III,vi, In which our hero meets someone he did not expect.
Her first words to me were something I will never forget. I was to meet her to go for a bike ride, at the invitation of a mutual friend. There was a summer fair/marketplace at the Pump House, one of only a few relics of the bygone Steel Days at Pittsburgh's Waterfront District. The onld pump house has been restored/preserved, and was now being used for this public market.
But there she was, helping our mutual friend - who was offering some sort of tarot reading/palmistry/spiritual cleansing/ whatever other new-age stuff she does - clean up her table. She walked around the table, and promptly walks right into - and we're talking full-on, right into it -a wheel that was used to turn some gear/valve/whatever in the pumphouse.
"Hi, I'm Shanna, and I just crotch-banged a wheel."
I forget what I said in response. It may have been something like "Well, you have to watch out for those wheels - they just jump out at you." or something more like "Yes, yes you did." or possibly, "Well, honesty is a good trait." Frankly, I don't know. I just rmember that I was partially stunned at the bluntness of the statement, and awed at her honesty with a stranger. Because, after all, yes, she crotch-banged a wheel.
What followed was a few hours spent with the two - our mutual friend and my new-found friend - running around the Waterfront, into bookstores and other small shops. It was relaxing. I let my guard down, and was totally free. I imagined myself witty and fun, humorous and maybe even a little charming. I don't know if I really am all those things - well, ok, I have my moments of being slightly humorous - and for some reason or other, it looked like it was working.
This is how I met the most incredible woman I have ever come to know. And I'm gonna shout it from the rooftops, if I have to, until everyone knows all about it. Why? Because, as awesome as she is, and no matter how many times I tell her how awesome she is.....she doesn't believe it.
So, for better or worse, Shanna dear....
I love you.
like a bird playing in wind,
like an artist finally finding his inspiration,
I love you.
I love you.
like a musician loves a chord that finally resolves
like an actor loves when the lines come easy,
I love you.
I love you.
like the rain loves pouring itself out,
like the sun loves and warms the earth,
I love you.
You are the joy of my life, my dear one, the answer to my prayers. You are the hope of my tomorrow and the dreams of my good-nights. Every day you take my breath away. Your ease and your grace astound me. I am awed by your powerful simplicity, your courage, and your quiet inner strength. You are my everything.
And I know that I have now embarrassed you enough, my love, but I cannot help it. I will lasso the moon if I have to, and give George Bailey a run for his money. I may be corny, cheesy, and in all other ways a silly idiot to believe in love......but I'm glad I do, for I would change nothing. This is me, crotch-banging the wheel.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Monday, September 24, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
I Scream, You Scream, Wait....Why Are We Screaming, Again??
OK, whilst the political bumblings and stumbling of candidates who mean this/ don't mean that, earn this, don't earn that, trying to dazzle us with their humility and likeness to the common man are ongoing, the Fat Kid has noticed something disturbing in the undercurrent. It's something that nobody's talking about, and frankly, I find it more than a little frightening.
America is angry.
This was not the plan. We were never supposed to have hard times. This is America - the land of opportunity! We are supposed to be the leaders of freedom and democracy in the world! We're supposed to be the top dog! We're supposed to have everything, and there isn't supposed to be anything left wanting! Everything is supposed to be fair!
Well, I've got some news for you, USA: You have been lied to. Because, you see, life really ISN'T fair. It's not fair that someone makes more than me, and that I make more than someone else. It's not fair that some people are smarter than others. It's not fair that some people are gifted more athletically than others. It's not fair at all. This nation, this grand experiment in freedom and justice, isn't built on the principle that life is fair. In fact, it's built on the principle that life is difficult.
The Promise of America is only that we have the opportunity to TRY. The harder we work and the more devoted we are to trying, the better our chance of success. This nation was founded an the principle that everyone has the right to try ONLY. There is no "right to succeed." Our past is full of people who tried. Who committed everything they had to a cause, and risked it all, knowing the penalty for failure was nothing short of death.
And we're angry. We're angry over a lot of things. This nation is divided between those who don't want to change anything, and those who want to change a lot of things. It's divided between those who are afraid to risk everything and those who have nothing to risk but their hopes and dreams. It's divided between the ideals of a future that hasn't been written and the practicality of a past that has been. It's divided on so many levels: economic, social, religious, educational, racist, and sexist levels - and divided so vehemently - that I am not sure it can be put back together again. We are not United States - we are Divided People.
Each side of the political arena, in this election season, is trying to convince all of us that they are the correct side, that their ideals are best for the nation, that we should choose them, because the other side is wrong. We debate about it amongst ourselves, trying to "win" arguments and convince one another of just how correct our opinions are. The rhetoric is always the same: "We want, we deserve..."
And I just want to take one big wind-up bitch-slap at us all and say, 'Really, America? What makes you think you "deserve" anything?" We didn't commit all our cash and resources to fight for a nation free from tyranny. We didn't survive in a strange land far from what we knew. We didn't fight our brothers to become a nation free from slavery. None of us alive did any of those things. There are some - a dwindling number now - who fought against the Japanese and the Third Reich, who went to Korea and Vietnam. And of course, Kuwait, Iraq, and Afghanistan have created the latest generation of people who actually HAVE put their very lives on the line for the principles of freedom. And these days, most of them volunteer to do it. They entrust their lives to our politicians - to our votes - to not only protect freedom here at home, but to spread the priciples of fredom throughout the world, and all we have to do about it is whine and complain because our cushy little insignificant lives aren't just how we dreamed? Because things aren't fair and perfect?
We don't understand just how good we've got it, and all we can do is complain about what we don't have. And most of those complaining are not willing to risk it all, to go up against death itself to defend the "human rights" issues they claim are so important. We are a bunch of children, whose parents have left us alone to fend for ourselves, and we have neither the courage nor the ability to do so. We simply want others to provide it for us, to coddle us and tell us it's going to be OK.
It's not going to be OK
There are no guarantees. There is no "right to succeed." There is only the right to TRY. When the masses of people who are ranting and raving over perceived "injustices" are ready to lose everything, when they are desperate to the point of exhaustion and then they still keep fighting....then they can talk about what they deserve.
We're not supposed to be a nation where everything is provided for you, and we were never supposed to be that nation. We're supposed to be a nation that's not afraid to work as hard as we can.
Our politicians have forgotten this - because we have forgotten this.
We need people who are not afraid to invest themselves and all they can into this country. The candidates who get my vote will be the ones I feel will invest to the hilt, indeed, shed their very blood if necessary. I urge anyone reading this to do the same. Don't vote party lines. Vote for the person who will give their all for this country, not for a political party.
I don't care if you agree with my opinions or not. I don't care if you are liberal or conservative. I'm going to send a copy of this to the White House, to the Romney Camp, and to anyone else I can think of who might need to hear it. If you feel so inclined, I invite you to do the same.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
America is angry.
