What's a Delmer Look Like?

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March 31, 2008

The 1/4 Terrabyte Drive

I remember, back, what? Twelve, thirteen, maybe more, years ago -- installing one gigabyte of storage in a desktop computer I had. A whole gig! Of course, to do this I had to use a 600 meg drive and a 400 meg drive. Or a seven-something and a two-something. In any case it was two drives.

Not terribly long after that Fujitsu brought out a one-gig drive for $99.00. It was amazging. A whole gig for under one-hundred bucks. Just imagine, a person could now have all the data they'd ever need on a single drive and still have 900 megabytes left over ... just in case. And, as this was in the days before high-speed Internet everywhere and easy-access Internet porn, "just in case" hardly ever came up; let alone anything else.

Another hard-drive memory involves the first 40-meg drive that came into the facility I worked at. DOS (3.2? 6? I don't remember) only recognizd 32 megs so the drive had to be divided into two partitions.

At the time we were running Wordperfect for DOS. I don't remember all the details but we needed to intsall it on a computer with a full hard drive (maybe to replace MultiMate) and we didn't have enough space. As I recall we deleted something like two megs of data -- maybe more or less -- which was all WordPerfect needed to get it to go in.

This, for those of you still reading, was also during the days in which we were running PageMaker on a 286. It ran using a run-time version of Windows -- a product I'd never heard of that I think was in version 1.x. The PageMaker manual suggested, and I'll make a number up here, that the program would run best with 586K, of the 640K, installed conventional memory. To get whatever the number was required loading drivers into extended memory.

And while my memory may be fuzzy on that and how it all worked, my memory is clear as a bell when it comes to remembering having something like 584K available and PageMaker running like a dog and then getting the magic 586 freed up and having the program take off like nothing else.

Fast forward to today and I'm installing a 1/4 terrabyte drive in my notebook computer. I will now be able to lose more data than used to exist in all the known universes in a single hard drive crash. (Doesn't 1/4 terrabyte sound so much bigger than 250 gigs?)

Rather than just clone the drive and transfer everything over I've taken the step of reinstalling the operating system from the ground up. It seemed like time.

Posted by delmer at 12:21 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

March 30, 2008

I am a Grumpy Old Man

The other day the boys and I were at Taco Bell having a late lunch.  While we sat and ate a guy in his early 20s walked past.

As he walked a napkin blew off his tray and onto the floor. When it did it caught the guy's eye; I watched him watch it fall to the floor.

Two steps later a second napkin blew off and hit the floor. 

Three steps after that the guy sat down and didn't appear to give his napkins a second thought.  I, however, was unable to let it go.

Firstly, if you don't need two extra napkins, don't get them. You drive up costs for all of us and use resources that don't need to be used. If everybody in the US took two extra napkins that would be a half billion extra napkins.

(When I get a Fruit & Yogurt Parfait at McDonald's, I give the granola back. I don't like it and I don't want to throw it away.  I take one napkin; I can normally eat an Egg McMuffin and Parfait without getting stuff all over my face.  Some foods, I'll admit, require more napkinage.)

Secondly, leaving your trash laying in the floor seems to suggest you are too good to pick up after yourself. You're not. You're no better than anybody else. Honestly, if you don't have the manners to pick up after yourself you are actually one or two steps down the evolutionary ladder than the rest of us; just half a step ahead of Sally Kern.

Finally, trash on the floor is a slip hazard.  Though I'd be lying if I said this was the thing that bothered me most. It was the rudeness of leaving trash on the floor.

Anyway, I picked up the napkins, took them to the guy, laid them on his table and said, "You dropped these."

He mumbled something and didn't look up. I don't know if I made any sort of point as far as he's concerned, but my kids saw me do it and, if nothing else, I'm sure they'll think twice before leaving crap that blows off their trays in the floor.

Posted by delmer at 5:36 PM | Comments (1)

Superhero Movie

The two oldest boys and I went to see Superhero Movie yesterday.  Having suffered through the unbelievably bad Epic Movie and the simply bad Meet the Spartans I was relieved to find that I started laughing early on in this one. 

As you know, I lack the depth to do serious reviews — I either like something or I don't.  I liked Superhero Movie and would see it again, despite the fact it's getting between 1.6 and 3 stars by people who I assume know how to do serious reviews.

I found the following, which made me feel good about my Epic Movie and Meet the Spartans slights, as The Movie Boy:

The best thing to be said about "Superhero Movie" is that, as far as recent spoof movies go, writer-director Craig Mazin (one of the many scripters of 2003's "Scary Movie 3" and 2006's "Scary Movie 4") is certainly a step up from soul-crushing hacks Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer. Twice in a row now, they have achieved the impossible by making gag-filled slapstick comedies—2007's "Epic Movie" and 2008's "Meet the Spartans"—that have exactly zero funny moments between them.

and,

"Superhero Movie" proves one thing: when handled with enough go-for-broke flair and originality, juvenile fart jokes can still be funny. A scene involving just that is pure inspired lunacy…

Which does a better job of saying "they actually have a fart joke that works," than I would have penned. (I would have simply said, "they actually have a fart joke that works.")

If you go to see it be sure to sit through the credits. They're long, but they stop several times to show cut scenes that are pretty good.  

Posted by delmer at 11:59 AM | Comments (0)

March 29, 2008

Baked Goods

"Hello," Haydn said after he picked up the phone.

"Who is it?" I asked, as he talked to the person on the other end.

"It's mom."

"Ooooh!" I said excitedly. "Ask her to bring us some cookies."

"What?"

"Ask her to bring us some cookies."  And from that point forward he ignored me until he handed me the phone so I could tell the ex about Jack's tooth. As he gave me the phone he said, "You know it's MY mom. Not your mom, right?"

Of course I knew it was his mom. Had it been my mom I'd have asked for white cake with white icing.

Posted by delmer at 8:45 PM | Comments (4)

March 28, 2008

Hey Nerds

Several weeks ago I replaced a PC in one of our test rigs. It runs custom software and uses Windows 3.1. Part of this PC is an IEEE card that requires an ISA slot.

Which is all a way of saying an older PC is required.

There have been several problems with the PC in the time since I've put it in.  I'm hoping that today's problem will turn explain the weirdness of the past several weeks.

Today the PC would not boot at the test station. The power supply fan would turn on as would the processor fan. That was it.  This had been reported before but I'd never been able to reproduce the problem after hours when I had access to the PC without being in anybody's way.

I tried several of the obvious troubleshooting things and swapped out likely bad pieces before deciding to take it to my office.

I plugged it in there and it worked. Naturally.

Still, I replaced the graphics card and memory as there was certainly something wrong and they were fair candidates. I turned the PC on and off several times.

I returned it to the test station. Where it failed to boot past the fans coming on.

I took it to a second station. It booted.

I returned it to the original station. It failed to boot. I replaced the power cable, just in case. And then again. Still nothing.

A meter was applied to the incoming power where it was found to be 116 volts, four volts under the 120 we'd expect and six volts over the 110 the power supply suggested it needed. 

All of the outlets at this station showed 116 volts and none of them would boot the PC.

A meter at the second station showed 120 volts.

The PC seems to work everywhere except where I need it to, and the difference appears to be four volts.

I've ordered a new power supply. One that I hope is less finicky.

Posted by delmer at 11:16 PM | Comments (3)

March 27, 2008

My NCAA Bracket

Just over a week ago I got a call from my buddy Roy.  He and John and another guy were going to get together on Thursday (March 20) to watch some basketball and wondered if I wanted com come along.

 

It seemed like an odd request. While I'm all about getting together with Roy and John (that's the three of us pictured) I'm not much of a basketball-watching fan, and they know it. And I was sort of struck by what game it was they might think I'd be interested in seeing. As it was I couldn't go as I had the boys that week. 

It was a couple of days before I found out he was talking about the NCAA tournament starting. That would have been when I read about Cynical Dad's NCAA pool, which I joined and submitted a bracket for.

This past Saturday Roy called again and we had a conversation similar to this:

Me: How's the tournament playing out for you.

Roy: Oh man, my bracket totally sucks.

Me: I picked Xavier to go all the way.

Roy: They're still in it. I don't know that they'll go all the way though.

Me: Well, I picked them because of the Crowe brothers. (Referencing a couple of guys who used to play ball at our local park. The older of the two had played college ball for Xavier, and I picked Xavier to go all the way due to that.) 

Roy: What do you mean? (And he sounded puzzled.) 

Me: (Wondering how he couldn't get what I was saying) You know. Eddie and Timmy Crowe.

Roy: (Matter-of-factly) Eddie played for Wright State.

My lack of sports knowledge seems to extend even to people I've met in person.

Posted by delmer at 4:36 PM | Comments (5)

March 26, 2008

Sally Kern

Studies have shown that societies that have failed to embrace my blog haven't lasted more that a few decades.

I can back up everything I say.

Well, naturally I can't. But of course you knew that, because I'm full of crap, which you knew as well. Now, let's suppose I were in a position of authority and said something similar. And I wasn't kidding.

Wouldn't you want to know what societies had disappeared? What studies had been done? 

What if it turned out no studies existed?

Wouldn't I be a liar?

What if I went on to say that I'd received e-mailed death threats and that a coworker was so worried for me she had called in the Ohio Bureau of Investigation. What if the OBI looked through thousands of my e-mails and determined that there wasn't really anything death-threat like that had been said? Just wishes  I'd die that I'd misinterpreted.

Could you, then, really trust my interpretation of anything more complicated than a bubble gum comic?

