Family Time

My apologies for not being around this past weekend; did I miss anything?

This weekend was taken up by a tradition we started last year of a weekend-long family get together. Not the whole family; just the siblings and Mom.

We sort of realized a a couple of years ago that the siblings were not able to interact as siblings anymore, even when we were able to get together. Spouses and kids, and grandkids were all demanding of our time, and we felt it was important to chillax and be just us for a while.

We rented a lake house for the weekend, didn't plan anything but meals and started arriving late Friday afternoon and were all there by early Saturday afternoon. All, save one. One sibling had a sudden emergency crop up and couldn't join us- an absence we felt all weekend- but we started the party on time, with her blessing.

The first thing we did Friday when we arrived was to start eating. We stopped eating Sunday at 3:00; so we could start cleaning up and preparing to leave.

We pushed the dishes out of the way on Friday night to start playing games, and quit playing at 3:00 on Sunday too. Card games, board games (but nothing standard; no Monopoly this weekend) and some games that would almost fit a Dungeons and Dragons mold. But not D&D!

We played games, we ate, and we talked. Old stories were reshared, new memories were made, and we laughed. We laughed at what others said; we laughed at what others did; we laughed at old jokes and new (a Roman walks into a bar and holds up 2 fingers and says 5 beers please; and we laughed. Go ahead, figure it out).

We spent, for the most part, 48 straight hours never out of sight or ear shot of each other. 8 of us. If there was a cross word in the group I never heard it.

And the weekend ended too soon. One sibling had along drive; 2 more had responsibilities at home to spouses and young children, and there was a cleanup and straightening to do, and a Monday to prepare for.

Sunday was like growing up again. Each sibling left the lakehouse like they had home; one at a time, for different reasons and different destinations, and each departure left a hole we struggled to close.

And then we went around closing up the house; checking for locked windows and doors, closing blinds and checking faucets, until the last one out shut off the last light and locked the door behind them.

And just like when we had left home years ago, our paths diverged.

But for a while, for a weekend, we were just Mom and the kids.

So Much for That Nostalgia Trip

Friday was St. Valentines Day. Yes; this whole roses and chocolate and rings male guilt trip got its start with a Catholic Saint. They have dropped his title for the mass marketing, and even the Roman Church doesn't seem to claim him/them any more.

But for some reason his day seems to have become associated with love and romance. Like everything else retail touches the real reason for the special day becomes over shadowed by the various and sundry ways to make a buck. I, in some perverse way, often wonder why the mattress industry has ignore this obvious marketing tie-in, and has hitched their February sales wagon to dead presidents instead.

But I digress.

My point was going to be Friday night. One of our local on-air digital stations carries ME TV, a vast compendium of good TV. Meaning, of course, that this is the stuff we grew up with; Gilligan's Island, Hogan's Heros and F-Troop. All day Saturday black and white Westerns; Raw Hide, Bonanza and of course, Gunsmoke.

Friday nights at 8:00 they have a movie. Usually it is a Made For TV Movie; basically an hour and 30 minute long TV episode. Plus commercials; always plus the commercials.

On Valentine's night (if the Church has dropped the honorific, I guess I can too) they showed 4 episodes of 'Love American Style'. Some may not remember this show; it went off the air in 1974.

But 40 years ago it was a popular, but somewhat risque, show.They had the audacity to show men and women IN The SAME BED. And these people weren't even married! 40 years ago what they were showing was barely in the bounds of good taste, as performed, in true TV anthology style, by a whole series of actors and actresses passing each other on their respective ways, up and down the ladder of success.


You may recognize the format; "The Love Boat' used the same format (and the same 4 stories) a few years later.

The four stories is very nearly accurate and not just snark; Mistaken Identity; Mistaken Fact Set; Romeo/Juliet Syndrome and The Breakup, all of which lead to True Love. Yep; that about sums it up.

But again, I digress.

I was looking forward to Friday night; I hadn't seen this show in 40 years. 'Love, American Style' hasn't been syndicated to death in the cable era, like so many other old shows. I was looking forward to some new, fresh nostalgia.

Yeah, well; about that anticipation.

Maybe they chose the wrong episodes. Or maybe- and more likely- these were the best they could find. Risque? I've seen commercials more risque. Commercials for things like waffles and hamburgers. If fact, some of the commercials I was subjected to during the show were more risque than the show itself.

But it was than made up for by the stilted writing and 1970's fashions.

OMG! Yes; people really did dress like that. Take a look at any 1970's high school yearbook; that will prove it.

It will also prove that yes, Virginia, real people wore their hair like that too. On PURPOSE.

And yes; real places were decorated like that too. And, no, I have no idea how people fell asleep in a fluorescent lime green bedroom.

There are somethings I suppose that shouldn't be revisited, and are best left in the pleasant mists of nostalgia.

It would just be nice to know which is which before the pleasant mists dissipate and leave the cold harsh light of reality in their place.

Big Winner, or Bigger Loser?

My Dad collected coins. Not in a Coin Collector manner, with sleeves and gradings being on the 'hunt for that special 1957 "D" quarter to complete the series' style, but in more of a 'see it; keep it' style.

One of the coins he was always on the look out for were Bi-Centennial Quarters. These were the first of the specialty coins, like the State Quarters that followed, or the Jefferson/Lewis & Clark nickel. They were only issued one year- 1976- in honor of the 200th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.

At one point he found a bank in the shape of a Bi-Centennial Quarter at a yard sale and bought it just to keep his quarters in.

Ever since his death almost 11 years ago I have been getting Bi-Centennial Quarters in change on special occasions. I freely admit I don't use cash much anymore, so the occasions to get actual change back are rare. But every so often I will take the opportunity to get a few bucks from the bank to spend instead of just swiping the card.