This was not the plan. We were never supposed to have hard times. This is America - the land of opportunity! We are supposed to be the leaders of freedom and democracy in the world! We're supposed to be the top dog! We're supposed to have everything, and there isn't supposed to be anything left wanting! Everything is supposed to be fair!
Well, I've got some news for you, USA: You have been lied to. Because, you see, life really ISN'T fair. It's not fair that someone makes more than me, and that I make more than someone else. It's not fair that some people are smarter than others. It's not fair that some people are gifted more athletically than others. It's not fair at all. This nation, this grand experiment in freedom and justice, isn't built on the principle that life is fair. In fact, it's built on the principle that life is difficult.
The Promise of America is only that we have the opportunity to TRY. The harder we work and the more devoted we are to trying, the better our chance of success. This nation was founded an the principle that everyone has the right to try ONLY. There is no "right to succeed." Our past is full of people who tried. Who committed everything they had to a cause, and risked it all, knowing the penalty for failure was nothing short of death.
And we're angry. We're angry over a lot of things. This nation is divided between those who don't want to change anything, and those who want to change a lot of things. It's divided between those who are afraid to risk everything and those who have nothing to risk but their hopes and dreams. It's divided between the ideals of a future that hasn't been written and the practicality of a past that has been. It's divided on so many levels: economic, social, religious, educational, racist, and sexist levels - and divided so vehemently - that I am not sure it can be put back together again. We are not United States - we are Divided People.
Each side of the political arena, in this election season, is trying to convince all of us that they are the correct side, that their ideals are best for the nation, that we should choose them, because the other side is wrong. We debate about it amongst ourselves, trying to "win" arguments and convince one another of just how correct our opinions are. The rhetoric is always the same: "We want, we deserve..."
And I just want to take one big wind-up bitch-slap at us all and say, 'Really, America? What makes you think you "deserve" anything?" We didn't commit all our cash and resources to fight for a nation free from tyranny. We didn't survive in a strange land far from what we knew. We didn't fight our brothers to become a nation free from slavery. None of us alive did any of those things. There are some - a dwindling number now - who fought against the Japanese and the Third Reich, who went to Korea and Vietnam. And of course, Kuwait, Iraq, and Afghanistan have created the latest generation of people who actually HAVE put their very lives on the line for the principles of freedom. And these days, most of them volunteer to do it. They entrust their lives to our politicians - to our votes - to not only protect freedom here at home, but to spread the priciples of fredom throughout the world, and all we have to do about it is whine and complain because our cushy little insignificant lives aren't just how we dreamed? Because things aren't fair and perfect?
We don't understand just how good we've got it, and all we can do is complain about what we don't have. And most of those complaining are not willing to risk it all, to go up against death itself to defend the "human rights" issues they claim are so important. We are a bunch of children, whose parents have left us alone to fend for ourselves, and we have neither the courage nor the ability to do so. We simply want others to provide it for us, to coddle us and tell us it's going to be OK.
It's not going to be OK
There are no guarantees. There is no "right to succeed." There is only the right to TRY. When the masses of people who are ranting and raving over perceived "injustices" are ready to lose everything, when they are desperate to the point of exhaustion and then they still keep fighting....then they can talk about what they deserve.
We're not supposed to be a nation where everything is provided for you, and we were never supposed to be that nation. We're supposed to be a nation that's not afraid to work as hard as we can.
Our politicians have forgotten this - because we have forgotten this.
We need people who are not afraid to invest themselves and all they can into this country. The candidates who get my vote will be the ones I feel will invest to the hilt, indeed, shed their very blood if necessary. I urge anyone reading this to do the same. Don't vote party lines. Vote for the person who will give their all for this country, not for a political party.
I don't care if you agree with my opinions or not. I don't care if you are liberal or conservative. I'm going to send a copy of this to the White House, to the Romney Camp, and to anyone else I can think of who might need to hear it. If you feel so inclined, I invite you to do the same.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
So, Robert DeNiro and Dr. Seuss walk into a small town bar...
...and each orders a beer. Not really a fancy story, not really much to go on, but this was my weekend.
See, it starts with a camping excursion to the small town of Ohiopyle, PA. Great place, where the stores sell t-shirts that read, "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the bonecrushing, whitewater, death-defying class five stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream" and "scars are tattoos with better stories."
We arrived at camp, and registered, and were told, "Will out front can explain how you can get your deposit back." We went outside to meet Will. Will is about 5'7", middle aged, with a long grey beard, small eyes, and a bald head. No an impressive man to look at him - just looks relatively normal. And he starts with, "The trees are very important to me..." and I forget anything else because the only thought in my head went something like, "I am the Lorax, I speak for the trees..."yes, I tell you, the Lorax is real, and he really doesn't like Obama. I tried to stay out of that conversation, but he felt it was necessary to explain his dislike of the President. Probably not the best business tactic, but I really liked his Lorax-ish ways. Trees are very important to me, too. I may be a Lorax in training.
But the weekend progressed without incident. Life was good. A little rainy, perhaps, but otherwise, pretty fun. It's kind of nice to wake up to rain on a tent, even though it's a bit loud...until you realize you have to go to the bathroom, and then you kinda really hate the rain. There was the annual Mountian Music Festival being held, in whihc several amll-town vendors lined the street, selling their wares, and BBQ joints all fired up the smokers and cooked all sorts of delicious goodies. A surprise, since we were unaware the festival was going on, but a welcome surprise.
A tour of the grounds of Frank Lloyd Wright's house, "Fallingwater" later, and camping was done. It was a fairly quick trip, this time - always unfortunate, but since the coin-operated showers looking like I might come out of them with ringworm, gangrene, or some other incurable disease, the fact that it was a short sttay helped the attitude a lot. For the most part, the facility was nice, but there were a few touches that were wanting, for lack of a better term.
But Monday.....Oh Monday. You know, a lot of people talk about Mondays in songs and things, and usually, I'm pretty down on Mondays. This Monday, though, pulled out all the stops and went all out for me. This is "Meet the parents week"..Yep, it's that step where I get to meet her parents, and she gets to meet mine.Well, yesterday she met mine. The quote, when all was said and done, "Well, now I understand why you are the way you are." It seems this is a good thing, as it was immediately followed up with, "because your folks are awesome!" Yeah, I kinda think they're pretty awesome too, and yesterday, they proved it to me again.
So the rest of this week: finish shalving, practice monologue, get to rehearsal, meet parents, attend Irishfest, performance.......just another week in the life. You know what? My life is pretty blessed.
See, it starts with a camping excursion to the small town of Ohiopyle, PA. Great place, where the stores sell t-shirts that read, "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the bonecrushing, whitewater, death-defying class five stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream" and "scars are tattoos with better stories."
We arrived at camp, and registered, and were told, "Will out front can explain how you can get your deposit back." We went outside to meet Will. Will is about 5'7", middle aged, with a long grey beard, small eyes, and a bald head. No an impressive man to look at him - just looks relatively normal. And he starts with, "The trees are very important to me..." and I forget anything else because the only thought in my head went something like, "I am the Lorax, I speak for the trees..."yes, I tell you, the Lorax is real, and he really doesn't like Obama. I tried to stay out of that conversation, but he felt it was necessary to explain his dislike of the President. Probably not the best business tactic, but I really liked his Lorax-ish ways. Trees are very important to me, too. I may be a Lorax in training.