We all make mistakes. Today I assured someone a that a print job would go to a particular printer and instead it went to a printer down the hall. Unswayed I assured the user that the print job had, in fact, come out at the printer we were both standing next to. Even as other people gathered around and said it hadn't I remained adamant and insistent that the print job had not come out at a different printer. You know, because just saying something over and over, even in the face of undeniable evidence, makes it true.

I'm not as late to the Sally-Kern-is-a-Stupid-Homophobe party as it may seem; I've been dismayed by her dumbassery for about a week now.  She has been accused by many of spewing hate speech against homosexuals. She says it wasn't hate speech that she was just stating her hateful-sounding opinion based on what the Bible says.  Now, the Bible doesn't seem to say this same hateful thing to all people, else Christians far and wide would be saying the same thing about homosexuality, and they aren't. So this is, at least in some form, her interpretation of the Bible.

As this entry is my interpretation of the things Ms. Kern said.

To get to my point to cut some dronage: a lot of people are saying it's hate speech… she says it isn't and therefore it isn't… because she says so.

One of the things she said, and I may paraphrase as I don't care to watch the YouTube clip again, is that "all lifestyles, like all religions, aren't created equal."

It appears that a lot of people think she is referring to Islam with the lifestyles part this statement. This was not the first thing I thought of; as a matter of fact I didn't even consider Islam until I'd read it on another blog. My first thought was that when she was referring to the lesser religions, and knowing her husband is a Southern Baptist minister, she meant all of the other religions. 

When I say things like, When I became Catholic they gave me a cross that said "I'm Catholic, Call a Priest" on the back. Of course, they made me turn in the cross I wore as a Southern Baptist. It said, "I'm Baptist. you're going to Hell" and I used to be Southern Baptist. Our motto was: We know we're going to Heaven and why you're not,  they're jokes… but they're based on at least the scent of fact.

Many Southern Baptists, it seems, are quick to see others as either (A) other Southern Baptists or (B) the Hell bound.

I'd like to point out I know a lot of very nice, non-judgmental type, Southern Baptists; they're not all insane. I also have quite a few friends in the lesser fundamentalist Christian religions (straight to Hell, but on a slow boat), non-fundamentalist Christian religions (Hell by train), Catholics (purgatory, then Hell), Jews (not so much Hell as an eternity of shopping and never being able to find a parking spot close to the mall… who am I kidding, that's Hell, isn't it?), and Buddhists (Hell with a fat guy with a hairy belly). 

About 20 years ago I was working for an advocacy organization (feeding Ohio's hungry) and part of my job was to meet with pastoral associations. I remember being at one meeting and noting there were no Southern Baptists present. When I asked about it, one of the lesser pastors commented that there were some Southern Baptist churches in the area but their pastors didn't attend the association meetings as there were Mennonites who attended. I really don't know what Mennonites believe in — perhaps they spend part of each service putting babies on pikes — but I remember being just a little embarrassed. The pastor went on to say the Southern Baptist ministers in the area probably didn't have a problem with the Mennonites but that members of their congregations might have trouble their pastors associating with Mennonites.

What can we take from this? Aside from the fact that the Mennonites seem to be Hell bound via Concorde, well, that the SB's don't always play well with others. 

I disagree with the notion that a person chooses to become homosexual. I think a person is born straight or gay. I know several guys and several women who have had really shitty divorces and maybe one or two hurtful relationships on either side of the divorce. None of these people have decided to swing the other way just to see what it's like.

Sally is worried about "the Homosexual agenda" and is concerned they are trying to indoctrinate children as young as two because… because… because the gays need the membership dues or something.  

I think there are bigger threats to the world. People like Sally Kern, for example.

Really, if she wants to make America a better place why not do something about high fructose corn syrup; it appears to lack any nutritional value and constantly gets fingers pointed at it when the subject of obesity in America comes up. Smoking adds $75 billion annually to the cost of health care in the US; how about beating up on the tobacco users in her husband's church? Your body is God's temple, after all.

Why not introduce legislation to start stoning Okie adulterers? Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery is one of the top 10; if taking steps against something that gets a light mention in the Bible — and that has interpretive variations — and was written by someone not-God, just think how happy He'll be when you do something about one of the items he blasted into a stone tablet with his own finger. You do that and it's likely you'll be sitting right next to Peter while the rest of the Southern Baptists are queued up outside the Pearly Gates wondering whatever happened to the Methodists, Catholics, Jews, Islamic folks, Pentecostals, AGs, Krishnas, Brad and Angelina, Buddhists, JWs, Mennonites, Amish, etc. 

If you think about it, being gay is at most the 11th most displeasing thing to God a person can do. I'm thinking pedophile priest moves it to 12. Hypocritical religious leaders who bilk their congregations out of money makes it 13th. The list goes on and on.

(In her tirade Ms. Kern mentions that the gay lifestyle shortens a person's life and I'm afraid she might be right on that point. Science Fiction writer, and gay dude, Arthur C. Clarke just passed at the tender age of 90.  Perhaps, had he been straight, he could have made 100.  Studies have shown that the 10 years between 90 and 100 are the sweetest.)

Posted by delmer at 11:40 PM | Comments (4)

March 25, 2008

I Got Lucky Last Night

I know that out here in the Blogosphere we all pull for one another and that we, spiritually at least, share each other's victories in life. With that in mind I feel compelled to say that last night, after the Springsteen concert, I got lucky.

The trip to the show went smoothly enough; I left my house at 6:10, picked my friend up at 6:23, and we were parked at the Schottenstein Center at 6:34; we encountered some NIT (basketball tournament) traffic on the way in but the officers on duty did a pretty good job of directing people and there were no snarls.  

Tickets said the concert started at 7:30 so we got two beers and took two laps around the arena. We were seated at 7:28.

Bruce and the E Street Band took the stage at 8:29 and opened with The Ties the Bind.

A buddy of mine would be able to tell you every song, in order, that Bruce played last night. I've no idea how he does it but I've never been able to pull something like that off. As a matter of fact, unless I make a special attempt to remember specific songs I may not be able to recall any particular song that gets played. Naturally, this doesn't hold true for things line Born To Run, Rosalita and Smack My Bitch Up; the first two are expected and therefore always remembered — the last one would be such a surprise were Bruce to do it (he didn't) it would be unforgettable.

I'll take a stab at the first five songs: The Ties That Bind, Radio Nowhere (and I sort of accidentally peeked at the setlist when I was looking for something else or I may have missed this), Adam Raised a Cain… 

See. I can't do it.  And, up through song five I was keeping track. Reason to Believe may have been one of the first five. Let's take a look. 

The Ties That Bind
Radio Nowhere
Lonesome Day
Adam Raised a Cain
Gypsy Biker  

Dammit! I knew Lonesome Day was in there. 

The larger point is that despite the fact I don't remember all the songs in order, I do remember that I had a great time. And I know a lot of the words to a lot of the songs and I'm not afraid to sing with gusto the words that I think belong with the songs I know. 

(Ah, wait. I forgot to mention, the show started with a recorded instrumental version of Man on the Flying Trapeze. Which always makes me consider that if my actions were just a bit more graceful, I might be able to please more women.) 

I don't know that I've ever seen Bruce do Because The Night. I've always wanted to hear it in concert and I'm always reminded of a photo (that I think is from the Live 1975-1985 album) in which a fan is holding up a sign that says Because the Night. Anyway, he sang it last night and also did She's the One which was another nice surprise. The band also gave us Sherry Darling, a song fans voted for on a local radio station's website (Bruce suggest that Steven Van Zandt voted for it as well) and that comes up on my iPod fairly often, but that I didn't expect to hear last night. 

As great as the concert was there was a single problem. Periodically the overhead lights would blaze on, or a spotlight would sweep across the crowd, and the glare from the now-balding heads of Bruce's male fans was almost blinding; this was not a problem during The River tour of the early 80's. (Maybe Blinded by the Light would be a good addition to the set.) 

You can read a better review of the concert at Backstreets.  Wouldn't you rather read, here, about how I got lucky last night? 

Guys, strap yourselves in, because you won't believe this. 

Oh, about 10:45, well say, the band went into American Land. It had a last-song-of-the-night feel to it and about 1/2 way in I suggested to my woman friend that we might want to go. I thought she might be worried about her children, not for any particular reason, and I had no wish to get caught up in traffic — especially as I had no idea about what the NIT folks were up to.  So we hit the exit. 

We beat everybody out of the parking lot. There was no traffic to speak of. I dropped her off before 11 and was home, myself, and eating grapes before 11:15.   

What could be luckier than that? 

Posted by delmer at 7:14 AM | Comments (9)

March 24, 2008

A Pre-Bruce Post

I'm on my way to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. 

My mother and father are watching my children tonight.  I'm going with a woman friend of mine.

My mother and I had the following conversation.

 

Mom: What time do you think you'll be home tonight?

Me: Well, Bruce is supposed to go on around 7:30.  He'll play for a couple of hours. If I get lucky ... (and I paused to do some math and additional thinking)

Mom: (Laughing a bit) You think you're going to get lucky tonight?

Me: Well, no. The NIT is in progress and there's a game at St. John Arena.  If I get lucky, and traffic isn't too bad, I should be home around 11:30.

 

It's nice that mom's on my side though.

Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuce!

Posted by delmer at 5:29 PM | Comments (1)

Asian Apples

Last night I had a dream in which I turned into a dinosaur of some sort, but just briefly. I was walking on a narrow path that had a canopy of greenery going over it so that it was like I was walking through a tunnel.  Just a few steps down the path I encountered a brownish orange dinosaur that seemed sort or snakelike at first but that quickly became big-lizard like. I turned and ran, and as I ran I became brownish-orange and dinosaurish, but just for a second.

