What's a Delmer Look Like?

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March 31, 2007

The first track meet

Haydn is on the school track team as a shot putter. Today was the first meet and the field events were to start at 11 a.m. Haydn and I arrived at 10:30 and I did not sit down again until after 5:30 p.m.

I worked the long jump pit from about noon until 5:15. My job was to hold the end of the tape with the zero on it as part of a two-man measuring team. I know it doesn't sound like a hard job but it did involve a lot of up and down movements followed by a lot of standing. I'm currently sitting in a recliner and beat — just a minute ago I got a nice leg cramp and I'll bet you that I'll have more muscle soreness tomorrow than I did on any of the longer bike rides I've taken.

Have I mentioned yet that it was raining from the moment we arrived up until about 4 p.m.? Some of the rain came in drizzles but there were periods of really nice serious rains; I'm talking something just a half-step shy of Forrest-Gump-in-Vietnam downpours.

The long jump was the last event to finish and by the time we packed everything in everybody else was gone. At least we didn't have a hard time getting out of the parking lot.

The whole thing, despite the soreness, was a pretty good time. I'm amazed at how far some seventh and eighth graders can jump.

Another plus of working the long jump pit is that I could see Haydn putting the shot from where I was. And I was close enough to see but not so close as to cramp his style.

Posted by delmer at 9:29 PM | Comments (3)

March 30, 2007

The Trip Out West Part IX: Incarceration

If you are just coming in to the story, you should really start at The Beginning.

In yesterday's exciting episode I was arrested and charged with aggravated menacing (and really, if you're going to do some menacing you should do it in an aggravating manner), attempting to gain entry and burglary. The episode ended with me being driven to the Sedalia Jail by The Formerly Bad Cop.

With many stories, I imagine and certainly stories that are 22 years old, it is hard to remember every detail of everything that went on. For example, I don't remember walking from the police car into the police station but I'm sure it happened. I don't remember being beaten by billy clubs and then being questioned in a smoky room sitting in a chair beneath a bare light bulb … but I feel it is unlikely that occurred.

I do remember being in the police station and it seems that there were about three police officers hanging around me. I also remember having a sense that everybody had a feeling that there was some sort of giant misunderstanding going on involving me and that I probably wasn't Public Enemy #1. I'm certain the officers had a feeling that I hadn't left Ohio the day before set on terrorizing little old ladies in subdivisions as I made my way to Las Vegas.

Which brings me to two things I meant to mention yesterday:

1. On the way to the police station, Bad Cop mentioned that the neighborhood I'd been in was an elderly community and that had the door knocking happened anywhere else it would have probably been handled without an arrest. He went on to say that the elderly were the most victimized demographic; which I recalled learning in my gerontology class at Miami U.

2. We'd left Ohio at midnight Sunday morning and I was arrested something like 29 hours later. That's got to be a record of some kind.

So, we were at the police station, and everybody seemed to have a sense (to me, anyway) that there was some sort of misunderstanding involving my reign of terror. They didn't know exactly what was going on, and I certainly wasn't being terribly helpful, but I seemed harmless enough.

I was given a phone call and since I knew for a fact that Tom was back at the tent, probably asleep, and confident I'd be home soon, I decided to call him. I had a business card for the campground we were staying at and used my phone call to ring them up. The guy we met when we checked in — and I'll bet that one day when I'm trying to remember my PIN at the ATM his name will rush toward my frontal lobe so hard and fast it will actually bruise the inside of my skull — answered the phone. We'll call him Bob.

"Bob," I said, "This is Delmer. Is Tom in the tent?"

"I don't know," Bob replied.

"Could you take a look? I'm in jail in Sedalia."

Bob gave me an "Oh, my," said he'd check and I heard him put the phone down. A minute or two later he returned to tell me the tent was empty. He also said he'd tell Tom where I was when he showed up.

I was genuinely confused. If Tom wasn't at the tent, where could he be?

At some point one of the cops, who had recently moved to Sedalia from a city not too far from where I grew up, took me aside and said in a low voice, "The charges will likely be dropped to trespassing. The fine on that is about $80.00, but court isn't until Wednesday. Your bond [on the current charges] is going to be about $80.00. If I were you I'd post bond and then run. We'll issue a bench warrant for your arrest, but we aren't going to come out of state looking for you, and you won't have to wait around until Wednesday to go to court."

Shortly after that the officers took my shoe strings, I'm guessing so I wouldn't hang myself, and showed me to a very small room with a two beds and a stainless steel toilet.

I remember the officer who locked me up apologizing for the fact that the lights didn't go all the way off. They were all, really, very nice people.

I was pretty sure the lights being on weren't going to affect my ability to sleep.

Posted by delmer at 8:58 PM | Comments (4)

March 29, 2007

The Trip Out West Part VIII: Bad Cop Chills

If you are just coming in to the story, you should really start at The Beginning.

Yesterday found me arrested and in the back of a police car on my way to the Sedalia Police Station. The Bad Cop portion of the team that had Good Cop/Bad Copped me was driving.

I don't remember if I was handcuffed or not. I'm certain that if rules dictate that passengers in police cars need to be handcuffed, that I was. I'm also pretty sure, that if handcuffing was an option to be exercised at the arresting officer's discretion, I was probably not cuffed.

My initial impression of Bad Cop was that he didn't care too much for me. I got this impression when he yelled, "Jesus Christ, he's lying to us," when I was being interviewed at the Ramada Inn. Of course, I had been lying and maybe he just didn't care for that. In the time that had passed after that rough start I'd been nothing but truthful and helpful. (If it's any indication of just how healing the truth can be, I'd like to point out that, to this day, I'm still on Bad Cop's Christmas Card List.) (Not really.)

As I sat in the back of the cruiser it seemed that Bad Cop had mellowed some. We chatted a little bit and he eventually asked, "Are you on any drugs?"

"No," I replied.

"Acid … speed?" He suggested a couple just in case I'd forgotten.

"No."

"Well," he said, "You don't appear to be too awfully drunk, but your eyes are a mess."

What I should have done was point out that I'd been awake most of the time since 10 a.m the previous day (and I may have gotten up earlier than that) and that a fair portion of that time had been spent in a Firebird that was throwing off parts it didn't think it needed. If we do the math, and I never have so you get to experience the thrill of this firsthand, we find that 10 a.m. Saturday morning to 10 a.m. Sunday is 24 hours … add 12 to get us to 10 p.m. Sunday night for a total of 36 hours … two more takes us to midnight, when the fair closed, and brings us to a total of 38 hours. I'd slept a little bit in the car just after it kicked the tire off and before Tom got back with the tow truck … and I slept some of the four hours between St. Elmo, Illinois and Marshall, Missouri.

So, I'd had five or six hours sleep during that 40-hour time period. And that's only if I passed out as soon as my head hit the bucket seat when we left St. Elmo. Now, I know what you're thinking, "Six hours of sleep sitting up in a Firebird is like 16 hours in a Sleep Number bed. Quit your bitching."

Anyway.

At one point I asked Old Bad Cop New Mellow Cop what I was being charged with. He said, "Aggravated menacing, attempting to gain entry and burglary."

"Burglary?!" I exclaimed, "I wasn't in anybody's house."

"That's the funny thing about burglary, you really don't have to be in anybody's house."

And then we started talking about chicks.

No we didn't. I'm sure we continued chatting — after all, I never know when to shut the hell up — but I don't remember any other parts of the conversation.

We eventually arrived at the Sedalia Police Department.

And, while I may never always know when to shut the hell up, I often have a strong feeling about when to end a blog entry. I have the feeling now.

Posted by delmer at 8:35 PM | Comments (4)

March 28, 2007

The Trip Out West Part VII: Flattery will get you nowhere

If you are just coming in to the story, you should really start at The Beginning.

When we last left off I had recently met up with just about every law-enforcement officer in Missouri. We'd had a question-and-answer session and then decided to drive over to the subdivision I'd been terrorizing (allegedly, I suppose, though we all had a pretty strong suspicion that I had been involved in said terrorizing) to see if a little old lady could identify me.

I was asked to sit in the back seat of a cruiser.

When we got to the subdivision I remained in the back of he cruiser. One of the officers got the little old lady to come out and she gave me the look-over from a short distance away.

A minute or two passed and Good Cop came over and told me the little old lady was having trouble telling whether or not I was the person who'd been knocking at her door. I kind of recognized her but thought better of saying anything. Good Cop wondered if I'd mind going over and standing under one of the street lights.

Always being one to want to help I told him I wouldn't mind at all.

There I stood. Under the light. A shirtless guy in red gym trunks in a town where the police had been looking for a shirtless guy in red gym trunks. The cops knew I was the guy they were after … I knew I was the guy they were after … the little old lady wasn't so sure. (I'm not dissing the little old lady, it was nice of her to want to make sure she had the right guy.)

As I stood there I heard her say with a thoughtful tone, "He was a tall, lean man."

Tall and lean! That was pretty flattering, I thought, and I almost confessed on the spot. Had she said "tall and lean with a really big package" I think I would have screamed "It's me, it's me, it's me" while jumping up and down. (Jumping up and down, that is, as much as a having a really big package permits.)

Tall and lean and in a situation that still had me wondering just what the hell happened gets no confession.

Fortunately, I wouldn't need one. Good Cop came over and politely told me that they were placing me under arrest; I'm pretty sure he read me my rights again.

I don't remember that the little old lady ever identified me, which is really neither here nor there I guess as I was obviously the guy they were after.

I was shown to the back seat of another cruiser. Bad Cop was driving. Shit.

Posted by delmer at 10:07 PM | Comments (0)

March 27, 2007

The Trip Out West Part VI: Bad Boys, Bad Boys, Whatcha Gonna Do

If you are just coming in to the story, you should really start at The Beginning.

We had just got to this point:

They'd been looking for me all night! Pretty soon I'd find out that they was every cop in three counties.