But the weekend progressed without incident. Life was good. A little rainy, perhaps, but otherwise, pretty fun. It's kind of nice to wake up to rain on a tent, even though it's a bit loud...until you realize you have to go to the bathroom, and then you kinda really hate the rain. There was the annual Mountian Music Festival being held, in whihc several amll-town vendors lined the street, selling their wares, and BBQ joints all fired up the smokers and cooked all sorts of delicious goodies. A surprise, since we were unaware the festival was going on, but a welcome surprise.
A tour of the grounds of Frank Lloyd Wright's house, "Fallingwater" later, and camping was done. It was a fairly quick trip, this time - always unfortunate, but since the coin-operated showers looking like I might come out of them with ringworm, gangrene, or some other incurable disease, the fact that it was a short sttay helped the attitude a lot. For the most part, the facility was nice, but there were a few touches that were wanting, for lack of a better term.
But Monday.....Oh Monday. You know, a lot of people talk about Mondays in songs and things, and usually, I'm pretty down on Mondays. This Monday, though, pulled out all the stops and went all out for me. This is "Meet the parents week"..Yep, it's that step where I get to meet her parents, and she gets to meet mine.Well, yesterday she met mine. The quote, when all was said and done, "Well, now I understand why you are the way you are." It seems this is a good thing, as it was immediately followed up with, "because your folks are awesome!" Yeah, I kinda think they're pretty awesome too, and yesterday, they proved it to me again.
So the rest of this week: finish shalving, practice monologue, get to rehearsal, meet parents, attend Irishfest, performance.......just another week in the life. You know what? My life is pretty blessed.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Today, I have a bike ride planned.
Funny thing about riding my bike. Sometimes, someone wants to actually ride with me! It's kinda nice. I think back to the last time I had a ride scheduled. It was two months ago, June the 17th. It was a liesure ride. A friend asked me to come out for a ride and meet a friend of hers. We'd ride bikes. That was the deal.
We enver rode. Instead, we went to Eat-n-Park, and I met this friend. I asked her out, and she thought it was a good idea - she said yes. The last two months of my life have been a blur. Time spent with her has been utterly amazing, and with each dy I am surprised at her patience, her understanding, and most of all, her ability to lift my spirits.
I almost didn't go that day. I almost stayed home where I would have missed out on meeting with a wonderful woman who has changed my life. I would have been just fine, of course, but would not have the joy I have come to know. I am grateful for my friend, who thought to introduce us. I am grateful for my sweetheart, who brings sunshine into my life and makes giving such a pleasure.
TAKE THE CHANCE. We get up each day and go about our routine. Take the chance to get out there and do things, meet people, make a change in your daily order. Yes, there's a risk you might be hurt. Yes, things might not go well. Yes, it could always backfire. Those are the things Fear will tell you. And Fear's correct. But what Fear doesn't tell you is that taking risks is a part of life, and that if you don't, you will forever be afraid. Sometimes, you have to look Fear in the eye, and no matter what the consequences, no matter what might happen, you have to stare it down. You have to look at it and say, "Do your worst - for I will do mine."
Tonight, I'm going bike riding with my sweetheart. Finally. This has been the best first date ever.
We enver rode. Instead, we went to Eat-n-Park, and I met this friend. I asked her out, and she thought it was a good idea - she said yes. The last two months of my life have been a blur. Time spent with her has been utterly amazing, and with each dy I am surprised at her patience, her understanding, and most of all, her ability to lift my spirits.
I almost didn't go that day. I almost stayed home where I would have missed out on meeting with a wonderful woman who has changed my life. I would have been just fine, of course, but would not have the joy I have come to know. I am grateful for my friend, who thought to introduce us. I am grateful for my sweetheart, who brings sunshine into my life and makes giving such a pleasure.
TAKE THE CHANCE. We get up each day and go about our routine. Take the chance to get out there and do things, meet people, make a change in your daily order. Yes, there's a risk you might be hurt. Yes, things might not go well. Yes, it could always backfire. Those are the things Fear will tell you. And Fear's correct. But what Fear doesn't tell you is that taking risks is a part of life, and that if you don't, you will forever be afraid. Sometimes, you have to look Fear in the eye, and no matter what the consequences, no matter what might happen, you have to stare it down. You have to look at it and say, "Do your worst - for I will do mine."
Tonight, I'm going bike riding with my sweetheart. Finally. This has been the best first date ever.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
The gripe List: Top ten things I can't stand about the Olympics.
Oh Joy, oh joy! Now that the Olympic extravaganza is over, it's time to list the things I hate most about the Olympics, the way we as Americans get to see them. Now, when it comes to the spirit of the games, etc, I'm all for it. Yes, every athlete, everywhere, should go out and compete the best they can. Of course I want this. I think, at the very heart of the matter, most people do. And yeah, it's nice to see Americans winning medals. Yay. Joy....whatever.
But there are a bunch of stupid things we do, too, and frankly, I've had enough of them. This year, I actually watched about 2 hours of olypic coverage, and that happened to be because there was a television on while I was having lunch, and I didn't have the remote. BUT, these are pretty much the reasons why I never watched the games this year:
10) It's about the athletes, not Michael Phelps' mother. I really don't care about her. Come to think about it, I really don't care about him either, but at least he's the one in the pool splashing about. She's in the stands media-whoring. Seriously? Why are we wasting a camera on this? That camera could have been at the Judo matches where we won our first gold-medal ever. But yeah, I get it: she's obviously so much more important than watching athletics.
9) Everything is on a tape delay. They have all the footage. We only get to see the highlights of the things NBC declares are important. Seriously? Shut the hell up and let us watch the sport - the whole match would be nice. You have it all on tape. Just show it. Thanks.
8) In the spirit of international gamesmenship, getting-to-know-you-isms, and all that hunky dory good feelings stuff the games are supposed to represent, why do we only show sports in which Americans are projected to do well? Shouldn't we be - oh, I don't know - cheering for the spirit of competition, etc? Oh - I guess we're only supposed to cheer for American competition. My bad.
7) What is the deal with gymnastics? Seriously, I just don't get it. Sure, it's athletic and pretty darned amazing what they can do, but I think there are a LOT more stories out there than just gymnastics. The American love affair with this sport is silly, and only exists because that's what NBC puts on the air. Why must we endure the entire repertoire of this and not be allowed to watch an entire soccer match, or baseball, or - and I shudder to think of this one - bmx racing?
6) SERIOUSLY??? BMX RACING? No. Just, no. Not Olympic-worthy. Ever. They have their x-games. Give them that, and be happy. Can we stop adding sports, please? In fact, can we take a bunch of them away? We don't need them, they're not world-sports.
