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June 30, 2007
Best Laid Plans
One of the engineers left the company last week and a group of us were going to get together last night for his going-away 'pissup.' Pissup may be something the Brits call going away party as one of our old Brits (who'd left a few months ago) sort of named the thing.
My plan was to go to the pissup, have a beer, nay, a Diet Coke, and then be home in time to crank out 30 miles on the bike.
We met at Dave & Busters and I decided a beer would be a pretty good idea after all. After I paid for it Nathan, the pissupee, commented that he was buying the first round and since I'd paid for my first he'd get my second. Naturally, I had a second.
As you may recall one of my new goals is to be more sociable. So I decided to stay for dinner.
While I was paying for my third beer and second Diet Coke the engineers drifted off to find a table and I lost sight of them. The dining area at Dave & Buster's isn't terribly huge but, still, I had a bit of trouble finding the guys.
I approached the hostess and said, "Did you happen to see about half-a-dozen really nerdy guys ... "
Before I could finish my sentence she cut me off, "They're right over here," and she took me to their table (which would have been hard to see from where I'd been before.)
We had dinner and, a short while later three of us wound up at my place which we used as a staging area to walk to the bars across the street.
Mike O, in an admirable feat of a guy in his 30's venturing out after dark, eventually joined us. (He had been out someplace else, but it was across town.)
Blah blah blah. I was home just after 2:30 a.m., which is far too late for a person my age to be out.
I spent Saturday filled with self-loathing and catching up on my TiVo'd programs. The self-loathing came following the amount-of-beer-and-nachos calorie count of the night before.
Posted by delmer at 11:33 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
June 29, 2007
More Blood Work
As you know I have a couple of pituitary tumors that screw with my hormones. I've been taking Dostinex or Cabergoline (the generic) for the last four years. Two months ago my Cabergoline was dropped from .75 mg. twice a week to .5 mg. twice a week. It should be noted that at its highest I was taking 1.5 mg. twice a week.
I had blood drawn last week. My prolactin reading came in at 7.6 (where a reading of 2.1 to 17.6 is normal). So, my prolactin us up a hair while my most recent Cabergoline dosage was dropped by 50%.
This morning I weighed 231.
For my Blood Work History Table click that link.
You can click the Hormones category to review my history with goofy hormones.
Posted by delmer at 11:05 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 28, 2007
Shrek III or Die Hard 4
The boys and I went to see Live Free or Die Hard this evening.
We had considered, briefly, seeing Shrek III but in the end carnage won out over animation.
I don't do movie reviews very well — I simply like something or I don't. I didn't like Anchorman to the point that I walked out before it was over (Maybe the last half was kick-ass funny. I don't know. I should probably point out that I was in the process of being divorced when it came out).
I thought Live Free or Die Hard was very good. So many things that couldn't/wouldn't possibly happen do happen causing just the right amount of explosions, destruction and popcorn eating.
As we learned from Be Cool, if a movie contains the word "fuck" more than once is gets an R rating. LFODH employs the word but a single time, with the "mother" prefix, in a manner that is not gratuitous but that ties the story together and allows the audience to see into the souls of some of the characters … only moments before Bruce Willis blows them away. (I almost cried.)
Live Free or Die Hard was exactly the type of movie I thought it would be. I may go see it again.
Posted by delmer at 8:24 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
June 27, 2007
Let Us All Sing Praises to the Spleen
As you know, I periodically have breakfast at the local McDonald's (and having recently made the 20-hour round-trip to Williamsburg and having eaten at a couple of McDonald's on the way there and back I am now, more than ever, convinced the local McDonald's is the best in the entire chain.)
If you've been reading WADLL long enough you're, undoubtedly, familiar with The Running Man. You'll be happy to know that he's alive and well and seems to be in less of a hurry these days. He also has a new car.
There is a new guy I see most mornings I'm there. He's a bit older than my father and he's typically sitting with one or two older people that meet for morning coffee and to discuss whatever it is they've been doing since they climbed out of be at 4 a.m. [Scared the paperboy … let the air out of the neighbor's tires … banged on the garbage cans with the grandson's T-ball bat … made half-a-dozen trips to the Cadillac and back simply for trunk-slamming purposes. (Old people are feisty.)].
I say he's a new guy, but really, I've been seeing him there for a couple of years, probably, it's just recently we formally met. And when we met and I told him my name I got the response from him I'd expected. That was: "I knew some Delmers when I was younger." I told him that, based on how old I thought he was, that I figured he'd have known some Delmers.
In the time that has passed since that initial meeting we typically discuss medical things. He provides most of the medical lingo (he's a retired doctor) and I simply chime in when I recognize something. (I'm not trying to say the gentleman is a bother to me. I enjoy our conversations and am always happy to see him.)
One of our first conversations involved some sort of cancer in a person's intestines and the procedure by which your doctor sends you home with a card that you eventually wipe some poo on and mail back in. As we discussed this I couldn't help but wonder if the family seated behind us was enjoying their Big Macs; I can eat through almost anything, I don't know that everybody else has this ability.
The other day we talked about some people that had gotten their legs crushed in various gas-station and parking-lot accidents.
Today we discussed the spleen.
Again, I am not suggesting I'm put off in the least by this. The conversations usually have some sort of lesson in them; keep an eye open for blood in your stool, for example, and be careful in situations in which you might find yourself between the bumpers of two cars. (They're also always pretty interesting if only in the way that guys find conversations like this interesting.)
Today's lesson: If you've had your spleen removed you should get a vaccination for pneumococ-a-something. I'll leave it to the spleenless to contact their doctors for more details. The spleen conversation was about two patients the doctor had seen, both without spleens and about two-weeks apart, that had had to have their hands and feet amputated due to gangrene in their extremities. People without spleens are more susceptible to whatever it is that causes this.
Older people without spleens should probably take extra care. Especially if you're looking forward to that golden-years trash-can banging.
Posted by delmer at 7:25 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 26, 2007
As we continue a theme
About 20 years ago — during the same general time during which yesterday's entry occurred — I was in downtown Columbus. It was a Friday, it was about 10 p.m. and I was about to walk the six miles home as I didn't have enough money for bus fare (which was probably less than a dollar.)
I'll bet this predates yesterday's event as it was probably before I started working at the place where that took place. So I was probably between jobs which would go a long way toward explaining why I was out of money. Although, it also seems I had my paycheck in my pocket and that I'd failed to cash it before going out for the evening; I think I'd meant to cash it at a Kroger but something went wrong.
Anyway.
I was using a pay phone, and I'd put the call on my calling card, talking to who knows. Who would I call when I was penniless? When it was almost 10 p.m.? That couldn't wait until I got home? Maybe I was calling to see if my room mate was home thinking he'd come get me.
As I was using the phone a guy came up to me — well dressed, he had a very nice top coat on — and told me his car broke down and that his wife was waiting with it just down the street with his baby and that he didn't have any gas money but if I could lend him a few dollars he'd be sure to get it back to me. I was pretty sure the story was bullshit but I reached into my pocket and pulled out everything I had. It was something like 23 cents and I know this because it was less than a quarter as had I had a quarter I wouldn't have been making a call using my ATT Calling Card.
The guy looked at the change I handed him, made a WHAT? face and then looked at me. "It's all I got," I said.
"Charles? Is your name Charles?" he asked.
"No," I replied
"You look like a guy I met named Charles." Which I'm pretty sure was bullshit as well. My thought was he'd hoped he'd guess my name right and somehow I'd be able to produce a bit more money. Good luck ever guessing Delmer I thought.
"That's all the money I have," I said, "I'm getting ready to walk six miles home because I don't have bus fare."
And the guy left. And I started walking.
About two miles into the walk (maybe more, maybe less) I approached an old drive-in type restaurant. It was called Goody Boy or Good Boy or something similar (it was Goody Boy and, I'll be damned, it's still there. Aren't the Internets wonderful?!) The Goody Boy, as I recall, sits on a corner and you can enter the parking lot from High Street and from one of the side streets. That's important to know.
As I approached the Goody Boy I noticed a car coming toward me slowly. The driver, a guy, gave me the eye. I passed the High Street drive-in entrance and as I did the guy pulled in behind me, cut through the parking lot and exited via the side street access. Then he buzzed by me again.
If you've seen King Pin you'll probably remember a scene in which one of the characters makes a V with their fingers and then runs their tongue in and out of the V rapidly while making the noise you think would accompany this action. (This part was probably cut if you've seen Kingpin on TV. If' you've seen the DVD there's a really funny bit of this V-licking during the closing credits.)
Where were we?
The guy drove by me again, slowly, giving me the eye, and doing that V-licking thing.
I don't know if he was making the noise.
