said service for me... to the tune of $265.71.

I don't care where you are from, that is insanity for a brake job. I looked at the estimate, and surmised (from my limited knowledge of brake repair) that there were some over-estimated parts costs (4 disc brake shoes don't cost $86, they cost half that) and some services that may be useful but may not be necessary. I was trapped. I 'fessed up: "I don't have that money, so you gotta give me 2 weeks" ... the mechanic looked worried, but said he thought my brakes could hold out that long. 15 minutes later I was riding home, feeling defeated. Then my car started squeaking, in that familiar horrifying screech-y way...how very convenient for the mechanic***

The Decision
I woke up on Wednesday feeling tricked and upset. Its my birthday, and Mr. Badwrench will not take this day from me. I ate my cereal and resolved to do the right thing. I would take my car to my trusted mechanic (Evans Auto), and explain the situation. He would pity me and make it right, for a reasonable fee.

But I didn't do that... for reasons I do not fully understand, and reasons I'm sure have nothing to do with logic. Instead, I started surfing the inter-nets, looking at brake pad prices ($30 - $40 for my car) and do it yourself testimonials. I looked again at my estimate and my blood boiled. This is way too much to pay! Other people do this themselves for pennies! I'm smart; why can't I do it too? I will not be taken advantage of; I will exact revenge by doing the opposite! I can do it! I felt capable and happy. I also had something to do today****

Preparation
I coached myself all the way to the brake supply, not wanting to reveal myself for what I actually was, a newbie with a socket set and a chip on my shoulder. Bought brakes, saved money, didn't look like a fool, and I was riding home, feeling great! Next stop, my local public library...

My older brother taught me many things*****, one of the most important of these I learned when I was an adult. When faced with a do-it-yourself task that you have no business performing, decades of training and experience can be replaced by a book spree at the library. Steve would often opt for checking out 8-16 inches of books (imagine them laying flat on the table, one on top of the other); and so would I. This fundamentally appeals to me, being able to "become a mechanic" through the might of my intellect and my ability to sit still enough to read large volumes of information for long periods of time. I left the library feeling I had already made this fool-hearty decision pay off, because if nothing else I would understand brakes much better and knowledge IS power.

(a great way to spend a Sunday evening: go to youtube, and enter "Schoolhouse Rock" under the search term. You're welcome)

Oh...crap
Putting a perfect plan into action in an imperfect world works out to be a cycle of euphoria, panic, self-loathing, and resolution.

Euphoria: I got my tire off, my brake caliper open, and I replaced the first set of brake pads in record time. This is a "happy time." See below for the new to old comparison. Technically I had more life left in these pads, but "some how" the one indicator managed to be squeaking...grrr, those filthy bad untrustworthy... I should have gone to my mechanic.


Panic: I am closing up the caliper, and tightening the last bolt (set human "torque wrench" to 80 ft-lbs). Just a little tighter, pause, maybe just a little tighter, pause, just one more *bam* the tension from the bolt gives way, as the overtightened bolt begins to shear apart -

- a torque wrench is specially designed to release tension at a given torque, protecting a bolt from an overzealous bolt tightener. This tool, $50 at your local hardware store, was specifically called for in the instructions. I disregarded these instructions and relied foolishly on my own discretion -

- at the exact moment the bolt began to shear, a wave of nausea rose from my stomach. In that split second, I was immediately aware that I had doubled my costs, and had firmly established myself as the foolish do-it-yourself moron.

Self-loathing: This is the worst part of doing something yourself. This is why you pay someone else to do something for you. And for me, this is a time when I realize that my dream of assimilating years of experience through a couple books is not possible, it is arrogance. The only antidote to arrogance is painful, costly, and embarrassing experience.

Resolution: For those seeking spiritual enlightenment, humility must be learned at some point. Humility is most effectively taught at the counter of NAPA auto parts. My one bolt cost around $16, and came with three parts I didn't need. Why? Well, they don't make very many of them, because they are rarely purchased by professionals who read and follow directions!!! I consider this to be a form of taxation. Wanna do something vastly beyond your skillset? Feel free! But please be prepared to pay "fools tax" for every stupid mistake you make. Add the $50 torque wrench - because Mark learns from his mistakes - and I was ready for a quick end to to misery.