It was 11 years ago, the day after Dad died, that I got a 1976 quarter in change for the first time in a long time. They had, at that time, been out of circulation for almost 30 years. A little over a year ago, day after my nephew was born, I was on my way to the hospital for my first visit. In my change; one of these special quarters. The day my son got married I received a Bi-Centennial in change.

They never seem to show up on regular days, just days when it seems like Dad wants to say Hi.

Yes, I know how crazy that sounds. It took me a while to recognize the pattern, and even longer to accept it. Because it does sound crazy.

I took a couple of statistics classes in college and in one class we learned to figure odds. Well, more specifically- in my case anyway- the instructor was up front, babbling about how to figure odds. None of it stuck; it involved algebra.

But anyway, what are the odds of receiving in your change, which will never amount to more than 3 quarters, a coin of a specific year? And what are the odds of that coin being one that hasn't been minted in over 35 years? And what are the odds of that coin, of that specific year, being received in change on a day of special interest to the recipient? And then have that happen on multiple occasions?

Even mathematically it sounds crazy. You would have better odds of winning the lottery.

Which brings me to last Tuesday. I stopped at the gas station to fill up and buy some lottery tickets. Since you cannot buy lottery tickets with a card- at least that's what I was told on several occasions- I stopped and got cash for the gas and the lottery tickets.

In my change I got a Bi-Centennial Quarter. February 11th isn't a special anniversary, and it was just a normal Tuesday; nothing special. So why the Quarter?

When I woke up on Wednesday morning I knew what the reason had to be.

On Tuesday I must have purchased a winning lottery ticket.

I believe I did anyway. I bought tickets for both MegaMillions and Powerball drawings. And as of today I haven't check the numbers.

One of two things has happened; either I have hit a jackpot, or an 11 year streak of special gifts has come to an end. I am either a very big winner, or I have lost something that I have considered special.

I will know in the end. I will see a bus placard that shows the new jackpot amounts; or a news report on a winning ticket sold locally for a recent drawing that remains unclaimed.

The one jackpot was over $200 million; the risk reward/ratio is pretty big. Did I win the enough to be set for life, or have I lost my last connect with Dad?

Now you know what they mean when they say something is priceless.

Remembering When

Memory can sometimes be a fallible thing. What we recall as Gospel truth may be just a figment of our imagination.

Not on purpose, but because things remembered are usually remembered to our best advantage. For instance, I remember the winter of 1977-1978 being the coldest, but it was actually the year before that we set the all time low of -25 degrees. How could my memory have failed me?

Probably because the Winter of 77-78 affected me personally, and because 35 years later things like that tend to run together. Like when you remember a Christmas when you got several things you absolutely remember getting because of the joy they brought you.

Then you drag out the old pictures to prove it, and find out that those toys came over the course of several years, and not all at once. The pleasant memories enjoyed each others company and congregated together, forming one memory, instead of several.

Does that mean all memories are wrong, or at least incorrect?

I don't thing so. As has been pointed out several times, we will always remember where we were when we heard the news on 9-11, or of the Challenger explosion, or of JFK's assassination. Or remember that feeling of standing in front of our families and friends and saying two simple words.

The important, life-changing events are usually etched indelibly into our memories.

Unless you are John Kerry.

The famous 'Christmas in Cambodia" incident isn't really a fair comparison; since the life changing event never happened, the memory was bound to be faulty.

There are certain things I remember about the day my first son was born. Like the trip to the hospital; the several conversations I had with her doctor, in the hallway, outside my wife's room discussing the issues she was having and the various ways to work around them; the risks and rewards associated with each.

And making decisions; decisions that would affect the life and health of both my wife and unborn child. 

I also remember the delivery room. And I remember the Doctor calling out a time of birth.

But I don't remember the time.

Memories are funny things.

To Make a Short Story Long

Last night we had Cincinnati Chili for supper. Over spaghetti; with onions. And beans; don't forget the beans.

Typically we also shredded cheese and oyster crackers too; a true Cincinnati style 5-way. Apparently while she was out shopping my wife picked up the chili spice mix, the beans and the spaghetti, but missed the crackers and the cheese.

Not a problem in this day of instant communication. She calls me and lets me know we are having Chili for supper; bring home some Cheese and Crackers. Kroger's is on the way home, I have money in my pocket; why is this a long story?

Here's why this is a long story.

When I was young Friday was Shopping Day; just like Monday was Wash Day and Tuesday was Ironing Day and Wednesday was..., well, you get the picture.

Mom and Dad would go shopping on Friday after supper, and when they got home, after the car was unloaded and everything stored away, it was time for a snack. Snack on Friday nights was Cheese and Crackers. Usually a Sharp Cheddar and Ritz Crackers. The cheese came in a foil wrapped block, and had to be sliced first. ANTICIPATION!!

I don't know why Cheese and Crackers is a favorite snack of mine still. Maybe its the cheese; loads of fat and protein. And loads of taste, because of the loads of fat. Or maybe even then this was a sign that the week had ended, and the freedom of Saturday was fast approaching. Or maybe it was because we could eat our Cheese and Crackers in front of the TV, in the living room. Everybody gathered around the plate of carefully sliced cheese and half empty roll of golden brown crackers, set up on Dad's footstool.

Anyway, on Friday I get a call to bring home Cheese and Crackers. For Chili. Simple, right? Well, part two of the story: There is also a chili, cheese and crackers connection. My Grandma made chili that was sweet- my sister has the recipe and does a great batch as well- and Dad would always eat his chili with Ritz crackers and cheese.

So there I am in the store, on a Friday, picking up Cheese and Crackers for Chili. So I pick up a box of Ritz and- SCORE!- a pound of Sharp Cheddar is on sale for five bucks!

ANTICIPATION!!

The Chili is ready when I walk in the door. The family has been eagerly awaiting my arrival so we can eat the Chili that has been simmering all day, filling the house with the wonderful smells of cooking spices and meat.

And they were expecting shredded cheese and oyster crackers. D'oh!

