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October 31, 2005
How do airplanes know where to go?
A long long time ago -- something over 12 years as we were childless and still married -- Rebecca and I flew to Williamsburg, Virginia to have Christmas vacation at my brother's home.
On the return leg of the trip (or maybe on the way out ... one of the two) we sat next to a 5-year old who was flying from one parent's house to another. The boy, who we'll call Ryan, had the window seat, Rebecca was in the middle, and I had the aisle.
About mid flight Rebecca looked at me and said Ryan wondered how it was pilots knew how to get from one point to another. I leaned around Rebecca and toward Ryan as he leaned toward me. I explained how I thought pilots knew where to go. Right or wrong I said pilots had a bunch of navigational equipment in the cockpit -- compasses and wot-not -- and that there were beacons of some sort scattered along the ground that the planes communicated with.
Satisfied that I'd given a fairly competent answer I sat back in my seat.
And what did Ryan take get out of my explanation? He turned to Rebecca and said, "Your husband has a really big head."
(About 12 years ago I had a better idea of how planes navigated. Not too long before this trip I'd taken some flying lessons. Also at the time, I'd just seen the second Die Hard movie. My explanation might seem a little suckier now. My head is still really big though.")
Posted by delmer at 5:28 AM | Comments (3)
October 30, 2005
More Moving
Would it have been too obscure to title the last entry Terms of Endearment and this post The Lou Gehrig Story?
Terms of Endearment is, of course, moving. And I believe The Lou Gehrig Story is more moving. But still, it is a pretty obscure reference. (Isn't there a scene in Terms of Endearment where the guy, maybe the guy from Dumb and Dumber, does a scene from The Lou Gehrig Story?)
People. We're still moving. Big D and I got up early -- so early that due to the daylight savings time change, we got to Mel's Diner a full hour and five minutes before they opened. We returned an hour later.
Big D and I started moving the remaining stuff from the apartment at about 7 a.m. and continued until about noon. My friend, and fellow blogger, Stevie B had come by Saturday to help with the heavy stuff (which brings to mind the question, "Where was the rest of the blogging community when I was moving?" The only one of you that has any valid excuse for missing the move is the Chief Slacker. I'll let it slide this time.)
Big D had offered to help Steve and me move the bigger things on Saturday. I explained that he was skilled labor and that the grunt work should be left to those of use who were unskilled (and a bit younger). I didn't want to get in trouble with the shop steward (Granny).
And speaking of being skilled labor: Big D has put in some very nice looking step. I'll put pictures up later -- probably later this week.
Posted by delmer at 5:12 AM | Comments (1)
October 29, 2005
Moving
The boys and I have started moving from the apartment to the Big Yellow House.
Posted by delmer at 5:11 AM | Comments (0)
October 28, 2005
Soccer -- Kids vs Adults
With Tuesday evening came the last Soccer practice for Jack, my 10-year old. As is customary, I guess, the last soccer practice consists of a game between the parents and the kids.
I am 45. This morning I weighed in at 259 lbs. I am 6'4" tall. I have a really big noggin. There was not another person on the field who went over 200 lbs. Maybe one of the dads was close; I'm don't know.
Soccer had not even been invented when I was young. Sure, we heard rumors, in Ohio, about some guy named Pele, but we thought it was all Urban Legend.
My goal was to have some fun and, most importantly, not crush any children -- we were playing against boys and girls. Before the game I was reminded of two incidents in my life that I didn't want to repeat.
Incident 1: While at Miami University (Middletown Campus ... or MUM) there was a group of us playing basketball. Just a group of friends, some of whom were on the MUM Girls Basketball Team. At one point in the game I was near the top of the key and had my had up for the ball. The woman defending that area (Sharon B I believe) was a couple of steps in front of me. I received the pass, and knowing Sharon was several steps away from me, drove toward the basket. I had not realized that Sharon had move closer to me -- not so close that I ran into her right away, but closer than she had been while still far enough away to let me build up some steam. We're only talking a distance of two steps here, but as I didn't expect anybody to be occupying the space I was driving to I sort of hit her blind and hard.
Sharon went down and I want to say I somehow cut her knee. Her eyes teared up a little bit. I felt really bad.
Incident 2: At about the same time in my life -- that is very early 20's -- a group of us rented a gym for some more basketball. I way hanging off my guy, Kevin S., just far enough that I though he might receive a pass that I intended to intercept. Kevin was off to my right. I was hanging ... hanging ... hanging ... and there goes the pass. I broke forward to cut in front of Kevin and get the ball. I never took my eyes off the ball -- neither did Kevin. He didn't see me coming. I didn't see that he had broke forward. I ran into him at pretty much a solid run and sent him to the floor. The wind was knocked out of me a bit. He was a tad upset for a minute.
There was no incident three, but not long -- like a week -- after incident one, a group of Japanese guys and gals took a tour of MUM. Somehow we ended up playing basketball together. Afraid of creating an international incident I didn't jump or move too much.
In any of the above stories I weighed about 215 lbs. I was still 6'4". I was crashing into adults. I probably had better control over my body.
The soccer game was a lot of fun. I was careful. I didn't smash into anybody. I talked just enough trash to let the kids know I was serious.
At one point Jack, my son, had the ball. As I rushed him I started giving him a "JackJackJackJack ..." chant. After he passed the ball he started laughing and asked what I was doing. I told him I was just talking trash.
The next time I had the ball Jack came at me yelling "daddaddaddad ..."
I think I talk better trash. Jack has better ball handling skills.
He's probably walking straighter today than I am.
Posted by delmer at 8:03 AM | Comments (2)
October 27, 2005
A trip down the stairs
The post about the work being done on the stairs reminded me of this story.
I don't think I was yet 40 when this happened so it was probably about 1999. We were all at Rebecca's parents. Their home is something over 100-years old and has a nice, big, sturdy staircase.
From the first floor the stairs go up a few steps to a fair-sized landing. They then turn left and continue up to the second floor for about ten steps.
I had just come out of the bathroom and had wet hands from having washed them. As I approached the steps to go down I put my hand out to the rail and somehow slipped. I got enough of my hand on the banister that as I started my head-first fall down the stairs I sort of spun around so that I was on my back.
You know how when traumatic things happen they always seem to happen in slow motion? I was in a VW that turned over in a ditch once and it happened in slow-mo, and I've heard other people say the same thing.
Anyway, as I was going down the steps on my back I noticed it was happening in real-time, so I knew I was going to be okay.
Another thing I noticed: Sometimes in Westerns when a guy is falling down the steps he'll hit the first landing, make the 90-degree turn and fall down the second set of steps to the bottom landing. As I was falling down the steps on my back I never thought for a minute that I was going to continue down the lower set of steps. I was pretty sure I was going to stop on the first landing. Certainly I'd go no further than the wall at the back of the landing.
I remember thinking, "Stay calm. This will be over in a second."
And it was.
The fall sounded something like this: booom-bedy-boom-booom-bedy-boom-booom-bedy-boom-booom-bedy-boom. Aahhhhh.
The "aahhh" was Rebecca screaming from the kitchen. I made a very manly no-noise-at-all sound on my trip down the steps.
Posted by delmer at 9:24 AM | Comments (2)
October 26, 2005
Saws to the wall
How about a house update.
The floors are mostly done. They've all been sanded, the upstairs floors have been polyurethaned though the downstairs floors still need finished. It's time to move on to the next big thing. The stairs.
The current stairs are a little short and a little shallow. When they were carpeted they were treacherous. As I was taking measurements from the top to bottom landings I walked down the steps sideways and when I stopped my lower foot slipped a step. And then another and another. With each slip I was confident the next slip would be my last. After three or four slips I did a quick calculation and realized that even if I slipped all the way to the bottom landing I had the spread necessary to allow the upper foot to stay firmly planted without ripping the crotch out of my shorts.
Above you see Big D taking some measurements. The new steps will come down and out into the living room and dad is going to enlarge the door leading to the upstairs. I know what you ladies are thinking and I should probably warn you that my mom can probably kick your butt.
Big D marks a line for cutting.
My wall cutting typically consists of making small wall-plug sized holes that eventually contain Keystone jacks for network connections. This was my first experience with a reciprocating saw.
One of the reasons you never see any shots of This Old House's Norm from the waist down is that he, like I, prefers to work in his socks. It isn't a terribly good look on either one of us.
The interesting thing about this photo is that when it was taken I was alone in the room and the camera was set on auto. Imagine my surprise when I downloaded the photo and saw the orbs floating all around me and what appears to be an old man standing in the doorway.
Some of you might be thinking that the old guy looks like Big D. To that I say, well, don't all old men sort of look alike? I happen to know that when this picture was taken, Big D was in a Starbucks across town ordering a Grande Latte Cappuccino with extra creme and three sugars. I am certain that this is the ghost of Buddy Ebsen. How cool to be haunted by Uncle Jed.
Some of you might be thinking that the orbs are nothing more than plaster dust kicked up by the reciprocating saw. Especially if you knew that the orbs didn't appear until I started slicing through the plaster. But you don't know that, do you?
Some of you might think Granny took the picture. And if she had, and if you knew that, years ago, she used to chop off heads when she took pictures (we have home movies of our first day of school one year in which you see no faces -- just shirts, pants and shoes), you'd give her a big thumbs up.
Some of you might say, "Get on with it already."
The plaster is cut away leaving the door frame. The orbs and Buddy Ebsen are taking a break.
