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Last Updated : Sunday, 8 December, 2002 at 10:05 PM -0500
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| Daynotes On a Budget Hosted By... Last Updated : Sunday, 8 December, 2002 at 10:05 PM -0500 |
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Monday, December 2, 2002 |
Good Morning
You're fortunate. An unexpected lockup (aren't they all?) destroyed a long, rambling rant with little cohesion, positivity (is that a word?), and in general, usefulness.
This job hunt has worn me down past the point where even panicking would help, I think. Last Sunday's want ads had a measly four that made it past my first screen (in the first hundred words of the ad, which is the short form they barf up, does it look A) remotely interesting, B) like something I can do, C) Something I'd want to do, D) Something I would like doing, or E) something that I can do until something better comes along.
I'm not sure what the job-seeker version of that is - I know we had a word for girls like that in high school. And, quoth one comedian, "you know what we used to say about those girls. Yeah, let's date 'em!" I think desperation is perhaps the closest I'd come to an accurate description, though it fails to include the physical and mental exhaustion.
Of course, the world helps not at all, either. This morning's snowfall, our third or fourth of "accumulating" variety, has the feeling of "I'm here, and I'm not leaving until March" type. Which is why I brought out the trusty shovel, removed the stickers, and did the sidewalk and driveway. Then I brushed off the car. Hmmm... Small problem with scheduling, that.
And, of course, just to piss me off before bedtime, last night's 10 pm news had a bit about a piece in the Washington Post discussing "parallel courts". From my reading of it, it seems that the fine folks in Washington have forgotten the lessons from World War II when we took a bunch of citizens and locked them up based on eye shape. Clearly, they communicated too well, and now Gulag Ashcroft will be built in Montana somewheres (that, or Wyoming, to thank them for the gift of Dick "Bum Ticker" Cheney to the Bush-Cheney ticket) to store those evil citizens of ours who have run afoul of the Government.
Should I suddenly disappear, say nothing, and act casual. Odds are they're watching you, too.
And of course that came on top of Bush's $11 billion budget cut - cutting the cost-of-living increases for federal workers. How nice. "Oh, by the way, the economy sucks, and so does your paycheck. Bend over, you're taking one for my team." Right. Didn't Congress recently get a pay raise? I know the President's salary recently doubled (then again, what's he need it for? MP3 players? Not in that White House, of course).
Then the fun starts with Michael Jackson. Frankly, I read that article and wondered "just when in the hell did he actually move back from weird into what we might be able to stretch the definitions of 'normal' to fit?" Sheesh. If he's finally abnormal, well, I think I got out of the boat on the other side, thanks.
Speaking of boats, I've got a friend on a cruise right now, and with all the cruise ships getting the flu and all, there's another source for worry... What fun.
Oh well. There's the world going to hell in a hand cart and me whistling on the side of the road. Frankly, I'd be tempted to pee on the road to decrease the friction quotient, and increase the speed at which some of the folks in that cart get down to the warm stuff... But then again, I hear Hell has excellent road maintenance. They just never quite finish the construction, is all...
More later (consider that a threat if you'd like), once Mr. Cranky-pants gets off the back of my neck...
Well, THAT was fun.
Ever moved about 500 pounds of lumber and hardware by your lonesome? All at once? Well, I've done it. It ain't fun, though.
Got Rhiannon's loft FINALLY positioned where it will remain (much like the pyramids). Started messing with the ladder, which was rapidly eating my remaining mathematical and trigonometrical knowledge before I tossed in the towel and relied on the age-old tried-and-true method. Dry fit. Put it against the loft, scribe it, cut short of the scribe marks, check, file it down, check, and done. Not too shabby...
Long Days
Well, I'm closer. Not yet done, but closer.
I've upholstered the sides of the "stair/ladder" going up to the loft. It'll also help to hide the screws into the steps. Once the ladder's done, I can put that on the loft, remove the box spring, move the bed up there, attach the railing, and we're committed. Once those steps are complete, I've got the desk to install (about a dozen screws), a couple of square shelves to cut (another two dozen screws), some short 2x4 supports for the shelves, and we're done.
Almost Forgot
I was happily watching Harry Potter yesterday when I found a blast from my past. It took almost thirty seconds before I recognized Sigfried, but yup, he were there. In the movie, even.
