The Angel of Death

Over the past week I have laid somebody off and demoted four others. This has not been a good week.

As I walk around, people look at me and hope I am not coming for them. The eyeball me and whisper to their coworkers as I walk by.

In the last week, this has gone from being a friendly comfortable environment to one that is hostile and cold.

So forgive that I have not posted lately, and will begin to post regularly again soon, but for now I must carry my spear to battle and hope not to get stabbed in the back.

New Word

Since everyone had such a wonderful time with bucket, I have decided we should continue our great fun with a new word and another deadline....

And the word is.... Pick-axe handle!

Good night Brett Stokes, wherever you are!

Not Dumbo, but the ears make it close.

Elephants have extraordinary memories. I, like them, rarely forget anything. So, as I have such a memory, it was not hard to not forget the 5/20 deadline for "bucket".

True, what I posted was not a true short story, but at least I produced something. Unlike other people, whom I will not mention.... http://kellell.blogspot.com & http://katoolish.blogspot.com.

And even though it has been well documented that I can not remember how certain words are spelled, I can remember a deadline.

Still, I would like to note that the gauntlet was thrown down, and the challenge unanswered.

I therefore bestow upon my self the title of Lord Bucket Bloggerspiel, champion of the Bloggers.

Everybody knows... That a place like Kokomo...

I have always had an unhealthy relationship with cars. I seem to be the same to cars as other people are to stray animals, Hopeless. Still, I had refrained from buying any new vehicles, well new to me, for quite some time. But that was about to change.

I had some success with selling things on eBay recently. I have cleaned out my closet and attic of old instruments and other such oddities and made quite a haul selling them. Naturally, the endless possibilities of eBay called my name. So with my newly earned fist full of cash, I started to scour the website for something. For what I did not know, but I figured it would let me know when I found it.

It took a whopping hour to find it... it was beautiful.... it was me. It was a 1954 International Pick-up. I e-mailed the buyer, but the auction was drawing to a close. I had to make the decision to buy the thing or let it go and hold on to my money. I had 23 minutes.............. obviously, I used my better judgment, and... Oh to hell with it... I bought the damn thing.

I got it for the bargain, $156. So all I had to do now was go get it... Where did the auction say that it was? Oh yeah, Kokomo Indiana. It's not that bad of a drive, really. We had just been through there a few months earlier for the family reunion, so I was encouraged. My loving, understanding, and beautiful wife was less so, yet she went along anyway.

It was simple enough, we would take off on Friday, pick it up and be home Saturday, nothing compared to some of the iron-man trips my Dad and I had taken in the years before. Becca, my wife, was not as keen on the idea as I was, nor was she excited about daring herself and our infant child across the western world for an old truck, but I had photos. I had pictures that showed that the truck was a looker. It has the old school style that with a little TLC, would easily morph into a nice looking street rod. I continually showed her the pictures and talked about how great the truck would look.

We took off on Friday afternoon and cruised up to Peru, Indiana. Peru is about 20 miles from Kokomo, and we had broke our journey there when we when to the family reunion earlier that year, so we stayed in the same hotel and everything. Of course, by the time we got there, we only stayed in the hotel for 5 hours before we had to head down the road. Interesting point here, Peru Indiana was once the circus capital of the US, Ringling Brothers name their headquarters there for 50 years or so at the turn of the century, pretty neat.

So we excitedly header towards our rendezvous, ok, I was excited. We stopped at the U-Haul place in Peru and picked up the trailer for hauling the truck, and slid over to Kokomo. All in all, the trip had gone well so far. The baby had great, as always, and Becca had been great company and quite the trooper. This was about to change.

We had a little trouble finding the guys house, as it was out in the country. When we got there, my less that glorious trailer backing skills showed themselves, so after 10 attempts or so, I had the trailer lined up and was ready to load 'er up. I had been really laying it on thick this morning about how great the truck was. Pictures don't lie, and I already had a color picked out for it. I got out of the Beast ( our Ford Excursion that we drove to pick it up) and strolled over to where the truck lay in wait. I remember it was a cool morning, and overcast on the verge of rain. I strolled up to the truck as the owner emerged from his house, and as I approached the truck, my heart sank into my stomach and I felt like I had been gut punched.