I'd like to think he was, I mean, if the guy was hoping to take me home I'd like to think I was worth the extra effort making the noise takes.
Posted by delmer at 10:05 PM | Comments (0)
June 25, 2007
More on Yesterday's Dream
Yesterday I mentioned a dream in which a gay man asked me out and I turned him down. In that dream a second gay guy, named Mark, made an appearance most likely due to the fact that about 20 years ago he hit on me pretty hard.
Carol, my boss (and we're using the name I always use to anonymize women), Dan and I were sitting in the cafeteria at the place I used to work. I was going on about having just gotten dumped by Courtney and was doing a pretty good job of keeping the table laughing.
Mark, a character in his own right, joined us. (There is no way I can make this as funny sounding as it was but Mark used to go down the hall asking loudly, "Where's my Peter?" whenever he needed to see Pete; he did this in order to get under Pete's skin as he was one of our more homophobic coworkers. You had to be there.)
Mark was way out of the closet.
Anyway, Mark, was happy enough to listen to my tale of woe — and I really wish I could think of some of the funnier laugh lines — and he'd periodically suggest things that seemed to indicate he'd like to take me home as his boy toy.
Carol seemed to be the most flustered by the things Mark was saying and later she'd tell me that she was worried that he was offending me.
The only thing I remember Mark saying for sure was when he asked me if I'd ever considered "living an alternative lifestyle." I told him I hadn't and he went on to say that if I ever did I should give him a call.
Mark left just a moment before the other three of us did. As I walked out of the cafeteria with Dan he asked me if any of the things Mark had said to me bothered me. I told him they hadn't and Dan said, "Well, they bothered me." This surprised me as I'd thought Dan was gay.
(And he was. He came out a couple of years later.)
My thought on the whole getting-hit-on-by-gay-men thing is that it isn't any different from a straight guy hitting on a woman.
You don't know until you try.
Posted by delmer at 9:22 PM | Comments (2)
June 24, 2007
Odd (for even me) Dreams
The other morning I woke up and briefly thought about getting out of bed. I could tell it was sunny out and I noticed the guys across the street had started working on the new building they're putting up.
The next second I was asleep and dreaming. In my dream there was a medium-sized dog with a curled-up tail running toward a white house.
And then I woke back up and wondered how it was I'd slipped into a dream so fast. I noticed that the guys working across the street seemed to be making the same sort of noise they'd been making before. I don't know if it was a truck backing up, something being pushed, or what, but it left me with the impression that between waking up the first time, dreaming about the dog, and waking up the second time about a minute had passed.
I'm guessing stuff like this happens to a lot of people all of the time and that we just don't think about it. Had I not made it a point to remember the dream about the dog and the fact that I'd been awake and then asleep and then awake again (and that I was going to blog about it) I'd have forgotten the whole thing.
A couple of nights later I dreamed I was someplace where some sort of sporting event was going on. There was a guy there and he asked me out for a date. I explained I wasn't gay and turned him down. This hurt his feelings and I felt bad about it.
A second later a guy I know named Mark showed up. Mark is gay and, about 20 years ago, hit on me very hard. I was pretty sure Mark would be interested in going out with the guy I'd just said no to and I turned to see where he went. When I turned I saw a table full of college-aged kids (about 6 or 7 of them) wearing maroon sweatshirts that said — and this is the weirdest part — "Loyola" on them.
There are Loyolas in Maryland (Mar-uh-lund for the British readers. Not Mary-Land. It's not Land of the Marys), Chicago, New Orleans (N'aw-leans for the non-Louisianans) and a couple of other places that I'm either 1) unable to poke fun at or 2) are unimportant to the dream. I'm not sure which one is the one people think of when Loyola is mentioned. I do know that Maryland has the best URL and Chicago has a color on their website that most closely matches the color of the sweatshirts in my dream. Of course, New Orleans has that boobies-for-beads program and that's hard to beat.
Oh, and that was the dream. Sporting event. Gay guy asks me out. I say no but make an effort to fix him up with someone else. Loyola sweatshirts. I woke up.
I did not wake up questioning my sexuality. I was more interested in the details of the dream and the fact that the Loyola sweatshirts were maroon. I'm pretty sure I dream in color all of the time (the dog was brown in the fist dream) but I'm not always aware of the colors unless I specifically mention them. Once, in a dream, I pointed out an old girlfriend and said, "the redhead over there," and in the dream I remember the girl certainly had red hair.
As you know, I typically provide some sort of dream analysis with posts like this. While I'd like to say I'm not going to do that this time because I don't want to type anything with the word anal in it while explaining a dream about gay folks hitting on me, that would sort of go against what I believe in. Of course, letting an anal and guys hitting on me reference go unmentioned goes against my nature.
Analysis
All I can think of is that someone posted something in one of the Usenet groups I visit about the appearance of another member involving the thickness of that member's nipples. This same troll would litter his posts with derogatory terms about gay folks and democrats. I posted a very-well thought out reply (it was nominated for this month's humor award) that said that for someone who seemed to have trouble with gay people he sure seemed to have a pretty serious interest in another man's nipples. The troll responded by suggesting I could probably write a book on penis thickness.
And that is what I don't get. I suspect it was said to try to upset me and it didn't. And I wondered if people realize that suggesting a person is gay when that person doesn't really care about the sexuality of others, isn't really a slam of any sort.
In my follow-up post I pointed out that he was certainly the king of the witty comeback.
Which is sort of ironic … after that post he never came back.
Posted by delmer at 11:30 PM | Comments (0)
June 23, 2007
The Force is Strong in this One
Lately I've been using mind control to influence events in the world around me.
Of course, it may be just Hilliard and the surrounding areas I'm influencing.
A couple of weeks ago I was pedaling The Mighty Schwinn down Reynolds Drive. Reynolds is in pretty good shape but it's one of those roads that has breaks in it at regular intervals. You know, so as you ride down it on a bike every couple of seconds you encounter a small pavement-wide divot that causes a mild body thumping through the tires, handlebars and seat.
The divots are nothing you'd notice in a car, yet, I couldn't help but think how much nicer my bicycle ride would be if only the city would resurface Reynolds Drive.
This past Monday the city got busy grinding off the old pavement. Wednesday I noticed that the areas where the divots had been had been ground on (or dug up) an extra bit and pre-paved.
Sweet.
And all because I'd had a thought about how nice it would be to have the road repaved.
I won't exactly say I became drunk with power, but I did have some thoughts about what else might happen that would make my life a bit better (and how I could work that into a blog entry.)
I'd considered blogging about the pavement thing and how I'd intended to make one of my SLOG goals* something involving The Dark-Haired Girl and an event involving food. And then, of course, because my mind works in odd ways, maybe because I'm a guy, I thought the blog entry would mention The Dark-Haired Girl and maybe a food event involving sour creme. This of course would lead to cracks about tacos and things of that nature.
Of course, I never blogged about it. TDHG has a grand sense of humor, but I was just uncomfortable.
And then today, TDHG gave me a ring and asked if I wanted to get together for coffee. AND, while we were having coffee she had a brownie and I had ice cream (with Oreos and whipped cream) both of which are food items … a portion of one of the food items being whipped cream which can almost always be substituted for sour creme (unless, of course, we're talking about food preparation).
To summarize:
So … just thinking about thinking about a food event with TDHG was enough to make it happen.
I can only assume The Force is stronger in me than I could have ever hoped.
Just so you know I'm now focusing on having something good happen to each and every WADLL reader. When that thing happens, this coming week or shortly thereafter, I want you to think of me.
(Mom, Dad, I'll be calling later today, that's the good thing that'll be happening to you. If the two of you do anything involving sour creme — make that any creme that doesn't start "Dentu," — I don't want to know about it and I had nothing to do with it.)
*Yes, I know. Saying SLOG Goals is like saying ATM Machine or PIN Number.
(By the way, mom and dad have their own teeth and would not need denture cleanser.)
Posted by delmer at 12:00 AM | Comments (4)
June 22, 2007
Hard-boiled Eggs
My sister and I, as you know, recently spent 20 hours in a Buick traveling back and forth between the Columbus (in the great state of Ohio) and Williamsburg (in the nothing-rhymes-with-commonwealth Commonwealth) of Virginia.
On the return trip she pulled a book out of her luggage to pass the time. The book contained bits of folksy remedies for common problems as well as some old-fashioned tips for living a better life.
One of the things covered in the book was hard boiling eggs. The book recommends putting a bit of vinegar in the water to keep the eggs from cracking and oozing when the water boils.
"I almost always have trouble with my eggs cracking and oozing," I said.
"I put the eggs in the water first and then bring it to a boil with the eggs already in the pan and they never crack," said my sister.
"I do the same thing," I replied, "Maybe I'm getting the water too hot."
