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August 31, 2006
The Glamorous Life
Monday: Our ERP server threw up an exception as the database came up. The ERP package would not run and my coworkers called me around 6:15 a.m. and woke me up. I went in early, fixed the problem and got about my busy day. Sixteen hours later I was home after the horrible JREWs problem.
Tuesday: I, um, made a mistake while doing some maintenance on Monday. I missed a step which caused the ERP package to shutdown early in the morning. My coworkers called me around 7 a.m. to roust me out of bed.
Wednesday: New carpet is being installed this week. All the internal partitions (cubicle walls) are coming down and all the equipment needs to be moved. This is being done 1/2 the building at a time. One of my coworkers called me at 7:55 a.m. to let me know some equipment needed moved. I was in the shower preparing for work. Still ... a standalone fax machine is hardly a complex piece of hardware equipment; and not IT stuff at all, if a person were to get technical. Further still ... PC connections are not so complex that the average person couldn't take one down ... it's not like these this haven't been around for decades now. At work I moved the fax machine and disassembled the computer; two hours before it needed to be done.
Thursday: See Monday. Change 6:15 a.m. to 5:50 a.m. I VPN'd in to fix the problem.
I'm not complaining about Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. It looks like we need to replace a server and get something bigger, better, faster and with more storage. Something in Darth Vader black. Something by IBM.
I'm only complaining about Wednesday. And just a little bit.
Posted by delmer at 6:04 AM | Comments (7)
August 30, 2006
Give me an "O" for Oracle
jrew.exe has encountered a problem and needs to close
F*cking jrew, I thought. It's responsible for every software crash and blue screen of death since the dawn of man!!"
"Sugar Tits!" I screamed at my assistant. "Get in here with my Mountain Dew and be prepared to stay late. We've got some coding to do!"
Okay. Well, I don't have an assistant. I don't drink Mountain Dew either. And my coding is so poor it's all I can do to keep Microsoft from hiring me and moving me to Redmond.
I did have a problem with JREW.EXE yesterday. And some non-JREW.EXE issues. Ones that lasted 9 hours.
I've mentioned a problem with Oracle Clients before. The preferred client -- the one we've been using since day one -- has a timeout feature that kicks out an ODBC error if a query runs too long. A newer client ... one that is just .0001 versions newer (or thereabouts) allows the query timeout feature to be deselected.
So, the newer client (clients, actually -- we have a couple of versions) are better? Right? Well, sometimes they break Microsoft Access queries that have been running like gangbusters for years. And then those queries need to be rewritten. And some of them are a bitch.
The newer clients also break Cognos -- which I'm able to fix in just a few minutes. Now, I can fix them in a couple of minutes -- I invested a couple of hours learning how to do this several months ago. But now, I can do it in a couple of minutes. Unless, of course, my week has been a non-stop barrage of things-that-never-happen actually happening and Cognos not accepting the fix is one of a list of bizarre things that could happen too to make the week even weirder.
At 2 p.m. I sat at a coworkers PC to fix Cognos. I'd installed a newer Oracle client earlier in the week to fix the query timeout problem. I'd also applied the Cognos fix ... and it was not working.
Yada yada yada. I edited the registry. I blew out and installed several sets of Java Runtime files (The "J" and the "R" part of JREW for those of you who don't know and haven't been bored to tears yet).
I uninstalled and reinstalled a couple of Oracle clients.
The one that works for everyone else (and may not break as many Access queries) wouldn't even begin to install. I'd get an hour glass when I clicked the Setup icon and then nothing.
At one point I thought I'd get tricky and use the Universal Installer from an even newer version to install the older files. (Say it with me people! U-NI-VER-SAL). It tried really really hard to work and hung about 80% through. Universal crap never works ... universal windshield wiper blades ... universal mounting brackets for something you need mounted ... all crap. Even Kirk had trouble with the universal translator every once in a while.
I did a custom install -- deselecting things I didn't need -- and tried again.
It looked good. Eighty, ninety, boom one-hundred percent! And then the message advising me that a component wasn't able to install. Naturally it was the component I needed.
Sometimes things would look great and when I went to tweak settings I'd get the JREW.EXE error. Or I'd find that the Oracle Data Access Component I needed wasn't showing up in the ODBC Administrator. Or that it seemed to be there, but instead of a version number -- which would verify that things would work -- there would be a text string advising me that my coworkers were at home watching How I Met Your Mother while I was getting screwed by software; this message would eventually change to Two and a Half Men, The New Adventures of Old Christine, and, finally, Deep Throat (I assume the software was channeling for some of the sales guys at that point).
I finally downloaded an 80 meg file from Oracle -- it was a newer client than either I had. But just barely newer. It started installing and then crashed with a JREW error.
However. Enough of it installed that when I next tried to reinstall one of the clients I'd tried to install before ... it worked!
I was home just before the 11 o'clock news.
Ah. I really should have mentioned that I was awakened Monday -- just after 6 a.m. -- by a call from a co-worker. Our ERP package was down. Tuesday morning I was awakened by a call from a coworker (7 a.m. this time) to let me know the ERP package was down again. (Monday's error was do to an overnight reboot hanging. Tuesday's was a result of a step I'd missed in when I performed some maintenance on Monday.)
Posted by delmer at 12:04 AM | Comments (0)
August 29, 2006
Urbana
From here ...
To here ...
To here ...
Is seventy-five miles. Just a bit over actually, and to pull it off you have to make two two-mile side trips. I chose to make my side trips between Mutual and Urbana, Ohio. I was pretty sure that if I made it back to Hilliard and I came up four miles short that the ride would have been 71 miles instead of the desired 75.
Oh, please excuse the bicycle-helmet hair.
How did I know to add four miles? On the way out I decided to get off Rt. 29 and shot up a side road. That side road ended at Rt. 36. Since traveling down 29 is preferred to 36, I went back to 29. Thirty-seven and a half miles put me right at the Rockin' Robin Diner in Urbana, so I stopped there and just made a point to add two miles on the way back to keep the out and back distances equal. I averaged 16.7 mph. And, I burned up something over 5000 calories with a pedaling time of 4 hours and what ... fifteen or twenty minutes.
If you follow Google's directions from Hilliard to Urbana it comes in at 46.8 miles. On a really sweet Schwinn it is, as I've explained, about 35 on the back roads.
I planned my outing earlier in the week. I woke up Wednesday and thought I might be able to crank out 75 miles the coming Saturday (August 26). I was eager to give it a shot with some applied pre-planning. That is, I wanted to see how I'd fare if I took some snacks with me and ate along the way. I did some reading on the subject and found that I should try to consume about 60 carbs per hour and that I should drink one bottle of water per hour and one bottle of a Gatorade-like fluid each hour.
I bought some Cliff bars and Gatorade at Kroger. Saturday I outfitted the Schwinn with three full water bottles, four bottles of Gatorade, three Cliff bars and some gel packs I had left over from a previous outing. To round all this out I stopped at the Rockin' Robin Diner in Urbana and had a grilled chicken sandwich; I refilled the water at the Speedway next door. In Mechanicsburg I made a second stop, at Castle's, and had a buffalo burger, apple pie and scoop of vanilla ice cream.
How did the eating-while-riding thing work out? Very well. When I arrived back in Hilliard I didn't have that wiped-out feeling I'd had on other rides. I was still ready to sit on my ass -- in all it's Mel Gibsoness -- but I wasn't beat.
I celebrated the end of the ride by having a small pizza -- sausage, mushroom, onions and green olives -- at Mama Lia's in Hilliard.
Do I know how to spend a Saturday or what!
Posted by delmer at 8:33 AM | Comments (6)
August 28, 2006
On the Road to OSU: Act II
As you may recall from On The Road to OSU, which I really should have called On The Road to OSU: Act I, Tom, Dick, Cindy and I were on our way to The Ohio State University in my sweet, sweet ride, The Bruise.
Where were we? I believe the State Highway Patrolman had just informed me that he was going to perform a safety check on my car. We'd already established the fact that my front license tag was not on the front of my VW -- it was in a closet at home.
"Let me hear your horn," the officer said, as he stood by the driver-side door.
"The horn doesn't work," I explained, as he leaned in a little to watch me depress the horn activation mechanism (Was it a button? Was it one of those wire-like rings?)
"Where are your car keys?!" he exclaimed, having noticed the lack of such as he admired my horn-honking technique.
"I lost those in Kentucky. The car's hot wired."
And it was. In order to start the car a toggle switch had to be flipped up and a button had to be pressed. To kill the engine the toggle switch was flipped down.
"Son. This doesn't look good. You've been drinking, you've got no front tag, and the car's hot wired. Step back to the cruiser."
And so ends On the Road to OSU: Act II.
If you've watched any TV you have undoubtedly seen somebody hot wire a car. A guy finds himself in a car he needs to start and he hasn't got the keys. He simply reaches up under the dash, finds a couple of wires -- that have the ends already stripped -- touches them together -- and in an instant is speeding down the road in pursuit of or away from the bad guys. You have always known this was bullshit -- everybody knows this is bullshit. And, yet, Hollywood continues to insult us.
First of all, there are more than two wires involved. I'm not an electrician, as I will prove by my description of the process, but I knew that before I even tried to hot wire The Bruise.