The truck was the biggest rust bucket I had ever seen. This guy must have been a professional photographer, because in all the pictures that I had seen, I saw no evidence of any rust. I looked back at Becca, then to the truck. I was done for. I had come all the way to Indiana for the damn thing, and now that I was here, I didn't want it. What was I supposed to do? Leave it there?

We quickly loaded it up and headed out. We stopped at a gas station down the way a bit to fill up and for me to further secure the Bucket, as we took to calling it. God bless her, she got out and took a look at it, she circled the trailer and climbed back in the Beast, and she didn't say a word. I asked here what she thought and she said "I like the color". She could have ripped into me for dragging he all this was for the Bucket, but she didn't, quite generous of her I thought.

Regardless, Indiana roads are rough, so our going was slow at first, the Bucket bobbing behind us. We stopped every hour or so to let the baby eat, and to stretch our legs. Everytime we stopped, I rechecked the straps holding the Bucket in place, hoping they would snap, and I could leave it where ever it landed. They could never trace it to me, I thought. My shame was growing each time I looked at the truck more closely.

We made it home without much trouble, I struggled with the straps and finally, after nearly giving myself a hernia, rolled the Bucket off the trailer and unhooked the trailer. When I came inside, Becca just smiled at me and said "At least all the holes made it lighter!"

I have since gotten rid of the bucket, it was not beyond repair, but it was far enough gone to continue shaming me, and not once has she thrown it back in my face... well, not until I got my latest car....

Engineering at its Finest

Almost everything around us has had some sort of engineer involved with it. The computer you are reading this one obviously has had an engineers touch. The desk it is sitting on probably has some man made materials and fasteners, the house which houses the desk. But what about the less obvious things.... Like a toilet.

Sure, John Crapper came up with it, but this is not your great-grandma's toilet. Today's toilets are engineers to carry thier burden on less water and with quicker refill times while being as pleasing to the eye as possible. A lot of though goes into your toilet, so I would like to give toilets some thought.

I have notice there are two main types of toilets, the commercial and the residential. Residential toilets sometimes show up in commercial setting, but almost never the other way around.

The commercial jobbers are tankless, and rely on the systems water pressure to swoop the foul away. This makes for a loud flush and a wet courtesy flush. Furthermore, commercial toilets rarely have a complete seat, mainly for us careless men to not leave puddles.... All in all, commercial toilets are fairly standard. They do very in bowl size and shape, but for the most part are all the same.

residential toilets, however, are a vastly different beast. Some are tankless, some are not. Most have the full seat, and come in a million different shapes, sizes and colors. It is in their performance that we will classify them.

First is the "wooshers". These are the toilets equipped with the latest in atmospheric pressurized guts, making it a low water volume, high pressure, high speed flush. No romance, just straight to the pipes. I find this flush unsatisfying as it often doesn't get everything and often leave streaks. Also, and disaster makes itself know too quickly to avoid. To me, this is the low end of the family.

Next is the "waders". These are high water volume, low pressure, low speed flush. These are the ones that make you anxious when you flush, as the bowl fills and fills and fills and fills until it suddenly starts to drain, taking everything with it. This one offers no chance for rescue either and offers too much chance for clogs.

Next the is the "swoosh". Which is basically opening the gate to whatever water is in the bowl and hoping for the best. This one is only marginally better than the rest, as it offers plenty of opportunity to rescue a flush gone a rye, however, like the other, it leaves you wanting... A second flush.

Finally is the king of flushers, the "whirlpool". This glorious flush pull the existing water while adding more into the bowl to not only pull the matter but push as well. This allows for a nice full volume flush and little chance of clogs. This is the superior flush.

