It is Memorial Day Weekend. The unofficial start of summer. Societal summer, not meteorological summer. There are a lot of people on vacation right now, which means it is a terrible time to go anywhere.
For me, summer starts when it gets warm and stops when it gets cold. Anytime might be a good time to go anywhere.
With summer here, news stories keep reporting the statistic as fact that even one sunburn in childhood doubles the risk of skin cancer. This might be true; I've yet to see this reported with any link to a credible study backing this up. The other statistic I keep seeing is 5 sunburns through young adulthood increases skin cancer risk by up to 80%. Again, this might be true and at least there are hints this comes from research, hopefully peer reviewed. I should point out that both of these being absolute facts is mathematically impossible. Both of these statistics keep referring back to a handful of dermatologists. I'm sure they are brilliant practitioners.
Somewhere around 1996, SO went to a new dentist. She came home with a list of treatments that were urgently required and with a cost that could have bankrupt us. A few days later, a coworker was almost in tears wondering how she was going to pay for dental work required by her new dentist. The required work was eerily familiar. It was, predictably, the same dentist. Neither SO nor Coworker got the imperatively needed dental work. Both are fine.
In 2007, Dr. Stokes was sentenced to over 10 years in prison for scamming money through unneeded surgery as a dermatologist. Legalities aside, not all doctors are ethical. I actually think I might have known Stokes' kid at one time? Probably not. More than likely, I'm confusing names from a long time ago.
And if a statistic is reported often enough, it eventually becomes true. 72% of the population knows this.
Last year for a few weeks in August, the news repeatedly reported that flossing has no benefit. Children everywhere rejoiced. The news got it almost right; reporters often get things wrong. A much more accurate reporting would be that studies looking at the effectiveness of flossing were not rigorous - so the benefit is not conclusive. This doesn't make as clicky of a headline. The AP, when dryly reporting, gets it right more often. Flossing may still be either a critical health habit or a phenomenal waste of time.
I don't like gunk in my teeth - I will continue flossing. Sunburn hurts - I will continue to wear sunscreen.
Work has been a bit slow this week. This may be partially due to people's vacation. It is sometimes astounding how various tasks spontaneously become less urgent during weeks common for vacation. There are really only two big things going on and both of them are disorganized clusters. Motivation is predictable.
Too often recently, I think I really want to sell everything - everything - and travel on the cheap for the rest of my life. Maybe I really want to, or maybe I do like my stuff. After a few frustrations this week, it seemed like it wouldn't have taken much...
Niue here I come. I shouldn't have looked at flight costs online, I could get to Niue for around $1000(US). One way.
If one sunburn doubles the risk of cancer and 5 sunburns increases the risk of cancer by 80%, what is this relative to?
I don't believe I've ever met anyone who hasn't had a good lobster boil sunburn at least a few times. Sunburns were a rite of passage for 1980's summer Michigan. SPF5 was seen as overly cautious while suntan oil took up copious shelf space in the drug stores. The day after spending a sunny day on the shores of Lake Michigan ... skin so biting that wearing pants at work was excruciating ... peeling so bad a few days later that noses look like egg rolls and foreheads look like old onions...
"Boy, I'll tell you I'm the luckiest son of a bitch on Earth. Sorry, we're closed." - Sam Malone, Cheers final scene
Saturday, May 27, 2017
Saturday, May 13, 2017
A Beagle Named Jackson
Jackson had a huge tumor removed from his neck. The tumor was wrapped around his jugular vein, and the vet said it was quite an ordeal to remove. The histology report said it was a metastasis of a primary cancer; the vet was unable to find the primary tumor, suggesting the most probable place was on his heart. Jackson was given 3 months to live. That was 2008.
Unlike most dogs, Jackson found me. He was a large and obviously friendly beagle running around the neighborhood. I really didn't want another dog at the time, so I let him run. My current three beagles (Sammy, Dixie, Soda) would watch and bark their fool heads off at him.
On a memorable Sunday, this stray beagle decided he needed religion and ran into the church behind the house. A parishioner brought him back out and tied him up outside. He obviously had an oversized personality.
A lady at the vet's office was looking for a beagle though, so after a few weeks, I grabbed him, leashed him up, and brought him to the vet. He told me he loved to bark for the few days I had him. He was still quieter than the neighbors living next door at the time.
The lady at the vet wasn't able to keep him, so when I stopped in, there was a sign looking for a home for a male beagle. I left, but SO and I looked at each other in the car and walked back in. After having him neutered, he joined the family.
Jackson was a beagle's beagle. He was the loud boisterous beagle that everyone thinks of when they hear Beagle. He loved to bark; he just assumed everybody loved to hear him sing. As food time arrived, he would always let me know by singing and getting the other dogs riled up. For years, the ringtone on my phone has been Jackson and Fairbanks barking before food time. He loved to eat. He loved walks - no walk was ever too long for Jackson.
Still, Jackson was also one of the best behaving beagles I've ever had. Even if he was preoccupied, he would usually come when called. Outside of some typical chewing when he first arrived - the dog bed still bears his scars - he was rarely destructive in the house and was house-trained with a solid steel bladder.
Jackson was larger than any other beagle we've had as well. This occasionally caused problems. He had no problem lording over the other dogs to suggest to them that he should get their food. He was just tall enough that he could look out the back kitchen window. After hearing me drive in the driveway, he would always jump up to the window, head tilted sideways so he could watch me walk up to the back door. Often that would mean a walk!
Almost all beagles are adorable, but Jackson was one of the most photogenic dogs I've ever had. He came around when I was doing a lot of photography, so there are no shortage of pictures. His picture has been my surrogate picture at work for years, and has resulted in numerous conversations and questions. Company policy strictly forbids any pictures being used in place of actual employee head shots, but nobody has ever told me to remove it.
I can't imagine how many miles Jackson and I have walked together. As the big rambunctious beagle that he was, he usually insisted on being the dog who was walked. Realistic calculations suggest we probably walked close to, if not more than 10,000 miles together. That is a lot of shoe leather - and paw skin.
In 2008, Jackson was diagnosed with cancer. The most noticeable symptom that I saw was that he stopped barking. Something was definitely wrong. The tumor was removed and diagnosed as Hemangiosarcoma - an almost always fatal cancer. Our vet said the primary tumor was most likely on his heart and the end would come quickly; 3 months at most.
He recovered from the surgical removal of the tumor from his neck quickly. He got extra attention and I told him he was an awesome dog every day. A month turned into two. Two eventually passed the three month mark. Six months turned into a year and the new vet told us she couldn't find any new evidence of cancer.