The door frame is gone leaving only the nailers. The wider and taller doorway will allow for a kinder, gentler stairway. It will also allow for a king sized bed to be taken up the stairs.
Posted by delmer at 12:02 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
October 25, 2005
Mortgages and E-mail and Oracle
I received a letter from a company wanting me to refinance with them. Their selling point is that they can shave 6 to 10 years off my mortgage. This would be 6 to 10 years off a mortgage I haven't made payment one on that has already been sold twice.
To archive this they bump my interest rate up by over half a point but allow me to make payments every two weeks. And I save $37,000 in interest over the life of the loan.
A payment every two weeks comes to one extra payment a year.
If, instead, I keep my current mortgage holder and interest rate and make payments every two weeks I save an additional $11,000 or a total of $48,000.
Now, my current mortgage holder doesn't specifically state they have an option to pay every two weeks, but they do have, on each payment coupon, a place to pay some extra principle. It wouldn't be hard to figure out how to simulate the every-two-week thing.
Using really rough math, without any type of hardcore double-checking, it looks like after 6 months I'll be at just about the same place if I add 1/12th more to each payment as I would be making payments every two weeks. (As it happens I'll be adding more.)
I know the whole thing works better if you make extra payments earlier. That is, if you plan to make an extra payment each year you would come out ahead making a double payment the first month and then single payments the rest of the way through versus single payments months one through eleven and then a double payment in month twelve. I don't know what the difference is. I know I've seen an example given on TV way way back and I believe the advantage of paying early is significant.
But that's not what I'm blogging about.
The letter I received is trying to sell me on a higher interest rate and a higher monthly payment for pointing out something I already know.
Oh. There's a one-time non-refundable setup fee too. Suh-weeet!
In other news I got a call this morning at 6 a.m.; the e-mail server had crashed. This was the third time in about ten days -- resulting in calls at 5:30 a.m., an 8 a.m. call on Sunday and today's 6 a.m. call.
After this past Sunday's call I'd decided to do a mail-server rebuild tonight. Today's 6 a.m. call drove home just how important the rebuild was going to be . . . if I ever expected to get any sleep.
I will not comment on how the rebuild went -- I don't want to jinx anything.
However, I will say that as far as IT Scorekeeping goes it looks like today I broke even. I won one and lost one. We upgraded our United Parcel Service system today. Ninety percent of the upgrade went better than could typically be expected. Tying the new system to our ERP package -- a thing I've done time and time again with other things -- did not work as expected.
I don't blame UPS. I don't know who to blame, though I'm leaning toward Oracle. The first Oracle client I installed didn't do what I wanted it to do, and then it wouldn't uninstall cleanly which left the second Oracle client I tried to install incomplete and unusable.
This has happened before and has always led to a registry-editing session. I've left that for tomorrow.
Finally. Is it just me, or is the best thing about the television show Las Vegas this year the theme song?
Posted by delmer at 9:07 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Giving Blood -- The Finale
Read Giving Blood Part 2.
My name was eventually called and I went back to sit with the nurse and answer a few more questions.
Name: Delmer Wells
Age: 23
Any major surgeries: None
Turn ons: Sunshine. Walks on the beach. White grapes
Turn offs: Mean people.
Finally she asked, "How do you feel? Are you currently ill?"
"Well, I have a sore throat that seems to have come on this morning. But it feels like one of those small things you sometimes get. I'm sure it's nothing."
"I'm sorry, but we can't take your blood if you have even just a sore throat," said the nurse. I'm sure she went on about the body's defenses and maybe said something about white blood cells and how even Dracula wouldn't take blood from anyone other than a perfectly healthy person.
(Have you ever noticed how Dracula never pulled the covers down away from a person's neck? He'd go into a bedroom, the victim, typically a young lass, would be laying there and the blankets would be pulled up to her armpits -- typically with the arms on the top of the blankets. For years I slept with my covers pulled up to my neck knowing this would thwart any local vampires. And then the Blade-type vampires appreared; there seems to be no stopping them.)
The nurse told me I could still have a cookie and some juice, asked me to make an appointment when I felt better and sent me on my way.
Felmer gave me the finger as I walked by. (No he didn't.)
Without access to some records that probably don't exist I can't be sure of the dates involved here. Maybe Felmer would remember. Anyway, the initial blood-donating appointment was probably scheduled for a Friday. I know that on Sunday I rode my motorcycle to Joe's and while I was there developed that dreamy sort of feeling that signals the onset of an illness. As I rode my motorcycle home I had the feeling that I really shouldn't be on it. So Friday I had a sore throat and Sunday I had a fever; that makes sense.
At some point, and I probably have the records for this somewhere, I was admitted to the hospital with a fever of just under 105 degrees (40.55 C). The first nurse I had was named Wilma and as I crawled into my bed I told her she might as well start liking me now as I was going to be her favorite patient by the time I was released.
Over the course of the next two weeks I gave a lot of blood -- a little at a time -- that was sent out for testing. The tests never gave any clue regarding what I had. I was even tested for Legionairre's Disease -- not because I had the symptoms but because they were running out of things to test me for. The disease eventually was recorded as FUO: Fever of Unknown Origin. (Which is what I believe the Warren Commission finally decided killed Kennedy.)
At some point the doctor told me I shouldn't be a blood donor.
Years would pass. And they still do; more rapidly all the time. But we'll pause at the 15-year mark, or thereabouts.
The non-profit I worked for was having a blood drive. Well, I still had a lot I wasn't using and thought I'd give some. But there was that "you shouldn't be a blood donor" voice dancing around in the back of my head. Nay! In my very veins (this being a blood-donation post and such).
Was that never be a blood donor? Or was there a time limit imposed. I mean, at this point in my life even the people of Sedalia, Missouri would have welcomed me back to their great state. Certainly my body was even more forgiving.
I called my doctor to see what was what.
A receptionist answered and I gave her my name. I told her there was a blood drive going on at work and I'd like to donate but I can't remember if I'm allowed too. I explained that the doctor had told me not to give blood but I couldn't remember whether or not that was forever or for a specific period of time.
She said she'd check my records and put me on hold.
I was off hold in about 10 seconds, which was not nearly long enough for a person to get and read my records. When she came back on the line she said, "Dr. Jackson says you are to never give blood."
I can only imagine the doctor was standing near the receptionist when I called and before she even looked for my records she asked if he remembered me.
And he did.
After all those years.
Excuse me while I get a tissue. I'm getting all misty (The Ray Stevens version).
Posted by delmer at 12:01 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
October 24, 2005
Giving Blood Part 2
Read Giving Blood Part 1.
"Your name?" asked the reception gal at the Blood Donation Center.
"Delmer Wells." I replied.
"Do you still live on Oakmont?"
"No. I've never lived there." I was a bit confused.
"What was your name again?"
"Delmer Wells."
"Oh," she said, "I thought you said Felmer Wills."
"You gotta be kidding me," I thought.
She took a little more info and pointed me to a seat. A minute or two passed and a guy walked in and stood in front of the reception gal.
"Your name?" she asked.
"Felmer Wills," said the guy.
"Do you still live on Oakmont?" I said, jumping in.
"Yea," he said, with a surprised tone and looking my way, "How'd you know?"
Felmer took a seat by me and we chatted while we waited for our appointments. As we talked I couldn't help but think of what an odd name Felmer was. And then of course I realized that I'm a Delmer and figured Felmer probably seemed as normal to him as Delmer does to me.
A year passed and I found myself playing golf at Armco Park. I didn't have my own clubs then and rented a set from the clubhouse. Part of the rental fee included leaving my driver's license. When I went to turn my clubs in the clubhouse guy asked for my name. I told him "Delmer Wells" and he handed me a license. As you've probably guessed, it was Felmer's.
"This isn't mine," I started.
A voice came from behind me, "Oh, that's my license."
I turned, saw Felmer and asked, "Do you still live on Oakmont?"
We had a Kodak moment.
I haven't heard of Felmer since. I, meanwhile, have been immortalized by the mid-80's MAG Montors ads, the movie Oh Brother and this episode of the short-lived Tom Arnold Sitcom The Jackie Thomas Show.
I hope Felmer doesn't feel I've left him behind.
Posted by delmer at 12:02 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
October 23, 2005
Two things
Thing one: Something seems to be wrong with www.gandi.net. The problem they are having is causing a couple of links here at delmer.com to not work; you'll notice the lack of Boys Photos (of course, if there is a shot of my kids there on the left, then things are all well again.)
Thing two: As I was reading AGKs post about spiders I felt something going up my arm. The rational part of me knew it was just a creepy feeling I was getting from reading about spiders combined with the image of the really big spider I saw the other day. Rarely does the rational part of me win out over the emotional part of me when it comes to supposed spiders crawling on me. But this time it did. And this time it was wrong.
Whatever it was that was crawling on me continued a few inches up my arm -- far enough that I knew it wasn't my imagination -- before the emotional part of me took over and made me jump, brush and curse. (This of course is a modified version of stop, drop and roll -- you know, the technique you use if you should ever find yourself on fire. I think you'll agree that jump, brush and curse is just as important to know. When was the last time you found yourself on fire? When was the last time you thought you had a spider crawling on you? See what I mean?)
I am certain that I saw whatever it was hit the couch cushion. But if I did he took off so fast that I immediately lost track of him. And now I'm not even sure there was anything on me or if I was victim of a suggestive-personality-disorder problem.