That's an exaggeration, naturally. However, even when the story was fresh in my mind I used to say that every cop in Missouri showed up at that Ramada and that they'd gone so far to fly some cops in from out of state.

I was sitting on a chair against the wall in the lobby of the Ramada Inn. A dark-haired officer with a mustache, a friendly face, and a calm demeanor was asking the questions. I believe he was in his late 30's or early 40's.

"Were you in a subdivision knocking on doors a little earlier?" he asked.

I thought it over briefly before answering, "No."

"Jesus Christ! He's lying to us!" exclaimed a younger officer standing behind the first. It wouldn't be until a little later that I'd realize I'd been Good-Cop-Bad-Copped.

I was a shirtless guy in red gym trunks. The police were looking for a shirtless guy in gym trunks. How many of us could be roaming around rural Missouri on any given night? I knew it was me. They knew it was me. I don't lie well.

I wasn't clear on what had happened but I knew I hadn't done anything wrong. It seemed like the truth would be a good thing to go with. "Yes. It was me."

I'm certain I was asked things like how had I ended up in the subdivision -- to which I would have answered, most likely, that I didn't know. I'm not sure at the time that I realized I'd been walking in my sleep, but I'm pretty sure I didn't mention it.

I remember that good cop mentioned, several times, that I wasn't under arrest. He also mentioned that he was going to read me my rights just in case he had to arrest me later.

At one point, I recall, the officer asked what I was doing in Missouri. "We were on our way to Colorado …" I started.

"'We'?! You mean there's another one of you out there somewhere?" It was bad cop and he seemed a little concerned.

"Yea."

"What happened to him?"

"I think we got separated at the fair and that he's made his way back to the campground."

Eventually, good cop asked me where my shirt was and I told him I didn't know what happened to it. "What do you think happened to it," he asked, and you could honestly hear the italics when he said "think."

"I think," I said, "that a girl at the fair asked me if she could have it and I gave it to her."

I was reminded, once again, that I wasn't under arrest, and good cop asked if I'd mind riding back over to the subdivision to let the little old lady have a look at me.

I jumped up and screamed, "You mutherf*ckers will never take me alive," as I ran toward the door.

No.

Really, I didn't mind at all.

Posted by delmer at 11:41 PM | Comments (0)

A Break From The Action

We'll return to The Trip Out West later today, but for now we'll take a break to relate two other stories.

Item One:
A couple of days ago Jack, the 11-year old, was in the downstairs bath tub when he gave a yell: "I broke the soap."

"Do you mean like into two pieces," shouted Haydn, the 13-year old, back, "Or has it lost it's ability to clean?"

Non-parents of boys are probably thinking: Being a smartass seems to run in the family.

Parents of boys are probably thinking: That explains soooo much.

I can't tell you the number of times I've had a child assure me that he'd used soap during a recent bathing when all evidence suggested otherwise. Never in a thousand years would I have thought that the soap was broken — I'd always thought the child was exaggerating his soap usage.

Item Two:
Once in a while I'll do some computer work for a friend. I typically charge a can of Diet Coke or Diet Pepsi for such work. It the job is one-site I pretty much drink diet pop the whole time I'm there. Once in a great while the rewards are far greater than caffeinated beverages. (Not in a bad-jazz porno-flick kind of way. I'm pretty sure we're years away from seeing a movie in which the Geek Squad is called in to help a buxom blonde and before you know it pocket protectors and orthopaedic shoes are flying hither and yon. As I've said before, IT doesn't have good-porn potential. Well, I guess something could be done with the Brylcreem the supernerds use to keep their hair looking just right. Maybe.)

Once in a while logistics prevents any pop at all from being provided. That's when things like this happen.

My ex-sister-in-law had a problem that I said I'd look at. She lives almost three hours from me and had the computer sent over via the ex-wife. I fixed the problem, and realizing that my ex-brother-in-law probably missed me sorely (much like you do when you reach the end of a blog entry and realize it is likely to be a whole day before I post anything else) I decided to put a picture of me on the desktop as his wallpaper. A small picture, and centered not tiled.

This is the picture.

I had left the non-ninja photo on my monitor while I tended to something else. Before I could connect it to the ninja photo a coworker walked in and said: "Is that Captain America? … no … wait … it's you."

Which I thought was kind of funny ad I'm made the same crack before.

I wonder if my ex-brother-in-law will know it's me?

Posted by delmer at 6:41 AM | Comments (3)

March 26, 2007

The Trip Out West Part V: The Fair Ladies

If you are just coming in to the story, you should really start at The Beginning.

When we last left off, Tom and I had just hitched a ride and were on our way to the Missouri State Fair in Sedalia.

My memories of the fair are sort of sparse. It was, after all, 23 years ago, and really, aren't fairs pretty much all alike? I don't recall seeing a butter cow but that isn't to say there wasn't one there. What I do remember is that Willie Nelson was performing (we could hear him singing) and dancing around with a group of people about our age under a tent. I'm fairly certain that beer was served in this tent as I'm sure that if we'd seen two arrow-shaped signs and one said Butter Cow and the other said Beer Tent, we'd have gone toward the Beer Tent (admit it … you would have too.)

I also remember drinking a couple of beers. And it might be important to clarify the amount of alcohol consumed portion of the story.

I don't think we'd had all that much beer. I base this on the fact that I'm pretty sure we'd quit drinking any beer at all by midnight — which is when the fair closes this year and I assume it was the same time in 1984 — and that at, what I believe, was 4 a.m., I had a police officer comment that I didn't appear to be "too awfully drunk." So, that would have given my body four hours to rid itself of any alcohol; if you've tied a really good one on, that simply isn't enough time.

Alright, the last thing I remembered about the fair is dancing around in the beer tent.

The next thing I remembered was being at home and knocking on the door trying to get in. I really, really, really (and if you've been a reader here long you'll know that three reallys is as urgent as something can get) had to pee and needed to get in the house so I could get to the bathroom. My grandmother answered the door, which was sort of unusual, as I didn't remember that she was visiting. As I stood there the hey, there's grandma fog lifted and the person at the door turned into a little old lady I'd never seen before.

It was all very confusing — I didn't know where I was, where Tom was, or who the little old lady was. The confusion was compounded by the fact I wasn't wearing a shirt, just a pair of red gym trunks (the short 80's style, not the knee-length things we have today.)

I don't remember if the little old lady told me she'd called the police or if I could just sense it. The whole thing certainly had a feeling of trouble about it. One minute I'd been at the fair and the next I was in a subdivision shirtless.

SHIRTLESS!? I had no idea where the shirt could have gone. I've never had the body confidence shown by Harvey Keitel in The Piano and parading around half dressed without a basketball was uncommon for me. Still it was a nice shirt — a high school football jersey — and during the time I'd owned it several girls had asked me if they could have it; so, I assumed a gal at the fair had asked me for the shirt and that I'd given it to her. It didn't make me feel any better, but it did explain a little bit of what had happened.

I decided I should probably get away from the little old lady and walked toward a Ramada Inn on the other side of a field. I approached the Ramada from the left and a bit behind as you look at this picture. I came across a door on the side that I think was to a banquet area. I was pretty sure the door would be locked but I gave it a tug anyway.

It opened. The room was large, dark and empty. I went inside, leaned up against a wall, and took a nap.

A short while later I woke up and tried to sort things out: I was in Missouri. I'd been at the state fair. A girl had asked me for my shirt and I'd given it to her. Tom and I had gotten separated and he'd made his way back to the tent. That made some sort of sense.

I decided I'd go to the Ramada's lobby and use the phone to call the campground.

I left the banquet room, if that's what it was, and made my way to the front of the building. As I approached the door a car zipped up next to me and the driver yelled out, "Who are you!" His voice held a bit of excitement and accusation.

"Who are you?" I replied, a bit of genuine curiosity in my voice.

"I'm an off duty cop! I can't believe it! They've been looking for you all night, I'm on vacation, and I found you!"

Whoop-de-frikkin'-do.

[What makes a girl think she can ask you for your shirt? The shirt you are wearing? I don't remember the offer ever involving a trade of any sort ... just a request to have my shirt. Maybe I should have appreciated the attention — shirt-related as it was — back then. I never get those offers these days and, in all honesty, I'm wearing better-quality clothing.]

Posted by delmer at 10:01 PM | Comments (0)

March 25, 2007

The first big ride of the season

You probably read other blogs besides What's a Delmer Look Like. I don't blame you.

The writers of those blogs are probably funnier. They probably have a better command of the English language. They probably talk about their manly parts less than I do; especially those blogs written by women.

At times you wonder why you come here.

Today, you'll understand why.

The reason is because at some level you know that I care more about you, dear readers and readerettes, than the other blog writers do. I care so much for you that I will hurt on your behalf..

Could be love. Could just be messed up.

Today I decided to take The Mighty Schwinn out for a 50-mile ride. (Before I go any further let me say, to put my mother at ease, that my leg was fine.) I knew before I even started the ride that I was going to use TopoFusion to create a map of the ride and post it for your enjoyment. You may recall that I had a bit of trouble the first time I tried this. After some reflection I decided that I probably made the process harder than it had to be. I won't go into all the details but I had. As it happens the process takes just a few mouse clicks.

So, I rode to Mechanicsburg and had a buffalo burger at Castle's Restaurant. It took about 90 minutes to make the 25-mile ride. If you start at the right in the clickable image below you can trace the route as I go NW and then head west to Mechanicsburg. At the restaurant I checked my average speed and found it over 18 mph. Not bad for me.

Click for an Interactive Map

On the way back I thought about taking a detour up Irwin Road. When I'd passed Irwin on the way to Mechanicsburg I realized that's where I would have come out had I taken a right at Rosedale Bible College.

Since I was going to post a map and since I wanted it to have visual appeal, for you, and since a line out and back it sort of boring, I took the detour.

About the time I got to the really cool building to the far left in the picture I realized I'd made a mistake. The covered bridge is over the way point but you'll see that that is a spur I went up and came back down after having gotten some direction from a Sheriff's Deputy who was pulling someone over in that lot. This is nowhere near Rosedale Bible College.