Sure, you've got the wire you touch to the hot wire (the one providing the juice to things like lights, the radio) that engages the starter and cranks the engine over. And you can crank all day, or until the battery dies, but unless you make another connection ... and this one probably sends juice to the coil, the plugs, whatever ... the car is not going to start. This whole thing may be called the ignition system; I'm not a mechanic either.
What I am is a person with common sense. I knew that getting the starter to crank would not be enough and I knew that if I could get a look at the back of the assembly the ignition key went into all the wires I'd need to play around with would be there. And they were. And none of them were pre-stripped and hanging loose.
I don't remember if I had to take, er, break, the ignition assembly out of the column. I do remember that I had to bust the steering-wheel locking mechanism. You know, if you don't do that you end up driving in a circle or in a straight line ... either scenario will keep you from catching or getting away from the bad guys.
Posted by delmer at 7:03 AM | Comments (2)
August 27, 2006
More Weight Discussion
This is a photo of me from about 5 years ago. I don't know that I weighed 370 there, but I was close. I know I've posted about losing weight in the recent past. The only reason I'm bringing it up again is that I've come across some new info that supports my thoughts about my weight loss. I've thought that my weight loss -- and part of my weight gain -- was attributable to my hormones.
I tried hard, for a long time, to lose weight with mixed and limited success; entries about that can be found by clicking the Hormones category. When I started taking Dostinex, it started coming off. It certainly seemed like the hormone tweaking had something to do with the weight loss. And I'd heard of men with low testosterone gaining weight. Still, I'm just a sample of one. And, reinforcement of one's ideas is never a bad thing.
While Googling for Generic Dostinex I stumbled across the Prolactinoma Message Board at MSN and the Pituitary Disorder Education and Support site. It isn't hard to find people at either site who experienced quick weight gain that they had trouble losing until they found they had a high-prolactin problem and received treatment for it. (That has got to be one of the best sentences I've strung together in several months.) I don't know how it is that I'd never found either of those message boards before.
Why am I so curious about this? Why not just accept it for what it seems to be? To state it simply, the human body is a mysterious thing. Some portions are more mysterious than others. There are parts of your body that you can't see -- even with a mirror -- and to know anything about those parts you have to rely on what others tell you about them. These mysterious areas should be approached only by someone wearing gloves. Those mysteries should be accepted for what they are -- deep dark secrets -- and shouldn't be subjected to excessive digging around and trying to find out too much about them. Or picking. They shouldn't be picked at. Unless you're in the car alone.
Other mysteries are there to be explored. Will asparagus really make your urine change odor? Give it a shot (it does). Will eating a boatload of really hot peppers cause you anal distress the next day? Have at it (it will). Will getting f*cked up hormones treated result in weight loss? Fire up Google (it seems to).
Really. Enough about that.
Last Saturday I went to the school to pick up my oldest from football practice. There were two women, whom I know and see at a lot of school functions but that I haven't seen since school ended, talking and waiting for their kids. My son made a motion with his hand that either meant, "I see you dad," or "What the heck is this on my fingers ... get off, get off get off."
I turned to the women and asked if they thought Haydn was waving to me or if he was just shaking his hand.
"We did not realize that was you," one of them said.
This past week I was at football practice again. One of the dads came near me -- he lives close to the school and brought his dog with him to pick up his boy. He walked his dog back and forth as I sat watching the offense and defense go through their drills. He took a position several feet from me and I got up to chat with him.
"I didn't recognize you," he said as I greeted him.
It was just about the beginning of summer when I realized I'd slipped into the world of anonymity. I was at the Speedway and one of the dad's came in. I said "hello" and he gave me sort of a cold greeting. I grabbed what I needed and got in line behind him. I asked how he'd been, he looked at me and said, "fine" and, again, it wasn't terribly friendly. I briefly wondered what I might have done to upset him. After he left the store it hit me that he didn't recognize me.
This past summer I went to pick Haydn up from football camp one day. I got there a little early and watched some of the drills. (This, I believe, was not long after I took the beard off.) After the drills the boys started moving toward the locker room -- which would have taken them right past me. As Haydn got close it hit me that he didn't have any clue as to who I was ... and I was right. He almost walked right by me, stopping at the last minute and saying, "I didn't know that was you."
The IRS always seems to know who I am.
Update: I just ran into Bill while I was eating at Mel's Diner. Bill is retired but would sometimes do contract work for Vanner -- the place I work. He is also active with the city Pee Wee Football and I'd run into him once in a while before Haydn started playing in the church league. I'll bet I haven't seen Bill in at least two years.
I caught a glimpse of him as he sat in a booth near the door and it took a second or two for his face to register. As I was leaving I walked past him and stopped to say hello. He said, "I thought that was you. You've lost a bit of weight. Are you still at Vannner?"
Maybe retirees are just more in tune to what's going on around them.
Posted by delmer at 12:37 AM | Comments (3)
August 26, 2006
Bloodwork Update: August 23, 2006
I have a pituitary tumor that screws with my hormones. I'm not going to go into all the details of the tumor here -- that info exists in other posts, just click the Hormones category. I have my blood tested every five months. More often if my medicine is adjusted. Until recently I was taking Dostinex. Without insurance it would have run about $900 a month. With insurance I paid $45.00 monthly; $40 when my carrier changed. Pfizer currently has some sort of recall going on with Dostinex. Luckily, back in December,
Par Pharmaceutical released a generic form of Dostinex ... Cabergoline is the generic name. 
Several months ago the amount of Dostinex I was taking was dialed down from 1.5 mg. twice a week to 1.25 mg. twice a week. With that my Testosterone improved to 706 ng/dL (where 241 - 827 is normal) and my Prolactin dropped to 7.1 (where 2.1 - 17.7 is normal and lower is better.) This is all very good and my testosterone is higher than I expected it to be. It is currently more than 24 times higher than my lowest level, reached not long after I discontinued using Androgel, and almost 6 times higher than the long-term low of 116. My Cabergoline dose was reduced following this most recent blood work. I'm now taking 1 mg. twice a week.
Posted by delmer at 12:04 AM | Comments (0)
August 25, 2006
Baby got back
Firstly, let me say that when I write things like, "I have Mel Gibson's ass ... just a more Hebrew-friendly version," I'm joking. I really have no idea what kind of ass I have. It seems to be round enough to keep my tools from dipping into the water as I'm reading in the library -- but this may be as much a function of me not having Tommy Lee's drumstick as anything else.
What I'm trying to say is that I don't think I have an inflated version of any of my male attributes. Wait, that's not true. I do think I have nice legs (except for the varicose veins and those will be taken care of soon enough) -- but only from the standpoint that I'll never look like a potato on toothpicks ... you've seen those guys.
I could go on and listing my various insecurities. And, I mean, on and on. It would be a time saver for both of us if you just start at the beginning of this blog and work your way through to today's entry and make note of any insecurity you happen across.
On a good day I think I'm incredibly average when I comes to appearance. Which, of course, makes me Brad Pitt like.
Once in a while I'll mention trips to the gym. Let me restate here that if you were to see me in the gym I'd be one of the normal looking guys. More precisely, one of the normal looking guys walking with a normal gait. Not one of the normal-looking guys with large phantom arms and lats. You've seen this guy too -- he looks average but has massive arms that are invisible to all but himself and that makes him walk with them sort of hanging out from his sides so they don't rub his massive invisible-to-all-but-himself lats. A lot of these guys are in their early 20s. And virgins.
Other days I'll go into great detail about riding my bike -- simply because it is something I did that day. And, really, almost getting mowed down by a little old lady has some humor to it. As does getting a bit lost. I don't think I'm a great cyclist or that I look particularly fetching in cycling shorts (though, I think cycling shorts elevates my ass to more of a Heath Ledger-ness.) (I think I look like a goober in cycling shorts. Everybody does. But they are sooooo comfortable.)
I do think I'm funny on occasion. It certainly doesn't come across here all the time, and I accept the fact that I will turn out a lame joke as fast as anyone else.
Oh. And I'm a delight to be around. I honestly think people like me when they meet me. Or at the very least are indifferent toward me. It's a time saver not having to spend precious moments wondering what someone thinks of me. I just assume I'm loved by all -- or most -- but don't give it too much thought after that. Maybe I think people like me because I'm too lazy to put serious thought into interpersonal relationships.
Nothing screams insecure like starting a blog entry with a disclaimer.
I will now relate several stories that might make you think I'm full of myself if you didn't know me. You might want to read these over the next couple of days as, well, tomorrow at least we'll be discussing my pituitary tumor a little more.
So, Wednesday (my birthday) I made a trip to the endocrinologist to visit and leave some blood. I approached the counter with my new insurance card in my hand -- my provider had changed -- and handed it to the gal behind the counter. For the record, also in that office area were the blond and the blood-taker. All three persons were female.
The gal behind the counter took my card without saying anything to me (like, "Hello Delmer") and looked at it. She then looked at me, back at the card, and then back at me and said, "You have lost a lot of weight."
And I have. I'm down just over 140 pounds, and about 40 pounds since the gal behind the counter last saw me (10 months ago).
"Thank you," I said. And then looking at the blond I added, "I'm trying to get better at accepting compliments." The blond acknowledged the progress I'd made since my last visit when she had complimented me on my progress and I sort of stammered before saying "Thank you?"
"If you guys start whispering among yourselves as I walk away," I started, "I'll assume you're talking about my tushy which will make for a nice birthday present." I expected some good-natured laughter. Which I got -- followed by something I didn't expect.
"Turn around and let us have a look," said the gal behind the counter.