I'm blaming the wife. She said "Cheese and Crackers", not "crackers and cheese".

More proof that words have meaning, and should be carefully chosen.

Where I Have Never Gone Before

Ever since I got Netflix a few years ago I have been slowly working through the Original Star Trek TV series. Right now I think I have 2 episodes left. It is easy to see why the show was so popular in certain circles.

It is also easy to see why there was no season 4.

First; the popularity. I yet to find an episode without a half naked woman. This has to be the sexiest show on TV in 1967. Every show also had at least one fight sequence, usually hand to hand, but occasionally they would just 'blast away' at each other. And, in the era when we are just starting to send men into space for a few days trip to a celestial body we could see nightly, The Enterprise was traveling at the speed of light to places we could not.

Despite some classic episodes, the writing is very uneven. Somehow the story lines in some cases either haven't aged well or were junk 45 years ago. In one of the last episodes appear the Space Hippies. Was there some well-received social message in 1968? Maybe. But if there was it was long gone by 2013.

And then there was the physics.

Why is it that most alien planets seem to be able to violate at least one law of physics? Or maybe in the future we will be able to repeal some of Newton's Laws? Except that it always seems to the lack of a law of physics that enables the aliens to be a step ahead of our intrepid crew.

Either that, or the super computer built 200 years ago that has been powering the planet (without maintenance, to the point where the inhabitants don't even know of the computer's existence) that gives them their power.

Each episode also followed the 1960's formula; balance the drama with a bit of humor, throw in a musical number or two occasionally, and a fight scene every week whether we need one or not.

In Season Three they added the philosophical musing. I don't know if they were trying to go in a different direction or felt secure enough in their audience to become preachy; and these musings are preachy.

I haven't become a pure 'Trekkie'. I can't tell you the author of every episode or go into the reason why Spock pushed the wrong button on his science console in episode 6 of season 2.

But I can tell you that Spock and Kirk drove a 1928 Packard V-12 in the episode where they run into a planet full of aliens who acted like it was 1930's Chicago.

But that's cause I'm a car guy.

Still, over all the series has held up well 45 years later. The dialogue is sometimes a little stilted, and you can tell they used the very best cardboard for some of the sets. AND WHY DOES EVERY DAMN THING ON THE BRIDGE HAVE TO CONSIST SOLELY OF FLASHING LIGHTS!?!?!?!?!?! That, and the noise the redlight below the view screen seemed to make I would been stark raving nuts before the end of season three.

So maybe that's why there was no season four....

A Few Good Movies

I watched a few movies on Netflix over the last few days, and although they are genre-wise about as far apart as you can get, they all had a few things in common.

And of course, they were all good stories, competently told.

Sunday a week we watched Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang. Yeah, I know what your thinking. But why do we classify some movies as 'Kids Movies', even though they tell a good, watchable story? Just because they fail to include bare breasts and profanity? Two things that very seldom add anything to the scene or the story.

Of course there are occasions when profanity adds to the story. Yesterday we sat down and watched Planes Trains and Automobiles. Again, a good story, competently- and hilariously- told. There is one scene that, as described by Wikipedia, Steve Martin drops the 'F'- bomb 18 times in one minute. The plot of the movie and the preceding action absolutely required the profanity. In real life, in a similar situation I think the Pope himself would have dropped an 'F'-bomb or two. And the Rental Car Agent's response; simply classic. One of the best scenes of the movie. And, it was the ONLY profanity in the movie, adding to its effect.

Saturday night I sat down and watched McLintock!, an old John Wayne Western. Maybe not as politically correct as some might require- the various scenes of men spanking their women come to mind immediately, along with the frequent drunkenness- a very funny story results. Along with a little commentary on the worth of the political class. A fist fight or two, including a long brawl at the mud pit of a mine, a few minutes of rodeo action, and it all culminates in a 10 minutes chase scene through the entire town.

And last night I was searching Netflix for some thing to watch and saw Force Ten from Navarone. Another good story. How can you beat Harrison Ford fighting Nazis?

Perfect relaxation movies. No demanding plots to follow; no twists and turns to keep track of; no hidden agendas to be mindful of. Just a good story, competently told. And, except for the prior noted exception, no nudity or profanity. you can gather the whole family together for a couple of hours, and the plot and dialogue don't preclude some conversation while your at it.

Like a little action? Check. Comedy? Check. A little suspense? Check. Why is it most modern movies seem to think they can't do several things at once? A suspense drama can't have a few comedy bits; a comedy can 't have a suspenseful section or a action flick has to be all action, all the time. Maybe the directors today aren't as competent as their predecessors, who could move from directing a comedy this year to an action movie the next.

Maybe that's why Hollywood is going into the tank. First they can't find a good story, and then they can't find anyone who can competently tell it.

Countdown to Christmas- C-Day-1

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. In my minds eye I can see Santa and his helpers making their last minute preparations; feeding the reindeer; polishing the harness and the sleigh; making sure all of the packages are accounted for and the famous red suit is back from the cleaners. Elves running  every which way; dealing with last minute details and making sure Santa's yearly trip goes off without a hitch.

Similar arrangements are going on at the homestead, but not on a North Pole scale. We will be loading up the front wheel drive sleigh ourselves in a couple of hours and heading off to a couple of parties, and I am trying to get my old iPhone to load my Christmas music so I can use it like an iPod during today's festivities. But it's not going well.

I dumped the iPhone for a Droid about a year ago- one of the happiest days of my life- and I haven't messed with the cussed thing much since. I had forgotten how much of a PITA the thing is. With the Droid loading music is as easy as drag and drop. The iPod has to 'SYNC'. And it can only sync music in the iPod format. So, if you didn't buy a song from Apple or rip the CD using iTunes it has to be converted to the WMA format before it can be synced. Oh, and loading all of Christmas music means I had to wipe out the music that was on the cussed thing to start with, and after Christmas I need to go through this again to restore the music I had on there in the first place. Anyone who believes this is a good system probably has never been introduced to any other.