All in all, for you, I went 10 miles out of my way. Aside from the part where I was heading north the whole detour was into the wind. This was followed up by an additional 20-miles of riding into the wind as I pedaled back home.

I know, I know, I know. It doesn't sound like a big deal. But it was a bitch. I didn't take enough snacks to cover the additional time I was on the bike and by the time I got home I was wiped.

Thankfully, when it was all over I had to go to work for two and a half hours.

Posted by delmer at 10:38 PM | Comments (0)

March 24, 2007

The Trip Out West: The Main Characters

Today we'll take a break from our story to introduce the main characters: Tom and Me.

Tom
I met Tom, and as I've said before Tom is not his real name, at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. It was September of 1981. I'm pretty sure he was living as the third person in an apartment that had been rented to two guys. So he sort of sneaked in for rent-reduction purposes. For any other Miamians reading this, it would have been the Fox & Hounds complex.

[It may have been the other nice complex. The one that began with a "C." Candlewood? Fox and Hounds still gets my vote.]

Before I go any further let me say that I have been blessed with some of the best friends a person could have. Guys and Gals. I used to see most of these people almost daily. Now, sometimes years pass between seeing some of them as we all have families. Still, a bond remains, and I know that if I were ever on the run from the law I could call anyone of these people and they'd hide me out in their crawlspace and not even consider turning me in to collect the reward. (Maybe a couple of the wives would if tuition for the kids was due, but they know that I know that they would, and that's a special bond all by itself.)

I remember Tom saying, during a brief discussion on religion one night, that he was an atheist. He said he'd gladly give people anything he had not because he thought God wanted him to, but because he was a nice guy. And he was then and I'm sure he is now.

That may have been the same conversation in which I asked Tom if he'd ever considered killing himself. He said he hadn't and that if things ever got that bad he'd take off for someplace away from everybody. At the time I thought we'd all (all of us, people) had that thought, now I know Tom hasn't and neither has my brother. Folks, before we get too carried away, I'm not on the verge of killing myself, but you've got to admit that there are days when being dead sounds relaxing. You know, those days when any form of afterlife seems like it would be too much to bear.

It wasn't uncommon to have someone tell Tom he looked like Paul McCartney. Tom said he didn't see it, though he thought he might resemble a young Paul. I didn't see it at the time either, after all when we were in college McCartney was old … he was 40. Years later I saw a picture of a young Paul and couldn't help but think how much he and Tom looked alike. (By the time I was in college I'd been in and out of my discovering the Beatles phase. I'd certainly seen the young Paul photos before — but had forgotten them.)

Tom was a good guy with a good heart. I spoke with him less than a year ago … prior to that it had been several years.

Me
I like to think I'm a nice guy. I've pointed out before that the trouble with thinking you are a nice guy is that it is really hard to know. I remember sitting around one night, a long time ago, thinking "I'm a nice guy, I deserve nice things." And then it hit me — do assholes sit around thinking "I'm an asshole. I don't deserve shit!" I doubt they do. I imagine they sit around thinking, "I'm a nice guy. I deserve nice things." I figured there was a chance I was an asshole and just didn't know it.

I've since been assured, by the psychologist person I see, that bad people typically realize they're bad.

Anyway, I'm a nice guy now, I was a nice guy then. If you are a female I am the guy your mother wanted you to date which, of course, made me the last boy in the world you wanted to go out with. And really, that was not going to be a problem for you as the odds of me asking you out were almost zero.

The picture below if one of me about a year after the trip out west (maybe a year and a half or so.) You'll notice the air of harmlessness about me. It is probably worth mentioning that the redhead's mother hated me. (Not really. But that sort of kept with the theme. It is worth mentioning that I the redhead met all of my dating rules criteria, which we'll sum up here as: had she said "no" when I asked her out I'd likely have never run into her again.)

Why do we need to introduce the characters? Well, something is going to happen next week and I thought an introcution of sorts was in order for anybody jwho has recently come here.

[You know. I realize it would take the smallest bit of research to discover Tom's true identity. So, before you get all full of yourself if you figure it out — let me remind you that this is What's a Delmer Look Like, not the Department of Defense.]

Posted by delmer at 8:44 PM | Comments (3)

March 23, 2007

The Trip Out West Part IV: The Voyage To Missouri

In yesterday's exciting installment, Tom and I had gotten new lugs for the Firebird and were again on our way to Colorado feeling safe and secure in a way that only having new lugs can make a person feel.

If you are just coming in to the story, you should really start at The Beginning.

I'd like to be able to put some sort of time references into this story. You know … I'd like to say "We pulled out of St. Elmo at 10 a.m. yada yada yada" but I'm not sure I'll be able to do it. I've got a travel journal somewhere that gives a few details of the trip, but I'm not even sure times are listed there and the best I can say with any certainty is this all happened in August of 1984.

For the sake of argument, and if Tom is reading maybe he'll shed some light on this, we'll say we pulled out of St. Elmo at 10 a.m. We'll say be broke down at 6 a.m. (it was daylight), that we were in the garage at 9 a.m., maybe. Okay, we were on the road again at 11 a.m.

And heading west. Maybe I slept some more. Maybe not. I was 23 after all.

Marshall, Missouri is 258 miles from St. Elmo, Illinois with a driving time of four hours and five minutes according to Google. The trip takes you through St. Louis and I recall seeing The Gateway Arch as we drove through the city. We didn't bother to stop in St. Louis and I'm pretty sure this had more to do with the fact that we were trying to make up for lost time than any sense that St. Louis would eventually be ranked the most dangerous city in the nation to live in. After all, Tom and I lived for danger — hell, we were ripping down the road in a Firebird that had, mere hours before, decided to casually start tossing off majorly-important parts.

Gas started running low right about the junction of SR 65 and I-70 and we pulled into a station to make our second gas-related pit stop of the trip. We filled the Firebird, emptied our bladders, and took a look at the front end ... it was sorely out of alignment and we figured we'd be in need of a tire at some point in the trip.

I got behind the wheel to start the next leg of the journey and turned the key — and nothing happened. I played with the shifting lever a bit and gave the key another chance. Nothing.

This must have been back when gas stations were more than just gas stations — they were service stations. Or perhaps this place had a service bay simply because it was close to the interstate. Who knows? In any case the Firebird ended up in a service bay with the hood up and a needing-a-new-starter diagnosis. The car would be ready the next day.

Someone at the station told us about a campground in Marshall so Tom and I collected our tent, sleeping bags, and money and somehow got a ride to the campground. I'm guessing one of the locals gave us a lift.

We pitched the tent, made some friends, and set about trying to find something to do for the evening. We were told the state fair was going on about 30 miles away in Sedalia.

We got a couple of beers and decided we'd hitchhike into Sedalia. One of the folks at the campground said we might want to keep the fact that we had beer with us a secret from local law enforcement and suggested we make use of Beer Wraps and we got a couple.

We hit the road. Stuck our thumbs up. And had a ride in no time.

Posted by delmer at 7:36 AM | Comments (1)

March 22, 2007

The Trip Out West Part III: Tickle Me St. Elmo

As you may recall from yesterday, Tom and I were stranded at the side of the road with the driver's side front wheel assembly of the Firebird sitting on the pavement.


We took off down the interstate to retrieve the tire. We found it across the road laying next to the fence and rolled it back to the car.

Tom said he'd hitchhike to the last little town we'd passed for help. Looking back on it I assume we decided he'd hitchhike east as we knew there was a town back that way not too far — we didn't know how far the next town going west would be. I was going to hang with the car and finally get some sleep.

Tom crossed the road, put out his thumb and had a ride in fairly short order. They're pretty easy to come by when you're standing across from an obviously-disabled auto and tattoos, body piercings, and the Goth lifestyle are not your thing.

I took a nap. And we'll say Tom came back in a wrecker in something under two hours. (Do they still call tow trucks wreckers?)

The driver, as I recall, was a young guy. Probably in his early 30's. He had a look about him that indicated that Tom had probably got him out of bed to help us; he had an attitude about him that indicated he wasn't bothered in the least by it.

He hooked us up and towed us to St. Elmo, Illinois.

In 2000, St. Elmo had a population of 1,456. I'm not sure how many people were living there in 1984 but I do remember that each and every one of them embraced Tom and me as if we were native sons. Well, at least every one of them that we met; the wrecker guy.

The driver hauled us to the garage he worked at and had a look at our car. We obviously needed lugs and he didn't have any. But … his brother probably had some at his garage … which wasn't opened yet, due to the early hour and it being Sunday … but he was going to drive over anyway.

A little bit later he returned with lugs and I can remember him pounding them into the wheel assembly. Up to that point in time I had no idea how lugs were installed.

And a short while after that we were road ready and it was time to pay the wrecker man.

We'd been towed off the interstate at an early hour by a guy who had been sleeping until he got our call. The wrecker guy didn't have lugs on-hand and had to drive to his brother's (closed) garage to find some. He replaced the lugs. He mounted the tire. We were two young guys almost 300 miles from home and we had likely mentioned we were on our way to Vegas and California.

What do you think it cost?

I think the total bill came to $38.00 and I say that because I think saying it was $35.00 would sound like I was making things up. I know for a fact it was under $40.00 and thirty-eight sounds like a good compromise.

We paid and hit the road.

And we were off …

… off looking for a new horizon underneath a blazin' sky … to be where the eagle's were flying HIGHER and HIGHER … blah blah blah. If you don't get the St. Elmo's Fire reference later in the story I may mention the Fixx's One Thing Leads to Another. Be ready.

Tomorrow's stop -- The Show Me state.

[West Carrollton, Ohio to St. Elmo, Illinois is 286 miles, or about 4.5 hours].

Posted by delmer at 7:10 AM | Comments (0)

March 21, 2007

The Trip Out West: Part II -- The Breakdown

When I left you last time, Tom had just taken over driving and I had just drifted off to sleep.

