THE DIGNIFIED RANT
2006 HOME FRONT ARCHIVES
“It’s Winter
Already!” (Posted
Wow. Fall has flown by. I mean not by the official calendar start of winter but it sure feels like it.
Mister has had a good term in school with a fine report card to show for his efforts. Lamb enjoys her day care (calling it “school” like her big brother). They just went to their mom’s work Christmas party for kids where Santa handed out presents and the kids got to play. I picked them up so their mom could go directly on duty. And I seem to finally be starting to shake the crud of viruses that have kept me sick all but about a week in the middle of November! Oh, and the Christmas decorations are up. Thanksgiving is the first date I consider putting decorations up and last weekend was the day. Mister and Lamb enjoyed putting the bulbs up after I put the tree together and strung the lights. Plus window lights and a wreath and a few other miscellaneous things. All that is left are a couple stockings for the fire place and a plate of cookies and a glass of milk on Christmas Eve! And on Friday, a bad storm where my job is allowed me to stay home, sleep in, and recover a bit more rather than hit ice-covered roads going up there.
But what happened to Fall?
It seems like only yesterday that Mister and I went to the
Vanderbilt game at the Big House for the season opener. Sure, it was easy, but
it was the first game offering new hope in a new season. Just being there was a
treat. Then we went to the
Plus we’ve seen movies this Fall: Cars, Over the Hedge, and Flushed Away. All were rather good I must say.
My home movie Parker Posey Fest continued and I even picked up UFO the series from back in 1970. I remembered it from my young days and I couldn’t believe how truly atrocious the series was! And it wasn’t just dated. My God, the tactical sense of this crack team was matched only by the equally awful alien military genius. And really, I remember 1980 as much better than the future 1980 of UFO. Though I’ll admit the mini-skirts would have been nice. And good grief, was there really a time in American workplaces where flirting with the female staff was common and seemingly welcome? Let me tell you, UFO came off my Amazon.com wish list after viewing that DVD.
With a flex schedule from summer continuing until early November, I also had the pleasure of taking Mister to school and picking him up at least once a week. I like that since I get to see the teachers and remind them that dad is around. Plus one day to myself for the most part and one less long commute per week were welcome relief from the regular grind. And we’ve had various school events including the Math Night that we just went to where computers and games were set up for math related fun. Mister loved that.
And with more time off and Lamb’s grandmother away visiting family for six weeks, I took care of Lamb a little more, too. I picked her up from day care and otherwise had her over a lot. She is a cutie and she has gotten rather used to coming to my home. It is quite possible that she has more toys here than at her actual home!
Celebrations were good this fall, with two birthdays to celebrate (mine and Lamb’s), Halloween and Trick or Treating. Lamb was adorable in her princess costume and once again Mister could not choose a costume so a couple days before Halloween after scouring stores for a decent costume, I once again took scissors and tape, added cardboard, scrap poster board, and aluminum foil, and converted a cheap plastic fire helmet into a helmet complete with nose guard and ear protection, built a chest and back plates, constructed a shield complete with heraldry, and added Mister’s pirate cutlass from last year. Mister loved it and he got several compliments on our route. I just like homemade costumes better than those bought from a store. Plus I had a great Thanksgiving hosted by my sister and her boyfriend. All in all, a very nice season for celebrations!
I also started running again and was well on my way to my goal of running two miles at my old Army pace when my knee gave out. Then when that went away and I stopped limping, my Ex’s schedule changed which kept me from starting up again. Plus, I spent November on sick call. With the weather outside frightful, my Ex’s schedule returning to one where I can actually run at night before midnight, and the lingering virus fading, I think in less than a week I can consider just how I’m going to pick up running again. I hate winter. I’m not thrilled with running though I like it that I ran every time I finished running. So if I can just get in the habit and keep myself to three times a week rather than the five or six a week I was doing before my knee gave out, I could be good to go once again.
Finally, I’m wrapping up my experiment with online dating. It was ok. I met a few women but nothing really clicked. Still, lots of foreign women from distant lands were eager to move here to meet me, so I’ve got that going for me!
Anyway, the Fall is over and it went by so fast I can’t believe it. And now we are in the Christmas season! I have some presents bought already and I’m building Mister a table for his new train that I’m disguising as part of a home improvement project. That’s one expensive table Mister is getting, let me tell you. I’ll write about that later.
I don’t like winter, but Christmas and New Years are at least good holidays to ease into the horrible driving days of January and February. I hope those two months go by quickly! But slow or fast, life is good. It is hard to forget that for long with all the reminders of family, children, friends, a home I enjoy, a job I like, and good health despite a sub-par November.
As a last minute post-script, my car’s electrical system is
misfiring. Wouldn’t start tonight with various dash warning
indicators flashing on. I almost couldn’t take Mister and Lamb to their
mom’s. But half an hour later the car started. [Since Lamb had helpfully
offered that I probably hadn’t said the magic word and half an hour later the
car started, I can only assume she thinks “%&@#!!” is a magic word. Just kidding. No swearing took place (aloud).] And started again to get me back home an hour later. So
Monday morning, assuming I don’t have to have my car towed first, I’m off to
get my car fixed; and my work week and a pile of work are put off another day. Argghh.
It hurt enough to lose Friday! But at least the problem became apparent right
at home. Boy what a pain it would have been had this problem arisen in
Life is good, indeed.
"First Time Into the Breach, Dear Son" (Posted
This last weekend, I taught
Mister one of my old and basic war games, The Major Battles and Campaigns
of General George S. Patton. I started war gaming when I was 10 with naval
miniatures from Alnavco.
I bought an American Fletcher class destroyer and Japanese Hibiki
in 1:1200 scale. They were expensive (for a
ten-year-old) and my mom was pretty sure I'd been ripped off. I bought the game
Sea Power, but couldn't afford the prices so I made clay models from the
catalog. I actually did a fair job eventually in taking the time to make decent
looking models. I started with Pacific theater World War II to go with my two
actual lead ships. Eventually I got bored and smashed most of them to make
European theater Brits, Italians, and Germans to go with the American refugees
from the
Today I have 1:2400 scale
ships from Alnavco and also less expensive models
from Panzerschiffe,
with lots unpainted waiting for that mythical time when I have time. They can
go with the unpainted modern and World War II armor, the unpainted Mediaeval
knights and Saracens, the Gaul and Romans for the Battle of Alesia,
and all the World War II and modern infantry that needs to be painted or
remounted based on a new organization that I started many years ago. I have
plenty of painted ones—I’ve been collecting armor miniatures since grade
school. Oh, and as long as we’re talking things to do when I have spare time,
add in the three dozen books I have waiting to be read (and let's not even
discuss my wish list on Amazon).
Time. It is a precious commodity. When do I get to retire?
Anyway.
Back to the
Patton game. I figured Mister was
ready for this game. He has played the old Sid Meier's Civilization for DOS and
loves it. He smashes the computer chess even on the highest level. So Patton,
which I got when I was 12 from my brother, and which started me on to a
collection of board war games (and how many of those have I never played? Ok,
probably almost everything after the age of 24. Time, again.)
So Saturday afternoon after
lunch, I asked Mister if he wanted to learn a war game. He said sure. So I
pulled it out and explained the basics. I told him what scenarios there were
and who was involved. We chose the longest
I set up and explained why I
did some things. I also asked him what the effect of an alternative would be
based on his question of why I deployed so many units out in the northwest near
Palermo on the beaches. He didn't quite get it enough to tell me but when I
then explained he seemed to understand.
So basically, I set up a
light screen to keep him from waltzing into
Mister landed his troops in a
good manner, providing contiguous support. He didn't try to hit my strongly
held beaches after I explained the price of failing to roll higher than me. As
he built up his bridgehead, he finally moved inland to try to take his first
city that would cause defections. I won that first battle. He hit me again and
drove me back. I retook the city. All the while, I slowly stripped about half
of my armor from the
Finally, on his third try,
Mister grabbed his first objective and I pulled back, letting Mister see the
first defections. He really liked that rule.
As I fell back with a screen
and a couple battlegroups to threaten attacking
columns too exposed, Mister struck west on the south coast road into my
infantry blocking units. He kept banging at them and I kept falling back. He was
using only three armor and two infantry, but fighting only a couple infantry of
mine at worst, I could not stop them as the got menacingly close to my western
defection cities. In the southeast I kept pulling back trying not to lose too
many of my infantry screen so I'd have units to lose to defections, and
launched a couple sharp counter-attacks that started to kill off some of his
armor. But I could not hold and kept retreating northeast.
I made one big play to stop
his western force by waiting until he got close enough and rushing my three
armored units to attack with infantry moved into blocking position to cut off
the Allied force. Rolling three dice to his four, I lost an armored unit for my
troubles and retreated; and then Mister attacked and wiped out my last two
armored units. I had only four or five scattered infantry units and started
getting them out of the way, using them to block roads until they defected.
Mister swept the western
cities, landed his last infantry on
So, with my forces
concentrating on the eastern and northern coastal roads to protect the
northeast corner, I pulled back outlying units to save them in order to defect.
By the time the last objective city outside my small enclave fell, I was down
to six armored units (I started with 9 armored and 24 infantry. I'd killed 4 or
5 Allied armor and perhaps a few more infantry, so Mister had 8 or 9 armor and
about twice the infantry.
But he then made the classic
mistake. He forgot that time is his enemy as much as my army. Thinking he’d won
the war, he saw no reason to finish me off quickly.