(I mention above that jump, brush and curse is as important to know as stop drop and roll. That is not to say that it is as important as stop, drop, and roll. It is almost always more important to put out any fire on your body than it would ever be get bugs off you. And it will remain so until Dick van Dyke says otherwise.)
Posted by delmer at 12:04 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
October 22, 2005
Giving Blood Part 1
but my bike was a bit bigger
and of a different style
Once or twice a week I'd run some sterilization beverages through my system -- in the form of Miller Lite usually -- and was confident my blood was germ free and would be a prize for the Blood Bank. I made an appointment to give on a Friday afternoon after work.
There was a light mist falling that Friday morning. The only reason that is important is that my car was on the fritz and I was going to have to ride my motorcycle. I hated riding in the rain -- in fact, I never had -- and I new a mist would make things worse. The roads would be wet and, the theory was, slippier than if they've been subjected to a full rain. A light rain would bring all the oil to the surface. A better rain would wash the oil off.
As I said that's the theory. I don't know if there is any truth to it I just know that when I left the house I was more on edge than I wanted to be. On top of it all I seemed to be getting a sore throat.
I made it to the gate at Armco Steel (now AK Steel) without any problem, flashed my ID and drove back to the locker room. The locker room may have been as much as a mile away from the gate.
I went to my locker and grabbed my keys. My locker key was on my car key keyring. I had my motorcycle keys.
I rode the bike back out to the gate to get a key. The guard asked for my locker number and I gave it to him. He gave me a key and I headed back to the locker room to find I'd given him the wrong locker number.
After making note of the correct locker number I headed back to the gate to get the right key.
By the time I got to my job in the mill I was a little bit late. As I'd clocked in late I was going to have to clock out a bit later than normal. It was a pretty hectic start to a work day.
Eight hours passed.
I headed to the gate to return my key.
I had gotten in the habit, when I was going to make a quick drop off of some sort, of coasting the motorcycle to a stop, putting the sidestand down, and letting it idle while I ran whatever quick errand it was I was on (not the best idea for air-cooled motorcycles, but I didn't know that at the time).
As I neared the guard shack I put the bike in neutral and applied the brakes.
There is that brief moment of clarity that a person sometimes feels just before there is no turning back from whatever mistake it is he's about to make. You know what I mean. Like when you're shutting the car door and just before it comes to you realize the keys are in the ignition and the doorlock is engaged. You have reached a point of no return before you are able to take any action to save yourself.
My point of no return and moment of clarity came as I leaned my bike over on the sidestand. As I reached the point in the lean at which I was unable to stop the momentum of the bike it occurred to me I'd failed to put the sidestand down.
I crawled out from under the still running motorcycle and took my helmet off. There was a guy in a car behind me who had stopped to go into the guard shack. By the way he'd sucked his cheeks in I could tell he was trying hard not to laugh.
"Go ahead," I said, "my whole day's been like this."
I shut off the bike and got it upright. I returned my key to the guard -- he'd seen part of what happened and wondered just what he'd missed.
The Suzuki really didn't care to be on her side too much and protested just a bit when I tried to start her up.
In a moment we were on our way.
Posted by delmer at 10:17 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
October 21, 2005
Johnny Can You Hear Me
Let's say Jack was four. It seems about right.
At the time he was in pre-school or pre-K. One of the grades that didn't exist when I was a kid.
About this time Jack had been called into the school office. This happened in the morning. And then again in the afternoon.
Yes. Two trips to the office in one day. As you may guess the second time a child gets called into the office in one day the parents get called in with him.
It would probably not surprise you -- if you've been paying attention to the past blog entries -- that in all my years of going to school I was sent to the office but once. And when I walked in to see the principal his attitude was one of, "What are you doing here?" I was that much a goody-two-shoes.
Jack's second trip to the office came as a result of him pushing his chair over backward as he looked the teacher in the eye and she told him not to do it. So he was being defiant.
I know it doesn't sound like a lot but he also had some other behaviors that were causing concerns. If you are a parent you'll understand the child-related worries that come with parenthood without me having to go into a long-winded description. If you're not a parent, play along.
Troubleshooting a child isn't always easy. He has behavior X. Is that the problem? Or is that behavior because of something else? There's a lot of guessing that goes on.
One of Jack's problems seemed to be an inability to pay attention. Or maybe he was just so focused on what he was doing that nothing else could get his attention. Or, maybe he had trouble hearing.
The not paying attention and the way it seemed to come with not hearing what was being said led to the recommendation that we get Jack's hearing tested.
Oh oh oh. As I typed that last bit I was having trouble making the jump from "not paying attention" to "hearing problem." Jack also had an issue with some sort of speech thing. He didn't make a certain sound right. Maybe he was just slow to pick it up. Maybe he couldn't hear how others said it ... etc.
So we ended up at Columbus Speech and Hearing. And the following happened.
Jack was sitting off in a corner working on a puzzle while the counselor and I sat off, away from him, and talked in hushed tones. Every so often the counselor person would ask me something that I would answer incorrectly -- at least according to Jack -- and he would correct me. This happened about twice before I realized that Jack's hearing was fine. He was just a brat.
The hearing test backed up my assumption (minus the "brat" bit). The speech thing turned out to be nothing as well.
And Jack's behavior? The next year we got a letter from his Kindergarten teacher (which means Jack was in Pre-K in the above story). She had written a special letter just to tell us how much Jack had improved and what a good student he'd become.
He had also changed the oil in the teacher's car that morning and she was certain that that had gone well beyond what was expected.
Posted by delmer at 9:30 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
October 20, 2005
Monster Jam 2005 -- January 22, 2005
(... as we continue to transition from delmer.biz. This is a long one.):
On January 22, 2005 the boys and I shot off to Nationwide Arena in Columbus for Monster Jam -- Monster Trucks and Monster Prices on arena snacks.
The Blue Jacket's events calendar described the event thusly:
2005 U.S. Hot Rod Monster Jam
DESCRIPTION The 2005 U.S. Hot Rod Monster Jam crushes its way into Nationwide Arena Friday, January 21 (8 p.m.) and Saturday, January 22 (2 p.m. and 8 p.m.)for three super-charged shows and these 10,000-pound monsters are on a mission of demolition.
WHEN January 21-22
WHERE Nationwide Arena
Initially only Samson, his pal Alex T (featured in Sam's birthday pictures) and I were going to go. Haydn and Jack, while big on monster behavior sometimes, have little interest in Monster Trucks. Haydn and Jack were going to spend the day with Granny and Big D in Franklin.
As luck would have it the weather got a little odd and it looked like a snow storm and/or ice storm might move into Ohio from at least Cincinnati to Columbus. Well, Granny had a doctor's appointment on Monday – an appointment she'd planned to leave Sunday to make (spending the night with my sister in Nashville) – and it was looking like she and Big D might have trouble getting out of Franklin if they waited until Sunday. It may have also been tricky getting the boys following the Monster Jam. So, I decided to take the bigger boys to Monster Jam and Granny and Big D headed south a day early.
Anytime I think of Monster Trucks I always think of two things. One is a commercial that used to air in Dayton in the early 80's in which a very pumped up announcer all but shouted, “This weekend we're turning Dayton's Hara Arena into a giant muuuuuud piiiiiit!!” Mud and pit were dragged out as if the tape were slowed just a smidgen. (I'd bet $20.00 that if you were to mention Monster Trucks to Jeff Burgess – an old friend of mine – he'd immediately fall into his impression of the announcer doing the above line.)
The other thing I think of is Dale Roberts making a similar tape at a station I worked at in Xenia, Ohio. Monster Trucks were coming to the Dayton area and Dale (his real name is Jason Roberts and I heard him on the air in Columbus not long after I moved here) was in the production room cutting a promo to announce the event. It was one of those “Monster! Monster! Monster! Trucks” things where the “monster” would come out of alternate channels that the “ster” of the preceding “monster” was talked over by the “Mon” of the next “monster.” When Dale worked magic filled the air.
Now that I've typed that all up, there is a chance of some sort that racing was coming to the Dayton area, the promo went “Racing! Racing! Racing!” and the Monster Truck promo was put together by someone else at another station in a galaxy far far away and I never witnessed its production. I'm going go give Dale credit for it anyway.
I'd purchased the first set of 3 tickets on the Wednesday prior to the Monster Jam and had them delivered instantly via the Internet. What a sweet deal. Ticketmaster has to bear neither the expense of having a person sell me the tickets, nor the expense of printing the tickets and I have to pay only and additional $2.50 to have them e-mailed to me.
The second two tickets were purchased the Friday before the Monster Jam. Naturally, the seats were not adjoining.
Weather the morning of Monster Jam (oh, and Quad Wars) could have gone either way. It was cold, windy and there were some flurries. Samson and I went to McDonald's to pick up breakfast and to do some road recon; the roads looked good. (As it would happen the weather would hold until after the Monster Jam. While we were waiting at McDonald's for Alex's ride it started snowing hard enough to cause that ah-here-it-comes feeling. The snow lasted about twenty minutes.)
The trip to Nationwide was uneventful. The roads were in good shape and traffic was light. Traffic was even lighter when we got downtown – of course, what would one expect – it is Columbus, Ohio ... on the weekend. Aside from costing $10.00, parking was hassle free.
We were in the arena about 20 minutes early. Quads were running around the track doing a pre-Jam show. Exhaust filled the air.