A cut and paste indicates I said it like this:

I sat up in my seat and noticed right away that the car was sitting at an odd angle. I also noticed that the front driver's side tire was accelerating away from us and heading off into the median.

Tom didn't say a word. He had his hands on the wheel and we seemed to be heading toward the breakdown lane on the right-hand side of the road. I remember wondering if he was steering us toward the berm or if we were being sucked off to the side of the road and that Tom was doing everything he could to keep us from whipping from side to side. He did seem very calm.

The car had slowed dramatically when the tire came loose. Tom was probably on the brakes a bit too. In any case the driver's side front tire seemed to be making a hasty getaway as it continued in the westbound lane of I-70. It eventually took a turn into the grass median.

I'm not sure what the interstate is like where you live, but here in the midwest we have lots of flat land and we like to have some green between our opposing lanes of high-speed traffic. It isn't uncommon for our medians to be at least two lanes wide. I don't know that this is important to the story, I just thought you might need a break from being all worked up about my safety.

We'd been doing about 70 when the tire came off and I really expected it to do some TV-style bouncing and jumping into the air when it went into the grass. It didn't' I just went into the median at a pretty shallow angle as it heading west toward eastbound traffic.

Eastbound traffic at that hour — it was daylight so it was probably on the far side of 5:30 a.m. — was light. Well, it was made up of a single car that I'm guessing was driven by a guy. I say this because the car never slowed as the tire came toward it and I think it's possible the driver saw the tire, noticed the angle, estimated the speed of the tire and realized that at the speed he was going there would be no impact. Of course, maybe he just didn't see it.

I'm not sure what the interstate is like where you live, but here in the midwest we have hillbillys and rednecks all over ours. There's just as good a chance that the driver saw the tire, looked over at his passenger, said, "God-dam! Ros-coe. Lookit this! Think we can beat it?! Hand me a beer." And before you get all hey-I'm-a-hillbilly on me let me, first, congratulate you on your ability to read multisyllabic words, and secondly, say that I've never had a hillbilly almost run into me; twice in the last two weeks I've had soccer moms on phones try to bash my fender or clip The Mighty Schwinn.

So, the tire eased out of the median, missed the only car on the road aside from us, and then went into the ditch on the other side of the road. It did a very eye-appealing TV-like bounce out of the ditch, shot down the grass a little further and stopped at a fence.

Tom and I had come to a stop in the berm. Despite what you are used to seeing on TV — tires bouncing in medians … girls bouncing on trampolines … explosions anytime a car has any sort of trouble — there was none of that. Just two guys and a broken Firebird.

A broken Firebird with a really sweet radio.

Tom and I got out to assess the damage. I'm not a car guy and I'm not sure of all the car-part names, but you know that part of the car you see when you take the front tire off a car? The part the brake pads are mounted to? And the rotor? Well, ours was on the pavement which made the front end sit low enough that it brought up thoughts of "how are we going to get a jack under that?" So, what have we got there — brake pads, rotor, tire — which sums up about all I know about automobile front-wheel assemblies.

And lugs! I know about lugs. And all ours were sheared off flush with whatever it is they attach to.

I could go on. But do you really want to read more than this in any one setting?

Tune in tomorrow.

Posted by delmer at 6:29 AM | Comments (3)

March 20, 2007

The Trip Out West: The Beginning

Tom and I, and I should point out that Tom isn’t the guy’s real name. Anybody who knows the story will know who Tom is but to protect the identity of the real person I’ve decided to call him Tom. Anyway, it’s easier to type than William is, though William isn’t his name either.

Tom and I graduated from Miami University in 1983 and at some point decided a trip to the west coast was in order. Tom wanted to take a crack at getting on The Joker’s Wild and he had a sister in San Francisco that he wanted to spend some time with. Stops were scheduled for Boulder, Colorado and Las Vegas; we were going to stay with friends in Boulder and do some camping in Vegas.

Tom had a white 1974, I think, Firebird, that he’d tricked out by having the radio fixed so that it would tune to more than one station; which we both felt would be critical to the success of the trip. We loaded the Firebird up with a tent, sleeping bags, a 30-30 rifle that looked like and may have been a Winchester Carbine, clothes, probably a cooler and possibly some other things.

We left on a Saturday and started driving around midnight. I took the first turn at the wheel while Tom had a nap. The speed limit at the time was 55 mph and Tom and I figured we could keep it at 63 mph and not get in too much trouble.

With Boulder a mere 1227 miles from us we were well on our way.

A little bit of guesswork is going to be needed as I describe this trip to you. I’m going to guess that I’d driven about 250 miles before we stopped, topped off the tank, and Tom took over driving. I’m further going to guess that it was about 30 minutes after Tom started driving that I drifted off to sleep.

I’m certain that it was just a moment or two after sleep overtook me that I was awakened by a quick jarring sensation followed by a loud thump, and while I don't remember any actual screeching I've got to believe there was some as I look back on what had happened.

Which I will desribe in Technicolor detail tomorrow …

Posted by delmer at 3:15 AM | Comments (4)

March 19, 2007

It's Been Two Years

What's a Delmer Look Like is 2-years old today.

I know what you're thinking: Man, it seems older. Not based on content, mind you, which is often very youthful sounding. And not youthful in a young, hip way, but in a juvenile way. It seems older in a … well, maybe older is the wrong word … you know how when you have root canal work and it only takes 20 minutes but it seems like hours have passed? It seems older in that same way.

It would seem that your thoughts concerning WADLL are not very clear. Nor very flattering.

But, we can't be concerned with that right now. You've probably been drinking. I know I'm full of pain killers myself.

I spent some time last night reading through old entries. I was stunned by the number of typos that have slipped through the last two years -- and for those I apologize. I spell check each and every entry, I think, and I still end up with typos. And I read everything multiple times.

I was surprised by the number of really boring entries I'd created. You'd think that a person would have to work really hard to be as boring as I am sometimes but, honest to God, I've never felt the least bit taxed.

But enough about past mistakes — let's charge forward and talk about mistakes that will be made this coming year. (Can a person plan mistakes?) Anyway, forthcoming posts:

The Trip Out West: A buddy and I took a road trip from Dayton, Ohio to California with stops in Sedalia, Missouri (to get arrested), Colorado (to visit buddies), and Las Vegas (to gamble). I also played snugglebunnies with a blonde gal at some point; well, two points in two different states. This story will start tomorrow — I don't know if it will be a daily.

An encounter with the Mad River Township Police: We didn't get arrested. I think this is the final story I have involving the police. It is certainly the last one that is the least bit funny.

Oxford, Ohio Police: Alright, this one is sort of short, and not terribly fascinating. It involves an open container and suggests that the above story was not the last in law-enforcement category.

Breaking Into a Bar: Right across from the police station in Oxford, Ohio, in March of 1983. See how mentioning one story leads to another.

The Bunch-of-Greek-Letters All-Campus Beer Chug for Muscular Dystrophy: Another Miami story.

A Big Bunch of Photos of Rural Ohio: One corn stalk may look like another corn stalk to you, but let me assure you they are each unique in their special sort of way. With my help you will learn to appreciate their uniqueness. Oh! And don't get me started on soy beans. Okay, some more photos of things I see while bicycling; I like seeing things like this on other blogs — I assume you like the same. I'll try to cycle down to Hooters one day.

My Uptightness: Despite some of the things I type, I believe I may be one of the more uptight people you'll ever run across.

Sports Stories Involving My Children: It would be a crime to not share their adorableness with the world. And let's not forget that, while What's A Delmer Look Like bears my name, it's all about you. As it should be.

Posted by delmer at 5:56 PM | Comments (7)

March 18, 2007

A Robot Collects My Mail

UPDATE: A story from the Columbus Dispatch.

We have a mailbox just up the road from us and almost across the street from Mel's Diner. Last week as the boys and I drove by it one of them commented that you don't see too many of them around. I don't know if this is true or not — I don't pay much attention and mail most of my stuff from work. What is important to note is that the boys and I have an awareness of the mailbox that sits there.

Saturday morning the boys and I drove to Mel's for breakfast. As we passed the mailbox I couldn't help but notice that it had been vandalized. I also couldn't help but notice that the vandals had seemed to use some sort of stencil during their vandalous activities as the defacing of government property appeared to have a lot of straight lines and white rectangles involved with it.

I only had a quick glance at the box but the whole thing seemed odd. It had to take more time for vandals to make nice, even, boxes and whatnot on a mailbox than it would have to just scribble something. I'll bet I could have spray painted "Bite Me" about a hundred times in the same amount of time it took the vandals to decorate the mailbox the way they did.

And then I pulled into Mel's and didn't give it another thought.

Until Saturday Night Live's Weekend Update. They did a "story" about how the USPS was putting out a bunch of mailboxes painted like R2D2 to commemorate the 30th anniversary of Star Wars. They also commented on what an odd choice R2D2 was as it was obvious C3P0 was the robot more likely to want to hold your package.

The side of the mailbox has USPSJediMaster.com on it.

This article states that the boxes will be put in Post Offices only and not on the street in order to keep them from being stolen. I think you'd have to be quite the Star Wars fan to steal a mailbox as I'm it's a Federal Offense to tamper with the US Mail.

Anyway, it looks like the Hilliard Post Master has balls to next week, if I've said that right, as ours are right out near the curb.

This mailbox is obviouisly an R2D2. I probably falied to notice it the other day when I drove by as I was talking on my cell phone and using my rear view mirror to apply eye liner with my right hand while I tied my shoes with my left while steering with my nose.

I've done some informal calculations -- I believe that it cost only a nickel to have these mailboxes tricked out, so there is no point in getting your knickers in a twist about postal rate increases.

Posted by delmer at 3:41 PM | Comments (3)

Anniversary Eve

Tomorrow: Marks the two-year anniversary of What's a Delmer Look Like. Two years of me revealing to you my hopes, my dreams, stories about my vasectomy, odd pictures of myself.

