Surprises come in all flavors. Some are good. Some are bad. I remember several years ago on my 40th birthday, Mom and Dad had sneaked into New Jersey for a visit. That was a good surprise. I enjoyed that a lot. Back in 2004, when we were in New Orleans to watch Jordan play soccer for Loyola, we had to cross the Mississippi River via the Huey P. Long Bridge. The Huey P. Long Bridge has two lanes with no apparent means of support, floating in mid-air on either side of train tracks which ran down the center of the bridge structure. It is about 1000 ft above the river and the guard rails that should prevent you from driving off the bridge are about 12 inches high. Hell, I've driven over curbs that were taller. When you are driving in a conversion van, or an SUV, you can not see the guard rail. This was a bad surprise, a very damn bad surprise.
I closed one eye, repented of all my sins, and drove 15 miles an hour right down the center of the two lanes heading west. Traffic quickly backed up behind me, and the people right behind me were honking and flipping me the bird, but I didn't care. With everyone behind me honking, flashing lights, and flipping me the bird, I imagined that it must look like we were leading a parade across the bridge. We survived and I'll never, ever cross that bridge again.
Last week on our return trip from Florida, we were hopeful of avoiding an unpleasantness in terms of breakdowns, bridges or surprises. The Beast (pet name for the Ford Expedition) had performed flawlessly. On the trip down, we got almost 20 miles per gallon, and we figured out how to use the satellite radio. The DVD worked well, and Jordan and Catfish watched movies and studied. The only giant bridge encountered on the way down was skillfully avoided on the return route. The return trip was going alarmingly well. Too well.
On the first day coming home, we drove 540 miles, and got a room at a Marriott hotel in Knoxville, Tennessee. We were exhausted, hungry and thirsty. Landi, Catfish and Jordan went directly to the room with the Bell Hop, while I parked the Beast. When I walked into the lobby of the hotel, I noticed that there were about 200 tables set with beautiful white table clothes, and formal china in readiness for Easter Brunch. I wearily stepped onto the elevator thinking about how nice it would be in the morning if we could be out of here before all that got going. I punch '9' on the controls, and the elevator began to rise. I turned around, and HOLYSHIT YOU CAN SEE OUT OF THIS THING. IT'S ONE OF THOSE GLASS ELEVATORS!!! I was in a glass elevator rising like a rocket toward the 9th floor.
That was ugly surprise number one. As one who has an increasingly profound respect for heights, I was stunned. I was in a glass elevator shooting up at an uncivilized rate of climb heading toward the alpine region of this towering building. My fear turned to absolute panic as we neared the ceiling and I noticed that we were not slowing down and clearly we were going to hit the damn ceiling really hard. I grabbed hold of the hand rails tightly and braced for the collision. I wondered if the doors would open following the impact, or if the elevator would just break away from the elevator 'track' and plummet to the hard tile floor of the hotel lobby. I had visions of all manner of movie scenes where some poor bastard gets dropped from a really high place. Wiley Coyote and Road Runner came to mind, but I had no illusions as to my ability to survive a fall like the coyote.I closed my eyes, and again, repented of my sins.
The collision never came, but ugly surprise number two did. The elevator flew threw the ceiling and emerged into blinding sunlight on the outside wall of the damn hotel and continued slimbing upward like a squirrel on crack.
At this point, I was nearing incontinence. This had been a bad ride. I just wanted off the damn elevator. It was bad enough riding in an elevator inside the building, but this damn thing was now outside the building. Who the hell thought that was a good idea? If I survived this ride, I'd never ride another elevator. Finally, Saints be praised and to the sound of trumpets, the doors of the elevator opened, and I exited the jaws of death. It took a minute to regain my composure and dignity.
I found the hotel room, and went in. I must have looked a little shaken up, because Catfish and Jordan both thought my experience was exceedingly humorous. Funny my ass! I fixed a bourbon. No ice. No water. Just bourbon....a very strong bourbon. I was safe and in the room. I was out of danger.