I put Jack and Haydn in their seats and purchased some snacks -- bottled water and pizza pretzels. Granny and Big D may someday read this story so I don't dare disclose what I paid four bottles of water and four pretzels ... though I will say it was over 25% of what dad used to bring home in 1966 or just a little more than four bags of kettle corn at the Schottenstein Center or one dollar more than 9 cokes cost out of a machine at the Columbus Zoo. (Okay, $28.00.)
Sam, Alex and I made it to our seats. Sam took the aisle, Alex sat between us, and I sat next to the man nobody knew. We sat in the lower bowl and had a pretty good view of everything. I could see Jack and Haydn off to our right.
What can you say about Monster truck racing in a small arena. It isn't like you see in the commercials – trucks haulin' butt over large amounts of ground -- those commercials are shot in large arenas. Nationwide is a small arena. They play hockey there, you know, in years they have hockey (I found out, just about three weeks ago, that hockey hadn't started this year. I heard it on NPR.)
Still, it was really cool. Sure, Nationwide is small. The Monster Truck drivers have just about enough time to get on the accelerator hard and then hit the brakes hard before the run is over, BUT, you're right there on top of all the action. You always have a good view of the trucks.
Trucks on hand included Brutus, The Safe Auto Monster Truck, and Grave Digger. There were several others, but they didn't have a memorable name (Brutus) a memorable jingle (1-800-Safe Auto, pick up the phone the call is free) or a memorable kid's toy that you'd jammed your toe on.
There were several events held – wheelies, a race, and freestyle. Grave Digger won all three events.
Between the events were Quad Wars. Team Ohio vs. Team Michigan. What are the odds of something like that happening? The quad races had a bit of a WWF feel to them. Before or after the race one of the team captains would run his mouth. There was a fight between the captains before one race. An accusation of equipment tampering following another race. A Michigan racer cut a corner one race and had to forfeit the win only after the foul was pointed out by an Ohio rider (Do you remember a Bloom County in which Opus was watching wrestling – you only see him watching the TV. In the second panel the announcer's word balloon contains text similar to: “The Masher pulls a Chevy truck axle out of his trunks and pummels Killer about the head and shoulders. Amazingly the referee misses the whole thing.” In the last panel you see Opus staring at the TV saying only “foul.”)
Even with the staged drama, Quad Wars was pretty good. Guys on quads racing? What's not to like. Samson and Alex (both 6) did not realize the trash talk was a put on for the audience. By the way, Team Michigan won the War. I'll bet Team Ohio won the tiebreaker at the evening show.
At one of the breaks they ran a bunch of RC cars around the track. This was going on while a couple of ramps were assembled. What were the ramps for? A guy on a small dirt bike did a couple of flips (see the download area for video of this) from one ramp to the other.
The show ended with a Freestyle competition. The trucks came out one at a time and put on a show. The neatest thing that happened all day happened during the freestyle. Unfortunately the memory card on my camera was full and I didn't get a clip. Grave Digger tried to do a donut and ended up going so far over on one side that it should not have been possible to recover ... and yet he did. It was really spectacular.
With the show over I collected the boys and we made our way out into the cold. While still in the area Alex expressed an interest in buying a shirt. Earlier in the day his dad had expressed an interest in seeing some change from the twenty he'd given Alex; the two interests were mutually exclusive. However, all was not to be lost. I'd explained to Alex that he'd be able to find shirts cheaper elsewhere; I didn't realize elsewhere was likely to be 50 yards away.
Out in the cold and wind was a guy selling Monster Truck shirts. “How much,” I asked, hoping they'd be about $10 each. “Eighteen dollars,” he replied, and I gave a shake of my hand and signaled the boys to close ranks for the street crossing. “Three for twenty-five,” he said, and I paused and missed a step before recovering and saying “I appreciate the offer, but I don't think so.”
“Three for twenty.” And he had me. We headed to the garage.
Haydn was pretty sure we'd parked on the fourth floor. Sam, Alex, Jack and I were pretty sure we were on the third. Haydn would eventually climb over the wall where the third and fourth floor ramps abutted to join us. We drove home in a light snow.
Posted by delmer at 8:48 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
October 19, 2005
Your own private Hilliard
Like most bloggers I am very much in tune to the needs, the wants, the desires and, yes, even the feelings, of my reading audience. I may very well be The Amazing Kreskin of bloggers.
I can tell, for example, that some of you are thinking "Delmer, you are full of crap." Others are thinking, "How does he do it?" One of you has just scratched her head. Roy, get your finger out of your nose -- somebody else will be using that keyboard later.
The feeling I get recently, from most of you, is jealousy. Not an angry jealousy, but a just-under-the-surface type of jealousy that is sometimes mistaken for stomach gas. The jealousy is so subtle you probably don't even know it's there -- but trust me, the next time you feel a burp coming on it's not the pop you've been drinking. It is envy.
But why? And what can we (for I want to help you) do about it?
Why? Well, I live in Hilliard, Ohio and you don't. You come, read my fascinating entries about medium-sized town life, and you yearn for the same. You do not have a PackRat Comics, DiCarlo's Pizza and Mel's Diner. You do not live 4.0 miles from Salvi's Bistro.
Sure, some of you have the Sidney Opera House. Some of you have the mountains. Some of you have Norwegian neighbors. Some of you have an ocean. Some of you have (or are) a good-hearted woman in love with a good-timin' man. A lot of you have really cool accents.
It's not bad. But it's not Hilliard.
What can we do?: Well now you can have a little bit of Hilliard your own bad self.
Suburban Zoo is a Hilliard-based business with an Internet presence. From their website:
We are a family company dedicated to helping people indulge their beloved canine and feline family members with high quality toys and treats. The name Suburban Zoo comes from the affectionate nickname we have given our home, which we currently share with three dogs and one cat. They have approved all the toys and treats we carry, and have inspired us to share them with you.
I'm not sure what Suburban Zoo's shipping policies are. It may be limited to the United States. Which means that some of you will still be left without your own little piece of Hilliard -- offhand I'd say those of you with the Sidney Opera House, Norwegian Neighbors, and just about any ocean that isn't pressing right up against or overflowing into the United States.
My apologies for teasing you.
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Suburban Zoo in any way, shape or form. I used to work with one of the owners and, as I've said before, like to see local businesses do well. This is not a paid endorsement -- you would hope that if a company were paying for an endorsement it would read better than this.
I am in negotiations with The Amazing Kreskin to get a dollar for the mention of his name. I haven't sent a formal request for payment; he just knows about it. It's out there in the ether.
I am a grown-up person who recently moved. The home I moved from was in Hilliard. The home I moved to was in Hilliard. There are lots of places around here that are not Hilliard -- probably more where you live -- but I chose to stay here because I like it here. So, despite the teasing things I sometimes say, I can't really complain. Fortunately, Hilliard has a sense of humor; unlike Dublin. (And if I lived somewhere really cool, where would I go on vacation?)
Posted by delmer at 1:13 PM | Comments (6)
October 18, 2005
Backstage with J Geils
Somewhere around 1982 I went to see J Geils at Riverfront Coliseum. The Motels were the opening act.
Darrell, Roy and I had floor seats while some of the people we went with were seated higher up. One of these other people was Lois -- Roy's then girlfriend and now wife.
I don't remember all the details, but Lois and I probably rode together. We both went to Miami (Oxford, Ohio) while Roy was driving up from Eastern Kentucky University. Darrell, Lois and I and whoever else we went with may have ridden down together. It doesn't really matter. What does is that Roy was a group of one and I was with Lois when she went to her seat.
So. I was with Lois, and the rest of the group, when she found her seat. Like I said, I had a floor seat with Darrell and Roy. As I looked toward the floor I said, "Hey. There's Roy."
Lois said something like, "How can you possibly know that's Roy?" It wasn't like he was real close to us.
Well, it looked like Roy. Probably his mannerisms as much as anything else. I said, "It's gotta be Roy. He's wearing shorts." As I had shorts on too I continued with, "we seem to be the only people here in shorts."
I want to say Roy and I had bandannas on as well.
I was right. It was Roy and I made my way down to my seat.
After the Motels finished their set Roy said he had to go to the can. I said I'd go with him and we made toward an exit.
The exit we chose didn't have the right feel to it but we went through it anyway. The security guard -- wearing shorts and a bandanna -- didn't give us a second look. Well, that is, assuming he gave us a first look. He was busy chatting up a blond.
We went through the exit and took a left. Well, whattaya know. Martha Davis and the rest of the Motels were walking toward us. Roy told the group that they'd done a nice job. Martha thanked him for the compliment.
We took a few more steps and walked past a room marked J Geils. To this day I regret not opening the door and taking a peek in.
A few more steps and a guy wearing shorts and a security t-shirt stopped us. He asked what we were going. Roy put his hands up in front of him -- not police-officer high, but more to say we don't want any trouble. To drive this point home he said, "We're just looking for a bathroom. We don't want any trouble."
I said, "We're looking for a bathroom."
The security guy said we'd taken a wrong turn.
Roy said, "We're just looking for a bathroom. We don't want any trouble."
I asked where we might find a bathroom
The security guy said we needed to go back out onto the floor and then head up some stairs.
Roy said, "We're just looking for a bathroom. We don't want any trouble."
Roy and I started back the way we came. After about six steps Roy turned around and screamed, "Screw you you piece of crap," and then flipped the guy the bird."
Well, of course that last thing never happened.
But everything else did.