Yes. As soon as I said it I knew it was a stupid thing to say. My sister knew I knew but that didn't stop her from laughing and saying, "You can't get the water too hot."
(Certainly, adding salt to water will increase the boiling point and variations in altitude will affect the boiling point as well. However, I'm pretty sure that water boils pretty close to 212 F in Ohio.)
Posted by delmer at 12:14 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 21, 2007
Movie Tavern
Way way back, a long time ago … about 15 years ago, Movies 12 at Mill Run opened. It was a Cinemark Theater (Let's Party, let's Rock, we've got tickets to the Cinemark) and The Wife at the Time and I were there (before we were married) for opening weekend. As I recall, the movies were free that day.
Time passed and a billion other screens became available to the movie-going public in the area around where I live.
Many people moved on to the hipper, newer theaters but I remained true to Movies 12 for the simple reason that I can't see driving past one theater to see a movie at another theater if the same movie is playing at the first theater. Unless, of course, I'm on a date and she wants to go someplace else.
(I also have trouble driving to downtown Columbus for lunch when the trip there takes me past 30 other restaurants all of which serve a grilled chicken salad.)
Anyway, sometimes I was one of the only two or three people in a theater watching a movie. Some of this has to do with the fact I rarely go see a movie the first night it's out; some of this probably has to do with the fact that during a recent movie-theater review that Movies 12 at Mill Run came in toward the very bottom of the list. It may have been dead last.
And this was fine with me. It meant the boys and I wouldn't have to put up with too many people when we went to the movies. Still, I was concerned that Movies 12 would go under and the days of the $3.50 matinée would be gone for good.
This sort of happened.
Movies 12 was sold, remodeled and has become Movie Tavern. The theaters have been tweaked so that there are fewer seats available but the seats now sit behind tabled areas and food and drink are served during the show. I know it isn't a new idea, but this is the first theater like this I've been to and I've got to say the new owners have done a nice job.
Last night I went to see Oceans 13. The first couple of times I was at Movie Tavern I had trouble with the rolling chairs and can't say I was a big fan of sitting through a movie in the same type of seat I use at work. During Knocked Up I noticed that the back row of seats are fixed to the floor and intended to use one of those chairs during Oceans 13. Alas, not all of the theaters feature a row of fixed seats and I found myself in a rolling-seat-only theater.
In the end it wasn't a big deal.
Shortly after sitting the waitress came to take our order. She had a Palm-Pilot sized device on her wrist into which she punched our popcorn and Diet Cokes. The whole system is pretty cool.
Oceans 13 was a fine flick. The guys did a good job. Ellen Barkin looked great. Eddie Izzard and Super Dave (I recognized his voice. I don't think I'd have known who he was if he had a non-speaking part) have parts.
After the movie was over I thought of another goal.
10. Try to be a bit more sociable. Do more things with people my age (and women up to 12 years younger than I am). Don't misunderstand me, my kids are a hoot, a delight, and adorable, but they don't always have the tidiest table skills and sometimes it's nice to finish a meal without having to make a mental note to put Shout on a stain as soon as you get home.
Posted by delmer at 12:43 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 20, 2007
Securing Folders
I was looking for a way to make secure CDs and DVDs. I wanted them to be readable in a single PC or accessible in other PCs only if a password was provided. In my searching I came across a utility that seemed to meet my needs; and it had a demo.
In the help file that came with the demo it said, and I paraphrase to keep the program from becoming Googleable (I don't want to appear to be badmouthing the company: )
If you want to secure a CD-RW or DVD-RW take the following steps:
Step A
Step B
Step C
So I did that. Time and time again.
And then I reread the help file and tried some more. And then I Googled for help and found the following:
If you want to secure a CD-RW or DVD-RW take the following steps:
Step A
Step B
Step C
And I tried it some more.
Wait, in all honesty, the first couple of times I did it I was using DVD-Rs. I had to buy $25.00 worth of DVD-RWs to make sure what I was trying was exactly what they were describing.
I could get a DVD-RW to be secure in a single PC, but if I took that DVD-RW to another PC I could see all of the files. This isn't terribly helpful as, if I don't want you to read my DVDs in my PC I just won't let you use my computer.
I read the help file some more and found it online again. I couldn't get The Program to work.
I sent the company an e-mail that explained what I wanted to do. That is, make a CD-RW or DVD-RW readable in only a single PC. The tweaked e-mail follows:
Dear Software Company:
I downloaded and installed your product the other day and have spent a couple hours working with it. I'm having trouble getting it to do what I'd like, and before the demo expires I thought I'd make sure what I want it to do is possible.
I would like to make a DVD-RW with secure folders. And I want the folders to be secure regardless of the PC the DVD-RW is put into.
What I've done:
-- I've used Nero to burn the entire program folder (from c:\program files\folder) to the DVD-RW
-- The Locker was UNLOCKED when I burned the folder to the DVD-RW
-- If I then lock the folder it disappears from the file list on the DVD-RW.
-- Running your program from the PC or DVD-RW and typing in the appropriate password opens the DVD-RW folder, and I'm able to lock it again, and make it disappear.
-- If I put the DVD-RW in another PC, the folder is visible and all the files are accessible from within the folder. All without having to run your program. So, files are not protected on the second PC.
-- I've repeated the above several times. Sometimes when I burn the program directory a DVD-RW I'll have files in the secure folder, other times I won't.
I'm using XP Professional.
(I've got to admit that locking a DVD-RW across multiple PCs sounds like magic and maybe I've misunderstood something. I'd be happy enough to get the DVD-RW to work in just a single PC -- that is, locked so it plays in a single PC.)
You'll notice I mention I think the whole process is magic.
Their reply was similar to this:
Dear Delmer,
Thank you for writing.
If you want to secure a CD-RW or DVD-RW take the following steps:
Step A
Step B
Step C
Sincerely,
The Software Company
"Wait," you are thinking. "That's from the help file." And you're saying this after having read the help file but a single time. I'd read it a dozen or more.
The Software Company sent me a cut & paste piece! It was almost as if they hadn't read my e-mail.
I was a little miffed and cranked out this:
Guys,
I'm guessing that when my original e-mail hit your inbox you had a Don't-these-people-ever-read-the-helpfile-before-asking-a-question moment, which is why you felt the need to cut and paste an answer to me using a paragraph I'd read a dozen times are more. Let me assure you that if I am too stupid to figure something out from a help file, I'm not going to be any better at solving a problem merely by seeing the same text in a different application. Had I thought that were the case I would have simply copied the paragraph in question into Word, then Notepad, then Wordpad, then OpenOffice, etc. until I hit upon the application/paragraph combination that led to Your-Program-Use enlightenment.
You said:
If you want to secure a CDRW or DVDRW take the following steps:
Step A
Step B
Step C
A portion of My Original Mail Said:
-- I've used Nero to burn the entire program folder (from c:\program files\folder) to the DVD-RW
-- The Locker was UNLOCKED when I burned the folder to the DVD-RW
-- I've repeated the above several times. Sometimes when I burn the program directory a DVD-RW I'll have files in the secure folder, other times I won't.
Nero, I assumed you'd know, is a CD/DVD burning program. I guess there is a chance you'd be unfamiliar with it, so perhaps the misunderstanding is my fault. And when I say the Locker was UNLOCKED, I meant OPEN.
What I need to know is:
If I get this all sorted out will I be able to use Your Program to lock a folder on a DVD so that I can take that DVD to another computer and have it appear as if the secure folders are empty.
And then I got called away from my desk. By the time I returned I'd softened a bit and ended up sending this:
Guys,
Thank you for the reply to my question. However, I'd already read the blurb you sent as an answer in Your Program's help file about a dozen times.
I'm an IT guy and spend a large portion of my time answering questions that probably don't need to be asked. The answers often were in an e-mail I'd sent out earlier that nobody bothered to read, or the answer is the same as it was "last week" when the user had had the same, exact problem.
Due to this, I honestly try to find answers before becoming a bother to others. I'd read the help file and I'd gone to the Internet. In both cases multiple times and in each case I fell across the blurb you mailed to me.
There is a very good chance I'm just an idiot and really shouldn't be safeguarding my data from others as it may come about that I will be unable to access the data myself when I need it.
My goal is to somehow protect a DVD-RW so that files on it will only be readable on a single PC (with Your Program installed) or readable on another PC only after a password is entered.
I'm good with a simple "Yes, it can be done," or a "No. Are you insane? That would have to be some kind of wild magic."
If the answer is "Yes, it can be done," I'll keep at it until I sort out how I'm screwing it up or until the demo expires.
If it's "No ..." I'll take a break and head out to the UDF for some ice cream ... Ohio is getting hot.
