Perler Tricks

After a particularly...discouraging day at work, I had a few choices on how to purge myself of the sour mood I was in when I got home.  Option one was nothing more than pouring myself a pint glass of Maker's Mark and drinking myself into an alcohol induced semi-coma.  Being unconscious would have made it nearly impossible to dwell on the mind-boggling events that transpired earlier, but since I'm way out of whiskey practice I would go from coma to dead in a hurry...and there would be barfing somewhere in there as well.  Not good times.  My second option was to internalize and suppress my close to boiling over emotions below the surface, keeping the lid on that pressure cooker filled with disbelief and ineffectual rage until something minor and unrelated to the days events set me off like a mixture of nitroglycerin and weapons grade plutonium...something minor and unrelated like stepping barefoot onto fake vampire teeth one of the kids left on the floor.  The third option was to just say 'eff it', talk out what happened with The Better Half, and come up with a plan to address it all...and then sit down with her and Maddy and create a colorful creation using perler beads and a fish pattern.

I went with the third option, but that came with a whole new set of frustrations.  Perler beads are, in a word, bullsh*t.  For someone with less than dainty hands, they are a biznatch to manipulate.  Placing them on the pattern requires the deft touch and subtle dexterity of a surgeon.  I am not a surgeon.  My hands are beaten, gnarled atrocities that cramp up using chop sticks if I'm not careful.  When the beads do finally get placed on the pattern, so much as breathing on them unseats them from the pegs.  Then there is the ironing.  Due to my time in the Air Force, I can iron like a mofo.  What I can't do, however, is follow simple instructions...such as only turning the iron to medium heat.  I set the iron to razor sharp crease on the dress blues and partially melted my fish creation.  Luckily, that was only one side....not so lucky was my decision to pick my melty plastic fish up.  It was hot...and melted plastic sticks to skin.  And that's all I have to say about that.

Anyhoo, being stooped over a pile of perler beads took my mind off work.  Now I'm just thinking about the throbbing pain in the middle of my shoulder blades and the back of my neck.  So I have that going for me...

I'm not going to recommend perler beads as a stress reliever to anyone...but if you do want to partake in an activity that will frustrate you in an entirely different manner than whatever it was that angered up your blood, then perler beads are the way to go.  Buy them here!    

A Band Called Death

O.M.G. I must watch this documentary...and I must watch it NOW!!!!

Computer Blue

A couple of items...one, trying to post using my iPhone.  This is kind of awkward.  I'm not all that good at using the touch screen.  Two, I think my PC at home is dying a slow miserable death.  That means my photo back up project is going to have to pick some steam.  Why do I think the PC is dying?  Well, it is super slow to boot up, even after cleaning out temp files, scanning for viruses and malware, defragging the hard drive, and streamlining the apps to kick on during start up.  The computer is also randomly shutting down and tries to read the CD drives even when they are empty.  Lots of driver errors are popping up as well, mainly with the sound card...and because it is a Dell, said sound card is integrated.  I could take it in to the local guy at the bottom of my hill to provide a proper diagnosis...but that costs dollars I don't want to spend.  I also don't want to spend money on a desktop, especially a Windows based one...but criminey Apple notebooks and desk tops cost a fortune.  I'm thinking a laptop or a tablet...but has anyone out there in nine reader land successfully moved away from a desktop/laptop setup to tablet only?  Am I crazy to think a tablet can be used for productivity and not just consumption? Let me know if you have made that move...

Update On The Black Mamba

Checked the cardboard under the car this morning after pulling out of the garage...not a drop of oil to be found anywhere.  Only moisture was some water directly underneath the AC line from condensation.  I apparently drove home from the shop with the AC on last night.  Anyhoo, this is just baffling and I'm beginning to wonder if the Grease Monkey goombah failed to tighten or seal something correctly.  I feel I may have tipped my hand to the dealership as well.  I think I may have been too specific when I took it in.  Instead of saying, 'I think I have an oil leak' I may have said, 'I think I have a bad oil pan gasket.'  That gave the service manager the green light to confirm a diagnosis I was in no position to make.  Either way, it was a bad business move so eff those guys.  They won't be getting any more business from me in the future....

Burning The Midnight Oil

Some of my faithful 9 readers may remember that I got rid of the faithful Toyota Camry because it sprang so many oil leaks due to so many failed gaskets and seals that repairing them all was financially silly - the cost of the repairs totaled more than the worth of the car.  So, I traded the Camry in and picked up a 2006 Impala Super Sport (SS for short), a surly 300+ HP V8 of a muscle car hidden behind a bland facade of GM's mid oughts exterior design malaise.  She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts...just like the Millennium Falcon.  So it has that going for it....