I didn't understand it, but was glad. Jackson was just happy being a beagle.
I moved into a new house a few years after his cancer. He adjusted, not to the new normal, but to the new Awesome! quickly, but he did have to explore his new surroundings. The new house is in a rural area with no street lights, and shortly after moving in, he took off one evening. I looked for him for a short time, but eventually had to stop. It was just too dark. I got up a few times in the middle of the night to see if he had returned. Around 2AM he finally slinked back home. Cold. Wet. Jackson hated being either of those things.
He tried to run away one more time after the first snow in the new house. I wasn't up to chasing after him and took a shower. He was waiting to come in shortly after, and it was funny to see his tracks in the snow as he had obviously been running around the house, looking in the low windows off of the front porch trying to figure out how to get in out of the cold weather.
Jackson aged gracefully at first. He was less insistent on being the dog to get a walk. Less aggressive with his or the other dog's food. He loved sitting on the couch with me. I could even motion to the other side and he would move if he was sitting where I wanted to.
But those little things started to creep up. Kidney issues showed in his blood work. Thankfully he eats just about anything so the special diet food was gobbled up as quickly as anything else.
He started having issues jumping on the chair. I noticed he would pee a little bit sometimes when walking around. The back legs just didn't work the way they used to. I didn't want to admit it, but I'd been through this before and it was pretty clear he had degenerative myelopathy.
His physical condition slowly deteriorated which was terrible to watch. At one time it seemed impossible that the biggest, loudest, most animated dog I've had would ever get old, but it was happening. His mental facilities started to go as well; on his bad days, he could get lost behind a kitchen stool.
Still, he had some good days.
Eventually his movement needed to be restricted. The degenerative myelopathy had gotten to the point that his incontinence was becoming a problem. The floor mopping approached a daily exercise at times. Jackson's world shrunk to the back yard and a playpen in the bathroom by the back door. He didn't understand his physical ailments, and hated not being in the living room or the bedroom.
SO rigged up doggy diapers for him, which helped some, but they could only do so much. I'm not sure if he had enough feeling in his back legs to be able to tell it was even on most of the time.
Jackson had always despised being carried, but it was increasingly the only way for him to get anywhere in a reasonable amount of time. At times, he barely moved his back legs and stairs were out of the question.
He didn't want to eat anymore and oscillated between drinking tons of water or none at all. He lost somewhere around 50% of his body weight. While he still liked having his head scratched, it was becoming increasingly obvious that he no longer had his dog's life after nearly 17 years.
It is never easy, and there will always be second-guessing...
It was difficult to watch Jackson over the last several months. It was no milk bone for him either, but he seemed to handle it with a stoicism that only an old dog has. What I realized near the end, was that I was already missing the dog that he was. I will always miss that Jackson.
Still, I'm comforted by the fact that the three months left to live in 2008 turned into nine more years.
I'm not sure if Jackson hit it big on the dog's life lottery, or if I did.
"And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall"
-Pink Floyd
Saturday, May 6, 2017
Six Months 5000 Mile Review of the 2017 Honda Ridgeline
John Davis of Motorweek often describes Honda as doing "everything really well, but nothing great." That is probably a good description of the Honda Ridgeline.
It isn't a ten ton backhoe hauler.
It isn't a Moab rock crawler.
It doesn't have the biggest bed.
It doesn't have the best fuel economy.
But it does the job of what a truck is needed for really well.
My truck is the RTS trim level in "obsidian blue" - why do all vehicle manufacturers insist on superfluous color descriptors? It is dark blue.
The RTS trim level is one above the base level. It has the more basic radio, textile seats, no wizz-bang auto-braking or automatic target acquisition system. Some of these features I may have appreciated, but I'm a bit of an outlier in that I really dislike leather in a car - it cooks in the summer, freezes in the winter. Heated and cooled seats are a just a fix for these symptoms.
Aesthetics are subjective and initially I was 100% neutral on the appearance of the truck. After owning it and seeing several others around, the look of the vehicle has grown on me. I do think it looks better in darker colors relative to some of the lighter options, but I wish Honda didn't use such a benign color palette. All the available colors are somewhat corporate. Blue is, of course, the fastest color.
I'll start off with what I don't like about the Ridgeline. I really miss my manual transmission. My left foot sits there forlornly and my right hand has little else to do other than occasionally helping to steer. Only a little over 2% of the cars sold in the US still have a manual transmission, and many manufacturers are saying it is just a matter of time until they do away with them completely. I'll just have to get over it, but I won't be happy about it.
In some ways, all future four-wheeled vehicles will be compared to my 1994 F-150. I loved that truck, although it was probably as much because it was my college graduation present to myself as anything else. Given the slow growth in size of almost all vehicles over time, the Ridgeline is pretty close in size to that '94. But space is more usable for what I need now with the crew cab and smaller bed. I'll still plea for a smaller capable truck in the US, but they just don't exist anymore. Thank you chicken tax...
Coming from my last vehicle, a Toyota Tacoma, I love the power level of the truck. It isn't a rip-snortin' Raptor, but acceleration is quite quick and the payload of the truck is more than adequate for a midsize truck - on par with other similar vehicles. Fuel economy and power level are often trade-offs. So far, fuel economy is averaging just over 23mpg vs 22.8 for the Tacoma - given the mileage difference, I'll call that the same, so the increase in power is comparatively great. Many of my vehicles had slight overall increases in fuel economy over time while the Tacoma's mpg decreased slightly. Only time will tell how the Ridgeline acts, but at this point, I'm very happy with both power level and efficiency.
I'm somewhat surprised at the performance of the Ridgeline engine. The V6 redlines at 6750 - this compared to another Honda I own, my GL1800 which redlines at 6000RPM. The Goldwing has solid shim-under-bucket lifters with far less reciprocating mass, yet the Ridgeline engine still revs higher. However, I'm probably unlikely to use the upper limits on the Ridgline as much as I do with the GL1800.
Getting to where the rubber meets the road - lots of people hate this truck because Honda has taken a slightly different approach to many things. The 4wd vs AWD is probably the biggest one. In place of a 2-speed transfer case, the Ridgeline has permanent All Wheel Drive. This past winter was sort of the winter-that-wasn't, but on the few occasions I needed it, I was quite impressed with how the truck handled on snow and ice covered roads. And with more advanced ability to place torque to the wheels with grip, it was slightly better than most previous 4wd vehicles I've driven in the winter.