"Oh, um ... " I stammered. "Now I'm just a bit embarrassed."
I was able to distract the women by pulling my co-pay out of my pocket and handing it across the counter. We talked a bit about my diet secrets and then I turned to take a seat.
"It does look pretty good," said the gal behind the counter.
It was nice of her to keep the joke going.
Last week, and this is a story for my buddies Roy, Darrell, Dave and Joe, I was taking a stroll down Avery Road. I was about 3.5 miles into a four mile stroll and was listening to some Foghat on my MP3 player. I heard a horn honk followed by some yelling. When I looked over there was a jeep full of girls waving at me. They all seemed to be about in their 20's and they had a great enough interest in waving that the girls in the back spun around so they could get the most amount of waving time in. They might have been super models.
Really, I think a lot of guys would have eaten this up. Me, I found myself thinking, you have no idea how old I am. It would have been easy enough for me to be as old as their fathers. And this was when I was 45.
I don't think they were waving at every guy they passed on the street -- I'm guessing Abe Vigoda wouldn't have gotten a honk and a wave (too much danger of setting off a heart attack), neither would have the Delmer of 140 pounds ago -- but I think most other types of guys might have been fair game. That is, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.
A few days later I was on the Schwinn and a young lady hung out the window of the car she was in and gave me a long, drawn out "heeeyyy." I believe she was yelling at every guy she passed. And she may have been a bit tipsy. And, again, she had no idea how old I am (the sunglasses hide the crows feet.)
Earlier this week a redhead in a greenish Altima honked and threw me a wave as I was out walking. It was the woman who used to be married to me. But, at my age, you count them all.
It would seem I am all things to all women. So long as those women are in a vehicle of some sort and driving away from me.
You'll notice that this post appears late Friday night (Hmmm ... it would seem I accidentally posted a partial version of this about 5 p.m. That was not my intention). The pituitary post will appear early Saturday morning, giving this post the Delmer's Blog Spotlight for just a couple of hours. My insecurities are such that I have to post something quickly after this entry so it is sort of lost in the blog. I can't not post this entry -- I've had "A more Hebrew-friendly version of Mel Gibson's ass" floating around in my head for days and wanted to see it in print.
Posted by delmer at 10:32 PM | Comments (4)
August 24, 2006
My First Full Morning of Being 46
I woke up, showered, shaved and dressed.
I made my way to McDonald's and answered "Yes" to the question, "Do you want your usual."
I read a little bit off my PDA and shot off to work.
As I researched some SQL commands one of the engineers stopped by with a question. Shortly into our conversation he paused and asked, "Do you know your shirt's on inside out?"
Naturally, I did not know.
But it was. I fixed it.
Posted by delmer at 3:28 PM | Comments (4)
August 23, 2006
Today I turned 46
Forty-six years old.
I remember when I thought I'd be 17 for the rest of my life. Not because I thought I'd die at 17, it just seemed like a good idea to stay 17 and I was fairly certain I could will it to happen. Unfortunately, as strong-willed as I was, that seemed to be beyond my capabilities.
I refined my willing-myself-to-stay young technique over the years with limited success. Eighteen came and went, followed by 19, then 20 and 21. Hopefully you've detected the pattern and are on board with how I've found myself at 46.
As recently as yesterday I was 45.
While 45 I had been assured that I looked pretty good for being that age. And, while that was never really a goal -- I'd rather be 45 and look pretty good for a 38-year old -- I'll assume that today I look pretty good for a 46-year old. Of course, maybe I went totally to hell overnight.
But let's work from the premise that I look pretty good for a 46-year old.
Some extrapolation turns this into the simple statement: You don't look 46.
And if I don't look 46, I think it is safe to say that even though I couldn't will myself to stay 17, I have been able to will myself to stop aging as fast as I might have otherwise. Willing myself to stay 17 would have been such a big job -- I'd actually have had to stop time ... and even McNulty had trouble making that work satisfactorily -- I was a fool to think I could have ever pulled it off. Well, I was 17 when I got the idea.
Willing myself to stay 17 affects the whole world and I'd have to contend with all the 15-year olds willing themselves to be old enough to drive. It was a losing proposition from the start.
Willing myself to stop aging is a much smaller job. It's one guy. Me. And I'm not all that complicated.
If only I had focused all my staying-17 energies (staying 18-energies, etc.) on simply slowing my aging process instead of having a slower aging process come as a side effect of trying to will myself to stay 17 (18, etc.), maybe I'd look pretty good for a 30-year old. Maybe I'd know if I meant side affect instead of side effect.
Maybe I wouldn't be worn out and on my way to bed at 10:30.
Posted by delmer at 10:13 PM | Comments (11)
August 22, 2006
You never save as much time as you think
At least over the long haul.
You may remember my account of The Running Man. Or one of the follow-up accounts.
Basically, the stories all came about as a guy ran by me in McDonald's to beat me to the counter and then, over the course of a few episodes, I sort of turned our encounters into a game.
Anyway.
This morning I made a trek to McDonald's to get Egg McMuffins. I had every intention of going through the drive thru as I was taking them back home for the breakfast dining enjoyment of Haydn and a buddy of his.
As I pulled into the McDonald's lot I noticed The Running Man behind me. I further noticed that, as is his way, he refused to follow the set McTraffic Pattern and plunged headlong into the exit area. I really don't know why he does this. He saves zero time. Following the traffic pattern typically gets a person a spot closer to the door.
Ah, well. I know The Running Man sometimes enjoys a short, brisk, early morning jog to the counter. Maybe it's a health thing he's got going.
When I saw The Running Man I knew the drive thru was out. I was going in -- simply because I was going to give The Running Man one more person to stand behind in line.
Which is how it went down. I was able to delay The Running Man by, quite possibly, twenty-eight seconds (which is the average service time at McDonald's, according to the lighted blurb on the cash register.)
Half a minute is not a lot ... I know. Or is it? By running past me those several months ago The Running Man saved about thirty seconds.
Technically, now, we're even.
But ... but ... but ...
And this falls into the I don't know what's wrong with men category -- and I'll bet this is more a I don't know what's wrong with people category -- we're not really even. Whenever I have the chance to be in front of The Running Man at McDonald's I'm going to take it. And, for those one or two days a year when I can pull this off, I'm going to start walking around with a pocket full of nickels, dimes and pennies so I'm able to pay for my $7.00 worth of Egg McMuffins and Breakfast Burritos one coin at a time.
OK. That won't happen.
But seriously. Today I went the tiniest bit out of my day so I could delay The Running Man by thirty seconds. There's sort of some playful malice here. He doesn't know what I'm doing (though, at some level I hope he recognizes me as the guy he charged past those months ago), nobody gets hurt, somehow, I get a kick out of it.
The larger point -- if there is one -- is that I'll bet I'm not the only one doing this. At some point he's cut in front of Marge at the office to make copies. Now, whenever Marge sees him going to the copier she steps up and makes a copy of one or two things she doesn't really need while The Running Man waits behind her.
At Burger King one day he ran in front of a group of kids in order to get a Whopper. One of those kids now works part-time at the 7-11 The Running Man buys his Slurpies at and recounts his Slurpy payment three times each time The Running Man is in there.
I'm sure there are more people involved in this pseudo conspiracy.
It adds up. A little bit of rudeness in the past, to save a second or two, is now costing The Running Man minutes each day.
And, of course, I spend hours typing about it.
Hmmmm. Who's the winner here?
Posted by delmer at 6:58 AM | Comments (6)
August 21, 2006
On the road to OSU
It was 1982.
A group of us decided to make the trip from Miami University to The Ohio State University to visit some friends. We thought we'd make the trip in The Bruise, my black and blue VW, which was an odd choice as not too long before it had suffered from a fire in the engine compartment.
(You can read a lot more about The Bruise here. It's worth the time.)
The group was comprised of Tom, Dick, Cindy and me.
We left early in the afternoon; the four of us and about a dozen beers. Tom decided he'd drive as I'd already had a few early-afternoon Miller Lites.
We hit the road with Jenny (867-5309) blasting.
Traffic was light on I-70 and we were making pretty good time, until ... the car started sputtering, which always signaled an inevitable stop.
We pulled to the side of the road, I got out and threw open the hood at the rear of the car. I probably took a look around the engine compartment -- it was SOP -- and then I got in the driver's seat to try to get the thing running.
As I sat there a State Highway Patrolman appeared outside the door. This is always a good sign
"You were driving pretty erratically back there. Is something wrong?" he asked.
"It wasn't me driving sir," I replied.
"It was you. I saw you," he stated, still friendly.
Well. It wasn't me driving -- but I wasn't the one wearing the badge. And, as to the erratic driving, I don't know what that was about. I'm pretty sure we were singing at the top of our lungs and just carrying on.
"Officer, I wasn't driving," I said, "I've had a little too much beer."
"I was driving sir," Tom piped up.
The officer asked why we'd stopped and I explained about the engine problems the The Bruise had.
The officer stepped to the front of The Bruise. "Where's the front plate?" he asked.
"At home in a closet," I said. And it was, I'd seen it just the weekend before.
"There's a reason they give you two plates," he continued.
"Yes sir. I know."
"I'm going to do a safety check."
This was going to be good.
Really. If you haven't, you need to read up on The Bruise before you continue to the next installment. You need to have a feel for what a sweet ride this car was to fully appreciate the stupidity of taking it outside of its home zip code.