At the mouth of the path I took a quick left. There was a triple bunk bed there and hanging off the end of the bed was several strings of beads like you'd see separating rooms in movies involving hippies. I jumped and grabbed the beads and pulled myself to the top bunk.

The dinosaur who had been pursuing me had, at this point, disappeared and in its place were three young Asian girls. The lead Asian girl made it to the top of the bunk and sat down and showed me how to make Kung-Fu hands. 

Also during the dream, and I think even before the dinosaurs appeared, I mentioned to someone that we'd moved from the Jurassic period to the Icelandic period.

Analysis: 

Dinosaurs: The boys and I went to see Horton Hears a Who (young kids will like it — adults should take something to read) and during the previews saw the teaser for the new Ice Age movie. There was a part involving a serpent-like dinosaur that turned out to be the tail of a T-Rex (who I believe was orangish-brown).

Kung-Fu: There was also a teaser for the new Jackie Chan / Jet Li movie.  Also, per the stereotype, all Asian people know some form of martial art.

Asian Girls: There is a show on G4 called something like Ninja that, I think, comes out of Japan. It's a game show in which contestants try to overcome odd obstacles and it's fun to watch. The most recent episode featured 100 women contestants. Most of them are in their 20's and very cute.

Last night we had dinner at an Asian Buffet (someone tried to pin me down on this and asked me if it was Chinese, Thai, Korean, etc.  I don't know. The name of the place is Apple Buffet and I suspect you can get apples in just about all of those countries.  They have General Tso's Chicken but I'm not sure that's a true indication of country. They also have dog. (No they don't, but if they did I'd try it)).

As we left the restaurant I noticed a large calendar with a young Asian gal on it.  The calendar was from some sort of Asian food supply place that is located in Louisville and I couldn't help but think that Louisville is one of the last places I'd expect to find an Asian-food supply place.  I know a Chinese gentleman whose last name is "Lu" and while Louisville may be named for one of his ancestors who explored and helped settle the briar-hopper region of the country, I think it is unlikely.

Jurassic: At dinner last night one of my kids commented that granny grew up during the Jurassic period.

Icelandic: You know, if you move far enough north into Canada, the government actually pays you to live there… or so goes the line from Drillbit Taylor (another movie we saw and more to my liking). I think Minnesota actually used to give land away to people willing to move to particular parts of that state (I don't know why I think that). Haydn thinks if you move far enough north in Sweden that land is free too.  All of these cold-land themes came up this weekend … Iceland sounds very cold (though I believe naming Iceland thusly was some sort of Viking disinformation campaign).

Triple Bunk Bed: We had one in our dorm room, Freshman year in college.

Why I turned into a dinosaur: Like I said, I made the dinosaur transition just briefly. And it wasn't snapping-your-finger fast — I gradually, though rapidly, turned into a dinosaur and then back. Much like an alien did on the episode of Star Trek: Voyager I watched Friday night.

Posted by delmer at 2:41 PM | Comments (5)

March 23, 2008

Points of Diminishing Return

As you know, I'm 47. 

So, applying some simple math and using round figures, I've been of dating age for 30 years. Yes, I know, for roughly 1/3 of those years I was married, but The Wife at The Time and I would have dates, so, I'm sticking with the 30-year figure.

For this blog entry we will focus on those years I was dating and in my 20s for, with the exception of one 31-year old, I was dating women who were also in their 20s.

Not to boast but when I was in my 20s several of the women I dated were attractive to the point that I'm not sure what led me to think I was even in their league.  I'm not kidding, I'm not bragging, it's just important to the post.

As often happens when dating a woman sometimes, you know, if you've been living right, you end up in bed. And I've got to say that just about anytime I was in bed with one of these women I never once suggested doing something that caused her to turn and run off. If I had an idea she was always game and more than once an idea was suggested that, while new to me, seemed rather interesting.

Only once did I say no to something. My thought being that had her father ever ever walked in on us, generally speaking, he would have killed me. Had he walked in on us doing that he would have killed me and made it hurt, assuming of course he could figure out what that was. The fact that it was her idea probably wouldn't have mattered to him as I doubt he'd have entered the room asking, "And who's idea was this anyway?"

To summarize to this point: In my 20s I dated some very pretty women, also in their 20s, who were not only on-board with any ideas I had regarding sex but often brought new and interesting ideas to the bedroom or living room floor with them.

Naturally, dating isn't all about sex. There are dinners, movies, concerts, and things of that nature that have to be paid for.

Originally there was a whole lot of math in the post at this point. Upon further consideration I decided math wasn't needed. All that you need to know is that never in my life did an evening with a woman ever come close to costing me $4000.  Even if we both ordered an appetizer.

Sometimes an evening didn't cost anything at all. Sometimes she paid and we still ended up in bed or on the floor on a big sheet of plastic surrounded by cans of Reddi Whip.

All of this has been making wonder what it was Spitzer was getting for his money.

Not taking anything away from the gal he was snuggling up with, she's cute, but I have been with more attractive 22-year olds. And I was just a normal guy, not the Governor of one of our more populated states. That's got to be good for something; even for a guy in his 40s.

Why not a $500 hooker?  I've got to believe that when you're talking about the world's oldest profession you hit the point of diminishing return pretty early as it applies to price.

I suppose your $25 hookers might be a little bit past their prime. Fifty dollar hookers, well I pay more than that for my bike shorts; of course, my bike shorts are probably tighter than even your $100 prostitutes.

For the sake of argument let's suppose that $25 nets your basic, stereotypical, crack whore. And $250 is good for a grad student at NYU who is doing a little hooking in her spare time.  The extra $225 seems like a good investment.

I would argue that the difference between a $25 prostitute and a $250 prostitute is night and day. A world of difference. The return on this investment is measurable in the money that you'll not have to spend on antibiotics.

I'd further bet that the difference between a $250 and a $4000 hooker is negligible. It's like having two gigs of RAM in your computer and adding another two; it's good for bragging rights but for the typical user not much more.

Posted by delmer at 10:28 PM | Comments (5)

March 22, 2008

Allez Les Verts: Part Deux

You will be so exited by this, I know.

Earlier today I was thinking that I'd lost my Allez Les Verts 45 in the divorce and that it was probably in the crawlspace at the ex's. Then, as I sat in my recliner I thought, Wait a minute… Haydn brought my 45 case over here. Maybe it's on the small table right behind this recliner.  And the box of 45s was. And I opened it up and saw the green 45 sleeve that I thought Allez Les Verts might be in. And it was!  (And my day was complete.)

 

You'll see, as I predicted from two days ago, soccer guys on a green sleeve. Some of them are kneeling. I totally missed the white shorts and sweat bands and the one guy's testicle hanging loose. They all have 70s hair, but that's to be expected as the record has a 1976 date on it.

 

At the bottom of the sleeve you'll notice Imp. C.I.D.I.S Louviers. I don't know what it means and mention it only as right below it are the words, "Made and Printed in France" with the quotation marks and everything. And in English, which I thought was sort of odd.

As you look over the lyrics you'll note that I had some of them correct and I was way off base on others. My proudest lyric memory is the first line, Dans le vestiaire avant de rentrer which I'd said was Dans la vestare avant de rentrez, and that, I think you'll have to agree, is not bad for a 30-year old memory. Especially when it was unlikely I ever knew what it meant.  I think it means the team is someplace before returning from someplace else. Bablefish suggests it means:  In the cloakroom before returning. 

It was the 70s, and it was a French soccer team, so it's hard to tell. But eleven guys, in a cloakroom?

I was a little off with avec nous chantons though I'd like to point out that I always hit the "c" in avec hard so that it came out avec-uh. The actual line is avec eux nous chantons. 

The most exciting thing about the find: Eleven lines up you'll see that their fans have the loins of Venus.

 

Posted by delmer at 12:05 AM | Comments (8)

March 21, 2008

Acronyms

We have communications meetings each month in which we're given company updates, mention birthdays and anniversaries, welcome new employees, and things of that nature. It seems that we have company-provided pizza and salad every other month. We used to have cake and ice cream at each meeting but have recently moved to a healthier fruit-and-yogurt model.

Once in a while, at least every quarter, we'll have a presentation put on by one of the departments.  Well, mostly Sales and Engineering as a Finance Department presentation would be boring as hell. Think of how mind-numbingly dull the exercise of balancing your checkbook is; now imagine watching someone else balance their checkbook via Powepoint presentation and a projector… you get the point.

Not long ago it was the Sales Department's turn.  Our Sales Director started his presentation my by mentioning that he was going to spend a moment explaining some of the acronyms that are commonly used in the company; he'd been asked to do so for the sake of new employees.

As he said this an image appeared on the screen that contained some of the acronyms as well as a partial list of some of our customers. Perhaps he was going to explain where the various technologies are used, I don't recall.

One of the customers, from a country far, far away, and partially fictionalize here, was Futo.

While I lack anything in the way of impulse control I do have a good sense of comedic timing. "I know what "F U" is," I said, before the Sales Director had time to start, "but what's T O?"

Everybody had a laugh and at the end of the day I was still employed.

What more can you ask for?

Posted by delmer at 1:14 PM | Comments (0)

March 20, 2008

Allez Les Verts

Today I received an e-mail containing a bunch of French words. As I read through it, with an understanding that was so complete a person would think I should be featured in Rosetta Stone ads, I couldn't help but feel good about myself. 

It's been many years since I've sat in a French class. And yet, I read and felt good about myself. Then I read some more and felt even better. And I continued reading until I came to trop loin.  Which, of course, is French for tripe loins. and that threw me for a loop.

I've heard of tripe and I've had to gird my loins. I'm also familiar with the expression, fruit of my loins, and what that means. Inasmuch as I'm also familiar with the part of the body "Fruit of the Loom" covers, it didn't take much to come to the conclusion that Tripe Loin might be Tripe Testicles.