I quickly dubbed the Impala the 'Black Mamba' because the car is black and it's fast.  Not the most original name, but a name none the less.  It has been relatively trouble free since I've owned it, but about 3 months ago I began noticing the tell tale signs of an oil leak.  I took it in for an oil change and the goober at Grease Monkey confirmed my fear - an oil leak from the oil pan gasket.  A few weeks passed after the oil change before I took it in to my local Chevy dealer for an estimate.  Oil pan gaskets run about 28 bucks, but labor pushes the repair north of 800 bones....throw in a broken motor mount and we are looking at a cool grand.  The dealership service department also said I needed two new battery cables (OEM cables run $200 bucks each), and the transmission cooler hoses replaced.  All in all, I walked out of there looking at $1800 in vehicle repairs.  A decision had to be made...do I sink money into the Black Mamba chasing an oil leak around, or do I just trade it in on a new car.  Criminey, domestic automakers are stuffing so much cash on the hood and trunks of their cars that it almost makes sense to take on a cheap lease for 24 months...or does it?

I've been unable to decide what to do about the Black Mamba.  So, it's been spouting oil like the Spy Hunter car up and down Auburn streets for the last few months.  The Better Half mentioned my car issues to a co-worker and he recommended a small independent garage down the road.  I took it in today to have them look at it...and low and behold, they can't find an oil leak.  The car was two quarts low on oil when I brought it in, but for the life of the tech that worked on it a leak can't be found...not from the oil pan, not from the filter, not from the valve covers, not from the rear main seal.  He changed the oil in the car, added a UV dye and drove it around for about an hour, hoisted it up in the air, and came up dry as a bone.  Which is just effing crazy because the cardboard I placed underneath it to protect the garage floor looks as if the Exxon Valdez ran aground on top of it.

Needless to say, I was incredulous and perplexed.  How could my car suddenly stop leaking oil?  It's nonsensical.  At one point I even argued with the tech a bit and stated that I had physical evidence of a leak at my house and two different mechanic types told me that my oil pan gasket was bad.  This probably offended the gent because he fired back with, 'I don't sell people sh*t they don't need, your car doesn't have a leaky oil pan gasket.  If you want to spend $500 dollars to have it replaced, I'll replace it.  You don't need it though.'  I backed off and thanked him for his honesty, but that I was confused by it all.  He walked me back into the shop where the car was hoisted and had me look underneath.  No evidence of a leak.  The frame was clean, the engine block was clean, the exterior of the oil pan was clean.  He even broke out the black light to show me that no UV dye was detectable.  I thanked him again, he brought my car out front of the shop, and we settled up for the oil change and his time.

He asked me to send him a photo of the cardboard in my garage when I got home, and I obliged.  I'm supposed to take my car back after putting a 100 miles on it.  He'll add more dye and hoist the car up again, but he is adamant that I don't have a leak.  While he didn't come out and say that the dealership was trying to rip me off, he did suggest that they weren't being totally honest.  Oh, and the $400 battery cables they tried to sell me because I had some corrosion on the contact points?  He cleaned those off and recharged the battery for $12.00...so, yeah. I won't be taking my car to that particular dealership for service of any kind again.

I'm going to check the fresh cardboard I put under the car when I got home for evidence of a leak.  If I see something I think I'm going to email the following Leo Kottke tune to the mechanic that worked on the car today...he has a pretty good sense of humor and he might even appreciate it:

Linkedin Fueled Random Air Force Story

A very strange connection recommendation came across my secondary Linkedin profile today, a name I haven't thought of since December of 1988.  I had to stop and do a double take because I didn't think there was any way possible that guy could still be alive.  By that guy I mean quite possibly one of the creepiest, strangest, and all around disturbing individuals I have ever met...and I have met and kept company with an assortment of strange people in my 43 years. 

I'm not going to mention that guy's name because it is a very unique name.  A quick Google search returned a 'there in one person in the United States named......' and it has to be him.  He hailed from the hinterlands of Wisconsin, somewhere near the Canadian border.  I don't remember the name of the town, and frankly, I don't care to remember.  Somehow he wound up in my Air Force basic training squadron, sleeping in the bunk below me.  That's how I made his most unfortunate acquaintance. 

That guy was the first person to get noticed at boot for all the wrong reasons.  He was tall, gangly, pale, and had these Marty Feldman like bugged out eyes.  His walk was more of a skulking glide and he sort of hunched over.  After he received his standard buzzers with no guide military indoctrination hair cut he resembled Nosferatu.  It was an unnerving resemblance. 

Due to our last names being next to each other alphabetically I had to endure standing next to him in a lot of lines.  He didn't smell right, giving off a sickly sweet odor that was unpleasant.  He didn't speak much, but when he did it was almost a stream of consciousness outburst or non sequiturs such as, 'I like cheese curds from home because it's so quiet there.'  Words fell from his mouth like dead fish being emptied from a net...lifeless and limp. 