Two years of constantly trying to improve myself and WADLL … for you. An example of this improvement is that last little ellipsis. Just recently I had the thought about what a shame it is that there wasn't some way to keep the dots from breaking across lines. And wouldn't it be great if there was a way of making an em dash so I wouldn't have to hit the hyphen twice and having it break across lines sometimes.

A smarter writer would have Googled for "em dash HTML tag" a while ago where he would have found tag information for em dashes and ellipsis all on one page . A better writer would probably make less use of them.

To celebrate the anniversary I'll post a story about a trip I took out west. I've been considering posting it since day one of WADLL — I'll start that series tomorrow.

Today: I feel like I have a knife sticking out of the inside of my leg. But only if I'm standing. Or if I sit and move in a certain way. Or lay down with the leg propped not just so. The leg hurts enough that I think it is interesting that when you look at it — and I will not be posting pictures — there is nothing there to suggest any discomfort. It is almost as if the leg has been dumped by a woman — the leg hurts like hell, but you'd never know it unless it got all liquored up and started whining.

The leg is unlikely to do any serious whining and I have a sense that, despite all the pain it is in, that it hasn't given up on getting close to she-legs. You know, so long as he doesn't have walk to them, there's no dancing, and there's less than two weeks of nubble.

Posted by delmer at 10:43 AM | Comments (1)

March 17, 2007

A Jack Story

I was positive I'd posted this at some point in the past, but I haven't been able to find it and I want to make sure I have it recorded. So, at the risk of repeating myself, here we go.

Samson was a newborn and still in the hospital. This would have made Jack about two and I should point out that when he was little he had some trouble with pronouns — much like the pteredactyl in The Land Before Time series.

Jack was sitting on the bed holding Samson -- an adult was sitting behind both.

As Jack was holding Sammo he said, "I like the new baby. I'll miss he when he goes home."

Posted by delmer at 11:52 PM | Comments (2)

March 16, 2007

Third Base

Many, many years ago I remember reading, in Reader's Digest, a blurb about someone who had joined a gym. Over the course of the membership they'd never made use of they facility, but when it came time to renew they'd hurried down to the gym to pay their duesI.

As they were paying they asked the clerk of they had names for people like him -- someone that joins the gym but never uses it.

The employee said, "Yea, profit."

I'm certain I read that back before 1999 as I'm pretty sure I'd read the story prior to joining the gym I belong to. I'd always be reminded of it in January when membership swelled and the gym was crowded for two or three weeks.

I was reminded of it again tonight as I read the April 2007 Reader's Digest and ran across the same blurb. This time it was credited to having appeared on a website.

It would be my guess that it appeared in Reader's Digest before the website got their hands on it.

Anyway ...

Even longer ago I read, in Reader's Digest, a blurb about how someone whose brother-in-law had gone to a convenience store that had a sign in the window that said "Open 24 Hours." As the guy approached the store he found the clerk locking the front door. The guy said, "Wait, your sign says 'Open 24 Hours'."

The clerk gave him a look, snorted, and said, "Not in a row."

Which, of course, comes from a Steven Wright bit.

I'm torn. Do I send Reader's Digest my resume and offer to proof Life in These United States, Humor in Uniform and All in a Day's Work? Or do I send them the story about the nutty conversation I heard between two old men talking about a baseball team that had a first baseman name Who?

Posted by delmer at 10:22 PM | Comments (3)

March 15, 2007

The Ohio Players

Let me start by saying that Monday night I got 4 hours of sleep. Tuesday night I had 5.5 hours of sleep. Each night I went to bed at 11 or so and read until midnight. Each morning when I woke up — typically due to detergent-allergy-related itching with a compression-hose-aggravation modifier — I climbed out of bed (following some fingernail skin flaying), had a wicked hot epidermal-peeling shower, and zipped off to work.

Last night I climbed into bed at 11:30 and read until midnight. Right around 4 a.m. I went into serious-scratching mode for a few minutes and then concentrated on falling back to sleep. I was certain I'd be successful as I'd had only 9.5 combined hours the two previous nights and was pretty tired.

At 4:10 my phone rang. It was ADT, the company's alarm company, calling to let me know the fire alarm had gone off at work. I'm on the call list as I live about two miles from the office. The ADT guy asked if I could drive in and meet the firemen. I told him I would and when he asked what I'd be driving I said, "A really sweet green mini van."

When I got to work there were two fire trucks and police car. The police officer went into the building with me and told me the firemen had already done a walk-through with Tom, another employee.

"Hold on," I said. "We don't have a 'Tom' that works here and the building is supposed to be locked up until 5:30.

The officer drew his gun and said, "Stay here. I'm going to call for backup." As he reached for the inner door handle I noticed the trip wire and pulled him back.

"We're going to have to go in through the roof vent," I said, just before I grew weary of typing and deciding to quit wasting your time.

So ...

We did a small amount of paperwork and the officer left.

Why was I called if there was another employee in the building? It would take too long to explain. Let's just continue on to the point where I was back home at 4:50.

I took a Benadryl to control itching and with the thought it might cause drowsiness (it may have yesterday while I was at work &mdash though it could have simply been the fact I was tired). I was in bed at 5 a.m.

At 5:10 the phone rang. It was ADT calling to let me know the fire alarm had gone off.

"No way," I said groggily. "I was just there." I thought maybe it was a late report on the first alarm.

"We have another report that the alarm is going off," said the ADT rep.

"Well. The building is just going to have to burn down this time."

We talked a bit more and the rep said she could put the alarm in "Test" mode to keep it from going off. She was also going to cancel the fire alarm.

I snuggled back down between the sheets. And I started thinking. "What if there really is a fire? What if when I go to work later I find nothing left but a burned-out husk of a building and a pile of Tom's ashes?"

I climbed out of bed. Since I was pretty sure the building wasn't in flames … flames that were growing bigger due to the fact I'd canceled the fire call … I brushed my teeth and had a shower.

I figured I may as well look good for the news crews.

Posted by delmer at 6:39 PM | Comments (0)

March 14, 2007

The Vein and Chia Leg

Two days ago I had the varicose vein treated. Honest-to-God I thought I'd walk in, the doc would throw some glasses on me, he'd thread some sort of laser thing up my leg, fire it up, and I'd be out in under 30 minutes. I was surprised when they insisted I bring someone to drive me home -- and I thought they wanted that as they expected the leg to hurt a lot; I needed someone to drive me home just in case they had to give me any drugs.

ch ch ch Chia, ch ch ch
Chia Leg
(Click to increase hairy tree-trunkness)

In the end I didn't have any drugs. It also took close to 3 hours by the time I left the doctor's office. I arrived at 10:30, got right in, and I was back at work at 1:30. So, we'll say the procedure and post-procedure stuff took 2.5 hours.

Prior to the zapping a nurse had me change into footies, a pair of stunning paper shorts, and one of those gowns that ties in the back. I'm pretty sure I looked rather fetching in the ensemble; there is no way in the world a person could feel as sexy as I felt and not look good. To have that happen would defy all fashion logic.

I stopped off in a small room and started making my way through an old copy of Home and Away Magazine. Right about the point I was convinced I wanted to honeymoon at Old Man's Cave if I were to ever get married again, the doctor came in. He told me about the procedure and about what I could expect. I paid very close attention and then forgot all about anything that didn't involve lasers.

From this room I went into a larger room that had something like an inversion table in it. I laid on the table, it was inclined to 30 degrees - I don't remember why, maybe to get the blood to flow more toward my feet - and one of the nurses went to work sterilizing my leg with iodine and a big sponge on a stick. Next the doc gave me shots all the way up my leg from my knee to my groin -- they were very-hard-to-feel shots and a couple of them I didn't feel at all. I believe those shots were to numb the leg as a larger needle was then used to inject fluid around the vein -- this fluid would serve to insulate the vein and absorb the heat of the laser. These shots weren't troublesome either, though as the doc got closer to the tools I got a little nervous (And I think this is one of those primal things -- sort of like having the gas heater on in the garage ... it's useless but seeing the flames makes me feel better. I was certain the doc wasn't going to haul off and pin my manhood to the inside of my thigh with a needle ... but I still had to worry a bit about it; it's only natural).

In the room with me was the doctor, two nurses and two women from another hospital who were there to observe. The doctor and I were the only guys.

At one point one of the nurses needed something and I started to reach for it. Always the helper, I decided I'd lend a hand and made a reach for it myself which would have taken my hands into the sterilized area. Mid-move she looked at me and said pleasantly, "Keep your hands up there."

"Just like the Prom," I said. Everybody was kind enough to laugh.

A wire was inserted into the vein. I can't remember why. Then a sheath of some sort and finally the wire with the laser tip. The doctor pulled the wire slowly out of my vein with the laser activated. Everybody in the room had safety glasses on.

I'd been told that near the end of the procedure I might taste cauliflower in my mouth and toward the end the doctor asked me if I could taste anything. For some reason I was concentrating on trying to taste something metallic -- I don't know why, but somehow I'd forgotten all about the vegetable reference -- and told the doc that I didn't taste anything at all. As I kept trying to taste something metallic I noticed I had the overwhelming taste of cauliflower.

The whole time this was going on I was able to see the X-ray machine and the ultrasound. It was pretty cool.

With the procedure finished it was time to put the support pantyhose on. Let me tell you, these babies are tight -- tight enough at the top to give Nichole Richie love handles. (Of course, if you pull them up over the love handles, they are extra-super slimming. And they add a level of ass firmness that reminds me of a scene in Death Becomes Her.)

Each nurse took a foot and started working the hose up on me. I asked one if she'd made sure the fly went on the front - it's my understanding that not all hose come with a fly but, as my were made-to-order due to long leggedness, mine did - I wanted to make sure the nurse didn't forget about it.

"No," said the nurse, "Today all flys go in the back." she said jokingly.