The Software Company replied. It would seem what I want to do can't be done. The magic needed would be too great. Which was my first thought, but when I read a DVD-RW was needed I thought maybe The Program did some writing/rewriting to the drive.
I know I can encrypt my data using WinZip. It's just that some of the files are large and take a while to decrypt.
Posted by delmer at 7:16 AM | Comments (0)
June 19, 2007
Williamsburg Photo Recap
For fun, and as an experiment, I've uploaded the few photos I took to Picasa's Web Album.
 |
| Williamsbu |
A few of the photos are below as well.
Posted by delmer at 11:04 PM | Comments (2)
June 18, 2007
Leaving Williamsburg
My sister and I are currently in Williamsburg, very close to to hitting the road for the 10-hour drive home.
I'm wearing a shirt I had on yesterday ... yesterday's underwear ... shorts I've worn multiple times ... and socks I've had on since Friday.
There is something about spending 10 hours in a car that sucks all the wanting-to-get-clean out of me. I did brush my teeth, and I'll wash my face, but that's all I plan on doing.
My sister is showering.
I have, with me, a notebook computer that needs worked on and an inverter in the car. On the way down I reinstalled the operating system. On the way home I hope to retrieve data from the old, close-to-dead, drive using a USB gizmo I have.
IT never sleeps.
Posted by delmer at 5:44 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
June 17, 2007
Williamsburg on Sunday
Sunday morning …
My niece ran off to be with her friends (as is should be) and my nephew went back to George Mason. My sister-in-law had to go to work to take care of some things.
This left the three sibs to find something to do. Jim thought we should put his Bayliner into the James river and tool around for a while. Naturally, I forgot my camera.
We were in the James for about 90 minutes. The water is just a bit salty as is mixes with the Atlantic into which it flows.
To say I resisted the temptation to have Jim pull me behind the boat on an inner tube would be giving me too much credit; I had no desire at all to be pulled behind the boat and get slapped around by the water. I had to drive the next day and water is a lot harder than it looks.
After we were done playing in the James River we took a look at the sailboat Jim recently bought. The sailboat is really sweet but I don't remember any of the details about the boat other than it has a couple of beds, a couple of tables, a head, and a sink. I don't remember how many feet long it is or how wide it is (is that the beam?). It's in pretty good shape but Jim wants to do some cosmetic things to it before he puts it in the water.
Sailing looks like it might be a bit of fun.
Posted by delmer at 10:35 AM | Comments (0)
June 16, 2007
We drive and arrive
Millie and I stopped in Raphine, Virginia last night. We were about 7 hours into the trip and decided that 3 a.m. was about as late as we wanted to stay up driving.
We hit the road this morning around 10 a.m. with Millie behind the wheel. I had a notebook computer in my lap that was having problems and spent a portion of the drive installing a new hard drive and operating system (IT never sleeps).
The notebook was plugged into an inverter as was the special gizmo I was using to power the old hard drive. The goal was to move as many of the files off the old drive to the new drive via a USB connection.
The old drive was having problems (hence the replacement) of such a severe nature that my sister, who is not an IT person, was led to say, "That doesn't sound good." The that of which she was referring was a high-pitched pulsating screech.
And she was right: It didn't sound good.
In the end I was able to "see" the old drive and directory via the USB connection but I wasn't able to transfer any data.
Millie and I rolled into Williamsburg around 1:30 and were eating and having a beer by 1:35.
Jim's house was full of people and food and we spent a pleasant afternoon (the weather could not have been better) hanging out, visiting, and sitting very little (I had a bad case of car-seat ass that was killing me.)
Millie (my sister), Josh (my nephew), Jim (my brother), Beth (my sister-in-law). My sister would want you to know that she'd just slathered moisturizer on her face; it isn't always that slippery looking.
Posted by delmer at 10:47 PM | Comments (2)
June 15, 2007
The Trip to Williamsburg
Millie, my sister and I, left for Williamsburg earlier this evening. It's a mere 10-hour drive and will have us traveling across 600 miles of this glorious country.
At the start of the drive I gave Jim, our brother, a call to let him know we were coming.
"We are just getting on the interstate," I said into the phone. Turning the mouthpiece away from me a bit and lowering my voice some I continued with, "Millie, would you hand me another beer?"
"Wait," said my brother, "You're not drinking beer while you're driving, are you?"
"Only until Millie rolls another doobie," I said with a lot of enthusiasm.
Of course we weren't drinking beer … or rolling doobies. We were drinking Diet Coke (hey, we had 10-hours of night driving ahead of us), and eating Trail Mix and Beef Jerky (just like the settlers who made the original trip in the other direction.)
I'm not real sure why I took this photo, maybe I was testing the camera. It's a Wendy's across the street from the McDonald's we'd stopped at.
Posted by delmer at 10:21 PM | Comments (0)
The Trip Out West Part XXIV: Joker! Joker! Joker!
If you are just coming in to the story, and you want to read all the good stuff about my stint in jail, you should really start at The Beginning.
When we last left off it was my 24th birthday and I was asleep alone in the tent. Tom was asleep alone in the Firebird. I was sleeping the sleep of a man who had just finished playing snugglebunnies with a blond gal. Tom was sleeping the sleep of a guy sitting straight up in a bucket seat — periodically he'd wake up, give the wheel a panicked white-knuckled squeeze, slam on the brakes and think "what the hell am I doing in a car," before realizing that he was parked outside the tent.
At some point we packed up and left Vegas. And it was likely August 24, but only if August 24 was a weekday.
Our next stop was to be Los Angeles and Tom was going to try out for The Joker's Wild. We had to be in LA and at wherever it was people were screened for Joker's Wild by a certain time.
The drive from Las Vegas to LA is something over 4 hours and we left Vegas with me behind the wheel. Tom eventually dropped off to sleep (if you refer back a couple of paragraphs you'll understand why it is Tom wasn't as rested as he could have been).
Tom awoke several hours later.
"Where are we," he asked groggily.
"About an hour outside of San Diego," I said.
"Aaaakk," he exclaimed, now fully awake. "We're going the wrong way."
And all of a sudden we went from having plenty of time to make the Joker's Wild screening gig to being in a position where we were cutting it close.
We eventually made it to our desired destination, but we were more than 10-minutes late.
Part of the screening process involved taking a test and the screeners were more than happy to, at Tom's suggestion, let me take the test as well.
When it was all said and done I'd be eliminated as I uh, failed the test. (I'd like to point out that being late didn't do anything to help with my test-taking confidence. I'd also like to point out that I know a lot more useless bullshit today that I did then and I'm sure I'd do much better.)
Tom was eliminated due to the fact, and the only way I can think to say this, is that he wasn't enough of a character.
If the people at Goodson-Todman Productions only knew.
Posted by delmer at 3:19 PM | Comments (0)
June 14, 2007
SLOG II
Here's something I forgot about.
9. Quit eating out of the snack jar at work. And, just to be clear, I mean quit eating snacks at work — this isn't a don't fish off the company's pier thing or a don't dip your pen in the company's ink well reference or a don't bang your coworkers crack. I simply mean I've got to quit eating crap out of the hard-candy jar. For about a month.
I've considered suing the company for making free snacks available (Animal Crackers, hard candies, and those caramel things with the powdered sugar in the middle … they're called Bullseyes … and I love them so) inasmuch as they know I have no willpower and why should I be bothered to have to make wise choices when it would be so much easier for me to not have the snacks there at all.
But I'm guessing that would involve some sort of paperwork, and I really don't have the time.
I wonder why the hell I got all worked up about McDonald's earlier in the day? It sort of started out as a joke about how much I eat at Micky D's and then rollercoastered into dumbasses suing companies for problems created due to their own idiocy.
What can I say. I just haven't been the same since Warren Zevon died. None of us have been, really. I suspect, however, that I'm a bit closer to recovery than most of you as I've awakened my awareness of my Missing-Warren-Zevon sadness.
Posted by delmer at 9:11 PM | Comments (4)
SLOG
As you may recall I recently had a bout of concern that I lack passion for anything. That is, I'm not a car guy, I'm not a gadget guy, I don't really care for golf, and while I'm technically an IT guy I get enough of it during the day that I don't want to spend my evenings slapping together Linux boxes to remotely control everything in my home.
I do like riding the bike, though I'm hardly a rabid rider.
I seem to enjoy writing the blog on the vast majority of the days — even days when I worry I've got less to say than I usually do.
As I was riding along the other day I thought maybe it would be good to have some short-term goals. This would give me something to track, measure, whatever, and it would provide something for me to blog about. You see, the goals have to appear on the blog, for if they don't I may not do much to fulfill them as I am much more likely to not do something I sort or think I might do as opposed to something I tell you I might do.