Posted by delmer at 7:09 AM | Comments (2)
August 20, 2006
Frozen Treat Chart
To continue with the recent Ice-Cream related theme ...
A little ice cream every day is a good thing. A lot is not necessarily better.
What to eat ... what to eat? For reference -- and to help me get a feel for how much ice cream I can eat and how often (well, I could eat a lot and everyday, but you know that isn't what I mean) -- here's a quick guide for a few items.
Ice Cream Sandwich: 140 calories
Vanilla Ice Cream -- 1/2 cup (72 grams): 132 calories
This may be a scoop. I've read elsewhere that a scoop of ice cream has about 150 calories
Wendy's
Small Vanilla Frosty (227 grams): 310 calories
Junior Vanilla Frosty (113 grams): 150 calories
Small Chocolate Frosty (227 grams): 330 calories
Junior Chocolate Frosty (113 grams): 160 calories
DQ Soft Serve
Small Vanilla or Chocolate Cone (142 grams): 240 calories
No cone -- 1/2 cup, 3.3 oz (93.5 grams) vanilla: 140 calories
No cone -- 1/2 cup, 3.3 oz (93.5 grams) chocolate: 150 calories
The cake cones in my cupboard weight 5 grams and have about 25 calories. I'm guessing a small cone has more ice cream than the 3.3 oz single serving
Dippin' Dots
1/2 cup (85 grams) 190 calories
What can we learn from this? All things in moderation. A small, a junior, a scoop won't push you over the edge.
Posted by delmer at 3:41 AM | Comments (2)
The Times They Are A Changin'
And so is What's a Delmer Look Like.
With any luck you will barely notice. Without said luck, thinks might get funky for a short while. Starting soon.
Update:
Well ... hours have passed. Tina Fey and Amy Pohler have just delivered the fake news. The update seems to have gone well enough.
Let's see what happens the next couple of days.
Posted by delmer at 12:35 AM | Comments (0)
August 19, 2006
Vanilla Frosty
As we've been on an Ice Cream tear ... or at least a frozen desert tear.
I was very excited to when I heard that Wendy's was coming out with a Vanilla Frosty. Vanilla is:
Just kidding about that stripper thing, mom. Amber's my favorite.
Yesterday as I was trying to decide where to have lunch Vanilla Frosty bounded to the forefront of my mind and I decided I had to have one. 
As luck would have it there is a Wendy's right down the street ... across from McDonald's, adjacent to Max & Irma's, next to Tim Horton's, a stones throw from Subway, Jersey Mikes, Sammy's Italian Buffet, Fridays, Damon's, Philly Station Subs (or something), Iaconnos, Luigis, China Dynasty, Mongolian BBQ, etc. ... you get the picture ... I'm very lucky when it comes to places to eat.
At Wendy's I ordered a small Vanilla Frosty. It was everything I dreamed it would be. Vanilla. And, kinda frosty.
The small is larger than I needed, and as I've explained before, anything I buy comes in a single serving size -- I lack the ability to save a portion of anything in the food family until later. I ate it all.
The Junior would have been plenty.
Posted by delmer at 8:43 AM | Comments (2)
August 18, 2006
Wimpiest blogger ever
I have got to be the wimpiest blogger ever. And I'm able to do this without taking any seriously hard stands on anything -- other than the position that George Bush is a buffoon. Even Cheney thinks so. Take a look at the picture on this page. What do you think Cheney is thinking?
Bush might be a nice guy, but he shouldn't be in charge of the country. Or second in charge.
There are other things I waffle on. And most things I know might make some uncomfortable I don't touch at all -- I've got a bunch of very entertaining things floating around in the back of my noggin that you will never read; I have trouble bringing it up with old friends after a few beers and a lot of it is pretty funny and/or ranks pretty high on the Oh My meter.
Back to the waffling.
Not long ago I blogged about Dippin' Dots and how they just weren't my cup of tea. Or, in this case, cup of frozen ice cream bits. I remarked that they were so cold they sort of burned my tongue (which may be a result of my STD -- sensitive tongue disorder -- more than anything else). In an entry a couple of days later I blogged that I'd been back a couple of more times.
Well, I almost went back two nights ago -- but the line was out the door (almost) and I just don't wait that long for anything. Last night I'd considered going again (I'd spent 30 miles on the Schwinn and was going for calorie-replenishment), but I'd had ice cream just before lunch and twice in one day (while awesome) is too much.
I didn't consider Dairy Queen either time -- and they are right across the street from Dippin' Dots ... I'm not typing figuratively here ... you could easily (easily, I tell you!) throw a Buster Bar from DQ and hit DD. Part of the reason I didn't consider DQ is because I didn't know how many calories were likely to be in a small vanilla cone (Now I know -- 240 for vanilla or chocolate cone. The ice cream, sans cone, is about 150 for chocolate, 140 for vanilla ... I know, the math doesn't add up. These figures are for 3.3 oz or 93.5 grams of DQ soft serve. Dippin' Dots has about 190 calories per half cup, or 85 grams. There, now I can enjoy ice cream anywhere I want.)
The point is. While Dippin' Dots isn't my favorite, I somehow seem drawn to it.
This morning I received a very nice e-mail from a Dippin' Dots home office person. And I felt bad for not having said that Dippin' Dots was my favorite ice cream ever. The person said that the local franchisee would love to have me back in their store.
Oh no ... they know about me. Do they know that if they had a high-pressure hose they could shoot their whipped cream (which is awesome) from their store and hit my house? Assuming they arced the stream over the DQ.
You know, I've lived by DQ for almost a year and I've been in there twice. Dippin' Dots is already ahead by one. And now that I've received a polite letter from the DD HQ (in Paducah, Kentucky ... about 45 miles from Eddyville -- where my parents used to live) I'll have to make it my ice cream of choice, out of politeness if nothing else. Well, and my kids really like it. And for some reason, like I said, I seem drawn to it.
More Dippin' Dots facts (from the e-mail from the home office).
Posted by delmer at 5:42 PM | Comments (2)
August 17, 2006
Bad Girl
When a comment is posted to my blog an e-mail is sent advising me of such.
I'll admit I was just a little excited this morning when I checked my mail and noticed that I'd received a comment from BadGirl. Initially because I misread it and thought that Yvonne Craig might be trying to reach me. (I've always been a Bat Girl fan and, guys, I believe I could bring the new lesbian-version back to our team. Not because I'm such a stud, but, okay, really not at all, I just wanted to work 'lesbian-version of Bat Girl' into this entry somehow and I'm sort of pressed for ideas.)
This excitement was replaced by a whole different level of excitement when I reread the e-mail address: Bad Girl.
A Bad Girl was trying to reach me, and I was pretty sure she meant bad in the sexy kind of way and not bad in the Ma Parker (to make another Bat reference) or Bonnie (of Bonnie and Clyde fame) kind of way.
I envisioned an e-mail from Vicky Vallencourt, aka Fairuza Balk.
As it turns out Bad Girl meant bad in the comment spammer kind of way. The type of comment spammer who suggests she's running an amateur porn site featuring photos of herself ... which makes her very bad indeed.
Asides:
After I Googled Ma Parker (played by Shelly Winters ... I'd forgotten) I Googled for Bonnie and Clyde. I had always known that Ma Parker was a play in Ma Barker but it never occurred to me that it was a play on Ma Barker and Bonnie Parker (Clyde's squeeze) -- sort of a Bat two-for-one.
Fairuza has got to be the Delmer of feminine names. And then again, maybe not ... it is sort of soft at beginning. It strikes me as uncommon, but maybe you grew up with a whole boatload of Fairuzas. You just know that wherever she's from (California? I never would have guessed) that all her little playmates would be making "fah-rooo-za" noises in the "ah-ooo-gah" horn manner. I wonder if she gets left off a lot of Christmas-card lists because people can't remember how to spell her name. (Per the IMDB, Fairuza means "Turquoise" in Farsi.)
Posted by delmer at 7:24 AM | Comments (0)
August 16, 2006
Bike Race
I had about four miles to go on a 36-mile ride and was stopped at one of the re-entry points of the bike path. Another biker was coming up from the west to re-enter.
It was going to be close as to whether or not I'd be up and pumping before the guy was on the path and I didn't want to hold him up, be in his way or have to hurry to beat him ... so I scooted aside. As it happens, I could have easily beat him and ended up pedaling just a second or two behind him.
I am not a great cyclist. When I'm out riding I'm not trying to go a certain speed or set a new personal record. Mostly I'm just trying to stay in shape -- I have this feeling that I'm going to live a long time (barring a bus or old lady running me over) as the men in my family seem to go on forever -- and I figure I may as well be healthy if I'm going to be knocking around for years and years to come.
But, I do have a pedaling comfort area. Too slow and I feel like I'm creeping along. Too fast and I can't breathe. The comfort area is not speed or cadence related but more the whole-package related. Yada yada yada. Into a headwind I might be cranking out 12 mph ... with a tailwind maybe 25 mph with, what appears to me to be, the same effort.
Anyway. The cyclist was in front of me. I was doing 16.6 mph and creeping up on him. And the pace was slower than I wanted to be doing. I kept expecting him to pick it up as, well, he had a better (more expensive, lighter, newer) bike than I had and, in addition to the dorky bike shorts, he was also wearing the dorky jersey -- I was simply wearing the dorky shorts.