5) OK, I get that team uniforms are important. And, yeah, divers and swimmers and the like are going to wear speedos. Yeah, they're a tad revealing. OK, it happens, but usually, the small uniforms serve a purpose.. I just have to wonder at beach volleyball, though - particularly for the women's teams. Obviously, the solution to getting sand in the shorts - and other places - is to mke the uniforms skimpier???? Hey - sure they looked good. They ought to, they're playing the sport 7 days a week, 12 hours a day. Anyone doing that will look good. But you can't tell me a decent jersey and some form-fitting spandex would be more restricting. I think there comes a time when we gotta say a big "NO" to the "let's get sexier uniforms" look. This isn't a beauty pangeant, folks. Oh, and you don't get to argue about getting swweaty. London ain't all that warm, kids.
4) Bob Costas, SHUT THE HELL UP.
3) Interviews, OK. Life stories and "human interest" angles???? No. Let's just watch some sports, huh? You wanna comment on "This little girl came from a rough neighborhood?" great, say it while we're watching the sport, and be done with it. If they win a medal, we'll likely care for a while, if not,.......(crickets). Stop the exposee on how so-and-so devotes x many hours a day to their training, at great expense to their family, etc, etc....really, not all that important. Show the darned sport.
2) Yes, the point is to "win" - it's a competition, after all. But can we not make it about medal-counting? That's all I ever heard - "The U.S and China are in a tough race for the most medals.." blah, blah, blah. Again, shouldn't we be rooting for the celebration of unity under the dome of "sport"???? no, not here in America. Here, it has to be about getting more medals than the next guy. Bah.
1) Along those lines, how many athletes did we send? 530, according to one list. so, 104 medals among those 530 athletes. The only country to send more? Great Britain, the host nation. So, assuming that each athlete competes individually (Yes, I'm aware there are team sports, so this percentage is off) the U.S. sits in at just shy of 20% success, where success = getting a medal. China, by comparison, sent only 280 athletes, and came away with 88 medals. Making the some erroneous assumptions (gotta be consistent, here) they were just over 23% successful. Who had the better olympics? If we flood the playing fields, are we really the better team, the better athletes, or the better country??? All it really means is that we throw more money into training people so we can pretend to look good, and that's mostly to ourselves.
I like the idea of the olympics. I think we should ahve them. I think they are valuable to our society. And I think that America has it all wrong. Yes, the spirit of competition is to win, and winning is good. But I am left to ponder if we are winning with dignity and integrity when we flood the playing fields with so many athletes. It seems appropriate topic when "winning with integrity" is such a hot-button issue these days. I wonder how much we might be fined, collectively.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
But there are a bunch of stupid things we do, too, and frankly, I've had enough of them. This year, I actually watched about 2 hours of olypic coverage, and that happened to be because there was a television on while I was having lunch, and I didn't have the remote. BUT, these are pretty much the reasons why I never watched the games this year:
10) It's about the athletes, not Michael Phelps' mother. I really don't care about her. Come to think about it, I really don't care about him either, but at least he's the one in the pool splashing about. She's in the stands media-whoring. Seriously? Why are we wasting a camera on this? That camera could have been at the Judo matches where we won our first gold-medal ever. But yeah, I get it: she's obviously so much more important than watching athletics.
9) Everything is on a tape delay. They have all the footage. We only get to see the highlights of the things NBC declares are important. Seriously? Shut the hell up and let us watch the sport - the whole match would be nice. You have it all on tape. Just show it. Thanks.
8) In the spirit of international gamesmenship, getting-to-know-you-isms, and all that hunky dory good feelings stuff the games are supposed to represent, why do we only show sports in which Americans are projected to do well? Shouldn't we be - oh, I don't know - cheering for the spirit of competition, etc? Oh - I guess we're only supposed to cheer for American competition. My bad.
7) What is the deal with gymnastics? Seriously, I just don't get it. Sure, it's athletic and pretty darned amazing what they can do, but I think there are a LOT more stories out there than just gymnastics. The American love affair with this sport is silly, and only exists because that's what NBC puts on the air. Why must we endure the entire repertoire of this and not be allowed to watch an entire soccer match, or baseball, or - and I shudder to think of this one - bmx racing?
6) SERIOUSLY??? BMX RACING? No. Just, no. Not Olympic-worthy. Ever. They have their x-games. Give them that, and be happy. Can we stop adding sports, please? In fact, can we take a bunch of them away? We don't need them, they're not world-sports.
5) OK, I get that team uniforms are important. And, yeah, divers and swimmers and the like are going to wear speedos. Yeah, they're a tad revealing. OK, it happens, but usually, the small uniforms serve a purpose.. I just have to wonder at beach volleyball, though - particularly for the women's teams. Obviously, the solution to getting sand in the shorts - and other places - is to mke the uniforms skimpier???? Hey - sure they looked good. They ought to, they're playing the sport 7 days a week, 12 hours a day. Anyone doing that will look good. But you can't tell me a decent jersey and some form-fitting spandex would be more restricting. I think there comes a time when we gotta say a big "NO" to the "let's get sexier uniforms" look. This isn't a beauty pangeant, folks. Oh, and you don't get to argue about getting swweaty. London ain't all that warm, kids.
4) Bob Costas, SHUT THE HELL UP.
3) Interviews, OK. Life stories and "human interest" angles???? No. Let's just watch some sports, huh? You wanna comment on "This little girl came from a rough neighborhood?" great, say it while we're watching the sport, and be done with it. If they win a medal, we'll likely care for a while, if not,.......(crickets). Stop the exposee on how so-and-so devotes x many hours a day to their training, at great expense to their family, etc, etc....really, not all that important. Show the darned sport.
2) Yes, the point is to "win" - it's a competition, after all. But can we not make it about medal-counting? That's all I ever heard - "The U.S and China are in a tough race for the most medals.." blah, blah, blah. Again, shouldn't we be rooting for the celebration of unity under the dome of "sport"???? no, not here in America. Here, it has to be about getting more medals than the next guy. Bah.
1) Along those lines, how many athletes did we send? 530, according to one list. so, 104 medals among those 530 athletes. The only country to send more? Great Britain, the host nation. So, assuming that each athlete competes individually (Yes, I'm aware there are team sports, so this percentage is off) the U.S. sits in at just shy of 20% success, where success = getting a medal. China, by comparison, sent only 280 athletes, and came away with 88 medals. Making the some erroneous assumptions (gotta be consistent, here) they were just over 23% successful. Who had the better olympics? If we flood the playing fields, are we really the better team, the better athletes, or the better country??? All it really means is that we throw more money into training people so we can pretend to look good, and that's mostly to ourselves.
I like the idea of the olympics. I think we should ahve them. I think they are valuable to our society. And I think that America has it all wrong. Yes, the spirit of competition is to win, and winning is good. But I am left to ponder if we are winning with dignity and integrity when we flood the playing fields with so many athletes. It seems appropriate topic when "winning with integrity" is such a hot-button issue these days. I wonder how much we might be fined, collectively.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Monday, June 11, 2012
Tan Lines, and Sweat Stains and Mountains, OH MY...