These goals exist consecutively with my longer-range goals (try to be a good father, save for retirement, etc.) but I'm hoping they'll give me something I can measure weekly or monthly or somethingly.
The goals list may change. Some goals compliment each other.
And we have:
Lose 40 more pounds.
Not really. I just know my mom reads this and when she sees that it will make her gasp. She's probably calling me right now. See how that goal isn't even numbered, I threw it in there just before I posted this.
1. Come up with a catchier name for the list rather than just GOALS. I'm thinking Short-Terms List of Goals (SLOG) or List of Goals: Short-term (LOGS). Or Carol. You know, if you slap an "A" in LOGS or SLOG you have all the letters you need to make GOALS. What do they call that when an acronym contains itself? One of the Linux video CODECS (I think) is such an acronym. This would have to be something like Goals Originally Analyzed by the Loving Spoonful to be a fair (if somewhat stupid in this case) example.
(GNU: GNU's Not UNIX and WINE: Wine's Is Not an Emulator. Neither are video codecs.)
2. Eat at McDonald's every day until I meet goal 4.
I've been there every day in June already so I thought I'd continue the trend. I'll be in Williamsburg this weekend, but think I'll still be able to find a Micky D's somewhere. There was a big rant-type bit of text here that I've moved to the extended entry. It was sort of off-point.
3. Take active steps to lose the love handles. Maybe just make them smaller (let's be realistic). I'm tired of them being there and just thinking, "I wish these were gone," doesn't seem to be working.
4. Drop my body fat by 5% from where it currently is.
This 5% will be measured using the Tanita scale I have. I know it isn't as accurate as getting submerged in a big tub of Jell-O, or whatever it is they use, but it's what I have and it's good enough for the list. Quick math suggests this will be a loss of 10 pounds of fat; calculator-math suggests this will be 11.5 pounds of fat. (Yes, I know, there's more to it than this.)
5. Do the Sprint 8 stuff.
Three days a week regardless of other activity. For at least 8 weeks at which point I'll reassess the usefulness to see what I'm getting out of it. I stuck with this for a while last year and then stopped it when I started going on long bike rides.
6. Swim 5 more than one full laps without stopping.
By the time the pool closes on Labor Day. Hopefully I'll develop some form. You know, five sounds like a low number, but it may still be too big (thus the change).
7. Cycle in a more organized manner.
That is do something, at least once a week, that I can measure. Maybe timing the 15-mile loop I take and trying to get faster. I'm also going to make better use of my heart-rate monitor. If I'm going to be on the bike for extended periods of time I may as well get all I can out of it. Right now I just go out and pedal 15 to 50 miles and while I'm not unhappy with my speed, sometimes I just feel like I'm going through the motions. I've no desire to average 25 mph for 50 miles as I think that would hurt some and take the fun out of it. Hurting for a short period of time once a week may not be a bad thing. (When I was younger I used to play a lot of basketball and there's something about wearing yourself out that just feels good. I don't get a lot of that anymore.)
Speaking of things I don't get a lot of anymore …
8. Have sex on my birthday.
Writing about The Trip Out West reminded me of just how much fun that was. I'm going to try not to go to sleep too soon this time. (If you must send me birthday wishes, please do so by mail. I will not be answering the phone that day. It would be rude.)
My extended rant regarding eating at McDonald's every day for a while.
I was put off years ago when Caesar Barber decided to sue McDonald's for making him fat. And I was further irritated by Morgan Spurlock's Super Size Me, wherein the character eats at McDonald's on a regular basis and each time he's asked if he wants to Super Size it, he says "yes" and he gets fat. I'm not necessarily trying to make a point, this just seems like an easy goal to meet. Well, and I do have a problem with people who don't take responsibility for their own actions; if I ate everything my mother offered me I'd be big as a house — and she kicks out food that is a lot better than anything you'll find in a restaurant.
I blame Morgan Spurlock for the short-term unavailability of Super Sized Diet Cokes at McDonald's. Some might argue that Spurlock's actions, and the I'm Fat and Suing You lawsuits were responsible for healthier choices at fast food places, and they may be to an extent, but McDonald's has had salads for years (they had a really nice one years ago that was replaced by the stupid idea of a salad-in-a-shaker and now good ones are back) And, way back in the 80's there was some sort of chain that offered healthier fast-food fare; it didn't last very long … people would rather eat greasy Rally's cheeseburgers and White Castle burgers. Don't blame the restaurants for giving people what they want.
And as for the argument that McDonald's was causing people to crave bad food choices. That's crap. For the next several days eat grilled chicken salads for lunch and dinner. It won't take long before you start to think, a grilled chicken salad sounds like a good idea. Be sure to skip the dressing.
Anyway, I eat a lot of grilled chicken salads (no dressing) and I find that when I'm hungry for something it is often a grilled chicken salad. Your mileage may vary. (And, of course, there are time when I think that nothing would taste better than a big old greasy hamburger or a teeny-tiny Slider.)
Posted by delmer at 4:46 PM | Comments (5)
June 13, 2007
Apple Safari
Apple has released a beta of Safari (their Internet browser) for Windows.
I installed it an had a problem with textless web pages. The problem is described and a solution offered by these folks.
It worked for me.
So far haven't had a chance to use Safari aside from one quick test. I aimed Firefox and Safari toward www.tednugent.com and, using my wristwatch, timed how long it took the page to load.
Both browsers had Stranglehold playing in about the same amount of time and I have to believe that if you were even the slightest bit buzzed and aching to hear some Ted that you'd be hard pressed to tell the difference between one browser or the other.
Here I come again now bay-beee
Like a dog in heat.
Doesn't that just speak to you?
How about,
That Nadine, what a teenage queen
She lookin' so clean, especi'lly down in between; what I like
(Oh baby)
Wang dang sweet ...
The man should be poet laureate.
Before signing off for the evening I'd like to mention that just the other day, and I mean like three or four days ago, I was wondering if a guy threw himself on a grenade could he really save his buddies. It must have been the night I was watching Combat on TV — it seems I recalled an episode where some guys were in a bunker and the Germans threw a grenade in on them. The guys knew if they threw the grenade back out the Germans would know they were in there and then machine gun them or something. Of course, if the grenade went off they'd all die anyway. One of the guys (not Vic Morrow) threw himself on the grenade, it exploded, he's killed but his buddies live.
Tonight on Myth Busters they are testing the "myth" using a ballistics-gel dummy.
For the record, I didn't think a guy throwing himself on a grenade would save anybody. I figured the body didn't have enough mass to stop the shrapnel.
Without going into all the details, it looks like a person throwing his body on a grenade does slow the shrapnel enough to give his buddies a better chance.
Of course, the ballistics-gel dummy was blown to hell on Myth Busters. On Combat (or whatever it was) the explosion was represented by a something that looked like a fart under the actor's (not Rick Jason's) chest.
The Myth Busters also blow up a fridge with a grenade. That must have been something that got from the Combat DVD Collection's deleted scenes. I'm pretty sure that never happened in the show.
Posted by delmer at 10:51 PM | Comments (0)
June 12, 2007
Cooking Outside
The boys are out of school for summer vacation. We celebrated the start of the summer-vacation season by having a cookout this past Sunday morning.
Cooking out … grilling out … both mean preparing food outside. In an odd twist, eating out typically means eating at a restaurant or at least eating food prepared by someone else.
Ohio, and the United States in general, is chock full of "out." It seems to be almost everywhere and it's a tad surprising that more people don't cook in it more often. I suspect Australia is full of "out" as well and it may come in second only to San Francisco when it comes to amount of "out" per square mile (or kilometer, depending upon which side of the Equator you're on). Australian "out" and San Franciscan "out" may be two entirely different things and the Australian "out" is typically around "back." Of course, this may hold true in SF as well.
I really hoped that would look better in print. Well, you know the rule, everything stays.
In keeping with the mentioning Australia and England at the same time theme I sort of have working (and lets not forget German-engineered breasts) I should mention that I was reading an article on Glamping in Outside (there's some more "out") Magazine this past weekend. When I turned to the article there was a picture of two people and my first thought was that they were not the most robust Brits I'd ever seen (my actual, first thought was, "that's a rough-looking couple of people"). According to the caption one of the people was Kate Moss. The other person was her boyfriend who seems to be in a band. I'm sure it was just a bad photo.
While preparing for grilling I happened across 10-pounds of chicken I had stored in the freezer in the garage. The bag it was in said, "sell before October 15, 2006" and I was pretty sure I'd bought it before then. There was nothing on the bag suggesting when it should be cooked. June 10, 2007 seemed like as good a time as any.