Off road manners have been similar to driving with poor road conditions. I had a hog hunting trip in the swamps of South Carolina and I never once felt uneasy about the conditions I had to put the Ridgeline through. One of the message boards I sometimes read through had a Tacoma owner say, "I can't wait to see one of these stuck." The cliquey mean-spiritedness aside, this shows ignorance more than anything else. The system used on the Ridgeline is not dissimilar to what has been used for decades in other AWD vehicles that have demonstrated good capability in poor traction conditions. On a road trip out west last year, I talked to a guy in a Subaru in Nevada who had outfitted his Outback for off-roading. He had some good stories to tell about its capabilities. I have gotten 4wd vehicles stuck in the past, although that was due to crappy tires as much as anything else. I don't worry about getting stuck in the Ridgeline any more than that. The hog hunting trip was successful.
There is some AWD push/understeer; the front wheels do push gravel around my parking area during tight turns. But I've yet to own a vehicle that doesn't do this at least a little. This is far less than in SO's much smaller Ford Focus.
Where the Ridgeline really shines is interior. With a unibody construction, there is much more room inside to work with. Honda has laid out everything fairly well. The digital speedometer took some getting used to as I can't look at it askew and lie to myself that I'm going a more compliant speed as I can with an analog gauge, but I've adjusted to that quickly. There is a large center console, although I wish it was a little taller - it would give more room and stop the dogs from walking on it quite so much. Seats are comfortable enough that my trip to South Carolina (11 hours) was done easily. Interior noise is minimal and the audio system works well. It was nice to dump a few books onto a USB drive and listen to that for my longer trips.
It isn't a ten ton backhoe hauler.
It isn't a Moab rock crawler.
It doesn't have the biggest bed.
It doesn't have the best fuel economy.
But it does the job of what a truck is needed for really well.
My truck is the RTS trim level in "obsidian blue" - why do all vehicle manufacturers insist on superfluous color descriptors? It is dark blue.
The RTS trim level is one above the base level. It has the more basic radio, textile seats, no wizz-bang auto-braking or automatic target acquisition system. Some of these features I may have appreciated, but I'm a bit of an outlier in that I really dislike leather in a car - it cooks in the summer, freezes in the winter. Heated and cooled seats are a just a fix for these symptoms.
Aesthetics are subjective and initially I was 100% neutral on the appearance of the truck. After owning it and seeing several others around, the look of the vehicle has grown on me. I do think it looks better in darker colors relative to some of the lighter options, but I wish Honda didn't use such a benign color palette. All the available colors are somewhat corporate. Blue is, of course, the fastest color.
I'll start off with what I don't like about the Ridgeline. I really miss my manual transmission. My left foot sits there forlornly and my right hand has little else to do other than occasionally helping to steer. Only a little over 2% of the cars sold in the US still have a manual transmission, and many manufacturers are saying it is just a matter of time until they do away with them completely. I'll just have to get over it, but I won't be happy about it.
In some ways, all future four-wheeled vehicles will be compared to my 1994 F-150. I loved that truck, although it was probably as much because it was my college graduation present to myself as anything else. Given the slow growth in size of almost all vehicles over time, the Ridgeline is pretty close in size to that '94. But space is more usable for what I need now with the crew cab and smaller bed. I'll still plea for a smaller capable truck in the US, but they just don't exist anymore. Thank you chicken tax...
Coming from my last vehicle, a Toyota Tacoma, I love the power level of the truck. It isn't a rip-snortin' Raptor, but acceleration is quite quick and the payload of the truck is more than adequate for a midsize truck - on par with other similar vehicles. Fuel economy and power level are often trade-offs. So far, fuel economy is averaging just over 23mpg vs 22.8 for the Tacoma - given the mileage difference, I'll call that the same, so the increase in power is comparatively great. Many of my vehicles had slight overall increases in fuel economy over time while the Tacoma's mpg decreased slightly. Only time will tell how the Ridgeline acts, but at this point, I'm very happy with both power level and efficiency.
I'm somewhat surprised at the performance of the Ridgeline engine. The V6 redlines at 6750 - this compared to another Honda I own, my GL1800 which redlines at 6000RPM. The Goldwing has solid shim-under-bucket lifters with far less reciprocating mass, yet the Ridgeline engine still revs higher. However, I'm probably unlikely to use the upper limits on the Ridgline as much as I do with the GL1800.
Getting to where the rubber meets the road - lots of people hate this truck because Honda has taken a slightly different approach to many things. The 4wd vs AWD is probably the biggest one. In place of a 2-speed transfer case, the Ridgeline has permanent All Wheel Drive. This past winter was sort of the winter-that-wasn't, but on the few occasions I needed it, I was quite impressed with how the truck handled on snow and ice covered roads. And with more advanced ability to place torque to the wheels with grip, it was slightly better than most previous 4wd vehicles I've driven in the winter.
Off road manners have been similar to driving with poor road conditions. I had a hog hunting trip in the swamps of South Carolina and I never once felt uneasy about the conditions I had to put the Ridgeline through. One of the message boards I sometimes read through had a Tacoma owner say, "I can't wait to see one of these stuck." The cliquey mean-spiritedness aside, this shows ignorance more than anything else. The system used on the Ridgeline is not dissimilar to what has been used for decades in other AWD vehicles that have demonstrated good capability in poor traction conditions. On a road trip out west last year, I talked to a guy in a Subaru in Nevada who had outfitted his Outback for off-roading. He had some good stories to tell about its capabilities. I have gotten 4wd vehicles stuck in the past, although that was due to crappy tires as much as anything else. I don't worry about getting stuck in the Ridgeline any more than that. The hog hunting trip was successful.
There is some AWD push/understeer; the front wheels do push gravel around my parking area during tight turns. But I've yet to own a vehicle that doesn't do this at least a little. This is far less than in SO's much smaller Ford Focus.
Where the Ridgeline really shines is interior. With a unibody construction, there is much more room inside to work with. Honda has laid out everything fairly well. The digital speedometer took some getting used to as I can't look at it askew and lie to myself that I'm going a more compliant speed as I can with an analog gauge, but I've adjusted to that quickly. There is a large center console, although I wish it was a little taller - it would give more room and stop the dogs from walking on it quite so much. Seats are comfortable enough that my trip to South Carolina (11 hours) was done easily. Interior noise is minimal and the audio system works well. It was nice to dump a few books onto a USB drive and listen to that for my longer trips.