I think it is in bad form to pass someone only to not be able to maintain a speed necessary to stay in front of him. It's bad in a Buick on I-75 ... it's bad on a Trek on the bike path. So I waited a bit giving the guy a chance to pick up some speed so I wouldn't end up passing him and then being in his way.
He didn't seem like he was going to go any faster so I announced, "Passing left" and swung around him. I was cranking out just over 20 mph and I made sure I continued to crank out 20 until I was well past the guy at which point I maintained something over 19 to something bouncing around either side of 20 mph. At no point did I fall below 19. Even the math impaired will recognize any of these numbers as being greater than 16.6 ... the speed at which I was creeping up on the guy moments before.
About a minute later I noticed someone coming up on me. I wasn't sure if it was the same cyclist or another guy -- the jerseys all start to look alike after a while. He went by me at a reasonable speed. That is, not like the person who passes you on the highway when you're doing 70 ... you know, the guy who comes up on you and passes you 3/4 of the way at 90 mph to the point his rear bumper is even with your driver's side mirror and then slows to 70.001 mph seemingly forgetting that just moments ago he was in a hurry. The guy, that had he been approaching you at 75 mph was far enough back that you would have swung around the semi you're about to rear end but you decided to wait as the guy was obviously in a race with the devil and would easily pass you and the semi before you had to deactivate your cruise control.
So the guy passes me fast enough that he should continue to pull away from me; and it is the rider I passed as 16.6. He's followed by another guy who does the same and for an instant I think they might be riding buddies. I continue to crank out about 20 mph.
Neither guy continues to pull away from me. As a matter of fact the second passer sort of slows and will eventually sit up in his saddle, take his right hand off his handlebar and shake it out a little as if a tired hand is what got the best of him and not the fact that he didn't have the legs to make this thing work. FWIW I believe I was about 20 years older than this guy. I was about one-bike length behind him.
The lead passer must have slowed as well. He was about 10 bike-lengths ahead of us which is where he'd stayed after passing me. Even as the second guy slowed, causing me to slow.
I don't know what is wrong with men. And when I say 'men' I mean me and, well, most men you know. But the whole thing was starting to irritate me in sort of a playful way. I knew I could get around the second passer without any problem ... hell, I just needed to get back up to 20 mph ... and I was pretty sure the first passer wasn't going to let me get by him no matter what I tried even if it meant he'd eventually be pumping so hard his thighs exploded.
I passed the guy ahead of me at something just over 20 mph and started closing on the other guy. I had no intention of racing him -- I wasn't going to try to pass him at 22 and then settle back to 20 just to be in front of him. Like I said, I was sure he wasn't going to let me no matter what I tried.
And, I was tired. Part of the reason I felt as energetic as I did at this point was due to the irritation-induced adrenaline rush I was getting.
As I understand it when you draft behind another biker he sort of 'pulls' you along. I don't know if he is actually pulling you in a manner that takes a toll on him or if it is just an expression. In any case, I felt like I 'pushed' this other guy down the bike path.
And, for whatever reason, I took a bit of impish pleasure from it.
Like I said: I don't know what's wrong with men.
I know these aren't exactly Tour de France speeds (well, maybe they are up-the-mountain speeds, I'm not sure) but I assume as the first guy who passed me slowed -- that is, he didn't continue to pull away and didn't speed up until I started closing -- that it wasn't his goal to end his ride down the bike path doing 20 plus or minus.
Posted by delmer at 6:47 AM | Comments (0)
August 15, 2006
ROYGBIV
I thought I'd blogged about this. However, I am unable to find it in the WADLL archives. If it sounds familiar, please forgive me.
Regarding a comment I made in yesterday's post:
The wife at the time and I were visiting a gay couple in their new condo. I hate to go too far into the stereotype -- oddly enough only as they apply to gay folks, Jewish people, and minorities ... I'll ride Baptists, Catholics, women drivers and Republicans all day long -- but the place was very tastefully decorated using things I'd never consider hanging on a wall. (And I don't mean whips and ball gags -- that would be a bondage sort of stereotype anyway.)
As the guys showed us the study the wife at the time said something like, "Oh ... I love this color. What is it?"
I said, "brown" at the same instant Bill said "stony creek."
Mark looked back and forth between Bill and me and, pointing from one of us to the other, said, "Straight man's answer ... gay man's answer."
Posted by delmer at 7:22 AM | Comments (1)
August 14, 2006
How's the kitchen these days
The photo on this page is of the kitchen before the new appliances arrived and the new countertop was put it. In this photo the wallpaper has already been stripped off the wall.
You'll notice the medium-dark blue countertop. Out of view is another, smaller counter the same shade. The wallpaper, while not terribly dark -- think Michael Jackson several treatments ago -- was darker than the plain white walls in this photo.
The new countertop is a lighter color with some brown flecks in it and the walls have been painted some sort of off-white. [I have a call into one of my gay friends and I'm hoping he'll come by and tell me the exact shade as I've thrown the paint cans away and I might need another gallon (gay men do a much better job of identifying paint color than even that machine at Home Depot does.)]
The appliances are all white as well.
The other day, as I glanced around the kitchen, I couldn't help but take in the hospital-operating-room feel of the place. Which is kind of odd inasmuch as I'm not posting a current picture of the kitchen as I've not been able to keep it clean long enough to snap a photo -- even using a high-speed lens. I guess the kitchen has a hospital-operating-room feel if, you know, the doctor cutting into your chest were to leave a stack of mail and crap laying on the table next to your head.
I'm not sure what to do with the kitchen. I lack whatever gene it is that allows a person to do any decorating. I know what I like when I see it -- I just wouldn't know how to get it to that point.
I was afraid my kitchen was going to be condemned to have a stark appearance until the end of time when I decided that I'd hang some of my Iron Man memorabilia on the walls. It looked better. Still stark ... but in a tony kind of way.
For the one or two of you who got that ...
Thank you. Thank you very much. I'll be here all week. Be sure to tip your bartenders and waitpersons.
Rats ... I was unable to find my entry about my gay friends who had just had their home painted ... so I'm unable to provide a link to that story. It will appear as tomorrow's entry, with the link magically appearing in this paragraph.
Posted by delmer at 8:44 AM | Comments (0)
August 13, 2006
Saturday in the Garage
The puniness I'd been feeling seems to have passed. I have every intention of hopping on the Schwinn later and cranking out 30 to 50 miles and I'm looking forward to it.
BUT ... if any of you hear anything from Leah Thompson or Kellie Martin, I'm still interested.
Yesterday I had a short list of things I'd hoped to accomplish. On the list was cleaning out the garage and doing some house cleaning. I thought I'd start in the garage as, well it was nice out and doing the garage stuff in the rain would be rough as a lot of the garage tasks involve painting and reorganizing.
I decided I'd start with some painting.
I have a big bunch of dumbbells ranging in sizes from 15 to 85 pounds -- in five pound increments -- with a couple of 12s and 3s that I found laying around.
As a rule, dumbbells don't have any moving parts (should your dumbbells ever develop moving parts it's time to replace them) and they are normally maintenance free. Mine, however, were in need of some painting.
How long could painting these things take? I wondered. I was thinking a couple of hours. And, really, the painting took almost no time at all; it was the seven hours of prep work with a drill-mounted wire brush that turned this into an all-day job. Seven hours! And I was using a power drill with a wire brush attachment ... how long would it take the Amish to do something like this?
Why paint them in the first place?
I bought them at a garage sale -- from a little old lady who only lifted after church on Sundays -- and they had a look about them that suggested they'd been sitting unused for a while. They all had a bit of surface rust and I'm not a big fan of having rust fall into my eyes while I work out or ending a workout with rust on my hands.
A dirty 40 and 55 pound dumbbell. Both have already been wire brushed.
A pair of 60s. Again, already prepped. It appears that I have no photos of the dumbbells pre-prep.
A freshly painted dumbbell sits next to a wirebrushed dumbbell. Sort of a before and after thing.
Most all of them. I found a pair of 25s after I thought I was done with everything.
Posted by delmer at 11:35 AM | Comments (1)
August 12, 2006
Engineers and beers
Mike and Bill, two of our engineers (mechanical and software) brought their bikes to work Friday for a post-work outing.
After work we met at my house and prepped for the ride. Bill and I put on our biking shorts while Mike geared up in regular I'm-not-that-nerdy baggy shorts. Bill pushed his bike-nerd look over the edge by wearing a hydration pack.
Thirty miles later we were back at my house. (The weather was unseasonably cool. On the way back the wind was in our face -- which is uncommon on the ride we took. Do you really want any more info than this?)
This was my first non-solo ride and I've got to say, there's something about having other riders with you that makes the time pass a little faster.
After the ride we went to Buffalo Wild Wings (does anybody remember when these were called Buffalo Wild Wings and Weck? Or BW3). During the ride we'd ridden past two instances of people grilling out and we were all in the mood for chunks of meat. We decided to make due with wings and beer. I added a Blackened Grilled Chicken Salad to my order to make sure ... well, just because I was in a salad mood. And I had several Diet Cokes.
Today will bring with it some garage cleaning ... house cleaning (I hope) ... and a trip to the church about a block away; the youth group there is having a Pig Roast. I wonder if they'll have beer.