Okay, somewhat vulgar, though enjoyable. But think about it for a second. College educated engineers who work for fixture companies have to define the process by which waste is evacuated from a toilet bowl. So next time an engineer talks to you like you are an intellectual inferior, remember that they belong to a society of people who design toilets.

We Troupe of Geeks

Funny thing... for the first time in recent history, my nuclear family spent sometime just the 4 of us. From that, I have realized we are a bunch of geeks.

I don't say it in a bad way naturally, as I am including myself, but some of the things that were discussed were quite nerdy.

Alas, that is who we have become. We are a isolated population. We removed ourselves from the rest of our extended family 25 years ago, and like the Galapagos, have evolved into who we are without much in the way of interference.

Mom laments that when we go to visit our relatives, we are never asked about our lives, instead we are bombarded with every detail of our kin folks. I think this is an obvious by-product of our evolution. We talk about things like (brace yourself) unconscious thought processes, human renal function, sociological differences in topographical layouts of cities, and ancient European history. Not that they can't comprehend those things, but we would likely bore the hell out of them.

Still, I continue to be amazed by the things that crop into conversation. I am further amazed by the fact that it is rare that one of us doesn't have something to add. Frankly the only time I don't feel like a geek is when I am in the company of geeks, my family.

This posting has been endorsed by the American Society of Geeky Peeps. Spell checking has also been performed. If you are proof-reading, please make sure that you use the spell-check function and check your grammar before leaving a comment.

The Bungee Cord Race

Yesterday, I took Haley to a Sounds game. Actually, she took me.

For each book she reads and passes a test one she gets a certain number of points, depending on the books length and difficulty. This year, she got 99 points, which was enough to get her in for free at a Sounds game and 1 point shy of going to a celebratory cook-out. It was also 1 point shy of getting her name on the plaque in the front hallway of the school. Regardless, not bad at all considering that most the books she reads are worth 1/2 a point. Not to mention that she read a ton of books that were not on the reading list, thus giving her no points. All in all I am quite proud of her.

So she and I went to the game yesterday, and before the game even started a man in a Sounds uniform and mohawk came and asked if I wanted to participate in one of the between inning games. I said sure and signed a waiver. At the end of the first inning we made our way down to the third base dugout and prepared.

In essence, the game was simple. Stand back to back in left field. 7 balls were put in front of myself and my competitor, after the starting gun, race to get the balls from the area in front of us and bring them back to the starting point. No sweat. Who ever get the most balls wins. Easy enough. Oh yeah, did I mention that we are bungee corded together and that cord on reaches half the distance between the balls?

Poor guys strapped to me. They said go, so I charged of. I felt alot of tension all of a sudden, then none. Apparently, when the cord had reached its maximum expansion, it was his foot hold that gave. Haley told me that I jerked his feet right out from under him. This continued until I got 3 balls, and while going for the 4th, I noticed alot more resistance. I looked back to see that he was on all fours, fingers dug in the turf. It mattered not, as I had a winning margin and the time was up.

It was cool to be on the field during the game, even cooler to see how proud Haley was that I had been. She seemed quite pleased when we returned to our seats and her classmates were a-buzz. It didn't matter that I felt like I was going to have a stroke. It was a good time.

We stayed until the game was over so that she could run around the bases. She seemed to enjoy that. I don't get to do much with just me and the kids, and I really enjoyed this. I took no camera, but I have the images in my head just the same. It was a good time.

I have been assured by the administrator of the spell checking program that it is working properly. Again, this document has been spell check and any errors are the fault of the spell-checker programmer and not of the author or the spell-checker program itself. And errors found in grammar or spelling in this text were intentional and used as a literary tools and should be considered as such. Furthermore, if you find yourself proof-reading blogs to look for such errors, pills are now available to cure anal retentiveness.

Turn Left at the Broken Brick Pillar

I have to admit, that the house that we bought was actually my third favorite house that we looked at.