Now, I'm expecting at least one comment from one party, and they know who they are.
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Tuesday, December 3, 2002 |
November, what a month...
My son frequently asks "is it winter yet?" Well, I dunno, Jack. Single-digit temps this morning, snow on the ground, and you needed a new coat because you blew out two teeth in the zipper. Must be.
But the insanity doesn't stop there. The searches were plenty weird around here, too...
Number/Word/Comment
4 THE Nope. Never used the word the before. Except in that sentence.
4 iomdisk Short version? Problems with Parallel port Zip Drive on Dell Laptop running Windows 2000 Pro. Never solved it. Sorry.
3 operated Uh, what? On people? Nope.
3 sys Oh, right. Probably part of the IOMDISK thing above.
3 quad As in heater? I could use one. Also went to school in one.
3 bike Huh? Got one, haven't used it much yet. Need to get a bigger seat or a narrower ass.
3 battery Odd these two occur in a row like that. If they were sorted alphabetically, I'd understand it. But if someone's looking for a "bike battery" I think they're in the wrong spot. Like this planet.
2 clothing I often wear it. I'm not overly concerned about it. Does that help?
2 BOBBITS You are sick, sick people sometimes, you know?
2 The Well, if all caps don't work, try mixed case, I suppose...
2 purchase We do that. Entirely too much.
2 CASE No, Mixed case. Unless you're talking a case of beer, in which case, move over...
2 Of Right. Search on a common word. That'll get you ... just loads of hits. Am I missing the game?
2 jeff No idea. Got a cousin Jeff, worked with a few, had a friend Jeff in grade school. Probably doesn't help.
2 Attack What? Specifically?
2 Gordon Nope. Me John. You Confused. Though you look neither serene nor Asian, I guess... Well, some of you do...
2 Clones Hush. In my basement laboratory...
2 Vinkings I think you mean Vikings - or as we spell it around here, S-U-C-K. It's simple
2 stink Oh. I see. You understand, then.
2 pay Me? Certainly. I accept.
2 OF No, OFF. As in Get OFF It...
2 min and max.
2 McCombs Old Red McCombs, the owner of the Vikings, and a real fine sports genius if there ever wuz one. How someone can take such a talented group and wring such a lousy season from them is something I just don't get. Of course, I would have killed Randy Moss with my bare hands when he got pulled over for stupidity, etc.
2 bombs Oh. I see. Stink Bombs. Some pervert is looking here for making stink bombs? Sheesh. And I thought I had no life...
I'll skip the rest. It's just weirder than the above.
Ah, Windoze...
What irritates me more than anything else about Windows is it's flaming inconsistencies.
For example. I'm using Windows 98 on my current machine (easier to keep it running than eXtremely exPensive, and a whole lot less brain-dead). Now, I fire up Notepad. The bottom-feeder of editors, three steps above Edlin (remember that monstrosity of an abortive nightmare? I used to have to use it when there was nothing else available. I hope the guy who wrote it is still breaking rocks in a prison somewhere - that, or his stock options are and remain under water). I pull up File, Open. I get a file list from the My Documents folder. I go up one, and end up on the desktop.
Then, I pull up Wordpad - the "not quite but almost Word" tool, right up there at a step below Word in the Microsoft Editing Pantheon. I do File, Open. Get My Documents. Go up one, and I'm at the C: root drive, rather than the desktop.
Sure, there are half-a-million chimpanzees banging on this code, but for crying out loud, Notepad's at the My Documents shortcut on the desktop, while Wordpad's just in the My Documents folder? Sheesh. Clearly, crack-addicted monkeys deprived of chocolate sauce wrote some of this stuff. That's the only logical explanation I can think of. Resorting to illogic would hurt me too damned much to be worth the effort, thank you very much.
A Brief Word From The Other Half
No, She has not returned to posting yet. As it is Year End at her office, she explained this evening why the stress is somewhat multiplied. She has about seven different documents to get out - a total of ninety "books" (three ring binders, some two and three inches thick with graphs, data, and exhibits), seven meetings to prepare for (some are all hers, some her boss plays but a bit part), and seven different presentations to compose. And they're doing it with one less person this year than last, and it's quite, quite stressful.