So he slowly advanced his
victorious Allied army on a broad front, inexplicably up the center of the
island. I asked him why he was going that way. I would ask him questions to see
if he’d adjust. But though he made minor changes he kept his slow advance
going, bringing every last unit up before jumping forward again. And as he did,
I started getting some reinforcements. Before long I had a dozen armored units
defending on a three wide front. When he finally hit me, I could shift armor
easily to the most threatened part making sure I had 5 dice. I only worried
about some attrition without infantry to absorb losses. But I bounced him back
again and again and finally received some infantry reinforcements. So when he
punched into my center and drove my defenders back into Messina, I could counter-attack
on multiple axes and push him back, losing infantry while killing his armor as
he tried to put more dice into play by leaving infantry behind.
Before long, I had more
combat power and way more armor than the Allied force and Mister started to
realize that his gloating had been premature.
We ended the game with
But we had fun. And I
explained to Mister that I spend a lot of my youth playing these. In high
school I had one good friend to play these with and we played in a group with a
number of adults and we were the only minors. All the way through college,
playing with friends, sometimes until dawn and often while drinking (I'm
thinking Traveler, Star Fleet Battles, and Avalon Hill's Civilization here in
particular), was common. I didn't explain the drinking part, of course. After
my divorce, I managed to get a couple gamers together once a month but one is
in law school and one has a new baby girl so gaming is lower in priority. I
should try to gather them up again. Another is fairly close and interested but
hasn't been able to cough up the time. Another is across the country. I keep
buying games and more and more I have games with counters not even punched out.
That would have horrified me as a youngster. Still does, actually.
But as time goes on, I may
have an in-house opponent! How cool is that? This is something that kids can
compete with adults on an even footing.
And I think I'll have quite
the opponent based on the early round.
“God Wants Me to
Remain a Philistine” (
Lord knows, my cultural knowledge level is abysmally low. And I do try to make amends for that on occasion. But it sometimes seems if God himself is plotting to undermine my efforts to get culture.
Years ago, I subscribed to a Smithsonian magazine to vary my usual defense and news fare. It was interesting but soon it got lost in the plethora of magazines and journals I subscribed to. I let it lapse.
And last year I bought a tuxedo to be ready at all times for that black tie cultural event that might happen my way. Tux still in the packaging.
I even attempted to learn about classical music earlier this year. A beginner’s book and a couple CDs sit on my shelves. I didn’t get too far before the futility of reading about classical music enveloped me. Liz Phair may not by high brow but at least she doesn’t require me to set the stage for listening by sitting in a darkened room to isolate my senses for the “experience.” Heck, in an ideal world you are slightly drunk and Phair is playing in the background as you score with a woman you just met. Now that’s a musical experience. Don’t get me wrong. I liked the classical music I listened to. Some was even familiar—and not just from watching Bo Derek in “10” or Bugs Bunny (you know, “kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit …). And I admire those who understand it. But it is too much work to really learn to appreciate classical music. Though I’d be more than willing to have it as background music to score, most certainly.
Anyway, my latest efforts to appreciate culture centered on
art. I like paintings. So last year I went to the Ontario Art Gallery.
Sadly it was under renovation and so they had quite limited artwork for its galleries.
Oh well. I tried again this year. Not only is it still under renovation--until
2008, it was closed on Monday when I went to see it again this year on the chance
they rotated their stock—er, pieces? Whatever. So I went to the
Even before going to
But I was foiled again. This art museum, too, is under
renovation--until fall 2008. What is with the art community? Am I not allowed
to see art? Are you guys chatting with each other? Is any city I might go to
going to have their art museum shut down, the painting stored away, and
scaffolding put up? And the Off Site temporary “museum” is just four
pieces—three of which were crappy—and a gift shop. All relied
on strobe lights for their “artistic” effect. One was clever and rose to
the standard of “neat.” But art? Not as far as I’m concerned. But I’m with Tom
Hanks in Bosom Buddies who, when confronted by critics who panned his work
pointed to a big red dot on a white field and asked the critics what they
thought about that one. They went on about the symbolism and blah blah blah—in short, they loved
it. It was deemed art. Only boors could fail to see that. Hanks exclaimed in
outrage, “It’s the flag of
Anyway, the gift shop had better art. I bought two prints to
stay in the tourist mode. And given my
I also considered live performance when I went to
Heck, even my effort to experience jazz and blues in
I actually came really close to going to a play while on
vacation in
Wait. Not on the aisle—in the aisle. And not seats. They’re mezzanine stools.
Stools?
How insulting! I mean, most of the theater is filled with seats for people with enough money for seat backs, and they will let the poor folks in—but they don’t rate seat backs? They couldn’t put little folding chairs there, instead? They had to put stools there? I mean, it is probably easier to find little folding chairs than stools, but the theater folks made that extra effort to demean those in the cheapest seats. Do the other people with the cheap seats on the mezzanine get to poke the people on the stools with sticks to make them feel better for not having the really good seats? Hey, you may be on the floor but at least you aren’t on a stool being poked with a stick. So shut up and enjoy the low brow humor dressed up as a play and cultural entertainment.
Hey, I own my own tuxedo! Oh sure, the people in the orchestra seats probably own their own, too; but I bet most of you guys in the $54 seats are renting. If you are even wearing a tuxedo! Yet I’m expected to endure back pain for over two hours by perching on a stool? Do I get to lean on the seat next to me? Or if I do that, do auditorium employees wander up and down the aisles with cattle prods to discipline the unwashed masses who settle for stools? If I pass out from back pain, will theater henchmen drag me off and hose me down before depositing me on the street? But I digress.
So no culture for me. I’ve tried. Really, I have.
I don’t get it. And given all the sudden renovations going on with art museums I walk up to, I think I am doomed to alternative rock, the limited art on my walls, and Monty Python reruns. Oh, and a tuxedo that may go unused until Mister marries. I really did have such high hopes for it at one time.
But really, I’ll probably be happier this way. Perhaps God is looking out for me after all on this.
“Home Alone III: Lost
in
I’m back from vacation in
Ah well! I had a blast while away and that’s that. And I like my job. I can only imagine how it must be to return to a job you hate.
The Train Up
The trip started the same way last year’s did. I drove my
Ex, Mister, and Lamb to
This year was different. My Ex didn’t like last year’s
rushed schedule. She booked her train tickets to provide a day in
But my bank failed me.
Canadian Customs was no match for me, natch. What I didn’t
know is that my Ex was smuggling a couple cans of Miller beer in her luggage.
So I in fact lied to Canadian officials. What evils could I have faced had we
been searched? Really, I was more worried about the laughter that would ensue from
Canadian officials who would think I was involved with smuggling cheap American
beer into
In our search for a mall to buy lunches for the kids, I managed to locate a bank in the strip mall and exchange my money before we got on the train. And I even managed to find my way back to the station. And given my sense of direction, it was no small feat to remember how to get back to the main road, I tell you. With a map I can’t fail to land navigate properly. Without a map, I get turned around all too easily getting off of elevators, I’m afraid.
The train ride to
Arriving in
Once at
We walked up to the downtown areas to find a bank to exchange money for my Ex. Once we did that, Mister and I headed for the hall of fame and Ex and Lamb went to find a market. We would meet in a little over two hours at the Sheraton to get lunch.
The Hall of Fame was great. Mister loved the time line of the NHL:
We could have spent five hours just in the theater watching the movies of hockey history! Mister made an effort to do play-by-play for a hockey game and I emailed it home so we could watch it after the vacation. And we had to hit the gift shop which ate into our limited time. But after the timeline success, I wanted to get Mister a hockey book. We found a good one with history and rules and techniques, which was a big hit. Plus Red Wings pens for Mister and Lamb and a little bracelet for Lamb.
Then we raced off through the underground PATH to make our rendezvous with mom and sister. I remembered the path logic and one of the tricky spots where you have to go west or east with no apparent northern option (blue is north, by the way). Mister loved the PATH. I don’t know why. It’s neat, but just an underground mall and I could have gotten us to our destination faster above ground. But we went underground.
Lamb and her mom ate while we were at hockey heaven. But Mister and I still needed to eat so we grabbed food in the underground—the only time I ate in the dungeon. In past years I went there, but this year I wanted to avoid the underground. But we needed to eat fast to get to the island park.
We made it to the ferry dock and had a nice ride across to the island. As it turned out, the park has lots of stuff to do including beaches and a clothing optional beach. We went to the park. It had tons of rides and not just the half dozen mentioned on their web site. It was absolutely fantastic. We bought the unlimited ride passes and hit all kinds of rides. A log ride, a train, cars and fire engines, bumper cars, a merry go round, boat rides, a small roller coaster, and others. On the bumper cars there were only a few of us and I didn’t have the heart to ram the other kids so I just evaded them—striking a glancing blow against one boy only after he rammed me! Hey, I can retaliate, can’t I? My favorite was the log ride. Mister liked that one, too. Lamb liked the carousel.
This is Mister on the park train.
And Lamb and her mom on the swan boat.
One really amazing sight was a family of hippies. I don’t
even see this in
We went late into the night, eating dinner at the island on
the patio overlooking the
This beats this (as nice as it is; from two years ago) any day:
A late night ferry ride home took us to shore after a detour to the airport island and once on the mainland it was only a short walk to the hotel. We went to bed to be ready for an early morning walk to the train station.
In the morning it was a rush of showers, a quick trip to a grocery store, and a fast walk to the station. I got the kids and their mom to the station in time for boarding and they were off on an all-day trip. It was tough to watch the kids leave but I knew they’d have fun. And sadly, unlike last year, I could not accompany them to the train to help them get bags and children on the train—that’s what catching a bunch of Toronto jihadis recently will do to us on an ordinary level. And I knew I wouldn’t care for the island despite my invitation—I’d been there before mister was born and twice I’d taken Mister up there myself.