Tripe Testicles didn't fit with the rest of the mail. Especially since tripe has more to do with the stomach of an animal than it's beans and weiner.

The French loin, which is sort of pronounced "lu" (with a short "u") followed by a modest Lucille Ball "wahhh" (think I Love Lucy, not The Lucy Show) also means "far." In all honesty, it only means "far" as loin is échine.  (I had to look that up. There isn't a lot of "loin" talk in high school French.  Well, there's a lot of "lu-wahh," but not much "loyne.")

I should probably come clean and mention I had to look up what "lu-wahh" meant in French. And that's just sad.

Anyway, these days I can't say the word loin without thinking of a 45 I own called "Allez Les Verts."  Back when I was 15 our French Club went to France and spent some time in Paris. I remember eating at a place called Les Balkans (I've no idea if that's the same place) where we had the coolest waiter, riding the metro, going up the Eiffel Tower, seeing a homeless person and being shocked and feeling sad (yes, I was that naive), and a bunch of other things.  I also remember being in La Galleries Lafayette (mabye, it was  a store somewhere) and hearing a song play that caught my attention.  So I bought the 45.

The song was, Allez Les Verts, and some of the lyrics (with my translation), as I recall them and lacking accent marks, are:

Dans la vestare avant de rentrez  (In the vestare before rentrez)

Pour commencez a nous echouffez (For starting our echouffezing) 

Avec nous chantons (Sing with us) 

On est le roi du balloon (They are the kings of balloons)

Allez! Qui est les plus fort (Let's go. Who is the strongest?)

Evidement c'est les Verts (Evidence seems to suggest it's the Greens)

Nous jouons au football (We play soccer)

Et on a va le frontere (and we are going to Space, the final frontier)

Main dans la main (hand in hand or give me five)

On vas plus loin, plus loin (Baby got back)

That last line may be, they are going far, or farther or they have more loins. 

I'm not in love with "they have more loins" as I think Les Verts are a soccer team and soccer teams probably have the same number of players and, therefore, the same number of loins.

The 45 I bought had the lyrics on the cover (which, I think, was green with a soccer guys, in black, kneeling with a ball).

I could be way off — I'm not sure why "on" instead of "ils" means "they — but that's how I sing it, throwing in some needed humming for spots where I don't know the words and always punching "on est les roi du ball-ahh-aahh-ahhh-on!"

You Tube turns up the following:

While spirited, this is not the song I remembered.

I could tell these guys knew the song.  Since the song is at least 30 years old I couldn't help but think that Allez Les Verts  might be to France what Stairway to Heaven is to the English speaking part of the world.

I got chills as soon as this next one started.  It's the song. Aren't the Internets wonderful?

 

Posted by delmer at 11:09 PM | Comments (2)

March 19, 2008

The Blog Is Three Today

That would be -16.1 C.

Historians, when they check the WADLL archives will note that I posted every day for the last year… and the year before that.  Readers will note that it only appears that I posted every day as sometimes I manipulate the dates; this typically happens during vacations, when I don't have access to affordable Internet service or when I quit blogging (happily, that's only happened once).

Heaven knows that simply having nothing to say doesn't keep me from posting.

Anyway, today the blog is three.

If you were to give enough monkeys enough typewriters they'd eventually kick out all the stuff I've produced these past three years. And they'd likely correct the typos that still exist in these pages. An IBM Supercomputer with a random-character generator might be a bit faster. Maybe not. It probably depends a lot on the Monkey Wrangler hired to ride herd over the non-human simians.

Speaking of birthdays:

 

This picture was taken while we were in Washington DC.  That might be my 39th birthday as I think Sam is older in the picture that follows and I'm certainly 40 in that series (note the balloon). In this photo you see, Jack, Sam and Haydn. And a beefy me of course.

 

This is Samson with Tony, the World's Best Brother-In-Law.  We're celebrating my 40th birthday.

 

My sister, Millie, and me.

Posted by delmer at 7:21 AM | Comments (11)

March 18, 2008

Dobie Gillis

I was listening to one of the morning radio shows on the way to work and the guys were talking about useless trivia facts. One of them had a line on the name of the stick figure used in the VW Farfegnugen commercials of yesteryear; he was going to share this trivia tidbit at some point after which I'd be sitting at my desk.

The same guy went on to say that he'd known the answer to "What does the 'G' in Maynard G. Krebs" stand for.  This was a question that had been asked of Ken Jennings of Jeopardy fame (and who was then cast, I'm pretty sure, as the evil genius on Lost.)

The old farts among you will remember that Maynard G. Krebs was the character played by Bob Denver on The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis.  My buddy William, when we worked together for an employer many moons ago, once filled me what the "G" was for and I stored that bit of info in an area of my brain that would be better used for keeping track of my car keys. So, while from day to day I never have any idea where my keys are I can tell you in an instant what the "G" in Maynard G Krebs stands for.

The answer is in the extended entry.

 

The "G" in Maynard G Krebs is for: Walter

My keys are likely in my coat pocket.

Posted by delmer at 7:48 AM | Comments (2)

March 17, 2008

I had to tell the world

Or at least the part that stops by here.

I just played "HAWKINGS" in an on-line Scrabble game for 266 points.

 

 

Posted by delmer at 11:28 AM | Comments (9)

The Broken Hand: Part II

As you may recall from yesterday, someone seemed to be preparing to throw a punch at me.

He came at me drawing his arm back and with a giant fist at my end of it took a swing at my head. There was no place to run, though I gladly would have.  As he threw the punch I ducked and tossed my arm up. His fist connected with two of my fingers and forced them far enough into the palm of my had that a bone in the back of it broke.  At least that's what I think happened; in any case that's where the bone broke.

And I could tell the hand was broken right off the bat. There wasn't any pain, just a fair amount of swelling.

As soon as Bob hit me he ran away from me, not terribly far, just far enough. And I mean he ran; my buddy Joe and I would joke about it for years.

"Let's go, Del," Joe prompted.

"I can't drive," I said, "My hand's broken."

And while Bob had run off he'd drifted close enough to hear our conversation. "No!" he yelled. "Your hand's not broken and if it is it's because you broke it on my chest throwing a punch." To emphasize his point he closed in on me with a flurry of finger pointing.

I'm sure you've heard the expression "Might makes right." Well, as right as might may be, it isn't magic. My hand was broken.

With a desire to keep the damage to my body at a minimum I thought I'd play along, "You're right. I'm OK."

My buds and I piled into the car, with Joe in the driver seat and me at shotgun. "What are we going to do?" asked Joe. I told him we were going to find a cop.

And we did. It may have been on the way to find a police officer that Joe told me that he and the other guys would say whatever I wanted them to, but nobody had actually seen Bob hit me, though they had no doubt that he did.

We found a couple of officers. Not that it matters, but the officer I gave my statement to was a woman. We had the real names of College-aged girl, Bob, the other guy and other girl and the dorms they lived in, so we were able to give pretty clear accounts of what happened.

After talking with the police I went to McCullough-Hyde hospital to have the hand set in a temporary cast. The guy who'd been the RA in the corridor next to me Freshman year (1978-79) was the nurse who treated me (the only other thing I remember about him is that he once said, about the smell of the corridor he was in charge of, "there's nothing like the smell of stale beer," when everybody, including him, there knew that the smell in question was rather fresh pot).

[I can't remember why I had a temporary cast, but I had to go to the doc the next day to have the hand reset. I remember laying on the table and the doctor telling me he'd have to rebreak the hand. This sounded like it would hurt a lot and I, uh, overreacted when the doc rebroke it. "You can get back up on the table now," he said in reference to my exaggerated squirming over a process that didn't hurt at all.  I was the tiniest bit embarrassed.]

Where were we?

I had a temporary cast on. The guys and I decided to head back to Franklin.

About 1/2 way there we made a stop at a bar in Trenton as, well, I'd not had any beer and figured I deserved one. As we entered the bar a guy sitting on a stool looked at me and said, "I'd hate to see the other guy."

"The other guy doesn't have a scratch on him," I said.

Other memories of the event include:

• My buddy Joe saying, "I think the four of us could have taken Bob if his friend hadn't been there."
  At some point I told another friend (Andy! his name just came to me) about seeing Bob in court and that he was still big. "Even in the daylight and sober!?" he chimed in. And I thought that was pretty funny.
   
• The next day, with a new cast, I took a snooze on the couch. The snooze was helped along by some Tylenol 4 with codeine the doc had given me (until the hand break I'd thought Tylenol 3 was as high as it went).  At some point I woke up to see that the shuttle was going to be launched and, as I'd never seen one, I thought I'd stay awake for it.

Posted by delmer at 12:10 AM | Comments (5)

March 16, 2008

The Broken Hand: Part I

I'd thought I'd blogged about this before. If I have I can't find it. So, here's the story of the broken hand.

On January 27, 1986, some buddies and I made a trip to Oxford, Ohio to visit and run around.  There were four of us altogether and, as designated driver, I was not drinking.

We'd parked on one of the side streets and walked to a couple of the bars — Oxford wasn't all that big at the time; it may still be not all that big.

It wasn't terribly late when we decided to drive the 30 or so miles back to Franklin. As we approached my White 1977 VW Rabbit, a college-aged girl came up to me and asked if I could give her and her friends a ride home. [One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small…]

At the time I had a car full of guys but I was pretty sure they wouldn't mind having a couple of girls in their laps. Even if it made things tight.

"Sure," I said.

As I said that I noticed some guys across the street. What caught my eye was that one of them, a normal-sized human being, was grabbed by the shirt and thrown upon and pinned to a car hood by a gigantic guy who could have only been a Miami University football player.