The bolt replaced nicely, and I finished the second side with only one problem; the one bolt I had sheared on the left wheel wouldn't loosen on the right wheel. I sheared my sockets this time, and used half a bottle of penetrating oil trying to loosen the bugger. Then...finally...it was over.

Epilogue
I ended up spending $40 for replacement pads and brake grease, $50 for a new torque wrench, and $16 for my replacement bolt - well under the estimate from the bad mechanic, but nearing the ballpark of my trusted mechanic's usual fees (for work done on other cars). I don't have much interest in doing another brake job, but I'm glad I did this one.

Emotionally, it was a roller coaster, but I grew from it and learned that the trusted mechanic should be a first choice, not a last resort. I also learned a ton about brakes and my car. I now feel closer to my hunk of metal, plastic, and rubber. Oddly, my mistake-ridden success has left me feeling more confident as a handyman, if for the one reason that I would know next time how to do a proper job. This is how I often feel at the end of such projects: relief, humility, a touch of fear, and more confidence in myself.

And fatigue.

*Do what I say and not what I do. Find a good mechanic and show him/her some love (money).
**read: I'm between schools (summer break?) and unemployed. I have much free time.
***conspiracy theory 1: the jerk used his vise-grip to "help" the warning strip into a place he felt more accurately indicated when I should replace my brakes.
****I'm juggling applications too, but really I just apply, call-back, and wait. I need a diversion from the anxiety and self-hatred that is job hunting
*****One of these life lessons was that older siblings may pin younger siblings to the ground, lick their faces, and let the saliva dry (yes, it was disgusting) as part of their birthright.

"Statement as of 2:49 AM EST on December 05, 2007
... Snow Advisory now in effect from 8 am this morning to 8 PM EST
this evening...

Low pressure over the Midwest early this morning will move south
of the mid Atlantic this afternoon and evening. Light snow is
expected to develop across the area between 8 am and 10 am. The
snow may intensify for a period during the afternoon... before
ending this evening. 1 to 2 inches of snow is expected... except
perhaps locally higher amounts across central Virginia near the
Charlottesville area.

A Snow Advisory means that periods of snow will cause primarily
travel difficulties. Be prepared for snow covered roads and
limited visibilities... and use caution while driving."

Schools are on delay and could cancel classes. People are ffrrrrrreaking out over 1-2 inches of snow. Stock up on your essentials; we're going into the bombshelter until this whole thing blows over.

Thanksgiving in Iowa

This Thanksgiving, Katie and I visited her brother's family...in Iowa. Since he is a pastor out in the boonies, he can't leave his church during all the significant holidays, when I have time off school, so this was the first chance we had to meet. It was fantastic. We ate, sat around, watched football, and shopped from 12 midnight to 1:30 am on "Friday morning" (late Thursday night). But the most fun was playing with Evelyn (older) and Anna (younger), Katie's nieces. Hilarious pictures ensue:

The costumes were a "Christmas present" from Aunt Gretchen (Katie's sister). Katie shot 178 photos while they yelled "cheese", occasionally got fussy, and pulled on their antennae. It was chaos...but it paid off.


Anna taking a walk in my shoes:

Evelyn and Katie reading a book:

Danny (Katie's brother) and I wanted to try out the costumes. For the sake of sensitive stomachs, I am omitting the picture of Danny in the full get-up*. The costume didn't survive...


Thanksgiving was a great chance to be normal for a second; to be a way from the feeling that I really should be studying instead of _______. Now that I'm back, I realize the difference between school-time and break-time. I can get through the next four weeks, but I really can't wait for Christmas!

*For the record, that photo doesn't physically exist. Yet the image haunts you still! mwahahaha!

Fun at Language School!

Horseback Riding!













Holding Parrots!














Culturally sensitive, sustainable micro-enterprise!












Getting sacrificed!

A history book made of stairs!

















The temple I was sacrificed on!
















Katie can make rocks smile!