Some people have complained about how far the rear doors open, but they open wide enough to get a double rifle case into the back seat area - or UNDER the back seat! This frees up tons of space for other stuff. The complaints about the rear doors seem to be niggles about nothing.
Ride quality of the truck is fantastic. With fully independent suspension, my commute in the vehicle is very tolerable. Bumps that would have the Tacoma bouncing down the road are soaked up by the Ridgeline. The truck feels solid with very little road noise. There is one downhill section of torn up road with a stop sign on my morning commute which would always set off the ABS on my Tacoma. I've yet to have that happen on the Ridgeline.
The truck has an automatic climate system which I was somewhat leery of at first. I tried to use it manually and it was slightly frustrating. Eventually I just hit the Auto button and - surprise - it worked very well. Much like the permanent AWD system, it just works - trust it. I still use manual when the temperature is hovering between needing heat and cooling, and the ability to force the AC off while in "Auto" mode is a nice feature as I don't like AC when the temperature is only moderately warm.
I'm currently around 5000 miles on the truck after six months. The Ridgeline has an automated system to tell me when maintenance is due - which is both good and bad. I suppose this will help save money in the long run, but it makes it really hard to plan as I intend to do most of my own maintenance. Based on what I've read about other Hondas, it seems the Ridgeline has slightly more required maintenance than something like the Ford F-150. I've read about 15k differential fluid changes and 30k transmission fluid changes, but I really haven't put enough miles on it yet to know that for sure; I'm currently at 50% oil life which would suggest somewhere around 10k between oil changes, longer than I'm used to, but I'll adjust and it will save time and money.
As a comparatively low volume seller, getting good information on the Ridgeline can be a little more challenging than some other vehicles. There are lots similarities between the Ridgeline forums and other trucks. There are the ever-present people who will do nothing but complain about their newly purchased vehicle, or write stuff with the delusional belief that Honda is anxiously reading forums and individual buyers will cause them to change something. There are also the clearly ignorant people, and the bafoons who insist on arguing with them.
As two examples, one guy on a Ridgeline forum was complaining about the amount of rust on his suspension parts. Who would have thought unpainted steel would rust? And this is clearly not an issue. A guy on a Tacoma forum was complaining about a high steering effort, only to find out later in the thread that he had put his truck in 4wd, and had never taken it out. The fact that his truck was still driving shows the strength of the drivetrain on the Taco - but I would never want to own his used vehicle.
Thankfully, the Ridgeline shares a lot in common with the Honda Pilot - so with a bit of creative searching it is possible to get informed opinions from multiple sources. Still, it never ceases to amaze me, regardless of make or model, how many people have never read through their owner's manual.
Some of this review may sound like I'm knocking my 2009 Toyota Tacoma - I am not. At the time, it was the best option for me. The first generation Ridgeline had, quite frankly, terrible fuel economy for what it was. My Taco was a great truck for well over 100k miles. Over time, I'm sure there will be things I grow to like more and less about the Honda.
I need a truck for commuting, home projects, for hunting road trips and all kinds of other things that come up day to day. John Davis is probably right, the Honda Ridgeline appears to be doing everything very well and maybe even great.
Sunday, April 23, 2017
The Evocative Smell of Weight Loss
One of my classic cars was rear ended late in 2016. I've been poking at the repair over the last few months, and finally moved it from the garage into the barn to start the actual body work. Body work is very dusty and can involve some strong solvents. Having that attached to the house seemed like a mistake waiting to happen.
Anybody who has used Bondo knows it has a fairly strong smell, and when I opened the can of body filler, the scent transported me back to when I first started learning body work. I was working as a mechanic at the time and started working with a coworker who did body work at night and on weekends to make extra money. It was a pretty magical time, being in college, working full time and seemingly always on the steep part of the learning curve - yet with good friends and somehow enough free time to have fun.
I wrote previously on the sounds of the Midwestern summer. I think smell can be even more evocative. Spring seems to have come early with lots of above-average temperatures this year. June bugs are making their arrogant appearance en mass already now in April. The early spring has screamed summer-promising smells. Being April, cold weather is still very likely.
As a kid, I hated onion grass. We called it leeks, but I'm quite sure they wouldn't be pleasant to eat. Playing on rough lawns or empty fields would almost always result in somehow getting onion grass on our hands, and the pungent smell seemed impossible to wash off. Onion-grass stains seemed even more interminable than normal grass stains.
The summer-like weather has resulted in lots of lawn mowing already. The smell of cut onion grass mixed with the less-pronounced but equally intoxicating normal cut grass scent is a rite of spring. Riding my motorcycle to work, it hangs in the cool damp mornings - promising winters end and shorts and T-shirts, even if the temperature is near freezing.
Last year's hay bales are looking sad, the smell of old hay with just a hint of mold also begins to foretell that green plants and summer are near. I'm not sure why, as I grew up in the suburbs, but I feel oddly drawn to the comfort of farm smells, to barns filled with hay, to freshly turned earth, or even the cows in the field - although that can be taken to an unpleasant level in the extreme.
Flowering trees, almost a sickly sweet cousin to carrion, last only a few weeks in the spring. Perhaps that is the scent of winters last death.
Other smells can similarly bring me back to specific times and places. My first bear hunt in 2009 was a spring hunt over bait and the bait included mixture of old frosting and cinnamon corn flakes. It was an odd combination, but the right mix of sweetness and cinnamon can bring me back to the cold Canadian brush. I'll hopefully never forget the anticipation of that first hunt. Watching bears up close makes zoos boring in comparison. I can't ever go on my first bear hunt again, but I can be allowed a powerful reminder.
Spring isn't the only time with evocative smells, those early, still, cool fall evenings, sometimes coming even in late August bring wood smoke hanging in the air. Wood smoke means campfires, comfort, the end of summer's oppressive humidity. It signals yet another change.
The change to spring weather also brings with it a change in activity. I can be quickly afflicted with cabin fever in the winter and get energized in the spring to be outdoors for any reason. Longer dog walks. Lots of bike rides - both motorcycle and pedaling. Lawn mowing and any assortment of yard work, whether it is needed or not. All this time spent outdoors means much less time vegetating in front of the TV. The spontaneous weight loss associated with spring reduces the winter blubber. A little over a year ago I started tracking my weight, curious how much change there actually was. I'm not sure this cycle of weight gain and loss is healthy, but it is probably far from my biggest health risk.