At the sign of the commotion the college-aged girl ran across the street yelling, "Bob! Bob! Let him go."

That, I thought, is not a good sign. 

College-aged girl came across the street with Bob (not his real name, though I remember it), another girl and another big guy. These were the friends she'd been talking about.

There was no way these people were going to fit in my car. Bob would have had trouble on his own.

As I stood there considering our situation I was happy to note that Bob, who seemed very volatile just seconds before, had calmed considerably.

I was standing in the V that is formed by an open car door and a car's body. My back was to the driver-side door hinge as I'd been looking in the car so see what kind of geometry magic would be needed to get everybody in. As it was a VW Rabbit and not a Sleestak Pylon (which, as I recall were a lot larger on the inside than the outside would suggest), it didn't look good.

"Del, there's no way we're going to fit in that car," said Joe, one of my friends and at 6'2" and 230 pounds a large person in his own right.

And he was right. And really, I'd known that even before he said it.

So, there I was, with my back to open door's hinge. I was hemmed in on three sides with College-aged girl in front of me and a fairly pleasant Bob behind her.

"There's no way I'm going to be able to get everybody in there," I said apologetically and then added, with a subtle point toward Bob, "Are you going to be able to handle him."

Unfortunately, suggesting Bob might become unhandleable was enough to create an unhandleable-Bob situation. 

I'll tell you how unhandleable tomorrow.

Posted by delmer at 7:45 PM | Comments (0)

January 29, 1986

This is my sister. And this would be a photo from her 21st birthday.

 

 

You can't tell from this photo, but I had The Equalizer's phone number on my cast.

Posted by delmer at 12:53 AM | Comments (10)

March 15, 2008

Gizzards

In light of this story about my dishwasher, I thought I'd share something that happened last night.

As I stood at the sink in my kitchen I noticed a smell of some sort. Not a horrible smell, but a non-visitor-friendly smell. But only if that visitor was standing near my sink.  Realizing that my dishwasher might be full of dirty dishes (the green light was not on) and that opening it might release a stronger version of the non-visitor friendly smell, I boldly pulled it open. Naturally, yet somehow surprisingly, it was full of dishes. Oddly enough it didn't smell.

This left the garbage disposal as the bad-smell culprit as the trash can was empty. I fired the disposal up and was met with a sound that I'd describe as chicken gizzard being shredded. I believe it was a gizzard as, (1) the other day when I was looking through the baked chicken I'd removed from the oven I sadly noted the gizzard seemed to be gone and (2) gizzards are sort of tough and, while no match for masticatory skills or digestive tract, may put some serious miles on a garbage disposal.

So tough are gizzards that I couldn't be bothered to wait for the entire thing to be ground up. Hey, I had things to do. I'm satisfied, however, by the sound the disposal made that about 95% of the gizzard has been taken care of.  This morning the kitchen had a very pleasant, non spoiled-food smell about it.

It also had an odd green glow that seemed to be caused by a light emitted from the front of my dishwasher. I really need to sort out what that's all about when I get home tonignt. 

Posted by delmer at 10:11 AM | Comments (2)

March 14, 2008

Royal Mail

It is nowhere near time for me to receive my income tax return; I don't expect it to arrive for another several weeks. Still, on the chance a mistake has been made somewhere and my return was bumped to the top of the pile, I've lately approached the mailbox as if it might contain something aside from the usual junk mail.

And last night, I was not disappointed.

In my mailbox was a package which is always very exciting. Even junk-mail packages often have something interesting in them.

On the package I noticed some not-so-normal-for-me stickers which made the package all the more appealing:

• Par Avion, which, if you are a student of the French language as I am, you'll know means By Avion. 
• Royal Mail, which suggests the package had come from England. Possibly Canada or Australia… I really don't know and it doesn't matter as there was something about this package that convinced me that it had come, in fact, from England:  My handwriting.

While I wish I could say that I have a sort of The Time Traveler's Wife relationship with myself and that once in a while I'll mail myself things from other points in time, I realized, fairly early in the package-examination process, that this was something I'd mailed to England several months ago: December 21, per the US postmark.

Another sticker on the package, a red one, was marked Royal Mail, we were unable to deliver this item because and had a box checked that said, addressee has gone away. 

The sticker is dated O8-1-8 and appears to be initialed by the Artist Formerly Known as Prince.

Addressee has gone away.  How delightfully vague. Forever? Never to return? For a few minutes to have a pee? For holiday?

What is even more puzzling is that this package, a large padded envelope really, was part of two like-sized items I mailed to the UK at the same time. Why two packages instead of one? If a package goes over a pound some customs paperwork needs to be filled out and I don't like to lie on official forms. There are Oreo Cookies (until just recently unavailable, probably, in England) in the padded envelope and I'm not sure if foodstuffs can be mailed overseas. I'm guessing they probably can, but I don't care to face the question.

Also in this particular package were a couple of Fart Bombs that I thought a teen boy on the receiving end would enjoy. When this package failed to arrive in England my first thought was that a Fart Bomb had gone off, the Royal Post Office had been evacuated, and that MI-something was mobilizing to come take me down.

So what happened? Like I said, this was part of a two-package mailing.  I can only assume that the first package was delivered and the recipient was so excited that she ran off to show someone what had come in the mail. Ran off, or as the British might say, addressee had gone away before the second package could be handed to her.

I mailed it on Friday December 21 and on Tuesday January 8 it was marked undeliverable.  That's about 18 days and takes in Christmas, Boxing Day and New Year's, so really, it's a rather reasonable amount of time.  Especially when you consider there was a Postal strike going on in the UK at the time.

But what, pray tell, has the package been doing since January 8. It's been somewhere for more than 70 days and even if it was traveling back for 18 days that's more than 50 days of being someplace, probably sitting.

And what have we learned from this? That Oreos hold up pretty well after three months and 8,000 miles in a padded envelope.

Sing it with me people: Na-bis-co.

[When I peeled the red sticker up I found some handwriting: Not known at this address. Which seems to suggest the package may have been misdelivered and that the person who received it didn't know the intended party, so he or she sent it back to the Royal Post Office. There's the smallest chance that the 20 I wrote as part of the address looked like a 28, though I don't see it and I'd be sort of disappointed if that was what happened. In the 08-1-8 I typed above, I guessing about the 08 as it's the only thing that makes sense — but, it looks more like RS or maybe O5.] 

Now some videos…

An Oreo Commercial

 

A Fig Newton Commercial with a better sounding Na-bis-co at the end.

 

The Big Fig Newton Dance 

An English Girl Eats Oreos. The starts out with an American accent and goes into a British one after a moment. I don't know that she says how she got hold of Oreos.

 

Posted by delmer at 12:05 AM | Comments (11)

March 13, 2008

Humming, not Blowing

Many years ago, just after my separation, I was renting a house not too far from Hilliard.  At some point the furnace blower went bad and, like any good renter, I decided to take the furnace apart to see what was wrong.

What I found was that if I pulled a panel off and removed two sheet metal screws I could have the blower sitting in my lap in something like two minutes. I got a quote for a new blower motor that came in at something like $125.  Knowing how easy it was to get the blower in and out I asked to have installation quoted, figuring I could have the whole thing done for less than $175.  Which was a foolish notion, it seems, as the whole thing came to $300. (And if any of you have paid closer to $400 for this service, I may be misremembering the event. It may have been $175 or the motor and $200 for the install.)

In the end I purchased a motor from a supply house for under $70.00 and installed it myself (with some phone support from my brother who is an HVAC genius).

Friday, when at midnight my blower started making a hum in place of anything resembling a breezy output from my vents, I didn't panic.  As a matter of fact I forgot all about it until the next morning when I had my brother on the phone and the hum hit again. He said if it was him, he'd set the blower to run all the time and then, with special care given to his fingers, he'd reach into the blower and get it going by hand. Which is what I did.

He also told me to replace the capacitor.

Which I did for something under $5.00.

And it didn't fix the problem. Which led to another call to my brother. During this call I had to lay the phone down while I tried to hand start the blower. It never did start though it made quite a racket as it sort of tried.  "Good Lord," my brother exclaimed when I picked the phone back up, "if I'd heard that the other night I'd have never suggested a capacitor. Your blower motor is shot."

Unable to get the blower motor started, and unwilling to disconnect the motor so that it didn't hum (and maybe get hot?) all night long, I decided to turn the furnace off, turn the electric blanket up a notch and go without heat one evening. Dad, who was staying the night, thought it a reasonable plan and asked me to set out an extra blanket for him.

Yesterday I returned to the supply house I got the capacitor from and picked up the matching motor (following a call to my brother) for $58.60.  After getting home I had it installed and the house on its way from 50 F (10 C) to 70 F (21 C) in less than an hour's time. 

The hardest part of the whole thing was getting the blower back into the furnace. And the hardest part of this was getting the two sheet metal screws back in their holes due to the non-precision fit of the blower mounting.

I called my brother to report my success and thank him for his help. While I had him on the phone I told him a quote for this job had been $300 (or $400) several years ago and that I figured I'd saved at least $230. 

"Hold on," he said. "That broke on Friday night. If you'd had a guy come out on Saturday it would have been closer to $600. You saved more like $530. You should take that money and buy yourself something nice. That's what a woman would do."

So, I took four of my saved dollars and bought a turkey sandwich and a coke. Well, it was closer to $3.30; so I saved seventy cents.

Posted by delmer at 11:42 AM | Comments (6)

March 12, 2008

More from my e-mail

The SPAM said:

I can get your site to the top of a search engines listings. 

If you're interested, reply with the web addresses you want to promote and the best way to contact you with some options. 