I know I promised no bad news until after Christmas, but I had to rant about that frustration, and add that Friday night I was talking to a group of iPhone 5 users, all of whom were crabbing about short battery life. SUCKERS!

And what little snow we had has melted, and none is forecast until the 26th, so no White Christmas this year, which isn't rare. This area has only had 7 White Christmases in the last 40 years. My memory says that ain't right, but it could just be that snow at Christmas creates a better memory than a rainy one.

Well; except for one year.

I think it was 1966. Every year on Christmas Eve we would visit my Mom's parents up in Reading Ohio; about an hour ride or so. The eating and gifts would last late into the evening, and then packing the car with kids and presents would take another half hour. we usually hit the road about 10:00 and I was asleep by 10:02.

For some reason this year I was wide awake and watching the cars we passed on the expressway and watching the rain fall. We came up beside a bright red 1967 Ford Falcon station wagon; the entire back end crammed with toys and wrapped presents. as we drew up next to the drivers window I saw the driver's full white beard and red suit; yeah, it was him. Santa took his eyes off the road long enough to see a very wide-eyed young man staring at him, and then took one gloved hand off the wheel to give me an admonishing finger wag.

I was asleep before we passed his hood ornament.

For some reason ever since I keep my eyes open for red vehicles on rainy Christmas Eves. But I've never seen him again. I guess we each only get one chance to catch Santa on his rounds. I had mine almost 50 years ago. and still remember it like it was yesterday.

BEER!

I'm not sure how to take this article. Part of it is fact; part is conjecture, part I know to be false and part is He Said WHAT?

And I tend to see a bit of anti-business bias; well, the author does write for the Atlantic and lives in New York. I am assuming City, otherwise they would have said State. I have never heard of the Washington Monthly before, and some of its other promoted articles seem to have a bit of a leftward tilt. At one point our author refers to the 'Reagan regime'; that right there sounds like a commie buzzword to me.

But still, the article is worthy of review; if for nothing else the brief history of corporate brewing shenanigans. He does give a fairly complete history of who bought who and who joined who to bring us to our current sorry state of national brewing.

Oh, and I disagree with almost every one of his conclusions.

Basically, the author, a Mr. Tim Heffernan, seems to believe that the entire world is about to become alcoholics because of a flood of cheap beer, and uses England in the 1980's as an example. Well, I was in England in the 1980's, and my experience was completely different than the facts stated in the article.

Mr. Heffernan talks about cheap beer in the supermarkets. If there was, it was after I left. Nothing was more expensive that a 6 pack of English beer. A pint of almost anything in the pub was a Pound/Pound and a quarter; around 2 bucks, depending on the exchange rate. At the off-sale a 6 pack was about 8 Pounds; 16 bucks. A case of Michelob on base was about $9.00; a case of PBR (cans) was $5.00.

Maybe things changed after I left; I don't know. For some reason I lost interest in the cost of British beer when I quit drinking it.

And then our author drifts into the use of law to control alcohol, and fondly looks back on Prohibition (pardon while I pause for an involuntary shudder) as the only reason, almost 80 years after its repeal, that the entire country isn't full of drunken stumble-bums.

He also seems to believe that every law passed to control the use of alcohol has been co-opted by the brewing industry, so that its final result is nowhere near the intent of the law's design. Never mind that very few laws actually do exactly what they were intended to do, right? Well, except for the law of Unintended Consequences.

According to the author's conclusions, Anheuser-Busch InBev and MillerCoors control about 94% of the beer market, by owning or controlling the distribution of every beer but Sam Adams and local brew-pub down the block. And it is this control that will allow them to turn us all into drunks, by selling us cheap beer. For the record, I have been known to turn down even free Budweiser. Pay me 6 bucks a can and I might be tempted to have one or two, but only if I am allowed a couple of Dunkels in between to cleanse my palette.

But I digress.

Our author also attacks the English system of brewery owned pubs. When I was there a few years ago (early 80's if you must be specific) there were three types of pubs; Brewery owned; Brewery affiliated and Free Houses, that could sell any brand of beer. The pub would include that information on it's sign; 'The White Hart- Green King' or 'The Bird in Hand- Free House' Some of the Brewery owned places I remember visiting were just stores for the beer; brightly lit, antiseptic, uncomfortable places to drink beer. Usually a newer building, they were the corporate interpretation of a pub.

The affiliated pubs were nicer. Usually older- in a country where old is a thousand years- and well-kept, they were great places to have a pint. As long as you enjoyed the products of that brewery. Green King was a big East Anglican brewer, and a lot of the locals were Green King at the time. I recall liking a pint or two of their Light and Bitter, a mix of a light lager and a darker Bitters beer. But ask for a Carlsberg and you're out of luck.

The Free Houses were a mixed lot. Usually they were less well kept; one; because of the lack of brewery support adding to the profit margins, and two; because they usually attracted a younger, more raucous crowd.

Personally, I think there a lot to be said for the practice of a vertical monopoly. Each step in the distribution chain takes a little profit out of the process; if all steps are owned by the same entity, then that little bit of profit is rolled into one bit of profit. For instance; assume Coors brews a beer, and makes a penny on each can they sell to a distributor, who makes a penny on each can they sell to a bar, who makes a penny on each can they sell to a customer; total of 3 cents added to each can. If Coors sold the beer to the customer, they could still make their penny, and the customer saves two cents.

Face it; there are two trains of thought in this country; One; you are an irresponsible lout, and the only thing keeping you from a life of intolerable errors is the government controlling every aspect of your life. The other side of the coin says we will make all sorts of things available to you; your use or abuse of those things is your responsibility. Personally I am a member of Camp B.

Our author is most definitely a Camp A person. I would think that a flood of cheap beer would be a plus for the country; especially since we are facing a second Obama Administ.... 'Regime' (hey; sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, right?), where as he seems to believe we couldn't handle cheap beer without sinking into alcoholism.