I'm sure Martha Davis tells the story the same way on her blog.
(I Googled "J Geils The Motels" and turned up this description for a t-shirt: Geils, J. Band with special guests The Motels -- Crew T-Shirt- "Electric Factory Concerts Presents- August 21, 1982"- Light Blue-M
Aren't the Internets wonderful!)
Posted by delmer at 9:59 AM | Comments (4)
October 17, 2005
Sammo Kruger -- Nightmare in Hilliard
Samson is going to be Freddy Kruger for Halloween this year. He is very excited about his costume and looks forward to scaring, and with those claws possibly scarring, folks in the neighborhood.
I had concerns about Freddy K and suggest that Sam might want to go as something else. I put out the idea of going as Pope Ratzinger.
Samson said he wanted to scare everybody ... not just Catholics.
I found just the images of Sam as Freddy frightening enough that in the process of writing this entry I was so distracted that I burned the inside of my mouth on hot coffee. I poured the coffee and took a drink (not a sip) even as it was steaming up my glasses. I spit it out before doing any serious throat damage.
What an idiot! It's not like I'm new to the whole idea of hot beverages.
I quit burning my mouth on hot pizza years ago. I should know better.
Posted by delmer at 12:32 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Another day sanding floors
Getting the floors prepared has taken a lot more time than I imagined. (And that's saying something -- I have quite the imagination. I have no problem bringing together Heather Locklear, Patricia Heaton, and Jamie Gertz to mid-afternoon daydreams. All at once! If I've had my vitamin E and zinc I sometimes have the Barbi Twins tag-team in one at a time.)
Today was spent sanding floors again. I mixed it up a bit and had to retrieve boys from a sleepover. Then I had to get a couple ready for soccer and one ready for football. And I attended one of the soccer games. Other than that it was sanding sanding sanding.
The floors are soooo close to being done. I keep sanding imperfections away only to reveal different imperfections. Right now I'm trying to get rid of a couple of dark areas that were caused by big area rugs. If I can get rid of those I'll be in like Flynn.
All of the paint is gone. I've quit gumming up sanding pads.
I'm going to take half a day off work tomorrow and finish things up. One way or another.
Posted by delmer at 12:02 AM | Comments (7)
October 16, 2005
Darlington County
Does the Lord ever speak to Bush? Or is it just God? (The difference is oh, so subtle.)
And should you ever say "just God?" If someone knocks on the door you might look toward it and say, "Oh, it's just the paperboy," or "It's just a neighbor kid." If it was Bruce Springsteen at the door you wouldn't say, "It's just Bruce Springsteen," you'd say "It's Bruuuuuuuuuce."
God should at least command the same respect as Bruce Springsteen. God has a tougher tour schedule and has been pleasing crowds with The New Covenant Tour for more than 2000 years. Ticket prices are always reasonable though tour t-shirts are hard to come by.
Which reminds me. About 25 years ago I worked in a factory with an older guy (about 40) named Danny and a guy my age (about 20). Every Friday Danny would wear a black t-shirt with a picture of Jesus on it. One Friday Alan caught a glimpse of it and asked, "Danny. Who is that? ZZ Top?"
Hey, I was 20. I thought it was funny
Another Alan story: It would have been the 1966-67 school year and Alan and I were in first grade. We were having a cub scout meeting and had been asked to spell our names on a sheet of paper. Alan had spelled his name with an "E" (and, as I recall an extra "L") . When our Den Mother pointed this out Alan said that was how his name was spelled. The Den Mother said she thought it was probably "Alan" as "Ellen" was a girl's name. At the time I didn't think that Alan had misspelled his name, instead I was a little sad that his parents had given him a girl's name.
God talking to Bush has bothered me for a while.
Wait wait wait. I finally came across the right Google combination. Well, actually I finally read further down the list of hits and found this.
President Bush told the Washington Times yesterday he doesn't "see how you can be president without a relationship with the Lord.".
Maybe I'm reading the wrong news articles or something but I kept reading that God (Gaaawd-uh for all you Southern Baptists) was speaking to Dubya. The bit of me that hangs on to being a Fundamentalist wondered why Jesus wasn't doing more talking. (Mostly I wondered why the President kept saying "God" and not "Jesus" or "The Lord.")
The sane human being part of me continues to wonder ... well, a lot of things.
And again, maybe I was just missing those references.
Dave at Blogography is in Rome and posted this photo. (In order to conserve Dave's bandwidth I'm serving the photo up myself. Um, Dave, hope you don't mind I copied it.) 
for His sippy cup
When I saw this painting I had several thoughts. The first, of course, was why doesn't Jesus speak to the President. Other thoughts included wondering if, when Jesus was a baby, did he ever have a projectile-vomiting event. All of my kids had at least one. One of the boys was sitting in a rear-facing car seat and managed to throw up with such force that he got vomit all over the back of the van seat -- but nothing on him or the car seat. I think a lot of children projectile vomit -- especially if they're near me and I'm wearing something I just had dry cleaned.
Another thing I wondered was did Mary ever pick the baby Jesus up to find that he had a major diaper incident. Each of my boys had at least one diaper that seemed to explode right up their back and into their onesy. Samson once had such a spectacular diaper happening that I alerted the staff at a Steak & Shake that we'd left behind a biohazard in the high chair we'd been using.
Turning water into wine seemed to come later in Jesus' life. I'll bet when he was an infant he did more run-of-the-mill kid things.
Try not to think of all the times you've seen a baby with poo in his hair. Now try not to think about how you could apply that to this post.
Posted by delmer at 12:02 AM | Comments (1)
October 15, 2005
Sometimes it isn't so hard to be super dad
This afternoon the boys and I went to Packrat Comics. (Which means I hit all three of my favorite local businesses today: Mel's Diner, Packrat Comics and DiCarlo's Pizza)
While at Packrat Jack purchased (using my money) a couple of anime figures.
Fast forward to the evening. After we got home Jack discovered the head of one of the figures was gone and he was certain he had dropped it outside. He decided he'd wait until morning to look for it.
At bedtime he made two requests -- could I tuck him in and could I look for the lost head.
So, I tucked him in and grabbed a flashlight. I hit the door and started looking for a small light-colored anime head. Moving the flashlight back and forth (think the opening scene of the NBC Mystery Movie) I started walking toward the van. About a quarter of the way there I decided the head probably had fallen off in the van and that I'd start there and make my way back toward the apartment. I took a maybe a dozen steps when something caught my eye: a dark blue plastic-looking thing on the black pavement. It was the figure's head.
It didn't look anything like I thought it would. It was dark on asphalt and was about twice the size I thought it would be. I had lucked out.
In fewer than three minutes I'd found the lost toy piece and returned to the apartment.
I was Jack's hero. He thanked me for finding the anime head and went on to say that I'd done a "kick-ass job" of tucking him in too.
Okay, maybe he didn't say that. But he was happy.
Oh. And I found a dime while I was outside. We were all winners.
Posted by delmer at 12:05 AM | Comments (1)
October 14, 2005
The Thugs I ran with
I took the day off to, again, rent the floor sander. The goal was to finish the downstairs.
At the end of eight hours of sanding I had one room mostly done and the other room looking better than it did before. There is no doubt that room one will reach an acceptable level of doneness and will likely be polyurethaned this weekend. The jury is still out on floor two; I'm fairly certain ... well, it is going to be a lot more work.
As I mentioned before, dragging the drum sander back and forth doesn't generate a lot of holy-crap-this-is-wearing-me-out feelings while it is in use, but it certainly leaves a person sore afterward. I know I'll be even more sore tomorrow.
Even my fingers are sore. So tonight, today, this afternoon, whatever, you get a break. Something short and sweet -- like a chocolate-covered Katie Couric.
I've mentioned, once or twice, that when I was younger I had professional dealings with law enforcement.
I thought for today's post I'd leave you with a photo of the thugs I used to run around with.
That's a pretty rough looking group, isn't it? I'm in the back to the right side, to the left of the guy (Mitch) in the blue hat. My brother Jim is to my left. then John and Roy (Son, will you put your hands down ... you're enough to embarrass a man.) The girl in front of Roy is Stephanie. Next to her is a girl in pink sweats and then there is John's sister, Jill. Roy's sister Robin follows and Dwight can be seen wearing a Miami shirt. We'd all been playing football one Thanksgiving about 21 years ago (that would be 1984 for those of you scoring at home.)
The above photo is of Jeff and me. Jeff had the hunting knife in the Frog Gigging Story (the link above) and is the guy who retrieved me from jail in Sedalia, Missouri. If you read the names on the hats you'll note that Jeff is on the left and I am on the right. That might be the Christmas we delivered egg nog and candy Katie Courics, er, candy canes to our friends.
Have I blogged the line, "How could two all American boys like yourselves get into so much trouble in just one night?" I may not have. It's part of a fairly long story and involves the above-mentioned Sedalia, Missouri. Anyway, Jeff was one of the All-American boys and I was the other. At the time of the arrest I was beardless and looked like this.
I'm the tall one. The night of the arrest I was not wearing a rented tux. I was hardly wearing anything, but considering I was in the "Show Me" state that shouldn't have been a problem.
Above, another shot of Roy.
Sorry about the shadows. Those are scanned images of actual photos. (You remember those ...)
And there you have them. Public Enemies numbers one through twelve.