So yeah, she's alive, but just treading water at this point (if you can call it that). This should all let up somewhere around the 18th of the month or so ... Just in time for her mom to return, and Christmas to invade. Stress? We don't need no steenkeng stress.
And, For Good Measure
Mrs. Beland failed me, but as is common in any large group, someone else came through like a shot. Mr. Bilbrey, who has not seen the new Potter movie, nailed Robert Hardy's appearance as some official or other who comes away to take Hagrid to that prison-place (lacking the book, I'm not even going to guess. I can spell Turkmenistan off the top of my head. Azkhaban? Who knows). Of course, he reminds me of the remainder of the cast of All Creatures, including Carol Drinkwater, whom I had a serious crush on. Not serious enough to try "bangers and mash" of course, but serious, nonetheless.
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Wednesday, December 4, 2002 |
Ugh.
An Early-Start day at school today. Most of the district gets a "late" start today, at 11:30 am. Our school said "say, if you aren't using those buses, could we?" and was told "Certainly!" Which, unfortunately, means everything's an hour and twenty minutes earlier this morning. Well, not "everything". Ann hopped a bus at 6:30 am, which required that we leave the house about 40 minutes early. The kids are moving slower than normal, as am I, so that's not good. But they will make their bus, Rhiannon will have her "long" day, plus basketball last night, plus church choir tonight, plus a choir concert tomorrow (she's missing basketball), plus a slumber party on Friday/Saturday, plus her basketball tournament starts Saturday, plus a potential birthday party Sunday... Sheesh. Poor kid. 
I'd best go see what they're up to. The bus gets here in 15 minutes...
Zoom Went That Day
Just like that.
I typed the above at something like 7:30 this morning. The bus arrived, right on schedule, at 7:45 am. I returned to the basement to work on Rhiannon's loft, and the phone rang. And rang, and rang, and rang...
So far, I've got about six hours of work on consulting in today, in addition to a follow-up to the construction we did last weekend - a finish to the job, and my partner in crime on that one is picking me up at the unholy hour of 6:30 am Saturday - absolute evil, you ask me... We'll finish up that job (mostly interior trim, exterior trim, and the hanging of the storm door), and head back home before 11:30 am, as he has a retirement party to get to. Fine by me. I've got sleep to catch up on. If I'm allowed.
And the consulting gig is getting deeper and deeper by the day. My buddy's problems have grown to a point where he's going to end up switching network providers soon. Currently, he's using Qwest (hawk, spit), and his connection is ... well, wobbly, at best. It will occasionally ball up on him for no apparent reason.
This is disturbing as it's the connection between two widely-separated offices. The ability to hop from one to the other is critical. So they need that connection. When it fails to work, he fails to work.
But, with a little help from my friends, I think I'm gonna get that straightened out too. A bit higher cost up front, cheaper costs long-term, and I can't imagine him not being happy with that prospect.
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Thursday, December 5, 2002 Happy Birthday, Mom! |
What Fun, What Fun...
Where to start?
Let's see. We got a half-inch of snow yesterday morning, compared to the technical term "bucketfulls" down in the Southeast, where The Thompsons and Bilbreys are located. There is something oddly disturbing about being behind in the snow totals this early in the year. However, we've got a couple thousand plows just waiting.
Yesterday's snow wasn't all fun, of course. Over by Shakopee, a nearby suburb, an SUV driver lost control of his vehicle, and somehow (I'm not entirely clear on the details) managed to carumph into a regular old four door sedan. The driver of said sedan is now the late driver of said sedan, said driver of the SUV is, at last report, in critical condition. Upon recovery, said SUV driver will state "Thank God I had my SUV, it saved my life" and promptly purchase another one, not acknowledging that it was their likely loss of control of such a large vehicle that caused the accident in the first place. Lovely. It used to be the survival of the fittest and smartest, until the nitwits could afford large vehicles. Now it's survival of those in the big vehicles. How fun.
And then we have Governor Goofy making the most of his last few weeks in the limelight, thumping his chest loudly (he decided not to go to Louisana for some state function because his wife was ill - I'm guessing he didn't want to share the opportunity for seeing his bald head on the news again), and saying "Not My Fault" when pointing to the state's current budget woes. Over the next three years, the state of Minnesota is projected to drop four and a half BILLION behind in cash-flow, unless something's done.