Remember how I said I disagreed with almost all of his conclusions? Well, I do agree with his conclusion that having only 2 entities controlling the entire brewing industry could be a bad thing. Which is why I drink local craft beers every chance I get. To much control in too few hands is always an issue. And what if MillerCoors fails somehow; maybe though a Union strike?

I might have to quit drinking beer.

In Today' News

Yesterday I had to buy a new desk chair. I didn't want to buy a new chair, and thus help enable Obama's economic recovery, but I was forced to. See what happened is this.

There I was Friday night, typing assiduously away on my blog post, and I leaned back in my chair. That caused the air piston to break out the bottom of its seat, down in the wheeled base of the chair and push through to the floor. since my weight was 70% behind the piston, it had the force advantage, and pushed me over backwards. One minute I am typing away; the next I am laying on my back, in my chair with my feet caught up in the knee hole of my desk.

I had no idea what happened or why. None of the kids were around- that would have been my first choice, blaming them- and whats worse; none of the kids were around, so I was kinda caught. It took a minute to wiggle around enough to get my feet out of desk, and then roll over so I could stand up. That's when I saw the air cylinder rod poking 18 inches out of the bottom of the chair.

Just so we are all on the same page, most modern desk chairs have a gas pressurized cylinder, like the ones that hold open your trunk lid or hatchback on a mini van, inside the base. This is what makes then adjustable. Usually the piston is bolted to the bottom of the wheel assembly, and the seat rides on the bottom of the cylinder. pulling on the lever on the side of the chair allows some gas to escape from under the bottom  of the piston to above the piston, so the chair will lower. Pulling the same lever with the seat empty allows the gas to go below the piston, raising the seat. Okay; that's probably more that you really wanted to know about office chairs.

So yesterday I went shopping. Wal-mart had a good deal on a chair. Like I said; I didn't want to buy a new chair, but my other options were a metal folding chair or an old bentwood chair with a 10-inch round seat; neither were really viable for long term sitting, like the hour or so I need to create a post.

I'm still not comfortable in my new chair. I had the old one better than 10 years. We were old friends. Evey paper I wrote for college was done in that chair. Most of my blog posts were written there as well. I spend a lot of time at my desk when I'm home; working from home on some occasions, or just writing and reading from the internet. That chair is custom fit to me, after 10 years of use. The new one; eh, not so much. But it might fit better eventually. After 4 or 5 years of use.

But you see what finally motivated me to contribute to the Obama Economy; I literally had to be knocked to the floor before I would spend a dime.

Yeah; It's Been That Kind of a Day

Yesterday was a day of complete rest. I guess I still hadn't recovered from the long weekend I had last weekend.

Or maybe I'm coming down with something. Half the people in this house are sneezing and the other half have a hacking cough. I don't have either.

Yet.

I did mange to get a bit of writing done, so that's something. Not that I was really happy with it. What I wrote is very workman like; it gets the story across, but not the emotion I want. It is good enough for a first draft, but now I need to go back and make the words dance. I can do it; I have faith in myself.

Speaking of faith, I saw a sign tonight on the way home advertising a Tent Revival. I just wonder how many folks will show up, and what the age range will be. I would guess the audience (congregation?) will be 90% women; 75% over the age of 60 and 100% devout, or at least intending to look that way. A church I pass on the way home had a sign up at one point that said "Church isn't a museum for saints; its a hospital for sinners". I have to agree.

The problem any more is too many people don't recognize they are sick I guess. I suppose I could be defined as one of them. I have never lost my faith in God, but I sure have lost my faith in Religion. I don't believe the selling of indulgences has ended; just taken a different form; almost like your faith in God has something to do with your dedication to the Religion.

That might be the other part of it. Religion is a Community, and a Community is made up of people. You can't just pray on your own; you have to become a part of the Community. Sorry; not a big fan.

Kind of like working from home; you are just as productive, or more so, but nobody can verify that you actually worked as hard and long as they did, so it doesn't count. To them anyway.

And the same folks that will smile, nod and shake you hand in the Pews, will run you over in the parking lot.

But such has it always been so, right?

But then an organized religion does have benefits. Time honored rituals and practices; ancient prayers murmured countless times by countless generations; the same procedure as old as time itself, provided you are using the Roman calendar, and the idea of Anno Domini.

I forget what book I was reading, but a couple of characters were talking about the concept of magic, and the idea that previous generations may have been able to perform spells; something the current folks can only dream about. The second character responded that each age gains a little knowledge, and loses a little knowledge; who can say what we have gained can equal what we have lost.

I say that knowing I am not the only one of my generation to have lost a faith in religion. The problem is now how to pass on the faith in God, without the rituals.

Reminds Me of The Good Old Days

I was looking for something to blog about tonight, and was having trouble. So much to talk about, but then, so much of it is horrible. Iran and their nuke program; Israel, as the target of said nuke program; Obama and...., well, Obama and anything he says or does is horrible.

So I went some of my 'Feel Good Sites'; like Sippican Cottage; The Duffel Blog and Sippican's companion site, The Borderline Sociopathic Blog For Boys.

That's where I found this video.

I'll have to admit I have done a few engine changes in my time. I have even done a few swaps, where we took out a V-6 and dropped in a V-8, or pulled a small V-8 and dropped in a honkin' big one. Sorry; went back to my old days there for a minute.

My sister had a VW Bug that required what seemed like constant maintenance. My brother and I had it down to a science. We could drive the bug into the garage and have the motor on the work bench in less than 10 minutes flat. But I have never done an R&R (remove and replace) on an engine in 42 seconds.

Wow. But then, I never did any of my engine swaps with a squad of Royal Marines.

And none of my swaps were on a specially prepared car, like this one. But that being said, this is still an impressive display of team work. And they may be able to drive that car, but they wont drive it far. No Radiator, no coolant, no transmission grease. The 10 meters they drove it is probably the limit of its distance; any more than that and you'll be sweeping up pieces of it.