On
My Own. Day One
I grabbed breakfast, returned to the hotel, stole the soaps, and packed. I checked out for both rooms and headed out before the parade started!
I made it up to my new hotel for the rest of my stay but the room was not ready yet. I checked my bags and went out to explore. I walked for two hours, east on King and then north to Queen and then north up Church. One thing that struck me on this trip was that Canadians are not polite. Grim-faced clerks would really smile broadly when I smiled at them and said please and thank you. It was like they never heard politeness. Anyway, my pre-trip research said this was a club zone but it was a little off, if you know what I mean. Lots of men in pairs. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course--you know the Seinfeld routine. But I decided that this was not the place for bar hopping as a solitary man. So my recon already scrubbed my plan for the night.
I headed down Bloor where I experienced the first of as number of requests for directions. I didn’t know I looked so Canadian. Who knew? I blew this first one. Had I been asked an hour later I could have answered, but I was still getting my bearings. All the rest I answered successfully on the trip.
Then I went down Yonge. This is
the main drag and has lots of weirdness to attract tourists. I wanted to avoid
this area if at all possible. Not that I’m morally opposed to all-nude girls
dancing. Don’t get me wrong. But that sure sounded expensive and I wanted to
avoid the main tourist area. Funny enough as it turns out, my niece and her
boyfriend hopped down Yonge that night. I had no idea
they went to
Rolling west down Queen into the entertainment district, I checked out some areas I’d meant to visit last year. Those plans were cancelled when I was hit with Bell’s Palsy and went to the emergency room, thinking I might have just had a stroke. Actually, I didn’t think I’d had a stroke, and judged I’d severed a nerve somehow. Being a history major, I was really interested in getting professional help just in case my diagnosis was wrong. Boy was I right, as it turned out. A nerve was cut. But I worried about the worst until informed it wasn’t. The emergency room people were great but left me with the impression that I probably wouldn’t get better from where I was. My doctor at home clued me in and I recovered fully in a couple months. Anyway, by coincidence my hotel via Priceline was a block from the hospital I went to last year!
So I explored. And by chance found the place I’d spend
Saturday night at—an Irish pub off of
I sat down and unpacked my book and looked up at her when she approached me. I took off my sun glasses to say hi and she actually kind of lost her composure trying to say hello. She smiled a lot at me. It was dead, so we chatted and she told me I had great eyes. I’ve gotten this reaction before—including once when I really needed to hear something like that when my marriage was breaking down. A young, blonde, very earnest and cute activist tried to explain the perils to our environment on my porch and then she just stopped in mid-speech to say, “Your eyes are so blue!” All within ear shot of my then-wife. Heh. To avoid appearing boastful, I freely admit that if my eyes are my only good part, that’s a pretty small percentage of my body mass …
Anyway. This was my kind of sightseeing. She kept looking over her shoulder when she’d walk away after checking on me. And after I asked her about the tattoo on her waist in back, she explained and then fairly skipped away on her toes, grinning. I’m usually pretty dense about these things, but she seemed to be attracted to me. Dang. She was maybe half my age so I guess my ego got a needed boost over this.
So I ate, drank, and flirted shamelessly. I asked about the band that was on the board to play that night and wondered if this was a kind of bar she’d go to on a Saturday night. She said yes and I replied that I knew where I was going that night. After a couple hours of eating, drinking, reading, and chatting, I headed for my hotel to check in.
My hotel room was amazing. It was half again as long as my
condo’s main room! It was narrower but dang it was nice! I noticed later that downtown
I double checked
I didn't quite close the bar, but it was a grand time. I will return to this pub next year.
Funny enough, at that very time, my niece was in
Day Two
With too little sleep, I headed out the door the next day to check out Old Fort York. It turned out to be about a 45 minute walk and I stopped at a semi-dive I found on the way for breakfast. The fort is fairly small but had good displays and excellent tours. One of the guides had a major in American history and he really knew his fortifications. I quizzed him at length on various aspects of the design and he seemed to appreciate being able to go off on details of what he knew. A lot of their tourists are kids on birthday parties on the site much like any kid place will offer. I went on all the tours and explored all the ramparts. The demonstrations were good, too, especially the musket and cannon firings. Here are the infantry demonstrating skirmish tactics:
I wrapped up after about four hours and headed for home,
stopping for an iced cappuccino and donut from a Tim Horton. Looking for lunch
a little while later, I tried the Irish pub but it was closed! Drat. I marched
down to Front and Church to see what was there and found a lot of places to
choose from. I picked C'est What? and had a couple
beers with dinner while I read my book. It was pretty dead at the time but this
had promise for a future visit. I went back to my hotel a little melancholy,
actually. I sat down and watched a couple Friends reruns on TV and contemplated
that as much as I had enjoyed the single bar scene, I was not in fact in
college anymore. I don't feel old. I don't think I look particularly old. But I
am not a kid anymore. Where did the time go? It really seemed like yesterday
that I was listening to some of the same music as the night before in
So there I was, on the edge of just feeling sorry for myself and withdrawing from the world to watch sitcoms in an expensive hotel room in another city. Comes from being part Irish, I think. And drinking. Which may relate to the first reason, actually!
But instead of surrendering, I roused myself and changed
clothes and headed back to the entertainment district. This time I'd do a
proper pub crawl. I started with the
So I booked west on
I sat at the bar away from the stage but near what appeared to be a gaggle of aspiring comics preparing to go on for 6 minutes. Most weren't very good--even with beer to help. On the other hand, only one guy made a crack about President Bush and even that didn’t get a laugh. But some had a joke or two that had promise if they worked on the delivery, wording, or timing. And one young guy was pretty good during his 6 or 7 minutes on stage. Pretty rough around the edges but actually funny. I had to congratulate him when he came off the stage. With my eyes still a little wet from laughing so hard, I told him, "Dude, you were really funny." He smiled and thanked me. No better compliment for an aspiring comic, eh?
What was most interesting was listening to the comics discuss their trade. They were mostly young guys. One was a college dropout who did so to have time to work on his act. Why that couldn’t be done after classes I don’t know, but here he was. They appeared at different places to do their acts and it seemed like they spent considerable time working on their jokes. They approached jokes like objects they tried to craft in molds of social commentary or theoretical frameworks based on emotions versus the physical or men versus women. They used their experiences as being unemployed or old or moms or suburban youth to try and pull humor from their own lives. They were very serious about comedy.
With the comedy show over, I wanted one more stop before heading to the hotel. I wanted to get in one last bar since I didn't know what the Monday holiday even was and what impact it would have on places to go. Sadly again, my new favorite Toronto Irish pub was closed. And on a Sunday of a three-day weekend! This night was pretty hopping so I was surprised at the closing.
Oh well, it was getting close to
Last Day
My last day on my own had arrived and I’d not been felled by
any strange disease. I’d already walked by two hospitals and nothing
degenerated while I walked. Woo Hoo! I was just very
noticeably relaxed. With no work or family responsibilities, I could just do
what I wanted without needing to be anywhere or do anything. It was nice. Years
ago, I read that the opposite of freedom isn’t slavery—it is responsibility.
There is a lot of truth to that, I think. I even joked to myself that getting
Bell’s Palsy last year was God’s way of telling me not to get used to just
having too much fun. Indeed, on a date right before I went to
So on whatever holiday it was in
On the way I bought a couple souvenir t-shirts. The art
museum was closed for the holiday so that blew one plan. So I returned to
And I’m glad I did. In the last store I found that day, I went into one store and the main floor had nothing. There were two more floors but you had to check your bags if you went off the first floor. After not finding any of these books for a decade and having no luck today, I debated the hassle of checking my bag of t-shirts. Oh what the heck. Nothing on the second floor. So I head up and find military history and history. Wandering down the aisle, I don’t see the distinctive spine of the set. Then I rounded the end of the shelf and there they were, a about a foot-and-a-half of the series! In good shape with multiple copies! I started snatching titles off the shelf. I skipped some I had. With a half dozen books in hand I even passed on a few that were less interesting to me. These were titles that if I’d just found them I would have gleefully picked them up. But in my book gluttony I could pass by the lesser ones. Besides, it gives me a reason to return to the store next year. If still there, I’ll happy to buy them rather than just thinking I should buy them. And to add to my pleasure, the prices on the books had recently been reduced by 3 bucks each because they weren’t selling. Weren’t selling? The fools! These books aren’t anything special, but they are one of two things I collect in a haphazard way. Which means I don’t use E-Bay and just count on chance to pick them up. Really, it’s more the thrill of looking and finding than actually owning. E-Bay turns it all on its head. Feh.
With my purchasing success in hand, I debated returning all
the way to my hotel to dump my purchases. But with feet sore from days of
walking, literally throbbing with each step, I decided the burden to my fingers
was worth avoiding the hour walk it would take to return to my current spot. I
walked up to Bloor and headed west.
I was looking for a place to get a chocolate shake or,
preferably, a malt. I’d drank but one since arriving
though I’d vowed to have a large one every day as I did last year. No luck.
Before long, I ran into the
I paid my money and went inside. I skipped the Japanese and
Chinese exhibits. I don’t know why but artifacts from those regions don’t
appeal to me.