Ten pounds of frozen thigh and leg quarters look like this (those are turkey legs on the bottom rack):
After a bit of cooking they become this:
The following is leg and thigh quarter prepared and presented on a bed of paper towels on the file cabinet in my office. I can hardly wait for lunch to roll around.
Before I go any further I should state, for the mental well-being of my mother, that I am not letting the boys eat any of the 8-month old chicken. I've had several pieces so far and nothing bad has happened to me yet and I still have to take a fiber supplement to move things along.
Oh, and good news for all: I found my digital camera and should be able to work some better photos into the blog in the future.
Posted by delmer at 5:57 AM | Comments (2)
June 11, 2007
Another Dream -- This one with a Monkey
And this is the second one I've had in which another blogger has played a role, sort of. Actually, it's the same blogger making his second appearance.
(Shamelessly lifted from Blogography)
In the dream I was at a department store, probably a Target, and searching for swimming trunks. I found a pair with Bad Monkey on them and realized they'd been designed by Dave from Blogography.
The pair I found didn't fit and I started looking for another size. Somehow I ended up talking to someone about the swim wear — a guy — and he implied that the Bad Monkey trunks would be impossible for me to get. I told him I was certain Dave would want me to have a pair and that I would certainly end up with a pair. The guy gave me a smirk that said, there's no way you'll find them, what makes you think Dave wants you to have a pair, and what makes you so special. Dream smirks are able to say so much more than real-life smirks.
As the guy smirked at me I held my tongue even as I thought, Dave would want me to have a pair because I had lunch with him once.
And then I woke up and realized just how absurd the whole thing had been.
Analysis
Swim Trunks: I bought a pair of swim trunks Friday night. I put them on in Target, while I had underwear on, and they seemed to fit. Any bit of looseness they had I knew I'd be able to cinch up with the sting; the legs seemed about right. Saturday, without underwear on (and the underwear is important from a balls-on-fabric point of view rather than the role it played in making the underwear possibly seem more snug) I pulled the trunks up and when to cinch the string. The string was already as cinched as it could be and it appears the trunks are too big. I'm pretty sure swim wear can't be returned after the tags have been removed and testicles have touched the built-in undergarment netting. And the meager refund I might get isn't worth the embarrassment I might feel when asked about testicular fabric touching.
As it is, I still need new trunks.
Bad Monkey: We all dream about Bad Monkey … don't we? Bad Monkey is a character that appears at Blogography, Dave's blog, once in a while. Dave is about my age (a bit younger, actually) and has recently had some bad news and I feel worried for him some (I'm a guy, I don't express sad emotions well) and a bit bad for him as this just drives home the fact that regardless of a person's age there are still things that can happen to him that make life suck something awful.
Dave also recently posted that Blogography shirts may ship later than expected and this may have something to do with the clothing-theme tie-in.
Bonus Monkey-Dream Material:
If you haven't noticed yet, any time I post an entry that I find the least bit uncomfortable or controversial I post another one quickly after it. I'm not in the mood to put together another entry but I can't possibly end this entry with something that suggests I have actual emotions.
People, I have issues.
Anyway, and this is a direct cut & paste from An Undefined Number of Things About Me. Don't quit reading here though, there's an additional bonus line at the end.
I remember having a dream involving a monkey and a gumball machine sitting near the door of a house we rented on Crystal Ave. in Middletown. We moved from Middletown around the time I was four -- probably 1964. I don't remember anything else about that apartment (the lower level of an old house, really). I had this dream about the time I was 4, give or take. I can still see the gumball machine and I sometimes wonder how close my vision of that is to the actual front-door area of that house. I don't know what's up with the monkey, but he was scary.
What I originally left out of that is that the monkey was sitting on the gumball machine in the dream. This is one of the earliest memories I have of anything (second only to a memory that is probably of me looking up while I was in my crib and seeing a blanket or sheet draped over the top of it. Mom has suggested the sheet was there to keep the vapor from the Vaporizer, which might have been sitting outside the crib next to me, more concentrated). Despite what appears in the pretty, colored, box, I was four or younger when I had the dream
So there, you did get a little more.
Posted by delmer at 6:44 AM | Comments (7)
June 10, 2007
We don't swim in your toilet
Each day for the last several days I've spent some time in the pool swimming just over half a mile at a time. I don't swim it all in a single shot, I typically swim a length (25 yards) take a break, and then make the return trip to make a lap.
Sometimes I'll swim a length and turn right around. I did more of this today than I have in the past and I think that's progress.
I'd like to point out that I learned to swim by reading a book back when I was, likely, nine or ten, so my technique has not been the best over the years. It was just last week that I started swimming with my head in the water and doing the thing where I turn my head every few strokes for a breath of air. (Jack, now 12, swam a lap with me and I was happy to see he's already at that point.)
I normally turn my head to the right (I'm right handed) to breathe and I do it every second stroke I take with my right hand. That's on the first length of a lap; on the return trip I often breathe on every stroke.
I started laps last week.
I'm 46 and am way past caring what anybody thinks of how I look swimming, still, I had just a bit of worry about the mechanics of the thing. After swimming my first lap or two I found myself standing at the end of the pool when a woman got in the lane next to me. Without getting into to many physical details, let me just say she didn't look like a swimmer. But, man, could she cut through the water. And she swam several laps win a row. (As it happens she used to swim on her high school swim team.)
I stopped her and asked her for a few pointers. She gave me a couple and I set off. I didn't expect her to critique my swimming but was still happy when she told me my stroke didn't look bad after I completed my first lap. I'd had a concern that it might look like I was swimming while gripping kittens in my hands. (I used to say, " .... swimming like I was beating a cat." I don't know that either one makes more sense than the other but neither conjures up images of Mark Spitz winning the gold.)
What I've noticed about swimming laps is that it sort of clears your mind of your troubles. That is, it keeps you from thinking about all your worries. On a bicycle you've got a lot of time to think about your day, projects at work, the fact you keep thinking about getting a new seat but that you've done absolutely nothing about it, personal problems, etc.
There's none of that when you are swimming laps. You're thinking things like, I seem to be swallowing less water than I did yesterday, keep your head down so your ass stays up and your legs don't sink, is that a quarter on the bottom, one two three four breathe, etc.
(Of course, when you're on the bike, you see more things. The countryside, corn, soybeans, women.)
Normally when I swim I'll take a look at other swimmers to see how they're doing. What I've noticed is that every other person I've looked at seems to be silently, peacefully, moving through the water. They look so calm.
When I swim it seems very noisy. Even the 15-year olds that swam with a lot of extra vigor the other day seemed to make less noise than I do.
Tonight, between thoughts of breathing and keeping my head down, I worked in a thought about why when I swam was there so much noise. Briefly I thought back to Johnny Weissmuller and all the swimming I'd seen him do in the Tarzan movies. Sure, there were times when he'd made a lot of noise when he was crossing a river, but he was typically wrestling an alligator then.
I know that I'm the only one who hears all the noise I make and most of that noise comes in the form of me exhaling. I'm guessing that in time I won't even notice the noise. Who knows?
I also think, that if I can ever work out breathing on the right then on the left (with a stroke or two in between — it works out so I get air a stroke earlier) that maybe I'll have better luck at swimming full laps without the break at the 1/2-lap mark. I've been practicing breathing from the left side at the end of my pool outings; I seem to swallow a little less pool water and, therefore, chlorinated-urine each day. Which is certainly incentive to improve.
Posted by delmer at 1:58 AM | Comments (0)
June 9, 2007
June 9
Today is June 9th.
And the entry from the June 9th the year before.. I can't believe it's been two years since the trip to Detroit.
I thought one of those entries would be this one as I knew I'd posted about this topic before.
I think it's interesting that the Detroit trip seems like it was just a short while ago and the post about 69, which I made about six months ago, seems like a year or two ago.
Of course, I'd forgotten all about the Abe Vigoda dream. By the way, he is still alive as of this posting.
I had several other things I thought I'd post today and while none of them were terribly great they were all more interesting than this. And yet, I'm going to leave this as each and every time I looked at my watch today I was reminded that it was 6/9 and that always reminded me of the collage my roomies and I started to make.
(Each and every time I looked at my watch! That not only says that each time I looked at my watch I was reminded that it was 6/9 it also says, if you think about it, that in between glances at my watch I had no idea what the date was.
What's worse is that, for a while, I thought it was Sunday. And I don't mean I had a passing thought that "today is Sunday," I mean I was sure.)
Posted by delmer at 11:34 PM | Comments (0)
June 8, 2007
Let's Go Dutch
Lady Penelope recently spent some time in Europe Holland. (I had to leave Europe in, well, just because. It made me laugh at myself. Lady Penelope lives in Europe, so spending time there isn't all that big a deal.)