Governor-elect Pawlenty, who ain't got paw-lenty of sense (sorry, I know), signed a "no new taxes" pledge during his campaign for governor. Now he's going to try to balance the budget without raising taxes. Simple hint, there - we have a state sales tax. We don't tax most foods, nor clothes. Seems to me the smart thing to do would be to drop BACK to the 4% sales tax, and apply it to everything, including services. The state would easily make up the shortfall, and the tax burden would be much easier to calculate. Of course, as a "new" tax on clothing and food took effect, many in this state would complain. Of course, they'll complain when services are cut, when the state's #1 employer lays off thousands, (and the state's #2 employer, the federal government, seems likely to cut back as well), and when they need help. Bread and circuses. You can't cover a debt that's liable to add up to $1000 per person in the state (yes, my family bill would be $4000) in three years without raising revenue sources. Cut services, cut overlap, outsource where reasonable, but let's not fall into the trap here of saying "well, we don't want to pay for it" - otherwise we'll end up swapping places with the folks of the great State of Mississippi, where about 2% of the state's college graduates can spell "I graduated from a Mississippi university" correctly.
And then we roll into the international scene, where Saddam says "cooperate" and Bush says "no, don't give the weapons inspectors that intell, as if they have it, we won't be able to point to it later after we bomb it." Sheesh. I know the deck is stacked and frozen solid here against him, but you almost have to feel sorry for Saddam. I think "screwed" is a pathetically inadequate word for what's about to happen to him, even if one assumes a lack of lubrication involved.
And then, to top it off, this morning we flirted with negative territory, temperature-wise. I started the car, warmed it up, and as is the test, shifted the vehicle into neutral, drive, and reverse. All good. Then the assorted cast of characters arrived, and the shift re-frozen and I was unable to get it to shift for about six key minutes. Those minutes are called "key" because they meant we missed both early buses (7:19 and 7:22), and either had to drive Ann to St. Paul or wait for the 7:53 bus. No, waiting was not an option.
Neither was the "just hold it" selection. Rhiannon felt poorly last night prior to choir practice, and stayed home (we watched "Reign of Fire" and it was very good, in my opinion). This morning, about halfway to St. Paul, she said she felt sick. I pulled over, and she decided it wasn't quite the moment she thought it was. Rather than have to ride the shoulder of the freeway the rest of the trip, I pulled the baggie off the newspaper (quick thinking there, eh?) and we proceeded on our merry way to Downtown St. Paul, where I pulled up just past a snowbank, and Rhiannon, with lots of shrieking and groaning managed to do what she'd threatened to do - into the bag. Ann added snow (at my request) and we proceeded home.
Once home, she cashed out on her bed, and I started re-arranging my day for computer stuff in the morning and loft work in the afternoon. Whereupon she came out and asked if she could go to school. She has a concert this afternoon for her schoolmates and tonight for the rest of the riff-raff (parents), and "didn't want to let [her xylophone stand-in] down". You see, he's just not as good as she is (in her opinion, with which I heartily concur). So I got things moving, and then remembered. As we came in the front door, she decided that the spirit was once again upon her, and with the big phone nowhere nearby, she'd rather kill Ann's "Live-Forever" (we'll see if it stands up to it's billing next year). Of course, as she was ill, her aim was less than stellar, and a fair portion - well, most, actually - landed on the bottom of her coat.
Said coat, deposited outside, was then left to freeze the "uck" to be brushed off. Silly me, I'd forgotten that while it works sometimes, the actual method I'd been attempting also required vacuum to freeze-dry the "uck" to be brushed off. Silly, silly me. So, at 10:40 am, I tossed her coat into the washer. I had an hour and five minutes to wash and dry the coat so she could go to school.
And, at 11:50, when I went to pick up Jack, she had her warm, dry coat on (though I must remember to attempt sewing her sleeve up, as it's splitting near the elbow). She went into school happy as a clam, and so far, so good.
We Have Survived
And I am a coward.
Tonight was Rhiannon's Christmas Concert. Typically, each grade gets one big production every year. In kindergarten was the "play" night (God help us), when Rhiannon said "don't worry, my clothes will be covered by my costume." So her tee shirt and jeans were covered by ... a mask. Not. Then it was First, Fourth, and Sixth graders together in a concert, followed by Second and Seventh. This year is the last year she's the warmup act. Third, fifth, and eighth.