I am trying to think about what would be my favorite engine swap. I guess it would have to be the one we did on the 1977 Lincoln Town Coupe.

Dad bought the car with a bad motor in it; a 400 big block with a spun main crank bearing. But the car was beautiful. Black, with a black leather interior, and every option Lincoln offered, including the factory CB radio.

We happened to have a 429 laying around from a 1969 T-Bird we bought for parts, so we through a few gaskets on it and dropped it in the Lincoln. This thing went from a 166 horsepower 400 to a 390 horsepower 429. Yeah; we doubled the horsepower. But then, this car weighs about 4200 pounds bone dry and empty. It was a flat dog with the 400. I mean a SERIOUS dog; I got beat off the line one time by a school bus. A FULL school bus. Being driven by a nun. Okay; that last part was a bit of an exageration, but not by much.

I think she was actually a former nun.

But, I digress.

Afterward, we had a sleeper. A sleeper is a car that doesn't look like it is fast, but is wicked fast. Like a 400 horsepower, 4200 pound Lincoln. I wish I had a nickel for every Honda that was expecting a snail, and ran into a jackrabbit at a traffic light.

I miss the good old days, when a weekend a couple of bucks would be all you would need to swap an engine. Now it damn near takes that long to disconnect the damn wires.

Well, maybe not that long, but a damn sight longer than 42 seconds.

A Busy Saturday Morning

This morning I am sitting on my back porch, listening to the rain hit the roof. I like sitting on the porch in the mornings, drinking my first cup of tea and enjoying the waking world. Usually I can watch the birds flitting about on their birdy business, and watch the squirrels run along the trees.

But today the weather has kept them indoors, or at least they're not playing out in the rain.

The weather almost kept me in as well. It is about 60 degrees, and when the breeze blows it feels a little chilly. But I have my tea to keep me warm. And the battery from my laptop.

I like a covered porch. Like this morning, I can be sitting on the porch swing, watch the breeze shift the tops of the trees and see the rain hit each leaf as the drops head to the ground; feel the cool damp air and feel like I am a part of nature.

While being dry and comfortable. Better than camping out.

It took me all summer, but I finally have Morning Glory blooms. I don't see them most mornings; I'm always in a rush to get to work by the time I leave the house. No time to stop and see the Glories. There is most likely a metaphor there, but if there is I'll let you work it out.

But this morning the rain has dampen their spirits some. each bloom is hanging down, and not stretching out to reach the morning sun.

I planted them late, around Memorial Day, which explains why I didn't get my first blooms until almost Labor Day. I also must have been mistaken, or planted the wrong variety. I believe my Dad had some Morning Glories planted on the sunset side of the house, and they would open in he evenings, when the full sun hit them. Mine are on the sunset side of the house. I was hoping to have a grand display of blooms every evening, while I was rocking on the porch with a cigar, and enjoying the end of the day. But, it didn't work out this year.

Really, otherwise, why plant a flower you can only enjoy 2 days a week?

Sunday Night at The Fair

The Sunday before Labor Day is always our day at The Fair. I say THE Fair, as if there is no other fair in the world. Around here, The Fair is more important than the State Fair, any other County Fair, or even a Worlds Fair. When you are asked in Campbell County if you are going to The Fair, everybody knows what you mean.

The Alexandria Fair and Horse Show has been running since 1856. It was cancelled 3 times in it's history, during The War, in the 1860's. It's still pretty much the same. The horse shows run all 5 days, and are  prime draw, and make The Fair unique. Other Counties have demolition derbies or tractor pulls. The Fair has a world class horse show.

Outside of the Horse Show, The Fair is pretty much like any other fair. A dozen rides or so, the hustler games lined up outside the rides and the food booths. And Beer; gotta have a few cold beers.

The food booths are as varied as the people at the fair. Over here you can get hot dogs, brauts- with sour kraut and horseradish-and hamburgers and cheeseburgers. In the mood for Chinese? Around the corner, next to the Pizza trailer. Philly cheese steaks? A couple of booths over, between the booth with the big alien drink containers and the one selling deep fried everything. And I do mean everything. Deep fried Twinkies and Oreos? Old hat now. Deep frying has gone healthy. How about a serving or two of deep fried green beans?

Yep; deep fried green beans. They taste like a deep fried onion, but look kinda like a french fry. Proof I guess that you can improve the taste of anything by deep frying it.

Last night was a typical Sunday night at The Fair. We usually go on Sunday night because of a competing event down on the River that draws most of the idiots. It makes the rides more accessible and the crowd is a little more genial. Last night we were able to take my grandsons for the first time to The Fair. They couldn't wait to hit a few rides and play a few games. They each caught a fish at the Fish Pond, and took home a stuffed Elmo, and rode the Merry-Go-Round twice. Number 1 and his Dad took a ride down the Big Slide, and it was hard to tell who was grinning wider; My Boy, or his.

They were just starting to go up for a second ride when the rain hit. a light sprinkle at first, so we abandoned the rides and went to find shelter in the Beer Tent, and then the Grandstand. The rain wasn't too bad, but all of the sudden we got hit with the remnants of Issac. Wind started blowing tents over, and started driving the rain up under the roof of the grandstand. Luckily the wind quit before the hard rain fell. Buckets of hard rain. It was time to hit the road. Through superior planning on my part we were close to the gate we parked near (it is also close to the beer booth; what can I say?), so we sent the too oldest boys out to fetch the cars, and we bailed with a minimum fuss and rain.

It wasn't quite a regular The Fair night.  We didn't see any of the Horse Show (the picture is from a few years ago), and missed stopping for a pair of Funnel Cakes on the way out. And we were home in time to watch The Fireworks in TV. The Fireworks are a lot like The Fair; we have the only ones around.