"Well," I explained, "I know they all don't have flys and I didn't want you to forget and put it in the back."

"You do know," said the other nurse joining in good-naturedly, "that these hose have heels and toes in them, right?"

Of course I knew. I'd just forgotten.

So, there was one nurse at each foot, both struggling to pull a pants-like garment up one me. After a minute or two I glanced down and said, "You know, this is the exact opposite of a dream I keep having."

After the hose were on I got dressed, was given some care instructions, and was told I needed to take a 20-minute walk in the hallway to make sure everything was OK.

I was back at work at 1:30 p.m.

I had the best doctor a person could hope for. We talked the whole time, he described everything to me as he did his work, he and the two nurses in the room had a good rapport and the two bonus nurses were pleasant as well.

After the process I took a look at the blood pressure machine and noticed I was at 110/60 -- this isn't bad as my BP is typically 120/70. So, after getting an IV, getting poked with some needles up and down the inside of my leg, and after having laser tipped wire inserted into a vein and worked up to my groin area and then withdrawn I was actually more relaxed than I typically am when I'm at the doctor getting a checkup.

Of course, I was pretty sure this process wouldn't involve a prostate exam.

To summarize: Everything went well. There was never any pain past the small pinches of some of the shots. I didn't need any pain medicine. The first night after the procedure the leg woke me up a couple of times, last night it didn't

The picture below shows the hose on me. You can see the bandage on the inside of my leg. I've put up pictures of me in cycling tights before, so, skin-tight outerwear is nothing new. What's new is that I am outside in nothing but pantyhose and underwear (and a shirt). Outside ... in my underwear. See mom -- no cops.

Posted by delmer at 6:10 AM | Comments (4)

March 13, 2007

I just had this conversation

As I entered the bathroom I was whistling my version of Peter Gabriel's Solsbury Hill. A friend of mine was already in the Mens' Room and said, "I thought that was Tom coming in."

"Why's that," I asked.

"He's always whistling."

"Is he a Peter Gabriel fan?" I continued.

"I don't know. But I saw Peter Gabriel open for the Dead once?"

"Really? Were you doing mushrooms?" I asked as a joke, because it seems like a Grateful-Dead sort of question.

"Well ... yea. I was doing mushrooms."

"Seriously?"

"Yea."

"Are you sure it was Peter Gabriel you saw and not just someone you thought was Peter Gabriel?" Because, you know what mushrooms do to a sense of reality.

"No. It was Peter Gabriel." And then he paused and got a thoughtful look on his face. "Was it Peter Gabriel? Who sings Boys of Summer?"

"Don Henley?" I suggested.

"No. It wasn't him."

"Maybe it was that other guy who used to be an Eagle ... what's his name? Are you talking about the song that goes, "After the boys of summer are gone," and I sang that last little bit.

"Yea, that's the song."

"Glenn Frey?"

"No. It wasn't him either. Anyway ... it was a great show."

We walked away from each other laughing.

And I was reminded of the Tropical-Drink-Induced nap I took just after the warm up band took the stage at a Jimmy Buffet concert back in '86. (I woke up in time to go home.)

Posted by delmer at 6:18 AM | Comments (3)

March 12, 2007

Clydesdales

So, this afternoon I went to the men's room library to do some reading. As I dropped my drawers and prepared to sit I noticed the fly of my underwear was discolored and thought to myself, "Wow! You'd think that discharge that hard on a pair of underwear would bring with it a burning sensation of some sort."

I'm not sure how the human mind works, especially mine. I mean, there was so much yellowish discharge that some part of me should have been saying, "That can't be what it looks like." I mean, it couldn't be after all. Nothing had happened in such a long time that any discharging -- and the associated uncomfortable phone call -- should have taken place quite a long while back. Like the late 80's.

Still, just like the time I got the SPAM item that had the subject line, "Horse BJs" it took me a second to put everything together. (And when I say BJs there, I'm cleaning it up a bit.) When I got the "Horse BJs" mail my thoughts were, "You've got to be kidding me? How could you teach a horse to do something like that and what guy is going to be stupid enough to get his manliness anywhere near a horse's mouth?!" (If you don't know, horse have really big teeth.)

The next second I had the whoa! that's not what they mean revelation. There were likely no guys involved in the process at all; just a woman and her Clydesdale. Well, I guess maybe there could have been a guy at the front end of the horse feeding him apples or sugar cubes or something; I know that anytime I've had the experience I'm referring to I'm always thinking, "This is pretty good but it would be sooo much better if I had an apple." I imagine mares, if they happen to be boy horses, are the same. (Yea, that's right. Don't they call Stallone the "Italian Mare?")

Where was I. I'd dropped my drawers, noticed some discharge, and wondered about the lack of burning. A split-second after that I had the, "Wait. That's just iodine," thought. And realizing what it was answered a question I'd had earlier in the day: "Did the nurse just paint my toolbox?"

Which was really not a big deal. She was mostly painting my leg and sort of got outside the lines and hit the outside of my underwear.

I had the varicose vein zapped today. It went very well.

I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

Posted by delmer at 9:06 PM | Comments (2)

March 11, 2007

Sunday in Review

It was in the 50s here today ... blah blah blah ... I rode the bike.

I mentioned the other day that I take pictures at the starts of my rides to sort of chronicle things like the weather and the state of my love handles (the fat part just above the hips ... not the ears).

I use TopoFusion to keep track of my where I've ridden. Info from my GPS is downloaded into the software, a map is produced and a log entry is created that allows me to add notes and whatnot.

Part of the whatnot -- and I need to be clear that TopoFusion does much more than I use it for -- is that is allows me to add pictures as way points to my routes I've ridden. The photos are added automatically based on the time/date of the way point and the time/date from the photo's Exif info (this is not necessarily the date and time shown when doing a file listing) which makes it a pretty easy thing to do.

It's a little trickier exporting a log file with photos to HTML format and the result isn't as pretty as what you see from within TopoFusion. (UPDATE: It's a little trickier getting the export to work on the blog and I'm pretty sure that, if I were going to do this on a regular basis, I could make it a lot simpler just by creating directories for each ride I post. Any problem I had does not seem to be TopoFusion related.)

Having said all of that -- here's where I went today. You'll notice that in the clickable image below that there are thumbnails. In TopoFusion rolling the mouse over the thumbnails enlarges them. When I export everything in html format and open the index.html file from my notebook the thumbnails are present and are downloaded from WADLL. When I put everything on the site the thumbnails disappear.

So, if you want you can use the guide on the image below to find the images. Generally speaking they are below and to the right of the camera icons on the route map. In instances where there are two images (the lowest two points on the route as you look at it) the images are below the camera and to the left and right. Your cursor will change when the time is right to click.

To the right of the the TopoFusion Home Page blurb (at the top of the page) is an icon to toggle aerial view -- clicking it makes things a bit prettier.

One of the way point images is of my kids -- they were at the school when I went by.

Posted by delmer at 10:08 PM | Comments (7)

March 10, 2007

The Week in Review

Last Monday I woke up, got the boys ready for school and then on the bus, went to work, ate lunch at my desk, left work around 4:30, fed the boys a light snack, took Haydn to track practice at 5:00, shopped at Target, dropped the other boys off at chess class at 6:30, went grocery shopping, and then went back to chess to wait for all the boys (Haydn had walked over). We were home by 8:15 ... homework was finished ... baths were taken ... etc.

Tuesday through Friday were similar. Especially if you mix in some late-evening calls from coworkers needing help with network access at out-of-state hotels (yes, something similar to this happened again), shoe shopping for an 11-year old, lifting weights with Haydn, working at the church fish fry, some after-hours work trying to sort out e-mail issues (and I think I've got it this time -- if it is still bad I can only assume some sort of mischievous supernatural force is at work), and rewashing every stitch of clothing I own.

Why do I tell you this?

Well, today I sat around on my butt for a fair portion of the day playing computer Backgammon. (Okay, I periodically took breaks to check that e-mail tweaking I did didn't break anything else, but more time than I'm usually comfortable with was spent ass-sitting.)

In college -- a long, long, time ago (back in the late 70s early 80s) I used to play Backgammon on a regular basis and was one of the three better players among the four of us who got together once in a while to drink beer and play Backgammon while watching M*A*S*H* reruns.

However, the last time I played Backgammon was, I'll bet, 20 years ago and I had a suspicion that maybe my skills, like my beer drinking, had faded over the years.

A couple of weeks ago this suspicion was verified shortly after I downloaded 3DFiBS and then Jellyfish Backgammon. Both are Windows-based Backgammon games and both kicked my butt on a regular basis. And why not? I was playing against a computer capable of making millions of calculations a minute when I was used to playing against humans who were drinking and often distracted by other players saying things like, "What did Hawkeye say?"

Not to mention I hadn't played Backgammon in all the years since either program had been written! What chance did I have?

I started thinking smaller and downloaded a program for my Palm TX. And it beat me. The upside is following a loss on the TX I was able to take it in my hands and shake it hard enough that it puked up its SD card. So, really, we both won.

Most of the time I was getting beat I was paying attention and keeping an eye on what my various computer opponents were doing (which is a helluva lot easier to do in my 40's than it ever was to do in my 20s mostly because MTV sucks these days). I'd like to say that over time I started beating the computer more and more but the reality of the situation is that over time I'd beat the computer once in a while. The other day I lost three games in a row -- a night or two ago I won two in a row and lost a couple of either side of that.

Fast forward to today. I played a real, live, human being at World Gaming Center. And I won every game. While watching Stargate SG1 reruns, taking frequent breaks to make peanut butter sandwiches, and all the while juggling hatchets and baby bunnies.

Okay. I won the first match, I lost the second match and in the third match I lost two games to one.

Which is not too bad considering I'm pretty sure I was playing a Backgammon prodigy.

Posted by delmer at 11:28 PM | Comments (2)

March 9, 2007

Mail

Two weeks ago today I put a call into our Company for some technical support. We've started experiencing some odd e-mail problems and I wanted to get some info from them.