We arrived at school in plenty of time for Rhiannon to make her deadline to arrive in her classroom. But apparently we were not informed of the "get a seat" deadline that occurred twenty minutes BEFORE we left the house. Being Catholic, I should have known. Get there plenty early for a seat, or get scrooooooed.
I got lucky and found three seats together, near the band (mistake number two), and Ann returned from Rhiannon's classroom. We then waited, some of us patiently, and some of us with serious pants-ants, for the concert. No, tweren't me - twas my son. After an interlude of perhaps ten minutes (which passed something like my previous nearly-forty years), the concert started, and concluded, and we came out none the worse for wear.
Mind you, I'm still a coward. The grande finale was Handel's Messiah, sung by a well-orchestrated group of two-hundred voices. Mind you, having been involved in such a production in high school, I think I'm fairly well-qualified to judge production values. And this was surprisingly well done.
Of course, there's little to no hope for those poor eighth-grade boys who have problems swapping from alto to bass (or soprano to tenor) accidentally. One poor fellow was left holding the handles from his bucket, the bucket having fled to quieter quarters, still clutching the remnants of the tune this fellow mercilessly butchered. But then again, there's one of those in every bunch.
So the eighth-graders handled the lower registers, and the third graders and fifth-grade girls locked down the mid-range. Very well done.
But I didn't stand. I had my reasons. I started to, looked over my shoulder at the half-dozen video cameras churning away, looked through the rest of the auditorium where most of the parents couldn't see the kids on the floor (big mistake - the little kids were left on the floor, and the older kids held the stage. Were it my job, I would have put the eighth graders down on the floor on their knees or standing, put the fifth graders on risers in front of the stage, and put the third graders up on the stage on the risers. The higher voices would have been mellowed by passing through the other kids, and the lower voices would have naturally carried - but then this is the audio geek in me coming out. I once ran the mixing board for a woman whom, to this day, is probably a better singer than Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston combined - I once cut her mike during a solo, and got chewed out for turning her UP (I EQ'd her voice to trim down some of the higher tones - without the EQ, she positively punched through sheet steel, the band teacher later said. So she punched him). Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey might be able to shatter glass, but drilling sheet steel? That's not even in their league).
Anyway, I looked around, decided that there would be about forty pissed-off parents, and most of the rest of the yokels just sat there looking stupid, so I never bothered to get up. I am such a coward. Then again, I married a woman who can skin me alive, verbally, so I'm not that big of a coward. Perhaps I'm just stupid. That makes a whole lot more sense.
Anyway, tonight's treat was the school's "concert band" which did fairly well. As in I was able to recognize one of the arrangements we played when I was in band. Frighteningly, it was a Christmas Overture, arranged by "Osteling" - a name I will never forget, as he did most of our band arrangements. And had an odd name, to boot. Reminds me of the old Muppet Show gag - "Do you like Kippling?" "I don't know, I've never Kippled." Yes, I know, old before my grandfather was born, but funny nonetheless.
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Friday, December 6, 2002 |
A NEW ONE!
I know, I know. But this one is different!
Date: Fri, 06 Dec 2002 02:37:50
From: "THEO PARTHY"
To: JOHN DOMINIK
Subject: URGENT REPLY
Attention: I presume this email will not be a surprise to you.
Surprise? No. Pleasant diversion from the normal ALL CAPS SHRIEKING LUNACY stuff I normally get from you numbskulls
Am an engineer with the ministry of mineral resources and energy in south Africa and also a member of the contract awarding committee of this ministry under the south Africa government.
Am human being with brains sufficient enough to both blow nose and read at same time. Am not stupid backwater dipshit thinking this stuff still works today
Many year ago, the south Africa government asked this committee to awards contracts to foregn firms, in which myself and two of my partner are leader of the committee, with our good position in this committee, we over involved this contract to the tune of of us$21,500,000:00, to be benefited by me and two other of my partner that are in charge of this contract awarding committee in this ministry.
Ah, Nelson asked you, and your many personalities to award contracts? What a crock of excrement. Oh, I'm sorry, that would be bullshit, I just forgot that three-syllable words aren't in your vocabulary - I mean YOU DON'T GET BIG WORDS.