Well, It has come and gone. This past weekend marked the MS150: Escape to the Lake in Western Pennsylvania. This year was slightly different in that there was a return loop trip - so one could feasibly ride from Zelienople to Meadville and back over the course of two days, OR ride from Meadville on to Conneaut, OH and the shores of Lake Erie. Having ridden to Lake Erie last year, and NOT relishing the thought of a three hour busride back to Zelienople, I elected the return trip - the Loop. Day one was 75.3 miles, Day 2 was 79.8 miles. The following is my account, for better or worse, of the points I can remember.
I managed to get into the first starting group on Day one, and it wasn't long before we managed to establish a rhythm, moving along relatively smoothly. The first 16 or so miles to the first rest stop - an area I've ridden a couple times in training - really didn't cause me any problems, other than a loose crank bolt - even after I'd tightened it. Stop at the base of the first real climb of the day, tighten the bolt again, and I was off. I found that the hill - previously climbed - was relatively ok. Drop the gear, get into a manageable cadence - it seemed to work pretty well. Indeed, I was passing a few people. of course, a couple passed me as well, but the fact that I was passing people made me feel pretty good. Not bad for 9 miles in, when it useually takes me about 5 miles to loosen up and get comfy.
Rest stop at 16 miles, have crank bolt tightened. Eat, drink, refuel. life was good. Second major climb at 17 miles - this would be a theme where if we stopped, there MUST be a hill coming up. - scooted up it with relatively no problems, other than reaffirming my general hatred of hills. Latched on with some teammates, and was hitting some good stride. The next stop was at the top of a small rise further down the road - about mile 34 - and I realized I was strong. Plenty left in the tank, legs felt comfy, was having good rhythm, good power - I was in that zone. I powered up the rise in the big ring, the sun shining behind me. On the ground ahead of me, I saw my shadow - and I was surprized. As my legs pounded up the rise, I saw them moving in shadow form. They looked good. They looked....well, they looked like the pro riders' legs look!!!! I know, this may make no sense to some of you, but for the Fat Kid, it was a nice moment of satisfaction.
Lunch was at mile 47 - and by 11AM, I was just about ready to get back on the road. We'd started about 7:30 AM, and I was still feeling pretty good. Mile 56.6 was where I'd been stalled a few weeks ago, so I forced myself to eat and drink more than I wanted to. The next climb, one that just about did me in last year, was next up. I cramped. It wasn't too bad, and after a couple of minutes, I started up the hill again, and proceeded to the top, where, although I was hurting, I once again found that I was passing a few riders...many of whom passed me whilst I was working out my cramp. Find the cadence, push the pedal around. Don't let up. At the top, I was strong again, and then we came to it: my favorite stretch of road.
Now, growing up near the mucklands of Central NY, the Fat Kid KNOWS how to ride the flats. The hills, not so much, but the flats?? Oh, I excel at them. When riding a 53 x13-23.....well, let's just say it doesn't take a lot to start pulling some speed. Those legs I was so proud of a little while ago? They are my engine (corny, I know) and the engine wanted to have some fun. The power was there, the rhythm was there. Shift up. Hands to drops. Slide forward in the saddle. Start the engine. I think I took that section of road around about 22 mph - with virtually no effort...just steady momentum, all the way into the Grove City area. When it works - when the body is working correctly and the conditions are right - speed, form, machine, engine, lungs and head become as one, and that is where the cyclist finds his/her joy. That stretch of road was pure joy.
The going got tougher after that. The hills became a little steeper, and a little longer. While I suffered a little up them, the cadence and the power were there. A few times, riders latched on behind me, holding the slipstream and letting me cut through the wind in front of them. Occasionally, I would catch a rider and do the same. There is a strange allegience that takes place on a ride like this, where strangers become friends and partners for a little while. We need each other out there. We help one another, say encouraging things, form pace lines, draft off each other, converse to relieve boredom - anything at all. We are all in this together. And we were all heading to the same place, where many a cold beverage was waiting...some even non-alcoholic!
But up the hills we went. Over the tops and down the other sides. Mile 70 came and there was a veritable wall of a hill. I was forced to walk some of it. It was just too much to push through at that mileage. I felt bad for those who did the century route (100 miles, for those not in the know) who had to do the hill twice. My leg cramp had returned, and there was no way I was going to get through the short, but very steep (estimated 10% or steeper) hill. From there, the ride to Allegheny College was downhill, the finish line was attained.
What happened once at the finish? It's like Vegas - you don't say. I can tell you I met up with an old buddy, took a dip in the pool, had an adult beverage, and met some very fun people. Hijinx, Hooliganism, Shenanigans, pranks, and Tomfoolery were in abundance. Well, we were on a college campus, what did you expect?
Day TWO:
Once again, I was in the starting group, and once again, it didn't take very long to be dropped from them. I was there to ride MY ride, not make a race out it. It wasn't long before we hit the hills coming out of Meadville. This was the part I was mainly concerned with, as I didn't know how I would recover in time to ride. Turns out, I wasn't that bad. Early on, the hills, while significant, were managed decently. The rhythm was there, the gears were right. I now know why I've hated hills for so long, and what I was doing wrong at the bottom. The issue is corrected...but I still hate hills. Up and over them we went. But they kept coming. I think we rode more uphill on the way home thanthe previous day, even though the slopes were a little more gentle for most of it. Uphill is still uphill.
But the power was there, the gears were right, the timing better, and even though the saddle sores were forming (yep, I'd used chamois cream) It was still good. Through the high flat parts of the plateau we went, and once again, I was able to find the power I liked, and was able to engage the engine again. I met Dean, who was having some difficulty with his left knee. Dean is about 60 yrs old. I told him to tuck in behind me and ride my slipstream for a while to take it easy on his knee. It got Dean through a couple pit stops where the medical pros could assist him. I don't know if I'll ever see Dean again, but I know that for those miles, I was his best friend. And he was very cool to talk to.
Mile 54.4, rest stop. Saddle sores were seriously hurting every time I got on and off the bike. Food. Water. Gatorade. I'd finally tapped into my reserve fluids (two waterbottles full of gatorade) Thermometer on the bike was reading 92. No clouds. Any other day, I would have thought it beautiful. I just wanted it to be over. 25 miles left to go. Start again. cover some of the same roads we were on yesterday. The tar on the pavement is bubbling, and I can hear it cracking under my wheels as each bubble pops. Eventually, I'm forced to walk up a small ascent that is just too steep to ride. I know I'm spent. A couple minutes at the top of the hill, and I hop on, painfully, and continue. A long, slow climb up to the top of a hill, descend into the state park again for the last rest stop.