But that is another story.

I Have Some Favorite Comic Strips

And of course they are old strips. The Far Side; Bloom County; Calvin and Hobbes. I guess you can see the similarities, if you have ever read any of these strips in the paper.

But we are now in the digital age; some strips are available on the internets. One that I get to read everyday is Calvin & Hobbes.

Just in case you aren't aware, the strip tells the stories of a young boy- age indeterminate, but probably around 8- and his stuffed tiger, Hobbes. Well, actually, Hobbes is only a stuffed tiger for the rest of the world; he is a real tiger to Calvin.

It is usually Hobbes who has created the havoc that gets Calvin in trouble. Well, except for the trouble Calvin gets into on his own. Calvin is an only child; for very obvious reasons. Calvin will occasionally conduct a poll of the children in the house (Calvin) and warn Dad that his popularity is slipping based on, among other things, his support for an early bedtime. Dad usually takes these pronouncements in stride, aware that a coup is unlikely, although Calvin will usually threaten one.

Yesterday's strip was a classic:

You can almost hear the chorus of "Been There, Done That" from the readers.

Something I did not know, until a few days ago, that the creator of Calvin and Hobbes is a native Ohioan; is a graduate from Kenyan College, and also has a Cincinnati connection.

It seems that when Bill Watterson did a stint as the Editorial Cartoonist for the Cincinnati Post back in 1980. He didn't last too long; just his six month trial period, but I'm going to call it a blessing. Had he left a mark as a Political Cartoonist, he would not have developed a favorite strip of mine.

At that would have been a real loss.

Friday Night At The Movies IV

Last night I was looking for a movie on Netflix and found an old TV show instead; Highlander.

Its 20 years old now, but still interesting; the three episodes I watched last night held up well. My basic requirements were met; a good story, convincingly told.

In case you're not familiar with the premise of the movies and the TV show, our hero is Duncan McLeod; he is 400 years old, and one of a collection of immortals roaming the earth. There are good immortals, friends of his; and bad immortals, usually one an episode, who loses his head. Literally.

It seems you can kill an immortal, but the only way to make him stay dead is to cut off his head. So every immortal carries a sword with him- or her- everywhere. Just in case he happens to run into another immortal who needs to lose his head.

I know, stated like that it sounds cheesy, and could have been if handled differently. The shows I remember were always well done, and had the extra bonus- for me anyway- of telling the back story of the immortal that Duncan would meet in each episode, usually from a couple of hundred years ago, when the two immortals had first met. You can make a lot of friends (and enemies) in 400 years.

I remember the show ran in syndication on on Friday nights, about midnight. The kids were asleep, FINALLY, and the week was about to close. A good time for a little escapist fantasy TV.

Who hasn't thought about living forever? Other than the whole losing your head thing, it seemed like a good gig. Who cares if it takes 10 years to perfect a skill? What's 10 years out of 400 or so? Think of the things you could do in 400 years, especially if you were in your physical prime.

So last night me and the wife relived a little past. It wasn't like it was 20 years ago. The kids weren't asleep; they were out running around somewhere. And it wasn't 1:00 when were turned off the TV and went to bed; it was more like 10:30. Okay; it was 10:15. But in my defense, it had been a busy day.

So Highlander is now in my instant queue; all 119 episodes. So I figure I'm good for the next 2 years of Friday nights, assuming I live that long.

I'm not Immortal you know.

Cars I Have Known VI

There is a line in the beginning of the movie A Christmas Story where the Narrator describes his Dad; "Some men are Baptists; other Episcopalian. My Father was an Oldsmobile man."

When I was a kid my Dad was an Oldsmobile man. The first car of his I remember was a 3-way black 55 Olds 88 4 Door sedan. In 1964 we drove that car to Disneyland, from Cincinnati. That trip is an upcoming series of posts.

It was shortly after that that Dad bought a different car. It is my earliest memory of a new car. In 1965 he bought a '60 Olds Wagon. White, with a grey top and grey interior. Man; what a machine!

The Speedometer. Anyone who has ever ridden in a '60 Olds remembers the speedometer. Instead of a dial an needle, it had a straight line graph and bar that ran across the bottom. From 0 to 50 it was a green bar; when you hit 50, the bar turned orange, and at 70 it turned red; fascinating to watch when you're 5. My Grandma- Dad's Mom- always in the  back seat, passenger side, and would start hollering Slow Down; Slow Down when she saw the bar turn red. On the highway the bar was usually red.

And there is nothing like a big Oldsmobile for a smooth ride. I remember going to visit my aunt and uncle, down a gravel lane, and not feeling a bump. On the highway, it was living room smooth, except for when I was bouncing around in the back seat.

But it wasn't all roses. The Olds 371 big block was known for cracking heads. and so did ours. Dad was able to squeeze another week out of it while he found a replacement motor, and Friday night on the way home form grocery shopping he stop by the Tool Rental and picked up an engine crane. As we pulled into the driveway the motor died completely. we had to push it the next morning the last 70 feet into the garage. Dad worked on it all day Saturday, and finished it up Sunday afternoon, and Monday morning drove it to work. Ah; the good old days!

We ran that car for years; from '65-'70. by then it was showing its age, and Dad found a good deal on 1966 Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser wagon, and he sold the '60 to my uncle, who ran it another couple of years before the engine blew another head, and it went off to the rest home.

But I can tell you that car made an impression on me. I will always associate Big, Fast and Smooth with Oldsmobile, and in particular the 1960 Wagon.

The one in the picture was for sale not too long ago.

It sold for over $22,000. I guess I'm not the only one nostalgic for the old girl.

Nostalgia Ain't What It Used To Be

First; I have no idea why the picture isn't right side up. I changed it; saved it; reopened it, and it was right. I load it into Blogger, and it's wrong. Must be a Blogger thing.

At any rate, (oh yeah? how about 12 and a half percent? (Sorry; that's an old George Carlin joke I just can never resist)) the other night I had glass of New Wiedemann.