The big problem we're having is that mail coming directly to work will sometimes bounce back to the sender with a "Relaying Denied" message. Mail servers are typically set up to not relay mail as a method of fighting off spammers.

What's worse, is that 99% of the mail (probably more) was coming through without a problem. I'm of the mind that something should always work or never work. Sure, if you have a loose wire in a car it might sometimes start, but when it comes to network problems like this one ... it should be all or nothing. And really, even with the car problem as soon as it quits working altogether it's going to be easier to fix.

The point is -- if the mail didn't work at all, I'd make a change, see if it worked or not, and either make another change if I needed to or sit on my butt drinking Diet Mountain Dew if all was well. If the mail works most of the time anyway, you don't know if the change you made did anything good or not (if it has done something bad you know almost immediately).

Mail from some outside users was bouncing back rarely while the vast majority of other senders never seemed to have a problem.

As part of the troubleshooting I logged into my Hotmail account hoping I'd be able to generate some bouncing mail. The first mail I sent from Hotmail to my work account bounced back and I thought "Aha ... I've lucked out." The next 99 mails I sent through, prior to making any software changes, did not bounce. "Oh-ho!," I thought, "I'm screwed."

Our mail server is a Linux box and, fortunately, Linux comes with no shortage of log files a person can dig through. Unfortunately, many of these log files are written in Latin. Well, "Geek" actually; and a version of Old Geek that I'm not terribly strong in.

I'm sort of trying to make a joke there. There's a lot of info in the log files and having them is certainly a lot better than not having them. Interpretation, however, is a little hard on the eyeballs [Why is it that every time I spell check this entry the spell checker wants to replace the string "little hard on" with "George W. Bush"?].

While I was looking through he log files I thought of the other domains I Lorded over. There are five or six, all set up similarly, (one of them used to run out of my living room on a box with a dynamic IP address that was a bit trickier to set up than any of the others), and none of them having this problem. The difference is that the problematic domain has our mail hosted on a server behind me and our website hosted by an off-site provider.

Maybe, and this isn't my strength ... making obscure references to my toolbox as Ben & Jerrys and killer use of ellipsis is ... the problem is in the way our hosting is split. What I'm getting at, and I may be dead wrong, is that our MX record points to our web hosting company and they point the mail to us. Maybe this would trigger relaying. I don't know.

I also don't know how our MX record is set up. You know, as I type this I can see a possible flaw ... but, let's charge on.

I called our Web hosting Company and spoke with a real live person who was going to pass the info I gave him onto someone else. I assumed that someone else would call me back and didn't give the message taker a long-winded description of the problem. I also steered clear of any references to Ben & Jerrys as either a reference to Ice Cream or The Tools.

I wanted to get, from that someone else, the IP address of any server that might be involved in the route our mail takes in coming to us. And to ask if my thoughts were even remotely possible. And to ask if I couldn't just piddle with our DNS setting so that web requests went to them and mail requests came here. That's a lot of info to give a guy on the phone when you know someone is going to call you back and you'll just have to repeat yourself.

So, I left the message. Two Fridays ago.

In the meantime I made some guesses as to what IP addresses might be involved and made changes based on those guesses. Monday I got a call from the FBI asking me to not refer to George W. Bush as a "little hard on." When I asked how they new I intended to do that the phone filled with static.

No, I made some guesses. I don't want to jinx myself, but the mail problems seem to have settled down since then. I usually make pretty good non-lottery-related guesses.

But -- yesterday I was commenting to one of our Engineers about my tech support request that had gone unfilled. He told me he'd seen the ticket I created when he checked on a Tech Support request he'd made. I asked where he'd seen the ticket and he told me the Web hosting Company had sent him an e-mail with a link in it and that they likely sent me one as well.

I'm certain that had the mail they'd sent to me bounced back to the Web hosting Company, they would have noticed. However, I called in to report an e-mail problem and their answer seems to be to send me an e-mail? Even if they aren't directly involved with our mail, they should suspect it is flaky.

This reminded me of a memo my boss sent out in a previous job. The phones were down and he wanted people to know that his department was working on it. If they had any further questions they were to give him a call. Yes, he realized the error shortly after he distributed the memo.

I logged into the Web hosting Company's website and looked at my ticket. It had been closed with the polite, yet simple. line: "We don't host your mail, though we'd like too."

I knew they didn't host our mail. That't the only thing I knew for sure.

Posted by delmer at 7:14 AM | Comments (2)

March 8, 2007

Christmas in Beallsville -- 1998

You undoubtedly have the most adorable children/nieces/nephews/mailman ever ... I cannot, and won't even try to, compete with you there.

However, I do have the second-most-adorable group of children in the world. Not bad considering there's about 6 billion of us.

Like any group of people, the boys don't always get along. However, there is that one day, each year, that they set aside their differences and play nice together -- which is one day more than the remaining 6 billion of us do -- and that's Christmas.

The following clip is from Christmas 1998. Jack, the middle child, cracks me up in this one.

(And in all fairness to the boys, they normally get along pretty well together.)

Posted by delmer at 11:17 AM | Comments (0)

March 7, 2007

Clean the Sheets

There is only one good thing that comes from a really bad itch: when you are in the shower you can blast the itchy area with hot water -- water that is hotter than you could normally stand -- and it feels so incredibly good. The more tender the areas you are blasting the better it feels. And you can use water that is so hot that even as your body is telling you that you are in the middle of one of the best things going your mind is telling you while this feels pretty good, you may be scalding yourself ... it's not like you're a doctor or anything. Maybe you should back off. That's "back," with a "b."

I've been aware of this trick for years. I've had poison ivy numerous times, poison something so bad on both of my wrists (where the gloves and shirt failed to meet) about 14 years ago that I thought it would never heal, and several things after that and before whatever it is I've got going on now. The hot-water trick has never failed me and alone is worth the purchase of a hand-held shower massager.

And what it is I've got going on now? Yesterday, and for several days before that, I thought it was dry skin.

However, I wasn't sure that explained the bumps I found on my back -- the bumps that are hard to see due to their location -- the bumps that itch -- the bumps that have been identified by three out of three boys as "bumps."

Dry skin made sense to me until this afternoon. Today I started thinking about my history of itching and how dry skin might fit in.

As for my history of itching, it normally involved a skin irritant -- something I was allergic to like poison ivy or poison oak. Well, once, a brunette in Massachusetts.

Dry skin had never led to itching like I'm having and I haven't been to New England in over a decade, so a skin irritant was starting to look pretty good.

I thought back to when the itching started and it seemed like it had been waking me up in the night for about a week. Or right about the time I cleaned my sheets using a detergent I've used before but that the company had added a special bonus good-smelling feature too. Sure, I'd been washing my clothes in it for a couple of weeks but I'd typically strip out of them and into a pair of unwashed-for-months sweats as soon as I got home from work. Maybe laying on the sheets for eight hours at a time pushed me over the edge.

Tonight Sammo and I made the big trip to Target for some Tide Free (and I paid less than you'll see at that link).

I'm currently in the middle of cleaning my sheets for the second time in two weeks. Which many of you, women mostly, will consider to be just about right.

I am a guy, however, and twice in two weeks seems to be pushing it a bit. This doesn't make me the dirty pig you might think as I have a really big bed and will sleep on one side until I think it's time to flip the mattress or clean the sheets. I'll then sleep on the other side until I think it's time to clean the sheets or flip the mattress. This way I cut my mattress flipping and sheet cleaning in half.

Naturally, if I expect to do any entertaining I'll clean the sheets that morning.

If I expect to entertain brunettes from New England I'll clean the sheets and put the Orkin man on speed dial.

Posted by delmer at 12:05 AM | Comments (2)

March 6, 2007

I have an itch

I have got the worst case of dry skin. EVER. I itch all over.

Honest to God. It is so bad I've been seriously thinking about calling my friend Natalie and begging her to set me up with someone with a nice set of claws. And if not a nice set of claws, maybe just a nice set.

No. The claws are important.

Unfortunately, as it happens, just the other night I sent Natalie a mail explaining that I really wasn't of the mind to meet new women and I'm pretty sure that the rules of friendship require that at least a week pass before e-mails that contradict other e-mails are sent. Of course this only applies to men sending e-mails to women or other men. Women can send messed up crap to each other all day long; mere moments only need pass between their contradictory e-mailings. The governing restriction is set simply by the words-per-minute a woman can type; it's in their handbook.

So it looks like I'm on my own.

I've got plenty of oils and lotions that I could slather on myself to try to get some relief. In the kitchen alone I've got:

Olive Oil which smells nice and is good for the skin. It is sort of expensive and should probably be used only for special occasions.

Pam which comes in a spray can and would be easy to apply. The nozzle, unfortunately, is a bit clogged and I need it for pancakes (somehow I keep burning it when I cook).

Generic Vegetable Oil, and enough of it that I could apply with a paint roller. No way.

In the bathroom I've got a big jug of that yellow lotion that everybody has. It is so common, in fact, that it doesn't even get a bullet point. Neither does the bottle of stuff from Avon that may be called bath oil -- I know the name of the product seems to suggest that you could dump it right in the tub and soak in it.

The big problem I have with any of this stuff is that I don't like the feel of oil on my skin. You know, when I'm alone. And since I can't keep myself from sending e-mails to my friends telling them I'm not in the mood to meet any body lotion applicators women, it looks like I'm out of luck for at least the rest of the week.

Posted by delmer at 12:03 AM | Comments (5)

March 5, 2007

Wild Hogs and Ghost Rider

The boys and I went to see Wild Hogs and Ghost Rider this past weekend.

Reviews of the movies are mixed in the Wells-boys household with one vote coming in for Wild Hogs being the best of the two and one vote coming in for Ghost Rider being the best.

I'm of the mind that Wild Hogs was the best -- Jack thinks Ghost Rider was the winner.