A huge wall drawing made by a Pharaoh really gave the game
away. It should have been bright to boldly telling a story of a great trade
expedition to
So really, when new, I’m sure these items looked appealing to the people who bought them. Have people changed so much to have once not cared about how their belongings looked? They did color their objects, taking the time to make dyes, after all, and special glazes. I would love to see these items as archeologists think they looked when new. Then we’d see history. Not the faded land-fill refugees that we put in our museums today. Our ancestors were not artifacts. But we make them seem so very different from ourselves when we look at the crumbling artifacts we display. We should have replicas that bring the past alive and not dusty but real garbage. There’s something wrong with our approach.
And the armor and weapons section was pretty cool. Plus I liked the furniture through the ages. It was neat to see the progression of unique items for the wealthy to mass produced for the middle classes. Hundreds of years ago, they too made miniature furniture for their children! See? Not too different. And so much was gaudy in its color or busy patterns. Color was important hundreds of years ago. It had to be thousands of years ago, too.
I checked out the gift shop but restrained myself from buying something just to buy. I saw nothing of real interest so just left.
After a few hours at the museum, I walked south through the university area—again giving directions to a lost soul. I even found a bar with cheap $3.00 burgers on special. Wow! I’ll try to remember this place for next time to try. I wanted to start the evening pub run with dinner at a Greek restaurant I discovered on Queen last year. It was a mom and pop operation and quite empty when I went in. I was actually guilty last year that I couldn’t finish my meal because I was quite stuffed to the gill from eating so much—trying to eat three big meals each day. It was so good I vowed to come back hungry this year.
I found the place. Or rather, where it used to be. It was now some slick quaintly named bar and grill. A burger and a couple pints worked for me. A good place but I miss the hole in the wall that I barely knew.
It was time to return to the hotel and dump my purchases. All I wanted now was some quiet pub time to hoist a few more pints, relax, and read. I went back to C’est What? And had blue chips and salsa plus some micro brews to pass the evening. Again, the place was rather empty so I don’t know when they make their money.
This time I wrapped up my night a little after
Going Home
I overslept a little so I didn’t have any chance to really
do anything in the morning. I stumbled down to the Tim Horton for coffee and a
pastry and discovered I had to dodge real work-day traffic and endure a huge
line of people on their work day. It was
I packed all my dirty laundry, spare clothes that I miraculously hadn’t needed, soaps and shampoo, and souvenirs. I had room for everything! I checked out quickly and left my great hotel with the huge room. I never did get a chance to try out the hotel bar, but oh well.
I went to some unfamiliar sandwich chain store and bought a
decent lunch for the train ride back to
Once on the train, I picked a seat and hauled out my book. I read, ate lunch, watched the scenery, and napped a bit. I could feel the relaxation ending when for the first time in days I thought of things I needed to do at work when I got back. Sigh. Work beckons.
The train was delayed so I was entering rush hour when I got
to
Looking at condo prices is always a kind of an exercise to
wonder if I could ever live there. But I know that vacation is not the same as
living there. I couldn’t keep up the pace of activity and spending! And since
so many
"A Vacuuming Success Story--No, Really" (Posted July 24, 2006)
I have a really tall stairwell ceiling. Indeed, I've mentioned my light fixture that has lasted, Ishallah, for over five years now since I bought the place. Changing a light bulb once one burns out will be a challenge. My former sister-in-law informs me she has a long claw arm that I can borrow, but I wonder if it will reach.
But I had another stairwell problem, too. Cobwebs. Way up high and in the corners. Even higher than the bulbs. And while I usually don't even look up as I use the stairs, whenever I've looked up I've noticed them getting a bit more, ah, visible. Dust, you know. Doesn't look good at all.
So last week I decided to tackle it the way any man should--by building a device out of handy household supplies to enable me to vacuum the corners.
So I took my portable vacuum. I attached every attachment I had, knowing that this was still too short to reach the ceiling. The next step was increasing my reach even more. Ideally without standing on a chair precariously balanced between death and cleanliness. With a broom and duct tape, I set about to finish my device. I taped the broom to the hose just below the near attachment. Time to build: 2 minutes.
Holding the vacuum in one hand since the new device could not be left on the floor, I extended the broom with the other. The device rigidity was not high so it swayed as I pushed the vacuum nozzle higher and higher. Slowly tilting the nozzle left and right, up and down, I managed to get all the corners. Man it looks clean.
Of course, I just wrote about a vacuuming success. Man, I really need to date more often.
"I Get a New Phone. And in the Confusion, Make My
Escape" (Posted
I've had my phone since there
was a WorldCom. They had a free phone offer so I finally signed up for cell
phone service. Cingular bought WorldCom at some point
and I made the move with them. I actually got a better plan when I moved.
Still, I don't use my phone much. I use it mostly for emergencies while
commuting or for short calls while driving. It works for my limited
long-distance calling for the most part, too.
So my phone was getting up
there. Four years old? Five? Jennifer Aniston carried
the model I used on Friends. When was that show on?
So with the battery no longer
holding a charge for more than a few minutes, I figured I could just get a new
battery for it. The phone worked fine after all. So I walk in to the Cingular store and tell the young saleswomen that I need a
new battery. She asks what kind of phone I have so I pull it out. She says,
"Whoa!" Yes, the phone is that big, apparently. Not John Wayne movie
walkie talkie big, mind you, but at that moment, I realized they have gotten
smaller. Now I know what you are thinking, surely I'm used to that reaction
from women by now. But no, I guess I hadn't really paid much attention to
advances in cell phone technology. I mean, I know color screens and camera
phones and for all I know, cappuccino makers, come standard on these things
nowadays. But I hardly used mine. Still, it was a sign.
So I figured why bother with
tracking down a battery for my early 21st century can and taut string. And
heck, what with competition, why should I buy one? And why should I settle for
my paltry 150 minutes of nationwide per month even though I hardly ever even
get close to using that limit?
Actually, the latter wasn't a
big deal at first. I just wanted a new phone at minimal cost and if Cingular could help me out, that would be fine. I searched
the Cingular site diligently for a deal but all the
deals required more expensive plans than I had. That was a deal breaker. I'd
noticed this with mail offers to me for new phones, too. But I didn't need any
additional services.
I even went back to the Cingular store where women gasped when I pulled out the
monstrosity that probably gives off radiation levels that would fell North
Korean missiles. I said, "I'm off contract and I want a new phone. What
can you do for me?"
Not much, as it turns out.
The best they could offer was some model that cost $50.00 after rebate. Phone
companies give away phones to steal new customers and my company won't bust a gut
to keep me? When I've never even been late with a payment?
I was telling a friend at the
pub about my cell phone dilemma and he, being a fairly big shot in the
telecommunication industry, told me my options and led me to a plan that would
get me a solid phone for ten bucks, a better plan, and cost less to boot. So I
went with his recommendation and signed up online with Sprint through a web
site my friend sent me. It went just fine and I received confirmation very
quickly. Indeed, when the company called to say they needed additional
information, it turned out that they thoughtfully assumed I would not want the
only color they had left in stock—pink. That was a brave call on their part
considering I live in
Now don't get me wrong. I
have pink dress shirts. The color of testosterone oozing out,
as I like to say. But I do draw the line at pink phones. Ok, the line is
drawn well before that point, but you get my point. Anyway, I was very
impressed with that service call.
UPS tried to deliver the
phone on Friday but I was at work. Luckily, I was going to be home on Monday
when the note said they'd next try. So on Monday I received my new phone. It
was small. Much smaller than my old phone:
My old phone was once sleek,
stylish, and carried by Jennifer Aniston. She may not hold center seat in my
Pantheon of Babes, but she sits their proudly, still. But now, it is quite
possible that I operated the last remaining model of this type in existence
anywhere in the Western hemisphere.
Sadly, they failed to port my
old number. This isn't the biggest deal since I don't live by my phone. Few
have my number and unless I have it turned on it is of no use to those who have
it anyway. The biggest problem was that I had to contact my old company and
cancel my first service. And the thought of going through what I assumed would
be phone heck as the company tries to persuade me to remain with them was
annoying.
Anyway, when I noticed I
didn't have my old number, I went looking for the toll free number on a 3 by 5
card that I had on my desk. Ah, got it fast and I called the number. The woman
who answered announced the company name which I didn't pay much attention to
(since I was working through a company I had never heard of, it went by me) as
I announced who I was and told the woman that my old number on my new account
hadn't ported with my new phone. I explained that I just wanted to verify
whether it would take some time or whether there was a mistake in the order.
The woman said something
about Emily—ok, now I know who I am talking to—and said I should have received
a letter the last summer from them.
Huh?
Emily? … She said Emily. …
Emily! That Emily!
And the company the woman announced?
Wait! She said "Alliance One" didn't she?
Ah, crud! I'd contacted the
idiots of Annoyance One. I'd grabbed the wrong card and in my haste didn't
notice anything other than the toll free number on it. You'd think it would
have jogged a memory considering how many times I heard it on my answering
machine. But no, it did not. I'd called the fools who'd called me on a
near-daily basis since the fall of 2005 through the end of February 2006 (See
List of Annoying Things back to the fall of 2005 for this saga). Alliance One
finally slipped once around the second month, I think, and said that they were
looking for an Emily but never once asked for me. Or identified themselves other than one time early on. They never once
said why they were calling. Never asked for me by name.
And snootily lectured me on courtesy, saying I should reply to a call to my
number that didn't give me any reason why I should take time out of my day to
call them! That
Crud. I'd not wanted to call them to take my time to fix
their error. Nor did I want to give them a data point to prompt more calls. And
I'd just given this company my name!