Thanks in advance 

A Spammer 

 

Who wouldn't want to be at the top of of the list when a search for "Delmer" is done?!  I know it's a dream of mine.

And it's a dream I've made come true without the help of any third-party spammer.  If you do a search on delmer in Google, Alsta Vista, Yahoo, Ask and Dogpile, I'm at the top of the list.

Yes, yes, yes. Once there was the time I played second, third or fourth fiddle to Sefton Delmer, Delmer Daves and Delmer the Electronic Weighing People, depending, it seemed, on the day of the week. Now, however, I sit alone at the top of the Delmer heap.

And this, I think, makes me King of the Delmers.

You do not need to bow.  Just send cookies.  You know the kind I like.

 

Posted by delmer at 2:46 PM | Comments (8)

March 11, 2008

Our Day in the Snow

Yesterday I started talking about Columbus, Ohio's World Record Snowfall and sort of got off track talking about home appliances.

As I said then, my problem with the blizzard ended about 3 p.m. Sunday when I finally dug myself out. And, to say "I dug myself out" is really giving me too much credit.

Of course, had there been any plow action in the alley next to my house I'd have had vehicle access to the city and beyond Saturday night when the snow quit falling.  And Sunday I would have gone to Franklin to bring a load of stuff up my parents don't want to take to their new home.

As it was, Sunday the alley was untouched right up until noon when someone, for fun I think, drove their SUV past the house.  Just after they went by I grabbed my shovel and, using their tracks as a dig-to point, started clearing a way so I could get to work on Monday.  Had the SUV never driven by I'd have never tried to dig out — there was just too much snow over too great a distance and it would have been a foolish thing to try.

After I'd cleared enough snow I fired up the minivan and pulled into the SUV's tracks. The minivan, as you may recall, is Dodge Grand Caravan that I've retrofitted with a NASCAR suspension because I am a big goofball redneck. 

Well, maybe not. It is a Grand Caravan and it sat in the tracks low enough (or the snow was high enough) that the underside of the van was doing some plowing as I drove along.  I eventually stopped moving just past an intersection with another alley and decided to backup, make a turn, and be happy with the progress I'd made. I then made several trips around the block to sort of widen my path and managed to get hung up but once.

And then I went out for Asian food.

Last night, while I slept, a snow plow, no doubt sensing the hint of an alley and going in for a closer look, took a pass by my house. Not only did he clear the alley but he did it in such a way that he didn't undo the digging I'd done.

The following photos are from Saturday.

 

Just before noon I cleared a path to my garage.  That drift is about 32 inches high and was several feet thick.  At 6 p.m., when I took a stroll, the part I shoveled was back as if I hadn't touched it.  The original drift wasn't any higher.

 

A shot looking down Main Street. I walked down to the carry-out for a sub.

 

That's Otie's on the right.  It's hard to get a sense of how deep the snow is from the photos.

 

Mel's Old Hilliard Tavern. Mel's was closed as was Otie's and…

  

The County Cork. The only place that was open was:

  

Gun World… a world of guns just a short walk from where I live. (And I'm fine with it. I just know some readers will think it's odd.)

Posted by delmer at 12:24 AM | Comments (14)

March 10, 2008

Plowed

The Blizzard of 2008, and those of you who live in colder, windier, snowier places feel free to make fun of us, is over.  At least as it affects me. I had vehicle access to the rest of the world shortly after 3 p.m. yesterday.

All told we had about 20 inches of snow on Friday and Saturday.  Fifteen or 16 inches fell in the 24-hour period that ended Saturday night setting a world-record. Well, a world-record in much the same way the World Series is a world-wide event.  Mostly is was a record snowfall for the Columbus area, but I am willing to go go out on a limb and say it's a record snowfall for all the cities in the World named Columbus.

The city I live in, and it is a wonderful city that usually does a very good job of plowing my alley — the alley my garage sits off of and which acts as the starting point for the above-mentioned vehicular access to the rest of the world — seemed to have lost track of said alley in the blizzard. I can only assume that the snow came down so fast and hard that any hint of an alley might have been obscured and without that hint no additional thought was given to it; by no additional thought what I mean is the thought that would have had a guy thinking, "What's this small entryway-looking thing doing at a right angle to the road I'm plowing? Dammit! That's right! It's an alley! Maybe I should take a pass at it."

And if that sounds like I'm picking on the guys driving the plows, I'm not. Many a day I'll walk into my kitchen and wonder what that green light on the front of my dishwasher is for. After a second's reflection, which is usually helped along by looking more closely at the light and noticing it says "clean" next to it, it'll occur to me that the green light means I have clean dishes in there. This leads to several seconds of joy and self-congratulation as I commend myself for remembering to not only load the dishwasher but start it at some point.  I may have this experience of joy and self-congratulation for a good long time, for, while it is many a day that I'll walk into the kitchen and wonder what the green light is, few are the days I'll bother to actually unload the dishwasher.  (Normally I'll wait until I run out of something to spread peanut butter with. As I'm not opposed to using a knife, spoon, fork or finger, a fair amount of time can pass.)

Without that light I'd have no thought at all regarding my dishes and the only thing that keeps me from running out of dishes altogether is that my dishwasher isn't big enough to hold every dish I own. Otherwise the day would certainly arrive in which I opened a cupboard looking for a plate only to find that not only were all my plates gone, but so were my bowls, saucers, cups, etc. And then I'd wonder how my kids could have possibly lost all of them.

At the risk of diverging even further I'd like to tell you another story involving how men think that, coincidentally, involves dishwashers. Many many years ago, so many, in fact, that I was still married, so many, in fact, that I was still married and happy, I was sitting in the living room doing something constructive (I'm sure). The wife at the time came downstairs, walked right to the dishwasher, opened it and started putting dishes away. What this said to me, and men grab hold of something as this is likely to floor you, is that she'd been upstairs doing something and thought to herself, "I'll go empty the dishwasher." I mean, it wasn't like she walked into the kitchen, looked around with an "I wonder what I should do" expression on her face and then opened the dishwasher — she walked purposely to the dishwasher and as she was pulling the door open was already reaching inside as if she knew there were dishes in there. Let me say it another way: she had been upstairs and at some point said to herself, "I'll go empty the dishwasher," and then she came down to do it. It was her goal!

I never would have thought, in a million years, to open the dishwasher to see if anything was in there. There are times now that I'll walk into my kitchen, notice a smell, and only after checking the garbage, the garbage disposal, and the fridge will I think to look in the dishwasher.  Fortunately, I have a pretty good unit and it has never failed to remove food I've left on plates or the stuff that grows on food that I've left on plates that have been in it for a week or more.

[In all fairness to me I always knew when it was time to change the oil in the cars, when it was time to fertilize the grass, when to winterize the mower, when the cars needed new brakes and how to put them on, where the G spot is, how to get the VCR to quit flashing 12:00, and some other manly things.]

Oh well, to reel it back in…

Well, let's reel it in tomorrow. I've sort of droned on and you must be tired by now.

Posted by delmer at 5:09 PM | Comments (2)

The Trip Out West Part XXX: Will it Never End?

Yep, today.

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. (For the newer readers, there's a little bit of sex in there.. Probably a touch of rock & roll. No drugs… well, a little bit of beer.) 

When we last left off Tom and I were in the San Francisco area. We'd gone there to visit with this sister. I believe we stayed for a week or two. 

Memories of the way home include: 

Stopping in Reno, Nevada: We gambled a bit and one night we met a woman our age who was an assistant of some sort to Stefanie Powers. Tom, who was still working hard at developing an ulcer, spent that night throwing up a bit of blood out the car door.  I picked up a shirt for an Ohio girl while I was in Reno. 

Cheyenne, Wyoming: I called home from a pay phone to let the folks know we were OK. I recall Cheyenne as I always thought it was a cool name. I'm pretty sure we stopped in Wyoming to visit a sight-seeing opportunity called Boot Hill (which I'll blog a bit more about in the extended entry.) 

Nebraska: Is a long freaking state to drive through. Some Googling shows that it's about 454 miles, or just over 6 hours to get across at its wider bits. Back then the speed limit was 10 mph slower so it would have been a theoretical hour longer to drive across. We stopped at a gas station and picked up a couple of hats that said, "Nebraska is Big Cock Country" on them; mine blew out the window just a couple miles down the road. (Per a search I've just done, this is only the second entry that "Nebraska has appeared in."  So the number of entries per number of Nebraskans appears to be in perfect one-to-one harmony.) 

Iowa, Illinois, Indiana: Are all states that begin in an I and have high vowel-to-consonant ratios. Going through Iowa was the key to avoiding Missouri and the bench warrant that was waiting for me there.  Nothing particularly exciting happened on the drive home through the three eyes. I'm guessing the locals would say "that's par for the course." 

Ohio: We were back home. 

The stop to see Boot Hill is in the extended entry… 

Prior to Googling I'd written: I believe Tom and I were in Wyoming when we saw the sign advertising Boot Hill.  (Of course, I also thought I'd already told this story.)

I now think we were in Nebraska, right near Ogalalla.  The name has a ring to it, and it's off 80. And there is a website.

The sign was small, I'm pretty sure.

Anyway, we thought it would be cool to get off, visit Boot Hill, and take a look at graves of famous dead cowboys.

We pulled off the interstate and stopped at the first gas station we saw. We asked the two gals working there for directions to Boot Hill and were met with blank stares. While this seemed odd, given that Boot Hill was certainly the greatest local point of interest, well, they were women; maybe they lacked the fascination with famous dead cowboys that Tom and I had.

One of the woman finally said she thought she knew what were talking about and after asking, Why would you want to go there,  pointed us down the road.