Posted by delmer at 8:44 AM | Comments (2)
August 11, 2006
The recent past in review
Working Delmer into a conversation is sometimes a trick. My name is Delmer and I have trouble making it work sometimes. If you were to listen to my side of a phone conversation it would not be uncommon for you to hear:
"Delmer Wells. Delmer. D ... e ... l ... m ... e ... r .... Delmer. No. 'e' .. 'r.' Like 'Elmer' with a 'D' in front of it. That's right. Wells. OK, I'd like a large with pepperoni and sausage ..."
And I've had many years experience with 'Delmer.'
In the shower this morning it occurred to me that some folks may have trouble working this into their blog entries and I decided to offer a couple of sentences that you can use.
1. This morning, as I was baking some oatmeal raisin cookies for Delmer -- I want to get them in the mail in time for his birthday on August 23rd -- [I thought back to ... ] [I noticed ...] [something bit me ...] etc.
2. This afternoon as I was shopping for Delmer's birthday gift -- you know it's coming up August 23rd -- [I thought back to ... ] [I noticed ...] [something bit me ...] etc.
I'm nothing if not about helping the faithful readers of WADLL
I've been twice more since my first visit which brings the total to three. I just prefer regular ice cream: scooped out of a tub or soft serve.
Dippin' Dots has about 190 calories per 1/2 cup (85 grams) serving A half cup of generic vanilla has 145 calories in a half cup (72 grams). A half cup (86 grams) of soft serve French vanilla has 191 calories.
Calories are not the problem. The experience is novel, but it just doesn't taste like anything to me. And the texture on the tongue experience is lacking.
Mechanicsburg is a dynamic little community.
However, as I pedaled out of town it occurred to me that even the most dynamic burgs would have trouble laying new railroad track and setting up a new crossing in the short amount of it took me to eat lunch. Still, I had to pedal all the way up to it just to make sure. I also noticed that the Video Store I'd passed had been moved and the cross street I'd turned on Rt. 29 from seemed to go steeper uphill than I remembered ... pedaling up it was going to be a bitch. Oh. And they'd renamed Rt. 29 to Rt. 4, skipping over a whole big bunch of routes in between.
Choosing the wrong exit point from Mechanicsburg is easier than it sounds. Especially if you can overlook the fact that the gas station I stopped at to get water did not have a Subway attached to it and last week it did. But, aside from that, just past the gas station (at either exit I've used) are railroad tracks. About 1/2 mile past the wrong exit point are more tracks; about 1/2 mile past the right exit point is a Video Store.
Sometimes ... well the one time it happened to me ... there is a cute blond sitting in a car near the wrong exit point. This can sometimes be distracting.
Posted by delmer at 1:21 PM | Comments (0)
August 10, 2006
The Guinea Pig
Benji, the Guinea Pig has gone on to the great beyond. It was very sad.
I'd been in bed for a couple of hours when Haydn woke me up and asked me to come to his room. I knew something was wrong and said, "Oh no. Benji hasn't died, has he?"
He had.
We did a moment or two of funeral prep and then went back to our beds. And I laid awake for two hours stressed out about how Haydn's sadness. (Twenty minutes into this short-lived period of insomnia I could hear Haydn sawing logs.)
This morning I took the cage downstairs, did a quick emptying of the bedding, and then buried Benji. I didn't want Haydn to have to deal with it. He may have wanted to do the burying himself -- I don't know -- but I'm hoping that making a marker will be enough.
This event was complicated by the fact that Haydn is spending some time alone today -- babysitterless -- while I'm at work. Our agreement was I'd let him sleep as long as he wants and he'll call me when he wakes up. I didn't want to wake him at 8 a.m. to bury a pet and I didn't want him to spend the day home, alone, with a dead pet.
Posted by delmer at 7:27 AM | Comments (6)
August 9, 2006
I'm not feeling tip-top
Lately I've been having bouts of not feeling as good as I think I should. Some days I feel fine ... great ... kind of groovy.
Other days I feel weak ... tired ... almost like I'm not here.
I thought maybe it was diet ... activity level ... sunspots ... Republican shenanigans.
I started keeping a chart. Numb3rs -like.
Yesterday, as I was poring of the data and double checking the thousands of data points I have I decided to take a break and do some blog reading. When I do this I always start with my blog -- thankfully I don't have to do this to see what I've been up to ... I do it to click the easy-access links I have in the left sidebar.
As I scrolled down the list my eyes naturally fell to the Boobie Thon Button. As you know men's eyes are naturally drawn to boobies. [This attraction is so strong, so ingrained in the male psyche, that lacking any nearby women we start seeking out British Police Officers (the male psyche is not above substituting a 'b' for an 'o' as the need arises), then beer and finally comic books (the male psyche easily looses track of where it's going ... it is also easily bored.)]
Booby imagery, I'm sure you know, has been used in subliminal advertising campaigns for years. One of the most successful is just about any Hooters add you see. (The male psyche prefers the in your face not-so-hard-to-figure-out subliminal
advertising. I want you to think Vince Vaughn, Owen Wilson and motor boat on the steps in Wedding Crashers ... that kind of in your face.)
From Boobie Thon my eyes fell to the button proclaiming This Site is 62% Good. I know what you're thinking, aside from the fact that this entry must fall into the 38% not-so-good category. You're thinking that Religious Imagery has been used successfully in subliminal campaigns over the years and that's why Delmer's eye was drawn to the cross. (And that is certainly the theme I'm going for here ... I'm pretty sure it's been proved that subliminal advertising doesn't really work ... but let's keep the balls rolling. Get it ... balls ... kind of a subliminal thing to keep you interested without you really having any idea why. )
My eyes then went to:
And then ... just like in a detective show -- you know when there's like ten minutes left and some sort of leap of logic needs to be made to bring everything to a tidy close ... I made an amazing discovery. According to my data, the days that I felt the puniest -- the days I felt like I like I almost wasn't here -- were the days that the word Delmer did not appear on the Internet. It seems I have an almost Back to the Future relationship with it.
There are two obvious ways to fix this -- to keep me from fading from the snapshot a la Marty McFly.
(Whoa whoa whoa! What's this? The days with the highest Delmer Mentions were also the days gas prices were lower. World wide! And the skies were bluer. And your computer crashed less! And you had that Bob from Enzyte feeling about yourself/your boyfriend. )
Posted by delmer at 6:30 AM | Comments (5)
August 8, 2006
Vacation Wrap-up: The Jet Boat
More from the vacation to Norris Lake:
The Jet Boat has a 600-pound weight limit and is sort of short. It's powered by an engine my uncle scavenged from a retired Sikorsky jet helicopter and fitted to the boat. Wait, maybe it's a 120 hp Mercury Jet; I'm not really a motor head ... on land, air or sea. I do know the Jet Boat will do 38 mph when it's loaded almost to capacity. I know this as I wore my GPS as we tooled around the lake.
Motor head? No. Geek? Yes. .
Before the boys and I went out in the Jet Boat my uncle took me out for a ride to get me used to it. While we were ripping along he looked over and said, "Hold on."
"I'm holding on." I said, meaning more than anything that I was spiritually steeled, alert and paying attention; that is, unlikely to get tossed out of the boat by a rouge wave.
"Hold on." he repeated.
"I am holding on."
"No. Really. Hold on."
I grabbed onto the handholds. My uncle yanked the wheel hard to the left and a split-second later cut the power. The boat spun so hard that it, I think, went backwards a little as it stopped. A giant wave came up on one side.
It was really really cooool. And it made me just a little nauseous.
I would later repeat that stunt with the boys several times -- though I never did it going full tilt; I never had the guts and lacked the necessary familiarity with the boat. The boys always thought it was cool. Their stomachs never flipped (and mine never did again.)
The Jet Boat has a small deck on the back so the boys were able to jump off, swim and then easily get back in. We spent a lot of times parked in coves with the boys splashing around.
Posted by delmer at 7:33 AM | Comments (0)
August 7, 2006
Yesterday I made the 60
Yesterday, August 6, 2006, I cranked out 60 miles on the Schwinn. This is as far as I've ever gone on a single ride and it was, per the GPS, 60.02 miles. The bike computer had it even further. It is a personal record.
I won't bore you with the details of the ride, except to say that it didn't kill me and I sort of had to ride around Hilliard to get the last four miles in.
I will bore you with this:
I was stung twice by bees about 12-miles apart from one another. At one point I was thinking about our recent vacation and the amount of time we'd been swimming. The thought progressed to the point where I was happy that the cove we were in was about 30-feet deep. I'm not a big fan of touching the bottom where things like crayfish live. As this thought continued I went so far to imagine a crayfish latching onto one of my toes and wondering what I'd do to get it off. And then I felt a pain at the top of my foot; I guess the front of the ankle.
For an instant I wondered how imagining a toe pinch could manifest itself as a pain higher on the foot. I fully accept the fact that I have some sort of suggestive personality disorder -- for example, if you say, "Delmer, how are you feeling, you don't look so good," I may start feeling puny even though, just seconds before, I felt great. (Of course, maybe I'm one of those people who looks sick an second before he feels sick.) But, it is uncommon for a suspected pain to be in an area other than where it should be.
Anyway, that instant passed and was replaced with the you've been stung by a bee thought. Sure enough, I looked down, and stuck between the tongue of my shoe and my not-sting-proof sock was a bee. I shook him loose.
The other bee sting was to my back -- through my shirt -- as I was leaving Mechanicsburg.
Years normally pass between my bee stings. I don't know that two have ever got me in the same day.
A short while after the second bee sting I came as close to getting killed as I have in years.