While magical, the slightly depressing thing about the smells is that they really can't take me back. And maybe that is a good thing. I probably didn't enjoy everything in the past as much as I think I did now. Rose-colored glasses can be toxically dangerous.
I'm not sure how well the repair of my classic car will go. It has gotten a little rusty through the years. My skills have gotten rusty as well. I don't have access to the equipment I used to, to do the work as easily as before. I'm hundreds of miles away from old friends who can do this kind of work in their sleep.
But at least for a little while, the scent can take me back ... however briefly.
Anybody who has used Bondo knows it has a fairly strong smell, and when I opened the can of body filler, the scent transported me back to when I first started learning body work. I was working as a mechanic at the time and started working with a coworker who did body work at night and on weekends to make extra money. It was a pretty magical time, being in college, working full time and seemingly always on the steep part of the learning curve - yet with good friends and somehow enough free time to have fun.
I wrote previously on the sounds of the Midwestern summer. I think smell can be even more evocative. Spring seems to have come early with lots of above-average temperatures this year. June bugs are making their arrogant appearance en mass already now in April. The early spring has screamed summer-promising smells. Being April, cold weather is still very likely.
As a kid, I hated onion grass. We called it leeks, but I'm quite sure they wouldn't be pleasant to eat. Playing on rough lawns or empty fields would almost always result in somehow getting onion grass on our hands, and the pungent smell seemed impossible to wash off. Onion-grass stains seemed even more interminable than normal grass stains.
The summer-like weather has resulted in lots of lawn mowing already. The smell of cut onion grass mixed with the less-pronounced but equally intoxicating normal cut grass scent is a rite of spring. Riding my motorcycle to work, it hangs in the cool damp mornings - promising winters end and shorts and T-shirts, even if the temperature is near freezing.
Last year's hay bales are looking sad, the smell of old hay with just a hint of mold also begins to foretell that green plants and summer are near. I'm not sure why, as I grew up in the suburbs, but I feel oddly drawn to the comfort of farm smells, to barns filled with hay, to freshly turned earth, or even the cows in the field - although that can be taken to an unpleasant level in the extreme.
Flowering trees, almost a sickly sweet cousin to carrion, last only a few weeks in the spring. Perhaps that is the scent of winters last death.
Other smells can similarly bring me back to specific times and places. My first bear hunt in 2009 was a spring hunt over bait and the bait included mixture of old frosting and cinnamon corn flakes. It was an odd combination, but the right mix of sweetness and cinnamon can bring me back to the cold Canadian brush. I'll hopefully never forget the anticipation of that first hunt. Watching bears up close makes zoos boring in comparison. I can't ever go on my first bear hunt again, but I can be allowed a powerful reminder.
Spring isn't the only time with evocative smells, those early, still, cool fall evenings, sometimes coming even in late August bring wood smoke hanging in the air. Wood smoke means campfires, comfort, the end of summer's oppressive humidity. It signals yet another change.
The change to spring weather also brings with it a change in activity. I can be quickly afflicted with cabin fever in the winter and get energized in the spring to be outdoors for any reason. Longer dog walks. Lots of bike rides - both motorcycle and pedaling. Lawn mowing and any assortment of yard work, whether it is needed or not. All this time spent outdoors means much less time vegetating in front of the TV. The spontaneous weight loss associated with spring reduces the winter blubber. A little over a year ago I started tracking my weight, curious how much change there actually was. I'm not sure this cycle of weight gain and loss is healthy, but it is probably far from my biggest health risk.
While magical, the slightly depressing thing about the smells is that they really can't take me back. And maybe that is a good thing. I probably didn't enjoy everything in the past as much as I think I did now. Rose-colored glasses can be toxically dangerous.
I'm not sure how well the repair of my classic car will go. It has gotten a little rusty through the years. My skills have gotten rusty as well. I don't have access to the equipment I used to, to do the work as easily as before. I'm hundreds of miles away from old friends who can do this kind of work in their sleep.
But at least for a little while, the scent can take me back ... however briefly.
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
As If I Needed Yet Another Reason Not To Fly
Full disclosure: My last flight just over a year ago on American Airlines went smoothly. All four legs of the 9000 round trip flight departed and arrived nearly on time.
I hate flying. A decision to fly anywhere means handing over an unlimited amount of time to a soulless corporation. I know the statistics, driving is more dangerous. I understand the clock - planes fly fast. But the pain is just not worth it.
My previous flight in 2008 was more typical for my flying experience. Arriving on a morning with questionable weather, I checked in to a plane that was initially listed as on-time before its status was updated several times, leading to lots of confusion. Eventually on the plane, departure was greatly delayed as the Captain informed us there was a minor mechanical problem with the plane. Eventually we took off, exceedingly late and arrived in a special kind of hell - Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta Airport. Missing the second flight of the day, I sat in the airport for several hours. The airline decided the first flight's delay was due to weather, not the mechanical problem the Captain knew about. Eventually, I asked to be put on the next flight home. This was not possible since one connecting leg of my return flight was not on the same airline, meaning I had no choice but to sit several more hours in Atlanta. Eventually, I was put on a plane in an opposite direction from my final destination of Las Vegas, NV. I was again blessed with several hours sitting in another airport. While Fort Lauderdale seems like a nice place to spend some time, airports are like public restrooms - they are pretty much all the same and the goal is generally to get out as fast as possible. Eventually I was put on a plane bound for Las Vegas. By the time I was outside of McCarran Airport, I could have driven from my home to Nevada in less time than what the airlines were able to do.
And that gets to my biggest problem with airline travel. Arriving a day late, stinking and feeling shitty, after being routed all over the country counts as a win for the airline, "You got there, it was only a day late." But the Las Vegas Trip in question was only a few days. There is nothing I value more than my vacation time and the airline stole a considerable percentage of it. Once I bought that ticket, I was under the whim for whatever the airline wanted to do.
My 2008 flight was glorious compared to a recent situation. Filed under current events, a doctor was recently physically dragged of a United Airlines flight from Chicago O'Hare bound for Louisville, KY. He wasn't drunk. He wasn't unruly. He was a paying passenger, sitting quietly in his seat, just trying to get home. The flight was overbooked and United found it more important to get a few employees to Louisville rather than any passenger; United Airlines found its business more important than the reason for the business.
I understand why airlines overbook, but when it doesn't work out in their favor, they need to bite the bullet. Better options include:
Moving employee schedules since they screwed up and paying lots of overtime or whatever it took.
Putting the employees in a nice rental car to drive the five hours (yes, only five hours) to Louisville.