Not being too slow on my feet
and determined to turn a mistake into a victory, I switched gears into irate
mode on a dime. Emily? Letter in mail? Anger mode
engaged.
"Look," I said
sternly, ignoring the whole cell phone line of conversation that may have
pushed her a bit off balance anyway, "I am not Emily. I don't know any
Emily. I haven't received any letters from you and you've called me about a 'gajillion'
times since the fall. And I want these phone calls to stop."
I especially like the
'gajillion' part.
So she says she'll remove my
number from their listing.
I ended the conversation.
Huh. Well that was easy. Unless I start getting calls from them to me instead of to Emily.
I still don't get how they
could fail to use any databases to find out that no Emily resides at my phone
number. And that it doesn't match whatever address they've been mailing letters
to since the summer.
And my last step to cancel my
Cingular account went well. As I expected, the
operator tried to talk me out of it but I ended that line by saying I was
certainly happy with Cingular service but I was
switching to go with a friend's company. I decided not to go into my complaint
about their site or store which didn't seem to care one bit about retaining a
customer. The operator did say I could get a new phone for very little and a
better plan for the same amount of money.
So close, but too late. I'm
sure they make more money by not making it obvious to existing customers what
they can get for free, but in my case they lost a customer by keeping this
information secret until the last lined of defense at the cancellation step. I
already had my new phone and new service and so offers of new phones and better
plans were just too late. Actually, I wish I had explained this to the
operator. She was perfectly nice about the whole thing and I have nothing
against my soon-to-be old company.
So a new phone that won't
cause women to gasp when I pull it out; and I escaped from the confused bill
collector and my old cell phone service provider.
"Father's Day Weekend" (Posted
Well, I had a long and good Father's
Day weekend last week.
It started Friday when Lamb
rushed up to greet me after work to give me her projects she made in day care.
She had telegraphed this already during the week, and she pulled out the
homemade card and certificate that extolled me for playing the Thomas game with
her, baking cookies with her, and giving her hugs. The staff clearly quizzed
her for this.
And the project was a little
wooden box with a decorated top that included a cut-out of her picture. Plus
some snacks to eat. Her eagerness and joy to give them to me made them very
special. Lamb got another hug for this display.
On Saturday, Mister and I hit
the pool on a hot day and otherwise hung out at home so I could get chores done
in preparation for our main event for Father's Day.
On Sunday morning we head out
in the morning for the Toledo Zoo to meet a friend of his, his friend's little
brother who seems to adore Mister, and their parents. A nice
family. Like I’ve mentioned before, I still worry Mister will become a
tight friend with someone whose parents are jerks, or something. At a young
age, it is tough not to have parental interaction when the friends play.
The zoo didn't have their Zoo
Snooze that we planned to do again this year, but they did have a brunch for
the day and dads get in free on Father’s Day. Mister and I wore our snooze
shirts as a protest against the failure to hold the snooze this year.
Construction on the off ramp
to I-475 forced me to detour around the south of
The boys had an absolute
blast and in many ways hardly paid attention to the animals. It was just play
time with foul smells for atmosphere. The highlight for the boys was the play
structure that we let them play on near the end of the trip.
For me, the highlight was the
brunch. Burgers and hot dogs, ice cream, potato salad, pop and ice tea. When it
was over, I was in a meat-induced stupor ready to nap by the Naked Moles Rats where
we slept on two past Father's Days.
We rolled out just ahead of
closing time and a quick trip to the souvenir shop. A quick trip up through a
threatening thunderstorm and we made it back to
So armed with his mom’s
instructions, Mister retrieved my Father’s Day present and card. Lamb signed
that one, too. In addition to the cheese cakes, I now have a bottle of sea salt
and a salt crusher! What can I say? I actually like the gifts. Mister has moved
way beyond the soaps and candles that he chose as a small child. Although I
must say, he has nice conservative taste it ties so I was looking forward to
that. He also knows my views on men’s cosmetics: they are wrong. Men should
have soap in white, rectangular, scentless blocks. And
shampoo that has no fruit or food product in its name. Of course, toothpaste. Oh, and nail clippers, a comb, and a
razor for grooming. Anything beyond that is seriously unneeded. So I know I
won’t ever get anything even remotely like that. Or even cologne. It’s perfume,
people. Perfume. Leave that crap to European men.
Anyway, with lots of typical
stuff ruled out or given-to-death, apparently, Mister was in a quandary. So
when queried about what to get me, Mister said I was low on salt. Which is
true, I guess. I even remember mentioning it to him when I refilled a salt
shaker recently. And besides, Mister likes salt on his salad topping of oil and
lemon juice (hey, this homemade concoction has gotten him to like large green
salads! I used to have to force a couple lettuce leaves), so he likes this
gift, too. He’s had fun using it. No doubt he’ll get his future wife stuff from
Driving home, I at least got
in my duties to my own dad. I called him from my car to wish him a happy
Father’s Day. I’m luck to have such a good dad. (And mom, too!) I even like
them. It is fun to hang out with them. And from the perspective of a son, I’ve
never ever felt the need for therapy to undo parental damage! My flaws are mine alone and I can’t blamed my parents for anything. That,
to me, is the best thing parents can do for their children—don’t pass down
whatever problems you have. I was able to be a kid all through childhood with
no major worries about life.
So, it was a nice Father’s
Day. Mister and Lamb are good kids.
After going to work on Monday,
I continued the Father's Day weekend on Tuesday with a day off to take care of
Mister and Lamb. Mister stayed with me Monday night and Lamb came over at
It was a nice morning of
breakfast, Mister enjoying his video games, Lamb painting with water colors, and
a little Sponge Bob and a Wolverine football DVD. We had lunch and a trip to
Dairy Queen, a short nap for Lamb that began on the drive home, and then a
little time outside to play in the back. She liked her new sandbox that I put
together for her.
The only hitch of the day was
that Lamb broke the door off my pantry by backing into it hard and repeatedly
at the hinge. An accident, but I was annoyed. But I didn't yell, though Lamb
started crying out of worry I'd be mad, I think. Stuff happens, people. I don't
get mad over spilled milk, crumbled cookies, or even broken doors. Unless stuff
like that is deliberate, why get mad? It is just a mess or money. The former
can be cleaned or at least replaced. And the latter is just money. As long as
spending it doesn’t cut into the mortgage payment, I try not to worry about it.
As it turns out, before we
went for ice cream I glued the split wood and put heavy objects on it to seal
it; and while Lamb napped, I stapled the seam and re-mounted the door. Good as
new! I assured Lamb all was well with the door--but don't do that again.
Then in the early evening we
grabbed a pizza and headed to their mom’s house. They played and we eventually
got Mister to bed and Lamb settled in to drowse. A couple beers at home to cap
off the day and it was back to work with no more celebrations of my dad status
to look forward to.
A fun weekend all around
filled with a lot of dadness. Life doesn't get better
than this.
“Summer
2006 Is Officially Started” (Posted
The last couple weekends haven’t been exactly pool weather. Last weekend was raining and this weekend has been complicated and a little cool—too cool for swimming anyway. But I have not doubt it will get better.
Summer at least got off to a good start. We had a long weekend capped by Memorial Day. Although Memorial Day has more immediacy during war, for Mister it is still the official start of summer and it is a time to look forward to school ending and hot lazy days.
On both Saturday and Sunday, we were able to hit the pool on the first weekend it was open for the summer season. And the water wasn’t terribly cold. Cool, but not heart attack-cold. We also got some good badminton in. Mister is getting pretty good at it and it is actually a lot of fun. No net. But we get good volleys going and a little trash talking and arguing over whether a shot landed in bounds to add to the fun. All in fun, of course.
Plus, when we went to Meijer to get some sand to make a sandbox for Lamb, I spotted a croquet set. I’d been meaning to get one for the last couple years but kept forgetting. And there was a nice one sitting right in front of me! Seventy bucks? Oh, 20% off. Only $56.00. Hmm. Still too much. Look right. Another set for $40.00. Minus 20% so make it $32.00. Good, but what’s that to the right? $25.00! With the discount, only twenty bucks! Come to poppa, cheap set. And I got the two bags of sand for less than $5.00. Man, this was an easy shopping trip.
The sand box was easy to set up and it sits on the patio with some beach toys ready for Lamb the next time she is here for some outdoor play.
And the croquet set was a hit. Though first I had to tape up the cheaply made seam that burst on the carrying bag. Now I know why it was only $20.00. But hey, the rest of it was just fine and though I was much better at it than Mister, who didn’t quite have the hang of hitting the ball far, he enjoyed it. Still, I could see he was disappointed at losing so I resolved to adjust the skill factor balance.
On Memorial Day, with my Ex at work, Lamb’s day care closed, and Mister off of school, I decided it would be a nice time to have my parents meet Lamb. They always ask Mister about her when we visit. Mister was a little unsure of taking Lamb. I’m not sure whether he was worried that my parents would like her too much or what. But at my parents, Mister was the perfect, patient brother (where did that come from?). Lamb was shy only a little bit at first, retreating repeatedly to my arms at first. But she was ready for my parents’ cat that Mister told her about. Lamb brought her own stuffed cougar for the cat. My parents were just great with Lamb (as I knew they would be) and treated her like a granddaughter. My dad did his usual stuffed animal on his head and shoulder routine and Lamb grabbed her kitty off every time. And then put it within my dad’s reach only to snatch it away when my dad reached for it. Lamb enjoyed the foot bounces by my mom and even mentioned it days later. Lamb enjoyed the keyboard my mom has and ate the pizza and pudding for dessert. She even used the bathroom twice and avoided any accidents.