16 miles left to go. I want a taxi. I'm not even sure where I can draw strength from anymore. Head out again, after more chamois cream, bananas, gatorade, and water. And Gummy treats. Those things rock, and I've eaten a ton of them at this point on the ride. They take us on new roads that we didn't travel yesterday. Up a climb witha "false flat" and then up the rest of it. Up again. And again. Turn the corner, more uphill. Round a bend. Then, I see it. It's the hill where I died two weeks ago. They put it on the ride. Everyone's first reaction on seeing it: "WTF!!!!!" Oddly - even though I rode it only a couple weeks before, I didn't realize it was THAT hill until I was halfway up it. That is when I knew I had this. Again, the cadence was right. the strength was there. The power was in my legs. My muscles were screaming - but they were screaming something new: "WE"RE NOT READY TO GIVE UP." OK, legs. Just keep climbing.
Into Portsville and one last small climb. I'm starting to pass people. They're blowing up. We're about to drop into the valley, and they're blowing up. They are cooked. I have strength. I even have a little speed. It's under 7 miles to the finish. Engage the engine one last time. I catch up to a couple of riders and as we hit some of the small rises, I realize that I'm ready to go. I Just have to NOT stop pedalling, and I've got it. I overtake the guy who has been outclimbing me all day. He used up too much and he's gassed. I won't see him again until I'm already on my second bottle of water at the finish. He's weraing an Indiana kit he thinks he got from Steevo....it makes me think I've just beeten Steevo. Adrenaline fills me. Suddenly, I know I could do the century today, if I wanted. I don't want to. I am a man-machine - like the Terminator. 3 miles. 2 miles. One last stop light. A guy I rode with three weeks ago on a training ride is there ahead of me. I catch him and we head off together, along with a third. We make the turn and ride the last mile together, down the chute where we started.
It's a party.
I wasn't the first to finish, but I was far from the last. People ask me why I love this sport. The friends, the allies, the pain, the pleasure, the realizations, the heart and will it takes to push through hot temps and nasty climbs, roads blistering under your tires, saddle sores and sunburn...every time I'm out there on the road, I find a little more of who I am. And I like that guy.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
I managed to get into the first starting group on Day one, and it wasn't long before we managed to establish a rhythm, moving along relatively smoothly. The first 16 or so miles to the first rest stop - an area I've ridden a couple times in training - really didn't cause me any problems, other than a loose crank bolt - even after I'd tightened it. Stop at the base of the first real climb of the day, tighten the bolt again, and I was off. I found that the hill - previously climbed - was relatively ok. Drop the gear, get into a manageable cadence - it seemed to work pretty well. Indeed, I was passing a few people. of course, a couple passed me as well, but the fact that I was passing people made me feel pretty good. Not bad for 9 miles in, when it useually takes me about 5 miles to loosen up and get comfy.
Rest stop at 16 miles, have crank bolt tightened. Eat, drink, refuel. life was good. Second major climb at 17 miles - this would be a theme where if we stopped, there MUST be a hill coming up. - scooted up it with relatively no problems, other than reaffirming my general hatred of hills. Latched on with some teammates, and was hitting some good stride. The next stop was at the top of a small rise further down the road - about mile 34 - and I realized I was strong. Plenty left in the tank, legs felt comfy, was having good rhythm, good power - I was in that zone. I powered up the rise in the big ring, the sun shining behind me. On the ground ahead of me, I saw my shadow - and I was surprized. As my legs pounded up the rise, I saw them moving in shadow form. They looked good. They looked....well, they looked like the pro riders' legs look!!!! I know, this may make no sense to some of you, but for the Fat Kid, it was a nice moment of satisfaction.
Lunch was at mile 47 - and by 11AM, I was just about ready to get back on the road. We'd started about 7:30 AM, and I was still feeling pretty good. Mile 56.6 was where I'd been stalled a few weeks ago, so I forced myself to eat and drink more than I wanted to. The next climb, one that just about did me in last year, was next up. I cramped. It wasn't too bad, and after a couple of minutes, I started up the hill again, and proceeded to the top, where, although I was hurting, I once again found that I was passing a few riders...many of whom passed me whilst I was working out my cramp. Find the cadence, push the pedal around. Don't let up. At the top, I was strong again, and then we came to it: my favorite stretch of road.
Now, growing up near the mucklands of Central NY, the Fat Kid KNOWS how to ride the flats. The hills, not so much, but the flats?? Oh, I excel at them. When riding a 53 x13-23.....well, let's just say it doesn't take a lot to start pulling some speed. Those legs I was so proud of a little while ago? They are my engine (corny, I know) and the engine wanted to have some fun. The power was there, the rhythm was there. Shift up. Hands to drops. Slide forward in the saddle. Start the engine. I think I took that section of road around about 22 mph - with virtually no effort...just steady momentum, all the way into the Grove City area. When it works - when the body is working correctly and the conditions are right - speed, form, machine, engine, lungs and head become as one, and that is where the cyclist finds his/her joy. That stretch of road was pure joy.
The going got tougher after that. The hills became a little steeper, and a little longer. While I suffered a little up them, the cadence and the power were there. A few times, riders latched on behind me, holding the slipstream and letting me cut through the wind in front of them. Occasionally, I would catch a rider and do the same. There is a strange allegience that takes place on a ride like this, where strangers become friends and partners for a little while. We need each other out there. We help one another, say encouraging things, form pace lines, draft off each other, converse to relieve boredom - anything at all. We are all in this together. And we were all heading to the same place, where many a cold beverage was waiting...some even non-alcoholic!
But up the hills we went. Over the tops and down the other sides. Mile 70 came and there was a veritable wall of a hill. I was forced to walk some of it. It was just too much to push through at that mileage. I felt bad for those who did the century route (100 miles, for those not in the know) who had to do the hill twice. My leg cramp had returned, and there was no way I was going to get through the short, but very steep (estimated 10% or steeper) hill. From there, the ride to Allegheny College was downhill, the finish line was attained.
What happened once at the finish? It's like Vegas - you don't say. I can tell you I met up with an old buddy, took a dip in the pool, had an adult beverage, and met some very fun people. Hijinx, Hooliganism, Shenanigans, pranks, and Tomfoolery were in abundance. Well, we were on a college campus, what did you expect?
Day TWO:
Once again, I was in the starting group, and once again, it didn't take very long to be dropped from them. I was there to ride MY ride, not make a race out it. It wasn't long before we hit the hills coming out of Meadville. This was the part I was mainly concerned with, as I didn't know how I would recover in time to ride. Turns out, I wasn't that bad. Early on, the hills, while significant, were managed decently. The rhythm was there, the gears were right. I now know why I've hated hills for so long, and what I was doing wrong at the bottom. The issue is corrected...but I still hate hills. Up and over them we went. But they kept coming. I think we rode more uphill on the way home thanthe previous day, even though the slopes were a little more gentle for most of it. Uphill is still uphill.
But the power was there, the gears were right, the timing better, and even though the saddle sores were forming (yep, I'd used chamois cream) It was still good. Through the high flat parts of the plateau we went, and once again, I was able to find the power I liked, and was able to engage the engine again. I met Dean, who was having some difficulty with his left knee. Dean is about 60 yrs old. I told him to tuck in behind me and ride my slipstream for a while to take it easy on his knee. It got Dean through a couple pit stops where the medical pros could assist him. I don't know if I'll ever see Dean again, but I know that for those miles, I was his best friend. And he was very cool to talk to.