(Photo's courtesy of Granny's Great Basement Cleanup: Our Goal is to Distribute Things Collected Over the Years to the Appropriate Child before Heading Into the Light)
Posted by delmer at 12:02 AM | Comments (4)
October 13, 2005
My buddy's wife said this
Last night I went to MicroCenter to help a friend, Paul, find a PC. Despite my protestations he insisted on buying dinner after the shopping spree to show appreciation for my time and assistance.
As we drove he asked where I'd like to eat. I jokingly suggested Columbus Gold. (And, honest to goodness, until I created that link to Columbus Gold I thought it was sort of like a more risqué Hooters. A place where scantily clad and possibly topless women served food. After visiting their site I'm not sure they serve food at all. I talk a good porn story, but when it comes to genuine knowledge I'm a bit naive.)
We opted for pizza at Iaconos.
When we returned to Paul's he told his wife, "Delmer suggested that we go to Columbus Gold for dinner but we thought better of it."
Without missing a beat and with genuine sincerity in her voice his wife said, "Have you seen the titty bar at night? It's so pretty with the pink lights and..."
What?! Titty bar? Women say things like that?
Of course had I known at the time that Columbus Gold wasn't a restaurant of some sort maybe I wouldn't have been as surprised.
Based solely on the pictures on their website the inside of Columbus Gold might be kind of pretty too. I'm assuming there's some spotlights. Maybe some brass.
Posted by delmer at 12:08 AM | Comments (2)
October 12, 2005
Job Predictor
While reading Professional Lurker I stumbled across Job Predictor.
I'll leave it to you to go there and enter: Delmer Wells
Be quick about it. My appointment book is filling up.
Posted by delmer at 10:47 AM | Comments (3)
The new bathroom
Photos of the new bathroom going in upstairs.
While I was working away sanding floors Big D was busy putting a bathroom in what used to be a large closet on the second floor. He had to run some venting from the first floor and was able to make use of existing plumbing to run waste water out of the house.
As you look at the third picture you'll see that there is a shower going in on the left. The bathroom might be a little cramped, but when you consider that a week ago there were no facilities upstairs at all, we are well ahead of the game. We could have gone with a smaller shower stall but genetics suggests that the Wells children are likely to be big young men and there is nothing more frustrating than trying to shower in a too-small area (well, many things are more frustrating ... ). We decided to go with a shower large enough for and 18-year old Wells boy, but something too small for an 18-year old Wells boy and his girlfriend. I am nothing if not a responsible parent.
Big D does good work.
I wonder if he realizes the tune he's been humming is Smack My Bitch Up?
Posted by delmer at 7:42 AM | Comments (4)
Self Antagonisis
I read the marinating story at Apryl Dawn's blog and it reminded me of this story about one of my own children.
Haydn was very young; we'll say three as it keeps continuity with the story above. He was visiting his Aunt Barbara in Beallsville. I don't remember exactly how the events went, but this is how I tell it.
Haydn was standing in front of Aunt Barb swinging a pendulum of some sort back and forth before here eyes. Aunt Barb was not giving the process the attention Haydn felt it deserved and he finally said, "Aunt Barb! Pay attention. I'm antagonizing you."
"I know," she said. "And you have been all day."
Posted by delmer at 12:03 AM | Comments (0)
October 11, 2005
Frustration, Concentration and Kerplunk
I use Firefox for most of my Internet browsing. After posting a well-thought out What's a Delmer Look Like blog entry I review it in Firefox.
Once in a while I'll have Internet Explorer open and go to www.delmer.com and when I do it isn't uncommon enough that I find the page that looked fine and dandy in Firefox looks less fine and dandy in IE.
I'm not bashing Microsoft. I don't know that it's them. Maybe Firefox is cutting me some slack I don't deserve.
The whole point is that if you stumble by and notice that things look like crap, I don't want you to think that I knew it looked like crap and said "Good enough." I want you to know that I thought things looked okay when I was done.
Now, as for the way things read when you're here. That is, the actual words and the order they're in ... my use of elipses -- and dashes ... that's just me. I don't make any claims that my writing style is good or appropriate. Right now I'm puzzling over the puntuation of well-thought out but am not inclined to do any research on it (so, that would be good enough)
What I'm talking about is an odd shift if typeface, oddball underlinings, pictures overlapping and getting cut off, etc. These are all things that IE has done that Firefox was happy to present in the manner I wanted and how I thought they should appear based on the tool I was using ot post.
There. I feel better now.
Posted by delmer at 8:14 AM | Comments (0)
What do a hardwood floor and porn have in common
You know, I didn't mean for it to happen this way. It wasn't until I finished typing the title to this blog entry that I realized just how much a hardwood floor and porn might be related.
But, we won't go there. The original answer is: Reading about either is certainly intriguing ... but pictures are better.
If you want pornographic pictures just turn off your spam filter and check your e-mail. You want pictures of a hardwood floor, well, you've come to the right blog!
The downstairs floor may not be in the best shape and I haven't done enough sanding to get a feel for what it will look like as I proceed.
As a matter of fact the bedroom floor I am mostly done with is not in pristine shape.There was a rug in the floor at one time -- not wall to wall -- and the floor is lighter in those areas the rug didn't reach. There are also a couple of scars and some areas that almost look like bruising. And of course, as I'm Catholic, there's a stain in the image of the Virgin Mary that refuses to come up.
I don't think the floor would ever look perfect -- it's old.
So old that Mary's starting to show crows feet.
Posted by delmer at 12:00 AM | Comments (2)
October 10, 2005
The 2001 Christmas Letter
Friends, Romans, Countrymen and Countrywomen ... I normally try to make this blog about you. Sure ... about you in a way that highlights me, my life, and the things that go on in my life. Granted ... about you in a way that I hope will someday inspire you to send me a dozen oatmeal-raisin cookies; homemade, store bought, I don't care. (It doesn't have to be a full dozen, you can have one of them. See -- even as I'm trying to score cookies from you, I am willing to give you one back. It's all about you.)
Today's blog entry will be different. It's all about me. (Okay, maybe it isn't all that different.)
Below you will find the Christmas Letter we sent out in 2001. I had forgotten the time line regarding some of the things that happened and got sort of misty when I reread it.
I normally like to have a cookie when I read old Christmas Letters. Get baking!
(This doesn't seem like it happened all that long ago.)
Wells Family 2001
Happy Holidays.
Another year has passed. Anyway you say it – 365 days … 52 weeks … 12 phone bills – its been a year.
A lot has happened in the Wells household this year; some of it was good; the Nissan finally died, forcing Delmer to replace it. Some of it was not so good; Haydn broke off his two front teeth (yes, they were adult teeth). Some of it was just normal day-to-day stuff; we had a garage sale and actually sold some of the junk we’ve carried around from house-to-house without ever using.
Samson turned three in March. He started pre-school in September and looks forward to going to school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. (I wish I had a copy of this first-day-of-school picture to enclose; you’ve never seen a smile so big.) He doesn’t care for bedtime too much, and prefers to keep at least one of his brothers awake while he complains about having to go to bed. Experience tells us this will pass.
He got a Power Wheels Harley Davidson last Christmas and is looking forward to the day he’ll get a real quad runner; he suspects it will happen when he is six. His parent’s expect it will happen when he is much older.
Nothing out of the ordinary happened to Sammo’s teeth.
Jack turned six this past summer and seems to be mellowing in his old age. He eats less than anyone else in the family and has more energy than all of the other members combined. This past year, it seems, he’s decided to put his powers to use for the betterment of mankind – well, at least Wellskind. There have been no ad hoc parent/teacher/principal conferences this year. Jack is the only male in the family that consistently takes his plate to the sink when a meal is over. And, he goes to bed, pretty much, when asked to do so. (Thank God Sam has stepped in to pick up the slack.)
Haydn knocked out Jack’s two front teeth as we were loading up the mini van to go to Big D and Granny’s house (Delmer’s parents) for Thanksgiving. (They were baby teeth. They were loose anyway. Still, they had a few good days of chewing left in them.)
Haydn chipped his own two front (adult) teeth at Vacation Bible School this past summer. Despite Delmer’s suspicion that the Lutherans (the hosts of the VBS) could tell Haydn was Catholic (maybe he slipped up and crossed himself), Rebecca thinks it was some sort of freak accident.
For the Cub Scout father/son cake bake off, Haydn thought it would be a good idea to bake the biggest cake. As you might guess, if you bake a really big cake, and someone bakes one just a little bigger, well then, all you have is a really big cake. Fortunately, Haydn’s plan of linking four sheet cakes together and decorating them like a flag worked. (It auctioned, much to Delmer’s delight, for $46.00; Delmer held the $45.00 bid.)
Haydn and papa also spent some time camping out at Camp Lazarus this year. Haydn is currently a Bobcat working on his Wolf badge. (Delmer has done some checking – there does not appear to be a Dental badge Haydn can work for.)
Rebecca and Delmer both have jobs that allow some flexibility – Rebecca is a freelance writer and Delmer works for family-friendly Vanner Inc. – so they are fortunate in being able to do some daytime school activities with all the boys.
Rebecca has been doing a good amount of consulting for Longaberger – the basket people – and makes the drive to their basket-shaped office building a couple of times a week. Even Delmer has to admit the big basket would be a cool building to work in.
Delmer is pretty much a boring old man.
I’m sure a lot has happened in your household as well. Feel free to send us a newsletter-type letter. I know some people hate them and find them impersonal. We’re not like that.