The house I really wanted was out of our price range. It sits on 10 beautiful fenced acres, offers a quite beautiful view of the country side, and had 2 garages and a barn. Alas, it needed too many repair to warrant overspending.

The second house was in a new subdivision. It was beautiful... Not enough yard or garage though.

And that takes us to the house we ended up buying. We looked at 10 houses in all, and we chose the one we bought right after we toured it.

The house we bought is wonderful and I love it very much. It is a lot of work keeping up 2 acres and the associated gardens and such, but normally it is a labor of love... But not yesterday. Yesterday, we tackled the pool.

The drated pool. The 24 foot above ground pond nestled right next to the house and deck. The drated pool, that was crystal clear when we signed the contract on the house, but was dark green when we moved in. The damn pool, that last year never would give in to being swimmable. The &%$#! pool that took 14 hours to empty and scrub yesterday.

Yes, 14 hours. The entire day. At 8:30 yesterday I started draining the water from it. With a pump that draws roughly 4000 gallons of water an hour, it should have taken about 3.5 hours to drain it; an hour to scrub and vacuum; and the water could have been turned on by 12, in time to shower up and make our planned 1pm trip to mom's. The day did not go according to plan.

At about 10:30, I saw that the pump was struggling to move water through the bushel of leaves that had got caught in it trap. So I stopped the pump and cleaned it out. It was the second such time I had done this, so I thought nothing of it. This time, I couldn't get the pump to prime, meaning I couldn't get it to pull water any longer. For the next three hours, we tried to get it to start pulling again, to no avail. Finally, after bucketing it out was ruled out as impractical, we decided to explore other opportunities. We started 3 hoses siphoning and set out to purchase a submersible pump.

By now Mom had arrived and we went to Wal-Mart in hopes that they would have one... No luck. We swung by the house in time to meet the kids, loaded them up and ran all the way to T-Town to go to Lowes, which had one. Ran home, grabbed dinner, nad dropped the pump in the water... It was 6:30, 22 inches of water left.

At 8:00 the little pump that could had drawn as much water out of the pool as it could, which left just under 3 inches of water in the pool, roughly 850 gallons. So, with a 16 gallons shop vac, I sucked out the rest. This entailed inserting the hose, waiting a few seconds for it to fill up, then turning the vacuum of, dumping it and repeating... Roughly 50 times.

When we finally got to the last 1/4 inch of water, we scrubbed the walls with bleach water, scrubbed the floors in the water that had come of the wall and vacuumed it dry... And clean.
Turned the hose on and put up the power tools.... It was 10:30.

Though I did most of the grunt work alone, I did have my thoughts to keep me company. In them I found a pearl of wisdom.... If you have enough money to have a pool, you have enough money to pay someone to take care of it for you.

This morning as the crystal clear water was filling my pool, I felt some satisfaction at a job well done, but couldn't help but wonder what else I could have done yesterday. I don't even like swimming that much.


Again, this document was spell check and any errors are the fault of the spell checker program and not the author.

Emmet Otter

With the challenge freshly issued to fashion a story that fits in a bucket, I can't help but think of my favorite bucket story "Emmet Otter's Jug band Christmas"

Ok, so it was a wash tub, these were otters, so to scale it was a bucket.

If you haven't seen it, you should. It is a Henson version of the "Gift of the Magi." at least that is how I take it.

Kermit even makes an appearance.

I am a fan of the guy playing the jug, and of course the Riverbottom Gang.

This leads me to a comment on the great disparity of quality television for kids when I was a kid and that which my children watch. When I was little, every Saturday morning, I would get up at 6am, park myself in front of the TV, and watch about 4 hours of great cartoons and kids shows. In the week day evenings we had more cartoons and some live-ish action things, like the "Muppet Show".

Today, there are no good cartoons on Saturday morning, only cheesy kid directed sit-coms and some really lame Anime. The evenings are even worse, more sit-coms and lousy attempts at variety shows.