Landi came out of the rest room, and cheerfully said, "Ok, Let's go down for supper."
I'm gonna need more bourbon.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Third Time's a Charm
I feel a little like Charlie Brown charging up to the football as Lucy holds it. Just like Charlie, I just know it's going to work out ok this time. Nothing bad is going to happen. Everything is as it should be. Here goes...We leave for Florida this morning.
It's pre-dawn here. Ninty nine years ago today, in the dark of the night the Titanic struck an ice burg the size of a city block and sank. Last Februrary, our van lost oil pressure 78 miles into our trip to Jonesboro. In December, the Van's fuel line froze in the middle of an ice storm in southern Virginia. We sold the van.
Today, we prepare to leave in "The Beast". Cars should have names, and this one's name is 'The Beast'. It's a 2008 Black and silver Ford Expedition with 2 1/2 years warranty left on it. The tires are good. The oil is new. The windshield washer reservoir is full. The Port-a-bar is stocked with bourbon and Vodka, and we have wine and Bloodymary mix. We have snacks, and movies, and music. We are ready for a 1200 mile trek to Destin, on the banks of the sea of Wahoo, where there are never any troubles, or at least very few.
Though I'm a blind optimist, I know something is going to happen. No way Charlie kicks the damn ball. As daylight sneaks up on us here in New Jersey and our departure grows near, I know there is an iceberg lurking out there somewhere, but you know what? From my perspective an iceberg is simply free range ice cubes, and I have plenty of bourbon.
Lucy looks up at Charlie and smiles.
It's pre-dawn here. Ninty nine years ago today, in the dark of the night the Titanic struck an ice burg the size of a city block and sank. Last Februrary, our van lost oil pressure 78 miles into our trip to Jonesboro. In December, the Van's fuel line froze in the middle of an ice storm in southern Virginia. We sold the van.
Today, we prepare to leave in "The Beast". Cars should have names, and this one's name is 'The Beast'. It's a 2008 Black and silver Ford Expedition with 2 1/2 years warranty left on it. The tires are good. The oil is new. The windshield washer reservoir is full. The Port-a-bar is stocked with bourbon and Vodka, and we have wine and Bloodymary mix. We have snacks, and movies, and music. We are ready for a 1200 mile trek to Destin, on the banks of the sea of Wahoo, where there are never any troubles, or at least very few.
Though I'm a blind optimist, I know something is going to happen. No way Charlie kicks the damn ball. As daylight sneaks up on us here in New Jersey and our departure grows near, I know there is an iceberg lurking out there somewhere, but you know what? From my perspective an iceberg is simply free range ice cubes, and I have plenty of bourbon.
Lucy looks up at Charlie and smiles.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
The Good Stuff
All the grandchildren say the house is haunted, and they just may be right. Fifty years of Christmas Eve Quail dinners linger in the kitchen. That just doesnt' fade away very quickly. On the patio where thousands of cocktails were consumed and countless steaks were cooked on a gas grill beneath the spreading branches of the old 'acorn' tree, the ghost of Daddy Doc smiles back at me in a reflection off of the French Doors. In the Den, the footstools are gone, but it's a sure thing that my brother still can't fly. In the tile, Mom's reflection still glares at me, and she's still pissed. Somehow, it's my fault that Matt can't fly. Miss Dot sits in the lounger in the Den, sipping a cocktail and telling us all 'one damn thing'. Don't blink, you'll miss her. Yeah, this house is haunted.
Today, to the casual observer, the house appears mostly empty. The silver and jewlery were carried off some time back. Last weekend, we removed furniture. As we went from room to room sorting out memories and wading though smiles and tears, it became clear to me that this house would never be empty. Though Mom and Dad no longer lived there, and despite being stripped of it's contents, this house would always be full of history. Just stepping through the door brings back floods of memories and emotions. Though the pictures have been taken down from the walls, the memories still hover in the air.