Dancing Jaguars! (its really a carving of a dancing jaguar)

The Kids

The easiest people to connect to are naturally the kids. We liked photographing, they liked posing then checking the camera to see how it turned out. For those who are confused, yes 98% of the Honduran population is mestizo. We did a service project on the North Coast though, and met alot of African descent Hondurans (Garifuna). It happened to be my favorite place, so there are more photos from there.

The People We Worked With

There once was a group of American students who wanted to see what being a missionary was like (see left). Katie and Callie were the leaders (black and yellow shirts next to each other).









There once was another group of Latin American students who were learning how to be pastors and missionaries (see left). The Latin American and American groups got sent out to very interesting and unusual places together. They had to learn alot about their teammates' very different cultures.

This is Matt, my friend from the American group.
















This is part of the family we stayed with when we were in language school. Katie, Callie, Matt and i went to language school together.












Katie, Callie, and one of the missionaries' daughters. She was adorable, and liked building dams in the river with me.

Honduras Pictures: Pretty Pics

First, these are some pictures for setting.



Canchias: the compound where we stayed most of the time











Mountains near Canchias

Copan Ruinas: tourist town where we went to language school

Copan: see the little moto-taxi? They're about 4ft tall. I had to constantly fight the temptation to just push one over
















The North Coast: for one reason or another we ended up on the coast a few times. This time it was for fun on the beach!

The Comedians reborn

This is a post I started in Honduras, but didn't have the internet connectivity to finish:

The Comedians, Graham Greene (1966)


The moment I walked in I was transported to another time and place, another life all together. I had walked out of a land of poverty, desperation, and chaos. I world of a different culture and language.

The restaurant was dim and candlelit, with a couple raucous Americans who, in my judgment, were a little too old to be drinking as much as they were. They had worn faces, deep smiles, and rosey noses. I felt a tension - unspoken but palpable, like someone is going to burst out with it at any moment - between the bar and the door to the outside...

Two worlds: the dirty, dusty, poor reality of present-day Honduras just beyond the threshold. Inside, an overly friendly college girl from the South - her dad owns the big house across the valley ... the only one you can see from here - and her dad's friend who's job is to look after her. He's a writer of novels, a thirsty one at that, but seems to find talking about his latest work to be less interesting than the lady next to him. His charge is overly interested in what we're doing in Honduras and whatever my friend is talking to her at the present.

There is not much more to the story beyond setting the scene. It is more of a portrait than a storyline. But it still strikes me how hard the place was trying to be American, and yet how out of place I felt when I was there.

News from the Mayan Ruins

Day 14: I hacked my way through dense forest to barter beads and bits of string with the savages in return for high-speed internet access. Four young boys ride stationary bicycles to power my laptop and accompanying wireless router.

Okay, its not like that at all. In fact, I am way too spoiled right now. To review the last few weeks: I first arrived June 17th, and during the following week I worked with a group of ~20 of Katie's church friends. We built three small homes for widows and especially needy families in a village about an hour away from where we are staying. For those of you following along with google world, it is nearby Lake Yojoa, the largest lake in Honduras.

The compound where we stay is quite rural. The nearest internet or telephone is at least 30 minutes away by car. Since our group is transported to and from the compound by cattle truck (its everything you imagine), for group members connection to the United States is nonexistent. The Honduran staff generally live in San Isidro (the nearest town, with internet) and have cell phones, so the disconnection is more of an intentional thing...like summer camp. That being said, it is a good thing.

So the first week was building houses, getting to know the Heart to Honduras staff, and trying to get my project off the ground - I got three interviews done, which is fantastic! At the end of the first week, the team returned to Ohio and left the Group of Four: my Katie, two other 20-somethings, and me. The four of us will be in Honduras for the rest of the summer, and our first order of business was to improve our Spanish - we left for language school in Copan Ruinas last Sunday.

this is where I get to the "spoiled" I live with one of the more upper class families in the town, and attend language school for four hours a day. While internet used to cost about $1/hour at the nearby internet cafe, I found out two days ago that my host family actually has a wireless router, which the father gladly hooked up (I don't speak enough spanish to understand why it wasn't hooke dup to begin with) leaving me with constant access to high speed internet...I am like a binging heroin addict fresh out of a week of rehab. I know I only have my drug for five more days before I have to go back underground for about 4 weeks. Just one more email before I quit...