My sister and her boyfriend came by, too, to meet Lamb for a bit before they had to head off to a barbecue. They thought she was very cute and were impressed by how much Mister obviously loves her. And given how well Mister acted, I have to conclude that his worry was whether Lamb would be treated nicely and not that she’d steal his thunder. He is so protective of her (when he isn’t insulting her) that I should have figured this out right off the bat. He’s a good big brother and a good boy.
Anyway, a good weekend to start the unofficial beginning of summer.
The next weekend started with the ice cream social at Mister’s school. It is the social event of the season that signals school is just about over. It is a carnival that has some little games, inflatable climbing and bouncing rides, hot dogs and ice cream—of course. And a book sale.
I bought a couple books for Mister including a reprint of the original War of the Worlds; plus a couple for Lamb, too. Dora and Winnie the Pooh books.
Mister grabbed some cotton candy and I had a dinner of two lukewarm hot dogs. Joy.
Then I was drafted at the inflatable obstacle course. It was very popular with no supervision initially and so it became an air-filled Lord of the Flies arena where small children were at risk of sure death as older children roamed in tribal gangs. So a bunch of us parents were asked to supervise. I was put at the chokepoint were kids could climb up the wall to a slide before they headed for the exit. For a good 40 minutes, I kept the kids in order, making sure one was over the top before the next started up, gave the kids tips on how to get up the wall, helped the little ones up the wall, and otherwise made sure nobody bled, caught fire, or lost a major limb. I didn’t lose one on my watch although when it was over I noticed one of my toes was jammed up pretty bad. I hadn’t noticed when that happened. It got better in a couple days so nothing broken. Mister spent the rest of the trip on the obstacle course having a ball.
Over the weekend, I even managed to fix the sound on Mister’s computer that mysteriously went away a few weeks ago. A few games still had sound so I knew that the speakers were good. So I went through the trouble-shooting guide and everything looked good. I just clicked on things semi-randomly and when I got out of the system stuff, the speakers magically worked again! Mister was pleased. It seemed like the clicking equivalent of hitting it with a stick.
And we had more croquet. This time I gave Mister two shots per my one and he was able to kill me. Next time I’ll make the course bigger to force him to hit harder and give me a shot at winning. By the end of the summer, I bet he won’t need the handicap I’ve given him and he’ll kill me in this game. I hope so!
Yep. A good summer already despite the gap in swimming pool weather.
“School Project”
(Posted
Yesterday, when I was telling my Ex about Father’s Day plans with Mister, Lamb was standing right there. At the mention of “Father’s Day” she told me that she had a project for Father’s Day that she was working on at school (day care). But it still had to dry. She said it very matter-of-fact. Oh, what a little sweetie!
I guess this is the basic reason I try to be a positive part of her life. If not for me, she’d have nobody to make a Father’s Day project for at school. The thought of her sitting there while other little kids eagerly make their projects while she has nothing to do just breaks my heart. I’ll be at all the father-daughter stuff regardless of what the law says about that. What else can I do?
So I look forward to seeing her project as much as I look forward to the Father’s Day event with Mister. I’m just doing my best here.
“Catching a Brake”
(Posted
Hooah. No big bill and several hours of free time are my rewards for clean living. Well, rewards for having brakes in good shape, anyway. I’ll take it!
Last night my brake light and alarm went on and stayed on. My Ion has 93,000 miles on it, so I thought I should really check it out considering all the freeway driving I do.
And this was the second time the alarm went off. About a month ago, late one Thursday night after I went grocery shopping, the alarm went off in the store parking lot. I pulled out the manual, assuming it was some sort of wear light or something telling me it was about time to check pads or whatever. But no, the manual basically said to pull over immediately, grab your check book (because you’ll need it), step away from the vehicle, and get it towed to a mechanic. But it was late and the roads were clear, so I drove home. Hyper-sensitive to any abnormality, I drove the two miles home without incident. Brakes seemed fine to me.
So what to do? The next day I had a lunch appointment that I really didn’t want to re-schedule (again). On the other hand, risking death in a fiery no-brakes crash was less appealing than rescheduling. So I turn off my car and restart it. No brake alarm. Off and on again. No brake alarm. Hmm, could just be a false sensor. Hey, I’m no slave to these things. I drove my last car for more than 60,000 miles after the “engine” light went on and traded it in after it went out (or burned out more likely) for my current car. Anyway, I figured if the car was leaking something, by morning I’d see a puddle of some goo under the car and that light would not go off. If so, I’d take my car to a mechanic and get it fixed. If not, I’d trust my vehicle judgment.
Now you might not think that I have much after reading about my first-ever engine experience (see below), but I’ve had good luck in sensing disturbances with my cars. Once, the feel of my car was really odd and I couldn’t accelerate past 60. So I got over to the right lane as fast as I could and pulled over on to the shoulder just as one of my tires shredded under me.
Another time, again in the left lane, I heard noises coming from under the front of my car that just shouldn’t be there. Unable to get over to the right because I was heading for a left exit to I-96, I momentarily thought of pressing on to work (nearly 50 miles away at that point) before figuring, no, I need to pay attention to my unease. I headed across three lanes of I-96 to the exit that was just after the entry and pulled into a park-and-ride lot. As I turned in and looked for a parking spot, my ability to turn left died on me. Tie-rods shot, as it turned out. I ended up being towed back home hours later (because an accident on the freeway blocked all traffic for quite a bit).
So in the morning, when the brake light did not go on, I started driving. The brakes seemed normal so I pressed on. All normal. My plan to go to a mechanic the next morning fell through, but the brakes continued to work fine. So I thought I’ll go the week and do it next Saturday morning. Again, the Saturday morning free time fell through. So I just forgot about it and chalked it up to sensor malfunction.
But yesterday the light and alarm went off again. Once I am willing to put down to sensor alarm error. Twice? When I spend lots of time going at speeds that really require good brakes? Nope. Even if the brakes feel fine to me, I won’t take chances like that.
So this morning I head to my favorite and trusted Tuffy’s on Washtenaw in
Luckily, they said the brakes were fine. Pads less than half worn and everything else normal. No cost and I even got a free cup of coffee out of it while I waited.
So rather than drive to work for less than a half day of work, I figured nothing on my desk is a must-do for today. And the one thing I planned to make sure I had out is already done needing only a final proof; so if the requester calls for it, a colleague will be able to pull it off the common drive. If not, first thing in the morning will be just fine, too.
I’ll pick up Mister from school and Lamb from day care and bring them home for leftovers from the weekend for dinner. It will be a nice surprise for them.
It was a little annoying to have a light and alarm override my better judgment and spend the time to check out the source of the alarm, but really, having a few hours off when I didn’t expect it is pretty cool. I may like my job but it is still “work.”
“Yes, Time to Play
Outside!” (Posted
Last weekend we played outside and this weekend we played outside. Two weeks in a row! Woohoo! Spring must be here! Mister is ready for a game though he as yet does not respect my backhand enough.
That is Mister’s favorite
We had a spirited game of badminton until the birdie MIRVed on us and the tip went flying separated from the body.
A little Gorilla Glue and tomorrow she’ll be good as new.
And I must get a croquet set for this summer. We’ve got lots of room and I haven’t played that game in ages.
Plus the pool will open at the end of the month!
I don’t like winter and the slippery roads and frozen water
pipes and skin-cracking dryness and all the rest that goes with snow and
freezing temperatures. I like summer and spring means summer is coming. Swimming. Art Fair. Drinking beer on the sidewalk in downtown
Ah, life is good. Summer brings all that is good back!
“Just Mostly Dead”
(Posted
As spring has sputtered along in fits and starts, I watched my two wing shrubs come to life. The center shrub looked deader than a door nail. So I was resigned to replacing it yet again. With nighttime freezing weather still with us, I’ve held off on the digging up and replacing thing.
But last weekend, I noticed a couple green parts amidst the brown pallor of plant death. As Miracle Max from The Princess Bride said, mostly dead is not the same as completely dead. My center shrub still clings to life. I trimmed away the dead branches and underneath there is life still:
So what do I do? Dig it up and put in a new bright green shrub with leaves everywhere? Do I betray the plant that strives to perpetuate its life by digging it up and tossing it in the trash?
I think not. It is not dead. Dead is dead and there would be nothing to do about it but toss it and start over. But mostly dead? No. Something can be done. I can respect the life that still grows and let it have a chance to thrive.
This plant has survived the winter and I will not extinguish it as it sets down roots and still grows.
“Flying Still Not
Possible” (Posted
The other day, I went over to my Ex’s house to help Mister with his homework. With that all done, Mister, Lamb, and I were in the basement where Lamb was pretending to be a bird, using the bean bag chair from Hell as a nest. Mister was variously a daddy bird or brother bird.
Lamb asked me to pick her up so she could fly. So I did, holding her parallel to the floor as a walked around. I told her to flap her wings, which she did. So we’re walking and flapping. Walking and flapping. All nice play. And then she says, “Ok, now let go!”
I thought I had already covered in great depth how little girls cannot fly. Not with balloons. Not with stuffed birds. Apparently this was another scenario she came up with for heavier-than-air flight. I said, “No! I’m not letting go! You can’t fly without an airplane.” She insisted. I held firm.
Hope springs eternal.