During our in processing medical exams the nurse freaked out a bit because that guy's temperature kept reading low.  I think the highest temp reading they were able to get was around 96.5 or so, but a couple came in around 95.8.  That guy was then whisked away for further testing, but he was returned to our squadron by lights out...and then things really got strange.

That guy slept with his eyes about 3/4 of the way open.  The reason I know this is because he scared the living piss out of the poor airman from a more seasoned flight in our training squadron that pulled guard duty our first night.  He was doing his rounds and his flashlight caught that guys pale face with his partially open eyes.  The guard thought he was dead and kind of freaked.  I hopped down from my bunk and took a look at that guy and thought the same...then he made a strange gurgling sound in his throat and woke up and smiled in a manner that can only be described as unholy.  His smile was 80 proof nightmare fuel.  That guy explained to us that he sleept poorly and that his eyes lids fluttered open due to the bugged out nature of his eye balls.  We accepted this explanation, but then I had trouble sleeping knowing that a freak was staring up at me all night through unseeing sleep eyes.  Not. Good. Times.

When reveille played not so bright and early at 4:30 the next morning, that guy did not wake up.  As the rest of the flight scrambled to get uniforms on and bunks squared away, that guy just laid there like a corpse.  One of my fellow trainees asked me to shake him to wake him up, but to be honest I didn't know whether I should shake him or drive a stake through his heart.  I really didn't want to touch or be near him, but he wouldn't move.  Finally, after several pensive and tense moments, I reached out to shake him by the shoulder...but he leaped up before I had a chance to shake him.  He stood up out of his bunk as if nothing was amiss, dressed himself, squared away his stuff, and fell into formation...

The routine above lasted less than a week as that guy washed out in a hurry.  He couldn't do anything right, think Private Pyle from 'Full Metal Jacket', but vampirish and rake thin.  The drill instructors hammered away at him for an entire day, but he was incapable of responding to motivation of any kind.  At one point our DI stepped out of character and attempted to engage that guy person to person, but even that failed to get through to him.  It was the strangest thing I had ever seen.  A sense of relief swept through the flight when the DI announced to us that that guy had washed out.  I believe the DI was relieved as well...

To this day I don't understand how that guy not only got recruited, but passed physicals and MEPS screening.  He had no business joining the Air Force.  One member of our flight had met that guy before at an Air Force recruiting event in Wisconsin and said his impression of him at that time was that he was more or less normal.  What happened to him between that event and when we all were thrown together in San Antonio for boot camp is a mystery.  Perhaps he was stressed beyond belief, causing his blood sugar to plummet.  That might explain the deathly pallor, low body temp, and what not.  Everything else though was all him....

I won't be adding that guy to my Linkedin connections...   

A Kinda Sorta Great Wolf Lodge Review

We made our annual trip to the Great Wolf Lodge on Sunday as the girls had Monday off.  I always have a decent time at the GWL, mainly because I get to spend time with the kids in the wave pool and the various slides.  Jossy was an absolute trooper, conquering her fears of the Howlin' Tornado and mastering the lily pad challenge.  Maddy is still the cautious one of the bunch and Katelyn is rambunctious, but limited by height requirements.  Still, there was plenty to keep the girls and The Better Half and myself occupied.  The arcade is a blast and I loved playing some of the games with the family.  Winning tickets is secondary to the experience of it all.  Watching Katelyn and Jossy on the virtual roller coaster was hilarious.  The room itself was clean, the bed comfortable, the temperature just right...standard hotel fare, no great shakes but still more than acceptable.  The water park was clean as well, the lifeguards attentive and squashing all horseplay or shenanigans in the pools from getting out of hand.  

With all of the above being said I still feel obligated to warn families that have never experienced the Great Wolf Lodge.  There are...things going on there that you will never see at any other hotel or amusement park setting such as: 

- An abundance of regrettable tattoos on even more regrettable body parts

- An overwhelming feeling that half of the patrons won't be making rent next month as they used that money to fund a weekend at the GWL

- Packs of kids under the age of 10 wandering the hotel unsupervised playing a money suck of a game called 'Magic Quest'

- Shaky parenting bordering on abuse, the likes you will not see at Disney parks or Six Flags

- Sh*tty little kids trying to bully smaller kids by cutting in front of them in line

- Anything remotely resembling customer service, apathy rules the day at that place

The last few points are definitely worth expanding on as they are the more serious of my observations.  During our stay we saw one mom pin her child (probably around 6 years old) to the wall by his throat.  Had she asked for the whereabouts of the ambassador and missing Death Star plans I would have mistaken her for Darth Vader.  Lots of kids get dragged around by their various limbs, there is yelling and carrying on that is most unbecoming.  Not all the parents behave like buffoons, but enough do that it is noticeable.