Speaking of Europe, I just saw something about Pirates on the History Channel the other day. You know, for being as polite as they are today, the English, Dutch, Spanish and (I think, and it's the group I'll use here) Portuguese used to raise some serious hell. They'd get a few beers in them, someone would say, "Let's take the ship out for a spin," and the next thing you know you had cannon balls flying, shipping lanes full of debris and various Kings and Queens in a snit. You don't see a lot of that these days.
I promise that that is the last time you'll see "balls flying" in this post. Twice or more would be impolite.
Anyway, Lady P went to Holland and was kind enough to send me these photos. She apologized to me for the lack of resolution — they are from her phone — but my thought is they seem fine; so much better than photos from my phone look
A windmill
.
Posted by delmer at 6:36 PM | Comments (2)
June 7, 2007
Passport to Disney
The boys and I applied for passports today.
And, in all fairness, it would be more correct to say the boys applied for their passports and I attempted to apply for my passport.
As you may or may not know, in order to get a passport you need to provide your original birth certificate, a urine sample, a liver biopsy, and you have to be able to name the Beatles in the order of their birth; I screwed up as I always name the Beatles in alphabetical order and (and this is what put the screw to me) I typically get a little show-offy and throw in Pete Best and Stuart Sutcliffe.
(I don't think I was helped much either by the five-minute diatribe I tossed out about how Paul McCartney actually died many years ago and had been replaced by a look-alike named Billy Shear. Once I got into that no amount of explaining how the walrus was Paul, how he was out of step and barefoot on Abby Road, and how the mysterious palm above his head on the Sgt. Pepper's cover confirmed my story would seem to put the clerk at ease. And while she did seem to be genuinely impressed by the fact I could name off all the characters on the Sgt. Pepper's album cover … at the same time she appeared a little concerned that I was walking around with a well-worn Sgt. Pepper's album jacket.)
Actually, the thing that screwed up my passport application was my birth certificate. The birth certificates we're supposed to present are supposed to have a raised seal stamped into them. Mine didn't, but it was 46-years old and, since I wasn't sure we had raised-seal technology back then, I didn't think much of it. Instead of a raised seal, my item had my baby footprints and one of my thumb prints on it. I thought it was super-swell, and I had a backup-emergency piece of paper with me too.
The backup-emergency piece of paper turned out to be a copy of my Birth Certificate. And on the copy you could see the faint outline of a raised seal. The other item, the one with my footprints, was something the hospitals used to give out 46-years ago; probably to cover their asses while they were beta testing raised seals.
The copy of the birth certificate wasn't going to get me what I needed. Neither was the foot-printed item, despite the fact I offered to show my foot bottoms to the clerk.
Oh well. I wasn't the one I was worried about. I can wait in the passport line again (it really didn't take all that long) without exploding into a fit of boredom.
My kids can't.
And I blame that on the fact that today's album covers are piss poor.
Posted by delmer at 7:03 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 6, 2007
Today, a Recipe
Ingredients
12-ounces, more or less, of water.
1 scoop (approx. 30g) Vanilla Whey Protein
1 tablespoon (more or less) Orange Fiber Drink Mix. I use a sugar-free generic form of Metamucil
Preparation
Pour a little bit of water in the bottom of a glass. This small bit will keep the powdery part of the mix from clumping at the bottom.
Add the whey protein and fiber drink mix. While swirling the mix around run a stream of water into the glass from the tap. Less lazy people, or married men being watched by their wives, may want to just top off the glass and take a spoon to the concoction to stir it up.
Serving ideas
Substituting milk for water might make this taste even better. Vodka might give it a screwdriver feel.
Why
Recent studies have shown that whey protein may have some sort of anti-cancer stuff working for it. I'll leave it to you to research that more. I take it to make sure I get enough protein in my diet.
Fiber Drink Mix is good for your regularity. It also enhances your mood (but only if rock-solid regularity is something that makes you happy — I'm guessing it does.).
Posted by delmer at 7:51 AM | Comments (4)
June 5, 2007
Bob the Builder
Somebody is building something across the street from me. The area used to be where the funeral home sat although I wasn't aware of that until a year or so ago. In all the time I was familiar with the building that used to be there I thought it was a closed gift shop of some sort. It was a nice looking structure.
They tore it down last year.
This year they are building. I think it's going to be some sort of office although the guy up at the pizza place thinks it might be an adult book store. I'm pretty sure said that just to try to alarm me.
Each day that I come home they've got some equipment out digging holes and stuff.
The other day when I came home I noticed one of the workers standing next to his pickup with his equipment out and taking a leak.
(His back was to me, so I couldn't see the equipment, but I knew by the sounds produced what was going on.)
Posted by delmer at 10:42 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
June 4, 2007
I'm tired of being blah
Alright.
I took Jack to the Pulmonary Specialist today to see if we could put a finger on what is causing the odd, hacking cough that seems to afflict him (and anybody near him) every 10 to 14 months (or so). What we found out is that Jack has great lung function and things couldn't be better. No, this does not explain the cough — we're going to have to wait to see if it reappears and then see the Pulmonary Doctor again (we'll be able to get right in now that we've had our introductory meeting).
When I was working out tonight I put some more thought into the funk I've fallen into. I may just be lonely this week. I don't normally get "blah" when I have my kids with me; there isn't time.
Oh, and speaking of working out, riding the bike and swimming, I sort of remember why I do it. I'm trying to lose the love handles. Which is certainly not my A-number-one-primary goal, or I never would have forgotten. But it is a way to measure progress. (Mostly I want my kids to know that exercise is part of a person's daily life. Also, if I don't do stuff like that I feel like a bum.)
There is still nothing I live to do. I think in a couple of weeks I may pick a point on the map about 75 miles away, pedal toward it, spend the night in a hotel, and then pedal back the next day. But the thought of doing that isn't the driving force that makes me feel alive day after day (Baby Blue, Come and Get It).
Wait … I really like breakfast at McDonald's. Yes! … dammit-to-hell … I must go to bed right this instant in order that tomorrow will come to me as soon as possible so I might enjoy, again, a succulent Egg McMuffin.
It may sound like I'm making fun, but I really do like Egg McMuffins. And Fruit and Yogurt Parfaits. Between breakfasts and mid-ride Fruit & Yogurt Parfaits, I probably ate at McDonald's every day last month. Certainly enough times to have eaten there once a day.
I would not be at all surprised to find that the thought of having an Egg McMuffin for breakfast is the reason my subconscious provides my morning wood.
Egg McMuffins and Dostinex.
Posted by delmer at 9:09 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
June 3, 2007
More of the Same
So, today I woke up and had breakfast at Mel's. Then I decided I should swim some laps … I'm still not sure why and the only thing I can think of that makes any sense is that I'm trying to set a good example for my children.
I swam 15 laps. A lap is 50 yards (maybe meters); I swam 750 yards. One mile equals 1760 yards, so I swam .426 miles. I need to swim just over 35 laps to make a mile.
It takes about 15 minutes to swim 15 laps. You, know, if you're swimming the whole time. I'd swim a lap and then take a break and then swim another lap. Every five laps I'd go to the bathroom and pee.
I went home, piddled around a bit and then ran an errand.
I hopped on the Mighty Schwinn and rode it to Staples where I bought come DVD-RWs. Then I went to McDonald's for lunch (a grilled chicken wrap with no sauce and a Fruit & Yogurt parfait). Finally, I ran something to the ex's for one of the kids.
And then I rode about 20 more miles which took me to 32 or 33 miles for the day.
Oh, I almost forgot, I ran the odometer to over 1000 miles for the year. I'm at something like 1020 miles since January. I think I did 1140 miles over the course of last year. Just think, in 121 miles I can hang the bike up in the garage for the rest of the season and still be better than I was last year.
While I was putting in the 32 miles I ran the why do I do this thought around in my head. I still don't know. I just knew that when I woke up I was going to swim laps, ride the bike, and do squats (I never did the squats, I figured my legs had seen enough action over the course of the day).
I could have used the riding time to spread mulch and clean bathrooms I suppose. I know I can't very well sit on my butt all day and do nothing; I don't feel good about things like that. The thought of sitting around, watching sports on TV and drinking beer has no appeal at all.
I spent some time sitting in the garage with the doors open and watching it rain while I read tonight … that was pretty relaxing.
All things considered I have a pretty good life. And I know it.
Anyway, a new jersey should arrive in the mail tomorrow and I'm pretty excited about that. Though part of that excitement is merely due to me wondering if I've finally found a manufacturer who sizes their cycling clothing in a way that makes sense for American bodies.
I believe I've just got a lot of stress going on. A short while ago the stress knot reappeared in left part of my chest (left as I look at you).