Chartering a plane since United screwed up.
Continuing to raise the amount paid to overbooked passengers until someone volunteered (give me lots of cash and a rental car and I'll drive myself to Las Vegas!).
Paying to move people to other airlines.
Anything ... other than dragging a bloodied elderly man off of a flight after he was allowed to sit down.
Making the situation even worse, the CEO issued a statement applauding the employees, while one of the officers involved in dragging the man off of the plane was put on leave. A CEO should not make up words like re-accommodate to try to sugar-coat the situation. What a wretched euphemism. Maybe the CEO should be re-schooled in the reason for an airline.
One of the rules we all learned in kindergarten was when we screw up, admit and say sorry. Doing otherwise makes a bad situation worse. Perhaps Oscar Munoz didn't learn this early in life; there is also a relatively high possibility that he may be a psychopath.
In the sad state of airline travel, there is no way to win. Paying more for a business class flight doesn't change the likelihood of getting anywhere on time (private jets probably do, but...). The people in the front of the plane are just as unlikely to arrive on time as the proletariat. The only way to slightly hedge the odds in the favor of the average traveler is to minimize connecting flights - a cheap 3-leg flight has at least 3x the chance of mayhem over a more expensive direct flight.
I never lived through this, but I sometimes wonder what flying was like before it was brought down to the lowest common denominator? Before people were crammed in a seat only big enough for a prepubescent anorexic girl. Before a short flight becomes an all-day affair. Despite my poor personal record with airline travel, I'm always friendly with the people at the gate and on the plane; at times, they have a painfully tough job becoming the face of bad corporate policy.
I'm hoping to head south for a day of ocean fishing in a few weeks. My travel time will be more than the time spent at the coast, but I'm looking forward to that as much as the fishing. I'll get to see familiar sites, and look for opportunities on taking a new route. I'll stay in cheap hotels and eat at small restaurants. I'll probably get to talk to interesting people and see things impossible to comprehend from 30,000 feet.
Thankfully, I love driving. I've turned "travel" from the worst part of my vacation to the best part. I've ridden my motorcycle through 50 states (*Hawaii was a rental). I love the areas that look like home in the Midwest; familiar, yet different. I love crossing the Mississippi and seeing the rolling hills transition to the great American plains - so much better than the lousy United planes. I love the big empty. I love the mountains and how arriving at them having crossed the whole country brings with a better frame of mind compared to being dumped out of an aluminum tube. I love the heat, the cold, the smells, the rain. I look forward to the challenges of roadway travel, because I know I have a little more control in how to resolve them. And I'm reasonably certain that nobody will drag me out of my vehicle because the road is overbooked.
I hate flying. A decision to fly anywhere means handing over an unlimited amount of time to a soulless corporation. I know the statistics, driving is more dangerous. I understand the clock - planes fly fast. But the pain is just not worth it.
My previous flight in 2008 was more typical for my flying experience. Arriving on a morning with questionable weather, I checked in to a plane that was initially listed as on-time before its status was updated several times, leading to lots of confusion. Eventually on the plane, departure was greatly delayed as the Captain informed us there was a minor mechanical problem with the plane. Eventually we took off, exceedingly late and arrived in a special kind of hell - Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta Airport. Missing the second flight of the day, I sat in the airport for several hours. The airline decided the first flight's delay was due to weather, not the mechanical problem the Captain knew about. Eventually, I asked to be put on the next flight home. This was not possible since one connecting leg of my return flight was not on the same airline, meaning I had no choice but to sit several more hours in Atlanta. Eventually, I was put on a plane in an opposite direction from my final destination of Las Vegas, NV. I was again blessed with several hours sitting in another airport. While Fort Lauderdale seems like a nice place to spend some time, airports are like public restrooms - they are pretty much all the same and the goal is generally to get out as fast as possible. Eventually I was put on a plane bound for Las Vegas. By the time I was outside of McCarran Airport, I could have driven from my home to Nevada in less time than what the airlines were able to do.
And that gets to my biggest problem with airline travel. Arriving a day late, stinking and feeling shitty, after being routed all over the country counts as a win for the airline, "You got there, it was only a day late." But the Las Vegas Trip in question was only a few days. There is nothing I value more than my vacation time and the airline stole a considerable percentage of it. Once I bought that ticket, I was under the whim for whatever the airline wanted to do.
My 2008 flight was glorious compared to a recent situation. Filed under current events, a doctor was recently physically dragged of a United Airlines flight from Chicago O'Hare bound for Louisville, KY. He wasn't drunk. He wasn't unruly. He was a paying passenger, sitting quietly in his seat, just trying to get home. The flight was overbooked and United found it more important to get a few employees to Louisville rather than any passenger; United Airlines found its business more important than the reason for the business.
I understand why airlines overbook, but when it doesn't work out in their favor, they need to bite the bullet. Better options include:
Moving employee schedules since they screwed up and paying lots of overtime or whatever it took.
Putting the employees in a nice rental car to drive the five hours (yes, only five hours) to Louisville.
Chartering a plane since United screwed up.
Continuing to raise the amount paid to overbooked passengers until someone volunteered (give me lots of cash and a rental car and I'll drive myself to Las Vegas!).
Paying to move people to other airlines.
Anything ... other than dragging a bloodied elderly man off of a flight after he was allowed to sit down.
Making the situation even worse, the CEO issued a statement applauding the employees, while one of the officers involved in dragging the man off of the plane was put on leave. A CEO should not make up words like re-accommodate to try to sugar-coat the situation. What a wretched euphemism. Maybe the CEO should be re-schooled in the reason for an airline.
One of the rules we all learned in kindergarten was when we screw up, admit and say sorry. Doing otherwise makes a bad situation worse. Perhaps Oscar Munoz didn't learn this early in life; there is also a relatively high possibility that he may be a psychopath.
In the sad state of airline travel, there is no way to win. Paying more for a business class flight doesn't change the likelihood of getting anywhere on time (private jets probably do, but...). The people in the front of the plane are just as unlikely to arrive on time as the proletariat. The only way to slightly hedge the odds in the favor of the average traveler is to minimize connecting flights - a cheap 3-leg flight has at least 3x the chance of mayhem over a more expensive direct flight.
I never lived through this, but I sometimes wonder what flying was like before it was brought down to the lowest common denominator? Before people were crammed in a seat only big enough for a prepubescent anorexic girl. Before a short flight becomes an all-day affair. Despite my poor personal record with airline travel, I'm always friendly with the people at the gate and on the plane; at times, they have a painfully tough job becoming the face of bad corporate policy.
I'm hoping to head south for a day of ocean fishing in a few weeks. My travel time will be more than the time spent at the coast, but I'm looking forward to that as much as the fishing. I'll get to see familiar sites, and look for opportunities on taking a new route. I'll stay in cheap hotels and eat at small restaurants. I'll probably get to talk to interesting people and see things impossible to comprehend from 30,000 feet.
Thankfully, I love driving. I've turned "travel" from the worst part of my vacation to the best part. I've ridden my motorcycle through 50 states (*Hawaii was a rental). I love the areas that look like home in the Midwest; familiar, yet different. I love crossing the Mississippi and seeing the rolling hills transition to the great American plains - so much better than the lousy United planes. I love the big empty. I love the mountains and how arriving at them having crossed the whole country brings with a better frame of mind compared to being dumped out of an aluminum tube. I love the heat, the cold, the smells, the rain. I look forward to the challenges of roadway travel, because I know I have a little more control in how to resolve them. And I'm reasonably certain that nobody will drag me out of my vehicle because the road is overbooked.
Sunday, April 9, 2017
Starting Over
A few coworkers were discussing the relatively recent trend of "Tiny Houses" and the perceived benefits versus the negatives. This discussion evolved into one about the more generic wish to simplify. The interpretations of this ranged from winning the lottery and buying remote land to just moving to a smaller house. It seems like Tiny Houses keeps most of life the same but just deletes some comfort from that same reality.
My comment, "I want to sell everything and travel on the cheap for the rest of my life."
I'm assuming this exists in many cultures, but the idea of throwing off the shackles of work, of possessions, of interconnected responsibilities runs deep in America. America was built on the idea of carving out a new life as the country slowly migrated west. The image of the cowboy riding off into the sunset is part of many fantasies.
Elizabeth Greenwood wrote Playing Dead - about people who fake their death in order to start over. While not addressed directly in the book, the idea of walking away from everything by faking one's death is just an attempt at simplification. Albeit this rather drastic way to simplify is more often used to ameliorate one (or a few) specific problems. I enjoyed the book even as it was written from a very Millennial perspective. Her personal narrative shows the consequences of making some choices early without thinking about the long term implications. I suspect this is something everyone does to some extent. Faking death ultimately just appears to create lots of new complications in the end.
Cheryl Strayed tried to write about her experiences hiking the Pacific Trail. I admire her quest and success in taking on the challenge, but her writing reeks of self-help, and the self-help genre approaches a status somewhere between a cult and a drug. While self-help books may give short term relief, they too quickly need to be reinforced by another. And another. Sadly, Strayed is more Brand than honest inspiration now.
Bill Bryson hiked (most of) the Appalachian trail and wrote about it as only he could. Mr. Bryson is a bit of an enigma, he comes across as very condescending in The Lost Continent. Small-town America deserves better; the heartland is only as terrible as he makes it out to be if a traveler demands that it is. I suspect his interaction with the British is far different than mine has been. The people in small-town England could be small-town Americans if it weren't for the accent. Having spent a few days in Dusseldorf, Germany several years ago, I found it as charming as Gary, Indiana. A Walk in the Woods was more genuine, less snarky, more personal. Bill Bryson didn't use the Appalachian Trail to start over, but he paints it in places as a form of contemplation.
Geraldine Largay was determined to hike the Appalachian Trail at the age of 66. Originally with a partner, she ended the adventure on her own, and it ended tragically. From the Donner Party on, American history is littered with the dead. As the saying goes, "Every corpse on Everest was once a very motivated person."
It is probably impossible to talk about this without remembering Chris McCandless. After bouncing around the country immediately after college and (literally) burning his money, he ended up in Alaska. He hiked out on the Stampede Trail near Healy, before living in a bus bear Denali National Park for a few months. Surging rivers prevented his return, and that bus ended up being where his life ended. Whether thought of as idealistic or a degenerate, his story is part of the American lexicon, with Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, PBS' excellent documentary, or Sean Penn's subpar movie all telling his story.
Christopher Knight really did throw off the shackles for a long time. A new book (I haven't read it yet) out by Michael Finkel tells the story of how he lived in the Maine woods for 27 years - living off of what he was able to steal from nearby homes and cabins. Mr. Finkel wrote a riveting article about this in 2013 and I can't help but wonder what new information will be included in the book given that the end of that article seems to indicate the end of that relationship, "...we are not friends ... I’m not going to miss you at all." Michael Finkel's book True Story - another book about people tragically starting over - was good, so I'll probably have to read The Stranger in the Woods. Hopefully it gives a little insight on how Mr. Knight is fairing now.
And among these more notable cases, there are countless tales never told of people doing something, anything, to start over.
I try to be very honest with myself and the chances of selling everything and traveling on the cheap for the next few decades is very, very unlikely. Not impossible, but the odds are terribly long. The events recounted here suggest no shortage of situations where these things end very tragically. But I can't help but wonder what else exists from vagabond and vagrant through beige suburbanite, and where on that continuum I am ... or could be.
My comment, "I want to sell everything and travel on the cheap for the rest of my life."
I'm assuming this exists in many cultures, but the idea of throwing off the shackles of work, of possessions, of interconnected responsibilities runs deep in America. America was built on the idea of carving out a new life as the country slowly migrated west. The image of the cowboy riding off into the sunset is part of many fantasies.
Elizabeth Greenwood wrote Playing Dead - about people who fake their death in order to start over. While not addressed directly in the book, the idea of walking away from everything by faking one's death is just an attempt at simplification. Albeit this rather drastic way to simplify is more often used to ameliorate one (or a few) specific problems. I enjoyed the book even as it was written from a very Millennial perspective. Her personal narrative shows the consequences of making some choices early without thinking about the long term implications. I suspect this is something everyone does to some extent. Faking death ultimately just appears to create lots of new complications in the end.
Cheryl Strayed tried to write about her experiences hiking the Pacific Trail. I admire her quest and success in taking on the challenge, but her writing reeks of self-help, and the self-help genre approaches a status somewhere between a cult and a drug. While self-help books may give short term relief, they too quickly need to be reinforced by another. And another. Sadly, Strayed is more Brand than honest inspiration now.