In emptying the house, we are closing a chapter. We each come away from our home with things to remind us of Mom and Dad. Mom will always smile back at me from her secretary. I'll see her every time I use the corn bread stick mold. In looking at the swords, I'll remember her Antique Store. Dad will forever be sitting on the couch, cigarette and cocktail in hand, explaining things to me. He had a certain clarity of thought. On this, the last weekend in the house, the old grump, smiling and sitting on the couch, explained to me what the 'good stuff' is. I understand.
Today, to the casual observer, the house appears mostly empty. The silver and jewlery were carried off some time back. Last weekend, we removed furniture. As we went from room to room sorting out memories and wading though smiles and tears, it became clear to me that this house would never be empty. Though Mom and Dad no longer lived there, and despite being stripped of it's contents, this house would always be full of history. Just stepping through the door brings back floods of memories and emotions. Though the pictures have been taken down from the walls, the memories still hover in the air.
In emptying the house, we are closing a chapter. We each come away from our home with things to remind us of Mom and Dad. Mom will always smile back at me from her secretary. I'll see her every time I use the corn bread stick mold. In looking at the swords, I'll remember her Antique Store. Dad will forever be sitting on the couch, cigarette and cocktail in hand, explaining things to me. He had a certain clarity of thought. On this, the last weekend in the house, the old grump, smiling and sitting on the couch, explained to me what the 'good stuff' is. I understand.
Monday, February 21, 2011
It Happened Out There
In one of my favorite scenes in the movie 'Captain Ron', the one-eyed captain gazes out over the blue green waters of the Caribbean Sea, and says 'What ever is going to happen is going to happen out there.' I love that line. Of course, at this point in the movie, Captain Ron has yet to be revealed as a complete lunatic.
In a similar fashion, we set out last Thursday for Arkansas. As a result of having suffered various forms of vehicular failure on most of the last few trips down south, we have recently acquired a 'new' van. It will be recalled that a year ago last December, we made a Christmas run to Arkansas that was inturrupted only 60 miles into the journey. After being rescued by my Father-in-Law, and slamming my hand in the car door, we continued on to Arkansas for a successful trip. Our next excursion was Florida for spring break. Unfortunately, on the day we left Florida we discovered that our fuel system was still compromised, and water was still able to penetrate the tank. The final debacle was this past December when we were stranded in a rest area near Marion, Virginia in a horrible ice storm. It was certainly time to retire the old Ford Van.
Our new van is a Dodge. It has a few miles on it, but it is pristine, and we bought it through a reputible dealership. It's about 3 feet shorter than the old Ford, but we don't need all that room anymore. I was anticipating much better gas milage because it has a six cylindar engine rather than the huge eight cylindar that was in the Ford. We looked at the van and drove it on a Saturday, and returned to the dealership on Monday and bought it.
On Wednesday, the dealership filed for bankruptcy protection. Uh oh.
Did we have the title in our hands? Nope. Did we have tags for the van? Nope. Did we have the registration? Nope. But, apparantly the Fates were in our favor because all three materialized over the next week or so, and I thought out troubles might be over. I was wrong.
Having secured tags, title and registration, I drove the van one day to have lunch with some of my old work pals. It's a 24 mile commute up over the Watchung Mountains. I drove it almost daily for 3 years. I was 10 miles into the journey when I noticed that the alternator was not charging. Damn. I turned around and took the van to our local garage. There was a little voice in the back of my mind snickering. The rational moron who apparantly co-habitates with the little voice in the the back of my mind suggested that 'Hey, it's not that bad. Alternator's go out. It's a maintenance thing.' That's 'reasonable', I thought, but the snickering still bothered me.
While in the shop, I decided to have the van checked for other potential problems because in a few short weeks, we would be making a trip to Arkansas in it. $2700 later, with a new water pump, a mostly rebuilt front end as well as new brakes, our 'new' van was fit to make the journey to Arkansas. Having picked the van up from the garage, we decided to drive it when we went out for dinner and a movie.