I had just entered a stretch of country road that made up a gradual right. Cars could easily take this at 50 or so mph. As I entered the turn an oncoming vehicle made such a purposeful move at me that I assumed it was a f*cking dumbass kid trying to be funny -- you know, wanting to give the guy on the bike a scare.
I wasn't real worried. Growing up I knew f*cking dumbasses who would do things like this ... I didn't hang with them, I just knew they were f*cking dumbasses.
So, the car is coming right at me and pretty fast. I moved toward the berm ... just in case something went horribly wrong and the f*cking dumbass miscalculated when to turn away.
I was looking right at the driver because I wanted to make eye contact. Just because. And this is when things got really scary.
It was not a kid. It was an old lady. Old ladies don't typically do shit like this. She did not see me.
Like I said, she was moving pretty fast so things happened quickly.
About the time I realized it wasn't a kid she saw me and gave the wheel a jerk to the right.
"FUCK," I said, without any pretense of cleaning it up with an asterisk, as she zipped by me.
I looked back to make sure she didn't veer off the road and end up with the soy beans. Her car was doing that side-to-side bouncy thing that non-performance vehicles sometimes do when they're called on to perform. But she held it on the road.
I'd like to think she's reconsidered her driving habits and is giving deep consideration to wondering if shaving a millisecond off her drive is really worth going left of center all the way to the berm.
Posted by delmer at 9:06 AM | Comments (3)
August 6, 2006
Dippin' Dots
The boys and I stopped by the new Dippin' Dots yesterday for a cup of ice cream pellets.
Until recently, I'd never heard of Dippin' Dots. And then one day I was driving toward home and about a block away from the house I noticed that the building that had just been thrown together had a sign on it: Dippin' Dots
Within the week there was a show on, probably, The Discovery Channel, about Dippin' Dots. You know, it could have been Modern Marvels on The History Channel. Whatever.
It told the story of an arms manufacturer who was trying to make a magic bullet out of ice. After a lot of trial and error it was found that one of the best binding agents -- needed to keep the bullet from turning to mist as it left the barrel of the gun -- was vanilla extract. Unexpectedly, the effects of the binding were magnified when chocolate or fruit syrups were added.
Yada yada yada ...
After a failed experiment involving an Oreo hollow-point tip, the project was abandoned. And Dippin' Dots were born.
Yea. That's pretty weak.
The inventor may have been trying to freeze ice cream faster. I think he was a chemist or something. I know Dippin' Dots are ice cream pellets and they're really really cold. So cold, twenty to thirty degrees below zero (Fahrenheit), in fact, that hours after I was done eating my pellets my tongue still burned. Like eight hours later.
I honestly hope the local Dippin' Dots does well. Unless, of course, the guy who owns it is the same guy who owns the auto repair place that told me I needed to spend over $400 to fix my van when a simple change of plug wires had it running good as new. And there's one more local dipwad I send bad Karma thoughts to on a regular basis ... but aside from them, I hope Dippin' Dots makes money hand over fist.
However, I will not be a regular customer:
It was worth having once for the novelty.
Well. Naturally, if the boys want it again, I guess I'll stop in.
Posted by delmer at 12:31 AM | Comments (6)
August 5, 2006
I try not to be an elitist
I try not to make snap judgments of people based on their appearance.
For example, when I was at the animal shelter, a couple of years ago, I knew that the 100-pound-redneck looking guy was not going to get a Pit Bull. I knew this because I'd just been in with the dogs and knew there were no Pit Bulls in there. Otherwise ... well.
I wish I could say I was surprised when I saw the guy walking the Rottweiler ... but I wasn't. It was the biggest animal back in the cages. The dog was about to yank the guy's arms out of their sockets.
I know Pit Bulls are lovely animals -- especially the one you own, rent, is owned by your mother, saved you when you fell down the well, transported you back in time through a wormhole to retrieve a wallet you'd lost, etc. -- and I'm not trying to dis them. But, they do have a certain reputation. And, aside from General Patton, any Pit Bull owner I've ever met or known about have all fallen into the I wouldn't trust my kids with you category of people. And really, I'm not sure I'd leave my kids with the General.
Rottweilers, I think, can be trained to be better attack dogs than, say, Cocker Spaniels. And that's where I was going with the Rott comment above. The redneck, at first glance, struck me as the all about the most vicious dog I can find type. The Rott was it.
Anyway, and I've taken the long way to get here, the boys and I were having lunch at Mel's Diner. It was mid afternoon and there was moderate dining traffic.
As we sat at our table I could hear the television playing. It sounded loud. Louder than it should have based on how far away we were from it. It almost sounded like it was coming from the table next to me. At that table were seated one of the local civic groups: The Central Ohio Wives of Pit Bull Owners.
If you catch my drift.
They were talking sort of loudly and I imagined the sound of the television might be making it hard for them to hear each other.
And why not? The TV in question was perched on the end of their table. They'd brought their own. Something was so important that they couldn't bear to be away from it ... yet, it wasn't so important that they actually had to watch it. They were talking over it.
It sounded like a soap opera.
I'm pretty sure it wasn't a PBS special on etiquette.
What is wrong with people?
(You know. I'd considered asking to be moved, but by the time I put it all together the boys and I had been seated too long and I didn't want to appear rude.)
Posted by delmer at 9:31 AM | Comments (2)
August 4, 2006
Vacation Wrap-up: Swimming from the Dock
As you know the boys and I returned from Norris Lake and Evansville last Sunday. This was a trip that involved four hours of driving to Norris Lake and then, a week later, about nine hours of driving to Evansville with a four-hour return trip to Franklin, Ohio on Sunday.
That's a lot of opportunity for are we there yets, complaining and fighting.
I want to take this opportunity to announce that my boys were very well behaved. There was no complaining and no fighting. Some of this may have been due to the dual-screen DVD player I hooked up (purchased for the last trip and some of the best money I ever spent). Some of it may be age (mine -- maybe I'm losing my hearing as I step closer to 46). Whatever it is, it's awesome. It doesn't seem like it was that many years ago that the boys were poking, fighting, and name calling before we got out of the driveway.
My uncle, as I've mentioned, has a house on Norris Lake. Also a jet boat, house boat and wave runner. The cove the house sits in is such that it gets deep fast with makes for non-foot-touching-the-bottom swimming ... which is how I like it.
The water at Norris Lake is very clear -- I'm not encouraging you to go there -- I don't know how dirty you might be and I don't need you funking up the water -- and I could see as far as the boys' toes when they were swimming.
As for swimming? Well, I don't know that I'd call what we did swimming. We did spend a lot of time in the water but we were typically floating around in life jackets. Maybe we were mostly 'bobbing.'
If not technically swimming, I did try to keep in motion the whole time I was in the water. If I didn't small fish would nibble on my elbows, not often but enough to creep me out. And just what the hell were the fish thinking? Heeeeyyyy ... I've been waiting for one of those to come along. Let's eat! I weigh 230 pounds, if these guys are eating anything my size I'm not sure I want to know about it.
I almost forgot about the dog.
The first day we were swimming the neighbor's German Shepard spied us and it was driving him crazy that he couldn't get close enough to us to transfer some wet-dog smell. He finally overcame his fear of the Invisible Fence that was keeping him captive and, with a big run and jump, leaped over the buried wired. I'm guessing he still received a jolt of some sort.
A second or two later he was swimming with us. He made the rounds, from person to person, and then went back to shore. The dog could move.
Posted by delmer at 9:09 AM | Comments (0)
August 3, 2006
Less than four hours ago
Fewer than four hours ago I filled the mini van up with gasoline. At the time I had the unfortunate thought that $2.85 a gallon really wasn't all that bad and I refused to bring to the forefront of my memory the fact that in the less-than-seven-years I've held my current job gas has been as low as 70-cents a gallon. The whole thing came to $52-something.
I just returned from an errand and drove by the station I'd filled up at. Gas is now $3.15 a gallon. That's a 30-cent jump. I remember, he said, slipping into old-man mode, when gas was 29-cents a gallon. Of course, you had to walk six-miles, uphill, in a snowstorm to buy it.
Normally I wouldn't be put off by this. Normally I don't drive all that much.
However. Tonight I'll be doing 90 miles. Tomorrow I'll undo that 90 miles. Saturday I'll crank out 150. Sunday I'll do and undo both legs of the 90 for a total of 180.
And this brings us to ... about 510 total.
The mini van ... as sweet and grand as she is ... goes about 400 miles between mandatory refuelings.
Posted by delmer at 9:26 AM | Comments (3)
Stem Cell Research and Bush
While on vacation I read an item that had been written by Jay Ambrose of Scripps Howard.
The editorial was defending President Bush and his stance on embryonic stem-cell research. The journalist stated the Dubya is the first president to permit federal funds to be used for such research.
The legislation affects only how federal funding can be used, and Bush is in fact the first president in U.S. history who authorized the use of federal dollars for stem cell research.
This caught me off guard.
I was certain that Lincoln had suggested to Congress that federal monies be set aside for embryonic stem-cell research. So I did some Googling.
This is what I found ...
Abraham Lincoln, our 16th President, was working on a proposal to fund stem cell research when he got word that the Civil War was about to start. Suspecting that some paperwork would need to be signed, he hopped in his prototype Honda hybrid car and sped down the interstate toward the White House. As was always the case, especially midweek, parking was a bitch and Abe had to park in a reserved spot. The car was towed and his first draft -- which he'd left laying on his bullet-resistant brief case on the front seat -- was lost while the car was on its way to the impound lot. Abe had every intention of rewriting the proposal later in the week; unfortunately, it was never to be. A few days later he was assassinated at the Washington, D.C. IMAX while viewing a very early pre-production release of Talladega Nights.