After a bit we saw a guy out on the sidewalk and asked for more specific directions. He paused and said, "Go up here to The House of Bottles and take a right. At a place called Carl's take a left. Go about a mile and you'll see The Cottage Inn. Just after that is Boot Hill.

It was as we approached The Cottage Inn that Tom pointed out that all the landmarks the guy had given us were bars.

And then we were there. Boot Hill. Right in the middle of a grassy  cul-de-sac among a group of houses.  It was certainly hill-like as we had to climb up it to see the grave markers… and the gas meter that was up there.

We didn't have the sense that these were actual graves of anybody, let alone famous cowboys.  We may have been wrong. While there are two links on this page, the websites they link to do not provide an accurate picture of the area surrounding Boot Hill. (Much like, from the photo's I've typically seen, a person would never guess that a Holiday Inn is a stone's throw from The Alamo, you'd never know from these links that Boot Hill is in a cul-de-sac.) 

Posted by delmer at 12:06 AM | Comments (2)

March 9, 2008

My Dad Voice

Savy, early this morning, posted a list of things that would be if she ruled the world. Under the heading Movie Theaters she said, in part:

And no phones ringing, or texting. I know people texting think they're being discrete but since the screen lights up like a search beacon so they can see, it's very disruptive. 

I left a comment pointing out that this was one of my biggest pet peeves.  About 17 hours after I left my comment I went to see Semi Pro with Will Ferrell. (While the reviews haven't been great, the movie was exactly what I hoped it would be: funny.  One review I read said that it seemed to be trying to tell two stories, one a basketball story and one a guy/girl story; there wasn't all that much to the guy/girl part.)

Anyway, about five minutes after the show started a couple of guys walked in. Not only was one of them carrying an open phone with a very bright screen, but the two were having trouble deciding where to sit. When it looked like they would sit behind me I let go of my bright-phone-screen-in-a-theater peevedness. When they decided to sit six rows ahead of me and the one goofball held his phone up to text, well, I got a little bit irritated.

And I thought back to Savy's post and wondered what the likelihood was of her being put in charge of the world in the next two minutes. Not good I decided.

So, in my best no-nonsense dad voice I yelled, "Put the phone down."

I'm guessing everybody in the theater heard me. I know the goofball did as the phone disappeared and he hunkered over it to continue his messaging.

Posted by delmer at 7:56 PM | Comments (4)

From the Local Weather Nerds

COLUMBUS, Ohio — This weekend's blizzard set a record, dumping more than 15 inches of snow in 24 hours and 20 inches in central Ohio in two the last days.

(Per the Live Doppler 10 Weather Team)

Posted by delmer at 10:15 AM | Comments (5)

Wrath

I'm currently watching Saturday Night Live.

At the bottom of the screen the local station is running a list of businesses and organizations that will be closed today due to the weather.

All the closings I've seen so far are for churches.  All religions seem to be represented, except for the Jewish folks; that may be because they're tougher and not bothered by the weather (40 years in the desert will toughen you up) or because they go to synagogue on Saturdays.

Anyway, as I sat here watching the closings listing I wondered what it was that the Christians have done that has upset God to the point that he brought enough snow to Central Ohio to have church canceled.

Pat Robertson is typically quiet on issues such as this. 

So I guess we're sort of on our own to sort it out.

Posted by delmer at 12:03 AM | Comments (8)

March 8, 2008

House Sounds

There have been a couple of times in the course of my adult life when a new noise will appear in the house and catch my attention. This is normally a noise no one else will notice but which ultimately means something is about to pass on to the big appliance god (Thor) in the sky.

An example of a new noise is the sort of a harmonic hum a garbage disposal might add to it's normal grinding repertoire prior to ending it's life as a garbage disposal and beginning its life as a heavy thing hanging in a tight space that requires some upper-body contortioning to replace. 

This noise is unlike, and should not be confused with, the sound a disposal makes when a child drops several marbles down it "just to see what happens."  The first noise, the harmonic hum, typically goes unnoticed by everybody except the person who will have to buy the new disposal and then lay beneath the sink banging his head into various pieces of plumbing while the second noise doesn't go unnoticed by anybody in the neighborhood.

I remember sitting on the couch one night and hearing the furnace make a new noise; I asked The Wife at The Time if she noticed the noise; she had not. This would have been ten or twelve years ago and, as I recall, my brother (an HVAC guy) eventually replaced a belt that ran off the blower.

As you know, we're getting a lot of snow, blowing wind, and were under a blizzard warning yesterday.  And so it makes perfect sense that last night the furnace would make a new noise; it makes even more sense that the noise would appear just about midnight.  This was a noise, I think, that would catch anybody's attention though maybe it wouldn't (I think everybody would notice the harmonic hum and the belt-replacement-related noise.)  It was a rather loud hum.

My first thought, and really the only thought that makes any sense, was that my blower motor was humming. The way my furnace works is that the blower kicks on when it's time to pump some warm air into the house and then it turns off when the desired temperature is reached; it then kicks on a minute or two later to blow out any residual heat.

About midnight it kicked on and ran for a few minutes. It kicked off. When it was time to kick back on, it hummed.  And while hmmmmmmmmmmmm is fine for a Wankel engine, it isn't all that good for a blower motor.

My brother called this morning and I told him about the humming. He thinks it's a capacitor and is going to bring me one.

Which, I'm sure you're all saying, is very brotherly of him though not outstanding as your brother would do the same for you.

Perhaps I should point out that my brother lives about 9 hours away. Of course then I'd need to point out that he was going to go mom and dad's tomorrow and I was going to meet the family there anyway.

 

Posted by delmer at 12:49 PM | Comments (2)

March 7, 2008

Blizzard '08

I'm not going to go into a whole lot of fact checking here but, if I understand the local weather guys, one of the defining points of a blizzard involves an extended period of time during which visibility is reduced to a 1/4 mile or less due to snow.

Which is how we've found ourselves in the middle of Blizzard '08 (we have a graphic for it and everything). We certainly have enough snow, and more is on the way, but I've got less on my back stoop now (due to blowing) than I've had during lesser snowfalls.

Today was one of my days to work at the school fish fry. Which is sort of ironic, I guess, if you consider that I took the boys to Micky D's for breakfast and all of us, aside from Jack the Pancake Eater, had some form of non-fish meat for breakfast. [I'm a pretty good guy. I don't molest children. I don't sleep with married women. I think God will cut me some slack on the eating-meat-on-Friday thing. I could be wrong, however, I don't pretend to speak for God but I can point you to dozens of others who do/did pretend if you'd like.(It might be Elton John who gives a thumbs up to eating meat on Friday)]

I was due to start helping at the fish fry at 1:30.  Snow began falling several hours prior to that and as 1 p.m. rolled around I started to wonder about whether or not the fish fry would be a go. The roads were not great by that time so I made a call to the ex to let her know I'd make the drive to the school and call her later with a status report so she'd know whether she should come out.

I arrived at the school right at 1:30 and found several of the other fish-fry helpers, and our leader, waiting outside the office not to far from a picture of the Pope (in which he looks more like an evil wizard casting a spell on people than he does the benevolent leader of the Catholic church snapping out a blessing — has anybody else noticed this about the new guy?).

"What do you think, Delmer? Should we call it off?" asked the leader.

"Hold on," I said, throwing my hands up, "I wasn't born Catholic, I converted." The point I was trying to convey was that this decision was far too great to trust to a non-cradle Catholic. My real concern, however, was that as the only man present I'd be seen as a slacker. I honestly thought, though, that it was currently too bad outside to have a fish fry and I was certain it was only going to get worse.

The group of us spent the next hour fretting and sometimes discussing what to do.  For a portion of the time I found myself in a pocket of women who were discussing which of the moms among them would be in charge of the kitchen organization next year. At one point I spoke up and said, "You know what's great about being a man in this situation? You guys aren't even considering that I might be a good choice to help run things next year." And I was quite comfortable with that.

And while I wouldn't be a good choice to organize the kitchen next year, I was the perfect choice to, when the fish fry was canceled, trudge out to the opposite ends of the parking lot and brave the cold and blowing snow (and, dare I say, blizzard-like conditions) to take down the Fish Fry signs.

Posted by delmer at 9:53 PM | Comments (8)

March 6, 2008

So the Ex and I

Were at the doctor's office in a meeting about one of our children.  This is the second meeting we've had together with the doc and we've each met once with him and the child. Most of the meeting involves talking.

When the child left the room conversation continued.

"Are the two of you divorced," the doctor asked.

"Yes," replied the ex. "The boys spend a week at Delmer's and a week with me."

"I wasn't sure," said the doc, "But I thought you were divorced. I've got to say it's a pleasure working with divorced parents who get along as well as you do." The meaning of course is that it's a pleasure working with adults who get along as well as we due; "divorced" should not be seen as a superlative in this case.

"The children are important to both of us and despite how we get along other times whenever we're around them we have a united front and try to do what's best," I said.

"When we're alone it's a real cat fight, though," the ex chimed in lightheartedly.

"Yea," I said and continued matter-of-factly, "One of the reasons we get along as well as we do is that, deep down inside, we both know I was right."

Posted by delmer at 5:57 PM | Comments (10)

March 5, 2008

From my e-mail

You could Meet REAL singles Like You! 

But… I want to meet a woman. And, preferably, one not too terribly much like me.

I do like the way REAL is in all caps. That shows they mean business.

Posted by delmer at 12:57 PM | Comments (10)

Somewhere in Hilliard, Ohio

There is a man wondering who it was he was talking with yesterday evening.

The man is a friend of mine in a camping-with-Cub-Scouts sort of way and it has probably been a couple of years (and 140 pounds) since he's seen me.