I am truly afraid that the next generation, the generation of my children will not understand the concept of Cartoon Physics. They will not the know the joy of waking up long before anyone else to sneak into the living room. Turning the TV on and madly jamming the volume down button, finding the first cartoon of the morning, Popeye in my case, grabbing a pack of Ritz crackers and gluing yourself to the TV for the first half of the day.

Some would argue that letting a child watch that much TV is harmful. To that I say, at least everything I watched was clearly fictitious. There was no live action, no real actors on my shows. Nothing that could be mistaken for reality, although I did eat spinach for most of my childhood in hopes that I would get strong even though I didn't like it.

Of course, if that is the worst thing that I picked up from my time in front of the tube, I will take that anyday. Shameless animators encouraging kids to eat thier greens.

This posting has been spell checked. Any errors there in are the fault of the spell checking program and not of the author.

Doing my Blog-Duty

Apparently, I am the only one still doing this on a regular basis....

As I am the one holding the torch I feel I should write something.

I think I have come up with something that will keep each of us posting, at least once a week. Years ago we wrote stories about a randomly selected word. "High Chair" was our last, I think. If memory serves, Kelly wrote a Science Fictionish story about a man on a watch tower who's relief never came, or something to that effect. NeeNee wrote about a doll's high chair that brought back child hood memories and I wrote some perspective farse.

We also did rubber band and a few others before the habit faded.

I challenge all of us to take this habit and display them via our blogs. Every two weeks or so, more often if you like, we can post the current effort. It will be easy enough to write it in Word and paste it into a posting.

So, with the gauntlet thrown down I say to you May 20th and "bucket".

Alone in the Wilderness.

Dick Proenneke went into the Alaskan wild with little more that a canoe full of supplies and a will to not just survive, but thrive.

With his tools he cut down trees and built a very nice home, complete with hinged doors and shuttered windows. A hand laid fireplace warmed the home and hand made furniture decorated and accented it comfortably. He even made ladels and spoons to eat with.

He also took the time to build a loo, a garden and a nice little place for himself, thank you very much.

He also spent a lot of time hiking and taking in the countryside. He watched bears catch salmon in the streams, moose and caribou graze in the valleys and all manners of birds soar overhead. He fished and hunted as well as gardened and gathered for most of his food, and was content just having enough.

Too bad life isn't like that anymore. Generations ago, it was the goal of every man to be self-sufficent. To have enogh land and enough knowledge to grow your own food, raise your own meat, build your own barn, and fashion your own life. In today's world of out-sourcing and contracting, this is a lost ideal. And I feel we are the worse off for it.

It is rare to find someone well rounded anymore. You don't have to be a specialist in everything, but it is frowned upon to be a jack of all trades in these times.

My Dad has a qoute out of a book that he kind of keeps as a mantra, "Specialization is for insects", with this is a list of things you should be able to do. I agree that there are some thing you should have to learn whether you like it or not.

In my adult life, I have needed to use advanced algebra exactly zero times, however I have had to cook countless times. Somehow though, in my school career, I was able to dodge home ec, and not advanced algebra. Does that make sense?

I have needed to know the anatomy of a squid and the proper names for the components of that squid exactly zero times, however I have needed to know how to fix my car countless times.
Again, able to dodge auto mechanics, and not advanced Biology.

In years gone by, there were trade high schools. Places where you could go learn how to frame a house, weld, fix a car, machine metal, or make a cabinet. However, over time these places have come to be looked at as places where less gifted children go to wait out there time and enter the world less knowledgable.

The Romans rebuilt the world in thier image by using thier army as both warriors and builders. They were not too proud to get thier hands dirty, and thus built some of the most amazing structures that survive even today.

Enough ranting for today...

Think about Dick and his simple life when you eat a steak that came from a cow you have never seen, with a side of potatoes from a state you've never visited, and an ear of corn that came from a field in a different time zone covered in butter churned hundreds of miles away, which you washed down with a beer brewed in Missouri.