You know venturing out of the house last night for a beer was uncharacteristic of me. It's been months since I've done that. Was it November? I go out plenty, but I'm either taking a stroll, going to Mel's, or riding the bike.
So, I've got no big answers.
I do have photos from my phone from yesterday and last night. Sorry they're so poor.
Posted by delmer at 12:51 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
June 2, 2007
Today ... the pub crawl
Guys and gals, it's hard to know where this entry will go.
This morning I went to Mel's Diner for breakfast (I had three eggs, a dry English muffin, ham, extra-crispy home fries, and a pancake with whipped creme), then I went to the garage and lifted weights (and really, when you consider all the weight equipment I own, I should be a lot stronger than I am). Toward the end of the day I rode The Mighty Schwinn 32 miles (and averaged a hair over 19 mph … not bad for me) and then went to the pool and swam some laps.
But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself.
On the way home from Mel's I ran across the Bikers Against Child Abuse tent. They were set up next to Otie's and were part of a fund raiser for St. Jude's Children's hospital. I bought a shirt with a motorcycle theme for Samson and a couple of do-rags (one for Sam, one for me). I figured I couldn't very well pay someone to make me breakfast and not make a contribution to a worthy charity. The shirt I bought for Sammo was way too big so I washed it in hot water and ran it through the dryer to shrink it up.
Just after the motorcycle-gang-apparel buying spree I received a call from a friend. She thought it might be a good idea to see Knocked Up and asked if I wanted to accompany her. I thought it was a great idea and we met up at Movie Tavern.
Knocked Up was very good. The woman friend mentioned that a reviewer had commented that for all the F-bombs dropped, it was a very sweet movie (or something like that). The C-bomb was dropped once, as well.
As I said, we saw the show at Movie Tavern in Hilliard. I had a shrimp salad during the movie, a beer and a Diet Coke. I'll have to blog about Movie Tavern sometime. But not today.
After the movie we went to Starbucks for dessert and coffees.
And then I rode the bike and then went swimming.
And then I decided to go to the pig roast fund raiser for St. Jude's. I think it was for St. Jude's, and it doesn't really matter who it was for as I never made it.
I went to the local bar that I was holding the fund raiser and found the fund raiser was either A) over or B) out back and farther away than I was willing to walk.
I sat at the bar and had several beers. And a fried bologna sandwich.
And I thought about life and how uptight I am and how I seem to lack passion about a lot of things and how I don't understand why Quicken Loans Arena was full of idiots who cared about the Detroit v. Cleveland game and I wondered about a lot of other things as well. Like why it is that I lack whatever it is that makes being alive seem like a kickass thing.
(I lifted weights today. I rode a bicycle 32 miles. I swam laps. Why did I do all that? If I don't I feel like a slug. But who cares? Riding the bike is fine and it isn't like when I'm on The Mighty Scwhinn I'm thinking, God, let this end, but what is the point? You know, tomorrow I do squats and lats and I'm sort of looking forward to it, but why? I'm never going to be huge; probably never terribly strong). I'll likely live to be close to 100 regardless of what I do unless, of course, a bus slams into me. I've got living-long genes on my side. I think I'd have lived to be about 100 if I still weighed 370. Wait, bad hormones lead to a host of other problems. But, if I were able to blossom up to 370 again, with good hormones, I think I'd live a long time. Not that I'd wake up every day and think, Hot damn … another day of living. It all goes back to that passion thing. )
And then a drunk guy sat next to me and made some comments about the game and I pretended to know what he was talking about and tried to provide some sort of appropriate feedback and then I noticed that he checked out the backside of the barmaid and then I gave her a look and then I wondered why we, as guys, felt we had to do such things and what we got out of it.
And why do we do this? Somebody, really, explain it. Why do guys check out women? Do endorphins of some sort get released? What? The other day I was distracted by women jogging. Why? This never happened when my hormones for fucked up.
You know, when I was waiting tables, back in 1984, a group of gay guys came in to the restaurant on a regular basis and they'd ask for me to wait on them (I was the only waiter … that is, vs. waitress). One time they came in with a new guy and as I was taking their order I glanced at the new guy, to let him know it was his turn to order, and noticed he was looking at my feet … and then my legs and waist etc. right up to my eyes. He was checking me out. But why?
(For what it's worth, I think the gay guys asked for me because I knew they were gay (how they knew I knew I'm not sure) and I just didn't care.)
Were were we?
The drunk guy checked out the barmaid's backside. So did I. I wondered why the hell we were like this.
I had a three Sam Adams: Sam Adams Spring brew, the Summer brew and plain old Sam Adams. POSA was my favorite. I also had a Pabst Blue Ribbon as I hadn't had one since college.
And I left.
I went to the bar across the street. It's one I often pass and that I've alway been curious about. I had a shot of well whiskey (Old Crow), a Miller High Life (the Champaign of Bottle Beer) a Red Bull (sugar free) and a Miller Lite. Also a bag of chips.
I then strolled down to the Yard Club (now called The County Cork). I ordered a Fosters (Australian for beer … or bee-uh). While I was in the bar Cleveland beat Detroit and the bar bought all the patrons a shot of some sort of apple schnapps.
I had to leave before I finished my Fosters. (Fosters is a fine beer, I just knew if I drank it all I'd be in poor shape tomorrow. And I've got those squats I'm looking forward to.)
You know, not long ago someone told me that in England, "spunk" and "spunky" have different meanings than they do here in the USA. Just this instant, something came up — involving Brits — that makes their point. You're on your own to sort it all out.
Speaking of British people … the Queen is looking good these days. No, that's not where I was going. During the Knocked Up previews a new Simon Pegg movie was teased. You'll see the clip soon enough and when you do I want you to know that I owned shorts, once, that were very close to being that short. Everybody did. It was the 80s.
There are things I sometimes need say that I can't here and this seriously affects the therapy-quality of WADLL. A blog-friend of mine recently moved her blog and started all over due to this — she had things she wanted to say but couldn't due to the fact that family and friends knew who she was and she didn't want to upset or worry them.
I'm not as deep as she is.
Some day I'll go into more detail about my lack of passion about things in life and about just how uptight I am..
But now, I'm going to bed.
Posted by delmer at 11:49 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 1, 2007
The Trip Out West Part XXIII: What Was Tom Up To In Vegas
If you are just coming in to the story, and you want to read all the good stuff about my stint in jail, you should really start at The Beginning.
During our last installment I had spent a warm evening in a tent with a cute blonde. I'd have said warm and steamy, but we were in Vegas and the air was so dry that no matter how hard one worked steaminess just wasn't going to happen. And in all fairness, my game wasn't all it could have been that night due to some sleepiness problems.
This reminds me of something I said on the phone today. And that something was similar to, "In all honesty, I did turn in a pretty spectacular performance that night." When I said it I realized how stupid it sounded; when the person on the other end of the phone heard it, they shot tea out of their nose. (It had notihng to do with Vegas or the person on the phone.)
Of course, when you've got the big falling asleep night to compare things to, just about anything else is spectacular.
So, where was Tom when I was at the tent?
He was in the desert with the gals. They toured Vegas. They went to Hoover Dam. At some point they went their separate ways.
Tom, and this is important to know, had the ability to fall asleep just about anywhere. For the longest time I thought he had a touch of narcolepsy. Looking back on the amount of running around we did and the small amount of snoozing we did, I now know he was just catching naps as he could.
Once, at a railroad crossing he turned his car off while the train passed. Naturally, he fell asleep. A day or two later Tom and another friend had the following conversation:
Gary: Hey Tom, I saw you sitting at the train crossing the other day. You were sleeping.
Tom: Why didn't you honk and wake me up.
Gary: Well, traffic was going around you and I figured you could use the rest.
That night in Vegas, and on his way back to the tent, Tom encountered a red light and stopped for it. And he took a nap. The thing that woke him up was traffic passing back and forth in front of him. And when he woke up he had that what the fuck am I doing in a car sensation that someone might experience when he wakes up to the sound of traffic while sitting behind the wheel of a car. He threw his foot into the brake as hard as he could and lunged for the wheel putting it in a death grip.
His foot had already been on the brake, so he wasn't going anywhere. Still, he was lucky that he hadn't coasted forward into traffic.
Back at the Kampground Tom parked outside the tent. He wasn't sure whether or not Stacy was still in the tent with me and didn't want to intrude should we be doing a crossword puzzle or something.
So he slept in the car. In the driver's seat. Sitting up.
Which led him to wake up several times in the night and, with the nap at the intersection just a few hours behind him, he'd grip the steering wheel in a panic and throw his foot into the brake before he'd realize he was sitting safely outside the tent.
I, of course, was alone in the tent and sleeping peacefully. Doing the crossword puzzle always takes a lot out of me.
Posted by delmer at 11:18 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack