Absurd

If you've ever been to Vegas and walked down the street with a margarita "to go" in hand you know how weird it feels to be doing something that is totally taboo most anywhere else. Yesterday there was a guy in line for a hotdog at Costco and he was smoking. It has been so so long since I've smelled a cigarette in public that it struck with the same sense of absurdity and incongruity.

I experienced that same "did I just see what I think I saw" feeling a couple days ago when I attended the WESTEC manufacturing trade show. Two floors of the LA convention center were filled with the latest and greatest in machine tools of all sorts including HUGE CNC machining and turning centers, EDM machines, punches and presses, welding equipment, sheet metal fabrication equipment, all sorts of fun stuff for someone like me. Who goes to shows like these? Mostly folks involved in manufacturing and running or working a machine shop--engineers, machine operators, planners, buyers, etc. As you might expect, the air was as thick with testosterone as it was with cutting fluid mist. (Incidentally, I went for the fun of it. I've been wanting to go for years. I was very impressed!)

When I first started as a fresh-out-school engineer one of the backyard mechanic type engineers would regale me with stories of the "good ol' days" when the big exhibitors at the annual industry tradeshow would hire ladies to "entertain" the attendants to try to bring business their way. What do I mean by "entertain?" Exactly what you imagine. Of course, I was a bit incredulous that that sort of thing ever happened and I was sure it didn't really happen these days.

And then I attended WESTEC. Every other vendor had a beautiful woman sitting and smiling pretty behind their booth. One had a pair of women in miniskirts and tight T-shirts working the floor handing out keychains and collecting business cards. Another had an erzats slot machine attended by two scantily clad young ladies. But the doozy, the one that made me doubt what I'd just seen was a life-size, 3-D, machined aluminum replica of a woman's bust sitting on the bed of a Daewoo 5 axis machining center. Inscribed bellow the prominent protrusions was "Daewoo and [something, I forget]--the perfect pair!"

My gosh. I shouldn't have been surprised, of course, but you get to living in such a PC world for so long that this sort of thing just catches you by surprise like the guy lighting up at Costco or the margarita to go. Well, at least no one was being "entertained" that I could tell.

Minor musings

Just a couple thoughts on blogging tonight:

1. Today I clicked on a "bookmark" to someone's blog and found it had been deleted. This wasn't someone I followed very regularly and it was certainly no one I knew personally. Still, it felt so...sad, like someone had passed away. They're gone and I miss them though I never knew them. I'm sure other bloggers have had a similar experience. A little strange maybe, but you really do grow attached to these folks. It would feel so much better--a sort of closure--to know they simply took up residence at some other blogging site. What makes it particularly poignant is that they just up and disappeared like a puff of smoke without so much as a trace that they ever existed. How ethereal is our little cyber world.


2. The silent reader. I don't promote my blog and I don't follow too many others so I'm not surprised to have a lot of goose eggs (zero comments). What does surprise me is when a friend calls me and tells me they read that post on such-and-such. ("Dude, what was all that 'little penguin' stuff all about?!") Sometimes I'm lulled into a sense of anonymity by all those goose eggs, but I've been embarrassed here and there by one of my silent readers. (I'm not embarassed by the "little penguin stuff", though.) With whom to share--that is the question!

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Oh, and the movie Capote was mostly a big bore. Good idea, but poor execution. Maybe the source material just wasn't there. I might be showing my ignorance here, but for being America's most famous author (according to the epilogue at the end of the movie) I have to admit I'd barely even heard of him until this movie came out and even then, I thought he was a film maker.

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Oh, and I've decided to yank the engine out altogether from my sister's car this weekend. Between the clutch job on one end of the engine and the timing belt on the other, it'll just be worth the trouble to take the whole thing out and do the work on the outside where there's more room. Besides, it gives me an excuse to play with my cherry picker!

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Oh, and another thing.... No, wait, I'm done.

Kong me

King Kong, the remake. It’s okay, but only just. If ever a movie called for better editing this is it. I’ve got nothing against three hour movies; I actually prefer longer movies to tell the truth. The thing is, this movie is an action/adventure movie masquerading as a cheesy noir throwback, disguised as a heady mind bender along the lines of Heart of Darkness, but it just doesn’t do any of these very well. I wish the director had taken out all the expensive, predictable, conventional CG ape-on-dinosaur action sequences and spent more time developing the characters so that the viewer could be more invested in them. That way those longing looks between the chicky (and that’s all she is to us as the director portrays her) and the ape wouldn’t come off so very awkward and I wouldn’t be tittering under my breath at the admittedly juvenile joke that just occurred to me.

I also wish the director had been a little more subtle and smart about developing the potentially very interesting themes raised in the film. Instead, he uses the oh-so-corny monolog chock full of literary references and sage sociological commentary uttered by lightweights who have no business speaking like a bad fortune cookie. They’re so over the top, though, that you aren’t quite sure if the director/writer is merely trying to copy the feel of a classic noir film or if he’s inviting us to laugh at this ham fisted parody of that old-timey style. I settled for the intermediary position and uttered an uneasy chuckle at the closing line of the movie: “Oh, no, it wasn't the airplanes; it was beauty killed the beast.”

Barbequed out

I am so barbequed out it's not even funny. I love these guys and I really do enjoy a good get-together, but I think I need a break. We've probably had about four in the last three weeks. One just wrapped up a few minutes ago.

I have to admit there's more to it too. You get a bunch of these guys together and it's F this and F that and talk about sex, sex acts, women and sex acts, and everything sexual and perverse (not necessarily one in the same, of course) under the sky. That's just not me anymore, if it ever was. I don't really laugh along too much and I sometimes get annoyed at the jokes directed at me. Still, I love these guys. I just need a break from these barbeques for a little while. I'm working on my sister's car next weekend, so we won't be having one. So there you go.

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A friend of mine toward whom I hadn't behaved really well a few weeks ago came to the barbeque. (A bit about that episode here.) I saw her yesterday and apologized. I'm so glad we can talk openly and honestly. She accepted my apology and I feel so, so very much better about it now. It's the emotional burdens that weigh me down the most so this is a big weight off my shoulders.

Life is good. Thank God.

Very cherry

Christmas came early this year! This is my brand new cherry picker (engine hoist) and it's even painted bright cherry red. I've always wanted one--really. Whatever sensitive, romantic side I might have, I'm still that little boy who had a toy tool set when I was a kid. And little boys with toy tool sets grow up to be guys who get excited about fire engine red engine hoists!

So what am I going to use it for? Lo and behold my sister calls to "remind" me she's dropping off her car this weekend. I've been asking her to let me look at it for a long time so I was a little surprised to get it this weekend. I was further pleasantly surprised to find out her clutch is so worn out the car is almost undriveable. Almost, but not quite. She's going to have to keep driving it that way because I couldn't get all the parts today. I won't be able to start on it until this coming Saturday. This will be the third clutch job I do, but the first on a transaxle.

...and I also need to replace her timing belt.

Beach day

Today was a beach day. Yay beach! A trip to the beach's not complete, though, unless you go in the water. It was absolutely freezing, but I got the whole of me wet. Someone pat me on the back please!

I got a few shells for the kid sister, including a sand dollar, I got a nice and toasty tan, and I finished about 100 pages of a Dennis Lehane (author of Mystic River--excellent) book I said I wasn't going to touch until after July. Good stuff.

I'll be posting scanned images of the skin that peels off over the next week. No. I really won't. Promise.

Breakfast

Been writing lots of long, deep stuff. Maybe it's time to take a little break.

Dreamy watercolors

I had a funky dream last night that we (friends maybe?) drove by my childhood home one afternoon. We went around the back way where an alley abuts the back yard. I was totally overwhelmed emotionally and started blubbering like a little kid, I mean really sobbing. I was saying something about how much bigger the yard used to look when I was small, how I used to climb that tree and gorge myself on the figs, how I used to jump off that tool shed with my homemade cardboard wings, how I was afraid of that ivy hedge. All this between great gulps of air like a kid who's cried himself out of breath. They didn't understand. Nobody did. I'm not sure I do.

That house, believe it or not, features pretty often in my dreams. Maybe I should say dream because it's usually a variation on the same dream. I'm usually walking back home from a few miles away, nothing too far, but far enough that I'm nervous about getting home--will I get there in time? Will it get dark? Will I be too tired? Will something happen to me on the way there? Currently, I still live in the same city, but in a different house. For some reason, though, in my dream I always wind up at that childhood home, knocking on the door, looking through the window, wondering if anyone's home, wondering who's home. It's been so long I wonder if my parents still live there. Did they move away? I'm always a little sad, anxious, hopeful, expectant,--a mish-mash of emotions.

Hmmm.... My best guess is that these dreams are about that proverbial theme "You can't go back home again." It's sort of a mourning of the loss of childhood innocence? Sounds trite, but there's something there.

Remember when you were a kid and got a brand new set of watercolors in those trays with the eight or so hard little cakes of brilliant primary colors? Remember how satisfying it was to place a wet brush on that virgin cake of red and watch that water become an inviting slurry of artistic potential? And then you got creative, thinking you can make new colors by mixing a little green with yellow. And red with orange. And purple with yellow---wait a second! Your pallet's not looking so brilliant anymore. The florid colors now take on a uniform brownish hue. Now your hands are smudged. That artistic potential inspire by the red doesn't quite make it through your hands without you screwing it up a bit. You still see some swaths of bright primary colors on your paper, but they've begun to run and mix together and turn brown. Your paper is smudged with your dirty fingerprints. You put your watercolors away and wait for next Christmas (or Christ-mas. Follow my metaphor?) to get a new set of watercolors. That’s really the answer, of course. That yellow just ain’t never gonna look the same until you get a new set of watercolors!

So what brought up that dream last night? Not sure. I’ve got a couple things up in the air that have me a little anxious, I admit. Still, nothing to blubber about! My yellow's still in decent shape. Well, it was just a dream….

Toy guns

I saw a kid at Costco today sitting in a shopping basket waiving around a toy gun as he pretended to fire it while making "bang" noises. And I cringed. And then I cringed that I cringed. Let me explain.

I'm an avid target shooter, strong supporter of gun rights, enthusiastic supporter of reasonable gun control, adamant supporter of gun safety, tepid supporter of most anti-gun legislation as proposed and often passed, and an ardent detractor of the intellectual dishonesty and agenda of most folks who advocate such laws. That said, you can probably guess why I first cringed. Firearms ought to be respected for the lethal weapons that they are and we should no more let our children fantasize and play-shoot toy guns than we should let them play at killing the neighborhood kids. Besides, as a target shooter I want to be a responsible ambassador of the sport to the uninitiated. Allowing a kid to run amok with a toy gun is absolutely the wrong image I want to present.

So that's why I cringed at first. The second time I cringed was because I realized that others would cringe too---for all the wrong reasons. There is a stigma associated with, for example, drug paraphernalia. So most of us, when we walk into someone's house and discretely spy a crack pipe lying on the counter would have a visceral negative reaction. We're just socialized that way. I'm afraid that many folks would have the same reaction to guns--toys or otherwise--because they've been socialized to associate them with all the negative stereotypes attributed to them, especially here in Southern California. There certainly are some negatives to be attributed to guns, but I'm afraid that the visceral reaction is biased and often based on a certain amount of ignorance. That's why I cringed the second time.

Let me give you another illustration of this. I once saw a journalistic report on "the gun culture" done with pictures alone, what they dubbed "photojournalism." Obviously, the pictures are meant to convey a story so they're loaded with implicit meaning. To a large extent the journalist has to rely on the viewers' experiences and preconceptions to bring meaning the photographs. There was one photograph in particular I will never forget. The picture showed a man bent over his young son at the shooting bench while the son held and fired a Ruger 10/22 rifle. Here's what I saw: a safe environment (range with supervising range officer), proper eye and ear protection, a young kid properly learning to handle a weapon and learning to respect its power rather than cavalierly and naively playing cops and robbers with a toy pistol, a responsible and loving father bonding and sharing with his son a passion that they're apt to share for the rest of their lives.

Of course, in the context of all the other photographs I saw, and because I too have listened to all the rhetoric on the other side of the debate, it was clear to me that the photograph was meant to elicit exactly that negative visceral reaction that made me cringe the second time. Here we have a hick father indoctrinating his son in this culture of violence. Look at the domineering way he crouches over his son (it's a matter of safety, to make sure he's in control of the direction of the muzzle, among other things). And look at that rifle, sized for a child! Can you believe the evil gun manufacturers make such a thing that specifically targets innocent children?! (Good fit=control=safety.) And look at the way they're dressed--like they're about to invade an innocent country or something! (again, strange equipment can illicit a negative visceral response if you're not familiar with it)

I'll just close with this thought: we're sometimes a little too quick to undervalue the rights and liberties of others when we ourselves do not choose to indulge in them. How often do you hear stuff like "They shouldn't be allowed to do that!" or "The government should stop people from doing that!" The "that" often has nothing to do with guns at all, but I'm afraid it's the same attitude that affects the perception of gun rights. A little education can make a world of difference and that's one reason I love to take folks out to the range. Well, I'm begining to go off on a tangent here. I'll just leave it that.

Mighty mints

Is this so very wrong? The mints in the middle I picked up at the coffee house at my church. The other two my sister picked up for me at the 99 cent store. One view might be that this stuff is totally disresepectful and incompatible with the notion that God is holy. I tend to think of it more like this: it's eye-catching, interesting and a little humorous. As such, like a good ice-breaker joke, it tends to disarm folks a bit and gets them a little more comfortable about talking about something that can be a little intimidating sometimes.
And that's a good thing.

Classical romance

Can one fall in love with a movie character? I love Elizabeth Bennet fom the movie Pride and Prejudice. *sigh*

I had the misfortune of watching the movies Bridget Jones's Diary and Love Actually. I've seen other bad romance movies too, but I single these two out because they were billed to me as THE must-see romance movies that I would absolutely love. I didn't. Their reaction to my reaction: "Oh, you just don't like it because it's a chick flick!" "You're such a guy!" "You just don't like romance!" If they only knew....

I am a classical romantic at heart. I DO love a good romance novel or movie in the classical sense and Pride and Prejudice is certainly one of them--beautiful and improbable dialog, seemingly ill-fated relationships made impossible by outside circumstances, beautiful countryside vistas, dark and brooding characters (think Edward Rochester from Jane Eyre) that are tragic and sympathetic, a touch of the supernatural and fantastic, drama on the epic scale, and so on. Those are some of the conventions of that classical romance that I just think is the bees knees! The other stuff is often smarmy, vapid, simplistic, uninspired and, at least to my sensibilities, often kind of raunchy.

Some other romantic movies I've enjoyed include The English Patient and Casablanca. The romance between Forrest and Jenny in Forrest Gump gets me teary-eyed just thinking about it. Ditto for the romance in the movie The Last Samurai. Eternal Sunshine did it for me too. There are a handful of others besides these.

To someone who professed to like romantic movies I asked what they she of Pride and Prejudice. "It's all right, kinda boring," was her response. Too bad. Just once it'd be nice to hear someone share my particular sensibilities for what makes a good romantic movie.

...or maybe I could just learn to like "chick flicks."
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My computer lives again. I had a few scary moments when the thing wouldn't boot up, but everything was just fine after I fixed a bent pin on the CPU. Touchy touchy.

Korean Barbeque is magic

We had another barbeque yesterday afternoon and one of the guys brought over this wonderful magical stuff called Korean barbeque. Basically, the stuff is short ribs cut in strips across the bone and marinated in this soy sauce, sugar, sesame oil and chili sauce (give or take a few ingredients). Because of the way the meat is cut the bones look like little cookies when you're done. I toss one to the dog--a hugely muscular pit bull mix--and my friend yells something like "Dude, that's gonna kill her!" He backed off once he got used to the rhythmic sound of crunch crunch gulp. Ironically, she's such a scaredy cat. Thank goodness she doesn't know there isn't a bone in my body she couldn't crunch like a cookie!

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[Even I get a little self-conscious sometimes.]

"Will fix computers for food."

My laptop is in pieces still. I had to order some parts that should get here by Monday or Tuesday. In the interim, I'm very sad. :-(

I had a craving for chiles rellenos (stuffed chillis) the other night. The bright white flash of the camera doesn't do food justice; it came out a little better than it looks. The homemade tortillas were definitely the best part, though.

Rethinking (and overthinking!) sci-fi/fantasy

(A little bit of rambling here. Don't anyone feel compelled to read all the way through. I'm just thinking out loud and working through some ideas on "paper," if you will (and even if you won't!) I reserve the right to change my mind!)

I offer for your consideration a few choice scenarios that I actually witnessed. You're walking down the Infinite Corridor and pass a group of pudgy bearded guys walking around in black cloaks and speaking to each other in a jargon comprised of a mixture of Monty Python quotes, unix shell commands and assorted geek-speak. You round a corner and have to dodge a couple of guys chasing and shooting each other with neon orange toy tracer guns. Then, bleary eyed from an all-nighter problem set you catch this interesting scene unfolding in a darkened corner of an atrium outside a lecture hall: there's a shirtless dude curled up in a fetal position on the floor, cowering from and apparently being guarded by another dude in a bad intergalactic policeman uniform featuring too much silver duct tape.

Now admittedly these are rather extreme and out of context examples of "Geeks Gone Wild", but their seeming absurdity gives you some idea what my reaction to sci-fi/fantasy/role playing has been in general. That stuff has just never made any sense to me. I never watched Star Trek or Starwars or read Tolkien, Asimov, Bradbury, etc. (Actually, I think I may have read a little of those guys like in elementary school and was turned off by it.) I've even been hostile about that stuff. I'm still not sure why it's rubbed my the wrong way. My best guess is that I feel like building alternate worlds is a way of running away from this one and it irks me because there's so much to say about, explore, explain, talk about, enjoy, about this one. And with respect to sci-fi I get the feeling the author is sometimes too eager to say "Check out my futuristic technology. Ain't it swell?" No, it usually ain't. I'm surprised a lot more technically-minded folks don't feel like I do: it rankles my scientific sensibilities when authors take liberty with laws of physics, junk science, incomplete or inaccurate explanations, exaggerated technologies, etc. I'm as willing to suspend disbelief as the next literature buff, but with respect to science/technology?! How come so many techies are so willing to do that? That would be like finding that priests are disproportionately eager to "suspend their disbelief" over the various inaccuracies and criticisms of the Catholic church in The DaVinci Code. Just doesn't make sense.

Well, here's the rethinking part. Maybe creating alternate worlds is a means for some folks to relate to this one. After all, I understand a lot of sci-fi/fantasy is allegorical in nature. It's still not something I would voluntarily indulge in, but I'm better understanding those that do. A couple examples/ideas come to mind.

First, consider all the symbols and metaphors used in holy scriptures, the Bible for example. Those kinds of writings treat subjects that are transcendent and unworldly in nature. So, imagine the author that's given the task of sitting down and using inevitably worldly words to describe out of this world phenomena. He is forced to use metaphor and, indeed, words like "light," "holy," "darkness," and "evil" are used to represent things which exist on a spiritual level and are not amenable to perfect description and understanding. So, you have to resort to a kind of fantasy or at least metaphor in describing some things. (Indeed, in a sense you have to do this when describing any thing. As I've said elsewhere, all words are merely metaphor--depending on your epistemological bent I guess.) What I'm getting at here is that the delineation between fantasy and what I called "this world" is not so distinct as I assumed. I can turn my earlier statement on its head and say with some truth that perhaps insisting on "realistic" literature is a way of running away from the fantastic which is a means for exploring real and important things about this world which can't easily be described otherwise.

The second idea I had is related to that last statement. Fantasy provides a way for folks to relate to phenomena which is difficult to understand. I just watched that Chronicles of Narnia movie today with my kid sister and mother. Wow. Very impressed. It was clearly an allegory of the story of Jesus and the redemption of man. The movie features all sorts of fantastic creatures and witches and talking lions and what have you. Strange stuff. Yet, I don't suppose it's any stranger, in a way, than the story of the gospel. Any way you slice it, it's supernatural stuff. So, just as the gospel uses fantastic elements--raising of the dead, the concept of God in human flesh--to help us understand God's purpose why can't literature resort to fantastic elements to describe some phenomena? The truth is, some things just can't be described in any other terms.

So there you go. My convoluted and not quite ready for prime time thoughts on fantasy/sci-fi and assorted topics. I'm still muddling my way through these thoughts. I'm not sure I really believe everything I say here. This is just a window into how I'm thinking about these things right now.

Alas, no green beer for me tonight

A quickie story only vaguely related to S. Patty's.

I spent summer '04 in Boston just outside Southy about two blocks from where all the Irish bars are. I do like a good pub, but I never went because I wasn't sure what kind of reception I'd get. Having grown up in California and given my views on such things I'm the last to play the race card, but I did live in Boston a few years before. That place is different. So my old roommate comes for a visit and first thing he wants to do is go to a real-to-goodness Irish pub. I figure, all right, let's try it. I thought it might help that my roommate looks like a hardcore skinhead (but far, far from being one!). My buddy thought I was overdoing it and I got to feeling a little silly too. So we go into this little working-class place. First thing that happens after we sit down and order a pint: this drunken Irish guy comes to my side, puts his arm around my shoulder and slurs at me "You know, I think you people are all right!" The guy was obviously trying to be friendly in his own way and meant no harm. The roommate and I exchange knowing looks and then chatted with the guy a while. I mostly just thought it was funny. A lot of funny things happen in pubs and even if they arent't you learn to think they are.

On another unrelated note, barkeep was a woman with an Irish lilt that melted both our hearts before the bubbles in our Guinness had a chance to stop pouring down the sides of our glasses. My first and, to date, only experience speaking to a genuine Irish lass was wasted on such a mean (as in humble) little thing like ordering a beer. That was the more memorable event of the evening, but made for the more uninteresting story methinks.

Brokeback for dummies

My laptop's busted. It's sitting on a table in the patio in a million pieces. I think I'll finish fixing it tomorrow.

I stayed in the sauna too long today and I got out feeling woozy and tingly. Then I ate a $1.50 hotdog from Costco. And for dinner a sandwich with some questionable ham. I don't feel so good. I can't sleep.

My eyeball hurts. Don't know why.

"Weight Training for Dummies" is not what I expected.

With respect to a friend, I misread "between the lines" and I'm very glad I was wrong.

The guys came over for an impromptu barbeque last night. Tacos and beer and good company. Excellent.

A running joke last night involved humming the theme from Brokeback Mountain. Now I can't get it out of my head. I sat down at the piano tonight and came up with a nifty chord progession...and then I realized it was the one from Brokeback. "I wish I could quit you!"

*sigh*

Slideshow day

My camera's back--got my replacement charger yesterday. In celebration, today will be a picture day with new and old pics.

This is a picture of the sun and the moon that I took with my homemade telescope. That's what I told the kid sister only she didn't believe me. There was a time when she would have. They grow up so fast. (It's a picture of the light fixture in my room with a smoke detector next to it.)

My back yard at dawn.

And the dogs that live in the back yard. Not a very good one because I took it through a screen, but it shows them in their usual mode of repose: one on top of the other.

The sum total of all my shoes.

The restored 1910 Model O Steinway at the apartment building I lived in last year. I loved that thing.

Me before I went to the gym and before I had friends.

Me after the gym. I'm smiling because I have friends now. If my sister sees this pic she's gonna give me such a hard time about it! But really this is the sort of pic that if/when I ever have kids someday they'll look at it and laugh at the thought that their fat and bald daddy ever looked like that!

"No" is an answer too

Does God answer every prayer?

Like a good lawyer would say, it depends. The short answer is yes (John 15:7; 1 John 5:14,15), but sometimes the answer to our prayers is no (God aswers prayers, but according to his will). We have an awesome brother at the Singles Serving ministry at church who gave a teaching on prayer this past Friday. Real basic stuff, but I can always use the review! Besides, though the lesson might be familiar, there are always new situations that arise for applying it.

This week I got a "no" about some stuff I've been praying about. And you know what? Praise God! In the past I haven't been so good about giving said stuff up to God or about heeding his "no." I will probably still struggle against some of my weaknesses that have gotten the best of me in the past, but let me tell you, I'll be darned if I don't strive to do it God's way from now on. "God, help me do it your way," what an awesome prayer is that!

I feel really good. There's a bottle of two-buck-Chuck in the fridge that's been in there much too long.... Na, not tonight. Another time when the food and company's right.

The stench of hypocrisy

I DID NOT run away from a fight (see previous) and I am not a hypocrite! I just figured it was worth paying $80 to avoid the hassle. The folks down on Alameda Street took all of half an hour to do it, they did a decent enough job and gladly took my four twenty dollar bills for the trouble. No contract, no signatures, no receipt, just that simple. You know, I pride myself on not taking my car in to anyone, but I'm sure glad these shady places are out there when I need them!

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I was at the gym today waiting for this dude to get off the machine when I get a blast of something like what the city of Vernon smells--sausage and meat processing plants. I look around and conclude it's the dude whom I'm waiting for. In my own head I was already silently cursing this guy for resting on the machine instead of offering to let me get a rep in. Now I'm thinking, what a slob. I mean, there's such a thing as the smell of sweat, but there's no excuse for the smell of pork byproducts stewing under the California sun! So then I move on to the next machine and smell it again. Where the heck is this stench coming from?!

Now, I know myself pretty well and I know my own body exceedingly well, so how was I supposed to guess that the smell belonged to me?! Ya, I know, hypocrite. I don't think I've ever smelled like that before. Since I've been going to the gym I've become a lot more aware of how the food I eat affects my energy, endurance and all around well-being. Now I'm becoming aware of how it makes me smell. The only explanation I can think of is the half-dozen Rubio's fish tacos I had the night before!

You didn't need to know so much about me I'm sure.

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I think I get my new replacement charger for my camera tomorrow. Neat.

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There was a small news story today out of some British paper that reported a woman getting a fine for putting on makeup in the car. Forgive me if I laughed when a radio talk show host said something along the lines of "There would be far fewer accidents on the roads if women would just stop farding so much in their cars."

See, I'm a lot sillier than my blogger persona! Just ask my kid sister!

C.V.C. § 26710

I was pulled over and given a fix-it ticket for a cracked windshield. Now I haven't actually quoted the repair, but I understand it to be up to several hundreds of dollars. I happen to know where to get super-cheap work done in East LA and I guess I should see how much they want, but I just don't want to spend that much right now. So, I'm debating whether to set a court date and defend against it.

The code, reprinted below, does not make it unlawful to drive with a cracked windshield; it is unlawful to drive with one that "impairs the driver's vision...." Just how much "impairment" is sufficient to run afoul of this code? Well, get this. If I stand about an inch taller in my seat the crack is nearly completely blocked by the rear view mirror, with the exception of one inch from the rear view mirror mounting bracket to the top edge of the glass. So if I come into court with a picture showing this will the judge buy it? Does the Vehicle Code allow one to put a label in this spot, so that affixing a label here would make the crack completely invisible to the driver? I've got a little homework to do. I wish I still had access to Lexis. They have a set of annotated California codes at the library. It might give me some quickie answers, but it's times like this I wish I lived closer to a good legal library.

Worst case, I'll have to replace the windshield and to save a few bucks I'll probably install it myself. *sigh*

Oh, and the Libertarian in me has his blood boiling right now. Whatever effect my crack has on any state interest is super-duper miniscule compared to the cost of replacing a windshield every time I happen to get a crack or large chip from driving behind a truck. The state, with all of its ugly means at its disposal, compels me to shell out my money to do this. I'm not saying the state has no interest whatever, but folks are just to darn ready to give up their right to be left alone--they invite the state into their lives to compel them to do things against their will for the most minimal benefit to the state. Why won't Arnold just leave me alone?!

California Vehicle Code § 26710.

It is unlawful to operate any motor vehicle upon a highway when the windshield or rear window is in such a defective condition as to impair the driver's vision either to the front or rear. In the event any windshield or rear window fails to comply with this code the officer making the inspection shall direct the driver to make the windshield and rear window conform to the requirements of this code within 48 hours. The officer may also arrest the driver and give him notice to appear and further require the driver or the owner of the vehicle to produce in court satisfactory evidence that the windshield or rear window has been made to conform to the requirements of this code.

Stye-mied

The title of the last post jogged a memory about a nice guy who did a nice thing for me.

I'd had several styes in one eye that were chronic. By the seond year of law school they'd gotten much worse. I believe they'd progressed to something called a chalazia. It felt like pink eye that would come and go, often painful and swollen. I had no insurance and I couldn't really afford to go to the ophthalmologist. Well, I caved, picked a name off of a web site and made an appointment with Dr. Lee in town. I told him how I had let it go for a long time, but that I really needed my eyes healthy so I could read for school. Turns out we both graduated from the same school (MIT) and his wife was an attorney.

The guy wound up lancing the pockets of muck through the conjunctiva using a fancy laser that emitted smoke and made a hissing noise when he used it (oooh, barbeque!). We said our goodbyes and he told the woman at the front desk to only charge me for an office visit--$50.

Some day, when cash is a little more ready I'll look up Dr. Lee and his wife and send them a very nice thank you present.

Stymied

I feel stupid. I got completely stymied by a lack of tools yesterday when my friend brought over his car to change out a bad bearing. I had to put it back together again and promise to get to it next weekend when I've got the right tools. I've managed to do this kind of job several times with what I have on hand, but that stupid car was not designed with maintenance in mind. Ironic too, since it was a Ford. People debate about American manufacturing quality, but there is just no excuse for poor design. C'mmon people!

Ya, I know, this is right up there with watching paint dry. What? You rerscued a score of disabled children from a burning orphanage between brushing your teeth and feeding the dog Sunday morning?

A black and bitter secret

I've been drinking coffee. I'm not a coffee drinker; I don't like the stuff. The only way to wash away the aftertaste is to take another Sisyphusian sip (hee hee, alliteration). Besides, the caffeine doesn't sit well with me.

Still, on the occasional weekend I'll go have breakfast at Pieloon (I'll have the Pieloon omelet with cottage fries and squaw bread toast please). ...and if I'm alone I'll order coffee. Why? Honestly, it reminds me of my dad and my childhood. I once posted here an excerpt of a short story I wrote about ten years ago. It was called "Black Coffee and Fruit Loops" and featured coffee as a symbol (hint: how many contrasting characteristics can you find between black coffee and Fruit Loops?). See, my dad has always drunk a lot of coffee since I can remember. We often used to go out to breakfast together and coffee was always his mainstay.

Folks familiar with my reading/writing know I love symbolism, double entendre, metaphor, understatement and all those wonderfully subtle devices that allow me to share with the reader the responsibility for figuring out exactly what my words mean. But symbols also have real power for me in the bricks-and-mortar world. Some of these include coffee, hands, phrases like "sweet dreams," and certain smells.

I thought I had lost that short story. I thought I only had the excerpt of a draft I mentioned earlier. Lo and behold, all the recent diving through shoeboxes has unearthed an intermediate draft which I managed to scan in tonight. Here's a link to it. Unfortunately, it's not the final draft. That one's lost for good, I'm afraid.

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Man, I wish I hadn't eaten so much spinach dip. If I had a roommate, he'd wish that too.

Full contact reunion

The reunion.
Well, she (and not She) still looks the same, smiles the same, laughs the same... Hmmm... [said with a finger pressed to my lips, smiling, thinking]

One of my favorite writers O. Henry (William Sidney Porter) was author to a voluminous collection of short stories among which are a particular series that came to mind today. The series comprises about three or four variations of the same story, except that in each the main character makes a different choice at some early critical decision. Then, like the proverbial butterfly beating its wings that eventually causes the hurricane on the other side of the country, that one decision causes the story lines to diverge. And yet, in the end, each of his stories end with the same fate befalling the main character. Call it Fate or call it God, it seems the author believed the end was predestined. (The argument over predestination loses some relevance, I think, in light of the fact we don't know the ending of our own stories regardless whether they're predetermined or not.)

Well, I'm not going to think this one to death, except to say I pray I will be the best friend I possibly can be. 1 John 4:9-21; 1 Corinthians 13:4-8*. Whatever other ideas may have flitted through my mind...oh patience...I'll try not to fret about them. After all, God--the ultimate creator--is the author of my story.

*Neither of these passages refer necessarily to romantic love and that's not the way I use them here.

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The full contact.
After our little reunion, my friend invited me over to watch something called the Ultimate Fighting Championships: U.S.A. vs. Canada. It was sort of a cross between boxing, kickboxing and wrestling. I think they call it full contact sport. Can't say I'm too much into this sort of thing, but I have to admit the occasional night with the guys watching boxing or this stuff...well, it just feeds something in me. I'm a very happy mix of lots of neat traits; I don't think I'm the typical guy, but still.... Besides, I almost cried just thinking about the movie Forest Gump today. But still, that bloody, fleshy mess of a right eye on David Loiseau was pretty awesome!

A great way to end a fascinating day.

Oh, and I wore my leather chaps over my jeans to the fight tonight in honor of the Academy Awards. Fascinating.

More backward looking stuff.

Lot's of backward-looking stuff lately. It's just a phase; it'll pass.

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Ever picked up the phone to say a casual "How've you been?" to a friend you haven't chatted with in a while and then wind up spending the next two hours spilling your guts and heart out to them? No? I'm the freak? Well I did that a few nights ago and you know what? It's exactly what I needed. We mostly talked about stuff that happened a couple years ago. Thank God for friends like that.

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I had a bit of a scare the other day. I got a message in my inbox along the lines of "________ has requested to be added as your friend on Friendster," only "________" was the name of someone who ran away with my heart when I was an undergrad. My heart jumped up to my throat and I mumbled something like, "Oh man, I don't need this right now." Turned out to be spam. Usually I'm ecstatic to hear from an old friend, but there's one and maybe two people who can make me jump like that and she's one of them.

Orange classmates

I'll just pretend I never saw him. I'm sitting in a library in southern California and I just saw a former classmates from my New Jersey law school. If you went to school with a bunch of wannabe lawyers you might not want to talk to them either. Funny thing is, I think he may have seen me too. He probably didn't want to talk to me either!
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There's a chain of supermarkets out here called El Super which caters to the Mexican folks out here. It's a cool market with cheap/fresh meats, cheeses and produce. Here's the thing about the produce, though. At your local Ralphs (mainstream market) you'll only find picture-perfect, expensive and perennially under ripe fruits and vegetables. At El Super the price is as good a barometer of the ripeness as your nose. So if the oranges are 3lb/$ they're probably ok; if they're 4lb/$ they're probably getting a little ripe, but are absolutely juicy and full of flavor. So what am I to think when I walk in and the sign says Valencia oranges, 5lb/$? I buy about 12 pounds and bust the peel off one when I get to the car. I stick my thumbs in the top where the wedges come together, pull the thing apart and I literally do a double take when I find the orange ain't orange. It's red! Ya, like something between a pink grapefruit and a blood orange. On the outside it looks just like any other Valencia orange. They're delicious, though.I guess for 5lb/$ we get to be guinea pigs for someone's cross-breed genetic experiment. I'll bite.

Reminiscing some more

Apparently it takes a second reading for me to fully appreciate my friendships. I took a little excursion into one of my shoeboxes the other night to check out the letters from that friend I mentioned a couple posts back. I thought I only had one, to be honest, but there were a handful in there dating mostly from that time after she'd married and I'd moved on to college. To be sure, changes like that can make one a tad maudlin (they do me), but still those letters were just awesome, humbling and touching. Did I deserve those words? What did I do to deserve them?

We spent a lot of time talking, having those "no one's ever, ever been through this before!" conversations that teenagers are apt to have. We spent some time sharing music and piano. This was around the time I bought my first piano and really got into my music. It was pretty, sentimental instrumental stuff that no one else liked so it was really nice to be able to share that. There were after school walks around the track and weekend rollerblading through the hallways. There were Science Club meetings and a mutual inclination toward such geeky stuff. I think we both really enjoyed literature. She enjoyed my writing and I enjoyed having an audience. I knew her softer side and she knew my playful one. Good stuff.

As I waded through my shoeboxes I found a still-sealed letter addressed to her from 12/96 that was "returned to sender." That was right around the time a particularly tough period in my life started so I kind of dreaded opening the letter, but I was curious. It turned out to be quite a time capsule. Hint: it featured words like "marriage," "baptism," "Yale" and "law school."

And then I dug into the bottom of one of my boxes and found an old pair of jeans I used to wear in high school. Those who knew me then would be surprised to know that I didn't really own a pair of jeans from about 1998-2004. Well, you just know I had to try them on to see if they still fit! They do, they look just fine and I'm wearing them today with my favorite boots.

This has been a good reminiscing--a little bittersweet concerning "marriage" and "Yale," but it's been so very, very nice to recall a dear friend from another time and place.

(And Dear Friend, anonymous as you are, I'm glad to redact this post if you'd rather me not share these details. I think they're pretty innocuous (and no other kind exist!) so I've taken the liberty of posting first, asking second. I hope that's all right. (Like my nested parentheses?!))