Bill Bryson hiked (most of) the Appalachian trail and wrote about it as only he could. Mr. Bryson is a bit of an enigma, he comes across as very condescending in The Lost Continent. Small-town America deserves better; the heartland is only as terrible as he makes it out to be if a traveler demands that it is. I suspect his interaction with the British is far different than mine has been. The people in small-town England could be small-town Americans if it weren't for the accent. Having spent a few days in Dusseldorf, Germany several years ago, I found it as charming as Gary, Indiana. A Walk in the Woods was more genuine, less snarky, more personal. Bill Bryson didn't use the Appalachian Trail to start over, but he paints it in places as a form of contemplation.
Geraldine Largay was determined to hike the Appalachian Trail at the age of 66. Originally with a partner, she ended the adventure on her own, and it ended tragically. From the Donner Party on, American history is littered with the dead. As the saying goes, "Every corpse on Everest was once a very motivated person."
It is probably impossible to talk about this without remembering Chris McCandless. After bouncing around the country immediately after college and (literally) burning his money, he ended up in Alaska. He hiked out on the Stampede Trail near Healy, before living in a bus bear Denali National Park for a few months. Surging rivers prevented his return, and that bus ended up being where his life ended. Whether thought of as idealistic or a degenerate, his story is part of the American lexicon, with Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, PBS' excellent documentary, or Sean Penn's subpar movie all telling his story.
Christopher Knight really did throw off the shackles for a long time. A new book (I haven't read it yet) out by Michael Finkel tells the story of how he lived in the Maine woods for 27 years - living off of what he was able to steal from nearby homes and cabins. Mr. Finkel wrote a riveting article about this in 2013 and I can't help but wonder what new information will be included in the book given that the end of that article seems to indicate the end of that relationship, "...we are not friends ... I’m not going to miss you at all." Michael Finkel's book True Story - another book about people tragically starting over - was good, so I'll probably have to read The Stranger in the Woods. Hopefully it gives a little insight on how Mr. Knight is fairing now.
And among these more notable cases, there are countless tales never told of people doing something, anything, to start over.
I try to be very honest with myself and the chances of selling everything and traveling on the cheap for the next few decades is very, very unlikely. Not impossible, but the odds are terribly long. The events recounted here suggest no shortage of situations where these things end very tragically. But I can't help but wonder what else exists from vagabond and vagrant through beige suburbanite, and where on that continuum I am ... or could be.
Saturday, April 8, 2017
Why All the Rage?
I sometimes wonder if we all become L Ron Bumquist as we get older. Or maybe I'm just wondering if I'm becoming Dr. Bumquist.
A news teaser blurbed that a Kendall Jenner commercial for Pepsi was generating controversy. Apparently, handing a cold refreshing beverage to a police officer in an advertisement is an act which necessitates social outrage with enough people for it to make the news. Social media is the liquor store next door; it is the enabler of a rampant addiction to rage. And when did nearly everything become worthy of anger? Contempt maybe, ambivalence clearly, but anger? Pepsi is just trying to sell more empty calories - junk food as my mom used to say. Thank a Capitalist as without them we'd have nothing to fret about today. Can anything happen that doesn't require someone to bitch, moan and create banal memes about.
Luckily this rage is very short lived. Cecil the lion is still quite dead, but nobody really cares any more about Minnesota dentists or hunting big cats in Africa anymore.
I'm not sure if I should be embarrassed about this, but after hearing the news story on TV while getting ready for work, I really wan't sure who Kendall Jenner was. I looked her up on Wikipedia and saw she is Bruce Jenner's daughter and something about the Kardashians - at which point I quickly lost interest. Although I seem to vaguely recall that one of the Kardashians was married to Kanye West. So Caitlyn Jenner and Kanye West could end up at the same family reunion. Do people like that have family reunions? I think not.
And if Kendall Jenner is Bruce Jenner's biological daughter, does that make him still her dad? Or is she now her mom. Maybe Family guy can sort this all out.
Again, I lose interest...
I have no interest in Pepsi as a surrogate for someone's social anxiety, the Kardashians, or pretending I'm interested in things that people who are half my age should probably not even be interested in. How is it so easy to spot the old person uncomfortably attempting to act young? The wedding a few years ago where they played The Macarena and the dance floor was filled with only young girls and middle-aged men. It was terrifying. Maybe that was another phenomenon altogether. A former coworker recently resigned; he's been convicted of some crimes and it apparently wasn't dancing The Macarena. Even the limited information I heard on that one is too much. Every time I think about it, it is quite disturbing. Yet some kind of voyeuristic stupidity compelled me to look it up on the county court web site.
Maybe Dr. Bumquist can help afterall.
A news teaser blurbed that a Kendall Jenner commercial for Pepsi was generating controversy. Apparently, handing a cold refreshing beverage to a police officer in an advertisement is an act which necessitates social outrage with enough people for it to make the news. Social media is the liquor store next door; it is the enabler of a rampant addiction to rage. And when did nearly everything become worthy of anger? Contempt maybe, ambivalence clearly, but anger? Pepsi is just trying to sell more empty calories - junk food as my mom used to say. Thank a Capitalist as without them we'd have nothing to fret about today. Can anything happen that doesn't require someone to bitch, moan and create banal memes about.
Luckily this rage is very short lived. Cecil the lion is still quite dead, but nobody really cares any more about Minnesota dentists or hunting big cats in Africa anymore.
I'm not sure if I should be embarrassed about this, but after hearing the news story on TV while getting ready for work, I really wan't sure who Kendall Jenner was. I looked her up on Wikipedia and saw she is Bruce Jenner's daughter and something about the Kardashians - at which point I quickly lost interest. Although I seem to vaguely recall that one of the Kardashians was married to Kanye West. So Caitlyn Jenner and Kanye West could end up at the same family reunion. Do people like that have family reunions? I think not.
And if Kendall Jenner is Bruce Jenner's biological daughter, does that make him still her dad? Or is she now her mom. Maybe Family guy can sort this all out.
Again, I lose interest...
I have no interest in Pepsi as a surrogate for someone's social anxiety, the Kardashians, or pretending I'm interested in things that people who are half my age should probably not even be interested in. How is it so easy to spot the old person uncomfortably attempting to act young? The wedding a few years ago where they played The Macarena and the dance floor was filled with only young girls and middle-aged men. It was terrifying. Maybe that was another phenomenon altogether. A former coworker recently resigned; he's been convicted of some crimes and it apparently wasn't dancing The Macarena. Even the limited information I heard on that one is too much. Every time I think about it, it is quite disturbing. Yet some kind of voyeuristic stupidity compelled me to look it up on the county court web site.
Maybe Dr. Bumquist can help afterall.
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