The restaurant and theater are only about 5 miles from our home. Before we even got half way, the van was surrounded by clouds of steam. Back to the garage. The little voice in the back of my head snickered again. The rational moron in me said "This sort of stuff just happens sometimes."
Finally, the day for the trip to Arkansas arrived. My bride and I both were a little apprehensive because this was the 30th day we had owned the van, and it had been in the garage for 18 of those days. The little voice in my head was placing bets with the rational moron in me as to whether or not we'd even make it out of Jersey.
Never the less, as we loaded the van with luggage and assorted crap, my mind wandered back to Captain Ron's words. The van's engine was tight, and pulled well. The tires were good. The belts were good, and the radiator was topped up. There was plenty of windschield washer fluid. Landi, Jordan, Catfish and I got in the van and pulled out. Weather reports indicated that we could expect good weather for the entire trip. Everything was wonderful as we crossed the river from Jersey to Pennslyvania. We switched the radio to the rock station that broadcasts from Allentown. Jordan was studying in the back of the van. Catfish was listening to his Ipod. Landi was knitting, and I was listening to the clatter of the lifters.......
Clatter of the lifters? WTF? The little voice in my head and the rational moron in me were laughing their asses off.
A quick glance revealed that we had no oil pressure. None. Ziltch. I switched off the engine and steered the van onto the shoulder of the road. We had gone 78 miles, and suffered a catastrophic engine failure.
Captain Ron was right. It did happen out there.
In a similar fashion, we set out last Thursday for Arkansas. As a result of having suffered various forms of vehicular failure on most of the last few trips down south, we have recently acquired a 'new' van. It will be recalled that a year ago last December, we made a Christmas run to Arkansas that was inturrupted only 60 miles into the journey. After being rescued by my Father-in-Law, and slamming my hand in the car door, we continued on to Arkansas for a successful trip. Our next excursion was Florida for spring break. Unfortunately, on the day we left Florida we discovered that our fuel system was still compromised, and water was still able to penetrate the tank. The final debacle was this past December when we were stranded in a rest area near Marion, Virginia in a horrible ice storm. It was certainly time to retire the old Ford Van.
Our new van is a Dodge. It has a few miles on it, but it is pristine, and we bought it through a reputible dealership. It's about 3 feet shorter than the old Ford, but we don't need all that room anymore. I was anticipating much better gas milage because it has a six cylindar engine rather than the huge eight cylindar that was in the Ford. We looked at the van and drove it on a Saturday, and returned to the dealership on Monday and bought it.
On Wednesday, the dealership filed for bankruptcy protection. Uh oh.
Did we have the title in our hands? Nope. Did we have tags for the van? Nope. Did we have the registration? Nope. But, apparantly the Fates were in our favor because all three materialized over the next week or so, and I thought out troubles might be over. I was wrong.
Having secured tags, title and registration, I drove the van one day to have lunch with some of my old work pals. It's a 24 mile commute up over the Watchung Mountains. I drove it almost daily for 3 years. I was 10 miles into the journey when I noticed that the alternator was not charging. Damn. I turned around and took the van to our local garage. There was a little voice in the back of my mind snickering. The rational moron who apparantly co-habitates with the little voice in the the back of my mind suggested that 'Hey, it's not that bad. Alternator's go out. It's a maintenance thing.' That's 'reasonable', I thought, but the snickering still bothered me.
While in the shop, I decided to have the van checked for other potential problems because in a few short weeks, we would be making a trip to Arkansas in it. $2700 later, with a new water pump, a mostly rebuilt front end as well as new brakes, our 'new' van was fit to make the journey to Arkansas. Having picked the van up from the garage, we decided to drive it when we went out for dinner and a movie.
The restaurant and theater are only about 5 miles from our home. Before we even got half way, the van was surrounded by clouds of steam. Back to the garage. The little voice in the back of my head snickered again. The rational moron in me said "This sort of stuff just happens sometimes."