Some of the kids are not cherubic bundles of joy either.  I tried to make it a point to walk up to some of the slides with the girls as there were several kids that pushed and shoved their way to the front of the line.  That behavior was met with some, uh, 'coaching' from me on proper queue etiquette.  The Magic Quest game compels kids to wander the entire hotel, running in and out of stairwells, ducking into elevators, and generally making a gigantic nuisance of themselves.  It's not uncommon to hear a gaggle of kids running up and down the hallways at midnight or later, slamming doors and carrying on as they run from one 'quest' to the next.  The resort supposedly has a quiet time that starts at 10:30pm, but it is not enforced.  It's also absurd that parents let their children run amok in a hotel with extremely lax security when it comes to entering the building.  Basically, any one can enter off the street and no one will say anything to them.  Only exterior doorways to the hotel are locked and can only be unlocked with a wristband/key, but we saw several propped open.  Unsupervised children and security best described as lacking is a recipe for disaster.  I've seen more stringent security at Chuck E Cheese...    

The front desk staff are all either severely under-trained or just don't give a woodchuck's ass about customer service.  The lines are slow, no one can answer a basic question, and God forbid you call down to the front desk to arrange for a late check out.  I have no idea what is so hard about extending a check out time by an hour, but the last two times we have stayed at the Great Wolf Lodge that request was muffed badly.  Even better was the combative front desk employee that wanted to argue whether or not I called down.  Be prepared to be underwhelmed.  Anything resembling competency is a win.

The Great Wolf Lodge could be an excellent experience with some tweaking.  Don't go expecting resort service from the staff or resort behavior from some of the patrons.  Bring your own food and bottled water as well, I wouldn't recommend eating on site as it is pricey and mediocre...but there is a Starbucks on the premises, so they do have that going for them. 

Mowin' Em Down

And so begins the Battle of the Weeds: 2013 - I mowed the lawn yesterday, the first lawn mowing of 2013.  There wasn't any fanfare or ceremony to celebrate the occasion, just a couple of yanks on the mower starter cord that was met with stony silence.  Apparently, I managed to end last year's mowing season without a drop of gas to spare in the mower tank.  Not a bad thing, unless all of your gas cans are also empty and you really don't want to make a run to the gas station.  So, what does one do?  He collects up all the gas cans in the shed and tips them upside down in an effort to collect enough in the mower tank to complete the job he started out to do.  And that's what I did.  I have a motley collection of gas cans and the bottom of each can held juuuuuust enough gas that I was able to eventually fill the lawnmower....kind of like how Mel Gibson filled the tank of his bitchin' muscle car in 'Road Warrior' minus the rough trade gay dudes chasing him around and a wolf boy with a razor sharp boomerang. 

While mowing the lawn I was able to appraise and assess the threat posed by insurrectionist weeds, mainly of the crabgrass variety.  Last year's war of attrition left an untold amount of collateral damage that is...unfortunate.  Patches of dead grass are the wages we sometimes reap when waging total war against weeds.  Scattered amongst the dead grass and burned out crabgrass colonies lay plenty of healthy grass blades, but I'm going to have my work cut out for me again this year as I noticed some new species of weeds I had never seen before.  Organic weed & feed isn't going to be enough....

To support the brave partisan grass blades, I put down a decent enough of organic lawn food.  Now, if you've never used organic lawn food please take heed - it reeks something awful...like a wood block used to clean fish and a compromised septic tank.  It's bad.  The lawn food also throws off a decent cloud of dust, so if you are using a broadcast spreader be prepared for the foul smelling dust to get all in your clothes.  Now, the lawn food works great, your grass will grow and be happy...just don't expect a deep green that comes from using Ironite or any product that contains a combo of nitrogen and ammonia.  Personally, I try staying away from Ironite because it will stain your sidewalk and driveway if you aren't careful.  However, nothing works better to give grass a deep green color...

As far as the weeds go, I'm not sure what to do.  I don't like putting non-organic stuff down on the lawn because the kids go out there barefoot in the summer.  The right combo of chemicals and next thing you know one of my kids turns into the Toxic Avenger.  Not good times.  Organic weed & feed is weak sauce as it doesn't really kill weeds as much as it tries to talk them out of growing.  It's completely ineffective.  I may have to hit the lawn with hardcore stuff early on before it warms up and then switch over to organic products later in the summer...or just have the whole lawn ripped up and cement poured to replace it.

I may have finally succeeded in killing my Meyer's lemon tree.  I forgot to bring it inside or under cover last night and there was a had freeze.  That may have been enough to push the poor little guy over the edge.  It was looking pretty sad when I got home from work today.  Yeah, it was sunny and unseasonably warm this afternoon, but a freeze is a freeze and citrus trees don't dig the cold.

Keeping this one short and snappy as I am kind of wiped out.  Had to write reviews last week, a task that always sucks the life out of me.  I hope this post met expectations....