Wild Hogs is not getting the best reviews and I'm not sure why. I'm guessing the reviewers are looking deeper into the meaning behind the motivation of the characters than I do or something. I was looking for something to make me laugh and Wild Hogs fit the bill; I laughed out loud several times which is not all that common with movies I see these days.

I'm usually not a big John Travolta fan (it all goes to my thinking he's a Scientologist whack job and that I'd heard he wanted a $10M donation to be made to the Church of Scientology during one of his past movies); I liked the job he did in Wild Hogs.

My favorite character was the one played by William Macy -- the computer nerd who ends up with Marisa Tomei.

Ghost Rider was a fine flick. While Nicholas Cage always does a good job, in Ghost Rider I felt he was closer to breaking out into an Elvis than he usually is.

If you see the show, let me know if you think that's his body when he's shirtless in front of the mirror. And his hair. (I'm pretty sure the hair isn't his ... the pecs may be all Nick.)

Posted by delmer at 10:27 AM | Comments (2)

March 4, 2007

Courtney makes the cut

Good news everybody. Well, good news for me anyway.

Last night I managed to work Courtney Thorne-Smith into the dream rotation. Now I've just got to get Patricia Heaton and Jamie Gertz in there somehow and I'll be ready to start working on getting the gals to appear as parts of threesomes.

Of course, if the threesomes go the way of the other dreams I've had I'll end up with Patricia Heaton changing the oil in my car while Jamie Gertz sits next to me in the Jiffy Lube clipping her nails.

In the dream I had last night Courtney Thorne-Smith walked up to me and something led to me giving her a hug. It was then that I noticed she was really really tall. I mean, she had to be about 10 feet tall. During the hug her breasts (and I say breasts as I'm not sure how to work bossum in. Is it bossum? Or bossums. Is a bossum a single breast ... or the set? I know rack is the set. So is hooters, but there's an 's' there that gives it away. Knockers. Headlights. Kazongas. But -- you have boob/boobie vs. boobs/boobies).

So, the knockers were resting on my head. I'm 6'4" tall. If the bottom of her breasts were at the top of my head .... Hmm. Where do the breasts start on a woman? You know, I'm going to be a lot better at figuring this out than other men because I know that about 1/4 of the woman exists above the breasts. A lot of men don't know that which leads to them wondering where that noise -- the one that almost sounds like "My eyes are up here, asshole" -- could be coming from.

Okay, 75% of the way up Courtney Thorne-Smith was 6 feet 4 inches or 76 inches. We'll pretend that it was 75 inches for the sake of easy math and add an inch later and call it close enough. If 75% equals 75 inches then 100% equals 100 inches. Add one and we end up with a 101-inch tall Courtney Thorne-Smith. Or 8 feet 5 inches tall; not quite the 10 feet I'd guessed.)

None of the above math takes into consideration age-related lack of perkiness. She might have been a little taller in the dream. I do recall that in the dream everything felt perky enough.

(In the interest of science I just ran to the garage and got a tape measure. I'm 76 inches tall and my nipples are about 56 inches from the floor -- or about 3/4 the way up me.)

Posted by delmer at 7:07 PM | Comments (0)

March 3, 2007

You Give Dating Advice

I have been trying to pass real-world dating tips on to my boys. Not the dating rules I posted several months ago as they can pretty much be reduced to the single rule: don't.

And while don't is perhaps the best dating rule -- following it would save a person time, money, and emotional scarring not to mention the simplicity of the rule makes it easy to remember -- it seems to be an unrealistic rule to expect young boys on the verge of hormonal overload to follow.

(Have I mentioned how good don't would look on a kitchen magnet? White text on a black background. Sort of rough looking type. It could stick right on the freezer door as a constant reminder that seeking comfort in ice cream is not always the stupid idea people make it out to be, particularly as a nice cold bowl of a frozen dessert sitting on the Ben & Jerrys is very effective when it comes to trying to overcome the dating urge.)

So.

I've been trying to pass real-world dating advice on to the boys. Things like bathe on a regular basis. Use deodorant as your body requires. Brush your teeth. Clean your nails. Don't be a goofball.

Regarding the hygiene tips I explained to the boys that their buddies will put up with a stinky friend on a regular basis and not think much of it. I used to play a lot of basketball and it wasn't uncommon to come away from a game soaked with sweat that eventually dried and formed a ripeness. The other guys were fine with this -- they all had their own funk going on -- it was no big deal.

I've explained to the boys that their buds will probably have quite a number of non-funk-related experiences with you so they will know you don't stink all the time.

Girls, on the other hand, and especially those in middle school (unless it has changed since I was there) are going to give boys far fewer chances when it comes to things involving smells. You might get them to cut you some slack if you smell bad once or if you have bad breath one day but you string a couple of encounters like that together and you become the stinky kid with trench mouth.

One of my children seems to take pride in his goofiness and how he's the weird kid at school. And while I certainly admire his self confidence -- his weirdness does seem to be well thought out (that is, he's trying to be a goofball -- he isn't a future engineer trying so hard and so unsuccessfully to fit in) -- I don't think this is the way to win the hearts of young ladies. And he has started to notice them.

But really, what do I know about this. It's Saturday night and I'm sitting at home writing a blog. Of course, I'm goofy as hell. And I've got the kids this week. Of course, next week I'll be sitting home alone working on a big refrigerator-magnet project I've got brewing. Maybe I'll spank the Chunky Monkey once or twice.

But enough about me.

Certainly there are some folks out there that know more about this than I do. And for you I have some questions.

1. Would middle school girls prefer to hang out with a weird boy or a non-weird boy.

2. Does it matter if the weirdness is on purpose or if it comes accidentally?

3. What do the single mothers of middle school girls look for in a blog writer?

4. Same as #3 but substitute "single aunts" for "single mothers."

5. What would you pay for a really sweet refrigerator magnet?



Really, though. Any thoughts on numbers 1 or 2?

(Numbers 1 and 2 above, people. In another context I know they are both very relaxing.)

Posted by delmer at 9:46 PM | Comments (3)

March 2, 2007

DST

[Update: If you are still having trouble with your PCs recognizing DST after you use the Time Zone Edit Tool (mentioned below) it seems to help if after you adjust the Time Zone start and end dates if you change the Time Zone from something other than the correct one, close the tool, reopen it and set the Time Zone to the correct one.]

Daylight Savings Time is changing early this year and comes up next weekend. I won't go into the details about why and what-not ... does it really matter?

What might matter to you is how this will affect your computer. In all honesty it probably won't affect it at all. I've got a PC at home that is showing nothing near the right time -- I'm not sure it shows the right date -- and it continues to chug along just fine.

Still, some folks are more anal retentive than I am (To my credit, I've tweaked all the computers at work so they make the needed change without causing a lot of pain and agony for my coworkers. Well, maybe this isn't so much to my credit as it is part of my job).

I spent a bit of time today looking for solutions for NetWare and Windows. Novell had the info I needed for NetWare (naturally) and Microsoft had the info I needed for Windows.

The problem I had with the Windows info is that NT4 is no longer supported and I have a few NT4 servers. I don't recall seeing what I needed for Windows 98 either; I'm not sure if I glanced by it or if it isn't there at all. I found some info on registry key changes that could be made to Windows 2000 and XP that guessed they would likely work for NT.

I really wasn't in the mood to make registry changes and did some Googling instead. What I found was a reference to Microsoft's Time Zone Editor which is available on your Windows 98 install CD (or from that link a few words ago.)

In five minutes time I'd changed my NT4 boxes DST settings and tested the utility on a couple of Windows 98 machines. I'd also peeked at the settings on my XP box and noticed that one of the XP auto-updates had already taken care of the changes.

Sometimes the simplest solution is on a 9-year old CD.

Posted by delmer at 4:35 PM | Comments (3)

March 1, 2007

TV Guide

The first job I had that had any type of regular responsibility associated with it was a selling TV Guide door-to-door. I don't remember how old I was -- probably 12 -- and I think I had a maroon stingray bicycle that I used to make weekly deliveries.

I believe I had about 50 customers. These were people that I'd gone from house to house to sign up.

I hadn't put a lot of thought into how I was going to map out a route and it was due to this that, while I certainly had clusters of people together, I ended up with a single customer way the hell away from everybody else. I had to pedal through the park -- where there were no houses -- to a small apartment complex to deliver a single TV Guide. There were many times (I'm guessing once a week) that I thought about just dropping that customer. But, I'd made a promise and, by God, they were going to go into the new week knowing what was going to be on television.

I know what you're thinking: "But Delmer. This was way before Must See TV. Surely they would have understood." They probably would have. But it isn't always about what others expect of me -- sometimes it's about what I expect of me -- and, like I said, I'd made a promise.

The fact that I had to pedal through the park means that I must have had customers in Franklin Woods. However, aside from that single apartment (and, looking back on it had everybody in the complex signed up it would have been sort of worth my time) the only other customer I remember is one that lived on David Boulevard: this person was never home when I went to collect.

Another solid memory I have of this experience is the first week's delivery of TV Guides to my house. I needed 50 copies and I was sent 25. When my mom and I called TV Guide World Headquarters the person we spoke with told us it was their experience that about half the people who signed up wouldn't really want to subscribe so they'd only mailed me half the order.

Mom and I went out and bought 25 more TV Guides so that I'd be able to deliver to everybody that had signed up; nobody backed out.

So each week I'd pedal all over town and deliver fifty TV Guides. I think I got about a nickel a copy as I also think I'd end up at the end of the week with $2.50. Maybe I got 3 or 4 cents a copy and a few tips here and there. I'm a little fuzzy on the details. I do remember that it seemed like a lot of money at the time.

I'd like to think that it was partially due to my hard work that TV Guide remains the publishing force it is. And that I am somehow responsible for helping them to set up that cable channel that shows upcoming programs and that has the oddball interviews and the show with the dark-haired guy with the light spot on the side of his head.

Posted by delmer at 10:01 PM | Comments (3)