Finally, the day for the trip to Arkansas arrived. My bride and I both were a little apprehensive because this was the 30th day we had owned the van, and it had been in the garage for 18 of those days. The little voice in my head was placing bets with the rational moron in me as to whether or not we'd even make it out of Jersey.
Never the less, as we loaded the van with luggage and assorted crap, my mind wandered back to Captain Ron's words. The van's engine was tight, and pulled well. The tires were good. The belts were good, and the radiator was topped up. There was plenty of windschield washer fluid. Landi, Jordan, Catfish and I got in the van and pulled out. Weather reports indicated that we could expect good weather for the entire trip. Everything was wonderful as we crossed the river from Jersey to Pennslyvania. We switched the radio to the rock station that broadcasts from Allentown. Jordan was studying in the back of the van. Catfish was listening to his Ipod. Landi was knitting, and I was listening to the clatter of the lifters.......
Clatter of the lifters? WTF? The little voice in my head and the rational moron in me were laughing their asses off.
A quick glance revealed that we had no oil pressure. None. Ziltch. I switched off the engine and steered the van onto the shoulder of the road. We had gone 78 miles, and suffered a catastrophic engine failure.
Captain Ron was right. It did happen out there.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
A Truely Super Sunday
Sunday was a beautiful day. It began with Mimosas and a good breakfast. Since my former employer told me last month that my services were no longer needed because my performance was not on par with that of my fellow Vice Presidents, I don't get up and check 'my' computers first thing in the morning. It's just not my problem anymore. I get up, and I have a Mimosa and cook the Catfish and my bride a good breakfast. I have found that it really is true that if you're going to drink all day, you have to start in the morning.
So, SuperSunday began nicely, and then it got better. A friend texted me. "Intellione is down.", the message read. Intellione is a huge computer that runs roughly 30% of the world's third largest collections company. When it is down, the company is down and is bleeding serious money. Intellione had been one of my boxes. For three years, I had monitored it and pampered it and corrected the miriad of problems that had made the big server so unreliable and troublesome for prior administrators. In the last two years, Intellione had been very stable and reliable. It had not suffered not one minute of unplanned downtime in over 25 months, which is why 2.0 decided that my services, and my bad attitude, were no longer needed.
These sweet moments are to be treasured.
This guy, who just days after Mom passed away, gave me a ration of shit telling me that this company doesn't have berevement time; this guy who gave me a ration of shit about taking a day off in December to attend my Father-in-Law's funeral; this guy who just last month told me that 'my performance wasn't up to par' and fired me, was being slow roasted over a raging fire of sleep deprived, caffine fueled weasels. Because he didn't have a single ally in the organization, I knew that he was alone in the debacle, swinging in the breeze. It must have been truly agonizing because I know that he would rather french kiss a monkey's ass than call me, but my friend had texted me again, and he was asking for my phone number.
There are moments in your life where you get to make a decision. Sometimes, you see a drowning man, and, even though you know him for what he is, you find the means to rescue him. You find a bouy, or a rope, in worst case you get in the water, but you find a way to help the man.
This wasn't one of those times. This was a time for popcorn...... and Mimosas
The phone rang.
Pucker up big boy.
So, SuperSunday began nicely, and then it got better. A friend texted me. "Intellione is down.", the message read. Intellione is a huge computer that runs roughly 30% of the world's third largest collections company. When it is down, the company is down and is bleeding serious money. Intellione had been one of my boxes. For three years, I had monitored it and pampered it and corrected the miriad of problems that had made the big server so unreliable and troublesome for prior administrators. In the last two years, Intellione had been very stable and reliable. It had not suffered not one minute of unplanned downtime in over 25 months, which is why 2.0 decided that my services, and my bad attitude, were no longer needed.
These sweet moments are to be treasured.