Really, it sort of surprised me that Bush was the first president to be involved with stem cell research. And then I got to wondering, how long had we been working with stem cells? My guess was that Bush was the first president to have the opportunity to be involved with this exciting growth industry.
From Answers Dot Com we find:
The first embryonic stem cells to be isolated were extracted by British researchers from mouse blastocysts; the first human stem cells isolated and cultured were extracted by American scientists in 1998.
There you have it, I thought. Bush was the president in office when stem cell research became the hot new thing. And then I remembered that in 1998 we were having fun as a nation and, while still hated by most other countries, we hadn't yet gone to hell morally. Well, at least not in a way that got thousands of young American soldiers and Iraqi civilians killed.
Bush was elected, sort of, in 2000 and took the office of The President of the United States, again, sort of, in 2001.
So, what do we know?
Bush was the first president to allow federal dollars to be used for embryonic stem cell research. He was inaugurated in 2001. The first human stem cells were cultivated by American scientists in 1998.
So, it looks like, while the Dems had a couple of years to get involved with this, they didn't.
Ahhhhh. Wait. While trying to find out where Clinton stood on stem cell research I stumbled across this.
And to do a cut and paste from that site:
In one sense, Bush's administration is a turning point. He has presided over the first flow of federal funds to a promising area of research that relies on destroying human embryos. And yet Bush's repeated claims to be "the first president ever to allow funding" for human embryonic stem cell research (made, for instance, during the second nationally televised presidential debate in fall 2004) are not accurate. Here, he lays claim to a stem cell legacy that isn't his. Truth is, Bush's immediate predecessor, Bill Clinton, was a far greater supporter of human embryonic stem cell research..
Clinton gave the National Institutions of Health the authority to fund human embryo research.
Bush tried to take credit for it? And then years later, just last week, a conservative journalist suggested Bush was the first president to provide federal funding for stem cell research.
Sorry guys and gals.
I got a little worked up when Ambrose said Bush was the first president to allow federal funding for SCR. I mean, I was pretty sure the field was rather new and the opportunity for Presidents of the United States of America to be involved in this was rather limited. Is this the thing we want to brag about? (I'm guessing he's also the first President to use the Panther release of Mac OS 10.)
In about 10-minutes time I found out:
Please keep in mind: I am a guy with a blog. I employ zero Fact Checkers to verify anything I might type. I am not employed by a news service. I could be wrong.
Finally: Accuracy, while desired, is never really priority one here at WADLL -- Lincoln could have been driving a Toyota.
Posted by delmer at 6:48 AM | Comments (1)
August 2, 2006
Analysis of a Roadtrip: Segment Three
The last two days we've discussed the trip The Boys and I took from Norris Dam near La Follette, Tennessee to Evansville, Indiana. As you may recall, I had assumed the trip would take about four hours; it ended up being over nine.
Part of the problem was that I thought Norris would be closer to Evansville than Dale Hollow was and I knew Dale Hollow would be about four hours. By the time I realized I'd Yahoo Mapped the wrong vacation spot (Dale Hollow, people ... you are paying attention, aren't you) I was not in a position to remap with the correct vacation spot ... Norris Lake.
My assumption that Norris was closer to E-ville was based (obviously) not on any sort of fact. Just instinct.
Yahoo puts Norris at 7 hours and 36 minutes away from Evansville. Which is three and a half hours more than instinct had led me to believe.
If we add to this an hour for eating (Subway) and a visit to the comic book store, a short stop at McDonald's, and gassing up, we're at 8 hours and 30 minutes -- all without making any horrible wrong turns.
Not that there weren't some mistaken turns or missed exits.
Right around Bowling Green, Kentucky it started raining. The rain and light were such that the combination had almost a heavy-fog feel to it. At the same time it started to rain the lanes on the interstate split due to construction. Then my phone rang. The mix of poor visibility, construction and distraction were enough to overpower my superior driving skills and I somehow missed the exit which would have led me up toward Owensboro, then Henderson and finally Evansville. I caught the misstep fairly quickly, but it still probably cost me half an hour.
During an earlier point in the trip -- in Somerset -- we missed our turn for the Louis Nunn Parkway. On my map, the parkway is listed as Louis B. Nunn Parkway and as I drove up 27 I saw a tiny little sign suggesting it was just ahead. About a 1/2 block later there it was -- but I had no way to get to it from my lane; a little more warning would have been nice. I drove on, turned around, and made a second pass. As I approached the junction I took a look to my right -- ahh ... this wasn't the Louis B. Nunn Parkway turn ... it was the Cumberland Parkway turn.
I drove past the intersection. As I did so I noticed a tiny little sign hanging above the bigger Cumberland Parkway sign. It, of course, said "Louis B. Nunn" on it. I made another swing around and eventually was roaring down the parkway.
Things like this added 10 and 15 minutes at a time to the trip.
Relying on instinct again netted me some bonus driving after I entered Evansville. I had a good feeling about the Lloyd Expressway but passed by it as the father of the friend I was visiting was named Lloyd. I assumed that's why it felt familiar.
Similarly, when I came to Green River something (drive, lane, road, parkway?) I dismissed it as having a familiar feel as I'd seen about 1000 things named Green River as I headed toward Evansville.
Lincoln sounded familiar as well. I don't know why I passed it by. Probably instinct.
The one thing that didn't sound familiar was 164. And this is sort of odd as just twenty or so minutes before rolling up on it my buddy had been on the phone with me telling me to take 164.
Said buddy, Darrell, called to check on me and the boys as we took in the Evansville sights. He provided Tom Tom-like directions as we drove and met us at a bank to guide us through the every turn you make is a cul-de-sac section of Evansville to see us safely to his home.
Safely at Darrell and Sherry's The Boys and I, after having met Their Boys, dined on pizza. I threw back a beer or two. The Boys played. Darrell, Sherry and I played a few rounds of Whatever Happened To ... and Do You Remember ...
Posted by delmer at 7:19 AM
August 1, 2006
Analysis of Road Trip: Segment Two
So, what did we learn from yesterday? Well, if you are able to make it through all the noise surrounding the one or two points you're probably thinking: Delmer thought the trip from Norris Dam to Evansville would be something along the lines of four hours.
How long was it? you ask in a Johnny-Carson-era-Tonight-Show-kinda way?
Just over nine hours. That was with one stop to eat. And, now that I type it I can't believe we got away with eating just once in nine hours. We did have a snack at Micky D's -- small cones -- but that hardly counts as a meal. (For the record, I had a Fruit & Yogurt Parfait. The boys had small cones.)
How long does Yahoo say the trip from Norris Lake to Evansville should take? About 7 hours and 36 minutes over a distance of 325 miles.
So, nine hours doesn't seem too bad, all of a sudden. The boys and I stopped to eat at a Subway once. And then we had to check out the comic book store next to the Subway. Then there were cones (or parfaits) at McDonald's a while later. And we stopped to get gas at some point.
At 60 mph a person will cover 325 miles in something less than 5.5 hours. The speed limit in Tennessee is 70 and in Kentucky it is 65. At those speeds you'll cover the 325 miles in fewer than 5 hours.
You'll also get run over by every other vehicle on I-75. At 75 mph you can cover the distance in 4 hours and 20 minutes; which is very close to my 4-hour target.
The 60 mph plus speeds are only good on the interstate. Well, and almost any road in central and western Ohio where the roads are flat and straight. In Tennessee and Kentucky the non-interstate roads tend to be hilly and curvy -- especially the Anna Nicole Smith Parkway. Sure, you'll see that big white sign proclaiming that the speed limit is 55 but it will be followed a short distance later by a yellow warning sign of some sort advising you that 35 mph is about all you'll be able to manage on the upcoming curve.
When the boys and I pulled out of La Follette I decided to take I-75 north to 92 then head west. From 92 I'd take 27 north at Pine Knot to Somerset, Kentucky where I'd pick up the Louis Nunn Parkway. The trip to Pine Knot would be 65 miles and take 1 hour and 39 minutes. Pine Knott to Somerset is 36 miles and can be covered in 59 minutes. I'd be on the Louis Nunn Parkway, then, in 2 hours and 38 minutes.
Yahoo Maps gets me to Somerset via another route making use of I-75 most of the way. It comes in at 106 miles and puts me on the LNP in 2 hours and 34 minutes.
The four-minutes difference wasn't the thing that killed me.
Somehow I missed 27. When I figured that out I was far enough along that I decided to not turn back -- I just continued west and decided I'd head north at Monticello (it was that whole great unknown thing that got me). Pine Knott to Monticello is a mere 37 miles but it takes 1 hour and 2 minutes to drive it. From Monticello to Somerset it is 28 miles or 46 minutes.
So, I was at the LNP in, lets see, 99 minutes to Pine Knott plus 62 minutes to Monticello plus 46 minutes to Somerset ... 207 minutes or 3 hours and 27 minutes to get to Somerset and the Cumberland Parkway. Not quite an hour longer but a damn site more than four minutes longer.
Now we're getting somewhere.
Wait a minute??!! Or fifteen ... The Cumberland Parkway?
Posted by delmer at 7:51 AM