Now, that the contracts value has been paid off to the actual contractor that executed this job, All we want is a trusted foreign partner like you that we shall front to claim this over involved sum.
Too damned bad the actual contractor hadn't executed you for your excrable English skills. Sorry - YOUR WRITING SUCKS. And what the hell is an over involved sum? Is that like a dimmer version of dim sum?
Upon our agreement to carry on this business transaction with you, the said fund will be share as follow, 75% will be for myself and two others of my partner, 20% will be for you for using your bank account, 5% will be set aside for any expenses that might be incurred by us and you in the process of the document and other formalities that will justify you as the rightful owner of this said fund.
To that, I also require your brains and testicles on a platter. One's huge, the other miniscule.
You should bear in mind that you will be required to put head together with us, and give this business transaction moral and financially support it required to be successful.
My favorite line, truth be told. "Put head together with us" - aha, an attempt at a colloquilism - given that your committee seems to be unable to put a head together without all it's contents leaking into the brush like a sieve, you've got to be kidding. I'm not going to function as a brain donor to your dipshit schemes.
If you are interested and financially capable in handly this business transaction, Kindly reply us through this email address (Since Removed) for more details and to let you know what is required of this business transaction to be successful.
Oh, I know what is required to be successful. A willing suspension of disbelief, complete and utter faith on my part, and a fundamental desire to screw me blind on your part. What a surprise there, eh?
Also we request your private and office phone number to open communication with you. Your faithfully, Theo Parthy.
Well, my requirements are much less stringent. I require a six-million dollar cash payment, up front, before I'll say anything. Really. After that, we'll see what, if anything, you have left.
You know, there are moments when I think we're really in need of a severe gene pool flushing, you know?
I Tried, I Tried
But I couldn't get a picture at full dark. This was about 4:40 pm today.
Tomorrow I've got to get up at about 5:30 am to get ready to go finish the construction project we started last week. All that's left is trim and fancy stuff. And hanging one storm door. Shouldn't take long. I hope. And, of course, it'll be cold tomorrow morning. Between 0-10 above for the low, and tomorrow's high might make it into the 20s, but there's gonna be a stiff breeze, bringing the dreaded word "Wind Chill" back into the vocabulary. What fun.
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Saturday, December 7, 2002 |
Where To Start, Where To Start...
What a day. Started at 5:18 AM when I got up to go to the bathroom, and realized the alarm would be going off in twelve minutes, and I'd need to get up anyway. So I got ready, and my buddy Todd came by to pick me and my tools up for the final pass at the "door and deck" lady's house.
We roared through that, finishing, unfortunately, 45 minutes later than we wanted - and with one misplaced hole in the door (but it's hidden by the door closer, so that's better than nothing, I guess). Then I got dropped by my vehicle where Ann and the kids were (Rhiannon being "fresh" from her slumber party last night and first two games of her basketball tournament this week, and Jack just being typical Jack), and we galloped off for ... well, frankly, I don't think I remember clearly. I think we headed for some lunch, then home to empty the trunk.
We turned around to head back out with my swede saw in the trunk, and headed for the tree farm off I-35 just south of County 70. I nearly got sticker shock when I saw seven-to-eight foot trees going for $55. So we went wandering. Found a perfect scotch pine, except for it had a "back" ("back" was my mother's term for which side went towards the baby grand piano at home. Since that was as close to a "back" as it got, we worked with it.
We lumbered a bit further along, and I found him. Our christmas tree. I figure he was about nine feet tall out in the field, and a quick inspection showed, as usual, a rather sharp diversion about eight inches above the ground, where the trunk shifted about four inches over (on a six-inch trunk, at that point). I laid down on the ground and went to work.
When cutting your own tree, most of the folks at the cut-your-own places prefer you cut as close to the ground as possible. They go through every couple of years and clearcut each section, uprooting the unrotted stumps, and replanting with new pine seedlings. Then the process starts all over again.
I was laying on my right side, using my right arm to attempt to cut the tree. I'd get about an inch in and the saw would bind. I had Ann lean the tree away from the cut and things got a little better. After about ten minutes of heaving and hawing, I got the tree loose (and left no jagged spike sticking out of the ground, either).