This guy, who just days after Mom passed away, gave me a ration of shit telling me that this company doesn't have berevement time; this guy who gave me a ration of shit about taking a day off in December to attend my Father-in-Law's funeral; this guy who just last month told me that 'my performance wasn't up to par' and fired me, was being slow roasted over a raging fire of sleep deprived, caffine fueled weasels. Because he didn't have a single ally in the organization, I knew that he was alone in the debacle, swinging in the breeze. It must have been truly agonizing because I know that he would rather french kiss a monkey's ass than call me, but my friend had texted me again, and he was asking for my phone number.
There are moments in your life where you get to make a decision. Sometimes, you see a drowning man, and, even though you know him for what he is, you find the means to rescue him. You find a bouy, or a rope, in worst case you get in the water, but you find a way to help the man.
This wasn't one of those times. This was a time for popcorn...... and Mimosas
The phone rang.
Pucker up big boy.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
A 1997 Model Snow Thrower.
On this date in 1997, my wife and I acquired a new snow thrower. It didn't come with any instructions, was under 10 lbs, and for 14 years we have been at a complete loss as to how to make any use of it. It has always started very easily, but never got much done. It consumed vast amounts of fuel, made a tremendous noise at random intervals, created unimaginable messes, and spontaneously spewed crap out of both ends. Amazingly, this snow thrower produces more gas than it consumes.
It's not like we had never had a snow thrower before. We had a 1986 and a 1987 model. Both are very good looking models, but neither would throw snow at all.
Last night, we got 18 inches of wet, heavy snow. It's the middle aged fat man killing snow. I expect to see two or three of my neighbours laid out dead as door knobs from heart attacks brought on by shovelling this shit. But not me. I have a snow thr
ower.After 14 years of wondering how to operate this thing, my snow thrower started up this morning. It just took some bacon and some biscuits and gravy and magicaly it cleared the driveway. I didn't have to coax it. I didn't have to threaten it. I didn't have to do anything other than just get started.
So now, I sit in warm comfort sipping a Mimosa and blogging while my 14 year old snow thrower digs tunnels in the mountains of snow. I'm afraid that I'll only have the use of the snow blower another 4 or 5 years. After that, I'm afraid he'll be stolen away by a pretty girl, or distant job.
A friend emailed my yesterday that he and his wife are expecting a baby in August. I paused for a minute, and remembered a magical day in 1997, when the Packers won the Superbowl, and my new snow thrower arrived. He wasn't very big. Hell, I've caught Catfish bigger than him.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
BOHICA
It began in December in an ice covered rest area in southern Virginia. It wasn't really that bad. After all, if you are well prepared when your car breaks down in an ice storm, you can simply serve cocktails until help arrives. But then, the day after Christmas, we got 29 inches dumped on us over night. I had to shovel a path for the dogs, as well as a 'spot' for the dogs so they could go outside and crap. A week or so later, they closed school for a day when we got another 6 or 8 inches. The following week, we got another 6 or 8 inches, and they closed school again, so Catfish, Landi and I went skiing. Last week, we had another ice storm and school was closed.
As I sit here in the pre-dawn hours watching the arrival of yet another snow storm predicted to dump another 10 inches of snow on us, I am troubled. On one hand, a big snow means they cancel school, and we have another opportunity to ski on fresh powder with little in the way of a crowd, but on the other hand, we've already had a lot of 'snow days'. At this rate, the poor kids are going to be going to school through July 4th.
I guess that it's just like Mark Twain said. "Everyone talks about the weather, but no one does anything about it." Radar shows the storm closing in on us, and one word comes to mind. BOHICA.
Bend over, here it comes again.
As I sit here in the pre-dawn hours watching the arrival of yet another snow storm predicted to dump another 10 inches of snow on us, I am troubled. On one hand, a big snow means they cancel school, and we have another opportunity to ski on fresh powder with little in the way of a crowd, but on the other hand, we've already had a lot of 'snow days'. At this rate, the poor kids are going to be going to school through July 4th.
I guess that it's just like Mark Twain said. "Everyone talks about the weather, but no one does anything about it." Radar shows the storm closing in on us, and one word comes to mind. BOHICA.
Bend over, here it comes again.
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