Mile 54.4, rest stop. Saddle sores were seriously hurting every time I got on and off the bike. Food. Water. Gatorade. I'd finally tapped into my reserve fluids (two waterbottles full of gatorade) Thermometer on the bike was reading 92. No clouds. Any other day, I would have thought it beautiful. I just wanted it to be over. 25 miles left to go. Start again. cover some of the same roads we were on yesterday. The tar on the pavement is bubbling, and I can hear it cracking under my wheels as each bubble pops. Eventually, I'm forced to walk up a small ascent that is just too steep to ride. I know I'm spent. A couple minutes at the top of the hill, and I hop on, painfully, and continue. A long, slow climb up to the top of a hill, descend into the state park again for the last rest stop.
16 miles left to go. I want a taxi. I'm not even sure where I can draw strength from anymore. Head out again, after more chamois cream, bananas, gatorade, and water. And Gummy treats. Those things rock, and I've eaten a ton of them at this point on the ride. They take us on new roads that we didn't travel yesterday. Up a climb witha "false flat" and then up the rest of it. Up again. And again. Turn the corner, more uphill. Round a bend. Then, I see it. It's the hill where I died two weeks ago. They put it on the ride. Everyone's first reaction on seeing it: "WTF!!!!!" Oddly - even though I rode it only a couple weeks before, I didn't realize it was THAT hill until I was halfway up it. That is when I knew I had this. Again, the cadence was right. the strength was there. The power was in my legs. My muscles were screaming - but they were screaming something new: "WE"RE NOT READY TO GIVE UP." OK, legs. Just keep climbing.
Into Portsville and one last small climb. I'm starting to pass people. They're blowing up. We're about to drop into the valley, and they're blowing up. They are cooked. I have strength. I even have a little speed. It's under 7 miles to the finish. Engage the engine one last time. I catch up to a couple of riders and as we hit some of the small rises, I realize that I'm ready to go. I Just have to NOT stop pedalling, and I've got it. I overtake the guy who has been outclimbing me all day. He used up too much and he's gassed. I won't see him again until I'm already on my second bottle of water at the finish. He's weraing an Indiana kit he thinks he got from Steevo....it makes me think I've just beeten Steevo. Adrenaline fills me. Suddenly, I know I could do the century today, if I wanted. I don't want to. I am a man-machine - like the Terminator. 3 miles. 2 miles. One last stop light. A guy I rode with three weeks ago on a training ride is there ahead of me. I catch him and we head off together, along with a third. We make the turn and ride the last mile together, down the chute where we started.
It's a party.
I wasn't the first to finish, but I was far from the last. People ask me why I love this sport. The friends, the allies, the pain, the pleasure, the realizations, the heart and will it takes to push through hot temps and nasty climbs, roads blistering under your tires, saddle sores and sunburn...every time I'm out there on the road, I find a little more of who I am. And I like that guy.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Moving....always a trial.
Well, Readers, it's here again. Yep, in just under 72 hours, I will be biking my way across the hills, valleys, and backroads of Western PA doing the MS150: Escape to the Lake, 2012. What is this? Simply put, it's a bunch of crazy nutters like myself riding 150 miles in two days to raise money and awareness of MS. Their slogan is to "join the movement." and so, having done this ride last year, I'm doing it again. I'm nervous. It's a tougher ride than last year. My training hasn't been what I'd hoped it would be, though I've done some really good stuff this year, and should be able to do this with little to no problem. I'm looking forward to it. Why do I do it? 1) I love to ride my bike. 2) No, I really do LOVE to ride my bike. 3) events like this are worth it to me - it is an act of giving that has a purpose. It is important in building community and maintaining that community. It promotes community health. There are other events like this for all sorts of things. I would encourage you to find one that matches your interests/desires, etc and then volunteer to do it. At some point or other, we have to start taking care of ourselves again....the government cannot do it for us. Events like this are ways in which we can become active in our lives and communities.
Speaking of moving...I'm in the middle of one, and like all moves, there is both pleasure and pain. The house I'm going to is in need of some updates, though, and so there are some general repairs and upgrades that need to be made. This is always expected - the "perfect house" doesn't exist until you make it perfect, after all. One of the bonuses of this new place is that I get my own workshop, which is a concrete bunker under a porch about the size of a single car garage. It's nice. It's dry. It will work. BUT, half the walls are underground, so, in the interest of keeping it dry, I bought a can of dry-loc and painted the walls. Now, they were white, and the dry-loc was grey. So - in a concrete bunker that is a woodshop - there was a two-tone paintjob. Why? Because it doesn't exatcly matter, that's why!!!! It could be purple and I won't care. It could be bare block and I'll be ok. Because it's a workshop. It's not about the shop looking pretty, it's about it being functional and making pretty things come out of it! But wait: As this is my roomie's house, enter Mother.
"It looks unfinished."
"It's a workshop in a concrete bunker. It's going to be covered in sawdust."
"But it's wrong."
"There are better things to spend money and time on at the moment, plus, it doesn't matter."
"But it's two-toned."
"So what? It's not an entertainment space. It's a space for me to make a mess."
"But that would bother me."
"But you're not going to be using it. It doesn't bother me."
The conversation ended there...or so I thought (cue the overdramatic music)
It seems Mother went home and did nothing but moan and gripe and complain to her husband about how it...get this....HURTS RESALE VALUE.
1) ummmm...Concrete bunker/workshops under porches DO NOT SELL HOUSES. Kitchens sell houses. Yards sell houses. School districts and communities sell houses. Concrete bunker/workshops are bonuses that are kind of like gravy, but they do NOT sell houses.
2) really, there's nothing better to do with your time then complain about a paint color? I'm SOOOOOOOOOOO glad that THIS takes precedence over anything else. I mean - I was getting worried there for a while! First-world problems.
3) WHY ARE WE THINKING ABOUT RESALE VALUE???? The house was just bought! OK, think about resale value when redesigning/updating the kitchen (see point #1about kitchens selling houses) but really??
Enter Father - who is now mightly purturbed that Mother will not shut up about this, nor will she let it go. He just doesn't want to hear it anymore. I don't blame him. I would cure it with a "Oh well, what's done is done, put your big-girl pants on and deal with it." This is not his solution. His solution is to tell roomie that the workshop needs to be repainted. And roomie does it.
Now, if a man's home is his castle, the workshop in the home should be considered the chapel. You do not mess with it without written permission, unless he asks you to. It is sacred. It is set up so that he can work in it the way he needs to. My shop was already in place. Tools were already hanging on toolboards. Storage had been created and was being used. My workshop...my chapel...was defiled. Roomie lost a day of productivity. I lost several hours, and will lose more when I put it all back. I am not pleased. In fact, I'm well beyond angered at this moment...and this happened a couple days ago.