I made a special trip down to Newport to Pompilios, just for a cold glass of the old days. I wasn't the only one. The bar was packed, and I saw a lot of glasses with the New Wiedemann logo on them. You would recognize Pompilios, if you have ever seen Rainman. They filmed the scene where Raymond counts the toothpicks in the dining room just off the bar.

We finally got a spot at a table in the bar and I ordered the first glass of Wiedemann I have had in probably 6 years or more.

And I was disappointed. Kind of like the picture above; you could recognize it but it just wasn't right.

First sip told this was not a real Wiedemann. The beer I remember always started real smooth; ice water smooth, especially if the beer was real cold. This beer hit you with  flavor from the beginning. it was a strong flavor, and since I wasn't expecting it, it was a bad taste; almost skunky. Old Wiede-pop would always leave your tongue with a bite; like a flush of something bitter, that would fade faster than it came, and would disappear before the end of the second can. This beer finished flat; it kind of just ran off your tongue and disappeared.

It wasn't all bad; the beer was the right shade of pale, clear yellow, and wouldn't have developed a head if you shook it like a pair of hot dice; all old friends. New Wiedemann also had a different mouth feel; almost like it was a thicker brew, which is possible. It also left me with a dry mouth feeling after half a glass; something I never got with Old Wiedemann.

All in all; it was not a bad beer, just not the beer I was expecting. It also seemed a bit pricey; 5 bucks for the 20 ounce glass and $4 for the 16 ounce.

Back in the day, I could get a pitcher of Wiede-pop for 2 bucks, and a gallon to go- bring your own jug- for $3. Those were the days. a group of good friends, sitting around a fire out in the field, swigging cold Wiedemann from a gallon jug and watching the sparks from the fire rise to join the sky full of stars.

I was hoping Wiedemann's return would also bring back those nights too, I guess.

Maybe I was expecting too much from a couple of glasses of beer.

Well, You Start Here, and Then Go There, And Then...

I have blogged before about how one thing leads to another. Train of thought- pun intended. Well; I'm doing it again.

Today I was reading a legal description for a piece of property in Fayette County Kentucky, and part of the property ran along side of the tracks for the CNO & TP Railroad.

The what? I asked myself. What was the CNO & TP Railroad? Well, It is the Cincinnati- New Orleans and Texas Pacific Railroad. Formed in 1869, it is wholly owned by the City of Cincinnati. The only intercity railroad owned by a municipality. Ain't that a kick in the head? There is a lot more information at the link, But apparently the line has a certain amount of notoriety to rail buffs, or as they are sometimes called, Foamers. That is an interesting story in its own. Do an internet search for Railroad Foamer video.

But, I digress.

I was doing a little more searching, looking for more info on the CNO & TP RR (TP; Considering Cincinnati's Procter & Gamble, a TP railroad kinda makes sense) I found another page, NKY Images; full of hundreds of old pictures, including some on the now familiar CNO&TP RR.

Including one old newspaper article about a car on the railroad tracks of the CNO&TP. The things you can find on the internets!

What is really interesting about this article is that it talks about the horseless carriage killing the horse, and now it's setting its sites on the Iron Horse. That was truer that anybody in 1924 knew, I would suspect. Not that personal cars would soon rule the railroads, but there is a technology hidden under the hood of this vehicle that is 80 years ahead of its time for cars, and 30 years to early for the railroads. This thing is a hybrid.

And, it wasn't the first one. There is a hybrid manufacturer even older. Back to my old friend Jay Leno's Garage, and his Owen Magnetic.

This was the technology that did kill the Iron Horse Steam Locomotive. All modern locomotives are diesel electrics; the drive wheels are each driven by an electric motor, and the electricity is created by a diesel powered generator; just like in a modern hybrid, and in our early iron wheel automobile.

Another thing too, while I am on this newspaper article. I love the way it is written. If newspapers were written like this today they might still be making money. Which reminds me; the money line in the article: 'by an over enthusiastic devotee of Bacchus'.

The author used this line, knowing that most, if not all, of his readers would know who Bacchus was. I'll bet you could read this article to an honors English class in any high schools and they would not be able understand a significant portion of it.

Yet in 1924, this was puff piece.

Yeah; we have come a long way.

Nostalgia Road Trip Anyone?

You of course remember the other day, when I mentioned how sometimes the littlest thing sets off my nostalgia engine for things Air Force related?

Well, a mention of North Dakota is a previous post had me pulling up a Map of Lakota, ND. I have been to Lakota. I stopped there for snacks and soft drinks when ever i was in that part of the Missile Field. You kinda had to; there was no place else to stop for 30 miles in any direction.

Anyway, pulling up the map to see the distance between Grand Forks and Lakota had me checking the route; straight along Highway 2; right past Larimore.

I may have stopped in Lakota several times, but I spent almost every other weekend in Larimore for awhile. I had a friend who lived there, and we would spend either Friday or Saturday night at his place when we hit the local bars. If I remember correctly, at the time there were two in Larimore; The Red Dog Saloon (founded 1901) and the Larimore Improvement Association (The Imp). This was back in  '78-'79.

These two bars were next door to each other, and actually had a communicating door, so if you caused too much trouble in the one, they threw you out through the communicating door. Hell, it was 20 below outside; throwing a drunk out there was a death sentence.

The interenets is a wonderful thing. Larimore still exists. No surprise there. The Imp still exists too, as does the Red Dog. I remember the Red Dog as being on the south west corner of the main street- Towner Avenue- and The Imp being next door,  just to the south. Google Maps street view confirms my memory; right at the corner of West Front Street and Towner Avenue in downtown Larimore.

Who knew? So much has changed in the world in the last 30 some odd years. It's nice to know somethings have remained the same; right down to the PBR sign out front.

I wonder if a 30 hour road trip is too far for a couple of beers?