He, by the way is the dad I'm going to track down when the giant asteroid hits Earth and we're doing all we can to survive; I'm convinced you could drop this guy in the middle of the jungle, the desert, or a Longaberger Basket party and he'd survive and thrive.

Tonight I pulled up outside the school and was trying to sort out which door I should park in front of to collect my oldest from play practice, when I saw the dad walking toward the building.

"Hey Rob," I yelled, getting his attention, "Is this the door we're supposed to get the kids at from play practice."

"I'm not sure," he said, giving me a questioning look.

"We'll here's Bobby," I said, indicating his son coming up behind him.

Bobby would tell us that the correct child-collection door was at the side of the building. My friend's gaze would tell me that in the 30-seconds we talked he had a feeling that my voice sounded familiar, but little else did.

Maybe I should have identified myself but, really, it's been such a long time that no one has recognized me that I forgot it used to happen.

He's probably sorted it out by now. And I'm guessing the experience has helped him hone his survival skills.

Posted by delmer at 12:01 AM | Comments (3)

March 4, 2008

Problems at the Polls

I tried to vote this morning. In preparation for trying to vote I went to one of the Dem's websites yesterday to find out where I'm supposed to go. I was told that the elementary school about a mile from where I work was the location.

Oooh. Wait. Let's fictionalize this. From this point forward fictionalization is taking place.

This morning I drove the boys to school and as I sat at the corner of Leap and whatever road that is the Fairgrounds are off of I had a brief period of wonderment over what I might blog about today.  The election seemed like an obvious choice, but I figured that a lot of the blogging world would be talking about it and giving it a better treatment than I'd be able to. [I was really at Avery and Davidson when I had that thought.  Isn't fictionalization fun?]

I thought maybe I'd mention the driver I saw last night who made a big show of waving his hands at an oncoming car that failed to use its turn signal (and held several of us up) and then, one intersection later, failed to signal himself.

And then I decided I wouldn't worry about it and I'd see what the day brought with it.

After I dropped the kids off at school I swung into McDonald's.  The drive-thru line was rather long and that reminded me of something I read the other day either at Blogography, Cynical Dad, in a Bill Bryson book, or someplace else. The thing I read involved people sitting in a drive-thru line while the writer went into and came out of a fast food place faster than the later cars in the line made it. It had been my intention to go in regardless of line length as I like to visit with the employees; so I did, and I was the only one at the counter (needless to say I beat most of the drive-thru traffic).

Before I go any further, I should take a moment to say that it is a natural part of the aging process for a man to lose his hair.  There's nothing wrong with it. Some of the smartest guys I know have some sort of hair-thinning process going on. For a long time I couldn't get an erection; who am I to cast stones. Still, a dick that doesn't work is easier to hide than male pattern baldness and some guys get torqued out of shape* (and it's hard to steer) when their hair starts to abandon their scalp. (I think their concern has less to do with hair loss and more to do with the fear of clogged shower drains and increased plumbing bills. I could be wrong.)

I left McDonald's and started the 3/4 mile drive to work. As I made the last turn I decided to keep going to get voting out of the way. I figured I'd beat the rush.

The parking lot at the elementary school was nicely signed and I could see the area for voters to park was mostly empty. This, I reckoned, won't take long at all. In the end it took less long than I thought.

When I walked into the voting area I thought I recognized one of my old neighbors, though I wasn't sure as his head was down and he was more bald than I remembered him being (not that there's anything wrong with that).  While this is not his real name, in the last several years I've taken to referring to this neighbor at The Lying Hypocrite, you know, in a fictionalized sort of way.

Not that fictionalization is really needed as I'm guessing if a person were to have several years of e-mails to back up the things he said or wrote in a blog that is lightly read that he could say or write anything he pleased without fear of being sued. And, if he were ever to find himself in a situation in which loud conversation took place he'd be able to make loud points about true facts that he has no trouble with the world knowing (mostly because he'll tell you anything — maybe things like erectile dysfunction, gynecomastia and Cialis usage… who knows?).  And really, if he'd been assured that nobody was troubled by any of the decisions they've made it almost appears a shame to fictionalize something as the unfictionalized version must be the social and religious model others should strive to duplicate.

To get back on track, I'd gone to Barack's website yesterday to find out where my polling place was. I'd forgot to tell Barack I'd moved without changing my registration and the place he suggested I go was not the place I was registered to vote (I'm sure Hillary would have made the same mistake).  When the poll-worker-lady couldn't find my registration information she said, "You'll still be able to vote here but you'll need to fill out a provisional ballot."  She pointed to her left and said, "Lying Hypocrite will help you."

She may have, honestly, called him something else. But I knew who she meant.

I'd always assumed that I'd eventually run across Lying Hypocrite when I was out and about. I mean, the town I live in is sort of small. In my mind I've always said to him, "I see being an asshole has treated you well."

In real life I lack the meanness (or balls) to do that. Instead I said, "Well this is a treat, isn't it?" [In real life "asshole" isn't the word I'd have used. This is where fictionalization affects meaning. Lying Hypocrite is fleshed out a little more in the R-rated version.]

He sat the provisional ballot on the table in front of me and started to explain it.  I looked at it and said, "I'm really not in the mood to do this, I think I'll pass," and trotted off to work.

And as I drove I considered the fact that I was holding onto my hair better (which is only important from a clogged-drains perspective), I had him by two or three inches (probably just a hair over two), and forty pounds that were distributed better over my frame. 

My only regret is that I didn't say the asshole thing. Rats.

*I know it's "pushed."

Posted by delmer at 9:00 AM | Comments (4)

March 3, 2008

Our Busy Week

As you know, I have three of the most adorable children in the world.

And that reminds me of something we need to address. That something is the statement, "Nothing is sexier than a man who dotes over his children," and similarly-veined statements. This is one of those sayings that has got to go away as there are seemingly an endless supply of things sexier than a man who dotes over his children. Amazingly enough, the guy at the right is an example of one of these things. He has looked like that for years, so I can only assume it's the look he's going for; he wakes up, looks in mirror, pulls his hair down by the ends to give it that extra-stringy look, and declares himself "hot" and ready to meet the day. (That may or may not be a mug shot — it's hard to tell with him.)

Anyway, "Nothing is sexier than a man who dotes over his children" needs to die the same death as "I just want a man who makes me laugh" and for the same reason. (By the way, I'll bet I'm funnier than Kid Rock.)

To get back on track, I have three of the most adorable children in the world. They're good boys. They always show compassion for others and sometimes one another. Their accuracy in the bathroom has improved greatly this past year. They actively listen to everything I say to them (I know this as coincidence could not possibly account for their ability to sometimes do the exact opposite of what I tell them to do; there's got to be some active disobedience going on and this independence is admirable). They're pretty good helpers around the house.

They are also rather active. This is what our evenings look like this week:

 

What's missing from the schedule are dinners, homework, and baths.

Well, I'd write more, but it's 9:30 and time for me to read everybody a bedtime story.

Posted by delmer at 9:30 PM | Comments (9)

March 2, 2008

Another Near Miss

This blog entry will start with, "Today I was sitting on the toilet" and will go downhill from there.  This is another of those things that women really should not read.

I'm not kidding.

Today I was sitting on the toilet reading and making room for an early-afternoon snack.  After the maneuver, sometimes called a movement in your amateur-shitting circles,  I, in one fluid motion, scootched forward and pushed off the seat with my right hand to gain the elevation needed that would allow me to turn and check my work. As I turned I slipped left and headed off the seat.

Unable to catch myself I careened toward the floor. 

But just for about a 1/2 cheek's travel.  The groove that separates my cheeks acted, in conjunction with the toilet seat itself, as a safety device to arrest my fall. They worked together much like the spout cover on my gas can works. Now, as you may not have a gas can like the one I have you might have trouble imagining what I'm talking about, but trust me, my first thought upon skidding to a halt was, "hey, that worked sort of like my gas can spout lid."

Really, I guess, that was my second thought. My first thought was, "thank God I didn't pinch my balls between the toilet seat and the bowl rim." And even though there was no pinching involved, and the time of crisis had passed, I shivered just a little bit. There's a very good chance that if you have balls, just reading that has given you the same shiver and you may have even gone so far as to thank God that whatever it is you are doing at this moment has not led to some sort of ball pinching.  

["Thank God reading Delmer's blog has not led to my balls being pinched." (And it never will… can other blogs make the same guarantee?)]

Periodically I'll find myself on a toilet seat that is loose or misaligned to the toilet bowl rim to the point that is has some side-to-side play in it; I'll always worry that the seat will shift to the point that it will lead to testicle crunching. It has never happened and the design of the male's testicular region might be such that it's interplay with a toilet seat could in no way lead to testicle crunching, but I still worry about it. I think it's better to be extra cautious than take a cavalier pooping approach and risk doing some damage. (Testicles, for those of you that don't have one or two at hand, are sensitive instruments containing many delicate gears and the smallest bit of Silly Putty. My worry is that mushing them between a toilet seat and bowl rim might strip some teeth off a gear or two that would lead to a disagreeable grinding noise. And, of course, it would hurt like nothing else.)

So, there I was, caught by the lip of my starboard butt cheek on the port side of the toilet seat. Safe and sound. Marveling in the fact that prior to 2008 I'd never almost fallen off a toilet and that it had happened twice in about a month.

I checked to see if I'd left a Rorschach on the seat, (I had: two ducks kissing) and cleaned it off with some disinfectant.

And then I set about putting together an afternoon snack; I had room and a near-catastrophe always works up my appetite. 

Posted by delmer at 9:18 PM | Comments (8)

March 1, 2008

Back When I Had a Blog: Part II