Posted by delmer at 9:30 PM | Comments (0)
Floors floors floors
Did you sing the title of this entry to the tune of Motley Crue's Girls Girls Girls. If you didn't you are missing a treat and you should really reread it.
And please, would you be so kind at to read the rest of this entry with the Stones' Bitch playing in the back of your mind.
Yea, when you call my name, I salivate like uh Pavlov's dog.
You take it from there ...
This morning I got up bright and early and made my way to Home Depot to rent an edge sander.
An hour later I made the same trip to buy additional 36-grit pads. At some level I must have known that I was gong to need more than three 36-grit pads, but that was all I got the first time.
The edge sander was doing a really nice job for about three feet. By then the sanding pad was so clogged with paint that it was sticking to the floor rather than smoothly gliding over it. The edger pads can't be declogged like the drum-sander pads so I spent a lot of time changing pads.
I finally figured out that if I was willing to wrestle with the sander a bit I could make the pads last longer. This wasn't about pad cost -- this was about the hassle of pad changing. With the sanding disk clogged it would still take the paint off -- in a herky-jerky fashion -- though it didn't seem to be taking any of the surface off the floor. This was a good thing as it took some of the pressure off of keeping the sander moving in a precise manner.
At 12:30 I gave up sanding to attend a football and soccer game. My football player lost and my soccer player won. The weather was perfect football weather -- the air was cool and crisp with the smell of whatever that smell is that comes around every fall. It seemed a little cold for soccer.
After all the games were over my footballer and one of my soccer players came over in the middle of an argument.
"Isn't football a more popular sport than soccer?" the footballer demanded.
"I'm certain it is," said I, "but that may be because they call soccer football just about everywhere else but the United States."
"That's not what I mean."
"I know that's not what you mean, but that's as far as I'm willing to get involved."
And really, when it comes to kid's sports, the most important thing to appreciate is that none of my kids are in T-Ball any longer ... or, and this is even worse (as a rule), Kid-Pitch Baseball. KPBB games could go forever with nothing more happening than batter after batter getting beaned by the ball.
After football and soccer I went to work and requested tomorrow off. I was back on the sander at 6 p.m. and finished up all the paint removal.
Tomorrow I should get that room done and move on to the first floor's floors (floors ... at the Dollhouse in Fort Lauderdale ...)
Posted by delmer at 12:32 AM | Comments (0)
October 8, 2005
What would the world be like without wire clothes hangers?
Oh. This will be a groundbreaking post.
About 15 years ago I had a roommate whom I'll refer to as Rob. (People who know Rob's real name will marvel at the lengths I've gone to to protect his identity. If Rob were to read this entry his first thought would be, "Hey, Delmer's misspelled my name." That is, I don't really think he'd care if I mentioned him by name. But you never know.)
One day I came home from work and headed upstairs to the reading room for my after-work constitutional.
As I glanced into the toilet I thought, "Why didn't Rob flush this?"
I followed that thought with, "Why didn't Rob use toilet paper?" For, there in the toilet was a ball of fecal matter about the size of a small fist, but no toilet paper.
Well, we've all had no-wipers, though I've got to admit that I've never left it to chance that I may have just produced one. Maybe Rob had some internal mechanism that gave him notice whenever he dropped a no-wiper. Just think of the TP savings.
I gave the toilet a flush. There was some swirling and some motion from the fist, but it didn't go anywhere. I flushed again and then a couple of more times.
The fist's refusal to go anywhere provided some consolation as I figured that Rob had probably flushed the toilet, and probably several times. I was further consoled as I assumed he had used TP and that it had gone down the toilet.
I grabbed a wire clothes hanger from the closet, unmade it, and bent one end into an "L." I then proceeded to chunk the fist up into smaller, more manageable pieces.
As I was involved in this Rob came home.
"Delmer! Can you believe it? It was like a claymore. I flushed and flushed and flushed but it wouldnt go anywhere. I finally had to leave for class."
"Yea Rob, this is really something." I kept chunking.
"Man, I gotta start eating more prunes."
"It certainly couldn't hurt," I said, still poking.
"Hey. When you get done with that why don't you roll that clothes hanger up and leave it by the toilet in case we need it again."
"Rob," I said, good naturedly, "If this happens again we'll get a brand new clothes hanger."
"Yea. That's probably a good idea."
The guy was a hoot.
(And a genuinely good person.)
Posted by delmer at 11:48 PM | Comments (0)
Sanding the Floors
A house update:
Yesterday I had the furnace inspected and serviced and was happy to report to my mother that it looked like she and dad would be safe -- the furnace is not leaking carbon monoxide into the house and is unlikely to kill them
Mom told me that if the furnace did kill them that I should not worry about it. She and dad are ready to go. She went on to day that she'll do all she can to finish helping with the home rehab before crossing over to the other side.
Is she a Trophy Mom or what!
The furnace was serviced by Ohio State Heating and Cooling (Leap Road in Hilliard, Ohio. 614-771-0726) . Give them a call when the time for your annual furnace servicing rolls around. You may need to bring the furnace to the Columbus metropolitan area. Ah, what the hell -- bring it by my place; the guys at Ohio State Heating and Cooling know where I live and we can sip margaritas while the furnace gets serviced.
This morning I went to Home Depot and rented a drum sander as I have three floors that need some attention.
I started sanding floors -- um, floor -- at 11 a.m. ... maybe 11:30 ... and stayed on task until about 7:45. I took a break for dinner at 5 p.m. So, it was about eight hours of sanding.
The floor had a couple coats of paint on it and some lacquer. As the floors are wicked old there has been some settling, bowing, and cupping of the floorboards. It isn't anything that bothers me -- I think it adds some character to the floors -- but it does make sanding more of a challenge.
The drum sander is pretty easy to use. The problem I'm having is with the aforementioned cupping of the floorboards. The sanding drum doesn't always make contact with the whole board and floats over the valley formed by the cupping. This has resulted in a lot of hand sanding, which has resulted in spending a lot of extra time on the project.
There are other imperfections as well. Some boards are higher than their neighbors. There have been a nail or two I missed -- hidden under a coat or two of paint --and those are hard on the sand paper.
The lacquer, or whatever it was, sticks to the sandpaper and gums it up. I figured out early on that if I let the drum sit for a few minuted the gumminess hardens and if I remove the sandpaper I can bend it a bit and the lacquer crumbles off. Some additional scraping is needed, but it isn't too bad.
The upside to the process is that the floor I'm working on looks really good.
About halfway through sanding the paint of it came to me that there is a pretty good chance that the paint is lead based. I had both windows open and was getting a good breeze and I was wearing a face mask. Hopefully I won't have lead-poisoning induced madness.
I should have the bedroom finished tomorrow and the other two floors don't look as bad. Maybe I'll make better progress with them.
Posted by delmer at 9:31 PM | Comments (0)
October 7, 2005
My loser score
Posted by delmer at 9:50 PM | Comments (0)
Another Softball Story
My buddies and I were playing a game in Springboro, Ohio. David Steinbach (I'm certain Dave is the voice behind Brian the dog on Family Guy) was at bat and barely caught a bit of the ball. It made a beeline to the pitcher who bent down and picked it up. The pitcher then stood on the mound and held the ball in his hand.
Meanwhile David was hustling to get to first -- just in case the Lord had taken a break from watching pro sports and producing rap albums and was tuned to C-league softball in Springboro and was going to intervene on Dave's behalf to help him get on base. [(You know, I like watching college football but sometimes I like to take in a Pee Wee game at the local field, so I don't think it would be out of character for the Lord to take in small-town softball. The Catholic Lord might even have a beer. And you know he'd watch the game with his mom. I'll bet the Catholic Lord was the first person to ever say "Hi Mom" into a camera, thereby condemning dads to never getting to see their children mouth "Hi Dad" on ESPN 8: The Ocho. I don't think he did it on purpose. What, with His Dad being God and all he probably figured he was getting enough props. He just didn't think far enough ahead to realize that not everybody's dad was God. It happens. (As irreverent as I sometimes am I will not link "Hi Mom" to crucifiction joke.)]
Now that I've condemned myself to Hell (um, please refer to Once in Grace always in Grace), we'll continue.
Dave was hustling down to first as a good ball player should. Just in case. The pitcher, you will remember, was standing on the mound with the ball in his hand. As Dave got a step or two from first base he threw Dave out.
So, the pitcher had the ball a split second after Dave hit it. Probably before Dave took more than a step toward first. But he held on to the ball until Dave was a just a step or two from first. This is just crappy play.
Fast forward a week. We're at the same field waiting for our game to start and watching another game.
The same guy from the week before is pitching. The batter hits a squib back to the pitcher who bends over to field it. The ball catches the pitcher's rubber and jumps up and smashes the pitcher's nose all over his face.
It would seem that the Lord had been watching the week before and didn't like what he saw.
Or maybe it was one of those Karma-related god figures.
UPDATE: My buddy Roy just called and I was able to do some fact checking. We may have been played the same team twice in a row. Roy remembers the guy pitching against us (a week after the Steinbach incident) when he got his nose plastered. Brian Brown would have been the batter.
Posted by delmer at 7:31 AM | Comments (0)
October 6, 2005
Softball
Back when I was in my mid 20s I was on a softball team with a group of my buddies.
I was usually our pitcher. Once in a while I played first base.
I approached fielding from the pitcher's mound and fielding from first base with the view that if the ball got by me all of my friends were going to hate me. This worked so long as the ball was in the air and coming toward me. I'd step in front of it and let it pound into some part of my body before I let it get by me.
This is where the crack about wearing a cup made of Kevlar was supposed to appear. While Googling for said Kevlar cup I came across The Viriguard. It had me going for a minute.
Oftentimes I'd get my glove on the ball. So long as the ball was in the air. And it helped if it were coming directly at me. If the ball was on the ground I'd pretty much Billy Buckner it.
Too far to either side of me and I might miss it as well. Which is how this story starts.
We were playing in a small town in the southwestern part of Ohio. One of the players on the opposing team was a well-known asshole and spoiled brat. The reason I don't give the city is that anybody about my age from that area would know who I mean -- this guy's assholieness and spoiled brattiness was that well known -- and the guy may have grown up into a half-way decent person; I wouldn't want to dis him at this point in his life. [I honestly doubt it he grew out of his assness as his dad was an ass as well and I imagine it is a non-outgrowable genetic problem -- in which case leaking who he is might lead him to sue me. (If any of my friends stumble across this they'll catch themselves asking, "I wonder if he means ..." I probably do.)]
I was pitching. Someone hit a ball near my feet that I should have probably had. It got by me. The next batter did the same thing. Well-known asshole jumped up on the fence and yelled, "Hit it to the pitcher. He can't catch anything." (He was an asshole, but he had a keen eye for the obvious.)
We finally got up to bat. The Ass was playing left field.
Darrell (or Roy) led off and smashed one deep into left. The Ass ran in on it and realized too late that it was going over his head. He turned and chased it down. Darrell (or Roy) got multiple bases.
Roy (or Darrell) was second up and smashed one deep into left. The Ass ran in on it and realized too late that it was going over his head. Turning into the Spoiled Cry-Baby Poor Sport he dropped his glove and head and let one of the other fielders chase it down.
Realizing he needed some kind words to make him feel better, I ran to the fence and screamed, "Hit it to the left fielder! He can't catch anything."
Wait. That probably didn't make him feel better.
But I sure did.
Posted by delmer at 7:12 AM | Comments (2)
For the IT Person in You
We run two applications which make use of a licensing server and floating licenses.
The idea is that four people may need an application sometimes, but never at the same time. We purchase two licenses that are available on a first-come-first-served basis. They 'float' between workstations.
One of our packages is a CAD tool, the other a code archiving tool. The licensing servers are two NT 4 boxes that also have other purposes. The licensing software runs ... the other applications run ... all is well.
Oh, and setting up the licensing software was a snap. I put in the application CDs and chose an option titled "FLEX LM Server" or something similar and clicked 'next.' I chose a path and a port (well, I used the default port in each case) and everything worked.
Thursday an engineer stuck his head in my office. He needed a MAC address for a licensing server for a package we are going to test drive. Based on what I got from him and the sales guys it sounded like FLEX LM again; the printed instructions would bear this out.
Friday I started setting up the licensing component. The instructions state to install the software package on the licensing server before installing it on the client PCs. Well, that is a 2-gig install to support a 1 k license.dat file.
It made sense that the current FLEX License Manager would support multiple licenses. It would have made sense that the install CD might have an option for installing only the licensed component and that the software would be smart enough to recognize the existing licenses -- but that was lacking.
Requiring a 2-gig install to support a very small license file made no sense (not to mention the server I was using didn't have two gigs to spare). I called support and they told me I could get by using just the licensing tools and the tech said he'd send me a file. The file he sent was not the one I needed. After some thinking I figured I could I drag the files I needed over from one of the client PCs.
I did some reading and some more calling of tech support. Support was going to send some more files; I knew they'd never arrive as our server blocks zip files and the person sending the files had been asked by someone else to send them (That is, not me. I would have suggested he name the .zip file to something else.) The files never arrived, but the e-mail that told me they would be coming also said I could find the newest version of the files on the Internet.
That is a really crappy paragraph. Let's hope they get better.
The application came with a tool that would analyze the license.dat file and point out mistakes. After some editing I had the license.dat file set up perfectly according to the tool.
More typing. Some phone tag with support in which I missed them and they missed me. Time passed.
As I tweaked I'd get the error messages to change which indicated the things I was trying were having some effect.
Today I had the feeling I was going to hook up with tech support. I so badly didn't want this to be something incredibly simple and started all over at the beginning.
Did the instructions say I needed to install the whole package? Yes
Was there an option to choose only FLEX LM? No
Had I made a typo on the service name? Well, my capitalization differed. I corrected it. It didn't help.
Did the license.dat file look good? Hmm. The syntax for two different components seemed funny. If item one looked like it did, why didn't item two look more similar? I opened a backup file and found I'd deleted a word. I corrected the issue.
I tried to start the application and when it worked was caught just a little off guard. A feeling of relief swept over me.
So, the tool that verified my license.dat file leaves a bit to be desired. The instructions left a bit to be desired as well. The software installation process could have been better. Had I not had experience with the easy-to-use version of FLEX LM (the two packages that self-installed) I may have never figured it out.
Geez. We're doing a test drive. Why a license file at all.
On the other hand. There are so many days that involve nothing but doing the same old crap. The stuff that, while important, requires no thinking. Things become routine.
And while the above makes it sound like a typo was the whole problem It wasn't. It was the final problem -- and one I introduced to the mix. It was also the one that would have been incredibly embarrassing to have tech support fix.
Posted by delmer at 12:00 AM | Comments (0)
October 5, 2005
I made Haydn laugh
Haydn went to see Big & Rich the other night. That same night Samson came home with a camouflage robe and pajamas outfit that he put on just after his bath.
Haydn's mom dropped Haydn and a buddy off at about 10:30 p.m. By that time Samson had been sleeping on the couch, next to me, for about 20 minutes.
When Haydn walked in he looked at me and asked, "How long has Sam been asleep?"
"Can you see him?" I asked trying to put some surprise in my voice.
Haydn and his buddy both started laughing. (I'm not exactly Chappelle. But front-row seats are a lot easier to get here in the living room.)
I know, It's a old joke and one that gets used everyday. And it doesn't retell very well or in a way that might make you laugh. I put it here to remind myself of it at some point later. It's all about me me me me me today.
While I'm typing up reminders to myself: the keys are always on the kitchen sink. The Glock is under the sofa cushions. The Nixon mask is under the mattress -- nose down. The pellet with the poison's in the vessel with the pestle; the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true! Wait wait wait The pellet with the poison's in the flagon with the dragon; the vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true.
As I typed this up Andy Griffith played in the background. Is it possible that Barney ever delivered the line, "I was born with a slingshot in my ass" or did I mishear something? Andy's follow-up line may have been, "Are you sh*tting me?"
I know what you're thinking. Nip it!
Posted by delmer at 7:39 AM | Comments (0)
October 4, 2005
Free. As in Beer.
I was reading an entry at Michael Gorey's Blog when I was reminded of when it was I realized the boys had the upper hand.
We were at Sears buying tires. Actually, we were responding to a recall. At one point I had purchased two tires -- one blew and the pair were replaced. As it happens the tire that blew would eventually be under recall ... as it further happens, the tires that were purchased to replace the blown tire and the other tire (that we replaced for fun? I think it was suggested to my wife that she replace both) were part of the same recall. So, I had purchased 4 bad tires that were being addressed.
Sears was going to reimburse me for the second set of tires and replace the first set of tires. That is, I was getting cash back for a set of tires and two free tires. (When all is said and done I would eventually have two good tires -- which is what I'd paid for originally.)
I was holding Samson, I don't even know if he was of toddler age yet, and Jack and Haydn were bouncing around the Auto Center. If Samson was about one, then Jack was about three and Haydn was about four.
Samson was screaming the whole time the sales guy and I were going over what was going to happen to the mini van -- two new free tires and money back for the other bad set I purchased -- while Jack and Haydn refused to stand still.
At one point -- and this is when I knew I was screwed -- Haydn and Jack had taken off running from me. As I cornered them -- with Sam the giant child on my hip -- Haydn looked at Jack and, while pointing, said, "No Jack ... you run that way."
They had figured it out. I couldn't be in two places at the same time. This was the beginning of the end.
The story has a happy ending.
The boys and I went to dinner. As we walked back to Sears I noticed that the mini van appeared to have four new tires. Or had they put both new tires on the same side of the vehicle? I looked all around the van. There were four new tires.
I went to the sales guy and told him I thought there must be a mistake. He checked the paperwork and nodded in agreement. I had four new tires and should have only had two put on. He looked at Jack, Haydn, the Screamer and then me and said, "It's our mistake. The old tires have already been taken out back. I can't possibly expect you to wait while we fix this. The tires are yours."
Finally. The boys were starting to earn their keep.
I told this story to a friend of mine with eight kids and asked how she herded them together. She said that when there were eight they didn't run off in eight different directions, they'd run off in small groups in three or four in several different directions.
Posted by delmer at 9:07 AM | Comments (1)
October 3, 2005
I almost bought a lawn mower last night
A red one. A red one with a 4.5 horsepower Briggs and Stratton engine. Well, it was probably a Briggs and Stratton engine. I couldn't really get close enough to see it.
Dad and I had returned a mower to Meijer. I have a small yard and don't really need a $200 mower so I returned the one that my mother had purchased.
Meijer had less-expensive mowers but none of them were assembled. As I'm tall I really like to stand behind a mower I'm going to be using before I buy it; I take this approach to buying a mower because even at their t