“Field Trip” (Posted
On Earth Day, Mister and I went on a school PTO-sponsored
trip to the
We started early on Saturday, making it to the school at
As it turned out, the turnout for the event was better than expected so the PTO needed some parents to drive. Low on gas, owning a small Ion, and unwilling to add to my 400+ miles that I drive each week, I declined the request. But I did volunteer to ride with someone else so the kids could all ride on the bus.
Only ten minutes behind schedule, we headed out. At the last minute the principal called out to me and I scampered from the SUV I was in and headed to join Mister on the bus. I wasn’t sure if this was a promotion or not after my last bus trip with children. But Mister was glad to have me on board in the end.
The trip was uneventful, but with the late start, time it took to park, and the wait to get in, we didn’t have the planned half hour to roam before lunch. So we headed right for the cafeteria to eat. I’d eaten breakfast and a bagel, so I could have waited, but this was the plan so we ate. [OK, I just read that and it was really boring so let me skip ahead.]
The
We watched a Tom Hanks-narrated film about the mission to the moon. The imagery was astounding and the pictures were mostly new to me. I loved the shots of the astronauts practicing on Earth for their tasks in space. That a hand-held calculator has more computing power than the Apollo computers was just weird to absorb. And the inability to tell scale or depth without structures or air was pretty weird. The description of an astronaut warned that he was on the edge of a massive canyon that there was nothing to worry about because it was just a gentle slope was scary. In fact, he was on the edge of a canyon deeper than the Statue of Liberty is tall!
One thing that struck me as odd was the statement by Hanks
that these were ordinary men, really, who “looked just like us.” Hey, I’m no
multi-cultural nutcase, but these were all white men. Nothing
wrong with that. Really. I am one. But why make
that statement when the era of Apollo was one that could not have anybody but
men who look like me. Not that these astronauts should have their achievements
lessened because of the era in which they lived. Their achievements would be no
more amazing if done with crews that look like a finely balanced GAP commercial.
But I really wished that Hanks had used a different line to convey the
portrayal of these men who were thrown into space in primitive craft far from
home if anything went wrong. I would have thought Hanks would have had a better
ear for that. Or maybe I’ve just lived in
I stayed to watch all the credits just to see the pictures
in the background. Old black and white pictures from long ago. It is all just
history. It is deeply depressing to think that only a dozen men have walked on
the moon and we’ve gone more than three decades without doing anything on the
moon. Hell, we drove cars on the
moon! When I was little, looking ahead to 2000, I assumed we’d have wonderful
stations in space and on the moon. Instead we have a tenement with solar panels
that we grandly call the International Space Station and a shrunken Shuttle
fleet that is too expensive and too dangerous to do us much good. I’m glad we
have a goal of returning to the moon and going to Mars, but I have little hope
that NASA will do it. I have more hope that private businesses will finally get
us into space. But now I don’t even assume I’ll live to see it. We should fill
the Solar System and instead we putter around in our own gravity well just
poking above it on occasion and doing nothing terribly exciting when we do so.
But our society has become so comfortable that at least a sizable minority of
the people would blast any money spent to send man into space by complaining
about how many Midnight Basketball games could be funded. We should take every
dollar that goes to PBS and NPR and shovel it into space. Let private business
go, too; but shovel money at space travel and I don’t care if it is
inefficient. Just go! Is it really possible that when my son takes his son to
science museums that they will view the same Apollo pictures as the
Ok, enough ranting.
We had about an hour and a half after the movie to see the special space exhibit which I liked a lot. I didn’t know Apollo used fuel cells for power and drinking water. And we headed back to the spinning table which Mister really wanted to play with. We worked on getting the disks spinning by using our finger tips like axles until they balanced and moved around the disk. A lab-coated staff member—really pretty, I should add—came by and started showing me how to get the one odd ring going when she saw I was having problems with it. It was her favorite display, she said, and we chatted off and on for quite a bit about the display. Mister loved it and was a little annoyed that some adult woman kept picking up his already spinning disks to redo them! It was hard enough to get them going just right and she just snatched them up! So he started deliberately screwing up his launches to send his disks careening into her disks. I had to laugh about that when he told me later! I should have been disapproving but really—what was the woman thinking?
With a short time left before we had to hit the bus, I grabbed Mister so we could go to the gift shop. I thanked the staff woman for taking so much time to help with the display and we rushed off to the gift shop. [Hmm, reading that back, did I just miss an opportunity? She was cute. Oh good grief, I’m such a total idiot …]
Anyway, I’m sure my friends will take care of berating me when I relate this the next time we get to the bar (And I really need to get on that, too). Perhaps I’m mistaken anyway.
I picked up a rocket kit that works with vinegar and baking soda. We looked at it on the way home and I think it is a bit of a ripoff since a lot of the parts look pretty cheap. On the other hand, except for the special nozzle, I can scrounge up replacement pieces pretty easily when they break and build new rockets. Perhaps Mister (who loves math and is good at it) will be part of the next push into space. Maybe, if I’m lucky, my son’s generation will be the one that really gets us into space for good. And then I’ll be lucky enough to see it happen in my lifetime.
That would be a pretty rewarding lifetime, after all.
“Tradition Continues” (Posted
Easter was a long day. It
began for me at
In between, I continued the
old egg-coloring tradition started with Mister and introduced Lamb to the whole
idea. I had boiled the eggs on Saturday, so on Sunday morning after examining
what the Easter Bunny left them in their baskets (with promise of a small
sample after eating breakfast), and then the actual breakfast, I set up the egg-coloring
child-labor production line. Empty yogurt cups, a little bit of vinegar and
water, and the traditional tablets of fizzing food coloring. Some of the extras
they put in the kit are useless. Display rings? Worthless.
I let Lamb color on them to keep her busy as I set out dish clothes to absorb
dye. Clear shrink-on things? OK, I saved them but they
look way too much for what is supposed to be food in the end. Sure, the
stickers are good and I divvied those up between Lamb and Mister. Not knowing
how this would go with Lamb—and unsure of my ability to eat that many eggs—I
kept the total to a dozen. Mister was gracious enough to voice only a formal
objection to his getting 8 and Lamb getting 4 eggs.
Mister is all ready to go:
And Lamb eagerly awaited a
new experience:
My major decision was how to
deploy the dye cups. I had planned to bring them over one or two at a time as
needed. That's how I did it with Mister when he was younger. But I had images
of me spilling the dye in unneeded movement and also of turning my back on two
children to make it to the kitchen and back. What if one was done and the other
not and in the gap of my absence, one (well, Lamb, as the younger, is the
logical worry here) reaches to the other cup and splashes it across the table
and then cascades to the floor despite my best efforts to drape absorbent
material all over the table?
So I put all the cups on the
table and then hovered over the whole process, moving cups to children and away
as needed. The production line was set:
Mister is an old pro and is
even patient enough to soak the eggs for a deep color effect. He had no problem
maneuvering the eggs and even avoided dropping and cracking even one egg—a
problem in the past, I might add. His coloring was without mess:
His expertise left me free to
hover just a little more over Lamb as she intently worked on her eggs:
I put them on the egg dipper
(and good thing I save them from year to year since the kits have but one egg
dipper!) and showed her how to stir and lift. She, being new to the whole
thing, was eager to move on to the next egg after minimal soaking time.
This is where my plans nearly
broke down. Mister noted that he had only a chance to color seven rather than
eight eggs. I thought I'd kept Lamb to four and tried to point out the eggs
each did. But darned it he wasn't right. Five for Lamb and
Seven for Mister. I conceded defeat on this issue but Mister was inclined
to take his victory over me and not dwell on the actual numbers. Especially since I could point out to Mister that he had more
stickers than Lamb. Next year if I'm hosting both, I'll go for 18 eggs.
After letting the eggs dry
(and explaining to Lamb why they weren't dry enough every five minutes), the
kids added their stickers. I put them in the storage container, and then put
them away.
And as a bonus, I actually
managed to thoroughly boil the suckers this year! (I believe the method I used
is technically called "coddling" the eggs) No runny yolks as I've
started plowing through them in colorful lunches this week at work. With any
luck, I'll get through them all this week before a decent respect for
food-borne illnesses compel me to throw out the eggs.
And I really need to get some
sleep this week.
“Flight Plan” (Posted
April 16, 2006)
Over the last few weeks, Lamb has wanted to fly. Her mom gets helium balloons fairly often and so Lamb has been coming up to be with balloon in hand and asking me to lift her up and let go. You know, so she can fly …
The faith is touching. I tried to explain that she is too big to fly with a balloon. The physics of the situation didn’t quite take hold.
So I tried to hold her up and gently lower her to a safe height before letting go—you of course know she plummeted to the carpet each time, right? But every time I did this, she insisted that I should only let go really high. I’m sure to a three-year-old mind this made perfect sense.
So I finally decided on the physics demonstration to show her that a balloon could not lift her. I took her balloon, tied it to one of her little dolls, lifted it in the air, and let go as it plummeted to the carpet. See? I said. This balloon can’t carry your little tiny doll! You are much bigger than your doll. Ergo (I didn’t actually say “ergo” in this explanation, I hasten to add) the balloon cannot lift you.
Case closed.
Well yesterday, after well over a week since my physics demonstration should have conclusively proven that a helium balloon cannot lift a little girl, Lamb ran up to me with a balloon (just air filled, too) and a stuffed bird toy. She wanted me to lift her up and drop her?
Huh? Hadn’t I proven this is not possible? Wait, Lamb thought she’d found a way around my logic by adding a bird to the mix. Hold the balloon and the bird (which flies) and surely she would fly, too.
The will to fly is clearly strong. But this plan was not going to work, I explained.