I trimmed off the bottom branches, and went to work on that squirelly trunk. And found that either I was completely knackered, or the saw they'd given me was crap. I'd brought my own, but saw people walking around with saws, and assumed they'd have better ones than I had. I couldn't get the bottom of the trunk hacked off, and gave up.
It was about then that I realized my first major mistake. I had with me two small children, who might have been able to carry the saw, had they remembered their gloves, a wife, who is allergic to pine sap, and myself. I had a tree weighing about a hundred pounds laying on the ground. And I had about a hundred yards of rocky trail to drag the tree along.
In previous years (at different farms), we typically bought the type of tree which required a tractor to get it out of the woods. I was utterly inexperienced in dragging this sort of thing these sorts of distances - especially over rocky trails. I'd done it once over a hard-packed snow trail (nearly a complete piece of cake), but never over rock/dirt trails.
I managed, and succeeded in not giving myself a heart attack, either (I forgot to mention that it was all up a slope, the last twenty yards of which was a pretty steep slope, and I was racing a father and his two six-foot sons carrying a smaller tree. I beat them. Then let them go ahead of me in line, just to be "nice" about it. No really. I got into the shed ahead of them and pulled off to the side. I said "go ahead, I need someone to trim this trunk").
Unfortunately, trimmers were in short supply, so I got into the line with my tree. When we reached the window, before I got a chance to say anything, the lady asked if we wanted the tree shaken and baled. At that point, I was happy to be shaken, baled, and hauled out with the trash, myself, but I realized that the dead needles, etc. in a fresh-cut long-needled tree would be a tremendous fire hazard - and so I said "sure."
The total for our tree? $30.30. Less than my father paid for his big 'uns, truth be told.
Then I dragged it outside, and Ann and the kids retreated to the gift shop for a look-see. And I got to see them "shake" our tree.
To make a tree-shaker, take a motor that does probably 20 RPM. At least five horse, preferably ten, electric. Mount a three-inch deep, eight-inch round "bowl" off-center on a flywheel on top of the motor. Then take a square length of steel about eight feet long, bend it into a wide "U" shape. Weld it to a four-foot length of steel, and bolt that to the same platform you've bolted the motor to.
Set the trunk of the tree in the shaker cup, and turn it on. Then stand back and let the professionals take over.
I'd heard a couple of the guys remarking "hey, nice tree" as I hauled it over to them (I've got a good eye for Christmas Trees. Ask my mother). I also heard one fellow say "hey - no squirrels. That's a good sign." I should think so.
After approximately 35% of the tree's weight ended up in a foot-deep pile of dead needles and twigs all around the shaker (the fellow had just cleaned around it with a wide hoe, so I know it all came from my tree), I moved back around to the baler. And one fellow looked at it and said "well, I dunno..." With an attitude like that, he won't last long in my tree business. I placed it at the intake end, shoved the trunk in as far as I could, ran to the other end (some three feet away), and started hauling it in. Once the tree trunk was sticking out the other end of the baler, he said "oh" and hauled away.
We went from a tree about eight feet across, and reduced it to two feet across in short order.
Then Ann and Jack absconded, leaving me to haul the tree across the parking lot (rock and sand, again) to the car. No, don't pity me - they were going to use the porta-potty. In sub-freezing weather. With no heat. And you think your toilet seat is cold...
We got the tree into the trunk, came home, extracted it from the trunk, dumped it on the deck, and turned around (again) to head out. This time to half-price books for book four of the Harry Potter saga. Then we looped back to Burnsville Center to get Rhiannon's glasses fixed, do a little Christmas Shopping, and kill a few more hours of our Saturday - and get Jack a haircut.
Then we came home.
I distinctly remember prior to moving into a house, my wife said "when we're in a house, we'll do a lot less running around." I can't think of a weekend where we didn't run somewhere. One of my major goals come January is not to leave the house except for church some weekend. I doubt we'll succeed, but it's important to have goals.
That was our day. Hopefully yours was more restful. Tomorrow, we have on tap church (Rhiannon sings at the 9 am Mass), then a quick trip to the fabric store for a stairway railing cover, then, hopefully, home for me to finish the loft. I hope.
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Sunday, December 8, 2002 |
I Am A Throwback
Yesterday and today I spent some time in the malls. Hazard of the season, I guess. And one thing that irritated me more than anything else was the repetition of obscene words and phrases.