Luckily, I received some of the oddest news ever yesterday, so I simply must share with you all. MY father, the Map King of the East Coast....has purchased a GPS device for use when traveling. Now, this is a man who taught his children how to read maps using topographical maps. Not only did we know what turn to take, we knew that it was around that bend and over that rise. It was rather difficult when I went to school, because I was asking where the hills were, and the teachers had no answers for me. But my father never goes anywhere without a road atlas in the car. Every route is thoroughly vetted, explored, and known before he gets in the car. Weather patterns of the area are watched like a hawk eyes a foul wind - wary and concerned about the "just in case" factor. Always alert and aware. I have watched him look at maps at highway stops so he knew where we were - EVEN THOUGH WE HAD NOT TURNED OFF THE ROAD! In short, the man lives by his maps. He's a civil engineer - this makes a lot of sense. Buying a GPS system??????
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.!!!!!!!!!!!!!
On top of his superior internal guidence system of map-reading that comes pre-loaded with the engineer, the man HATES - and I'm talking about with the heat of 1,000 suns here - absolutely HATES to travel. His wanderlust got lost. He plans trips around town counter-clockwise so he never has to turn left! On top of that, he's not really a "gadget guy." If it's a tool with an actual purpose, ok, he'll buy it and use it. BUT, it's rarely without weighing it out on his head whether there's an actual need or not. My father travels known routes to visit his children or other relatives, and he does that only rarely. There are only two possible reasons I can come up with:
1) THIS is his midlife crisis purchase. Which, if it is....OK, there are a lot worse things he could do!
2) This is some newly-formed sadistic ploy to keep everyone around him guessing while he just laughs and snickers quietly to himself.
OR SECRET OPTION 3) He's buying his granddaughter a car when she turns 16 next year, and it will come equiped with a GPS system. I really hope my niece is reading this!
My father using a GPS?? The terrorists have finally won.
All Right. That's all from me. I will have a few people post some updates for me while I'm gone this weekend, and of course, I shall blog all about the epic awesomeness of the ride afterwards - for it will be epically awesome. Take care, everyone, and of course:
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
Speaking of moving...I'm in the middle of one, and like all moves, there is both pleasure and pain. The house I'm going to is in need of some updates, though, and so there are some general repairs and upgrades that need to be made. This is always expected - the "perfect house" doesn't exist until you make it perfect, after all. One of the bonuses of this new place is that I get my own workshop, which is a concrete bunker under a porch about the size of a single car garage. It's nice. It's dry. It will work. BUT, half the walls are underground, so, in the interest of keeping it dry, I bought a can of dry-loc and painted the walls. Now, they were white, and the dry-loc was grey. So - in a concrete bunker that is a woodshop - there was a two-tone paintjob. Why? Because it doesn't exatcly matter, that's why!!!! It could be purple and I won't care. It could be bare block and I'll be ok. Because it's a workshop. It's not about the shop looking pretty, it's about it being functional and making pretty things come out of it! But wait: As this is my roomie's house, enter Mother.
"It looks unfinished."
"It's a workshop in a concrete bunker. It's going to be covered in sawdust."
"But it's wrong."
"There are better things to spend money and time on at the moment, plus, it doesn't matter."
"But it's two-toned."
"So what? It's not an entertainment space. It's a space for me to make a mess."
"But that would bother me."
"But you're not going to be using it. It doesn't bother me."
The conversation ended there...or so I thought (cue the overdramatic music)
It seems Mother went home and did nothing but moan and gripe and complain to her husband about how it...get this....HURTS RESALE VALUE.
1) ummmm...Concrete bunker/workshops under porches DO NOT SELL HOUSES. Kitchens sell houses. Yards sell houses. School districts and communities sell houses. Concrete bunker/workshops are bonuses that are kind of like gravy, but they do NOT sell houses.
2) really, there's nothing better to do with your time then complain about a paint color? I'm SOOOOOOOOOOO glad that THIS takes precedence over anything else. I mean - I was getting worried there for a while! First-world problems.
3) WHY ARE WE THINKING ABOUT RESALE VALUE???? The house was just bought! OK, think about resale value when redesigning/updating the kitchen (see point #1about kitchens selling houses) but really??
Enter Father - who is now mightly purturbed that Mother will not shut up about this, nor will she let it go. He just doesn't want to hear it anymore. I don't blame him. I would cure it with a "Oh well, what's done is done, put your big-girl pants on and deal with it." This is not his solution. His solution is to tell roomie that the workshop needs to be repainted. And roomie does it.
Now, if a man's home is his castle, the workshop in the home should be considered the chapel. You do not mess with it without written permission, unless he asks you to. It is sacred. It is set up so that he can work in it the way he needs to. My shop was already in place. Tools were already hanging on toolboards. Storage had been created and was being used. My workshop...my chapel...was defiled. Roomie lost a day of productivity. I lost several hours, and will lose more when I put it all back. I am not pleased. In fact, I'm well beyond angered at this moment...and this happened a couple days ago.
Luckily, I received some of the oddest news ever yesterday, so I simply must share with you all. MY father, the Map King of the East Coast....has purchased a GPS device for use when traveling. Now, this is a man who taught his children how to read maps using topographical maps. Not only did we know what turn to take, we knew that it was around that bend and over that rise. It was rather difficult when I went to school, because I was asking where the hills were, and the teachers had no answers for me. But my father never goes anywhere without a road atlas in the car. Every route is thoroughly vetted, explored, and known before he gets in the car. Weather patterns of the area are watched like a hawk eyes a foul wind - wary and concerned about the "just in case" factor. Always alert and aware. I have watched him look at maps at highway stops so he knew where we were - EVEN THOUGH WE HAD NOT TURNED OFF THE ROAD! In short, the man lives by his maps. He's a civil engineer - this makes a lot of sense. Buying a GPS system??????
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.!!!!!!!!!!!!!
On top of his superior internal guidence system of map-reading that comes pre-loaded with the engineer, the man HATES - and I'm talking about with the heat of 1,000 suns here - absolutely HATES to travel. His wanderlust got lost. He plans trips around town counter-clockwise so he never has to turn left! On top of that, he's not really a "gadget guy." If it's a tool with an actual purpose, ok, he'll buy it and use it. BUT, it's rarely without weighing it out on his head whether there's an actual need or not. My father travels known routes to visit his children or other relatives, and he does that only rarely. There are only two possible reasons I can come up with:
1) THIS is his midlife crisis purchase. Which, if it is....OK, there are a lot worse things he could do!
2) This is some newly-formed sadistic ploy to keep everyone around him guessing while he just laughs and snickers quietly to himself.
OR SECRET OPTION 3) He's buying his granddaughter a car when she turns 16 next year, and it will come equiped with a GPS system. I really hope my niece is reading this!
My father using a GPS?? The terrorists have finally won.
All Right. That's all from me. I will have a few people post some updates for me while I'm gone this weekend, and of course, I shall blog all about the epic awesomeness of the ride afterwards - for it will be epically awesome. Take care, everyone, and of course:
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
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