I fear what she will try next …
"I've Got Issues" (Posted March 27, 2006)
This last weekend, when I picked up Mister from his mom's and was driving Lamb over to her grandparents, my left turn signal died on me. The turn signal sound cranked up in speed and I figured that must be the sign of bulb failure. Pretty good for not reading the manual, eh?
Pretty lucky to take place on a weekend actually when I have time to do something about it. But as I am firmly convinced, I'm a lucky guy in general.
So Mister and I roll over to the auto parts store and I get the bulb for my Ion. I dreaded the process after many headlight changing experiences with my old Mercury products. Don't get me wrong, I liked my old Mercury Tracer, but changing a bulb was a nightmare of poor access design.
So I pulled out the manual and checked out the procedure. Looked pretty easy, actually. I just had to rotate and pull out a couple retaining rods, pull out the light assembly, unscrew the cap, change the bulb, and reverse the process to assembly. It took me five minutes!
I was pretty pleased with my guy success. Really, I'm capable of looking at an engine with my arms crossed and making appreciative grunting. It's instinct and not knowledge of course, but I can do it. And heck, I actually did have some success in engine gazing some years ago when a mechanic pointed to an oily spot on my radiator that didn't look appreciably different from the rest of the oily radiator and explained that the particular spot was the reason he needed to pull the radiator and replace the whole thing.
Two other mechanics stood around looking at me as the first mechanic pointed out the flaw. I couldn't tell but the demeanor of the crew screamed scam. So I told them I had a regular guy for radiator issues and took my car with the existing radiator out of there. Turns out that garage went bankrupt weeks later. Turns out I had no radiator problem, too.
Anyway, I realized I should not be proud of my minor "guy" moment because this was literally the first time I'd personally opened my hood and even looked at my engine!
I've owned my car for 2-1/2 years and nearly 90,000 miles! But I haven't opened the hood. Oh the shame of it all!
That is not a record for a car guy to be proud of. I am clearly not a car guy. I don't deserve to own a Lamborghini, it is sadly clear to me.
Yes, I can point out I have replaced all sorts of fluids, changed an air filter or two, and even jumped a car battery, but still--I've never opened my hood until this last weekend. Never needed to, of course. But still, I've never even opened it up just to fold my arms and gaze at it in pretend knowledge. The shame of it all just envelops me.
And I've even performed preventive maintenance on actual Army Humvees. Really! The fan belts are prone to breaking because they vibrate against machinery. I know that! Isn't that enough?
Ok, fine. I have a car deficiency. I know little about them and care even less that I don't. I have AAA and that really has to suffice.
I have a power tool. That has to count for something. Doesn't it?
"You Are Invited to Take an Art Tour in My Home" (Posted March 15, 2006)
I've been working on this for the last year and it is finally ready. Not that tough, but I just didn't make the time to finish it. When the weather gets better I'll add my patio and rock garden. And I can update the pictures, too, with new ones or just better quality photos when I get the chance.
Anyway, my humble art tour.
“Self Awareness is Sometimes Disturbing” (Posted
I have the day off today. So I’ve had the opportunity to post a little more on Home Front (and I’m so behind on writing up ideas it is sad).
Dropped Mister off at school. Went shopping for his birthday coming up fairly soon. And as part of his birthday stuff, I bought a beanbag chair kit for use at his mom’s where he and Lamb now have a finished basement to play in.
I had wanted a beanbag chair but Meijer only had the kits. Luckily, I bought Lamb a fold-out princess couch instead of her own beanbag chair. For Mister, I got the kit, which consists of the bag and a set of the Styrofoam beads to put in the bags. Happy children and young adults are shown happily adding the beads and then using the chairs.
Here is where I learned some ugly facts about myself. First of all, I consider myself a patient man. This is normally good but can be used for evil as well. Second, I like to think of myself as a forgiving man.
But that was before the 70-minute beanbag filling ordeal.
I discovered that I have it within myself to kill. And if I
ever run across the fiends who devised this little system of home-filling
beanbag chairs instead of doing it in a friggin’
state-of-the-art factory somewhere in southern
And because I am still a patient man, if it takes years before I get the chance to cap that particular home furnishings genius, I shall wait.
Oh, and did I mention the static cling that made picking up the debris of this fun experience an added joy?
Yes, that was fun, too. By wetting my hands I was able to pick up the beans, detach them from my hands, and deposit them in a bag where they would stay rather than float out on the magic of static charges to redeposit on my carpeting.
Because of this feature of the fun beanbag chair experience, when I shoot the home-furnishings genius who came up with this idea, it will not be a clean shot. Oh, no. I will start at the feet and slowly work my way up. I may fling beads at him in a sort of gruesome tar and feathering ritual with beanbag beads replacing feathers.
I’m not happy about what I discovered about myself today. Manufacturers: be warned.
“Science Fair Project”
(Posted
A few weeks ago, Mister brought the notice home that there would be a first-ever science fair project at his elementary school. Mister was not happy to participate but mom and dad insisted.
So despite a week of complaining during which I grew increasingly impatient having to tell Mister to stop complaining, two weekends ago we started the project. The fact that I—ahem—won a third prize in the Detroit-wide science fair project in 8th grade might lead you to believe that I would take over the project to relive the glory days of “Ant Colony 1.” Indeed, some friends insisted that I would be all over that project and Mister would be playing video games while I set up the multi-media spectacular.
But no. Even though it would often be easier on me to just do things for Mister, I firmly believe that learning to learn is more important than any project or class or grade. Mister was going to do the work on this one and I’d help where he could not.
So I ran a topic past Mister’s mom and she liked it. It is simple. It is an experiment (no mere volcano for Mister’s project!) And I have the tools to set it up. I actually got part of the idea from a physics experiment set I’d bought for Mister several years ago. We could set up an experiment of one marble ramming into another marble and then see how placing different objects between the two marbles affect the energy transferred to the second by the impact.
So last week I gathered the materials: a Hot Wheels track segment. Two small marbles. Some cardboard for building. An old paper box from work. A large marble. A wooden block. An eraser. A magnet. My digital camera. Paper. Some poster board. Tape. And glue. Oh, and a calculator. That’s it.
I wrote up a data collection form for Mister to record the data. While I did that I had Mister answer the questions of the experiment format. I carefully did not give him the answers but instead asked him questions to get him to the answer. He did great. Then I build the cardboard ramp while Mister made a centimeter ruler from paper. I taped the ruler down on the track. Then we calibrated the experiment gear by test slamming the marbles and adjusting the height of the far end of the track until the marble rolled down the ruler without going off the end. With that established we got down to the experiment.
I set up the second marble and ramp to make sure the force would be the same for all set-ups. Then Mister rolled the first marble down the ramp, observing the second marble and noting the distance the marble traveled. He took the average and that was the baseline. I took some pictures of the experiment in progress.
Then I taped, in turn, the large marble, the magnet, the eraser, and the wood clock on the track with the second marble touching the intervening object and the ramp up to the object. Mister rolled the marbles three times on each variation and did the math for these rolls. Mister enjoyed doing the experiment, actually, but was relieved when I told him we’d put it together the next weekend.
This last weekend was that weekend. I had Mister take the data and enter it on to the template I’d already made. Then I made a bunch of text boxes with headings corresponding to the steps he was supposed to take in an experiment. Then I had Mister type in his answers that he’d written the week before based on the experiment. This took him a while and I thought of doing it for him but thought better. And he was a trooper. I only made two changes: adding italics to his reference title and turning his results into bullet points.
I cut out the box sides to create a display area and cut the poster board to fit. Then glued the base down and attached the track/ruler and ramp to the display base.
Together we set up an Excel sheet to add the data to make a graph and we learned-by-doing to get labels and the right kind of chart. Mister actually had played with this creating graphs for fun so I didn’t feel bad doing most of this step. We printed everything out and then I had Mister cut out the pictures and text boxes.
I laid out the objects on the board and then had Mister glue them on. Then he put his name and grade on it while I added his data sheets and hand-written notes to serve as the proof he indeed did this experiment. Voila!
And then I quizzed Mister on why we did different things and what the results showed us.
So it was a great success. Mister did most of the work and I mostly just did the display construction work and formatting for the typed parts. Mister even liked doing the project, in the end. And then this morning, we carted it off to school for display.
UPDATE: Mister won a first prize blue ribbon for his project. So his project went on display in the main science fair at the middle school and he went on stage at his school to receive his award at the school assembly. I am, needless to say, quite proud.
"Dunn. Brian Dunn" (Posted
Last year I bought a tuxedo.
I've rented tuxedos perhaps three times in my life--including my wedding. So my
purchase wasn't exactly something to save me money on rentals. I don't, to put
it kindly, have a tuxedo sort of social life. I mean, not yet anyway.
But there it was in the store--from
shoes and socks to the bow tie. And on sale. So I
bought it. I joked that I was going to be the "guy with a tuxedo."
That's how women would come to think of me--the guy who can grab the tuxedo out
of the closet at a moment's notice and hit the shaken martini-set social whirl.
I'm single, I figured, so it could be "my thing" that sets me apart
from other lesser men. (And yes, yes, I mean other than my intellect, wit, and
good looks.)
At worst, if I wear the tux
only three times I get back my investment. That's not too much to assume, is
it?
So I own a tuxedo. I'm a
"tuxedo-owning guy." It still sits in my closet ready to go. I don't
know when exactly I will get a chance to put it on, but one never knows. I like
to think of it as an expression of confidence in the future. A future where
women swoon and men feel inadequate in my presence.
A
tuxedo-wearing future in which I will look spectacular.