Mind you, I'm no prude. I swear like a sailor on occasion, though rarely in the work place (I once worked for a supervisor who felt that the entire vocabulary should be balanced with those seven little words - in a fifty-fifty usage pattern). I try, very hard, not to swear, because it's a simple fact that you don't really need to. "Mother Puss Bucket" works quite well, on occasion, as a general replacement for the various multi-syllabic profanities.
However, it occurred to me yesterday, and again today, that a fair number of kids are quite happy to obliterate that fine line between acceptable behavior and absolute rudeness.
Yesterday, as I was sitting on a bench in Burnsville center with my daughter and son between my wife, we watched a batch of teenagers go past. Now, I've hung up my radar for age-discrimination years ago, when I looked at a friend of Ann's and said "about my age". When it turned out she was at least ten years older, with three kids (one of whom was about ten years younger than I was), I decided to give up on the whole age-estimation thing.
However, I would guess by fashion and behavior these kids were at most sixteen years old, and if that, only one or two of them were that old. One fellow was saying "...you can't give me what I want for f***ing Christmas. I want all these f***ers dead!"
How pleasant. Top of his voice, he says this in a crowded mall, not fifty feet from the line of people waiting to see Santa Claus.
Today, I was sitting in a food court outside Cereal Adventures in the Mall of America (No, I don't get it either. The only thing I can think of is "Serial Killer" and the connection between Serial Killer and Cereal Adventure is tenuous, at best - I do know that for $6.95, plus $3.95 admission, you can make your own cereal - by mixing pre-made General Mills cereals. My kids tried a one-bowl attempt - Rhiannon did Cookie Crisp, Count Chocula, and Reeses Pieces, Jack did Cocoa Pebbles, Count Chocula, and Reeses Pieces. Gee. Must be my kids. Chocolate. The mud in the bottom of Jack's bowl when he was done was so dark, I double-checked the carton to make sure he hadn't poured Chocolate Milk on his cereal).
Some seventeen-or-eighteen year old ... well, I'm pretty sure he wanted everyone to think he was a thug - tattoos down his arms, tossle cap pulled low on his head, and big heavy boots. Anyway, the fellow goes past with a black tee shirt. Seven words on it. All the same. The "F" word. Lovely. How pleasant.
Did I miss the boat here, or is it a simple breakdown in decency? I don't demand the world behave itself. I don't demand that everyone be nice to one another and have a nice day. I would like to be able to take my children out in public without having to point out jerks and other small-minded buffoons with such a small vocabulary that they have to resort to those short little words to punctuate every sentence.
I guess I'm just getting old.
Some Successes
Today, we hit the Mall of America as noted above, for the fix of the month (one hopes). My wife has, for many years, been an "un-fan" of most donut shops. Most pastries left her unexcited, because she had worked a donut shop in High school and had a definite aversion to the places.
But earlier this year, we tried the Krispy Kreme place, and she got hooked. I'm thinking it might be something insidious in the donut dough themselves, because I really think she's got an addiction.
Anyway, we hit the Mall, and in our preparations this morning, we hit upon a good gift for some friends of ours, and so we took about a half hour to make the round of the mall and get that set up, as well. And we hit the Rybicki Cheese Store for samples and a couple of blocks of unusual, and overpriced, cheese (but then that's what one does when one hits the mall).
On our way home, we hit Mill End Textiles. We've got a wrought-iron railing over the stairway that zig-zags like a broken Z (four ninety-degree corners), and our plan is to place the Christmas Tree in the corner of the living room in front of the stairway. Problem is I didn't want to have to deal with the needles in the stair carpet. So we bought a five-yard length of green felt that's 72 inches wide (the railing is 36 inches high). We're going to put the cloth over both sides and attach it to something along the bottom to hold it down, and use that to keep some of the needles from collecting down the stairs.
We also found the perfect tree skirt, in the remnant pile, too. So things are definitely coming together. I've got a couple of 2x4s to get chopped for the tree stand, but that shouldn't take too long. We'll probably put the tree up next weekend, if we're lucky.
Then the grocery store, and finally, home.
Not much else to tell, really. Now, I'm going to bed to hopefully get a full night's sleep. Good night.
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